#sometimes my mind goes numb | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lvlyghost · 7 months

Note

Hello do you take requests cause I had this idea in my mind but I suck in writing

how bout a ghost x reader where he had a bad day and takes it out on his beloved reader who he's been in a really long relationship with, by starting an argument and maybe saying some really mean and bad things that break the reader. Like the reader is only a shell of herself and completely ruined by ghosts words and just crying or sitting completely still staring off the wall or just staring at nothing just being numb.

What would be interesting is Simons reaction when he realizes the damage that he's done, maybe he would cry/break down idk when he sees the usually happy reader being so dull and almost lifeless yk

But Pleasee don't do this to our hearts and write some comfort and a happy ending please I couldn't handle too much angst❤️😭

The Weight of the World

PAIRINGS: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

SUMMARY: You promised to always lean on each other but sometimes love isn't enough.

WORD COUNT: 1.5k

TW: heavy angst, literally got some mid anxiety writing this🥴 swearing, self-doubt, hurt-comfort and slight fluff towards the end. lmk if i missed any.

A/N: finished this in one sitting lol, also not proofread and poorly edited, i've been having a shitty week so expect more angst lol. meet me in therapy. Enjoy anon!🤍🌟🫶🏻💕

Masterlist✨

You hesitate right outside Simon's studio, the place where he secludes himself from everything and everyone. Ever since he came from his last mission he seemed to be on the edge constantly. The usual softness that he reserved specifically for you was... absent.

Still you wouldn't let that stop you from approaching; having dating him for a few years now let you know so much of that. You knew when he was hurting. When he was sad, angry, jealous or even happy. Little to no people could say that.

Somehow this was different. He wasn't even letting you in, constantly keeping you at arms length and that hurt. How were you supposed to get to him this time? Get him to talk to you?

To look at you again with that same glint in his eyes, the spark that you ignited in him and that won't fade away even years after.

The sound of a chair creaking startles you, the same time the timer in the kitchen goes off. You walk back, turning the oven off, and sticking out the apple pie you so happily baked for both with hopes that you'll get him loosen a bit that dark cloud that's been looming over Simon these past few days.

The door of his studio is yanked open the heavy stomp of his boots resonating across the small apartment you two share, then his bulky frame appears just to grab the keys to his black motorcycle.

"Simon!" You call him, burning your hand in the process. He stills halfway through the living room, waiting for you to say something else. Wetting a cloth hurriedly and wrapping it around the burnt skin.

"I made something for us... maybe," standing behind him you leave a reasonable space between the two. You swallow down hard. "Thought we could have it together and just, you know spend...-"

"I don't have time for that now." His voice is cold and monotone. "Don't wait for me."

"But Si-" he turns on his heels, eyes hard and unyielding. He approaches slowly, making you gulp. "What's gotten into you, Simon?" You fight back the tears, this was the man you loved so dearly, the man you knew loved you back; there was a reason for the golden engagement ring on your left hand. "I..-"

"Fucking hell would you stop that? Please just..." he notices the wetness in your eyes. "I can't do this. Not anymore."

"Whatever it is I promise we can work it out together!" your lips quivered. "Just talk to me!"

"I don't need to talk about anything girl!" He seethes, one finger pointing at you. "Think some cheap counseling with you will make things right? Bloody hell no. Neither some homemade bread, this isn't fucking working and it won't until you learn how the bloody world works."

It breaks your heart into a tiny million pieces, breathing becomes a challenge and the injury in your hand can no longer be felt. Simon's words were worse than any physical pain. Where was the man you loved? The man who used to lift you up and kiss you on the forehead? The man whose hands couldn't stop roaming your body late at night? The man who'd helped you reach out for things he probably put away in the highest shelf so you'd ask for help. That same man that had proposed to you no long ago, right before he was deployed to a special op God knows where. The fabric of his mask moves when he keeps talking but you don't listen. You can't. Just like you can't stop the tears dribbling down your cheeks and the tremble of your hands. Simon's jaw clenched, brows furrowed as he takes a step back and leaves.

You walk sluggishly to where the dessert awaits. It's when your knees buckle that you finally let out a loud cry.

Simon knows he isn't a good man. He's done quite questionable things that he could never say out loud. He knows he's fucked in so many ways. But he also knows that there's one thing that kept him from spiraling further down into an abyss of death and self-loathing.

You.

The woman he decided he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. The girl that didn't care about his past, the bad moments and his complicated persona. You who would selflessly love him without asking for something in return. What had you seen in him in first place? Even now after three years he can't wrap his head around the fact that he has someone who waits for him.

Simon knows how much he loves you, but what he doesn't know is how—or in what earth—he deserves every part of you.

You've been avoiding him ever since that horrible night. Words he can't take back. Looks that haunt him every time he closed his eyes. He hears you cry when you go to sleep or when you're taking a shower. Muffled sobs and wails that will come for him until the day he dies.

You avoid him like a plague, when he walks in. After all he's the one to blame. He wanted to ask you to tear him apart maybe that'd feel less painful.

The last remaining of sanity that was left in him came crashing down when he began to notice how you stared off in a haze, numbly looking at the window. He was losing you. Destroyed the one good thing he had. So, a few days later, despite his own demons. Despite the things that broke him all irreparably during the last mission in Moscow, he comes to find you. Sucking in a sharp breath as his eyes set on your left hand.

The engagement ring was gone, forgotten someplace unknown. Simon felt the panic wrenching his guts.

It's all on him.

He whispers your name, calls you softly. Slowly sitting in front of you, the coffee table creaks under his weight. Words get caught in his throat.

"May I take your hand?" He pleads, not getting an answer. Simon sighs, lowering his head as silent reigns yet again. "I don't deserve you." He murmurs, eyes bored into the floor. "I... I ruin everything I touch. Just never thought I'd ruin my girl."

Your eyes flutter shut, wet tears clinging to your eyelashes. Simon watches as you stand and leave without a word, he follows close behind to your shared room.

"Love..."

"Don't call me that!" the hurt in your voice... the resentment in your eyes, he's earned it.

Simon reaches out for your arm, grabbing you firmly but gently, mindful not to harm you.

"Right I deserve that." If there's one thing Simon regrets it's being the reason that your eyes no longer shine. "What I said... what happened I...-"

Shaking your head and biting down your lip.

"You never gave me the chance, I thought we said we'd always find a way."

"I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry baby." in an instant he's pulling you close, although you want to push him away, scream at him, slap him for the calvary he made you go through. "I'm not good with words, and I'm no good person." You feel his body shaking with anxiety as your eyes widen in shock. "I tried... I can't forgive myself for my mistakes."

"Simon..." he hushed you, cradling your head with his big hand. "I can't sleep knowing I can't protect you from what's out there, couldn't bloody protect that kid in Moscow, or my family."

You guide him to the bed, sitting down side by side and holding onto each other.

"Said I would always be with you Simon, why the hell did you push me away?! Have I not given my everything to you? We promised to always make it work!" He grabs your face staring intently into your eyes. "What happened there?"

He blinks, deciding how much to say. There was no need for you to know the entirety of it. He wanted to shield you from the horrors of this world, and he would as long as he lived.

"A young lad whose life's was cut short because I wasn't there on time. How can I come back to you, be happy when someone else just lost their kid..."

"That wasn't on you! Simon Riley you stop that now." He inhales, cinnamon and vanilla flooding his senses. It's you all of you. "Stop carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. We do that together, yeah?" Your chest hurts from how hard it's beating. "You've done far so much. You won't lose me."

A rumble in the sky and cars passing by outside your home is all you hear. Brown eyes like honey stare back into your soul.

"You took it off..."

"I burnt my hand, it wasn't healing properly. And you know what?" He quirks a brow. "It wasn't homemade bread. It was an apple pie, you silly."

"You'll never forgive me for that one won't you?" He doesn't chuckle but the air feels lighter.

"No. Probably won't." Simon takes your burnt hand bringing it to his lips, they're soft against the marred skin.

"But we're still getting married, yeah?" He asks.

You smile fondly, humming when he kisses your forehead, tears have now dried.

"Yeah. We're still getting married."

1K notes · View notes

deeversuswords · 27 days

Text

‧˚₊ Shotgun in his car

pairing: bakugou katsuki/f!reader summary: random thoughts about Katsuki and driving word count: ~800 words contains: slight nsfw, mostly fluff, aged-up • ao3 link a/n: I blame this song for putting the thought in my already "crying over bakugou katsuki on a daily basis" brain. before I kick myself out, as a bonus "thought": rolled-up sleeves. enjoy 🧡

Bakugou Katsuki, your boyfriend who pulls up in front of U.A after getting his driver’s license, where you’re supposed to meet up with him, and whistles at you, the sharp tune a shared secret. His proud grin widens when your head jerks up and all you manage is half a curse in his direction as you startle. He knows the words died on your tongue at the sight of him in the driver seat of a car you don’t recognize. Of course not, it was his parents’ gift for his eighteenth birthday, one he hid from you for this very moment. He melts inside when you climb in, throw your arms around his neck, and smother his face with kisses as you squeal out your congratulations. Putting up with all the dumb instructions from his driving instructor was worth it if this was his reward.

Bakugou Katsuki whose strides hold more arrogance when he returns to the dorms and waves his driver's license to everyone. He was the first to turn eighteen, and now, he’s the first with a driver's license. His chuckles resonate just right when your friends groan exasperated and complain how they have to wait, but congratulate him nonetheless and wiggle their eyebrows because Katsuki with a license means a free drive. Wrong.

Bakugou Katsuki plays taxi driver for no one except you. You—the reason why those free drives he vehemently denies become a thing. When you ask him, pretty eyes peering into his, Katsuki thinks “Hell no”, but his mouth says, “Whatever. Fine.” And there are rules. No eating or drinking. Wear a seatbelt. Don’t be obnoxiously noisy. And the strictest of them all: no one, not even his parents, is allowed to sit in the passenger seat. Hell breaks loose on anyone who tries. “That’s my girl’s seat. Get in the back”—not a statement, but an order. It’s that same seat that becomes the first thing he modifies in his car with his first paycheck. Every last yen goes into the best material, best cushion, best everything because your comfort is his. And it’s so fucking worth it when you cuddle up in your new seat with a big smile on your face and love is all he feels when you say, “God, Kat. You’re spoiling me too much” and pull him by his collar into a mind-numbing kiss.

Bakugou Katsuki and driving with one hand, a habit born out of a passing comment you made about how hot he looked when he did that. His brain rewired on your words, spoken in a nearly whiny tone. But with the rewiring came a whole lot of other things. Like his free hand resting on your thigh. Sometimes his fingers trace random patterns and innocently knead and pinch. Other times, they glide higher and tease, twitch with need when your legs instinctively spread for more of what only he can give you. It is for that reason that Katsuki memorized where in the city the secluded places were. Once his name passes your lips on a breathy moan, he knows no driving, only how to pull over and make you come all over his fingers.

Bakugou Katsuki who finds an outlet in driving late at night when stress gets to him and sleep is being a bitch. Becomes his routine, and slowly yours too. “You’re more important than my sleep, Kat. I’m right there with you,” you told him one night when he got angry at himself for daring to disturb your sleep for the third time that week. He kissed you right after, hungrier than ever, insatiable for your love and everything you meant to his world. Katsuki didn’t care that you wore only a T-shirt—one of his old ones—as he dragged you out of your shared apartment and into his car after allowing you a minute to put shoes on. That drive was a learning experience so now, among the many things crowding his calendar, are the nights promising a clear sky. Because he needs a repeat of his car parked on some random grassy field on the outskirts of the city. To watch you beam at the starry sky above and drown in your joy as you tug on the sleeve of his T-shirt, pointing at the constellations and naming what he already knows because Katsuki always listens when it’s you. Eventually, he silences you with a kiss, his love burning too bright and too hot; it overwhelms him. His head spins and spins. It’s a blur that temporarily clears when you finally ease down on him in the backseat of his car, your gaze locked with his lovesick one, hands grabbing everywhere they can. It’s the only time when Katsuki goes against your wishes of fucking you hard. Not a romantic in the literal sense of the word, but the way everything gravitates together in the moment changes his usual pace into something softer. He makes love to you. Heart wide open, soul bare.

#no use of y/n #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #reader insert #female reader #bakugou smut #bnha smut #bnha fic #when the title hits you after you post

478 notes · View notes

spacebarbarianweird · 5 months

Text

Widower Astarion Headcanons

Ok, we wanted pain - I bring you pain. @astarionsbeloved @wickedwitchofthewilds @sleepykitty21 @starlight-ipomoea

Masterlist

Headcanons

Astarion isn't an idiot; he knows you are mortal, a topic you've discussed before.

Jokingly, he suggested you find a vampire lord, but even if one were found, Astarion would never allow you to turn into a vampire.

"It hurts, it's painful. The existence of a vampire is miserable. I will never do this to you."

The price of mortality is death.

You made him promise not to step into the sunlight and to keep living, carrying memories of you into the future.

You die as you always wanted: in a glorious battle, or safe and comfy in your bed, or brought home by Astarion to a place you grew up in.

You die with no regrets, sorrows, or complaints.

Astarion is numb; all the feelings he learned how to express are gone with your last breath.

He dissociates; it's not him, not now, not real—he is somewhere else.

He hides in the shadows, safe in the darkness and lonely.

Unfortunately, Astarion has never learned how to be alone; you never left him on his own for a long time.

He realizes he can't meditate; there is a mental block preventing him from doing so in your absence.

It's even worse since he can't give himself a break.

Eventually, some friends of yours give him a Potion of Angelic Slumber. He sleeps for a few days in a row, without dreams and nightmares.

When he wakes up, the first thing he does is look for you, and then he realizes you're gone.

In this moment, Astarion breaks down, crying and cursing in Elven and Common.

His back hurts as if there are flesh wounds; the cold grip of darkness holds his undead heart. The tears burn the crimson eyes.

He mourns, grieves, wishes to be dead, but the given promise and the innate desire to survive prevent him from going into the sun.

For the first few years, he lives as a hermit in your shared house, starving himself by not hunting and spending months on your side of the bed without moving at all.

It's not life; it's an existence, miserable and hopeless when he imagines you alive.

A wake-up call is sudden but almost divine.

Deep in his thoughts, he finds himself in his own grave in Baldur's Gate, seeing you six feet above him as young as you were back during the tadpole adventure.

"I didn't get you out of this grave to let you bury yourself. Come on, you promised to me to live! Then, live! This is my last gift."

He wakes up, starving and cold, goes up and leaves for hunting. He hunts for a few days, satiating himself with animal and sentient beings' blood.

As his mind returns to him, Astarion washes and repairs his clothes, brushes his hair, makes himself look decent.

He ravages through your things, collecting them carefully in one place. You wouldn't want a shrine, so he sells the things he won't be able to use anymore.

He puts on your wedding ring (now he has two identical rings) and also a necklace you always liked.

He re-sews one of your gowns into a shirt; now, it feels like you are still with him.

Astarion leaves his first forever home and starts his own journey, taking the role of a sole adventurer - a monster hunter, a protector of the weak. He has always had this heroic side in him, just never admitted.

The most difficult thing is to stay alone; people praise him for saving someone from a monster, but they fear mingling with a vampire.

Sometimes, Astarion cries in his tent, cursing the evil gods for taking the only good thing he ever had.

He constantly talks to himself, imagining you standing beside him.

He actually enjoys these one-sided monologues because he can pretend you are still here.

Years pass, memories of the happy life fade. Astarion joins groups of adventurers here and there but always feels off.

Eventually, he finds the strength to live up to his promise, to enjoy what he has.

He explores places he has never been to, does things he has never done, and hears stories he has never heard.

He makes friends, mostly among long-living creatures. "Oh, my young vampire friend! It's been a while!" A wizard elf greets him with open arms. "I am 400 years older than you, idiot," Astarion chuckles and returns a hug.

Most importantly, he preserves the memory about you, paying bards and storytellers, talking about you at campfires, and putting you as an example of kindness and bravery.

Once, Astarion hears a song, "The One Who Saved Baldur's Gate." The motive and words are nice, but the more he listens to it, the more in shock he is.

This song known to every decent bard in Swords Coast is about you, a distant memory, a long-forgotten story.

He has fulfilled your promise, made sure you live in people's hearts. This day is bittersweet; he cries his eyes out, listening to that song over and over again.

But he feels happy, the first time in years.

With decades to pass, Astarion creates the Blood Guild - a union of vampires and dhampirs who prefer to hunt monsters rather than be ones. They also keep an eye on other vampires who are a danger to mortals, especially those who make spawns and thralls out of innocent victims.

Having immortal undead friends feels nice; having friends who understand his issues, too.

He finds himself in the position of a mentor; vampires come to him for advice and emotional support.

Then he meets a person, a runaway spawn, angry with what happened to them, determined to do whatever it takes to break their chains. Astarion agrees to help; they constantly bicker about every single thing—views on life, personal experiences, shared interests.

This new person is annoying, obnoxious, brave, and lovable. Suddenly Astarion realizes he doesn't want to stay in his tent alone; he doesn't want to speak to himself anymore.

The long-forgotten feeling of loving someone aches in his undead heart, but now it's not his turn to confess.

"You know, I've been manipulating you into helping me. I am sorry. if you want, I will go away."

"You are a good person, Astarion. No one is like you. But you deserve honesty and something real."

Astarion smiles back and hugs this person.

This relationship is different; the runaway spawn is nothing like you, different in every way possible—personality, appearance, behavior, views on life, everything.

At first, there is profound guilt, as if he betrays your memory by having another romantic relationship.

They talk, sharing the darkest and saddest parts of their immortal lives—crimes they had to commit, lives they lost.

Eventually, Astarion tells them about you—how wonderful you were, how kind, how brave, how much you meant to him. His new love smiles and takes away a strand curl from his face.

"So, this is the person I must thank for you?".

He helps his new love to break the chains by killing the vampire lord.

Returning back, Astarion starts talking about the future.

Adventures? Of course! His partner is also a spawn, they need healing and freedom the same way he needed many years ago.

And then - who knows? Life is full of cruel wonders. Especially, for immortals.

Tag list

@tragedybunny @caitlincat-95 @tallymonster @astarionsbeloved @lumienyx @fayeriess @elora-the-slutty-songstress @veillsar @astarion-imagine-archive @micropoe10 @starlight-ipomoea @herstxrgirl @theearthsfinalconfession @ashrio20 @not-so-lost-after-all @vixstarria @wintersire @marcynomercy

835 notes · View notes

fic-over-cannon · 4 months

Text

New Year’s Day

jason todd x f!reader

part of the holiday scenes series

summary: waking up with jason on New Year’s Day

tags: frotting, kissing, light dirty talk

rating explicit (mdni) | wc: 1k

a/n: wrote this in like four hours while traveling and posting while a bit tipsy, so i can’t guarantee that this is my best work. enjoy and have a wonderful new year!

(edit: i should mention that this was partially inspired by @ivysangel’s incredible fic and my brain going ‘hay if you were the one dreaming instead?)

You wake up slowly, disoriented and sleepy from the late night’s celebrations. It’s warm under the covers but you can’t help but feeling frustrated, like you’ve forgotten something on the tip of your tongue. Furrowing your brow, you can’t remember what it is, but the frustration is intensifying. Warm lips press between your eyes, smoothing out the wrinkles from your thinking face.

“Ah, awake yet sweetheart?”

Opening your eyes slowly, cautious in case the morning light decides to sear your tired eyes, you see Jason lying on his side, mouth twisted up in a mirror to your own frustration. Now that you’re looking at him, his teal eyes and wild bed head, you’re slowly becoming more aware of his presence. His carefully tense body, arm around you, hand flexing but not moving on your hips that are grinding unconsciously against the deliciously firm thigh between your legs. Oh, you think, unable to string together anything more complex.

There’s something hard and hot against your hip. Jason’s cock, if his full body shudder when you press into it is anything to go by. It’s warm and good and syrupy slow, your hips moving back and forth like they’ve got a mind of their own, seeking out more pressure, more friction to make you both feel good.

“M’awake,” you mumble, leaning into the crook of his neck and placing messy open-mouthed kisses along his jaw. All the while, your hips keep moving, circling. “More please,” you ask, ever so sweetly.

Jason groans, then rolls onto his back, pulling you with him. You’re fully on top of him now, the leg between yours bent so you can rub yourself on it more easily. There’s two hands gripping the plush of your ass, controlling your rhythm and pace now, pulling you down against him and getting you pressure you’d never achieve on your own. It also traps his cock between your bodies, the slow, filthy drag of your bodies against each other pulling hitching moans out of him. Your breath is coming in harsh little pants now, interrupted by whimpers as the pleasure in your aching cunt builds. Jason’s hips are twitching underneath you, the way they also do right before he comes. He’s got one hand in your hair cradling your head into his neck. Panting into the side of your face words of praise and encouragement as he keeps thrusting his hips up to meet yours.

“C’mon love, doing so good, so so good for me. Puttin’ your pleasure in my hands. Makin’ me feel so perfect. Gonna come soon, want you to go first baby. Want you to shatter for me, okay?”

And something about his words and the way his cock’s starting to kick under your belly has you flying apart, pleasure numbing in its intensity. Through it all, Jason keeps your hips circling, pressure on your clit steady and unyielding through the aftershocks. He goes tense underneath you under the weight of his own orgasm, before relaxing into the bed. Both of you are breathing hard, his heart pounding in his chest under your ear.

When you can find the strength to move, you crawl up Jason’s chest, prop yourself up on your elbows so you can kiss him properly. The sheets have tangled up around your hips sometime during your orgasm and Jason trails irregular patterns into the soft skin of your bare shoulder blades. The kiss is slow, unhurried and aimless. There’s no sense of urgency and so kiss for the simple pleasure of his lips on yours, his tongue in your mouth.

Pulling back you breath out, “Hi,” before resuming your ministrations, making sure no inch of his mouth is left unkissed.

He laughs. “Hi yourself, gorgeous. What a way to start the year off.”

And strictly speaking, that’s not true. You’d rung in the new year together at an infamous Wayne gala. Crisp champagne had bubbled in a crystal glass, the murmur of polite conversation and soft classical music performed by a live orchestra the soundtrack to the evening. You’d learned to stop asking what you were drinking early on, when Dick’s answer about a specific vintage had made you so nauseated at the price, you’d nearly thrown up someone’s yearly salary. Jason had kept circling the canapés, bringing you back little bites he’d thought you’d enjoy and grinning in satisfaction at your reactions. A few minutes before midnight, all of the guests had been directed to the rooftop garden of the hotel. There had been gasps at the first fireworks that had quickly turned to applause. Under the blooming golden light, Jason had looked so pretty, still capable of awe in the face of beauty. You’d kissed at the last stroke of midnight, pressed your foreheads and smiled eyes half closed.

The party had gone on for hours longer, socialites getting progressively more loose limbed (and lipped) as the alcohol flowed. The two of you had stolen more quiet moments together, but never longer than a few stolen kisses. As dawn started to crest over the skyline, the last few stragglers had left for bed.

You and Jason had stumbled back down to your borrowed hotel room, tipsy enough to weave convex lines through the halls. After struggling with the room key card, you had entered the room giggling and struggling to get each other’s clothes off. Shoes, an orphaned suit jacket, ripped stockings, and your gloriously sparkly party dress heaped on the floor a trail of evidence to your attempted debauchery. By the time the two of you had landed in the king sized bed, exhaustion had caught up with both of you. Within minutes sleep had claimed you, burrowed in a feather duvet and the most comfortable mattress you’d ever slept in.

Now it’s morning, and you’re making good on all the teasing promises of the previous evening. There’s a wet spot on Jason’s boxers and you’ve got the stubborn remains of mascara smeared around your eyes in a poor imitation of a panda. You’ll have to get up soon to deal with the clothes strewn all over your suite, start trying to see if anything can be salvaged for the short trip back home. But for now, there’s nowhere you’d rather be than right here. Starting off a new year in the arms of the man you love, with the promise of more pleasure just on the horizon

#jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd imagine #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd smut #jason todd x y/n #jason todd fic #red hood x reader #red hood x you #jason todd #sunnie writes 🌻#mdni #smut fic

458 notes · View notes

thecuriousquest · 2 months

Text

MHA Spanking Pain

Multiple MHA Yandere Characters

Warning: Light yandere themes, NSFW (punishment spanking - NOT EROTIC), non consensual punishment spanking, bruising, bare ass spanking, characters 18+, characters can either be platonic or romantic

Master List

—————————————————————————

Bakugou- We already know. Explosions. Murder. JFC wouldn’t even be able to get through the first spank. And he’ll fucking give it to you too. He goes harder than you could have ever imagined. Like, you’re over his knee, bottom bare due to him LITERALLY RIPPING OFF YOUR CLOTHES. They’re just in tattered heaps on the floor along with your dignity.

Deku- Fuck. Really? Goddamnit. Couldn’t even handle it at 2%, and he wants to go 10%?! 😭 You must have really done something to fuck up if he’s pissed enough to spank you that hard.

Shoto- Okay, you were expecting him to heat up his hand. That’s always a given. However, you never FUCKING EXPECTED HIM TO TURN DOWN THE TEMP. His hand is freezing your ass with spanks, and it’s so painful in like a cold and numb sort of way.

Kirishima- You don’t even understand! 😭 When he uses his quirk to spank you, you’re literally bent over in the most degrading way, your skin stretched to his liking to make that sensitive under curve completely visible. And then his hard paw cracks down on your skin as if someone spanked you with a paddle made of concrete. And your scream is so loud that your voice breaks and actually goes out within the first minute.

Denki- When he spanks you and charges his hand with volts of electricity…fuck you’re just fucked. Say your prayers, light a candle for yourself. Do whatever you need to do to mentally prepare for this fucking torture.

Aizawa- He’s got that Dad swing. Hurts like an SOB. Ties you up too. Bitch, you ain’t goin’ nowhere. Not today, not gonna even be able to walk properly for a while.

Enji- Also has that Dad swing, but he can also heat up his hand and burn your ass.

Overhaul- It hurts, and he makes sure you know what you did was wrong, but you can usually get through it with minimal tears.

Shiggy- Bulked up Shigster makes you wonder what you did in a past life to deserve suffering under his “special spanking” glove. It’s exactly what it sounds like. He has his gloves that make sure he doesn’t decay whatever the fuck he touches. But this support item…whomever made them must either really hate you or they’re really scared of Shiggy. Hurts like a mother fucker.

Dabi- Dear God…his spankings are the worst. First of all, he doesn’t even necessarily need to do this, but he ties you down to the bed. Each limb secured by rope which is attached to each bed post. Either turns up the temp in his hand or just lets the flames do the talking. It really just depends on his mood and the infraction. What’s worse is that sometimes you don’t even do anything to deserve it. He just likes hurting you because you can’t do anything to stop him. 🖕

Mr. Compress- Very old fashioned. Pants and underwear bunched at the ankles with you bent over his knee. Uses his hand or a paddle, sometimes a belt if you’ve been very naughty. However, he always gives you a long winded lecture like a fucking monologue as he spanks you, and his words are what makes it all sooooo much worse. His words actually leave you in tears. Yes, the spanking hurts, but it’s the guilt that ebbs and gnaws at your heart.

Twice- Spanks you and then apologizes because he doesn’t think you deserve it only to laugh at you and do it again. It’s a literal mind fuck, but he’s got you pinned down with a clone. I think a funny idea is him making a clone of himself so that his double can spank you while he watches, and then he says something dumb like “Take your hands off of my woman! That’s kind of hot, do it again!” The pain though…he’s an actual devil, so he’ll spank you rough and raw, bruise you up just with his hand.

Hawks- Lord have mercy! Uses his hand AND a feather, and his feathers are like one of those paddles with the holes drilled into them. It’s the worst being spanked by one of those feathers. He uses spankings for large scale infractions. Punishment is punishment. It’s gotta hurt so you can learn. Quick corrections are done with a few smacks on the spot, typically over your clothes. The big rules you break are ALWAYS done bare with you bent over the back of the couch. He spanks you to tears even if it breaks his heart to do so.

All Might- Heeheehee. Okay, so like if we’re talking bulky All Might, then you know you’re not going to be walking properly until the swelling and bruising goes down. In this form, he doesn’t even need to use an implement. His hand is just fucking enough. If we’re talking depleted All Might…I’m just gonna let you know that his hand is still enough, but he’s more likely to use paddles and belts. I honestly think he’s even old fashioned enough to cut a switch. Either way, your ass is grass, and you’re fearing for your life the moment he forces you over his knee or the bed for a long punishment.

207 notes · View notes

junicult · 1 year

Text

!! going down on the bachelors

contains ; fem!farmer. nsfw. oral (m!receiving). suggestive content. praise!!! went a little crazy in harvey’s mb (i’m not sorry on the slightest). public sex (?). lmk if i’m missing some. not proofread!

harvey.

- first and foremost, this man is a giver.

- he’s extremely loving, and affectionate, already spending every night praising every inch of you.

- it’s rare you ever go down on him.

- it’s not that you don’t want to, you always offer, but he hardly gives you the chance.

- so when he comes home after a long, hard day, a limp smile on his face while he kisses you hello, it’s easy to tell it’s been a bad day.

- “i’m just tired, sweetheart. i feel much better now that i’m with you.” he smiles, trying to reassure you but unfortunately it doesn’t work and you’re just frowning.

- you force him to keep his hands still when he tries to help you finish up your daily tasks.

- as opposed to his usual of making you dinner, he gets to sit back and be pampered by you.

- after dinner, and after he takes a long shower (your orders), he gets to fall into your awaiting arms.

- running your fingers through his hair, kissing his cheek, whispering, “is there anything i can do to make you feel better?”

- “you’ve already done enough, my love. i’ll be fine.” he tries to throw on a chuckle to ease your tone, but you’re not having it.

- he’s confused when your persistence sounds a little different then what he’s used to.

- it only takes him until your hand gently presses against his clothed crotch, for him to understand what you mean.

- and of course he doesn’t say no, but his throat is closing at the sight of you going down to your knees.

- his breath hitches a lot.

- eyebrows pinching, weakly sitting up at the end of the bed with his low lids trained on you.

- “yeah, i feel so much better,” in a shaky sigh.

- he usually tries his best to watch you, a sight that makes him literal putty, but it becomes hard when his eyes grow heavy.

- he keeps his hands tight around the sheets. even if you like when he grabs your hair, he always gets too nervous.

- “y’so good at this, mmhm, know just what i need.”

- PORN.

- sucking his dick is so hot cus he’s so hygienic and he looks so fucking good while you’re doing it.

- his cheeks get so red.

- glasses fogging up. tehe.

- when he cums, he cums a LOT. he normally cums down your throat, but this time he needed to see his cum on your tongue and cheeks.

- he may as well be a dead man. you probably just killed him.

- cleans u up after <3

- wants to return the favor so badly, you have no idea.

- if you won’t let him that night, just know as soon as u have sex next he’s going to TAKE. HIS. TIME!!!

sam.

- definitely loses his mind whenever you go down on him.

- it’s pretty often when you do, so he’s no stranger to the sensation but he’ll never get tired of it.

- sometimes he just occasionally asks during casual conversation.

- he knows to read the room though, obviously not if you’re exhausted or upset, he’d never ask such a thing.

- will never be upset if you don’t want to. i cant stress this enough. he’s such a sweetheart.

- but when you do he goes crazy.

- literally so sensitive. you could hardly graze his tip with your thumb before he’s shuddering.

- like i once said, he’s so vocal. expect so much praise your ears go numb.

- “nggh, fuck fuck fuck, baby. you know just what to do—shit, like that.”

- head thrown back, hands loosely raveled in your hair.

- his cheeks also get so red, not because he’s embarrassed, but because you get him so hot and bothered.

- whimpering like a mf. near tears in his eyes.

- he’s breathing so heavily the closer he gets to cumming.

- “‘m gonna cum, nnh—where do you want me?”

- slowly moving his hips subconsciously.

- goes literally insane when you swallow, losing all strength in his arms that held him up until he collapses back onto the bed.

- throws his arm over his eyes, takes at least 2 minutes to catch his breath.

- he always wants to return the favor,

- so maybe sit on his face. he’s too exhausted to move.

shane.

- his favorite.

- it’s strange to him, because he’s not foreign to receiving head but for some reason you’re just exponentially better.

- it might be because you took the time figure out what he likes, so that’s why you’re so good.

- he’s probably an exhibitionist ngl.

- like, you guys are all over each other in the saloon, tipsy and stupid and already rushing to the bathroom.

- on your knees the minute you push into a stall, fumbling with his belt.

- he’s already groaning, just by your eagerness.

- he has so much precum. literally dripping off of his tip.

- loses his mind when you kitten lick his tip while looking up at in his eyes.

- “such a slut, so eager, fuck,” his voice low and breathy.

- grabs all of your hair and holds it into a messy ponytail, with a little force against the back of your head.

- “mm, yeah you like that, don’t you?”

- he has such sensitive balls. literally chokes if you touch them.

- thrusting into your mouth the closer he gets to cumming.

- his jaw is hanging low, quiet grunts from his mouth while watching you take all of him.

- messyyyyyy.

- literally deepthroating him, of course there’s gonna be spit all around the sides of your mouth and on his cock.

- only makes him so much harder he’s aching.

- he usually likes to push you away before he cums and fucks you instead, but if you insist on just giving him a blowjob, he’s cumming all over your tits. trust.

- or completely down your throat, but just the sight of his cum all over your chest could be enough to get him hard again.

sebastian.

- i touched on this for my last post,

- but i needed to continue. i’m sorry.

- before you, no one has ever sucked his dick before.

- so getting him off isn’t a hard task in the slightest if anything.

- he’ll never ask you to suck his dick. he’s not shy, he just doesn’t wanna be rejected.

- but that doesn’t mean he won’t hint at it.

- while you’re making out, messily and feeling him all over,

- he’s faintly whimpering, pressing his hard on into your thigh to make you feel what you’re doing to him.

- “please,” so quietly you almost miss it until your hand presses against his crotch and he moans.

- after teasing him with a, “what? what do you want me to do?” and “just say it, baby,” you’re finally going to where he needs you to be.

- he sighs like he’s in literal heaven the minute your hand wraps around his length.

- he’s so hard, aching to the touch and so, so sensitive.

- he has a long, thin vein down the side of his cock that literally has him trembling the second your tongue drags alongside it.

- holds his hand over his mouth, face flushed, beet red while he attempts to muffle his moans.

- his jaw locks in a silent scream the minute you take him on your mouth entirely.

- eyebrows threaded, stuttering a breathy, “h-holy s-shit,” while his fists become white from the grip on the sheets.

- subconsciously bucks his hips into your mouth just slightly when he feels like he’s going to cum.

- he’s literally drooling. eyes rolled back, limbs weary and trembling.

- cums so fucking much too. likes to cum down your throat, especially when you swallow.

- won’t be offended if you don’t.

- but this man’s refractory period is so short. give him five minutes, tease him one more time, and he can give you as much more as you want.

alex.

- he’s always horny.

- give him any sign of u being so as well, and he’s latching onto you.

- always starts with some sort of touching.

- like cuddling, watching tv together after work or lying in bed before falling asleep.

- goes fucking insane when you climb over him and softly kiss your way down to his boxers.

- rests against the headboard so he can watch you, but he’s also able to fully relax.

- one arm resting on his neck, the other on the back of your head.

- head pusher.

- but not in a gross way. more like a, “i know you can do better then that” way.

- “nnhg, yeah, just like that baby. doing so well,”

- his eyes roll back when you take him entirely.

- the thing abt alex tho is he has so much stamina, so making him cum just by a blowjob is kind of challenging. ur mouth will start to hurt.

- so usually, you suck him off as more of a warm up.

- it has nothing to do with you doing a bad job, cus believe me you’ll have him w his head back, groaning and muttering profanities.

- it entirely has to do with you getting sore LMFAO

- but on the occasion he does get close quicker, he becomes so intoxicating.

- “oh, fuck baby, you’re so close. almost there, just a bit more…nngh so perfect for me.”

- “yeah that’s it, doing so good for me sweetheart just a little more…”

- omfg.

- he cums so fucking much, and all down your throat.

- smiles at you after you’re done and your fucked out face, makeup smeared and eyes teary.

- “you did it baby, ‘m so proud of you.”

elliot.

- such a gentleman.

- once again, it’s probably rare you’d suck his dick. he’s more fixated on your pleasure then his own.

- but on the occasion you do…haha.

- it’s probably because he’s stressed, just like harvey.

- writers block, his music isn’t helping at all, and he’s just in a slump that you hate to see.

- doesn’t wanna tell you about it though, but it’s so obvious there’s something off.

- he’s not very closed off, so if you ask him about it, he’ll tell you.

- and that’s when you offer.

- “oh, honey you don’t have to do that.” he chuckles, brushing it off like you were just wondering.

- but when you show little persistence, telling him you really want to, he’s not going to deny.

- he’s so so sooooo gentle.

- looking down at you, softly pushing your hair out of your face and holding your cheek.

- he’s so sweet. lets you do everything at your own pace, no matter how horny he is.

- super sensitive too.

- and he can cum so quickly, especially when you wrap your hand around the base while sucking the rest.

- “oh juuusstt like that, my love. you know me so well.”

- breathy sighs, and his throats closing when he’s getting closer to cumming.

- usually cums down your throat too, and then he’ll makeout with you after.

- is fs returning the favor if you let him.

1K notes · View notes

dawnoftime22 · 4 months

Text

i don't know.

| N.R

Warnings: long windup to a mental breakdown, loss of breathing, numbing day, vent fic, maybe some bad writing here and there? r loves waffles

Summary: When everything, such as emotions, ends up building away a little too much, the days start to blur together until you soon break. But Nat was there every part of the way.

Word Count: 3k

Category: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort(?)

A/N: hi my darlings :] its a new year and I just wanted to say I love you all and I am so so proud of you for just being here. you are not alone in whatever you're facing. things are hard sometimes and this was hard to write but you make me smile when I see you in my notifs <3 hugs to all of you, you're doing amazing

I hope this fic brings you comfort as it did for me

| Started on 12/11/2023, 7:29 AM |

| Finished on 08/01/2024, 2:05 PM |

Masterlist | N.R Masterlist

"my love. listen to me. breathe, let go, and focus on you and your surroundings. you're safe."

|——————————— ⴵ ———————————|

It was yet another day. Another tiring day. You haven't gone through it yet, but you sure didn't get much rest even though you've slept.

You sigh, and turn your back on the bed. Nat was sleeping beside you, but you were too caught up in zoning out to move closer to her. And you didn't want to wake her yet.

Nothing has even happened today and still, you can't bare to think about anything. Perhaps all your emotions are catching up, and at that thought, you turn your face into the pillow.

Another few minutes pass by with you staring at the ceiling, turning until your leg and arm was dangling off the side of the bed, or face down on your pillow. It didn't take long for your temptation to shuffle closer to Nat to take over though.

You slowly put your arms around her and snuggle closer to her, taking comfort in the warmth of her body. With her being a light sleeper though, she starts to stir awake. Her eyes open and her arms move to hold yours.

"Morning, любовь (love)." She whispered, her voice raspy, but her words filling the room and your heart with warmth with even the smallest way. Maybe this day won't be so bad...Maybe this day won't be so bad.

She turns in your embrace and looks at you with gentle half-lidded eyes, her nose brushing against yours ever so slightly with the fact that you were face-to-face. She could see it in your eyes already, something was off. She moves herself up to leave the softest kiss on your forehead. You could've broken there already, but you didn't. You didn't.

You rest your head against her chest, a small pout making its way to your face. She runs her hand through your hair and holds you for a few more minutes, the both of your breathing being able to be heard as if on whispering volume, but it was there, and gentle.

Soon she pulls away, dragging herself up to a more sitting position, leaving you beside her stomach level. You assume she was about to get up to do her morning routine, and you were about to prepare to pull her back to bed.

"What do you want for breakfast?" She asks, and the question almost made you confused, because you were expecting she would go for her morning run, but it seems, she wants to do something else.

With the simple question, you manage to make up an answer. Although it did take you a few minutes, with your jumbled up mind.

"Waffles." She smiles, having heard that answer several times. Nat gently nudges you to move you to the pillow instead, and goes to get up from the bed.

"Wait," you say suddenly, capturing her arm before it could be out of your reach. She turns back to you, a gentle and curious look upon her face.

"Are you staying?" You ask, your voice being nothing more than a whisper. But the little shakiness it holds doesn't pass by her ears.

"Of course I am." It was a rather simple answer. But the touch of her hand against yours and her eyes meeting yours was more than enough of a promise.

She gives you a small smile before going into the bathroom with her towel, the shower soon being an occuring noise coming from the bathroom.

Your eyes glide over to the window, the view being buildings and the sky filled with fluffy clouds. Your mind strayed. The running water was the only other thing you could focus on.

When Nat came out, she was wrapped into a towel. You pull the covers closer to yourself and curl up under them, feeling colder from just the gusts of wind the ceiling fan is making. Were you only sick and gathering a fever? No. No, that wasn't it.

You turn to look back at Nat, and she was fully clothed already. You watch her walk towards the bed, reaching out her arm to put the back of her hand against your forehead. It wasn't warm. She must know something is up already.

"Shower, okay? Or, you won't get any waffles." She says, her fingers moving a stray hair out of your face, but looking at you with raised eyebrows.

"Is that a threat?" You finally give her the smallest raise on the corners of your lips, and it took everything in her not to cheer.

"Yes, it is!" She said jokingly, her voice further away now that she went out the door, but the volume made it so that the words reached your ears. You shake your head, the sound of her voice being the most adorable thing to you.

You lay your back against the bed once more, staring up at the moving ceiling fan. Today is going to be a long day.

Some movement could be seen in the corner of your eye, and you almost thought Nat was back already, but then when you look, you only see a black furry animal coming to visit you.

Liho jumps up on the bed, and stares at you with her yellow eyes. The cat walks closer, and you go to pet it, the soft fur precious against your gentle hands.

It's cold nose touches you, and at it, you smile. You had forgotten cats had cold noses. Liho steps back a bit, and you tilt your head, wondering about her next move.

She leaped to the other side of the bed, going above your legs to reach to where Nat usually lays, and meows at you.

With your head and eyes following her movement, it soon went up to where the bathroom is. You blink at it for a second or two, making up decisions in your head.

Soon enough, you willed yourself out of bed by slowly going to a sitting position, to letting your legs dangle at the side of the bed, and finally, with hesitancy, getting up.

You were about to go search the closet for an outfit to wear, but then you see at the edge of the bed, a folded hoodie and your favorite sweatpants prepared already, by perhaps, Nat.

Your heart warmed at the caring gesture she did. With the more courage, you make your way to the bathroom to take a warm shower, hoping that the day will only get better.

When you got back out, the fluffy towel kept you feeling cozy, and you got your clothes on. By the time you look to the door and walk to the kitchen, Nat was sitting at the kitchen island, ready with two plates of waffles.

She glances up and sees you, a soft smile present on her face. What got you so lucky to have someone like her? You sit down in front of her, and enjoy the waffles she prepared, the soft texture of your hoodie giving as much comfort as the warmth of the waffle soon going in your mouth.

The rest of the day then consisted of you being unable to focus on anything. You couldn't read, and you couldn't do your hobbies without straying off to doing something else such as staring off into space or just laying on the couch or bed doing nothing.

You yawn, for the tenth time the past hour. But you weren't sleepy. Gosh, you were tired though. Nat was beside you on the couch, working on something on her laptop while you scrolled endlessly on your phone.

Her eyes go over to you, before flickering back to her laptop, her hands then moving to turn it off and close it. She turns her head to you, and the attention you feel from the side has you looking away from your phone and instead, at her.

"Do you wanna sit down outside? The sun's going down." She tilts her head towards the door, then goes to glance at the window in the living room, it having a view of the sky slowly changing color.

Your eyes had a certain shine on them when they laid upon the window, the colors and the way the sunlight does a shape of the window somewhere on the floor finally captured an attention of your auto-pilot mind. You nod at Nat's question, a quiet "Yeah," making out of you.

"Look," you say, just as Nat was about to get up from the couch. She looks down and was just as entranced as you were at the scenery in front of her.

"You should take a photo." She encourages you with a small smile and stands up. You take out your phone and find a perfect angle to grab a picture. Also making sure the exposure is on the perfect level.

"I'll make us hot chocolate, yeah? You can go out first so you don't miss the first few minutes." Nat says, going to the kitchen. Liho enters the scene, and lays down on the carpet just next to where it seeped in the sun, and you just had to take another picture.

After you were satisfied, you push yourself up with your hands and make your way to the door, slowly opening it and going out, leaving it open just a crack so Nat could come outside easier.

A golden sunset spreads throughout the place. The sun paints the sky a lovely shade of orange mixed with light blue, and a tinge of pink. You admire how smooth the gradient is.

The wooden texture of the floor makes itself known on your hands as you shuffled to rest your back against the wall of the house, but you slide your hands into your pockets comfortably.

The door opens, and Nat comes outside with two fresh mugs of hot chocolate. One being coffee though, for herself. She was quick. In your peripheral vision, you could see her sitting next to you on the porch, and hand you one mug.

You turn your head to look at her, and you reach up with one of your hands that held you up to grab the hot chocolate. The warmth made itself comfortable in your hands as you clasped it lightly to not burn yourself, but making sure your grip wasn't too loose.

You take a deep breath in, and let it out as a long sigh, not meaning to do it so audibly. Natasha takes notice of this, and her eyes drift from the view of the sunset, over to you, seeing just how lost in your head you were.

"Are you okay детка (baby)?" She starts gently with a simple question. She knows today was one of those days.

"I don't know," you say. It was honest. You don't know what you've felt for a while, but it was certainly gnawing at you for something. Some kind of release. You just didn't have time or energy to in the past few days.

"You've been off the entire day." She adds, her voice laced with concern, but no judgement. She put her mug to the side after another sip, her focus all on you while you tried to keep yours on the sunset.

"I just wanna stay home right now," you whisper. It's not that she was about to ask you if you wanted to go out, but rather, just the fact that you felt comfortable and safe at the moment. This is home. She's your home.

Nat's eyes roam your face, searching for all the thoughts you're thinking. But she couldn't really read your face. Perhaps because, you didn't know what you were feeling either. Sad? Mad? Stressed? Anxious? So many feelings available to name, but all you felt was a sense of heaviness.

"...I feel like falling apart anytime." that was the only other thing you could say. Your voice quiet, so quiet she could only hear it because she was right beside you.

It clicks in for Nat, and she understands fully. She's done it herself, countless times. And you were there nearly every single time. Feelings being kept and slowly overflowing, until everything in the past few months catch up.

You tried everything within you not to. You tried. But it's not possible with how much you've already tried avoiding your emotions. The birds chirped and flew off home while the sun sank down.

Nat hears a small sniffle and a quiet but sharp intake of a breath coming from you, until another slightly louder sniffle comes out, and you turn your head to face her. She sees your eyes glistening with tears, and she takes in her own breath to not cry herself. To see you in such a state left a crack in her heart.

Her arms instinctively goes to pull you closer and hold you, and that was when you broke. You hid in her neck and sobbed in her embrace, your tears staining her shirt.

It was unusual, but not the first time you've broken down like this. Nat was still getting used to saying assuring words, but she thinks about all the things you've said to her before, and tries her best to use it in her own ways.

She gently runs her fingers through your hair, holding you safely. She could feel your body shaking, and your chest going up in hiccups from your breathing between your sobs.

"Oh, солнышко (sunshine)." She whispers softly, so softly. The sounds of your cries made her frown. She knows you can hold too many things in sometimes, but this was...heartbreaking.

Your fingers were gripping her shirt, afraid that perhaps, she'd disappear. But you can hear her heart beating, being so near to her chest while you were at her neck.

When she hears you taking too many, far too many breaths, she knows she has to step in. She leans back a little to see you, and you look up at her with your tear filled eyes.

"Look at me...follow my breathing, alright? I don't want you to lose it." She says, her head moving with her movement, but her voice was gentle, yet firm enough for you to keep a focus on her.

She takes a deep breath in from her nose and lets it out from her mouth, encouraging you follow. You eventually manage to do it, after a bunch of hiccups, and slowly regain your normal breathing. Nat nods slightly, her hands moving up to move your hair back, showing more of your face and hoping it makes breathing easier for you, giving you space.

"Take your time, дорогой (darling)." Her eyes move back to yours, the green in her pupils holding the look of a forest. A peaceful one.

"There you go." She quietly said, leaning in to rest her forehead against yours, the touch comforting you. She gives you a small reassuring smile before going up and laying a kiss on your forehead.

"You'll be okay." Your teeth catches your lip as you look at her, and she can tell there were thoughts racing in your head. She runs her thumb lightly on your lips, making you let go of it.

Once again, a black furry cat enters your vision, and it goes in between you and Nat, making the both of you look down for a moment.

You, with your cheeks stained with your tears, Liho walks up to you and rubs her head and body against yours, the gesture making your heart melt.

A teary laugh comes from you, and you reach out to touch it, the soft fur going against your hand. Liho, too, was concerned it seems, from how long you've been sitting outside, but also moves to go to Nat, checking on her too.

The redhead picks the cat up, petting it for a few seconds before setting it aside. Liho sits down, watching the two of you before her attention went to the streetlights turning on. You two stare at her for a bit until your eyes meet each other once more.

She shuffles closer to you once again and you rest your head against her shoulder, the heaviness in your own shoulders and heart having faded away in the mental breakdown. You felt steadier again, just a little more.

"I love you, okay?" She whispered, her eyes on the wooden floor the porch held, but her focus being all on you.

"I love you, too. So much." You couldn't be more grateful for her. She would always be there for you, whether it be through the hard times or the light and happier times.

Liho turns back to you two and goes to lay down between your bodies. The cat always managed to find a way to come in the right times, too.

With every small step you've taken before, you knew you've come this far not to just stop. Even when it's hard. But even so, you shouldn't always hold yourself too strong. Emotions are complicated. That's just how it is, but letting go could always be a relief.

Here you were in the moment, breathing and living with your heart beating lively in your chest. The gentle touch of Nat's fingers brings you back to reality.

Everything was going to be okay.

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

taglist <3 - join here! :]

@notevenanna @ludasgf @lovelyy-moonlight @red1culous @justanotherteenpoet @fxckmiup @dmenby3100 @animealways @natashasilverfox @wandsmxmff @simp-erformarvelwomen

#🥀 dawn’s collection #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff x reader #soft natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff imagines #natasha romanoff imagine

301 notes · View notes

manicpixiefelix · 4 months

Text

head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 8.

Summary: The fallout of arguing with Oliver, not fighting with Farleigh, Felix hooks up with your not-girlfriend, and so you provide comfort to his sort-of-ex.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: someone makes a move on the reader while they're very very drunk and the reader is far more sober, but it doesn't go past kissing, if that's something you're possibly concerned about.

A/N: 5424 words. welcome back. this one goes many different places in the span of one night. the farleigh of it all. the annabel of it all. im worried this one might feel OOC so id really like to hear if there's anywhere i could improve on my characterisation, what worked, what didn't?? as always unedited, and as we're nearing the end of the term (in the fic) we only have a few chapters left at oxford before we get to go to saltburn!! LOVE YOU ENJOY!!

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

"Didn't have to do that," Felix sighed from his desk, head bent low over his textbook. It's the first thing he'd said since Oliver left. You, still on his bed, picking through a textbook for a class you both share, found half-shoved under his bed, look up.

"Do what?"

"That thing with Michael What's-His-Name's file," it almost sounds like guilt in his voice, but he still isn't listening to you, "you could get in real trouble for having that."

In swift movements he stands, and you catch the sight of his scowl despite how he doesn't turn it upon you. Once again he's sitting on the floor, back to the foot of the bed, lighting up another cigarette, legs crossed in front of him.

"I'll put it back tomorrow." You're not used to Felix disapproving of you, it's a kind of discomfort you want to shake as quickly as you're able to. After a moment you add, "I know it's not really Ollie's fault, I shouldn't have -"

"I don't want to talk about Ollie right now." He's focused on balancing his ash tray on his knee, watching it with such intensity it's as if he's trying to define life's secrets from it.

"Should I go?" Murmured, almost like you're afraid of anyone hearing it, even Felix. It hangs, golden in the hazy heat of the afternoon.

"'m not the boss of you," Felix mumbles softly, head low, again his words coloured almost with guilt. You know he will never shake the quiet shame he sometimes is hit with when he remembers the way people often perceive the relationship you two share; too close, too loyal, too imbalanced.

But you've never cared; you will never treat him differently, never want for anything but his happiness, never beat the canine allegations. One day you hope you'll convince him that's okay.

So instead of leaving, you close the textbook and stretch yourself out across his bed, laying the on your belly with your head resting at the foot, by his. Your hand rests on his head, running your fingers through his hair.

Felix breathes out a lung full of smoke. He doesn't look at you. He leans into your touch and closes his eyes. The moment is a quiet one, tension thick and choking and full of things neither of you can talk about.

It's the strangest afternoon you share in a long while, one full of silence and the slow, mind numbing sound of pages being turned and the scratch of pen against paper.

"I'm gonna get ready to go out tonight," you say softly, finally breaking the silence when the courtyard outside is every shade of gold and orange in the sunset. Felix just hums in acknowledgement from his desk, "Fi?"

"Yeah," he huffs, dismissively, still looking at his notes. You've got the file in one hand, doing up the buttons of the shirt you'd forgone in the afternoon heat of his dorm room, but had to wear back to your own.

"You want me to text Oli?" You watch him grow tense at the name alone.

"Yeah, maybe, I don't know," he mumbles, almost forcibly nonchalant, despite the hard line of his shoulders that hadn't been there moments ago. Then, as if to clear the moment, he sits up straighter, turning to you in his desk chair with a look of determination in his eyes, "India still into me do you think?"

"I know India's still into you," you can't help but snort, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"Would you be totally cut up if I -" he doesn't even need to finish before you're rolling your eyes.

"She'd be thrilled," but your smile softens a little, even as you shake your head with exasperation, "she's all yours, Fi."

Perhaps it's the fondness with which you acquiesces to his arguably selfish request that makes him take in the full exchange that had just passed. Felix takes a moment, tension and expression dropping as he turns pensive for a moment, unable to look you in the eyes. After a beat, you turn to the door, fully intending on letting the moment pass, but you hear Felix stand.

He doesn't say anything as he approaches you, still wearing that rather grim, thoughtful expression, but he wraps you up in a hug. He holds you as close as he's able, and after a beat of surprise, you gently drop the file to wrap your arms around him in return.

I love you. I'm sorry. All the tension from the afternoon drains away in this hug, in him pressed against you, leaning into you, breathing deep and even and steady. Pressing your face against his shoulder, you give him a brief kiss against his warm, golden skin, and hope he can feel your smile too.

The hug breaks, but still he holds your face for a long moment. He's smiling again. I love you. Thank you. He kisses your cheek quickly.

"I'll catch you at the King's Arms, yeah?"

"'course, Fi," you assure him with a warm smile of your own.

Back in your own dorm, that single moment of warmth unfortunately can't overwrite the entire afternoon of sickly tension. Looking at Oliver's name in your contacts, you frown. You should text him, invite him, Felix told him he would -

"Yeah, maybe, I don't know."

You don't text Oliver.

Annabel also isn't at the King's Arms that night. Of course you know why, the answer sits across from you with his arm around your not-girlfriend, but part of you still kind of feels bad for if the sweet redhead ever finds out.

"What are you sulking about?" Farleigh's smug voice in your ear, Farleigh's arm around your shoulder, Farleigh's cigarettes you keep stealing, Farleigh who you've tucked yourself up against for the night.

"'m not," you try insisting, frowning at the lighter that's clearly out of fluid and refusing to relight your cigarette. He gives your shoulder a squeeze.

"You sure, Peter Pan? Where's your shadow?"

"You don't give a shit about Oliver," you snap a little too quickly, both frustrated by the situation you're trying to ignore, and the useless lighter, but Farleigh reads right through it and practically cackles. Still, he wraps his other arm around you and squeezes you against his side with glee, even as you try to protest.

"Ooh~" Farleigh teases, poking your side with a wide, fond smile, "trouble in pauper's paradise?"

"That's fucking mean," you rib him none too gently, but he actually snorts with laughter. The lighter still won't bloody well start.

"I feel like you're fucking edging me with that lighter, fuck," Benji, from Farleigh's other side, smacks your lighter out of your hands and holds out his perfectly working one.

"Thank you, Benny, that was pissing me off," Farleigh says with a satisfied smile, his laughter having died down. You, finally take a draught on your cigarette, grateful for the warmth, and the nicotine as it hits.

"Could kiss you, Benj," you finally let yourself smile, "someone remind me to get a new lighter," you add, leaning across Farleigh without hesitation to plant a kiss squarely on Benji's lips after he'd wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, teasingly at you at your comment.

"We'd fascinate psychologists," Farleigh chuckled, but his voice is warm and fond, and Benji turns back to his conversation with Alicia and Jake on his other side once the moment had passed.

"Probably," comes out distracted, however as your teasing mood drops and you look to your phone. Should I have called Oliver? But when you look up, across the table, you see warmth and fondness in the way Felix looks at India, enraptured by whatever story she's telling. With one arm around her shoulders, he lets her distractedly play with his other hand, leaning into her, all attention on her. Making her feel like the centre of the universe, the way only Felix knows how to do. India glows in a way you've never seen before, lighting up under his direct affection, beautiful and elated, maybe even a little bit flustered.

There's not even a hint of jealousy at the sight of them. All you know is how much you love your friends, and how happy and beautiful they look together in this moment. There is contentment, satisfaction, like a job well done... Farleigh might have a point about the psychologists.

Speaking of - Farleigh grabs your chin and tilts your face to look at him. Immediately you smack his hand away.

"Stop that! What is that? What are you doing?" You squawk at him immediately. Again, he grabs your chin, frowning, intent upon gazing intensely into your eyes. This time you let him.

"I'm figuring out what this is," he mutters like he's deep in thought. You let your gaze roam for a moment, hoping he gets whatever this is out of his system. You wiggle your chin in his grip, and it's enough to prompt more of an explanation, "if you're not sulking, then I don't know this -" rolling your eyes, you smack his hand away.

"Fuck man, I'm not sulking," you insist, remembering your cigarette and taking another puff, glad it hadn't gone out.

"You've been weird lately; angry - ranting," Farleigh made sure to stick to your cover story despite having seen through it the minute you'd tried out the other week, "you and Felix have had some weird vibes," he takes the cigarette from you, and you settle yourself against him further.

"Fi and I always have weird vibes," you pointed out with a little smirk, keeping your voice as low as he was, glad he didn't feel the need to publicise this discussion too broadly. Farleigh snorted, but shook his head.

"You, sure," Farleigh conceded, handing back the cigarette, "but," he leans in, leans into your with a knowing, dangerously sharp smile, his hand coming to rest on your thigh, "Felix has been weird about you," his voice slides along the word weird as his hand slides up your thigh, as if to prove a point, before sitting back. Giving you a moment to recover, Farleigh sits back up like nothing happened, letting go of your thigh and taking a drink. He gives you a squeeze, arm still around your shoulders, "or hadn't you noticed?" Back at regular conversation levels like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Across the circle of your friend group, Felix's gaze momentarily flicks to you as India's in the middle of some kind of enthusiastically rambling. Gaze briefly passing to Farleigh, he then looks back and raises an amused eyebrow in silent question. The smile you give him is instinctive and warm, a silent answer. He mirrors the smile for the briefest moment before his attention returns to India.

Of course you'd noticed the change.

"Of course I've noticed." Your gaze dips; you become fascinated with your drink for the moment, trying to brace yourself for whatever comment you knew Farleigh had coming.

"Surprised he hadn't put you on a leash."

You elbow him hard in the ribs. He retaliates by flicking you repeatedly in the forehead. Its a blurry mess of frustration and elbows after that, pulling hair and wet fingers in ears and trying to sink nails into each other's soft sides, all squabbling and cursing and insults not made for polite society.

"- you put your fingers near my mouth I'll bite them off!" You holler even when he's got his arm around your neck in a kind of choke hold, which is around the time the two of you are pulled away from each other.

The rest of the table is staring at you both, while you and Farleigh straighten yourselves up, a little flustered at the many incredulous stares you were getting.

"The fuck was that about?" Felix, of course, is the one to voice the question the others all had. You look to Farleigh, his expression mirroring yours; no malice, no frustration, like nothing had happened.

"Bit of horseplay," you shrugged easily, meeting Felix's eyes, tone bright and chipper. He looked unconvinced.

"Just two dudes being guys," Farleigh's tone was light and breezy as he settled back into the booth, and you alongside him, letting him once more sling an arm around your shoulders.

"Guys bein' pals," you agreed with a nod. Farleigh pats your head for emphasis. The group thankfully decides that they've had enough of the weird moment to go back to their own conversations. Felix was the last to focus back on the conversation he'd been having with India and Alicia, narrowing his eyes as he looked between you and Farleigh.

Before turning his attention entirely away, his gaze fixes on you. There, in the very slight tilt of his head, the look in his eyes, the way his jaw tightens, you see his concern for you. You lean your head back on Farleigh's shoulder and let yourself relax, let yourself give him a genuine, reassuring smile. It's enough.

Farleigh clears his throat.

"It was either that or tell him you said that," you explained under your breath, to which Farleigh nodded in understanding, hand running up and down your shoulder idly as he reached across the table for the communal fries, bringing the basket closer to you both.

"And you don't want to tell him because you know I'm right," Farleigh is back to smug, but at least this time you can join him in his amusement.

"No, but I'm humouring you because I'd like to talk about how good I'd look in a collar," picking up a chip, you eat it with a grin as Farleigh rolls his eyes. After a moment, however, he comes back with this contemplative look, still amused, but eyes narrowed and searching like they had been earlier. You eat another chip and tell him to put his eyeballs back in his head, "seriously, quit looking at me like that, Farleigh -"

"He has been weird-weird," Farleigh says like he's agreeing, though you tell him you have no idea what the fuck he means. Taking a deep breath like he was ramping up to something, Farleigh looks across the group to Felix, before looking back at you with a kind of put-upon smile, "I say this only as someone who's know you for like, more of my life than I'd like to admit -"

"I love you too, go on."

"- so I kind of think that it might not look that different to anyone else, like they don't know it's not your usual brand of weirdness," he wets his lips, giving you a look like he's not even sure if he's meant to be saying this, like he might be letting you in on a secret you're not supposed to know, "he's been really hot and cold with you."

Of course you'd noticed.

"I slept with Oliver."

Beside you, Farleigh appears to go through all five stages of grief at once.

"You make it very hard to be friends with you sometimes," he says, shaking his head. You, however, are focusing on how many chips you can eat in a rush rather than think too much about the topic at hand.

"That mean," you tell him flatly, mouth full of potatoes, "you're being mean again."

"You chose to sleep with Oliver, that is a choice you made; I'm gonna be mean about it, you've earned it, you know you have -"

"Remember," you gave him a shit-eating grin, "how the next time we went drinking after that costume party, you spent a full half hour in the beer garden ranting about how stupid you thought Ollie's costume was," you ate another chip while Farleigh narrowed his eyes at you with barely concealed contempt, but you powered on, "and it turned out that you thought the costume didn't do him justice, which then -" your grin grew wider, "became you ranting about how his eyes are too blue, and why does he dress like that when we can all see his arms, imagine if he wore a shirt that fit!" You gleefully recounted, even as Farleigh's mouth flattened into a thin line, like he's bitten on a lemon, but he couldn't look you in the eyes.

"Hey, that's not what I -"

"And then -!" You spoke over him, "you forgot where you were and tried to take an angry nap in the bushes."

"I don't -" a flustered Farleigh squirms for a moment in his seat, unable to look at you, "remember that, and," he turned a faux serious look upon you, "if you tell anyone I said that, I'll tell them you're lying."

"I'm just saying," you shrugged, "don't act like you don't know part of the reason why I slept with him."

"Fine," Farleigh rolled his eyes, allowing his flustered frustration to ease. After a moment of contemplation, of watching Felix, he hums quietly, thoughtfully, "that can't be it, right?"

"What can't be it?"

"If Felix was going to start being jealous it wouldn't be over Oliver."

"See, that's what I thought."

"So he is jealous?"

"I don't know," you say quietly, still not quite sure how to feel about it; Felix had taken the news fine when you'd told him, he hadn't seemed any different, but of course there'd been a change. Why now?

"That's really stupid of him," Farleigh finally says, dismissively.

"It is, isn't it?" As you try and laugh, your heart's not in it. You look at your phone again, another wave of that strange discomfort that you'd been feeling lately washing over you again. You can't stay.

Everyone's surprised by your early departure as you say your goodbyes. You cite the need to study hard tomorrow, giving hugs and kisses as you start the short journey back to your dorm. Felix murmurs that he loves you and a cheeky thanks in your ear and you know he's talking about India. You kiss his cheek, and then you head off.

Nothing had seemed off when you'd told Felix.

"You look like you're about to burst into song; what happened to you?"

"Something happened!"

"Am I meant to guess?"

"No, no- I mean, like how nothing happened between me and Ollie a few months ago; something happened!"

"Something happened between you and Ollie?"

"The something that didn't happen last time -"

"I don't remember last time, Y/N, you're being so cryptic, I love that you're excited but -"

"Yes, Ollie and I slept together. Finally!"

"Oh."

"Oh?"

"No, good 'oh', promise!"

"Didn't sound like a good 'oh', Fi; is everything alright?"

"Yeah, of course, sorry Y/N, I promise, I'm just... I don't remember you being this excited about a hook up... and I don't think I was excepting it to be Ollie, you know? Was he really that good?"

"Let me put it this way, it was the kind of good that none of our other friends would believe if I told them."

"Fancy that, Ollie knows what he's doing; good for you."

"Great for me."

It wasn't particularly vulgar or explicit, you'd had far more in depth conversations about your various hook ups, Felix had seemed as happy for you as he always did with these kinds of stories. But he'd started looking at Oliver different, you'd noticed it. That too is when he became the clingiest. Farleigh was right; on nights out with Oliver around, Felix threw out any pretence of subtlety or person space. Felix acted like your boyfriend.

But then, any other night, any other group situation, it was like any other day. Sometimes he'd barely even glance at you. Hot and cold.

You're so in your head on the walk home that you barely register someone sitting at your door until you all but trip over them.

Annabel.

She'd been crying.

"Fuck you." Is how she greets you.

"What are you doing here?" A twinge of pity, a twinge of guilt, to see her obviously distraught at your doorstep. She gets unsteadily to her feet, swearing at you again. Reaching out to steady her, she surprises you by lunging at you, grabbing you.

"You were there, weren't you? With the rest of them," Annabel's gripping your collar, makeup smeared with tears and eyes red-rimmed, "with him," lips still inches from yours, her gaze unfocused but searching, "I can fucking smell it on you- you- you and rich boy-" but she stops for a moment, expression falling to confusion, "Farleigh?"

"Annabel -" you ease her hands off of your collar, partly confused, but mostly pitying.

"Why do you smell like Farleigh?" She sounds almost like a lost child, refusing to let go of your hand as you pulled out your keys. God she looks so helpless, tears still welling in her eyes, vodka bottle mostly empty by her feet.

"Why are you so good at telling what Farleigh smells like?" You countered with, swinging the door open. At this, some of the righteous indignation fires up in her again, flouncing into your room.

"You all went to the same boarding school, you've all got these same habits, and same but different scents you cling to," she's scowling at your dresser as you picked up the vodka bottle and brought it into your room, shutting your door. You watch her for a long moment, see how she analyses everything you have there, perfumes, colognes, makeup, skin care, little bits of paper rubbish - she picks up a bottle and flicks off the lid, not caring where it landed amongst the rest of the things there. When she sprays it, she seems to almost relax amongst it's mist. Of course. It's Felix's favourite, Felix's scent as she'd so aptly described it, for when he'd spend the night.

"Of course you have his too," she says faintly, almost derisively.

Allowing your attention to finally drift from her, you start getting ready for bed, heading to your closet to hang up your jacket.

"You all need to mark your territory," she spits, out of your peripheries, you see her move away from your dresser and pick up her vodka again, "need everyone to know who you own, who we all belong to -"

"Anna, that's not -" you sighed, unsure of where any of this was going, but not liking it either way. As you search your drawers for pyjamas, you felt her gentle hands on your hips. Jumping at the sudden touch, when you spin she braces herself against the drawers with hands either side of you, while your hands become trapped, the last bit of resistance between her chest and yours.

"I smelled like you both for weeks," she murmurs, gaze roaming your body, almost hungry, landing back on your lips, "you remember that? I should- I should- should have been fucking sickened," she admits, voice a low whisper, the hunger turning needy, turning into almost a whimper, "the things I want you both to do to me make me sick to my stomach," her lips inch closer to yours, shared breath, heat in the air, "of course I know what the fuck you all choose to smell like, I can't get it out of my fucking head," you should lean away but there's something intoxicating about her rage, her desperation, her desire, "Our Annabel, that's what he'd called me, what you'd -" and she kisses you, vodka still wicked and bitter on her tongue, all but panting into your mouth as her hands find your hips again.

But it can't continue, you can't let this go on. As you lean back to free your arms, to hold her back, she takes advantage of the opportunity to slide her hands beneath your shirt, cold and nimble against your belly -

"Could've been my Felix -" she mumbles, as if in a trance, eyes hazy and full of both tears, like she was looking into a memory. The minute her fingers find your fly you grab her hands firmly. It takes you a moment to regain your composure, to remind yourself that she wasn't in her right state of mind, that she probably didn't even know what she was doing or saying -

My Felix flares bright and hot and possessive in your mind. My Felix.

"Ow," Annabel's noise of pain brings you back to reality, but thankfully it seems the shock to her system brought her back too. Looking down at your vice-like grip on her wrists, she looks back at you as you let her go, embarrassment in her eyes as she perhaps realises some of what she'd been doing.

"I'm not sleeping with you tonight, Anna," still, your voice is gentle. She huffs an embarrassed little laugh, starting to sniffle again. Again, you remind yourself that this poor girl just got her heart broken by your best friend, and decided to deal with that by drinking an entire bottle of vodka. You'd committed to showing her some compassion tonight.

"I know." The tension drops, and she just leans her head forward to rest her forehead on your shoulder. You can't help but hug her, feeling the heavy way she sighs as you're giving her a reassuring pat on the back. The two of you stay like that for a very long few minutes until you hear her start crying again.

"Do you wanna borrow some pyjamas?" You ask softly, and feel her nod.

The rest of the night is quiet after that, taking care of this distraught young woman who got her heart broken by your best friend. It reminds you of nights you'd spend with Venetia back at Saltburn.

Annabel sits on your bathroom counter patiently, ankles crossed, watching the way you focus as you wipe off her makeup with meticulous care. When you take off her necklace, you coil it delicately on top of the nice clothes she'd been wearing, now sitting on top of her shoes by your door. At first she tries to wave you off when you offer to brush out her hair -

"There's -" she hiccups; the full bottle of vodka has finally hit her, but still she tries to shake her head, "too much hairspray, it'll be a hassle -"

"I'll be gentle," you told her softly, assurance in your eyes and a warm smile on your lips, "if you'll let me." Annabel melts under that gaze, sitting in borrowed pyjamas, face clean, cross-legged on your bed in the lamp light. You treat her with the gentlest care, brushing out her hair while you can still hear her occasional sniffles; she sits as primly as she's able, only apologising once at the start for it's length. You assured her it's fine.

"You scare me sometimes," Annabel mutters into the quiet, voice watery. For a moment, you pause.

"Me?"

"Both- both of you. You and Felix," she sniffles again, "and Farleigh too now, I guess," you can tell she swallows thickly, voice catching in her throat. When she tries to dip her head, she can feel the way you're still holding gently, still working, and she apologises faintly. Carefully, quietly, giving her space to organise her tipsy, upset thoughts, you continue to brush out her hair.

"Never met anyone like you, you know? Didn't think people like you guys existed. You're always everything; the most without even trying," she takes a deep breath, but it's undercut by a faint sob that's almost a chuckle, "I kind of think you don't even know what I mean- you especially, you know?" You... don't.

You brush, only giving a faint apology, but all she does is fidget, the words spilling unrehearsed from her, things she's clearly been bottling for far too long -

"Felix is everything everyone wants, and you're everything everyone wants him to be," she says it so forlornly, "the sun and it's fucking warmth," then, almost disgusted as she spits it under her breath, "I think about how he's never going to fuck me the way he looks at you while he's shitfaced, how sick is that?"

With a few more strokes her hair is brushed out, and without even thinking you start to braid it. Annabel's dissolved into tears again, her face in her hands, but you're just careful not to tug on her hair too hard as her whole body shakes with them.

"He never gave a proper shit about me, did he?" Annabel sobs as you're tying off the braid. The minute it's done, she turns and throws herself into your arms, sobbing against your chest, "I'm just another fucking girl to him!"

"He still loves you as a friend, I'm sure; you know how Fi is-" you pet her shoulder carefully as she clutches your shirt for dear life.

"I don't wanna be his fucking friend! I gave him my fucking heart and now he's probably got his dick in that slag India, who said she was my friend!" Spitting her words with fury, with venom, she looks up, but only sees a look of pitying apology in your eyes; she's probably right. Lip curling, she throws herself back on your bed, hands covering her face once more, "he doesn't fucking care," she groaned, fury turning poisonous with resignation, "I know he doesn't care; if I thought he truly cared I would have fucked Oliver -"

"What?"

"- Felix is so fucking fickle, god, seems like he doesn't even care about Oliver anymore, I should have- should have -" she continues on, but breaks down crying again. Getting off the bed, you leave for the common room for half a moment, filling it with water.

"Drink this," you instruct, sitting next to Annabel on the edge of the bed. She scowls, but follows your orders easily, even if she can't properly look you in the eye. The water seemed to have at least helped, as her crying quiets down as you refill the glass in your bathroom sink.

"I feel like shit," she mumbles, watching you come back into the room and place the cup on her bedside.

"Well you look pretty," you tell her teasingly, trying to lighten the mood even a little as you gently pinched her cheek. She does not appear to find the humour in the moment. Still, you turn off your lamp and climb over her into the bed, "please don't throw up in my bed or on my floor."

"I know where your bathroom is."

The two of you kick off the neat duvet but pull the thin, luxurious sheet over you both.

"Thank you..." it sounds begrudging as she says it. You tell her it's no stress, sitting up for a moment in order to open your window a crack, let a breeze in overnight, but still hear her when she says, "you're a bad friend."

Still sitting, you take a deep breath, sighing as a silhouette in the moonlight.

Annabel is more astute than you possibly gave her credit for in this state; amongst all her felt injustices, she'd never once asked about how you felt about Felix fucking India, your well established not-girlfriend. Because somehow she knew, perhaps even that you gave your blessing. You'd never been a cruel person as long as you could help it, but you'd made peace with your priorities too long ago to start apologising for them now. So yes, you'd taken Annabel in for the night, but she knew in her heart that you were partially at fault for her despair in the first place. You both knew.

Enabling Felix was never really about making anyone else happy.

"I know."

Something about your admission seems to be enough for Annabel, however. When you lay back down beside her, she curls up against you, tucks herself all along your side, arm around you, head on your chest.

The next morning, Annabel moves silently around your dorm. When you wake up, all that's even left of her presence is the empty cup of water on your bedside. No kind of note, no text, she'd made sure she didn't even wake you before leaving.

Fucking Christ, what a bloody week did yesterday feel like, is all you can think as the mid-morning sun slashes through your barely parted curtains and paints your chest with light.

You consider sleeping in, consider that you'd definitely earned it after yesterday, but then your phone starts ringing. It's Felix. He sounds grim.

"Hey, can you get over here? We need you."

#felix catton x reader x oliver quick #saltburn x reader #saltburn imagine #felix catton x reader #felix catton imagine #oliver quick x reader #oliver quick imagine #felix catton x y/n #oliver quick x you #oliver quick x y/n #felix catton x you #felix catton x you x oliver quick #head heart hand fic #manic writer

374 notes · View notes

theloveinc · 4 months

Text

if i didn't care (more than words can say) - a dabi / touya todoroki x reader fanfiction—NO QUIRK!college-ish!AU

wc: 7.3k — my longest to date :')

sum: a beautiful but notorious shadow keeps following you home. over the course of some weeks, you eventually get to know him.

a/n: more than anything, this is really just a huge ode to my hatred of graduate school, though since the start of writing this, i admit it has gotten a lot better—hence there being a mixture of characters and ocs included. i don't think i was able to nail this exactly the way i envisioned, in clarity and thematically (and it's wordy as all hell)... but i am still delighted by this concept. i hope it tickles you, as well!

a MAJOR thank you to my beloved @weird-dere-writes for beta-ing this! twyla is a a real one whom i adore like the shining sun.

warning: lighthearted in spirit but DARK CONTENT! features stalking, physical assault and mentions of sexual assault, miscommunication, suicidal ideation, talk of death, gore + general sense of unhappiness/unease. gender neutral but some of the pet names include: pretty, sweetheart, lollipop, cookie, hon, baby + etc., also I think you might have a purse?, HAPPY END!

(read on ao3 - coming soon!)

title credit goes to the ink spots.

enjoy!

The sun has just barely set by the time you leave your final class of the day. Fog seeps from over the distant hills that surround your city, subway tracks murmur from underneath the thick concrete, and car high beams yellow in the fading light of the sun and slate blue sky.

Your classmates—those who have all left the lecture hall before you to give each other rides home—laugh, their voices echoing throughout the campus plaza as they disperse; the last students of the night to begin their trek home, down the hill that is your campus, and far, far away from you.

You don’t mind.

…or you tell yourself, at least.

Your walk home is pleasant enough, not so close that it doesn’t feel like a trip worth making, not so far that it feels like you’re a freshman again, tearing out of class just to run to catch the bus in time. It’s the perfect temperature where walking is comfortable, and if timing allows, you’ll get to enjoy the sunset as you go. Maybe today you’ll see the funny looking tuxedo cat that stares at you sometimes from the ground floor apartment window of one of your neighbors; you only recently found out that they have a little tortoiseshell, too.

Besides, while it’s not as though you enjoy your time alone any more than you enjoy anything else in life, home has become a sort of sanctuary, the trip to-and-from, a ritual, from school and the tension that sears your nerves on a daily basis. You still can’t help but wonder why it is that you’re only ever regarded by other students with hateful looks or by plain being ignored, sitting in the front corner of every classroom, freezing from both the weather's cooling breeze and the fact everyone just happened to ice you out by sitting in the back.

It's no surprise that nor can you ignore it, either.

For as much as you try, which is almost as often as you open your eyes in the morning, you simply haven’t succeeded. Hence why, with the cold air nipping at your cheeks and your fingers numbing from a chill you know will only get worse the longer you stay outside… you suppose you should finally start heading back, too.

You notice them first when you stop to adjust a faulty earbud.

A figure behind you that stops. Waits. Lingers. More than a block away, under the newly darkened sky and opaque clouds. A street light illuminates their body as they appear to dawdle; awkwardly hovering about a pole, staring at something you don’t see on the ground, trotting a couple steps, and then looking up at the sky.

You glance at them, the way one glances, with one hand pressed to your ear, the other gripping the strap of your bag tightly as you turn your head ever so slightly to look out of the corner of your eye and pray the movement isn’t noticed.

The figure, of course, freezes–like it’s not obvious, like it’s possible you won’t pick up on the sudden shift from dance to pause, autonomous to marionette, breath to stone. You can’t make out much about them aside from their long, dark clothing as their face is hidden by dark glasses and a hood, but when your stomach knots with something sour, nerves that twist and scream, you know nothing good will come from standing around and waiting to find out anything more.

You let your eyes shift back to the paved street in front of you slowly, as if you just found yourself caught up in the frustration of skippy music. Then, you start walking again, hoping it was all just some coincidence, illusion, pretending that if you were to look back, the figure would have since simply turned the corner and left you behind, like most people almost always seem to do.

But you look again. Peek, from the corner of your eye, briefly, like you normally would when no one is there and you just want to make sure… but this time, someone is, and by the time you really catch sight of them (closer now, like they were walking fast, jogging maybe, red light, green light), you don’t want to draw any more attention to yourself and turn back before you can make things any worse.

Your heart beats. Your breath shudders. You flex your fingers where they’re held, stiff with terror, wondering: is this really happening? What should I do? Am I crazy?

It’s five more blocks until your house. Three stop signs, then two traffic lights. One liquor store, and an empty cafe that has already closed for the day, filled with stacked chairs and little mice you sometimes catch scuttling by the edge of the curb. You live by a school, but since it’s already dark, there will maybe be a total of four cars that pass you by. Maybe. Then there’s a trek up a short hill before you finally reach your street.

You wonder, not once slowing your step, if this is something you need to be worried about, if you’re really being stalked like you’ve always been warned of before, if anyone would even care if you didn’t show up to class tomorrow, or the day after that, or the day after that… and then, despite the whisper of your unconscious telling you not to be so self-involved, no one wants you, anyway, you increase your step. You want to look back, confirm what you think is happening, face a fight you don’t think is fair but haven’t yet decided whether or not you want to win.

But you don’t, thinking you can almost hear their footsteps now, though maybe you’re just confusing them for the wild thump, thump, thump of your heart and the catches of your breath. And when you check back, they’re half a block away but feel closer than ever, eyes on you and hands halfway around your throat though they’re still hidden deep in their pockets.

You feel a little like hurling, a bit more like giving up and letting them have you (though you’ve only ever written a suicide note, never a will)... but the creature of fear in you ends up prevailing, throwing it’s tentacles up through your gullet into your brain and dragging you into the depths… just as you say a prayer for the first, or any, god willing to listen.

And then you start running.

Heft your bag over your shoulder, suck in an icy breath and charge forward into the night, past the three stop signs and through the red of each stop light that blares at you, really the only thing that seems to acknowledge you as you refuse to waste any time looking back.

Self preservation is one hell of a drug, you only manage to briefly think in between gulps of air, your cheeks stinging with the breeze and your feet beginning to grate and blister against the friction of shoes that aren’t meant for running. You figure at this point you’re more likely to trip and crack your skull open on the pavement than be caught and dragged away by some freak with a violent agenda. Would that really be so bad?

But your answer quickly arrives in the form of making it home and climbing the stairs so fast you manage to forget the thought entirely, along with most of the rest of the world aside from the few people you come up with (and proceed to scratch out) when determining who, if there's anyone, you can call for help.

It's inside, silent and alone in the dark, you try to process what just occurred for so long that eventually your roommate comes home from their shift at the bar. It’s only at their surprise from seeing you still awake (ghostlike, on the couch) that you realize hours have passed in the span of what felt like only seconds, minutes, the metronome of a few steps home–and that you hadn’t actually processed anything at all.

You go to bed that night, not having eaten but not hungry, still feeling the phantom sensations of your bounding footsteps on hard concrete, cold sweat sliding down the slant of your neck, and the feeling of a man just inches from your putting his hands on your back.

The next day during lecture, you are awoken from a hazy daydream by a notification on your phone.

Campus Creeper Found Passed Out in Uni Plaza.

You blink, exhausted after an adrenaline crash made worse by your night of haunted sleep, eventual overheating, and your roommate taking a shower at four am. You were happy to even drag yourself out of bed this morning and make coffee just tolerable enough not to spit out all over your kitchen floors.

Local man, you read after clicking, deemed the “campus creeper,” was found passed out on the Student Union steps early this morning. Identified by a member of student patrol at Mustafu University, the man’s name has yet to be released to the public as it appeared he was suffering from a number of wounds, mostly external.

Despite condition, students have taken to social media to express their relief, as the man has reportedly been following students—

You stop reading, having hardly even processed the words, really, as you try to shake off the fog that keeps you from really understanding what the words are telling you.

A tightness settles in your stomach, heavy and painful with a nausea you can’t shake, a question you don’t yet realize: is this the same person, same man, who scared you half to death last night by trailing you all the way home? It’s unclear from the article, the timing, the picture with his blurred out features… and the fact that he must've been dragged all the way back up to school because he was found nowhere near your home.

While you assume you’ll be more excited once the new sinks in and the nerves turn to consolation (and the person to your left stops chattering into the ear of the person sat behind you), you can’t help but shoot to your feet and run to the closest bathroom in a panic, trying not to hyperventilate looking at yourself in the mirror in between splashing water on your face.

The day has once again fallen into night. Your bag is heavy with the weight of books and pens and your schedule notepad that has all your plans for the rest of the week and even the month beyond that. Today, however, the clouds don’t creep and instead, you see stars, maybe only a handful or so, one airplane too, as the sun descends in a tender calm and the windchill greets your cheeks once more.

You walk, out of class and down the ancient steps of the building, start descending the hill down to the first busy intersection of streetlights where the president of your school was once hit by a car.

It’s not three blocks into the way home, however, that a shadow appears once more. Distantly, though you’re sure it’s calculated enough so as not to ring as intentional no matter how much you know it is, and can feel it in your bones.

You thought he had been caught. The creeper.

You hadn’t realized you were so relieved by the thought. It slipped your mind, the celebration over as quick as it started under the weight of all your schoolwork and the dirty looks your classmates sent you after you came back from dry heaving into the bathroom sink. Maybe it was a different guy they caught, you wonder, then kick yourself for being so naive as to think that maybe you’d been spared.

Of course not, you think. It’s never that easy, is it?

Panic once again bubbles up in your throat, anxiety pooling in your stomach like something hot melting through stone, and tears start to sting at the center of your eyes. You do your best to ward away the urge to collapse, instead trying to focus on the fact that everything was fine yesterday and tonight’s just another dream you’ll wake up from again tomorrow…though by now you know it’s not.

It is easier, this time, however, to begin to run, to bounce on your feet with a purpose you hope isn’t any more transparent than your fear. You’re happy that today you managed to pack light, skipped filling up your water bottle, and happened to put on your sneakers instead of your slip-ons, as if you didn’t spend half of your entire morning trying to convince yourself that potentially saving your own life was a good thing.

By the time you make it to the door, chest heaving with a wheezing heat as your hand shakes the key into the padlock, when you turn back to look one final time before ducking inside, still gasping for air, the shadow is no longer behind you.

The creeper is getting braver, you notice.

It has been weeks since the shadow appeared and the following began. One week of that same distant trailing which had you sprinting like some sort of track star, two weeks of running only the last block home, locking every single bolt on your door (then unlocking when it was time to let your roommate in), and three in total of squinting behind you in stinted moments and wondering what you see.

You think his hair is white.

Now though, tonight, he stays not a block or two behind you but rather, less than fifty feet. You can make him out—see now the faded black of his jeans and the red of his chuck taylors, dirty. He’s young-ish, you think, more noticeable than before, and skinnier–though maybe your eyesight has just gotten worse, or the memories have faded in trying to spare you from another trauma, maybe even from awakening any of the first ones.

You wonder how he was able to speed up, where he was waiting for you, where he came from that first night, the second, and now. And you wonder why you’ve stopped running as fast, even if you’ve been trying to leave campus earlier and earlier as if that will keep you any safer from walking home at night.

(You had remained after class one night to ask your professor a question you no longer remember, and a wispy haired girl sneered at you so badly you ended up weeping on your way out the door. Not only did it kill your urge to ever stay longer on campus than you needed to, it also caused a wane to your desire to even arrive home at all).

One day, the creeper catches up.

Reaches, like he’d be able to touch you, smiles, like his canines are sharp enough to chew through you…hopefully in one bite if he was even able to swallow that much. Maybe he is.

But you swat back when he does. Hoist your bag in close. Glare over your shoulder. Then speed up, and your lungs tighten into stone almost immediately when he speaks.

“Hey—”

“Get the fuck,” you screech, turning back just enough to say the words despite not knowing if you’d even be brave enough to let them out, to get away unscathed, “away from me!”

The shadow, however, instead of shrinking into disparagement like you so hoped… laughs, skipping towards you, laces flying, smiling wide.

“Aw, c’mon,” he jeers, to which you wince as you try to stomp away from his pull. That is, in between your attempts at keeping your eyes on him so that he doesn’t pull anything else fast, or deadly.

“I swear to fucking god. I will call the cops.”

Another laugh, his footsteps now lighter, his voice switching to something airy and cool.

“Don’t be like that, pretty.”

You barely look, but you see a flash of red as he kicks out his foot, the curl of a grin pulling one side of his lips lopsided as he lazily trots to match your hurried pace.

You want to start running, to disappear, dissolve—anything to stop things from developing further into a conversation and your possible demise—but he catches up to you again before you can even try to skirt away in any direction other than forward.

“You noticed quicker than I thought you would,” he almost hums, the words exposing the soft, pink tissue of his gums. “‘didn’t think you would.”

There is a question in his statement, though his voice doesn’t lilt and only his eyebrows give it away, quirking, stretching, falling, the piercing on his left one along with it, when you slow down (hardly, still breathing rough and nervous, not wanting to look) but don’t respond.

“Most people…” he shakes his head, “eh.”

“What?” you stop your stride, more out of surprise than want, and stare at him despite how distinctly you avoid catching his eyes. “Like people don’t know when they’re being followed?”

“Nah,” he says, his mouth remaining open after, humorously, like you’re supposed to get the joke, think it’s cool, that he’s a zombie, maybe. Something. “Like I thought you wouldn’t care.”

You cross your arms, blink at the ground in trying to hide what is most likely a stupid looking pout in your failing attempt to get hot and angry. You shouldn’t even be speaking. “I care when creepy people follow me.”

He laughs again, raspy and free. “It’s been weeks.”

You don’t want to give him the satisfaction of looking at him, but you look at him anyway. Truly focus on the mop of messy white and black streaked hair atop his head, the stained, canvas jacket with extra pockets and copper zippers, and his smile; the delicate, creased skin of his jaw that fades smoothly up his cheeks and down his neck. He isn’t bare of a good amount of piercings, either: he’s got all sorts metal in his ears, nose, and dimples, as far as you can tell by simply looking at him

He’s not really all that creepy-looking after all. To your surprise (and slight disgust), in fact, you find he’s somewhat… handsome.

You swallow.

“It’s been three.”

“Hm, baby?”

You tense, the claws returning, this time aiming for your heart, shredding it open, every insecurity lighting aflame when he smiles that smile again.

“Three weeks. That’s how long you’ve been stalking me,” you say.

There’s a pause, a shift, something you don’t catch and can hardly read. Then, he rolls his eyes, shoving his white knuckled fingers into the pockets of his coat. He doesn’t move otherwise, doesn’t even look angry, or as though he’s going to take any steps backwards or forward, and not like he’s going to lunge at you as if you’re prey and there’s an animal in him that he’s already promised food.

You feel otherwise, though he shakes his head with a ‘tsk. “I’d say stalking is a little harsh.”

You’re not sure why you object, “But–”

“I don’t stare into your window,” he taunts, “don’t have your number, don’t send you stupid love poems every night and every morning that say,‘I love you, be mine!’” He pretends to sing-song,

You can feel the irony, hear the chuckle but turn anyway to resume your walk into the night. Briskly. Refusing to look back and acknowledge the stranger you’re not sure wants to kill you.

“I don’t throw rocks at your window,” he continues to call after you, “or approach you in cafes and pretend you’re crazy when you scream.”

“Then leave me alone,” you shout, hoping the wind carries it far enough behind you to reach him, though you shiver still.

You don’t see it, but he shrugs. And surprisingly stays where he’s put, watching you try not to look like you’re peeking at him before nearly tripping on your own feet. You’re not sure if it’s a relief.

It’s the first night since first learning of him that you’ve walked home alone.

Later, you learn the creep has two names.

It’s been five weeks now, just after winter’s turn, the clouds not so big anymore but often dense with the slightest bit of rain you enjoy only when you wake up in the middle of the night too scared to go back to sleep.

The creeper, the shadow, your stalker, basically lives behind you now, grinning whenever you glance, dancing whenever you glare; it’s like he soaks up your, any kind of, attention like a bonfire being doused with gasoline. You’re still scared, unknowing of what he wants, but now that you’ve spoken, there’s somewhat of a static that’s settled, too; it’s tense and awkward, but the horror of it all is stagnant in build, in wait for the spark to light and set your whole world ablaze.

Though he finds you again, two red lights in, halfway to your house.

“Hey,” he says, following with your name.

You immediately shudder, jerking away from him in surprise as if there’s anything else you could do, but he just laughs that laugh of his, undisturbed he’s now talking to your back.

“Where’d you learn that?” you snap, but you can practically hear his grin when he responds.

“Got classmates, don’t you?”

Most of your classmates ignore you half the time, the other half just roll their eyes. Most of your classmates laugh whenever you speak, the ones who don’t have made you cry in front of your professors.

“They wouldn’t piss on me if I was on fire.”

“I would,” he says, pausing as if he’s some sort of pensive, then giving you a look that assures you he’s up to no good, “and they gave me your name. Ibara, Setsuna, Yui–I could go on, you know?”

You’re surprised. You’re disgusted. At him, at them, and you gape, the only thing you can think to do under a circumstance that implies no one has any regard for your safety and yet, hardly leaves you surprised. “I think I’d rather just die.”

“That’s not true,” the creeper laughs, seeming oddly sure of the answer. You’re too nonplussed to decide if he’s right.

“I hate you,” you try instead.

“You don’t even know me.”

And it’s no nice to meet you, but the words slip out before you can stop them.

“So, what’s your name then?”

He hesitates, sucking on the piercing on his bottom lip before letting it pop back out in a sneer that shows pointed teeth. You’re not sure if he’s meaning to come off as upset or pensive, bitter or just plain rude.

“Dabi.”

The words fall off his lips, snappy and hot, like you’re lighting the burner on an old stove, or flicking a match against a matchbox for the first time and getting surprised when it sparks.

You pause, peeking over your shoulder. “‘gonna cremate me once you kill me?”

This time, he doesn’t laugh. “Maybe,” he says, then when you don’t react, “no.”

Your foot taps the ground when you look forward again. “You should really think about changing it, then.”

There’s a pause, a shift in clothes and in breath despite the pace at which you walk. You feel nervous, awkward the way one does when someone catches you with bad hair, or wearing the last clean clothes in the house on laundry day. You’re not sure why you care so much about a man who clearly does not care about you. Or does… in the same way a farmer fattens up a chicken for slaughter.

“Call me Touya, then,” he says, his eyes dark. “That’s what my ma calls me.”

“Touya,” you repeat, sounding the word out on your tongue soft and slow. Lamp. Arrow. A name from his mother. Your lips wrap around it, caress the warmth of the dip, the bend, the aim… and his face breaks into that knowing, wolfish grin.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

You freeze, one foot freezing in the air, and he bursts into a rasp of laughter so loud your eyebrows immediately shoot up and almost off your head entirely. You go in to shush him like you would as if you were accused of something embarrassing, your expression morphing into a deep frown, and his own lightening with humor but still twisting with something hidden, something you really hope is not satisfaction. His lopsided smile falls just the slightest when he sees you readjust your bag and start, almost, stomping away.

He lets you find distance, of course, he’s always been a shadow not a stable fly, but Touya once again resumes his lazy trailing, joyously humming now, the sound echoing in your ears much longer than it probably should as he falls into a careful step behind you just as he always does… until you eventually make it home.

At six weeks in, he finally drops you off at your house.

Normally Touya stops his trail about a block or two before you make it, today, however, by the time you’re on the stone steps leading up to your front door, he’s a mere ten feet from your side like a chivalrous date making sure you get home safe (or like someone intending to grab your hands when you’re opening the door and rush in after you, as if to mount you right there on the floor). Your knees wobble on the first step when he speaks, though he remains standing politely next to the fire hydrant by the curb, playing with an unlit cigarette in between his fingers.

“Got any roommates?”

You stop, keys dangling from your fingers as you refuse to turn back and look.

“Yeah,” you say, staring at the chopped firewood on your porch as you let the silence sprawl. You would’ve said the same even if you didn’t.

“Good. Smart cookie.”

Your stomach twists. Your face burns. He bounces on his heels. You can’t move.

“That bakery down the street,” he begins again, nodding his head when you peek at him, barely. “It got food?”

You squint, your stiff hands cold and tight, his in his pockets.

“Um.”

He waits.

“It’s got mice.”

Then he bursts into laughter, quickly quieting to suck his teeth and kick a foot forward like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how. There’s a part of you that knows you need to stop indulging this man, for your own safety and sanity, but there’s another part that also doesn’t flip when you think of the possibility of dying. Instead of going inside, you kick your own feet out and ignore your trepidation.

“Why?”

“Wanna get dinner?”

He grins, and you hate the thought as soon as it arises, but it’s lovely; he has the smile lines of someone who has lived a happy life, and he looks so pretty you almost want to cry.

(Today he’s dressed in dark, stained jeans and dirty boots. His hair is still a white and black mess and his smile is boyish and toothy. It sends a current up your spine that makes you jerk when you turn back to face your front door.)

“Piss off.”

You shove your key in the lock to ignore the way he responds with a chuckle as his farewell, goofily waving when you manage to get the stupid thing to turn and yourself inside (which you notice only when you turn to slam the door closed and the curtain ripples).

But later, when you spare one more glance, the way one glances, out of the window of your living room as if to merely check the weather, Touya is smoking his cigarette on the street corner.

Campus Creep Caught Hanging Around.

Busted, but this time, not blue! The attacker who was dubbed the “campus creeper” by Mustafu University students was spotted once more about a mile away from the local school. A local cafe owner claims he saw the man being followed by another of a similar size, but is unsure if the two men are of a related circumstance or other.

He reports that the neighborhood has been in good spirits lately, so this comes as a shock. As we continue to find out more, the public will be updated—

Today your shadow is waiting for you at the end of the block. You spot him from out of the third story window of your classroom, feet sticking halfway off the curb and a lit cigarette between his lips that curls pretty, silver smoke into the golden blue light of the nighttime air.

“Hey, need a ride home?” one of your classmates asks beside you, the one that has your same name, shocking you out of your stupor as they tap the fingers of one hand against your table and swing their car keys around in the other.

You can barely tear your gaze away from the window to look at them; their flushed face, their short curls, tight and bouncing, and their awkward, half-assed attempt at generosity. You wonder if this is some kind of exercise they were told to practice in therapy.

“I heard about the campus stalker,” they continue without prompt. “Shihai and Kinoko are coming too, but you can squeeze in the middle, if you want.”

Their smile looks almost pitying.

“Uh,” you blink, a little stupefied, a little shy. “It’s alright, but thanks.”

They raise their eyebrows. “Isn’t your neighborhood a ways down by that cafe?”

“Yeah,” you nod, pausing to flick your eyes upward, “But I, uh...my friend is gonna walk me.”

You point toward the window, where your shadow, Dabi, Touya, whoever, has stopped smoking and is now bent over (teasing, most likely, with a gray-tinted shoelace) one of the mouser cats owned by the keepers of the small temple that sits snug at the back of your school.

You’re not exactly sure when he morphed into your friend. You don’t even think he has yet… but the words feel natural, eager, and easier than sliding onto leather seats in between two people who have never once looked your way with a nice expression and probably never will.

“Oh good!” same-name laughs, tipping their head back in a way that almost seems exaggerated. “I was scared someone might try to nab you. Not anymore, though.”

You’re not quite sure if they’re joking, but you try to smile and nod along anyway.

By the time he catches up to you that night, he’s half out of breath.

“There you are,” he says, grinning that stupid, wolf-like grin. “‘thought maybe you’d left out the back. Would’ve had to run to catch you.”

You frown, readjusting the weight of your bag on your shoulder like always, distracted as you multitask trying to make sure your water bottle hasn’t leaked as you run through a list of things to remember as well as double check that you haven’t forgotten anything inside.

“The north wing is halfway around campus,” you purposely avoid mentioning you took the long way to skip the corner where Touya usually stands. Instead of his face, you stare at the ground instead, by now resigned to the torture of waiting for your end… even if you’re secretly a tad disappointed he hadn’t brought the cat with him.

“So?” Touya doesn’t look perturbed when you finally face him, almost as if he was waiting for you, “’woulda caught up eventually.”

You make a note to add that to your list of things to remember, raising your eyebrows.

“Why?” you ask, and then before he can tease, “Why bother, I mean?” and you can tell he must think you’re joking by the way he doesn’t answer, instead responding by flattening his face–his eyes sinking back into the cozy crevices where they rest and the skin of his chin tightening with exasperation as dry as tinder.

You try not to be too perturbed by it, instead of pressing him for answers, simply turning to set back off as if that will stop the eye roll he’ll give you behind your back and change his mind about following you home. But, as always, or at least, as of more recently, Touya waits a mere five steps before starting right along behind you like the shadow his is.

“What do you want from me, Touya?”

You ask the question one day, finally, two and a half months in. Classes aren’t over yet, but the end of winter semester is fast approaching. The words seem to scratch at your throat, their destination apparent even if you find they’re hard to spit out and burn on their way out.

“What?” he asks, falling into a perky step beside you. He’s been that close everyday for the last two weeks now. And now, pressed up against you, near hopping like you’ve been friends for years, he doesn’t back away from the inquiry.

You’re tired. Sick of waiting. Sad that you let this whole thing last so long when you’ve been quite aware of your impending doom (not that you ever told anyone, not even your roommate) and have done little to try and stop it.

“You wanna kill me or something? Take me home so you can fuck me then run me over?”

Touya’s footsteps slow, and he halts (for the first time ever of his own volition) a little ways behind you. He’s not as tall as you initially thought him to be back when he kept his distance, but you’ve also since learned that his eyes are the prettiest cyan you’ve ever seen, and his scarred skin is soft and pink. Silver piercings adorn his cheeks like dimples, scars cutting the two different textures right in half.

“No,” he says, then half heartedly and calm, “you know I’ve done enough of that, already.”

You glance at him, pulling your head back in a half-horrified glare. But instead of the only half-serious expression you’re so used to seeing on him, however, you find a shit-eating smirk on his face that tells you he’d laugh if he weren’t so obviously trying to yank your chain by not doing so at all.

Still serious, he jumps at you though, eyes opening wide, hands outstretched and twitching like a monster in a cartoon out to grab you, and you hop back like he’s on fire. No sooner does his face fall that he glances at you as if waiting for some kind of reaction, positive review, happy Halloween (even though it’s ages before Halloween).

When you stay silent, the hands on your chest not falling, your expression still one of terror but to him quite bitter, he rolls his eyes so far up that only the white are showing.

“I’m joking,” he says, his baby ocean blues coming back down to settle right on you. “Obviously.”

You pause, standing still, trying to breathe, comprehend the, the, the predator that has been following you so closely for what you finally conclude has been months now.

All those torturous moments, since that first night of running, all amounted to something even he won’t name. A silent end, for someone as lonely and pathetic as you; it’d almost be fitting, except for the fact that there’s no specific reason for it to be you. You’re a nobody, friendless and unhappy, waiting for the day you finally graduate and can leave this shitty city behind. It’s not like it ever kept you safe.

“Then what?” you ask.

You feel resigned, defeated, undermined… yet he looks at you dumbly, as if you’re supposed to know something you clearly do not, and while you’d normally be embarrassed, you find you’re too worn down to care. Touya raises his brows sharply, the bruised-looking (but delicate) bags under his eyes shifting slightly with the tension of an annoyed frown as his voice strains to mock you. “What do you mean, ‘then what?’”

Your face goes slack, and you think you’d try to hit him if you knew that wouldn’t end up with you on the ground or sobbing alone at home. “Seriously, Touya? We both know you’re stalking me.”

He laughs dryly, one of the few times you’ve seen him so serious (the last time when he pointed out something dead on the pavement you had to stop him from trying to pray for. ‘I don’t even go to temple,’ he had said at the time, sounding so offended that you decided to drop the subject altogether and just let him go for the little dead bird he said he wanted to give to a friend). “I’m not.”

“You are. I know you are. You…”

“I can assure you, hon, if I were stalking you, you’d already be roadkill,” he twists one of his earrings, making a show of staring at the painted nails of his other hand, dark purple, before tsk-ing at you, sassy. “Not like you run from me, anyway.”’

You feel your stomach turn in embarrassment, in shame. You know he’s partly right, but you’re not about to admit that to the man who started it in the first place, who chased you home that whole first month, who, despite the familiarity you share now, still takes pleasure in your pain.

“Because, because no matter what I do, you won't quit chasing me. I’ve been running from you. ‘Cos you won’t leave. Me. Alone.”

Touya rolls his eyes, then sighs like you’re being a hassle. “If you really didn’t want me here I woulda left. I’m not stupid.”

“But I don’t want you here. I never did. You show up out of, of, fucking nowhere, acting like you know me—”

“I’m keeping you safe, lollipop,” he interrupts, though the words hardly register.

“Safe? As if it’s my fault you can’t leave me alone?”

You think of all the nights that had you near paralyzed with terror, from that first day onward, of rubbing your feet raw in your shoes, of wishing someone would come save you, of puzzling why you never ended up dead, to now. You never once thought, realized–

“Not your fault. His. The neighbor stalker.”

You can barely respond, your arms shaking at your sides, eyes watering with distress.

“But you, you’re…”

He smacks his lips with a yawn.

“Yeah, I beat him black and blue, maybe. But only cuz he was trailing you, I wouldn’t…” he shoves one hand in the pocket of his coat, waves the other dramatically in the air, “go after someone unless—”

“Touya?” you question, your throat rough, your swallows heavy and thick with a syrupy confusion.

“They did something real bad, like messed with a—“

“Dabi.”

He finally looks at you, the sheen in his eyes, for once, solemn, as if he harbors a genuine concern for your safety all brought on by your confusion.

“What?”

It’s a question he asks a lot, but this time, he seems to mean it.

“Dabi,” you repeat, “you mean… you’re not the campus creep? The one on the news?”

He gawks at you suddenly. The silence stretching, the night suddenly looming, the breeze even seeming to laugh. His disinterested expression begins to fade into a blank, unreadable nothingness… and then he howls. Hoots. Yells. His smile returning then, wide, blazing, hot.

He laughs like you’ve never seen anyone laugh before, guffawing joyously and jollily, slapping his hands against the ripped holes of his jeans as his chest heaves underneath today’s thin, white tee.

It’s almost contagious. Almost.

“And here I thought we were bonding.”

You prickle like a cat, digging your toes into the tips of your worn out shoes. “Stop it. I’m being serious.”

“You’re tellin’ me,” he manages in between snickers, “you thought I was the creeper this whole time?”

“You’re not?”

“That guy?” Touya straightens up to wipe his eyes, and you finally notice the crow’s feet that crinkle around his eyes, “Hell no. You think I do this for fun? Wear fuckin’ ugly hats and shit to terrorize pretty students at the school my ass of a little brother attends?”

You say nothing. He starts laughing again, clapping his hands and keeling over. Even in jest, his voice still has that soft, raspy charm as he hoots at the ground.

“Dabi. Touya. Whoever you are,” you plead, the first time ever you think you’ve voluntarily gotten closer to him, grabbing the rough shoulder of his jacket and tugging. He stumbles, maybe more on purpose than because of your grip, closing the distance between you such that his chest is pressed against yours and his hands are on your hips. “Tell me the truth. What’s going on?”

He snorts, the only difference in sound now that it’s muffled by the closeness of your lips, but responds slowly nonetheless.

“I beat the snot,” he emphasizes, exposing teeth, “out of your stalker. And you didn’t even know he wasn’t me.”

“But…” you say, hesitating against him, your hands slipping from the stiff collar of his jacket to the front of his chest, confused. His eyes are as cold as ice but set you on fire when you meet his gaze. “You didn’t have to. I mean, I woulda been fine, right?”

He doesn’t look entirely convinced. “You tell me, when you’re the one still trying to walk your stupid ass home alone at night.”

You flush, cheeks heating the skin all the way down to your neck. Touya seems to have clocked you far better than you ever knew it yourself–that he was never the enemy, that you were trapped in a self pity so deep only he could drag you out of it before choking, that dying, being tortured, being stalked, was far from the punishment you needed to get that kind of smoke out of both your lungs and your head.

And, if anything, that you were lucky to have him.

“Yeah, yeah. I don’t care.” Touya steps back only to purposely step gently on your toes. When you glare at him, hand still stretched out to link the two of you together somehow, he only grins. “Buy me dinner to make up for it. Or kiss me sometime. With tongue. Either’s fine, cookie.”

It’s been six months. Summer is just about to begin, your roommate has already left on vacation, and the closer you get to the end of the season, the more you feel your worries begin to melt off of you like layers upon layers of frost on an icy window of a warm cabin.

The shadow still walks you home, but he no longer trails behind you, and you no longer call him a creep. You call him Touya–now your lamp, now your arrow–and sometimes Dabi (that is, when you feel like he’s not listening).

Though the sun now sets a whole hour later than it did during winter, excusing as much of a need for Touya’s presence in your routine, you have now welcomed him into it, (even if you spent the first couple months of your real relationship trying to make up for your initial confusion at his presence with bowls of soap and burnt bread from the cafe near your house.)

It is a Thursday when a wispy-haired classmate comes up to you on the steps that lead away from campus. She’s the one you knew vaguely from elementary school in your distant home town, and who made herself reacquainted by sneering at you once for eating a candy bar in class; she bared fangs at you like she herself had never been hungry, and then ignored you every time you saw her after (even during assigned group work, when you realized she wasn’t even that intelligent).

But, now, you know, Touya can sneer, too, and sneer for you in ways that light a fire in the hearth of your existence… and he does so, sharply, arrogantly, when she approaches underneath the fading light of the sun and slate blue sky. She looks almost scared, even more so of his smile, big, wide and scary—that is, until you interrupt the moment by calling out to her from behind his back.

“You ever heard about the campus creeper?” you ask, to which she nods anxiously, big, wet tears welling in her eyes as she hobbles right over to your side, Touya already barking into the warming night air as he begins to walk you both home.

#dabi x reader #touya todoroki x reader #touya x reader #oh m god. i want to do another read thru so bad but i am just going to press post.#please please heed warnings but enjoy #i promise it's not so scary #i love you #caitie fic #gen #caitie post #dabi

231 notes · View notes

kyleoreillylover · 5 months

Text

We’re Just Friends 💘

Summary: What’s like being best friends with benefits with Jey Uso?

A/N: This is for all my Jey girlies out there!

tag list: @southerngirl41 @venusesworld @jeysbae @reci1996 @tbonesteakwithasideofmashngrav @hope4more

Warnings: Smut!!!

Best!Friend Jey who always needs to be touching you in some way. Whether that’s resting his head on your shoulder during a promo, wrapping an arm around you to pull you close and nuzzling his head into your neck, he needs to feel you when you’re with him.

Best!Friend Jey who gets unexplainably jealous when male wrestlers/colleagues get too close to you, even if it is just a friendly conversation. He’ll walk towards you, glaring at them until they get the message to back off. But he’ll always play it off with a casual smile at you, claiming he got bad vibes from them or that he’s just looking out for you.

Best!Friend Jey who thinks that no man is worthy of you, except himself, and his heart hurts when you come to him with tears in your eyes because of another man who shouldn’t have even been in your vicinity. This was the reason he brought up the arragment in the first place, so he doesn’t have to put himself out there for rejection he couldn’t handle from you if you didn’t return his feelings, and so you can be intimate with someone you trust and satisfy your own needs without it being awkward.

Best!Friend Jey who’s mind feels airy whenever he hangs out with you, like he’s floating on cloud nine. He’s addicted to your presence, whether that’s training, backstage, or just chilling. His favorite moment of the night is when you can finally unwind at the hotel, sitting on a couch with your legs tangled together, talking about everything and nothing. The night goes one of two ways, the two of you cuddling on the couch, too tired to do anything and dozing off in each others arms, or him taking you to the bed and unwinding between your legs, licking and sucking on your folds softly, making his dick strain against his underwear and you moan uncontrollably, getting you both out of your heads from the Bloodline drama of the day.

Best!Friend Jey who knows you like the back of his hand, and can always tell if somethings bothering you, even if you're trying to hide it. He always tries to take the brunt of Roman's anger for you, but sometimes that is not enough. So whenever you are downcast and isolating yourself cause of being yelled at by Roman, Jey will find you no matter where you are hiding, he knows everywhere you might go. Words aren't needed, you just his arms wrapped around you and to hide your head in his chest, finding comfort in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat and the sweet nothings he murmurs in your ear.

Best!Friend Jey who helps you design and pick out your gear. Cause one, he wants to match with you, and two, it gives him an excuse to ogle you without you teasing and giving him hell for it, and and three, the man has good taste (of course he does, he likes you) and knows you appreciate his input. You try on the different colors and low cut styles, twirling in front of the mirror as Jey gives you his honest opinions and eyes you up and down appreciatively. You know you found the right fit when Jey get's up from his seat, turns you around and gently pushes you against the wall, his fingers running over the fabric as his mouth as his mouth swallows yours in a deep and passionate kiss, hot and demanding and heated and everything that described Jey and more. "That's the one." He whispered against your lips, pulling back slightly to admire you one last time before enveloping your lips, senses, your mind with another mind-numbing kiss.

Best!Friend Jey who lives for your attitude and sassiness. He loves the way you carry yourself, the way you are cold-hearted and show no mercy to those that are in your way, insulting them with your sharp tongue and cocky demeanor that made them shrink away. And it didn’t hurt that you had Jey standing beside you protectively, an intimidating glare on his face as he watched you tear the person to shreds. He loved your attitude and seeing you put them in their place, but try that shit with him? He’s gonna be dragging you to the nearest room and be ripping your clothes off and breaking you off in half with his dick, teaching you why you ain’t gon’ treat him like that.

Best!Friend Jey who is addicted to the way your pussy tastes. It’s his favorite drug in the world, the one thing that makes him insatiable and that he can't get enough of. He'll taste you anywhere, and everywhere, and won't care about who hears you. You got this man pussy-whipped and he wouldn't have it any other way, your muffled moans as he is in between your thighs is all he needs.

Best!Friend Jey who makes you almost break character whenever he gives you the look. The look that means he wants to take you into his arms and make you cum right then and there. He'll usually accompany that with standing behind you and not so subtly pushing his cock that was straining against his pants into your lower back, smirking when you glared at him-he knew you weren't actually mad at him, you were just mad at the fact you couldn't have him right then.

Best!Friend Jey who somehow convinced you to let him fuck you in Nick Aldis' office cause he was bugging him. The two of you almost caught cause you both can't shut up to save your life, but it was worth it when you passed him and Jey winked at him and licked his lips that still had your remnants on them, making your core heat up again and making you push him into the nearest closest so he can have his way with you.

Best!Friend Jey who always hypes up your instagram photos in the comments, because you literally look like a goddess on earth, and makes snarky comments at your lil fanboys who think they even have a little chance with you. He also secretly masturbates to them when your away from him and too busy to call him ;)

Best!Friend Jey who is always at ringside for your matches no matter what, (and has to catch himself from ogling you in front of the cameras) and motivates you for your bigger matches by promising to give you a reward if you win (which usually means sitting on his face for as ling as you want until your both spent)

Best!Friend Jey who loves when people mistake you for a couple. The matching gears, the physical affection between the two of you, people are shocked when you guys say your just best friends. But Jey always fights the urge to add “with benefits” just to get on their nerves. Cause he can have you and no one else can.

Best!Friend Jey who will have you anyway he can, and will wait for you, no matter how long it takes for you to realize he can see the hidden feelings you have for him too.

336 notes · View notes

rodolfoparras · 5 months

Note

I love love loooove ur Price content, but everytime I see ur name, I think of my beloved Rudy😩

I love him so much, that I would bury myself between his thighs (sexually or not) so often it would start hindering his work and probably get him in trouble lol

If Rudy is something it’s insatiable. When he falls in love he cannot get enough of the person. Being a soldier means that he’s more often than not away for long periods of time so when he’s back home it’s almost like the two of you are glued at the hip, watching sun rise with your cock buried deep inside his cunt, or him barley managing to make breakfast because you’re down on your knees eating him out, lips latching onto his sensitive numb, or barely managing a few mundane tasks before you’re going for a quick round, with you fucking him into the mattress or having him riding your cock til his cunt is puffy and red and leaking with your cum

However his sex drive has always been higher than yours, and there’s only so many rounds you can go before your cock goes completely soft, only managing pathetic spurts of cum but even then he won’t care, will lay his head on your stomach while keeping your inside his mouth, doesn’t have to be anything sexual he just likes to be engulfed in your smell, likes to feel your weight on his tongue while the two of you watch a show or while you scroll through your phone, sometimes you’ll even keep your cock inside his cunt after you cum, the two of you spooning and dozing off to dream land

And once he’s back on base, he’s got a couple pieces of your clothing on him, burying his nose in your shirt while fingering himself, humping his pillows or grinding up against the mattress while watching one of your homemade videos, even using toys that you can control from wherever you are because after all, Rudy is insatiable but you don’t mind at all.

Spitball w/ me?

#pls excuse mistakes kisses #alec answers #Alecs on roll let’s gooo #call of duty #rodolfo parra #Rodolfo parra x reader #Rodolfo parra x male reader #dom male reader #top male reader #bottom male character #sub male character #x male reader #male reader #rudy x reader #Rudy x male reader #trans male character

290 notes · View notes

anemoelle · 8 months

Text

centre stage. (one.shot)

➷｡ship : lyney x gn!reader

➷｡characters : gn!reader, lyney, neuvilette, foçalors, lynette

➷｡summary : FONTAINE ARCHON QUEST SPOILERS. lyney’s magic show goes wrong, but it’s you in the box.

[ 513 words. ]

➷｡warnings : mentions of significant blood/injuries, emotional distress, ambiguous ending (potential implications of death)

➷｡genre : angst, slight hurt/comfort, hurt/no comfort

➷｡song : gilded lily – Cults

➷｡extra : first tumblr fic finally! Just a little quick one to get used to how to post. My favourite thing ever is injury angst so this is for all my injury angst babes out there.

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

Deep maroon and black clothes accompanied by pale features swam above you. Lyney. Lyney? You can barely recall what you were doing before now. Did you just wake up? The sight of your partner waking you up in the morning so familiar it makes you want to smile. Sometimes Lyney likes to perform simple tricks for you to slowly lift your mind from sleep. Your lips couldn’t move. A new feeling slithered and coiled around your torso. Pain. Panic clambered up your throat only to fail at your mouth. Lyney was so close yet so far, you just wanted him. You needed to tell him you needed help, sensation overwhelmed you. Lukewarm liquid grasped at your sides, urging to pull you under and drown you, rip you away. You started at your beloved above you, a vacancy forced upon your features. Lyney doesn’t know, he needs to know.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★

Lyney knew better than anyone. The second the box was crushed, you inside, Lyney lost connectivity with the world around him. Repeating over and over, the sound of snapped rope consumed his mind. Vomit peaked in Lyney’s throat when the blood seeped steadily out of the carnage despite the dust’s unsettled position. His shiny boots vaulted him forward down the seating aisle. The traveler and court officials blurred past him. Breathing harsh, he slid down beside the wreck, glass slicing through his tights, exposing him to the water that flooded the stage. Neuvillette’s shouting casted a devastating soundtrack around you as Lyney shoved glass and splinters from the half of you not completely buried by debris.

"Sweetheart? Hey, can you hear me? Come on let’s get you outta there." Lyney coos at your semi-conscious self.

You groan in response, Lyney hushing and whispering comforting words to you. The chaos around you was reaching the summit of a harsh crescendo. Tears cascaded down your cheeks, your voice cried out weakly for Lyney. He assured you.

"I’m here, I’m here, I’ve got you. We’re gonna be ok."

Hard hands gripped Lyney forcefully and tore him away from you. Neuvillette. The magician thrashed and yelled at the Chief Justice as he was separated from you. The large, white-haired man remained stoic, removing Lyney from the scene. Neuvillette handed Lyney over to some Gardes closer to the entrance of the Opera Epiclese, restraining the magician until further notice.

You remained under the debris. Blood has tainted the water a rich bloody sunset colour. The sound of your whines and exclamations of pain ricocheted throughout the theatre, a terrifying performance. The Gardes surrounding your blurred vision were unknown and filled you with fear. Lyney was right there a moment ago… The blue-uniform danced above you as they urgently tried to free you from your prison.

It felt like your brain collided with the other side of your cranium when they yanked you free. Your legs felt so numb. The numbness crawled up from your legs, settling over your body like a large cat ready for a nap. The rainbow of blues and bright lights tempted your eyes to close. As a paramedic’s lullaby tapped on your cheek, you thought of the maroon magician.

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

thanks for reading !!

genshin masterlist.

#(🍁) musings #lyney x you #lyney x reader #lyney x gender neutral reader #genshin impact lyney #lyney x y/n #genshin imagines #genshin impact #genshin x reader

291 notes · View notes

deathbecomesthem · 1 month

Text

Crawling to the Finish | Part 3 | 7K

Eddie Munson x Fem!Disabled!Reader

*This is a completed series that is queued and will be released on the dates below. This Masterlist will be updated with each part that is released.

+18 ONLY | MDNI

Warnings: There will be lots of descriptions of medical stuff. The reader is physically disabled due to an undefined accident. Major bone trauma. Lots of talk about pain. Blood donation, scars, and fainting in this part. There is SMUT in this part. (Boobs, oral sex, and other back of the van stuff you might expect.)

Summary: You see the surgeon and spiral. Maybe Eddie can help.

A/N: The physical disability described in this series are my own. The experiences are very close to what my own. Be kind.

---

“OK, Honey, if you could just twist your hips – here let me help you –“ the radiologist is twisting your hips in a way that immediately starts the ache. Your teeth are clenching at the pain. “Just hold that for a minute,” her purple scrubs are making a swishing sound as she steps behind the barrier, “Deep breath in, and hold it.”

Your expanded lungs burn along with the vibrating ache coming from hips and radiating up your waist and down your leg. These moments are torture - when you can’t get yourself into a position that alleviates the pain. It feels so personal, as if the radiologist is out to make the experience as painful as possible while moving around you with unhurried mundanity.

“Just four more positions and we’ll get you in to see Dr. Greene.” You withhold an angry scoff. Just 4 more, maybe we should see how you like it, you stupid bitch.

You say nothing, you do as your told, letting the rage simmer inside. You know you’ll find an outlet for it later.

The appointment goes exactly how you knew it would. Dr. Greene barely looks at your x rays, and tells you he’s ready to schedule a total hip replacement as soon as possible. Because your hip is well and truly fucked, and it needs to be burned with all of the other medical waste that comes out of the hospital.

The most surprising part of your trip to the surgeon is how fast they want to get you in for surgery. 2 weeks. It will barely be enough time to get the insurance preapproval in place. It’s an indication that things are as bad as they feel. Because sometimes you feel pathetic. You look in the mirror and see your dark circles, hollowed cheeks, blood drained face and think you should be able to handle this better. No one else in your life has to live like this, why are you so broken?

Broken. Broken. Broken. Empty. Tired. Angry. The building frustration is beginning to simmer inside, and you know it’s going to be roiling in no time, as your mom starts audibly listing everything that needs to happen in the next few weeks to be ready for the cutting through layers of skin and fat, and sawing away at your femur.

“… We have to make sure the school is on board with keeping you on track for graduation.” You’ve been trying to tune her out, avoid a stupid argument, “Do you think you can talk to your teachers about getting together absent work for you?”

“Uh-huh” Your mom’s rusty old Civic is bumping it’s way on to the Hawkins’ exit ramp, but your mind is gone to another place. It’s already laying in a hospital bed holding onto a morphine pump, feeling dizzy and nauseous. It’s in physical therapy, biting your lip so hard with anger that you taste blood. It’s in the operating room with the smell of latex taking over every sense as you breath in the “happy gas” that makes you feel detached from your body. You can’t think about school. Not now.

You pass Hawkins High on your way back to your little house, and your mom gives your hand a squeeze. You’re too numb to care about the intrusion of personal space. You can feel yourself pulling away, building up the walls you know you’ll need to protect yourself from everyone around you for the next month. It’s too hard. Disappointment on top of the pain is too much. Distance. Distance. Distance.

---

“Sweetie, Eddie’s on the phone for you.” The clock reads 3:30, and you knew when the phone rang who it would be.

“Tell him I’m asleep.” You don’t wait for her to answer, you roll your back to her and cling to your Pillow Pet, closing your eyes to the world. You imagine being wrapped up in Eddie’s arms right now while he combs his fingers through your hair and whispers that “it’s ok, you’re ok” and you feel hot tears stinging your eyes. No, you don’t want him here for this part. It’s too dark for him here.

You sleep on through, the weight of the upcoming days too much for you. You let it push you deep into the recliner and dream about – what was it? A tornado you think, tearing through the house and scattering the pieces of your life all over the front yard. You get caught in it, and you can feel the force of the thing tearing at your body, pulling you apart limb by limb. The sound of your own scream wakes you up. You find yourself whole, but your leg is throbbing with pain. You had slept too long, so you change your position, moving cautiously. The clock reads 7, and you just want to sleep through the next two weeks, let it be over.

---

You eat lasagna wordlessly while your mom fills the silence. This is how it goes. She can’t bear the quiet. The guilt and annoyance you feel are always present, just eating away at you.

“I called your father to let him know about your surgery. He and Sun are going to be with me at the hospital.” Your father had left your mother a few years ago to be with one of his co-workers. For the most part, they kept you out of it, but you couldn’t be nice to his new wife. Since you turned 18, you’d stopped seeing him altogether.

“They don’t need to be there.” Your tone makes you cringe inwardly, but it’s impossible for you to not cop an attitude about this.

“Well, I want them there, and they want to be there. He’s your dad.” She tries so hard to make the situation ok for everyone. You’ve never seen her speak an angry word about them, even though she’s heard you say some truly awful things about them.

“Whatever. Fine. I’ll be too drugged up to notice anyway.” Your mind flashes to snippets of past post recovery scenes that never fully come into focus for you.

“Dr. Greene says you’ll only be in the hospital for 2 nights, isn’t that great? You’ll up and moving right away. I can’t believe it.” She’s been wholly unable to withhold her desperate hope for a positive result.

��Yeah? Well, I’ll believe it when I see it.” No false hope for you.

“You’ve got to have a positive attitude about this. There’s absolutely no reason for you to think this will go badly.” She was right, of course, but you can’t live with that kind of disappointment anymore.

So, you sit quietly and eat while she details pre-op appointments, including a blood donation. Tomorrow morning, you would be late for school, making the drive out to the Red Cross clinic. Should you call Eddie and tell him? Yes, but you’re not going to. “I’m sleeping in my bed tonight. If Eddie calls, tell him I’m asleep.” Your mom just shakes her head and sighs.

He calls one more time that evening, and you can hear your mom whispering something to him over the line. You can’t find it in yourself to care. You imagine it’s something along the lines of, “sorry my daughter is a raging bitch, but we all have to live with it.” You hope she tells him you’ll be out in the morning so he doesn’t worry, but make no effort to makes sure she does.

Your stubbornness is unexplainable, even to yourself. You see the self-destructiveness in your behavior. You know you’re being unkind. You’re unreasonable. You want nothing more than to rest in the comfort of the people that you care about. You can’t. You’re too raw and the compassion chafes.

If he’s still around in a month and doesn’t hate you, assuming you’re not dead or irrevocably damaged from a failed procedure, you’ll make it up to him. You’ll make it up to everyone. They just need to let you be until then.

---

It goes poorly at the Red Cross. If there’s anything you’ve learned about your body over the years of disability is that it’s unpredictable and makes even the most simple things challenging. You’re borderline anemic, which ignites a thought in the back of your mind - it explains your irritability. Whether it’s a good decision or not, the phlebotomist has the go ahead from your surgeon to collect as much blood as possible anyway. It ends up being less than a half of a pint, and all you can do is hope it’s either not needed or enough if you do end up needing a transfusion.

When you get to school, you’re on the edge, and ready to absolutely lose it at the first provocation. Your mom had offered to take you home for the day, but in your stubbornness you refused.

“I thought that my education was the highest priority. Can’t possibly miss whatever wisdom Mr. Willis has to impart about Federalism today.” You’re being a bitch; you should go home. You’d eaten your cookies and drank your juice as directed. You wanted to go home, but for some reason, you wanted to needle at her more. Even if it ended up hurting you.

“Hey!” Your mom has had it with you, she’s stressed. She’s going through it with you, and she’s your only punching bag. “You need to get right, Girlie. I don’t care what you have to do, but this attitude isn’t helping anything. Knock it off with the angsty teenage bullshit for a second.”

You take a beat before responding, deciding whether to bite back or back down. This could turn into a full-blown screaming match if you wanted that, but you’re so tired. “Whatever. I’m fine. I’ll go to school.”

You both relent, tossing water on the fire rather than adding fuel. You can go to school, but she won’t let you drive. She asked if Eddie could drive you home. She has an appointment later. You bite back what you want to say, which is that you’d rather just walk home. You just tell her that, “sure, no problem. I’ll ask Eddie to take me home even though it would just be easier if I could drive myself.” Your mom practically growls at you in response.

---

Sometimes, punishing yourself felt right. That’s what you’re doing right now. Letting yourself be tortured by Mr. Willis rather than taking a break. Your life is full of breaks. Maybe it’s just the vague nausea from giving blood, but Mr. Willis’ classroom is extra rank today. You’re feeling lightheaded, and you will the feeling away. Most of the time your teachers remind you to leave your classes early, but Mr. Willis never does, and today you forget. Your brain is fogged over, and the harsh ringing of the bell jolts you in your seat.

You brought your crutches, you’ll use them as a walking aid through the school. The thought of free walking or relying on a cane until your surgery is exhausting, so you don’t think about it. You use the tools you have. You’re throwing your bag over your shoulders when you realize that Eddie didn’t come to help you. You shake your confused head, because why would he come to help if he didn’t even know you were back at school yet. You feel yourself slumping a little more than was normal, and the cacophony in the hallway is making your head spin. You feel a whooshing moving between your ears and know what’s about to happen, but there are too many people around for you to get low to the ground. You reach out to grab any arm close to you as your vision fades to black, back pushed against the lockers to avoid knocking your head on the hard linoleum when you hit the ground.

“…the nurse. She’ll be ok, just needs something to eat.” A familiar voice is bringing you back, but your eyelids are still heavy. You can feel cold sweat on your brow, and a deep sense of shame for something. You open your eyes and see a shaggy headed boy. His face comes into focus, and you know it’s Mike Wheeler, and he looks like he might piss himself. You force your arm up to wave so he knows you’re and doesn’t go running off to call for an ambulance or anything. The person speaking is Dustin, and he’s clearly trying to calm Mike down.

“See, she’s ok.” Dustin’s face comes into focus. He’s concerned, but not freaking out. He puts his hand on your arm where the bandage from giving blood is. “She must have given blood or something. Y/n, when was the last time you ate anything?”

“They gave me cookies.” You choke it out, but speaking has the effect of rousing you further, and you suddenly realize you just passed out in the hallway between classes. Oh good, more weirdo behavior from the cripple. “Oh, shit, who saw?”

The boys exchange a look, which tells you everything, and you decide to let it go. “Whatever, help me up. Let’s go eat lunch.” You’re reaching out for them to help you up. You’re wobbly, and lightheaded, but determined. “Don’t look at me like that, I just need to eat. Help me to the table and get me some food.”

They do as you ask, despite the fact that they clearly think you should be heading to the nurse’s station before heading back to your own home. If you leave now, your body wins, and you’re not letting it happen. You’ll see Eddie at lunch, and he’ll help you for the rest of the day. Even if you don’t deserve it.

---

The boys have their arms around you, Mike is carrying your crutches, Dustin your bookbag. Eddie sees the three of you approaching and jumps out of his chair at the end of the cafeteria table and bounds over to you. His face is low to look into your eyes. “I’m ok, Eddie. Help me to the table.” Eddie takes over, shooing the boys away to get your lunch.

“What happened?” You’re trying to ignore the stares and whispers from the tables you pass on the way to the Hellfire table. Half of the school must have seen you hit the ground and not even stopped to make sure you were ok.

“I got a little woozy. Gave blood this morning. Just need to eat.” Eddie eases you into a chair, and sits next to you, face still close trying to get a read on you. “Hey, can I ask you a favor?”

Eddie lets out a sharp bark of a laugh, “Uh, sure. What is it?” He reaches up to push your hair back from your face, and wipes some of the sweat from your forehead. “Jesus Christ, why don’t you let me take you to the nurse?”

You choose to ignore the question and give Eddie one of your own as Dustin sets a can of coke in front of you while Mike sneaks a tray of mystery loaf and *thank god* mashed potatoes. “Can you take me home after school? My mom wouldn’t let me drive because I gave blood earlier.” You see Eddie’s face slack in relief because at least there was a reason you face looked so wan.

“Of course, Ilene, I live to serve.” You pick up your fork with a shaking hand, and get to work on the food in front of you. Filling your stomach with anything that will help clear the fog and bring life back to your body. The coke does its job, that sugary goodness immediately perks up your mind.

“Hey, uh, I want to talk to you later too, if that’s ok?” You owe him that, at least.

His face is cautious, but he gives you a nod. Now that he’s sure you’re not going to keel over at the table, he resumes his lunch while keeping a hand firmly pressed on your knee. You allow it, for now at least.

---

It’s back to the old routine for the rest of the day, no chance of being caught up in the full hallways with Eddie as your guide. Even with your standoffishness, he’s still cracking jokes that only make himself laugh. He still gives your back a reassuring rub while you wait for your classes to start. He still gives you his cute little smile, the one that makes you feel warm all over. Being with him like this is enough to feel yourself being pulled out from the darkness, ever so gently.

When the last bell rings and you find yourself secured in the passenger seat of Eddie’s rust bucket van, you ask him “Hey, Ed, can we go somewhere for a little while and talk?” His brows scrunch together a bit, but he gives you a little smile and nods. When he turns the ignition, his radio blares to life, and you couldn’t be happier for the noise to fill your heavy brain. You close your eyes, the sound of Ozzy’s voice lulling you to sleep while Eddie tears through the parking lot.

When you feel the van roll to a stop, you peek through your cracked eyelids to see the sun reflecting prettily off of the surface of water. A hand is on your knee again, and you let your own drop down to cover it. Eddie.

“It’s pretty, Ed.” You’re eyes are still gazing out over the water while your mind is waking back up again. “Wanna sit outside?”

Eddie gives your knee a little pat and says, “I’ve got some blankets and a pillow in the back. Let me set up a little spot for you.”

“You’re so good to me, thanks Ed.” The sadness in your voice is unmissable, but Eddie doesn’t comment. He jumps out of the van, and you hear him rustle around for a few minutes, cursing under his breath. You’re smiling to yourself at the boy. You drag your heave body from its slouched position, a little bit painfully, and open the door to make your way back to witness whatever is happening behind your back.

“Wait, I’ll help you!” He’s calling to you when he hears the passenger door close shut. The commotion is even louder now, the sounds of cans and bags being tossed around.

You’re laughing hard enough to let out a loud snort, “Relax, bud, I think I can take a couple of steps on my own.” Truthfully, you’re dragging your leg behind you like the dead thing that it is, but it’s only a couple of steps.

It’s what you expect, Eddie is knee deep in fast food wrappers and soda cans, he’s just shoving them into a corner of the back of the van. But – there’s also a couple of blankets and pillows he’s laid out, so you climb your way up while he crouches with his arms out to help you in. “You find yourself sleeping in the back of your van a lot?”

“Uh, well, sometimes I sneak a nap in.” He gives a little sheepish shrug, and you know it’s probably a good spot for getting high. “So, what’s going on with you? You gonna talk to me or ignore me some more?”

You’ve got yourself position so that your back is pressed against the side of the van, and one of the pillows is resting under your knee to give your hip a break. “I’m getting my hip replaced in two weeks.” You get straight to the point. “I had to give blood this morning in case I end up needing a blood transfusion.”

“Holy shit, that’s good, right?” He’s sitting next to you now, knee knocking into yours. “Good as new.” He drops his head to rest on your shoulder and puts his arm around your waist to bring you closer to him.

“Yeah, good as new.” It’s a hope you whisper into the air of the van, and you find that you’re choking on a sob. It’s come out of nowhere. “Sorry.” You try to get the sadness out of your voice, and Eddie still nuzzles into you, not saying anything. “Maybe it’s better if we just go back to the way things were until after it’s over.”

The hand that he had at your side, rubbing comforting circles freezes for a beat, and you feel a heave exhale of breath at your neck. He doesn’t pull himself away from you, instead he squeezes you a little tighter and asks, “Why?”

You had expected him to be upset or surprised, but he’s neither of those things. He’s quiet and still letting his thumb brush against your side while he waits for your answer. He wants to know why, and you simply do not have the strength to lie or soften the truth for him in this moment.

“Because it’s going to be ugly, and I don’t want you to see it. And, I get mean, and I don’t want to lash out at you.” You think you’re done, but Eddie’s silence tells you he’s waiting to hear more. His nose is nuzzling into the crook of your neck in encouragement and it sends a warm zing through you. You can’t deny him. “I can’t handle the thought of you seeing all of that and deciding it’s too much for you. I’ve lost enough already.”

You think about Hannah, your best friend for years, who finally stopped visiting after your last surgery. She had, like all of your other friends, gotten tired of hearing your excuses for not being able to do the typical teenager shit. You never blamed any of them, but the pain of that kind of rejection on top of the already brutal physical pain is too much to go through again. And your ex. You had loved him so much it consumed you. You gave him everything you had, he had seen every piece of you, and threw it away. You couldn’t see Eddie doing that, but you never thought Drew would either, until he had.

Eddie doesn’t say anything for a while, he just holds you impossibly tighter and let’s the words sit between the two of you. You think that’s fine, because no matter what happens from here, you’ve told him the truth, and he’s listened. That’s more than most would do for a girl that is so broken she can’t even walk around the mall with her friends. You feel held by him, and more importantly, seen by him.

When Eddie finally decides to respond to you, it’s unhurried. His tone is calm, his voice steady and words thoughtful. His hands continue their work on your lower back drawing aimless patterns with his calloused fingers on the exposed skin. His mouth lets out a breath, like a gust of wind blowing through your hair. With his free hand, he taps your forehead, an indication that he wants you to look at him. What your eyes meet are his pretty chestnut ones, full of affection.

“I’m going to be honest with you because you’ve been honest with me, ok?” Your stomach sinks, but you nod your head anyway. He’s right, he heard what you had to say, you need to do the same for him. “The thought of seeing you in the hospital and in pain…” His eyes close as if imagining the sight and shakes his head a little to rid himself of the thought, “does not thrill me.”

You start to tense up at his words. He said he’d be honest, and he is, but maybe this is going to be more than you want to hear. You’re holding your breath and waiting for the other shoe to drop, Eddie still letting his hands wander on your skin. His attempts at grounding you are starting to fail, and you think he must know it, but he still takes his time.

“Don’t get lost, stay with me, I’m not done.” You exhale the breath you were holding onto and try to relax and trust him. He’s given you no reason to not trust him. “Why would I want to see someone I care about so much in that position? No, it scares the absolute shit out of me if I’m being honest.” His eyes are wide, head tilted to the side, and you know it’s true. He’s got real fear written all over his face, and for some reason you find that very reassuring.

He pulls you into his chest, letting you bury your face into him, and he’s dramatically rocking you back and forth without moving your hips. “But I know you don’t want to be there either. I’m sorry, Ilene, I really am, but it’s not something I think I can do.” The leather of his jacket is creaking with the effort of holding you to him, less comforting now, more like he’s trying to squeeze the life out of you. “Because when you get better, I’m gonna want to tickle the absolute shit out of you to hear you laugh until you scream.”

“Eddie, no!” You’re squirming under his grip, strong yet still somehow not painful. “Don’t you dare!” His hand is on the skin of your side, and you think he’s going to do it. He’s going to tickle you until you’re thrashing under him. You can see the evil look in his eye, even with your face still squished against his chest.

“Oh, Ilene, I wouldn’t dare do it now. Just know, I’m waiting for my chance.” He loosens his arms enough for you to wiggle and see his pretty face. You don’t know how he did it, but he changed the mood between the two of you so fast. And you think you don’t mind it. Because he’s true, and kind, and the most beautiful person you’ve met.

“My only concession is that if you really don’t want me at the hospital, I won’t go.” He looks serious, like he’s making sure you understand what he’s telling you. He has a finger pointed at your face, brow stern, and eyes narrowed, “but, only if you don’t want me there. If it’s because you want to spare me, don’t.”

You’re giggling subsides and you let out a little contented sigh. The strange loose feeling in your hip has never fully been relieved, and you start to feel some discomfort with the hard metal of the van bed underneath. You feel like you could come apart at any moment, just pieces of you falling away. You long to feel whole. Being with Eddie is the closest you come to feeling like a real person. A whole person. A person that has something to live for. You hate the thought of those feelings being because of a boy, but fuck if you can control how you feel.

“Fine. But I swear to god, if you decide you don’t like me after you see make a nurse cry, I will murder you as soon as I get my feet back under me.” He throws his head back in a laugh, but you grab his chin with your small hand and make him look at you, “Does it look like I’m joking, pretty boy?”

His eyes sparkle at you, his smile’s gone, and he looks like he has something to say. No, not say – his mouth is on yours in an instant. The way he moves you is fluid and fast. You go from sitting beside him to laying under him without even realizing it. You’re occupied with his mouth, his lips opening with your own, tongues moving together. Any pain you felt was gone, because all you could feel was a burning inside your gut for Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

“You think I would leave you, just because things are gonna get a little hard.” His mouth has travelled to your neck, and he’s breathing into your ear. “Do you have any idea how much I want you?” You’re completely pliant under his touch, and you feel yourself pulsing with desire.

You have no answer for him, your breath hitching with every pass of his lips on your neck. He finds the soft skin of the lobe of your ear and sucks it into his mouth. It’s pornographic, the sound that escapes your mouth. You were no virgin, but Eddie has you feeling like you’ve never been touched before in your life.

While his mouth works along your neck and ear, you find your hands threaded through his curls, fisting and pulling at his hair. The moaning response he gives has you whimper back. You want him. You want him now.

“Eddie, please. You can touch me.” It’s all the permission he needs, his hand moves from your waist and travels under your shirt to cup your breast. His thumb running across a nipple, separated by the thin cotton bra you’re wearing. This is the moment you realize you’re both wearing far too many clothes. You pull you sweater over your head and unhook your bra with ease, setting it on the floor of the van beside the two of you. Eddie is just watching you with amazement until you pull on his shirt, snapping him out of the trance he was in.

“I wanna feel you.” Your voice is a little desperate, and you’re willing your hips to stay still. The urge to rock them a little, seeking anything Eddie is willing to give to you, is intense. A hand tests the waters with your bare breast, a firm full grasp with a thumb skating across your pebbled nipple. His lips are pursed in a line, and he huffs out a puff of air through his nose.

His voice is thick, and it cracks when he finally opens his mouth to speak to you, still staring at your nakedness presented to him. “I – fuck. I don’t want to do anything that might hurt you.” His eyes are wild when he looks up to meet your own. You know you must look impossibly needy for him, your skin is on fire from his touch. “Seriously, are you trying to kill me?"

"You won’t hurt me, Ed. I’ll tell you if it hurts, I promise.” You’re begging, and it has an effect on him. He closes his eyes, probably trying to regain his composure without looking at the half-naked woman lying in front of him. You take the opportunity to sit up and yank on his jacket. He obliges, eyes still closed, letting you take off his vest and jacket, and then his t shirt.

“Eddie, we don’t have to do anything, just lay with me.” You can tell he’s doing battle with himself inside his mind, and you don’t want that. You want anything that happens between the two of you to be right, and it won’t be if he’s second guessing himself the whole time. If he’s terrified of what he could do to your body. There’s a deep sense of disappointment about that, anger – not at Eddie – but at your own body for betraying you yet again.

He snakes himself down so that his arm is wrapped under you, skin against skin. He’s so soft, it makes you wonder if he uses lotion. You trace the outline of a tattoo over his heart, a scary looking demon. His fingers are running along your collarbone, his head tucked into your neck.

“I’m sorry.” His soft words break your heart a little at the sadness in his tone. “I ruined this.” His hand drops as if he’s resigned, and you giggle a little.

“Ed, why are you being so dramatic right now? You’ve got me with my tits out in the back of your van.” The noise he makes in response is a mix of a laugh and a groan, but it has the desired effect. He brings his face out of hiding, his cheeks are burning, but he meets your gaze with a small smile.

“You’re really pretty, Ed.” You push his curls out of his face to see him better, and he meets your mouth in a kiss. Soft but with need, your tongues mingle while enjoying the feeling of your hands wandering across his soft skin.

It’s all kissing and light touching, fingers wandering bare skin. You have him tell you the stories of his tattoos. You love how animated he is when he tells you how he designed them himself, and from where he drew his inspiration. You can tell that he occasionally forgets that you’re laying there topless when his eyes make eye contact with your breasts. He looks surprised every time, and it makes you laugh every time.

And then, he sees it. You register his shock when he notices the angry red scar peeking up from the waist of your jeans. His hand goes to touch it, and you instinctively recoil.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry. I just – I didn’t expect to see a scar there.” You reach for your bra and shirt, hastily dressing yourself, suddenly reminded of how cold the air in the van feels. “Hey, uh, shit never mind, that’s stupid.” Eddie’s reaching for his own shirt shaking his head.

“What?” He’s got your curiosity piqued. You need to know what’s going on in his head.

“I feel like such an asshole, say no if you want.” You nod for him to continue, he’s got that adorable wide-eyed look on his face with his question, “Can I see it?”

“Oh! You want to see my scars?” You wrinkle your nose a little. You’re not ashamed of them, never have been. You wear them with pride, the story of your life etched on your skin permanently. Not unlike a tattoo, only you had no choice in the pattern and placement. “Yeah, you can see them.”

Without a second thought, you’re turning your body to lay on your side and unbuttoning your jeans. He helps you when he sees you struggle to push them down while in that awkward position. You’re facing away from him, hip facing up so he can see both scars.

“This might have been a mistake.” You can hear him shuffling behind you, quite obviously adjusting his pants. You can’t help but giggle a little at him. “You’re so fucking hot. I’m a fucking moron. I take it back, I’m ready to figure this out right now.”

“Eddie, stop, file it away for later, or whatever. My ass is freezing.” He sighs and you can see him out of the corner of your eye with his hands in the air, not knowing what to do with them. “For crying out loud, you can touch me. Just be very gentle. I’ll tell you to stop if I want you to.”

You brace yourself, not wanting to have any kind of reaction when his fingers finally touch your skin. You want him to explore at his own pace, you want him to know that his touch is welcome and wanted. His hand is more than gentle, you can barely feel him, the fine hairs of your outer thigh whispering at the sensation. When he’s sure you’re not going to recoil from his touch again, he allows his fingers to run along the long scar that runs down the outside of your leg, not touching the angry red skin, running along the side of it. You know you can still see the individual stitch marks there. His touch reaches a part of your leg that feels strange, a large nerve on that part of your leg was accidentally cut during your last surgery.

“You have two scars?” He’s not really asking, because it’s obvious that you do. The second scar runs from above your pelvis and down at an angle towards the band of your underwear. It dips down to a place he can’t fully see, stopping right at the spot where your pubic hair begins. You wait and let him decide what he wants to do, prepared to let him lower your underwear to get a complete view of the path the scalpel traveled. You’ve got yourself so worked up over the thought of him dipping below your panties, you’re completely unprepared for what he does next. You’ve got your eyes squeezed shut, concentrating on staying calm, when you feel hot breath on you. His mouth meets the end of your long scar in a gentle kiss, and you can’t control the gasp that erupts from your mouth.

“I’m sorry, is this ok?” You can feel his words against your skin, and you feel your breathing quicken with excitement. It’s so intense, being seen in this way. So intimate having him this close.

“Yes, it’s ok.” You feel yourself twitching, completely unable to control the movement. You realize what the feeling is, and almost groan. You’re so turned on, you feel like you’re going to explode from just feeling his breath on you. Eddie hums to himself a little, letting his mouth travel back along line scarred on your flesh while his hand gently pulls back on the waist band of your underwear to peak down and see the rest of the smaller scar. He’s so close to your heat, there’s no way he can’t smell your arousal, but he continues to gently brush his lips against you.

“Eddie, I – mmm – you have to stop. I’m sorry.” You can’t hide the neediness in your voice, it’s embarrassing, but you can’t let him keep this up any longer if he’s not willing to give you relief.

“Oh, pretty girl, you smell so sweet, and your skin is so soft.” His nose is nuzzling below your belly button, “Will you let me taste you?” Your body is shaking with anticipation, so close to the edge and he hasn’t even touched you at your center.

You manage to squeak out a “please” and that’s good enough for him. He’s got on your back, pants pulled off in that smooth way he has. Quick and fluid movements while supporting you and keeping you in a comfortable position. He wastes no time, sneaking your underwear down past your knees.

“Show me where to put my hands.” He’s so quiet, you barely hear him. You place on hand on your good hip to keep you stable, the other under you lower back to avoid any painful pressure on your broken side. His mouth descends on your mound, and he noses around the coarse hair breathing you in.

It takes no time at all, his tongue works on your swollen and sensitive button. He lets out quiet needy moans as he licks at you. A guttural groan rips through you, so low you don’t even recognize the sound of your own voice. And then he sucks, and then it’s over. He’s got his lips sealed tightly around your bud. You’ve been sitting on the edge, he has you so worked up from his gentle exploration of your scars. Your high rips through you in a flash, so fast. His mouth has barely been on you for more than a couple of seconds. You can’t even be embarrassed when you can hear the effect your waves of pleasure are having on Eddie. He is beside himself, groaning and holding your hips still. You notice he’s rocking his hips against the floor of the van, and it sends a new wave of pleasure through you.

When you come back down to earth, you find Eddie breathing heavily, his head resting on your thigh. You run your hand in his hair, and he hums a little. “Uh, I gotta tell you something, please don’t laugh.” His voice is croaky and shy.

“What’s the matter, Ed?” You already know, but you ask anyway.

“I came in my pants.” His mouth is muffled in your skin. You’re still running your fingers in his hair, and you rumble out a low laugh. It’s not a mean laugh, it’s knowing.

“Oh, Baby, I’m sorry. If it’s any consolation, I don’t feel any pain. Fuck, that was good.” You grip his hair gently, giving it a little affection tug. He groans a little and works his way up to you after he pulls your underwear and pants back up over your hips. He gives the small line of scar peaking out from the waist of your jeans one final kiss.

You both work to get yourself together, Eddie brushes at the front of his pants and shakes his head. It’s a lost cause, he needs to change. He’s helping you out of the back of the van, it’s slow, joints stiff from being laid out on the hard surface for so long. You don’t care. The afterglow of your orgasm is still radiating through your body. You think about what the next few weeks will hold, and you know. This is when you know – Eddie will be there for you.

When he helps you up to sit in the passenger seat before taking you back to your house, you place your hands to hold his face. His perfect face, still flushed from earlier, his kind eyes sparkle at you. He has a lopsided grin on his face, he’s still feeling goofy from his own high.

“Hey, Ed.” You stare at each other for a minute. He goes to pull away, and you shake your head a little before pulling him into a kiss. You taste yourself on his lips, and you feel your core beat in response.

“You can visit me in the hospital if you want.”

#eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x disabled!reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson smut #eddie munson stranger things #disability in fanfiction

74 notes · View notes