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thalia-writes · 4 months

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Distractions NSFW

Captain John Price X Reader

Summary: You are being reprimanded for being distracted lately, little does John know, he's the distraction.

Word count: 3.2K

18+ only

Minors do not interact!

Warnings: Smut, P!inV!, female reader, praise kink, dom!Price, oral fem receiving, creampie if you squint.

Authors note: This is my second work ever so please any and all constructive criticism/feedback is very much appreciated!

One foot in front of the other, you keep pace with the people around you. You were training with the other recruits, running through an obstacle course. The afternoon sun warms your back, sweat gathering on your forehead. Keeping your breathing as even as possible, you focus on staying centered and pushing through the pain. You were in the zone, absolutely crushing the course. Leaping up onto the wall, you pull yourself over the edge and jump off, landing on your feet and immediately running again. Suddenly pulled out of your focus when you hear Price shouting out to the recruits behind you.

“C’mon keep it moving!! You’ll need to be faster than that to survive out in the field!”

Your gaze locks on him, the pure male dominance radiating off of him. Everything about him screams power and my god does it stir something within you. Your mind starts wandering as you take in his figure, inappropriate thoughts invading your mind. Price turns his head and locks eyes with you, at the exact moment you stumble and crash to the ground, scratching up your palms and knees.

“L/N!! My office in 2 hours at 16:00, understand?” Price yells out at you with a frown. You nod as you stand up, dusting yourself off.

“Good, now go get yourself cleaned up, you’re done for the day.”

“Yes, sir.” You reply, walking back to base, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

~2 hours later~

You’re walking to Price’s office, anxiety stirring in your gut. The closer you get to his office, the harder it is to keep putting one foot in front of the other. You nervously chew on your lip as you stop in front of the door. Taking a deep breath to try and calm your nerves, you gently knock. You hear a gruff ‘come in’ from the other side so you turn the doorknob and step inside, closing the door behind you.

“Evening, Y/N. Please, take a seat.” Price gestures to the chairs in front of his desk. You walk over and sit down, your knees threatening to buckle underneath you. Looking over at John as he finishes up some paperwork, you watch his hands as they guide the pen in his grasp. Soon your thoughts have spiraled into wondering how they would feel guiding your body, touching, caressing, teasing, and trailing across your skin. You’re ripped out of your little daydream when John waves his hand in front of your face. Snapping your eyes up to his, you’re met with a frown and concern flashing across his features.

“This is what I’m talking about! Were you even listening?” John scolds, leaning forward in his chair. Averting your gaze, you ramble out an apology.

“I apologize Sir, I wasn’t paying attention. I got, uh, lost in my thoughts for a moment”

John sighs and rubs a hand down his face before looking at you again, folding his hands together on the desk.

“You seem to be doing a lot of that as of late. What has gotten into you? Like today, one minute you’re running through the obstacle course like an old pro, and the next you’re tripping over air and getting a face full of dirt.” John states, shaking his head before continuing. “This has been going on for a while, and it’s gotten to the point where we need to have a conversation about where your head's at. What has got you so distracted?”

Your heart drops into your stomach. How the hell am I supposed to tell him that he is why I’m so god damn distracted? You think to yourself. You move your head to the side, looking at the wall, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“I- uh, It’s nothing Sir, just some personal things. I’ll get it under control.”

His intense gaze bores into you, making you shift in your chair. You don’t realize he’s moved until he’s standing right in front of you. His hand grasps your chin, turning your head towards him. You look up at him with wide eyes, catching his piercing blue eyes staring down at you. He leans forward, towering over you, so close that you can smell his intoxicating cologne.

“Something tells me that you’re not quite telling the truth, eh Love?” John scolds, his head tilting to the side as he observes your face. Lips twisting into a smirk as he continues,

“Is it a man? Is a man making you all flustered that you can’t think straight?” Your eyes widen in shock, tearing your gaze away from his, fearing that he’ll be able to see the truth in your eyes. He jerks your chin slightly.

“Tsk tsk, Y/N. Eyes on me.” He scolds. Your eyes immediately find his again, sparks shooting up your spine. Something flashes across his face, and he leans in closer, his lips inches away from yours.

“That’s a good girl, so obedient.” He muses, the smile on his face nothing short of predatory. A shaky breath escapes your lips, a flame igniting in your stomach. You can feel his breath fan across your face, his cologne completely invading your senses. When you say nothing he smirks and continues.

“So who is he? Hmm? Who is the man that’s occupying that pretty mind of yours?” He coos, leaning closer, his hand falling away from your chin. His lips so close to yours you could feel his beard tickling your skin. All you could think of was how good they would feel. You glance down at his lips before locking eyes with him once again. You’re frozen in place, brain short circuiting from the situation.

“Tell me, tell me who’s distracting you, Love.” John says softly, his nose bumping against yours slightly. His pupils dilated and chest rising and falling with his heavy breathing.

“You.” You whisper and the second the words leave your mouth, his lips are pressed against yours. They dance together slowly, John's hand cupping the base of your neck to pull you closer. You melt into the kiss, gasping when he gently bites your lip. He takes advantage of this and slides his tongue into your mouth, exploring and tasting you, as he deepens the kiss. You tangle your hands into his hair, softly moaning. Suddenly you’re off the chair as he picks you up, your legs wrapping around his waist and his hands grabbing your ass. He walks you to the desk, clearing a spot off with his arm, before setting you down on top of it. John pulls away slightly, leaving your mind reeling and your chest heaving.

“Such a pretty little thing.” He coos, before bringing his lips to yours once again. His right hand grips your waist tightly. The other trailing up your side before grasping a handful of your hair and pulling your head to the side, his lips kissing, and nipping at your neck. Heat pools in your abdomen. You’re becoming more and more aroused with every second that passes, hardly able to restrain yourself from ripping his clothes off.

“Captain…” You moan, tilting your neck even further to give him better access. His lips stop their motions on your neck, releasing his grip on your hair, he raises his head to look at you.

“I’m not your captain here Darling. I’m John. Not Bravo SIx, not Captain, just John. Alright?.” He says sternly, staring at you with an intensity you’ve never seen before.

“Okay Cap- John. Okay John.” You say, nodding your head. Desperate to feel his lips on you once again. You squirm on the desk, silently begging him to continue to touch you, your wetness seeping into your underwear.

“Fuck, my name sounds so good coming from that pretty mouth, Love.” John groans, stepping closer to you.

Dipping his head down he captures your lips with his, moving against yours languidly, pulling every coherent thought out of your head. Your hands trail to his waist and you tug at the hem. Taking the hint, he slides off his shirt and you unabashedly stare at his muscular torso. Your hand reaches up and touches his pec before tracing down across his abs, following that sinful trail of hair. Before you can continue with your exploratory touches, John grabs the bottom of your shirt and pulls it over your head. Reaching behind yourself, you unclasp your bra and let it fall to the floor, exposing your bare breasts to him. He lets out a low groan at the sight, his rough and calloused hands immediately cupping and kneading the soft flesh.

“Fuuck darling, such gorgeous tits.” John rasps, and dips his head down to start kissing your breasts before wrapping his lips around one of your nipples and his hand playing with the other. You throw your head back as you let out a soft moan and slightly arch your back. His cock stiffening and straining against his jeans at your sounds. He licks, and nips your breasts for a while before pulling back, his hand cupping your cheek as he looks into your eyes.

“I’ve wanted you for so long, Love. I want to take you to my bed and worship your body, but I can’t withhold myself from you any longer. I need to taste you, to feel your body against me, right fucking now.” John says, his voice heavy and laced with desire.

“Please, John, I want you too, so badly.” You plead. Reaching forward and hooking your fingers in his belt loops and tugging him closer to you. John's eyes glaze over as he feels your fingers tug at his belt. His hands find their way down your body, tracing your curves as a smile spreads across his face. Making quick work of your buttons he slides your pants down as you lift your hips to help him. Your skin burns with every graze of his fingers, his entire presence consuming your every thought. You feel yourself growing wet for him, your body craving every touch. John's hands trail up your thighs and caress your hips, taunting and teasing. You move your hips towards him, desperate to feel his hands on your dripping cunt. John lets out a dark chuckle at your movements, placing his fingers on your clothed core. Lightly pressing down and moving agonizingly slow.

“Ohh Darling, you’ve soaked through your underwear. Are you that desperate already?” John coos at you, putting more pressure onto your clit through the fabric. You let out a whine and shift your hips again, yearning for more friction.

“Please John… No teasing… I need more.” You breathe. Reaching forward, you palm the hard bulge in his pants eliciting a hiss from his lips. He swiftly slides your underwear off and immediately is on his knees looking up at you, his hands gripping your thighs tightly.

“Need to taste you Sweetheart, be a good girl and spread your legs. Let me taste your sweet pussy.” John demands in a low voice. Slowly you spread your legs further apart for him, his cock is hard and throbbing at the sight of your glistening pussy. He’s nearly drooling as he sees you all exposed and bare for him. Placing kisses along your thigh he works his way to your core, sticking his tongue out and licks a stripe up your wet pussy, pulling a sharp gasp from your chest. Groaning at the taste of you, he keeps his head buried in your thighs, licking and sucking at your clit. Soft moans are falling from your lips, his tongue making the flame in your stomach erupt into an inferno. John raises his head, his lips wet with you, you let out a whine from the lack of contact.

“I promise, next time, I'll make you come on my tongue until you beg me to stop. Ya taste so sweet, but I need to be buried deep inside you. Need to get you ready for my cock okay Darling? ” John says before slowly dragging two of his fingers through your folds, gathering your slick on them before gently pushing them into you. Your back arches and you gasp at the intrusion. Two of his fingers stretch you out as he pushes them in and out as he starts to kiss and suck on your neck. Soft moans erupt from your throat, completely focused on the feeling of pleasure he is giving you. Speeding up his fingers, he starts to curl them just right to hit that spongy spot inside you. A loud moan escapes you, you slap a hand over your mouth to try and keep quiet.

John can feel his cock, painfully hard, leaking against his pants. Your sweet moans mixed with the sounds of his fingers sliding in and out of your wet pussy is music to his ears. He is so desperate to feel you wrapped around him, it's almost unbearable. Moving his thumb in circles against your clit, you clench around his fingers, the knot in your stomach becoming tighter and tighter.

“Come on baby, cum for me. Be a good girl and cum all over my hand.” John murmurs against your neck, he curls his fingers once more and sends you barreling over the edge. Your body tenses up as a strangled cry rips through your throat. Waves of pleasure coursing through you. John continues to move his fingers, working you through your high before slowly removing them and bringing them to his lips, sucking them clean.

Reaching forward you undo his pants and push them and his boxers down, causing his cock to spring free. Eyes widening as you take him in, his cock is long and thick, his tip flushed and leaking pre-cum. You wrap your hand around him and slowly move up and down his hard shaft, causing a low moan to escape John. You try to move off the desk and onto your knees but he grabs your waist and places you back on the desk.

“That’s going to have to wait for another time, Love. I need to be inside of you.” John groans, stepping out of his pants and kicking them to the side. He drags the tip up and down your slit, coating it with your arousal, before slowly pushing in. You moan as you feel him fill you with his big cock. John covers your mouth with his, kissing you to try and muffle the moans that are coming from both of you. Your hands grabbing his biceps to try and ground yourself. As he fills you to the hilt, he stops, allowing you to become accustomed to the size of him.

“Fuck baby, your pussy feels so good. Squeezing me so tight.” He gasps, his hands on your hips, holding you flush against him. John was consumed by the feel of you around him, gripping his cock so tight.

“Please move John, fuck me.” You plead, moving your hips as much as you can, pulling a low groan from John.

“How could I refuse when you asked so nicely.” John coos at you. Slowly he pulls almost all the way out before sliding back in. Your eyes flutter closed as you feel every thick inch of him split you apart. Soon John picks up the pace thrusting into you faster, his grip on your hips tight and near bruising. You kiss him again fervently as his cock rails into you, brushing that sweet spot deep within. You claw at his shoulders and wrap your legs around his waist, to be as close to him as possible.

“Shit, John. That feels so fucking good, don’t stop!” You cry, completely lost in the pleasure already.

“That’s a good girl, taking my cock so fucking well Sweetheart.” John praises, his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your sweet scent. He was absolutely obsessed with the feeling of his thick cock sliding into you, the feel of your fingernails scratching his back, and the sounds of pleasure coming from you. Abruptly he pulls out, pulls you off the desk, and turns you around. A gasp escapes you as he pushes down on your back so your hands are braced on the desk and your back is arched away from him, ass on display.

“Oh this ass, look at this fucking ass,” John says, giving it a smack, “You’re gonna be the death of me Love.” He smacks your ass once more before positioning himself at your entrance and pushing in again, causing you to moan and arch your back even more. John begins a brutal pace, thrusting into you fast and hard, with his hands gripping your hips again.. His tip kisses your cervix every time he bottoms out, making you moan louder and your eyes roll to the back of your head.

“That’s it baby, doing such a good job for me. Taking it so well, such a good little slut for me aren’t you?” John praises, leaning forward to grab a handful of your hair and pulling your head up. You’re completely cockdrunk, unable to form a coherent sentence, his praises making you clench around him. The knot in your stomach returns, tightening as your orgasm builds with every thrust.

“Oh you like that don’t you? Getting told you’re doing so well for me? You like hearing how you’re a good little whore?” John groans against your ear. You can only moan in response, which John doesn’t appreciate so he smacks your ass again.

“No no Darling, I want to hear how much you like it. Go on baby, use your words.” He coos against your ear.

“Yes!” You gasp out, “So good John, please don’t stop!”

“Oooh that’s my good girl.” He growls in your ear. He can feel his own orgasm growing, the feeling of your wet pussy clenched around him is driving him insane. John moves the hand on your hip down to your clit, rubbing small circles on it. You throw your head back as a choked moan escapes you, John’s name spilling from your lips like a prayer.

“I’m so close, John, please let me cum, please!” You cry out, the pleasure coursing through your veins becoming almost unbearable.

“Come on baby, let go, cum all over my cock.” John groans, his own orgasm nearing its peak as he continues to thrust into you at a fast pace. As soon as the words leave his lips your orgasm washes over you, your walls clamp down on his dick as he fucks you through your high. Your fluttering walls cause his orgasm to tear through him, a loud groan erupting from his throat as he finishes and stills inside you.

The only sound in the room is the labored breaths, as the both of you come back down to earth. Your knees threaten to buckle underneath you so John pulls out and cleans the two of you up before helping you slide your pants back on and setting you down on the small couch in his office. He brings you your shirt and gets dressed himself before sitting beside you.

“I gotta go back to work, Love, but I’ll come see you tonight, if that’s what you would like?” John says, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“I would like that a lot.” You say softly, getting up on shaky knees and pulling him in for a kiss. You pull away and begin to walk out of his office when he grabs your waist, presses himself against your back and places his lips on the shell of your ear.

“I’ll see you tonight then, Darling, but don’t think I forgot about disciplining you for your distracted behavior.” John whispers in your ear before smacking your ass as you walk out the door. You hurry back to your room before anyone can see you leaving John’s office with swollen lips, messy hair and an excited smile across your face.

(There will be a part two)

#john price #john price x reader #cod x reader #cod mw2 #cod smut #john price smut #smut #call of duty #call of duty smut #captain john price #captain jonathan price #captain John price smut

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chocsra · 4 months

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"Held like Glass, Kissed Alike"

chuuya x fem! reader - how he holds you 🙇‍♀️

a/n: to all my physical touch bbgs 🫶

content: how chuuya holds you, kissing, holding hands, fluff, drabble/small oneshot, smug! chuuya, soft! chuuya, not proofread, prolly grammar errors

"chuuya! hold my bag while you're at it!"

'cocky demands from a cocky person', chuuya thinks. "tsk," he tuts--the downpour of rain at the moment was horrific, especially in a city, a populated, developed, city drowned in sad puddles of slushy water. you and your trusted friend, chuuya nakahara, had came to go shopping, and unbeknownst to the subsequent downfall, you both stupidly didn't bring an umbrella.

so when the rain fell, he swiftly grabbed the closest umbrella in one of the restaurant's stands, successfully covering the both of you. chuuya is one of your close friends, and even though he's slightly annoyed most of the time and yaps a whole lot, he's also decently reliable.

you on the other hand, felt like you needed to make his life worse, a living hell. wanting to feel like those clingy girlfriends in romcoms, you pulled down your purse and dramatically handed it to him. watching as his eyebrows furrow in confusion, "might as well hold my bag while you're at it!" and yes, even with a baffled scoff, the redhead still held your bag for the rest of the day.

"i just realised, why do you always wear gloves?"

a romantic tune of jazz sung in the air, fancy clinks and clanks of cutlery swang past as you and your now fellow date, chuuya nakahara, sat in one of the finest restaurants in yokohama.

the ginger chews on his food intently, elbow planted on the table as he takes two gloved fingers, and motions you to come closer. you cock a brow, leaning forward, ear facing him.

"got a nasty case of athletes foot, but on my fingers." that's one way to swoon you, great work chuuya. the mafioso wiggles his eyebrows sarcastically watching as you sink away back into your seat. "thank you s'much," you reply, now picking at your food, "think I just lost my appetite."

the redhead snickers and pinches the tip of his gloves in between his teeth, removing it. "I'm joking, here." he smirks, a large hand urging you to place yours atop of his. you follow, feeling the warmth of his palms spread to yours, his hands were pretty damn big, bigger than a lot of men despite of his height.

"you like holding hands, hm?" the mafiosos smirks playfully as you try to hide the big smile creeping on your lips. he rubs the back of your hand with his thumb, gently looking as the moonlight illuminates your eyes focused on your hands. chuuya felt damn lucky he could ever get someone to look at him like that. the redhead darts his eyes back to you and your interlocked hands, whispering, "i do too, it's okay." even though chuuya was a terrifying mafia executive, he couldn't help but hide the boyish smile as he held your hand in between his fingers, feeling as your soft skin smooths over his rarely bare, lithe hands.

"this is rush hour in public transit, would ya look at that?"

you beam a light-hearted smile at the redhead beside you, in one of the most crowded subways. sweat and humid air pierced through, and so did the amount of space you could breathe in. chuuya nakahara, your newly and beloved boyfriend, hasn't taken public transportation in years. so he wasn't used to the crushing claustrophobia of other people at all, you, on the other hand seemed rather desensitized to it. smiling and rambling about how 'it's not that bad'. the redhead could only scoff in return, his right hand tightening on the bar for support.

"actually," you continue, clutching your purse in your left hand, "you haven't been here in a while, have you?" you smirk teasingly, causing chuuya to groan in annoyance at your words. the subway doors opening yet again, "well, consider this your fir--"

a new line of bustling people rammed into the compartment, as they filled the station, you stepped back in oblivion, almost seperating you and your fellow company. but with a calculated pull, chuuya hooked an arm around your waist and pulled you close to him, thumb rubbing at your side.

the mafioso lets out a dramatic sigh, "yeah, well? continue?" you look at him in a surprised gaze, eyes darting to the hand still tugged around your waist, even as the sea of other people weren't in threat of a stampede anymore. you felt a knot twist in your stomach as chuuya cocks a brow at you, waiting for you to finish your sentence. "shit, well, now i forgot."

"opinion on people who sleep with socks on?"

you weren't so used to grand gestures in general, but every month your boyfriend, chuuya nakahara, surprised you with something new just because you could deal with his shit. this month, he took you stargazing, with a small theme park next to your designated spot. neon arcade lights reflected off your face and eyes as he took a gloved hand and brushed away some strands with an ever soft graze of his fingers.

you, feeling foreign to the affectionate brush of his fingers, smile tugging at his lips, eyes rested on yours, asked the most random and stupid question that popped in your head. "what's your opinion on people who sleep with socks on?" the ginger chuckles softly at your question, still cupping your cheek, watching as your eyes drag away to anything but him. "shut up already." chuuya smiles boyishly, which reminds you of his raw humanity every once in a while. you hum in a quipped agreement before stiffling a laugh.

"happy not-so-ani-aniversary, pretty girl." chuuya's pillowy lips come down on your left cheek, leaving a soft peck as his thumbs grazes against the side of your face. his lips then connect to your right cheek, making your pinch one of your eyes shut as the redhead pecks your nose. uncontrollably smiling as you giggle, pushing your hair to the side as he presses his soft lips against your forehead, bringing yourselves down.

the mafioso brings you in closer, "i love you." he mutters, as he connects your lips to his. a soft fluttering in his stomach occurs as he feels you smile against his lips, taking his fingers in between your hair as he smooths through it. he was truly enamoured, enchanted, beyond bewitched. chuuya took in how good it feels to have you, a girlfriend, an asshole, a companion.

from every place he held, it was always just you. chuuya knew, that if his fingers fit so perfect in the interlocking of yours, curled around your waist, or cupping your cheek, he was meant to hold you. to be yours, as they say.

a/n: sorry for my vanishing bbgs, ill upload more at christmas break😔😔

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #chocsra #bsd chuuya #chuuya nakahara #bsd x reader #chuuya x reader #chuuya x you #chuuya x y/n #chuya x reader #chuya x you #Spotify

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killsaki · 1 year

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old gold ☆ shinichiro won’t give you a chance ‘cause he doesn’t want you to waste your youth.. but he and his friends have never shared the same values.

takeomi akashi x female!reader x wakasa imaushi

3.7k words. | read on ao3. | minors dni.

cw/tw : spit roast, fingering, unprotected sex/creampie, exhibitionism (heard not seen), pet names, praise, light degradation, slight burn play, age gaps, reader wears a skirt, corruption kink.

“you look so pretty in an apron.”

shinichiro glares playfully at you out of the corner of his eyes, a smile creeping up on his face before he shakes his head.

“you know how they’ll talk to me if i burn this.”

you put on a fake pout, swinging your feet from where you’re sitting on the countertop watching as he finishes preparing dinner for the swarm of young men that were piled in the living room.

“it’s not like you’ve never burned anything before.”

he sucks his teeth at that, a small smile still lingering on his lips. you know you didn’t have much time left alone with him, that mikey would come around the corner looking for you with that chilling expression like he always does when you’ve snuck off to flirt it up with his big brother.

“and they don’t let me live it down until i cook for them agai—“

“shinichiro, let’s get married.” you cut him off and he just laughs. it’s like a broken record the way he brushes you off, treating you as if you have some school kid crush on him. like you’re not someone of legal drinking age with a fully developed brain. “i’m not a little girl.”

“i know you’re not.” he sighs through his nose, eyes leaving the stove top to look over at you and your feet still against the wooden cabinet door. “but you have so much time left to do whatever it is you want.”

“what i want to do is you.”

“you need to have fun.” he raises his eyebrows, he speaks the words softly but you know the intent behind them is firm. “you’re a beautiful girl, you’ve got the world in your palm. don’t let a relationship while you’re young tie you down.”

you want to open your mouth to answer but before you get the chance, you’re interrupted by the sound of mitsuya swinging himself around the corner. “smiley’s in here talkin’ shit about you not finishing the tournament.”

“i’m coming.” you quickly reply, hoping he’ll go away, but he doesn’t. you hop off the counter to follow after him, chewing at the inside of your cheek in frustration.

“two years.” you hear shinichiro speak from behind you and you spin on your heels. “in two years, if you’ve had all the fun you can handle and still want to get married, i’ll be here.”

there’s a smile on your face before you realize it’s there. “you’ll wait for me?”

“i don’t have anything else to do.” he shrugs and you don’t comment on how he doesn’t come off nearly as cool as he probably thought. “just workin’ at the shop.”

you nod, ignoring the calls of your name from the other room. “and cooking meals for us,” you add on, taking another step towards the living room before calling from behind the wall. “like what you’re burning right now.”

“shit—” you wish you could’ve seen his eyes go wide, and you nearly go back to fawn, until another call of your name rings off the walls and your already thin patience dissolves.

“i’m fucking coming!”

/ / /

“is it even unlocked?” you huff, irritated by the summer night’s heat as you walk in front of your two closest friends towards the all too familiar bike shop.

“should be, he said he’s hanging out with his old friends.” mikey answers.

“you should not be saying that.” draken laughs, and you know it’s meant as a shot at you.

“i only have a thing for shin’, not all old men.” you tsk.

“didn’t you tell inupi that he didn’t meet your age requirement?” draken teases but mikey is far from amused.

“my brother is not old, you—“ the shorter one starts.

“oh, it’s open.” you cut him off as you swing the door and to avoid his annoyed expression you rush inside. “shin’!” you sing, practically skipping through the bike shop looking for the man in question.

“slow down!” draken chides from behind you, muttering something about you knocking something over.

“why do you get to be the first one to say hi? he’s my brother.” mikey adds on and all you can do is laugh as you enter the hallway to the office near the back where the light shines under the door.

“‘cause he likes my face better than yours,” you swing the door open, sticking your tongue out at mikey. “obviously.”

it takes you a full minute to process who it is in front of you when you finally look and once you do, your jaw all but drops. through all the time you’ve spent as mikey’s friend, all the years you’ve followed shinichiro around, you’ve only caught glances of the old higher ups from the first generation of the black dragons. and aren’t they a sight to see.

shinichiro pulls you from whatever thoughts were forming as you eyed the other older men with a greeting.

“mikey messed up something on his bike.” you blurt, biting your lip to keep anything else from leaving your mouth. you point with your thumb towards the boys who have come to stand behind you, only to have the one you named slap it down.

“she did it, not me.”

you scoff at his lie, elbowing him to earn a nudge that sends you stumbling forward.

“i’ll look at it.” shinichiro pushes himself from where he’d been leaning against the desk, looking over to his white haired friend. “benkei, come pull the garage open?”

you watch him cross the room with hearts in your eyes, leaning into the door so your shoulder is pressed flat against it. you catch sight of his silver chain glinting in the low light, his black shirt only making it more prominent. you start to back out of his way alongside mikey, but the blonde doesn’t allow you to pass the door frame.

“you’re not gonna talk about how hot my brother is the whole time,” he pushes you back in the room, turning away and telling you from down the hall to, ‘go sit down.’

“my friends don’t bite.” shin’ smiles a promise and it comforts you slightly, especially when you catch his scent as he passes by—but not enough to turn around and face them. not until the door closes in your face and you can feel the burn of stares on your back.

“we really don’t bite,” is spoken from the couch following the sound of a lighter flickering.

“okay,” is all you manage back, awkwardly. you avoid looking at them in favor of staring at the spot where shinichiro had been leaning as you approach it.

“you shin’s girl?” makes you giggle as you hop up on the cold wood, thankful for the contrast to the warmth of your skin. but you still bite your lips, looking up at them as you debate how to reply.

maybe the whole first generation of black dragons were attractive, you think. surely draken couldn’t have been right about you just having a thing for older men. your eyes drag from the long-haired man with the prettiest eyes you’ve ever seen to the more rugged one with a unique dye job of his own. you surely knew their names… somewhere in your mind.

“nah,” is what you settle on, shrugging. “not yet.”

the longer haired one says your name like something about your response made something click for him. “he said somethin’ about you before.”

you nod slowly, curiosity suddenly eating at you but like always, you’re interrupted before you can pry.

“been havin’ fun?” the one you’re starting to realise is akashi asks another question, and you only shake your head. maybe shinichiro told them about your deal. they were some of his oldest friends, it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to believe. “you smoke?”

“oh no, not tobacco.” you shake your head, wrinkling your nose at the memory of how it’d tasted when you’d taken a hit from hanma shuji’s cigar months back.

“c’mon,” he calls you to the couch with a wave of his hand, watching intently as you hesitate, looking towards the closed door. shinichiro wouldn’t leave you with them if they would hurt you. slowly, you make your way to stand in front of him. he leans his head against his shoulder to blow the smoke away from your face when you stop, giving you a view of his defined jaw and that scar running down his cheek.

“one hit won’t hurt.” he looks back at you and holds the cigarette up for you to grab. with shaking fingers, you take it from his fingers. you can practically taste the smoke off of his scent alone. he reeks like a chainsmoker but somehow it’s not enough to make you repulsed.

“you’re such a pretty lil’ thing,” he mutters, leaning forward and reaching out with rough fingers to skim up the side of your thigh as you take a short drag. “it’d be a shame not to show you a good time while we got ya.” your face burns at the touch, and whatever expression you make from the unexpected words mixed with the sting of nicotine hitting your chest makes him chuckle. “that’s if you can handle it.”

you cough out the smoke, quickly moving the cigarette away from where it pollutes your air. “i can handle a lot,” you say coolly, grimacing at the aftertaste. “cigarette smoke just isn’t on that list.”

he chuckles and reaches to grab the cigarette from your hold. or so you thought, his hand instead wraps around your wrist, pulling you down gently to straddle his lap.

despite his gentle guiding, you manage to be clumsy enough that ashes are dropped on the top of your thigh— the burning cherry falling with it making you suck in a sharp breath, hand twisting into his shirt and eyes fluttering shut all the same. he hums and apologizes under his breath, adjusting you on his thighs as he reaches around you to the coffee table for his lighter— his chest pressing up against yours and free arm wrapping around the small of your back to secure you in the process.

“‘ll be more careful with ya, promise.” his stubble brushes against your neck as he leans back against the cushions, fingers fumbling against the plastic and the other trying to be delicate not to break the paper. you’re not sure where the confidence comes from, but you grab the lighter from his hold and flicker the flame for him, not once breaking eye contact as he places the butt back between his lips and leans in to catch the fire. your hand falls after the flame dies, watching him take a drag as your own breath gets caught in your throat when his free hand starts to dance up the side of your body.

once he finishes inhaling, he licks his lips and you feel something heat in the pit of your stomach at the sight—shinichiro wants you to experience being young and wild, surely he wouldn’t be mad if it was with his friends. smoke is blown across your face and before you have a moment to react, the hand at your side wraps around your jaw and holds it, but doesn’t pull you forward—you move on your own.

you press your lips into his and the taste of his tongue makes you whine before you adjust to it, your hands moving from where they’d fallen limp to wrap around his neck. the hold on your face disappears and then you feel the same rough palm gliding under your skirt, squeezing at the soft give of your ass. his mouth moves from your own, down to your neck where you shiver at the way he seems to find all your most sensitive spots with ease, sucking and licking at them. you’re so lost in the feeling that you don’t even notice when he moves his hand again, not until his thumb is pressing at your clit through your panties making you let out a soft whisper of a curse and you’re bucking your hips into his touch.

so caught up in how akashi consumes your senses, it takes far too long to recognize the other man’s hand— the man you’d completely forgot was still lingering in the room—is tugging at the end of your skirt.

“c’mere.” imaushi speaks low, his gaze dragging from your chest back up to your eyes before trying again to beckon you over with a nod of his head and even as akashi pulls from where he’d likely been putting marks into your skin, you hesitate. “it’ll be fun.” he finally convinces you and with akashi’s help, you’re crawling off his lap only to realize with a flushed face that you’re now stuck between them on your hands and knees.

the long-haired man’s hands are much softer in comparison to those trailing along the backside of your thighs. imaushi wraps his hand under your jaw the same way akashi had done, and you realize that he also waits for you to close the gap between the two of you on your own. low eyes glancing between yours and your likely swollen lips until you reach to connect with his.

his lips are softer than akashi’s, you note, his tongue sweeter. he moans lightly as you suck on the muscle, his grasp loosening in favor of wrapping around the back of your neck to pull you in closer. behind you, akashi thumbs over your slit, pressing the wet fabric deeper into your folds with each pass. you’re sure you make a noise when he starts to circle at your clit, one that imaushi mimics tauntingly before he pulls your shirt up, using the hand not pinning you to him to slide under your bra and tweak at your nipples.

one of akashi’s hands work your underwear to the side, a low “shit, baby” falls from his mouth and he mimics his same movements, teasing your clit and entrance until you’re making an even bigger mess for him, the sound of him gliding through your slit obvious in the otherwise quiet room. the need to have them do something— anything else becomes overbearing.

“stop teasing,” nearly comes out as a whisper when you pull from the kiss. but you know they both hear you because imaushi looks past you to where his friend is sitting and they both laugh shortly at your expense.

“not teasin’, pretty.” the man infront of you turns his hold so his thumb is under the side of your jaw, the rest of his fingers wrapper around your throat. “we don’t rush things like the little boys you run ‘round with.”

and as to prove his point, akashi pushes a single finger into you, taking his time to press it against your softest wall that he didn’t have to guess to find. if not for it being held up, you’re sure your jaw would drop as the high whine vibrates through your throat. another is added and you’ve lost a sense of where you are, your eyes roll back and you’re pushing your hips to try and force his pace but the hand that you know is holding his still lit cigarette grabs the fat of your ass, holding you in place for him to fuck his fingers into you how he sees fit.

you can hear the sound of imaushi undoing his pants below you but you don’t register why until he brings his mouth to your ear. “spit on it for me, princess.”

obediently, you do, moving with shaking arms to pucker your lips and drop spit onto the head of his cock. when akashi adds the third finger, your arms completely give out and imaushi’s hold isn’t as strong as you’d thought because you fall right onto his lap. you can’t complain, not with the pleasure coiling in your stomach, added with the sight of him pumping his length with your spit coating him.

“how you feelin’, lil’ baby?” the words float from the other end of the couch.

“s’good, ‘kashi, fuck.” he curls his fingers and pushes them deeper than before on your last word making you squeal.

“takeomi,” he huffs and you feel the weight by your feet shift. you’re sure you’d be able to pick up the sound of him unzipping his own pants but imaushi’s hand distracts you with a guiding push towards his now fully hard cock.

you’re granted the sight of his lean abdomen when he slides his own shirt up away from where his dick rests against it. “‘nd call me waka, yeah?”

you mumble out an, “‘kay, waka,” but it’s swallowed by the gasp you make when akashi presses the thick head of himself against your entrance. “‘omi, ‘omi fuck—“ he’s easily bigger than anyone you’ve taken, in girth at least.

“s’wet.” he sucks in a breath as he pushes in slowly, holding your skirt out of his way as he pulls back after every inch he sinks in to ease himself into you. “this for us old men, little thing?”

you moan a sweet ‘mhm’ though your face burns in embarrassment. you force yourself onto your forearms and wrap your lips around imaushi’s cock, the taste of salt diminishing the thought. later you’d think about how pretty his dick was, from the pink of the tip to the veins running along the shaft— veins that you now tongue at while you take more into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and moaning around him when akashi pushes even more of his thick cock into you and you’re starting to wish you would’ve taken the extra prep he’d been trying to do.

“what a mouth.” is grunted from above you and you wouldn’t believe the deepness in his tone if you weren’t hearing it for yourself. akashi chuckles shortly from where he’s kneeled when he feels you clench around him at what one can hardly call praise.

it’s when he finally bottoms out that his ashes fall on your skin once again, this time on your ass and you choke around the tip hitting your throat when the cherry burns you yet again, making you jump from where your hips were pressed to his.

“dirty girl.” akashi shakes his head knowingly at the way you tighten around him again. “‘nd i was so worried ‘bout hurtin’ you.”

“she like that?” imaushi asks with the most amusement you’ve heard from him tonight, which is still closer to none. but you don’t hear if he gets an answer because akashi winds his hips back and starts fucking into you— the pace isn’t brutal, but is far faster than the one he’d used while fingering you.

you try to bob your head but it’s no use when you’re forced down onto imaushi with each push of the clothed thighs behind you until you can’t breathe anymore and you have to pop off of him. your head falls back on his thigh and your nails come to dig into the fabric of his dark jeans.

“you’re good,” imaushi coo’s, grabbing your hand from his lap and using it to jerk himself off as your eyes flutter. “just be good ‘nd feel good for us.”

it’s all too much, the ecstasy they give you that you’ve never even brought yourself to, how they’re fucking you out farther than you’ve ever been, all while still treating you like glass. it makes your head spin, tears welling in your eyes as the knot in your stomach winds so tight it’s starting to fray.

“‘m close, s’close—fuck, fuck—“ you try to reach beneath you with your free hand, but akashi bats it away.

“c’mon baby, don’t insult me like that.” one of his rough hands reaches around your hip, pinching and rolling your clit between his fingers and sends you tumbling over the edge.

all you see is white as the hot static flows through your limbs, the curses escaping both the older men lost over the sound of your own broken moans. their names mix together, whined softly like a prayer repeated again and again as akashi fucks you through your high, groaning as his grip tightens into your plush skin at the way your pussy pulses around him.

“feel so damn good,” his own voice sounds worn and you let out a whimper. “‘gonna take it for me?”

you only have a clue at what he could mean but you nod and babble out ‘yes’ and ’please’ before you truly give it any thought. his speed picks up, but somehow still as gentle as he shove his cock so deep its painful and paints your walls white. it sends your eyes rolling back again just from the sensation.

“shiiiit— put your tongue out f’me, princess.”

it’s a heart racing sight to see how imaushi stares at you with parted lips, chest heaving as he throbs in your palm. you loll your tongue out just as he asked and he nearly instantly shoots his load on it with a silent moan, one that only becomes audible when you lick at his slit before swallowing what coats your tongue.

you’re floating as you’re straightened up by sturdy hands, a different set of hands massage soothingly at your thigh when you’re back upright.

“keep tryin’ with shin’.” akashi scoots to closer, letting you fall and lean into his side, one heavy arm resting along the back of the couch as the other put his nearly gone cigarette back between his lips. “he’s bound to give in.”

“”nd if not, just put it on him.” imuashi squeezes the fat of your thigh as he adds on. “he won’t be able to say no.”

all you can do is smile dumbly and nod. you’re so close to drifting off after such an orgasm and the way they speak so lowly from either side of you nearly lulls you to sleep. the only other thing you can remember before you fall into unconsciousness is the music playing from inside the shop— you wonder how long it’s be on, and why it’s so loud.

you miss shinichiro who finally comes back into the room after keeping everyone out of the hallway after he’d caught sound of your moans. miss the small rise of the corner of his mouth when he sees you all tuckered out and disheveled, the way you snuggle into akashi’s chest and push your leg into imaushi’s hand when he stops massaging at it for even a second.

“she have fun?” he asks his friends as he passes behind where you’re sat, palm falling to rub the top of your head.

“‘course she did,” imaushi answers.

“don’t get stingy when you finally put a ring on it.” akashi blows his smoke opposite of you. “even married women should have fun.”

feedback + reblogs are appreciated <3.

[repost from an old blog]

#tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers x reader #wakasa smut #wakasa x reader #takeomi akashi x reader #takeomi akashi smut #tokrev smut #wakasa x you #tokyo revengers x you #takeomi smut #takeomi x you #tokyo revengers fic

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ginnsbaker · 14 days

Text

fic: if i bleed (you'll be the last to know) (8/?)

Part summary: Leigh heads off to Palm Springs with Danny, while you grapple with what to do about your feelings for her.

Pairing: Leigh Shaw x Fem!Reader, temporary Leigh x Danny | Word count for this part: 5.000+ | Warnings : Slight angst | Author's Note: No, I did not forget about Danny still not being honest with Leigh and R not tattling on Danny. Just let these loose ends dangle for a while. Anyway, enjoy! :)

The morning after you gave Leigh a puppy for her birthday, your phone is flooded with texts from her, filled with questions ranging from vaccine schedules to the best chew toys. She shares a story about how Rogue, their previous dog, had always been Matt’s, and how she often felt left out of his care. Now, with Logan, she feels a full sense of ownership and is eager to get everything right.

You still flinch slightly whenever she mentions her late husband. It’s as if she forgets that you and Matt had something significant too, as if you weren't once the secret he kept close. Sometimes, you wish you could just erase his presence, simplify everything about your relationship with Leigh.

But you recognize that it’s selfish to wish him away, because Matt was a significant part of Leigh’s life, a major influence on who she has become. And who she is today is a lovely person—someone you've come to admire very deeply.

[6:20 AM] Leigh: Logan’s an angel, slept through the night.

[6:35 AM] Leigh: So, house training... how do I make sure Logan doesn’t turn my bed into his personal bathroom like he did five seconds ago?

You grimace at the message, picturing the hassle of laundering the sheets and possibly needing to call a cleaning service for the mattress.

[6:54 AM] Leigh: And shots? Rogue was all up to date because Matt was on it, but I’m clueless. Where do I start?

As you work your espresso machine, a grin spreads across your face, the kind that makes you feel like a complete fool but in the best possible way.

[6:56 AM] You: Good morning! You’re lucky I don’t bill for text consultations 😆

You typically charge $18 for a twenty-minute chat with a client.

[6:58 AM] Leigh: Oh. How much do I owe you? I want to pay.

Your smile falters a little at her missing your joke.

[6:58 AM] You: I was just kidding. Your texts are more than welcome, Leigh.

Feeling bold, you follow that up with something you've been wanting to make clear since last night.

[6:59 AM] You: This is what friends are for, right?

Waiting for Leigh’s reply feels like an eternity, and you're about to send another text to walk back your hint at friendship when your phone vibrates.

[7:00 AM] Leigh: I’d feel better paying. Can I drop by the clinic later?

Reading her message, you're hit with a rush—excited at the thought of seeing her, yet downhearted she's talking about paying, as if that's what's between you. But then, those little typing dots appear. You're practically holding your breath.

[7:00 AM] Leigh: We’re friends, which is why I’m paying.

It's a good thing you don't have a roommate, or else you'd never get away with grinning like an idiot at your phone. It's a bit ridiculous, you think, how high school this all feels—waiting for a glimpse, a moment, anything.

[7:01 AM] You: Absolutely, come by anytime. Looking forward to it 🙂

You hit send and lean back, trying to act like you didn't just have a mini celebration over a text.

And then, spurred by Leigh texting you first thing in the morning, you decide to add her on your social media accounts. You spend an extra fifteen minutes getting ready that morning, simply because you lingered longer in the shower, listening to songs that remind you of Leigh and how this crush is dangerously close to becoming something uncontainable.

[10:13 AM] Notification: Leigh accepted your friend request.

As it turns out, Leigh is a serial texter.

It’s odd, really. For someone who might come across as reclusive and somewhat untouchable, she is surprisingly talkative over text. The messages start coming in more frequently after this morning's exchange, just moments after you've finally left home to drive to your clinic. What's even more interesting is that this time, they're not about Logan.

And they’re all unusually random and unrelated to one another: memes that make you laugh out loud, articles on topics ranging from the philosophical implications of artificial intelligence to the best way to juicing recipes. You find yourself waiting for these messages, eager to see what tangent Leigh's mind has wandered off to now. You get into it, dissecting the articles she sends over with the seriousness of a scholar. You type back your thoughts, trying to sound as insightful as possible, maybe even a bit witty, hoping to impress her. You imagine this might be her way of initiating deeper, intellectual conversations between you two.

So, when you send back a paragraph or two analyzing the latest article she's shared, maybe touching on its impacts on modern society or offering a counterpoint to the author's thesis, Leigh's responses aren’t what you expect. Instead of engaging with the discussion, she sends a simple thumbs-up emoji or, even more baffling, a random factoid about her day, like her opinion on the Kani salad from a sushi bar near the Beautiful Beast gym.

[12:15 PM] Leigh: [sent a photo] Just some store-bought crab sticks and diluted mayo. Don’t try it. Their saké though is 👌👌👌

You wonder why she’s having Japanese rice wine this early in the day.

[12:22 PM] You: Thanks for the heads up. I know a place for authentic Japanese food. You want to check it out with me some time?

Your text remains unseen for the rest of the afternoon.

You find yourself staring intently at the wall clock in your clinic, keenly aware of each minute slipping by, and with it, the dwindling chance of Leigh arriving before the doors lock for the day. As it nears 8 in the evening, Suzie is already wrapped up in her end-of-day tasks across the lobby. Leaning your cheek on your palm, you watch blankly as she meticulously arranges her desk, perfectly aligning each item, then moves on to gently pull the blinds closed on each window.

Suzie’s not blind. She throws you these knowing glances every time you let out one of your heavy sighs. Finally, after you've probably sighed loud enough to be heard next door, she stops what she's doing and plants herself in front of you.

“What’s going on?” she asks.

You try to look puzzled. “Nothing. Why?”

Suzie rolls her eyes. “Please, you’ve been mooning over that clock and sighing like you’re carrying the world on your shoulders. What’s up?”

You crack a smile, partly at her description, partly from being caught moping like a lovesick teenager. “It’s just… I thought maybe Leigh would come by. She said she would,” you say, wincing at yourself when the last part comes out a bit whiny.

Without missing a beat, Suzie pivots from her closing duties and makes her way over to you.

She’s not delicate with you this time. “You’re doing that thing again. Waiting around for something that’s probably not gonna happen. It’s not doing you any good.”

You know she's hitting the nail on the head, but it's tough to swallow.

Suzie continues, “You're young, you're attractive, and it's honestly weird that you're pining over your ex's ex. At first, I thought it was kind of adorable, in a bizarre, romantic-comedy kind of way. But now, it's like you're always hung up and disappointed.”

“Thanks for saying I’m young when I’m five years older than you,” you say with a sheepish smile, hiding your disappointment that she isn’t saying the things you want to hear, such as the possibility that Leigh just got busy.

Suzie shakes her head in disapproval. She's fed up, and her next words aren't going to be sugar-coated. “Snap out of it!” she barks, the command hitting you like a cold splash of water, and you jerk back in your chair, wide-eyed. Seeing you shrink back, quivering, she softens a bit and shifts back to the harmless receptionist you’re used to.

“Look at me, Y/N,” Suzie says, ensuring she has your full attention. You manage to meet her gaze, even though your eyelids feel heavy. “It's not fair to Leigh, either. You're giving meaning to everything she does—or doesn't do. It's putting her in an impossible situation. And honestly, it's not fair to you. You're missing out on your own life, waiting for someone who... well, who might never show up the way you want her to.”

Suzie knows she’s being tough, but sometimes love means being the friend who won’t let you settle for anything less than you deserve.

“I hear you, okay? It’s just… it’s the way I’m wired. I latch onto a person like a leech, refusing to let go until I see it through,” you mutter, shielding your face with your hands, a bit ashamed to even say it out loud. You get so tunnel-visioned, missing out on maybe better things and experiences because you're stuck on one track. You fall hard for your choices, never by chance.

“Good. You know what’s wrong with you,” Suzie says softly.

You let out a weak chuckle, the sound tinged with a bit of self-mockery. You're half-hidden behind your hands, peeking out at Suzie as if she's got all the answers. Suzie pries your fingers away from your face and then pinches your cheek so hard, you start to whine a bit.

“Ow! What was that for?” you protest, rubbing your assaulted cheek.

“That's for being a pathetic little bitch.”

“Excuse me, I'm still the one signing your paychecks,” you shoot back, trying to sound offended but it’s hard to keep a straight face.

“Sure thing, boss,” she laughs, and you join in.

“Okay, so what do you suggest I do then?” you ask as the last of your chuckles die down.

“Go on a date,” comes her swift response. “All that stuff they say about love finding you when you're not looking? Biggest lie ever.”

You look at her curiously, assessing her physical features. “W-With you?”

“Dude, no! Not with me!” Suzie exclaims, laughing nervously. “I mean, sure, I'd take you out if you weren't my boss, but I don't see that happening anytime soon unless you fire me.”

“Got it, got it,” you say, still chuckling. Suzie realizes too late that you were just teasing her and huffs. “Not with you. But seriously, go on a date? Just like that?”

“Yeah. Just meet someone.”

“You make it sound like it’s easy.”

“Because it is,” she says with a shrug. “Here. Give me your phone.”

Leigh doesn’t know what to do with the fact that you may or may not have feelings for her.

So, she does what she does best: Pretend.

Leigh pretends you’re not EspressoEyes. In her mind, it could just be a coincidence, and you might not be the person who wrote to her advice column. Without any concrete evidence, she holds onto this notion, using it as a shield to fend off the uncertainties and doubts that would follow if she believed otherwise.

Leigh pretends because she needs your help to figure out how to care for Logan. Because maybe she wants to be friends. When you join her for a run, you don’t press for conversation, a rare companion who's not afraid of silence. Having you around feels like having Matt around, in a way that she's reminded of him when you talk about the same things you like, the same books you've read, and the same music you listen to.

Leigh pretends it doesn’t bother her in case you are EspressoEyes. She’s no stranger to turning heads as she walks down the street, accustomed to the attention. There's a certain power in being desired, and Leigh revels in it. But the idea of you liking her doesn't quite make sense to her; it's like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole. It’s not because you’re a woman—she’s been with women before. What Leigh can't wrap her head around is that you, of all people, could actually be into her. After all, she hasn’t exactly been her most charming self since you two met. Even her best friend is keeping a cautious distance. She’s been wearing down the people closest to her, those who are supposed to like her the most.

And this bewilderment doesn't sit well with Leigh. She is someone who thrives on understanding, on knowing where she stands with people and why. So, when pretending isn’t enough, she does what she does second-best: Avoid.

She must have been waiting in her car outside your clinic for the better part of the evening, debating with herself about what to do next. She's parked just out of view, positioned so she can see the clinic entrance without being too conspicuous. She hasn't eaten dinner yet, her stomach growling, but she remains glued to her spot across from where she knows you're waiting for her.

Ever since you subtly asked her out through text, she’s been on edge, second-guessing her actions (texting and sharing posts on the internet with you all morning, what was she thinking?) and wondering what they might have meant to you. Leigh didn’t mean to leave you hanging—she did come to your clinic, sort of. She remembers typing out a response to you, something witty and non-committal, but her finger hovered over the ‘send’ button before pulling back. It felt like too much, too soon. She needed time to think, to figure out why the idea of checking out authentic Japanese food with you left her feeling so conflicted inside.

Leigh's guilt gnaws at her as she sits there, wrestling with how to extricate herself without causing further confusion—or worse, hurt. Eventually, it all comes to a head. She finally gives in, typing out a message to you on her phone with a shaky urgency.

[7:53 PM] Leigh: I'm so sorry, something came up. I can't make it to the clinic after all.

Your reply comes quickly, much to her astonishment, especially since she hadn't opened your message all afternoon.

[7:54 PM] You: It's fine, don't worry about it. I can have Logan's supplies delivered to your place if that works better for you.

Reading your text, Leigh bites her lip, another surge of guilt washing over her. Your kindness, your willingness to accommodate her, only complicates this predicament further.

[7:54 PM] Leigh: Yes, that would be great, thank you.

[7:54 PM] Leigh: How much do I owe you?

As she starts nibbling at her cuticle, Leigh is eager to resolve at least the financial aspect of her obligation. Though she knows she owes you so much more than just Logan’s supplies.

[7:56 PM] You: Like I said, it's on the house. But just this time ☺️

It’s still too generous. But Leigh knows better than to argue further, concerned that insisting might hurt your feelings.

[7:56 PM] Leigh: Thank you. I won’t forget this.

[7:57 PM] You: 😊😊😊

Leigh sighs, remembering her promise that you could visit Logan anytime. She hopes you won’t take her up on that offer too soon, at least not until she has a chance to sort herself out.

Danny isn’t too bad once you get to know him. That's what Leigh learns after more than two months of dating him.

Initially, Leigh wasn't sure what to make of Danny. Their shared wit and sarcasm often put them at odds, like two alphas vying for the upper hand, each one not willing to back down, always aiming for the last word. Yet, in their calmer moments, when the competitive edge fades and they're just enjoying each other's company, Leigh finds something unexpectedly comforting about being with him. He has this confidence about himself that Matt never had, knowing exactly what he wants—and that's her. His straightforward approach makes everything about being with him feel predictable. And lately, she's starting to see predictability as a good thing, a sign of stability. This is a welcome change from the uncertainty that often left her anxious about the future. Plus, all these traits spill over into the bedroom, making the sex between them feel effortless and satisfying in a way she’s never experienced before.

Despite all this, there are days when Leigh finds herself merely tolerating Danny's affections. A part of her remains tightly locked, still bruised from losing Matt, and she's not sure if those doors should—or even can—open again. To compensate, she often says yes when she can, whenever her mood permits her to be giving and amenable.

And it is exactly why she says yes when Danny asks her to go to Palm Springs with him this weekend.

The getaway feels like an extended lazy morning where the concept of time blurs into insignificance. They drift from one hotel restaurant to another, luxuriating in the art of doing absolutely nothing. This routine isn't new to them; it’s the same one they slip into whether they’re at Danny’s apartment or Leigh’s place—only now, the scenery is different, and the sheets they tangle in are expensively soft, boasting a thread count far beyond anything either of them owns at home.

They're lounging by the pool, sipping Margaritas—Leigh with a book in hand and Danny absorbed in his phone—when your name comes up in conversation.

“So, how are things between you and Y/N?” Danny asks, not looking up from his phone.

Leigh stiffens slightly. She carefully moderates her tone, her face schooled into an expression of indifference as she marks her page and looks over at him. “What about me and Y/N?”

“I don't know... are you guys friends now?”

If Leigh weren’t so preoccupied with her own personal concerns about you, she might have recognized the underlying worry his question poses. What he's actually trying to figure out is whether you've come clean to Leigh about his role in Matt’s secret affair with you.

“Yeah, I guess we are,” she says. To say otherwise would be a lie, because you’ve been nothing but good to her. Danny seems satisfied with this answer, nodding before returning his attention to his phone.

“Why do you ask?”

“Just wondering,” he mumbles. He's back to mindless scrolling, but Leigh can sense the tension from two feet away.

“No, tell me,” Leigh insists, placing her book on the side table between them with a definitive thud. Danny mirrors her actions, setting his phone face down and turning to her with a seriousness that clashes with their otherwise relaxed afternoon.

“I just don't get why you'd be friends with Matt's mistress,” he blurts out suddenly.

Leigh is taken aback. They've never fully discussed what transpired between you and Matt, so she hadn't realized he was paying such close attention to her interactions with you. Believing that he wasn't privy to all the details, she quickly jumps to your defense.

“Y/N didn’t even know Matt was married to me,” she explains, trying to clarify the misunderstanding and protect your integrity.

“Yeah? And you just took her word for it?” Danny doesn’t bother to hide his skepticism, and it irks Leigh more than usual. She doesn't understand why every conversation with Danny has to turn into a challenge or an argument.

“There’s no evidence to suggest otherwise,” Leigh replies, her voice tightening as she struggles to keep her frustration in check. “I mean, I even went through your phone to see what Matt had been saying to you, and there was nothing there indicating that Y/N knew he was married.”

Danny feels a lump form in his throat. Fortunately for him, Matt hadn't mentioned anything in their texts about Danny being Nick either. He has been debating whether to disclose his role in everything to Leigh. But things between them have gotten serious, and Danny's not so sure he should come clean. Part of him wants to delay—perhaps until they are married with kids, when he's more certain that Leigh won't leave him over a past mistake.

“Look, I'm not saying don’t trust her, but... she used to be in love with Matt, right? You don't think there's a chance she resents you even a little?”

Leigh stops for a second, Danny's words prompting her to consider aspects she hadn't really thought about before. Wrapped up in her own insecurities, jealousy, and pain when she discovered the truth about you, she had never stopped to consider your perspective—how you might have felt learning that the man you had feelings for was married. Did you feel just as fooled and stung as she did? The thought bounces around her head for a moment. From what she can recall, nothing in your behavior has ever suggested that you're a bitter ex. But then, what if you're just exceptionally good at masking your feelings?

Do you really like her, or is it all an act—a scheme?

But then, she remembers the night you gave her Logan, how your smile was nothing but warm, your eyes bright with something that, looking back, Leigh realizes might have been admiration. Not even Danny looks at her like that, whose gaze is always bridling yearning and a desire to possess. Leigh shakes her head, almost laughing at the thought of Danny being right about you.

“Danny, honestly,” Leigh finally says, trying to put an end to the discussion, “if what you're saying is true, I can handle it myself.” It seems the quickest way to close this topic, knowing that debating it could easily consume their entire afternoon and completely derail the purpose of their vacation.

“But doesn't it hurt, having her around? Like a reminder that Matt went for someone else?” He's playing on a different fear now, not questioning your integrity, but poking at the scars Leigh's tried so hard to heal.

Leigh wants to admit the pain never went away. She’s merely learned to co-exist with it. It's like the weather for her: on some days, her mind is a landscape of clear skies, but when the storm hits, it's relentless. For now, she chooses to keep this pain private, unwilling to give anyone the leverage to use it against her or even attempt to fix her. It's her burden to bear, and hers alone.

“No,” Leigh answers, reaching for her book again. “I don’t see it that way anymore.”

Leigh ends her nearly year-long social media hiatus by posting a series of photos from her Palm Springs vacation with Danny. Sharing such personal moments publicly is uncharacteristic for her, especially given her minimal online presence over the past months. Maybe it felt like sending a message to everyone that she’s doing okay. That they can go back to seeing her as just Leigh again—a single, actively dating woman in her early thirties—not as the young widow she was in her late twenties.

Danny's friends are the first to swarm the comments. They tag Danny, peppering the feed with teasing remarks, their comments ranging from jokes about the desert heat to compliments on the couple's sun-drenched physique. It's all typical, light-hearted friend banter, until one comment sharply disrupts the mood:

“Yo, isn't that your brother's wife?”

Leigh deletes the comment within seconds of seeing it.

A few hours later, you ‘like’ her post. Leigh's eyes fix unblinkingly on the notification. She's been idly wondering if you'd seen the post, and now, you’ve confirmed it yourself. But what does that ‘like’ mean?

Is it a nod of approval, a silent indication that you're happy for her? Regardless of what it means, Leigh discovers she was sending another message—one that’s exclusively for you. It tells you that whether you're EspressoEyes, whether you harbor any feelings for her or not, it no longer matters.

She's with Danny now.

Returning from Palm Springs, Leigh feels different—like she’s turned a corner or something. She feels refreshed, and she wants to take on something, such as Drew’s grievances about her advice column. She picks one to start with, something about anniversary ideas, and she's got the perfect story for this.

It was one of those anniversaries with Matt, the kind that stands out from the rest of his surprises because it's so quintessentially him—albeit a little nerdy. He took her away from the city's glare to a secluded spot where the sky was a blanket of stars, untainted by artificial light. After laying out a rug for them to both settle on, he began the painstaking process of setting up a rather complex telescope. It took him nearly an hour, but the wait just made the moment even more special. With the telescope finally ready, Matt pulled out this old, crinkly constellation map and started hunting for one specific star. It was one of the last times Leigh remembered them being truly happy—deeply in love, free from the shadows of Matt’s depression, Leigh’s instinct to fix things, and the small lies that slowly eroded their relationship.

When he finally located it, he excitedly guided her to peer through the telescope. There it is—a tiny speck of light, but it's theirs. Matt turned to her with a bashful smile and revealed that he had 'bought' that star for her.

Leigh shares this story with her reader, emphasizing that it's about understanding what truly moves your partner. For her, it was that star—simple, unexpected, and insanely romantic. She tells her reader to find that one-of-a-kind thing, that personal touch that says “I love you” in a way that can only come from them. Just like Matt did with a star and a starry night.

It's only after she closes her laptop that Leigh realizes tears have been streaming down her face.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

It takes a moment to recognize who you've just bumped into. This encounter isn't as jarring as the last; it’s merely a brush of shoulders as you both maneuver to avoid incoming traffic. That ‘incoming traffic’ turns out to be none other than Leigh Shaw.

She's beaming up at you, and it looks genuine despite the sparse interactions since she last canceled on you. You’re still catching your breath, your heart racing from the speed of your run and something else entirely.

“At least I didn’t make you crash on the pavement this time. I'd say that’s significant progress,” you quip, drawing a soft laugh from Leigh. Last week, you made the firm decision to compartmentalize your feelings for Leigh, resolving to see her strictly as a friend. Yet, when faced with reality, such resolutions seem trivial, particularly when that reality includes Leigh smiling at you with her effortlessly charming grin—a smile that, despite your best efforts, still sends a familiar flutter through your stomach and makes your knees feel like they're made of something much less solid than bone.

“Speaking of progress, Logan’s due for his vaccines this week, right?” You remember the schedule clearly, not just because you’re good with dates, but because Logan has become somewhat of a shared responsibility between the two of you—or at least that’s how you still see it.

“Oh, right. I promise I'll swing by. No bailing this time,” she says, chuckling, but there’s a serious undertone that tells you she’s committed to making good on her word this time.

“You better not,” you tease, “Can’t have Logan missing his shots. He’s still very young, and it’s critical we build up his protection against—”

“I won’t, Doctor,” Leigh cuts in, giving you a playful salute that makes you blush. “So, where are you off to after this? I was actually about to grab some donuts for breakfast—”

Leigh pauses mid-sentence as a woman appears at your side. She’s stunning—slightly taller than Leigh, clad in a sports bra and tight yoga pants, with sneakers on her feet. An absolute goddess; even Leigh can’t resist a quick, appreciative glance.

“Who's this?” the woman asks with a British accent, adding the perfect touch to her 5-foot-7 frame.

“This is Leigh,” you introduce quickly, noting the surprise in Leigh's expression. “Leigh, this is Sara.”

“Lovely to meet you,” Sara says warmly, extending her hand. Leigh shakes it, though her movements are somewhat mechanical. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Oh?” Leigh’s smile is strained. “Nice to meet you, too.”

You quickly steer the topic back to Leigh's breakfast plan, asking where the donut place is. “It's just down that street,” Leigh points vaguely, but then stops short. Almost as an afterthought, she adds, “Actually, I just remembered I've got to pick up something from the laundromat.”

You frown, thrown by her sudden change of tune. “Are you sure? We could grab a bite after the run.”

“No, really, I should get going. Maybe next time!” Leigh replies hastily, already stepping back, her exit swift and decisive. As she hurries away, you're left there, watching her leave, trying to figure out what flipped her mood from happy to wanting to escape so quickly.

“Shall we?” Sara nudges you gently, already jogging in place.

You give Sara a nod, but as you start running, you can't help but sneak one last look back. Leigh is quick to put distance between herself and the park. With a sigh, you turn your full attention back to Sara, who’s already picking up the pace, chatting about a new trail she wants to try next weekend.

“Let's go,” you mutter, mostly to yourself, as you push your legs to match her pace.

Meanwhile, Leigh walks briskly to a different restaurant, forsaking her initial craving for donuts. She can’t quite explain why she fabricated an errand; all she knows is that she needed to get away from you and Sara. Earlier, she couldn't help but notice how close Sara was standing to you, assessing you with a look that seemed a bit too interested. Leigh keeps turning over Sara's words in her mind, puzzling over what she meant by saying she'd heard a lot about her from you.

Why were you talking about her with Sara? Who exactly is Sara to you? Just a friend, or something more?

And what Leigh finds even more perplexing is why she's so troubled by needing to know the answers.

#unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #leigh shaw x reader #leigh shaw x female reader #leigh shaw #sorry for your loss au #leigh shaw x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #sorry i had to tag wanda x reader for visibility

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konigs-left-pec · 1 month

Text

After like 6 months, I've FINALLY decided to let this heap see the light of day. Colonel!König is still ruining my life (specifically domColonel!König...I'm totally normal about him and 100% on my knees and chewing through my cage.)

mdni: smut, v fingering

Ｍａｓｔｅｒｌｉｓｔ

König had just returned from a month-long stint in the Middle East and was still fully geared up, shedding dust all over the living room rug when you decided to throw off your robe, revealing his favorite strappy black lingerie. His tired blue eyes widened almost comically in surprise, though that feeling was quickly overtaken by burning lust as he drank you in, fatigue pushed to the side just like he was about to do to the dainty translucent cups hugging your breasts like a second skin.

And then his phone rang.

"König..." Your sigh was a warning, a pleading whine to let it go to voicemail just this once.

"I'll be quick, liebling." He promised, kissing your forehead sweetly and pulling the still ringing phone from his pocket, "Go wait for me. I'll be along in a few minutes."

You complied, albeit not without a grumble or two beneath your breath as you stooped to snatch your robe off the floor before heading to the bedroom. You wanted - no - needed his hands, his lips, his cock. Anything that he would give, you would take. You wanted the darkest parts of him to consume you, the parts that offered only pain blighted pleasure. You would thank him for it.

Your claim to the Colonel's time was peripheral, of course, and those optimistically promised few minutes had evolved into a half hour of you squirming unsatisfied in your shared bed, palm crushing the delicate lace of the open gusset framing your pussy, fingers struggling to reach the spot you needed most. Physical touch not nearly enough, you turned to fantasy, trying to conjure the weight of his body above you and the punishing glide of his cock. You didn't even hear the door open nor the click of it closing behind him as he stepped into the room.

"What are you doing, schönes Mädchen?"

Gasping, you floundered, finding yourself unable to articulate under the intense scrutiny he fixed you with nor to stop the futile way your fingers kept moving in and out of your soft cunt, muted squelching noises filling the deafening silence between you. Foggy with pleasure you notice he'd removed his tactical gear, dressed only in his fatigue pants and a gray tee stretched over the broad barrel of his chest.

His left hand was skimming lightly up your leg and by the time he got to your mound, you were trembling like a leaf in the wind.

"You've been bad tonight, liebling..." his fingers gently pried yours free from your messy quim, taking their place in a lazy plunge in and out that had you gripping the sheets, "I told you to wait for me..." He popped two of his sticky fingers into his mouth and your brain fizzled, "How do you think I should handle this, hmm?"

You need to come. He's tapping gently against the intricate lace framing your needy cunt; you grit your teeth and open your eyes (when had you closed them? ), realizing he's expecting an answer. You knew what he wanted to hear.

"I need to be punished, sir."

It comes out breathier than you intended, you can't seem to get enough air with the way he's staring into your eyes; his own pupils dilated, pitch black engulfing his normally bright blue eyes until only a sliver of color remained. He only hums thoughtfully in response, removing himself completely from your person (you swear your cunt actually weeps at the injustice here) and stands beside the bed, arms folded across his chest as he waits for you to join him.

"On your knees then, meine frau."

Your breath skitters in your chest when you notice the way he's straining against the seam of his trousers and you stare pointedly, reaching to press your palm against the heat there. He inhales sharply through his nose, a hairline crack in his indomitable control before he bats your hand away, repositioning them on his hips, wordlessly encouraging you to sink to your knees.

He peers down at you over the swell of his chest, pulse leaping against the strong line of his throat despite the calm and steady breaths he's taking in. You want to be a brat, make him answer for keeping you waiting, but you also want him to rail you into the carpet until your knees bleed; an answering pulse throbs between your thighs and you clench around nothing.

Guess that settles that.

"Show me how obedient you can be for me."

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muzanswaifu · 1 year

Text

Vexing Love

Sanemi x Florist!Fem!Reader

18+

For @captaineelliee

Request: "SO BASICALLY READER IS A FLORIST — LOVES EVERYTHING FLOWERS. LOVES NATURE. SHE VEGAN. AND THEN DADDY SANEMI OVER HERE IS *EHEM EHEM* ALLERGIC TO POLLEN 😍 YES POLLEN. HE’S INTO HER OBVIOUSLY BUT HOW CAN HE GET NEAR HER WHEN SHES ALWAYS SURROUNDED WITH FLOWERS AND POLLEN GETS ONTO HER CLOTHES LIKE EVERYTIME"

This request was soooooo cute to work on 😭 I went through about 100000 plot ideas just to get to this one bc I literally could not choose lmaoooo, hope you enjoy the one i chose! 😉

Sfw Warnings: Fluff, enemies to lovers, tsundere (both sides), crushes, Sanemi has allergies, allergies are curable in this universe idk science, science doesn't exist, awkwardness, yn is mean cuz she desperately needs ****, yn then gatekeep girlboss gaslights her way into some ****

Nsfw Warnings: Suggestive comments, pining, Smut, oral sex, blow jobs, hand jobs, cunnilingus, dry humping, vaginal sex, creampies, cockwarming, praise kink, degradation kink, body worship

10.7k Words

Breathe.

Just breathe for now. Breath until it's time to turn the corner. Breath until you can't even hold it anymore. Breathe.

Almost there, he'd just have to hold it in his lungs for a moment, nothing more. And even then, what was a whiff or two? Nothing he couldn't handle. He was just popping in for a quick visit.

He wrapped around the building slowly, taking his time with deep, precious breathes and savoring the cool air. Spring was always so pleasant even if the lingering scent of florals and pollen stung his lungs like acid. The moment he caught a whiff of the sweet perfume, he swallowed, clutching his breathe in his throat like air under water. He was good at hiding his weaknesses. He'd had plenty of practice.

When his mauve eyes finally met hers, he rose to life.

It was like something clicked in his brain every time he saw her, as if just being near her got his gears turning. Being with her was like chewing taffy. It was kind of hard to eat and always stuck to your teeth, super annoying, but somehow you always grabbed for that second piece, deeming the rich, savory flavor worth all the trouble. She smiled when she saw him.

"Well hey you," she leered, a single brow raised as she fluffed up the daisies that laid on the front table at the entrance of her shop. "You finally gonna buy something or are you just here to nag? I'm gonna start charging you by the minute y'know." The sly sparkle in her eye made his gut twist, sweat beginning to collect in his already clammy palms. He shoved them into his pocket before she could see.

"Nah, just here to see if this place is still fuckin' dead like it always is. No surprises there."

She scoffed, turning her head away in distaste, her hair wagging to the side so gently he wanted to fucking touch it, to run his hands through it and mess it all up. He didn't care if it smelled like flowers either. He'd enjoy either way.

"You're such an asshole! Maybe if you'd stop scaring away all my customers, I'd get more business," she hissed at him. He laughed at the insult, forcing himself to move along with it, despite the thoughts that ate at him slowly.

She thinks you're ugly

He shook his head of the stupid assumption, instead lingering to stare at today's attire. She wore purple today, a soft shade of lavender that went quite nicely with the hair piece she dawned. The homemade fabric clung tightly to her figure, the grains tastefully swirling around her body in the uniform pattern. The sleeves of this yukata seemed to be floral themed as well as the ends tattered along into delicate petal shapes. He liked this one more than her others. It was -

"Flashy."

She turned to him with a confused look, eye twitching. "What did you just say?"

"You look flashy," he repeated curtly, casting his eyes away. Compliments were hard to make, so she should appreciate that he put in the effort honestly.

"Flashy?"

"Yeah."

"So I look too flashy to you?" she inquired, crossing her arms and cocking her hip with a glare. This wasn't going how he thought it would. Shouldn't she be thanking him or something?

"Uh no," he shrugged, "just the right amount."

She turned away from him, bundles of flowers in her arms that were wilted and grey, ready to be thrown out, comically mirroring her patience. He could see the clench to her jaw and strain to her temple.

"You're so... - so clueless!" She stomped off angrily into the shop.

Sanemi was taken aback by her vexed response, hesitantly going in after her. He hadn't even noticed how scratchy his throat and nose had gotten with his distraction. How was she angry? He'd heard Tengen give his wives that line over a million times, and they practically dropped their panties on the spot. Did he say it wrong or something?

"What did I do?" he called after her.

"Let me guess, you're gonna say I smell weird again too?" she remarked, recalling the instance he'd first met her all that time ago when he'd said the damning words, so unused to the smell of roses as he'd avoided them without a second thought. But he hadn't had a reason risk the exposure then.

He felt bad, truly. He didn't want her to think he was insulting her. He didn't want the relationship his parents had, his father constantly demeaning his mother to keep her confidence low enough that she always saw him as better than. Sanemi wanted to make her feel good about herself! She deserved praise from time to time.

"It was a compliment!"

"In what world?" she asked dramatically. He could see how her posture was cringed now, as if to hide herself from him. But the stance was short-lived as she turned back around, finished with dumping her spoiled product.

"You're lucky I don't care what you think," she announced, fixing her hair, "Because I know I look good."

He pinched the bridge of nose and sighed. No, she was lucky she was fun to be around sometimes, or he wouldn't even give her the time of day.

He intended to continue their bickering until he'd felt his throat close, the spacing narrow and whistling with every breathe. He shut his mouth quickly, turning the way he came and walking away, trying to seem as unbothered as possible. (Y/n) noticed his fleeing when he was already halfway around the corner.

"Sanemi? Sanemi, where are you going?!" She continued to call after him, but he went on, his face shifting to red.

He inserted the syringe into himself containing his "medicine" when he reached the safety of the foliage, calming himself and controlling his breathing until his felt his lungs open up again.

Shinazugawa held his own in a normal natural environment, and when his allergies did manage to act up on occasion, he'd always had some light treatments on hand. But being surrounded by pure allergens was something he couldn't handle in excess, his tolerance getting worse and worse with each visit.

When he'd first met her, his endurance was acceptable. He'd managed to survive when the crazy woman had dragged him into her shop for the first time on his routine town visit, pressuring him to buy something. And when he'd denied her, throwing his little insult of her smell, he assumed that would be his cause of death rather than his allergy. From then on, every time he'd pass by, she always berated him, hurling offense after offense at him. He hadn't responded the first few times, but eventually it got to him. The short arguments grew into long visits of banter. He was retired, so it wasn't like he had anywhere to be anyway. And her company was nice sometimes. She wasn't always annoying. She occasionally gave a warm side comment about his glowing complexion that day or lended an ear when he wanted to rant about how stupid his "friends" were. While she always gave him shit about his "animal-based diet" and a lecture about becoming vegetarian, he'd also admired her passion about those things, how fired up she'd get when she'd see someone eating a piece of meat with no remorse. It was... kinda cute.

And he had become addicted far before he'd realized it, his day ruined whenever he hadn't seen her in a while or saw something that reminded him of her. And he knew his feelings had to be true when he went to fucking Uzui for help. His assistance was as useless as it was embarrassing, essentially telling him to dick her down as soon as possible. His wives had given him some genuine advice on his way out, but damn was that guy a pain to deal with.

But even with his recognition of his own heart, it wasn't like his weakness took the hint. He could hardly handle ten minutes being around her now, his lungs becoming so swelled that it nearly killed him each time. He wanted to live to see his life with her, if it were possible. And he decided to finally do something about it.

"I suppose there is something I can do," voiced Kanao, the girl sorting through her collection of herbs and remedies. Thankfully the Butterfly Estate had been fairly calm today, allowing him the audience he needed.

"While you may still have the occasional reaction, I have a thirty-day schedule of injections that get your immune system used to the allergen while simultaneously reinforcing it," she explained gently. She reminded him of the Kochos a lot these days. "But there are some drawbacks. The beginning may be a bit much to bear through, but over time the effects should calm. You must take it every morning at relatively the same time, and please give your body time to recuperate. You need stay away from any histamines for at least a week, as well. This includes any dander, molds, or pollen."

He gulped anxiously.

"That's just advice thought, right?"

She blinked confused, looking him in the eye.

"No."

On the walk home, he readied his excuses for when he saw the florist next. She'd no doubt grill him for answers when he'd have to ghost her for the next few days. He was busy? No, no she wouldn't accept that. She'd believe it, but she'd be angry at him for not giving her any attention for so long. He was sick? Maybe, but she would definitely look down on him for being so weak as to need recuperation time. But it wouldn't even matter how mad she'd be at him for his absence. He'd finally be able to prolong his time with her. Take her out on dates. Cuddle together. Do... other stuff together. It would take time to build up the relationship, but he had no doubt that she returned his feelings. He saw the way she looked at him, the way she'd purse her lips and flush when her eyes fell to his fit chest, the way she'd bat her lashes at him when she'd catch him studying her as well. She'd even told him that she only liked big, stupid guys. He definitely wasn't stupid, but he got the idea.

It would only be a matter of time now before it was all possible. Almost there.

She brewed over his disappearance, questioning why Shinazugawa had been gone all of five days now. Surely, she hadn't hurt his feelings that much the last time she'd seen him. But maybe it was a possibility as her mother had always complained of how rude she was. But Sanemi was used to it by now, right? Okay, perhaps she was a bit mean, but he was just so stupid sometimes! Flashy? That was considered a compliment to him? It was his fault for not knowing better.

But, none-the-less, she pouted, joylessly selling to a few customers before deciding to close up shop early today. She should go give him a visit. Just to make sure he's alive, of course. Not because she missed him or anything...

This was torture. He remembered that Kanao had said it was gonna get bad but not this bad. Even he was struggling, and he'd been tortured by demons for fuck's sake. He hacked all day, his skin rashed up, he had to take several trips to the bath to steam his swollen throat open enough so he could breathe. It made sense why he couldn't get more exposure to aggitants. It probably would've killed him.

But he kept going, reminding himself of why this was all worth it. How amazing it would be to sniff her hair and kiss her lips. How soft she would feel in his hands and against his calloused, rough flesh. He wanted to know how her neck tasted, how her perfume smelled when it wasn't suffocating him. He'd spend all of eternity just studying her and everything that made her so... so... vexing.

A knock at his door tore him from his fantasies. Who the hell could that be? He left the bathroom, staggering toward the door and fixing his falling robe simultaneously. Was it Kanao? But she was always so busy, why the hell would she come out here?

Sanemi weakly opened the door, eyes going wide.

"Surprise!"

He stumbled back, throwing a hand over his nose and mouth. Just the slight breeze that came, wafting her scent to him was enough to make him choke. Oh, fuck that hurt.

"I thought you were dead or something, so I came to check on you! I know, I'm so nice," (Y/n) purred, obviously pleased with herself. "I brought flowers just in case you'd need a quick burial - Lilies! Always gotta be prepared, y'know?" She shoved them toward him carelessly, distracted with his horrid appearance.

"What the hell happened to you?" she questioned, her eyes scrunching in disgust. He looked like he actually had died.

"G-get out..." he croaked, feebly pushing her away. His vision began to get blurry with his poorly received oxygen.

"You need help 'Nems. Let me-"

"No!" he shouted abruptly, the woman flinching back in shock. She'd never actually heard him... yell at her before.

"G-get the f-fuck outta here!" He pushed at her again, causing her to trip back and fall onto the graveled path. Tears stung her eyes as her bottom bruised. He turned back to the door, tossing the bundle of lilies away onto the dirt and slugging back into the house, coughing violently as he went.

Another wave of daze passed through her body as he slammed the door closed, the loud sound sending a jolt up her spine. Her mouth still hung open.

It seemed like years before she slowly rose up, body still trembling. Her walk home was silent. But not literal silence, the journey would've been silent regardless since it would've been only herself as company - this was mindless, empty, meaningless, lifeless silence. Not a single thought managed to pass through her skull, her movements relying solely on muscle-memory. Her mouth still hung open.

Only when she had reached her own doorstep did the waterworks start. Tears never stopped flowing as she sadly waddled to her bed and fell to it, harshly sobbing into her pillow.

He had never yelled at her like that before. Ever. Not even when she'd thrown dirt down the back of his shirt or doused him with pot water. By the time she'd woken up from crying herself to sleep, her eyes were puffy and red, her mouth dry and bitter. She'd barely managed to carry herself into work, her face downcast and miserable, very few customers coming to visit. But she couldn't care less.

His symptoms thankfully calmed down in the following days, his lungs opening up and skin clearing. He forced himself to relax through it, stopping his brain from replaying what had happened until he would be able to properly cringe at his own actions. And when he had gotten better and able-bodied, God was it awful. Was he harsh with her? Yes. Was it necessary? ...Yes? How else would he have gotten her to go away? Had he been any more gentle, she would've fought her way into the house, and he would've keeled over dead. Being an asshole was manditory sometimes.

But, he knew every dirty dead should be met with a good one when it came to women, so here he was, on his was to say he was sorry or whatever. It'd been a week like Kanao had said, so he could tolerate being around her for a second.

"Your boyfriend is coming," squealed the old woman from the shop next to hers, the lady's lips curled like a cat's.

"Huh?" (Y/n) snapped from her expressionless state of plucking the petals off sunflowers.

"That tall man with the scars you're always hanging around - I saw him in town buying candies when I'd gotten my groceries. I think he's coming this way!"

Oh fuck!

She bolted into her shop, finding a mirror to do some quick makeup and fix her hair. Thank goodness she'd made herself dress nice today. She wasn't about to dump him looking like a slob.

The girl came out just in time to catch a glimpse of him turning the corner, her appearance put together and pretty.

"Hey," she heard next to her. Her eyes flickering to him slowly then turning back. She resumed weaving together bouquets at her bench.

Sanemi scoffed at her obvious silent treatment. It didn't help that she looked so fucking hot today, her dress a dark shade of green with red accents that matched her lipstick. Fuck, here he was getting turned on when he needed to apologize.

"Uh, sorry about the other day. I was, uhm.... sick." He held the box of sweets out to her, a cute pink bow tied at the top. When she didn't take it, he set it down on the table adjacent to her.

(Y/n) pressed her wobbling lips together, still refusing to look at him before getting up and going to the table. She swiftly pushed it into the store and pulled closed the doors, locking them and gathering her things. She couldn't do this. Tears were already threatening her waterline before he'd even started talking. She couldn't tell him off with her mascara was running. How pathetic would that have been?

He followed after her, muddled by her strange behavior, or lack thereof. "Where are you going?" the man demanded.

It was easy to think of something hurtful to respond.

"I have a date." She walked slowly, giving him ample time to catch up.

His teeth nearly broke with tension. He was next to her instantaneously, far closer than she wanted him to be. She turned away so he wouldn't witness her glazed eyes.

"A date?"

"Yep."

"A fuckin' date?"

She didn't answer any further, only continuing to stroll about and praying that he wouldn't follow her all the way. Of course, she wasn't going on any date. But he didn't need to know that. And she didn't want him finding out either.

And her wish came true, Sanemi pausing in his step as she trailed on. She heard what he'd mumbled under his breath as he turned back the way he came.

"Fuck this."

(Y/n) wished she'd felt better after that, but her depression only grew. Going to work every morning felt hopeless now that she knew there was no chance Sanemi would come to visit. As much as she hated to admit it, she missed their bickering and arguments, missed how his nose would scrunch up when he was agitated, missed how he'd lean up against her booth to get closer to her. She missed how he'd smell when he'd stop by after his workout, and how his skin would glisten with sweat during a hot day. But most of all, she missed seeing him smile, that stupid little smirk he'd give her when she'd say something especially mean before he'd give that attitude right back at her.

She should've just accepted his stupid apology, even though her feelings were still hurt by his blatant disrespect of her. Even if he had been sick, she would've helped him in a heartbeat. It would've been like the romance novels she'd read of nurses falling in love with their patient during treatments. She wasn't a very good cook, but she could've whipped him up something good to eat. She could've helped him so much, but he didn't let her. As if he didn't trust her. As if she wasn't important enough.

But maybe it was for the best that things worked out this way. Maybe things weren't meant to go well for them. If they couldn't handle a small little thing like this, how would they have made it through worse?

"I think he'd like these."

(Y/n) jerked up from her spell, aiming to find the owner of that soft, feminine voice.

"Those are nice! Oh - how about these ones too!"

She found two young visitors, a serene dark-haired girl with rosy eyes and a tender-looking boy with red hair. They seemed to be a couple, implied by their embraced hands.

As negative as her mood was, the woman still needed money and, therefore, customers. She slouched over to them.

"Shopping for a special occasion?" she asked with about as much gusto as she could muster, which was little. The boy smiled brightly regardless of her lack of vigor.

"Just looking for something nice for a friend! He actually lives around here, maybe you know him?" He chirped. The girl next to him scoffed quietly.

"I wouldn't bet on that."

(Y/n) furrowed at her. "You sure? If he lives around here, I've probably seen him around."

The boy turned to his female companion, giving her an encouraged look. His innocence was honestly tear-jerking. "Yeah, maybe's she's seen him around." He turned back to the woman. "He's kinda tall and really... scary looking."

She chuckled, nearly thinking he was talking about Sanemi. But there was no possibility in her head that him and this genuine, pure-hearted young boy had ever crossed paths. "With white hair?" she joked, shaking her head.

"Yeah! You've met him?"

She broke from her giggling, gawking at him with wide eyes.

"S-Sanemi?"

"So, you have met him!"

She quickly crossed over her arms, tucking her head to the side with a boiling anger. "Unfortunately," she quipped, not really in the mood to discuss it further. The last thing she needed was a damn conversation about him.

"Really?" the girl inquired, a brow raised, "that's surprising - given his allergy."

She laughed. "Allergy? What could he possibly be allergic to? Joy? Laughter? Happiness?" She wouldn't be surprised by any of it quite honestly.

The brunette blinked at her, waving her hand about the room.

"Oh, you know. Dander, molds, pollens," she listed. "Flowers."

Her mouth went dry. No. No, that couldn't be right. She wouldn't known if he was.

"F-flowers?" she repeated, hoping for some kind of misunderstanding.

"Yes. I hope he hasn't been around here for some while though. I gave him very crucial instructions to not go near any allergens for a bit."

...What...

"Wha- I don't-" she was at a loss for words. "That's... impossible! Why didn't he tell me?!"

The boy stepped toward her. "Well, you seem to know him well. He gets kinda embarrassed about that stuff," he said, obviously aiming to comfort her in her distress.

No wonder his visits were always so short and spontaneous. Oh god, she'd even shoved some of these in his face sometimes so he could get a whiff. Her mind reeled with all those times he'd turn to cough or sneeze. All those times he'd grow red in the face and excuse himself. All those times he'd go still, as if he were holding his breathe. But she'd always thought he had anger issues or something and was using coping mechanisms. Not that he was literally dying!

The two strangers looked at each other in confusion as she had her meltdown, waves of guilt and regret setting upon her. She hadn't even noticed until they were at the counter to check out that they were intending to leave. She'd helped them, of course, afterwards stopping them as they met the trail, changed into her emergency clothing she'd kept in the shop for when she'd come unprepared. And another... hidden.... gift for later on, if things went smoothly.

They made very decent conversation as she accompanied them on their journey, telling tales of their own adventures in their former dangerous work. The stories truly scared her, as she'd had the luxury of never running into that sort of threat in her life. But the stories were also just as devastating. She'd realized then just how little she'd actually known about Sanemi. She hadn't known he was a demon hunter. She hadn't known he'd put his life at such risk. She hadn't even know about his family, nor his brother Genya he'd lost at the end. More guilt began to eat at her. How could she have been so self-absorbed as to never question his past? She could blame his own severe privacy, but she knew it was her own fault as well. Perhaps her actions really were disrespectful. With all he'd gone through, the least she could've done was be nice to him for once. She... should apologize.

When he opened his door, the shock on his face was evident, but it quickly dissolved into bitterness.

"What're you doing here?" he hissed.

Her wavering smile thinned. Oh god this was going to suck.

Dinner was just as tense, the man certainly not appreciating the humorous gift he'd received by the young couple. The bouquet had met the trash bin before they'd even sat down. It only seemed to worsen after they'd begun to eat. Deafening silence and slow chewing filled the room, every attempt at small talk (mostly contributed by the boy she learned was named Tanjiro) was promptly met with a sharp, silencing glare by Shinazugawa. But (Y/n) did appreciate the boy's efforts, as it would momentarily remove his eyes from their lock onto her. Even when she wasn't looking, she could feel the weight of his scowl, the negativity that radiated off of him in nauseating waves. It was honestly not surprising that he was so livid. He'd gone though all trouble to cure himself just to be left high and dry. It was going to take a bit of work to talk her way out of this one...

"Uhm, it was nice to see you again, Sanemi... Good luck with your, uh, illness?"

Kanao pinched his side, and he yelped.

"Yes, it's been fun," she added. "Well, I think it's best we get going. I'm sure you two would like some time to talk." She practically dragged him out of the door, Kamado muttering a few more encouraging goodbyes before cutting out as she slid the door shut behind them, finally leaving the estate.

(Y/n) kept herself composed through it, giving a fake smile and waving as they scurried. She was desperate to finally get a chance to actually talk, albeit being a tad bit nervous with his mood. But he was always a smidge angry, so she already expected some level of pettiness.

What she hadn't expected was for him to ignore her entirely. As she turned around in the absence of Tanjiro and Kanao, she was met with utter abandonment, Shinazugawa swiftly cleaning up the table. She crossed her arms, tapping her foot and waiting oh-so-patiently for this little bit to be over with. Yes, she remembered when she did the same to him when he had tried to apologize to her all that time ago.

"Giving me a taste of my own medicine, huh?" she finally pestered, getting annoyed with his blindness. He gave nothing but a huff, continuing to gather plates and eventually heading into the kitchen. The woman followed after him, an urgency to her step.

"Sanemi, don't you dare try to worm your way out of this one!" She found him setting the dishes into a bin, clearly more interested in washing them than talking to her.

"Why didn't you tell me about your allergies? Or anything else for that matter?! I didn't know about your job or family - I didn't even know you'd ever had either!"

His dish-scrubbing got faster, harder, likely scratching up the delicate ceramic. But his mouth remained sewn shut in a thin line just waiting to crack.

She calmed, her shoulders falling a bit.

"Was I not important enough to tell?"

And he finally snapped.

"What the fuck do you care?!" He violently threw down the dish he was holding into the tub, the material shattering. (Y/n) jumped slightly, not anticipating him to behave so wildly. It gave her a flash of their previous scuffle when he'd hurt her so deeply. His reply only saddened her.

"I'm sorry," she sighed in a cracked voice, eyes glazing over. "I-I'm sorry I wasted your time, I'll leave."

The sniffles and weak patter of her feet as she away tore at his heart strings.

Of course, he was still mad at her, but he didn't her to fucking cry about it. He didn't really... like hearing her cry - no, scratch that, he fucking hated it. Hell, he'd known his distaste for it the day she was whining to him that some jerk had yelled at her for bumping into him and making him to drop all his food, her eyes all wet and red with fat tears. He'd, of course, found the worthless asshole and torn him a new one, but he never quite gotten over how horrid her sadness had made him feel, the pit in his stomach. She'd told him multiple times that she didn't like getting screamed at. He recalled finding it cute at the time, how such an angry, foul-mouthed women could dish but not receive, lest she fall apart. And the realization only begged the question - how had she reacted to him lashing out at her all that time ago? He didn't even want to think about it.

"Wait," he finally spoke, halting her pitiful waddling. He came out to the front room to find her, her body still facing the door and shoulders shaking despite her silence. He had to physically stop himself from comforting her physically. Finally, she looked back at him, eyes teary and wet, her eye makeup smudged.

His hands dragged down his face, a heavy sigh falling upon his lips with long frustration. "Listen... I didn't say anything 'cuz..." He droned off a bit, stubborn in his admission. "Cuz it was... it was just stupid."

"It's not stupid!" She voiced, wiping her eyes and turning to him. "But it's my fault too. I should've asked instead of nagging all the time, huh?" She chuckled softly. It eased him to hear her laugh, but he could still see new tears falling down her cheeks.

"No, no, I guess I should have said something. But that shit's not important to me, I'm not a fucking baby."

"Talking about your feelings doesn't make you a baby. I want you to be sensitive with me!"

He scoffed at her, jerking his head away. No way she liked when he got all soft. She was just saying that to spare his feelings, he thought. She frowned at him.

"Why'd you keep coming to visit when you knew you were allergic."

His face flushed a little, his neck getting hot. "Just... wanted to see you, I guess..." he mumbled with a shrug of his shoulders.

She felt her heart melt and cooed, "Oh my gosh-"

"Ugh, shut up," he groaned, still burning with embarrassment. She practically purred with her curled smile, skating over to him with open arms and wrapping them around him for a tight hug. He cringed back uncomfortably at first but eventually gave into it, realizing she wasn't going to back down anytime soon. Anything to make her stop fucking crying. (Y/n) could feel his body heat rise. "You're so sweet~ I'm sorry I lied last time when you came over. I didn't have a date."

He paused and looked down at her with a dark stare. "What."

(Y/n) back away slowly, giving an apologetic smile. "Yeah, I'm sorry. I just wanted to make you mad because you were so mean to me."

Sanemi grimaced at her, his anger rising. "What- you-" he stopped himself, "Y'know what? Fine, I guess that's fair," he sighed. "Sorry I was 'mean' to you."

She grinned at him brightly. "So... are you all better now? No allergies or anything?" Sanemi shrugged again at her. "I guess," he muttered, "I just have to take it easy for a while."

The woman pouted. "Aw, I guess that means no kissing then."

"Wha- I didn't say that!"

She laughed, taking much joy at his despair. But he didn't fret for long as she strode back to him, rising to her tip-toes to give him a modest peck on the lips. It wasn't their first kiss, strangely enough. There were plenty of times when she'd lost a bet with his set reward being some lip-locking. She'd be lying if she said she hadn't enjoyed those rare instances, sometimes purposely losing so he'd make the first move with her only appearing to be upset. But it wasn't just kissing that she was aiming for.

As she'd hoped, he pulled her closer from her teasing exchange for a deeper embrace, pressing his mouth against hers nearly desperately. The passing of tongues was instantaneous as their mouths opened to breathe. As usual, he tasted of sweetness, a honeyed melt that coated her tongue being overtaken by his. He always wanted the lead after all. And right on cue, he began roaming his hands about her form.

That's as far as he'd gone in the past, only brief, respectful groping here and there, around her waist, behind her thigh. Getting him to venture further hopefully wouldn't be too difficult.

But her shitty luck said otherwise after several celibate minutes of necking, so she decided to take the lead for a change. Clearly letting him take control wasn't getting them very far, given that it'd taken him nearly a year to even open up. (Y/n) trailed down his lips, kissing and nibbling along his jaw, giggling at his sudden tensing. Dear god, he practically whined when she got to his throat, sucking at his adam's apple that bobbed as he swallowed. But her command didn't last long as he gave an annoyed growl, wrapping two thick hands under her thigh and jolting her up so they could wrap around his waist. She almost didn't register his teeth attacking her neck when her back was suddenly pressed against the cold wood of the wall she swore was several yards away only a second ago.

"S'nemi..." she whined weakly, high off her mind. The moment felt unreal, her having spent so long fantasizing about this very thing. Too long, in fact. He held her with such ease, regardless of his hand injury, his mouth having a mind of its own as it roamed about her sensitive flesh, leaving dark markings in their obsessive wake.

"Wanna-," He panted, absolutely breathless, "wanna fuck you."

(Y/n) froze, flustered by his sudden confession but somewhat understood as a hard presence poked at her from below, signaling the beginnings of an impressive erection.

"C-can't you ask a little b-better than that?" Despite her trying confidence, her desperate body couldn't help but gyrate against him, hungry for more warmth and friction. He snarled against her pulse.

"Please - shit - please lemme fuck you."

Her back was pressed further into the now heated wooden wall, cornered by his large form. His own hips seemed to speed against hers, gentle but thorough, grinding up into her core deliciously and drawing out a slurred moan. Her breath stuttered as his hand crept up to her nape, fingers wrapping around her neck in a hot caress, his lips leaning up to graze her ear.

"I'll make you feel so damn good-" his teeth rand along the shell of her earlobe, his sultry breath sending a shiver down her spine, "wanna take my time with you, get you so riled up you can't even think straight," he whispered.

Oh god, just the thought of letting him have her left her legs shaking around his waist. The man might've been lacking in the romance department but goddamn, she bet he was an absolute fuck-machine with all those years of training and hard-work. He could probably ruin her if he wanted to. But she wanted that power too. She wanted him just as desperate for her touch and attention, just as cold without her body, just as useless without her direction.

(Y/n) locked eyes with his confused stare as she slowly crept out of his hold, her legs carefully lowering to the floor, hands dragging down his front. His mouth practically dropped open as the realization began to settle onto him of what she was doing. Sanemi only continued to ramble on as she descended, his vigor and confidence increasing tenfold while she dropped to her knees. His hands mindlessly wrapped into her hair. Her perfect fucking hair.

"Gonna fucking ruin you, have you screaming for me to break you. Ain't nobody even gonna look at you when I'm done," he rumbled darkly.

She blinked up at him in annoyance before rolling her eyes.

"You talk to much," she chirped before drawing her hands to his hips.

His breathe hitched as her paws finally met his bulge, her mouth watering at the thick shape while she steadily kneaded it like a kitten. Shinazugawa could do nothing but gape at her eagerness, throwing his head back and letting out a long groan. She seemed satisfied enough with the reaction and finally pulled open his robe.

She gasped as his cock sprung out, bare and swollen, no covering whatsoever. Although shocked at his strange lack of any undergarment, she couldn't help but marvel at his length, so long and thick. Her hands seemed so small compared to it, so tiny as they worked together to wrap around the hefty root. (Y/n) really shouldn't have been so astounded by his size, as he'd boasted many times of his generous package. But she'd always thought he was lying then, ashamed of himself like all the other men who bragged of the same thing. But, apparently, he was truly honest. Hell, it was even bigger that he'd described!

She bravely leaned in, closing her lips to the very tip where a droplet of pre had begun to arise. She sweetly kissed it, her tongue gently slipping out to lick up the opaque drop. A string of mixture followed her retreating mouth, stretching between the two and snapping into nothingness.

"Oh fuck," Sanemi sighed, looking down at her with an expression she could only describe as helplessness.

With one more flick of her gaze, she descended onto his cock, carefully taking as much as she could between her lips until the length had grazed her uvula. She pushed down the urge to gag, breathing deeply through her nose before pulling off, sucking her cheeks in and slurping hard on her way to oxygen. Drool gushed down her chin when she pulled back, her lips and tongue fluttering along the underside of his cock, tracing a throbbing vein that pulsed for attention.

His hands moved from her hair to her face, caressing her cheeks tenderly while she kissed and licked and sucked, absolutely worshipping him. Maybe she'd felt bad for upsetting him, maybe she'd wanted to reward his commitment to her, maybe she'd just wanted to suck his dick. Hell, he didn't much give a shit, not when she was doing so fucking good, giving him all the admiration he could've hoped for. Whatever she lacked for in experience, she made up for in unadulterated passion, laving her kitten tongue up his girth with sloppy wet kisses and sucking tightly at the thick head.

"Oh fuck - keep going, just like that sweetheart. Fuck."

It wasn't long before Sanemi felt the comings of release with how pent up he was, having not even pleased himself after their last fight, his balls swollen and just begging to empty. Sure, he could've stuck things out a bit longer, taken her out on a couple of actual dates, worked his way up all the stupid goddamn bases, but with how things were going, he couldn't think of any good reasons why he shouldn't knock her up after this.

Enjoyment course through her veins as she worked, every thread of of stress, tension, and worry draining from her body with each swaying motion. Her lips had a mind of their own it seemed as they wrapped around him like a suckle, milking him mindlessly and wavering only to get air through her lungs. She could feel his cock twitching in her mouth sporadically, his pulse quickening as he panted deeply above her. (Y/n) went even deeper, her gag reflex begging for reprieve but she silenced it, throating his cock as far as she could without giving out. Her legs pressed together as arousal pooled from her empty center.

His eyes rolled back, and he bucked without thinking, lodging himself as deeply as possible, causing her to choke out startled until a hotness smoothed down the back of her throat. Her wide eyes calmed with the warm balm, cum pumping rope after rope into her stomach. She relaxed into it quickly, kneading his tensed thighs and bobbing her head softly to help him ride it out the waves of euphoria.

His muscles finally eased as he finished, now letting out soft groans as she warmed him with her mouth. He took a moment to admire her, how disheveled her pretty hair was, how ruined her makeup looked, how amazing she felt. He took a mental photograph of it all before pulling out, parting from her lips with a deliciously wet noise. A thread of come dripped his slit, but her tongue was quick to lick it up before it fell.

"Shit~," he sighed and brushed back her sweat-glazed hair from her face. "That was perfect." It wasn't an exaggeration at all, she was everything he'd hoped for and more. He rolled his hips against her face as she licked her lips and breathed, rubbing his cock all over her cheeks, face, everything. Just the sight of her nuzzled against him had his cock ticking to life again.

The girl must've noticed his renewed excitement as she repositioned herself to mouth at him again before sinking down, her lips wrapping around him and continuing with flawless precision. He whimpered out and pulled her off tenderly.

"No, no baby, it's ok." She was more dangerous than he'd thought, clearly.

Honestly, she was kind of hoping to continue sucking him like this. Based on his reactions, she must've been good at it, and God was this the perfect stress reliever. But another reason might've been her nerves. She wasn't quite sure she was ready for him to see her fully naked yet.

(Y/n) wiped her sodden mouth and shakily stood up, her sore knees wobbling.

"O-okay," she gave, "Uhm, lay down I guess. Uh, I'll get on top."

"What? No."

She looked at him a puzzled, fearful gaze, growing scared as he came closer while pulling the rest of his clothes off.

"I haven't even made you come yet. And even when we do fuck, there's no way I'm letting you top," he mumbled, stern and clearly not in the mood to argue.

She became even more anxious as he picked at her delicate clothing, firmly tugging at her woven dress and pulling the ties apart. "W-wait!" she squealed and backed away, her back aching when she'd hit the table.

Sanemi groaned. "Ugh, what now? Wait..." he took a long drawl of her features, her shaken hands that hugged her dress closed, her downcast glazed eyes, her discomforted posture and positioning. "Are you nervous?" He gave a surprised chuckle as her face reddened.

"Don't be a jerk!" she whined, tears beginning to dot her eyes with frustration and worry.

"Hey, hey," he crooned softly, more gently than she'd ever heard him speak. She'd be caught dead before she admitted that it comforted her, though. "It's fine, what are you scared about? I told you I'd take care of you, didn't I?" Sanemi came closer to her, eventually gathering her safely into his arms. He rubbed warm circles on the small of her back as he spoke, heating up the supple flesh. His face nuzzled into her neck, his breath making her shiver.

"Y-you've never seen me naked before," she finally grumbled, her voice shaky, "What if you think I'm ugly?" She could feel him relax into her, his throat letting out a deep groan that had her knees buckling. "Oh sweetheart-"

Really? That was all she was worried about? He truly didn't take her for the self-conscious type, with how confident she acted. The same womant that had purposely let him win bets just so he would kiss and feel her up was scared for him to see her naked? She was such a mystery sometimes. He pulled her further into him, eliciting a high squeal and hoisting her up over his shoulder. He easily carried her over to the nearest bedroom, ignoring her constant feared questions of the destination and intentions. Reaching the room, he threw open the door and laid her upon the futon as if she were made of glass.

"The only thing you need to be worrying about is how many times you're gonna come tonight." He smirked and glanced over at her tensed, little form. "You do look kinda weak now that I think about it... definitely don't get off more than once a day - hell, do you even get off more than once a week?"

(Y/n) looked away mortified, more so at his accuracy rather than his accusation. Her lips thinned and squeaked out, "I'm busy, asshole..."

Shinazugawa hummed with the validation. "Yep, thought so." He carelessly began tearing away at her clothes again, laughing at her little yelps and cries to not damage her precious outfit. Her yukata was easily removed, the... undergarments not so much. Sanemi nearly drooled at the sight, her lush figure wrapped in a smooth, velvety green that mimicked that of a quiet wood. He could make out every small detail in the stitch work, every swirl of organic thread that hid her delicates from his hungry eye. It was fucking lingerie.

"Awwww, you wear this for me?" He purred, deep and ravenous.

She quickly buried her face in her paws, squirming on the bed and groaning. "Shut uuuuup!" When she'd thrown it on earlier at the shop, she hadn't actually thought she'd get to the point of showing off, so certain that they'd have a short and wholesome reunion, maybe a kiss or two. As embarrassed as she was that it had gotten this far, her curiosity was larger, begging for her to see this through. It wouldn't hurt to try... right?

His lips felt like molten lava on her body, a glorious trail of fire that dragged from her face to her neck to her chest. A rush of apprehension yet relief filled her as a single hand unclipped the back of her bralette, the fabric easily falling from her gathered flesh onto the bedding. She was grateful he didn't make a big scene of seeing her naked breasts like she knew some men did, his mouth, instead, doing all the talking, pressing gentle kisses atop her bosom. Her skin flushed with the attention, each whisper of affection adding fuel to fire that was running rampant in the pit of her belly, growing with each second. The woman couldn't help but whine when his tongue finally met her nipple, suckling the nub into his boiling mouth. Her fingers tugged at his snowy locks, grasping them harder and harder each time he switched from left to right, his large hand squeezing the lone tit with every shift. The intimacy of the act alone had her desperate, slick drenching her panties and sliding down her thighs.

"Nemi, p-please-" she mewled, eyes screwed shut with the tension and need.

She heard the man growl as he descended further down her body, drawing small patterns with his tongue with every inch of her flesh and sucking bruising marks.

Her tits were nice, obviously, but he wasn't so kind as to hide the fact that he was more excited to get a taste of another part of her. He took specially care at her lower belly, nibbling on the chubby pouch that kept something so sacred inside. Sanemi nearly trembled with temptation as her sweet musk could be smelt from here, his fingers dancing along the sticky part of her inner thighs to spread them. He licked his lips as he finally, finally, drew downward, placing himself in front of her clothed center. The wet fabric was evident, her neglected cunt absolutely seething for any form of attention. His body moved before he could stop himself, his face nuzzling into the soaked covering and taking deep, gulping breathes, his strong arms keeping her too spread to stop him.

"-Smell so fucking good... bet you taste like candy," he moaned.

(Y/n) writhed in his hold. completely against... whatever the fuck he was doing. "Sanemi, stop it! Y-you're so weird! Stop... smelling it..."

He tutted at the weak insult, responding with a clip of his teeth at the lacy top of the panties. He effortlessly tore them from her nethers, burning the flesh and drawing out a gasp. "Shhhhh," he whispered, "Wanna suck you."

Sanemi was quickly overtaken by how perfect she looked, her cunt lips all swollen and glistening with slick, her little clit poking out and twitching ever-so-slightly for some love. She could feel his brawny arms clench around her thighs, feel his hot breath fan across her wet lips, feel how eager he was to devour her. And once again, she was rendered too speechless to stop him.

His tongue was the first to meet her, licking a wide stripe up her glossy slit. He shuttered at the syrupy taste of her. It was close to torture as he made out with her pussy, his mouth embracing her with open-mouth kisses and closing in around her pulsing nub, giving it a slow suck. She was already so amped up for release, so teased for it, yet the feeling only rose, drawing further and further toward the edge but never quite falling from it. She tore at his mane, pushing him deeper into her kitten, praying for the intensity to break. And he was there for the journey, in his own world of euphoria. He would live here if he could, forever breathing in the saccharine scent and nursing on her ripened nub. He let himself get lost in it for a while - he deserved a treat for all his troubles after all - but eventually he composed himself, setting a flawless rhythm of tongue-flicking to get her off.

And only then was the flip switched, her pleasure climbing and climbing until she met the brink, the thread pulled tight.

"C'mon, baby," he growled, "come on my tongue."

(Y/n) sobbed when she came, her clit throbbing between his lips as he gave it a strong suck, relishing the gush of honey that filled his mouth. He continued with his meal, licking up every messy drop she gave and kissing her fluttering hole. Her sensitivity made all of it agony, every kiss and lick driving her closer and closer to insanity. She tried to wiggle away, but her efforts were futile with his unbreakable grip of her, his motions only becoming quicker and stronger, breaking her containment.

"Please, Nemi, please... i-it hurts," (Y/n) begged. He snickered at her submission, finally drawing back and wiping his glazed maw with the back of his hand. He leisurely kissed back up her body, savoring each and every sigh of pleasure she gave him. His hands pawed at her hips and breasts, massaging the blushing plushness that filled out his hands like dough. Her thighs wrapped around his hips as his lips met her throat, sucking even more hickeys and bruises over the previous ones, he didn't want them fading for quite some time.

She could feel his cock already pressing at her, laying across her hip hard as stone and leaking pre-cum over her sweated skin. Despite her tire, the girl could feel the growings of want again, an emptiness eating at her from the inside out. "Mmmm-," she sighed, "Jus' put it in." Her laughed into her jawline, pausing his meddling. Even in her exhaustion, she rolled her eyes, reaching between their bodies for his piece. He was immediately taken aback by her action, but gave no stop to it, letting her grab for him. He liked this side of her, the side that just took what she needed from him. If he wanted a selfless woman, he wouldn't be in this position in the first place.

Her fist wrapped around the base, slid down the length of it until she found the tip, then pushed it to her opening. She had to lift her hips a bit to meet it halfway since he was being a dick, but she knew what she was doing. Kinda. Sorta.

Just when she gathered the tip inside her, already sweating at the stretch, he thrust his hips, jabbing a thick chunk into her. She yelped out in pain, tears dotting her vision. Her mused at her ruined appearance, the clench her body gave as he penetrated her. She was really having a hard time taking him, a pride blooming in his chest that he was just that fucking gifted. But that wasn't to say he wasn't having difficulty as well.

"Goddamnit, you're tight - might not even fit, nn, all the way," he mumbled.

"N-no," she pleaded, "It'll fit."

(Y/n) wrapped her legs tighter around him, pulling him in hard, swallowing him into her heat. He nearly toppled over right then and there, so overwhelmed and astonished with her demonstration of carnal strength. Yet he could still hear her labored breaths, the wetness of her tears falling to her hairline in her efforts. It was angering almost, how careless she was to do such a thing. He would have never forced her to hurt herself just to please him, nor should she fear abandonment for failing to give him what he wanted. He'd have to straighten that out later.

Her cunt heaved around him, the collected slick at least providing some relieve to the pain she must have beared. Oh god did it hurt. He was so huge, it felt as if she'd been torn open from the inside. But she didn't care how much it burned, she wanted this part to be over with, she wanted to feel good already. Every lingering second of not being filled had the emptiness inside her growing, like a pit of darkness. And while she was sure some blood was shed, at least her guts finally had something to suck on.

"Y-you... you c-can move now, I think...," she rasped, her head still foggy from the fullness. He hummed at the request yet seemed to ignore her as he bent down to her chest, take a hard nipple into his mouth. (Y/n) bit her lip and whined at the added stimulation.

"S'nemi, move-" she spoke again, stern but shaky. She felt him smile against her breast.

"I dunno, kinda like it right here. I might just have you warm my cock all night," he purred, still sucking at her teat. She blushed at the confession, giving his face a little push away from her chest.

"What?" he laughed, "You're good at it."

She denied him any reply, turning away in sheepishness. She was sure it was just sex-talk, but it was nice knowing that he felt good being warmed by her. Her cunt fluttered softly around him, oozing more slick onto his member and beginning to stick to his thatch of pubic hair. A soft moan spilled from her with his responding roll of his hips, pressing the tip of himself further into her cervix. She hadn't expected it to feel so heavenly already, especially when she'd been in such pain only a moment before. His parts hit deep, filling her to the point of nearly bursting. She swore she could feel him in her chest.

"N-nemi - oh my god...," she mewled.

"I know, sweetheart, I know. Just let me take care of you."

She didn't even have to ask twice as he began grinding into her, churning her insides like butter while her cream spewed out to gloss his cock. Her arms weakly wrapped around him, desperate for something to hold onto. It already felt like too much, the thickness, the length. She was gonna split in half, she could feel it. But he went slow, thankfully, letting her get accustomed to the overbearing fit. Her pussy couldn't stop clutching around him, high off the sensation of his length twitching inside her and scratching the itch that she could never quite reach. Drool threatened the corner of her lips, his rhythm of humping so deep and smooth. She could already feel herself go dumb.

"That's a pretty face you're makin'," Sanemi hummed, "And I haven't even started yet." She furrowed. What did he mean?

Her eyes rolled back as he delivered a powerful blow, drawing his hips back several long inches before snapping them back and pummeling into her cunt. Oh god. He continued the harsh thrusting, holding her little body to his chest and pumping viciously into her weeping pussy. She felt everything, from the hot veins that lined his length to the way he filled her out completely, every sensation gathered into a clump of overstimulation, tearing at her nerves one by one. Yet it was too little at the same time. As crazy as it was, it still felt as if he was going easy on her, her hungry cunny still raging to be ruined.

The moans and pleas fell out her mouth before she could stop them, stupidity literally being fucked into her. (Y/n) couldn't even hope to keep up and simply held onto his back as fiercely as she could, eventually biting down on his shoulder for an outlet.

She wasn't the only victim of it though. Sanemi, too, could feel himself being driven to the brink of insanity. He'd thought her mouth felt good, but dear god was her cunt another story. Her tiny pussy had a mind of its own, sucking him in so hard he felt his head get dizzy. Fuck, she was dangerous. He wasn't sure he'd be able to stay off of her after this. Just the thought of her constantly hanging off his dick had him going feral, viciously snapping his hips into hers without a second thought. And don't even get him started on the babies they would make. If it were up to him, she'd eternally have a baby in her belly, the consequence of being a dumping ground for every precious drop of his cum. He licked his lips at the thought.

Shit, she was close. She just needed a little more, just a bit.

"Harder, Nemi, right there!" she squealed as he jammed into her sweet spot, reaching an arm down from his back to press between her folds, quickly flicking at her bead. So close.... so close... almost-

It felt cruel to leave her hole so quickly, crumbling the chase of her orgasm that he knew was only a hair's breadth away. She sobbed when he yanked out of her gaping entrance, her hips jerking toward him at the sudden absence that had her feeling so horribly empty. But her grief was short lived as he spun her around with a growl, shoving her top half into the bed with a hand to the center of her shoulder blades. The other paw curved her hips up, raising her ass high in the air. He filled her back up in an instant, her thighs trembling at the sudden reunion. But she quickly eased, her bones going soft and brain turning to mush as he resumed the primal fucking. Sounds of sloshing wetness furnished her ears along with her own breathy moans, each thrust providing a reminder of just how soaked she was. And she only got wetter, like an endless fountain of hydration.

Sanemi groaned at the sight of her tiny, little pussy taking him at this angle, her poor kitty straining and stretching to take in every inch of his shaft. The girl was like a ragdoll in his hands now, doing nothing but drool into the sheets and let him ravage her as he wished. He nearly laughed at how silent she was now, the only obvious answer being that he had finally dicked her down to submission.

Her climax began to claw at her again, the hills of it coming one after another until she stood at the tip-top of it, creeping toward the edge.

"Jus' like that... jus' like that...," she mumbled into the saliva-drenched bedding, throwing her ass back into him for more friction. The impact of his heavy balls smacking across her clit only drew her higher, rapturous shocks shooting up her body with each wet slap.

He felt himself getting close as well, his cock jumping inside of her excitedly. She was just too tight; it was like she was sucking the cum out of him straight from the source.

"Fuuuuuuck, where - hah - where you want my cum?" he groaned, needing an answer fast. As much as he wanted to, he knew she probably didn't want to take any risks. He knew she wasn't on anything, and even if she was, she probably wouldn't like the mess afterward.

But he was wrong. She tried to think for a moment, she did. But all she could focus on was how good she felt and the way her body fit so well under his. Her eyes scrunched, attempting a thought.

Where you want my cum?

Cum. You. Where. Want.

Want. Cum. You.

You. Want. Cum

Cum.

Her cunt tightened.

"'nside..."

His ears strained to listen to what she said, the timeline closing as his balls drew tight. "Huh???" he urged again. He leaned down to her, nearing his ear toward her babbling lips. (Y/n) turned to free her voice, panting.

"I-I-Inside," she repeated. His heart stopped.

"C-cum... i-inside... me."

He groaned loud, silencing himself by biting into the pillow next to her head. Her disgustingly hot words threw him over embarrassingly quick, his hips stilling as deep as he could manage whilst his weight gave, suffocating her beneath him. His seed spilled hotly into her pulsing cunt, thick spurts of white filling her starved womb while his balls throbbed.

She, at first, loathed his lack of movement, angered that he had yet again left her hanging from release. Until she felt the warmth. The pleasure was instantaneous, her insides purring at the searing hot milk that flooded her. She could feel how thick it was too, how copious the amount as her uterus labored to make room for such a feast. Yet she still clenched around him vigorously, wanting to drain every drop into herself and receive every ounce of ecstasy it rewarded her. And before she realized it, she was coming, clamping down hard and gushing juices around him with a shrill cry.

The man allowed himself a few moments to gather his bearings, praying that post-nut clarity give him some idea of what to do. But all he felt was exhaustion. Sanemi forced himself to roll over, taking her with him so they lie on their sides. He was surprised she was still breathing after being squashed.

"D-dont even think about falling asleep," he huffed after feeling her breathing begin to even with unconsciousness. "We're not done yet." Why the hell did he always have to open his fucking mouth? He was done for and he knew it.

She whined sleepily and slowly manuevered herself to turn around, losing his flaccid cock in the process but he promptly reinserted himself. "But I'm tiiiiiiiiiired."

"Don't care."

He felt content that she didn't argue, clearly having gained some respect for his manhood as she simply snuggled into him, pressing her face into his warm chest. They remained silent for a few moments, regaining their breath and calming their heartbeats. However, his softened cock still remained cooped up inside her.

"If I let you keep it in me all night, will you let me sleep?" she offered. He sighed at her insistence but gave in.

"I'll think about it."

She smiled softly, nuzzling under his chin with affection.

He couldn't stop himself from drifting off, comfortable in the safety of her engulfing heat. "'M g'nna f'ck you s'hard t'morro...," he managed to mutter as his lids shut. Despite being half asleep, she giggled and kissed his neck.

They'd deal with everything later, get all this relationship and contraceptive shit under control. Right now, he was just glad to have her with him, cuddling into him so adorably with her stupid little smile. He tilted down, pressing his nose into her messy locks.

Flowers.

@acehyacinth

@mrsgtomioka

@chaik1

@tomiokas-lunchbox

@keimuras

@akazaapologist

@prostheticmind

@doumakiss

@uchihabucketlist

@tired-writer04

@magoliaomega

@animeblog123

@sparklyphantom

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the-kr8tor · 6 months

Note

Can you write a small thing of the reader(Gn! Reader please) finding out Hobie is Spiderpunk? I just really wanna see what you think would happen honestly.

It's a-okay if you don't! Thank you!

Thank you for requesting l! 😘

Pairing: Hobie Brown x gn! Reader/ Spider-Punk x gn! Reader

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, cw injury, a dash of hurt/comfort, Fluff.

Wrote this as a sequel to this fic

A/N: a sequel to my first ever fic? I have come full circle 🤣

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

You pace back and forth in your shared flat, the floors seem to leave indents of your foot falls from how much you're walking around. Your mind fails to wrap around the fact that Hobie and Spider-Man are one and the same. The familiar embrace and sturdy chest you fell on proves it. But you wouldn't know if your deduction is correct if you don't ask him yourself.

Not knowing how to react, you chew your bottom lip, your nose still aching from the impact. So you wait for him to finally get home, with the sound of keys rattling outside your doors, heart thumping loudly, you sit on the settee to calm your nerves.

Hobie doesn't waste time to come look for you nor take off his boots at the door, he speed walks over to you in a hurry after finding you sitting forlorn on the couch. Your eyes meet his, he immediately crouches in front of you, wrapping his arms around your torso, hiding you from the world. His palm guides your head over the crook of his neck, placing a weighted kiss over your temple; wishing, hoping the pain you feel will subside.

"Came as soon as I saw your message, 'm sorry. Are you alright?" He traces your spine with his hand, comforting and calming your lingering adrenaline. You feel the bandage over his hand through your thin shirt.

"Hobie?" You ask in a small voice.

"Yeah, love?"

You get to the point, there's no point in dilly dallying "Are you Spider-Man?"

His reaction wasn't what you expected, Hobie chuckles deeply like you just told him an inside joke only you two could know. You pull away slightly, hands still holding him, anchoring you.

"Figured me out, huh?" Hobie brushes his knuckles atop your cheeks, careful of your injured nose. "Knew you would notice"

"Why didn't you tell me?" Tears threaten to spill over. A hundred questions fly past your mind, insecurity filling you.

He reads you like an open book, "I trust you with my life, hey" Hobie wipes a stray tear, you sniff, paying attention to every word. "Didn't want you to get hurt because of me, someone might get wind of you, and I wouldn't know what I would do if something did happen to you. That's why I kept it from you, 'm sorry" your shoulders relax, sighing in understanding.

Hobie takes your hands in his, you feel the scratchy cloth over his palm. You rub your thumb over it softly, reassuringly.

"You saved me, twice." Your eyes trail over the bandages. "Thank you" you finally look up at him, eyes soft, leaning over to peck his forehead. You hope your love permeates through the kiss.

He sighs, eyes closed in content. You lean back to Hobie's dismay. "I won't stop you from being Spider-Man, just be careful. Come home in one piece?" You smile at him, in return Hobie kisses your knuckles, each kiss longer than the last.

"For you, I will" He gently guides you over with his hand on the back of your neck, meeting your lips for a proper kiss. You move in tandem, hand squeezing his.

Needing air back in your lungs, you pull away, eyes twinkling. "Can't believe my boyfriend and crush are one and the same, is that why you were never jealous whenever I gush about Spiderman?"

"You were inadvertently feeding my ego."

You laugh, placing your forehead against his in affection.

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barefoothighlander · 1 year

Note

Howdy, may I request some ghost with a GN reader that sick and stubborn like. Will not go to the doc because :fear: and thinks sleeping it off always works

howdy hun, serving you some fresh simon fluff as he's my absolute fav, this one's pretty short but I thought it was cute, lil bit of domestic simon.

warnings: none just fluff, gn pronouns, typical cold symptoms

Your hoarse coughs echo through the house, a testament to your current state, your head ached and burned as you lay weak, wrapped in the bedsheets, Simon moves toward your body, placing a warm mug of tea beside the large glass of water that sat undrunk on your nightstand. He rests the back of his hand against your forehead,

"You're burning, and you haven't drunk anything since this morning" He looks at you apprehensively, "I think it's time to go to the doctor love"

You shake your head, the movement increasing the thrumming between your ears, "No, I'll be fine tomorrow, it's just a cough" you managed through wheezed breaths.

He skates a feather-light hand over your form, feeling the sweat gathering on your skin.

"You've been stuck in bed for three days, I'm starting to worry"

You stare at him, eyes half closed from your wary state, "Do we have any medicine"

His lips pull into a tight line as he sighs lightly, nodding and leaving to find some sort of cold medicine, "This is all we've got" he says raising a plastic bottle of pink liquid, your stomach churns at the mere memory of its taste, your face contorting.

"If you won't go to the doctor the least you can do is take it"

You purse your lips, reaching a hand out to grab the bottle before twisting off its cap and swallowing a mouthful, you smack your tongue at the taste.

"God that's awful," you say as Simon huffs a laugh,

"I'm serious, one more day like this and I'll carry you to the clinic myself"

Your eyes widen at his threat, a pool of anxiety settling in your stomach.

"I said no doctors Si"

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want to alright, I don't like being there, getting poked and prodded" you sigh, "Please just, drop it"

He nods in acknowledgement, "Did you want something to eat"

You shake your head "No, I'm just gonna have a nap" you say as you pull the sheets to cover your body, head falling back against the pillow.

He let you sleep for 30 minutes before he pushed his way into the room, setting a tray of soup and water in front of you, you sit up at the sight, face turning towards him.

"I know you said no but you need to eat something, this will help your throat, and I want you to take these after," he says, holding up a small cup of vitamins, "It's some vitamin c and ginger, they'll help"

You give him a meek smile as you scoot forward to pick up the spoon, before you can dip into the warm bowl he stops you, "Wait one sec", you're confused as he rushes out of the room, you hear clattering in the kitchen before he returns and seats himself on the edge of the bed.

"Crackers" is all he says, crushing a few in his hand before dropping them into the soup,

You smile, "My favourite"

He brushes the crumbs from his hands, opening his palms flat to direct your attention back to the food, you take a large bite, humming at the sensation easing the rough tickle in your throat as he just watches,

"It's really good"

"Made a mess of the kitchen but, best I could do"

"You aren't having any?"

"No, I uh, I ate earlier"

The truth was he had been so occupied in nursing you that he had forgotten to take care of himself, his clothes unchanged from the previous day, his hair a mess from lack of grooming, a slight stubble appeared around his chin, but you loved the way he looked no matter.

"You know, I get nervous in places sometimes too," he says quietly, you arch your eyebrow prompting him to continue,

He stutters for a moment, "I'm just saying I understand is all, the avoidance, wanting to tough things out"

You nod, a smile forming on your lips as you continue to eat the meal he prepared for you, chewing the small tablets he had given you after you finished.

"Thank you Si, I feel better already"

He laughs, he knows your body still aches but all he can do is help ease it, not wanting to push you into anything you were uncomfortable with, he removes the tray from the bed, placing the glass of water next to the growing stack of cups beside your head before sliding in behind your form, draping a loose arm over your waist and nuzzling into your neck, placing a soft kiss to it.

You hold him against you, letting his warmth ease the chill that had set in your body as you fall asleep laying next to the man you loved.

#simon riley #simon riley fluff #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #cod x reader #cod mw x reader #cod mw2 #ghost cod #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost x reader #ghost x gn reader #simon riley x gn reader #simon ghost riley x gn reader #reqs💌

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0v3rcast · 10 months

Text

Gnaw (6)

The bottom of the ocean is a cold, dark place. There is no light here, other than the faint glow of many bioluminescent markings on Osial's body. The sun's heat has never reached this deep, and the cold is so intense that you've shivered yourself to death repeatedly.

But with each death, you adapted. The icy temperature of these depths no longer mattered.

The crushing pressure of the deep ocean that once threatened to splinter your bones and crush you into a meatball now had no effect.

Gills just below your ribs filter oxygen into your body now that your lungs are useless.

"Great Storm, what are you thinking on so intensely?" Osial asks. "You have been silent and still for nearly three days."

You tell your newfound friend that you might have an idea of how to leave, but it will require his help.

"Of course. How may I serve my Creator?"

You ask for a bit of his flesh and explain that you gain energy from eating or from exposure to the elements.

You've already spent three days impaled through with stone spears at the bottom of the sea - you've probably absorbed plenty of energy and just need a catalyst.

His heads argue over who will be donating the required offering, but eventually settle on letting the central head bite off the very tip of its tongue.

A bit of glowing blue tongue drifts lazily on the currents and towards you. It's a chunk of flesh the size of a glass bottle, oozing a dark blue fluid.

You reach out with your unpinned arm and grip it, briefly cringing when it squirms in your grasp.

Once it's close to your mouth, you open up and bite into it quickly. This also means that you get some seawater into your mouth along with the bit of meat.

Gross.

The god-flesh isn't particularly appetizing, either. As you do your best to chew it, it writhes and twitches in your mouth. The taste is ponderously bland, though faintly fishy, and you're more than a little unsatisfied.

It takes you more time than you'd like to consume it, but once the last of it goes down, a feeling begins to flow through you.

A new sensation. Like there's a part of you that's just lost the pins-and-needles from being slept on and is back to normal.

Not just that, either. You feel revitalized, like the pains of your body are far away. You plant your palms against the seafloor, dig your fingers into the sands, and begin to rise. Osial looks delighted.

The spears of stone dig into your flesh, but you will not give up now. How can you? You feel unstoppable.

Electro energy arcs across your body and up the monstrous pillars, scorching them with such heat that they briefly glow.

You may be buried beneath the weight of a mountain... but faith can move mountains.

Through labored breathing, you ask what Osial desires most in the world.

"To sink Liyue to the bottom of the ocean, and see Morax take my place in the darkness below the waves eternally."

More personal than that.

"To hold Beisht, my beloved, in my embrace again."

...more achievable from his current position?

"Oh. Freedom, of course. To not bear these ridiculous spears in my back any longer."

And then, that new part of yourself flares to life. You smile through the pain of saltwater against open wounds and tell him you can manage that.

(Anemo smiles, eye glowing in the heart of the storm. A new bearer already? You're so kind.)

Mondstadt's suffering comes to an end, the haze of nightmarish heat finally lifting... but the winds are not the same.

The scent of sickness and rot no longer carries on the breeze because the breezes are so much milder.

Anemo visions dim, and then flare much brighter.

Less than an eighth of Mondstadt's population had succumbed to the heat, but many had become sick from an outbreak of food poisoning and the rapid onset of heat exhaustion. Others had become ill in the process of burying loved ones.

Their cries for aid went unanswered, and Venti's faith had been deeply shaken.

If their prayers were not reaching you... then who had they been worshipping all this time?

(He receives no answer, only the sounds of mourning on the wind as Mondstadt begins to burn the diseased dead.)

You stand at the bottom of the sea, hand against a stone spear weighing down Osial.

The electro in your body was refined and stretched into an axe, which you now used to hack away at the first pillar.

Every minute or so, you have him move slightly to see if the weight is becoming more manageable.

After four hours, each of them has been weakened enough for him to push off if he wasn't exhausted. Which he is.

You reach for your new power and then to Osial. Across the world, Anemo visions glow faintly. In Zapolyarny Palace, the Gnosis of the Anemo Archon unwinds into a soft breeze and vanishes.

Words come to your lips unbidden, a recital from a time you've forgotten.

"Noble beast. I, your maker, wish to form a pact with you."

Osial looks at you curiously, and then again in surprise when the Anemo Gnosis appears in your hand.

"You have shown me kindness in this dark place and given me the power to unbind us both.

You have been imprisoned beneath the waves for centuries by the one you hate the most, away from your lover, your goals just within reach but lost to you.

I have been hunted across the land I have traveled by traitorous mongrels and then abandoned here to rot alongside you.

With one look, you knew it was me. With but a single glance, you understood who now was at your side.

Your fealty to me is so very valuable, especially now."

You hold out the Anemo Gnosis in his direction.

"Become my Anemo Archon. The true God of Storms, and the symbol of destruction for all those who would rise against me."

He laughs with all five heads.

"I accept, my maker. The skies will be mine, and all who breathe beneath them will know you with reverence or know nothing ever again."

"This pact is sealed."

The sea burns bright with teal and blue light and then erupts into a monstrous storm, a hurricane screaming to life as a massive beam of energy pierces the heavens and vaporizes Guyun Stone Forest.

A new lord of the skies erupts from the sea with a joyous scream, stone pillars falling from his back, feathers and scales colored brilliantly.

"MORAX! I will have your head as a trophy for the All-Maker and your flesh as my meal! Face me and die, or watch me tear this miserable collection of insects apart like the coward you are!"

On his back is you, and in your eyes is a hunger for vengeance.

Your power fills the hurricane. Vast blades of lightning ready to fall at your command. Screaming winds coalesce around Osial. Arcs of plasma line his new fangs.

Liyue will pay for its actions, and the two of you will be collecting with interest.

((Taglist:

@the-dumber-scaramouche @thatdeadaquarius @ssak-i @imyme20 @fried-lotud @acacla @itz-luna @iruiji @crierofirony @itsredactedlove @sweetsthetik @leafanonsforest @oxyotl @kkazuyass @featuredtofu @resident-cryptid @d4y-dr3am3r @crimson-ashes @red1sg0n3 @the-real-fandom-person @code-roevember @yourlocalsourwolf @rhoswen-drake @minimari415 @reversearrowhead @call-me-shroom @evqnescents @valeriele3 @mochicurls21 @sinnful-darling @fleshdotmp4

#genshin sagau #reader has a terrible time #sagau gnaw #genshin angst #hopefully one of you likes this #osial is a good child #quetzalcoatl osial #quetzalcosial???#whatever hes cool

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gerrystamour · 1 year

Text

i could be honest, i could be human [Chapters 4, 5 & 6]

Rated E | Steddie

[ FIRST PART ] [ PREVIOUS PART ] [ NEXT PART ]

No summary to save space since this is a meaty update. SOME CONTENT WARNINGS THOUGH!! There is some vaguely described homophobia and a brief mention of a homophobic hate crime. Nothing is explicitly described.

Chapter Four: November 1984

It had been a few days since Billy Hargrove had beat the shit out of Steve and his ears were still ringing. Nancy wanted him to go to the doctor about it, saying something about his brain swelling and how that was bad. He figured he was fine. If his brain was going to crush itself on the inside of his skull, it would’ve done it already, right?

Regardless, going to the doctor would mean telling someone even a fraction of the events that happened, and he was in too much pain to keep his story straight.

Everything hurt at that point. His whole head pounded, and his jaw clicked at the hinge when he yawned or chewed any food, his nose was broken, and a bunch of Steve’s teeth were worryingly loose, shifting painfully in his swollen gums. To top it all off, he had a nasty gash on the side of his head from the plate Billy broke over it that definitely needed stitches because it kept reopening. But his head would have to be shaved to get stitches, and that was not an option.

He survived, and it wasn’t like it bled that much when the wound reopened. It was fine.

It also didn’t help that his breathing was also a little fucked up. The air inside the tunnels was definitely toxic, and their stupid little makeshift masks were a pathetic attempt at protecting themselves. He could still taste the tunnels sometimes when he managed to take a deep enough breath. Steve imagined that was what rotting meat would taste like, which was not helpful in the least.

Steve had been calling himself out of class, both because he was too messed up for the faculty to just ignore and because being in that bright, noisy, and crowded building while he felt so shitty was probably what Hell would feel like.

At that moment, he was shuffling through the aisles of Melvald’s—wearing sunglasses inside like a douchebag—to grab painkillers since he already used up his supply at home. The cashier gawked at him as he paid for the medication, and he didn’t even tell her off. Steve knew how bad he looked and he was just relieved that she wasn’t Ms. Byers.

Steve headed out into the sunlight with a groan, flinching as the bright light blinded him through his dark sunglasses. He didn’t even notice that he stepped out of the store and right into someone’s path as they passed until their shoulder caught his.

Normally, a bump like that would have made Steve stumble a step at most. This time, while his equilibrium was on vacation and he could barely even stand without holding onto something, he went down hard. Steve barely got his hands out in front of him to save what was left of his busted face from another traumatic injury.

Now, he had road rash on the heels of his palms, one of his wrists hurt, and the fall triggered a wave of dizzy nausea that actually made him dry-heave a bit before he regained some of his composure. To top that all off, his sunglasses had fallen off his face and from the sound of it, they had skittered directly under someone’s foot with a resounding crack.

“Fuck,” Steve managed to groan, and distantly he knew someone was talking to him, but it was difficult to hear them over the whooshing in his ears.

The person sounded alarmed, understandably so, and Steve managed to say, “Sorry, I promise I won’t puke.”

“Bummer, I was kinda hoping you would,” the person said, their voice finally coming in clearer as the whooshing subsided. “It would really make my day.”

Eddie Munson. Of course it was Eddie, there to witness another very low point in Steve’s life.

“On second thought, maybe I will,” Steve said, shakily pushing himself up onto his knees.

“Have you been drinking, Harrington?” Eddie asked, his voice getting closer as he crouched next to Steve on the sidewalk.

“I wish that’s what this was, Munson,” Steve replied with a wry laugh, hissing when cool fingers suddenly grabbed his chin and turned his face toward him.

“What the fuck, Harrington? Who the fuck did this?”

If Steve didn’t know better, he’d think that Eddie was actually concerned. Upset even. Like he actually cared that Steve was beaten up and concussed and on his knees in the middle of the sidewalk on a Thursday morning. Even if Steve could have opened his eyes against the bright sunlight, he wouldn’t have. He wanted to avoid seeing the grin that Eddie was undoubtedly wearing, didn’t want to ruin the illusion that someone else outside of the party cared that he was hurt.

With a hiss, Steve lifted a hand to the side of his head where he felt warmth trickling through his hair and sure enough his fingertips felt something wet. He laughed bitterly as he pulled his hand away.

Like Eddie said on Halloween—it was only funny if Steve was bleeding, right?

“Shit, Harrington, you’re bleeding,” Eddie said, and his voice was all wrong. There was no banter, no laughter, only what Steve would describe as panic if it was anyone else talking to him.

“Yeah, that happens. I’ll be fine, I just need—fuck, why is it so bright out here?” Steve croaked, trying to open his eyes but without his sunglasses, it just felt like hot icepicks were being driven through both eyeballs.

Steve could hear Melvald’s door open with a jingle, and the tense voice of the cashier said, “he can’t stay out here like that.”

“You’re actually fucking joking, right?” Eddie snapped, his tone so full of venom that Steve couldn’t help but laugh.

“I don’t want any trouble, and both of you are scaring people—”

Eddie cut her off with a mean laugh. “He’s on the ground bleeding, and you care about, what exactly?”

“Munson, stop,” Steve murmured, trying to get to his feet again but failing miserably.

“Either you both leave or I’m calling the cops,” she snapped, her tone closed off. Panic flashed through Steve about Hopper seeing him laid out on the sidewalk like he was and he shook his head.

“Oh, I fucking dare you to, lady—” Eddie started to taunt her again, but Steve smacked his leg blindly.

“Stop, Munson, seriously,” Steve insisted before addressing the employee. “We’ll leave, okay? I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

Eddie scoffed at his apology, but the employee thanked him and the door shut as she presumably went inside.

“Okay, can you help me to my car? I parked it down the street—” Steve started.

“Like hell am I taking you to your car, Harrington!” Eddie interrupted, his voice almost shrill with his outrage.

“Well I can’t stay here, so unless you have a better idea…” Steve trailed off, his head throbbing with a new flash of agony.

Eddie was silent for several moments before the various chains he wore jingled with movement. “I’m going to take you to my van, okay?” Eddie said, his voice now coming from above Steve rather than next to him. Eddie didn’t even wait for him to respond before he grabbed Steve and easily hauled him to his feet.

Steve was surprised at Eddie’s strength, not quite expecting it from the way Eddie looked and behaved. Not only was he strong enough to lift Steve, but he was controlled enough with that strength to do it without jostling him unpleasantly. When Eddie settled Steve against his side with an arm tucked firmly around his waist, that embarrassed fluttering filled Steve’s gut again for some reason.

Maybe Nancy was right and his brain was starting to swell.

That thought was reaffirmed when they reached Eddie’s van and he had zero recollection of moving. Eddie was muttering in his ear, and after a moment of concentration he managed to understand some of the words.

“—Idiot pretty-boys passing out and bleeding all over my new fucking battle vest—”

“You regularly haul around bleeding pretty-boys, plural, Munson?” Steve groaned as Eddie startled at his voice. The other man propped Steve against the bumper of his van and carefully let him go.

“Nah, Harrington, only you get the royal treatment,” Eddie admitted with a chuckle. “Can you get yourself into the van, or do you need my help?”

Steve considered the question carefully, his eyes shut and head hanging. He could probably tough out the pain enough to get himself into the van. He had toughed out the pain and dizziness to run around tunnels made of writhing vines and crawling with Demo-dogs. Crawling into a van was nothing.

And yet…

“Okay, I’m helping before you pass out on me again,” Eddie grunted as he scrambled up into the van and knelt behind him. With a huff, Eddie weaved his arms beneath Steve’s and around his chest, his own chest pressing against Steve’s back. Curly hair tickled against Steve’s cheek and hot breath puffed across his throat. “Okay, big boy, you’ve gotta help a little bit.”

Heat burst across Steve’s cheeks, that terrible fluttering feeling running rampant in his gut, but all he did was nod and hum his agreement.

“On three, okay?” Eddie said, and once he counted them in, Steve pushed up on his tip-toes at the same time Eddie lifted him. Once he was partly inside the van, Steve was able to hook his heel on the bumper and help push himself the rest of the way while Eddie pulled.

Once inside, Steve laid on a pile of blankets on top of a mattress that was probably shitty, but at the moment was the best damn thing he’d ever had the pleasure of laying on. Distantly, he heard the van doors close, as well as some fabric shifting, and blessedly the world became a lot less bright through his eyelids. Steve found himself marveling at how Eddie’s van… did not smell bad, not even that much like pot. It did smell like pot, it definitely did, but it wasn’t awful like other vehicles he had the displeasure of sitting in after a hotboxing session.

At that thought, Steve realized he had no idea if Eddie actually did any of the drugs he sold. He could have just been selling, right? And yeah, on Halloween he offered to share a joint with Steve, but that didn’t actually mean Eddie smoked pot regularly. Steve always lied about hating the chicken nuggets at school so Jonathan would actually take them from his tray when he offered.

Suddenly, Steve felt bad about all of his assumptions about Eddie all over again.

“M’sorry,” Steve mumbled before he could stop himself, and Eddie laughed, still moving around the van.

“What are you apologizing for now, St—Harrington?”

“What I’m always sorry for,” he sighed, reaching up to cover his face gingerly. “Being an asshole.”

Eddie was quiet for a long time, or maybe it was a short time, but it felt really long because there was a script to these moments. Steve called himself an asshole, Eddie agreed, and they moved on. Eddie wasn’t agreeing, so Steve wasn’t sure how to move on.

When Eddie spoke again, he still sounded weird, almost sad. “You wanna give opening your eyes a try, Harrington?”

With a nervous sigh, Steve slowly opened his eyes and glanced around the van. It looked old and a bit rundown, like the outside suggested, but it was clean. There was a curtain between them in the far back and the middle bench, which looked like Eddie installed himself. There was also some fabric covering the rear windows, giving the space they were laying in a dimmer, gentler light. It was light enough that Steve could see, but not so bright that it hurt him.

“That’s a lot better,” Steve sighed, and finally he looked up at Eddie’s face.

Eddie was sitting next to Steve, his back leaning against the side wall of the van with his knees bent and his arms resting loosely on top of them. He looked kind of angry, and Steve was at a loss for why he would be. He remembered the muttered complaint about blood on his vest and when he looked at it properly, sure enough, there were dark red drops and smears on the shoulder.

“Sorry about your vest. I’ll pay to have it cleaned,” he promised, and when Eddie’s stare didn’t soften, he looked away nervously.

“Seriously, Harrington, who the fuck hurt you?” Eddie asked again, as if he was about to fight for Steve’s honour or something, and Steve laughed.

“Billy Hargrove,” he said as he looked back over at Eddie, and just as he expected, the other man deflated a bit, his anger turning into something closer to fear. “It was pretty fucking stupid on my part.”

“Why were you fighting Hargrove?” Eddie asked and Steve mulled over the best way to answer.

“I was babysitting—”

“Oh, fuck off, no you weren’t,” Eddie scoffed, and Steve frowned over at him.

“Yes, I was. I’m a damn good babysitter, too,” Steve said defensively.

He was really trying not to take Eddie’s skepticism too personally; he knew how weird that concept sounded from the outside. Hell, a year ago even Steve would have scoffed at what he was saying. Still, it was really starting to suck having everything he said and did doubted because of who he was a year ago.

“Okay, and why would you be babysitting? What’s in it for you?” Eddie asked, eying him closely.

“I was helping Ms. Byers out,” Steve replied as if that answered everything, before he continued, “anyway, his step-sister was hanging out with us, and then Billy showed up, she was scared of him, so I tried to get him to leave.”

“Looks like it hurt a lot,” Eddie said quietly, cringing sympathetically.

Steve shrugged, which was a bit awkward while laying down. “Honestly, I was out cold for most of it. Didn’t feel much after the first couple hits,” he laughed, but Eddie didn’t join in.

“That’s not a fight, Harrington. That’s a beating,” Eddie replied, his voice deeper than Steve was used to hearing and lacking any of its usual lightness.

“Yeah, I guess so. Better me than her,” Steve replied with a flippant shrug; he was no stranger to being hit, even if the only other time he took a beating to the face was his fight with Jonathan the year before. Then he added before he could stop himself, “she was afraid he was going to kill her, so I tried to get him to leave. Then he threatened to kill one of the other kids, Lucas Sinclair?”

Steve looked over at Eddie and watched him as he visibly sifted through his knowledge of the people in Hawkins. Recognition sparked behind Eddie’s eyes and his expression darkened.

“I know the Sinclairs. Nice people,” Eddie said after a bit, scowling.

Steve nodded. “He’s a good kid, too, not that I’d say that to his face. It’d go straight to his head,” he said, smirking when Eddie chuckled. With a heavy sigh, Steve said, “He threatened to kill Lucas, so I hit him and then…”

He trailed off, gesturing vaguely at his face.

Eddie was still staring at Steve when he looked back, and he started to squirm a bit under the intense gaze. “You’re just a regular knight in shining armour, aren’t you?” Eddie asked after a bit and Steve laughed, especially at how angry Eddie still looked and how begrudging he sounded.

“Yeah, totally. And you know what they say,” Steve hummed sarcastically, looking up at the ceiling. “No good deed goes unpunished and all that.”

“Maybe you should start avoiding the Byers?” Eddie suggested and Steve barked out a laugh that hurt his head and made him wince.

“Christ, maybe,” he admitted, running his tongue along his loose teeth. “Starting to think I should just get the hell out of this town,” he muttered, surprising even himself.

“Shit, the King is going to abandon his kingdom?”

Steve looked back at Eddie and met his wide, dark eyes. His expression was searching and his smirk was back, the nicer one. The weird fluttering feeling in Steve’s chest and stomach had returned in full-force, and he floundered for an explanation. He wasn’t embarrassed, for sure this time.

“I don’t know,” Steve replied after a minute, sighing heavily. “Probably not. Where would I even go?”

“Aren’t you gonna go to some fancy college somewhere?” Eddie asked with a snort.

Steve grimaced and glared up at the ceiling again. “I guess,” he said hollowly.

He missed early admission between the whole dinner with Barb’s parents and the break-up with Nancy, plus luring D’art, plus getting beat up by Billy. Well, he deliberately missed it at first because he decided to take a gap year to stay close to Nancy. Because they were in love.

Steve scoffed out loud. “Yeah, totally,” he added sadly.

“Wait, Harrington, are you… not going to college?” Eddie asked and Steve groaned.

“Yeah, Steve Harrington isn’t going to fucking college,” he declared with a listless laugh. “Decided to be all romantic and take a gap year, propose to Nancy after she graduated, go to college together. Or I would work for my dad and pay for Nancy’s school or something. Not that she would need my help, she’s so smart she’ll probably land a full-ride wherever she wants.”

When he was done with his rant, the van was silent for several moments until Eddie asked, “What’s wrong with that plan, lover boy?”

Steve nearly snapped at Eddie, nearly told him that he knew exactly what was wrong with that plan. He caught himself, though, remembering that he never actually told Eddie why he was crying on Halloween.

“She, uh, dumped me,” Steve replied, glancing away from Eddie. “At Tina’s party.”

“Shit,” Eddie said, and Steve nearly laughed at the little cringe on his face. “I’m sure you’ll get her back, right? Don’t people like you always get back together?”

Steve frowned at Eddie, not sure what he meant by that last bit. “Not this time. No fairytale ending here,” Steve eventually said, sighing. “She’s with Jonathan now.”

Eddie made a noise. “Halloween was only a week ago,” he said flatly.

“Glad you have a grasp on the passage of time, Munson,” Steve chuckled.

“No, the timing—”

“I know how it looks. It’s not like that,” Steve interrupted firmly. “She—Nancy wouldn’t do that. It’s more complicated than that.”

“Doesn’t look that complicated from where I’m sitting, Harrington,” Eddie challenged, and he looked properly angry again when Steve looked over at him.

“Well, it is. Ever consider that you might not actually know everything?” Steve spat, a bit meaner than he liked, before continuing, “Nancy is amazing and I was fucking it up the whole time, because I’m an idiot and a douchebag. She wasn’t cheating on me. She wouldn’t do that to anyone, even me. She’s not like that, okay?”

Eddie frowned at him, and Steve could practically see the wheels turning in his head as he mulled over what Steve had said. “I can’t decide if your steadfast faith in her is admirable or pathetic,” he admitted after a few moments, dragging another startled laugh out of Steve.

“Probably the second one,” Steve replied through a grimace of pain. “I think my head is still bleeding,” he complained, and sure enough when he touched the wound, his fingers came away wet and sticky.

“Jesus H. Christ, Harrington, why the fuck is your head still bleeding?”

Suddenly, Eddie was looming over him, straddling Steve’s midsection without putting any weight on him, turning Steve’s head so he could try to see the cut through Steve’s hair.

“It’s fine,” Steve said, heat rushing to his face.

“Dude, this needs stitches or something. You need to go to a doctor—”

“No!” Steve immediately said, shaking his head and grabbing Eddie’s thigh. “I don’t want to see a doctor, or go to the hospital.”

“Why the fuck not, Harrington? You’re bleeding, this cut is really bad, and—” Eddie stopped short, and Steve blushed when his eyes narrowed suspiciously down at him. “You don’t want them to shave your head.”

Steve blushed even darker and Eddie laughed, the mocking one that Steve had expected at the start of all this. It was actually a bit comforting at that point.

“Christ, I guess I shouldn’t be shocked that Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington would walk around with an open fucking head wound before he’d get fucking stitches,” Eddie grumbled as he went back to inspecting the cut.

Steve idly began to slide his thumb back and forth where it rested on Eddie’s thigh. He barely realized he had been doing it at all, the sensation of denim against the pad of his thumb soothing. He was snapped out of his stupor with a wince when Eddie prodded a bit too hard on his tender scalp.

“Knock it off,” Eddie snapped, his hand swatting Steve’s away from his leg. “That’s distracting.”

“What are you even doing?” Steve asked grumpily, feeling pinned even though Eddie was hovering above him.

“Trying to decide if it’s worth waking my uncle up to get your stupid jock head fixed,” he replied before sitting back on his heels to glower down at him thoughtfully. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Steve registered the way Eddie’s weight settled on his midsection, and that fluttering in his gut turned to a swooping sensation.

“Is your… uncle a doctor?” Steve asked nervously, still afraid for the fate of his hair.

“No, but he was a field medic in Vietnam and he keeps some supplies around. I don’t know if you’ve ever noticed, but I’m a Klutz with a capital K,” Eddie replied, crossing his arms over his chest and staring down at Steve.

“And he won’t shave my head?” Steve pushed and Eddie rolled his eyes.

“I can’t promise that, Harrington, but I can vouch for your pathological vanity and we’ll see what he can manage. But this will keep bleeding and probably get infected,” Eddie warned, and Steve made a face up at him.

“Stop making sense,” he complained and squirmed under Eddie’s weight.

Eddie froze above Steve, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, for several moments. With a strangled little noise, Eddie scrambled off of Steve and back to his spot against the wall of the van.

“Okay! So, do you think you can manage sitting up front or are you going to lay back here?” Eddie asked, pulling a curly lock of hair in front of his face and fidgeting with it nervously..

The motion was so endearing it almost pained Steve to see it. He’d seen so many girls do that exact move when they were being shy or playful with him, and it always drove Steve mad. He wished Eddie was a girl so he could reach over and tuck his hair out of his face, pull him down for a kiss—

Those thoughts came to a screeching halt as he tried to figure out where that came from. Steve’s brain was definitely swelling, that was the only explanation for the direction those thoughts went. Maybe he should go to the hospital…

“Dude, stop spacing out on me, you’re freaking me out,” Eddie said frantically, snapping his fingers in Steve’s face.

“What?” Steve asked, unsure of what conversation they were having now.

“I’m taking you to my uncle, remember? Which means I have to drive. Are you going to hang out back here, or sit up front with me?” Eddie repeated curtly.

Steve frowned. “Do you have sunglasses I can borrow?” he asked, and when Eddie shook his head, Steve gestured around him. “Then it looks like I’m getting the real royal treatment, huh?”

“I’ll take the corners super fast so it doesn’t go to your head,” Eddie promised with a wink before he said, “Shield your eyes, Your Majesty.”

Steve chuckled and covered his eyes as Eddie scrambled over the middle bench through the seam in the curtain.

Despite his comment, the drive was actually uneventful, the gentle movement of the van actually lulling Steve to a light doze. He jolted awake when the van shut off, and a moment later Eddie poked his head through the curtains to meet Steve’s eyes upside-down.

“We have arrived, Your Highness, and we’re in luck. My uncle is already awake,” he said with a bright grin.

Steve was suddenly very unsure. “Would it’ve been a problem if he wasn’t?”

“What? No, of course not,” Eddie said with a frown, shaking his head quickly before he disappeared. Steve heard Eddie get out of the van and decided to start getting himself sat up again.

“Hey Uncle Wayne, do you have sunglasses?” he heard Eddie call, and then the quiet response from someone. He couldn’t hear the words, but it didn’t sound like a yes.

“I need your help with something,” Eddie said and Steve could hear a long-suffering sigh and the sound of footsteps coming toward the van.

“What’d you get yourself into now, kid?” The tone was so affectionate that Steve couldn’t help the small smile that came to his face.

“I didn’t get myself into shit—”

“Watch your language. Shouldn’t you be at school?”

“Just listen a minute, okay? Someone from school got a little hurt and he needs stitches—”

“Then he should be going to a doctor, Eddie. What’re you doing bringing him here?”

“Uhm, this sounded better in my head but now that I’m saying it out loud with you looking at me like that, I’m realizing it sounds kind of dumb, but he doesn’t… want his head shaved.”

Steve grimaced because… yeah, now that it was being said out loud to an actual adult, it sounded beyond dumb. It was completely childish.

“Eddie—”

“Okay, Uncle Wayne, I know. It sounds really stupid, believe me, but it’s also really important to him, and I kind of get it because I wouldn’t want my head shaved either.”

There was a long silence before a heavy sigh. “I’ll look at your classmate, and I will do my best to save his hair, but I ain’t making any promises.”

“Right! I already told him that! Thank you, Uncle Wayne! One last thing…”

“For the love of Pete, kid…”

There was quiet murmuring, too quiet for Steve to eavesdrop on from inside the van, but Mr. Munson did not sound happy about whatever other information Eddie delivered to him. After a few minutes of hushed back-and-forth, Eddie knocked lightly on the doors.

“Alright, Harrington, you decent?” Eddie called, and Steve snorted, closing his eyes.

“Ready to go when you are, Munson,” he replied and he heard the van doors open wide.

Eddie hauled him out carefully, and guided Steve up a set of stairs into what Steve assumed was his house. When Steve opened his eyes, he was met with the cramped interior of a trailer, with shelves of mugs on the walls. Where there weren’t mugs, there were baseball caps.

“Huh, nice place,” Steve said, and he meant it. It was small, a little worn out, but it was cozier than his house by several hundred degrees. It actually felt like a home, like it was lived in. Like there was love there.

“Don’t be an asshole, Harrington, you’re skating on thin ice as it is,” Eddie warned in a low voice and Steve flinched.

“I wasn’t—I didn’t mean—Sorry,” he muttered, and refused to meet Eddie’s eyes when he was deposited into one of the chairs at the tiny kitchen table. He couldn’t really blame Eddie for his assumption, but still… Just like the comment Eddie made about him babysitting, it sucked.

When Mr. Munson stepped out of the bathroom with a first-aid kit, he pulled up short upon seeing Steve, his expression dark.

“This is a little more hurt than ‘kinda’, Eddie,” Mr. Munson said in a low voice, pulling up a chair to sit in front of Steve. “You get into a tussle with a bear, kid?”

“No, sir. Another classmate,” Steve replied quickly.

“Guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Apple rarely falls far from the tree,” Mr. Munson muttered, almost under his breath, and with sudden clarity Steve understood that Mr. Munson was talking about his father, that there was history there.

Steve knew about his father’s reputation; the man bragged about his glory days in high school and college. Steve often heard about it the most during the worst of his lectures and punishments growing up. Richard Harrington never let anyone forget who was in charge, and he ruled over the halls of Hawkins High and then later Harvard with his fists. Richard Harrington didn’t even have to be challenged before he asserted himself, Richard Harrington never gave anyone the chance to take his crown.

Most people seemed impressed by Steve’s father, they would call him a “man’s man” and strong. So many people described him as a provider, a protector even. A man that strong, that intelligent, that wealthy? He had to be doing something right.

And then there were people like Wayne Munson, the people who did real work and lived out of run-down trailers on the outskirts of Hawkins, and their disdain for people like Richard Harrington was palpable. Had Mr. Munson ever personally been targeted by Steve’s father? Maybe. Or maybe someone Mr. Munson knew had been.

The nauseating shame that filled Steve’s gut at that had him diverting his gaze to his lap. Part of him wanted to say he wasn’t like his father, to insist that he was his father’s greatest disappointment and how he didn’t care about trying to change that anymore.

The very thought of saying any of that out loud in front of anyone, let alone Eddie and his uncle, was mortifying, though.

“Where’s this cut you need stitched up, kid?”

Steve heard the question but it didn’t sink in right away, didn’t reach through his fog of concussion and shame until Eddie snapped his fingers in front of his face.

“Hey man, you okay?” Eddie asked when Steve looked up at him.

“Listen, I’m sorry,” Steve said, swallowing thickly against the nausea roiling in his core. “Thank you for offering to help, and thank you Mr. Munson, but maybe I should go. I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing, Harrington. Jesus, you haven’t done anything wrong,” Eddie said pointedly, and Mr. Munson frowned a bit at that. “Just show Wayne your head,” Eddie added firmly, crossing his arms.

Steve just nodded and turned his head, cringing as Mr. Munson began moving his hair out of the way to see the injury. “Jesus, kid, what the hell happened?” he asked, and his tone demanded an answer. Mr. Munson got up to collect a bowl of warm water and a washcloth, which he used to start cleaning some of the blood off of the skin around the wound.

“He broke a plate over my head,” Steve answered immediately, and Eddie made a disgusted noise. “I don’t remember much after that.”

“Knew that piece of shit wouldn’t fight fair,” Eddie grumbled.

“Was the rest of your busted face before or after the plate?” Mr. Munson asked, and Steve gave a weak shrug. “Don’t give me that, boy. Answer the question.”

“After,” Steve answered.

Mr. Munson’s hands pulled away from Steve’s head to start preparing the needle and thread. “Sounds to me like the cops should be involved,” he said shortly.

“Hopper knows,” Steve replied tensely. “I’m not pressing charges.”

“Of course you’re not,” Eddie muttered, and Steve could hear the eye-roll.

“Time for both of you to shut up now. He can’t be yapping while I’m doing this,” Mr. Munson said, which effectively shut both of them up.

Steve tried to think of other things while Mr. Munson worked quietly, and part of him was glad he was just generally in pain everywhere. He barely felt the needle. The worst part was when Mr. Munson would tug his hair just a bit too much while trying to keep it out of the way. Eventually, he huffed after a few minutes of fighting with Steve’s hair and the needle.

“That’s it—” he started and ice-cold fear lanced through Steve’s gut.

“Please don’t shave it,” he begged, and he hated how pitiful he sounded. He was struck again with just how stupid his concern was, as if his goddamn hair was actually important.

It was just one of the few things he still had going for him. Even if he no longer had the popularity, or Nancy Wheeler, or a future his father might be proud of, he still had his stupid hair.

Mr. Munson sighed, his eyes softening at the plea. “I’m not gonna shave it, kid. I promise. Eddie, get over here and make yourself useful,” he said over his shoulder, and Eddie jumped forward. “I need you to gently hold his hair away from the cut, got it? Don’t pull so hard you’re reopening it or yanking the stitches, just enough that it stays out of my way.”

Eddie nodded and stepped behind Steve’s chair to frame the cut with his hands. With hands smoothing his hair out of the way and holding him so firmly, Steve sighed and relaxed into the chair.

“That good, Wayne?”

“It’ll do.”

Steve winced when Mr. Munson got back to work, and one of Eddie’s thumbs started moving in soothing little strokes behind his ear. The effect was immediate, his body relaxing as much as it could at that moment while actively keeping his head up. Behind him, Eddie chuckled and stepped closer so Steve could rest his head back against him. The thumb kept sliding back and forth behind Steve’s ear, lulling him into a quieter state of mind for the first time in a while.

Steve startled when Mr. Munson pulled away and Eddie’s hands disappeared.

“That should do’er,” Mr. Munson sighed as he started to clean everything up. “Come back in a few days and I’ll remove them.”

Sitting up on his own, Steve asked, ��Can I remove them on my own?”

Mr. Munson looked at him flatly, before looking at Eddie above Steve’s head. When he met Steve’s gaze again, his expression brooked no argument. “Come back in a few days and I’ll remove them,” he repeated and Steve nodded carefully.

“Of course, sir,” Steve muttered, looking around. “I should probably go home.”

“I’ll give you a ride,” Eddie said quickly, and when Steve looked up at him, he caught the tail-end of a wordless conversation between uncle and nephew. Eddie was shaking his head sharply before he turned a strained smile down at Steve, and Mr. Munson was rolling his eyes tiredly. “C’mon, Harrington, your chariot awaits.”

When Steve stood up, he was a lot less dizzy, which was a relief. He knew the vehicle would still be hell, but it was a necessary evil. This time, he decided he would ride up front with Eddie instead of laying in the back like an invalid.

The sun was still painfully bright, but even that was getting manageable. Once inside the van, he leaned back and shut his eyes tightly.

“You good, Harrington?” Eddie asked as he started the van.

“Yeah, I’m fine, just relaxing my head,” Steve replied, swallowing thickly. “Didn’t wanna say this in front of your uncle, but can you just drop me off downtown? My car’s still—”

“Harrington, if you think I’m going to knowingly let you drive like this for even a second, you must really have one hell of a concussion,” Eddie interrupted sharply. “I’m taking you home.”

“Not even taking me to dinner first?” Steve teased before he could stop himself.

Eddie barked out a laugh and didn’t respond.

“Seriously, Munson, my car—”

“Can’t someone else pick it up for you? You can give me your keys and I can give them to anyone you want,” Eddie suggested and Steve’s brow furrowed as he turned his face toward him, eyes still shut.

“This is ridiculous, I’m perfectly capable of driving,” he insisted and Eddie scoffed.

“Sure you are, just open your eyes,” Eddie challenged and Steve grimaced.

“Fuck you, man,” he sighed without any heat to it and Eddie laughed again.

“Seriously, though, give me your keys once we get to your house I’ll make sure your car gets back to you,” Eddie promised.

“Even if I told you to take my keys to Chief Hopper?” Steve challenged and Eddie barked out another laugh.

“Bold of you to assume me and Hopper don’t like each other,” Eddie teased and Steve actually opened his eyes just a bit to look at him.

“Seriously?” Steve asked and Eddie just chuckled and shrugged.

“I mean, the guy’s had plenty of opportunities to make my life hell, but he hasn’t,” he said evasively, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. “Figure that has to count for something.”

Steve just shrugged and closed his eyes again. “Maybe. Fine, then take my keys to Hopper,” he decided, if only because it would be less out of Hopper’s way to bring his car to him than literally anyone else.

Steve wasn’t sure how much time passed, but he was startled again as the van stopped.

“We have arrived at Castle Harrington,” Eddie proclaimed as he turned the van off, and he was smirking when Steve opened his eyes again to look at him. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

“Sure,” Steve said, and he felt his cheeks heat with a blush. Confused at that reaction, Steve got out of the van as quickly as he safely could, careful not to trigger another dizzy spell.

When he unlocked his front door, he paused to look back at Eddie, shifting his weight back and forth between his feet. “Did you want to come in?” he offered, his words a bit stilted.

“No,” Eddie laughed, looking up at the huge house. “I’ll pass, Harrington. Plus, I have an errand to run for you.”

“Right, uh, here you are,” Steve replied, handing his key chain to Eddie. “Thanks. For everything. I really appreciate it, Munson.”

“Yeah, don’t mention it, Harrington,” Eddie replied, and Steve watched as a blush rose to Eddie’s cheeks. He looked Eddie over again and remembered the blood on his vest.

“Shit, your vest. Let me get it cleaned for you,” Steve insisted, pointing at the spots.

Glancing down at his vest, Eddie shook his head quickly. “No way, Harrington. I’ll handle it. Plus,” he started, grinning broadly as he leaned into Steve’s space. “It’s kinda metal, don’t you think?”

Steve stared at Eddie, a dazed little smile rising to his lips. “I have no idea what that means, Munson,” he admitted, and he felt a little proud at the loud laugh that got.

“Oh, Harrington, when you say shit like that, it makes me wanna corrupt you,” Eddie sighed, tilting his head as he took a step back. Steve rolled his eyes at that, the tips of his ears feeling hot.

“I’ll see you around,” Steve said, stepping backward into his house and Eddie nodded with a little wave before bounding down the walk back to his van.

Steve watched from his doorway while Eddie sat in his van and appeared to begin scolding himself. The man was always very animated, his gestures huge and typically very clear to read—the way he ran his hands through his hair in frustration, or the light smacks to his forehead, or the way he seemed to lean back and plead skyward. It was hilarious to watch if a bit baffling.

Eddie glanced back at the house and visibly jumped at seeing Steve still standing there. He couldn’t see from that distance, but Steve was positive that the nervous shake of Eddie’s head was paired with a blush. With another shake of his head and a laugh, Eddie leaned over to the passenger side of the bench and rolled the window down.

“The hell are you still standing out here for, Harrington? Get the fuck inside!” he shouted at Steve, his grin huge.

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve called back, waving at Eddie before he finally turned and shut the door.

After an afternoon being tucked into the back of Eddie’s van and then inside Eddie’s trailer with his uncle, the big Harrington house felt cavernous. His parents weren’t even in town anymore. They left again for business around the time Steve was on the train tracks with Dustin setting the trap for D’art. When he had finally gotten home after that entire ordeal, he had been relieved to have the house to himself.

There was a smaller part of him that had ached for someone to be there and care that he was hurt, to take care of his bruised face and call him in sick to school. There he was, almost eighteen and wanting his mom like a child. That ache was there again, but with an angrier edge to it that he was too sore and too tired to unravel.

With a huff, Steve went upstairs to wash up as best as he could and get changed. Belatedly, he realized that he had lost the bottle of painkillers he bought, making his entire excursion earlier pointless.‘Not completely pointless,’ Steve corrected himself as he fussed with his hair gently, a reluctant smile coming to his face as he thought about the overall afternoon.

Chapter Five: B-Side

Steve groaned at the booming cop-knocking at his front door as he shuffled toward it. He had been dozing on the couch and his equilibrium was slow to reacquaint with itself upon waking up. It was a lot better than earlier, at least.

“I’m coming, Jesus, relax!” Steve shouted as he got to the front door, opening it with a bit too much gusto and losing his balance.

Hopper was quick to catch him before he toppled over, one big hand on his shoulder and the other around his elbow.

“Jesus, kid, you somehow look worse,” Hopper grumbled, stepping inside without letting go of him.

“Thanks, Chief,” Steve said with a self-deprecating laugh, and he didn’t fight when Hopper sat him down on the stairs.

“Your folks still not home?” Hopper asked as he looked around, his eyes landing on the note that was on the side table at the door from Steve’s parents. Picking it up, he read it with a frown.

“You got a warrant for that?” Steve grumbled, tipping his head back to stare at the high ceiling instead of the subtle, sad tilt of Hopper’s frown.

“I’m off-duty, kid. I’m checking on you,” Hopper said, and Steve could hear him crumpling up the note. “This says you’re on your own for Thanksgiving?”

“Does it?” Steve asked, and genuinely he hadn’t even read it. His father’s handwriting was hard enough to read at the best of times, and the head injury didn’t help with that.

“You’re coming to Thanksgiving with me and the Byers,” Hopper said firmly, and when Steve looked at him again, his expression brooked zero argument. “And if you argue, I’m telling Joyce you’re home alone with a head injury, you got it?”

Steve glowered weakly up at Hopper before shrugging. “Okay. Should I bring something?” he asked, rolling his eyes at Hopper’s smug smile.

“I’ll get back to you on that,” he replied before leaning back against the front door, his expression stern. “What’re you doing with Munson?”

Steve frowned up at Hopper. “We ran into each other when I was out earlier and he helped me out,” he replied after a bit, shrugging. “I’m not doing drugs if that’s what you're asking.”

“That wasn’t what I was asking, Harrington,” Hopper sighed, but the uncomfortable way he glanced away said differently. “I’m keeping your car at the station until Wayne removes your stitches at least—”

“C’mon, Chief,” Steve protested, his mouth hanging open in shock. “You can’t be serious!”

“You heard me! I’ve half a mind to ticket you for driving earlier on principle!” Hopper shouted over him, just loud enough to shut Steve up. “As I was saying, I’m keeping your car at the station. I’ll bring you to Wayne’s place to get your stitches removed since you refuse to see a doctor. Then I’ll decide if you’re good to have your car back. Do you understand?”

“This is ridiculous,” Steve grumbled.

“I asked you a question, Harrington,” Hopper pressed, stepping forward to loom over him.

“Yes, sir, I understand,” Steve agreed, glancing away from him.

“Glad to hear it. Munson also gave me this. You apparently left it in his van,” Hopper said, pulling a bottle of painkillers out of his pocket and handing it to Steve.

Steve blinked at it before accepting it, smiling down at it a bit. He wondered if Eddie had been removing the blankets he bled on and that was when he found the bottle. “Uh, thanks, I thought I lost this,” he said, nodding up at Hopper.

Hopper stared down at Steve for a long while, frowning thoughtfully in that way that scrunched up his whole face. Then he sighed through his nose. “You’re a good kid, Harrington. I thought you were a snotty little prick like your old man—”

“Wow, thanks—?”

“But I was wrong. Munson’s a good kid, too, but he’s on a track that doesn’t look great. People in this town will talk,” Hopper said very deliberately. “You should be ready to deal with that if you’re gonna be running around with him.”

Steve stared at him, and he knew Hopper was right. What if word somehow got back to his parents that he had been in the local drug dealer’s van and trailer, and that drug dealer was at their house? Was that a fight he wanted to deal with while he was still firmly under his parents’ thumbs? He thought back to the argument Eddie got into with the cashier at Melvald’s and cringed. He’d be lucky if he didn’t get a “concerned” phone call from his mother within the week.

“I’m not running around with him, Chief. He was just helping me out today, okay? We go to school together, so we’re friendly,” Steve said, shrugging under Hopper’s hard stare.

“Good talk,” Hopper said before glancing around one more time. “Put your shoes on and grab a coat. You’re coming to dinner with me and El.”

“I’m not really up to going to a restaurant,” Steve declined, making a face up at Hopper.

“You need a proper meal, and I already told El you were coming,” Hopper replied, shrugging at Steve’s puzzled look.

“I don’t even—why would that matter to me?” Steve asked, even though he already felt his resolve to say no waning. He had a soft-spot for all of the kids, but especially the quieter ones like Will and Eleven. It was baffling though that him not going would possibly disappoint her. “Why would that matter to her? I’ve only really been around her like, three times, and I don’t think I’ve spoken to her once.”

“Listen, I make it a point to avoid understanding what teenage girls think about, kid,” Hopper sighed tiredly. “I told her I had to come by your place and make sure you weren’t dying on our way to dinner, and she asked if you were coming.”

“And you just told her yes?” Steve asked incredulously, even as he stood up to collect his shoes and coat.

“Of course I did,” Hopper replied, snorting. “I mean, it wasn’t like it was that hard to convince you anyway.”

“Where are we even going? Is it okay for her to be out?” Steve pushed, frowning.

For the first time since the conversation started, Hopper faltered and Steve glared. “We aren’t going to a restaurant,” Hopper admitted after a moment. “We’re going to the Byers’ house for dinner.”

Steve groaned, imagining his evening sitting at dinner with a cop, a girl with psychic powers, a boy they just barely saved from possession, his ex-girlfriend’s new boyfriend, and Joyce Byers. Who would take one look at him and freak out completely. After everything that had happened and between them all splitting up, Joyce hadn’t actually seen Steve after all was said and done. Come to think of it, neither had Jonathan. Nancy only knew how messed up he was because she came to his house after school on Monday when he didn’t show up.

“You said if I agreed—” Steve started to argue and Hopper shook his head sharply.

“I said I wouldn’t tell Joyce you’re home alone with a head injury,” Hopper replied, crossing his arms. “And I won’t tell her.”

“She’ll figure it out, though. She’s not stupid,” Steve snapped, and Hopper just shrugged at that.

“I didn’t say I would hide that you’re home alone with a head injury either,” he stated flatly and Steve groaned, rolling his eyes.

“Fine, I’ll go,” he finally conceded. He knew he was resigning himself to weeks of being fussed over by Joyce, but he was too tired to keep arguing in circles and he was getting hungry.

Steve pointedly ignored the way a very small part of himself that ached constantly went quiet for once.

Chapter Six: Bonus Track

Hopper groaned when the phone on his desk rang, spiking his headache to an entirely new level. He was exhausted, still recovering from everything that happened over the weekend, particularly the way he very nearly died in the tunnels.

“Yes, Flo?” he greeted as pleasantly as he could manage as he picked up the receiver.

“Incoming, Chief.”

“Wha—?” Hopper started to ask just as his office door slammed open and in came Eddie Munson like a force of nature.

“Heya, Chief,” Eddie greeted loudly with a grin when Hopper flinched at the volume. He threw himself into the chair opposite Hopper and threw his feet up on the desk. “How’s it going?”

“What do you want, Munson?” Hopper asked flatly, eying the dirty shoes on top of his desk with disdain.

“Can’t a guy catch up with his favourite cop?” Eddie asked, batting his eyes innocently at Hopper as he fished out a cigarette and lit it.

“Cut the crap, Munson. Give me one of those if you’re going to sit here wasting my time,” Hopper demanded, and Eddie tossed him the pack. With a huff, Hopper took one of the three remaining cigarettes then pocketed the carton.

“Is it so hard to believe I just wanted to say hi?” Eddie pouted before taking a drag from his cigarette, and the effort it took for Hopper to not roll his eyes was tremendous.

Hopper lit his cigarette and willed the nicotine to calm his steadily fraying nerves. “Why would a drug dealer—”

“Alleged drug dealer,” Eddie interrupted pointedly. “Never been caught and convicted, and you know how it is, innocent until—”

“I will search you right here and now, Munson,” Hopper threatened half-heartedly and Eddie got a mischievous look on his face.

“Hop, I’m annoying, not stupid. You wouldn’t find a damn thing on me or in my van,” he said with a teasing tilt to his head and Hopper took a deep breath in through his nose and held it for five seconds. Releasing that breath, he took a drag off of his cigarette on the next one.

He would not let Eddie Munson get under his skin when his day was so close to being over. He only had to make it through two more hours until he could go home and pick El up for dinner at the Byers’.

“How. Can I. Help you. Munson?” Hopper asked slowly and deliberately before reaching over to shove Eddie’s feet off his desk.

Eddie had apparently been supporting most of his weight that way and yelped as he nearly fell out of his chair completely. Hopper couldn’t deny how much that alone raised his spirits.

“Shit, Hopper, you made me drop my smoke,” Eddie complained, picking the cigarette up and tossing it into the ashtray on the desk to burn out.

“Munson, either get to the point of your visit or leave,” Hopper pushed, and maybe something in his tone finally got through to the kid. Eddie righted himself in his chair properly before reaching into the pocket of his leather jacket. After a moment, he frowned and stood up to dig in his other pockets.

Hopper studied the kid a bit now that he was distracted, and his eyes focused on the dark stains on his shoulder. “Munson, is that blood?” he asked, alarm overtaking his annoyance as he stood up and came around the desk to look closer.

“Oh, yeah,” Eddie said as he glanced down at his denim vest, shrugging. “Yeah, it is. Not mine though.”

Hopper stared at him, waiting for him to elaborate. Eddie just continued digging in his pockets until he pulled out two sets of car keys and sat back down. Blinking up at Hopper, Eddie asked, “What?”

“Whose blood is on your vest, Munson?” Hopper said in a low voice, and for the first time since Eddie entered the room, he looked a bit less cocky.

“Steve Harrington’s,” Eddie replied, and Hopper stared at him for several long seconds, again waiting for him to elaborate. Eddie just raised his eyebrows up at Hopper before the corner of his mouth quirked upward into a little smirk.

“Edward Munson, you have five seconds—”

“I ran into him on the street, he ate shit, and had a massive bleeding wound where Billy Hargrove broke a plate over his head, so I took him to my uncle,” Eddie said in a tight tone, and Hopper realized that the kid was angry now. More than that, the kid was angry at him for some reason. Was he pissed the whole time and Hopper was only just figuring that out?

“Christ, Munson,” Hopper grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose as his headache throbbed behind his eyes. How did Wayne live with this kid and his moods?

“Steve claims you know about the fight,” Eddie said, and it was said like a statement, but it was clearly more of a question, like he didn’t quite buy Steve’s story.

“Yes, I do. He declined pressing charges,” Hopper replied, crossing his arms and leaning back against the desk.

“Did you know about his head?” Eddie asked, and Hopper sucked his teeth. Steve had, predictably, played down his injuries when Hopper got back from the lab with El, and all of that hair of his helped hide the alleged open wound.

“Where is Harrington now?” Hopper asked instead of answering Eddie’s question, looking around for his truck keys and hat.

Eddie huffed. “Don’t worry, I made sure he got home alright. He asked me to give you these,” he said, holding up the keys for Steve’s Beemer. “It’s parked in the alley around the corner from Melvald’s.”

Hopper took the keys, a flash of anger spiking through him that the kid was stupid enough to drive with a concussion at all. When he glanced down at Eddie, he could see he was still pissed off. “What, Munson?”

“What are you going to do about Hargrove?” Eddie asked, his tone low. “Steve said he was going to kill the kids he was supposedly babysitting.”

“He was babysitting,” Hopper said, almost defensively, on Steve’s behalf and Eddie reared back.

“That’s the part of my sentence you focus on?” he asked and Hopper held a hand up.

“First of all, I will remind you that Steve declined pressing charges—”

“Why does that matter?” Eddie interjected angrily. “Does attempted murder need the victim to press charges?”

Hopper dropped what was left of his cigarette into the ashtray as he pushed off the desk to go shut the door of his office. Once he was back at the desk, half sitting on it and looming over Eddie, he said slowly, “There were extenuating circumstances surrounding the bullshit with Hargrove that you are not, and cannot be privy to, Munson. So yes, while I would love to do something about that little shit, I can’t about this incident because Steve. Is not. Pressing charges.”

Eddie glared up at him, crossing his arms over his chest and jutting his chin out defiantly. Hopper immediately thought of the day he met Eddie, and despite his generalized annoyance with the kid, he felt a sad sort of fondness.

“Why do you even care this much about it, Munson?” Hopper asked, trying to return his focus to their conversation. But when Eddie immediately looked away nervously, his face turning pink under Hopper’s stare, Hopper heaved a huge sigh and scrubbed a hand over his face.

It was about a week after Hopper returned to Hawkins to take up his post as chief of police when he met Eddie. The kid’s hair was a lot shorter, still growing out an unfortunate buzz cut, and he was skinny in a way that spoke of the neglect he dealt with before the system dropped him onto his uncle’s doorstep. Hopper had been driving around, reacquainting himself with his hometown after years away, when he happened upon a group of young men jumping Eddie. The cowards had bolted before Hopper’s truck came to a complete stop.

He could still remember the conversation they had while Hopper took the kid’s statement at the hospital.

“What started the fight?”

“I’m a faggot.” Tone sharp, full of venom.

“Is that what they said?”

“Yeah, that’s what they said, but they’re right.” Conviction, even as his eyes were full of tears, that defiant tilt of his wobbling chin. Waiting for Hopper to hit him, too. “I am a faggot.”

Hopper tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling. “Eddie,” he sighed and Eddie huffed.

“You can’t say shit to me I haven’t already said to myself, Chief,” Eddie grumbled miserably, his crossed arms squeezing himself tighter as he folded in on himself.

“Harrington, though?” Hopper asked him, trying to keep his tone light, teasing almost. “Of all the boys to be all… hormonal and mushy about, it had to be a Harrington?”

“Again, Chief, I’ve already said all of that to myself. Repeatedly,” Eddie said with a shrug. “And Uncle Wayne said it all in even more colourful terms.”

Hopper heaved another sigh. “He wants you to be careful, stay safe. Hell, that’s what I want too,” he said.

“Yeah, whatever,” Eddie replied, and he slouched in his chair. “Steve’s a lot nicer now.”

“That’s true,” Hopper agreed flatly as he crouched to better meet Eddie’s eyes. Heaving a big sigh, he added, “you should still remember who his father is, and that Steve might still follow in his footsteps.”

Hopper went to high school with Richard Harrington, had been on the receiving end of his fists more times than he could count, and he knew how Richard felt about gay people. He knew how much more brutal his fists could get if he thought someone was queer. Hopper did not want Richard Harrington to find out about Eddie at all, which would be easier if the kid stayed away from Steve.

Eddie sighed and looked away from Hopper, spinning the rings on his fingers around nervously. “Yeah, I know,” he agreed reluctantly.

“Okay, good talk,” Hopper said, standing back up and returning to his chair. “Now get out of my office.”

“That’s it? You’re not going to try and tell me to stay away from him?” Eddie asked skeptically.

“I’m not your parent, Munson. Be careful, though,” Hopper replied, shrugging. “Even if Steve isn’t a problem, he’s still living with his parents.”

“We’re not even friends, Chief. You don’t have to worry about that shit,” Eddie said as he stood up and started for the door.

Hopper nodded and then he asked, “were Steve’s parents’ home when you dropped him off?”

Eddie looked back at him from the door and shook his head. “The house seemed empty. And I mean, he had to get his own—oh yeah!” he said excitedly as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bottle of painkillers. “He forgot this in my van. Can you get it to him?”

Hopper took the bottle of pills and nodded. “Yeah, I’ll get it to him, kid. Now fuck off,” he barked and Eddie snorted as he left his office with just as much noise as he arrived.

“Hey, Callahan! Love what you’re trying with the mustache, man, really distracts the eye from just… the rest of your face. Yeugh.”

Hopper snorted, allowing himself one moment to be amused by Eddie Munson’s nonsense.

[ NEXT ]

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