#TWIST AND SHOUT. HOW CAN I FORGET ABOUT TWIST AND SHOUT. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

astraystayyh · 8 days

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chan x reader. hurt and lots of comfort. description of an anxiety attack and its aftermath (based on my own experiences).

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If you remain still long enough, breathe as quietly as you can muster, would the world forget you exist and pass your anxiety along to somebody else?

A selfish question, perhaps, but one that you can’t help but ask as you sit on your freezing bathroom floor, knees tightly hugged to your chest.

You don’t know how long it’s been since you’ve sat in this position. Time suddenly seemed elusive to you, as if a concept too hard for your frantic heart to grasp. All you knew was the ache of your limbs and the feeling that doom was just around the corner.

It was one of those days where you woke up feeling anxious. As if your brain had made up its mind about you in your sleep, deciding to hold you hostage to your anxiety. The bed was cold, your boyfriend Chan long gone to his studio, his lingering cologne the only indication he was ever there. So, you tried to distract yourself throughout the day— going on a walk, listening to music, cleaning your house, but it didn't help. Nothing seemed to help you.

So here you were, hours later, sat on your bathroom floor, trying to calm yourself down, all alone. But you could tell that it wasn't working, that you were on a losing race against your own body. Soon, you wouldn't be able to control your anxiety, soon it would turn into a full blown attack.

You wanted to call Chan, you truly did, but he was busy, and you refused to be a burden. Especially since he told you through texts that he'd be home late, so that definitely meant that he was making a new track in his studio.

So, you settled on rocking yourself back and forth, your hands slowly moving up to your shoulders, patting yourself down. This is what you used to do before knowing Chan. When you didn't have anyone around you who understood. You’d trick your bruised mind into believing you were hugged, the warmth of your own touch easing your anxiety a little.

But tonight it had the opposite effect. Tonight, you broke down in sobs, your breathing more irregular than ever. You curled into a ball on the floor, your hand moving to your chest in a futile attempt to slow down your heart. You could no longer breathe, the air in your lungs morphing into unkind fingers, choking you from within. White dots started dancing in front of your eyes, as your entire being shook like a lone leaf, left to fend for itself before the unyielding winds.

It suddenly got too much— the sobs, the pain, the ache. You couldn't bare it anymore. So with trembling hands, you unlocked your phone, calling the only person who would be able to calm you down. Chan. You put the phone on speaker, before tossing it on the ground next to you. You couldn't even muster the energy to hold it to your ear.

“Hi my love, I'm a bit busy right now can I call you later?” Chan's rushed words ring through the bathroom, your anxiety intensifying before the possible antidote. “Honey?” he asks again when he doesn’t hear your reply.

“Chan—“ you sob, the only word your weighted tongue allows you to speak of.

“I’m here, I'm here baby. I'm coming right now,” his panicked voice rings through your ears, following the frantic rush of your boiling blood. The sound of shuffling indicates that he’s getting up and leaving the studio, the confused ‘what’s going on?’ Han shouts confirms it.

The only reply you give him is your sobs, and his heart constricts, twists and turns at the sound of your cries. “Hey, hey, sweetheart. It’s okay, you’re okay. Breathe for me, okay? Take a deep breath with me, please—” his voice breaks, “please baby.”

You try, with all your will, to force a steady breath to rise from your stomach to the tip of your tongue. It escapes faintly, but Chan catches it. “You’re doing well, baby. Fuck—” he turns on his car’s engine. “Um… Minho bit my ass today.”

His words catch you off guard, the gears in your mind stopping for a split second. You remember a faint conversation under your covers, months ago, when you told him that distractions help you when you’re anxious. Force you to redirect your thinking somewhere else.

He remembered.

“Was it tasty?” you breathe out, and he chuckles, a sweet sound intermingled with a sigh of relief. “I don’t know, I need to ask him baby.”

You nod though he can’t see you, willing yourself to breathe again. In, out, in, out, Chan’s own breathing guiding you. “Should I bite him in return?” he asks. Tears pool in your eyes once again. “I’m close, so close,” he reassures.

“Okay.”

“To the biting?”

“Mm,” you manage to hum, as you hear the door of your apartment open, Chan's hurried steps echoing in your home. You knew he was looking for you but you couldn't call out to him. After painfully long seconds, stretching out as if to torture you even more, he finally opens the bathroom floor.

He finally finds you.

“It's okay, I'm here. I'm here,” he wastes no time before scooping you into his arms and hugging you. He knows that the pressure eases your anxiety so he tightens his hold without you having to say so, pulling you as close as two pages of the same book.

With you on his lap, he starts rocking back and forth, his words coming out a jumble mess. He can’t settle on what to say to you, switching between stupid jokes his friends told him, and words of reassurance he repeats like a promise.

His words break, his tongue faltering each time your sob gets louder, but he speaks. He speaks and speaks for twenty minutes, all to distract you, all to keep you grounded, and safe.

After a long while, the storm finally passes, leaving behind an excruciating exhaustion. You turn into a puddle in his hold, softening like malleable clay. He holds you as gently as a porcelain vase.

His warm palms settle atop your cheeks, his eyes gazing into yours for the first time since he got here. A sheen glaze taints them, one you know is mirrored in your own. His thumbs gently swipe away your remaining tears, grazing your face with a tenderness that makes your being ache. Your lips press a faint kiss onto his palm, his find their way to your forehead, and you feel it all, through his kiss. His fear, his relief, his love, soft and gentle, for you.

“Thank you,” you whisper, voice slightly hoarse as you kiss his forehead back.

“I’ve got you my love. Always,” he smiles at you softly, his dimples appearing like the sun after a cold day.

“Did Minho really bite you?” you giggle faintly, and he scratches his ear sheepishly. “No, but I don’t put it past him to do it.”

“Is that something you’re into?” You cock a teasing eyebrow at him, and he shakes his head, his tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek. “Only if it’s you,” he says as he wraps his arm around your waist, picking you up swiftly.

“I’ll consider,” you yawn, wrapping your arms around his neck, your face finding a refuge in the crook of his neck.

“Why thank you,” he smiles as he leads you to your bedroom, settling you gently atop the bed. He quickly climbs in with you, bringing you so close to him, his warmth ends up spreading through your entire being, filling up every nook and cranny of your soul.

“I think as long as you’re near, I’ll always be okay,” you say, as your eyes close slowly, you miss the tender smile that blooms in his face at your words.

“Good thing I exist to be near you, then.”

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harmonictechnicality · 1 year

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Grocery shopping with Steve Harrington should not be such an arousing task, but it is.

It so is.

Eddie swears on all of his calloused fingers that watching Steve strut down the cereal aisle with his little shopping cart is better than hand stuff.

Seriously. He always walks a few feet behind Steve, just to get the perfect view of that award winning ass (Eddie made him a trophy for it last Valentine’s Day - it’s on their mantle).

They’ve been together for what? Eight years? And it never gets any less sexy. Watching him reach for the granola bars on the top shelf, stretching his annoyingly tucked in shirt.

Eddie pretends to peer through imaginary opera binoculars as Steve reads over the nutrition label. Steve flips it over a couple of times because he always forgets which brand he likes better - the blue box or the red box. Eddie never reminds him that his favorite is the blue box because the whole charade is too adorable.

But once Steve figures it out, he tosses the blue box into the cart, and Eddie always lets out this rumbly throat sound at the sight.

Steve turns his neck to look at Eddie. “This again?”

“This always.” Eddie catches up to Steve’s side at the canned food section, slides his hand in Steve’s back pocket. “Never not this.”

Steve rolls his eyes and bends down to grab a few cans of chicken noodle soup. Which holy fuck, seeing his boyfriend at a 75° angle holding his favorite soup preference? Eddie might as well be packaged and placed on the shelf. Cause his mind is turning to liquid. He’s becoming a bowl of horny broth at the sight of Steve all domestic and bent over.

Eddie quickly flicks off his jacket because the entire store just warmed up exponentially. Global warming doesn’t have shit on Steve Harrington holding discounted canned goods.

Steve lightly smacks Eddie's arm. “Pull yourself together.”

“I’ll pull your self onto my self.”

“Really?” Steve snorts. “That was the best you could come up with?”

“Yeah well, the lower quadrant of my brain shut off the second I visualized your ass dimple in the middle of the bread aisle.” Eddie explains, untucking one edge of Steve’s shirt.

“Sorry for the inconvenience to your grocery-kink brain.”

“You should be.” Grocery kink. Steve with a shopping cart kink. Eddie has both, no doubt.

And it’s totally true. The bread aisle is usually where all hope is lost for him. Fluffy breads, kneading dough, squishy carbs all around them. Steve’s sides are just begging to be squeezed in that aisle (amongst other places). The deli employee outwardly gawks as Eddie pokes at Steve's waist, pinching any area of skin that he can get his hands on.

"Just making sure the products are nice and fresh!" Eddie shouts to the employee, hugging Steve firmly from behind. The poor meat-slicing guy laughs nervously before scurrying into the stock room. Honestly, Eddie should probably feel more sympathetic but it's so hard to focus on anything else when Steve kisses his cheek. Accepts his weird affections fully.

"These people don't get paid enough to put up with your shit." Steve is laughing as he says it though. Clearly not that bothered by all of the attention he's getting. That's part of the reason they work so well together. They're absolute attention whores, equally.

"Okay, cut it out." Steve wiggles out from Eddie's grasp. "You're gonna smush the sourdough."

Eddie freezes. Mulls over the consequences over the next thing he's about to say. "Is that an invitation?"

"Ew."

"You said it."

"You twisted it."

"How could I not?"

"You need help." Steve turns down the next aisle, still speaking as he stays on task. "Preferably the kind that involves a person with a legal pad and a couch that you can lie down on."

Eddie snickers, thoroughly loves it when Steve bites back. Makes the chase feel like it just started, even after all these years.

He keeps it together for roughly twelve more minutes, which is probably a record. Eddie also deserves a trophy on their mantle for that - he's gonna hint to Steve about investing in one whenever they get back home.

But the aisle where Eddie’s composure levels malfunction entirely, is the frozen food section. See, whenever Steve opens the door to get milk or eggs or whatever essential dairy item they need, a rush of frigid air blows out. Makes Steve’s already bitable skin all bumpy. His neck is covered in little chill bumps, all of his baby hairs stick up with his raised skin.

This is the only instance where Eddie mildly wishes he were a cannibal, just to give Steve a little chomp. A little nibble at his change in skin texture. Eddie's not even sure why the chill bumps send him over the edge but they do - every damn time.

“Baby, we’ve talked about this.” Steve says once Eddie gets him pinned up behind the corner freezer in the very back.

"There were no snoopy old ladies around this time." Eddie licks all the way up to Steve's ear, tugging gently around the edges. "I checked."

Steve huffs once before taking Eddie's face with both hands, kissing him deep. The rest of his body is cold from the surrounding freezers, but Steve's lips are warm. Hotter every time Eddie's mouth connects to his again. Steve still tastes like the nectarine samples they had back at the produce aisle. The taste drives Eddie to suck on Steve's bottom lip, drinking up any leftover flavor he can. Make Steve's natural pout even more plush than it normally is.

He untucks the rest of Steve's annoying polo - lets his hands slide all the way around, landing at the small of Steve's back. Eddie presses his fingers into Steve's skin, making him shiver. Causing more chill bumps to rise. Ones that he created this time.

They've kissed like this over a thousand times by now, but it always feels different. It’s a new kiss on a new day.

And Eddie couldn't give a single fuck if the deli employee or the snoopy old lady saw them making out next to the lactose-free cheese selection. He'd show off his stupidly gorgeous boyfriend everywhere, make a complete spectacle out of it every damn time.

Steve would let him do it too. Eddie bets that Steve would let him get away with a full anarchist uprising if he wanted. Which he does. Kinda. After they're done kissing, obviously.

They stop only because Steve lets his lips part and his fingers drag down Eddie's chest. And whenever Steve does that move, he's approximately thirty seconds away from moaning explicit words. Loudly too. Eddie knows all of Steve's physical indicators by heart now. It’s practically Eddie’s native language, he would speak only that one if he could.

Eddie takes the cue to stash all of his hormones away - goes back to dotting small pecks all over Steve's face. He needs to get Steve laughing instead of panting. It's safer that way. Eddie isn't trying to get arrested in a supermarket for christ's sake (although that would make one hell of a story for family reunions).

They're sort of blotchy, all pinks and reds, as they get to the checkout line. The cashier must think their complexion is permanently like this. Every time she’s seen them, they’re blushed-up like Vegas showgirls. Eddie is immune to the embarrassment of the situation. He's pretty sure Steve is too - he can tell by the way Steve is still leaning all over him while he fumbles to get his wallet open. All love-drunk and kittenish.

They head back to their car, and Eddie gets one last look at Steve's signature shopping cart strut. He sighs dramatically - crushed inside that he'll have to wait till their next grocery run to see it again.

"That's it." Steve says after Eddie sighs for the fifth time. "You're returning the cart."

"Why?"

"It's punishment for your ridiculous behavior."

"Rude."

"Necessary."

"Fine." Eddie snatches the handle and stomps all the way to the cart corral at the front of the store.

This is an outrage. Steve should know that his sexy cart-walking encore is the best part of Shopping Day. Seeing him walk further away before returning - always doing a little hair ruffle thing as he comes back. It's Eddie's own version of Baywatch and Steve is ruining it.

He slides into the passenger seat, slamming the car door to emphasize his anger.

"Steve Harrington, I'm so fucking mad at y-"

Eddie can't even finish his sentence before Steve's mouth is on his. It's a messier kiss this time, Steve is doing all the moving while Eddie tries to figure out what's going on. He pulls back, raising both eyebrows.

"I get it now." Steve answers Eddie's nonverbal 'what the fuck' question.

"Get what?"

"The shopping cart thing." Steve looks Eddie up and down. "I get it."

Holy shit. "Were you checking me out?"

Steve nods. Shrugs. Nods again.

"How much time do you think we have before the ice cream melts?" Steve motions to the backseat, tucking in his lips, hiding a smirk.

Oh. That. They're doing that.

"I'd say we have..." Eddie checks the nonexistent watch on his wrist. "More than enough time."

They haven't had desperate car sex like this since their first year of dating. It's so good that Eddie wonders why they stopped having desperate car sex.

For the rest of the car ride home, they're obnoxiously touchy-feely. Eddie's hand stays glued to Steve's overpriced jeans. The denim is much softer than any pair of jeans that Eddie owns. Maybe that's why they cost a fortune.

Steve takes one hand off the steering wheel whenever there's a straight shot - rubs his fingers over Eddie's knuckles. Bounces off his rings like stepping stones.

They're nauseating. If Eddie saw any other couple act like this, he'd throw tomatoes ate them. Taunt them mercilessly.

But Steve Harrington is the prototype that future scientists will use one day to build their genetically flawless human race. So Eddie is allowed to be as nauseating and revolting as he wants.

Their plan failed. The ice cream is completely melted by the time they get home. But who fucking cares? Eddie is dating someone with his same weird shopping cart kink and that's all he could ever ask for.

And besides, that just means that they’ll have to go grocery shopping again.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #I should've been writing for either of my two wip but nope #I made this instead lol #I had domestic steddie on the brain and the only solution was to write them a strange little grocery scene

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joyoushyuck · 3 months

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requested

00:56

Your hand is raised in front of the door, about to knock, when the door clicks open on its own. Donghyuck doesn't seem surprised by your presence; his expression is morphed into one of indifference. He is wearing his glasses and that white Celine shirt he loves to wear on special occasions. His long hair curls at his nape, a few curly strands beautifully swaying at the front. You would call him gorgeous if it wasn't for the pressing situation at hand. He walks past you into the kitchen and extracts a water bottle from the fridge. You flinch when he slams the door shut.

“Donghyuck,” you try. He chugs the water down, ignoring you. “Donghyuck list-”

A thud, water on your feet and a gasp leaving your mouth, and Donghyuck storms past you back into the bedroom. The blue baby shark bottle lays a few inches away from your legs with a broken hinge and a crack near the top.

You bite your lips in an attempt to keep your tears at bay. You brought this on yourself, you have no right to cry. If forgetting your anniversary was not enough of a fault, you went on to blame it on your workload and blame him for being upset. Not your smartest move.

Dejected, you walk back to the couch and lay down. You haven't slept properly in ages, you really were preoccupied with an important project at work, but even that isn't a good reason to stop doing the bare minimum. Donghyuck's anger is justified.

You don't have a blanket; no amount of hugging yourself provides you the warmth that Donghyuck’s body exudes. The pit of your stomach feels hollow with dread; the guilt weighs you down and threatens to swallow your being. After an hour of twisting and turning, you give up on the idea of sleep. There's no way you can sleep peacefully without resolving this conflict. Your throat constricts and heart sinks at the prospect of Donghyuck ending this relationship for his own good.

So you walk up to the door resolutely. If Donghyuck continues to give you the silent treatment, you know your resolve will take a hit pretty soon. However, doing something to show that you care is better than doing nothing.

“Hyuck,” you start, only to hear your voice crack. It pains you as much as it pains him to have landed in such a predicament. “I'm sorry, Donghyuck, it's my fault. Please, just open the door.”

You are met with silence. Did he fall asleep already? It seemed unlikely but you couldn't rule out the possibility.

“Hyuck, are you awake? Baby? Just please answer me.”

Still no response. But then, something drops, and you hear the old bed squeak, his feet shuffle and the spring in your mattress dip. So he's awake.

“Donghyuck, love, please talk to me.” You cringe at the desperation in your own voice. “I am sorry, I know I fucked up Hyuck. Shout at me, hit me, just-”

You clutch your hair, your back sliding against the door and butt hitting the cold floor. A shiver runs down your spine. Was it winter already?

“Just don't be quiet, please.”

You bury your face in your hands in a last ditch attempt to keep the sobs under control. It didn't seem to be working in your favour. The stress at work seems to be finally catching upto you as well. Donghyuck needs space. He doesn't need you annoying him now when all this could have been prevented had you been more mindful of your actions. You accept your fate and curl into a bundle, deciding to give it a rest for now.

That's how Donghyuck finds you a few hour laters.

You are hugging your knees close to your chest, head resting uncomfortably on the hard floor. When he takes a closer look, he can see the dried streak of tears on your cheek. You are trembling, and he realises you haven't even switched the heater on. Something in him breaks at the sight of you like this.

“Hey, baby,” he gently taps your cheek to wake you up. “Baby, you can't sleep here, come in.”

You make a little noise. He is met with the uncontrollable urge to coo at you, but stops himself given the situation.

“Wake up doll,” he tries again. “You are going to have a terrible back pain at this rate.”

You blink your eyes open sluggishly after a few moments. Donghyuck isn't wearing his glasses anymore and his hair is mussed up. “Hyuck?” You ask, your sleep muddled brain still not catching up. “Is everything alright?”

Donghyuck sighs, his fingers gently caressing your cheek. He loved you too much to stay mad at you for long, no matter what you did.

“Come sleep on the bed baby. We'll talk about the rest in the morning. Come in now.”

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steddiehyperfixation · 6 months

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don't you forget about me (part three)

(part one)(part two)

Everyone’s left to “let him get some rest,” but Eddie doesn’t rest, not really. Although he does drift off the second he closes his eyes, his sleep is not restful and his dreams are plagued:

Chrissy Cunningham stood in his trailer, small blonde girl in her cheerleader uniform. If Eddie hadn’t only just come out of his room with an unopened baggie of ketamine, he might’ve thought she’d already overdosed. Her eyes were rolled back, body frozen stiff like she was having some sort of seizure. Eddie shouted at her, shook her shoulders, waved his hands and snapped his fingers in front of her face, but Chrissy didn’t respond. He feared she might collapse, but then she did something much, much worse: she began to levitate.

Eddie immediately let go of her shoulders and scrambled back as some invisible force slammed the girl into the ceiling. Her bones snapped; one at a time, her arms and legs twisted in unnatural angles. Her jaw unhinged and cracked out of place, her mouth now stuck in a horrible, soundless scream. Her eyes bled, dripping red down her cheeks, and then they exploded, popped with a sickening squelching sound, and her eyelids caved in to empty, bloody sockets.

Eddie wakes up screaming. His heart pounds frantically, the monitor beeping like crazy, and all his muscles are tense like he’s ready to run.

Someone is at his side immediately; a gentle hand slips into his own, a soothing voice asks if he’s alright and tells him it’s okay, he’s safe now, it was just a nightmare. Eddie recognizes that hand, that voice, that shape in the dark. When did Harrington come back?

Eddie’s gasping, struggling to inhale a proper breath into his fear-frozen lungs. His wild eyes dart over the figure sitting beside him before landing on the hand that’s curled around his. Harrington must misread something in his expression then, because he mutters, “Sorry,” and starts to pull his hand away.

“No,” Eddie manages, instantly grabbing the other’s hand again and gripping it tight. “Keep- keep holding onto me.”

“Always,” Harrington whispers, the word an exhale under his breath, so soft Eddie thinks he may have imagined it.

Harrington rubs his thumb over the back of Eddie’s hand. His touch is calming, grounding. Eddie’s breath begins to even out and his heart returns to a normal pace as his residual panic slowly dissipates.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he sighs heavily once he’s recovered a bit. He presses his free hand to his chest. “That was the most terrifying dream I’ve ever had in my life.”

“It’s over now,” Harrington says, still soft, still tracing circles across Eddie’s skin. “Whatever it was, it can’t hurt you anymore.”

But it can, because Eddie can still see those horrible images behind his eyelids every time he blinks. He says so, shakily, “Think it's burned into my brain now, though. It was so real, man, I’m not sure I’ll ever get her disfigured face and mangled body out of my head.”

Harrington pauses. “Wait a second, did you dream about Chrissy?”

“Yeah, how did you-?” Eddie starts to ask, then stops as he remembers what Harrington had said yesterday about Chrissy being murdered in his trailer. The realization sets in with a cold chill. He shakes his head in horror, tightening his hold on Harrington’s hand like it's a lifeline. “No. Oh no, please don't tell me that actually happened.”

“It did. I’m sorry, it did.” Harrington clasps Eddie’s hand in both of his now. “That wasn’t just a nightmare, Ed, that was a memory. You’re starting to remember.”

“Well, shit,” Eddie mutters. If that’s what his lost memories are like, he thinks he’d very much rather them stay forgotten. “I’m starting to see why my brain blocked it all out in the first place, then. Was the whole rest of the last 11 months that awful too?”

“No…” Harrington frowns and that kicked puppy look flashes across his face, darkening the spark of hope that had just flickered in it before. “Well, maybe, I don’t know. I hope not.”

“Great,” Eddie sighs, tired and sarcastic. He stares up at the ceiling where the gnarled ghost of Chrissy’s corpse still haunts his vision. “Can’t wait to remember more.”

“I’m sorry,” Harrington says quietly. A heavy sadness runs thick in his voice again, same way he’d spoken when he first learned of Eddie’s amnesia. He squeezes Eddie’s hand once and then lets go.

So much for always, Eddie thinks dimly. His hand feels cold now, naked and untethered without the solid pressure of Steve’s fingers curled around it.

“You should try to go back to sleep,” Harrington tells him. The mattress shifts, the springs creak, as he rises from where he’d been perched at the edge of the bed. In the empty space he leaves behind, Eddie only feels even more untethered.

A sharp rush of panic grips him at the thought of being left here alone in the dark with the twisting shadows and afterimages of his nightmare. “Wait, Steve,” Eddie calls out immediately, before Harrington can even begin to turn away from him. “Will you stay?”

“Yeah.” Harrington nods, murmurs, “I’ll stay.”

So Steve stays. He stays and he sits in the stiff chair by Eddie’s bed, and he spirals. Of course he spirals, in the silence, in the dark. He can’t seem to do anything else in Eddie’s presence lately but let his mind spin around in circles ‘til it breaks.

Was the whole rest of the last 11 months that awful too? Eddie’s previous question is the catalyst of his spiral this time, the words that are currently echoing in the whirlpool of Steve’s consciousness, because he hadn’t thought of that before. He has already wallowed in the idea that he was something so unimportant he was easy to erase, but Steve hadn’t yet considered the possibility that he was something so horrible he needed to be erased. It makes sense, though, doesn’t it? The nurse did say Eddie’s amnesia was in part due to psychological trauma, and his memories do end just before he and Steve properly met. Was being with Steve so awful Eddie’s mind lumped it in with all the other recent traumas and just had to wipe it away?

An ugly guilt twists beneath his skin, like a deep rot running black in his veins. Steve curls his hand into a fist in his lap, digs his fingernails into his palm as if the sharp bites of pain will help release what is dark and decayed inside of him. As if it will choke the voice in the hollow behind his heart that now tells him he deserved to lose Eddie’s love, or that maybe he never truly had it in the first place.

And, see, Steve knows he’s spiraling. He knows his brain has just tripped down some bullshit rabbit hole of self-deprecation and that really his despairing conclusions are not in any way rooted in reality. He knows Eddie loved him. He knows Eddie’s amnesia is not his own fault nor is it a reflection on him. He knows it’s got nothing to fucking do with him. Yet nonetheless, his mind continues to tumble downwards on a quest to prove the opposite. The rot still festers; the hollow still whispers.

“Hey, Steve?” Eddie’s soft-spoken words eventually cut through the quiet and shake Steve from his lamenting thoughts.

He sits forward. “Yeah?”

“I can’t sleep,” Eddie says. “Do you, uh- sorry, could you…maybe hold my hand again?” His voice is small like he’s asking for something embarrassing, and his hesitancy kind of breaks Steve’s heart. “Just until I fall back asleep. It just- it makes me feel safer.”

“Yeah, of course.” Steve scoots his chair closer to the bed and gently takes hold of Eddie’s hand again.

Eddie sighs, a heavy exhale of relief, his body beginning to relax almost immediately. He squeezes Steve’s hand. “Thanks,” he mumbles.

“Anytime,” Steve whispers in response. Always, forever, anything; because I love you, want you, need you, miss you. He swallows down the emotion that rises in his chest. Another spiral threatens to drown his mind again and he fights that off too, tries not to think about everything that fucking hurts.

He focuses on the familiar feeling of Eddie’s hand in his (it’s bittersweet; he’s not thinking about it), on watching the steady rise and fall of Eddie’s chest as he slips back into a more peaceful sleep (he wants to kiss his forehead, tuck him in like a child; he’s not thinking about it).

Steve leaves first thing in the morning. The second Wayne walks in and Eddie now has someone else there to watch over him, Steve tells the older man briefly about Eddie’s nightmare and then he’s out the door before Eddie even wakes up, and he doesn’t return that day.

He can convince himself, illogically, that it’s better for Eddie if he stays away - that Steve’s spiral was right and he’d only make Eddie uncomfortable in the daylight; the less he’s around, the less the rot inside of him can poison Eddie too. But also it’s selfish. Mostly it’s selfish. Because as much as Steve craves to be near him, it hurts far more to be around him and not be seen, not be known, not be loved. The ache of missing him when they’re apart is so much easier to bear than the ache of missing him when he’s right in front of him.

Still, Steve does come back that night. He doesn’t want Eddie to be alone, and with Wayne working graveyard shifts and everyone else having parents to answer to, Steve is the only one left who’s both willing and able to sit with him through the night. He has a feeling, just a feeling, same as he’d had the night before, that Eddie might need him again. Well- maybe not him specifically, but just someone, anyone, to comfort him in the dark, and Steve can be that someone. And maybe that’s selfish too, because it feels good, eases the ache a bit, to be the one to help Eddie, to take care of him. If Steve cannot be loved then he will settle for being needed.

Good for them both, then, that Eddie does end up needing Steve that night. Eddie jolts awake from another nightmare memory - this one about being chased onto the lake by Jason Carver and watching another body float above the water and be crumpled and killed by Vecna - and Steve is there once more to hold his hand and soothe him back to sleep.

And then, again, Steve is gone the next morning, back the next night. Such is the pattern he’s fallen into, the selfish, stupid pattern: gone when he cannot feel loved, back when he can feel needed.

Tonight is the worst nightmare yet. Steve can tell it’s bad even before Eddie wakes. The heart monitor begins to beep more rapidly, Eddie whimpers and twitches in his sleep. Steve grabs Eddie’s hand and tries to ease the nightmare before it worsens, though to no avail.

Eddie doesn’t wake up screaming this time, but choking and crying, rasping through hyperventilating breaths fragmented nonsense about bats and pain and death. He doesn’t seem to be completely aware or lucid right now, still stuck in his nightmare where he’s dying and he’s scared, so scared.

“Shh, Eddie, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Steve can’t stand to see him like this. Holding his hand isn’t enough. “C’mere,” he murmurs. “You’re alright.” He doesn’t even think, just climbs onto the bed with him and very very carefully, very very gently, sits them both up and pulls Eddie onto his chest, wrapping his arms around him and holding him close. “You’re alright,” Steve continues to whisper softly, lips brushing against Eddie’s hair. “Just breathe, baby, it’s okay.” (The pet name just slips out; neither of them notice.)

Eddie clutches Steve’s arms, leans back against his chest and tucks his face into the curve of Steve’s neck. He’s trembling, breath still rapid and panicked, not yet free of the waking dream he’s trapped in. “I died- I’m dead- I was dead,” Eddie keeps babbling in shaky, sobbing gasps. “It hurts- and I died. I don’t- I don’t wanna die- I don’t-”

“You’re not dying, Eddie, you’re not. You’re okay,” Steve reassures him. “You’re alive.” He gently pries one of Eddie’s hands off his arm and guides it to the boy’s chest, covering his hand with his own as he presses it over Eddie’s heart to give proof to his words. “Do you feel that? You’re alive, you’re so alive.”

Eddie sucks in a deep breath, lets out a tremulous exhale. “I’m alive,” he repeats, his voice wavering like he’s trying to convince himself of something he doesn’t quite believe.

“Yeah,” Steve confirms, still holding his hand over Eddie’s slowly steadying heartbeat. “You’re alive.”

Eddie repeats it again, a little more solidly this time. “Okay,” he breathes out. “Okay, I’m okay.” His hyperventilating has finally begun to ease, his tremors gradually dissipating. He seems to wake up a bit more now, settles back into reality. He rolls his face out of the crook of Steve’s neck and tilts his head up to rest it against his shoulder instead as he looks at him. “Steve,” Eddie says, not like a question or the beginning of a sentence, but more like he’s only just now becoming aware of who’s holding him.

Steve gives a small hum of confirmation in response. He doesn’t know if Eddie is going to want him to move now, if the way they’re situated is uncomfortable for him or if Eddie is even okay with this situation at all. Steve can’t tell. He should’ve thought of that first. Holding his hand is one thing, but pulling Eddie half on top of him and holding him there is another thing entirely. And Eddie doesn’t know him anymore. Steve wouldn’t blame the guy if he freaked out at coming out of a panic attack to find himself in some strange man’s arms.

But Eddie just closes his eyes, goes quiet and still for a few long moments, and so Steve stays where he is, assumes Eddie’s trying to go back to sleep. Steve will keep holding him until then.

“Why are you always here at night?” Eddie asks suddenly, opening his eyes again. So he’s not trying to go back to sleep.

The question catches Steve off guard, and not just because he hadn’t expected Eddie to speak again. “I, uh, I don’t want you to be alone- you know, with your nightmares.”

“No, yeah, I know, and I-I’m grateful for that, but,” Eddie clarifies, “I meant, why are you always only here at night? I know you’re around during the day, dropping off one of the kids or Robin or whatever, you just don’t come in. Like- you’ll hold me through a nightmare, but you won’t actually hang out with me and just, like, eat shitty hospital food and watch shitty hospital TV with me. What’s up with that?” Eddie looks up at him. His tone is light enough, but there’s a genuine curiosity in his eyes, and a confusion that borders on hurt. “Thought we were supposed to be friends, Harrington.”

“We are,” Steve says immediately. “We are friends. I just- I didn’t want to force that on you or-or make you uncomfortable or awkward or anything. I know you don’t know me anymore.”

“Well, you haven’t given me much of a chance to get to know you again,” Eddie states plainly, and that catches Steve off guard too.

“I didn’t know you wanted to.”

“Of course I want to,” Eddie mutters. “You’re a decent guy, Stevie. Not how I thought you’d be. Maybe I want you to keep surprising me.”

The way one corner of his mouth quirks up then, popping a dimple in his cheek, makes Steve’s heart stutter, chest warm with a rush of affection. He can’t help but smile a little too. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Eddie echoes, smirk stretching into a proper grin now. He taps his fingers where they rest on Steve’s arm. “You better hang out with me tomorrow.”

“I will,” Steve agrees, because how can he say no to a smile like that? “Promise.”

Satisfied, Eddie closes his eyes and settles back to try and fall asleep again. A lingering fear still runs like an undercurrent beneath his veins though, scared of sleep and dreading the possibility of another nightmare, another memory. He shifts, pulls Steve’s arms a little tighter around him. Eddie never seems to have bad dreams once Steve is holding onto him.

(part four) taglist: @romanticdestruction @daydreamsandcrashingwaves @paintsplatteredandimperfect @hallucinatedjosten @mugloversonly @estrellami-1 @alongcomesaspider @thatonebadideapanda @tell-me-a-secret-a-nice-one @dragonmama76 @wxrmland @nuggies4life @sirsnacksalot @myguiltyartpleasure @lolawonsstuff @marklee-blackmore @vinteraltus @sebastiansstanswhore @0happyeverafter0 @scarlet-malfoy @hotluncheddie @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @emsgoodthinkin @alyelf @warlordess @stevesbipanic @lil-gremlin-things @rockandrolodex @badcaseofcasey @bat-outta-hel @fandomcartographer @manda-panda-monium @littlewildflowerkitten @giopandaonice @mightbeasleep @queenie-ofthe-void @krazyperson @worldofshea @marvel-ous-m @tartarusknight @a-little-unsteddie @xenon-demon @goodolefashionedloverboi @xxsky-shockxx @mc-i-r @bookbinderbitch @aspenshade88 @slowandsteddie @thedragonsaunt @daydreaming-mood @space-invading-pigeon @irregular-child @a-lovely-craziness (i have hit my limit on amount of people i can tag in one post; taglist will be continued in replies. please lmk if you'd like to be removed from this list. no longer accepting any more additions atm!! also, thank you guys so much for all the support on this so far omg??? this is insane for me and i'm so glad y'all are enjoying my writing <3)

#progress progress progress #steddie #steddie angst #steddie fic #steddie fanfiction #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #fanfic #mine #dyfamsteddiefic #<- specific tag for this fic

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luveline · 9 months

Note

your spencer writing is so beautiful jadey! i was wondering if we could get some hurt comfort where reader really struggles after a case and he comforts her? <3

thank you ♡

Grief for other people can vary in strength. Ever present, occasionally numbing, tonight's case has left you neck deep in it, and the feeling needs to come out. Tears slink down your face in lazy rivers. You keep thinking you'll stop crying. Then you remember her hand, soft with newness and curled in death, and it starts again.

It hurts to cry. You don't attempt to stop; you don't think about it, or the team, or the heat at your side, you just think about the girl's hand. It's not fair. It's too much.

"It's okay," Spencer says. You know it's him without looking, his voice a familiar gentleness that reaches your ears despite the roaring-quiet nothing and your sniffles.

You turn your face away from him to hide.

He puts his hand on your thigh amicably, his tone encouraging as he continues, "If you don't calm down you'll throw up. What can I do?"

You suck in a shaky breath, an attempt to regulate feelings too big for one body, "Sorry, it's– I'm fine. I'll be fine," you wobble. You can't finish the second fine, a cry crushing it down.

Another hand touches you, fingers on your wrist and weaving down. He covers the back of your hand with his palm. It's not like Spencer, but it's not like you to cry like this.

Spencer doesn't tell you to stop crying or try to shush you. He'd told you once that he tries not to stop people when they're talking, because he knows what it feels like to be shut up. I wish people… I wish people would have more patience, I think. Sometimes I can't get things out the way others want me to, and I get that things are time sensitive, but. I don't know. If I have time to listen, I'll listen.

Listen to you cry, listen to your staggering breaths as you catch them. Patient, Spencer pulls your hand to his lap and draws letters into your wrist. You can't make out what he's writing, but you can feel the bumps and curves of Os and Ks. Maybe he's telling you it's okay, maybe he's writing out a recipe. Whatever it is, it calms you down.

"Do you want some water?" he asks as you still. He sounds pitying, sure, but he understands. His thumb rubs down to the middle of your hand.

"Yeah. Please."

He passes you a plastic bottle of water with the seal already broken. You have the wherewithal, then, to see where you are. The conference room is dark, and your teammates have given you the chance to cry alone, though they'd sent Spencer in to keep you company, it seems. You can see Morgan waiting out by the door like your bodyguard, and you're sure you can hear Hotch shouting. Or, not shouting, he doesn't yell much, but his voice is loud and terse. He cannot be argued with.

"I'm sorry you got the short straw."

Spencer puts an arm behind your back. "Actually, I had to fight Emily to be the one who gets to sit with you. And I can't fight, so it was more like begging."

He rubs your back. You forget that he's a man, sometimes, but you can feel the ridges of his arm, smell the woody scent of his deodorant as it stretches around you in a half hug. His awkwardness with women doesn't extend to his friends at any rate, and he hugs you with surety.

"You're one of my favourite people. I'm sorry you didn't know that. Holding your hand when you cry isn't a short straw," he says.

You lean into his shoulder. He murmurs a quiet, "Come here," as you do, his jaw pressed tight to your forehead.

"I'm so sorry," you say. To him and to someone else.

"It's okay. It's not your fault. You can't save everyone." He sounds near choking up with his last sentence. It's a grim and undeniable truth. No matter how hard any of you try, there will be impossible cases with twisting riddles for motivation and terror that fills every corner. There will be young girls who die, because there will always be someone waiting to hurt them.

"I tried–" You bite your cheek until it screams at you to stop.

"I know. There was nothing else we could do."

You turn into him completely, wrapping your arms around his waist in a vice. Spencer doesn't baulk, circling your shoulders, his breath tickling your ear where you squish your face against the collar of his sweater. The fabric bites your skin, a wicked heat returning to line your lashes.

Your back shakes under Spencer's hand.

"I know," he repeats, rubbing your back. "It's okay, Y/N, I promise. He can't hurt anyone else, ever again."

It doesn't make the crime any better. It won't bring back the girl you lost. And it can't erase the agony of knowing you failed her.

Spencer starts to talk. Simple facts, explaining grief. When we cry, it releases oxytocin. You feel better afterwards because of the chemical effects.

When you eventually do calm down, head pounding and chest aching, Spencer helps you clean the tear stains from your cheeks with a pocket pack of tissues, and you know it isn't the oxytocin that made you feel better, just a really caring man.

"Thank you for dealing with me. I know this wasn't even the worst thing we've seen, but I–" You clear your throat, determined not to cry anymore tears until you're back home. "I couldn't stop seeing her hand. I can't remember my hand being that small anymore."

Spencer gives you a smile. It's far from happy, a flat line with the slightest curve at the corners. "Some things are hard to forget. And we shouldn't forget them. But we have to keep going so we can balance it out. Or at least that's what I think."

You hug him quickly. "Thanks, Spence."

His hand twitches against the small of your back.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

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bitchinbarzal · 3 months

Text

Runaway Groom | N Hischier

summary: Nico’s getting married and he thinks he’s got the wrong bride.

“He wants you there schatzi” Katya mumbled, sipping her coffee across from you.

You shook your head “Yes but she doesn’t… I’m ok just seeing the pictures after”

You watched her eyes drop and her mouth pull into a tight line “Y/N, we thought it would be you”

Your stomach sinks and you smile softly “Yeah… but it’s not and I’m ok with that. I want Nico to be happy”

His mom wanted to reply, tell you he’d be happy with you. That his smile isn’t as wide with her as it is with you.

But she didn’t. She just squeezed your hand.

Their wedding is all anyone was talking about the week before; the welcome drinks, the rehearsal dinner, the church, the party.

You were tired of hearing about them. They could go back to New Jersey now for your liking.

The night of the rehearsal dinner had you getting ready for the gym when your front door opened and you heard the familiar voice shouting

“Hallo?”

“Timo?” You yelled back, puzzled

“I’m here to pick you up!”

Your head pokes out of your bedroom “for what? Why are you wearing a suit?”

He looks puzzled “Nico and Rosie’s welcome dinner?”

You laughed “I’m not going to that”

“Why not?”

“Because i don’t want to? I’m sorry did everyone just forget that me and Nico are ex’s?”

Timo rolls his eyes, entering your bedroom and beginning to rake through your wardrobe, pulling out a dress.

You stumbled for a moment seeing it again, the dress you wore to Nico’s captain’s dinner. The team had thrown him a fancy dinner in the city to celebrate him becoming captain and you wore that red dress.

“Put this on, you’ve got five minutes” he informed, shoving the dress into your hands and walking out.

Before you walked out the house you looked at yourself in the mirror and huffed “It’s only two hours… two hours you got this!”

Nico’s family were elated to see you walk in the door, diverting their attention all to you.

You didn’t see him but Nico also diverted his attention to you, his grip on his soon to be wife’s hand slipping as he spotted you in that dress.

The last time he saw that dress it was on the floor of your bedroom.

Your eyes scanned the room, finally falling on him. You gave him a soft smile and he reciprocated until he noticed your hand placed firmly in Timo’s.

There was nothing there but he couldn’t help but feel his gut twist. He was getting married and thinking about you.

Throughout the night you were stopped by various teammates and their partners all expressing just how much they missed you.

“I always thought this would be you” Klara, Jonas’ wife comments and you can only give a tight smile

“Rosie is lovely, no?”

“She doesn’t know him like you… he’s not the same”

“Nico decided I wasn’t what he wanted” is all you could say before venturing off somewhere else.

You wanted to go home. You were tired of hearing about how it should be you.

That night when you arrived home, you checked your phone which you’d subsequently left on the nightstand after being rushed out the house.

Only one notification stood out. A text from Nico.

it meant a lot to see you tonight, take care of yourself schatzi.

Your thumb hovered over the text pad, considering a reply. You stared at the words so long you didn’t notice the tears starting to gather in your eyes.

“Fuck, Neeks” you cursed, throwing your phone onto the bed and gripping at your hair in frustration before you picked the phone back up again and dialled his number.

“Hel-“

“Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare call me names, I’m not yours anymore Nico! You remember? You broke up with me!” You sobbed, so angry and frustrated. You were overwhelmed.

“Schatzi… don’t cry”

“Nico” you mumbled, the exhausted tone of your voice evident on your words.

He sighs “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have text you… it was a lot to see you tonight”

You scrunched your eyes closed in an attempt to stop the tears falling.

“Will you be at the wedding tomorrow?” He mumbles, somewhat hopeful.

You paused, silent so much so he asked “Can you hear me?”

You nodded, not that he could see you “I can hear you Neeks”

“Neeks” you chuckled “It’s been so long since I heard that”

“I’m not coming, this is probably the last time we can ever speak again…”

Nico bit his lip on the other side of the phone, tears now in his waterline. The weight of this on his shoulders.

“I can’t lose you Y/N”

“You lost me the day you broke up with me… you don’t get the best of both worlds. Goodbye Nico, good luck at the wedding” you mumbled, pulling the phone away and hanging up.

You threw your head back and cried out a strangled cry “Fucking Hischier!”

The next morning you lay in bed, the longer you were in your bed the less you had to face the real world.

It wasn’t until twelve you rolled onto the side of your bed, where your phone was charging. Your notifications were crazy.

Multiple missed calls. Texts. Voicemails.

Before you could read them, Nina was calling you.

“Hello? Ni what’s going-“

“Where is Nico?!”

You frowned “at his wedding? Aren’t you-“

“He’s not here! They’re all panicking he’s just disappeared and we can’t find him” she cried out, you could hear other panicked voices in the background specifically Rosie’s

“I’ll call him” is all you said, hanging up and staring at your reflection in the black screen “Hischier… where are you?”

You had tried calling him with no answer, leaving multiple voicemails. You grabbed your keys to head out the door when you spotted him, sitting out on your porch.

You opened the door, making your way to the porch swing and sitting next to him. Nico didn’t speak, just looking out at the mountains.

Your head dropped to his shoulder “Neeks she’s waiting for you”

He sniffled “This was supposed to be us”

You nod, grabbing his hand in yours “But it’s not, it’s you and Rosie. Nico you gotta go back to her”

He finally looked at you, his eyes rimmed red “What if I don’t? What if I just stay here? Would you have me?”

You swallowed loudly “Nico, I love you so much and if you ever came to me before I’d say yes but you don’t want me you’re just confused”

He shook his head “I love you! I’m not confused… I want this, I want you! This, this house! This life!”

The house was bought by Nico, at your request your Switzerland home had to be in the countryside. He let you have it after the breakup.

The two of you were inches apart, tears streaming down both of your faces “Neeks…”

“Kiss me” he mumbled, holding the back of your head waiting for your move. You did. You leaned up to capture his lips in yours, his tongue slipped past your bottom lip into your mouth.

You moaned into the kiss before pulling away and pecking his lips once more “Hell of a last kiss”

“No, not a last kiss” he says and you look sadly

“Nico, let’s go…”

“Where?”

“To your wedding”

He wanted to argue, tell you he was going to stay but you looked at him with an expression that told him he didn’t get a say.

At the church you stood outside the doors, just enough time to spare. He’d got changed at your house, trying to fix his red and splotchy face as much as you could.

Outside the church entrance you stood hand in hand, Nico staring at you sadly “I don’t want to lose you”

You shook your head softly, leaning up on your tiptoes to kiss him softly and mumble

“You’ll always be mine even if I’m not yours”

He couldn’t answer before his family came out, shouting at him where he was. You smiled softly and whispered something about leaving before you turned around and walked away.

He watched you walk back to the car, watching you walk away from him for the last time.

#nico hischier x reader #nico hischier imagine

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f1girliefics · 8 months

Text

Too Far

Mick Schumacher x Reader

Summary: When dating him causes rage in some fans, they forget where the line is.

When the news of Mick and you dating came out, you expected the rumours, you were ready for the hate and the comments.

What you weren’t ready for is the crazy fans who decided to harass you in public.

It started off with small things.

When you went shopping, things were missing from your cart. Then people started to push you. You thought it was by mistake but then you realized, it was all a game to them.

Videos on TikTok started to go around, it was almost like a challenge to them.

Who could push you more?

Mick mentioned to you that it wasn’t okay and you didn’t have to deal with the harassment, but you brushed it off.

“Don’t worry, it will die down after a while. You know how people are, they will move on to the next thing.”

He knew you were right.

But then, it got out of hand. So much so that you fell and got injured.

The video went viral before you could even get some help.

You were rushed to a hospital with a broken ankle and twisted wrist.

Your boyfriend called you, furious.

“This has to stop!” he texted. “I’m on my way, almost there.” came another text, then. “I’m so sorry that this happened. I love you!”

Before you could text back, the door opened and he came in.

“How are you feeling?” he asked as he saw the cast on your leg and the wrap on your arm.

“I’m good. The idiots pushed me on a slippery floor and as I fell my leg got stuck under the shelf and I fell on my wrist. How I can press charges?”

“I saw the video, Lando sent it to me. It’s going viral and the public opinion is with you. Everyone’s saying how that is just taking it too far and how they should be ashamed. Someone even found out the name of the girls and even after they took off the video, someone reported them.” he let out a long sigh. “I was so worried about you. I’m glad you are safe.”

“I agree, this has gone too far. Light pushing I can handle but breaking my leg… too much. Thank you.” you smiled at him and pulled him in for a short kiss before the doctor came and let you leave.

You arrived home and ate something while Mick was on his phone.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m making a post. I need to set the boundaries and I can’t just let this one go.”

“I understand and agree… just be… kinda nice.” you said as he nodded and continued typing.

‘My Dear Fans,

I’m sure many of you are aware of what happened today. I kept silent out of respect for my girlfriend, but I can no longer do so.

She got seriously hurt today and I’m honestly surprised it didn’t happen before.

I do appreciate all my fans but I think we all can agree that this is seriously not okay.

I decided to take a break from social media and spend my time with my girlfriend as now she will need someone to help her with tasks.

I hope we all can learn from this.’

You gave Mick a nod and he posted it.

He spent the entire day helping you with anything. He ordered food and even offered to help you eat.

“My other hand is just fine!”

“But I want to help.” he argued and you couldn’t help but laugh.

He wanted you to smile and laugh to forget everything that happened.

But later that night, while he was sleeping, your mind began to wonder.

All your insecurities and fears came to the surface.

You knew you shouldn’t blame yourself. But you were angry that you let things get out of hand and it got to this point.

You were used to the interviewers, the inappropriate questions, and people shouting at you.

But this was a new low.

You were just happy to have Mick by your side.

DO NOT STEAL, REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS

#Mick Schumacher x Reader #Mick Schumacher x you #Mick Schumacher x fem you #Mick Schumacher x fem Reader #Mick Schumacher x female Reader #Mick Schumacher #mick schumacher imagine #mick schumacher fluff #mick schumacher fanfiction #formula 1 #Mick Schumacher imagines #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 imagines #formula one x reader #f1 fluff

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lovebugism · 7 months

Note

«Remembering the littlest of things — activities they like and dislike, favourite brands of stationery, go-to ice cream flavour, choice of popcorn» with lovesick eddie 🥰🥹

thanks for requesting :D i sorta wrote this as a part of the tcar universe but it can be read as a standalone fic!

summary: the one where eddie munson is the best boyfriend ever when you're feeling poorly (established relationship, hurt/comfort cw reader has a period and a history of bad boyfriends)

fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

You cry into your pillow like you just got your heart broken.

You didn’t, though. You’re just overtly emotional against your will and so full of love that you don’t know what to do with it.

And even though you’re weeping like a total maniac, Eddie stays at your side — rubbing up and down your back with a warm hand and trying his best not to laugh at your misplaced misery.

“I’m sorry, babe…” the boy murmurs over your sniffling. His thumb swipes soothingly over your trembling shoulder before his palm falls back down your spine again. “Didn’t mean to make you cry…”

You shake your head and swallow through a tight throat. “No, it’s not your fault,” you retort quickly, voice wet with tears. “I’m fine— I know I seem mental, but I’m fine, okay? I’m just emotional.”

Eddie fights back another laugh. You’re not looking at him, though, so he grins as big as he wants. “I know, babe. That’s why I got you ice cream. It’s supposed to help with the cramps.”

A poorly held-back sob tumbles from your mouth.

‘Cause he did get you your favorite ice cream, right after you told him you got your period. You felt too poorly to hang out, so he decided to come to you, and he didn’t waste a second. You’ve spent so long crying about it now that the carton is melting on your bedside table.

It only makes you feel worse.

Eddie winces when he fails to comfort you. “Sorry…”

“Stop being so nice to me! It’s making me sad!” you blurt, lifting your head from the pillow and looking at him over your shoulder. Your eyes are red-rimmed and glassy, your brows are twisted with agony, and your face is blotchy with the heat of your emotion.

Eddie grins. He doesn’t know how you manage to look so pretty all the time.

“Sorry,” he repeats, though his lopsided smile says otherwise. His ringed fingers dig softly into the base of your spine, where your cramps have seemingly migrated. He tilts his head and scrunches his nose. “I’d try to love you less, but I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if I did.”

“Eddie!” you shout when your eyes start to burn all over again.

A chuckle spills from his rosy mouth. He’s amused by your dramatics but still obviously sympathetic of you. “Okay, that was mean… But I meant it.”

“I’m just not used to all this, you know?” you mumble, fatigued by your own tears and lingering period pains. You turn to lie down again, burying your face into your pillow with the ardency of someone wanting to melt into their mattress.

Eddie resumes his absentminded petting. “Hm?”

“My last boyfriend would barely talk to me when I was on my period. He thought it was gross,” you confess, distracting yourself from the dull discomfort in your back and abdomen by picking at the fuzz on your blanket. “I bled on his sheets once, and he wouldn’t even look at me. I think he would’ve actually broken up with me if I didn’t wash them after.”

Eddie’s chest stings with withheld anger. It’s like you’ve shoved a red-hot knife into his sternum and twisted. He doesn’t know how anybody could be anything but gentle with you.

He wishes the world had been kinder to you. He wishes your past had been easier. He hopes that maybe he can make your future worth looking forward to, though. If he can be good enough to you to make you forget about every asshole that’s screwed you over, it would’ve been worth it.

“I know it’s not good to wish death on people, so I won’t, but I hope nothing good ever happens to that asshole,” Eddie tells you, totally serious but covering his rage with a teasing inflection. “Like, I hope his pillow is always warm on both sides and that his socks are always rotated just enough to make him uncomfortable when he puts them on. Nothing serious, you know? Just enough torture to make him slowly go insane.”

You smile at him, finally. It’s weak and weighed down, wavering softly at the edges, but it’s a sincere thing you flash over your shoulder nonetheless. “I’m glad we’re on the same page,” you quip with a soft laugh.

Eddie leans down to kiss you, even though you’re still a bit weepy and sniveling. He presses his rosy mouth against your own and lingers there — an innocuous, languid peck. Your lips click softly when he pulls away.

Your glassy, doe eyes flit between both of his chocolate ones when you go silently serious. “Thanks for being so nice to me,” you murmur like you might’ve burdened him in some way.

Eddie scoffs and lies more intently at your side. Still in his day clothes and sitting over the covers, he curls in behind you. One hand props up his head, and the other spreads out on your stomach over the blanket. “Don’t thank me. I’m your boyfriend. It’s, like, my job to be nice to you— I like being nice to you.”

“I know…” you mumble as you settle into Eddie’s warmth.

You’re still getting used to that. You’ve been so conditioned to beg for love that you don’t know what to do when it lays willingly at your feet. You’ve gotten too used to being treated like shit, and now you hardly feel deserving of the barest minimum. Eddie’s so sweet to you that it makes you feel like a burden.

“Yeah, so buckle up, sweetheart,” the boy says, laughing into your ear as he noses at your hair. The sound is a honeyed, heavenly one. The breath of it fans warm against your cheek. “You got a whole fuckin’ lifetime of this shit.”

“Yeah?”

“Hell yeah. Can’t wait to be nice to you forever. It’s gonna be metal.”

A grin pulls slow at your lips. You bury it into the pillow like a giddy teenager.

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #st drabbles #eddie spaghetti drabble #virgin!eddie munson #event: fictober!

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f0point5 · 22 days

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MAD MAX FIGHT SCENE WHEN?? I have never needed a written piece more than right now

I also reserve the right to imagine Emilia throwing a shoe at someone in this scenario. Idk why i just feel like it could happen. She is not happy about it

MAD MAX FIGHT SCENE NOW!!!

Tell me why this went four different ways before I came to this version. The alternate version took place in a club and had Emilia spraying champagne at a bunch of people but fundamentally it didn’t work as a written piece because you can’t hear what anyone’s saying in a club for shit 😂 No shoe throwing but I hope you like it anyway 😂

Me writing action scenes is like something out of that book After it’s so bad I’m sorry but I hope you got where I’m going 😂

✨set after the Monaco Grand Prix 2018✨

I don’t regret it one bit, ‘cause he had it coming

Another Monaco GP, another yacht party. You’re not even sure whose yacht it is but you don’t care. During GP weekend, drivers can pretty much walk onto whatever boat they want. You, Max, Clara, and Laurent had wandered onto the biggest boat with people having a party and set about forgetting Max’s nightmare weekend. The party is chaotic, you’re not sure how long whoever is in charge of the marina will let the noise and overcrowding go on, but you’re enjoying the high, four shots down with Max on the upper deck, lazily moving to the music emanating from the DJ playing his set downstairs.

“Where’s Laurent?” Max asks, practically shouting in your ear. He’s tipsy, which he deserves to be, his arm slung over your shoulder as he looks around, jerking your body as he turns. He’s out way too late, you can tell by how his t-shirt is clinging to him, and the fluffy top of his hair has completely broken free of the gel hold. He looks positively feral. You don’t hate it.

“I don’t know,” you shrug, pushing up onto your tiptoes so you don’t have to shout. “Probably fucking Clara in a bathroom somewhere,”

Max chuckles at that, taking a sip of his Red Bull. He offers it to you but you shake your head.

“I thought you were supposed to be supporting me,” he jokes as you avoid the can.

“Not by rotting my insides,” you tell him, squirming in his hold as he bops to the Dua Lipa remix he’ll pretend he’s never heard before. He manoeuvres you in front of him as if you don’t even have feet, wrapping his arm around your stomach so that you’re still trapped, but comfortable.

“Je bent niet leuk, schatje,” he says into your ear. The air on your neck makes you shiver against him, and he must think you’re cold because he holds you tighter.

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” you tell him, which makes him smirk. “And I’m not your baby,”

“Ja, maar-“

“Max!”

You twist in Max’s hold when a guy you don’t recognise appears from somewhere in the crowd. Max lets go of you to greet him, and without being entirely engulfed by 80kgs of Red Bull and audacity, you realise you’re parched. You tell Max you’ll be right back and scoot out of reach before he can say anything. You creep through the crowd and then downstairs to where the drinks are without twisting your ankle, which, given how drunk you felt back upstairs, sort of surprises you.

There’s several ice buckets lining the edge of the deck and you peruse the options. You’ve certainly had enough to drink but one more vodka couldn’t hurt. You glance over at the cans of Red Bull and make a note to take one with you as you pick a glass off the table.

“Do you come with the bottles?”

Well, that’s a choice of opening line, talking to a girl like she’s a phone charm.

You turn to see what, not whom, actually felt comfortable saying that out loud and there he was. The epitome of a guy who would say that. He’s older than you, maybe mid to late 20s, all tan and tight jeans, dark hair cut in a fade, gold watch that could be seen from space and those Louboutin loafers. His cologne smells like Dubai.

You look him up and down very slowly and deliberately. “Not if you’re buying them,” you say, turning back to the ice bucket.

“Aw, come on, don’t be like that,” his voice is closer now, almost in your ear. You turn only slightly and find his face already next to yours. ”Come have a drink over here,” he nods over to a seating area where a few guys sit with girls that look too young to be there.

You know the type - down on a girls trip for the weekend with only party outfits in their bags, they’d likely hung around the marina until the pack of jackals had brought them here to ply them with alcohol they didn’t have to pay for. You’re half offended that this guy thought you’d be anywhere near that easy.

“I’ve got enough, thanks.” You say, firmer this time, as you give up on the vodka and just grab one of the many bottles of champagne in the ice bucket. When you turn to leave, you practically collide with the hunk of meat now towering over you.

“Who do I have to speak to to get you to come have a drink with me?” He asks, as if that’s meant to be sexy.

You roll your eyes. “Your hairdresser.”

“Come on, just one drink. I’ll make it worth your while,” he says, his eyes glancing down. You follow his gaze, already steeling yourself for some vulgar gesture, but he pulls out the edge of his wallet from his jeans.

You roll your eyes again. “I’m not pay for play. Now leave me alone.”

You step around him this time, starting to make your way back towards the stairs when this experiment in protein shake consumption blocks your way. You almost trip trying not to crash into him, not that he would have minded if the way he leans into you Is any indication.

“Look, I’m not some nobody, baby, I’ve got real fucking money. I’m what all you pretty girls come out here in your skimpy dresses for,” he says, the noxious smell of chemicals and tequila almost making your eyes water. What makes you feel sick is the way he uses his height advantage to look down your dress. “So have a drink with me. It’ll be fun, I promise,”

Only now does he employ an actual smile, the kind that you’d never want to be in a room alone with. Suddenly, you don’t feel like making any more jokes, you just want to get as far away from this guy as possible. Turning on your heels, you figure you’ll double back around the deck, but a hand tight on your wrist stops you in your tracks.

“Don’t walk away from me,” the words are growled, and you feel your pulse spike. Now you’re scared, but showing it will get you nowhere.

“Get off me,” you snap, trying to shake the giant cretin off you without causing a scene. He doesn’t let go and you’re just about to bottle him over the head when you hear Max’s voice.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Max strides towards you, looking as angry as you’ve ever seen him. He must have been watching from up by the railings of the top deck.

“Oh, here we go,” the guy grumbles, rolling his eyes as he looks at Max. You take the opportunity to wrench your arm free of him. “Don’t worry, bro. You can have her back when I’m finished with her,”

“You arrogant piece of shit,” you snarl at the guy, almost taking a step towards him before thinking better of it.

“Watch your mouth,” he snaps back, pointing a finger at you. “Your ass isn’t that nice,”

“The fuck did you just say?” Max yells over the music. He guides you behind him effortlessly and you don’t argue, though you do keep hold of his arm.

“You heard me, you prick,” the douchebag says, flashing Max a cocky grin. That won’t go down well.

You pull on Max’s arm. You can tell from the set of his shoulders that this is getting out of hand.

“Max, leave it,” you tell him, pulling him again, and this time he listens, sighing and shaking his head. He knows he has to let it go.

“Jesus,” the arrogant pig sneers, and you cringe. “Has this bitch got a magic pussy or something?”

You don’t even have a chance against Max’s reaction speed. He’s moving before your eyes can even follow, shoving the guy backwards so quickly that the drunkard stumbles slightly, but not as much as you thought he would.

“Shut the fuck up,” Max growls at him.

Dickhead doesn’t take this well, shoving Max back. You’re too scared to get in the middle now. People are starting to stare, a couple of them even have their phones out.

“Max,” it’s more of a plea than anything. “Stop it,”

You know Max isn’t going to just drop it. He doesn’t know how to walk away from a fight, it’s just that normally his fighting involves being protected by a ton of carbon fibre, not that he thinks he needs it.

“You don’t want to mess with me, man,” the guy shouts, looking over Max’s shoulder to glare at you. “Certainly not over some dirty yacht slut,”

Once again, you’re no match for Max’s reaction speed. You don’t see his arm move. You’re barely able to process his fist connecting with the guy’s face. You just see Dickhead fly backwards clutching his jaw as he tumbles to the ground.

“Max!” You scream, but this time he totally ignores you.

“Fucking pussy,” he yells, at the same volume but now that the music has been turned down so that everyone can pay attention to the spectacle, it feels like the whole marina can hear him.

He steps towards the disoriented drunkard on the floor and this time you manage to catch up with him, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him backwards.

“Max, come on,”

He’s fighting it a little, and you press your nails into his skin as you fight harder, dragging him away from where Douchebag’s friends have swarmed around him trying to help. You know they’re looking in your direction but you ignore them and you’re hoping Max does, too.

He turns to look at you and it’s like barely recognises you, his face is flushed and his pupils are dilated and you don’t entirely recognise him either. It knocks the wind out of you, and for just a second you swear everything stops, even your heartbeat.

“You’re okay?” Max asks you, through frenzied breathing.

Your mouth is dry but you speak anyway. “I’m fine.” You don’t know if you’re lying. “Let’s just go,”

You don’t give him time to argue, and it seems he’s calmed down enough to realise now is a good time to cut your losses, because he follows you without complaint.

You don’t let go of him until you’re on the concrete pathway up towards the stairs that have street access. More accurately, that’s when you become aware that you’re still holding onto him. When two toasted revellers try to walk between you but can’t, and shout something at you in Spanish for walking too slow. You let go of Max but he still doesn’t say anything. You keep stealing glances at him as you walk. His shoulders are still tight, his jaw is clenched. His hands are clenched into fists at his side. He still looks livid. That’s why you’re nervous, that’s why you can’t catch your breath, that’s why it’s hard to look away from him. You’re worried about him.

“Well, that was stupid,” you say with a sigh, once you’re sure your words won’t come out as some kind of breathy invocation of a worse kind of chaos than anything you’ve already been involved in tonight.

“That guy was stupid,” Max shoots back, grinding his teeth.

“You could have got hurt, Max,” you tell him, shoving him in the arm. He rolls his eyes. Of course. When taking your own life in your hands is what you get paid for there’s not much you can afford to be scared of. “What would have happened if you’d broke your hand? Your dad would actually kill me,”

“My dad would have done the same thing I did,” Max counters, and you can tell by the several expressions that cross his face in quick succession that he doesn’t quite know how to feel about that.

“Your dad is an idiot,” you remind him. He doesn’t argue. “And so are you,”

He scoffs. “So I was just supposed to let him talk to you like that? Touch you like that?” It’s not really a question, more a general statement of unadulterated disgust and you can’t really blame him. “Fuck that. I’m not going to just-“

He cuts himself off, his jaw ticking again. Neither of you have ever spoken about it, but you know men behaving like sentient sewage is a sore subject for both of you. Maybe, you think, you shouldn’t make him feel bad for standing up for you. You’d never needed anyone to stand up for you, and you still didn’t, but the fact that Max always did means more to you than you know how to articulate.

You lean over and kiss him on the cheek, catching more of the corner of his mouth than you intended, but he doesn’t say anything. He just stops walking and looks at you, the left side of his lips twitching.

“You kiss idiots?” Max asks, tongue darting out to lick at his bottom lip.

“Exclusively,” you shrug, “judging by my dating history,”

That makes him laugh, a proper one, with that bark he does when he’s surprised how funny he finds something. All traces of the menace from the boat filter out of his body, and something in the back of your head tells you it was just in time.

“Hey,” a loud, obnoxious, and lovable voice rings out behind you. You turn around and see Laurent walking towards you with a well satisfied Clara on his back, holding a large bottle of pilfered champagne. “Where the fuck have you two been?”

#max Verstappen x reader

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gotham-daydreams · 8 months

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I love. Your series. I haven't had angst hit this good in years.

I like to imagine that y/n did *try* to be a vigilante like the others. They took the sports and martial arts as a way to practice and when they excelled in running, gymnastics, karate, ect- they gave it their first try. And their first attempt went terribly. They went out alone and so young, not that they ever wanted to fight crime to begin with but that is the most logical way to connect to the family. They were severely injured and decided after that they weren't going to be able to try again. They had to heal alone and their worldview changed from "I can be like them once I'm good enough" to "Maybe they can still love me even if I'm not a vigilante." And nobody knew they even thought this or tried at all. y/n wanted to give the family something to be proud about. And they failed.

You. I like you.

I'm glad you're enjoying the series!!!

[Warnings: Angst (sort of?), Blood, Reader Getting Injured, Panic(?)]

(Not proofread. Had a fun time writing this!)

————————————————————————

You tried to catch your breath, gasping for air as you clutching onto your side. You could feel the wound, the pain never even letting you forget it for a second as you stared in front of you.

Two unconscious men laid on the ground. They were about twice your size across all categories, and yet you had managed to knock them out, somehow. You could hardly believe it, and yet you could barely consider this a victory. Not when you heard the sounds of rushing footsteps, and angry shouts that were growing louder as they headed in your direction.

"There they are! AFTER THEM!"

A thug shouted before you could even register how close they had gotten, head whipping around to see the source of the voice, causing you to pale at the amount of thugs behind him.

Before the dread could even settle in, your body was able to react much faster than your mind. Your feet rushed forward before jumping high in the air, kicking off the walls in the alleyway to travel over the thugs, and landing behind them, not wasting a single second to run away.

Various shouts followed behind you, but all you could concentrate on was the path ahead of you. You traveled between various alleyways in hopes of losing the men, but it was like the moment you got close to achieving that, someone would notice you one way or another.

All of the twists and turns were beginning to confuse you, a sense of dizziness falling over you as the world began to spin. You tried to push forward and keep going, promising yourself that you were almost there — even if you didn't know where 'there' was, or what it could mean.

Your legs began to hurt and sting as you ran, but you kept going, determined to lose these guys before anything else. Promising yourself that it would be smooth sailing from there, and yet just when you noticed that you hadn't run into a thug in a while-

Your face met the pavement.

Was that... blood-?

The fall was far from soft, with the rough ground scratching at your legs and further opening your wounds. Dragging its rough claws against your skin, and making your head feel like it was hit with a brick or mallet.

You hissed, wincing from the pain, as you look at the hand that had been holding your side this whole time. The sight made you pause.

"Find that little twerp! Kill them for all I care! Just FIND THEM!"

A thug, presumably the leader, shouted out suddenly. Causing you to quickly scramble up from the ground, and bite your tongue as you began to run again.

Holding your side, all you did was hope and pray for the best.

Unfortunately, another shout sounded from behind you, and before you knew it a thug appeared in front of you. Without thinking, you quickly slid under him by passing in between his legs, and managed to continue running. Your heart beating against your ribs, nearly breaking them with how hard it pounded. Yet soon, it was the only thing you could hear.

Ba-dump

You rushed past another thug, breathing heavily as your feet slamming on to the concrete. Hardly keeping you up right, but just trying to fling you forward.

Yet, another thug managed to get the jump on you.

Ba-dump

You were slammed face first into a wall, the impact was so harsh that no sound managed to escape you. All you could do was cough out blood as your struggled in the thug's hold, your gloved fingers clawing at the hand that held your throat.

He squeezed, and more blood came spilling out as you choked.

Ba-dump

You couldn't hear what the two thugs in front of you were saying, ears ringing and filled with your deafening heart beat. Your vision was getting blurry now, and even if you couldn't make out much, you could see how their scowls shifted into smirks. The thug's grasp on you tightening, causing you to struggle even more.

The looks they gave you was nothing short of terrifying. Pure malice and bloodlust stared at you, and all you could do was try to hide your fear. Knowing you'd see their faces again in your nightmares.

Thump

You trembled as your struggling increased.

Your heart hammered against your chest as your eyes widened, the realization dawning on you as you saw one of them adjust the hold they had on their bat. With the one choking you, winding back his fist, his expression darker than even the shadows of Gotham.

You were going to die here.

Thump.

You became frantic. Aiming for anything else you possibly could, as you threw various punches and kicks. Hardly even noticing how your poor efforts were only further irritating the men. Yet that was the least of your concerns.

You scratched at his arm, kicked his chest, tried to go for his eyes. Anything. Anything you could possibly reach, you tried to aim for. Your instincts kicking into high gear as you fought, and fought, and fought.

But at the end of the day, you were just a kid fighting against two grown adults.

You never stood a chance.

You were going to die here.

Thump.

... You don't remember much after that.

You could only recall hurriedly running up the stairs that were attached to the side of an apartment building, and could remember how you even got shot in the leg on the way up, but managed to carry on anyway, despite the wound and the new pain it brought.

You vividly remember just narrowly making a jump to another rooftop, completely out of breath. Adrenaline pumping through your viens so hard, and rushing so fast, that even as you fell into a dumpster, you still could hardly feel the pain. All you could remember after that, was darkness surrounding you as you slowly closed your eyes. Having tried to fight off sleep, but ultimately failing.

Even when you did come to, you were still in that dumpster, and the sun still having yet to rise. The smell of trash and blood was so awful, that no words could describe it. Though the smell was also so strong that you could barely smell it, at the very least. You couldn't focus, and everything felt fuzzy for a while as you just laid there.

You looked down at your hand, only to sigh softly. Right, you were still bleeding. Amazing.

Pain was all you could feel, but you knew you'd have to get up, especially if you didn't want to risk anyone finding you and mistaking you for a corpse. Let alone if someone from your family had found you now.

What would they even say? Would they even be able to look at you, after such a terrible first attempt? After you did so poorly, despite having tried to prepare for this so much, on your own? For them?

... What would Bruce say? What would he do?

..... You reluctantly got up. Your body hating you for it immediately, and that was made incredibly clear as pain shot through each and every inch of your body. Yet you still managed to push on, and by some miracle, was able to get out of the dumpster.

You felt as awful as you looked, that much you could tell, but tried to not think about. Walking — which was actually limping because of a certain wound you had — felt like a chore, but you toughed it out as you made your way through Gotham.

Before anyone could really see you, by yet another miracle, you were able to come across a small clothing store that was still open, as some clothes were still hanging outside.

You didn't bother looking for an employee or anything as you just grabbed the biggest hoodie you could find, and took it. You didn't care about the color too much, or any patterns or prints it might've had. All you knew was that it could cover most of your wounds for now, and help keep your identity hidden.

Shaking your head, you just pushed your thoughts to the side. You didn't need to think about that right now, especially not when you were injured. So you wouldn't. You didn't.

So, you slipped it on, but not before leaving some money behind by leaving it tapped on the door from the inside. A small note attached to it reading 'For the hoodie,' and nothing else. After all, you weren't actually trying to steal anything, and you didn't want to give anyone the impression that you were starting. You didn't want to think about what Bruce would do or say if he thought that, let alone the others.

You continued to walk, vaguely remembering where you could get supplies to help yourself, and heading towards the store. Ignoring all the weird looks people would give you when you passed them by, or noticed the trail of blood you were leaving behind. Their stares made you nervous, but you kept going. The humiliation settling in, and making a home for itself in you, as your chest felt heavy.

It's like they were cursing you with their eyes, and damning you to hell.

... The walk was fine for the most part. Painful, yes, but at this point you were already getting a little used to it. So you just moved along, and made your way into the store once you finally reached it.

For your own sake, you tried to be quick about it and grabbed what you needed. A first-aid kit never hurt, but you made sure to grab some other things as well.

So, you got to work and patched yourself up to the best of your ability. Remaining quiet all throughout as you tried to focus and concentrate. Using what you knew, you were able to decently take care of yourself — even if your stitching could use some work, it didn't look too horrible. Removing the bullet in your leg was another story, and though it was difficult, you managed.

Hospitals were out of the question since it'd be all over the news and your family would surely find out. Alfred was also part of the family, so allowing him to help you — let alone see your condition, was also out of the question. You'd just have to take care of this yourself. No one had to know.

Regardless, once you had everything, you paid, and quickly made your way up the stairs that was alongside another apartment building. This time you didn't climb all the way up, and instead stopped somewhere in the middle, and decided to patch yourself up there. Not wanting to risk going too high for your family to see you if they happened to pass by, but also not being too low for any thugs to see you and either finish the job, or put an end to your suffering.

So the middle seemed like the best option for now, even if you did risk some poor civilian seeing you and your horrible state. It was a risk worth taking compared to the other options you had, you thought as much at the time anyway.

Sunrays peaked inbetween the buildings, and lit up your tired and pained eyes. The sky shifted from its darker hues to much lighter ones. With morning birds singing their songs, and more people beginning to wake up and start their days.

Finally, the bleeding was beginning to stop, and all you could do was sigh in relief as you leaned against the wall, and looked to the side. Exhausted beyond belief, and feeling the weakest you've ever felt, but still somehow alive.

You stayed there for a while, just silently admiring as the night turned into day. Dried blood and bandages covering you, pain still evident but it was beginning to die down now. To think you'd make it to sunrise, it was almost unbelievable considering you had nearly died one too many times tonight. Your luck having made it possible to even get this far.

Maybe you'd cry, but it didn't feel right to do so. The pain you felt was enough of a reminder of your failure. Your current state was enough of a reality check.

You weren't like your family, that much was clear.

You just weren't cut out for this. You weren't slow, but you were sloppy. You weren't weak, but you weren't strong enough. You had skill, but you lacked proper technique. You had plans, but your execution was poor. You needed to train, you needed practice and have proper guidance, but where would you even go for that? Who could you go to? If you went to your family at this point, and found out about last night...

You couldn't do what they managed to accomplish every night. Even on your first attempt, you couldn't even manage to do half of what they could. You were reckless, and ultimately overestimated your own abilities despite knowing this wouldn't be easy, and ended up underestimating your opponents. It nearly got you killed, and had you not managed to get yourself out of that situation, you would've died.

You had gotten lucky with so many things last night, and if you were to do this every night like your family, you couldn't just depend on luck. You couldn't have a repeat of last night. You'd surely die that way.

You didn't want to think about what they'd say, the thought alone was painful enough.

Sighing, you just looked away from the sun, and up at the sky, watching as the colors continued to shift.

You wanted to do this on your own to prove yourself. To prove you could do what your family did, and show that you had something to offer. That you could do amazing things and help out too, but you fell flat. You couldn't even handle a group of thugs — how would you be able to handle anything else? What about robberies? Kidnappings? Murders? What about theft, or things dealing with that? How would you deal with anything else if you couldn't even handle the lowest guys in Gotham?

That's the thing, you wouldn't be able to.

If you couldn't even handle a few thugs, you wouldn't be able to do much else. Not at your current level anyway, but how long would it take you to improve? To get better? To be on the same level as your family? To stand by them, and know you were apart of something?

... Maybe you really weren't cut out for this.

To think you once dreamed of standing beside them, helping them, and most of all — making them proud as you held your own weight and then some. Making Gotham a better place right by their side.

It seems so silly now, and maybe that's because it was.

You were hopeless from the start.

Your heart felt so heavy in your chest, the realization causing the organ to squeeze, but you just let it be, and sat with it.

There were other ways you could grab their attention. Other ways that didn't include throwing yourself at death time and time again, and praying you'd live to see another sunrise. This was just... a bump in the road, but you'd have other opportunities! You could do other things to grab their attention and — and maybe you'd even make them proud in the process.

Yeah, there were still other things you could do. You couldn't give up now!

Sure, being a vigilante didn't work out, but that's okay! You'd just have to find something else, it's alright. You'd find something, you were sure of it. You'd find something and be so good at it that they'd have to acknowledge you — hopefully.

You could work something out. After all, there were countless other things you could do besides being a vigilante! Surely one of those things could grab their attention, and maybe if you just worked hard enough and perfected it so much, that they'd acknowledge you — and most of all? Be proud of you.

You'd show them that you had a place in this family, without a mask. You'd show them. You'd prove yourself to them, you would. You will!

Though to start, you'd make your way back home, and just keep what happened last night to yourself. You'd form a plan, think of something, and see it out til the very end. You'd show that you could do great things too besides protecting Gotham from Villians and thugs. That maybe someday, you could make a difference too.

So, with a new hope and dream in your heart, stood up and began making your way down the steps. The sun rising along with your own determination to start on this new path. Making your way back to the Manor, unaware of the misfortune to befall you.

Sometimes, no matter the effort, some things just aren't meant to be. You still had yet to learn that lesson at the time, and even when you eventually would, they'd ruin that too.

#yandere batfam #platonic yandere batfam #yandere dc #platonic yandere #sibling reader #gn reader

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jen-with-a-pen · 4 months

Text

Dancing in the Kitchen

summary: After the worst night imaginable, your best friend helps you when you need him most. What you don't realize is just how much you've always needed him. or: Tony Dumps you. Steve picks you up and puts you back together.

parings: protective!best friend!Steve Rogers x best friend!f!Reader

word count: 4.9k

warnings: fluff, angst, self-doubt and insecurity, verbally abusive relationship elements, insults + language/name calling, reader cusses and so does Steve bc he can, no smut!, wearing Steve's clothes (very little to no description about reader's body so do with that what you will), intense feelings, confessions, crying, anxiety, best friends to lovers, intimate touch, VERY SLIGHT possessiveness, protectiveness, not Tony Stark friendly, cap quartet mention

a/n: these characters are out of college! It's set in their early-mid 20s following graduating and I thought it'd be a little more relatable (also since I'm not in college anymore I wanted this specific fic concept to be more relatable. self-indulgence and stuff). the cap quartet rent a house together. there might be more shenanigans in the future involving them. maybe. who knows? enjoy <3

If I've missed any tags, please let me know!

gif by @annislittleshopofhorrors | dividers by @saradika-graphics | warning banner by me ♥

my ao3 | my masterlist Read this fic HERE on ao3! ♥Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated as always♥

Everything was cold.

Everything was ruined.

Everything was a fucking nightmare.

Dark clouds shrouded the night sky, hiding helpful moonlight. Rain pelted at you from above, mixing with fresh tears, drenching you to the bone as cold water collected on your skin and soaked through your dress. Your hands morphed into balled fists at your sides as you shook with rage, heartbreak, and the innate need to punch something.

You couldn’t wrap your pounding head around the events of the night; everything blurred together after ten o’clock. It was like a cruel joke, one where you waited an eternity for the punchline, begging for it not to be real no matter how hard you screwed your eyes shut and prayed.

You didn’t want to believe it, yet there you were.

It sure as hell wasn’t the first time you found yourself standing at the backdoor of Steve Roger’s house on the cusp of a breakdown– and a breakup– warring with your own body to simply knock on the fucking door. Hell, Steve was already expecting you. He knew something was wrong the second you called; there wasn’t a warning text, just you, asking in a choked-up whisper if he was home. His response spilled out in a rushed ‘yes’ before you could explain further. A ‘no questions asked’ request, something not uncommon in your friendship. Steve, since day one, was one of your main sources of comfort within a thousand mile radius.

Now, he was your only source of comfort within a thousand mile radius.

Remnants of the phone call from Tony only minutes earlier echoed in your eardrums like a bad case of tinnitus. Annoying, repetitive. His hoarse, drunken slurry of vicious words clawed at the inside of your skull. Another fight. Another screaming match. Another forgotten birthday– this time, it included meeting your family. You’d planned it for months prior, making sure Tony knew not to forget it.

Your insides were twisting in knots as you waited at the restaurant awkwardly with your parents, brother, and an empty seat next to you. After an hour, eight failed calls and fifteen texts later, Tony finally picked up. Delight revived the few butterflies left in your stomach, only to be crushed, turning them into weighted dread as loud club music obliterated your ear drum as he shouted at you.

“You bitch!” he spat. “Why the ever-loving f-fuck are y’blowin’ up my phone for?!”

You didn’t have time to process what he was saying before he’d already reloaded and shot you with more.

“What the hell is sooooo important? Huh? Y-you stupid bitch! You fuckin’ knew I’m busy t’night!”

You tore the phone away. Even at arm’s length, you, and the rest of your family, could hear every single thing he spewed at you. A couple from the table next to yours stopped mid-bite to turn and throw rude looks at you and your family.

“Tony, please, I–”

“‘Tony please’– just shut up!” he mocked. “Just shut the fuck up! I don’t fuckin’ care what you gotta– what you have t’say! I can’t f–fuckin’ stand you anymore!”

Hurt and hunger morphed into churning waves of anxiety and embarrassment. Your throat was closing. Tears began stinging your eyes. You looked between your parents in shame, meeting their stunned looks filled with pity and disappointment. Your brother refused to look anywhere but the spot on his plate where he played with his food, sadness and second-hand embarrassment plaguing his face.

Yelling, jeering, and chanting echoed out of your phone. Tony didn’t stop.

“Y’know what? I’m not doin’ this anymore,” he slurred, gulping some unknown liquid down, swallowing, gagging. More cheering. “We– we’re fuckin’ done. You’re out. I’m done.”

The other line fumbled. You winced as you heard Tony wet his lips, preparing the final blow. His breathing became heavy, ragged, hard enough you could smell the liquor through the phone.

“Fuckin’ cunt.”

Click.

You loathed yourself for tolerating him; the endless cycle of poisoning you, providing the antidote, and taking it away when it seemed to get better. The whiplash from his unpredictable moods and personal attacks on you hurt as bad as it felt when he’d come around with endless apologies– accompanied by flowers, cuddles, and kisses– to heal each wound he was responsible for.

This time, though, the stab was fatal. This time, you bled out; it’d been akin to getting gutted and hung helplessly in front of your fucking family.

A sob snuck its way up your throat. You choked it down, willing your fist to reach up and knock on the door. You didn’t understand why this was next to impossible. Steve was your best friend. It wasn’t like he was a stranger. It wasn’t like he’d chastise you or yell at you or tell you to fuck off. Yet, there was a fear, deep down, feeding on the anxiety and self-doubt in the pit of your stomach, telling you the opposite; it whispered to you, telling you to run back to your car, scream into the steering wheel, and speed off to disappear from everything and everyone for just a little longer. It’d only be until you got your head on straight, until you figured out what to do with the apartment and your classes and your stuff and–

Knock. knock. knock.

In the blur of a million thoughts racing through your mind, you automatically reached up and weakly knocked, body tensing every muscle as you waited.

The door swung open, revealing one extremely concerned Steve Rogers.

Steve panted, a result from sprinting down the stairs from his upstairs bedroom in an attempt to open the back door by your first knock. Acutely aware of his jaw hanging from its hinges, Steve’s soft baby blues bore into you, scanning you up and down, stunned at you and your dress and how desperate you looked.

Time stopped the second you saw him; it was difficult to describe, but everything magnetizing between the two of you was different. You felt different– different in the way he was familiar and somehow new at the same time. Steve felt different– different in the way you were single for the first time in two years and he was single since… forever ago.

This time was unlike the million other times.

You both stared. Your lips quivered, his parted in disbelief. Both your minds instantly went blank, unable to think of anything to say, to do. So, the sky thought for you. It opened its floodgates, releasing a torrential downpour as you stood inches from warmth, from comfort.

“Steve,” you croaked, reaching for him.

It was then, everything came crashing down.

You crumbled to the ground in a heap, knees buckling while your hand and arms braced for impact with the ground. Steve quickly abandoned his tight grip on the doorframe, catching you, helping you inside. Lungs gasped for air as heavy sobs poured from your chest and tears flowed steadily down your face. You pawed at Steve’s arm hooked around you as he stumbled back into the house, kicking the door closed and collapsing onto the kitchen floor with you in tow. He immediately pulled you closer and hugged you tightly against his chest. You heaved, crying out from the painful pit in your heart, digging your fingers into his flesh, hard enough to bruise. You buried your face into his t-shirt and bawled.

All of it– the rage, the hurt, the mess of balled-up emotions from the last two fucking years– came unraveled. Hands twisted into Steve’s t-shirt, balling the fabric and pulling it taut enough to rip.

Steve didn’t shout. He didn’t complain. He didn’t utter a single word as he leaned against the kitchen cabinets, rocking you gently, squeezing you harder as his chest rose and fell rhythmically against your pounding skull, silently coaxing you to follow his breathing. Blubbering in his lap, stringing words together became futile as thoughts became unrecognizable. Another wave of panic and anxiety crashed over you. Steve’s mumbled shushes softened you; the deep timbre and honeyed bass of his voice and vibrations in his chest grounded you, welcoming you to safety. To home.

“Shh… don’t worry, I got you. I have you. You’re okay,” he muttered, running a hand gently up and down your back.

“I–he–bu–” you fumbled, lip quivering as another sob overtook you. Rage clawed at the walls in the chasm of your chest. You screamed. Guttural, pained. Again. And again.

“Shh… it’s okay, let it out. You’re okay. You’re safe here,” he soothed, rocking you, adding in a lowered octave, “I’m here.”

“T–Tony,” you hiccuped, fists twisting more of Steve’s t-shirt. “He–he–”

“What, angel? What about Tony?”

“He–he c–called me n–names a–and,” you shook your head violently, “he b-broke up with me. For real, this time.”

Steve cupped your cheek, softly wiping away fresh tears with calloused fingertips. While you continued to cry in his arms, his focus turned to the back door you tumbled through. Inside, he seethed; his rage nearly boiled over at the thought of anyone doing this to you, let alone Tony fucking Stark. Out of all the things you’d told him over the last couple years– all the threats, the cruel jokes and abandonment and insults– tonight was the ultimate cherry on top. It validated every time Tony’s actions made Steve think vengeful thoughts on what he’d do if he ever got five minutes with the douchebag. Just five minutes. Alone.

He shook the thought away, looking back down to you. The last thing he wanted was for you to see him upset, let alone remotely think you were the cause of it. He’d promised himself that the first time you met.

Tony was going to fucking pay for what he’d done to you every single second for the last two years. And on your birthday, for chrissake.

“What–” Steve swallowed the excess rage in his chest. “What kind of names, sweetie?”

You softened, sniffling, refusing to look at him. “He called me a b–bitch, a–and,” you bit your tongue, “a… cunt.”

The moment the word left your lips, Steve fought every last nerve in him not to put you to bed, get in his car, and go teach Tony a lesson on some fucking manners. Hell, even the idea of taking Bucky and Sam crossed his mind.

He pushed the thought away, focusing back on you. You needed him. You came to him for help. No one else but him.

Steve slid his hand off your back and placed it under your chin, thumb and forefinger gently coaxing you to look at him. Big blue eyes swam with concern and worry. In the dark of the kitchen, they seemed brighter than ever– a beacon guiding you back from the hurricane in your head.

In an instant, everything in your head went quiet. No more muffled echoes from the phone call. No more sobs readying to burst out your chest. No more caring about how swollen and puffy your eyes were, or the drying combination of mascara and tear stains running down your cheeks and neck. Your sopping wet dress that drenched the floor, and Steve, was pushed to the back of your brain, the cold no longer leaking into your bones as he brought you back down from the ledge.

All you saw was Steve. All you smelled, all you could feel, was Steve.

Steve swallowed. His jaw slacked, tongue jutting out to wet his lips, slowly drinking you in for as long as he was able.

And honestly? You couldn’t care enough to stop him. It’d been so long since someone looked at you the way Steve did.

Had he always looked at you like that?

“Listen to me. You are none of those things. Not even close,” he whispered, hoping you believed him.

You nodded lightly. “I–I know, but it hurts,” your voice cracked again, eyes drifting away from him.

“Hey, look at me,” he tugged at your chin, “you will never be anything like he says you are. Ever. Okay?”

You stared at him. A small smile pulled at the corners of your lips as you placed a hand on his, taking it from your chin to your chest. Warmth bloomed as it rested against your damp skin.

“‘Kay.” Barely a whisper. Enough for only him to hear.

He paused, gaze holding steady on you, lips twitching at the corners.

“Let’s get you up ‘n out of that thing, yeah?” He nodded to your dress. “You gotta be freezing.”

Gently, he lifted you off his lap, rising from the kitchen floor and pulling you up on your feet. Your legs felt like a wobbly blend of jelly and nerves that forced you to lean onto Steve for support. He anticipated this, catching you and gripping your shoulders. You didn’t say a word. Instead, you clung to him as he guided you through the living room and up the stairs to his bedroom. You passed by Sam and Bucky’s rooms, both empty for the night, just like Natasha’s downstairs.

As Steve rifled through his drawers and closet, your focus wandered to his messy desk: the lamp cast a soft, warm glow across the room, sitting next to history books and sketchbooks stacked high on top of one another; pencils and dirtied paint brushes littered the surface, products of his latest art assignment. His bed was half-made, dark green covers on one side neatly tucked in while the opposite was thrown aside, exposing gray pinstripe sheets. The walls were covered with scattered art– some his, others his favorite artists’– posters and pictures of family, friends, and some local bands. You bit back a smile. Memories of the shows you both went to over the last few years played like a highlight reel in your mind. You never regretted it; you never passed up a single invite, even after the time Tony locked you out for a whole weekend.

“Here, these are clean,” he handed you a neatly folded pile of his clothes before adding, “I promise.”

A fuller smile broke across your face. The first of the entire night.

“Uh huh, sure, I believe you,” you joked sarcastically. He feigned hurt, scoffing at your false accusation.

“I did the sniff test, if that makes you feel any better.”

You giggled, taking the clothes from him and turning to head to the bathroom.

“I’ll be down in the kitchen,” he called after you. “You, um, you want something to drink?”

You paused, turning to look at him from the bathroom doorway halfway down the hall. From where he stood, the saturated pink creeping up his neck and reaching his face was more visible than the light on his desk. You couldn’t help but hold in a snicker and flash him a relieved smile, thankful.

“Coffee would be a godsend, right now.”

Steve smiled, saluting you. “Coming right up.”

You headed into the bathroom, tossing the clothes onto the counter, slumping against the door the second you shut and locked it. Finally relaxing, you realized how much tension was pent up in your tired shoulders– which, in turn, prompted the realization you were holding your breath the entire time in Steve’s room.

Brushing the self-induced lightheadedness, you slipped the ruined dress off your body and hung it up on the shower rod. You hated the color, the texture, but wore it anyway. For Tony. On your birthday.

You cursed yourself, pulling your bra off next– a pushup that held your rib cage hostage the entire night. Just how Tony likes it.

Or, liked it.

You silently prayed Steve included some Bailey’s in your coffee.

Pulling on Steve’s sweatshirt, the scent of him enveloped you instantly. You couldn’t help but nuzzle into the neck of it, filling your lungs with the familiarity of Steve. He was a quiet, sunny Sunday morning and freshly brewed coffee. He was a nice night in watching your favorite movies and playing cards.

Your head was swimming, swirling, caught up in the entirety of your best friend. He was yours just as much as you were his. Through Tony, through other guys you’d subjected yourself to the last few years, none of them compared to Steve.

You tugged the sweatpants on, catching sight of yourself in the mirror and realizing the runny makeup staining your face. You snorted at how fucking ridiculous you looked, remembering the caked-on layers you’d put on for the evening. Again, just for Tony. The snort turned into a giggle, utterly grateful for Steve not making fun of how you looked and for ignoring the mascara stains on his poor t-shirt from earlier.

But, again, it was Steve. He’d never make fun of you. Ever.

Butterflies– the ones you’d thought were long gone months prior– stuttered suddenly, alive and fluttering in your stomach.

You instantly recognized the feeling: it was the same you had the day you met Steve.

The same feeling you’d get on roller coasters, or reading an exceptionally good romance novel. Giddiness, dizziness. It was as if you were spinning while the room stood still. Your head felt light, high on helium. Your skin burned. Meeting your own gaze in the mirror, you scanned yourself, the question ‘is this happening right now?’ running on a loop at the forefront of your mind.

Bzzt.

You jumped at the buzz of a text. With the trance broken, you took into account your shaking hands and the bumping tempo of your heart. Turning on the sink, you made sure the water was as cold as possible before cupping some in your hands and splashing your face. Refreshing. Needed. You rubbed the rest of the runny wakeup off your skin, stuffing your face into the fluffy hand towel and silently promising to get the boys a new one. Picking up your phone, teeth chewed on cheek to hold in your smile at the sight of Steve’s name on the screen.

⍟ Steve: You doing OK? Coffees ready

You looked at yourself in the mirror.

“You got this,” you told your reflection. “He’s only your best friend.”

The butterflies continued to multiply, bumping against one another, fluttering and escaping out into your chest and your limbs.

“Fuck.”

You opened the door.

⋆˙ઇଓ⋆⭒˚｡⋆

“I was beginning to think you climbed out the window up there,” Steve quipped upon seeing you round the corner into the kitchen. He couldn’t help the stupid grin spreading across his face when he saw you in his clothes. You looked more relaxed, more comfortable.

More like you.

You noticed he changed, too, donning a heather-gray t-shirt that clung to his torso in all the right ways– ways you hadn’t noticed before.

You mentally scolded yourself.

“A–Almost. But I’d never pass up a cup of world-famous Rogers Roast.”

“Wow, world-famous? I would’ve preferred universally-renowned, but I’ll take it.” He held a mug out to you, one faded with a ‘I ❤ New York’ logo– the one you’d gotten for him during your senior-year college internship. “Made it just how you like it.”

He paused as you took a sip. You could feel his eyes on you, watching you, biting his lip in anticipation as you drank. The coffee tasted like liquid gold, warm and comforting and all-around delicious. You didn’t care if you burnt your tongue. This was what you needed.

He was what you needed.

Was he?

You looked back up at Steve. His cheeks flushed as he pressed his lips together, entranced with the mug in your hands, eyes ever-so-slightly flitting from it to your lips and back again.

“Thank you, Stevie.”

“You’re welcome, angel.”

You pinched yourself, then took another sip.

Silence fell, comfortable and calm, as you both nursed your drinks, checking your phones and letting time pass. You didn’t care to check the clock.

Steve cleared his throat and set his phone down.

“So, um,” he began. “What else did you have planned for your birthday?”

His voice was low, tender, careful with the question so as not to upset you. He was curious, however, and determined to see exactly how much Tony fucked up your night.

And your life.

“Oh,” you swallowed, chewing your lip in an attempt to remember what you’d originally planned.

“He was, ah, gonna take me dancing. After dinner, after he,” you took an unsteady breath, “after he met my family. It was the one thing he told me he'd let me do after dinner.” You shook your head, adding under your breath, “besides him.”

Tension seeped into the space between you both. You didn’t want to meet Steve’s stare; it was the one you’d always see whenever you told him about Tony, one filled with anger so palpable it made his arms flex subconsciously, one he thought he hid well enough so you never saw, but you always did. Without looking up, you already knew his jaw was clenched and his shoulders were stiff and his eyes bored a hole into the wall behind you. Butterflies started to somersault, crashing into the waves of worry and anxiety.

“Why?”

You looked up. Blue eyes. Stormy, swirling, stubborn.

“What?”

“Why did you stay with him?” Steve asked steadily, voice barely above a whisper. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

You paused. “Because he wouldn’t let me leave.”

“I could’ve helped you. We could’ve helped you,” he gestured vaguely to the rest of the house.

Your teeth tore into your bottom lip. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

“I–” Steve sighed and carded a hand through his dirty blond hair, frustrated, trying to keep his promise while also appealing to you and balancing the fragile tightrope you two stood on. “I care about you, angel. I care about you so fuckin’ much. I just wanna know why. Why he was– why you were–”

“I–” Don’t fucking cry. “I was trapped. Every time I tried to leave, he’d tie me down more. It… it wasn’t as easy as you fucking think, Steve. Rose-colored glasses, wool over my eyes, wolf in sheep's clothing, that sorta thing, ya know? These last couple years, I… I don’t know why tonight was it, and I don’t know how I was able to get out, and I just… I don’t fucking know. I don’t. I–”

You felt tears again.

“I– Angel, I wasn’t trying to–”

“No, I know,” you cut him off, setting down your mug to rub your face in your hands. “I know. But I need you to understand that I– God, my fucking brain feels so scrambled. I just feel so confused, I feel like I’m going insane right now. Fuck!”

You tried to calm down, taking deep breaths to feed your strained lungs, holding on to each before exhaling. In, hold, out, repeat.

The room was spinning again, whirling around like a sick carnival ride as your center of gravity began to give.

As you braced the counter, strong hands and warm, muscular arms engulfed you, lifting you back from the countertop and guiding you into the middle of the kitchen. Steve pressed into you until you relented, reaching your arms around him and pulling him closer. The tension in your shoulders melted, migrating to your chest where your heart surged the moment he touched you, where it pounded against your sternum, threatening to break out of its marrow cage. You inhaled him, savoring him, feeling him all around you.

Slowly, delicately, Steve unwrapped from you. He was careful with every touch, as if he would shatter you– even though he had no problem with putting you back together again. He’d done it a million times before, and he’d do it a million times again.

He’d do it all again for you.

Steve carefully slid your hands from around his center, placing one onto his shoulder, then– nervously and ever-so-slowly– he held your other hand out, sliding down your forearm and entwining his fingers into yours. His free hand fell softly onto your waist, fingers absently and lightly kneading the fabric and skin underneath his palm.

“May I have this dance?” he whispered.

You looked up from the floor to Steve, speechless. You nodded.

Then, he started to sway. He guided you both, rocking side to side to an unheard rhythm and subtly spinning in unison under the soft glow of the kitchen light.

He smiled softly, boyish and genuine, with admiration and tenderness in his eyes. Something gentle and kind, something about the feeling and the familiarity of it– of him– sank into you the longer you looked at him. Your focus shifted around the features of his chiseled face. You recognized the light freckles stippled across his nose and cheeks leftover from the summer; the scar on his earlobe from the night Natasha drunkenly dared you to pierce his ear and failed; the faint worry lines sculpted into his forehead he inherited from his father; the soft, full pink of his lips that innocently parted when you caught him staring at you.

It was the feeling that felt foreign to you; the one missing from your life after the last two years. But, it wasn’t missing. It had been right in front of you the entire time stealing glances, accidental touches, and irreplaceable memories.

Steve had been there.

Steve had been the one looking at you like that for the last two years.

He wasn’t missing. He was just waiting his turn.

And, judging by the realization that washed over your face, his waiting was over.

Steve's smile widened as he squeezed your waist, wordlessly confirming the thoughts running rampant in your head. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed the ghost of a cry, blinking away tears forming in the corners of his vision.

Your lips trembled as you smiled back. Slowly, you snaked your hand from his shoulder to his cheek and cupped his face. He leaned into your touch instantly, stubble and skin rubbed against your palm as he kissed it lightly. The press of his lips sent a spark coursing through your veins, electrifying your body and the air around you. The two of you continued to sway while the kitchen spun faster, a blurred whirlwind while you both remained in focus.

“When?” you asked, voice barely audible.

“Since the day I met you.”

“Why didn’t you–”

Steve shrugged. “I wanted to get to know you first. Didn’t wanna be some random dude who just wanted you for your number. You seemed too special to rush into something. Still are,” he sighed. “I wanted to be your friend first, but before I could muster up some courage, Tony swept you out from under me.”

Guilt crawled up your throat. “I– I’m sorry, Stevie.”

He stepped away from you, twirling you, then dragged you back to him. You could’ve sworn your heart stopped beating.

“No, baby, you don’t have anything to be sorry for. I promise. I–” his voice broke. “I wanted you to be happy. I want you to be happy. I just– I wish I did more for you. I should’ve done more for you.”

He tilted his head to the ceiling trying to stop his tears from falling, but you pulled him right back down to you.

“Steve,” you started, keeping on his baby blues while your own voice struggled to remain steady, “you’ve done more for me than anyone else in the entire world. Hell, in my entire life. I just lost the last two years of my life suffering with someone I thought I loved. Who I thought loved me.”

You brought your other hand to his face. “You did all you could. I just… I thought it was gonna get better, you know? I thought, I hoped– God, I even fucking prayed– that he’d get better, but he didn’t. Nothing did. And I couldn’t find a way out. It’s like he conditioned me to believe he was the only one I had, like, he was the only one who’d ever save me.”

Steve frowned, but nodded in understanding.

“I’m glad you came to me. Not just tonight, but every night. It was like reassuring me that I didn’t totally lose you, or like I never totally lost you.”

“You’ll never lose me, Stevie.”

His face, red-hot underneath your touch, moved closer to yours. You couldn’t tell if you were pulling or he was pushing. His hands gripped your waist the tighter you held his face, the two of you crashing into one another in slow-motion. The light above you grew brighter, the humming of the appliances was getting louder, the room spun at an infinitely unfathomable speed.

You crashed together.

Soft lips– softer than either of you could’ve ever pictured feeling– fit together like the perfect puzzle pieces. Neither of you moved, staying locked together until your hands slipped around his neck, pulling him closer and smashing his nose into your cheek. His grip became bruising as his fingers kneaded into your waist, steadying himself with your hips. You felt another surge of electricity as his tongue jutted out, parting your lips and swiping along the bottom before retreating back behind his.

He tipped you backwards on your heel, smirking against your lips as you flinched and grabbed onto the collar of his shirt.

Setting you upright, he pulled away from the kiss and whispered, “I’ll never let you go.”

“Never?”

“Ever.”

You kissed him again, and the butterflies went wild.

289 notes · View notes

monster-disaster · 11 months

Text

[orc] Zorag Iron - 3/3

orc!Zorag Iron x human!Reader - 3/3 Good to know: smut

Summary: Both you and Zorag want more.

A/N: The first journey in Ironridge reached its end. I hope you enjoyed it and you will stay to meet Zorag's brothers.

Almost a month goes by after your last encounter with Zorag in one of the storages. You barely meet, and when you do, both of you act like nothing happened. He is busy outside with the others while you do your job in the office. You take care of the orders and organize the deliveries. And try not to think about him too much for the sake of your sanity.

The sun is at the top of the sky. Bright and warm. The puddles left by the rain are nowhere anymore, and the lumberyard is busy and loud as usual. You can hear men shouting to each other through the vibration of the machines. The metal building in the middle of the yard is uncomfortable now that there are no clouds to protect you from the heat. You have to pull on your clothes every now and again so the fabric doesn't stick to your skin. You are hot and sweaty, and Zorag's sight through the window doesn't help.

You try everything to keep your mind away from Zorag, but the task seems impossible. You can still feel his hold on your legs, his nails digging into your flesh. At night, you imagine his face between your thighs as you touch yourself. Even the thought of his tongue on your folds and his finger in your pussy is enough to make you soaked.

Zorag is outside. You can see him from your seat behind the desk. Your fingers linger above the keyboard as your attention turns from your laptop to the orc. His trousers hang low on his hips. The fabric stretches on his thick thighs as he moves. His upper body is bare. His t-shirt hangs from his back pocket. To your surprise, he is smooth and shaved. You always imagined him hairy. His green skin seems lighter under the bright sunlight, and he is flushed by the heat. His black dreadlocks are tied back with a worn band. The beads and rings glint in his hair. Your fingers curl into fists as you imagine them gripping his locks.

Fuck.

Zorag feels your eyes on him the whole day. It burns his skin and twists his stomach. He has to force himself not to look at you through the office's window. And his willpower fails him rather often. Every now and again, when he is sure you are busy with something else, he dares to steal a few glances. You sit at the desk, your eyes on the laptop in front of you. A few sweaty locks of your hair are sticking to the delicate curve of your neck. The light summer dress you wear highlights the valley of your breasts and the curve of your waist. He saw you when you disappeared into the office early in the morning. The skirt swirled around your legs with each step you took. He couldn't help but imagine what you hid under the clothes. He jerks off more times at the memory of your taste than he would dare to admit it.

A relieved sigh leaves Zorag's lips when he arrives home, but the ache in his chest doesn't lessen. It's Friday, and he has a whole weekend ahead of him without seeing you. Not long ago, he would have been happy about it, but now… Now he just wants to grab his keys and go to your house.

While he decides to go and take a shower, you let your annoyance take over you.

You are angry, impatient, and horny.

Not even half an hour later, your car is parked in front of his house, and you are at the door, knocking on the wooden surface.

You are not even sure what you want to do if he opens the door. You can't ask him to have sex with you, can you? Then what? Should you talk about what happened? Clean the air between you two?

After a few seconds, the door of his home opens, and you forget how to breathe. Shock shows on his face, but you are too busy staring at his bare chest. Your gaze travels down, following the muscles of his stomach, until you pause on the white towel around his hips. The fabric barely reaches the middle of his thighs. Water still shines on his green skin.

"Ruby?" Zorag asks. His surprise quickly changes to smugness when he sees your reaction. Your lips open, and your eyes darken with desire. He still remembers your expression when you came because of his tongue and finger. The thought makes his cock jerk under the towel. The thin fabric does nothing to hide his half-hard erection. "What's wrong with you?" You snap at him, frowning. He doesn't get angry at your words. "You are the one who came here." "Yes," you agree. "Well…" Raising one of his brows, he finds amusement in your frustration. No matter how much you try to avoid the obvious bulge under the white towel, your gaze falls on it every now and again. "Did you come here for more?" He asks, leaning closer. Even though the neighbors can see him, he is not in a hurry. He is enjoying every minute of your struggle. "Of course not," you scoff. "I came here to clear the air between us. We can't work together like this." Lies. Lies. Lies. Zorag wants to kiss them off your mouth so you can scream the truth only. He hums, smirking. "Sure, Ruby. Come in, and we can talk about it." It's the worst idea you ever heard. "Okay."

The moment the door closes behind you, your back presses against the hard surface, and Zorag cages you in his embrace. His kiss is wild and out of control. His tusks dig into your lips, and his tongue invades your mouth. It's all need and demand. His lips are still open when he breaks the kiss and leans down to reach under your bottom. His hot breath fans over your neck, kissing down your collarbone and licking into your cleavage while hauling you up in his arms. Your legs curl around his waist immediately, and your fingers dig into the hard muscles of his shoulders. "Where are you taking me?" You gasp out. "Up to my room," he replies. His words are heavy with need. He moves like you weigh nothing. "I will fuck the bossiness out of you." The promise makes your pussy ache for him. A low groan rumbles through your skin when you start to grind yourself against him. "You love my bossiness," you tell him while he kisses up on the line of your neck. "I love it better when you are too fucked out to say anything." You land on his bed with a shriek. You are still in your clothes, and he is naked. The towel probably fell off somewhere on the stairs leading up to his bedroom. "Take off your clothes," he orders you. "It's time for you to learn how to be obedient." You scoff but do as he says. Kneeling in the middle of his bed, you grab the hem of your dress and pull it off of your body with one swift motion. You don't wear a bra, and when Zorag notices it, he groans at the sight. His hand is around his cock, already jerking off. "Stand up on the bed and come here." A part of you wants to argue with him, but in the end, you obey again. With the bed under you, the height difference is perfect for him to grab your waist with his free arm and pull you against himself until you are so close he can lick and suck your nipples. Your back arches at the feeling, pushing yourself into his greedy mouth more. Every swirl of his tongue goes straight between your legs. Your panties are ruined. You are sure of it. "Zorag," you croak out his name. "Please…" "What do you want?" He grunts. His tusk flicks over your nipple. Your breasts are soft and just enough for him to play with them to his heart's content. "You," you tell him. "I want you." Your words are breathy and impatient. "Take off your panties and lay down on your back if you want me to fuck that pretty pussy. I'm sure it's already wet for my cock."

Zorag still barely believes his own eyes. You are lying on his bed, naked and ready. Your legs are wide apart, showing him your hot center. Your nipples are hard and wet peaks, and your folds glint with your juices. You are the prettiest sight he has ever seen. His balls twitch with the need to cum, but a squeeze around the base of his shaft stops him at the last second.

"So pretty," he says, letting his eyes wander on your body. "You are so fucking pretty." "Then come and fuck me," you suggest, lifting your hips to entice him. "I need you, Zorag! Please!"

Your plea hits something in him because of your absolute delight; he is above you before you know it. He keeps his weight off you with his strong arms but his warmth still cages you into something safe and comfortable. His hard cock grazes your lower stomach, almost reaching the slit of your pussy where you need him the most.

"I need to get you ready," he says, mostly to remind himself of the size difference between you two. You are still a human, while he is an orc everywhere. Before he can lower himself, you grab his hair. "You don't have to." Zorag frowns. "I don't want to hurt you." "You won't," you promise. "I- I'm ready. I was ready when I got here." Your confession humiliates and excites you at the same time, and more heat creeps up on your cheeks when you see the recognition crossing Zorag's face. "Did you touch yourself before you came here?" His voice is nothing but a low growl. "Answer me, Ruby." "Yes." "Did you think of me?" He asks. One of his hands slides down your body, reaching between your legs. His finger brushes over your clit, sending shivers all over your body. "Did you think of my mouth? My tongue on your sweet pussy? You taste so good, Ruby. I want to eat you every day from now on." "Zorag!" You cry out his name when his finger pushes inside you. "Did you imagine my cock in this pretty hole? Did you think about how well I could stretch you out?" When you don't answer, he stops his finger from pushing into you deeper, and you sob out a croaked reply. "Yes, I thought of you. I thought of your mouth, your fingers, your cock. I only think about you." "And did you come? Or did you come here because your pretty fingers weren't enough anymore?" "I came here to fuck me," you tell him. Your hips move in sync with his thrusts. "I come here for your cock, Zorag." "And you will get it," he promises, leaving the warmth of your wet channel to adjust his cock at your entrance. "I will fuck you, Ruby." "Yes," you moan. "Do it! Please, Zorag, do it!"

You roll your hips to get him inside you faster. Your pussy stretches around the head of his cock. The orc pushes into you slowly and steadily. His heart beats in his throat at the feeling of your warm tightness around his shaft. Your walls already flutter and pulse to pull him deeper and deeper until he is inside you completely. "Oh, god," you groan. "So full." "That's right," he growls. "That's what you needed, Ruby. You don't have to use your fingers anymore. I'm here now." When he is sure you are adjusted to his size, he starts to move in and out rapidly. He pounds your pussy while you can do nothing but moan and shake under his heavy body. Your wetness coats his cock, dripping down on his balls. His eyes roll back at the feeling of your pussy clenching around him, demanding more, demanding everything he can give you. "Where do you want me to cum?" Zorag grunts. "Where do you want my seed, Ruby?" "Inside me," you cry. Tears roll down your cheeks at the pleasure that burns your veins and jerks your muscles. "I'm on the pill." Hearing you reply, Zorag moves even faster. You didn't know it was possible. The bed thuds against the wall in the background, mixing with the wet sound between your legs.

You both reach your high at the same time. Your walls flutter around his cock, your nails dig into the hard muscles of his back, and he can't keep up any longer. He pushes himself inside you entirely and cums. His seed fills you up, dripping down where you meet while your cunt milks him for more.

"Wow," you pant after long minutes of silence when he drops on the bed beside you. You start to miss his warmth immediately. "Yeah," he agrees. "Do you want to take a bath? I can make us something to eat in the meanwhile." You are not sure why you are surprised. Zorag is not the type who sends his partners away after everything is done. "That would be good," you reply. "Thank you." "Good," he smirks, leaning closer to press a quick kiss on your lips. "Because I'm not done with you yet."

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#monster x human #orc x human #monster x reader #orc x reader #ironridge #monster smut #orc smut #orc romance #monster romance #orc boyfriend #monster boyfriend

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capsicle-evans · 11 months

Text

The Make Believe Ms Evans

Chris Evans x Reader

Summary: A PR marriage between Y/N and Chris Evans has skyrocketed their careers but their sex lives has never been this low. Up until now.

Warnings: unprotected sex, swearing

Series Master Post

Part 1, Part 2

“Jesus fucking Christ, can you hurry the fuck up?” I slam on the bathroom door. We should’ve been out the door like 5 minutes ago. “What is taking you so long?”

Chris yanks the door open, an exasperated look on his face. “Can you stop screaming like a fucking banshee?”

“We are going to be late, you idiot” I glare at him as he starts placing the buttons of his shirt in place.

Chris is in the promotional tour of his new movie so Polly secured an interview with Jimmy Kimmel because that’s always a success. “Shut up and just help me with the tie, Y/N” Chris rolls his eyes and steps back so that I can move between him and the bathroom counter.

“Fucking man child” I groan as I bring my hands up to his neck, placing the tie neatly around his neck. “One would think you would know by now how to do this”

“Stop complaining” Chris grins as he stretches his hands to grab my thigh. He pushes his hand under my dress, slowly making his way up my skin.

“What are you doing?” I look down, my hands forgetting about his tie and moving to his hand.

“Shut up” Chris stops my hands, pinning them behind my back with ease with just one of his hands. The other removes the half done tie around his neck. “Don’t fight me, Y/N”

Before I can ask again what he is doing, he ties both of my hands and brings up my skirt. “Stop, Polly and Claire could be here any minute now”

“Y/N, please for once in your life” Chris pulls down my panties before stepping back enough to release his member from his pants. “Shut up”

I want to fight him. God knows how much I want to fight back. But I want to fuck him more.

“Open up” Chris orders me as his thumb tugs at my bottom lip. When I do so, he pushes his index finger into my mouth, hard against my tongue. I wrap my lips around his finger, bobbing my head back and forth. “Such a good girl”

I feel my pussy clench at the praise so I push my hips forward, the tip of his dick gliding against my stomach.

“So eager” Chris groans before removing his finger from my mouth. He grabs my hip with the other hand to pull me closer as the his finger dips down into my throbbing pussy. “God, so wet” Chris moans against my ear as he lets his head rest in my shoulder.

I bite into his neck as he pumps hard and fast into me, me legs shaking under me. “Are you ready for me?”

“Mhm” I whine. Chris pulls his finger out and lines himself into my entrance, the head of his cock getting coaxed with my juices. Before I can complain, he pushes himself into me in one swift motion. My head falls back at the sudden feeling of fullness and the sting that rips my walls.

Chris grabs my ass to use as leverage to pump faster into me. I twist around, trying to touch him but the tie behind my back restricting my every move. “Release me”

“Be a good girl and stay still, Y/N” Chris shakes his head and brings one of my legs up around his waist to have a better access into me.

I start to whimper against his hear as hi dips one finger in between our bodies to massage my clitoris. I’m about to moan when we here the door of our room slam shut. “Y/N? Chris? We are running late” Polly calls out from the outside of the bathroom so Chris quickly places his hand over my mouth to stop any illicit sound. I wait for him to stop but his movements are still persistent and hard, in fact he only gains speed.

“In a sec” Chris shouts back and goes back to rubbing my clit. I feel the pressure in me almost reaching its peak so I bite into his hand to stop myself from screaming. “Just finishing up”

“Do you know where’s Y/N?” Polly asks back.

“Probably at the bar or something” Chris grabs both of my legs so that I’m wrapped around him and the new angle sends me over the edge. My eyes roll back and I start shaking against Chris as the waves of pleasure take over my every senses. “You should go check”

I don’t catch the rest of the conversation, my mind still spinning from my orgasm and Chris’ dick still inside of me as he looks for his release.

“I’m so close” Chris hides his face in my neck to muffle his moans. It only takes a few more pumps into me and then I feel the warmth of Chris’s cum coaxing my walls. Thank god I’m on the pill because the sensation of being filled up is so hot it almost pushes me to my edge again.

“Give me a sec” Chris pulls out and I feel his cum dripping down my legs. He pulls a towel from the rack and cleans me up before doing the same with himself. “All done”

“Care to release me?” I race my eyebrow at him. Chris chuckles, totally forgetting that he had me tied back.

“There you go” He removes his tie only to place it smoothly back in his neck. He zips his pants back and reapplies his cologne before turning back at me. I’m still collecting myself from my orgasm so I just lay back on the counter. “Hurry up, are are going to me late”

He ducks just in time to miss the hair brush that was headed straight for his head.

***

“So Chris” Jimmy taps his fingers a long the wooden table in front of him. “You brought your lovely wife with you this time”

“Yeah” Chris smiles, turning his face towards the audience. “She is my support system and I wanted to have her with me here”

“We haven’t seen much of you two since you guys got married” Jimmy gives him a raised eyebrow and and I can feel Polly tense next to me as we watch from a VIP section of the audience.

“I mean you said it yourself, Jimmy” Chris brings up his hand to his jaw, a wicked smirk on his face. “We just got married, we don’t leave the house much”

My cheeks burn hot as the camera pans to me, the room erupting with teasing screams. I shake my head, laughing as Jimmy calls out my blush. “You are gonna get in trouble for that one, Mister”

“I hope so” Chris nods his head at Jimmy, hyping the crowd even more. He laughs before waving his hands up. “I need to stop pushing my luck here”

“Yeah, that’s a wise decision” Jimmy chuckles before turning towards you. “Y/N, please go easy on him”

“I’ll try, Jimmy, I’ll try” I give him a cheeky smile. “I make no promises tho”

***

“It’s nice to see you get along” Claire breaks the silence as we drive through the city of New York. The car zooms through the busy streets and the crowded sidewalks, the city lights brightening the sky. “Chris, you did good today”

“Yeah it’s nice to see you not at each other’s throat” Polly adds as she types away on her phone.

Chris leans in to whisper in my ear. “I mean I did have you by the throat yesterday” His voice sends shivers down my spine as it bring back memories of the eventful morning we had before we went to the airport.

“What’s that?” Polly looks up, thinking Chris was talking to her.

“Nothing” He leans back away from me. “Just talking to myself”

“Are you sure you don’t want to join us for dinner?” Claire turns to me as the driver pulls up outside our hotel.

“Yeah, I’m just gonna get room service and head to bed” I give her a reassuring smile as Chris opens up the car door, the flashes going off immediately. “But you two enjoy your night out”

Chris steps out, stretching his arm to help me out of the car. His arm goes around me to guide into the hotel, making sure that the paps aren’t to close to us.

“is it true you are getting a divorce?” one paparazzi asks me as he steps right in front of me. If it weren’t for Chris’s arm around me, I would’ve tripped as I bumped against the unknown man.

“Hey, stay the hell away from her” Chris pulls me tight against his chest as I try to squeeze around the crowd of people. Our bodyguards start pushing people away, making way for us to run into the hotel lobby.

“You okay?” Chris pants as we are finally inside.

“Yeah, just scratched myself a little against his camera, that’s all” I check my arm as 2 lines start forming over my skin, just a bid of blood making its way to the surface. “Ill be fine”

“Let’s just get to our room” Chris nods, grabbing my hand as he notices that everyone in the lobby is looking at us. “Honey”

I try to swallow down the laugh that wants to erupt from my chest. “God you are si stiff” I whisper only for him to hear.

“Oh shut up” He grins, not looking down at me as we head for the elevator.

Once inside, just the two of us, Chris release my hand and puts his into his pockets. “So what do you want for dinner?”

“I don’t know” I twist my mouth. “Not that hungry really”

“How about some wine and cheese platter?” Chris asks. “I saw one on the menu last night”

“Yeah, i think that would be nice” I nod as the elevator dings, signaling we’ve reached our floor.

We walk in silence towards our shared suite, only the clacking of our shoes breaking through the silence that rules over the hallway. One we’ve reached our door, Chris places his card on the reader and holds the door open for me. “Why don’t you go change and I’ll order the food”

“Thank you” I give his chest a soft pat before walking to the bathroom.

Since we cannot get away with having different rooms book for us, I usually sleep on the bed and Chris takes the fold up bed or just crashes on the couch.

I strip out of my jumpsuit, hills tossed somewhere in my room. “White or red?” Chris pops his head through the door as he pushes the phone away from his lips.

“Red” I turn to him as unhook my bra and let it fall to the floor.

“Jesus christ” Chris rubs his hand through his arm as his eyes fall down to my naked chest. “Please just knock and leave the food outside. We might be busy”

“Christopher” I blush as the poor lady at the end of the phone gets mortified by Chris. “Don’t say that”

“Why?” He grins as he tosses the phone somewhere in my bed before stepping in the bathroom. “Did I lie?”

“I mean no but-“ My mind betrays me as I follow the movement of his hands.l, unbuttoning his shirt.

“Maybe we don’t need food tonight” Once done with his shirt, his hands move to my hips, pulling me to him. “We can just eat each other”

“Chris I-“ I try to fight him but his lips come down to my neck, his tongue darting out to taste the saltiness of my skin.

“What do you think?” Chris whisper hot against my ear. “Don’t you want me to fuck you against the counter? Just like this morning?”

I try to answer but when his fingers pinch at my nipple, any thought I had, just went out the window.

***

“Favorite place to be?” I ask Chris as I press a green grape against my bottom lip.

“Mhm” He brings his glass down from his lip. “I love Boston, my whole family is there”

“Besides Boston” I roll my eyes. Everyone knows Chris loves Boston. When we got married, his only request was that Boston remain as our principal house, my house in LA just to be used for when we had to be there for the job.

Chris scratches at his beard, thinking deeply. “Venice, I think”

“Really?” I beam. “I want to go there sometime. Amsterdam, too”

“You’ve never been there?” Chris asks, slowly moving his glass in circles.

“Nope” I shake my head. “I didn’t have the money before and now I don’t have the time”

“Yeah, I get that” He nods his head before bringing his glass back up to his lips. We stay in the comfort of our silence.

I feel weird when it’s just Chris and I. Well, when we are not fucking. We are used to just fighting each other, and now, having sex. Small talk isn’t really our strongest side.

I’m about to excuse myself when Chris breaks the silence. “Why did you agree?”

“On what?” I look back at him but his eyes are fixated on the bottle in front of him.

“To marry me” His eyes snap back at me. “To do the whole fake thing”

“I-I” I stutter a bit, his question catching me off guard. “I mean Claire sold me on the whole ‘it’s whats best for your career’ thing, so I agreed, I guess”

“Do you ever regret it?” He follows up his question, never taking his eyes away from me.

Where the hell is this coming from? We’ve never discussed this topic so openly. “Do you?” I sit up straighter, not longer feeling comfortable in my sprawled position.

“No” He answers immediately. “To be honest I didn’t care much about it”

“Then why are you asking me all of this?” I move to place the glass of wine over the coffee table.

“I’m in my 40s, if anything, marrying you got people off my back” He finally shifts his focus to the bottle of wine, probably feeling a bit uncomfortable with the way my eyes are scanning his every move. “Every time I had an interview, all they wanted to talk about was if I was planning on settling down, having kids and what not”

“But now they ask about me” I frown, not really seeing the difference.

“But because they want in in the gossip, no longer out of expectations” He sighs, chugging the rest of his wine. “But you are young, you… You could have anything you wanted, whoever you wanted. Why settle for this?”

“I’m not settling, Chris” I turn my body to face him, his side profile greeting me. “Shit, we might not be a happy lovely marriage but we respect each other, I, at least, admire your work. And yeah we used to fight a lot but I’ve always known that if I need a favor, I can count on you. That’s a lot more than what other people have”

“Yeah, I guess” Chris finally looks back into my eyes, a softer gaze taking over his eyes. “But don’t you ever want to go to go out with guys your age or something?”

“Chris, I’ve dated people before” I chuckled. “And trust me, you’ve given me more orgasms in the last 48 hours than they ever did”

Chris tries to hold back the grin on his face but fails miserably when I give him a little shove. “Don’t let it get to your ego, grandpa”

“I make no promises” Chris smirks, grabbing a hold of my thigh.

“Oh no, mister” I push his hand away, standing up and away from him. “You are going to leave me all sore! Give me a break”

“Fine” He rolls his eyes at me before also standing up. “In that case, leave. You are taking up my bed”

“Good night, grandpa” I pat his chest before turning around. “Make sure you get a good sleep, we don’t want you all grumpy in the morning”

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

Part 2 is up🩷

Tag List: @talesofadragon @patzammit @rainyhort10-blog @cutedisneygrl @creae7881

#chris evans #chris evans fanfic #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans fluff #chris evans smut

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rendy-a · 4 months

Note

Could I request a self aware twst au with like the first years :D?

I want to thank all the people who interacted with that post earlier today. It gave me enough motivation to go out and finish this piece.

While trying to think up concepts for this work, it occured to me that all the first years (except Ortho) were in sports clubs. That means there is one event perfect for you to bond with your first year friends.

Ace kicks a pile of canvas laying in a heap at his feet, “This is ridiculous! What if something happens while we’re gone!” His mouth twists into an unpleasant grimace. He looks to his basketball club members for backup, but no one will meet his eye. So, he turns to where he knows he’ll find support. “Oi, Sebek!” The green haired fae is distractedly pounding away at a tent stake nearby but it is easy to see from his expression that his heart isn’t in it. “What happens if someone tries to kidnap the Player when we aren’t there to protect them? You know how famous they are!” Sebek stops hammering and slowly looks up, tears forming in his eyes.

“SILVER! SILVER!” he shouts to his clubmate, “What if I’m not there to protect the Player! Forget this event, we must return to the school with ALL HASTE!” He looks to his fellows for support but again, none of the senior students stop what they are doing. Ace, however, is fast to abandon his own camping site and join Sebek. “Right, right?” he eagerly urges Sebek on, “What does this even matter if our Player isn’t here to see it?”

“Stop it,” the sturdy voice of Jack growls, “It doesn’t pay to get worked up over it. This is in the story, so we have to do it. That’s just how it is.” Sebek stares at the wolf beastman silently, tears falling from his eyes. “Maybe we can tell them about it later!” Deuce tries to cheer his fellow freshman up, “I’m sure they’d like to hear about it. They always listened to my card stories before…well before it happened. I think they’d like to hear about this too!” At that Sebek seemed mightily cheered and returned to setting up his tent with gusto, muttering about what he’d tell the Player about later. Ace scoffs, sensing his defeat and returns bitterly to his own site.

Epel wanders over and observes Ace silently. “You finished?” Ace asks in surprise. “Yeah, Leona is a great leader and took charge of getting us set up right away!” Epel informs him, “I had time to put up my tent and help Ruggie set up one for Leona too!” Then he looks down and kicks Ace’s sad abandoned tent as well, “I just wish the Player was here to see it. I bet they’d have been really impressed with how fast I finished.” Ace frowns and complains, “But they aren’t here. They are back at school with the Arts Clubs.” This causes Epel to scowl deeply, “Dagnabit! I didn’t need a reminder of that! I can just picture those frou-frou artsy types trying to suck up to the Player. Trying to get them to talk different, eat different, just…” He doesn’t finish the thought but the way he grinds his teeth shows how he feels about the idea.

The sound of pounding tent stakes and shifting canvas is diminished when the booming voice of Coach Vargas booms out, “Listen up, young campers! Now, I know you don’t need any additional motivation to showcase your strength and fortitude here after I’ve done an AMAZING job setting up this EXCITING AND ENTERTAINING EVENT!” Here he pauses and casts a quick look over his shoulder before straightening up again. “But if you do!” Then he smiles a beaming smile and sets his hands on his hips. That’s when you pop out from behind him, “Hey guys! Guess who’s here to do their memory keeper duties!”

Ace jumps over his canvas pile in a rush to get to your side and stumbles over it. “Woah, calm down,” you admonish him cheerily, “I’ll be here all weekend.” Epel asks in an innocent sounding voice, “You will? You really will?” You pat the two boys on the shoulder and search out your other first year friends in the crowd. Sebek is sobbing quietly in front of his tent and Deuce is waving excitedly from the distant track club area. Jack gives you a small nod before turning back to his area as though he is unaffected by your appearance, but the cloud of dust kicked up by his wagging tail says otherwise.

You turn toward Vargas and look expectantly. He looks blankly back at you until you awkwardly say, “Go on.” He looks at you a moment before clearing his throat, “Ah yes, yes. Harumph! Anyway, tents are up! Get over here and listen up for your next task!” Then he looks at you as though seeking your approval to hand out the task. You shrug and then nod as though to say, ‘Sure, go for it.’ Vargas gives you a toothy smile and then proceeds to hand out a familiar sounding explanation about the tasks to be assigned to the clubs. You wave lightly before heading back to the cabin to get your own things sorted out. The eagerness of the students fades as fast as your departure.

“So…,” Deuce begins carefully, “We are going to try now? Right?” He looks at Ace for confirmation. Jack snorts behind him, “I was always going to try.” Then he makes a fist and puts on an eager smile, “I’m going to knock this challenge out so fast that the Player can’t help but notice me!” Deuce turns away from Ace to join Jack instead. The two Track Club members fire each other up over their plans to dominate the camp tasks and stand out to the Player. Deuce quickly becomes so distracted by this that he forgets Ace entirely. This is just the chance Ace has been waiting for to quietly slip away.

“So, Prefect,” Ace begins as he appears at your side. You yelp and drop your backpack, catching it before it hits the ground and damages your precious ghost camera. “Ace!” you shout, “What are you doing here? This isn’t in the event!” He looks at you quietly and you quickly backtrack, “I…I mean, shouldn’t you be with the Basketball Club doing…something?” Ace smiles, happy to have avoided an awkward situation. “Nah, I’m not going to mess around in the woods. It’s a team effort, so as long as those other guys do the grunt work, I’ll be fine.” You roll your eyes at his attitude. “Plus, why would I want to be anywhere but with my best buddy, eh Prefect?”

You consider this carefully before slyly narrowing your eyes and gesturing to your unbuilt tent. “Sure, thing, Pal. Why don’t you hang out and help me build my tent.” Ace grimaces, not wanting to do the work but mostly afraid you’ll pick up on his lack of tent-building expertise. The odd standoff is concluded when you hear Coach Vargus bellow, “Nonsense! That won’t do for either of you! I can hardly deprive the Prefect of the chance to enjoy this stimulating muscle-building activity and as for you Ace, well, you are just slacking off.” Ace starts to stammer as you just stand there cringing. Coach Vargus calmly approaches Ace and lifts him up by his collar. It reminds you of how you lift a misbehaving Grim by the scruff of his neck. You wave awkwardly at the departing Ace as he looks imploringly at you from the Coach’s grasp. ‘Oh well, you reap what you sow,’ you think.

A tiring amount of time later, you brush your hands off on your thighs and declare, “There, done!” Then you slowly head over to grab your pack holding the Ghost Camera, among other supplies. The sun is barely at its peak, but you are already sweating with exertion from putting up the tent. You wonder how your more athletic friends among the first-year students are handling it. You know they are more used to the effort, but you hope they are taking necessary precautions. Perhaps you’d just remind them and see if they need to borrow some sunscreen.

You know realize that sunscreen was the least of your safety concerns. You watch in disbelief as Sebek continues to scale a sheer cliff in search of a lantern blossom flower. The reaction of the nearby students was mixed. Silver seemed remarkably unconcerned as he spoke to Riddle nearby. Meanwhile, you and several NPC characters were more nervous. “He is going to fall, isn’t he?” you ask the nearby Scarabia A. He looks at you for a long moment and then shrugs his shoulders. You are not reassured at all.

You turn instead to Ignihyde C and gesture, “This game doesn’t have a mature rating, so he can’t die. Right? Right?” The surprised student looks at you with his mouth falling open before he stammers, “R.right.” Then he looks up at the precarious position of the green haired fae and mumbles, “But maybe you should cheer him on anyway.” You look more intently at the NPC and demand, “Do you think that would help?” He answers you in a fluster, “W..well, if my oshi…I mean friend…if my friend cheered me on, I think it would really help me do my best!”

Right. That is just the sort of thing friends do. “HEY SEBEK!” you shout. The fae somehow hears you shout and looks arrogantly over his shoulder at the spectators but when his eye catches your form, he shakes, and you fear he will tumble from the cliff. “HOLD ON SEBEK, YOU CAN DO IT! I BELIEVE IN YOU!” From even the great distance between you, the image of determination that crosses his expression can be seen. He sets off with a renewed vigor, making daring transitions and finding ways to make speedy progress. With several movements that make you gasp and hold your breath; he reaches the lantern blossom and plucks it from the ground.

Much faster than the ascent, Sebek’s return to the ground was accomplished quite shortly. He was still a considerable distance up when he leaps from the cliff edge to race to your side and show off his prize. He eagerly holds out the glowing lantern blossom for you to view. “Its so pretty,” you comment politely, “I wish I had one.” He gasps and grabs hold of your hand, forcing the poor battered flower into it. “THEN YOU MUST HAVE THIS ONE!” You give him a shocked look, “No really, that is unnecessary. I’ll get one some other day.” He smiles at you smugly, “No need Prefect. Any time you need a lantern blossom, I will fetch one for you.” You guiltily hold out the flower to one student after another, but no member of the Horseback Riding Club will take it from you. “Prefect,” Riddle finally says in a commanding voice, “Its rude to return a gift. We are more than capable of retrieving another lantern blossom.” Sebek and Silver nod in agreement, backing up the Dorm Leader. You think it’s time to go before you cause this club any more trouble. You make your excuses and dash off to the lake.

As you part a pair of branches and emerge from the forest at the lake’s edge, you catch sight of some members of the Spelldrive Club nearby. Ruggie seems to be fishing up a storm while your first-year friend Epel watches from nearby with his own pole. “See,” Ruggie tells his underclassman, “That’s how its done. Now in return for that free lesson, how about you show me what you learned by catching enough fish for the rest of the club! Shishishi!” You roll your eyes at the obvious attempt to foist the work off onto Epel but are surprised with your friend shouts “YES SIR!” with enthusiasm. You catch Ruggie’s eye and give him a quiet tsk tsk which only earns you a mischievous wink before the hyena beastman set’s off toward camp.

You slowly saunter over to Epel, who is fully engaged in his fishing. “So, got a plan?” you asked over his shoulder. “Eh!?” he gasps and drops his pole, “Player! I..I mean Prefect! It’s you! Ya’ had me surprised outta my skin there!” You give him an apologetic smile. Epel stoops down to retrieve his pole and shyly replies, “My plan is just to catch the fish. I’m not going to give up until I’ve caught at least a dozen!” Then he holds up his arm and bends it at the elbow, giving you a little flex to show off his determination. You hold in a laugh, “Well, if you are that fired up, why stop at only one dozen?”

Epel’s eyes go wide for a moment and then he gets a maniacal grin. “Yeah! You’re right! I’m going to catch you at least two dozen fish! Or maybe three or four!” You know Epel is not the type to break his word, so you quickly interrupt to calm down his ambitions, “One dozen is enough! I was just joking.” You wave your hands toward the ground as though to say, let’s lower our expectations. Epel frowns and mutters under his breath, “That isn’t going to impress anyone.” Then he looks at you determined, “Just wait and see! I’ll catch plenty of fish so don’t go eat’n with any other club! When tha fish are in tha bag, I’ll make ya Gram’s special fish stew!”

As Epel gets to work, casting his line and reeling in the lure, you sit beside him on a rock. When the time seems right, you snap a picture of him eagerly lifting a small fish from the lake on his line. “There you go! One down!” you say as you transfer the ghost camera to your elbow and give him a small clap of encouragement. He preens a short second before frowning down at the small fish. “Tha’ next ‘un will be twice as big!” he shouts in determination before casting his line again.

True to his prediction, soon Epel gets a tremendous tug on his pole. You both shout and leap to your feet at the strength of the fish that appears to be on the line. “WOAH!” Epel shouts. You lean over the edge of the lake, trying to see the monster fish Epel has snagged. Epel too seems interested in his opponent and plans one foot firmly while leaning forward to stare intently where his line entered the lake. With a sudden flash, a scaled hand emerges from the lake to grab the tip of Epel’s rod and tugs Epel, pole and all, into the lake. You quickly slide back as far more of Floyd emerges from the lake. He gives you a toothy smile before his trademark laugh emerges and he returns to the lake. Epel does not immediately surface, and you are concerned for a moment before you spot him further down the shore. Though he has concealed himself behind a log, you can tell his ears are flushed with embarrassment. You kindly decide to give him his space.

Halfway to camp, your stomach begins to growl. You thought sadly about Gran’s special fish stew, now beyond your reach. You hoped that you’d manage to sweet talk some fish off someone. They were your friends, so someone is bound to share, right?

The size of Deuce’s eyes when you asked him sweetly if he’d share his food with you rivaled that of the empty plate you held out to him. “Please?” you finish your plea for lunch. Deuce flushes and quickly removes his pack from his shoulder, pulling out a fairly large fish. “No problem, Prefect, I’ve got enough for two here!” You make a little gesture to celebrate your victory and compliment him, “Yeah! Great job catching such a big fish. It looks so huge, I bet its even enough for three people!” Immediately Deuce denies this, “NO! NO, IT’S NOT!” When you pull back in surprise, Deuce continues in a softer voice, “I…I mean this one is just perfect for two. It…its just meant for us. To share. Together.”

You hold up your hands and agree, “Sure, sure. Just you and me. I get you.” Deuce seems so very pleased by your response that you decide to just let his strange response slide. Plus, you need him to cook that fish. “So…what are you making? You know, just for us to share?” you ask as you saddle up to his side? Deuce looks back and forth between you and the fish, “I sure know how to cook this. Yup, I really do.” Your mouth falls into a little O and then you glare at him suspiciously, “Deuce, do you know how to cook fish?” He doesn’t meet your eye but assures you that Trey taught him some recipes. You still have your suspicious but figure if it was a Trey recipe, it would be alright.

“So, what do we do?” you ask Deuce. He looks at you with a dreamy expression, “We? You’re going to cook with me?” You shrug your shoulders, “I mean yeah, that’s how Trey’s recipes are, right?” Then you lean in close and whisper, “Like…Like in the game when we made that chestnut tart together. Right?” Deuce quickly agrees, “Right! Together! You and me! Just…you and me… Ahem!” He finishes with a cough and then, to your relief, sends you to the forest to collect some herbs.

You had a handful of samples and a general area to search for more. Apparently, Jack had scented some out while setting up camp and taken cuttings so his clubmates could retrieve more later. You smiled at the foresight of the first-year student. You weren’t sure exactly what Deuce needed, so you gathered a few handfuls of each type. You walk back to the camp and set your bounty on the table next to the fish Deuce has prepared. It looks like he’s used the time you were away to fillet the fish and make a simple dough. Seeing the dough gives you confidence that this really is a Trey recipe.

“So, what now?” you ask him. “Chop up the herbs and mix them into a paste with water,” Deuce directs. “Sure,” you say while gesturing to the pile, “but which ones?” Deuce pauses and looks at the large pile of greens you have sitting there. “Oh…um…All of them!” Now your doubts are back. “Are you sure about that?” you ask him carefully. “Yeah!” Deuce replies confidently, “Just like Trey says, the more the merrier!” You carefully take two sprigs of herbs and chop them up and then, while Deuce is preoccupied with the dough, give them a taste. Honestly, the combination of the two isn’t bad. ‘Well,’ you think, ‘what to I know about cooking in a magical world anyway?’ So, you chop the entire pile of greens and mix it all into a thick paste. Deuce combines your herb paste with the fish and puts it into a small pie shell he has formed with the dough. Then, you pack the ‘pie’ into the hot rocks of the fire to roast.

While the pie bakes, you sit side by side on a log and chat about normal things. Or maybe it was more like you chatted and Deuce listened. You didn’t mind, he was good company even if he seemed preoccupied. You were telling him about Grim’s latest antics when you felt something on your hand. You give a small yelp and tug your hand into your lap. “Ah!” you examine your hand as you brush it off, “Was that a bug?” Deuce, who you suddenly realize had gotten far closer to you than you’d noticed, nervously remarked, “Oh yeah, that…was probably it. Ha ha.” Finally, you ask, “Are you cold? I bet we could find you a seat closer to the fire if you are. You can be as cozy as our pie.” Deuce seems embarrassed for a moment before suddenly becoming alarmed, “THE PIE!” He jumps up and fishes the pie from the fire.

He brings it to you nervously, “I think it is fine…” The pie has a small amount of char around the edge that was directly in the fire. If it hadn’t been made by your good friend, you’d probably have refused it but, since it was made by Deuce, you don’t have the heart to refuse. “Oh yeah, looks fine. I guess…lets try it?” you say trying to convince both yourself and Deuce of the pie’s editability. Deuce lets out a happy sigh and breaks the pie in half, handing you the slice with fewer burnt edges. He makes no move to eat the pie himself but seems to hold his breath, waiting for you to try it. “Well, here it goes?” you say in a worried tone. You take a bite; it’s terrible. You force your mouth into a wide smile, “mmm…” you mutter for him in pity. You decide to use the same method for the pie as you used the last time you were forced to eat Lilia’s cooking. You cram the pie down in three huge bites, trying to finish it off while tasting it as little as possible.

For a moment, Deuce seems greatly pleased with the gusto in which you eat before the look of alarm sets on his face and he tilts his head to the side. Or maybe he is tilting his whole body? Oh, no. It’s you that is falling. Then the blackness takes you as Deuce’s frightened shouts fade out, “HELP, I think…I’ve poisoned…the player…”

You wake up groggy. If that was all, you’d have considered yourself lucky, but it also appears you’ve been tied to a tree. You are confused for a moment until you recall the storyline of the Camp Vargus event. Right, Coach is probably out tormenting students right now while anyone captured is tied up. Great, just great. You look up when you hear a long howl echoing through the forest. ‘Is that Jack?’ you think to yourself. If Jack is already in his wolf form, then this camp is nearly over. You sigh and lean back into the tree, waiting for someone to come along and release you.

It isn’t longer than an hour before a very tired but eager Jack arrives to untie you. “Guess you are the hero of the day, huh?” you jibe at him. He flushes as he rubs the back of his head, “Oh, you heard about that.” He tries to pretend indifference but moments later he is asking for more details, “So what did you hear?” Well, this is a challenge to answer since you hadn’t actually heard anything about it. You just remembered it from when it was a game plot. “Well…didn’t Floyd change into his mer form? That was probably cool to see.”

A look of incredulousness passes over his face, “Yeah well, other guys probably looked cool too.” You nod knowingly, “Yeah, I heard you got to Sebek use his training to lure the monster into the bog. Who knew there would be a chance for him to show off his skills out here.” Jack huffs, “Yeah but he wasn’t the only one using his skills out there.” Now you smile, feeling a bit mischievous yourself, “Oh, for sure. I mean what would we have done without our MVP from Savanahclaw.” Jack lets out a relieved sigh and smiles. “Yes, Ruggie sure did pull though. I don’t normally approve of his sneaky habits, but you have to admit he really came through today.”

Jack’s eyes widen and he stands there in a silent shock. “Well, let’s get going. Are you hungry? I could sure go for something right about now.” Then you dust off your knees and start heading toward camp. After a moment, you decide you’ve tortured him enough and pause, waiving your hand to signal him to join you. When he reaches your side, you give his uniform sleeve a tug. He bends down and you use this opportunity to give him a pat on the head and then rub his soft ears. “You did good, Jack,” you praise him softly. Then you thread your arm through his own and tug him along to camp. “Now, let’s go get some grub. Just don’t take anything Deuce gives you, ok?” Jack smiles and follows you along, tail wagging all the way.

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