#so i thought assuming shes been a pain in his ass

[altruisticalastor]

↳˗ˏˋAlastor x Readerˊˎ˗ ↴

☒ Part One Part Two

☒ Summary: There was no time for doubt or guilt. It was now or never, and you had to play it smart if you wanted to be free, and you longed for that freedom more than anything.The thought of soon being in the comfort of Alastor’s arms, without any restrictions, kept you at bay. Within hours, you would be liberated.

☒ Warnings: fem!reader, she/her pronouns used, happy ending! silly lucifer, vox gets destroyed emotionally, lots of cursing and a light sugestive undertone, angsty and fluffy (a perfect combo) heavily yandere!vox coded, blushy alastor, husband alastor being the sweetest ever

☒ Word Count: 3,545

You awoke to an empty room after what transpired last night. Slowly, you rubbed the tiredness from your eyes. There was a note on your night table- you noticed it as you sat up. It was from Vox.

Sorry, I cannot be here when you wake, sweetheart. Val is being a pain in my ass. So, duty calls. I'll be up to check on you later. There's breakfast downstairs if you're hungry.  With love, Vox

The kinder he was to you, the more remorse you felt. 

Soon, all of this would be behind you, and that's what you had to remind yourself of. 

You took your time rolling out of bed this morning. You dreaded the day ahead of you. As you finished dressing yourself, you caught something in the corner of your eye. You spotted an envelope tucked under your closed window. The corners of the crimson letter lifted from the harsh breeze outside. You wasted no time snatching the tattered note, instantly recognizing the handwriting on the front.  

It was from Alastor.

My Dearest, Gather your prized possessions. I'll be here at midnight to bring you to your proper home- our home. Lucifer will nullify the contract you have with Vox moments after I retrieve you. So worry not, my dear. Within hours, you will be free.  Yours truly, Alastor P.S. Be sure to burn this after you've read it. 

You could hear your heartbeat as your hands shook, tossing the letter into your fireplace. The finish line was just out of reach. You could do this. You hastily began grabbing the belongings you've accumulated over the years, stuffing them into a bag Vox had gifted you for your birthday one year.

As you began gathering your things, the nostalgia kicked in. As did the guilt that sucker punched you right in the gut. 

Each item you stuffed into the tote brought back a pleasant memory. Your favorite tee that you wore to bed each night, for instance. 

You hadn't a clue how Vox even knew this piece of fabric was so meaningful to you. Nor how he obtained it to begin with. But, when Vox re-gifted it to you, you broke down. He seemed startled by your reaction, uttering apology after apology. Vox assumed his gesture did not go over well. But it was quite the contrary. This piece of home made you feel a little less alone in an unfamiliar place. You cried out a meek "Thank you." offering Vox a shaky smile as you wiped your tears away. 

You shoved all of those memories into the back of your mind. The same way you shoved your belongings into the tote. There was no time for doubt or guilt. It was now or never, and you had to play it smart if you wanted to be free— and you longed for that freedom more than anything.

The thought of soon being in the comfort of Alastor’s arms, without any restrictions, kept you at bay. You took a deep breath, slapping your cheeks a few times to snap yourself out of this stupor. Within hours, you would be free.

Vox had been so angry when Velvette called— disrupting his precious time watching you slumber. These moments were few and far between since you forbid him from installing cameras in your room. Vox grumbled to himself as he stood from the chair, ending the call with Velvette after receiving the news about "Needing to get the piss baby under control."

Slowly, he approached your sleeping frame, admiring you. The rise and fall of your chest. The pleasant expression decorating your beautiful features and the hardly noticeable tremble of your fingers at the hem of your favorite shirt.

It was a cute routine of yours. You tended to play with the stitching at the base of your sleep shirt before you nodded off each night. The sheets always slipped down your frame from how you tossed and turned, giving him a perfect view of your little habit.

Vox recorded this moment for his private use. He knew your self-soothing technique was the reason your shirt was so tattered. Vox put the pieces together ages ago. He never forgot the day he re-gifted you that flimsy old shirt.

When you started living here seven years ago, you arrived with nothing. Vox sensed your anxiety from your lack of familiarity. So he had a chauffeur take him to your and Alastor's newly desolate home. 

Vox rummaged through your personal belongings for a good while, to the lack of your knowledge. Inhaling your scent; which enshrouded your garments. One shirt, in particular, stood out to Vox. He noticed the wear and tear in the fabric, giving it so much character and conveying a story of its own. He assumed this tee was sentimental, so Vox took it. Hoping that a piece of home would put your mind at ease. He had also confiscated your perfume and other personal garments for himself. But you hardly needed to know that.

When Vox gave the shirt to you, your eyes filled with tears as you offered him a sweet little thank you. That stirred something deep within him. Something dark. Vox's obsession only doubled by the day after that, and for some reason, you were wholly oblivious.

Vox supposed that was the moment he knew his fixation with you was severe.

You took his kindness for weakness, Vox assumed. But little did you know, the love he had for you only made him all the more hostile. If he had you, Vox had no use for anything or anyone else. Plain and simple. You were all he desired— all he needed.

The memories you shared over the years replayed in Vox’s mind as he persisted in his daily tasks. He hoped you had read the note he left you by now, taking the liberty of treating yourself to some delicious breakfast. Vox had the personal chefs make your favorite this morning. He figured you needed a little pick me up after the harrowing night you endured.

His poor little sweetheart, maybe he should visit you earlier tonight. Any moment without you in it was far too long for Vox.

You paced around the ransacked room. The clock read a quarter to twelve. You were in the home stretch. Alastor would be here soon, as would Lucifer. Suddenly, a knock at your door pulled you from your thoughts. 

"Sweetheart, may I come in?" 

Oh no, this was not according to plan.

Normally, Vox finished his work around two in the morning. He would visit you a couple of minutes after he finished up. But why was he early tonight? Did he possibly catch on to your antics?

"Ah! N-No! Not yet- I am indecent!" You sputtered out. Fuck, this was bad. Really bad. Vox was quiet for a moment before his voice boomed once more. 

"You sound- off. I'm coming in." You hurriedly tucked your packed-up bag under your bed, throwing on your robe to hide the outfit you had on. You prepared to take your leave, so your usual sleep attire was nowhere to be seen.

Fuck, Fuck- Fuck! He wasn't this stupid. Vox was going to see right through your bullshit. The trashed room was a dead giveaway. 

Vox barreled through the door, making a beeline to where you stood. "V-Vox! Wait-" His slender fingers cupped your cheeks, a look of worry glitching onto his features. "Sweetheart, what's the matter?"

He was too focused on you to notice the state of your room. A shaky breath escaped you as you forced a smile, bringing your hands up to your chest. You waved them in front of yourself. In an attempt to show him everything was alright. Which- it wasn't. 

"Nothing- Really! I'm okay, just a bit sleepy. Can we talk more tomorrow?" You forced a yawn. Placing your hands on his chest, an attempt to soothe his worries. Vox gave you a pointed look as he let out a sigh. His hands that cupped your cheeks traveled a little lower. The gentle caress down your neck and collarbones sent a chill up your spine. "Of course we can. Here, let me tuck you in." 

Panic flooded your senses as he tugged at the tie of your robe. "I-I'm cold! So I figured I'd sleep with this on tonight!" Your hands were trembling as you stopped him from undoing the knot. Vox looked more concerned than ever from your skittish display. "Sweetheart, you're trembling! Come, let's get you under the covers." 

All you could do was nod in agreement as Vox's hand wrapped around the small of your back. He guided you to the bed, and that's when he noticed something was off. "Sweetheart... where's your favorite blanket, and why is it not on your bed?" His voice was even but a pitch lower. You froze in place, not daring to peer up at him. "I took it to get washed! It was looking a little bleak." Your voice was shaky as you lied through your teeth.

Vox's grip on your frame tightened as he slithered his arm down to grasp your hip. His hold on you was bruising as his other hand came to clutch the opposite side of your waist. He swiftly turned you to face him, dipping low to get in your field of view. "Why the fuck are you lying to me?" 

Oh fuck, this was the end for you.

His eyes were glowing bright and swirling with anger. A frown was prominent on his monitor. "I'm not! I swear- stop! Vox- you're h-hurting me!" His grip only became more brutal as his face pushed closer to yours. Vox invaded your senses. You felt claustrophobic- trapped. "Lies, lies, and more lies! Utter one more from those sweet lips of yours, and you'll be sorry."

Tears brimmed at your waterline, threatening to spill. Sure, Vox's grip was painful- but more than anything, you were petrified. 

"I believe you are holding something that belongs to me!"

The radio static filled the room, as did an air of malice. Vox snapped his head toward your window- met with the sight of his age-old rival, Alastor. "How the fuck did you get in here? I have security cameras lining the entire building! Inside and out!" Vox's grip around your hips loosened from the pure shock of what was unraveling before him. You took the opportunity to slither out of his grasp, frantically running over to your husband. 

"Ha! Your sense of security is flawed! You'll have to try harder than that to keep me away next time, old pal!" Alastor laughed bitterly as you cowered behind him. You seized his waist from behind tightly, hands still trembling. "Although, there won't be a next time! Oh heavens no! Not after the way you put your hands on my wife." The radio crackle was more prominent as your husband's shadow tendrils outstretched toward Vox. 

Alastor restrained the pitiful man before him. You peeked over your husband's frame. Getting a glimpse of his murderous expression. His eyes were in the shape of radio dials as crimson blood spilled past his grinning lips. "You fucker! You should have stayed away! Have you forgotten that I own your sweet little wife?"

"Uhh... not for much longer! Uh oh! It looks like someone is late to the party, am I right, Malastor? Aha!" You jumped from the boisterous voice filling the room. Your head whipped over to where Lucifer himself, now stood at your husband's other side. The King of Hell nudged your husband with his elbow, looking for approval from his witty remark. 

"Malastor-?" You sounded dumbfounded before your husband cleared his throat. "Yes, yes indeed! Now, get on with it, little Luci! Time is ticking!" Alastor spat through gritted teeth, shooting Lucifer a warning glare. The short blonde man scoffed, muttering under his breath about how "He was taller where it counted most!" Lucifer approached an annoyed Vox. He thrashed against his constraints but to no avail. 

"What the fuck are you of all demons doing here?" Vox spat, eyes swirling with murderous intent. He was beyond pissed, and it terrified you. Alastor could sense your anxiety and wrapped an arm around your waist. He pulled you snugly into his side, giving your hip a light squeeze. 

"Your old pal Malastor and I struck a deal! So no more wifey soul for you Mr. TV man!" Lucifer said in a sing-song voice. Without further ado; The King of Hell's horns poked past his golden hair. Wings fluttered out as a blue aura surrounded Vox. "No! You fucking can't- she's mine!" Vox shouted, tugging wickedly against his restraints. 

You watched in awe as the essence of your soul was extracted from Vox's chest. He let out a pained groan while Lucifer held out his palms, gently cradling your soul. A gasp was pulled from your lips as your collar and chain appeared around your neck. Lucifer turned toward you, offering you a wide grin as he approached. "Looks like ya dropped something!" The King of Hell joked, earning a warning glare from your husband as he brought your soul up to your chest. 

Gently, Lucifer overlapped his hands before pressing them into your diaphragm. You let out a breathless gasp as you felt your soul lodge itself into your chest. It felt foreign. You had been without it for ages now, so to be whole again was... liberating. With a snap of Lucifer's fingers, the azure collar around your neck fractured in half. It plunged to the floor along with the leash before it withered away.

The waterworks that threatened to spill past your lashline all this time finally slipped. Hot tears cascaded down your cheeks as you let out a small chuckle. "Thank you- both of you." You turned toward your husband. Alastor smiled brightly down at you as you brought your shaky hands up to wrap around his slender neck. You pulled his face low to meet yours halfway. Alastor took the hint, a small blush blanketing his cheeks as your lips meshed with his. 

The kiss was tender and loving. Alastor's large palms wasted no time cupping your face. He gently wiped your tears away with the pads of his thumbs. "I've dreamt of this moment countlessly over the years we spent apart, my dear," Alastor whispered against your lips, forehead flush to yours. Your heart pounded against your ribcage from his words. 

"Me too, Al. I can't believe this is happening right now." You giggled before Lucifer obnoxiously cleared his throat. Pulling you out of your sweet reunion with your husband. "This is lovely and all, but I upheld my side of the deal, Malastor! So you better do the same, or else I will fuck you!" Your mouth fell agape at the King of Hell's words. Alastor just tilted his head in confusion before you muttered, "Uh... I'm sure he meant to say fuck you up, my love."

"Yeah, that! Wait- what did I say?" You shook your head in disbelief as another laugh escaped you. Who would have thought the ruler of hell would be such a goofball? "Anyway, I'm gonna go! My job here is done!" With that, Lucifer took his leave out the window, humming a little tune to himself as his wings carried him through the night. 

Alastor clutched your hand, squeezing it firmly. "Come along, my dear! It's about time you returned to your rightful home!" You nodded in agreement, releasing his hand to retrieve the bag you stashed under your bed. Suddenly, Vox's hand slipped free from Alastor's shadow tendrils. He wrapped his slender fingers around your ankle, pulling a frightened yelp from you. "After everything I've done for you... this is how you repay me?"

Vox's voice was low, wavering slightly. You could feel his glare on you. But you didn't dare to look his way. "Let go of me! I don't owe you anything, and you no longer own me. So give it up." You spat. Alastor's tendril twisted around Vox's arm, yanking it away from your ankle. The pitiful man winced as you took this opportunity to grab your things and get the fuck out of this hell hole. 

"You'll come to regret this, sweetheart! You're mine, soul or no soul! And if I can't have you... no one can. Do you hear me?" Vox shouted at the top of his lungs as you took your husband's hand. Not daring to look back at the man you spent the last seven years chained to. "See, that's where you are wrong, chap! My darling wife was never yours to claim! Ha! How pathetic you are. Thank you for quite the pitful display!"

Alastor chuckled darkly as he took your bag for you, hoisting it over his shoulder. Without another word, Alastor's shadows surrounded you both. Taking you to a better place. The last you heard before you disappeared was Vox screaming your name along with the pitful cries of "I love you!" You felt a twinge of remorse for him, but it was fleeting.

The new scenery before you was bright and colorful. "Guys! They're back!" A cheery voice shouted. The Princess of Hell pulled you and your husband into a bear hug. "Oh, I just knew you could do it Alastor! I'm so happy that your wife is now a part of our found family!" You smiled at her words, glancing over to a rather stiff Alastor. You chuckled from his posture before another voice grabbed your attention. 

"You two definitely make a cute couple! Who knew Mister Fancy Talk Creepy Voice had game? Kudos, man!" The feminine spider demon approached you before one of his hands took yours. "The name's Angel Dust! A pleasure to properly meet ya toots!" He bounced your hand lazily before shooting you a playful wink. You returned the kind gesture, introducing yourself with a smile. 

"That's a pretty name. I'm Vaggie, and it's good to have you here." The petite woman gave you a small smile and a nod from where she now stood beside Charlie. You muttered a thank you before Alastor swept you up into his arms. You let out a small yelp as your arms instinctively wrapped around his shoulders. 

"Alright, the meet and greet is over! My dearest and I have some lost time to make up for!" Alastor's grin never faltered as he shuffled out of the foyer and up the steps. You heard a loud whistle coming from Angel and a shout of "Don't break the bed!" from Vaggie. Which caused embarrassment to course through your veins. 

You giggled as your husband ushered you into his bedroom. Kicking the door closed with his hoof before placing you down gently. You kept your arms secured around his shoulders as you buried your face into Alastor's chest. You breathed in his scent. Something so nostalgic yet ever-present. Alastor hummed your wedding song into your hair as his hands tapped along to the tune against your waist. "Let's dance, my darling!" 

Alastor lifted you slightly, allowing the balls of your feet to rest on the tops of his hooves. You giggled as he began taking broad steps, twirling you around the large room. "Do you remember our wedding, dearest? Our first dance was nearly ravaged by a drunken Mimzy! Ha!" You shook your head at the memory. Husk had cut her off for the night- and let's just say the rowdy woman didn't take that too well. "How could I forget! Husker's tail tripled in size- and Mimzy uttered curses I had never even heard before!" 

You both laughed at the memory as Alastor slowed his roll. Gazing down at you with unadulterated love swirling within his crimson eyes. His smile shrunk slightly as he brought a hand up to grasp your chin. "I truly apologize for disappearing all those years back without notice. It wasn't my decision, and if there's one thing I regret most in this world... It's making you feel like I willingly abandoned you." A frown decorated your husband's features. His eyebrows were knit in dismay.

You cooed at him, bringing your hands up to card through his two-toned locks. "It's behind us now, my love. Please, don't torture yourself anymore. I love you, and I couldn't be happier to be in your arms again!" Your gentle words tugged at his heartstrings. A small blush coated his cheeks as your fingernails grazed the base of his ears. "I love you more, my darling." The radio static in his voice was nowhere to be found. It was Alastor's true voice conveying his authentic feelings. 

You wasted no time pulling him down for a kiss, which he happily obliged to. Your lips molded perfectly against one another. You could hear your heartbeat as Alastor caressed your waist lovingly with one hand. His other hand remained at your chin, tilting your face slightly with his grip to deepen the kiss. For being a demon in hell, it sure felt like you were in heaven at this very moment. 

What was once lost was now found, and you couldn't be more thrilled to make up for lost time with your husband, Alastor.

tags; @danveration @celestial-vomit @jyoongim @stygianoir @polytheatrix @mmik3yy @littlebullofblythe @cxrsedwxrlds @lillithhearts @nogiggleonlybitter @minniemumbles @chewbrry @lbcreations-blog @nonetheartist @call-me-nyxx @zombiesnips-blog @stawberrypimpsimp @wonderlandangelsposts @villxinmiixx @persephoneblck @maxlynn17 @littledolly2345 @karolinda007-blog @falling-endlessly @greekyoghurtwithberries @bladeismine @aloraaaxcrystalzx @doctorswife221b @scaramoochiie @fairyv-ice @chirikoheina @veroneverleft @tired-of-life-86

#hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #alastor x you #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel x y/n #hazbin hotel imagine #alastor imagine #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x y/n #vox x reader x alastor #vox x you #vox x reader #vox hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel angst #hazbin hotel fluff #alastor fluff

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

hi there, could I get poppy playtime (if that is to many characters then just catnap and dogday are fine) with a reader that has pica (if you don't know what that is it is where a person can tend to eat or bite on things not edible, like paper, erasers, eca)

I can do a few!

.....

Huggy (saved/rescued) + Poppy

While in his "idle mode" on the podium, he sees you munching on a piece of paper like lettuce and then plush stuffing like it's cotton candy.

And then you just snatch the key from him and move onto the next puzzle, and he goes "???????"

Why did you eat those things? Did they somehow sustain your hunger?

Huggy only gets to learn more after you save him from falling (and tame him with an actual edible snack you brought along), taking a breather after freeing Poppy from her box.

When he grabs one a random paper, you assume he wants to draw something as a way to communicate...until he starts chowing it down.

In his mind, humans DO eat paper and he's been starving and cannibalizing toys (and trying to eat you) for nothing...

But then he spits it out, picking shredded bits out of his teeth, before glaring at you as if you told him to eat that.

You're a little scared and confused until Poppy explains that he was only trying to mimic what you do, and she asks why you eat such random little things.

Eventually you explain to the pair of your condition called "pica".

You've had it most of your life, with an official diagnosis to boot, but it never really hurt your digestive tract.

Over the years you've cut the habit, although being stuck in this factory meant you had to find other sources of food...even those not even considered food at all.

Some of your coworkers knew about it, and their only complaint was the occasional eraser going missing thanks to you (which you deny stealing...most of the time).

"I always joke about having a cast-iron stomach," you tell the toys. "Food is the least of my......"

But you pause and look at Huggy, realizing he might be offended by you shrugging off food as negligible to your survival.

No matter what, though, it's not gonna stop him from trying different non-food items and seeing what tastes good.

He might've eaten pieces of clothing and plush fabric/stuffing over the years, albeit none of it was delicious by itself.

Dogday

"They want nothing more than to crawl beneath your skin and eat away at you bit by little bit--fill what feels empty inside themselves."

"Jesus, that sounds horrific." You say as you crunch on a piece of chalk (one of several that you got from the schoolhouse) nonchalantly.

Dogday takes immediate notice and is rather concerned. He knows the chalk and crayons here are made to be non-toxic, but insists they're not safe for human consumption.

He fears it's gonna kill you and begs you to stop, saying you needed to live.

Before you could fully explain your condition, the mini-critters are closing in, so you free him and haul ass out of the playhouse of horrors.

After making it somewhere safe where you could patch him up, he presses you on why you continue to eat all these foreign objects.

But he jumps to the conclusion that you got desperate after running out of food, going mad from hunger like the other toys did...

He recalls Picky Piggy going through something similar, and he gets a bad flashback to the Hour of Joy when he had to stop her from eating Crafty's paint....and the corpse of a Smiling Critter -

"Dogday? Hey stay with me..it's okay. I'm here, I'm here.." You console him, calming him down from his panic attack. "I'm not going crazy, alright? I just have this small condition called pica."

"...p-pica? Oh. I thought...kids grow outta that.." He mutters, finding familiarity with that term.

He's had his fair share of toddlers putting things in their mouth that could be choking hazards.

You shake your head, explaining that it stuck with you, but it doesn't cause your stomach any pain as long as you're careful about what you eat.

Dogday's relieved you're not losing it.

Even so, though, he's gonna feel nervous if he catches you eating another piece of chalk.

But it's just his instincts as a child caretaker, so you couldn't blame him.

Catnap

He hangs out in the shadows for the most part, watching your every move...and he does pick up on your strange habit of eating non-food objects.

It's something orphaned toddlers in the playhouse often did, and he'd see the other Smiling Critters hurry to take the items away from them before any emergencies happened.

But those memories mean nothing to him.

All he's doing is waiting for you to eat the wrong thing and keel over.

Unfortunately for him, you just keep trudging on, munching on a crayon like it's normal before throwing your gas mask back on.

He doesn't know how you manage to stomach so many things, and honestly is kinda envious.

Why can't he and the others sustain their hunger like you did?

It does make for some rather..amusing situations, though. Such as when you're in the smoke factory and use the elevator to escape him.

You just stand there as the doors close, eating some chalk and crunching it loudly without breaking eye contact with Catnap's horrific eldritch form.

Obviously, you're stress-eating at that point, but he doesn't have to know.

Miss Delight

The schoolhouse was like a cafeteria for someone with pica, aka you.

While looking for generators, you just pick up whatever you find: erasers, chalk, crayons, etc. and start biting them, or even chewing and swallowing them.

It only succeeds in angering Miss Delight right away, as she sees you doing all of this and snaps at how "childish" you are for eating things you shouldn't.

But you when shout back that you have pica, the PA system suddenly goes quiet.

Like Dogday and Catnap, that definitely triggered some memories for her, which she dwells on for a while before realizing you were still in the school..

And seeing you eating stuff makes her howling stomach grow louder.

"Barb" says you're mocking her own hunger, especially since she notices you gathering the notes she left around the place, and insists on killing you.

When you finally do encounter her, she is visibly disturbed by you crunching on a piece of chalk and throwing it to the ground to distract her, buying you time to break eye contact and flee.

She calls you "crazy", but you're not the one chasing her with a weapon made of a ruler and colored pencils.

#clanask #poppy playtime x reader #ppt x reader #huggy wuggy #dogday #catnap #miss delight #platonic #headcanons #pica

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

Part four of Mean Eddie x Reader series.

Part one Part Two Part Three

Minors shoo! Tiny hint of fluff, Wayne to the rescue, Eddie's po.v.

💌

Eddie is quiet when he isn't in Dungeon Master mode during the latest campaign. He's been like this for a while now and Gareth is worried.

He's sure it's something to do with you, observed the tension between you and Eddie earlier this week with Billy.

Gareth isn't the only one to notice this. Wayne does too. He knows his boy and every one of his moods, knows when something is eating at him. So when Eddie comes back from the campaign that night he's there with a smile and ready to listen.

"What's going on son? You okay? You're quiet and you ain't been quiet since you learned how to talk" Eddie smiles faintly and grabs a beer from the fridge, Wayne pretends not to notice this and grabs one for himself.

"There's this girl I've been seeing and she... We... I thought we were just this casual thing but she wants more and we ended things but I... Shit I miss her uncle Wayne" he says it all in a rush and Wayne listens intently.

"You'll fix things son. Just gotta give it some time" Wayne pats his shoulder and Eddie feels his whole body relax. Wayne's always been the one to calm him down when his emotions got to big, when he needed to soothe the chaos in his mind.

Well his mom did that too but it's been so long without her now, the memories are vague and he clings on to the things he can remember, the smell of her perfume, the way he felt safe and protected when she held him and those big brown eyes that were so much like his own.

For a moment he gives into the memories then speaks again, comes back to the present and the mess he's made with you. At first when the two of you stopped seeing each other he assumed he'd be fine and move on.

Big mistake. He missed you and your laugh and the way you would listen enraptured to his stories, asked him to make ones up for you all the time.

It snuck up on him but he began missing the smell of your perfume and the way you would play with his hair when the two of you were wrapped up together after incredible sex. Or the sweetness you showed to him even when he was a grumpy ass if he was in the middle of a campaign.

Eddie even missed the way you would excitedly tell him the latest gossip about Jason and his band of buttheads, and he missed the way your eyes lit up and you would smile when Eddie couldn't help but be tender with you, the way he would hold you for a few seconds and feel comfortable and relaxed with you.

Fuck he was a major douchebag.

"I don't know if I can. I messed up and said stupid shit, I made her cry", his hands tighten on his mug as the thought of your tears physically pains him. Wayne gives him a "son, I love you but I'm disappointed with you" look and Eddie's stomach sinks. He hates disappointing Wayne.

"Boy I raised you better than to mess around with girls hearts. You gotta stop moping around and apologise to her for being such an idiot. She obviously means something to you if you're missing her like this"

As always Wayne was right and Eddie was anxiously wondering if you would even accept his apology. Would you move on to Billy who was always flirting with you? Or maybe Steve. Steve didn't make girls cry, he treated them like princesses.

That's what he was going to do with you, treat you like a princess. Swallow his pride and admit he fucked up.

Well if you ever spoke to him again he would.

...

You're late for school on Monday and rush to your locker. It doesn't even register that there's something stuffed into your locker that wasn't there before. Doesn't register until the pretty wildflowers fall to the floor.

Gently you pick them up and find them tied together with a simple black hair tie.

Eddie's hair tie.

🫶

...

#eddie munson x you #eddie munson x cheerleader!reader #eddie munson

[libraryofloveletters]

chapter seven: what's the worst that can happen?

Sebastian Vettel x Fem!Reader

Warnings: babysitting/playdate uncle mickey for the girls, a sweet mention of michael <3, seb is sooo love sick, < mick thinks it's hilarious, fun date stuff, some kissing because seb is loving on his lady, mick teasing the two of you, a few cheeky comments, illusions to 18+ stuff at the end ;)

Word Count: 2.7k

Author’s Note: finally giving y'all wanted to see; the y/n and seb date! there's a fun lil surprise at the end for you freaky fuckers ;) enjoy it :)

sugar and spice; all things nice masterlist

---

"Which one?" Sebastian asks, the one hanger in each hand.

Mick looks up from his phone, finding Sebastian in front of him extremely serious about which shirt he should be wearing on his date with y/n. "Oh Seb," the younger German laughs, "you're nervous!"

"I am not!" He groans, rolling his eyes at Mick's teasing - he was sooo nervous. "Just help me pick a shirt, Mick."

"You're like a teenager with a crush," he smiles, making Sebastian groan once again but he nods towards the baby blue button up. "That one."

"You're a pain in the ass, Mick." Sebastian tells him as he hangs the white shirt back in the closet.

Mick shrugs, making himself comfortable on Seb's bed. "Just doing what dad would do." He says, both of them sharing a smile at the thought of Michael; he would have definitely teased Sebastian about his nervousness, but he would have been the first person to support whatever this was between him and y/n.

The thought is pulled away when they hear the little footsteps coming towards the room, Milly pushing the door open as she flings herself into her uncle's arms. Mick catches the girl, hugging her before he pulls her up onto the bed with him.

Sebastian smiles at the sight of them; Mick's holding the girl, Amelia sitting on his lap as she tells him all about the stuff she has planned for her, Olivia and Mick to do.

Had you told him when he met Michael all those years ago, as a young RedBull driver, that his daughter and Michael's son would be like siblings, he would have never believed you.

The doorbell rings and the girl jumps off of the bed, pulling Mick behind her. The man follows her without much of a choice.

"That's Liv! C'mon uncle Mick!" She shouts, running out the room with Mick right behind her. The two of them make it downstairs, Angie pawing at the front door while barking. Mick opens the door, the little girl runs in and hugs his legs.

"Hi Mickey!" She smiles at him and he smiles, reaching down to pinch her chunky cheek.

"Hi sweetheart, come in." He steps aside, scooting Angie back a bit so they had space to come in.

Angie was licking Liv's hand, Milly making the introduction between her best friend and her fur friend. The two girls run off towards the living room after Milly waves hello to you and Mick shuts the door behind you.

He smiles when he sees you, "wow.. you look beautiful."

"Thank you, Mick." You smiled. Angie was running up to you, standing on her back legs as she put her paws on your thighs, barking for some attention.

"Angie! Down!" Mick wags a finger at her and she does drop back down but she barks at him, giving him a look that you can only assume was for ruining her fun. You laugh, kneeling down to pat her side. "Hi pretty girl, dad's no fun huh?" You made a face at her, the dog nuzzling into your arm as you scratched her belly.

"You're spoiling her," Mick laughs when you stand up, Angie running off when Milly calls for her.

"She's adorable. Is Seb ready?"

There are footsteps from your left, you both look towards the stairs where Seb was coming down. "I am."

Mick can't help but laugh; "you know you're supposed to be picking y/n up. This should be the other way around."

You smiled at the boy's comment and Sebastian rolled his eyes, coming down to kiss your cheek. "We're not a very traditional couple, Mick."

Seb takes a moment to admire you; a red top that fit you perfectly and was just low cut enough to leave him wanting more, jeans that were made for you and only you; he resisted the urge to grab your ass in front of Mick - don't want to traumatize the man that's babysitting your children.

"You look.. wow." He smiles, making you chuckle. "You look pretty wow yourself."

"God, this is like watching my parents flirt," Mick gags, walking into the living room.

Seb takes that as his chance; his arm wrapping around your waist to pull you flush against him, hand slipping down to rest on your ass when he kisses you.

"Behave," you mumble, wiping the lipgloss off of his lips. He rolls his eyes playfully, "says you."

The girls were playing with Angie on the floor, Mick stretched out on the couch with the TV playing; very big brother, little sisters coded of them.

"We're heading out now." Sebastian announces and the girls come over, hugging you both goodbye. You give them both a kiss on the cheek, making them promise not to give Mick a hard time while Seb was off to the side talking to previously mentioned man.

"So do I get one of those too?" Mick asks when Seb finally lets him go.

Your brows furrow but Mick glances at the girls but turning his face to the side and leaning towards you. Laughing, you kiss his cheek and leave a red kiss shaped mark on his cheek as you had done with the girls.

Sebastian holds your hand, leading you out of the house before you get a chance to change your mind.

You shout on the way out of the door. "Have fun, you guys! Call if you need us!"

The two of you ended up taking Seb's car - he didn't let you drive, claiming that you driving over was all the driving you'd be doing for the night. Sebastian had planned the date, you had no idea where the two of you were going, or if you were even dressed for the right occasion.

So when he pulled up to the parking lot and the neon sign read mini golf, you looked over at him a bit confused. "Are you serious?" You can't help the laugh.

Sebastian shrugs, "Mick suggested it."

"No wonder," you chuckled, getting out of the car. Seb's cheeks are red, his hand resting on your lower back as you two walk towards the front door. "We can leave.. I can think of something-"

"Relax," you reach for his arm, giving it a squeeze. "It's an odd choice but, I'm sure we'll have fun."

"Okay," he nods, exhaling as he opens the door for you. "I haven't been on a date in a long time.. so I'm a little out of practice." The man admits his thoughts and feelings to you and yet there you were making a joke; "Right, I forget you're 800 years old."

Sebastian rolls his eyes. His hand that previously rested on your back reaches over to pinch your hip teasingly, making you smile. You often tease bit about him acting older than he actually is; a lot of the things that you tell him or show him, he doesn't even have a clue about.

Despite the two of you only having a five year age gap, Seb was an old soul in comparison to you.

Not that you minded, you appreciated the stability that he brought into your life as well as Olivia's.

"But don't worry, me either." You tell him, referring to his dating comment. "At least not a good one, anyways."

"So you're certain this one will be good?" he raises a brow, making you laugh yet again as you two walked in.

You nod, smiling at the man. "I think so."

The two of you decide to play a few rounds, making it around the course. It wasn't until you made it to the last hole that the two of you decided that you wouldn't be playing another round.

"Go on," he tells you, letting you hit the ball into the hole. It misses the hole by an inch and you watch as Seb purposefully misses his shot as well.

You line your club up with the ball. "You didn't have to do that."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." He smiles, clapping for you when you get the ball into the final hole, you take a small bow and hand him your club.

His hand rests on your lower back yet again, leading you towards the exit. "Shall we get out of here?" He asks and you nod. "Where to?"

Sebastian, a gentlemen as always, opens the door for you to get into the car. "I know a place," he tells you before shutting the door and getting in.

It was about an hour drive away. The two of you chatting away as Sebastian drives down a lonely road that leads to what seems like the middle of nowhere. You look over at the man, a bit confused before turning to look out of the window yet again.

There's a big blue sign coming up to your left that reads; drive in movies.

You smile, turning back to Seb as he drives through the gate. "What are we watching?"

"I believe they have the cabin in the woods running tonight." He tells you, pulling into a spot towards the back. It was fairly empty so you could still see the big projector screen.

"You know," you start as you two get out of the car, meeting by the side to walk towards the snack booth. "I hate scary movies."

Seb's arm links with yours, pulling you into your side. "I'll protect you," he says, a goofy grin on his face as he raises his eyebrows.

You roll your eyes, laughing as you two pick out some snacks.

The two of you return to the car, settling into your seats as the movie begins. It's gotten about 30 minutes into the movie before the first scary thing happens, causing you to jump in your seat and spill popcorn everywhere.

Sebastian looks away, his hand over his mouth as he snickers and you can't help but laugh, your hand reaching out to smack his shoulder. "It's not funny!"

"It kinda is," he chuckled, leaning over to give you a kiss.

The popcorn is long forgotten, Sebastian's hand resting on your jaw as he kisses you. Your own hand wraps around his wrist, pulling him closer. Leaning over the centre console, Seb's hands begin to wander, his lips traveling from your lips to your jaw, down to your neck.

Your cheeks flush red when you realize you're still in public, anyone can look over and see you. "Seb," you whispered, the man mumbles against your neck, moving further down.

A hand holds his chin, forcing him to stop and look up at you. "What?"

"Not here," you smiled at him, giving him one more kiss before wiping the lipgloss off of his face.

It made you smile; at your grown age, he still made you blush and giggle like a teenage girl.

It was nearly 10:30 when the movie ended and Sebastian asked you if you'd like to get dinner. You nod, "but will Mick be okay with the girls?"

"Yeah, he'll be fine. We can call if you'd like?"

"Please," you smiled and Sebastian pulled his phone out and called Mick, the two of you watching and waiting to see if they'd pick up.

"Hey," Mick smiles when he answers, sitting on the couch. "Hey," the two of you say at the same time, making you laugh.

"Girls!" Mick calls out to them, knowing that's who you wanted to talk to. Milly and Liv come running in, Angie running behind them as they climb onto the couch with Mick.

The two of them shout hello, overlapping each other as they tell you how much fun they're having with Mick. Liv holds his hand up, "mom look!"

Mick had blue and purple nail polish all over his nails. The man bites back a smile, Milly giggles. "He let us do whatever colour we wanted!"

"That's nice, girls. We're gonna be out a bit longer, will you guys be okay with Mick?"

"Yeah!" They say together, making you smile. Seb tells them to listen to Mick and that when he says it's bedtime, they've got to go to bed. They agree and run off to play again, leaving Mick with the phone.

"Soooo.." he smiles when he gets the phone back, "how's it going?"

"Good," you tell him, "we'll be out a bit later though, you're sure you'll be okay with the girls?"

"Absolutely, I'll put them to bed. You two take as long as you need." He says and you smile when you thank him. You hand the phone back over to Seb and the younger German laughs when he sees his friend.

"Why have you got sparkles on your face, Sebastian?" He asks, a smirk on his face.

Seb rolls his eyes, "shut up, Mick."

Mick can hear your snicker from behind Seb, making him laugh. "Gross you guys. Okay bye, have fun.. but not too much fun!" He says in a fit of laughter when Seb hangs up on him.

"Where to now?" You looked over at him and Seb shrugged. "Dinner?" He suggests and you nod, "but what's open? Most places close at 10."

"I think I saw a diner, unless you want McDonalds or something?"

You hum, taking a moment to think. "Either is fine with me," you smiled.

The man nods, pulling out of the lot. You two end up in the parking lot of the diner only to realize they were closed. It wasn't until you were almost back home that Sebastian pulls into a McDonald's, the only place that was open at this time of the night. You aren't sure since when restaurants close at 10pm on a Friday, but you went along with it anyways.

A brown paper bag sat on the middle console as the two of you ate chicken nuggets, at midnight, in some sketchy McDonald's parking lot.

"You didn't actually say that," you look over at him, taking a bite of your nugget. Seb nods, "I did; I was racing, I was faster, I passed him, I won." The man shrugs, a wicked grin on his face.

You roll your eyes, "you were so cocky."

"If only we had met sooner," he says, leaning back in his seat, head turning to look at you. "I would have charmed the panties off of you."

You snorted, smacking his arm. "You can still do that now, Seb."

He smiles, his head reaching over for yours. Seb's fingers interlock with yours. "Shall we go home?" He asks.

"Will Mick be okay with the girls for a bit longer? I was thinking.. we could, you know.. go back to mine."

"Yeah?" Seb raises an eyebrow, "what for?"

You shrug, smiling at him. Seb gets the hint; "I'm sure he'll be fine. Shall we?" You nod, smiling. "You're the driver, so please."

It's a short drive back to yours and Sebastian follows you inside, his hand holding yours as you walk in. He stopped in the entryway, you were up the first two steps.

"What?" You look at him and he shakes his head, smiling as he follows behind you. You make it up the staircase, stopping again outside of your bedroom and Seb looks at you.

You weren't sure if you were making the right choice; you wouldn't be able to go back if you did this.

"Are you sure?" You asked him quietly and Seb nods, his hand cupping your jaw before he leans in. HIs lips ghost over yours, "I've never been more sure in my life."

Sebastian closes the gap between the two of you, your hand fumbling behind you to open the door. The two of you are tangled together, hands all over each other, lips moving from one spot to the other as you stumbled to the bed.

He lets you get on before joining you, moving to settle between your legs before kissing you again. One by one, the clothes end up on the floor in the pile.

"You're sure?" Sebastian looks down at you, your leg on his hip.

You nod, pulling him down for another kiss. "I've never been more sure."

--

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#sugar and spice; all things nice series #sebastian vettel #sebastian vettel x reader #sebastian vettel x you #sebastian vettel imagine #sebastian vettel fanfic #sebastian vettel fluff #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 fluff #f1 series #mick schumacher #mick schumacher x reader

[eddiessluttywaist]

as if (part 3)

AGELESS/BLANK/UNDER 18 BLOGS ARE NOT WELCOME TO INTERACT. PLEASE RESPECT MY RULES AND BOUNDARIES

summary: reader isn’t keen to playing the usual games between her and eddie after how she felt sunday night, and eddie can’t stand losing her attention. PICK WHAT ENDING YOU WANT AFTER.

pairing: bully!mean!perv!eddie munson x perv!fem reader

word count: 8,704 words (9,272 total words with the fluffy ending, 9,516 total words with the angsty ending)

content/warnings: swearing, SMUT MDNI (y/n is 18), bully!eddie, mean!eddie, perv!eddie, bully kink (?), dominating, breeding kink, mocking, teasing, biting, dacryphilia, groping, pet names (doll face, princess), degradation, some embarrassment, yearning, menophilia, angst :(((, feelings :(((, fluff(what? who said that?). i think that’s all pls tell me if i miss anything!

a/n: thank you for all the love :( i’m truly so surprised and grateful and just super flattered so thank you!! i hope i didn’t fuck this up by giving it crap endings sobs. i saw some were interested in a bit of a better look into eddie’s thoughts/feelings so i hope those lil parts are good! i’m considering the occasional blurb in the future about them tho so 👀 OH ALSO!! the past week or so tumblr had a bug on their app that cut off the ends of my posts >:( so I’d appreciate it if you could look back to double check you caught the full ending so you get the proper experience! okay i’m shutting up now!

part one - part two

*

You weren’t as responsive to his teasing that Monday…or, well… just about the rest of the school week so far, for that matter. You blamed your mood drop on his indifference, and the cramping that you assumed was only from this weekend. You had been sure it was just your cervix making its opinions on Eddie known, but then—after your second sugar pill of the week—you got your period Wednesday night. This culprit seemingly just as likely for that aching in your lower abdomen and back. It was welcome evidence that your birth control was working, but the appreciation for its presence didn’t last long with all the cramping and the bleeding. You hated getting your period, no matter how many older women reminded you of your “connection to Mother Nature” and “the beauty of the womb.” It’s messy and painful and almost always broke out your face.

So no you aren’t playing Eddie’s usual games—instead going silent on him or answering in an empty murmur. Part of you worries it’s going to all build up to one particularly heinous act, but he surprisingly didn’t get worse. He only bothered you with the same old stuff more frequently. By Thursday he’s pestering you constantly with his teasing, and his grabbing, and honestly? Just about every trick in his sick little book which were usually tastefully sprinkled throughout the week.

“So you’re not talking to me? Playing hard to get or somethin’?” He whispers from behind you in the lunch line. You grab a saran-wrapped cookie and put it on your tray.

“What? You on your rag or something?” Eddie scoffs in response to your ever freezing cold shoulder. He’s out in the tundra these past couple of days. You make a face and continue moving through the line.

“Come on… don’t fuck me and forget me, babe. You’ll break this ol’ cynic’s heart and I’ll never recover.” He teases with a wide smile, hand placed over his heart before it drops to settle on the small of your back and gradually travel down to cup your ass. He’s pleasantly surprised that you’re not gently nudging him away like you had the last time he attempted his usual lunchtime groping, but something feels different. He glances down as he flips up your skirt only to reveal small shorts in the same pattern of your dark, plaid skirt. Your worst nightmare is bleeding through a light-colored pair of pants or skirt, so you always wear darker clothes on your period, and you trade skirts for skorts in favor of the added coverage.

“What the fuck is this shit?” He scowls, tugging at one leg of the shorts.

“It’s called a skort. We’ve had this conversation before.” You sigh, thanking the lunch lady as she hands you your tray and eyes the metalhead trailing behind you.

She thinks he resembles an abandoned puppy who grew mean and practiced his bite and his bark just to follow after you with his tail between his legs. If she had any genuine interest in connecting with the student body she fed 5 days out of the week, she might’ve made a playful joke about you having him whipped. But she didn’t care that much.

“I don’t think we have.” He grins, wondering if you even noticed you let yourself talk to him.

“You do it every time I’m on-“ You catch yourself almost admitting you were on your period, which would certainly only pull new harassment from him, so you pretend to correct a simple mistake. “In. Every time I’m in a skort.”

He hums disapprovingly.

“Yeah, well… I…” He trails off as you simply walk away from him to your usual spot in the cafeteria. You don’t bother to stay at his table you two reached just for him to finish making some crude joke before ultimately shooing you away anyway. “Okay… or be a bitch.”

He grumbles that last bit, landing into his usual spot at the head of the table. A few of the other Hellfire members are still staring even when he clearly takes notice.

“Can I help you?” He snaps, everyone who had been staring immediately looking down at their food. He huffs, adjusting his position in the chair to get more comfortable and lets his gaze move over to your table. You’re sat so pretty it’s like your image could actually advertise such a crappy plastic chair. The way your ankles are crossed underneath you, book cracked open on the table with all of your attention on it as you sat with your body leaned into the table. Your food was hardly touched due to a pang of nausea that he was completely unaware of.

“You know if you like her maybe you shouldn’t pick on her so much.”

Eddie grimaces at the comment that’s—in his opinion—beyond a disregard for his rank at this table, icy glare on the curly haired freshman. There are panicked faces and soft muttering around the table showing he isn’t the only one taken aback by this.

“I…” the boy falters, putting the spoonful of pudding he’s about to eat back down. “I just mean if… if you like her. I dunno… you’re kinda mean to her, Eddie.”

He eats his scoop of pudding now, his bold words inspiring the wiry one that always sits next to him. Eddie’s burning glance flits over to him now that he’s speaking, his expression remaining unimpressed with etches of frustration in the shadows of his facial features.

“Yeah, which is actually totally weird cause you’re not like that at all.” The brunet speaks in a rapid ramble like usual. “Like, you took me and Dustin and Lucas under your wing cause we were new and weird and alone and stuff like that—no, I know Lucas has been ditching Hellfire for the jocks, but anyway— you’re always talking back to those asshole jocks—which is totally cool—so I don’t get why you’re not like that with her.”

“I’m sorry, I must be confused.” The man spoke with sarcastic interest, a sinister smile breaking out onto his face. “Are you two talking to me? About something that is, quite frankly, none of your business?”

The two boys look at each other, the nerves shared between them tangible. Eddie raises a brow and tilts his head when they face him again. Still silence. Mike swallows anxiously.

“Well?” He sneers, flicking some of his trail mix at them.

“Sorry, Eddie…” They say in unison as he chews slowly, staring them down. He rolls his eyes as his body slowly relaxes again in his spot and he glances at you again. You were at least breaking off pieces of your cookie now, still reading your book.

“She’s not new or weird or alone anyways. She’s always with the smart kids.” He states, before holding up a hand as his gaze returns to the pair. “Not that I’m inviting you two shitheads to stick your noses in my business.”

The freshmen, along with a few others at the table shift to look over at you. You’re still engrossed in whatever you’re reading and you looked miserable, even if you were enjoying a good book. You look tired.

“Dude, literally no one is interacting with her. There’re the Jacobson twins talking at one end—probably still fighting over what’s the right answer to the equation from algebra class (it’s zero, by the way). Then there’s Richie and Greg from advanced calculus. Some people I don’t know…” Dustin mutters that last part before continuing, “And yes technically speaking there are a few girls sitting with her, but they’re not even talking. They probably don’t even know her.“

Eddie stares him down, the conversation still on you burning away at something inside him. He doesn’t want to talk about it. He doesn’t want to talk about you or how lonely you look. He doesn’t want to talk about inviting you over. And he certainly doesn’t want to talk about how mean he is to you, cause he has no interest in trying to break down the intricacies of the crossover between bullying you and fucking you. Especially to freshmen.

“Just saying.” Dustin finally sighs in defeat, clearly getting no response from the DM sat at the head of the table. “But seriously, tugging on a girl’s pigtails cause you like her is completely grade school.”

*

Eddie had figured that having sex would change things between you two, but he imagined it changing for the better. Things like fucking you in the janitor’s closet or in the back of his van in the parking lot. Feeling you up between classes. Being so fucking mean to you all day until you were all wet and needy for him by the time that final bell rang.

He certainly didn’t imagine this.

At the start of the school week, Eddie didn’t entirely notice your lack of participation. Just that something felt… off-kilter in your interactions. It had been on Tuesday night that he realized nothing felt right because you weren’t glaring at him or shoving him away or pouting up at him. You didn’t even turn your head when an object was flicked at you, you just kept your eyes on the chalkboard.

Now he isn’t particularly well known for his critical thinking with… well… anything other than music, DND, and—subsequently—the math that came along with both hobbies. And, of course, selling drugs. So it’s somewhat understandable that poor Eds didn’t even realize what caused the imbalance for a whole day or two. Once he realized it though, it only frustrated him further. It irritated him that you weren’t playing the game, and it irritated him that it bothered him so much in the first place.

Why aren’t you snapping back at him? Why are you ignoring him, and if you even do look over: why was it always with a sad glance? Why, when he toyed with your skirt on Monday did you tilt your head to the side and quietly ask him to please leave you alone? When he saw you first thing Monday morning with circles under your eyes that were barely disguised by drug store concealer; Why, when he leaned into you as he passed you in the hall with a quiet “Something keep you up last night?” Did you only give him a passing glance with lips pressed together in what might’ve been an attempt at a small smile just to fall flat with that dull look in your eyes.

Being how he is, his game plan had been to keep bugging you constantly. Wear you down until you were finally glaring or giggling or whining, and everything could be back to the way it was. Maybe you were just suddenly playing hard to get. Being a teasing brat who would eventually have a smirk sneak out so he knew you were toying with him, and he could make you pay for it later. That smirk never quirked up your lip though. You were still such a rainy cloud drifting through the school.

The little twerp got to him at lunch today, too. He wonders now if maybe you were sick of the way he acted, and realized you want deserve someone a little less inclined to pigtail-tugging and a little more open and romantic. But why now? He thought you enjoyed it all. That’s why he wasn’t expelled already. That’s why you fucked him and called him for more. Right? Sitting in his van instead of attending the last class of the day, Eddie rubs his hands over his face and lets out a frustrated groan. He feels something crucial missing in him at the fact that he’d rather pull teeth than drop down his smug and playful demeanor even for a second and show you that he’s yours.

He noticed you were pretty when you were a sophomore, but not much else. Now in your senior year with him, god—you aren’t even pretty. You’re fucking devastating, and he knows his methods of showing affection aren’t something that will stand the test of time. You’ll grow tired and fuck it, he’d be living up to that Munson name if he has to see you with someone else—probably wind up serving time right alongside Pops after leaving some guy in the hospital. So maybe there were tweaks to be had. Even if he’s bitter and reluctant about it. (And did I mention bitter?)

Eddie pulls his hands away from his face at the faint sound of a bell, letting the side of his head fall against the window with a solid thunk as he awaits the crowds of students rushing out of the school.

*

You’re passing by others on your way out of the building, just as relieved as everyone else to be going home for the day—not that your excitement showed. It’s more of a calm relief to be heading to your room again than everyone else’s bubbly enthusiasm to make plans for the rest of the day. (When they should be getting their assignments done after all it’s not Friday yet, you think, but maybe that’s just because you evidently have no life.)

Making your way through the parking lot, a loud horn makes you jump. Your eyes wild and your heart up in your throat, you look around until you spot Eddie laying on his horn with his tongue partially sticking out off to the side. He lets up the second you lock eyes and laughs.

“Need a ride? Gotta couple of good options.”

You huff, trying to ignore his filthy innuendo and shake your head. He groans, settling his head back against the head rest of his seat while you start walking away.

“What the fuck is your problem? Jesus fucking Christ!”

You keep walking, hearing his car door open and the sound of his sneakers on the pavement. His car buzzes irritably at its door being left open while running, but he doesn’t care. You’re sure he doesn’t care about anything, really. He rests a hand on your shoulder to turn you around.

“’m just not in the mood, Eddie.” You snap the second you’re facing him.

But you’re always in the mood, he wants to argue as if that made a difference right now. He lets out a long breath that puffs out his lips as he decompresses, arm bent up to rub his hand on the back of his neck. It’s evident that he’s not used to this, and doesn’t have a clue how to go about it. You eye him in that moment, waiting for him. Waiting for something that made that ache in your chest dissipate and the hole it leaves be filled with a light warmth. Then you’re ready to give up on waiting for something that clearly wasn’t going to happen when he suddenly dips down and drapes you over his shoulder all in one fluid motion.

“I- Eddie-!“

“I- Eddie- I-” He mimics, clearly out of habit and opens the back door to his van to plop you right on top of a random cushion nestled inside. It looks like it’s just a single couch cushion and you wonder where he got only one. Is it from an old couch that was getting tossed anyways? Did he steal it? Who steals a singular couch cushion from the seat of a sofa? And what was that stain on the corner? You’re shifting away from it as he climbs in after you, the tip of his tongue peeking out of the corner of his lips again until the door is shut and he’s settled against it with a sigh.

“Yoo-hoo.”

“What?”

He scratches his jaw as he looks over at you then points at the stain you were avoiding.

“Yoo-hoo. The drink. That’s what the stain is from.”

“Oh… okay.”

Eddie lets out a heavy sigh, his eyes going wide as he fights the urge to roll them while he stares up at the ceiling of his vehicle, and then he finally speaks up again.

“Why are you being all…” He gestures his hands out in a odd way, flopping them a bit before settling them on his legs again. He sighs, tilting his head down and looking over at you again. “I don’t fucking know… you’re not being fun this week.”

Your nostrils flare and your brow creases with a pulse of rage at his words.

“Oh I’m so sorry that I’m not playing your game, Eddie. For your information, yes—as you said so elegantly before— I’m ‘on my rag’ and don’t exactly feel like dealing with you.”

Despite the tone you’re taking with him, a grin is pulling at his face and a few laughs bubble from his chest that were almost like little amused giggles. God, he missed getting you all worked up.

“What? Never got it before?” He suddenly questions.

“I- What?”

He snickers.

“Your rag. The crimson tide. Never ridden the cotton pony before?” He’s having too much fun with this and your face is getting all hot.

“Cause I kinda doubt it. Y’know…” he gestures to your form, “The idea that you haven’t gone through puberty yet sounds fake to me, sweetheart.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Well you’ve never acted like this before so unless this is your first week of Carrie...” He hisses an inhale through his teeth.

“My condolences, but look at it this way: You’re finally a woma- hey!” He’s laughing until he’s dodging the random work boot you toss at him—the sight of him scooting away from the projectile actually getting a giggle from you.

“Those ‘r for the garage, doll. Heavy duty shit, can’t be throwing those.” He chastises as he waves the shoe at you, but there’s a weight that’s lifting from him. He got you to just sit and talk to him, and even made you laugh. Even if you’re biting the inside of your cheek now to try and refrain from giving him the satisfaction of your smile. How are things like this right now? Shouldn’t he be bending you over his knee for not acting the way he wanted you to? Shouldn’t he be angry? Shouldn’t he be making you cry?

“I’ve gotten my period before.” You state simply. Eddie puts the boot down, dropping his head back against the interior of his van as he looks at you expectantly.

“Then what? What’s with the bitching and the ignoring and the crybaby shit?” He asks bluntly, making your brow furrow again.

“And not even the good crybaby shit,” he continues in a softer tone as he makes his way over to you, “Where’s my pouty girl, huh? Where’s my brat?”

My. My. It’s making your head swirl, his words and proximity putting up a good fight against this latest impulse to be cold to him. He’s settled in front of you and pulling you forward by your hips.

“Don’t wanna talk about it…” You murmur because he should know. He should’ve automatically known the second he left your room that he fucked up when he didn’t kiss you.

“No? Do I gotta bully it out of you, baby? Should I keep up with what I’ve been doing or are you gonna keep pissing me off with that silent treatment shit if I do?”

Watching your expression, his hands settled on your hips start to massage his fingertips in small circles against your lower back. A sigh falls from your lips before you can even stop it, melting from his touch. He’s massaging that spot that’s been tied up in knots the past couple of days, and taking care of it perfectly. Just when you think he’s suddenly a completely different person he stops the movements entirely. That familiar pout that he loves pulls at your lower lip, clearly disappointed by the loss of his kneading.

“Gonna tell me?” He coos, tilting his head.

Your lips part then close again, faltering on if you should just tell him. He mimics the motion then your pout before grinning at you again. You stay quiet, a new conflict arising inside your head. Should you just tell him and move forward? Should you let him suffer until he figures it out? He deserves to suffer in your book, but who knows how long it would take for him to realize. The man has failed his senior year twice already.

“No? Okay, doll.” He’s separating himself from you now, moving to a corner of his van to start digging through some random stacks and piles there.

He’s going on about how he’d help if he could, but he guessed that won’t happen now. How if only you’d cut lil’ ol’ him a break. His theatrical and bitter words are coated in a soft tone and playful, exaggerated sighs. He’s having all the fun in the world trying to tease you until you just sigh and admit whatever your major malfunction is. It’s lighthearted in comparison to his usual teasing, but even this starts bringing the tears forward.

You hate that he doesn’t know. That it clearly didn’t mean enough for him to notice. You hate that he pulls you in all smooth and sweet to get you intoxicated on him just for him to laugh over it and leave you alone again. You hate how he’s suddenly making you feel cared for just for him to go away again cause he isn’t getting what he wants. Now you’re desperately trying to hide the fact that you’re crying as all of your feelings and aches and pains of this week rush through you.

Sure, he’s seen you cry before but it was never like this. It was teary eyes from frustration or, recently, the occasional sob from how good he made you feel. It’s never been breaking down after a hard week. It’s never sobbing because after all this time the two of you finally cracked, and you’re scared you’re the only one increasingly enchanted every passing second since that first kiss. It was never hiccuping sobs that you were doing your best to push down. Your face is burning, your sight blurry even though tears kept rolling down your cheeks. It’s like there’s a never ending supply to stream down your face and still keep your vision bleary.

“Jus’ sayin’ we could be doing something way more fun right no…w…” He trails off once he finally looks over at you.

He’s holding an unopened pack of cigarettes he had been looking for in his typical mess and pulling out his lighter, but now all his focus is on the way you’re sniffling and shaking. You’re still sat on that cushion, knees up and a hand settled over your mouth with your head turned away from him. A heart-wrenching sob just barely sneaks its way out before you choke it back down. Little huffs are escaping you in a desperate attempt to breathe without letting your need to wail break free. It feels like your lungs are on fire.

“Y/N…” Eddie says in a tender voice that you didn’t think he was even capable of. You shake your head.

“Y/n c’mon…” He tries again with a small, nervous laugh. Nervous you were serious. Nervous that he really made you so upset. Nervous to really show that he cares if he did.

“It’s okay, really-“ Your voice is higher than usual, another heavy breath puffing out before you try to drag it in again just to end up whimpering as another wave of sadness comes over you and you’re too overwhelmed to hold it in. You stay facing away from him as you cry and hiccup, trying to get it back under control.

“I just- it’s stupid, it’s n-ot that big of a deal.”

For Eddie, making you cry is all about the glossy eyes and pouty lips as you stare up at him defiantly or a sign that you need him to quit playing games and fuck you. It’s never been this… brutal. Panic continues to rise in his system, and he’s unsure of how to handle the situation. Once upon a time, he thought he treated you the way that he did because some sadistic part of him liked to always make you hurt, but it was becoming evident that he just liked the play. The banter. The shoving and the glaring and pouting and the wandering eyes. When he acted the way he always did and you didn’t respond or did so in a quiet plea for him to really stop or really cried—it made his stomach clench. The more he tried to keep it up this week the more he realized that when you weren’t playing along he just… he was just mean. Really mean. Not “you’re so awful, just fuck me already” mean, but “you’re making me miserable” mean. And fuck if he didn’t hate the way that felt.

“Is it really that bad?” He murmurs, partially surprised by his own voice when it sounded this gentle. The thin plastic around his cigarettes crinkle under his nervous hands. And he thought he needed a smoke before. “Did I hurt you? Or-or somethin’? Do you need to go to a doctor?”

“No.” You weep, still refusing to look at him and it’s killing him even if a part of him knows he would crumble if he sees how you look right now. God, he hated this. The vulnerability of caring openly and to this extent, but what else could he do? Double down on his usual behavior and kick you while you were already so down you might as well have been sinking into the pavement?

“Y/N, please-“ He tries again and you crack completely.

“It’s just not fair because I thought I wanted this, but it’s to-oo hard. You don’t care enough to stick around. Y-You don’t check in with me. You’ve pushed me around for the past two years and I’m an idiot who thought it was all lighthe-hearted deep down, a-and that you wanted me too.”

You break down into tears again until you put yourself back together just enough so it’s only the constant sniffling and your voice trembling that’s interrupting you. All Eddie can do is stare at you with big brown eyes like saucers while you babble, his brow frowning as he anxiously picks at his fingernails and the skin around them.

“A-And of course I got my fucking period cause why wouldn’t I? Cause why would I catch a break? N-N my body aches and I’m so tired and you… you couldn’t… you didn’t…”

“What?” He’s shuffling a bit closer now, lowering his face like he always did to catch your attention. He was right that seeing your face like this would cave him in, and he wishes he could be dropped into a black hole. He knew he deserved it. At the sight of your current state, he was pulling that smoke he already had his fingertips on and placing it between his lips. He lights it and inhales deeply before letting his hand drop down, cig between his fore and middle fingers, ring finger toying with a tear in his jeans.

“You…” You let out a breath before dropping your gaze to your hands in your lap, tears still slipping down your cheeks and over your jaw to wet your neck and dampen the collar of your top or drop down and land on that skort he hated. “You wouldn’t even kiss me on Sunday…”

You sound horribly deflated at the admission, and his eyes flicker all over your features before the smallest twitches of the corners of his lips start to tug them up even though his eyes hold a sad sort of infatuation within them.

“You kissed me on Friday, but not once on Sunday. And you didn’t even seem to care…” You mumble, glancing over at him once and then twice when you notice the curve of his lips. Your eyes burn with a potential for new tears. “Are you fucking smiling?”

“No—no, well, yeah. Not like that.” He huffs out an anxious laugh. “I just… you ignored me… cause I didn’t give you a kiss..?”

You scoff, lips parted and gaze furious. He is unbelievable.

“Among other things! I-I… ugh! You’re infuriating!” You announce and his brows shoot up, grin widening with interest and he brings his cigarette back to his lips.

“You… you make fun of me constantly. You fuck me and finish in me and don’t even spend time with me after. The least you can do is kiss me. Or… or…” You huff, which was becoming a theme today.

He can’t help but find you cute when you’re angry. You remind him of that temperamental pixie in that old animated Peter Pan film from the ‘50s. He used to babysit a young girl in the trailer park who watched it constantly (much to his chagrin).

“Or you don’t get to have me anymore.” You conclude, and he just keeps staring at you with wild eyes as he smokes.

Your anxieties peak and a voice in your head is screaming to get out of the damn van, even when he’s just casually puffing on a cigarette without a hint of irritation on his face. Eddie lets the cig stick to his bottom lip as his hands find your form to pull you closer to him. His right hand raises to place the smoke between his middle and forefinger, and remove it from his lips. His left hand moves to hook his thumb on your lower lip and part your mouth for him to plant an open-mouthed kiss on you as his smoke floats around you and in your mouth, his tongue hot on yours. The pamphlets your parents gave you about the dangers of cigarettes popped up in your mind as his smoke fills you. The statistics and pictures of smoker lungs mean nothing to you as he kisses you like this.

You’re more than just warming up to the smell you usually couldn’t stand, and you find yourself back where you were on Friday. Willing to take whatever he gives you. As long as he kept kissing you like this. As long as he kisses you like he plans on making you his wife while he fucks you like he’s your high school bully. The kiss is all tongues and muffled moans, your arms wrapping around his neck. You chase after his lips when he finally starts pulling away. An involuntary whimper slid from you as you look at him with heavy eyelids.

“If you want something…” He trails off in a whisper, keeping his half-lidded eyes on you even as he reaches over to tap off ash into a cheap plastic tray. His thumb and pointer finger pinch your chin to keep your focus on him. “You ask, okay? Pretty standard rules, princess.”

“But…”

“But now,” He cuts you off with a soft sigh, head tilting as he looks at you. The eye contact is becoming so intense it’s burning through you. “Now I know this is important for you, ‘kay?”

You’re surprised by this. Honestly you’re shocked by every kindness and touch of patience he provided you today. You would have never guessed Eddie Munson is even capable of such a thing. You nod with your gaze retreating downwards, toying with your hands and he chases after your stare with a tilt of his head to try and get you to look at him again, brows raised up.

“Doll?”

You wipe at the cooling streaks of tears on one cheek with your shoulder then finally look up again, and nod with more confidence this time.

“And…” He looks almost like he’s in pain for a moment before he finally continues “‘m sorry, okay?”

“…Really?” You murmur, eyes wide with shock.

“Yeah.” He huffs out a laugh. “Don’t act so surprised. I’m capable of an apology, given the right circumstances.”

You eye him, silent with hesitation and shock.

“‘N the right girl.” He murmurs with a soft voice even though he had that shit-eating grin on his face. Why is it always so charming? It’s smug and teasing, but always so endearing.

You don’t know what else to do so you just kiss him. You pull him in by his shoulders and kiss him. You kiss him like you could devour him, body and soul. His arms circle around your waist after leaving that partly-smoked cigarette in the cheap ash tray and drags you closer all while kissing you back. He’s leaning down to place you on the scratchy carpeting and hover over you. Any break for air is short-lived before you’re back on each other. Your hands tangle in the messy curls draping around your head, tugging to pull a groan from him.

“Fuck…” He sighs into the kiss, dropping his body down to put more of his weight on you. He parts from your lips despite your whiny protests and presses kisses and nips to your jaw as he works his way to your neck. His arms unfurl from around your waist so his hands can settle on your hips and let his thumbs massage into your skin. You’re pawing at his vest as he works on leaving a love bite on your pulse point below your ear, and—surprisingly—he moves away to shake the jacket-vest combo off and drop it beside you. You eye the fit of his t-shirt and it makes your mind fog up.

All your focus is on the shape of his tummy against the fabric. The way the material sticks to him and shows all the harsh angles of his toned chest. The fact that he had cut off the bottom hem of his top and when he moves the right way you can see that trail of hair on his lower stomach. The shape of his arms under the sleeves. Does he work out? Considering his lack of discipline, you couldn’t imagine him having an exercise regimen, but dear god. His arms weren’t absurdly cut, but they were still thick with enough muscle that his sleeves seem a little tight. You can see the veins of his forearms and the blown out ink on his skin. When he’s on top of you again, sucking on your neck, you let your hands drag over his back and sneak underneath his shirt. The heat of his skin and the moving musculature alone making your toes curl. You’re happy to have him on you, but you wanted that damn shirt off too. You’re grasping at the fabric and pulling it up, gasping when he bites on your neck for doing so.

“Take that shit off-“ You huff, making a smile tug at his lips.

“Using my lines now, doll?” He purrs once he’s raised up again and grasping behind his head to pull his shirt over it. You can’t even think of a smart reply, your brain short circuiting at the sight of his naked torso. Even though you enjoy it, you never really understood his urge to bite. You sure do now. You shift from laying on your back to sit up in front of him while he remains raised up on his knees. Your hands slide up his stomach, feeling the goosebumps that raise in the wake of your cold fingertips. He’s still for once and you bring your hands back down to pull on his belt, fighting against the stiff leather to slide it out of the buckle.

You’ve never given head before, mainly because the only time there was an opportunity it had been with a guy you didn’t even like that much who kept trying to push your head down while you were kissing; but you felt feverish with thoughts of Eddie’s dick down your throat. While rushing to go down on him was the last thing you had on your mind at the start of your day, after he was so sweet on you, you were desperate to taste him.

Eddie’s breath is staggered as he watches you undo his jeans, his pupils all blown out. He can’t even count how many times he’s fantasized about those lips wrapped around his cock, but he knew after everything that he didn’t deserve to go first. Fuck, he wanted to, but he doesn’t deserve it. Belt open and slack and jeans undone, he grabs your hands to pin them over your head once you were pushed back onto the floor and he leans down to kiss you. One hand holds the side of your face and the other is pulling the zipper on your hip down, muttering a you first against your lips.

Before tugging at your skirt skort, Eddie pulled away again to lift your shirt off. He grew irritable for a moment with the long sleeves that fought him, tossing it aside harshly with a grumble that made you giggle. That gentle laugh was the only thing that lightened his mood again and encouraged a small smile before he continued. He kisses down your body, giving you the occasional bite. There are little things that he does along the way that make parts of you feel beautiful—parts that you either don’t pay attention to or even aren’t fond of. It’s an odd thing considering how mean he always is, but he seems to show a devotion to each and every inch of your skin that wouldn’t occur to most men. The way his hands slide along your sides as he makes his way down your chest, giving you the occasional squeeze. The way his arms slip around your midsection and bring you closer to his face with a press to the small of your back, smothering his face between your breasts still covered by a flimsy, lace bra—breathing in the scent of your skin. The way his hold relaxes as he continues down, just to squeeze you to him again when he finds a new spot he wants to smother himself in. One side of your tummy underneath your ribs. The slight rise of your lower abdomen beneath your belly button. Your hip bones.

You’re so drunk on his touch at first that it doesn’t even occur to you where this is leading until he’s already face-to-face with the center of your underwear.

“E-Eddie- no-“ You squeak out suddenly. “Not that.”

He lifts his head to eye you curiously and with surprise at the denial of getting head, lips parted in a question that you interrupt.

“I’m on my period, remember?”

Eddie half-jerks his shoulder up in a careless shrug. “Yeah, I know. So?”

“It’s just… it’s so messy and bloody. I wouldn’t even want you to eat me out right now if I was still mad at you.”

“Doll, c’mon…” He groans while pressing his face into your inner thigh—not to try and convince you to give consent cause he doesn’t care about this boundary, but rather to show how badly he wants to do this. That he doesn’t care about the mess and he doesn’t think it’s gross, in fact he found it hot. If you were sitting in his bed or in his passenger seat and got your period, his perv ass probably wouldn’t even try to remove the stain.

“I want to.” He insists, pulling away again to look up at you. “I think it would be so fucking hot. It’ll help the pain, princess.”

You consider the offer for a moment, wondering if he’s right. If he could make you feel so good that he’d reach and clear out those aches and pains that Tylenol couldn’t even touch. You still shake your head, the thought of all that blood on his tongue and the smell in his nostrils making you nervous and embarrassed. He groans again and dramatically flops into your stomach to hide his face.

“Not with your mouth.” You clarify, cheeks all rosy.

At that, he finally raises his head with a raised brow and his bangs all messy.

“Oh yeah?”

He’s sitting up now, settling back against folded legs as he raises your legs one by one to take your shoes off and toss them randomly. You tilt your head to watch one sneaker smack the back of the passenger seat, then look to the side to watch your second sneaker smack into the interior with a vibrating clunk. After taking off your shoes, your ankles are lightly settled on his shoulders and he has his hands wrapped around your calves as he tilts his head to press a kiss to the inside of one ankle. Then he’s moving to bite the inside of the opposite knee.

After that, he skips right back to your lips, your legs parted to settle on either side of him now. Eddie hooks his fingertips into the band of your underwear and pulls them down, having to begrudgingly separate enough so you can bend your knees up to your chest while he tugs them off your legs. He’s about to casually pull on the string of your tampon when you shake your head quickly and clasp your hand over your entrance.

“I’ll- I’ll do it.” You murmur and he’s (once again) groaning irritably.

He wishes you wouldn’t be so sheepish about it. He can understand the experience of your period not being the most comfortable thing in the world, but he doesn’t know what he has to do to show that he likes it. That he wants to go down on you and wipe that mess off of his face with pride, therefore not needing to look away at your insistence while you take out your tampon. Maybe it’s his pride in being a freak. Maybe it’s a slight twinge of superiority, knowing that he was one of the few guys that would even offer in the first place. Maybe it’s that breeding kink flaring up at what he saw as a glaring reminder that you could possibly get pregnant with his kid. Maybe it’s just the fact that it’s you. But he lets you do it yourself, holding in his usual attitude for the sake of your sensitivity for once, then leaning back down to kiss you the second you give the okay.

The kiss doesn’t have as much of an apologetic gentleness as the others, but it was passionate and it was hot. The heavy breathing and groping and spit; the taste of cigarettes and mint; the scratch of slight stubble and the bump of his nose against yours. Eddie shot a hand out to feel for his jacket which he promptly crams under your tailbone to raise your hips, then dips his thumbs in the band of his exposed boxers to pull his pants and boxers down. (He didn’t take them off completely per usual, but you took getting him shirtless as your win).

Eddie pulls away just enough to wrap his hand around his cock, giving it a few good tugs before leading it to your entrance. He keeps an eye on your expression, plunging into you the moment his tip slid in. The few times he’s fucked you, you were always so messy and wet and warm, but this was enough to sign his soul away. You were soaked with arousal and blood as expected, but he wasn’t prepared for how much puffier you are like this. And so fucking hot. You mewl at the sensation, a dull ache in your lower abdomen at the start, but it’s slowly dissipating. Maybe it’s the association between blood and pain, and menstruation and pain, but you genuinely thought this would hurt more than usual—you certainly weren’t betting on your heightened sensitivity. Even that first stroke slipping into you lit up your nerves.

“‘S good, right?” He asks with a cocky grin, left hand wrapped around your right thigh and his right hand sliding over your tummy and slowly massaging the area.

You almost don’t want to admit it, but you do with a nod and pouty lips that have pathetic little whimpers slipping past them. Eddie slides back out a couple inches then pushes back into you, your toes curling as a bit of blood and arousal gushes and sputters out around his base. You curse under your breath, encouraging him to proceed. He’s uncharacteristically tender, and while seeing his sweet side today was a pleasant surprise—you just wanted him to fuck you.

“Eddie-“ You breathe out.

“Hm?”

“Please just fuck me.”

His grin is devilish and his gaze is fiery. He snaps his hips forward once without wasting a second, threatening to making your eyes roll back.

“Yeah?” He leans down, his voice a condescending whisper as he stays infuriatingly still while this deep. “My baby come cryin’ cause ‘m too mean? But she still wants me to bully her little pussy?”

You whine and nod your head, his following thrusts nearly punching the breath out of your lungs. His hand rests over your pubic bone and starts rubbing at your clit as he fucks into you. Your head lolls back into the carpeting, breasts bouncing with his efforts.

“Such a good fucking slut for me. This pussy all mine?”

“Uh huh-“ You speak in a whiny moan, hips weakly pushing forward and he takes the hint.

Eddie pulls you forward by your hips and holds you close to him as he gives you breathtakingly shallow thrusts. Your eyes begin to water from the way he’s moving inside you and his thumb is brushing on your clit. His other hand parts from your hip to grip onto the center of your bra, pulling it down to free your breasts and to keep a steady grip on you by the fabric clasped around your chest.

“Eddie-” You sob, and an earth-shattering sense of relief blows through him, leaving him temporarily wrecked before settling again like a gust of wind pushing up bird feathers before they smooth out again. Finally seeing those globs of tears in your eyes in the way he loves brought that balance back, and he’s doubling his efforts. Your lips part and your back arches up off of the carpet of his van, those wet streaks leading from your eyes back into your hair just like they were on Friday.

You’re counting your blessings that you aren’t back in your bed with your parents down the hall during your make up session because even the fear of being caught wouldn’t have been able to stop the moan that gasps from your lungs when you cum around him. All the tension and hormones and yearning of this week mixing with the overpowering pleasure he’s giving you, all culminating to this very moment and making you see stars. You feel like you’ve been temporarily shoved under water, all of the sounds around you muffling—even the sound of your own breathing. Just as you’re floating back up to the surface, Eddie’s leaning down to place his lips on yours. His large hands cover both sides of your face as he’s kissing you like he means it, only letting his hands part from your cheeks to wrap around your midsection and scoop you up while he sits back.

“Fuck-” You breathe out, hands settling to cradle the back of his head. You’re sure you look as disheveled as you feel. He thinks you look incredible.

“I know right?” He teases, all smug even in this quieter tone of voice and he laughs when you smack at his arm.

He eyes you from where his face is level with your chest, watching the playful irritation melt from your expression as he starts thrusting up into you. You’re almost too overstimulated from him moving so close to your orgasm that was still pulsing in the aftershock, but fuck if this doesn’t feel too good to pause even for a moment. Eddie wraps his arms around you to finally unclasp your bra and fling it towards the front of his van, metal hooks clinking against the hard surface of his dashboard. His hands smooth over your back, groaning against your skin as he smothers himself between your breasts again, fucking up into you. You start bouncing on top of him to meet his thrusts, whimpering quietly at the fluttering still rippling through your walls. You still have that palpable pulse inside you, squeezing around him and making it incredibly difficult to not cum before he can get you to let go at least one more time.

“C’n you cum for me, doll? Gimme one more?” He finally separates from your chest to look up at you again and while you were always the one looking fucked out, when you look at him you can’t help but feel like you’re seeing him the same way. A faint shine to his doe eyes glossed over with lust, that rosy tint to his cheeks, and the swell of his pink lips. You nod, but your hips buck in disagreement when his touch is back on your clit. It’s admittedly too soon, your eyes burning with prickling tears as the pleasure jolts through you like shocks of electricity rather than rolling waves—but you certainly weren’t going to ask him to stop.

You gasp out his name, fingers gripping the hair all damp with perspiration at the nape of his neck. You feel like you’re vibrating and the cramping in your stomach nearly makes you break and ask him to stop nudging at that sensitive bud. Your nails dig into the back of his neck, hearing him groan against your skin, feeling his hot breath on your chest. The two of you are moving like the universe would simply unravel if you stopped—as if it isn’t already unraveling in this moment.

“Oh my god-“ You moan and Eddie’s sinking his teeth into your breast—partly to punctuate his claim, partly to muffle his own sounds as he unloads inside of you.

You’re trembling in his lap with soft sobs in the aftershock of probably the most heart-stopping, all-consuming orgasm you’ve ever experienced. Even the slightest touch to your flushed skin sent shocks throughout your nerves and made you cry out, so Eddie stays still.

When both of your hearing is clear again, and you swallow to bring some moisture back to your throat—you let out a small laugh. It isn’t malicious or mocking. It rose up out of pure joy and relief and (honestly) a bit of surprise at everything that’s happened. And it all happened so quickly, you aren’t sure if your memory was able to keep up. God, you hoped it was. You want to relive it every time you close your eyes at night.

Eddie’s licking his lips and pulling back to look at you, a few laughs of his own bubbling up. Like always, he isn’t quick to pull out, but he does set you back down onto the carpet and press a few kisses to your jaw. His hands are pressed into the floor on either side of your head, pulling up his upper body to look down at you. Your hair is messy around your face, and streaks of mascara are all muddled around your eyes and down your cheeks. He put all of his weight on one arm to allow his other hand to raise up and swipe at those black streaks with his thumb before settling back down to kiss you, one arm still pressed up and bent at the elbow and the other settling his forearm on the rug.

The kiss is slower, but still sloppy with exhaustion. He pulls back one more time just to smile down at your face and ends up right back to kissing you seconds later.

*

The sun is setting in Hawkins and the two of you are all over each other until you realize how late it had gotten and your lips might as well have been ready to fall off. But even when you’re dropped off at home with excuses ready, he still climbed in through that bedroom window to keep kissing you once everyone in the house retired for the night.

After all, you finally left it unlocked and he couldn’t stand another week out in the cold.

*

Eddie never did work up the nerve to properly ask you what you meant by that blunt reply that one Autumn day... ↓

CLICK ON YOUR ENDING OF CHOICE:

fluffy ❤️

angsty 💔

taglist: @mynameismothra @angelina16torres-blog @tlclick73 @elvendria @psychospore @daisyridleyyyy @sidthedollface2 @kelsiegrin @swiss-cheeze @darknesseddiem @magnificantmermaid @hazydespair @bonehead-playz @stephanie-nicks76 @madaboutjoe @homiesexual-or-homosexual @neobanguniverse @prestinalove @galaxyfxcs @canyonmooncreations @hereforshmut @ediewentmissing @sadest-bookshelf @harlowsgirl @damon-loves-pie @stardustmunson @imjuststeddietrashatthispoint @bitchyseawitch @littlered0000

*note: if you requested to be tagged and you’re not there it’s because tumblr’s saying your acct doesn’t exist 🫠

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #bully!eddie munson #mean!eddie munson #perv!eddie munson #stranger things x reader #as if eddie munson #stranger things imagine #as if eddiessluttywaist #as if part 3 #as if part 3 eddiessluttywaist

[katiapostsss]

✧˚ · . "I THOUGHT YOU KNEW!" — . .

˗ˏˋ 📄 ´ˎ˗

teaser:

"just because you

kiss someone, doesn't mean you're

dating!"

ᶜ ʰ ᵃ ʳ ᵃ ᶜ ᵗ ᵉ ʳ ˢ : sam monroe x gn!reader

warnings! :

blood ,, a fight ,, yelling ,, swearing.

SUMMARY: sam monroe has never been good at communication. as his best friend, you know that. but, in the aftermath of a fight, erupted in your name, you realize just how bad it truly is.

〰️

this fic was inspired by @agirlsguidetolove !!

the bell was not what dismissed your english class now, but voices erupting, shoes scuffing, and one word. fight. over and over, screamed, again and again.

the whole of the room went silent, perking and straining their ears. "a fight?"

glances were exchanged, a whisper, and then, before ms. madden could protest, the sound of chairs being pushed back and running steps, though, she protested as everyone left, arms outstretched, trying to stop the madness. "now— class, sit down! this is a problem to be dealt with by the teachers!" of course, no one listened.

"oooo, there's a fight!" someone whooped as they wooshed out the door and into the corridor.

you yourself straightened, locking eyes with a hallway acquaintance and abandoning the idea of staying inside all together. you got up, slipping out after your classmates and half-jogging down to the scene. "he's getting his ass beat!" came a cry, then, "damn, clifford! that's all you got?"

a clump of people, surrounding whatever gruesome brawl inside, which was what you just assumed was said fight, appeared around the bend. you craned your neck as you came closer in proximity, trying to see over heads and out-stretched phones, but failing quite miserably. when you stood at the perimeter of the hubbub, you gave up looking over the crowd and instead looked in, for light glinting off piercings and jet-black hair, fiery, blue eyes dimmed by the messy makeup bordering them. and found nothing. sam monroe, your best friend since 1st year, had third lunch after you, so this would be his break period. he had to be somewhere...

it was when you heard his voice that you realized exactly where he was. "wanna fuckin' talk now, pussy?!" and it was unmistakable, that voice. suddenly, the fight became all too interesting, and you began pushing against the sea of students and struggling teachers to get to the middle of it. your heart was in your stomach. he had done it, hadn't he?

"fuck," you uttered, getting shoved and trampled all the way there. and surely, when you seized the opportunity and made it to the center, there sam was, a burst lip, blood dribbling from his nose. he was straddling charlie clifford, some kid in your spanish class, punching the poor guy straight into the ground over and over again. in horror, your eyes widened, a hand covering your mouth, before you had the good sense to enter in and grab his shoulder, pulling him off. "get the fuck off him! sam! what the fuck is wrong with you! oh my fucking—"

sam had never done anything like this before. it was so strange, interfering a fight that he was in. he was known for being quiet—at least on the outside—void of emotion. this was completely unorthodox. it took three pulls until he gave in and let you drag him up, wiping the blood from his nose with his forearm and staring menacingly at the boy on the ground, who was writhing and crying in pain, his face mangled to the point of being unrecognizable. a few disprovals from the crowd.

"someone's girlfriend is here to save monroe!" someone yelled. "save?!" in return.

"bitch," sam snarled, spitting blood onto the ground by charlie's shoes. you watched the kid in shock, who sobbed and sobbed, barely registering the teacher that came in and bent down next to him, prodding at his face, or how he straightened and looked to the crowd.

"everyone! back to your classes!" he yelled, but the students were already departing, understanding the fun was over. the few that stayed grumbled with their friends.

"and you!" the teacher turned to sam. "principal's, now!" the words were twisted together. feeling horrible, you didn't bother looking over at your best friend, who was staring at you, hesitating to leave, instead, bending beside charlie and helping him sit up.

"are you okay?" you uttered, trying to wipe off some of the blood on his face. he moaned in pain in response. looking up at the teacher, who was speaking into a walky talky, you offered to help. "i can bring him to the nurse's?"

"yes, please do." he nodded, the device beeping in his hand.

you spent the rest of the day by clifford's side, apologizing hastily on your best friend's behalf.

---

"what the fuck was that, sam?" there was no word to describe how you felt in that moment. angry? no. not angry, it seemed too harsh a feeling, while, in contrast, confused seemed too light. both, maybe, for what he had done to clifford.

sam laid atop his blankets, one foot dangling off his bed and the other propped up into a bent position. he, to your knowledge, and to the knowledge and gossip of others, had been given a two-day suspension, effective immediately, and went home, busted lip, bruised cheek and all. you threw the frozen pack of peas you spent a good three minutes looking for—the best you could do—at his chest and stared incredulously at him, who, after a moment, took the bag and put it to his cheek.

"what, never seen a fight before?" he grumbled in annoyance, hauling himself up and dangling both feet off the bed. you pursed your lips, entering his room and stopping before him.

"not with you in it." which was completely true. you sharply lifted his chin up to face you, making him drop the peas into his lap. a scowl painted your lips in response to his injuries. "and here i was, thinking you were more mature in that field." the first aid kit plopped onto his bed and from it, you took some bandages, and rubbing alcohol.

"and here i was, thinking you always let me explain before you accused me of shit."

"accused?" you spit, "i'm pretty sure everyone saw that fight, sam. how is stating facts accusing?" you straightened and opened the bottle of rubbing alcohol, emptying some of the liquid onto a cotton pad.

"you don't even know why we fought," he said, closing his eyes and leaning back until his head hit the wall. you rolled your eyes.

"stop that." he didn't move. tutting, you climbed over him until you straddled his hips, giving you access to his face. you didn't bother warning him of any pain before you hastily cleansed the dried blood from his cracked lip and nose, and the only sign that he actually was in pain, was the slight furrow of his brow. he opened his eyes and watched your face as you worked. "you're right. i don't know why you did it, but i frankly, don't care. clifford did not deserve what you gave him. you should've just kept quiet."

his face twisted in anger, and he turned his head to the side to keep you from reach, slightly pushing you off of him. "right. kept quiet. as if you fucking know what he even said." you scowled. "i mean— why are you even taking his side?! i thought we both, mutually hated him!" sam, all of a sudden, looked like he could punch clifford into the ground all over again. "like— we used to talk shit about him together. switching up now is crazy."

you set the pad and liquid aside, and came to stand, keeping by the bed. "sure, i hate him, but not enough to wish that shit you put him through upon him! and for the record, this is completely normal of me, after what you did. the only one who's switching up here is you!"

"well i'm sorry i have real, human emotions." he glared daggers at your face.

"real, human emotions you should've kept to yourself!"

sam laughed as if unbelieving of your words, looking off to the side like some sort of audience would agree with him on this. "well what the hell was i supposed to do, y/n?! just sit there and listen to him talk shit about you without batting an eye?!"

"oh so that's why," you laughed bitterly. "how mature, sam. since when have you ever cared who talks shit about me, anyways! you certainly never cared before."

he sat up, shaking his head and pushing off the mattress, suddenly pacing. you turned toward him, watching him go.

"since when have i cared," he repeated to himself with a scoff, brows furrowed. "i've always cared, y/n!"

"never enough to beat the poor guy so—"

"stop it with that name. that poor guy deserved what he fucking got."

"no! he didn't, sam! how insensitive can you be?!" your arms extended at your sides, your face falling deeper into that of disbelief. "i mean— it's just shit-talking! why does that even fucking matter, especially coming from clifford—"

"oh, i don't know," he said sarcastically, pausing and whirling on you. "maybe because it was you he was shit-talking! i mean, what do you expect me to do in that situation? agree with him?! tell him i totally think my girlfriend is a bitchy slut too?!"

your heart stopped. the whole world stopped.

you immediately went quiet, eyes going wider than they were before, face freezing in confusion, surprise, a mix. sam seemed to sense the shift, his body relaxing from its tensed state slightly, though his cold eyes did not thaw one bit. "what."

you tried searching for words, but came up with none, questioning if you had just imagined the word that came out of his mouth, if it was just a trick of the following and previous syllables. "gir— girlfriend? i— what? since— since when did we start.. dating?" you stuttered out, breath labored and heart thudding. you felt every cell in your body thrum to life with feeling. sam looked dumbfounded.

"since we kissed," he deadpanned, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. "you... didn't know?"

quiet. sam had kissed you drunkenly, on the way home from a party you had dragged him to just last week. as you both were heavily intoxicated, you thought it meant nothing. that it was a mistake. i mean, you barely even remembered what happened! now, though... "of course i didn't know..! just because you.." a swallow, "kiss... someone, doesn't mean you're dating, sam."

he closed his mouth, and you saw his adam's apple bob. "i— i thought you knew.." he near-whispered, his face doused in embarrassment and redness. you were aware of sam's lack of communication, but you never thought it was this bad.

"yea, that's.. obvious." you looked down awkwardly. "but— i didn't... i..." more quiet. you awkwardly met his eyes. "and that's why you..."

"i'm sorry," he said instead of answering your question. "i know i shouldn't have gotten angry— or.. i should've told you.. or asked you if you... wanted to.. date me. i just thought.."

a nervous and slightly relieved smile pulled at your lips, easing some of the tension in the room. "it's alright," you spoke, shifting awkwardly on your feet. "and i'm sorry too. for not letting you explain yourself. for jumping to conclusions. just— try not to get yourself suspended next time." the joke also eased that tension, eliciting a slight laugh from him.

"i'll try. i just.. couldn't..." you nodded so he didn't have to finish the sentence, eyes straying to the ground. there was still some distance between you. your legs itched to close it. maybe too soon. "if.. if i..." sam started. you looked up at him. "if i asked now, would you.. date me? still? is it.. too.."

"are you asking me to be your girlfriend?" you quipped delicately, finally drawing nearer. his body tensed the closer you got.

"only counts if you say yes." he shrugged, and you smiled, finally standing before him.

"then, yes. thanks for asking. this time." you had charlie clifford to thank for the rest of the night spent with sam, no matter how much you cursed him throughout it.

.

kinda hate this but i needed to write something for sam so 😞😞

this fic was inspired by @agirlsguidetolove !!!

#katiapostsss #katiawrites #sam monroe x reader #sam monroe #anakin x you #hayden christensen x you #hayden christensen x reader #hayden #hayden christensen #hayden.txt #star wars anakin #star wars #life as a house #anakin x reader #anakin imagine #anakin skywalker masterlist #anakin smut #sw anakin #anakin fanfiction #anakin and padme #anakin skywalker

[onesidedradiostatic]

You know, every time I imagine Alastor rejecting Vox, two scenarios come to mind, assuming Vox has been clear about his feelings.

On the one hand, I want to believe that Alastor, feeling uncomfortable, tried to be as "soft" as possible, considering that this idiot is still his friend and with whom he (possibly) had a business relationship for at least 20 years. But Alastor, being Alastor, no matter how "considerate and gentlemanly" he tried to be, he couldn't help but be very condescending in his rejection. That, or Vox simply has anger issues and an inability to take no for an answer. Perhaps a combination of both, and that's why they're on bad terms.

On the other hand, I imagine that Alastor acted the same as Lord Dominator when she rejected Lord Hater in "I'm the Bad Guy" (Wander Over Yonder) and for some reason I think it's sad but hilarious, and that Vox has every right to be a little bitter.

see the thing is I like to believe the rejection mentioned by alastor was actually interpreted by him as he said it "he asked me to join his team" and his aroace ass legitimately thought it was a business proposal he was rejecting, vox on the other hand meant it as a confession (but also maybe doubled up as a business proposal) and so when alastor said probably something like "ha! no", you could literally see the moment vox's heart breaks into pieces. if alastor found out it was a confession he'd probably think like ??? wouldn't it have been less painful if I rejected a confession???? rejecting a business proposal means I have legitimate problems with the way you do your work and I don't want to be a part of it, rejecting a confession just means I'm not romantically attracted to you??!??? what's the big deal??????

now if he had known it was a confession at the moment vox asked though, maybe he would’ve been softer about it? but it could’ve easily still been "ha! no" LMAOOOO

#ask #osrs.txt #radiostatic #staticradio #<- one-sided #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor #aroace alastor #aromantic alastor #asexual alastor #hazbin hotel

[whimsyfinny]

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Charlie discovers the Winchester boys to be struggling with keeping the bunker tidy, looking after themselves and being able to do their job simultaneously. Luckily she has a friend who’s from a Hunter family that is in need of work and can help them with research. Or so she thought that’s what her job would be. When Dean sees your more domesticated side, his head won’t stop swimming with all the wrong ideas.

Slow burn, enemies to lovers, smut

Warnings: None (Yet) in chapters to come there will be smut (and lots of it) and possible violence/blood/gore

Chapter Word Count: 1566

—-MDNI—-

A/N: My first Supernatural fic so I hope it doesn’t suck ass. Only proof read by myself, so pls let me know of any errors so I can correct! Also I know at this point in the series Dean is more serious, however I love pre-Hell Dean so imma bring some of those vibes in here. This is also posted on my AO3.

——————————————————————

Please Read the below first:

Prologue

Chapter 1

I’m Not Your F*cking Maid

Chapter 2

The journey to the bunker was pretty uneventful, with Sam and Charlie chatting amongst themselves in the front of the car whilst both myself and Dean sat miserably next to each other in the back like a couple of criminals who’d been arrested. The chains on my handcuffs jangled as I rubbed my sore knuckles; the skin raw, bruised and red from either my own blood or - most likely - Deans. As I did, I could feel a red hot glare burning into the side of my face from the older Winchester, as though he was in disbelief that I even had the audacity to feel any pain or discomfort right now as dark red scabs formed on his nose and cheek. We pulled up next to the bunker, and I didn’t get much chance to look at the surrounding scenery as the moment we were parked, the golden retriever duo up front hopped out, slammed their doors shut and threw ours open, Sam gently yet firmly grasping my elbow and pulling me to my feet whilst Charlie did the same for Dean. We were marched into the building and we soon arrived in what I assumed to be the kitchen. Sam pushed gently on my shoulder, urging me to take a seat at the table to which I obliged with Dean following suit and taking a seat opposite me. We stared each other down from across the table for a few moments, the atmosphere growing thicker by the second as his brilliant green eyes pierced mine.

“Enough the pair of you!” Charlie exclaimed, throwing her hands up. “Look, I’ve got some things to say before we release you both back into the wild. It won’t take long,” she sighed and rubbed her temples. “I wanted to introduce you guys to (Y/n) because I thought you would get along! With your shared interest in hunting, bootcut jeans, rock music and most importantly - pie.”

Dean and I shot each other a quick glance before looking away again. Charlie continued.

“You’ve had one disagreement, and even though I was impressed by the performance it definitely didn’t warrant the carnage. You’re both adults, so act like it and stop bickering like children. You’re going to be living and working together now so you’re both just going to have to suck it up and move on.”

Sam stepped forward; “I agree with Charlie. (Y/n) you have no idea how much of a help you being here is going to be. We’ve been going around in circles for months and we really need a fresh pair of eyes. Plus you get free food and board, if that helps,” he grinned slightly trying to lighten the mood. I humoured him and softened my eyes, raising my eyebrows in acknowledgment to the pros of staying here.

“Right,” he clapped his hands together, “we’re going to remove the tape and you’re both going to be civilised. You promise?”

I gave Dean one final long, hard stare before nodding.

”Good,” Sams soft cool fingers grazed my cheek as he pulled up the corner of the tape, gently peeling it back until it was removed and I could finally take a deep breath. Meanwhile, Charlie approached Dean and in one swift movement ripped the tape from his mouth in under a second.

“FUCK!” He cried out as he tenderly touched his now extra sore swollen lips. I couldn’t help but smirk.

“Right, I’m going to go and get (Y/n)s belongings from the motel room she’s staying in and check her out then I’ll be right back with all her stuff. I’ll see you guys later!” And before I could even protest for her to take me with her, she’d turned on her heel and hightailed it out of the bunker, leaving Sam to undo our cuffs and set us free.

“That bitch,” I sighed, huffing a strand of hair out of my face. Sam knelt before me, that kind look in his eye ever twinkling.

“(Y/n) I promise you that you're safe here. It’s warded to the teeth and full of everything we need to survive. We’ve got you,” he patted my knee before taking my hands in his, using a small key to finally undo the cuffs right before they clattered to the floor. I leant down to pick them up, and by the time I’d sat back up to place them on the kitchen table, he was already beside Dean doing the same for him. His own cuffs removed and rubbing his wrists, he stood, looking from me to Sam a few times before speaking.

“Well I’ve already suffered enough today so I’m going to spend time coming up with a better excuse as to why I look like this,” he gestured to his beaten face and turned to leave, mumbling a quick ‘see ya later’ to Sam before leaving the kitchen. Sam stood awkwardly for a second, before declaring that he was going to get some lunch for everyone and also scurried away, leaving me completely alone in alien territory. I was still sat at the table as I began to look around.

This place was a dump.

How did these grown ass men live in conditions like this? The dirty dishes were piled so high that it was a surprise they hadn’t toppled over yet. Empty beer bottles cluttered the table and countertops, the bin was overflowing with bulging bin bags dumped right next to it without being taken outside and the smell was starting to make me feel a little nauseous. How does Sam expect us all to eat and live together in conditions like this? It was like living with a couple of wild animals. After a few silent moments to myself I released a breath I’d been holding whilst I pondered. I ran my hands through my hair and laughed at myself in disbelief. I’m gonna have to clean the fucking kitchen. Without giving it a second thought and running the risk that I’d change my mind, I scooped my hair into a high ponytail using the bobble on my wrist and pushed up my sleeves, finding a pair of rubber gloves under the sink. Let’s clean this bitch.

*

In the space of about an hour and a half (a gruelling hour and a half), I’d washed and dried the dishes, putting them away in their respective places, taken out all the trash and lined the bin with a fresh bag, scrubbed and disinfected every surface and had even mopped the floors. The smell of rotting trash was dissipating and the urge to claw off my own skin had gone. I’d propped the mop against the wall and stepped back to admire my hard labour when I heard a door open and close, the entering footsteps heading my way. Sam emerged into the kitchen, a stunned look on his face as he walked to the table slowly, placing about 6 bags of ‘groceries’ on its surface. His mouth opened and closed a few times like he was searching for the right things to say.

“You’re welcome,” I cut in, hoping to help him find his words.

“Yeah, thank you! I’m sorry, I didn't know what to say - you really didn’t have to do this. It’s embarrassing that you were even put in a situation where you felt you had to,” he grimaced a little, only now realising what a horror show it was that they were living in. “But seriously thank you, I really appreciate it,” he smiled and I couldn't help but smile back. Sam was sweet and easy to like - unlike his Neanderthal brother. I felt like I could trust him.

I peeled my gloves off, threw them in the bin and approached the kitchen table where Sam was pulling out a case of beer.

“Here, you deserve one of these,” he said, handing me one. The bottle was nice and cool on my hot fingertips, my warm skin instantly relishing the coldness.

“Thank you,” I smiled before popping the cap and taking a long, well deserved drink. I savoured the moment, genuinely appreciating Sam’s gesture. Although all nice moments comes to an end, and soon Dean was striding into the room bold as brass, seating himself at the table and helping himself to a beer without so much as a hello. It wasn’t until he’d drained half the bottle in one gulp that he realised the kitchen was clean. He grinned and looked at his brother.

“Hey, nice job Sammy! It looks great in here, I owe you one,” he raised his bottle as if making a small toast whilst Sam’s eyes flicked to mine.

“Uh, Dean… this wasn’t me. You need to thank (Y/n) for that,” Deans grin faulted slightly as he looked between the two of us before it returned. I couldn’t help but raise my eyebrows in suspicion. His forest green eyes pierced into mine as he almost purred his next sentence.

“Well, Sammy, it looks like we’ve bagged ourselves a maid. Does she cook too?”

I slammed my bottle on the table, much like I did earlier. Only Sam flinched.

“I’m not your fucking maid,” I snarled, resenting that shit-eating grin on the older Winchesters lips. He chuckled, the sound coming deep from within his chest as he rose to his feet.

“Sure thing sweetheart.”

——————————————————���———

Taglist: @creative-writing92 @suckitands33

——————————————————————

Up Next:

Chapter 3

#dean x female!reader #dean winchester x you smut #dean winchester x reader smut #dean x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #dean x you #dean x reader #dean winchester #dean winchester smut #dean winchester x female!reader #enemies to lovers #Dean Winchester enemies to lovers #eventual smut #slow burn

[checkmate-stuff]

Hii! Could I request Albedo, Tighnari, and Cyno (seperatly) with a fake dating scenario. Like the reader's family keep pestering her about getting a boyfriend, so she asks the guys to pretend to be her boyfriend at a family gathering to get them to stop asking her, but the guys kind of have a crush on her anyway and they get together in the end?

the sweetheart scheme 

wc. 1294 words

tw. fake dating, happy fluffy ending

a/n. hello anon! i hope this is what you wanted :3

Albedo

“Please be my boyfriend” now don't get him wrong, while your truthfulness is something Albedo appreciates, it might also be the death of him, judging by how fast his heart is beating. “is this a joke of some kind?” You take a seat next to Albedo, looking at him with uttermost seriousness. “My parents think I have a boyfriend and we have a family dinner tonight. You would be an amazing friend if you could pretend to be my boyfriend for tonight.” “I suppose I could…”  your face lights up, getting up from your previous spot on his desk. “You’re the best, thanks bedo!” you press a quick peck to his cheek, missing the way his cheeks are set aflame by your action. And while the chief alchemist has no idea what being your boyfriend for the night might entail, he hopes it can make you see him in a different light. 

When you asked your best friend to be your pretend boyfriend for the night you never accepted him to be so… nice. Albedo isn't exactly known for his social skills in Mondstadt and you expected him to act the part as the reserved boyfriend, knowing how much he dreads social interactions. You were pleasantly surprised to find him at your door, flowers in hand. The rest of the night felt like a dream, or one of those romance novels Lisa enjoys so much. Albedo suddenly became the perfect image of a boyfriend, one that had your entire family swooned. He offered flowers to you and your mother, played with your baby sister and entertained a conversation with your father about Mondstadt politics. He even insisted on taking you home. Arriving at your front door, you turn around facing the alchemist. “thank you bedo, you did great tonight.” Albedo offered you a smile, taking an envelope out of his pocket. “I've read that sending a letter to the person you are courting is considered a romantic gesture.”  he presents the envelope to you, as if he just asked you about the time. Your eyes grow wide, and you can feel your cheeks burning. “i- are you asking me out?” “Indeed I am, and I hope you can return my feelings.” You must be feeling bold tonight, considering you pull the boy by his collar, pulling him into a soft kiss. “so, when's our first date?”

Tighnari

“By any chance do you happen to know a plant that would make my parents forget I don't have a boyfriend yet?” Tighnari is at his desk, reading documents which you assume are forest ranger reports. “I do not. Why do you ask?” you let your body lean on his desk, silently noting the way his ears picked up at the sound of your voice. “My parents are holding a family dinner, which will basically be a lecture about how I am still single.” you sigh, already dreading the yearly family dinner.“is this really an issue?” “Yes, my parents and relatives are a pain in my ass when they want to.”  You both sit in silence for a couple of minutes, an idea forming in your head. “could you pretend to be my boyfriend?? please?” Tighnari put his documents down, now giving you his full attention. “Now, this might work since we have been friends for quite a while now…” While he's trying to keep his composure, Tighnari can't ignore the way his heart jumped at the idea of ‘dating’ you. The forest ranger has been aware for quite some time that his growing affection for you was no longer platonic, so the thought of being able to call you his – even for only an evening – sounded great to him. “I don't see why not.” You smile upon hearing his answer. “perfect! I'll see you tomorrow!” 

Dinner with your family was relatively nice. It might be because your parents are too busy bombarding Tighnari with questions to pay attention to you or perhaps it's because Tighnari is by your side, hand on your thigh. The whole family seemed pleasantly surprised by your boyfriend, your cousins going as far as asking you for boy advice – something you never thought would happen – all due to Tighnari's acting. Acting that seemed a little too real, so real that you're reminded of why you came to develop romantic feelings for your long time friend. Your family deemed Tighnari worthy of you, especially your mother, who seemed overjoyed to know you're in a relationship with such a serious, handsome young man. Both of you announced that you were leaving when questions about childrens and marriage came into the conversation. Tighnari insisted on walking you home, keeping up the boyfriend act until you reached your house. “Now that we're done pretending, can I take you out on a real date?” you're not sure if you heard him correctly, heart beating so fast it's all you can hear. “what?” “i like you, can i take you out on a date?” oh, ok so you did hear him right. to say you're happy is an understatement, you're not even able to keep a straight face, smile forming without your own accord “yes, I'll look forward to it”

Cyno

You enter Lambad's Tavern and let your body fall on one of the chair at a table. Your friends; Kaveh, Tighnari, Al-Haitham and Cyno move their attention from their TCG game to you. Kaveh is the first to break the silence. “What's the matter?” you sigh “family dinner. I may or may have not told my parents that i have a boyfriend.” you can hear the quiet snort Al-Haitham lets out, probably thinking you dug that grave yourself. “so.. when's the dinner?” “tomorrow night.” Tighnari lets out a long sigh, putting down his cards. “you're fucked, i dont think you'll be able to get a boyfriend on such short notice” a few rounds of TCG are played in silence while you try to find an reason your parents would believe as to why your boyfriend couldn't make it. Kaveh, having lost yet another round, put his cards down. “hey Cyno you said you didn't have anything to do this weekend right? why don't you go with y/n?”  an innocent smile arbording his lips 

“Why didn't you tell me?” “tell you what?” “that you are dating THE general Mahamatra!?” your eyes narrow looking at your sister “we aren't dating, i told you it's just so mom and dad get off my back.” Now it's your sister's turn to look at you weirdly “oh really? then you guys are awfully good at this whole ‘we are in love’ act.” She makes a face. “ I’ve seen the way Cyno looks at you. It's not the usual, super serious, downright scary look he always has. He looks at you like you're a gift from the gods''  To say you are taken aback is an understatement. Cyno? looking at you like that?? there is no way, you would have noticed. if not Kaveh would have probably said something. Since you’ve let slip out your feelings for the general, Kaveh has been trying to push the both of you together, which lead to several awkward moments. The ride home is quiet, Cyno insisted on taking you home even after you left your family's house. He suddenly stops, and turns to you, serious as ever. “I know you have feelings for me, and I do too. If you are interested I would like to be your boyfriend. for real this time” your mouth opens and closes, nothing coming out of it. “yeah I'd like that.” Cyno smiles, looking relieved. He accompanies you to your door, hugging you before taking his leave. “Hey Cyno, how do you know??” “Kaveh told me” “I'm gonna kill him”

repost, likes and comments are appreciated. Requests are open!

#*ੈ✩‧₊˚stellawrites #✧˖*°࿐mail #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin x y/n #genshin x gn reader #genshin impact x you #albedo x reader #albedo x y/n #albedo x you #tighnari x reader #tighnari x y/n #tighnari x you #cyno x reader #cyno x you #cyno x y/n

[sageworld]

The Christmas Kids • Rafe Cameron. (part II)

“the christmas kids were nothing but a gift,

and love is a tower where all of us can live.”

he was really sweet in the beginning but then something changed

WARNINGS • Cheating, mentions of sex work, reader catches an STD, overall just a upsetting chapter

christmas kids masterlist; here

06/13/2021

it had been hours and you couldn’t stop the tears. you laid yours’ & rafe’s half full bed in your pajamas sobbing your eyes out.

1:34am

your bed side clock read, rafe still wasn’t home he had texted you saying he was going out with top & kelce to watch the football game at the local bar around 7:30 & that was the last you heard from him.

you ponder back onto the events that had happened before that. you had walked into your local planned parenthood, complaints of vaginal pain, slime like discharge & a overall smell that you’d been insecure about for about two days now.

“hi mrs. cameron, im maddy & i’ll be your nurse today. i see on file that you want to get STD tested today.” your nurse greets you while closing the door behind her.

“yes, i’ve been having some issues and i just wanna make sure.” the small talk continues on for some time before she gives you the small green lidded cup & you head to the bathroom.

as you finish your business you leave it in the small metal box in the bathroom, going back to wait in the nurses office like directed. the nerves running through you.

bing

your phone buzzed.

rafey💍🧿: hey babe, just checked your location. wyd?

y/n: just been having some cramp issues is all.

you put your phone down when the nurse comes back in, your phone binging as you do so but you choose to ignore it.

“hi again, so we got your results back & unfortunately you’ve tested positive for chlamydia.” you don’t hear much past that. trying to swallow down the lump in your throat, focusing on trying not to cry in her office.

“mrs.cameron?” she tries to gain your attention to which you look up to her from your chair, teary eyed. “you will have to alert all partners you’ve been with-.” “i’ve only been with my fiancé, they’re must be some mistake.” the tears start to fall.

“i know this is hard, you should recommend your fiancé come in for some testing as well.” she rubs your back. “i want to be tested again, there must’ve been a mistake.” you sob, feeling the headache coming.

“mrs. cameron, we can test again but i can assure you that you’re positive for it, im gonna prescribe you some antibiotic that you can pick up at any local pharmacy.”

fast forward back to now, over pondering on the events of the day. your heart aches, you knew rafe. you knew of his infidelities but the thought never crossed your mind that he wasn’t using protection.

a nervous rumble fills your belly as you hear the roar of his trucks engine pulling up in your drive way.

2:57am

your clock now reads, football game my ass.

you knew he was never really watching football, rafe had more than a few addictions. somewhere in between the cocaine and money, strippers had fell into it. there was a club about 30 minutes away on the mainland that you’d seen rafe’s location at a few times. and after a few text searches you knew top & kelce had always gone with him.

at first you didn’t think it was bad, you’d looked at other guys before while in the relationship, hell for your eighteenth girls sleepover your friends got you a male stripper as a joke. that was until you woke up and saw nearly 2900 had been withdrawn from your & rafe’s account. it didn’t say what on but you could only assume he had taken out cash.

as time went on & it got worse, you could only wonder. why them?

he was engaged to you but he always found his way back to them. why couldn’t you be good enough? it felt like no matter how many hours you spent in the gym, no matter how clean and lean you ate it wasn’t enough. you always wondered if he was bored of your body, seeing the same things over and over again. but, that’s not much of a topic you should be thinking about.

you try and contain your sobs as he opens your bed room door, stumbling over to you. it’s clear he thinks your asleep. “mm sweet kitty.” he slurs, liquor taken over him as he bends over the bed to plant a kiss on your forehead.

you don’t move or dare open your eyes even after you hear the door to your master bathroom shut & the shower water turn on.

you shove your face into the pillow and quietly sob, the pillow nearly soaked from the hours you’d spent crying, salivating & snot running onto it.

3:26 am

you quickly open your eyes to see the time as the bathroom door opens again, he turns off the light before hopping into his side of the bed, cuddling you under the covers. even though your backs faced to him you can now smell rafe and not some cheap whoreish perfume.

you debating for a bit, should i tell him or wait till tomorrow

but as soon as you get ready to turn you hear his soft snores.

6:24 am

despite the lack of sleep you’re up early & cannot stand the idea of staying cuddled up with rafe. you quietly get up and sneak away, grabbing a cute gym two piece set.

after doing a few hygiene things and grabbing the essentials, gym bag, pre work out, stanley, airpods & a small protein bar for the road you’re off.

working out was always a good way to clear your mind, just put your airpods in and focus on you.

your body drips in sweat as you’re 30 flights into your stair master. you’d done a few other things and had been here for god knows how long.

buzz buzz buzz

your airpods ring in your ears.

FaceTime call: Rafey🧿💍

you hesitate to answer but decide to anyways.

“mm kitty, why’d you run off so early?” rafe answers, sleepy voice and still in bed.

“just wanted to get out the house.” you simply answers,looking down to focus on the stairs. “should’ve woken me up i would’ve come.” rafe frowns. you shrug on the camera, “what’s wrong?” rafe asks, your attitude upsetting him.

“nothing just have somethings i need to talk to you about when i get home.” you can tell what you said make rafe anxious as his eyes open a bit.

“really kitty? about what?” his voice holds excitement. ok so maybe not nervous.

“im finishing up here and i’ll tell you when i get home.” the conversation goes on for a bit longer with rafe just wanting you to tell him but untimely he agrees for you to tell him at home, after saying your goodbyes and love yous, you make your descend off the machine.

you don’t wanna go but decide it’s for the best, packing your stuff into your gym bag & making your way out the door.

it feels all too soon as you walk into the front door of your house, the tv playing loudly. it’s a saturday so rafe’s off today, the sound off last nights football games highlights playing.

“hi kitty.” rafe smiles, man spread on the couch still in his pajama pants and no shirt. “hey rafe.” you say blandly, the sight of him disgusting you. “c’mere kitty, what’d you wanna talk to me about.” he pats his lap for you to sit. “i-i think i’m gonna shower first.” the definitely wasn’t a conversation you wanted to have with rafe.

you were sure, rafe knew you knew he was cheating. yet the one or two times you had even slightly brought it up he shut it down saying he didn’t know what you were talking about. you knew he saw your face when you once saw a hickey left on his neck that wasn’t from you. when you can smell another woman on him, when he comes home at the late hours of the night/early hours of the morning.

“no, no. i have to shower too but let’s talk first.” rafe’s voice is soft, inviting it usually is when rafe thinks he gonna get home kind of good news from you. what does he think i wanna talk about?

“rafe, have you been using protection like when you’re having sex?” the lump in your throat forms as rafe sits his body up completely, nervous look on his face. “well uh-kitty we don’t use condoms but you’re on your birth control.” he runs his hand through his hair, a tall tale sign he’s nervous or feels like he’s been caught.

“not with me rafe and, i swear to god if you’re not honest with me i will walk right back out that door and i will not come back.” you’re frustration only grows.

“i-i usually do but just sometimes i don’t but i promise when i don’t i pull out or-or-or i make them take a plan b in front of me i swear.” rafe stands fidgeting with his hands as he steps closer to you. “whyre you asking me this?” rafe stops in front of you, voice shaking.

“i went to planned parenthood yesterday & turns out i have chlamydia. we both know you’re the only one i’ve ever been with so, yeah.” you nod your head, a tear falling as you bite your lip.

“so you’re not pregnant?” rafe’s head hangs low as he reaches for you, making you step back. “why the actual fuck would i be pregnant?” is that what he thought?

“well i saw you went there yesterday and you said cramps but i knew you weren’t on your period because we’ve been having sex like everyday, so i just thought.” rafe explains, grabbing his hair in both hands before letting out a breath of air & before you know it he’s hyperventilating.

“r-rafe, calm down.” you wanna tell him it’s okay just to get him out of this state but it’s not okay, it’s not fair to you. you walk up to him and he begins to slowly place himself on the ground, one hand on his chest and one still in his hair and he tries to find his rhythm to breath. “rafe you need to calm down, now.” your tone more stern as you get down next to him.

“i’m so sorry my kitty, im so fucking sorry.” he sobs into your stomach. “rafe, stop fucking cry please and let’s talk.” you’re over it at this point. you’ve been cheated on, embarrassed & given an std by the man who’s supposed to love you the most & he’s here crying.

he looks up to you, shocked by your tone. “o-okay.” he sniffles, sitting his back up against the side of the couch.

“i’m just going to keep it simple rafe. i want you to go to planned parenthood for antibiotics, i want you to stop fucking these bitches, i expect you home by no later than 10:00pm and if you can’t do that then the weddings off.” you shrug and let out a sigh at the last part. “o-okay, i-i promise.” he stutters out when suddenly it hits him, “please don’t take away the weddding.” his sobs almost remind you of a child who’s favorite toy has been taken as he goes back to crying into your stomach.

“rafe, we’re still getting married as long as you get your shit together.” you sigh, scratching his scalp with your acrylic nails which you know he loves.

“i swear baby, im gonna ma-make this right.”

god i hope so.

#jj maybank imagines #jj maybank smut #john b smut #kiara carrera #obx icons #outer banks #sarah cameron #topper thornton x reader #obx season 2 #pope hayward #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron #john b routledge #jj maybank x reader #rafe cameron x reader #rafe imagine #pope hayward imagines #obx #cesar díaz imagine #ghost face #sarah cameron smut #barry obx #outer banks masterlist #topper thornton smut #jj maybank #rafe outer banks #rafe x reader

[lumiaxz]

okokok imagine if baizhu and pantalone tag teamed. They literally look the same just a different mindset 😋

Double Trouble (Slight TW)

✮₊⊹₊⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆₊ ⊹✮ ✮₊⊹₊⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆₊ ⊹✮ ✮₊⊹₊⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆₊ ⊹✮

Pairings: Baizhu x Pantalone x Reader

Warnings:, rough sex, Tag-teaming, double penetration, face fucking, Dacryphila, Soft dom baizhu, Mean Dom pantalone, crying, brat taming, Choking, pet names, degrading, (almost) blacking out , hate-fuck. Lmk if I missed anyyyy

A/N: This is kinda…sad? I would definitely read with caution idkk 🧐

✮₊⊹₊⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆₊ ⊹✮ ✮₊⊹₊⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆₊ ⊹✮ ✮₊⊹₊⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆₊ ⊹✮

Pantalone is beyond tired of your bullshit, You don’t give 2 flying fucks about anything or anyone but yourself. It doesn’t matter what he does, you don’t care and continue doing it. Fucking you till you can’t speak or walk, does nothing. Choking till you pass out multiple times, does almost as worse of a job. Although Baizhu on the other-hand doesn’t mind it too much, he just ignores you which usually ends things. (usually) The other harbingers suggest just not allow you to come into the quarters nor near him but something about you tells him to not bypass that rule, or anything similar.

After a horribly long and stressful day, Pantalone rants to Baizhu about you, per-usual.

“That girl acts like she’s untouchable, it’s outrageous! How do you manage to just simply ignore her?!”

“It’s quite simple, just pretend you don’t hear her?”

After a few hours of his ranting, You skip into the pharmacy sounding bubbly and ready to cause trouble for both of them.

“Good afternoon, Pantalone and Baizhu!!”

“Not so fast, princess.“

He gets up and harshly grabs you by the hair and drags you into a eerie room. You struggle to get out of his tight grasp. Looking around, you spot things like blindfolds, random toys and seemingly handcuffs bolted to his desk, weird right?

Pantalone throws you onto his desk, but your scrambling allows you to constantly free yourself. Just as you think you’re avoiding these punishments too, Baizhu moves the curtain and enters the room. Baizhu grabs both of your wrists lightly and holds them in place for Pantalone to cuff them on the desk, to completely restrain you.

You assume they’ll try to fuck you to shut you up, which is correct but not in the way you think.

“I’m fed up with you, bitch.” Pantalone curses out

You’re bent over Pantalone’s desk, restrained to is aswell. Pantalone behind you, Baizhu infront of you. Strangely enough, nothing has happened, yet.

Your thoughts were cut short when you felt a harsh blow to your ass, it burned a lot, yet also felt…good? Except your body didn’t react how you felt. Tears streaming down your face.

Baizhu cups your wet face, lifting it up to meet his eyes.

“Aww, don’t cry love. This’ll be over before you know it.”

Enough time had already been wasted, Pantalone was far past patient with you. Your clothes were ripped into shreds within seconds.

Your precious skirt that you valued more than anything, into nothing but scraps of fabric on the floor.

“Come on, Why rip her skirt? It doesn’t take much to just slide it off.”

The wind in the room was enough to make your bare body shiver, not only in fear but cold.

“Stop fucking crying, slut.” Pantalone grunted

You attempt to keep your pride and ignore his order, even if you’re bent over the 9th Harbinger’s desk. Pantalone’s hand makes its way around your neck, tightly. Even with this painful gesture from him, you still don’t cave in.

He slams himself into you. All this time you been laying here, you hadn’t noticed him undoing his pants. He does this as a form of “punishment” all the time, yet this felt different, slightly more painfully than normal.

This sensation has your stomach in a queasy feeling, why?

“Notice anything different, Love?” Asked Baizhu

“No..”

“Your face says otherwise.” He says with a sweet smile

Pantalone swiftly speeds up his pace to cut your conversation with Baizhu, in jealousy?

The grip on your neck tightened, to the point where breathing wasn’t even a option. Baizhu notices that and releases you from the cuffs, how sweet, right? No, he did that only to flip you on your back and clips them back.

“You done putting on a show for her?” Annoyingly askes Pantalone

The mint haired one chuckles before stuffing your mouth with his cock aswell, Easily catching up to Pantalone’s pace.

“Isn’t quite nice to let your frustrations out on the one who caused it?” Asked Pantalone

“Somewhat, It’s hard to enjoy myself if I feel bad for her.” Baizhu says with a sigh

Suddenly, Their paces change and no longer match. 2 Different cocks moving in and out of you at different paces isn’t fun at all, for you at least.

A fuzzy feeling in your stomach adds to the queasy one, this time it burns, alot. Incoherent babbles and “sorry” spew from the corners of your mouth along with a bit of saliva, makeup that you spent hours on, streaming down your face.

Just as you feel yourself building your climax, it just disappears. Almost like it was just ripped from you, They both had pulled out. Baizhu pulling out was more of a relief, Pantalone on the other hand was more of a disappointment.

“Pantalone please I’m sorry..!” You whined

Weird, you were actually begging for him back inside you, almost as if you weren’t crying for him to pull out minutes ago.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.” Pantalone says with a grin

Quite ominous of him.

He unlocks the cuffs with a small key that was actually right next to your body. You were stunned, they made the impression that you were trapped but you just had to ask them to unlock it. That thought spun around your mind for awhile as you simple just sat there in utter silence.

Thoughts once again cut short, by Baizhu’s cold hands gently lifting you up from the desk, causing you to shiver. He was holding you like a baby, your legs wrapped around his waist, his hands on your ass supporting you.

Pantalone walked around his desk to meet you both on the other side.

“Just relax, alright?” Cooed Baizhu

The black haired male grabbed your ass and also helped support you. Somehow, you were managing your tears to not cry just by the touch of him. You were sandwiched between both of these tall long-haired men, Your tits pressed against Baizhu’s chest.

On the verge of tears, you managed to cough up a attempt to persuade them to atleast go slower than before.

“Pantalone.. I’mm s-sorry, please..” you voice, hiccuping in the process.

“Should’ve said that earlier, too late little one.” Pantalone says in a threatening tone

They both enter a hole of yours at the same time, the stretch is enough to force out a moan from pleasure and pain. The tears you had been holding back spewed out as they thrust in and out of you at different speeds. Incoherent “please” and “sorry” flooded the room, breaking the somewhat silence.

From your constant crying and stress on your body, you feel you mind go fuzzy and your vision start to blur more.

“Don’t you fucking black out on me, I want you and your mind right here the entire time.” Pantalone spits out in anger

You try to lay your head on Baizhu’s shoulder but all this time Pantalone was throwing you around, you forgot you also piss off Baizhu regularly.

“Not here either princess, no blacking out.” Sarcastically coos Baizhu

After a few more harsh thrusts they both come inside of you, filling you to your brim. Pantalone pulls out and cleans only himself up. But Baizhu keeps himself in you for a few more minutes before pulling out aswell.

“You alright, love? I apologize on Pantalone’s behalf. I Hope this reminds you to not bother us, ever again” Baizhu coos but with a hint of humor

You feel Baizhu kiss your forehead as he cleans you up.

Safe to say you never bothered them again.

✮₊⊹₊⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆₊ ⊹✮ ✮₊⊹₊⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆₊ ⊹✮ ✮₊⊹₊⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆₊ ⊹✮

#pantalone #genshin impact #genshin smut #genshin x reader #genshin pantalone #genshin baizhu #fatui harbringers #bubu pharmacy #baizhu #baizhu x reader #pantalone x reader #genshin au

[3d-wifey]

And They'd Find Us in A Week - Chapter 12

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader Word Count: 8.4k Synopsis: Here! Playlist: Listen up! Tag list: - @melancholicmelanin, @yvy1s, @glomp-me, @honethatty12, @swftlore, @hashcakes, @antoheartit, @finnickodaddy, @lilifl0wer, @antoheartit, @kermitcrimess, @persophonekarter, @aawdrea, @obaewankenobis, @xyxlyn, @meandurdaughtergotaspecialthing, @innercreationflower, @kisskittenn Chapter Summary: There's a certain kind of pain in reading or watching something from the perspective of a character who doesn't know about the tragedy ahead of them. It's like watching a scary movie and going, "No, don't go to sleep! He's behind the door!" Like in The Song of Achilles, we all know how the original story ends. We know how the actual prophecy plays out. We know that the moment Patroclus's heart stops, Hector and Achilles fates are set in stone. You wince whenever Achilles says he has no reason to kill Hector because "What has Hector done to me?" You want to tell him that Hector will do the unforgivable to him. You want to tell Patroclus not to go on the field. Tell Achilles to get his damned head out of his ass as he disguises Patroclus as himself because he is at risk of losing something far more important than his pride. You hold your breath as Patroclus is speared in the back and as Achilles realizes the consequences of his actions. You knew it was coming, and yet, you still read the story because a part of you hoped. You hoped for the hopeless. All this to say that knowing and still having hope regardless is crueler than complete ignorance. A/N: I imagined your stylist as Anne Hathaway in Alice in Wonderland.

Past (xiii) - You [22 & 23] - THE CAPITOL

If you were from any other district, maybe it would have surprised you how attached Rue is to you. But the sense of community in Eleven breeds this need for kinship. You’re social creatures; you’re not meant to be on your own. Certainly not in a place like the Capitol. It’s how you end up hugging your knees to your chest, an unnamed ocean projected on your wall as you try to get lost in the tides the night before the tributes will be marched into the arena.

No one talks about this part, or maybe they just don’t want to think about it. The part where being forced back into the room you slept in during your own Games eats at you—that anxiety that courses through your veins and leaves your body thrumming. Because no matter what you tell yourself, your body isn’t entirely convinced that you won’t be the one entering the arena tomorrow. You close your eyes and suddenly you’re fifteen again, gripping the sheets so hard you could tear holes in them as you fight the vomit threatening to ride the wave of acid reflux.

Sleeping beside Finnick helped. He reminded you that you weren’t fifteen and alone and wishing you’d die in your sleep so you wouldn’t be slaughtered live. And now? Well, at least there’ll always be the ocean.

There’s a knock on your door, so tentative that you would have missed it if you weren’t already so keyed up.

You pause the projection of the ocean, assuming the sound woke someone up. You get up and go to open it, only to see Rue. Suddenly you’re shamefaced and embarrassed, like you’ve been caught doing something pathetic, even though it’s doubtful she even knows what the sound was, let alone the significance of you listening to it.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Was I being too loud?”

“No.” She shakes her head, shifting from foot to foot. “Um, I couldn’t sleep. And I just—I saw that your light was on and thought maybe you couldn’t sleep either?”

That may be true, but you don’t think it’s the only reason. Rue is the oldest of six and they all live in Shacktown. With all those people in one house, you’re sure Rue’s never slept alone a day in her life. It makes you wonder how she managed these past few days.

You’re an only child; your dad was killed before your parents could have any more, so you can’t say for certain that you understand what she feels. Yet, you reminisce on the fact that you’ve never really gone through a year of mentoring without Finnick being within arm’s reach.

She stares up at you with those big, pleading puppy-dog eyes, and you twist your mouth to the side.

“C’mon.” You move so you aren’t blocking the entrance anymore and you nod your head towards your room. “How ‘bout you sleep in here with me tonight? You don’t have to, of course, but we might as well stay up together.”

You know you’ve made the right choice when she grins big, rushes in, and takes a running start to jump on your bed. You shake your head fondly as she scurries to get under the blanket, lying down with them pulled under her arms and getting comfortable like she belongs there. The door slides shut behind you and you twist the dimmer until the only light comes from the projector. You settle into your bed beside Rue and you can’t help but snort at how she keeps smiling at you.

“So…What were you watching?”

“Uh.” You pick the remote up to unmute the device and the sound of crashing ocean waves fills any remaining silence. “The ocean.”

She looks over, seemingly transfixed by the drag and pull of the water. The nearest ocean to Eleven is the one that rests just outside of the towering fence and only serves as a deterrent for escaping. This very well may be her first time seeing one outside of a textbook. “Why?”

“Well, I,” you let out a weighted breath, "I thought it would make me feel better. Help me sleep.”

“Oh.” Says Rue and then she looks at you. “Why?”

You let out a surprised laugh. “Um. I guess the ocean reminds me of my friend and—I don’t know. It’s just easier to sleep with him around."

“Is he your crush?” Crush? Such an innocent question feels surprisingly weighted considering your current relationship with Finnick. Or lack thereof. Is it a crush now that it’s unrequited?

“I love him.” You tell the wall and it’s the sad truth. You still do. You wouldn’t be so hung up if you didn’t.

"Whoa. You like like him.” Like like. It’s been years since you heard that. It brings to mind how young she is. It’s not as if you needed another reminder. “It’s okay, I won’t tell. I like someone too.”

“Oh? And what’s his name?” You smile. You both flip over to face each other. You picture little you and little Sage, shyly holding hands during downtime, and find yourself hoping this boy liked Rue back.

“You can’t tell anyone.” She narrows her eyes and makes you swear, which you do with a pinky promise. “Coriander.” Her voice goes all quiet and timid as she hides her face and you wonder if you’ve ever seen anything cuter.

“Ah, I think I might know him.” She looks at you with wide eyes as you tease her, peering out from between her fingers.

“Nuh-uh, no way.” She denies it as you tap a finger on your chin and pretend to think about it.

“No, no. I think I do. He’s got pink hair, no teeth, and walks with a waddle, right?”

“No!” She giggles and you can’t help but giggle along with her. You take a moment.

“Finnick. The boy I like.” You provide when she looks confused. “His name is Finnick.”

“Oh! Oh! Is he that boy from Four? The victor?” It’s hardly shocking that she recognizes him. He’s one of ‘the greats’. You nod and she gasps like that’s the juiciest piece of gossip she’s ever heard.

“He’s pretty.” She whispers.

“He is.” You laugh.

“Is he nice?”

“The nicest,” you say without thought or contempt. Finnick’s indeed been nothing but kind to you since you’ve met him, current behavior not included. You find that even when you’re mad at him, you can’t actually disparage him. And you don’t want to lie to Rue. “He made me this." You lift your wrist and show her your bracelet. You’ve been wearing it around your ankle while you’re out in public, but when you’re on your own, it goes back to its rightful place.

“Cori made something for me too.”

She pulls her necklace up for you to see. It’s woven grass attached to a wooden charm shaped like a flower—you squint—or maybe a star? Definitely the handiwork of a child. Adorable. It reminds you of Cane.

“Your token?”

“Yep. He gave it to me when everyone came to see me off after I was reaped. He ran all the way home and back to give it to me. He almost didn’t get back in time, but I waited for him. I knew he’d come, and that’s why it’s good luck.”

“Makes sense.” You nod and she nods with you, like she’s happy that you get her logic. “He must like you a lot to go through all that.”

“Yeah. He’s sweet.” She smiles, fidgeting with the charm.

“I bet he is.” You push some of her curls out of her face. Just two doomed girls talking about their equally doomed crushes.

It’s silent for a moment; ocean noises make your eyes feel heavier with the pull of each tide. You watch as the shadows cast from the projector paint the ceiling in a series of swirling blues. You think you can see Finnick’s favorite color hidden amongst the other shades.

“Were you scared? When you went into the arena?” Rue asks and you still can’t find it in yourself to lie to her.

“Terrified.”

“Really? You’re so brave though?” She sounds so genuinely confused that you have to hold back your laughter. You don’t want her to think you're making fun of her. You appreciate the vote of confidence. It’s more than you have in yourself.

“I think…being brave means doing something even if you are terrified.” You look away from the ceiling to make eye contact. “It’s okay to be scared, Rue. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, I know.” She mumbles like she doesn’t actually believe it.

“I think you’re incredibly brave.” You know she regularly went foraging for food for her siblings, and she took on more hours than what was required of her. Who knows how many times she’s entered her name for Tesserae?

And she’s still so young.

“Really?”

“Oh, definitely.” You laugh at her skepticism. You’ve laughed more with Rue in the short time you’ve had with her than in the last two years combined. Sadly, there hasn’t been much of a reason for you to. Realizing that this is the last night you two will laugh together is devastating. “I was fifteen and I felt like I was on the edge of breaking down the entire time. How are you so calm?” She’s only twelve years old—not even a teenager. If you were in her shoes, you’d have dehydrated yourself from how much you were crying.

“I am scared, but…" She drags out the ‘uh’, then shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess it doesn’t feel real.”

“Hmm. I get that.” You don’t tell her that it won’t start feeling real until she either wins or dies. It’ll only make her feel worse. She closes her eyes and you two are quiet for a time—so long that you think she’s fallen asleep.

Her voice is small when she asks, “Can I hold your hand?”

“Of course.” You hold your right one out for her to take, and her little fingers lace with yours. Her palms are callused too. Not as much as yours. No, she’ll never have enough time to catch up to yours.

Rue moves closer to you and you wrap your left arm around her. You feel her say your name more than you hear it and you hum in response. “Thank you.”

You pull her closer to your chest, your linked hands resting between you. “Of course, sweetheart.” You say this into the crown of her head, wishing that you could have done more for her and Thresh—wishing you weren’t so helpless.

But you can do this. You can give her this last comfort, this last embrace from home. You hold her tight as you both fall asleep and you only let her go when they come to take her away in the morning.

You do not cry.

-

You miss him, you decide one day. You thought you hated him after you got through your self-pity, but the words "hate" and "Finnick" are too oxymoronic to ever stay together for long. You were so angry at yourself, angry at the world, but you sat with that anger long enough to know what it truly was. Grief. You miss him the way you'd miss a limb. You're so used to having it that you only remember it's gone when you notice the space it used to occupy and feel the phantom aches of what it used to be—what you used to have and took for granted.

Chaff has described in detail the pain of losing his hand. But, he said, nothing hurts worse than remembering it’s not there.

You've never taken Morphling and you don't know anyone personally who's gotten hooked on it, but you imagine this is what withdrawal feels like. You haven't seen him since before he sent that letter, and it feels like he's actively avoiding you. You said years ago, after Annie's Games, that you could handle just being his friend if he decided he didn’t want you anymore. But he never gave you the chance.

That’s alright. It’s perfectly fine. You know when you’re not wanted around, you can take a hint.

Maybe it's for the best. There’s no telling what you would do if you ran into him again. Something pathetic, probably, like begging him to take you back. There's a specific moment when you really feel your loss. A few days into the 74th Hunger Games. Chaff is finalizing the transaction with the money Eleven gathered to send bread for Rue and Thresh, so you’re on your own. 

“Your girl is something else.” You tell Haymitch from where you stand beside him, arms crossed, as you split your attention between him and the Games.

He cocks his head slightly, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, then returns to watching Katniss and Rue rehearse their strategy. “I can say the same to you.” You hadn’t expected Rue to team up with anyone, but you can’t say you are surprised that it’s Katniss. The girl did volunteer for her little sister, after all. Primrose, was it? But you’re concerned that your little speech about being brave by doing things that terrify you may have swayed her to come out of hiding and help Katniss.

You can’t take full credit, though. Rue—well, she’s far too kind for her own good.

You look him over, a glass of something alcoholic in one hand while the other remains buried in his pocket. Honestly, you’ve never seen him this invested in the Games before, but you could hazard a guess why. You weren’t just blowing smoke up his ass about Katniss. She’s honestly got a pretty good shot of winning, if not making it to the top five. She’s already a fan favorite, along with Rue, Peeta, Glimmer, and Cato. She’s exceeded your expectations, along with Haymitch’s. No wonder he’s been networking his ass off. If she’s actually got a chance at surviving this, he owes it to her to try.

That’s when it happens.

Rue’s screams echo in your ears as Katniss races through the forest. Something has gone wrong—she's been captured or the Careers are using her as bait, or—you wipe your sweaty hands on your dress and then recross them, wanting more than anything to bite at the skin around your nails. You hold your breath, hoping beyond hope that she’s saved from whatever fate has befallen her.

She’s by herself in the clearing. Caught in a net, but not hurt. Katniss manages to get Rue out and your muscles begin to untense, but the relief is incredibly short-lived. 

Marvel, that cocky little boy from two, throws his spear with deadly precision, lance soaring past Katniss to pierce Rue in the abdomen.

Your hands are numb as they cover your mouth, but then you remember where you are and drop them just as quickly. She pulls the spear from her chest and you want to yell at her not to, that taking it out will only make her bleed quicker. Like it even matters at all when she’ll bleed out regardless. You think you need to sit down.

Katniss catches her before she falls. You’re lightheaded.

Katniss sings to her after she whispers something that the mics can’t pick up and it feels like your heart is being wrung dry. You think of Rue’s mother. You think of her six siblings, who all look up to her. You think of Coriander. You think of how small she felt in your arms and how tightly she held your hand. You think of a lot of things in the time it takes for her heart to stop beating.

The cannon fires and all eyes go to you. Ranging from curious to pitying. Some are even tearful. She was a fan favorite, after all. Mentors and Capitols alike split their attention between you and the screens to catch your reaction, but your face is deceptively blank. You stare ahead silently, your eyes unseeing as they remain on the screen.

You will not give them the pleasure of seeing you break down. Katniss will leave and Rue’s body will be airlifted out and that will be the end of it.

This is nothing new for you. You’ve gone through this twelve other times. Why would she be any different? She isn't. You tell that to your shaky hands and they only tremble further. You tell your heavy lungs and they only get heavier. You try telling your chilly skin, but all it does is make you feel colder. Why is she different?

You want to close your eyes as Katniss grieves. To be able to save one little girl but not another, it must weigh heavy.

“I’m so sorry." Someone comes to stand beside you, some Capitol elite. “One less chance for your district to win.” You look at him from the corner of your eye and Haymitch scoffs on your other side. For one stupid moment, you thought he was offering his condolences.

“Right. Well. There’s still Thresh.” He nods along to your words, thoughtful, like you’re talking about the likelihood of a horse winning a race.

“Yes, he’s the big one, right? I have money riding on him or Cato winning.” Of course, he remembers his name and not Thresh’s. You close your eyes before they can roll out of your head. “I’d like to send him something to eat as a sponsor. I worry—what is she doing?” You open your eyes to see what tribute has captured his attention, only to see Katniss again. But she’s still with Rue, kneeling next to her body with an armful of flowers—

“She’s giving her a funeral.” You bite your bottom lip to keep it from trembling. Rue rests on a bed of flowers—white daisies and lavender. She tucks a bouquet of daisies in her little hands and you wonder if Katniss knows the significance that being surrounded by flowers has for your people. Or maybe that’s something your two districts have in common. All that’s missing is fruit and it would be a proper Eleven funeral.

A funeral for a little girl. Your heart grows heavy with that realization and your mouth curls into a scowl.

You shouldn’t think about how she clung to you before she was sent into the arena. You shouldn’t think of Coriander’s childish hope dying with her. You shouldn’t think about her family watching this. You shouldn’t think of how her mother woke up this morning with six children and will go to sleep with only five. You shouldn’t, you shouldn’t, you shouldn’t—

“Oh, how sweet.” The man coos.

“Yes.” Katniss faces the camera, kisses her three middle fingers, and salutes the cameras—salutes District Eleven. You don’t think of Coriander sprinting to the train clutching a grass-woven necklace with a good-luck charm that wasn’t very lucky. “Very sweet."

On instinct, you reach to the left for Finnick, but there's no hand to hold other than your own.

You need Finnick, and he isn’t here and for the first time since you've become a mentor, you have to brave the games by yourself and shoulder your grief alone. 

“Kid…” A flinch rolls through you at the unexpected voice, and you look to your left at Haymitch’s face as he goes through a range of emotions before settling on sympathy. No. Empathy. For a moment, you forgot he was beside you. But he hasn’t forgotten you. 

He does something that surprises you again. He places a big hand on the nape of your neck, warm and callused, and squeezes. You exhale sharply, your face twisting minutely, and it’s the closest thing to crying that you’ll allow yourself to do. He pulls you into his side, and it’s a battle not to burrow into him—a battle you lose. Your image will allow you to do this much. Allow you to be comforted while many of the other Capitols in the room do the same thing because it’s all very sad. You wrap your arms around his waist from where you’re held tight against his side and his hand goes down to rub your back soothingly.

No words are said between you two, and that’s enough. It has to be. Past (xiii) - Finnick 

[22 & 23] - DISTRICT FOUR Finnick has never felt worse.

The sky is clear, the stars are bright, and Finnick has never felt worse.

It’s a particularly quiet night on the beach. There’s no one walking along the shore, no bonfires, no night swimming. There’s only Finnick. 

He sits with his legs crossed under him; the coarse sand is warm against the exposed skin of his legs and feet. He’s always been able to come down to the beach to think and unload any weight on his shoulders. With how heavy his heart feels, he’s never needed that release more. A cool breeze carries the smell of the ocean, but it’s not as comforting as it should be. 

He reaches into the ornate box sitting between his thighs and just rests his hand there, letting his fingers ghost over the pages upon pages of parchment paper. He’s kept a tight lid on this box, hoarding your letters and your scent inside like a corvid. Even now, outside on the shore, your smell wafts around him—concentrated and stiff. He blinks past the tears in his eyes.

He doesn’t look inside; he doesn’t think he can handle it. To see the length of your relationship measured by words on paper, to know he’ll never be adding to this box again—it’s too much.

He pulls out a letter at random. 

His eyes have already readjusted to the darkness as he uses the moonlight to read. He traces the looping lines of your handwriting. 

This is the letter you sent along with that pretty picture of yourself in case he forgot what you look like. A beautiful sentiment, but largely unnecessary. Finnick knows your reflection as well as he knows his own, if not better. Even now, with all this space, time, and hurt between the two of you, he could draw your portrait blindfolded. Not that anything could ever live up to the real thing. Nothing can compare to you.

He sighs, twisting his bracelet around his wrist absently. He feels the cool grooves of the fish charm between his thumb and pointer finger as he looks at the stars. There are more stars than there are grains of sand. Each tiny, flickering dot is a blazing inferno, the likes of which he can hardly comprehend. They don’t shine nearly as brightly as you do in his memory. 

He just…he just wishes he could have told you that.

Unconsciously, his eyes fall on Cassiopeia. Punished for boasting about the beauty of her daughter. It’s not fair. Her only crime was loving her child, and for that, she was forced to give her up for the safety of her kingdom.

Sacrificing someone you love for the greater good. He can’t tell if he wants to scoff, scream, or cry. Maybe all three.

Are you looking at the same sky as him? Even now, are the two of you still connected? Is it cruel to hope for that? It has to be, but Finnick has found that he's grown rotten in his misery. Rotten and incredibly selfish. 

Over the past year, you’ve sent him letter after letter and he read each one with ravenous eyes—desperate for you in any way he could have you. You were angry, you were hurt, you were confused. You alternated between begging him and demanding him to reply. So he did. Of course, he did. He could never deny you anything.

He just never sent any of them.

He kept them stashed in a drawer, locked away so he didn’t have to look at them—wouldn’t have to look at his bleeding heart. It wasn’t healthy; he knows that, but still. He just wanted to pretend, just for a little while, that everything was back to normal. That he hadn’t ripped out his soul by tearing yours apart. 

Those letters had been a constant staple in his life for nearly seven years, and—he was going to wean himself off of it, off of you, really, he was. 

But he never got the chance to before they stopped coming a few months ago. They just stopped.

He should be happy about that. He should be pleased that you're moving on. He should be a lot of things that he's not, but, as it turns out, he’s getting pretty fucking sick of performing for an empty audience. You've given up on him, and you have every right to, but— 

God, it hurts.

It’s for the best. It’s what he wanted—no, it’s what he needed to happen for both of you. And it’s certainly better than the alternative Snow offered.

Knowing all that doesn’t make it hurt any less; it doesn’t make the pain any easier to bear.

He takes out another letter, and it’s…it’s the first one? The first letter you left him after you spent the night in his room. He remembers waking up on the floor, tired and raw from that conversation on the balcony. He was fully prepared to act like it never happened. He was a little disappointed to wake up alone, but he was sure that it only proved that you wanted to forget about it too. Imagine his surprise when he rolled over—not to the empty space he was expecting, but to a note on your pillow.

I really appreciate…

Thank you for…

Just thank you.

He was left floored. He was seventeen years old and he couldn’t remember the last time anyone thanked him for anything.

Finnick brings the note to his nose and your perfume floods his senses, drowning him in memories. Memories of long train rides home from the Capitol, his only company being the smell of you on his clothes.

And try as he might, he can’t forget. He can still feel the blood caked under his fingernails and flaking at his wrist. Can still feel the warmth of your beating heart in his hand after he ripped it out. That’s his punishment. Remembering it all, good and bad.

He’s broken from his musing by the crunching of sand approaching him from behind.

“You’ve been out here for hours. Aren’t you cold?” Annie's soft-spoken voice is almost lost in the wind. No. He isn’t. He’s the exact opposite, actually. He’s scorching from the inside out. He’s burning bright and hot and one day he’ll implode under the weight of it all like a supernova. The only respite he can imagine is the cool relief of your touch. He’s scared he’ll forget what that feels like. 

She sighs when he doesn’t answer. “We know you’re hurting, Finnick, and we’re worried. You can talk to us. You don’t have to just…talk to your letters. We’re here for you.”

He doesn’t look up; he doesn’t have the strength to, but he nods anyway. Of course, they can tell he’s hurting. A blind man could spot his suffering from a mile away. He hadn’t bothered to hide it outside of the Capitol.

“...Try not to stay out here too long, okay?

Annie squeezes his shoulder before walking back up the beach, leaving him alone, and he's thankful. She shouldn't have to see him like this. She shouldn't have to see him break down. 

I'm allowed to, he thinks, I'm in mourning.

But how can he mourn something he killed?

He reaches into the box one more time, pulling out a stray scrap of paper and a pen. His hands shake along with his shoulders, his handwriting so bad that only he and you would be able to understand it. He writes:

Dear Heart,

I don’t know who Finnick Odair is without his love for you.

Every day, I think I can’t possibly miss you more than I already do. And then another day passes and I prove myself wrong.

Is there a fate crueler than this?

I just want to see you again. I just want to hold you again. One last glance, one last smile, one last laugh, one last kiss. If I knew the last time I saw you would be the LAST time I saw you, I never would have blinked. I’d have made the moment last forever. But forever isn’t nearly enough, is it?

Do you think you could ever forgive me?

-I love you I love you I love you,

Finn

Present (XI) - Finnick

[23 & 24] - THE CAPITOL; ELEVENTH FLOOR

“I thought I’d find you here."

“Haymitch.” Finnick leans in the doorway of your room, wiping sleep from his eyes. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. He wanted to stay awake and bask in the little time he had left with you, but he hadn’t slept next to you in so long and it felt like he was lured in.

“Listen,” the man rubs at his scruff, “it’s not what I came here for, but I’m happy you two figured out whatever the hell…” He trails off with a particularly constipated look, waving a hand vaguely in the direction of your room.

“...Right. Thanks.” Finnick clears his throat. “I’m, uh, I’m happy too.”

“Yeah…Anyway.” He sighs. “There've been a few last-minute adjustments to the plan.”

That wakes Finnick up, his mind running over what Haymitch has already told him to do in the arena. “Oh, should I wake Star—”

“No, no. This is just for you. We realized you’d have no way of knowing when you should be heading to the pickup point, especially since things out here can change on a dime.” He steps closer, burying his hands in his pockets. “Once all of the necessary players are gathered in the arena, a sponsor gift will be sent down, probably some kind of food. Pay attention to the district and the amount that’s sent.”

Finnick squints. “Why?”

“The district tells you the day we’re coming and the amount tells you the hour—do not get the two mixed up.” Haymitch raises a hand, staring Finnick down until he nods. 

“Alright, I won’t. And the pickup point?”

“When in doubt, Beetee will know.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. He’s sure working behind the scenes and acting as a messenger is harrowing work, especially with Snow on such high alert. “Our girl managed to get in Peeta’s good graces. Not that I’m surprised; they probably bonded over how ‘fun’ and'rewarding' it is to help the less fortunate or something. Having her plus Beetee and Wiress will definitely give Johanna and Blight some credibility in Katniss’s eyes. You, on the other hand, are gonna need to rely on something other than your good looks and Mags.” He fishes a flash of gold out of his pocket—some kind of bracelet.  

Finnick takes it gingerly, examining how the light makes it shimmer.

“Take it into the arena as a token. Show it to her, preferably before she shoots you between the eyes. And, shit, if that doesn’t work, ask her…tell her to remember who the real enemy is.”

He wants to ask what that means outside of this very specific context; he wants to know what this bracelet means to him and Katniss if just seeing it will be enough for her to make him an ally. But he doesn’t. He feels like it’ll bring on more questions than it’ll answer.

“I’m gonna need you to hold onto something for me then.” He reaches into one of the deep pockets along his billowy pants until he feels the familiar shape against his fingers. He’s almost hesitant to give it away. When the Quell was announced, he was sure he would die with it on him. But it’s a part of you and he can’t take the chance of it getting destroyed. “It’s, um. It’s a photo she gave to me a few years back, I always carry it on me—”

“You don’t need to explain.” When it’s handed to him, Haymitch takes a moment to look at you. Finnick feels a little self-conscious of how faded it is from years of him running his fingers along your face—faded from years of being well loved. “I’ll make sure she gets back to you.” He’s careful when placing your photo in his pocket and Finnick feels relieved that there’s someone on the outside who wants to get you out of the arena just as much as he does.

“Good luck, kid.” He squeezes Finnick’s shoulder and hesitates. His eyes shift to the walkway that leads to where you’re resting. “When she wakes up, tell her…Tell her I said…” He trails off, his face severe, and Finnick understands painfully well.

“I will.” He promises. Haymitch purses his lips before giving a nod. Finnick watches his back as he leaves and wonders if that will be the last conversation he has with the man, one of his oldest friends.

Present (XI) - You 

[23 & 24] - THE CAPITOL; THE ARENA “Your tracker.” The Peacekeeper yanks your arm up wordlessly and waits for you to pull your sleeve back. You squint around the sharp pain as he jabs the needle into your forearm, burying the tracking device under your skin. You glare at his back and rub at your now-raised skin. 

You grip the straps of your seatbelt as the hovercraft begins its ascent.

As relayed from Haymitch to Finnick to you, Peeta brought you up as an ally, and, luckily enough, Katniss wasn't against the idea. It might have something to do with the conversation you and she had before the Chariot Rides or maybe it’s the fact that you're the only person Peeta suggested. It hadn't been your intention to get on his good side when you offered to train him, but you're glad you did. It makes your job that much easier.

“It's a very breathable, lightweight material, so I’m thinking of a humid environment, maybe tropical. Large bodies of water for certain. Have you decided on a token?" Your stylist pipes up from her seat beside you.

“Oh. Yeah.” You lift your hand to show her the blue bracelet sitting snugly on your wrist. She gasps and you pull your wrist away, looking around the carrier for anything that could be the cause of the sound. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing!” She waves you off with a flippant hand. “It’s just, I didn’t think I’d see you wear that bracelet again. I know Finnick never took his off, but—” You yank your arm back against your chest, holding your bracelet almost as if you can hide it.

"Wha-what..how do you, how…?”

“Us stylists confide in each other, and, well, those of us behind the scenes thought the two of you were just so cute together! I never saw you without that bracelet for five years straight and then one day, it was just gone. Poof! Oh, we were worried sick something happened with you two. But now it’s back!” She cheers, clapping her hands.

You gape at her. “You…you knew? All of you? And you never…?” Never leaked the gossip to the tabloids? To Snow?

“What? Heavens no! We're not heartless, dear. It wasn't our place. Besides,” she leans over, her crimson-painted lips pulled into a smile as she pats your thigh. Her eyes are glossy enough that you’re almost certain she’ll start crying. “You two deserve to be happy.”

You nod stiltedly, rocked by this new information. Did Finnick know? No. If either of you did, you would have been a bit nicer to your stylists. You’re quiet for the rest of the flight as she talks to you. This time around, you do try to listen to what she’s saying, nodding along at the right moments to show you’re paying attention. It’s a bit late, but you feel like you owe it to her.

She walks you down to the tube that’ll take you to the arena.

“This is it, my dear.” She sniffs, raising a hand to her mouth as she actually starts crying now. “Oh, I’m a mess. I’m sorry.” She apologizes, fanning her pale face. You don’t think about it too hard; instead, you step toward her and pull her into a tentative hug.

“It’s okay, Shimmer,” you comfort her. “And for what it’s worth, thank you.”

“It’s not okay. It’s not fair at all.” You let her squeeze you tight, allowing the hug to go on longer than you normally would. She inhales and then pulls away. She holds you by your shoulders and takes you in. “It’s been an honor working with you, my dear.”

“Same here.” You smile, but it feels more like a grimace.

You step onto the platform.

The door slides shut behind you and you start feeling sick as you rise. Sick enough that you worry you might vomit before you even make it into the arena. Your heart beats in your teeth. It’s starting to dawn on you, you realize, just how fucked you are. There’s the revolution, but there’s no guarantee you’ll even live long enough to be saved. You’ve been training like crazy, not that it was that hard with the way you grew up. It’s one thing to use your skills for physical labor; it’s another to use them in a fight to the death. That wasn’t how you survived your Games.

You hold your breath, gathering and reminding yourself of what’s important. The plan. And the plan hinges on you getting to the Cornucopia and surviving.

Your stylist tearfully waves you off as you rise, her elaborate and puffy white gown the last you see of her. You look up at the hole of light as you approach it, your nails digging into your palm.

The drastic temperature change makes you shiver and squint, raising your hand to block the blinding rays of the sun. This heat is different from the kind you’re used to. Heavier, somehow even more humid than Eleven’s muggy summers. The sun disorients you and the little wind that comes through carries the smell of salt. You push through the fog of your senses and force yourself to see.

There’s water—a shit ton of it. Saltwater if your nose is to be trusted. Shimmer was right.

The first thing you do is look for Finnick. You can’t help yourself; the need to know where he is is stronger than your need to acclimate. Your gaze bounces from tribute to tribute in your search for him. Sweat is already gathering on your brow when you finally find him. You see him, but only barely, on your left. He’s about three sections away, close enough that you make eye contact with him. It’s brief and fleeting, but long enough for your stomach to settle and your heartbeat to slow. 

You’re all divided by rocky strips of land that protrude from the island the Cornucopia rests on like the spokes of a wheel. And in between each spoke are two tributes. That would mean there are twelve sections.

Mentally, you try to map out where everyone is. You note that Finnick is standing beside Chaff.

On your immediate left is Johanna, sectioned off from you by the long line of rocks. You nod at each other and relief courses through you knowing you won’t have to search for her. Beetee stands with Cecilia in between Finnick and Johanna’s respective sections. Was this placement intentional or just luck?

With half of your group near you, your eyes rove around for the missing two and—

“Shit.” You curse. You’ll have to go looking for Wiress. That’s the first part of the plan: Johanna gets Beetee, you get Wiress, and Blight waits for the four of you away from the Cornucopia. You’re lucky to be placed next to Beetee and Johanna, but it would have been nice if Wiress was a little closer. Or within your line of sight, at least.

“Let the 75th Hunger Games begin. May the odds be ever in your favor.” 

The sound of Ceasar’s cohost echoes throughout the arena and you rush to gather more information. On your immediate right is the woman from Nine, about the same distance from you as the strip of land on your left. You know she never stepped foot in the training center, so you’re confident in the fact that she isn’t a threat. A little further down are Peeta and the man from Ten. You do a double-take. You hadn’t expected him to be so close to you and you have to force yourself to ignore him. You beat back the instinct to watch him like a hawk; that isn’t your job right now—it’s Mags and Finnick’s. The next section houses Woof and Mags and beside them are Enobaria and the female morphling. That’s as far down as you can see.

Your muscles tense up when he begins the countdown. 

You take stock of your surroundings. Before you is the Cornucopia, and behind you is a beach and a deep forest—no, a jungle. The large body of water surrounding your platform looks pretty clear. Nothing but fish and plants, you’re sure. It’s doubtful they’d put anything deadly in there. Not when so many of the tributes can’t do anything more than doggy paddle. And certainly not this early into the Games. What an odd choice to have water this deep. Especially considering how rare a skill swimming is in the districts.

You watch the red, rotating cube as it flashes down to one, your muscles poised like a spring as you prepare to jump. You take a breath and dive in.

Deep in the woods behind the shack your family used to call home, there was a lake in an area the Peacekeepers seldom patrolled. That’s where your dad taught you to swim. You haven’t done it in a long time, not since before he was killed. You’re more than a little rusty and you wish you had aimed a little more to your left.

The cold water is a shock to your system, but you don’t have time to stay idle. You don’t sink to the bottom like you think you will; you’ve forgotten how much lighter water makes your body. The salt in the water burns your eyes every time you try to open them so you squint and swim towards where you think the strip of land is. It’s a battle. The distance, while a problem on its own, is nothing compared to the strength of the waves. 

You’re panting by the time you make it there, shaky fingers grappling with the wet rocks as you pull yourself up, thanking your forethought to focus on training your upper body strength. The woman from Nine had jumped in the opposite direction, aiming for the beach instead of the Cornucopia. Smart. You’d do the same, but you need a weapon and you need to find Wiress. You push your water-laden hair out of your eyes, getting your feet under you and taking off towards the Cornucopia. 

You're surprised when you make it across without slipping. You have to make the split-second decision between getting a weapon or looking for Wiress first. You glance behind you, and no one seems that adept in the water on your side. Johanna is just now clawing her way out of the waves. You guess there aren’t many reasons to swim in Seven. You make a run for the mouth of the Cornucopia with the sound of cannon fire chasing you and you hope to God that no one sets their sights on Wiress. You glance to your right, and you can blurrily make out Finnick, Katniss, and Mags helping Peeta out of the water.

You skid to a stop, your legs freezing without your actual input.

“Finnick!” You yell, and his head whips up before you fully get his name out. The water weighs his hair down, turning it a darker blond than you’re used to seeing it. You aren’t entirely sure why you called out for him. Maybe it was more for his comfort than yours; he’ll need to know that you weren’t the cause of one of the cannons firing. 

“Star!” He grasps his trident tighter, scanning your surroundings for potential threats. When he sees none, his shoulders relax but his trident remains poised in anticipation.

He looks from you to his group and back again. You shake your head to stop him from taking that step forward. It was only three hours ago that you last saw him. And before that, the two of you stayed up talking about nothing until you fell asleep in each other’s arms. Nonetheless, the desire to run to him is strong. You can see him fight that same impulse you do. When the cannon fires again, Finnick leaps into action, nodding at you with an uncertain gleam in his eyes before placing Mags on his back. 

You watch them all run for the jungle before getting your weapon. You spot a scythe propped up with spears and tridents and can tell immediately that it was planted for you. You take a second to analyze it distrustfully. A metal handle and a deeply curved blade, undoubtedly for show rather than harvesting. You won’t take it. It’s big and cumbersome, and it’ll slow you down in this kind of terrain. Plus, the strength needed to wield this in an actual fight is beyond you. Someone like Chaff or Brutus would get far more use out of it. Maybe even Finnick, if his trident ever fails him. It’ll just tire you out.

Instead, you opt for the twin sickles hanging next to it. They’re also bigger than any you’ve seen in Eleven. With their thick, smooth wooden handles, the blades are sharper than any you have ever used. Their weight will take some getting used to. When you notice more tributes orienting themselves on the rocks behind you, you decide the time for contemplation is over. 

You sprint to your left, eyes scouring the water for a small brunette woman. Wiress is on the other side of the Cornucopia, more floating in the water than swimming.

“Wiress!” You call. She waves her hands as if you can’t see her and you nod, weary of attracting unwanted attention. Luckily, she’s been in the water for so long that the waves have carried her towards the island. It doesn’t take much to pull her out.

“You, you’re hurt?” She speaks in her usually broken speech pattern, gesturing towards you, and you’re quick to look down, thinking you’ve been hurt without knowing it. When you come back with nothing, you look back at her, confused, and she gestures again. You realize it’s a question, not a statement. 

She seems tunneled in on whether you’re hurt or not. Drenched with water and frustration, you spin around in front of her. “I’m fine, Wiress, I’m fine, but we have to go.” She’s a lot more amicable now, allowing you to corral her back to where you saw Johanna last. The bodies littered around give you pause. In front of you lies a woman who is half-submerged in the pinkish water. Taking a deep breath, you step over her and drag Wiress with you.

When you get to the mouth of the Cornucopia, you spot your two allies locked in a fight. That is to say, Beetee huddles behind Johanna as she fights, clutching a spool of wire to his chest as if it were the only thing between him and certain death. Johanna and the man from Nine are locked in the most dangerous game of tug of war you’ve ever seen. They both have their hands on an axe and if this were a game of speed, she’d have him on his knees already. But he’s bigger than her, stronger too, and just as unwilling to let it go.

Her teeth are bared in exertion, legs almost buckling under the strain. He has the blade pushed alarmingly close to her neck and you don’t think about it; your body is pushed into action before you’re even aware that you’re moving. Later, you’ll think back on how easy it was. You’ll think about how quickly he stopped being a human being like you and instead became an enemy—a threat. You’ll think about it—about who he used to be before he became a body—and you will come alarmingly close to crying. For now, you kick the man in the back of the knee and he goes down with a grunt. Johanna uses the leverage the new position gives her and snatches the axe out of his hands with a huff.

You lift the sickle in your dominant hand high in the air, putting your full weight behind it as you drive the blade into the top of his head. The collision of metal against bone ricochets up your arms, leaving your muscles vibrating. He falls forward with a heavy thud and you stumble backwards. Your hands feel like they’re vibrating and the adrenaline coursing through you puts a stop to any panic before it can begin. 

You move forward and have to place your foot on his back, grunting as you use both hands to yank your weapon back out. He makes a keening sound in the back of his throat—the guttural moans of a dying animal. You’re not used to being the one on this side of the slaughter. He’s still alive, but he won’t be for long. You won’t wait for the cannon to go off. 

“Let’s go!” The four of you sprint towards the beach, glancing behind you in case the Careers decide to give chase. There are still plenty of tributes on their platforms, too scared to brave the water. They should hold their attention long enough for your group to get away. Running away as the Careers lay claim to the Cornucopia makes you feel like prey. 

“Blight!” Johanna shouts and your head whips around, searching until you find the burly man a few yards away, waving you over. You all run to him and you take another mental stock.  

Between the five of you, you have an axe, two sickles, a machete Johanna grabbed, a spool of wire, and two brilliant minds. That should be more than enough for the plan. Johanna hands the machete over to Blight and you and her share a glance before wordlessly booking it into the jungle with your charges. Blight leads and you carry the rear. 

You really hope it doesn’t take long to find Finnick.

A/N: ┬┴┬┴┤(･_├┬┴┬┴ Heyyyy, are you mad at me? I hope you didn't mind that rant in the summary. I felt like Rue's death from this perspective hurt a little more bc you know it's coming, but Star doesn't, and sometimes I get carried away with writing my thoughts. ┐(シ)┌ More Finnick audios in the next chapter to make up for the shortage in this one. Come yell at me!!!

#finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #hunger games catching fire #and they'd find us in a week #finnick fanfic #finnick odair fanfic #hunger games finnick #finnick #thg finnick #finnick x reader #finnick x you #finnick imagine #hunger games fic #finnick odair x you #the hunger games x reader #hunger games smut #hunger games fanfiction #the hunger games #the hunger games ballad of songbirds and snakes #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for 🦄; obligatory sugar baby Kon. ( + non-chrono link for mobile users )

“Hey, Secret,” Tim says, thinking longingly of Superman-appropriate death-traps. “Sorry I didn’t call ahead, I didn’t think you’d be here.” 

“That’s okay, it’s just nice to see you!” she says, beaming brightly at him. Tim, unfortunately, is reminded of Kon for literally no reason except that he really is just down that bad for the bastard, apparently. God, he’s going to embarrass himself so much over this situation, isn’t he. Just so, so much. “What are you doing?” 

“Just picking something up quick,” Tim says. “I’ll be out of your hair in a minute.” 

“Oh,” she says, looking disappointed. “Um, okay.” 

. . . Tim is possibly an asshole, he recognizes. 

“Thought I might do a few security checks first, if you don’t mind the company,” he attempts, and Suzie immediately lights up again. 

“No!” she says excitedly, clasping her hands together. “No, I don’t mind! Do you want some snacks while you work? I’ll get you some!” 

Tim might be an asshole, yeah. 

“That’s okay, I already ate,” he says, and smiles at her. “Just keep me company for a little bit, maybe? Running the diagnostics gets boring, sometimes.” 

“Okay!” Suzie says, still beaming at him. 

Tim runs a bunch of unnecessary diagnostic checks and also checks the hardware connections, and Suzie tells him all about the places she’s been visiting. She sounds pretty pleased about them, so that’s good, he figures. Of course, Kon didn’t sound bothered by the Cadmus thing either, so . . . 

Yeah, they need to work on getting her completely off the DEO’s radar and into a more sustainable long-term living situation as soon as possible. And maybe figuring out . . . he’s not sure, exactly, but some way to help her look enough like a normal human to pass for one. A holo-projector, maybe, or an illusion spell. Something like that. 

Why does he have a friend in this situation? Why does he have multiple friends in this situation? 

Maybe he'll pick a cul-de-sac in an area he can, like, take over once he goes supervillain. Just lock it down and make it his territory first thing. Maybe buy up the local buildings one by one and make it all nice and legal and a pain in the ass for the local government and whatever cops survive the GPCD getting blown up to argue with, even. 

Unfortunately that’d make him a landlord, which is a little more evil than he really wanted to go, but desperate times and all. 

“So are you, um . . . seeing anyone right now, Robin?” Suzie asks, twisting a whorl of her smoky hair through her fingers and biting her lip. Tim isn't sure why she's asking, so can only assume she's run out of conversation topics and is fumbling for small talk. 

“Well . . . kind of,” he says as he fakes his way through another entirely unnecessary hardware check, because he can't actually tell her any real details about his life, no, but dating Kon is not actually a part of his life that Bruce has any idea about, so . . . well, there's nothing to tie back to him if he does, is there? And–well, he'd like to talk about it a little, maybe. “Or I just started seeing someone, I mean. It's a recent development.”

#🦄 #wip: obligatory sugar baby kon

[spider-stark]

Anti-Hero // Hero x Villain Trope // pt. 2 //

Previous Part

Summary - Reader and Peter are both living double lives. Spider-Man is considered a national hero, while the reader is viewed as a criminal. In their personal lives, they're both head over heels for one another, their friendship finally blossoming into something more. But as vigilantes? It's complicated

Warnings - Blood, mentions of kidnapping/abuse, knife violence,

Word Count - 4.6k

Your foot bounced against the footrest of the barstool you were sat in, your patience wearing thinner and thinner with each passing minute. Another glance at your phone as it laid face up on the counter, confirming that it had now been twenty-five minutes past when you and Peter were supposed to meet. 

Five more minutes, you told yourself, only five. 

Peter Pan’s doorbell chimed as soon as the thought crossed your mind, as if Peter knew that you were getting painfully close to assuming that he had ditched you. 

“Y/n!” He sounded like he had run several blocks just to get here, gasping for breath as he jogged over to where you sat. Your foot stilled at the sight of him, the anxiety of being stood-up immediately dissipating. 

He slid onto the stool beside you, still struggling to steady his breathing. You grinned at him, and the sight only made his lungs feel tighter. “You’re late, Parker.” 

A knowing tone, yet so light and playful, and it somehow held the power to wash away all the defeats he had faced today. It was one of the things Peter loved most about you, the way that you could melt all of his stress away, without even lifting a finger. 

“I’m sorry.” He choked the apology out between labored breaths, his body finally settling enough to let him try to speak. 

While Peter hadn’t run several blocks to get here, he did frantically swing a few dozen blocks, his muscles screaming out in pain the entire time. He was thankful that the annoying girl from earlier had been telling the truth when she said he would recover from the toxin, but he only managed to regain control over his motor skills with enough time to change clothes and come straight to Peter Pan’s to meet you. 

She also could have mentioned that he would feel like he got hit by a bus afterwards. 

“I started to think you were standing me up.” You admitted. 

“Never!” Peter blurted the word out, squinting slightly under the fluorescent lights that only added to the pounding in his head. “Today just felt kind of… paralyzing, I guess.” He couldn’t help but chuckle at his own pun, knowing it would fly right over your head. “Had a hard time getting myself moving.” 

Concern suddenly washed over your features, brows pulling together. “Do you feel sick or something?” 

You didn’t wait for his answer, leaning forwards on your stool and placing the back of your hand against his forehead. The sudden contact had a blush creeping up his neck, his face beginning to turn red. “You do feel a bit warm.” You hummed with a frown. “You should’ve texted me if you didn’t feel good, we could’ve rescheduled.” 

“No!” Another too-quick response, only deepening the crimson shade now painting his cheeks.“I feel great, promise.” He awkwardly cleared his throat, trying to sound a little less, well, excitable. “Just a rough day, ya know? Nothing worth rescheduling over! But I’m still really sorry that I’m late.” 

Peter already wanted nothing more than to throw that sorry criminal in jail, if not for being a thief than for attempting to ruin his plans with you. God, they knew just how to get under his skin. He tried to shake the thoughts of them from his mind, wanting to focus entirely on you, his mind free of irritating distractions. 

Today might have kicked his ass, but there was no way he would miss out on coming to see you. He struggled to make time for ‘Peter Parker’ things while managing to balance his duties as Spider-Man, but when it came to you? He would gladly shove Spider-Man to the side when possible. 

“I get it.” You reassured him, a soft smile that had his heart melting. “My day wasn’t that great either, but that’s just how it goes sometimes, yeah?” 

It really hasn't been a great day for you. Getting away from Spider-Man was the only thing that had gone right today. The job you were on earlier when Spidey had caught up to you ended up being a total bust after faulty intel led to your target getting away before you could even make a move. It threw things off for you—left you without a profit and forced you to evaluate your sources. 

“Well,” you cleared the brief silence between the two of you, “do you wanna get started?” 

Peter only stared at you, those beautiful brown eyes filled with little other than complete confusion as his mind lagged behind. You giggled at how dumbfounded he looked, and while he was slightly embarrassed, he also savored the sound of your laugh. 

“On studying.” You clarified with your index finger tapping against the garishly colored chemistry textbook laid on the counter. “Our test is next week and I really don’t wanna fail Mr. Harrington’s class.” 

Peter’s mouth formed a perfect O shape, his head nodding along as you reminded him of the reason why the two of you were meeting up today. Truth be told, he had been purposely letting himself forget about the ‘study’ part of your study date. 

“Oh, yeah.” He shook his head a bit, keeping his gaze focused on the coffee-stained countertop in hopes that you wouldn’t see that he was still blushing. “Sorry, I’m still not all here yet.” 

“We can still reschedule, ya know? If you’re just not feeling up to this right now.” You hesitantly reminded him, silently hoping that he would say no, that he would insist that he stay. It had been days since the two of you made these plans, and you had been looking forward to spending time with him. 

“No, really, I’m fine!” Peter answered your silent pleading, adding a smile. “I think we need to be on page 279.” 

You nodded in response, returning the expression before moving to flick through the pages of the book. 

To be honest, Peter really couldn’t comprehend why you needed his help to pass Harrington’s class. In nearly every other subject you were at the top of your class, serving as one of his biggest academic competitors at Midtown. What he didn’t know, however, was that the only reason you needed his help was because of certain distractions in class. 

Chemistry was the only class the two of you had together, and unfortunately that meant that the majority of it was spent with you staring at the back of Peter’s head and barely listening to a word Mr. Harrington said (too busy daydreaming about what it would be like to run your fingers through his gorgeous wavy hair). Your little crush had ultimately led to you just barely passing the class, which had turned out to be quite convenient, as it served as an excuse to ask Peter for help and get the chance to hangout with him outside of school. 

“Oh c’monnn.” You groaned as you examined the page, immediately filled with dread when you read scientific notation printed in big bold letters. 

“I promise it’s really not that hard!” Peter tried to assure you, hiding his amusement at your dramatic reaction as you pressed your forehead against the book, little sounds of protests still falling from your mouth. “You’ve got this, mkay? I’ve got full faith in you.” 

“As sweet as that is, Parker,” your close proximity to the paper muffled your speech as you refused to face him, “math is actually my arch-nemesis. I’m horrible at it.” 

Besides Spider-Man, you jokingly thought to yourself. 

“It’s not nearly as bad as it sounds though!” Peter continued to make promises that did little to ease your dread. “Let’s just give it a try.” 

You turned your head to the side just a bit, cheek still flush against the book as you looked over at him from the corner of your eye. “Do I even need to know how to do this? Like, if I don’t pursue a career in chemistry, will I ever need to actually understand scientific notation?” 

“Yeah, probably.” 

“Give me an example.” 

“I don’t know, what if you wanna figure out how many drops of water are in a river? You’d need scientific notation.” 

You furrowed your brows at him, although still amused by the response. “Why would I ever wanna know that?” 

Peter’s shoulders lifted into a shrug, an action he swiftly regretted as a burning pain coursed through his forearm, a reminder of the wound he sustained earlier that hadn’t quite healed yet. He gritted his teeth at the sensation, an action that didn’t go unnoticed by you. 

“Whoa.” You quickly straighten your posture, staring at him cautiously. “Are you good?” 

He forced out a quiet mhm sound as he bit down on the inside of his cheek, desperately hoping the feeling would subside. Peter wasn’t used to his healing abilities being so impaired, yet another side effect of the toxin, and he had forgotten just how much it hurt to be injured. 

“Are you sure?” You asked again, clearly not convinced by his less-than-impressive attempt at hiding his discomfort. “Is it your shoulder or back or something?” 

Peter felt your hand coming towards him, his Spider-senses snapping him out of his current agony as you hovered just inches above the covered wound. He reached out and grabbed your wrist so suddenly that it made you gasp, shocked by how fast he had moved. 

“Sorry.” He apologized, immediately loosening his grip. Your eyes remained wide, the shock still evident alongside a bit of suspicion. “I think I pulled something in my shoulder the other day and it’s still sorta tender to touch, ya know?” 

He already felt guilty for the lie, but it was the best he could come up with to ensure you wouldn’t try to reach for him again. Coming up with lies was already difficult for him, and he had no clue how he’d be able to craft a story for how he ended up with a giant slice taken out of his arm if you found out. 

“You really have the worst luck, don’t you?” You mused, your hand retreating back to your lap as you spoke. “I still have trouble believing that last week you accidentally ran into that streetlight and gave yourself a black eye!” 

Peter laughed nervously, thinking back to the moment. Funny enough, he hadn’t really been lying about that one. Sure, he had been swinging and not running, but he did hit a streetlight. “What can I say? I’m just not the most coordinated.” He fidgeted in his seat, an action you equated to embarrassment. 

In reality, the action had been fueled by anxiety. There had been too many close calls lately, too many instances where he had to make up an excuse for a bruise or a cut or whatever else, especially with the new girl running around. He was running out of lies to tell, and more than that, he was getting tired of having to lie. 

“Well at least try and be more careful, alright?” You teased him, though your concern for him was still evident. While he might’ve hated lying about his injuries, he did quite enjoy the way you’d dote over him whenever you’d discover a new one, always desperate for your affection in whatever way he could receive it. “If I’m gonna pass chemistry then I’m gonna need my tutor in one piece!” 

Peter grinned, returning your teasing tone, “If you’re gonna pass chemistry then you’re gonna need to learn scientific notation.” 

You jutted your bottom lip out in a pout, a low groan following suit. “Fine.” You reached for the book, sliding it closer to the two of you while scooting your stool a bit closer to Peter’s. “But you owe me.” 

“I owe you?” He shot you a bewildered stare, struggling not to laugh. 

You nodded. “Mhm.” 

“I’m the one helping you pass chemistry.” He noted, shifting his index finger from himself to you as he spoke. “So technically wouldn’t you be the one that owes me?”  

“Nope. Pretty sure I was right. You owe me.” You feigned complete seriousness, mocking him by pointing your finger in his direction. 

He decided to play along, electing to ignore the fact that you’re just procrastinating studying. “Okay, fine. So what do I owe you?” 

You paused for a moment, a mischievous look appearing on your face, causing Peter to raise a brow at you. “A date.” You declared confidently, taking advantage of the opportunity. “A real one. No school stuff or anything.” 

Peter felt his heart skip in his chest. 

“Deal.” 

Maybe learning scientific notation was worth it.  

Coming to Queens was a risky move, one that you didn’t like to make often. It was one of two places in the city that you liked to avoid—the other being Hell’s Kitchen—in an attempt to try and avoid running into anyone with devil horns or spiderwebs. 

Luckily, your line of work typically kept you out of the ‘problem’ areas of the city. The majority of your targets were New York's wealthiest, the kind of people that wouldn’t so much as dream of stepping foot outside of Manhattan. 

You much preferred meeting them in their own territory, finding it all the more enjoyable to toy with them in the places where they felt safest. But, sometimes, that just wasn’t a possibility for one reason or another. Despite that, bringing your business into Spider-Man’s self proclaimed home territory was always a dangerous move. 

In this case, though, it was unavoidable. 

For months you had kept a close eye on councilman Rupert Fletcher, a man that many others in your circle had tried to go after, only to fail time after time. At first, you struggled to understand how so many accomplished thieves had somehow been stumped on such a painfully average man. 

Despite Fletcher's status as a councilman, he was of little importance, his wealth being the only thing to put a target on his back. On the surface, he lived a rather average life of a man in his position. 

He owned a sizable penthouse on the Upper East Side that he shared with his wife and their french bulldog. A quick peek at his schedule revealed that his weekdays were typically spent in the office, the deviation being an occasional conference. His weekends were always the same, a trip to the country club in Spring Valley to decompress and unwind. 

There were sizable gaps in his schedule, several windows of time where his apartment was left unoccupied, with his weekend trips to the country club and his wife’s recent trip back to her home country for family matters—essentially meaning that Rupert Fletcher was every thief’s wet dream. Yet, even the craftiest of them all came out empty handed, claiming the man’s home was unusually bare. There was nothing of much importance in it, no safes filled with cash, no lavish jewelry. It was painfully basic, appearing as little more than a model home. Every one that dared to go after him all left the same: empty handed. 

You started to think you hit a dead end with him, after questioning every single person in your circle, desperate to dig up something on him. That is until a tiny girl by the name of Red made an offhand comment, one she clearly thought was of little importance. 

“The best I got out of it was this Dukes of Hazzard keychain,” she flashed a disturbing grin, the street lights illuminating the silver caps on her teeth, “better than nothin, right?” 

It was better than nothing. A lot better. 

While the keychain itself was rather stupid and not something you cared about, there had been a dingy key dangling off of it, a tag attached that read: StorageMart #813. At first you considered the thought that it had belonged to Red, but given the fact that a pristine Bugatti key hung alongside it, you quickly decided that it must’ve been Fletchers. 

That same night, you broke into the office of the StorageMart that night, combing through their records until you found payment receipts for unit 813. It hadn’t shocked you when you saw it was purchased under a different last name: Petrov. You recognized it as his wife’s maiden name, a fact learned through your prior research on him. With confirmation that it was his unit, you wasted no time with swiping a key from the utility office and heading straight for the unit. 

Its contents were a mystery to you, your imagination running wild. What could it be? Diamonds? Gold bars? A Dukes of Hazzard boxset? You weren’t sure, and truthfully, you didn’t care all that much as long as it was something of value. You didn’t know what he was hiding in the unit, but what you did know was that Rupert Fletcher was a bad man, and he deserved to pay for it. 

And discovering what he had worked so hard to keep secret only cemented that fact. 

The first thing you saw was a mattress laid out on the cold cement floor, a tattered blanket with the thickness of a sheet of newspaper spread across it. Beside it was a dingy orange bucket, the scent of what was inside practically overwhelming your senses entirely. You almost considered slamming the door shut, almost decided to cut your losses and get out of there before you emptied the contents of your stomach on the floor and left evidence of your presence. 

But then, you heard it. A faint voice, small and fragile, the words in a language you didn’t know. You didn’t need to understand what she said to know who she was, though, to know that you had finally caught Fletcher in his biggest crime of all. 

A bit of gossip tends to go a long way. It took a bit of work to find out where the women in Fletcher’s wife’s inner circle like to hang out, but it turned out to be well worth the struggle as all of them sat amongst themselves at lunch and chatted about how she had been threatening divorce months prior, and their theories of what he had done to her upon finding out, entirely unaware of the listening ear just a table over. A bit more digging led to gaining even more intel on Fletcher’s past tumultuous relationships, only furthering the suspicions. 

“Ms. Petrov?” You purposely opted to avoid use of her married name, hoping that it would indicate to her that you were there to help, not to cause further harm. 

The woman was emaciated and looked as if she were just days away from death, and you struggled to hide your shock. “I’m gonna get you out of here, alright?” A promise you intended on keeping. 

A huge part of you wanted to take the story public, to take pictures of the unit before he could destroy any evidence she was here and send it straight to the Daily Bugle. Jameson was an asshole, but he was never one to miss out on a good story. But, despite your desire to see Fletcher’s mugshot on the news, you bit your tongue. 

It wasn’t your story to share. And, even if Petrov had wanted to come clean and expose him to the world, men like Fletcher were rarely forced to deal with the consequences of what they’d done. He was too wealthy, too well-known, too powerful. 

Which was exactly why you were back here in Queens, at the same shabby StorageMart you had pulled Fletcher’s wife from just a few days ago. She was safe, staying in a women's shelter upstate, already beginning to plan her trip back home where she would be away from Fletcher for good. There was just one thing she needed before she could make her escape. 

“Thanks Rupey.” You sang over your shoulder, lazily wiping the ruby stained blade against your pants, “It was a pleasure doing business with ya.” 

He coughed a few obscenities in your direction, but made no move towards you as you headed towards the door of unit 813, too weak to move from where he laid on the floor. Everyone liked to put on a good show at the end, run their mouth just enough to make themselves feel like they put up a fight. You usually ignored it. Usually. 

 “How much did you take?” He spat in your direction, your footsteps falling silent as you paused by the door. 

You didn’t like his tone, the arrogance in his voice, his domineering attitude. You were a bit shocked that he had any snide remarks left in him, and even more shocked that he could even form words after you knocked two of his teeth loose. 

“I took what I needed.” You assured him, your own tone calm and collected in comparison to his. “And then some. Gotta make a profit in this business somehow, Rupe.” 

His wife had told you he would be here tonight, promised that he came by every other day just to chuck some food in her direction and try to convince her to reconsider her decision to leave him. Waiting for him was easy, since she said that Fletcher liked to stick to a tight schedule, and incapacitating him was even easier. 

A quick slash to the forehead, just a half an inch above his brows. It was the easiest way to stun someone, there were enough capillaries in the forehead to cause profuse bleeding that would eventually impair their vision, making it even easier to keep control over the situation. Immobilizing him wasn’t hard either, a quick jab to his right leg, maybe two or so inches deep. Deep enough that the average person wouldn’t be able to keep their weight on it without passing out from the pain, but nowhere deep enough that he would bleed out from the wound. 

After that, it was as easy and slipping his phone out of his pocket, forcing him to use touch-ID to get into his bank account (threatening to cut off someone's thumb makes it quite easy to get them to follow instructions) and then transferring a couple hundred thousand dollars to an untraceable bank account you had a friend set up for his wife. Fletcher had been the one to ruin her life and damn near kill her, it was only fair that he was the one to pay for her new one, especially if that was the only justice she’d ever get. 

“They’re gonna find you–” Fletcher swore, his strained voice growing louder as you moved to open the door, “I have cameras set up in here! There’s cameras all over this fucking property! The cops are gonna find you!” 

You gave him a quick glance over your shoulder, your mask still secured over your face, confident that the NYPD would find nothing that could trace back to you. Not any more than they already had, that is. “You’re not gonna tell them shit.” You laughed at him, rolling your eyes, “You think I wasn’t smart enough to hack into your stupid security cameras and duplicate the footage? I have hours of it, Fletcher. Hours of you torturing your wife, keeping her caged up in here like some sort of animal.” He didn’t respond, barely moved a muscle as his face paled. “You tell a single soul what happened here tonight, and I’ll send the footage off to every news station in New York. Got it?” 

You didn’t need to wait for confirmation, aware that men like Fletcher would do anything to avoid bad press. He would make up a story, the same way all of them did. A mugging gone wrong or some stupid lie, anything to paint himself the victim and keep his wrongdoings away from the public. You looked forward, savoring the feeling of the cold Winter air kissing your skin as you let the door slam shut behind you, relaxation washing over you at the thought of finally getting to go home. 

“Do I wanna know what you were doing in there?” 

Well, so much for relaxation. 

You glanced up, immediately noticing Spider-Boy crouched on the unit across from 813. “What are you even doing here?” You asked him, an exasperated groan following after. “Like, seriously, do you have a tracker on me or something? I’m gonna get you one of those little collars with a bell on it, the kind for cats, ya know? That way you at least can’t sneak up on me.” 

Spider-Man narrowed his eyes at you, and your lip curled in response. You didn’t like the way the whites of his mask moved to match his expressions, finding it a bit unnerving. “What were you doing?” He asked again, ignoring your previous sarcastic remarks. 

“Why don’t you go look for yourself?” You jutted your thumb over your shoulder, pointing towards the unit door where Fletcher’s groans of pain should still be faintly heard. “Cause I’m a bit tired from doing your job and all, so I’d rather skip the small talk tonight and head home.” 

He scoffed, still perched atop the building, staring down at you. “Doing my job?” 

You nodded. “Uh, yeah. Did I stutter or something?” 

“How were you doing my job?” He rephrased his question, annoyed by your constant habit of avoidance. 

“Do your own research for once, Spider-Kid.” You told him lazily, shaking your head as you began to continue your walk towards the exit gates of the StorageMart. “Maybe then you’ll realize we aren’t quite as different as you think.” 

The nickname annoyed Peter, but he tried to shake it off, aware that it was just another way you tried to get under his skin and throw him off. He swiftly jumped from the building, landing directly in your path to keep you from leaving. Before his feet even touched the ground you already had a knife drawn, as if you had predicted his movement. 

“While I commend you for wanting to stop me,” you spoke slowly, the tip of your blade pointed at his throat—it was an empty threat, as you knew that you would never strike what would most certainly be a fatal blow against him, although he didn’t know that and chose to keep a safe enough distance. “There’s a man in there that’s in desperate need of medical attention. I suggest you run off to be a hero and get him to a hospital.” 

Peter’s eyes shifted towards the unit, his amplified hearing allowing him to hear Fletcher’s heartbeat from where he stood. You were right; and while he didn’t sound like he was on the verge of death, he needed a hospital, and a fight with you was one he wasn’t confident he would win—not quick enough, at least, to justify leaving a wounded man to suffer. 

“We’re very different.” He promised you, taking a step back to show that he was backing down. To show that he was a hero, that he would prioritize a civilian's life over stroking his own ego by attempting to capture you right now. The two of you were nothing alike—Peter worked to protect this city, locking criminals up and fighting alongside the Avengers. And you? “You’re a villain.” 

You snorted at his dramatic choice of words, still armed and prepared to strike if he made a move towards you. He didn’t, though, taking a few more steps backwards towards Fletcher’s unit.

“Villain’s such a harsh word.” You clicked your tongue, chastising him, making his blood boil as he had to use all the restraint in his body to prevent himself from going after you as you readied yourself to dart for the exit. 

“I prefer anti-hero.”

tag list: @llovergirlll @hpchosen1 @vintageoldfashion

#peter parker imagine #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fic #peter parker x reader #peter parker headcanons #spiderman fluff #spiderman imagine #spiderman fic #spiderman fanfiction #peter parker fluff #peter parker angst #spiderman angst #tom holland imagine #tom!peter imagine #tom!peter x reader #peter parker mcu #mcu imagine #avengers imagine #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #peter parker x plus size reader #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #antihero

[deathbealady]

wait a minute

was it ever explained how Brannagh and Dagdan are daemati and magically never fucking realized that Jurian was playing the King of Hybern like Tamlin playing a fiddle?

you mean to tell me that the sadistic and gross Brannagh and Dagdan never bothered to go into Jurian’s mind, not even just for shits and giggles because they like to torture humans??

I know SJM explains that Rhysand (and Feyre for that matter) didn’t think to check, but that’s also kind of a really stupid excuse. Yeah sure he’s gonna be mentally/emotionally/physically scarred from all the bs he’s been through, and it might’ve made him crazy in any number of ways, but he’s clearly of sound enough mind to be acting on behalf of Hybern in some capacity. Changing loyalties to turn against his own people is out of character to say the least, but certainly not outside the realm of possibility

Also, Jurian knew of daemati and expected them to do daemati things. He told Rhysand he figured he would’ve read his thoughts and known where his true loyalties lay. I don’t recall mention of him having mental shields, and as a human, how would he have known how to put any up? Doesn’t it require magic? And just assuming he could do it despite being human, how effectively would he be able to maintain such shields as a human, especially if he’s up against a more powerful and practiced daemati, let alone two??

Related: it’s established that daemati are not only able to read minds, but manipulate memories and essentially brainwash/control the minds of their targets. Why the fuck wouldn’t Rhysand check to see if Jurian hadn’t been brainwashed into serving the king of Hybern??? Especially after knowing that Hybern had at least 2 daemati rolling with Jurian, who could monitor and control his behavior in the Spring Court.

And for THAT matter, how did Brannagh and Dagdan not notice that Tamlin was also biding his time to double cross Hybern? I may be misremembering, but wasn’t there a whole-ass scene where Feyre had to go in and create mental shields for Tamlin and Lucien to protect them from Brannagh and Dagdan?? She protected his mind then, but it was also a lot of strain on her magic that was being sapped by the faebane. And in any case, it’s not a stretch to think Tamlin wouldn’t have met them before

It’s already stupid enough that a high lord like Tamlin and the son of a high lord like Lucien, somehow do not have training to protect themselves from daemati. It’s an especially stupid plot hole for Tamlin, who was once friends with Rhysand, and likely would’ve known about Rhysand’s abilities given their history. You mean to tell me that if he didn’t learn how to protect himself from daemati before or during their friendship, Tamlin just never thought “hey maybe I should learn to protect myself from daemati just in case”??? And especially not after the big falling out he’d had with Rhysand?!?!

This was honestly supposed to be a quick shower thoughts level post about Jurian but the more I thought about it, the more I realized NONE OF IT MAKES SENSE! These books truly do such terrible disservices to the most interesting characters and it is so painful to watch it happen

#daemati are powerfully useless apparently #jurian #tamlin #pro tamlin #anti rhysand #sjm critical #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar discourse

[99hook]

Barely Breathing | Three

The aftermath of Tyler cheating

Warnings: angst, smut

A/N: third and final part to this series with @madhatterbri. y/n gets her revenge but probably not how you would expect

Tyler basically moved back in at his parent’s house after the breakup. He still had his penthouse but he didn’t want to be alone in it.

All of the reminders of you would haunt him if he went back. The dresser drawers that were cleared out of all of your stuff you took when you left and the photos of the two of you decorating the living room was something he just didn’t think he could handle right now.

He sent you text message after text message begging for a chance to explain everything but he assumed you must have blocked his number when days went by without a single reply.

It wasn’t until one night as he was sitting outside with his dad puffing on a cigar and having a glass of whiskey that his phone buzzed in his pocket, and he had to take a double look at the screen when he saw your name floating on it.

“Y/n wants to talk tonight.” He says, looking over at Taz with wide, hopeful eyes.

“I told you to give her some time to blow off steam. Still don’t agree with what you did, but I’m glad she’s giving you a shot to explain your stupid actions.”

Taz had been hard on him about the whole ordeal. He had no idea that Tyler cheated on you until he confessed it the night he showed up drunk at his door.

He didn’t scold him that night, because it was obvious that Tyler wasn’t in his right mind, but the next day and every time you came up in conversation, he made it a point to tell him that he made a big mistake.

“Yeah.” He sighs as he puffs on the cigar, exhaling some smoke above his head. “I’m gonna regret that for the rest of my life, honestly. I’m just glad she’s even talking to me again.”

“You should.” Taz adds, sipping on his glass. “Know what else you should do?”

“What?”

“Take your ass home and put on some new clothes. Shower, shave, fix yourself up. You’ve been moping around in the same clothes for days and I haven’t seen your hair wet since you got here, so I’m pretty sure you ain’t had a shower either.”

“I took one yesterday.” Tyler attested. “But yeah, I need to change. Guess i’m gonna go.”

He put the cigar out and finished the last bit of whiskey in his glass before he got up from the chair. Just before he was about to leave, his dad stopped him.

“Son, listen to me. If she gives you another shot, you better not blow it this time. You got a good girl who loves you and treats you good. Start acting like it.”

What Tyler didn’t know, was that good girl that left his house that night was nothing close to the girl who was stepping back in.

You had been completely broken down by what he did. It haunted you every single night. You went through all stages of mourning it felt like, but landed firmly on one that felt way better than sitting around crying over him.

You were angry. The more you thought about it, the more rage made home inside of you. The years you spent together and all the things you went through being completely disregarded for some girl he couldn’t keep his hands off of made you despise him even more than anything else anymore.

You just wanted him to feel the same pain you had to suffer through, and no matter how many texts he sends saying that he misses you and he’s just so damn sorry, you knew he wasn’t the level of sorry that he should be.

Tyler took his time getting ready. He had butterflies in his stomach for the first time in a long time. He kept glancing at the clock but time was going by so slow, he was just anticipating when you’d be knocking at that door.

He picked up a bouquet of roses on the way back. He didn’t know if you’d accept them but he felt like it was the very least he could do to thank you for giving him a chance to talk to you.

He was nervously messing with his hair when he heard the faint knocks at the door, and had to take a deep breath before he opened it.

Seeing you again was something that made his heart feel like it was getting squeezed by stone hands in his chest. You looked good. You didn’t look like you were going through a breakup by any means. He wondered if you had to take your time getting ready to hide what you really had been feeling like or if you were really just fine like you seem.

“Hey” he breathes out as he opens the door. You send him a barely there smile and step in. You spot the roses on the kitchen island and roll your eyes before he sees it.

“Those for me?” You asked, feigning a smile.

“Yeah, they are.” He walks over to the bouquet and passes them to you, thankful and relieved when you take them from his hand.

“My way of saying thank you for giving me a chance to explain things.” He says.

You set the bouquet down and shake your head.

“I’m not here to talk about what happened.” You tell him.

“You’re not?” I thought you-“

You cut him off with a kiss to his lips and instantly felt his hands on your hips, pulling you into him as close as you could possibly get.

When the initial shock wore off, he kissed you back with a newfound intention that suddenly hit him.

You stepped out of your shoes and made quick work of getting his shirt off, only breaking the kiss to pull it off before you locked your lips with his again.

It was painful to think about another woman kissing him like this, but you had to force those thoughts away before you ruined everything for yourself.

Running your nails down his abs made you wonder if her nails traced the same path. Grabbing fistfuls of his hair didn’t feel as soft between your fingers when you knew another set of hands had been in them too.

It solidified everything for you. You knew you’d never be able to forgive and sure as hell not forget.

Tyler’s lips trailed from your jaw to your neck as he unclasped your bra and slid the straps down your arms. He leaned back to look at you, his eyes filled with pure, undeniable admiration but yours were just dull, the life completely sucked out of them.

He was so caught up in the moment that he wouldn’t have been able to tell that you were just a shell of who you used to be standing before him.

He leaned down and wrapped his arms underneath you, swiftly picking you up and carrying you into the bedroom. Feeling the bed beneath your bare back as he gently laid you down was a strange feeling. You never expected to be in that bed again after that night.

He peppered some kisses to your collarbone as he slid your pants down, along with your underwear, leaving you completely bare and vulnerable underneath him.

“You are so gorgeous.” He whispered in pure awe. It had only been a couple days but he thought he’d never get to see you like this again.

You grabbed his arms and pulled him down to you, his eyes adverting from your body to your eyes in an instant. You could practically read his mind. Every thought he was having and every feeling rushing through him.

You hated that you still loved him, because you could see full well that he was probably falling even harder in love with you in that moment, and maybe if you didn’t love him, it wouldn’t hurt you.

It was just another thing to force out of your mind as you grabbed his length in your hand and guided it to your entrance. He swallowed harshly before he pulled back some.

“Wait” He says, sliding his tongue over his lips. “Are you sure you want to do this like this? I don’t want you still be mad at me after we’re done. I would rather talk about everything first and then, if you want to, we can do this.”

“I’m not mad anymore, just fuck me please.”

You didn’t give him a chance to say anything more when you pulled him down by his chain, locking your lips with his again. He melted into you at that moment, his fingers sifting gently through your hair as his lips moved with yours in perfect harmony.

You felt him push into you and let a soft moan slip out, wrapping your legs around his waist to push him in deeper.

His hand found yours and he intertwined your fingers together, softly holding it above your head as he slowly thrusted into you.

It was too soft and sweet for you, though. The way he was peppering kisses to each inch of your face and the slow, languid movements. That’s not what you needed, so you reversed the roles and ended up on top of him, pinning his hands above his head as you took full control.

His lips lingered over your neck, he wanted to catch your kiss but you didn’t let him.

He was taken back but pleased with the sudden dominance, he didn’t object to it. His eyes stayed trained on you as he watched you take every inch of him, doing your best not to collapse down on top of him when he started arching his hips high off the bed.

You screwed your eyes shut so you didn’t have to watch him. It was a harder task than you expected it to be. Hearing the sounds of his low groans and heavy sighs, the occasional whisper of your name leaving his lips, it was pulling at your heart strings and that was the last thing you needed.

You made the mistake of letting go of one of his hands, and he immediately brought it to the back of your neck to bring you down to his lips. You tasted whiskey and fresh mint on your tongue, the kiss so filled with passion and desire that it made your head spin.

You broke away and straightened up on top of him, letting his other hand go and you allowed it to grab your hip, guiding you.

His lips parted and you felt him twitch inside of you, already knowing what was coming so you picked up the pace to get him there faster. You didn’t care enough about yourself.

He surprised you when he sat up and wrapped his arms around you, holding you close and placing soft, sloppy kisses to your neck as he thrusted up into you.

“I love you so much, yn” He whispers against your skin. Words that didn’t mean anything anymore.

His hips stuttered and you quickly got off of him, not trying to risk anything under the circumstances. He must have expected you to catch his release but you didn’t, and instead let it drench the bedsheets while you slid off the bed and found your clothes scattered on the floor.

He watched you for a moment before he got up and headed into the bathroom. When he came back, you were fully dressed and fixing your hair in the mirror.

“You’re not staying the night?” He asks with a small voice. You caught his expression in the reflection before you turned around to face him.

“Why would I do that?” You asked.

“I mean, I would love it if you did.” He says, starting to walk towards you, but you step closer to the door.

“No, Tyler. I’m not staying the night with you. I’m never coming back here again, either.”

“What?”

“I hope you enjoyed your last time ever fucking me. Hope that girl was worth it.” You forge a taunting smirk before you walked out the bedroom.

He was hot on your heels but you didn’t turn around until you reached the front door.

“Are you seriously doing this right now?” He asks, his eyes filled with pain and despair, just how you wanted to leave him.

“Did you seriously expect anything else? You cheated on me, babe. You deserve everything you’re getting.” You shrug before you open the door and step out, making the man you once planned to marry just a boy from your past.

#hook aew #aew hook #aew hook x reader #tyler senerchia #aew hook angst