#passed away less than two weeks apart from each other | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

norrisleclercf1 · 1 year

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Thief

Pairing: Lando Norris x Reader

Warnings: SMUT! Pure smut, dirty talk, name calling, p in v, sexting, public acts, Lando has a big dick (deal with it), I’m sure I missed some more

Rating: R

Words: 2.9K

Requested: Yes/No

Request: Hiiii! Im not sure if you're taking requests currently but if you are then could you write a piece where Lando makes a video pranking the reader by hiding all of her tshirts/tops or any piece of garment and when she asks him where her clothes are gone he just acts innocent like he knows nothing This could lead onto to anything tbh, i wouldn't mind some 18 rated content after this and i wouldn't even mind it being warning less tysmmm and love your writings ✨✨❤️

A/N: I’m going to hell for this one, still learning how to write good smut, I think I’m getting there. Anyways this got away from me, and kinda changed the request, but I hope you like it

"Lando! Where is my favorite bra?" You yell loudly at your boyfriend. Lando rips his headphones off down the hall in his game room.

"What?" He yells back. He leans back in his chair and pauses the video game, and thankfully he wasn't streaming today.

"My bra? My favorite bra it's missing. Have you seen it?" You ask, voice getting closer until you appear before him, only wearing this eyelash lingerie bottom. It was black and baby pink with the cloth covering you see-through, and damn, he was delighted he wasn't streaming today.

"Baby, fuck, trying to kill me?" Lando asks, trying hard not to pull you into his lap, lay you on the desk, and eat you out until you forget your name.

"Lando, not now. I can't find my favorite bra; it goes with this set." You whine, annoyed you've lost yet another piece of clothing.

For the past two months, you have lost clothing here and there; it's started to get you, especially after losing this bra. You don't know what's been happening, maybe from all the traveling you do with Lando, you've lost clothing, but you never let this bra out of your sight, and this time it's the piece of clothing you lose.

"We just returned from Australia, and maybe you left it at the hotel? I can buy you a new one." He shrugs, trying not to stare at your chest.

"Lan, I was wearing it on the plane; you ripped it off me when we got home." You groan, pulling your hair and storming down the hallway to your shared bedroom.

Lando lets out his signature giggle and looks down at the left corner of his desk, the familiar baby pink poking out slightly. For the two months you've believed you have lost the articles of clothing, Lando was the one the entire time stealing them slowly. It started as a silly joke, but he couldn't help but keep doing it as the weeks passed. He's kept the clothes hidden throughout the apartment and shakes his head, glad he took this piece.

You stomp back into the bedroom and look around the room for the bra, even looking in Lando's drawers. You pull the clothing out and stop, seeing your favorite cami.

"Fucker." You whisper, everything clicking when you see other pieces of your clothing.

"Fine, you wanna fuck with me, alright then. Game on." You mumble and decide to change your outfit for girls' night.

Heading to the back of your closet, you pull out something you haven't worn since you started dating Lando. At first, you stopped wearing it out of respect for your relationship, but then you forgot you owned it until you started looking for your lost clothes.

It was this soft peach-colored halter drawstring bodycon mini dress that had a thin piece of cloth tied together to hide your breast and two strings on each side to hold the skirt closed on your hips, but it did leave a gap on your waist, showing everyone you didn't have underwear on. You grab these light nude ankle strappy heels for the shoes and do them up. Wearing them, you'd be slightly taller than your boyfriend, but tonight he wouldn't be with you, so it didn't matter. You do these light but sexy makeup look to go with the dress's color and throw your hair up the way you love when you go out.

"Lando, I'm leaving!" You yell down the hall, waiting for a reply, but you don't get one. Groaning in annoyance, you walk down the hall and see he's distracted by the video game.

Opening your mouth to get his attention, you stop thinking about how to punish him for the prank he's been pulling on you for two months. You tiptoe behind him before falling on your knees and sliding under the desk. Lando has no idea you are there and decides to click on his Twitch account and start to stream. You hear the familiar tune and stop for a second, thinking if you should do this and smirk. Payback is a bitch. You wait till he is utterly unaware before you trail your hand up his thigh, making him jump almost out of his chair.

"Fu-." He slaps a hand over his mouth to stop him from cussing, he wants to say something, but there is no way he can pull you out from under the desk without the video going utterly viral.

You put a finger to your lips, silencing him as he gently sits back down and makes up an excuse on how he felt something tickling his leg and spooked. Rolling your eyes, you ghost his leg before settling it in his lap; Lando turns bright red but says it's just hot in the room.

Palming him slowly, you smirk when you feel him twitch and grow hard under your hand. You always love how he reacts to your touch, even if it is simple and innocent, except this time, it isn't. Lando tries hard not to respond; he has to save face, but you're making it hard on him. When you're content with how stiff he's grown, you unzip his jeans, making him squirm as he shifts and pulls his pants and boxers down slightly. You watch as it lays in his lap and feel your own self growing wet.

This idea would backfire, but you knew what to do and how to stop it. Lando was big, not like, holy shit, he's enormously big, but enough to need to prep before taking him. You loved that about him. He never brags about what he's packing and keeps it to himself. So the first time you fooled around and felt it, you were taken aback, making him laugh at your confusion.

You swallow slightly, trying to relax your throat and lean forward, swiping your tongue from his balls to the tip of his cock. Lando's knees jerk upward and crash into the desk, and you have to cover your mouth to stop the giggles as he slams himself forward to the desk making sure no one can see a thing.

He keeps playing the game, trying hard not to shove his cock down your throat for how you act, but he lets you be in control, or else everyone would know what was happening right now. You make the motion again, except you suck his tip into your mouth and flatten your tongue, letting him feel your warmth. He reaches down and wraps his fingers behind your neck, urging you to take more of him, which you down, loving his weight in your throat.

Biting his lip to stop the pornographic moan about to leave his lips, he squeezes his eyes shut and takes a few deep breaths trying to reign in his control.

"Sorry guys, just not feeling too hot, but I'm okay. Trust me. I'm very much okay." His voice wobbles and about dies there when you start to bob your head.

You switch between swirling your tongue around his base as you bob your head and then pulling off and sucking on his tip. You know he's close when his twitches in your mouth and the vein underneath becomes visible.

"Alright, I've got to go, guys. Bye!" He yells and frantically turns everything off, and when you hear it power down, you pull off, making him moan loudly.

"Fucking Christ, sunshine, what the hell?" He yells, mixed between anger and wanting to cum.

You climb out from underneath as he turns into a stuttering mess at what you're wearing. Fixing your dress, you look down at your boyfriend.

"I've got to go; late meeting the girls." You smile innocently and peck his lips, walking down the hall.

You giggle, hearing his feet chase after you. "Wait, you can't leave just yet." He groans, and you turn around, acting confused.

"Why not?" You ask cocking your head to the side.

"I....I didn't finish." He blushes, making you almost crack, but you hold firm and sigh, standing up straight.

Turning the door handle, you smirk at him as he stares at you. "Welcome to the club." Slamming the door fast, you bolt for the elevator before he can follow you.

It was a low blow, but it wasn't true. Lando always made sure to finish you off and hated when you couldn't; of course, he understood that it took some time for people and came pretty easy for others. You laid in the middle and just prayed Lando could realize it was a joke. But, if it riled him up even more, it was perfect.

Getting to the bar took a little time, but you were able to plan even more. You found your friends, and drinks were already going around the table. Talking and drinking helped you get your mind off your boyfriend until your thoughts drifted back to Lando and how he felt in your mouth. Pathetic would be the word you'd use to describe your state.

Sliding off the stool, you go to the bathroom and go to the sink, freshening up and wiping away the alcohol on you. For the first time that night, you look at your phone and see multiple texts from Lando.

I hope for your benefit and ability to walk, you were joking earlier

Y/n, please let me know if you're okay

Fuck, I'm still stiff and I want nothing more than to bury myself inside you

When you get home, be prepared not to leave or walk for a while

If you need me to pick you up, say the word

Giggling at the back and forth between the sweet, protective boyfriend and the very horny 23-year-old, you decide to rile him up even more before texting him to come to get you.

Looking around the bathroom, you see no one as you walk into a stall and lock the door. You unlock your phone and spread your legs; hitting the record button, you give him a light tease of your fingers trailing up your thigh before disappearing under your dress. From the angle, all you could see was your hand up your clothing. Before pulling the skirt up, Lando would get a clear view of your pussy swallowing your fingers. Breathy moans leave your mouth as you move your fingers in and out, showing off how wet you are for him.

"Lando." You whine, speeding up your fingers and starting to speed them up, moans becoming louder and louder with each passing moment.

You hit the record button again, ending it as you pull your fingers out slowly, you weren't one to edge yourself, but it was only fair, with what you did to Lando, that you wait too.

Hitting send you to watch as it's delivered, and Lando opens the text immediately.

Come get me

That is all that is attached to the message, you don't get a reply from Lando, but you don't need one to know he'd be here before you walk out. Lando is always nearby when you drink, ensuring you're okay and safe. Your friends found it weird, but to you, it was his way of keeping you safe and protected from the creeps in the world.

You don't even say anything to your friends as you see Lando's car and him leaning against the car. You smile but stop short, seeing him wear an all-black outfit with the first few buttons undone and his curls curling. He was playing dirty too.

"Let's go home." Grabbing your hand, he pulls you into him, making you breathless as he kisses you deeply. His hands landed on your ass and squeezed it before landing a playful slap on it, making you moan in his mouth.

"Mhm." Your eyes are closed as he opens your door and helps you in; he comes over to the driver's side and starts the car driving back to his place.

You both sit silently before you look at him and poke more fun.

"A guy asked for my number at the bar before I sent the video." You sigh, and out of the corner of your eye, you see his hand tighten on the wheel.

"Really? Was it me or him that made you do that in the bathroom?" His voice was calm and collected but very close to snapping.

"Him, a gorgeous millionaire, was thinking of getting on my knees for him too." You giggle, and Lando shakes his head, pulling into the parking garage.

"Come on, let's go upstairs." He smiles, kissing your hand and jogging to the other side to help you out of the car.

Walking to the elevator, Lando pulls you close to him by the hip and waits for the elevator to take you upstairs. You notice he's using the hidden elevator that puts you in his penthouse instead of walking the hallway. Stepping into the elevator, he slams you against the wall, making you whine as his hand holds your throat, not tight but enough to make you squirm.

"Sunshine, you better tread lightly. First, you blow me, but I'm not able to finish in that gorgeous mouth of yours, then you wear this slutty dress that makes me want to bury my balls in you, and lastly, that video. You've been bad." He groans, his free hand playing with the loose string holding the front of your dress together.

"M' sorry." You whine, bucking your hips up to get some friction, but Lando pins you to the wall holding you still with his own body.

"No, you're not, gorgeous." He whispers, kissing your neck before biting and sucking a mark into your skin, showing off how you're his.

His hand grazes the string before pulling it, your tits falling out as Lando moans cupping one of them, loving how soft they were.

"Don't take your time. Just fuck me like I'm your whore." You whimper, still dry-humping Lando.

He chuckles, and you hear the jingle of his belt as he leans down, sucking your tit into his mouth. The elevator door opens as you both stumble over each other before he bends you over the couch.

"You want to tease and make me jealous, and then I will do that. Who do you belong to?" He asks, taking the tip of his cock and rubbing it over your wet folds, trying hard not to come from the way you moved your hips, trying to get him in you.

"Fuck me, Lando, please." You whine, but it becomes a scream when Lando enters you in one fluid movement.

He usually gives you time to adjust slowly as he slides in you, but tonight he was different. The thought of anyone catching you in the bathroom and while he was streaming, he was furious at other men seeing you that way.

"Are you okay?" He asks, bending over your back; the pressure of his weight on you makes you lustful.

"Yes, I'm okay." Smiling at how he was still thinking of your comfort, he never wants to hurt you, but that kindness is replaced with the burning jealousy of your boyfriend.

"Fuck, how are you still tight when you like to act like a whore." He groans, ramming his hips into your ass as you moan as he hits each nerve perfectly.

"Jesus Lando!" You cry as he wraps a hand around your neck, pulling you up so his chest and back are flushed as he spreads your legs farther apart.

His head rests between your shoulder and neck as he sucks and bites more marks into your neck, marking his territory. He stops, making you gasp, finally catching some air before he pulls out of you, lays you on the couch, and steps between your legs. He arches his body over you and lifts your legs to lay them on his shoulders. Lando leans down and kisses you gently before sliding into you, making you whimper at how he fills you up.

"Lando, please, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have; please just let me come," You cry, unable to handle it anymore as his thumb rubs your swollen clit as he moves in and out, carefully dragging it out.

But you knew he was close too, he had this look of concentration on his face making you laugh out loud, and his eyes snapped to yours at your laughter.

"What are you laughing at?" He asks and slams into you, making your laughter turn to a breathy moan.

"You want to come too? You have this look like you're trying not to come." You tease, and Lando loses his serious face and smiles, biting his lip.

"Shut up; I can't help it. I could come to just at your smile. I can't help it. You left me with blue balls." Kissing you gently as you both moan when you squeeze around him.

"Damn." He mumbles as he starts to speed up, leaving you both breathless as he takes your other tit into his mouth, sucking and kissing as your fingers dig into his hair, loving the way his necklace dangles between the two of you as his thumb rubs harder, making your muscle tighten.

"Co-coming!" You cry as you fall apart underneath him, and Lando still as his orgasm crashes into him. Both of you left your mouths open, gasping for air.

"I love you." He whispers as your fingers hook his necklace and pull him in for a kiss.

"I love you too; also, stop stealing my clothes. If you want me naked, you could smile at me." Making him laugh as he pulls out of you and picks you up like nothing.

"Alright then, new rule. No clothes." Laughing as you roll your eyes, kissing his cheek.

"Deal." Making Lando smile at you, you weren't kidding, and his smile was pantie-drop-worthy.

2K notes · View notes

bvtbxtch · 11 months

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Angry Heart | Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader (Part 1: Prom Night)

Series Summary: Your best friend Chrissy Cunningham always got everything she ever wanted, even you new friend and crush Eddie Munson. When Chrissy does the unthinkable, Eddie is left to pick up the pieces alone... or is he?

Chapter Summary: You have finally started to find your own groove after accepting that Eddie and Chrissy were an item, and ultimately more into each other than you. But why do you still feel such a strong connection to Eddie? Why are you secretly wishing for their downfall? Everything comes to a head during your final high school play and the prom where a new friend makes Eddie rethink everything.

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Chrissy Cunningham, Eddie Munson x Reader (eventually), reader and Chrissy are friends but have a fallout. Minimal usage of Y/N

Series warnings: MDNI 18 +, Smut, fluff and angst (everything all rolled into one beautiful shit show), mentions of drugs and alcohol being consumed, overall adult language and theme. By clicking the read more, you agree that you are over 18! Ageless and minor blogs who interact will be blocked.

Word Count: 9k (I got excited)

A/N: Holy hell! I never thought that this series would get so much love just from the prologue. I thought this was going to take me the next week or so to write, but I whipped this puppy out in 2 days. Thank you thank you thank you for all of the support. Again, your feedback, reblogs and replies are so appreciated!

Prologue

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

April 1986

Falling in love with Eddie Munson was easy. He made it so incredibly simple. The spring production rehearsals were in full swing and you got the lead role. It meant long hours in the theatre with your favorite metalhead, sharing snacks, laughing at inside jokes and telling deep dark secrets. You had started to spend equal amounts of time at the Hellfire table, making quick friends with Jeff and Gareth, you grew to love and protect the freshmen as your own as well. Even though you had no interest in playing DnD with them, Eddie always invited you to sit in on their campaigns. Chrissy and the other jocks started to distance themselves from you on the days you would decide to sit with them, but it started to bother you less as you made more meaningful connections with people who liked you for you. The last 5 months caught you off guard. Things seemed like they were normal, better than normal even; until you went home alone after school and remembered that Eddie had someone else keeping his bed warm. Chrissy was there. Your best friend stealing your other best friend away from you and nobody knew.

Things between you and Chrissy were tense only on one end. The blonde always greeted you in the hallway and passed you notes in class, blissfully unaware of the heartache her new romance had caused you. But when you were in a group, she seemed to unconsciously take value to others in the group. Eddie and Chrissy had started their relationship in private, and you were their sworn protector. Even when you didn’t necessarily want them, you got all the gory details of how Chrissy let Eddie feel her up for the first time, or how Eddie is a lot more well endowed than many had previously thought. It killed you on the inside, but throwing yourself into the spring show gave you a healthy distraction. Cheer kept you just close enough to Chrissy to keep up the feeling that things were not falling apart between the two of you, but you could focus on what you needed to do on the field. It felt good to put effort into new friends and reignite passions, even though the love the two of your best friends shared would always take up a small residence in the back of your mind.

It was three weeks until prom. You were seriously considering not going, but you knew you would regret not going, so you decided that you would make an appearance, likely not a sober one, but you would show up. You waltzed past the posters in the cafeteria, and the ballot box being guarded by the student council, stationed around it like soldiers. You knew who would be winning each crown, there wasn’t even a point in voting for anyone else. You would be there to cheer Chrissy on for the third year in a row of winnings. Like clockwork, she would accept her crown, dance with whatever meathead got crowned king, and then help her fix her mascara that ran from her happy and “surprised” tears. You rolled your eyes thinking about it; but you were snapped out of your trance when you heard the blonde call your name. You reluctantly wave to her and the other ponytails looking expectantly at you and you start to cross the cafeteria. You are interrupted by a mop of light brown hair and a gleaming smile.

“Hey! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Gareth greets. You instantly relax as your new friend puts his arm over your shoulder and leads you to the Hellfire table. You look over Gareth’s shoulder to see the cheer table staring daggers at you. Chrissy looks disappointed, and the rest of the table looks mildly disgusted. Chrissy understood why you would hang out with the freaks but she still didn’t necessarily approve. Your image was important to her as you continued to be associated with her. You look at Chrissy apologetically, but happily turn and walk with Gareth.

“It’s good to see you, Gareth” you smile up at him.

“How are rehearsals going? You getting excited for the big show?” He remembered, and he seemed genuinely interested.

“Yeah I guess so! I’m sort of ready for it to be over so we can push through exams and get out of here.”

You slide out your usual chair at the hellfire table, across from Gareth and beside Eddie at the head of the table.

“I thought you were eating with Chrissy today?” Eddie questions.

“Good to see you too, Ed…” you mumble.

“No, it’s just… I wanted you to see if anyone had asked her to prom yet” Eddie leaned over and whispered to you.

Gareth rolled his eyes. Eddie had recently let him in on his secret relationship with Chrissy, since he was missing or late to more and more hellfire meetings and had been mentally absent during their band practices. He needed someone else within the group to be able to cover for him when you couldn’t, and Eddie trusted Gareth with his life.

“Why the hell wouldn’t she be going with you?” you snorted. You knew that Eddie and Chrissy weren’t necessarily public, but you would never think that she would brush him off like that.

“I don’t know… because I’m well… me” Eddie looked to the ground. You grabbed his hand and he instantly turned red. Your skin burned when you touched him. It felt like it had been so long since you had any physical contact which made you feel empty. Eddie was always one to give you a hug, or hold your hand or pick you up and carry you down to the theatre when you were running late. He was a tactile person and it took you until now to realize how much you really missed the way things were.

“Eddie Munson you listen to me, anyone would be lucky to go to prom with you” You turned pink as you reassured him. Gareth noticed and tried to hide his smirk underneath his hands. You kicked him under the table. You wish you were the lucky person that he would take, but you know that he would soon rather die than be seen with anyone else but Chrissy.

“ I don’t know” Eddie questions as he shyly pulls his hand away from yours. Both of you felt cold after the loss of contact. “I just really like her and I really want her to be with me, you know, not in secret… sometimes I think she’s ashamed of me.”

“Well, that’s her problem then, isn’t it?” Gareth snaps. He was so tired of watching Eddie stomp all over your heart when he knew that Chrissy was going to do the same to him eventually.

Both yours and Eddie's heads snapped to look at him. He was never one to question anything from Eddie, but he looked bothered. He stood up and left the table without a word.

“What’s up with him?” You chide. Eddie shrugs and picks at his pretzels.

“Hey, I was wondering if you could give Chrissy a note for me? I think I’m gonna ask her to go to prom with me today.”

“Ed, shouldn’t you just go up and talk to her? She’s your girlfriend for fucks sake.” You were getting sick of being put in the middle. Neither of them understood how much their romance crushed you.

“Whatever, I thought you would wanna help me, seeing as you’re my best friend and all, but I’ll just humiliate myself then”. He shoved his chair backwards and with a huff, he stormed out of the cafeteria. Eddie was always one for theatrics. Usually it was entertaining, but this felt more like a toddler’s temper tantrum. You rolled your eyes and flipped him off as he left.

Eddie’s departure caught the eye of Chrissy. She looked at you quizzically and you gestured for her to follow him and rolled your eyes. She discreetly got up and trotted out the exit Eddie had just used. The back exit opened up to the field outside. You could see Eddie’s figure heading out to the bleachers - the place where you often went to to get out of O'Donnell's class, or smoke after a particularly stressful rehearsal. But it wasn’t sacred to you two anymore. It was their spot now. You could see Chrissy’s figure following behind him. You took the rest of Eddie’s pretzels and ate them with a huff.

The final night of the play was here. Your last hurrah as the lead and the last show you may ever be a part of. Hawkins for sure does not have a thriving theatre community, so who knows what other opportunities you might have. You didn’t want this to be the last time though, it made your heart hurt and you wished this night would never end. You had spent your time before curtain warming up with Eddie. He could tell you were nervous.

“Sweetheart, I am telling you, you have nothing - and I mean nothing to worry about. You have been crushing this whole show run. All you have to do is go on stage and do your thing! And if anything bad happens, I tell the booth to blackout and I cut your mic!” he giggles. You didn’t find it as funny. You paced back and forth across the small stage, arms shaking and your breath hitching. None of your friends had been there to see your performance yet. You weren’t expecting many people, at least Chrissy, but she hadn’t said a word about your show or if she was coming. You pacing was driving Eddie wild. He hated seeing you so bothered.

“Y/N just relax” Eddie grabbed you by your shoulders and your whole body went stiff. Your breath caught in your chest and your heart sank to the floor. You could feel his breath on your face; you hadn’t been this close in a long time. Without being able to help yourself, your eyes flicker from his to his lips. All you would have to do is lean up and your mouth could be on his. His gaze lowered to your lips as well. You wanted to give in so badly, you wanted to kiss him, to feel like his again - but you couldn’t do that to your friend. You broke his contact and took a step back. Eddie cleared his throat and looked at you expectantly.

“Did Chris say when she was coming to the show?” You ask, clearing your throat in an attempt to clear the thick, tense air. Eddie’s gaze went from soft and longing to hardened. Eddie looked to the floor and shifted his weight.

“I-uh I don’t know… I haven’t talked to her in the past couple of days.” Your eyes doubled in size.

“What do you mean? What happened that day after lunch?”

“I don’t want to talk about it” Eddie turned to stalk back behind the wings of the stage. You pulled his arm back and turned him towards you.

“Eddie, please. What happened?”

“She said she didn’t want to go to prom with me, okay? Are you happy now? Is that what you fucking wanted to hear?” His voice boomed through your skull. His eyes were glassed over, dangerously close to spilling tears, like yours have already started to do. He had never talked to you like that.

“Wha-what do you mean?”

“Oh don’t be so naive. You’re fucking happy that Chrissy doesn’t want to be seen with me. This is what you wanted the whole time, right?

“What the fuck are you talking about?” you whisper to him, tears free flowing. “Why the fuck are you coming at me now when you just wanted to kiss me? I know you felt that too and you can’t deny that to me” You yell at him with a shove. You were shaking. You wanted to pour your heart out to him now, tell him how angry you were and admit that maybe you were happy that things weren’t picture perfect for them. But it wasn’t worth it now.

“You know what, Eddie? You both deserve each other. Have a great show” you turn away from him, panting. You felt like you were going to fall to the ground because your legs felt like jello. Eddie grabbed you by the shoulders. You both looked into each other's eyes, glassy with emotion. For the first time in what seems like forever, you could not tell what Eddie was thinking. His eyes clouded with conflict, with anger, but with something else you couldn’t quite decipher. His lips quivered and his cheeks were flushed.

You felt like your head was going to explode. What was going on? You felt like all of your weight, your body and soul were all dependent on Eddie holding you up. In one swift movement he pulled you in and his lips were on yours. Your whole body tensed, your eyes remained on his face. It was so wrong. This wasn’t supposed to happen like this. But as much as your mind was screaming at you, his lips felt perfect on yours, like they were made to be there. Your heart was on fire and you felt like you might crumble into tiny pieces. But this is not how it was supposed to be.

You pull away and look at him. His eyes were beautiful. The glow of his chocolate irises were back. He looked at you like you were his world, but he looked guilty.

You slapped him across the cheek. You turned around and you paced back to the dressing room, leaving Eddie there with a burning cheek and a hole in his own heart. He walked backstage.

“Fuck!” He yelled and punched the cinderblock wall, making his knuckles bleed. He trudged back up to the booth to prepare for the show, the feel of your lips on his lingered on his like a tattoo.

You took your final bows with heavy applause. Your heart felt warm and finally you felt like things were falling into place for you. The stage is where you belonged and where you felt the most like yourself. You had almost forgotten that you were standing in the very spot where Eddie Munson kissed you for the first time three hours prior. He shouldn’t have done that. You shook the memory out of your head. He didn’t matter right now, this was your time. You gestured up to the booth for their applause and there your gaze met Eddie’s. He was beaming, both dimples showing from the sides of his cheeks. For a moment, you saw your proud best friend. You saw the boy you made friends with in seventh grade art class and you saw the boy that came and knocked on your door to see if you wanted to go to the arcade with him. You beamed back at him, in hopes that he felt those same feelings as well. You eyes cast down to the audience and you searched for the other face you were so wishing to see. Chrissy was nowhere to be found. Instead, you saw another mop of shorter dusty brown curls and four other hellfire shirts to accompany him. Gareth whooped when you took your final bow. Your heart soared. You finally found your moment.

The Hellfire club waited for you in the hallway outside of the auditorium. Jeff and Gareth each wielding bouquets of flowers to give you. The freshmen were buzzing about the performance. You ran to them and embraced them in a big group hug. You thought your face was going to break from how wide you were smiling.

“Holy crap, Y/N! You were amazing!” Mike gushed.

“That actually made me regret not going to more plays here” Gareth laughed and handed you the bouquet in his hands.

“Thanks guys. I am so happy you’re here” You were so relieved to be telling the truth from the bottom of your heart. It seemed like forever since you could be totally honest with yourself.

“Dude, we wouldn’t have missed it” Jeff offered his bouquet to him and you gave both older boys kisses on the cheek.

“Did I ever tell you guys that you’re the best?” You exclaimed, while you brought them in for another group hug.

“I’m just gonna run and grab my things from the dressing room and then we should go grab something to eat! I am starved!” You turned and trotted towards the stage door.

“Hey, Y/N wait!” Gareth ran up to your side

“What’s up?” Gareth shifted his weight and looked to the floor.

“I want you to know that we - I think you’re great.”

“Thanks, Gareth” you wrapped your hand around his wrist and gave it a squeeze.

“You deserve better than you’re getting, sweetheart.” Your smile faltered.

“What do you-”

“You know what I mean, Y/N…” Gareth implored. You nod.

“I know that I am not your first choice, but I was wondering if you wanted to go to prom together? I promise I am not in like love with you or anything, and I want to go with you as a friend, but I don’t want to see you go alone, or worse go with friends you don’t like or don’t show up at all because I think you could win pro-” You cut Gareth off by giving him a tight hug and when you pull away you give him a kiss to his cheek. Your eyes wet with gratitude.

“Gareth, I would love to go to prom with you” Gareth lets a long breath out and laughs.

“Okay, great. That’s really great… cool” You squeezed his shoulder and turned towards the door again.

“I’m gonna go grab my stuff and then we can talk more about plans over some food” You offered.

“Okay cool! Awesome! And Y/N? We’re all really proud of you. You shone out there.”

Gareth retreats back to the group to wait for you. Eddie had now joined the group, his face looked hardened. Why did you just give Gareth a kiss on the cheek? He knew, like him, that you were a tactile person. You showed your appreciation in physical ways, but he had never seen you be so close to Gareth. It bothered him more that it should. “What was that about?” Eddie interrogated.

“Nothing man, I was just congratulating her.”

“Did she say anything about me?” Eddie pressed.

“...No? Why would she?” The rest of the group snickered at Gareth’s remarks. Eddie turned away. Not only was his mind racing, desperate to talk to you, but now he was embarrassed in front of his own group of friends. He couldn’t take being in the same room with you right now. He needed time to think.

“Alright, I’m going then.” Eddie stalked off to the double doors.

“Wait! You aren’t going to come out to celebratory dinner with us?” Dustin whined.

“Not this time. I got shit to take care of” Eddie retorted.

“Probably another hot secret date” Jeff poked at Gareth and they both laughed.

Eddie grumbled as he turned and opened the door to the parking lot, a cigarette already out of his pocket and in his mouth. He needed to find Chrissy.

It was 11:36pm. Chrissy had gotten home just an hour ago from an outing with Tiffany and Sarah. Her stomach was in knots, she was afraid her reputation was slipping. They had both made a comment about you sitting with the Hellfire club recently and she instantly went into defensive mode. She couldn’t handle them talking shit about you, her best friend and her boyfriend. The girls grilled Chrissy about why she had been being so nice towards the Hellfire seniors and started to put two and two together.

“Oh my god, did that Freak Munson put a spell on you or something when you went for that deal?” Sarah sneered.

“Holy shit! That would make sense as to why Y/N is spending so much time with him too. I heard she sucked his soul out of his-”

“Okay enough!” Chrissy boomed. She could feel her chest caving in. She hated hearing people talk about you that way, but she hated the idea of you and Eddie being together even more.

“He was really sweet and friendly to me when I went over to his trailer. He seems like a really nice guy. And Y/N is one of us, she wouldn’t do that with him.” Tiffany and Sarah sat with their mouths ajar, unwilling to believe that Chrissy would ever talk back to them like that.

“Oookay, Chris. Didn’t know you were like, in love with him” Tiffany teased.

“Ugh, as if. Let’s just drop it…” Chrissy mumbled.

She couldn’t sacrifice her already jeopardized reputation by being seen in the auditorium, where both you and Eddie would be. She wouldn’t be able to help herself around him. Her feelings towards the metalhead, although still conflicted, were growing stronger. She didn’t know how much longer she could hold out in keeping this a secret if she was going to actively be seen in public with him.

She had plopped onto her perfectly made bed with a new Danielle Steele novel when she heard a knock at her window. She looked up and her face contorted into the most beautiful look of surprise to see her favorite curly haired metalhead at the window. He looked like he lost his lucky DnD dice. She opened the window quickly and stood out of the way to let him stumble into her room.

“Eddie? What’s wrong, darling?”

“Are your parents home?” he grabbed her waist and began to back her into her wall.

“Ummm no, they’re out” Chrissy breathed. Eddie pressed his lips to her neck, moved his right hand up her torso as his left hand flicked the lock on her door.

You had tried to call Chrissy a few times after you had returned from the diner with the hellfire club. You were hurt and wanted to know where she had been. But most importantly, you wanted to tell her what happened between you and Eddie. Although you also felt your friendship slipping, this was something you couldn’t keep from her. You had showered your show hair and makeup off and had gotten yourself into comfortable pjs. The flowers the boys had got you sat neatly in a vase on your nightstand; they made you smile every time you looked at them. You had just closed your eyes and surrendered to sleep when your phone rang. You answered and you heard the cheery voice that you had been waiting for.

“Hey babe! How was the show?” So she did remember, but just decided not to show up.

“It was great Chris, but it would have been a lot better if you were actually there.” You tried not to sound angry, because in the long run, you really wanted her there. She hurt you more than made you mad.

“Yeah, I’m really sorry, I had this thing that I couldn’t get out of with Tiffany and Sarah. I’m sorry, you know I’ll be at the next one” She offered.

“What if that was the last one, Chris? You know what, I would rather not do this over the phone… Can I come over?”

“Oh.” Her voice dropped. “Yeah, Okay.”

“I’ll be there in 10.”

You knock on Chrissy’s door. Unlike her previous visitor, you knew you were always welcome at her house. She was quick to open the door. She looked perplexed, worried even. It wasn’t often that you saw her being anything but her shiny happy self. You knew something was very wrong. She knew too.

“Hi.” You offer

“Hi… come in” she opens the door wider to let you into her foyer. She holds her cardigan tight to her chest. You follow her up her stairs and into her bedroom. It felt so familiar but there was a tension that made this feel foreign. You sat yourself on the end of her bed while she perched herself on her vanity stool. Even though you were facing each other, you found it hard to make eye contact with each other.

“I need to tell you someth-”

“I feel like we need to-”

You both started talking at the same time and with an awkward chuckle, you stopped talking so she could speak.

“Eddie came over after the play” Chrissy whispered. You clenched your jaw.

“Oh, I couldn’t tell from the numerous hickies on your neck, Chris.” you poked. She wrapped her cardigan around her small frame tighter and kept her stoic expression.

“Eddie told me that you kissed him at the theatre” she said, her tone hard. You shook your head in disbelief.

“Is that what he really told you?” You pressed. She nodded her head, not being able to make eye contact with you.

“Huh. So what if I told you that he kissed me? That we had a fight over the fact that you won’t be seen in public with him? That he accused me of being happy that my two best friends in the whole fucking world were destroying each other, all while they pretend that I don’t exist anymore and just keep shitting on each others’ feelings, leaving me in the middle of this whole mess?” you started to raise your voice. You couldn’t believe that Eddie would ever lie about what happened, and you really couldn’t believe that Chrissy would believe him.

“That sounds like a real easy way to shift the blame, Y/N. You kissed my boyfriend” Chrissy snaps, tears threatening to spill.

“Bullshit, Chrissy! He kissed me! And I still don’t fucking know why! He kissed me, I pulled away, I slapped him in his stupid fucking face and I left.” You screamed. Your tears flowing freely. This had been the single most confusing night of your life. You thought that the two people you loved the most couldn’t betray you more than they already had.

“Well, that’s not the story that Eddie told me” She whispered.

“Yeah… it seems like Eddie told you that story all over your body, Chrissy” she gasped and lunged for her bedroom door. Your face twisted in disgust. He used you because he was mad at Chrissy, and the he used her to lessen the blow.

“Get out.” She sobbed.

“You tell me to leave right now, you are telling me that you believe Eddie’s word over mine - fuck, not even Eddie’s, a stupid fucking boy over my word. Me. Your best friend. The one who has been there for you since forever.” The air was thick. Both of your eyes were red and chests heaving.

“I do. I believe him.” Chrissy gasped.

You cackled as you stood up. You huffed out of her room and bound down her stairs. You opened and slammed her front door shut and climbed into your car. You sped out of her driveway and rounded the corner. When you got out of eyeshot from her house, you turned off your car, slammed your hands on your steering wheel and screamed at the top of your lungs.

You wanted to go see Eddie. You wanted him to tell you that it would all be okay. You wanted him to wipe your tears away and you wanted him to hold you with the same passion he did at the theatre. You wanted him to kiss you and tell you that you were right and she was wrong; but you also knew that she would be calling him right now and she would be getting the comfort you so desperately needed. You turned your ignition and started back to your house.

The next weeks of school seemed to bleed together. You felt numb. You had no play, no Chrissy and no Eddie. Every other day, Gareth would meet you in the library to eat lunch with you. You were so thankful for his friendship. You didn’t have the heart to tell him what happened with Eddie and Chrissy; knowing that it would cause yet another rift within their tight group. He also thought that it was best to keep the fact that the two of you were going to prom together between the two of you to prevent the same thing; But, he knew that Chrissy had pushed you to the side. You had secretly thought that she was waiting for a reason to ditch you as a friend, seeing as you weren’t what Chrissy envisioned as a perfect person to put on her social resume. You knew that the cheer girls were starting to treat her differently because you were friends and you didn’t subscribe to the jock way of life. Gareth was there to listen through it all, and although your heart was broken, it was comforting to know that you still had a friend that was willing to help you put the pieces back together. You were grateful that one of the biggest nights of the year was going to be spent with him.

May 1986

Your preparations had begun as prom week came. You took Gareth shopping for a new shirt and tie.

“Are you sure I don’t need like, a tux or something?” he questioned.

“Do either of us look like we are fancy or rich enough to be tux people?” you joked.

“Fair enough.”

“You are going to look awesome in whatever we find!” you praised. Gareth beamed back at you.

You walked through starcourt mall arm in arm. The sting from the past couple of weeks had become a dull ache and you started to appreciate the little things again. You had been bold enough to take your seat at the hellfire table last Friday and although Eddie looked at you quizzically, he didn’t say anything. It seemed like there was a silent agreement between the two of you, that you were both going to put what happened at the show behind you. As much as you both wanted to though, neither of you could forget. You both remembered each time you looked into each other’s eyes. Your conversations had begun to pick up again, they were surface level and short, but you were happy for the small sense of normalcy. You wondered if Chrissy did tell Eddie about the conversation the two of you had. But in your growth you decided that you didn’t need to know that, and worrying over it was just going to cause you more stress than it was worth.

As you and Gareth passed through the food court, a pair of chocolatey brown eyes fixed on your figure. Eddie had posted up at the mall with Steve Harrington, the former King of Hawkins High and adult friend to many of the Hellfire freshmen.

“Dude, you gotta relax.” Steve warned. Eddie’s jaw had instantly tightened and his body had stiffened when he had seen you and Gareth walking through the mall. Why the hell were you out with him?

“Why is she here with him? Why is she holding him like that?” Eddie sneered.

“Is… Is Eddie Munson Jealous? I thought you were boning the hottest girl in school?”

“Yeah boning. But we’re also dating and she doesn’t want anyone to know that”

“Shit, dude” Steve gulped.

“Yeah… Shit.” Eddie wished he had natural charm like Steve. Maybe it would make it easier for Chrissy to like him. He hated that he was questioning his whole person because of a stupid girl. But he really thought that he liked her. But how could she like him if she didn’t even want to be seen in public with him. Eddie ran his fingers through his hair, frustrated, overwhelmed and wanting to burn starcourt mall down if it meant that you wouldn’t be here with Gareth anymore.

You found Gareth a satin button up shirt and he stole a lavender bowtie that matched the color of your dress. You were finally laughing and joking faintly like you used to. It made Gareth’s heart soar. He cared greatly for you, but knew that your heart belonged to Eddie. It never stopped belonging to him, even if you told him repeatedly that you didn’t have feelings for the Hellfire leader. Even though he was hoping you weren’t going home with him on prom night, Gareth was more than happy to be taking you.

Tonight was the night. Eddie was sure that everyone in his graduating class was stirring with anticipation and excitement for what was going to be the best night of their lives. Eddie wasn’t as optimistic. He had put on his best black jeans (the ones with no holes in them) and was sitting on his bed, lazily strumming his guitar with a lit joint hanging out of his mouth while he waited for his wet curls to come to life. He didn’t want to go anymore. Chrissy had ensured the fact that she was going with Jason Carver meant nothing but keeping up appearances and that she would save a dance with him once she was crowned prom queen. Eddie felt like a charity case and had been feeling so increasingly often lately, Chrissy only daring to talk to him through notes left in his locker, or going to their hiding spot during their class breaks. Eddie was sure that he wanted to be in love with her. But when he kissed Chrissy, it didn’t feel like it did when he kissed you. He was so confused. Your relationship was finally amicable again, and he had the girl that he had been chasing after for years. But he was scared to see you tonight because he was worried he was going to mess everything up. He could be in love with Chrissy, but it seemed like Chrissy might not love him back. But maybe you did. Eddie let out a loud groan and flopped back onto his bed. He finished his joint and put on his burgundy dress shirt and put his arms through his vest. He put on his freshly polished rings and toed on his reeboks. He reluctantly started his van and began his drive to Hawkins High.

Gareth picked you up at 7 o’clock sharp. You answered the door with a bright smile and his face lit up the dusk behind him.

“Wow, girl. You look amazing!” Gareth looked you up and down. Your lavender sleeves landed just off of your shoulders, highlighting the pearls that rested on your collar bone. Your tiered skirt flowed and shimmered beautifully with the light.

“Says you! I told you you didn’t need to get a tux!” you slap him on the shoulder. To your surprise Gareth had showed up in a full tuxedo, sporting the shirt and tie the two of you had picked out.

“Yeah I know but my mom was so excited that I was going that she went out and bought me one anyway” You both laughed as you turned to take your polaroid camera off of the entryway table.

“Let's take a picture to commemorate the occasion” you tease. The two of you place your cheeks together and smile for the camera. The light flashes and you both giggle. You were so excited to be spending an evening with your friend.

“Jeff gonna meet us there?”

“One step ahead of you!” You heard from Gareth’s truck. Jeff stuck his head out of the back and gave you a huge smile and a wave. You laughed as you closed the door behind the two of you. Tonight was going to be a good night.

Chrissy had stationed herself at Tiffany’s directly after school to prepare for what was going to be the best night of her life. Sarah had snuck a bottle of champagne from her mother’s wine cellar and by 6pm, Chrissy could feel her own pulse in her head. She felt beautiful, she looked beautiful, but even her baby pink slip dress could not hide the insecurity on her face. The stakes were high and all she wanted was everything to go the way she wanted. Her glossed lips sank another flute of champagne while they waited for Jason and his posse to show up in the limo.

When you arrived, the Hawkins gym was decorated with tinsel and adorned with snack and drink tables on the opposite side of the stage. Your stomach fluttered at the excitement of being at your senior prom with some of the people you loved the most. You grab some punch and you Gareth and Jeff sit. Your head was on a swivel looking for a beautiful blonde, or a mop of brown curls, but to no avail. You took a big sigh and shook out your hands. Tonight was going to be a good night, you repeated to yourself. No one was going to ruin this for you.

“Wanna dance?” Gareth held his hand out to you. You gladly grabbed it and let him sweep you out to the dancefloor. He spun you and you laughed. Any thoughts of anyone else dissipated as you laughed and danced with your best friend.

Chrissy entered the gym in awe, teetering on her pumps, and brain fuzzy from the champagne. It was her night for a win and she knew that. She walked arm in arm with Jason, a smile plastered wide and eyes full of expectation. Her eyes faltered when she saw you smiling and laughing with your date, she didn’t remember his name. She longed to give you a hug and apologize. She wanted to dance and laugh with you, but she knew that now wasn’t the time. She needed to focus. Tonight was her night.

Eddie trudged into the gym, head already aching from the synth pop being played out of the large speakers. He grabbed a small flask out of his back pocket and took a swig. He sauntered over to the punch bowl and grabbed a cup, eyes scanning for two women. He found neither. Who he did find was his hellfire clubmates sitting at a table on the outskirts of the gym. Eddie tramps to them.

“Who let the freshmen in here?”

“Your guess is as good as mine” Jeff offers as he shakes Eddie’s hand “Looking good Ed. I didn’t know you even knew what a dress shirt was”

“Ha ha… I feel like shit. How long do we have to be here for?” Eddie whines

“Dude no one is making you stay! So have some fun with your friends would you?” Dustin scolds. Eddie scowls as he sinks into a chair at the round table. He immediately senses your absence. He looks around inquisitively.

“Where’s Y/N?” He asks. Jeff nods towards you on the dancefloor and Eddie’s heart stops. You looked absolutely radiant. He felt his hands get clammy and his chest got tight. You looked so happy and carefree. He missed seeing you like this, his girl the way he remembers you the best. He smiles to himself when he hears you laugh.

“Gareth, stop spinning me, I'm gonna throw up!”

His smile faded. Gareth? You were here with Gareth? He saw the mop head holding your hands and laughing with you. Suddenly, Eddie felt sick to his stomach. He could feel his pulse in his ears and he saw red. Jeff saw Eddie’s gaze harden.

“Eddie, don’t.” Jeff warns. “She’s having a really good time.”

Eddie didn’t respond. He took the flask out of his pocket and took a long swig. As he put it away, he stood up, vision locked on your dancing figures. Jeff sighed and put his head in his hands. Dustin and Mike looked at him confused. Jeff shook his head at them, implying that they didn’t want to know.

Eddie sauntered up to Gareth and grabbed his shoulder. Your smile faded as Gareth turned around to face Eddie.

“Hey, can we talk?” Eddie seethed through gritted teeth. Gareth looked at you apologetically.

“I’ll be right back okay?” He squeezed your hand and let Eddie guide him out of the gym. You were left in the middle of the dancefloor, too stunned to move or say anything. Dustin came to your side and asked if you wanted to sit back down with the club. You nodded, dazed, but followed after the two boys into the hallway instead.

Eddie pushed Gareth into the hallway and grabbed onto his lapels. You ducked around the corner so you were within earshot and close enough to help Gareth if he needed it.

“What the fuck are you doing Gareth?”

“What are you talking about, Munson?” Gareth pushed Eddie off and he began to smooth out his jacket.

“Why are you here with her?”

“What, like you were going to ask her to go with you?” Gareth challenged. Eddie looked at him dumbfounded. “Look, Eddie. If you really cared about her, you would let her have a good time tonight. You’re too busy with Chrissy lately anyway so I don’t know why this is suddenly such a big deal…”

Eddie clenched his fists and stalked towards Gareth. You covered your mouth to prevent the two from hearing your gasp.

“That’s my girl… you’re here with my-”

“Oh shut the hell up, Munson! She’s not your girl! Your girl is here with Jason fucking Carver. The guy that has been tormenting us for fucking years! Get your head out of your ass and stop playing with Y/N. She isn’t yours.” Gareth yelled. Eddie wracked out a sob and turned away from his friend. Gareth’s stomach sank and he watched his friend unravel in the hallway.

“I didn’t ask her here romantically, Eddie.” Gareth offered. “I care about her a lot, but I know that she doesn’t like me. I know exactly who she wants to be here with.” Gareth bores into Eddie, only hoping that their conversation will knock some sense into him. You slip back into the gym and sit with the hellfire club, mind racing thinking about what you just heard.

“If you’ll excuse me, I am going to continue to keep having fun with my friend.” Gareth stepped closer to Eddie and clapped him on the shoulder. “Get your shit together, Munson, and then try and enjoy yourself for once.” With that, Eddie was left alone in the hallway. He pulled at the roots of his hair, and let a string of profanities leave his mouth. It was better than punching a wall like last time.

Gareth returned to the gym and sat next to you with a smile, reassuring you everything was fine. Gareth whispered in your ear, telling you he wasn’t going to let anyone ruin this night for you or him and that it was time to have fun and forget about everything happening outside of this night. You couldn’t agree more. You wrapped your arms around his neck and gave him a thankful hug. He laughed as the two of you positioned yourselves towards the stage as the principal announced the prom king and queen would be crowned shortly.

Eddie slithered back into the gym, his arms crossed and a grimace glued on his face. He saw Chrissy and although his heart should have skipped a beat, it did nothing. She looked beautiful, gorgeous even. But she wasn’t you. But you made it clear, and Gareth made it clear. You weren’t his and you didn’t owe him anything. You deserved to have a good night and as much as he wanted to take you away and drive off with you, he knew that couldn’t happen. So he would settle for his dance in secret, and the potential for some action after Chrissy got her ten minutes of fame.

As the microphone squealed and the gym quieted, Chrissy shifted in her chair restlessly. Her dress felt too tight, and Jason felt too close. She wanted the boy that made her feel the prettiest. She wanted the boy who would do anything for her to be beside her. She wanted to dance with the boy who told her that he adored her. Her eyes scanned around the gym and she saw him lingering against the back wall. She sent him a wave as she smiled brightly. He waved back but his smile didn’t reach his eyes. She thought she knew why he was so upset. He hated seeing her with Jason. She was starting to hate being here with Jason too. When Jason was called for prom King, he patted Chrissy on the thigh, gave her a kiss on the forehead and sauntered up to the stage to receive his crown. Chrissy felt like she was going to be sick. This was the single most important moment to her. Principal Higgins held a white envelope in his hands.

“And this year’s prom queen is…” He fumbled with the envelope.

You were rooting for Chrissy. You knew that you didn’t need to be, but there was part of you that was longing for your old friend back. Maybe her winning prom queen would bring her back from her orbit.

“Chrissy Cunningham”

Chrissy opened her perfectly glossed lips into a gasp. She stood timidly and strutted to the stage to accept her crown and flowers. She flashed a beauty pageant smile and wave and sobbed a thank you to the gym. You could tell that she was definitely not sober. You worried for her, but this was also your night. She was Jason’s problem, not yours. It gave you a small bit of relief to see Eddie was not in a matching baby pink getup to the blonde’s. They didn’t come here together. You knew you shouldn’t be holding out hope, but the scene he caused on the dancefloor and now this, you couldn’t help but be a bit hopeful.

Once Chrissy and Jason took a bow as king and queen, the DJ had spun a slow song. Gareth offered you his hand again and you happily accepted it. Dancing with Gareth had been the most fun you have had in a while. You both went to the dancefloor and dramatically rocked each other back and forth.

Chrissy left the stage and as Jason went to grab her to dance with her, she tossed her flowers to him and trudged across the gym in Eddie’s direction. Jason looked back to his posse confused, he followed Chrissy’s bouncy curls to the opposite end of the gym.

Eddie nursed his flask as dancers started to repopulate the space. He saw you get up with Gareth. He scoffed and took another swig of his flask. When his eyes returned to the mass of students, he saw a pair of bright blue eyes bounding towards him. He stood in shock, not knowing what Chrissy was doing. When she reached the wall he was leaning against, she stuck out a perfectly manicured hand to him, her face set with determination. She led him to the middle of the dance floor.

“Chris, wh-what are you doing?” Eddie breathed

“Shut up, Munson. W-we are gonna d-dance:” she slurred.

“We don’t have to-” She stopped him in the middle of the gym and wrapped her arms around his neck. He could see Jason fuming behind her and he smirked down at her.

“You’re ready to stir the pot aren’t you, doll?” Eddie chuckled.

“Yeah, I’m r-r-ready to start some, some shit b-because I-I love you, E-Eddie Munson.” Her blue eyes bore into him. Did he really just hear her properly? He felt like there was only one right thing to say.

“I, I love you too, Chrissy,” Eddie hesitated. Before he could wrap his head around what had happened, Chrissy pulled his head down to hers and planted a searing kiss on him. He quickly returned her offer and swiped his tongue over her lips. She deepened the kiss. Eddie felt like he was floating, but it didn’t feel like it was a good feeling. Chrissy tasted sour like wine and Eddie’s head pounded. But feeling this was better than feeling nothing. It was better than the emptiness he felt when he saw you being held by someone else. He kissed Chrissy like no one was watching, while in reality all of the gym had directed their gaze to the world's oddest couple they could imagine.

You swayed Gareth back and forth, laughing so hard your stomach hurt and your face felt like the smile was never going to leave. Once your laughs subsided, you pulled Gareth in closely and rested your head on his shoulder. You closed your eyes and hummed in content.

“Thank you, Gareth. This has been such a great night”

“You’re welcome, Y/N. I am having so much fun with you” Gareth rubbed small circles into your waist as you turned slowly. You opened your eyes and you instantly stood up, your body tensing under Gareth’s touch.

“Hey, what’s wr-” Gareth turned to look behind him and saw the picture perfect way to ruin your night. Gareth stiffened and grabbed your hand. You didn’t want to look but you couldn’t avert your gaze. You felt like you were going to be sick. Gareth grabbed your hand and whispered in your ear.

“Let’s go get some fresh air, okay?” You nodded your head and let him lead you out of the gym.

As Eddie broke his kiss, the first thing he saw was you taking in their display. Then he saw you turn and leave the gym with Gareth’s hand in yours. Eddie grabbed Chrissy’s hand and kissed it and ran out of the gym after you.

You refused to let the tears fall. You didn’t want to ruin your night with Gareth and you didn’t want to give Eddie and Chrissy the satisfaction. Why would he look at you the way he did, why would he say those things to Gareth? Why would he call you his girl? Gareth could tell you were trying to process, so he squeezed your hand to ground you and remind you he was here for you.

“Y/N” you hear a familiar voice ring out. The voice you wanted to hear the most and the least. You turn to find Eddie standing in the middle of the empty hallway. Gareth gripped onto your hand tighter, a scowl setting on his face.

“What do you want, Eddie?” you manage to squeak out.

“I-I’m sorry” he huffed. “I’m so fucking sorry”

“For what, Eddie? For being defensive all night, telling Gareth that I’m your girl?” Gareth and Eddie both tensed. “For knowing that my heart fully belongs to you and you actively shitting on it? What is it?” You were angry. You deserved to be angry. This time, it was Eddie’s turn to cry. You walked towards him, cheeks growing hot. You came chest to chest with him when you heard the gym door fly open.

“E-Eddie, my love?” Chrissy giggled. She stopped when she saw the three of you in the hallway. “Oh no.” She murmured.

“Chrissy, go back inside. I’ll be there in a minute.” Eddie ordered. You scoffed and rolled your eyes. Tears are now dangerously close to ruining your makeup.

“Hmmmm, no. I think I wanna st-stay for this Teddy” she cooed. She stumbled towards him and threw her weight on him.

“Yeah, Teddy. She might want to stay for this.” you sneer. You could feel your blood heating up, your hand tightening on Gareth’s.”Why did you kiss me in the theatre?” You take a step back as Eddie opens his mouth to speak and closes it again. “Tell me it wasn’t because you were in love with me and I’ll walk away right fucking now.” you sniffle.

“He didn’t love you, babe. He only kissed you b-back b-because he f-f-felt bad for you. That’s what he told me” Chrissy hiccupped. Eddie looked at you, his eyes now freely flowing.

“Y/N… Please” Eddie begs. You laugh at him.

“Is that the truth Eddie? Is that how you really feel? Or is that what you told Chrissy to feel better about the fact that you kissed me, and you didn’t want to stop?” You spit.”Or was it what you told her to get in her pants without any punishment?”

“Please don’t do that” Eddie whispered. You start to back away with Gareth. Eddie tries to peel Chrissy’s arms off of his torso.

“I’m leaving right now Eddie and you have a choice to make. You can come with me and that will be enough of an explanation.” You stood strong and dropped your hand that was holding Gareth’s. He whispered your name softly. You turn to him and smile tightly to let him know that it was okay. You turn back to Eddie who stands still.

“Eddie, lets gooooo.” Chrissy whines.She began to pull his arm back towards the gym. His feet feel like they weigh a thousand pounds. He looks to you, completely heartbroken as your gaze hardens at the drunk prom queen hanging around his body. You chuckle as he lets Chrissy pull his body back towards the gym.

“Great. We’re done.”

You hear Eddie release a broken Sob as you grab Gareth’s hand and walk through the double doors.

Chrissy finally drags him back towards the bustling music and plastic tinsel of the gym. He felt like he could throw up. How could he just let you walk away?

Gareth opens his truck door open for you and helps you get seated in the passenger seat. He stands in between you and his truck door. He kissed your forehead and began to run his hand up and down your arm.

“Do you wanna go home, sweetheart?”

“You know what, a milkshake sounds really fucking great right now” you smile. Gareth laughs and you eventually join him.

“Milkshakes coming right up.”

Taglist:

@mxcheese , @anislabonis-love , @zenathebeautiful , h-ness1944 , @nymphetkoo , @tlclick73 , @darknesseddiem , @nega-omega , @them-cute-boys , @eggo-segual , @browneyes528 , @ali-r3n , @micheledawn1975 @partydulce @eddies-puppet , @elvendria , @itsjustwous , @littlemisslovestoread , @kjcmama , @chloe-6123 , @navs-bhat , @loveforreading , @thegirlthatsfalling , @r-a-d-i-0-n-0-w-h-e-r-e , @metalhead-succubus

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of-many-aus · 1 year

Text

Why Jake calls you ‘Angel’

Summary: there’s always an origin story to a nickname, this one is yours

Warnings: none

A/N: let me know what you think of this series so far :)

Take Me Out to the Ball Game Masterlist

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

This was stupid. You had no idea why you had even let Natasha talk you into this, she knew this wasn’t your thing.

The noise was deafening with everyone screaming at the top of their lungs. Cheers and boos for this team or that.

Bodies rammed into one another as they jumped up and down, supporting their respective teams that were made up of either a sky blue, or a crimson red.

“You have to get to know him,” Nat chatted your ear off above all the yells, keeping your arms linked tightly as you wove back and forth in the crowd, “He’s your roommate, and you hardly know a thing about him.”

“Yeah,” You snapped back, shooting her a small glare, “Maybe he’s a serial killer. How does that feel, Nat? You could very well be the person who pressured me into accepting a living situation with a murderer.”

She rolled her eyes, long since used to your dramatic antics, “A cute murderer.” Your best friend flashed you a grin.

You rolled your eyes sarcastically, “Well, what he lacks in personality, I suppose he makes up for in looks.”

“Exactly!” She cheered, finally pushing through a clearing and towards seemingly the only two empty seats in the whole stadium, not giving you the chance to open your mouth and snap back about being sarcastic. She knew very well that you were.

It had been about two weeks since you and the star of your college's baseball team, Jake Seresin, had made a temporary arrangement of moving into an apartment together. And the two of you had been walking on eggshells around each other, which Natasha Trace never failed to throw in your face.

Honestly, you were more than fine keeping it that way. The less you were forced to talk to the cocky, ego driven athlete, the better.

Your best friend, on the other hand, seemed to think that it was fate that the two of you were thrown into the same living establishment. And apparently, it was an opportunity not to be passed up. Now, you had been dragged to his team's second game of the season. Evidently, missing his first one was some sort of crime in Natasha’s eyes and you now had to make up for it.

What did it matter anyway? He didn’t even know that you were here, and honestly, you hoped that it stayed that way. You didn’t need him thinking something other than the simple fact that you were dragged here, fighting tooth and nail to get away. But it was useless, Nat was impossible to stop when she put her mind to something.

Of course, the only seats available had to be in the very front row, just to the right of home plate.

The game had already started by the time you two sat down, and Jake's team was getting absolutely demolished.

No wonder all the other spectators were getting rowdy so quickly. Your school was trying to urge the team into coming back, and the other school was trying to keep their team up. The score was 1-6 and it was only the second inning.

Jakes team was up at bat, more specifically, a man you recognized to be Reuben Fitch, who was in your science class, at the plate, bat up and at the ready. According to the scoreboard, there was already one out, two pitches thrown, and nobody on the bases.

The pitcher from the other team glared against the sun as he wound his arm back, ready to release the ball. And when he so, it hooked in such a way that poor Reuben didn’t stand a chance of hitting it.

You felt a pang of pity in your heart for him, he had always been friendly to you, and watching his lips move in the shape of a curse and shaking his head in disappointment at himself made you sad to see. He made his way back to the dug out with a head hung low, not even reacting when Pete Mitchell, the coach, clapped him on the back in reassurance when he shuffled past him.

A frown pulled at your lips, “This is just sad,” You commented, “You picked the absolute worst day to force me to come and see a game.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, opening her mouth to rebuttal, only to snap it shut when her eyes locked onto something behind you. A smirk slowly made its way onto her face, “Or maybe not.”

With furrowed eyebrows, you turned in your seat to see what she was looking at, only to lock eyes on a jersey you had grown accustomed to seeing thrown lazily around your apartment- along with other pieces of gear he never bothered to pick up- making it’s way towards you.

Jake was up at bat.

There was a determined aura about him, you could tell from the way his eyes stayed trained on the pitchers mound and from the way his jaw was set and shoulders were in a ridged square.

High pitched squeals erupted from behind you in a way that made you cringe at the sudden noise.

“It’s Jake!”

“He looks so hot.”

“He was totally checking me out earlier.”

You rolled your eyes at the group of girls behind you, babbling like a bunch of teenagers at the mall, and crossed your arms over your chest.

Natasha was looking over at you with a smirk that had morphed into a knowing one.

“What?” You snapped.

Her grin only widened, “Nothing, nothing.” She murmured, turning her attention back to the game.

After allowing your eyes to linger suspiciously on her for another moment, you tore them away from her and too looked to where Jake was now winding up to bat.

The pitcher threw the next one faster than he had moments ago, and it headed straight for the blond man.

Your heart jumped to your throat and your arms unconsciously loosened, falling to your sides as you leaned forward.

Jake jumped backwards out of the way just in time, the ball narrowly missing his stomach in the process.

Shouts of protest came from all over the stadium, cursing out the pitcher for trying to take out the star player.

A breath slipped through your lips and you felt the muscles in your shoulders loosen. Why they were even tense in the first place, you didn’t know.

Seresin let out a huff, taking a step back from the plate to give himself a moment to collect himself, and his gaze unconsciously swept over the crowd.

Bright green eyes locked onto yours before you could even think about looking away and trying to hide yourself.

Jake stilled.

All of the sounds seemed to drown out around you. Neither of you let up your stares, no matter how much as you knew you should.

Then, the corner of his lips quirked up the tiniest bit, and he threw a wink in your direction before turning back to the plate and stepping up once more.

One of the girls squealed from behind you, “Did you see that? Did you? Did you? He winked at me!”

You barely even heard her, eyes still yet to leave Jakes tall form.

“What was that all about?” You could hear the grin in her voice as Natasha whispered to you.

Not an answer came out of you though. You were too transfixed in the game.

When the ball came at him again, he was ready, and he hit it out of the park. Literally.

Again, it seemed like almost every person in the stadium began screaming at the top of their lungs. Whether it was from anger or pure joy at the home run the man had just hit.

Somehow, you had joined in with them, clapping as loudly as you could and cheering.

Jake threw one glance to you over his shoulder before taking a jog around the bases, a grin of victory playing on his lips.

It only went uphill from there.

Somehow, when put in the outfield, every single ball went Jake's way, and he caught each and every one of them. Then each time he came up to bat, he would get at least one other person home.

There was a reason he was the star player.

By the end, the score was 12-6, and your throat was raw from all the screaming you had done, as well as most likely every other person in the audience.

“Well?” You finally tore your eyes away from the field at your best friend's voice, “Worth coming?”

You hid a grin and tried to shrug nonchalantly, “I suppose.”

She laughed loudly, linking your arms together and beginning to lead you into the slowly dispersing crowd.

The two of you chatted all the way back to the row of cars, when a voice calling out your name made you both stop and turn.

Jake jogged after the two of you, baseball gear bag slung over one shoulder.

The group of girls that had been obnoxious behind you for the entire game now stood a few yards away with dropped jaws that soon turned into sneers.

Your roommate paid them no mind though, as he came to a stop in front of you, slightly breathless as if he had run all the way from the dugout to catch up with you.

“Hi,” You breathed out in surprise, eyebrows raised.

He grinned that blinding, award winning smile of his, “You came to my game.”

“Oh yeah,” Natasha piped up, nodding excitedly from beside you, “She practically dragged me here.”

Your head snapped into her direction and your eyes widened for a brief second before you began glaring daggers at her, “I did not-“

“I’m glad you came.”

The gentleness of his tone made your mouth snap shut and your attention turn to him once more.

“We were losing, bad, but then you showed up, and we suddenly won again.” He was yet to drop his grin.

You shook your head, “That wasn’t me-“

“Sure it was,” He laughed lightly, “You’re like my own guardian angel.”

You rolled your eyes, “Don’t call me that.”

If it was even possible, his grin seemed to widen, “Why not? I think it’s fitting.”

A scoff left your lips, and whatever weird haze you had been in during the game finally shook off, “Don’t you dare.” You warned.

“Hangman!” Bradley Bradshaw called from a couple paces away, waving the man down, “Come on! The boys are going out to celebrate!”

“Be right there!” The blond called back before winking at you once more, “See you at home, Angel.”

With that, he jogged off, leaving you in a speechless state that was so unlike you.

Nat moved to stand in front of you, wiggling her eyebrows.

You hesitated before softly shoving her, “Shut up.” You mumbled, turning to make your way to the car.

Taglist: none yet

#take me out to the ball game series #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin #jake seresin x y/n #jake seresin au #jake seresin x you #hangman x reader #hangman x you #hangman x y/n #hangman au #top gun x you #top gun x reader #top gun x y/n #top gun au #baseball au #college au

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7ndipity · 5 months

Text

He Forgets Your Birthday

Jin x Reader

Summary: Jin just wants to make your birthday memorable, but what happens when life gets too hectic and makes him forget?

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: angst, swearing

A/N: Thanks to the lovely anon who requested this! Sorry it took me a little bit to get to.

Masterlist

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Life moved quickly with Jin, in multiple ways.

The first time you ever met, he asked for your number, fearing you wouldn’t cross paths again and he might not get another chance. You both said ‘I love you’ less than two months into dating, after he accidentally let it slip out during one of your first nights together, you even ended up moving in with him after less than a year when the apartment you were subletting fell through(or more accurately, flooded through, but whatever)

Things also moved quickly because of your careers. Sometimes days would flick by without your realizing, a week would turn into two before either of you noticed, and then suddenly it’s been nearly two months since your last technical date.

Despite your reassurances that you understood, Jin felt guilty at times for the two of you missing out on special occasions like holidays or anniversaries with each other, but one day he promised he wouldn’t let slip past was your birthday.

You weren't exactly a fan of making a big fuss for your birthday, but Jin wanted to make it special for you.

“I’ll cook,” He’d promised you. “I’ll make all your favorites, as well as traditional seaweed soup for good luck, and then we’ll do whatever you want for the rest of the day.”

“What if I don’t want to do anything?” You’d asked, raising a brow as you sat on his lap.

“Then we’ll do nothing together,” He’d replied, pulling you closer. “And have a wonderful time doing it.”

It’d been an easy promise to make when your birthday was still almost a month away, but as the days and weeks passed, things became increasingly hectic. Comeback season was drawing close, and with it came the pressure and chaos of constant rehearsals, video shoots, and promotional activities, leaving Jin little time to think about much else. Half the time you were already asleep before he got home at night, tiredly wrapping himself around you for a few precious hours before starting the cycle all over again.

He didn’t even know what day of the week it was until Jimin spoke up as they slumped against the wall, trying to catch their breath during rehearsals.

“Oh, how’s Y/n? Did they like their gift?” Jimin asked. “I haven't heard from them since I texted happy birthday this morning.”

Jin felt his heart screech to a stop as he looked over at the younger man, hoping he had misheard. “What?”

“The flowers you helped us pick out? I figured they would’ve-” Jimin’s voice trailed off as he noticed the growing look of horror on Jin’s face. “Tell me you didn’t forget?”

Jin’s whole body felt cold as he fumbled for his phone, stomach dropping as he read the date, and then the numerous text notifications from you.

His hands shook as he read your words, his heart pounding loudly in his ears.

‘You left this morning before I got to say it, but love you💖’

‘Do you know what time you’ll be home?’

'Ngl, I'm kinda excited for tonight, it's been ages since I had your cooking😋'

‘Jinnie? Is everything okay?’

‘You’re not coming, are you?’

‘You could at least answer your phone so I know you’re okay.’

Shit.

Sparing no time explaining to the others, he grabbed his things and bolted out the door, nearly sprinting for the elevators.

He couldn’t believe how badly he’d fucked up, you must’ve been so upset with him. How would he even explain himself to you? Would you even talk to him when he got home? He wouldn’t blame you if the answer was no.

“Y/n?” He called as he opened the door but the house was silent, all the lights off, the stillness seeming to loom over him as he kicked off his shoes.

Tip-toeing through the house, he caught sight of the bouquet of flowers the guys had sent you sitting proudly in the center of the dining table, their cheery brightness almost mocking him now.

As he neared your shared bedroom, he caught sight of a sliver of light slipping out into the hall from the crack in the door.

Peeking in, he found you curled up on your side of the bed, sound asleep, but he could tell by the puffiness around your eyes that you’d been crying, shattering his heart completely.

He slowly sank down on the bed next to you, gently brushing your hair out of your face.

“I’m so sorry, Y/n.” He choked, tears blurring your image in front of him. He felt like the worst boyfriend in the world, how could he have forgotten something like this?! He had promised you!

He’d always tried so hard to live up to his commitments and responsibilities in your relationship, no matter how small, but in the moment when it mattered the most, he’d failed you.

“Jinnie?” Your cracked, sleep laden voice snapped his attention back up to you, meeting your tired eyes.

“Y/n, I’m so sorry.” He said, crying in earnest now.

“ ‘s okay.” You said drowsily, too tired to fight with him.

“It’s not. I made you a promise, and I fucked up.” He said, wiping his face.

You didn’t speak, sitting up slowly and pulling him into a hug. As upset as you might’ve been, you couldn’t stand to see him cry.

You wouldn’t lie, you were deeply hurt, but it wasn’t just for you. You’d seen how hard he’d been working lately, coming home late sore and exhausted, bags under his eyes from fatigue. You hated seeing him so tired all the time, so stressed and not able to do anything about it. You knew that under normal circumstances, he would’ve never forgotten, but your lives weren’t normal.

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” He cried into your neck. “I’ll find a way.”

“Jinnie, I don’t care about the dinner,” You said, trying not to start crying again yourself as you pulled back to look at him. “All I really wanted was to be with you.”

“I’m sorry.” He whispered.

“Just come hold me, please.” You half dragged him under the covers with you, winding your limbs around each other tightly.

Neither of you spoke much as you slowly drifted off to sleep, clinging to each other desperately, needing to feel each other to be sure you were both still there.

When you opened your eyes the next morning, you found his side of the bed empty.

Sitting up slowly, you glanced around, questions only just beginning to form in your mind before you heard a faint noise from somewhere in the house, the scent of one of your favorite dishes drifting through the open bedroom door.

Still groggy, you climbed out of bed and followed the smell to your kitchen, where you found your missing boyfriend, his back to you as he stood over the stove, fussing at something he was stirring.

“Why are you so salty? I didn’t even add that much.”

“Maybe it’s just in a bad mood.”

He turned at the sound of your voice, eyes softening as they found you in the doorway, messy hair and sleep clouded eyes, wearing one of his pajama tops as a sleepshirt.

“I thought you were still asleep.” He said softly.

“What are you doing?” You asked.

“Fulfilling my promise to you.” He said, turning back to the stove for a moment as he spoke. “It’s not quite all of your favorites, but it’s a start. Plus, we’ve got the whole day to do whatever else you want to do.”

“I have work.” You said, not unkindly.

“No, you don’t.” He responded. “I left them a message saying you were sick and couldn’t come in today.”

“Sick with what?” You asked.

“Bad boyfriend-itis,” He said, coming over to hook his arms round your waist. “It’s a very serious condition, it requires a lot of rest and care to recover from.”

“You’re not a bad boyfriend.” You said quietly, fiddling with his shirt collar.

“I’m not so sure about that.” He said, frowning.

“Well, I am.” You pushed up on your toes to press your lips to his softly, making him melt instantly. You let your hands slowly trail up and around his neck, earning a slight shiver from him before you pulled away to look at him. “What about rehearsals?”

“I told them the same thing as your work.” He said with a slightly dazed grin.

“You have boyfriend-itis too?” You raised a brow at him questioningly.

“Are you kidding? I’m patient zero.” He replied, earning a giggle from you, making his heart swell as he smiled down at you.

“Go back to bed,” He said softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

“I don’t wanna go back to bed.” You said, wrapping your arms around his waist, looking up at him seriously. “I told you last night, I just want to be with you.”

“Alright then.” He hooked his hands under your thighs, boosting you up to sit on the counter with a surprised squeak from you. “You can sit here and be my lovely assistant.”

“I don’t even know what you’re making.” You giggled again.

“Doesn’t matter, just follow my lead and make yummy noises when I show you something.”

The two of you talked as he continued cooking, stopping each time he passed by you to leave a kiss on your waiting lips. Once everything was ready, you moved to the table, sitting close enough that you could reach over and grab his hand as he settled next to you.

He glanced up at you. “What is it?”

“Just thank you.” You said.

He tilted his head. “For what?”

“Being you. Being here.”

Jin felt the familiar twisting in his chest as he leaned over to press another kiss to your lips.

“Always.” He promised.

He wouldn’t make the same mistake again, he swore to himself, he would be there for you, no matter what else was going on. You were his world, his heart, and he would make sure you knew that from now on.

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @main-bangtansmauyeondan

#seokjin angst #seokjin scenarios #seokjin drabble #seokjin x reader #seokjin x y/n #seokjin fluff #bts one shot #bts x y/n #bts x reader #bts drabble #bts angst #bts requests #7ndipity

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formulaforza · 8 months

Text

—the seasons of love

or: the enemies to lovers situationship fic charles leclerc x female reader summ. autumn seemed to arrive suddenly this year. minors dni. nsfw warnings below the cut. 6k. part one part two part three part four part five

18+ because: cross continent booty call, shared shower, oral (fem receiving) overstimulation, biting, begging, teasing/dirty talk and lots of emotionally immature angst

It became normal after that, routine, almost. Like clockwork, the two of you finding each other. In your apartment, sometimes, but mostly at his. His apartment, his yacht, his gym, his car. There were days where it felt like it was all you did, Fridays where you would think that you’d spent five whole days underneath him.

Race weekends felt impossibly long, impossibly far away. You think that his apartment doesn’t feel like him because he’s never there, because he spends all his time on a track or a yacht or the streets of Maranello.

And you’re soft. You pretend not to be, because you wish you weren’t, but you are. You are, because you know that there is a spring in a national park in the States that looks just like his eyes, all blues and greens and browns that are so saturated they look fake. Because when you were at the club last week with your sister, someone had walked by and you knew they wore the same cologne as him. Because you see the color red and wonder what he’s doing, every single time.

He’s in Vegas this week, a big fucking party, Miami on the hard stuff. You’re home, going through life’s motions and waiting–though you’d never admit it– for him to come home.

You wake up in an empty bed, sprawled out in the middle of it, stretching against the white sheets with a groaned yawn. You can taste the cottonmouth on your tongue, smack your lips a couple times before giving up and climbing out from the cozy comforter and trudging into the bathroom, feet creaking over the hardwoods as you move through the apartment.

You phone chimes from your nightstand and you move back into the bedroom, leave the water running and the toothbrush in your mouth for your retrieval mission. Sitting at the top of a night’s worth of notifications is a text from him. Check your email. You roll your eyes, half-type out a witty response before an email notification flashes across the top of your screen. [email protected] No Subject.

You tap it, and inside the subjectless email you find two things. One, an attachment to a plane ticket to Vegas that leaves in… five hours. And two, a single Please?

You roll your eyes, toss your phone down onto the bed and return to the bathroom sink to spit out your toothpaste. He’s fucking lost it. He’s really done it this time, like, Jesus, he’s done it.

There is nothing you want to do less than pack a bag, find a ride to Nice, and hop on a plane all the way to Vegas just to see him in some messy ass hotel room.

(Sixteen hours later)

You’re sitting on the edge of the hotel bed when he gets back from media day, Ferrari polo and light wash jeans and a dumb smile greets you, grumpy with arms crossed over your chest. “Did you have to send me a fucking plane ticket?” You snapped.

He shrugs, kicks off his shoes and pulls his phone and wallet and pass from his pockets, sets them down on a coffee table. “You’re here, aren’t you?” There’s something masked with the smug tone in his voice, some kind of genuine relief that you’re here. It makes your stomach queasy.

You roll your eyes. Even if you wanted to, you couldn’t deny the truth in his words, or the relief you felt at seeing him walk through the heavy door. As sick as it makes you, you miss him when he’s gone in a way you aren’t supposed to; all soft and innocent and young.

“You’re infuriating,” you say, but you’re smiling.

He nods, closes the distance between you, sinks down onto the edge of the bed beside you. “You know you love it,” he says, the corners of his lips upturned when he kisses you, and kisses you, and kisses you. Until you’re turning purple in search of oxygen and mourning the fact that you need it, you’re kissing him.

“Why am I here?” you ask, half breathless.

“Are you asking me?” He replies, dodging your line of questioning with one of his own.

You smile, laugh a little under your breath. “Who else am I asking?”

“Yourself,” he shrugs, kisses you softly. His fingers dance along your jaw, move to brush a part of your hair to the side. You let him. Because he’s kind of cute when he does it.

“No, no,” you sigh, pull your leg up under you. “I’m asking you; Are you okay? Why am I here?” You ask, because, even for the two of you and your decades of knowing the other and the last… almost year of this muddled mess, this is weird. A first class ticket in your email is weird. You getting on the plane is weirder.

“I can’t miss you?”

Your lips purse. Somewhere in another world, they smile. “Not supposed to,” you kiss him again, hand on shoulders, because you want to smile.

“There’s a lot we’re not supposed to do.”

“Yeah,” you nod, fall back onto the bed with a huff. He chuckles. The white ceiling paint stares back at you. Fresh. Crisp. Clean. “No meetings today?”

“They’re done.”

“Ah,” you say. He stands up and the entire bed shifts with the loss of him. His heavy feet move across the echoey room. It’s silent but for the hum of the air conditioner, the tap of the pads of his fingertips against his phone screen on the other side of the room. “Charles?” You ask, prop yourself up onto your elbows.

“Hmm?” He hums, his eyes focused on his screen. “Sorry, um. Work… email.” You don’t envy his multitasking skills, but they do put a smile on your face.

“Did you fly me out here to fuck me?”

He scoffs, looks up for just a moment to meet your eyes. “No,” and then he’s back to typing away.

You sigh, make sure he hears it. You don’t handle not having his attention well, not when it’s just the two of you. “But you’re going to, right?”

You wonder if you can get him flustered enough that he starts to type what he says. He’s been good at wrangling you recently, at reeling you in. But, if you can get under his skin you’ll surely be in trouble with him. Surely. He smiles at the screen. “If you think you can take it.”

When you scoff, his smile grows. You’re playing right into his game. “I’ve taken it every other fucking time, haven’t I?”

“So well.”

You roll your eyes, drop back onto your back. “Why do you say shit like that?”

“I like riling you up,” he quips, and you can hear the smile on his face, the dimples digging into his cheek. God, those dimples, they might just fucking kill you.

“No!” You say, voice drenched in sarcastic awe.

“Yes!” He matches your tone, his phone clattering down against the table. You sit up again, pull your leg to your chest and rest your chin on it. His eyes are on you now, the email answered, his attention undivided. You love his attention.

“Alright… can we, like,” you gesture into the vast space between the two of you, “get on with it?”

“Can you, like,” he mocks you, “let me fucking shower?”

You click your tongue against the roof of your mouth, bite the inside of your cheek, “Can I come?”

“Yeah, but I’m not going to fuck you.”

“Really?” You hate your tone, how childishly innocent it sounds, like your mother just said you could buy whatever toy you wanted at the store. You’d expected a hard shutdown.

“Yeah,” he moves past you, casual smile and strong hand pushing your shoulder, knocking you over like a glass of water onto the bed. “But, I mean it,” he warns, threatens to wag a finger at you. You’d bite it off if he did.

“Okay,” you say, rolling yourself off the bed and onto your feet, trailing behind him a few steps. He’s already tugging his shirt over his head and you watch his shoulder blades flex with the movement. You never remember just how broad he is. It’s always a lovely reminder.

“I’m serious,” he shakes his head. “No sex.”

You hurry forward to catch up to him, pat him solidly on the back as you squeeze between him and the door frame. “Whatever you say,” you hum. His hands make a move for your sides, to pinch the skin there and curl you over, but you dodge him with a loud giggle.

He says your name and his tone is flat. It’s almost romantic, you think, the plainness of it, the lack of urgency. Rather than face that, you dip your hand past the glass door of the shower, turn the water on and listen to him close the bathroom door somewhere behind you. It’s just the two of you, but he clicks the lock anyways.

You glance over your shoulder at him, hand held out into the stream of water to test the temperature. He comes up behind you, bare chest against your back, arms snaking around your waist, thumbs toying with the waistband of your pants. He works over the buttons with ease, says something about making things even against the skin just above your collarbone.

With a laugh, you push your ass back against him, bend at the waist and slowly pull off your pants and underwear. A fucking tease, he says, clears his throat and moves around you to lose his own jeans.

The shower is big, but the shower head is small in size, mediocre in water pressure. You know before your leg is all the way in that one of you will be fighting to stay warm. You also know you’ll stoop incredibly low to avoid having to stand shivering in the corner while watching him shower. Biting is not off the table. Neither is a right hook.

It goes on like that for some time, the haphazard cohabitation of the hotel shower.

“Would you–” you elbow your between him and the glass door, into the line of hot water. He reaches over your head, switches the flow of water to the wand, picks it up and brings it to his shoulders, the water flowing over the body, over his chest and through the muscles of his core. If you weren’t so fucking cold you’d jump him. “Charles,” you pout.

He laughs, the kind that requires a step back to stabilize him, and then he’s holding the shower wand inches above the crown of your head, hot water streaming down your face so quick that you have to plug your nose to relish in the heat of it.

“Thank you,” you say all nasally, voice muffled by the water that falls over your lips. He slots it back into the showerhead and adjusts the water again so you’re not being waterboarded any longer. You wipe your face with both hands, smooth your soaked hair back over your head and look up at him. He kisses you again, promptly, quickly, with childlike haste, just because he can—you suppose. “What was that for?”

He shrugs. You supposed right.

In your haste, both of you had forgotten to grab the tiny shampoo and conditioner bottles from the vanity counter, and after winning rock, paper, scissors—and Charles demanding best of three like a first-grader—you’d made the treacherous journey back across the ice cold tile to grab the toiletries. You’d used them first as compensation for your hard work, and rather than hand them to him when you’re finished, you reach around to set them on the corner shelf.

He rolls his eyes and you smile, lathering the shampoo into your hair.

Your head falls back under the water, eyes closed, fingers rinsing the shampoo from your hair. You hear him moving, fighting with the travel-sized shampoo bottle you’d more than almost used up. You wait for the smart comment that never comes. When you squeeze past him, switch so that he can stand under the water, your ass brushes over his leg, over him, hard and erect in a way it wasn’t five minutes earlier. His tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth and you laugh. “What happened to ‘no sex!’” you tease, do your best impression of his voice.

“This isn’t sex,” he replies all matter-of-factly. It makes your smile grow. “This is showering.”

You shake your head, roll your eyes and reach for the conditioner. “You always shower like this?”

He laughs under the water, shoulders shaking and flexing and making your life so much harder than it needs to be. You could draw maps on his back, trace from freckle to freckle until you run out. “Only when you’re not around.”

You reach out to touch him. If he can kiss you just because, you can draw pictures on his skin just because, especially after he finds the space to say something like that to you, to make you blush from the inside out. He reacts to your touch, to your fingers cutting through the smooth sheen of water that runs over him. It puts a coy smile on your face. “I’m around now, aren’t I?” You leave a kiss on his shoulder blade.

“You are,” he says, turns to face you, slinks his arms lazily around your waist and pulls you flush against him. “I’m not worried though. You’ll take care of me.”

You bite against your bottom lip, try to contain your smile. He’s right. You know he’s right and he knows it too. “Will I?” you hum.

He smiles so you don’t have to, moves his lips painfully close to yours, hovering so close you can almost feel the ghost of them. “You will,” he breathes.

You can’t bite your grin any longer. “I will,” you reply, and because distance has never done you two well, you kiss him, pull off his lips with an innocent smile. “As soon as you condition your hair.”

“Fuck conditioner.”

You laugh. “Fuck conditioner?”

“Mmhm,” he hums against your lips. “Fuck it.”

“Yeah,” you nod. “I still have to rinse my conditioner, though.”

He groans like he’s just noticed your slicked back hair coated in the smooth conditioner, pushes you under the shower head, gives the top of your head a scrunch before letting you finish ringing it out.

You stumble out ahead of him soon after, feet wet on the cold tile floor of the hotel bathroom. The mirrors are fogged and the air is thick with steam, slowly being sucked away into the ceiling vent fan. You pull a fluffy white towel down from the bar, hastily wrap it around your body, tuck it shut with a knot at your chest. He tells you that you don’t need it while drying his hair with a hand towel and you laugh–tell him there’s not a chance in hell you’re spending the night sleeping in soaked, chilly sheets.

“You’re not going to do much sleeping,” he remarks, pats your ass over the cotton fabric. You squeal, practically skip forward at the contact of his hand and leave him behind in the bathroom.

“You tell that to all your girls?” You ask, fingers trailing over the edge of the bed as you move past. “Or just the ones who know you’re a liar?”

He reappears with a towel tied around his waist, the smaller one he’d used for his hair draped around his neck, damp hair stuck to his forehead and shooting out in every which direction. There’s something horribly beautiful about it. “Mm-mhm,” he clicks, “just you.”

“Oh,” you hum, turning to face him with a quirked brow and quizzical smile.”Well now I feel special.”

He opens his mouth to speak, parting his lips just so slightly before pursing them shut again. “Yeah,” he breathes out, and you barely hear it over the turnover of the air conditioner.

“Yeah,” you repeat, and somehow it’s quieter.

You sit down in the armchair perched in the corner and the silence lingers, heavier than the steam and louder than the air conditioner. He stares at you for a beat too long and you feel your heartbeat in your temples, stare right back at his stupid green eyes. He scoffs and walks back into the bathroom. “I’m tired of this,” he says into the mirror, wiping away the fog with a flat palm.

“Tired of what?” You ask, fear the threat of his answer more than the actual answer itself. You know what he’s tired of; you. This. All of it, he’s tired of it all, and you don’t blame him. It’s become exhausting.

You know what he’s going to say, and still. His words hit you like a sucker punch. “This fucking hotel room shit.”

Your jaw flexes and you nervously chew on the tip of your tongue. “You’re the one who called me.”

He doesn’t leave space for the words to linger. “That’s not what I meant,” he says, turning to lean against the vanity counter, can barely glance at you. Your stare holds strong. “You know that’s not what I meant.” The thing is—you don’t know. You haven’t a clue what he means if it’s not the obvious elephant sitting between you.

“Say it, then,” you tell him and your voice oozes a confidence you didn’t know you could possess. It’s a facade. A good one, and he still sees right through it.

“Oh allez, tu es trop intelligent pour être aussi stupide,” Oh, come on, you’re too smart to be this dumb, he says, crosses his arms over his chest like you’ve done something he needs to defend against.

“Say it, Charles.”

He finds the nerve to smile. You wish a ghost would pull the towel hung over his shoulders tight around his neck. Maybe then he would feel more like you do. Instead, he uses it to dry off the back of his neck and tosses it somewhere out of sight. “You say it.”

“No,” you mutter, and then louder, you repeat, “No, I’m not going to.”

“You won’t?” He asks, pushes himself off the counter and stops in the doorway, leans against the frame and if he wasn’t so insistent on starting something right now, you’d take a picture before kissing every muscle on his body.

“Mm-mm.”

“Fine,” he replies all bluntly, but there’s nothing short about his tone. No, no, you know there’s no chance he’s dropping this.

“Fine.”

He sighs, eyes closed and heavy breath and head dropping to the sky like he’s begging—or praying— for some sanity or patience or whatever virtue he so badly needs when it comes to dealing with you. Eventually, he speaks to the ceiling, and the dramatic cringe and nose-bridge pinch that precedes his words makes him look more than pained. “I want more than this. I want—” he cuts himself off like he hasn’t already let it all boil over, like there’s any chance he’d keep it unsaid, that he’d be capable of stopping himself. “I want us.”

Your heart dives into your stomach, sends them both sinking through the floor. “You don’t.”

“I do,” he speaks, still to the white ceiling. You follow his sightline. The ceiling is textured.

“No, you don’t,” you think there’s a chance that your desperation to convince him this isn’t what he wants is really nothing more than a half-hearted attempt to convince yourself of the same thing. “You don’t, because then it’s all going to be fucked.”

Finally, he looks at you, or through you, or near you. Finally, he stops looking at the stupid textured white paint on the ceiling. “But what if it works? If we work?”

We.

“What if it doesn’t? If we try and then everyone gets invested and then it’s all ruined? Our parents and our siblings? We can’t ruin that.” You can’t. You won’t. You refuse to be the one responsible for any tension between your families, between your mothers. They’re the kind of friends that you don’t find more than once, and you wouldn’t dare to mess it all up after all this time, certainly not for a boy—for the boy.

“So, what?” He asks. There’s a terrible ribbon of torment laced through his voice. “We just ruin each other?”

You sink in your seat, reply to him meekly. He doesn’t usually make you shy. “Maybe.”

He says your name, that same ill-inducing tone to his voice. “If it was just us. Just me and you and nobody in our families had ever met,” he gestures between the two of you, always talking with his hands even when they’re half-limp and dejected. “Then what would your answer be?”

“I wouldn’t have to answer,” you dodge. Dodge, dodge, dodge. It feels like all you can do. “You wouldn’t want me.” Your words reek of haunting vulnerability, and you hope you’re the only one who picks up on it because it’s game over if he hears it. He’ll know it all; the lie and the truth and the debilitating fear of them both.

“You know that isn’t true,” he scowls, but his voice is soft. You hate it. You do, you hate it so much. You hate it. You’re tired of this conversation. You didn’t spend all those hours three seats over from a colicky baby and its miserable mother to argue with him about what you were. You just were, can’t that be enough?

You snap like a crunchy autumn leaf under a steel-toed boot. “Fine! Fine. Yes,” you concede to the fictional world, the alternate timeline with death and taxes etc, etc. To the universe where everything is different. To the world where everything is different, but everything is really just as it is; where the more things change, the more they stay the same. “My answer would be yes, let’s just say ‘fuck it’ and try because why the hell not? It’s not like we got along before all this.”

“Exactly. If we crash and burn, so what? We just go back to hating each other.”

“I can’t. I can’t, Charles. I care about my family too much.”

“You’re just scared. God, you’re like a child,” he speaks without thought, letting the words fly with reckless abandon. If you wanted to argue with him you’d latch onto that line. You don’t, though. You don’t want to argue, you never did.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” your voice cracks. It goes unaddressed by anything more than a shrug. “I don’t.”

“I want you to stop being a fucking coward and go on a date with me!”

“Charles,” you frown. Your nose burns. The gap, the gap, the gap. The impossible to bridge gap that you and he stand on either side of, waving aimlessly, begging the other with a silent plea—please. Please see what I see. I promise it’s better my way.

“One date,” he says, barely above a whisper, holding up a single finger. It’s his plea. “Nobody has to know we’re doing it.”

“I…” your breath catches in your throat, mind racing through potential responses. You lean forward in your seat, put your elbows on your knees and bury your face in your hands before you start crying. You won’t cry, you can’t. He can’t make you cry.

You sniffle, even though you aren’t crying—an audible reminder to yourself that you won’t be crying. That you’re eliminating the effects before they can even start. He must think you are crying, though, because the tension in the room deflates with every step he takes across the room. He lowers himself to your level, and you can feel the ghost of his hands lingering in a space just beyond your skin, like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to touch you. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have, fuck. I’m sorry,” his voice is so guilty, his hands finally touching your knees, thumbs moving in smooth, calming circles over your skin. You don’t have an opinion on the way you melt into putty under his touch.

When you pull your hands away from your face, they fall into your lap, find his and mold into some tangled mess of fingers. You take a deep breath—an attempt to steady yourself before finally speaking again, and with a subtle shake of your head, you’re able to silently explain to him that you’re okay, that his words are not the reason you’re so upset.

It’s so much more than that, than being a child or a coward of anything else he could possibly throw your way. With just as many words, he searches your eyes for answers, for a why that you couldn’t give him if you tried.

Everything with him is so unsaid.

“Okay,” you whisper echoes around the room. “Okay, a date,” you nod.

His furrow softens, the lines in his face smoothing over and the corners of his lips fighting a smile. “No,” he says softly, as if trying to give you an out, to free you from any perceived obligation. “You don’t have to do that.”

Your hand finds its way to his cheek, a gentle gesture of reassurance, and you lean in, pressing a soft kiss on those lips that want to smile so bad. It’s not about making him happy, though. It’s about letting yourself entertain the idea of satisfaction, of individual happiness.

He’s so. There’s no getting sick of kissing him, there just isn't. You sigh into his mouth and stand up, and you still want more. You still want more, towels dropping to the cold floor. Your knees bump against the back of the bed and it’s all giggly, and you still haven’t had enough. You maneuver onto the bed without separating, like the world might end if you’re not kissing him, and you’re convinced it might never be enough. That you’ll always crave more.

It’s all so comfortable, the way you two move around each other. It’s fluid. It’s calm. It’s soft, the look on his face when he’s slotted comfortably between your knees, His fingers trace your skin softly, almost ghostly in the way they graze through the valley of your breasts. You shiver. The goosebumps make you laugh against his lips.

He takes care of you, kissing you, trailing his lips down to your boobs, taking your nipple in his mouth, moving his tongue in sharp circles. Anything to elicit a reaction—get you all perky and poised for him. He palms your other tit with his big, strong hand, and your hands find a home in his hair, running through the curls, dragging your nails through the short locks at the nape of his neck.

You pull him up to kiss you and his hand slots comfortably on your jaw, sliding down slowly over your throat, applying a phantom pressure. It’s all bumping noses and sharing breath, him biting his bottom lip before swallowing yours again. He’s afraid to hurt you. It’s so fucking hot.

He moves you around so easily, hands on the back of your knees, pushing your legs against your chest before licking a long stipe through your cunt. You moan louder than intended, because it’s him doing it. Because it’s him doing it. He spreads them next, big strong hands inside your thighs, leaves a soft kiss on your clit. Out of necessity, your hands find something to grab in his own, spread flat over your stomach now, his tongue moving in quick, hard flicks over your clit. It makes you pant–writhe and pant and whine.

You search for grounding everywhere when his tongue sinks inside you, nose brushing against your clit—your palm your own breasts, white-knuckle the sheets and his shoulders and the sheets again.

His hands move up your sides and he curls his tongue around your cunt, pulls a pornographic moan from your lips. You write, moving up onto your elbows and he spreads your legs wider, wider, wider. Fuck. Fuck, he’s so good to you. An arm loops under your leg, around your thigh and over your cunt, sliding through your lips and opening you up for him all pretty. His eyes meet yours and he’s so pleased with himself, a genuine smile at the state he’s got you in and then he’s sucking down hard on your clip, pulling off with an audible pop. Your head falls back, your hole body tensing with pleasure when he doesn’t fucking stop sucking and licking and fucking. Your hands are on his again, gripping onto him for dear life, moving wherever he moves.

Your legs shake, fight against the hand on the inside of your thigh to close around his head, but he’s stronger than you. Fuck, he is. “So pretty,” he tells you, and you shudder, smile hard against the sheets and bury your hands in his hair.

“Right there,” you say through short, heavy pants, and then it’s all out the window. Game over, and you’re coming in his mouth and he still isn’t stopping so you just keep coming—so fucking hard, grinding against his mouth without any sense of rhythm. You think you could live in this high forever.

He kisses you, moves you—god, you’d be a ragdoll if he wanted, you think you really would. He moves you under him, up on your side and kisses down your shoulder, down your arm. He’s so kissy, can’t stay off you. It’s soft and romantic and it doesn’t make you ill at all, honest.

His words, though, they still want to keep up your little act. “You want me to fuck you, baby?” He asks, moving his dick through your slick, lining himself up to fuck you.

“Yes, yes,” you mewl, nodding hurriedly. He kisses you, sinks into you somewhere in the middle of it and you gasp into his mouth.

“Fff…” he trails off, bottoming out into you. “You okay?” he asked. You nod. You nod because you’re so full of him you can’t speak. The gesture is more than enough for him, provides him with the permission he needs to start fucking into you, to brace himself with a hand on either of your hips and thrust deep inside of you, bottoming out each and every time. “Fuck. Fuck, c’mere,” he groans, and then pulls you back against him, your back flush against his chest.

You crane your neck to kiss him, moan into his mouth when he’s cupping your ass and fucking you. You moan—gasp—and he fucking laughs. “Oh my god,” you whimper. “So good.”

He breathes sharp through his teeth, the bottom of his jaw rutting out with every thrust and then he’s biting your shoulder. He bruises the skin and kisses it better.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he says, and you want, so badly, to make him feel as good as he makes you.

“Wanna fuck you,” you say. “Let me fuck you.”

He doesn’t need convincing. “Okay,” he nods. “Okay, please.”

You’re half-hearted in your push back against his arm. He’s the reason he pulls out of you and falls back onto his back, makes space for you to straddle him and grind against him and kiss him and kiss him and let him kiss you.

With a cocky grin and dark green eyes he moves his cock through your slick, lets a smug laugh slip through his lips as he lines up with your hole so you can sink down on him, slow. Slow. Slow because the stretch burns every fucking time.

“Fuck,” you stumble, “s’big.”

He meets you halfway, lifts his hips up off the bed to minimize the time he spends not buried inside of you. He smiles all stupid and your stuttered whine. “Fucking took it all the other times,” he breathes out, fingers digging deep into the skin over your hips.

“Fuck you,” you laugh. He winces, and it only makes you laugh harder, lean down to kiss him so your chests are pressed against each other and grind your hips. His arms wrap around your middle, big and strong and pulling you impossibly close to him and the pace that he sets underneath you. They roam your body, his hands dancing over your sides and your back and knot into your hair, keep roaming until he’s grabbing at your ass.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he says. You don’t need his words to know that, the sounds of your cunt clenching around him audibly demonstrating just how wet you are with every single thrust. “Always so good for me.”

It doesn’t take long for you to come again, with the new angle and the new vulnerability. It never takes long with him, like he knows every inch of your body and just how to use it. “Mhm, fuck. Jesus,” you shudder, breath choppy and desperate. He’s relentless through your orgasm, like always, and it just extends it, draws it out painfully long. “I fucking l—ah—” you clench around him, legs shaking on either side of his abs. Your spasms aren’t calmed by even his strong hands, but he keeps them there anyway.

“I love fucking you, baby,” he says, nibbles on your ear, kisses nowhere in particular and everywhere at once. You’re filled with butterflied by his crude words.

“Do it, then,” you beg. “Please, fuck, please, Charles.”

In a single, swift movement, he pulls you off him and flips you onto your back. Immediately, without any semblance of hesitation, you’re reaching for his cock, to guide him back to where you want him, to where he belongs. You ache when you’re this close to him, when you’re this close and don’t have him, aren’t full of him.

His hands find both of yours, interlock your fingers and move them somewhere above your head, pinned against the sheets. “Don’t say my name like that,” he whispers.

You play dumb, but your cheeks are flushed. “Why not?”

“You drive me crazy,” he says, kisses you before you can even attempt to rebuke his claims.

“Me?” you laugh, fingers dancing over his abs. If his eyes weren’t so fucking green , you’re sure you’d find the reaction to your touch, the flexing of his muscles under the pads of your fingers, to be quite the show.

He smiles all soft. “You.”

Your hand pulls him to you by the back of his neck, something about you can’t say something like that and not kiss me after, and then you’re licking against his teeth and it’s all so hazy—the way he slides back inside you between gasped breaths, the way you bite down on his bottom lip when he fucks you so well, and the way your legs wrap around his waist when you come, trying to pull him closer, deeper, to feel him with every nerve ending.

“That’s right,” he says, a rare calming presence through your orgasms. He doesn’t do this often, not with you, at least. “Atta girl,” he laughs. “Make a mess.”

He fucks you through it, he does, but it’s slow and steady until you’re finished, back in reality, and then he’s the messy one—fast, hard, fucking into you with reckless abandon. Fast, fast, faster. It’s fucking blinding. Fuck, it’s good. It’s so good.

He groans against your shoulders, hips snapping against yours. “Yes, yes, yes,” you chant, because you’re so fucked at this point that English attempts to escape you. “You’re so fucking close, yes,” you moan, “please, give it to me, baby,” and then he’s coming, head buried in your neck. His body weight is heavy on you, every muscle tensing as you’re fucked full of his cum.

The two of you are so close, have never been fucking closer, and it still doesn’t feel like enough. “Fuck,” you giggle, and his whole body shakes with his own laughter, moving up to kiss you. You smile through the whole thing, through the hard kiss and the soft pecks that follow, through his fingers brushing the hairs from your forehead and the feeling of him dripping down your leg. Through all of it, you’re both smiling.

It’s giddy, almost, and God. God, you’re so fucking happy.

#charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc angst #f1 smut #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 #f1 x you #f1 x reader #ferrari #cl16

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leafsbabe · 5 months

Text

Vince Dunn - flu season

cw: discription of reader having a flu... 1.3k words

Waking up sick was never fun but at least you got sick while Vince was away on a road trip with the team far, far away from your germs. The last thing you needed was to get him sick too.

What had started with a sore throat had quickly developed into a full on flu. You felt horribly gross and in pain but at least you didn’t have to worry about work since your doctor gave you a note that excused you for two whole weeks.

The boredom was the worst of it, since everything you could think of to pass the time hurt. No phone because looking at a screen made your headache worse. No TV either since the noises made your headache worse. You couldn’t even blow your stuffy nose or cough without making your headache worse.

So napping it was.

After days of naps you expected to feel at least a little bit rested but no. Everything felt exhausting. There was nothing besides sleep, painkillers, and plain yogurt in your life.

Your muscles ached as you fought your way out of the blanket pile you slept under. Two days ago you had mustered up the strength to swap your bedding with the guest room set in an attempt to be surrounded by less germs. Today you shuffled to your closet and changed into a different shirt for the same reason.

Just as you were debating if you should try and make your way into the kitchen your bedroom door opened, revealing your boyfriend.

The two of you just looked at each other before you spoke up at the same time.

“You look terrible. Get back into bed.”

“I thought you wouldn’t get home until Tuesdays?”

You immediately regretted speaking, your throat burning now.

“It is Tuesday.” Vince said, dropping his bag with a dull thud. “Bed. Come on.”

You went without protest, letting yourself be tucked in and hiding your face in the blankets when he attempted to feel your forehead.

Vince didn’t stop fussing over you though. “Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?”

“Didn’t want you to worry. You needed to focus on the games.” It felt like a silly reason but you didn’t want to distract Vince during a road trip.

“Baby…” He trailed off, one of his hands coming up to brush over your sweaty hair. “Those games aren’t as important as you.”

You wanted to protest but Vince shushed you. “I could have at least asked the boys to send one of their wives over to check in on you and make sure you’re not dying.”

Just as you wanted to reply your body betrayed you, a coughing fit wrecked your body so hard your eyes started to water from the pain.

Vince didn’t comment on it; he just brushed your hair out of your face and tucked the blankets around you tighter. Well.. it looked like you would be staying in bed for a little while longer.

“I’m going to the store real quick.” Vince decided. “I’ll only be gone a few minutes but if anything happens promise you’ll call.”

“Hmmmm.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” You mumbled or maybe slurred. You couldn’t quite tell.

It wouldn’t matter anyways because somewhere between Vince pressing a kiss to your feverish forehead and him walking towards the door, you fell asleep.

By the time you woke up again twilight had set in. The low light coming through the window didn’t agitate your throbbing headache and you managed to get up and out of bed without the struggle you had earlier in the day.

The apartment was silent as you made your way out of the bedroom. It seemed like several hours had passed since Vince left but you couldn’t tell if he’d come back, which worried you more than the flu. You knew Vince wouldn’t just leave you alone while you were sick, that was the whole reason why you didn’t tell him about it in the first place.

Finally you spotted light coming from the kitchen but the sight that greeted you when you went to investigate wasn’t something you expected. Vince was standing with his back to you, working on something on the stove you couldn’t see. From what you could smell —and that wasn’t very much— whatever he was cooking smelled amazing. You didn’t know Vince could cook.

“What now?” He spoke, his voice loud over the quiet noises of the boiling water. For a moment you thought he was talking to you before his mom’s voice filled the room.

“Turn the heat to low and let it simmer. It should be done in 15 to 20 minutes.”

Vince nodded and as he moved you could see his iPad propped up, his mother’s face on the screen on a video call.

“And you better set a timer because we both know you’ll just forget about it and let the soup burn.”

“Mom, that’s—”

“Don’t say anything. You know I’m right. Now show me what tea you brought.”

You watched in silence as your boyfriend picked up a bag and placed it on the counter before holding up box after box after box of tea.

“Oh dear. How many different kinds did you get?”

Vince shrugged, the muscles under his shirt moving from where you could see his back. “I dunno. Like ten?” He looked between the bag and his mother’s face on the screen, then held up two more boxes.

“The red box.” His mom decided. “Do you have a kettle?”

Vince didn’t respond for a moment, freezing up at the question. “Uh…”

“Cabinet to your left.” You decided to help him out, alerting him to your presence.

He jumped, dropping the boxes he was holding. “You’re awake.”

“You’re cooking.”

The two of you just looked at each other for a moment before he finally seemed to register that you were standing in the kitchen with him. “Why aren’t you in bed? You're sick and need to rest.”

He walked over to you and felt your forehead again. “You don’t feel as hot as before. That’s good right?”

“Feel a little better too.” Speaking still hurt a little but you’d manage for the moment. “I wanted to look for you.”

Vince smiled. “You found me. Now get back to bed. I’ll bring you some tea and some soup soon.”

You wanted to fight him just on principle but a weird shiver ran through your body. “Okay.” You conceded, turning towards the iPad and addressing his mom for the first time since you stepped into the kitchen. “Hi. Thank you for helping Vince with the cooking.”

“Of course sweetheart. Get well soon. I’m gonna log off but don’t hesitate to call if you need any more help, okay?”

Vince barely managed to get out a “Thanks mom. Love you. Bye.” before the call ended. He then turned back to you, placing his hand on the small of your back and gently steering you towards the hallway. “Come on baby. Let's get you back into bed. A little rest and we’ll get you healthy again in no time.”

You laughed a little at his attentiveness. This side of him wasn’t exactly new but it surprised you time and time again, the amount of attention he paid to every little ailment. Vince cared. A lot. “Whatever you say, Dr. Dunn.”

Vince tucked you in again, this time letting you sit against the headboard as he went back to the kitchen to finish the soup and bring it to you alongside two different mugs of tea and some medicine. Smiling, you carefully tried the hot soup as he watched, a small satisfied moan leaving your mouth at the taste. Not bad at all. When you looked at Vince he smiled down at you with a soft look in his eyes and you couldn’t help but hope for a quick recovery. The last thing you wanted to do was get him sick but you also really wanted to kiss him. Soon, you thought. You’d be back to health in no time, but until then you could be convinced to let Vince play doctor (and private chef) a little longer.

#vince dunn #hockey imagine #hockey imagines #nhl imagine #vince dunn imagine #...so this is twenty-five

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hyperactively-me · 4 months

Text

i'll be home for christmas, reunited with simon 🎄🫂🎁 i thought i had this in the queue, but it wasn't 😪 so here is a christmas eve work <3 merry belated christmas to all who celebrate. also, i listened to "i'll be home for christmas" by bing crosby whilst writing this...absolutely perfect!

warnings: suggestive flirting, none

It’s Christmas Eve.

A Christmas tree sits in the corner of your living room, the twinkling lights gleaming and branches spilling with decadent ornaments and sparkling tinsel.

Two stockings are pinned up to the wall, one for you, and one for him.

You had spent hours meticulously adorning the house with festive decorations, hoping to fill the empty spaces with the warmth of the holiday spirit. Yet, despite your cheerful surroundings, an overwhelming sense of loneliness grips your heart. The apartment felt too cold for comfort, cold air seeping in through microscopic cracks in the windows.

Your boyfriend, Simon, had regretfully told you that he wouldn’t be able to make it home for Christmas due to a mission taking longer than originally expected. He let you know about two weeks ago, the guilt in his voice clearly evident over the phone. His absence weighs on you, making Christmas feel less like a celebration and more like a somber waiting game.

You tried to busy yourself with work and other things, an attempt to not feel so sad about Simon not spending Christmas with you this year.

Now, as you sit on the couch, staring at the flickering flames in the fireplace, you can’t help but replay the memories of past holidays spent together. The laughter, the warmth, and the joy seem like distant echoes, and the empty space beside you on the couch accentuates the obvious void he’s left behind.

The clock ticks away the hours, and with each passing minute, the hope that he might just show up lessens. Just when you resign yourself to a lonely Christmas Eve, you hear a sound that jolts you from your thoughts—the unmistakable creak of the front door opening.

At first, you’re afraid that someone broke into the house. Your heart races, fear suddenly taking over. Your eyes widen, scanning the room for something to defend yourself with, but then you hear it—that familiar voice calling your name.

“Hey there, love. Don’t go reachin’ for a weapon; it’s just me.”

You're momentarily speechless, your eyes wide with disbelief. Relief washes over you as you recognize Simon’s voice.

You nearly trip over your own feet as you rush to the doorway. There he stands, wearing a black hoodie and black sweatpants alongside a heavy duffel slung over his shoulder. Simon’s piercing gaze meets yours, and a small, sheepish smile graces his lips. The loneliness you were feeling evaporates into thin air, replaced by a surge of joy. His familiar face is a sight for sore eyes, and the exhaustion etched across his face fades away in the warm light of your shared home.

“Simon!” you exclaim, throwing your arms around him. His hug is firm, and you can feel the tension of his absence slowly releasing from his body as he relaxes in your tight embrace.

“Surprise,” he says, his voice a soothing balm. His hands run up and down your back, kneading into your skin.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t make it back in time,” you manage to whisper, your voice muffled against his chest.

Simon chuckles softly, his warm breath tickling your ear. “Miss me much?”

You pull away, but your hands remain on his shoulders as you look up at him. “More than words can say. I’m completely surprised.”

Simon’s arms encircle your midsection protectively. “I couldn’t stand the thought of you spending Christmas alone. I managed to wrap things up sooner than expected.”

He leans down, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. As you pull away, Simon’s gaze lingers on your face, his eyes growing with an intensity that you know he’s holding himself back on.

“I can’t believe you’re really here,” you whisper.

Simon’s grin widens, a playful glint in his eyes. “Believe it, baby.”

With a gentle nudge, he leads you back to the living room. The Christmas tree and the cozy ambiance of the apartment suddenly feel more welcoming with Simon’s unexpected arrival.

“You’ve done an amazing job with the decorations,” he comments, surveying the room. He drops his duffel bag to the floor.

You glance around, admiring your own handiwork. “I wanted everything to be perfect in case you could make it home.” You shiver slightly, the lingering cold from earlier still not fully out of your system.

He pulls you into another hug, his warmth enveloping you. “It’s more perfect than I could have imagined. Now, how about I keep you warm, lovie?”

Simon sits you down on the couch, and you spend the rest of the evening talking, laughing, and cuddling in front of the Christmas tree. The cold loneliness that had settled in the apartment earlier in the day is replaced by the warmth of sharing body heat with your boyfriend and the comforting presence of a loved one.

#simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon “ghost” riley x reader #simon “ghost” riley x you #hyperactivelyme

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peterparkouryo · 1 year

Text

dream palace. | p.p imagine

┊ ˚➶ ｡˚ ☁️

prompt: Movie night with your boyfriend turns into something more.

warnings: fluff, making out, no smut because i suck at writing it (mentions of it)

word count: 1.7k

a/n: i am extremely sorry for not uploading anything last week, really busy with captivated habits two and rebound three. enjoy this lil fic i made this weekend

Every Friday was movie night. It was a traditional thing you and your boyfriend, Peter did, even before the two of you started dating.

Sometimes on a rare occasion, your two other friends would join you, but since MJ and Ned weren't a couple, it almost felt like they were third wheeling whenever the two of you would drift your focus away from the movie playing and onto each other.

You were almost glad that on most Friday nights, it was just you and Peter. It gave you the opportunity to focus less on the movie and more on each other, which in a logical sense, defeats the entire purpose of a "movie night".

Today, rather it be fortunate or unfortunate, wasn't one of those days, and the moment you opened the door of your apartment to Peter's grinning face, and laptop in hand (since you didn't own one and you enjoyed watching it on his rather than the TV in your room), you were ecstatic of his presence.

He had such a giddy effect on you, it was no wonder with every alone time you two would get, you could never keep yours hands off him.

"So, what movie are we watching?" You questioned the boy, plopping down on your bed as he trailed behind you, the door coming to a close as he did.

"Return of the Jedi, although not my favourite, I figured it's best we get this one out the way." Peter tells you, setting his laptop at the bottom of your bed. You let out a groan of protest, which didn't go unnoticed by him.

You adored Peter's dorkiness, it was one of the many reasons you were dating him, but sometimes it smothered you whenever it was Star Wars related, and you both knew you couldn't really get into the franchise itself no matter if you pretended to or not.

"What?" He asks quite frantically, a small pout forming on his lips.

"This is the fourth Star Wars movie we seen during our movie nights." You pointed out.

"Well, yeah, but the last one didn't really count because we were fu-"

"Okay! But that's different, and that only happened 'cause I didn't want to watch another Star Wars movie." You cut Peter's words off rather quickly as he lets out a laugh.

"No, really?" His voice comes out sarcastic and you roll your eyes.

"Can we just please watching something else?" You pleaded, your first and maybe last attempt at the puppy dog eyes you were giving him.

Peter eyes you for a moment, fighting a debate in his head rather to give in or just see where the night takes him if he insists you have to watch Return of the Jedi, and god knows you and your charm will have him doing the exact opposite as last time.

"Fine." He gives in after another heartbeat of silence, holding back an eye roll at your squeal of happiness.

"What movie did you have in mind?" He grumbles out, opening his laptop to a streaming service.

You think on his words for a minute, not really having a movie that you wanted to watch specifically. In all honesty, anything but a Star Wars movie would do perfectly fine. You say the first movie that comes to your head.

"Clueless."

"And you say Star Wars is bad." Peter groans and you send the boy a glare.

"Nothing is wrong with Clueless, it's a perfectly good movie with decent comedy." You argue and Peter says nothing as he goes to search for the movie anyhow.

"Yeah, for someone who enjoys cheesy rom coms about rich people." He states back, successfully finding the movie, clicking play.

Thirty or so minutes passes by, the two of you cuddled close together as the laptop settles on Peter's lap, and you don't miss the yawn he lets out as he tries his best to not seem bored of the movie.

You would almost feel bad, but the past few movie nights has been his pickings and rather the two of you would pay attention or not, it was your turn, rightfully.

You feel Peter's figure shift, his hand wrapped around your arm, cuddling you closer as he lets out a bored sigh. You give him a side eye, a very annoyed one before you decide to just ignore his bored state and focus on the movie.

Peter then gives your shoulder a light kiss, running his fingers up and down your arm slowly and it certainly didn't take a rocket scientist to know exactly what he was trying to do.

"Peter." You warned, shrugging his close figure away from you and he smiles at your protests.

"Sorry." The boy apologies sheepishly, and you know all too well that he really wasn't.

After the interaction, a few more minutes pass by and you focus on the movie, or at least you tried to.

"What do you think you're doing?" You feel Peter's hand retreat from underneath your shirt, his hand taking home to your arm where it should had respectfully been anyway.

"I'm not doing anything?" Peter tells you, his voice confused, pretending to be watching the movie.

You roll your eyes at his words, smiling at the thought of Peter being so miserably bored, he'd do anything to distract you from the movie as well.

"Didn't seem that way." You point out, giving him a glance, his eyes refusing to meet yours.

"I know better than to have sex with you during our movie nights." Peter informs and you can tell his words are a clear mocking of the exact thing you do whenever it was a movie of his you didn't want to watch.

You shoot him a glare.

"First of all, I don't do it every time it's a movie you pick, and second of all, Clueless is a lot more entertaining than people in space." You argue, folding your arms over your chest, like a child would.

"I never said you did and this movie is way more boring and has no action." Peter bites back and you chuckle at the adorable pout on his face.

"Would you rather do something else? Like maybe, braid each other's hair, or put on face masks?" You suggest jokingly.

Peter finds no humour in your joke, and continues his pouting, watching the laptop screen, but not actually paying any attention to it.

"Or we could just make out." You joked some more, chuckling to yourself, because even if Peter didn't find anything you were saying funny, you knew you were on some level the funniest person to be known.

"Okay." You hear him say, and you stop yourself from your laughter, raising a quizzical eyebrow, your gaze reaching Peter's eager one.

"I was joking." You point out, and the boy shrugs, unaffected at your words.

"Well I wasn't and if sleeping with you won't drag your attention away from this boring movie, maybe making out with me will." The boy shows you an ear to ear grin and you tilt your head in disbelief.

"How about we finish this movie, then we'll see?" You say slowly, and Peter doesn't give that option into consideration.

"Or, we can see now." Peter pushes the laptop off his lap, turning to you rather quickly, attacking your lips before you could say or do anything.

The first time you and Peter ever kissed was well, awkward. It being your first relationship and vice versa, you never knew exactly how a kiss should be and obviously, neither did Peter.

Though yes, it was really awkward, given the fact the two of were in the middle of having ice cream, and it was a very sticky, messy kiss, it still was somehow perfect. Some might say it wasn't, but oddly enough, it just made sense.

And ever since your first kiss, Peter made it his life's mission to prove just how progressively good he was at "sucking your face" (as MJ likes to call it).

With the movie now long forgotten, you swiftly fall under the spell that is Peter and his lips, the boy pulling you onto his lap.

The kiss had a mutual understand of the ache burning in your bodies, but you knew better than to act on it. Only because Peter had this annoying habit of leaving very noticeable blemishing on your skin and it took a lot of hours of makeup and strategic thinking to hide them, not only from your friends, but parents too.

Peter's hands were (very) eager, to grip pretty much any part of your body, settling for clasping his ungodly hold on your waist, which was a prominent touch you felt even through your shirt.

Your hands rested on his shoulder, sliding their way to the back of his neck, playing with the soft curls as they did so.

A keen noise escapes Peter's lips and you smile, continuing with the kiss.

There were moments like this were you were content with Peter's captivating presence. It was hard to put in words, but anytime you were in a proximity of him, you felt safe. Not only that, but the boy gave you every reason in the world to trust him with your life.

Hopefully Peter trusted you just as much as you trust him. You surely didn't doubt it, with how he was practically moaning in your mouth at the moment.

You two eventually have to pull away to catch your breath, and you. catch glimpse of Peter's dazed state, biting your bottom lip to stop the grin forming on your face.

"What?" Peter wonders, his flustered gaze staring at your curiously.

"Nothing, just love looking at your post make out face." You admit, running a hand through his head full of curls.

Peter says nothing, closing his eyes as he lets out a sigh of content at your gesture you've done plenty times before.

If it were up to you, you'd stay like this forever. Watching your boyfriend enjoy your delicate touch, his breathing at an even pace, letting you know he was comfortable and genuinely happy in any moment spent with you.

"We should get back to the movie." You suggest, attempting to remove yourself from his lap but unfortunately the spider boy had a stronger advantage.

You raise an eyebrow at him and his pout of protest.

"I'd rather you stay here and keep me warm." He suggests, sliding his hands behind your back for a hug.

You smile at his words, giving him a hug back, melting into his touch.

"If you know what I mean." You hear him say, smirking in your neck.

Your eyes roll at his suggestive option, pushing him away from you.

"Gross." You groan, successfully removing yourself from his lap, reaching for his laptop and unpausing the movie.

"It's not like you haven't done that before."

"Peter!"

"Right, sorry."

#peter parker x you #peter parker fluff #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #peter parker smut

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seungmoonandstars · 19 days

Text

𝐼’𝓂 𝓈𝑜𝓇𝓇𝓎 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓈𝓃’𝓉 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒

Kim Seungmin/female reader

wc: 1.8k

synopsis: someone is cheating // pt 1

rating: mature/angst ꩜ (contains: aggression, confrontation)

⤜ · · ♡ · · →

3pm

SM: I won’t be back until Sunday, love, but I’ll call you tonight before you fall asleep! Hopefully I can catch you before you do

YN: it’s okay, Min. I’ll be here, and I’ll be up for a while

SM: I’ll text first just in case

YN: ♥️

12:30am

SM: sleeping?

11am

SM: I’m sorry I missed you last night, we can try again today!

2pm

SM: babe, you know I hate double triple quadruple texting you. Are you okay?

· · ♡ · ·

Saturday, 10:30pm

Seungmin struggles for a moment with his key, but manages without dropping his bags. The door swings open, and he’s greeted by a dark foyer, a dark living room, and a single faint light coming from the kitchen. And it’s too quiet—no tv left on, no music playing to fill the silence, like usual. It’s a little warm inside, and it was a warm day, but Seungmin can feel a breeze coming in from one open window.

“I’m home,” he calls out softly, and his voice carries down the hall and into the open door of the bedroom. But the apartment is empty. You’re not here.

He looks down at his phone, opens his texts, and types. His face falls slowly as he figures out another message to send to you. Seungmin has been away a lot lately, and things have felt strained, but you always answer, eventually, even if it’s hours later. You’ve never been silent for more than a day, and now it’s going on two.

sm: hi love, I’m home early

After making sure you’re not just sound asleep in bed, he starts to type one more message. But he stops himself, and instead he starts to unpack his things.

A few minutes later, his phone buzzes.

yn: hey, I’m so sorry sweetie. I’ll be home soon. I went out with some friends and my phone died

He sighs, relieved to finally hear from you. But he doesn’t reply right away; he waits until he empties his bag, showers, get dressed, and makes himself tea.

The lock clicks and the door swings open just as he reaches for his phone.

“Minnie!” You run to him and he opens his arms to hold you against him. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

He fights with questioning your absence—not from the house, but from answering his texts, and decides to wait. Right now, he wants to sit down with you and relax; talk; catch up. Maybe that will reveal the answers without him having to ask—he hopes it will, because it’s slowly starting to eat at him.

· · ♡ · ·

“We traveled all day today, a lot of driving, so it was a little hectic.” He curls up in the couch and hugs his knees tights to his chest. “I missed talking to you last night.”

“I guess I was more tired than I thought”

“But I’m here now”

Seungmin’s little nod, his hesitant smile…you missed him so much, and you’re not sure you can even begin to tell him just how much. You crawl across the couch and kneel in front of him. “You’re here”

The kiss you give him is returned, but it’s as hesitant as his smile.

“What’s wrong, Min?”

He shakes his head, “nothing…I’m okay, uhm…”

“You can tell me, you know that”

Yes, he can. The two of you tell each other everything, and as far as Seungmin knows, there are no secrets between you. So why does he suddenly feel so uneasy? “Just too tired to think straight. Maybe we should go to bed.”

“Yeah, let’s go to bed. Clean sheets and everything, all ready for you.”

· · ♡ · ·

Weeks pass, and eventually, Seungmin feels better—less worried, less unsure about things. It’s not completely gone, though. Every hour that passes without a reply from you makes his heart sink a little more. But then you do reply, and everything is fine for a while. Communication between you has changed…just a little bit, but enough.

It’s turning into a vicious cycle, and it’s not good for his head right now. He feels distracted from his work.

Seungmin video calls you on his way home a few days later. You don’t answer.

Coming home is like deja vu. Dark, though not quite as dark this time. The tv is on, and so is the bedroom light. Seungmin can hear the shower running when he closes the door. He’s relieved he doesn’t have to worry like last time, and for some reason, even though so much is still eating at him, being home feels good, and everything feels okay. You’re home and waiting for him, and maybe you haven’t been in much of a talking mood lately.

That’s all this is. Everything is good.

He hears his phone buzz and feels for it in his back pocket, but it’s not him. Yours is sitting on the kitchen counter, right next to the coffee you were drinking not long ago. It doesn’t seem out of place of him to look at the notification on your screen, because he’s done it before—you don’t hide anything from each other. But this time he isn’t sure of what he’s seeing. It’s not a text notif, or Instagram, or twitter. It’s not KakaoTalk, which he knows you use, just not much. This one is from Line, and the sender is a name you don’t recognize: 민수

Maybe it’s a coworker, or a client. You know so many people through your work, and Seungmin knows that. But the message is right there…two of them.

민수: I hope you had a good time...I did! I’ll see you again soon

The second message is a ❤️. The same red heart you always send to him. Seungmin feels every drop of blood drain from him, and he feels like he’s falling, but he’s not. His feet are somehow still flat on the floor, and his hand trembles as he touches your screen—he wants to see it and read it one more time, just in case he read it wrong.

The shower stops, and in the time it takes you to get yourself dressed, Seungmin doesn’t move. He’s rooted to this spot, and he’s sure if he takes a single step, he’ll crumble, and he won’t be able to put himself back together again.

“Minnie?”

Your voice echoes in his head.

“Seungmin, baby, you’re home…what—“

He sees your eyes move and glance at your phone on the counter, and then they’re back on his.

“What’s wrong?”

Why can’t he speak? His mouth drops open and nothing comes out, but inside he’s screaming, picking something up and throwing it against the wall, jumping on you and shaking you until you tell him…

“Why?” Is all he manages.

“Why what? Is everything okay? Seungmin, you look so pale…”

His fist clenches behind his back. “I know I haven’t been around much lately…more than lately. But I’m trying. I try so hard to be with you…when I’m away. I thought I was…” he stops and takes a stuttering breath, and his nails dig so hard into his palm, it feels like he’s breaking skin, “…doing okay.”

“Seungmin, you do better than okay”

“Where have you been? You never answer my calls anymore. You hardly text back, and when you do…it’s hours later.”

“You’re right, I’ve been really bad at this for the last few weeks”

“Who is Minsoo?”

There's silence for far longer than either of you intend, but breaking it is impossible. Seungmin said it out loud, he had to, and now things will play out exactly as they should.

But the silence is as much of an answer as he needs. He turns to your phone and picks it up, looks at the messages again. The heart was sent an hour ago, right after you left wherever you were, got home, made coffee, got in the shower. Seungmin wonders what clothes are lying on the bathroom floor right now, and his eyes sting with tears at what his mind creates.

The metal frame of the phone gives a little under his grip, and it gives in completely when it meets the wall between you. The sound is intense—the crunch of glass, the crumble of drywall. Seungmin is strong when he’s not angry, and right now he’s more than that. He’s pissed, and he’s confused.

“Why?” His hand runs through his hair and stays there as he stares at the remnants of your phone; one half of the lifeline between you when he’s gone. “Answer me.”

You jump again, despite the eerie softness of his voice. You have no answer for him, and even if you did, it wouldn’t change a thing right now. “Minnie, I love you.”

“You love me?”

He takes a few steps toward you, and you move back just as many. Seungmin has never given you any reason to fear him, and he’s never argued or fought. You don’t know anyone nearly as level-headed and calm as him, but you’ve also never done anything this stupid before.

“I do, more than anything.”

This time you stay put when he closes the gap, because something has to happen, and there’s nowhere else to go. It’s you, it’s Seungmin, and it’s the wall behind you.

His hands come up, close around your cheeks, and his thumbs run over them so sweetly, “you love me…but, you fucked someone else?”

“I didn’t. Seungmin, I didn’t. Please.”

“You've been ignoring me for another man. Pouring yourself out to him? Telling him things, telling him how you feel being all alone in bed all the time because your boyfriend is never here for you.”

“No. No, Seungmin.”

His touch on you tightens, just for a moment, as he matches the intensity of your gaze. And then he relaxes and lets go. You stay quiet as he grabs his bag and disappears into the bedroom, and you brace yourself for a slam that doesn’t come. There may be no coming back after this, and you know that. It didn’t cross your mind what might happen if a night like this came, because you weren’t sure if what you were doing, at least initially, was that wrong. But things spiraled, and you spiraled with them, and you let your isolation get the better of you.

You should have stopped when the messages got more frequent; when you felt guilty texting Seungmin at the same time as him; ignoring a phone call when you were with him.

Seungmin flies by you and heads for the door.

“Please don’t leave, Minnie, I need you”

“You need me?” He pulls his shoes on and takes his time re-lacing them. “I needed you, too. Every time I text you goodnight, or facetime you, I do it for a reason.”

“I know. I fucked up.”

“Because it’s lonely being away, even when I’m surrounded by people. Did I ever tell you that?”

“No”

“That much is my fault then, but I didn’t think I had to tell you.” He picks up both of his bags and opens the door.

“Where are you going?”

“My dorm,” he looks back once more with his hand on the doorknob, but says nothing.

“I love you…I love you, Min”

“Goodnight”

#kim seungmin x reader #seungmin x reader #kim seungmin x y/n #seungmin x y/n #kim seungmin fanfic #kim seungmin #seungmin fanfic #kim seungmin angst #seungmin angst #skz seungmin x reader #skz seungmin #skz x reader #skz angst #skz fanfic #stray kids seungmin #stray kids angst

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seikkoi · 8 months

Text

𝗞𝗔𝗥𝗠𝗔 | wanda maximoff x f!reader

18+ minors dni

𝗖𝗢𝗟𝗟𝗘𝗚𝗘 !𝗔𝗨

content: gay as hell, slight degradation, mentions of infidelity, thigh riding, slight dacryphilia,

genre: angst, sm*t, set in a college au

word count: 3,212

a/n: @nightprompts for the inspiration

“Wanda, please, what do you want me to do?” You’d promise her anything right now. Your eyes grew wet, filling with tears soon to fall. You’d promise to stay away from parties, other girls, tell the world you were hers- anything. “I just need you back, what do you need me to say, please.”, you continue to plea as tears start to flow. Another interlude of silence passes as you stare into emerald irises. “Begging is a good look for you.”

Fresh, white snow crunched under your leather boots. An even, steady sound like styrofoam splintered by angry fingers. With each tinted imprint left behind by your worn soles, you prayed. Prayed that this wasn’t a stupid decision. You kept your head down, watching your weight sink into the soles, guarding against icy winds. Gloved hands squeezed tight in your coat pockets. You said silent prayer after silent prayer as snowflakes coated your eyelids and wet your rosy cheeks. She had to forgive you, right? She’d see how sorry you were- Amidst the frozen landscape, your shivering skin and trembling resolve were symbols of your remorse.

Eventually, you recognized the stone pillar by her apartment, gray marble jutting from a pile of snow. You were close now, lifting your head to see the familiar red building’s ornate trim. The sight makes you nauseous. Less than a hundred yards separated you from the woman who had warned you of regret, who had sworn never to lay eyes on you again.

“How pathetic.” , you thought to yourself. To come crawling back like she said you would be. When you’d decided to do this, brave this frozen nightmare, pride was no factor- just getting Wanda back.

What were you even going to say? Would she even answer the door?

Amidst your inner turmoil, memories of sandalwood and jasmine on her skin resurfaced. The melodic giggles, the gentle touch that commanded attention. You remember walking across this same campus and finally noticing and watching Wanda with awe. You reminisced about the feeling of completeness she brought, and how her absence had felt like the loss of your sanity.

You swallow your cowardice and continue on.

Between the cold journey and rising anxiety, you make it through her apartment’s lobby with wobbly legs. The hours late, only the faint echo of televisions and Friday night parties gearing up as you make your way up the stairs. The warmth of the building doesn’t render you any less frigid by the time you reach Wanda’s floor.

You can’t help but chuckle a bit when you hear the music and voices coming from her neighbor, Natasha’s apartment. Natasha was a graduate student, like Wanda, that had become something infamous around campus for her parties, even amongst the underclassmen. You’d started your senior year in college in the hopes that you learn to study more and go out less. It worked for the first week of classes, then you met Nat.

You’d met Wanda initially at Nat’s, but at the time she hardly stood out to you. Over time, though, you saw her more and more, eventually outside of dark, crowded rooms. The first time this happens, you feel insanely oblivious for not noticing her sooner. Auburn locks, a captivating accent – the puzzle pieces had fallen into place too late.

Like the idiot you are, instead of realizing how special she was, you decided to explore your options instead. You’d foolishly assumed in the beginning that she’d wait, that she’d always be there. The two of you were never explicitly exclusive, yet in the back of your mind you knew she wouldn’t be okay with you sleeping around. You subtly hid other girls from Wanda- only for her to find out anyway.

She found out from some post a particularly enticing sorority girl made. While you weren’t in the picture, it gave a clear view of your dorm bedroom with a caption that told Wanda everything she needed to know. Too bad it was from weeks ago- before you quit sleeping around. You’d awoke yesterday morning to a multitude of pissed off texts and calls. Any attempt to apologize or deflect in person just earned you more anger. Telling her it wasn’t recent didn’t help anything either. Ultimately, it ended with Wanda blocking you and swearing you out of your life.

A wince passes through you with the memory of her harsh words. The rusted letters on her doorplate seemed to mock you, the reverberations of the neighboring party serving as an ironic backdrop .The bass does a better job at warming your bones than the heaters.

“She can’t just ignore me.” , a final hope as you remove your gloves and give the door a heavy knock. The moment you longed and dreaded neared. A few seconds of quiet pass- you give another, louder this time. Inside, you can hear more music, this one much gentler, and something shuffling.

Right as your nerves are split between knocking again or fleeing while you still can, the door swings open.

Wanda stands in front of you, annoyance crossing her face. You notice how breath-taking she looks, dressed in a hoodie and simple shorts that leave little to the imagination. Just as you're preparing your plea for forgiveness, those gorgeous green eyes roll at the sight of you, and she turns to close the door.

You’re not leaving without getting a chance to make your case, sticking your foot out followed by your right arm to keep it open. Behind her, you can see textbooks and papers strewn about, the record player spinning softly.

Her face is swirled in a mix of surprise and anger. For the sake of seeing this through, you decide to focus on the surprise.

“Look, Wanda, can we talk, please, I’m really sorry about everything that happened I know I’m not suppose to be here-”

“What do you want?” She interrupts your rambling, crossing her arms and leaning about the doorframe. Her tone is dry, straight to the chase like you’d treat a salesperson.

It throws you a bit, leaving you stammering on hopeless words.

“I want you to talk to me, let me explain.”, you plea.

“What is there to explain? What, one of your little flings cancel?”

You’re the one rolling your eyes now, pulling the hood of your coat down as the snow on it starts melting. You shivered, not just from the cold, but from the iciness of her demeanor. You had come this far, endured the frigid journey, for a chance to mend what was broken between you two. She seems to take in your hypothermic appearance, eyeing your wet clothes and reddened skin.

“You walked all the way here?” Wanda questions and you respond with a shuddering nod. The sympathy in her gaze was fleeting, replaced by cool appraisal as she eyed your wet clothes and rosy skin.

She takes enough pity on you to step away from the door, gesturing into the apartment. You’re the one surprise now, but you aren’t going to question progress. You kick your boots off at the entryway. Wanda waits by her kitchen counter until you’ve hung your coat up, watching you like a hawk.

“You didn’t answer me. Am I just your backup plan?” Whatever sympathy points you earned a moment ago are gone. Bitterness is all that coats her tongue.

Your earlier nausea bubbles into guilt. How do you explain that at one point she was without completely tossing away any chance of winning her back. You really want to answer honestly, to bare your soul in the hope that she sees how much you need her. This morning, you’d tried moving on- hooking up with someone else. You couldn’t even follow through because it just wasn’t Wanda. Worse than that, now you feel like the largest piece of shit on the planet. Maybe you didn’t even deserve her forgiveness. Maybe you should’ve listened to Wanda and left her alone.

Your head hangs silently and Wanda scoffs. You weren’t worthy of the thing you sought most.

Out the corner of your eye, her silhouette pivots, heading for the disarrayed living room. Words jumble and mix like tangled cords in your throat. So many things to say and so little meaning takes form.

“Wanda, I’m sorry. I’m here because I fucked up, not because there’s someone else I’d rather be with.” You stress your apology, stretching rubber band syllables into a tangled sentence.

It stops her nonetheless. When she turns back, there’s something else in her face. Every touch on every random girl- you’d take it back if it made her smile instead.

“You think I’m that dumb?” She scoffs again.

You left pride at the door. “No, no, please, all I want is you.” you choke out.

You take the small steps across her entryway, shaking your head. Your hands finally feel warm once when they enclose hers. The desperation you had, the one that propelled you to walk through layers of snow, is only worsened at the touch. The silken skin under your fingers sparks a longing you didn’t think could get so big in one day.

Wanda’s expression becomes clear- it’s smugness coloring her face.

Still, she’s silent, and the brief silence turns unbearable.

“I-I was betting on you, just, I don’t know,” You suck in a breath, trying to find balance in your words.

“I just was hoping you never found out, never cared- waited for me.” you admit.

The soft skin is ripped from your fingers immediately after.

“You know, maybe you should bet on something else instead of betting on someone’s fucking feelings.” Wanda glares when she speaks, her accent particularly derisive, piercing your gut.

“I know, I know,” you lament, reaching out for her hands the second they leave. “Wanda, give me another chance, just-please.”

The scarlet woman doesn’t move or make a sound. Her self-assured glare watches you plead aimlessly. You can hardly take it. It made more sense yesterday when she was cursing you in Sovokian on the phone.

“I just need you back, what do you need me to say, please.”, you continue to beg as tears start to flow.

Another interlude of silence passes as you stare into emerald irises.

“Begging is a good look for you.” Wanda’s voice eases, laced with smugness.

You swear you see a grin twitching at the corners of her lips. One of the hands your holding moves to your head, gently stroking your nape.

“You’re cute when you cry. Does this normally get you what you want?” Wanda doesn’t give you time to answer, tugging your hair slightly.

A breath fills your lungs at the force. Her touch was always enigmatic in how it rendered you so wanting so effortlessly. You give into her pull, eyes closing slowly. She knows all your cues, and if she needs to capitalize on those to take you back, fine.

“All I want is you.” An admission that comes without restraint.

It seems to please Wanda, who brings her other hand to your shoulder. You feel a teardrop roll down your cheek, which Wanda quickly brushes with her thumb.

“I told you- you’d come crawling back,” She strokes your collarbone, tracing up your neck, heating cold skin. “Tch. Fucking your way through campus just wasn’t enough.”

“Wanda-”

You want to tell her to stop, that you get it, but she interrupts you with a sudden kiss, fast and bruising. The sandalwood you were craving floods your nostrils. She holds you in place with the hand at your shoulder. It’s not like it's necessary, you quickly give into her lips, relief flooding your veins.

Sooner than you’d like, Wanda pushes you away, breaking the kiss. While you’re panting, dazed by the taste of her lip gloss, she’s smirking. She releases your shoulder, bringing a hand up to cup your chin, thumb stroking the sheen on your bottom lip.

It’s a dangerous tease, and you lean forward to try and kiss her again. Wanda pulls you away gently by your hair, sucking her teeth. You close your eyes, face turning red from shame at the arousal she so easily sparks.

“I think I like you better this way- desperate.” she says, biting her lip. Her eyes are locked on yours when unbuckle the belt at your waist. In the next moment, her hand ducks behind your waistband.

You suck in a breath at the touch, but don’t dare move on the off-chance Wanda takes that as a reason to stop. She knows how to make you weak, though, giving light strokes that make you pant all over again.

“Darling,” Wanda drawls, fingertips gathering the wetness pooling in your underwear. “I’ve barely touched you and you’re a mess.”

You squeeze your eyes tighter, mind hyper focusing on every moment of her fingers.

“Aw,” she taunts with a soft voice, gripping the hair at your nape harder. “Does that sorority girl make you feel this good?”

You’re too blinded by pleasure to muster a response. She knows she’s right without you saying it, regardless. You mentally wished you could take your jeans off without Wanda stopping.

Still, Wanda needs to hear it from you. She pulls the hands from jeans, making you open your eyes to see her lust-riddled face. Her eyebrow is raised, waiting.

“No, no one makes me feel as good as you, Wanda.” You’re left panting and dying for her to keep touching you. You’ll tell her whatever she needs to hear- it was true anyway.

It’s exactly what she wanted, and you’re rewarded tenfold with another bruising kiss. It’s long and sloppy as Wanda guides you into the hallway, pressing your back against the wall.

When she pulls away, you're both gasping for air. Wanda rests her head on your shoulder, hungry hands fully undoing your belt and pulling your pants off your ankles. Your hands are just as occupied, twisting her hoodie in your hands to pull her closer.

“Tell me again,” she purrs in your ear. You feel her fingers graze the wet fabric of your underwear. The hairs on your neck are electrified. Charged and needy just like she wants.

“You’re the only one who makes me feel this way.” Your head tilts back, thudding on the dimly-lit hallway. You can still hear the party next door, still raging.

You sink into her touch, hoping that you’ll gain even just an ounce of friction. That Wanda will pull back the black lace, using those same elegant hands to-

As quickly as your arousal builds, it ends when Wanda promptly withdrawals. She smiles at your needy, confused expression. The scarlet woman steps away, moving past more scattered textbooks and papers. She reaches her bedroom door, opening it before turning back and motioning you forward.

You only feel a little pathetic at how fast you follow. Wanda’s bedroom comes into view, and she sits on the edge of her bed, looking more than dignified. You cross the small gap between her door and her bed, and her arms open, allowing you to straddle her lap. You drape your arms around Wanda’s next, becoming enveloped once more at her warmth.

You try to capture her lips, but she pulls you back another time.

“Why are you being such a tease?” you huff, settling on top of her legs.

“I don’t think you’ve earned it.” Wanda speaks with the same subtle grin, caressing your thighs.

“How many more times you need me to say it? I’m sorry, Wanda.” You bring your lips to her neck, laying mild kisses along her collarbone. You know you’re weakening any restraint she had- feeling her squeeze the subtle flesh on your legs.

“Sorry, darling, not good enough.” Wanda shifts you, bringing her leg between yours. Her hands leave your thighs for your hips, pressing your center against her thigh. You bit your lip at the pressure to your aching core, dampness spreading from your lace to Wanda’s sweats. Far too worked up, you go for a second attempt at kissing her- which fails. You’re determined though, going for the loop on her pants- to which she swats your hand away.

Worse, she laughs at your impatient desire, making the redness on your cheeks spread anew.

“Wanda, c’mon,” You're certain you’re gonna explode if she doesn’t let you at least kiss her.

In response, she presses her thigh harder, pulling a groan from your lips.

“I’m not gonna help you get off, darling.” You meet her eyes and they’re clouded, pupils dark. It makes the heat in your core even more insufferable.

“It’s this or nothing.” you watch her eyes trail down your figure as she speaks.

Wanda’s completely serious, however, to your dismay. It wasn’t enough to make you beg- now she wouldn’t even give you what you wanted.

“You want me so badly, show me.” Her tone is riddled with well-placed arrogance- you didn’t just want Wanda, you needed her like oxygen.

You’re too far in and too desperate to protest when she presses into you further. A whine escapes your lips, hips instinctively rolling against her. The coarse fabric of her pants drags along your center in a teasing pleasure.

It’s not long before you're moaning softly, riding Wanda’s thigh with little shame. It’s not enough, though, rendering you a whiny, shaky mess above her. Wanda takes great joy in the visible dark spot on her sweats, watching every scrunch of your face and twitch of your body.

“Aw, look at you darling,” she scoffs, “Dying for me to touch you, but you’re just happy to ride my thigh, aren’t you?”

Her words taste like kerosene, lighting fire after fire in your nerves. This was karma, the best that you deserved, and nothing more. Despite that, your body needed more. It was pitiful, how you must look- begging for so much and being grateful for so little.

Your hips turn frantic as you frustratingly try to pursue your end, knots tying in your stomach. You wouldn’t know it from her words, but Wanda’s eyes never leave you- fully infatuated with your whines and moans.

Every brush of your clit along stretched fabric is painfully good. You try shifting, centering yourself differently to get that extra pressure right where you need it. It doesn’t work, with every movement being so close to just enough. You think your mind might split into two at the sensation, nails digging into Wanda’s clothed shoulder.

“Please, baby,” you whine, hips still rolling. You were so, so close if she just-

Your ceaseless begging puts Wanda in a rewarding move, pressing back into you to give you the right amount of friction to send you over. The high you’d been so exasperatingly chasing sneaks up on you. You swear while your vision blurs, legs clamping around her. Your hips jerk involuntarily, sending the final wave through you, clinging to Wanda like a life raft.

Wanda lets you ride out your orgasm to its end, running her finger through your hair. When you come down and meet her eyes again, she looks much too pleased with herself. Still, her face is flushed, inviting lips parted. The recently extinguished fire is re-ignited in your core just from the sight. Wanda would always have this effect on you, you wished you’d realized that sooner.

“Please tell me I can kiss you now.” You drape your arms back over her shoulders.

A grin plasters it way onto her face. “Sure, you’ve earned it.”

You don’t waste a second to do so, bringing your face to hers. You’re slow and intently, taking in the taste on her tongue. You rest your forehead against Wanda’s when you pull away, sighing. The air feels warm and light between you, listening to her heady pants. Maybe you didn’t deserve to have Wanda back, but you do anything to get this feeling.

You’d walk through a million snow storms for her, without question.

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader #mcu fanfiction #scarlet witch #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch fanfic #scarlet witch x you #mcu fanfic #wanda maximoff smut #seikkoiwrites #college au

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courtforshort15 · 1 year

Text

Fever Dream

Pairing: Matt Murdock x GN Reader

Word Count: 3,100

Summary: You feel like utter death. Good thing you have a boyfriend whose mother-hen tendencies mean he’s the best at taking care of you.

Trigger warnings: None. Just my self-indulgent imagination of Matt taking care of me while I’m sick.

Masterlist

The sneeze you let out at seven in the morning is almost embarrassingly loud.

It wracks your entire body, the force of it causing you to jerk in your bed, and you barely have time to cover your nose with a tissue. Cringing, you blow your nose before tossing the tissue into the trashcan you’ve moved next to your bed, no longer having the energy to get up and walk each individual one over.

The feeling of sick came on so unexpectedly and savagely that you didn’t have time to make a grocery trip to grab any medicine, and you were currently stuck using almost-expired Benadryl for the congestion and a nearly empty bottle of ibuprofen for your headache and sore throat.

Seriously, you were mostly fine last night. Maybe a little stuffy, but nothing close to this.

With a loud groan, you call your boss on her cell phone to let her know that you won’t be in today, and the raspy tone in your voice paired with the sound of a stuffy nose was enough for her to tell you to take the rest of the week off.

“No, really, please don’t come in,” she tells you, and you can practically feel the way she’s shuddering on the other side of the line. You’ve worked with her long enough to know she’s a major germaphobe, and she’d rather miss a soft deadline by a day or two than have you anywhere near her. You’re not above using that to your advantage, and have done so in the past, especially in instances when you need an excuse to stay with Matt when he’s recovering from a night that’s rougher than usual.

“I am willing to bribe you to make sure you stay home. I will send you all the soup you need if you just stay away.”

“You got it boss lady,” you somehow manage to croak out, cringing at both the pain and the way you sound. “I’ll see you Monday.” With a sigh, you hang up with her, grateful for a large balance of PTO, and fully planning on taking her up on the soup once you have an appetite. She’ll splurge on good stuff, too.

Matt is next. Instead of calling him, you send him a quick text, knowing he’s likely already at the courthouse for the morning, and you’re unwilling to interrupt him at work. He’s less likely to check a message than take a phone call, for obvious reasons, so it's easier to escape the laser focus of his concern for just a few extra hours. Typing out the message, you let him know you’re not feeling well and unable to meet him for lunch, as you usually do on Wednesdays. Knowing him, he’ll call you the second he’s on recess, and will likely end up swinging by this evening anyway.

With a loud exhale that causes your throat to burn and offers an abrupt coughing fit, you lay back down against the pillows, and pass out.

---------

You wake up to the sound of someone pounding on your door, and it startles you enough that you nearly roll out of bed.

It takes you a few moments to get your bearings, grimacing at the way your body feels worse than when you’d fallen asleep, and you mentally curse the person interrupting your rest. It’s probably your obnoxious landlord who finds random excuses to check-in on you, much to your annoyance and Matt’s suspicion, but the man is harmless, guilty of nothing other than using far too much cologne to cover up the stale smell of body odor and of cigarettes.

You’d roll your eyes if the idea of the simple motion didn’t sound so painful.

If you weren’t already certain about having been knocked on your ass by the flu, specifically, there’s no doubt in your mind now. A throbbing headache. A throat that feels like it was being torn apart with glass. Congestion. It was all there, and all you want to do is pass out until you feel better.

The pounding on the door continues, combined with an extremely muffled voice, and deciding your body is too sore and too sick to get up, you roll back over in bed, burying your face under a pillow to drown out the noise. Another coughing fit hits you unexpectedly, and your body spasms with the force of your lungs revolting against you. When you’re done, you vaguely pick up on the silence when the pounding abruptly stops, and you sigh, grateful for the quiet once more.

Neil has given up, it seems, but you’re still bitter that your sleep has been interrupted, and the idea of sending the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen to rattle his fire escape at 1am has never felt so appealing.

You’re just about to drift off into sleep again when, not even five minutes later, the sound of your window being opened from the outside shatters the blessed silence once more.

…oh.

Guess that answers the question of who had been pounding on your door. You mentally apologize to Neil.

“Sweetheart?” His voice is quiet as he steps into your room, and you don’t need eyes to know the way he’s probably wrinkling his nose at the smell of sickness that’s wafting inside the cramped space. His sense of smell is so sensitive, and you definitely don’t envy him for it. You can only imagine how your sweat-damp skin smells, or the mouth that had only experienced half of the recommended amount of teeth brushing this morning, too weak to remain standing for long.

Nose wrinkling, you cringe on his behalf.

You feel him settle on the edge of your bed behind you, hand immediately reaching out to rub your back, and your body can’t help but instinctively arch into his touch, despite the fact that you feel like death. He trails his fingers up to the back of your neck, the touch soothing and offering comfort in a way only he can. His skin on yours is the most natural feeling in the world.

“Not feeling well, sweetheart?”

You shake your head miserably, a full body shiver shaking you all the way down to your toes, before coughing into your pillow, too sick to bother covering your mouth and trusting the pillowcase to stop the spray.

Gross.

Matt’s hand gently pulls you over with a light hand on your shoulder until you’re laying on your back, and he makes sure to adjust the blankets around you so that no warmth seeps out from underneath the covers. Your eyes remain tightly shut, unwilling to subject yourself to the bright light of your bedroom. Your head is pounding, borderline migraine material, and even the thought of sunshine makes it throb. “Just a cold?”

Shaking your head again, you open your mouth to answer. “I think it’s the flu.” Your voice is barely more than a whisper, your throat too sore to get much else out. He makes a sympathetic noise in the back of his throat. If there’s anyone who understands the feeling of your entire body being sore and in pain, it’s him.

The man, even while he runs himself ragged, hardly ever gets sick. He averages four hours of sleep a night, ends his evenings with grazes and cuts that are likely full of all the various types of bacteria known to man, drinks way less water than he should, and he still remains relatively healthy.

Maybe it’s a good thing, though, you think wryly. He’d either be the worst case of man-flu you’ve ever seen, or he would end up in a ditch somewhere, out patrolling while delirious with a fever. Your man is a hot mess on a good day, and you can’t imagine adding sickness to the foray.

You feel him lay his hand softly on your forehead, and you shudder at how cold it feels in comparison to your warm skin. Your fever must have returned with a vengeance, and you acknowledge it with a barely restrained groan.

“You feel pretty warm,” he tells you, his voice quiet and one of concern. You appreciate that he’s using a gentle tone that is kind on your ears, not wanting to add anything loud and overwhelming less it makes the headache worse. “Have you taken anything?”

“Ibuprofen when I woke up.” Finally opening your eyes, you blearily watch as he frowns, red lips tilted down at the corners. His hand is still on your forehead, but he moves it to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear.

“When did you wake up?”

“Seven, I think.”

He sighs, moving his hand so that it rests on your cheek. “Sweetheart, that was almost six hours ago. Have you been asleep this whole time?”

“I think so,” you whisper, watching as he shrugs his suit jacket off. He tosses it on the chair that’s in the corner of the room, face still tilted towards yours. You always seem to be his sole focus when he’s around you, and it never fails to make your heart stutter. “I fell asleep after I texted you.”

Matt leans over to place his glasses on your bedside table before he returns back to you, his face one of confusion, and his eyes looking more hazel than normal in the sunlight as they roam blindly over your form. “You didn’t text me.”

Your own eyes briefly flutter close again, even as hard as you try to keep them open. You reach up and pull his hand away from your face so that you can lace your fingers with his. His hand squeezes yours gently. “Yeah I did. I told you I wasn’t going to make lunch today.”

“I didn’t get a text from you,” he reiterates with a calm shake of his head. “I’ve been calling you for the past hour when you didn’t show up.”

“But I–” Eyes opening again, you move to sit up, but he pushes you gently back down. Your neck and shoulders immediately relax back into your pillow with a sigh. “Can you hand me my phone?”

Matt grabs your phone from where it had apparently been resting by your knee and places it into your outstretched hand without a word. His hand goes back to your cheek so that can resume rubbing his thumb over your cheekbone, and it takes great effort to not fall back to sleep and close your eyes again. Fingers weak with sickness, you press in your fingerprint to unlock your phone, noticing immediately the several calls, texts and voicemails, most of them from him but a few from Karen, too. You grimace at the obvious display of his concern, knowing the level of anxiety that had likely popped up when you didn't answer any of the calls.

No wonder he had been pounding on your door.

You open up your chat with him, wincing when you see what had happened. “I never hit send,” you tell him with a whisper, throat still rebelling against the words forcing themselves out of your throat. “I’m sorry, Matt. I really did mean to text you. I was pretty out of it.”

He leans down and presses a kiss into your forehead. His stubble briefly rasps against your skin, and you can’t help but want to lean into it, even while the texture feels scratchy on skin that seems to be more sensitive than usual. “It’s alright, sweetheart. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

You snort softly, unable to help yourself. “If you call feeling like I’m dying okay, then sure. I’m okay.”

Matt makes another sympathetic sound in the back of his throat, hand still softly rubbing your cheek. You shift in your bed, trying to burrow yourself further into the covers. He pulls the blankets tighter around you, helping them settle up around your neck. “I’m going to grab Tylenol to help bring your fever down.”

You cringe, and Matt’s brow furrows, indicating he’s caught onto the brief twitch of your face. “I don’t have any.”

“You don’t have any Tylenol?”

You cough again, this time covering your mouth to avoid coughing in his face. He doesn’t shift away from you as you do, just continues to keep his face near yours so that you don’t have to strain your voice to speak to him. “No,” you manage to rasp out when you’re done. “I’m out.”

He groans suddenly. “I depleted your stash last week, didn’t I?”

The same memory that had apparently hit him hits you a second later, the image of him holding a bloody rag to his shoulder that had taken a heavy hit flitting through your head briefly. You’d given him the last two tablets in the bottle as his lips twisted into a wry grin, promising to buy you a new bottle. You’d asked him to promise to avoid getting hit so frequently instead, the grin on your face just as dry and fond. “I– yeah, I think so.”

“I’m sorry, love. I meant to grab more for you.”

You twist your head to cover another cough. “It’s fine, I forgot about grabbing some, too.”

“Do you have Ibuprofen?” he asks as he runs a hand through his hair, still looking somewhat frustrated at himself as he shifts slightly on your bed.

“Not much, but yeah,” you say with a wince. “That bottle’s almost empty, too.”

“How about any cold medicine? Decongestants? Something for your cough?”

“No,” you reply with another grimace. To his credit, he doesn’t twist his face into the disbelief he’s surely feeling, both at himself and at you. His eye twitches, though.

“How are you out of that, too?”

“Judgmental, much?” you ask with a grin that’s far too humorous for the situation and the way everything seems to hurt, including the muscles in your face. “I wasn’t exactly planning to get this sick.”

“You should have–”

“Don’t be such a hypocrite, Matthew.”

He sighs, hand darting up to run a quick hand down his face, attempting to hide a smile that relays a level of exasperation. “What do you have, then?”

“Just Benadryl…that’s almost expired.”

Matt lets loose another loud exhale and slowly lifts his head to face the ceiling as if sarcastically thanking the universe for letting him fall for someone who seems to be so bad at taking care of themselves. You’d laugh if it wouldn’t lead to a loud coughing fit.

Pot. Kettle.

“Okay, I’m going to call Karen to see if she can bring some stuff by.”

“I don't–”

He's shaking his head before you even finish your objection. “Sweetheart, you’re so congested you can’t breathe out of your nose, and you've got a 101 degree fever. You need to take something," he tells you, and you know there’s no arguing against this man once he’s set his mind to something.

“How would you know my fever is that high?” Matt gives you the flattest look you’ve ever seen. “Okay, stupid question.”

“Just close your eyes,” he says, leaning down to kiss your forehead again. “I’m going to bring you a glass of water and some Ibuprofen, and call Karen to see if she can bring anything over.”

You nod miserably, energy suddenly draining and turning you back into a whimpering mess. He leaves the room, kicking his shoes off in the process, and you pick up your phone again once he’s out of sight, a wince twitching on your face at the notification of thirty emails that have popped up in your inbox. You open the app, scrolling down through the messages with a sigh.

“You better not be checking your email right now,” Matt’s voice calls out to you from the kitchen suddenly, and you almost drop your phone onto your face in surprise.

He knows you too well.

“I’m not,” you say as loudly as you can, which is still minimal, but you know he can hear you regardless, so you’re not too concerned. You roll over to place your phone back onto your bedside table with a loud sigh, wrist and arm feeling entirely too weak as it reaches out.

“Liar," is all he responds with, before his voice quiets down again. There’s a brief moment of silence before you pick up on the soft murmur of his voice, no doubt on the phone with Karen. The sound of your cabinet being opened and the faucet being turned on hits your ears, and you sigh at the domesticity of it all. Things of yours have been slowly migrating to his apartment in preparation of the move that’s happening in a month’s time, but there’s just something about him knowing your apartment like the back of his hand and feeling comfortable in a space that’s been solely yours for the past two years.

A few minutes later, he’s walking back into your bedroom, a glass of water in one hand, your dwindling bottle of painkillers in the other, mouth turned up in a soft, soothing smile. He helps you sit up, his arm gently snaking around your shoulders to support you, and encourages you to drink the water and toss back the pills as lips ghost across your forehead.

Even swallowing something cold makes your throat burn on the way down, and you groan in pain.

He helps you lay back down, easing you backwards and holding your weight so that you don’t just flop back onto the pillows. He pulls his arm out from underneath you and reaches out to set the glass onto your night table as he moves to stand up. You close your eyes again against the light of your room, and you hear the subtle sound of a belt being unbuckled and fabric hitting the chair in the corner.

Matt lifts up the covers and slides in beside you, his bare skin pressing up against yours as he nudges you onto your side so that he can cradle you from behind. Despite the brief chill, he quickly becomes a furnace pressed against you, and you can’t help the quiet moan that sneaks past chapped lips at the heat you hadn’t known you’d been needing.

“You’ll get sick,” you protest weakly as you settle into his chest, almost immediately soothed by the feeling of his arm wrapping around your waist.

“Don’t worry about me,” he whispers into your ear before leaning over you to kiss your cheek, settling back down behind you when he’s done, the warmth of his kiss still lingering. “Just go back to sleep, sweetheart. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Despite the sickness ravaging your body, or maybe because of it, you slip back into an easy sleep, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest behind you settling you the way it always does. Your head is pounding, your whole body aches, and you can’t breathe through your nose, but everything feels better when he’s holding you.

#matt murdock #daredevil #human disaster matt murdock #matt murdock x gn!reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock fanfiction #daredevil x gn!reader #daredevil x you #daredevil x reader #daredevil fanfiction #sickfic

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updownlately · 11 months

Text

i wish i could be like you

| alexia putellas x reader | angst | 1.8k | inspo: be like you by tyler shaw | a/n: first official song fic let's go! this one's just complete angst to be honest. i've been meaning to write for alexia since this ask came in and while i have a few fluff ideas for future fics, i randomly heard this song today and decided to play it on repeat for *checks watch* 3.5 hours as i wrote this. didn't edit this one so hopefully there aren't too many errors!

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I know I Should have asked you to stay Should've fought a little harder, when you said you need space

You’d been going back and forth for weeks, the same fight each time, the same result each time. Or so you had thought. While the argument you both had had today seemed worse than others in the past, you believed that you both could fix this. You could fix the missed dates. Fix the number of nights you went and woke up to an empty bed. Fix the amount of two person dinners that you cooked that turned into leftovers for you. You loved her. She loved you. It had to be enough, right? Love always wins, right?

It wasn’t easy dating the Alexia Putellas, but that didn’t mean you weren’t going to very damn well try your hardest to make it work. You’d thought you were doing your best since the start, the opportunity to date Alexia not one that you wanted to waste. You had tried to be accommodating, to let the first few times she cancelled at the last minute on your plans slide. You tried to be understanding, both of you being footballers, her being the top in the world. You understood her importance on and especially off the pitch, how vital she was to growing the game. Yet, it didn’t magically hurt less, like you had expected, and as time went on and you saw her less and less.

What you didn’t realise in your blindfold of love was that this was the beginning of the end, the last drop before the tension broke, before the dam you were working tirelessly to patch came crashing down.

So when Alexia, out of breath, tears of frustration streaming down her face, had asked you for a break after the fight you had just had, you couldn’t help but agree and hope it would help you both. Your love would pull you through you’d naively believed. This wasn’t the end, it was just a break you’d thought. You had let her walk through the doors of your apartment, unbeknownst to you that it would be the final time.

I know I Maybe I held you too close And when we started to fade out, I feel in love with your ghost, yeah

You’d always loved hard, or so you were told.

For you, loving was easy. It was everywhere. It was in the way that the sun would shine on the streets of Barcelona as the city would quietly wake up. It was in the way that someone would smile at another as they passed by on the street. It was in the way that coins were thrown into the fountains, each representing a wish for a love, be it for something or for someone. Love was around you and you cherished it.

When you and Alexia had started dating, you didn’t shy away from sharing love with her, from loving her. You’d share your love as much as you could, whenever you could. Be it visiting her randomly to accompany her through the most menial tasks or sending her good luck texts even though both of you were set to play in the same game on the same team, you chose to present her with fistfuls of your love at any given moment.

You never considered it would be overbearing, that it would feel suffocating. When she broke up with you, told you that you wanted too much of her, that your love felt like a room that was getting increasingly smaller, like running out of oxygen, you didn’t understand. You didn’t know how love could feel like anything but the warmth sun on your skin and forehead kisses from your favourite people.

When she left and you didn’t know what to do with yourself, you did what you knew best, you continued to love her, albeit from afar. You chose to love the ghost she had left you with. The ghost that haunted you while you’d mope in your empty shell of a home. The ghost that sat quietly beside you when you couldn’t bring yourself to look away from the two coffee rings that stained your island, without a doubt from when you’d both forgo the coasters and spill your drinks no matter how careful you were. The one silently hugging you as your favourite shirts still smelled of her perfume. The one holding your hand as you played with the promise ring you were going to give her just a few days before she had broken up with you.

Took some, time but I'm finally feeling alright 'Til somebody said your name

You knew the team knew. How couldn’t they? The pair of you once always attached at the hips now on separate sides of the pitch was telling enough, the tear stains consistently marring your face only a confirmation. They did their best to not make things awkward, to stay professional, to not mention her name to you, knowing that you’d silently break into a million pieces.

When three months had passed, and you had finally felt that you could breathe again, you thought you were fine. That the love you had for the football phenom had finally worn off. That the fondness had passed, making a home in your heart now as grief for what was and what could’ve been.

So when your friends from back home called, unaware of the shattered pieces of your heart laying around the streets of Barcelona, asking if you and her would visit at any point during the steadily approaching off season, you couldn’t suppress the stifled sob that escaped. Nor could you hold back the tears that appeared, much less the way your already cracked heart found a way to shatter just a little bit more and your body caved in on itself.

And when you walked in the room Hand, in his hand Only took a minute To bring it all back I wish I could be like you Falling for somebody new I'm alone in my head Praying that you Could love me instead I wish I could be like you Falling for somebody new

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. You were at an afterparty after the team had just won the league. The night was going great, drinks flowing, friends and teammates dancing. You hadn’t even thought about Alexia an absurd amount of times, a win in your eyes. That had changed quickly however.

It was as she entered, hand in hand with another girl, another girl that for sure wasn’t a teammate and definitely not just a friend that the drink in your hand was immediately downed by you. Looking away you couldn’t help but let your mind wander, wondering why you weren’t enough for her, why you loved so hard, why it wasn’t you holding her hand. You had been doing good till now, great even, her barely on your mind. Yet all it took for that to come crashing down was a minute, a second of her walking in, a not-you shaped space beside her.

You had felt physically fine all day, elated even, with the win earlier today still coursing through your veins. You’d felt fantastic till about five seconds ago. Now? Now all you felt was your chest tightening, the muscles in your stomach tense as it took everything in you to not throw up there on the spot. Screwing your eyes shut, you willed the sting in your eyes to go away, quietly begging the universe to speed up time enough for you to go home, to go away, to leave before anything hurts anymore.

Beside you, Mapi witnessed the whole encounter. The way your eyes initially trailed over Alexia, a mix of love and sorrow in your eyes before your gaze wandered over to the held hands. How your jaw immediately clenched, the hand on your drink tightening. How you downed the rest of your rum and coke as if it was water, the tears in your eyes for reasons not pertaining to the burn in your throat.

So as any good friend would, she slowly pulled you away and you let her. And as Mapi thrust another drink into your hand, you prayed that the universe was playing a cruel joke. You wished that you could be like her, already over a relationship that had been six feet under for ages.

I wish I Wish I could hate you so bad But under the surface, you were the best that I had And sometimes I wake up thinking you're next to me I keep on staring at the empty side where you used to be

It was the next morning that the universe decided to continue to toy with your heart. You’d just woke up, mind reeling from the effects of last night, throwing you a year into the past, before you realised the nightmare you were having was reality. You’d reached your arm across the middle, meeting cool sheets that hadn’t been once warmed for months. You’d opened your eyes to a pounding headache and a faint memory of the days the both of you would lie in bed for hours after a night of partying, relishing in each other's touch, staving off the headaches that would be ever-present.

Soon the memories of last night came crashing back to you. How you’d seen Alexia with another girl, hand in hand. How Mapi had given you drink after drink and Ingrid had let you ramble about how unfair the universe was, how you hated it, how you hated her, how you hated yourself for hating her. You recalled the sideways glances they had given each other, the way Mapi gently took the final drink from your hands and led you towards the doors, the pair taking you home. Most importantly, you recalled the way you had felt so horribly sick to your stomach when you realised she wasn’t yours anymore, not that she was for the past six months, this moment reminding you vividly.

Now it was just you in a bed that hasn’t felt comfortable in months, a house that hasn’t been home, and a city you once loved, now just a reminder of everything you’d lost.

In the very bed that you had once long ago wished that she’d be the girl you’d marry and grow old with, you now wished that the hole in your chest could go away, that she could come back and love it closed, that you could be like her, that you could be okay. And when you walked in the room Hand, in his hand Only took a minute To bring it all back I wish I could be like you Falling for somebody new I'm alone in my head Hole in my chest Praying that you Could love me instead I wish I could be like you Falling for somebody new

#woso imagine #woso x reader #woso fanfics #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #be like you #song fic #angst #my writing #fic #iwicbly

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