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the-little-ewok · 7 months

Text

An Unorthodox Method

Poe Dameron x F!Reader

Rating : 18+/E

Word count : 7600 (ish)

Warnings : It's the one bed trope!, Lil mild angst, lots of teasing, Poe being an adorable little shit, mentions of Poe having hearing problems/being partially deaf in one ear, fluff, banter, SMUT, PIV, fingering, marking (love bites and nail marks), praise kink if you squint, illusions to cum eating, mentions of oral f- receiving, overstimulation if you blink, aftercare, very brief mention of casual sex/one night stands.

Summary : All you want is a hot shower, some clean dry clothes, and to crawl into bed. What you absolutely do not want is Poe Dameron in that bed with you.

@campingwiththecharmings thank you so much for this request! I'm so excited to finally do the one bed trope for Poe! I hope you like it.

Special thank you to @mandinlore for the beta 😘

~~~~~~~~~

The rain hammers a steady ping ping ping on the window as you and Poe stand in the doorway to the room, your clothes soaked and sticking uncomfortably to your skin, your shoes leaving puddles of water.

"You have got to be kidding me!" You groan as Poe laughs.

You had been looking forward to a hot shower, a nice warm bed, and at least a good few hours of peace and quiet. The last part had already been thwarted by the fact some error in the hotel booking meant you only had one room with no others available, and now to add insult to injury there was only one damn bed.

"Well, this is going to be fun!" The pilot chirps happily from beside you, walking in to dump his bag on the chair and leaving wet boot prints in his wake.

Climbing into bed with the resistance's best looking pilot, who you were, if you were honest, a little bit in love with, did not constitute as fun. In fact, after the day you had spent with him, it was the very last thing you wanted to do.

Poe was always, and had always, been chatty, but today he seemed to have turned all his dials up to maximum. He'd talked non stop, made unfunny jokes, inappropriate innuendos that with anyone else you suspect he wouldn't have gotten away with, and done just about anything he could to make himself the most annoying person this side of the galaxy.

For what reason, you had no idea. You had started to suspect perhaps he had realised your warm feelings towards him, and maybe this was his way of making you hate him so he didn't have to let you down, and honestly, you might think it was starting to work.

Trudging into the room, your boots squelching with each step, you place your bags down, resigned to your probably sleepless fate.

"You want the bathroom first?" The pilot offers, despite the fact he's worse off than you, having given you his jacket to hold above your head the moment the downpour started. It hadn't helped much after the first few minutes, but you had been grateful for the shelter anyway.

You don't really register his question, your thoughts lost as you finger the worn leather coat remembering the way his scent clung to it, invading your senses as you splashed through the flooded streets.

"Hey," you look up to find the pilot watching you, his brow furrowed. "You okay?"

You drop the jacket onto the dresser, giving him a smile and a nod.

"Just sick of listening to you."

Poe snorts with laughter, grabbing the hem of his shirt and peeling it up over his head. You purposely busy yourself pulling out some dry clothes from your pack , not allowing yourself to peek, although it's a difficult battle.

"There's nobody you love listening to more than me," Poe states, thankfully not seeming to notice your internal fight of keeping your eyes off him.

You sigh, somewhat thankful his annoying cockyness is a distraction from his semi-nakedness. Picking up your sleepwear and wash bag you head towards the bathroom, trying to ignore him. Poe however gives you no quarter, trailing along behind you.

"So what exactly are the sleeping arrangements going to be?" He asks.

Frowning you turn around, your eyes deciding to flicker over his bared torso before meeting his gaze. Even the smallest glance is enough to get blood rushing through your veins, and you can feel heat blossoming across your cheeks.

Ignoring the feeling you gesture to the bed with a raise of your eyebrow.

"But what if you snore?" The pilot asks, clearly not noticing your desire to leave the room until he's decided to put some clothes on.

You pull a face, not quite understanding his issue when he's half deaf from the war anyway. The explosion that had damaged most of the resistance ships had permanently damaged his eardrums, which Poe liked to use to his advantage when he decided he wasn't going to listen to someone, although you think he hears far more than he lets on.

"Poe, you can hardly hear out of one ear as it is! Just sleep on your good ear and you probably won't hear a thing out of the other one."

He folds his arms stubbornly. "I'll hear if you're right next to my head."

"Then you are more than welcome to sleep in the bathroom once I'm done," you offer, stepping into the tiny fresher.

"Nah, I'd rather sleep in the bed. But what if you steal the covers?"

"Then you can take them back."

"What if you cuddle me in your sleep?" He fires quickly.

You give him a withering look, trying not to think about pressing your body against his, keeping your eyes trained on his face.

"Oh trust me Poe, I won't." In fact you will do everything possible not to touch him, just for your own sanity.

"But you might. I'm very into consent and if I'm asleep-" he pauses mid sentence, opening his mouth and then closing it again before leaning against the door frame. "Actually scratch all of that. I absolutely give you consent to do whatever you like to me."

The pilot grins at you and you feel a familiar surge of heat through your body, collecting and coiling in your abdomen. Combined with your patience finally snapping, it's the last straw. You slam the bathroom door in his handsome smug face.

The lukewarm shower really tops off the day.

"I've been thinking" Poe starts the moment he exits the bathroom, after loudly complaining through the door about you using up all the hot water.

You pinch the bridge of your nose with a sigh, the hope that he would have calmed down and go straight to sleep evaporating. You are grateful however that he's at least finally put a shirt on.

"That must hurt."

"Oi!" He protests with a shocked expression, that at least brings a little smile to your lips. He grins at you, letting you know he took no offence at your words.

"As I was saying," he continues while you lay out his clothes to dry, the ones he dumped in a wet pile in the middle of the floor. "I've been thinking, and I know what's wrong with you. I want you to know it's okay."

The way his voice suddenly goes so gentle makes you look around. The pilot holds out his hand, wrapping his fingers around yours as he pulls you closer, holding your gaze steadily. You hope he doesn't notice the way your breath catches, or the heat blazing through you that makes your hands clammy.

"It's okay to be nervous," he continues, while your mouth goes dry. "I know spending the night with me is a lot, and it's going to be so difficult for you to keep your hands to yourself, but we are going to get through this together, and you'll be able to tell everyone about it when we get home."

You snatch your hand angrily out of his while the pilot bursts into laughter.

"Grow up and get in the damn bed!" You growl, climbing into bed, pulling the covers up to your chin and turning over away from him, your heart thundering in your chest. How, even when he was joking, did he manage to get so damn close to the truth?

"Why do you want me in bed so badly, huh? Thinking about late night cuddles?" You hear the pilot ask, feeling the mattress sink with his weight.

"No. When you're asleep, you're not talking," you bite out, still stinging from the embarrassment of your reaction when he was just being his usual annoying self.

Poe ignores your hostility and you feel him shrug.

"Listen, all I'm trying to do is tell you that we could eliminate some of this sexual tension. Well, if you wanted to."

Sexual tension wasn't exactly what you would say was between you, but there was always certainly something, although with Poe you imagine he had that with everyone. With you though, your feelings for the pilot ran a little deeper, not that you'd ever dare speak those aloud. The last thing you needed was the "it's not you, it's me" speech, especially if his behaviour was to drive you away. Best to let sleeping dogs lie.

You run a hand down your face with an exasperated sigh. "There is absolutely no sexual tension, Poe. What there is, is murderous tension."

Poe lets out an exclamation of excitement.

"Oh my favourite kind!"

You bite the inside of your cheek to stop a smile, lest you encourage him to continue.

"Please Poe, go to damn sleep," you whine, pulling the pillow from under your head and pressing it against your ear, trying to block out his incessant rambling.

"I will if you admit it."

"Admit what?" You groan, frustrated. Why can't he just shut the hell up and let you get through this?

"That you've thought about us."

"Poe I swear-" you take a deep breath, grabbing the cushion with one hand, rolling over with the intent on smothering him into silence. You're surprised to find the pilot on his side, almost nose to nose with you in the small bed.

"You've seriously never thought about us kissing?" Poe interrupts.

"I…I…" you’re thrown by his closeness, by his long lashes and soft smile, by the damn doe eyed look he's giving you.

You know there's no shutting him up until you tell him what he wants to hear so you take a breath. It wouldn't exactly be news to him, Poe knew just about everyone had considered kissing him at some point or another. The man did come with a reputation for having a rather skillful mouth after all.

"Fine! Maybe once or twice. Now go to damn sleep!" You growl, annoyed at him, and yourself.

The shit eating grin he gives you is enough to make you turn back over, tucking the pillow under your head and shutting your eyes tightly, as though that alone might drown him out.

"I knew it," he gloats with a happy sigh, clicking off the bedside lamp.

You grip the pillow, considering the option you still have of smothering him.

Thankfully he's quiet from that point and infuriatingly asleep in less than five minutes. You can feel the mattress move with his slow steady breaths.

Glancing over your shoulder he's laid out on his back, one arm tucked under his head, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks as he dreams, his full lips open with a soft sigh.

Turning around again you punch the lumpy pillow, trying to get more comfortable.

You will not think about kissing him. That was a one time thing. Okay, maybe three or four. Well maybe more… a lot more. You're determined tonight for once, you will not fall asleep thinking about his mouth on yours, you will absolutely not think about his lips on your skin, or his fingers caressing your breasts…

Someone suddenly shakes you and you open your eyes groggily, the room swimming and blurred as you blink sleep from your vision.

"What the hell?" You grumble, looking up at the pilot with his sleep tousled curls, still half asleep himself, one eye still shut and the other half open, bathed in the soft moonlight glow that sneaks through the blinds.

"You said my name," he mumbles, voice still sleep gravelled. "You alright?"

Flashes of his mouth sealed over your nipple, his tongue darting out to lick a path down to your navel, your hand gripping his hair, his mouth between your thighs.

Oh no. You absolutely did not have a sex dream about him. Not now, not here. Please no!

"You must have dreamt it," you swallow, desperately trying to play it cool. If Poe heard you while he was dead asleep, then you must have been loud. You feel the heat prickling the back of your neck.

"No, I definitely heard you say Poe," he insists.

"Well even if I did I'm fine so you can go back to sleep," you insist, shifting your legs restlessly. You're too warm. Well not just warm, burning hot, sweat cooling on your skin, an uncomfortable ache between your legs that screams of unsatisfied desire.

"You sure? You sounded a bit…breathless?" The pilot asks again, genuine concern in his tone. Although you can barely see him in the dim lighting you can still see the frown pulling his brows together, both eyes now open and studying you. You really don't want him to press any further. Even his voice brings back flashes of the dream, sultry whispers in your ear, his tongue lapping at your folds, the cry of his name from your mouth.

You swallow again, pushing the thoughts away.

"Really, I'm fine. Must have been a nightmare if it involved you anyway."

"Ouch." He holds his hands over his chest, collapsing back onto the mattress as though you wounded him, giving a long drawn out dramatic death rattle.

Pulling up the covers you throw them over his head with a laugh.

"Go back to sleep, Flyboy."

Laying back you shuffle as close to the edge as you can, putting as much distance as possible between you and the pilot. You wonder if it would be better for you to stay awake, just in case your dreams come back to haunt you. You absolutely wouldn't get away with saying his name a second time.

"It's okay you know," Poe speaks suddenly into the darkness as you lay rigid beside him. "If you were dreaming about me. I wouldn't mind."

You can't help but snort with laughter at that.

"You wouldn't mind if anyone dreams about you."

"True," Poe admits. You feel him shift and even though you can't see him, your eyes staring up at the ceiling, his gaze burns you.

"Let me rephrase. I'd like it if you dreamt about me." He continues.

When you don't turn to face him or grace him with an answer, you feel the shift of the mattress again as he lays back.

"I'm sorry," he sighs, and for once it sounds genuine, not a hint of playfulness in his tone. "I thought this would cheer you up. It's been a long week and you've just seemed so… I don't know. Not yourself, like you're bottling everything up. I figured maybe if you were thinking about how annoying I was, or making you laugh and fight with me, it would give you a bit of a distraction and an outlet, but I get it, maybe I took it too far, even if it is the truth."

It had been a long week, the longest in fact. While the mission itself had been a success, you had seen a lot of the First Order's destruction in the process, and it was worse than either of you had realised. You'd felt melancholy for days, the sights you've witnessed replaying in your mind. You hadn't noticed it much at the time, too lost in your own thoughts and angry that he was so loud that it was impossible to hear yourself think, but the more you think about it, the more you realise what he's been doing — trying to make you smile, keeping you distracted, making you focus on anything but what's happened. All you've done is complain to him about it.

Guilt twists hard in your stomach.

How typical of Poe to try and be helpful in the most unconventional way.

Part of you wants to reach for him, to cuddle him tight against you and thank him, to tell him you're here for him too if he needs someone. The other part keeps you rigidly pinned to the mattress, afraid to move in case so much as a finger brushes up against him, unsure if you can hold yourself back with the lingering memory of the dream.

"You mean the truth is that you really are worried I snore?" You ask, trying to break the unbearable tension.

His answer is the most serious he's sounded all day. There isn't a trace of humour, of teasing, just a tiredness, the kind that comes from pretending to smile all day, the kind that signals a surrender.

"No, I could live with that. I mean the dreaming part. I'd like it if you dreamt about me."

"Oh." You can't find anything else to say to that, your heart hammering so loudly in your chest you're sure even through his damaged ear he can hear it.

The ongoing silence suddenly feels heavy, like a crushing weight on your chest, the truth feels like lead in your belly. Poe hasn't made a single noise in a while but you get the distinct feeling he isn't asleep. You wonder if he's laying still too, muddling through his thoughts.

You can't take back your behaviour towards him but you can at least give him something in return.

"Poe?"

The response is instant, "Yeah?"

You take a breath, swallowing hard, your fingers twisting into the sheet at the edge of the bed, nervously gripping them.

"Every day," you whisper quietly.

"Huh?"

You feel a slight shift as he must turn to look at you.

You clear your throat, staring hard enough at the ceiling that your eyes start to burn, repeating yourself louder.

"I said every day. I lied earlier. It's not once or twice. I think about kissing you every day. I have for a while," you admit.

A sudden blinding light obscures your vision, making you cry out in surprise and squeeze your eyes shut against the sudden intrusion. Coloured lights flash behind your eyelids and you have to blink a few times in order to see anything.

When the room comes back into focus Poe is sitting bolt upright in the bed, staring down at you, the bedside lamp illuminating his head like a synthetic halo.

"You were dreaming about me!"

With a groan you grab the pillow and hold it over your own face, deciding if you can't smother him you could just smother yourself instead, which seems like the better option than actually having this conversation.

You feel the pillow tug back gently, but you hold fast, refusing to give it up.

"Come on, let go and talk to me. You've said it now." A grunt of effort and a hard tug on the pillow before Poe sighs. "I'm not going away so you're either going to suffocate or talk."

"Then I'll suffocate," you mumble into the pillow, already regretting saying anything.

"You know I can't hear you right? Come on." This time he tucks his fingers under yours and peels them off the pillow cover until it falls halfway off your face.

"Better," he smiles, letting go of your hands to remove it entirely. "Why are you hiding from me?"

"I don't want to see your smug smile about how right you are," you glare, trying to hide your embarrassment that you've blurted out exactly what you've been trying to conceal from him. Once more, Poe takes your attitude in his stride.

"I've thought about kissing you too, you know? In fact I've thought about kissing you at least four times since you woke me up." He gives a shrug, like you should know that, like it's completely utterly normal for someone to think about kissing you that many times in the space of ten minutes.

You bite your lip, familiar tendrils of desire reigniting in your belly. Your body, still clearly on edge from your illicit dream, thrums with tension.

"So why haven't you done it yet?"

Poe rolls his eyes, as though the answer is obvious. "Clearly I'm building up the sexual tension for it!"

You're done letting him have the upper hand in this. In a surge of confidence, and to stop the smug look on his face, you wrap your hand around the back of the pilot's neck, before you pull his lips to yours. You feel Poe's brief smile, probably of victory, against your mouth before he kisses you back.

It's soft at first, almost sweet tender kisses, short and playful, getting to know each other. He kisses your top and bottom lip, he gives you tiny pecks of affection, he licks playfully at your bottom lip.

Effortlessly he shifts his weight over you, slotting himself between your thighs as though you were made to fit together. His tongue licks into your mouth, slick and hot, sliding against your own as he presses his body against yours, your kisses descending into something much more passionate.

Maker, the rumours weren't wrong. He is good at this, better than good actually, infuriatingly good. You can't even find any fault to tease him about.

You tangle your fingers in his curls, tugging gently and causing the pilot to moan into your mouth. You give a shiver of desire at the sound, your mind filled with thoughts of how you can draw it from him in other ways. Poe's mind seems to be on a similar track, his hips grinding against yours, pressing himself against your core and causing you to let out a gasp of surprise at the jolt of pleasure.

Perhaps there was a little sexual tension after all.

The pilot pulls away, his chest heaving, eyes dark and lips kiss swollen, his curls messy and tousled from your fingers.

"Fuck, sorry. I didn't mean to get carried away so quickly," he apologises, swallowing hard as he clearly tries to get a handle on himself, holding his body off yours, allowing a brief respite for you both to collect yourselves.

"I don't mind getting carried away," you admit, still feeling feverish with his closeness, your mind filled with the fantasy of your dreams. You raise your hips, pressing up against his clothed length, making the pilot let out a choked moan of surprise before his eyes darken.

"Well in that case," he grins, recovering all too quickly. Desire coils in your belly and before you can drag his mouth back to yours, in true Poe fashion, he continues talking. "Why don't you tell me what I was doing in this dream of yours?"

You give him a coy smile. As if he's going to get it out of you that easily.

"Fulfilling my deepest fantasy," you answer as Poe licks his lips, eagerly leaning forward to listen.

"Oh yeah? What fantasy might that be?"

"You were quiet for a whole five minutes," you sigh dreamily. It takes a second to register with him before he leans back bursting out laughing. You can't help but start to giggle yourself.

"Okay, I deserved that!" He laughs. "My methods may be unorthodox, but they work!"

He was entirely correct in that him being his usual annoying self was exactly what you had needed as a distraction, although you're sure there were less annoying ways to achieve the same means.

"I don't know. I actually considered murdering you at least a few times. Maybe I still will, when you're fast asleep and least expecting it," you warn, running a finger along your throat in a playful threat.

Poe hums, leaning back down over you, caging you to the bed with his arms.

"What exactly makes you think either of us will be going back to sleep?"

Oh.

There's another rush of heat that tingles against your skin, shooting straight down to your aching core. It's not at all helped by the fact Poe leans down to capture your lips, his tongue slipping between your teeth as he moves one hand to grip your hip, sliding it slowly up your body and under your shirt to trail his fingers across your breast.

You moan into his mouth as he rolls your peaked nipple between his fingers, grinding yourself up against him, uncaring of whatever commentary he wants to make as long as you can deal with this rapidly intensifying desire.

When he finally pulls away once more it's hard to get your breath, especially as he continues to steal little kisses from you, his fingers still resting against your skin.

Bracing himself on one arm above you, the other slides down to tiptoe over your hip.

"Do I have your consent to remove these ugly pants?" He grins teasingly, pulling at the waistband of your shorts. They had seen better days in all fairness but you hadn't really considered anyone else seeing them.

"Hey, they aren't that bad! Not like you're the pinnacle of fashion." In retaliation you poke your finger through a hole in the leg of his threadbare sleep pants, making the pilot laugh.

"These are my lucky pants."

You can't help but snort with a roll of your eyes. "That's the stupidest thing I've heard."

Poe raises one eyebrow, a smug smile tugging at his lips.

"They got you into my bed didn't they?"

You scoff, "The hotel management got me into this bed."

"You know what, you're right. Maybe I should go thank them now," Poe muses, his grin turning into a laugh as you wrap your arms around him, preventing him from leaving.

"Will you please just stop talking?" You laugh, wondering how much of the night is even left. You swear if the sun rises and you haven't resolved this, you will combust of need, and you will take the pilot out with you.

Poe raises his eyebrows.

"Well, I would, but you still haven't answered my original question."

You stare at him, trying to figure out what exactly he's talking about before you realise.

"For the love of… Yes Poe, I give you consent to do whatever you want to me as long as you stop dragging this out like a massive tease!"

The pilot lets out a soft chuckle, leaning down to brush his nose against yours, a soft gesture in a stark contrast to what leaves his mouth, "dangerous words, sweetheart."

You almost shudder with the flash of desire that bolts through you, making sharp heat rush across your skin and your pussy clench.

"I need you to make me a promise first though," his fingers slip across your abdomen, resting just above the waistband of your pants. The feverish desire at his touch is overshadowed by annoyance that he's still talking. Maker, you swear he won't survive till sunrise.

"Po-

"I'm going to need you to be loud," he purrs in your ear, cutting you off as his hand slips under your waistband. "I don't want to miss a single noise you make."

Even if you wanted to be quiet, the pad of his finger slipping across your clit causes your body to react in a primal way, letting out an embarrassing loud moan for such a little touch.

Poe chuckles.

"Just like that." He praises, sliding his finger down further to dip into your entrance, letting out a soft groan of his own at how wet you are, before he drags it back up, spreading your slick over your aching clit and making you whine again. "Can you do that for me? Can you be loud enough?"

The best you can muster is a whimper as he slowly thrusts his finger knuckle deep into you.

"Nu-huh," Poe chides, "loud."

A second finger quickly joins the first, stretching your walls and filling you more than your own ever could. This time you arch your back off the bed, chasing the blissful feeling as a much louder groan tears itself from your throat.

"Better," Poe grins. "I heard that one."

You want to smother him, you want to kiss him, but most of all, despite his annoying little smug smile, you still desperately want to fuck him.

You decide on option two, at least for the moment, pulling his lips down to yours.

His tongue licks into your mouth as he thrusts his fingers inside you at a leisurely pace, swallowing each whine and moan you give at the pleasure skittering and coiling in you.

Poe curls his fingers, pressing up against that spot inside you, making you pull away from his kiss to throw your head back in pleasure, a loud groan of his name escaping. You're half expecting him to make some sort of cocky comment, but Poe seems as lost in this as you are. He drops his head to press open mouthed kisses across your neck, biting and sucking, marking and claiming you as his.

When he works a third finger into you, his thumb brushing against your clit, you come undone. Normally you would feel embarrassed about how loud you are, the way your body shudders and heaves, your pussy clenching hard around his fingers, but the shaky little fuck Poe groans in your ear, obliterates any notion of embarrassment.

As you come down from your high, your body still trembling from the aftershock, whining as he slips his fingers from you, you realise he's breathing almost as heavily as you are, his breath coming out in short pants as he looks you over.

"I need to fuck you," he growls, clearly struggling with his own needs.

You're already nodding before he gets halfway through his request. Whatever he needs, whatever he wants, you'll give it to him without hesitation.

He all but tears your pyjamas from you, making short work of removing them and throwing them across the room, before his join the unceremonious pile on the floor.

This time you allow yourself to look, you allow yourself to take in his broad chest, the little scars crisscrossed with a larger one, old and new, your gaze trailing down across his abdomen to the line of hair that guides your eyes down to -

"Are you done admiring?" Poe's amused tone makes your eyes snap back up to his, your face growing warm with embarrassment that you've been caught staring, although you know he has probably done exactly the same to you.

"I don't know about admiring," you shrug as though your pussy isn't pulsing at the thought of him burying his cock deep inside you. "Think the resistance needs to re-evaluate their best looking pilot status."

Poe simply grins at you, seeing through your nonchalance all too clearly.

"Good to know you like what you see. Tell me, how wet did it make you to see me earlier, all soaked and shirtless?"

"Didn't," is all you are able to punch out as he leans down, pressing his body against yours, rolling his hips just slightly so his hard cock brushes against your slick folds, holding himself at your entrance like the tease he is.

"Really?" He smirks, "Somehow I think you are lying. But alright, I'll get the truth out of you, one way or another." The threat gives you a rush of excitement, wondering exactly how he's going to do that. Not that you're going to let him know that so easily.

"Are you going to keep talking or are we going to-" your question cuts off into a gasp of pleasure as he presses himself inside you, slowly, so you can feel every vein and ridge as he stretches your walls.

"Are we going to what?" He grins.

You slap his arm in reply but there's no power behind it, you're too busy concentrating on the wet noise as he pulls out of you before slowly pressing back in, making you whimper in need. The first time your pussy clenches around him it's involuntary, the second time it's just to enjoy the little groan the action draws from the pilot.

"Stop," he warns, his head dropping to your shoulder, clearly trying to steady his breathing as you clench around him a third time, just for fun. "Taking it slow."

"You don't have to take it slow," you assure him. For a moment you think it's sweet he's considering your comfort but you're more than ready for this.

"I want to," he grits as you clench around him again. The tone of his voice lets you know he's digging his stubborn heels in and nothing will change his mind. Even so you need more than he's offering. This has gone on too long, the tension is too much, the need drumming through your veins screams to be sated.

You whine, you beg, you plead, you drag your nails along his back and arch your hips against him, but he doesn't give. He rocks into you slowly, achingly slowly, maddeningly slowly, and for all your initial protests you enjoy every second of it.

The pleasure builds just as slow, each roll of his hips winding the cord tighter and tighter until you're sure you can't take any more, and then it pulls further. You can't do anything but surrender to the bliss it offers, raising your hips to meet his in the hopes his resolve will eventually break.

"You're incredible you know?" He pants against your mouth, sweat beading at his hairline, his curls sticking to his forehead, his eyes hooded and glazed. "Not just at this, but this too."

All you can do is stare at him, somewhat dazed, wondering how he's even thinking in coherent sentences right now, let alone speaking them. Somewhere your subconscious registers his words and it accompanies a host of butterflies in your belly.

"Just you, exactly as you are. You are incredible," he repeats, only this time it comes with a much harder thrust. You arch against him, your fingers digging into his shoulders as your head drops back against the pillows.

"Poe, please," you beg, unsure if you are able to take much more. Clearly neither can he, his name on your lips undoing his patience. He wraps his fingers around your thigh, hoisting your leg up over his hip as he sinks deeper into you, picking up the pace.

His hips slam into yours, filling the room with the sound of flesh on flesh, accompanied only by his curses and praises that fall freely and loudly. For all his requests for you to be loud the pilot's own moans are enough to drown yours out.

Working a hand between your bodies you press a finger to your clit, rubbing tight circles around the hardened nub as Poe angles his hips, pressing up against the blissful spot inside you. Your whole body almost arches up off the bed with the combined pleasure catapulting through you, an almost screamed curse fighting its way out of your throat.

Poe groans low and shakily, barely holding his own climax back, his thrusts becoming messy and mistimed.

"That's it baby. Fuck wanna feel you cum, wanna hear you," he groans, completely wrecked.

That's all it takes. Your orgasm hits suddenly and brightly, your whole body writhing and stiffening as the pleasure overtakes you, coursing through your veins like lava, making your vision go white as you tremble through it. Poe had wanted to hear you, but the purely feral noise you let out, you wouldn't be surprised if the whole damn hotel heard you. You're sure Poe would probably enjoy it if they did.

It's almost too much for your oversensitive body to feel Poe thrusting into you faster and harder, chasing his own end, babbled curses and praises falling from his lips. You shake with overstimulation when his hips stutter, emptying himself deep inside you, your nails leaving crescent moons on his shoulders as you cling desperately to him, your thighs trembling, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath.

Poe half collapses on you, letting your leg down slowly as he presses soft kisses to your neck, against every love bite he's given you in the heat of the moment. You suspect there may be quite a few questions when you get back to the base tomorrow. Turning your head you press a soft kiss to his cheek, making him lean up to look at you.

"Better than you dreamt?" He grins, still flushed and panting.

"I didn't dream about that," you giggle breathlessly, shaking limbs melting into the mattress, sated and tired. Poe raises his eyebrows, letting out a thoughtful hum before he suddenly pulls out of you, making you whimper and immediately miss the feeling of him inside you.

Shuffling down your body he presses a soft kiss between your breasts. You frown at him, confused by his sudden movement and how he still has so much energy. How is it you're a wrecked mess and he's still acting like he can go another ten rounds? Why can't he just be still for one second?

Another kiss to your ribs, first the right side, then the left, moving slowly down, before he pauses, looking up through his lashes at you.

"You didn't dream about us making love?"

You go to make fun of his choice of language but before you have a chance he licks a hot stripe down to your naval, making your breath catch with the sudden rush of pleasure. You're starting to question if he's able to read your thoughts, if he knows the truth of your dream already. Perhaps you had said more than just his name in your sleep?

"Nope, not about us," you breathe unsteadily, trying to hold yourself back from begging anything from him again. You suspect you know what's coming next and honestly, you're not sure if your body is able to handle it, barely over your first two climaxes. Still you weren't about to give in to his questions, he'd never shut up if you admit it. "Told you, I wasn't dreaming about you."

"You are a terrible liar," Poe states, his hands gripping your thighs, pushing them apart. The rush of cold air against your heated flesh makes you gasp and the pilot smirks, his eyes flickering down to your swollen cunt, leaking with your combined climax before coming back to you, a devilish grin taking over his face.

"'Whatever I want to do to you' still stand?" He asks.

All you can do is nod mutely, a fresh wave of need building despite your exhaustion.

"Good," Poe grins, pinning your thighs to the mattress, preventing you from moving. "Because I'm going to get the truth out of you my way."

He does exactly that. He drags the truth out of you to every question he wants answered and more, twice with his mouth, then again with his cock, reducing you to a babbling trembling mess, willing to tell him whatever he wanted to know, and he's infuriatingly smug about it.

Poe had been surprisingly tender afterwards. He'd carefully cleaned you up, brought you a glass of water, massaged your sore muscles, before he'd finally pulled you into his arms, holding you close against him.

Of course you had known Poe was kind, of course you knew he took care of the people he was close to, even those who only spent the night with him. There were enough stories around the base to give you a general idea of that, but for some reason you can't place this felt different, it felt intimate.

What surprised you more than anything was how quiet he was now. Appart from a few murmured words about how good you had been for him, and to check you were alright, he hadn't said much at all. It was almost unnerving after his behaviour all day. Really if you had known this would have shut him up you might have jumped on him hours ago. But now, the silence seems worrying.

"You okay?" You ask, your head still against his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat as his fingers draw mindless patterns against your back.

"Yeah, I'm okay. I was just thinking…maybe we can do this again? Sometime soon? Be in the same bed I mean." The pilot asks. He doesn't sound like the cocky confident Flyboy you're expecting. If anything he sounds a little unsure of his own question.

You won't give him the satisfaction of the enthusiastic yes that tries to escape. The last thing you want out of this night is to become some regular casual hook-up. Poe wasn't exactly known for keeping long term relationships, citing the fact it was too difficult during the middle of a war, which you suppose you could understand. He was at least always very clear about that with whoever he got involved with.

Equally you don't want to say no. You want this, him. You want the moments of passion and quiet, you want the teasing and fights, you want more in whatever way you can.

In the end you go for the middle ground, giving him an option of more, while closely guarding yourself against this being a casual fuck.

"Hmm, suppose if you buy me dinner first then I might consider it. I don't make a habit of sleeping with people without dates."

It's disarmingly sweet when he presses a soft kiss to your head, tightening his arm around you. Your chest aches all the more for moments like this.

"Alright. A date it is." You can hear the smile in his voice, sleepy and happy.

You didn't exactly expect him to agree to that so easily, and while it gives you a flutter of hope, you don't quite trust he catches your meaning.

"I said I'd consider, I didn't say I'd agree. I might have other options," you warn, trying to get him to consider what he wants you to be to him.

Poe lets out a soft chuckle.

"You say that like your pretending it wasn't the best fuck of your life, and you're desperate to do it again."

You lean up on your arm to look at him, raising an eyebrow and fixing him with an unimpressed look at his cockyness.

"Tell me I'm wrong," he challenges confidently, "because if I am, then I'm just going to have to keep trying. The aim is to make you fall hopelessly in love with me eventually."

"Through sex?" You laugh, ignoring the now familiar butterflies that tell you he might be closer to his aim than he knows.

Poe shrugs, "through whatever necessary means, as long as I get to keep you as mine."

It's almost a knee jerk reaction to open your mouth and tell him you aren't a pet or property to be owned, but as you meet his gaze you realise you are once more judging him a little too quickly and all too harshly. It's clear he means more than that, his gaze open and vulnerable.

A warm feeling of familiarity, of safety, of something bigger, spreads through your very bones, something that shows there is much more than lust and affection, perhaps for both of you.

Your response is much softer than your initial reaction might have been, had you not taken a moment.

"Take me to dinner tomorrow then?"

"I think tomorrow might be today," Poe smiles, nodding towards the window where the faint pink light of dawn is starting to peek through the drawn blinds. You groan knowing sunrise both means you really should untangle yourself from the pilot and head back to base.

"Well honestly I think I've had enough of you for one day." You tease, pushing yourself off him and sitting up, debating if you can handle another cold shower. In all honesty a cold shower is probably exactly what you need after you make the mistake of glancing down at Poe, still naked, the sheet barely covering his more private parts, his curls messy from your fingers, peering up at you with a half smile.

"We both know you can never get enough of me," Poe states, before he wraps his arms around you and drags you back down onto the bed. He throws one leg over yours, effectively trapping you next to him as he snuggles up close to you.

You don't bother fighting, too tired from the night's activity to argue your way out of his grip. Sighing you sink into the bed, allowing your eyes to flutter closed.

"I knew this would work," Poe hums happily in your ear. You mumble enough of a sound to make him realise you're asking what he means.

"Getting you in a hotel room with me would make you admit you wanted me."

You give another tired hum in acknowledgement before his words finally hit you, and you sit up to stare at him, suddenly wide awake. Poe grins back at you, knowing exactly what you are thinking.

"Tell me this was not some plan to get me into bed!"

Poe feigns a comedic shocked expression, holding one hand to his chest as he stares open mouthed at you.

"Of course not! What do you think of me? Why is your opinion of me is so low that you think I'd go as far to break the ship engine, so we'd be stuck here alone, find the busiest hotel on this planet, specifically book one room knowing the others would be booked already by the time we got here, ask for the smallest bed-"

He doesn't get to continue. Picking up the pillow you repeatedly hit him hard with it while Poe laughs, holding his hands up in surrender.

"I'm joking. I'm joking, I swear," he laughs, grabbing his own pillow and hitting you back. "I'd never purposely break a ship."

"You manipulative little shit,"

Neither of you surrender until the bed is covered with feathers, the pillowcases empty and discarded, your limbs tangled together, lips pressed against sweat salted skin. This time it's you who pries the truth from him, your way.

"My methods may be unorthodox but -" he gets no further before you smack him in the face with your pillow, causing him to dissolve into laughter once more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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moongreenlight · 7 months

Text

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley who despite his better judgement lets Soap talk him into picking up a girl for the night.

Mdni. Nsfw below cut.

Apparently Soap knows a guy who knows a guy in the area they’re deployed. They’d been staying at some shithole inn in France for weeks. Driving into the city to stake out some mark day in and day out. Tedious, mind-numbing work. Sitting at cafes and on patios at pubs people watching. Looking for anyone that may or may not match the vague description that had been provided by some mole on the other side.

Simon could sit still and shut up. Johnny was a separate issue. He could dial in for a few hours at a time, but then he’d start to slip. Bored and antsy, he’d try and strike up conversation. Inevitably returning to what must have been his favorite topic, or the one thing plaguing his mind the most. He’s horny. Fucking hell, is he horny.

Bitching and whining about not being able to get any play here because he doesn’t speak a lick of French and even when he tries it comes out so muddied that nobody takes him seriously. And that the inn they’re set up at is years away from town. Paints him out to be a serial killer.

Simon would grind his teeth and endure yet another one-sided talk about how bored Johnny had been getting of his hand. Even the left one wasn’t doing the trick anymore. He’d resorted to calling in some favors he was apparently owed to get the help of some girls in his evenings off.

“Jesus. Lookit the legs on her.”

Johnny had almost fallen out of his chair swiveling his entire body to watch some girl in a short skirt and a long trench coat stride past their spot outside of a cafe.

“Mhm.”

Simon was in a better spot to watch her pass. Eyeing her frame from over the rim of his steaming mug of tea. Fucking dreadful day. Drizzling rain. Bordering on sleet because of how miserable the weather was. Cloudy with a breeze that felt bitterly cold even through his coat. Shit tea, too. He couldn’t help but allow his mind to wander.

Not like they’d made any progress. Not like they could make any progress being staked out on a side street with no traffic whatsoever. The girl had been the only person other than their server that they’d seen come by in the last half hour. And sure, she had good legs. Better than their server’s at least. Some cranky older woman who’d ignored his attempts to order in French and looked mugged off that she had to deal with them at all, especially sat outside in this weather.

“Hell’s bells. Almost forgot you had a brain in there somewhere.”

Johnny, of course, couldn’t resist making a dig.

“Don’t get carried away.”

Simon grunted.

“Naw. C’mon, L.T. You like girls? They’ve got girls.”

Should have predicted that he was going to run wild with this.

“M’warnin’ you.”

“Loads of girls. Fuckin’ customizable. Send you a preference sheet and everything. Real professional operation.”

Johnny snickered into his paper coffee cup. Given to him along with a nasty look when he’d fidgeted with the ceramic mug he’d first had a bit too much and sent it smashing into the pavement.

Simon wasn’t one to be jerked around cock-first like Johnny, but Jesus. He was wearing thin. Maybe the isolation was getting to him. Maybe a seed had been planted somewhere deep in his mind from Johnny’s moaning. Not to mention, it was impossible to get it up watching French cable porn on a twin bed. He was backed-up and pissed off with the work. And with no end in sight, it could push a man to do strange things.

He shifted his hips forward in his seat, taking a long drink of his tea as he scanned the empty street for the umteenth time.

“Haven’t used up all your favors?”

You would have thought he’d just backhanded Johnny the way his eyes bugged out of his head.

“Gie’s a break.”

“Jus’ a question.”

Simon shrugged, sighing like he was already regretting asking. He was.

“Don’t work me up over nothin’, L.T.”

Johnny grinned, waggling his brows and leaning his forearms onto the table. Now completely distracted from the task at hand.

“Johnny.”

“Sure I could work somethin’ out. Only ‘cause I’m feelin’ generous. Ken yer a’right owing me a favor?”

Simon snorted.

“Sure I can manage.”

Johnny’s eyes were glinting something awful. More lively than he’d been in days. Practically laying over the table and kicking his feet. Thrilled to finally have the means to something Simon wanted.

“We’ll see about that’.”

Conversation moved on. Dragged back to the mission with instruction to change location. They spent a full ten hours out in the rain and the cold and the grey for absolutely no payout. Again. Still at square goddamn one. It was arguably worse than combat. Least on a real mission he’d get some release.

Johnny had stepped away in the early evening to make a call. Just before they were tapped out by Price and Gaz. Likely cashing in his favors owed, because he came back with a smug smile and two pints. Saying something about how Simon needed to quit taking himself so seriously. All work and no play or some stupid shit to that tune. Made a comment in passing on their drive back to the inn about how he should get his quarters decent by nine.

Honestly, Simon wasn’t expecting much. It was a bit of a ridiculous concept to him to begin with. He’d regretted saying anything straight after the words had left his mouth. He wasn’t sure he’d even be able to entertain some two-bit whore, even if she just served to curb his boredom. He never sought out things like this. Never felt the need. He wasn’t like Johnny or Gaz where he had to sneak off during missions for a wank or a quick fuck when time allowed. Not like Price where he’d seek a willing nurse or secretary to grope or bend over his desk on a day off. Sure, he’d take the opportunity if it arose, but he was always more focused on the job while he was at work rather than chasing his next high.

And he couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken anyone home. Fucked into his hand as much was necessary to keep everything operational. Knew when it was time when he started lashing out on a hairpin trigger. Got lazy on missions. Lost one too many sparring matches during training because he couldn’t focus.

So when nine came and went, he just found himself agitated that he’d requested the woman at the front desk change the sheets on his bed again so late. Ducking out to the balcony for a cigarette when she came in and slipping her a few euros on her way out despite the way her lip curled distastefully. Fucking frogs.

He was sat on the armchair in the corner of his room. Halfway paying attention to whatever channel was on the TV across from him and nursing a tumbler of shit whiskey he’d picked up from the shops their first night in. Swapped his mission clothes for a black tee shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants. Tugging his balaclava over his face out of pure habit. Strictly instructed not to wear it out for the sake of keeping a low profile. Though he wasn’t sure how much good that did. He stood out from the crowd with his scars and crooked nose and tattoos without the covering. Whatever. Wardrobe wasn’t his job for a reason he supposed.

The sharp knock on his door grated heavily on his last nerve. Eliciting a low growl, but no movement to answer. It was half ten at this point. He wasn’t expecting anyone. Probably just another group of teenagers lost on their way to a friend’s room.

Another knock, and this time it didn’t stop. A muffled giggle through the door.

“Jesus Christ.”

He grumbled, shoving up and striding over to the door. Jerking the door open and using his hulking frame to cover the small opening he allowed.

Johnny’s fist nearly collided with Simon’s jaw. Distracted by the two girls stood behind him in the hall, giggling at him and batting their lashes. He was grinning like a goddamned devil. Chest puffed-out, shoulders rolled back. Entirely too comfortable.

Simon cocked a brow, giving the group a scornful once-over.

“Aye, L.T.! I come bearing gifts.”

Simon’s brow shot up further, eyes flicking from his friend to each of the girls behind him. Johnny immediately caught on to his confusion and barked a laugh, slinging his arm around the shoulder of the girl on the left. She sunk comfortably into position, leaning into him and giggling like it had been rehearsed.

She was pretty. Both of the girls were. The one tucked under Johnny’s arm had long auburn hair tumbling over her shoulders. Bright green eyes. Great smile. Perfectly groomed. Both of them covered conservatively by long coats to protect from the rain that had gradually started to come down harder and colder through the day. Hard to tell they were hooking by looking at them.

They seemed more familiar with Johnny than what Simon could assume was normal. It made his stomach turn if he thought too much into it, so he didn’t. Instead he side stepped, allowing the second girl barely enough room to slip through the door, and jerked his head for her to move.

“S’pose I know better than to expect a thank you.”

Johnny grinned, entirely unbothered by Simon’s glare that was boring through his skull. Arm already wandering down the auburn haired girl’s back at an alarming speed.

“Not as dim as you look, Sargent.”

Simon sighed, snapping the door shut.

“You’re late.”

He said flatly before he’d even finished locking the door. Turning to face the girl who’d already made herself comfortable on the edge of his bed. Leaned back on her hands, flashing him a dazzling smile.

“Throwing off your schedule, am I?”

You said, voice dripping with honeyed sarcasm. This made Simon recoil slightly. He’d been expecting some trashy, mildly-disgusting woman to come stumbling through the door when Johnny had mentioned he was cashing in favors. Not you. Not by a long shot. You looked, for lack of a better word, spoiled. Expensive. Perfectly styled, glossy hair. A tasteful amount of makeup. Not so much that it marred your features, but enough to make you nearly unapproachably attractive. And relatively covered-up. Expensive looking fur-trimmed coat falling just above your ankle.

Noticeable lack of a French accent. And you weren’t cowering in his presence, which suggested that you’d dealt with worse than him. A thought that sent something strange down his spine. Jealousy maybe? Anger? Sympathy? He wasn’t in the mood to dig further into that.

He crossed the room, lowering himself back into the armchair he’d been stationed in before his night was interrupted.

“You’re an hour and a half late.”

His tone was clipped. His eyes cold and hard. Fixed directly on you in an almost invasive kind of eye-contact. He jerked up his balaclava to his nose to take a deep drink from his glass. Studying you from over the rim. Killing the contents and setting it back on the side table with a soft thud.

You pursed your lips for a fraction of a second, standing from the corner of the bed and pacing across the small room to stand in front of him. Threatening to encroach on his personal space. Smiling tightly in a way that seemed to come with a practiced nonchalance. That same feeling settled in the center of his stomach.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I got caught up.”

Your soft, sweet tone did nothing to tame his irritation.

“They couldn’t even send a professional?”

He shot back tersely, folding his arms over his chest. You cocked your head slightly to the side. A fraction of genuine humor peeking through your smile.

“Plenty professional.”

You shrugged, letting the comment roll off of you. Water off a duck’s back. It irritated Simon to no end and he couldn’t pinpoint why. Trying to settle his mind by watching the way your perfectly manicured fingers began to work on slowly undoing the buttons of your coat with careful attention.

He snorted, tugging his balaclava back down over his jaw.

“That your thing, then?”

You gestured to his face covering. Shrugging off your coat to reveal a fucking scrap of a dress. Much more in-line with what he’d imagined a hooker to wear. A tiny, black, strapless thing that hugged your curves like it had been sewn directly onto you. Black lace garter pulled high on your thigh. Knee-height black boots that must have made you four inches taller than you were.

He cocked a brow, tapping a finger on the arm of his chair.

“Somethin’ like that.”

You cracked a true smile at that. Folding your coat neatly in your arms before setting it on the beat-up dresser to his right. Returning attentively to your spot in front of him.

He stiffened. Already perfect posture becoming rigid to the point of snapping. Keeping his hands firmly planted on either arm of the chair. Narrowing his eyes as he looked over your face in much closer detail.

“It’s late.”

Was all he managed. Voice rough as ever.

“And?”

You tilted your head like a confused dog.

“And you were an hour and a half late. It’s late.”

He shot back dryly. Nails digging into the chair.

“Let me make it up to you.“

You sank to your knees just between his legs surprisingly gracefully given how tight your dress was. Falling delicately onto the disgusting carpet. Faded and torn and fraying. Scratching at your bare knees. Didn’t even pull a face. Conditioned to understand that this was normal. Trained to grin and bear it. Another stone added to the weight anchoring him to his seat.

It was horribly cliche. Such a painfully tacky line, but he wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth; so he shifted his hips forward and allowed your slender fingers to dance up his thighs and dip under the waistband of his sweatpants. Aided you in tugging them down to his ankles. Grit his teeth together when you began palming him through his underwear. Trying not to catch your eyes that were fixed up on him. Trying to push the nagging voice in the back of his mind away. Reminding him of just how dirty this was. Made him feel fucking pathetic. Calling in the aid of a hooker like he couldn’t bed a girl himself.

And the worst part. The part that brought up the most self-loathing; was how fucking fast the blood was racing to his cock under your touch. How much he truly enjoyed seeing you knelt down and blinking up at him with a look that could have been confused for adoration. Maybe you were a professional.

He sucked in a sharp breath through his nose when you finally sprung his aching cock free from his boxers. Forcing his head back to avoid your gaze. Pressing it hard against the wall to the point of giving himself a headache. Scarring the soft wood of the chair’s arms with his nails when you licked a hot stripe from his base to the tip.

All of his guilt and knotted up emotions seemed to dissolve themselves at least partially when you wrapped your lips around him. He’d almost forgotten just how warm a mouth was. Infinitely better than his hand. Jesus, was it.

He kept his hands to himself. Not needing to guide you like he had so many others. Tried to let himself relax under the feeling of your hand gripping his base and your mouth working his tip. And he nearly did get swept away when you removed your hand and tried to force his stiff cock to the back of your throat. Allowing you to work at choking and gagging around him for longer than was probably polite. But again, he just found himself irritated. Edging himself out of pure goddamn accident because no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t force himself from his mind.

He couldn’t understand why you were such a sticking point to him. He’d had one night stands before. Hell, that’s all he’d had. Never cared much about the quality or condition or history of the girls he slept with. Maybe he had a savior complex he was too stubborn to admit to. Maybe his mind had been so warped and addled over the years that he formed some kind of baseless connection with you for God knew what reason. He just couldn’t fucking stop thinking about you.

He would have liked to. Would have liked to screw his eyes shut and focus on how good you felt wrapped around him. Mouth hot and wet. Wanted to focus on the ecstasy of your throat struggling to fit him. Listen to your soft, choked whines. Let himself pretend you were no different to the others he’d bedded before, but it was fruitless. He made a low sound, a growl that lodged itself somewhere in his chest, before taking your jaw in his hand and pulling you off of him. Cock still throbbing like it had its own heartbeat.

“You need to go.”

He made the mistake of glancing down. Saw the way your perfect makeup had begun smearing around your eyes and down your cheeks just barely. Big eyes rimmed with tears. Nose running, chin and lips glistening. Slick from your own spit. It nearly pushed him over the edge, but he knew inevitably he was prolonging his own torture.

“What?”

Your voice was hoarse because of how much strain your throat had been under. Softer than it had been. Less confident. You looked almost hurt. Wiping your mouth on the back of your hand and sniffing softly. Jaw held fixed in his hand.

“You need to go.”

He repeated, firmer this time. Sucking his teeth. Trying to ignore the way your gentle panting cooled the shining trails of spit running down his shaft and sent a chill up his spine.

Your face twisted in confusion, mouth falling open. Leaning back on your haunches to look him over like he’d suddenly grown another head.

“Is it not good?”

He groaned softly, finally letting go of your head. Not realizing just how much effort it had taken for him to pull you off until he saw the small red marks decorating the delicate skin of your jaw.

“S’fine.”

“Fine?”

You looked properly offended. A little confused. Like this had never happened before- and it probably hadn’t. Of course he’d be the one to stain your perfect record. Of course he’d be the one to warp your pretty face like that. Drove him up the fucking wall.

He fought the urge to roll his eyes. Now he was backed-up, pissed off, and you wouldn’t leave as easily as he would’ve liked. If he was lucky, he’d still have half a hard-on by the time he got you out the door. Maybe coax out a less than satisfying orgasm that would at least put him to sleep.

“Gave myself lockjaw for fine?”

You spoke again, those same nimble fingers now gently massaging the hinge of your jaw. He tried to avoid looking at the way your dress bunched around your hips and revealed your panties. Black lace that matched the garter on your thigh.

“It’s late.”

He huffed a sigh. Leaning down to fumble in his sweatpants pocket for a cigarette and a lighter. Needing anything else to focus on. It brought him nearly nose to nose with you. Not realizing until he flicked his eyes up. And you didn’t recoil. Sat there half glaring at him, the tip of your nose almost brushing his through the balaclava. You were pretty even this close. Probably more so.

“You’ve said.”

You shot back cooly, brows knit together.

“Have I?”

He pulled back up, hooking his mask up over his nose once more and sticking the cigarette between his teeth.

“Few times.”

You looked wholly unamused. He flicked his lighter open. Lighting the tip and taking a deep drag.

“Meant it a few times.”

He shrugged, speaking through his exhale. Turning his chin up and away from you so the curling smoke didn’t wash over you.

You snorted, pushing up to your feet, putting your hands on your hips and giving him a once-over.

“You’re seriously asking me to leave?”

His teeth sunk into the butt of the cigarette just a fraction too hard. He felt the crunch of the filter bending under the force.

“S’not you, it’s me.”

He offered. A wisp of a dry smile tugging momentarily at the corner of his lips. This earned another smile from you. He caught it even through the way you chewed the inside of your cheek.

“You married?”

His eyes narrowed slightly. He almost choked on the cloud of smoke he’d been drawing in.

“No.”

His voice was harsh. Like a string pulled taught to the point of snapping.

“So what is it? You don’t like me?”

You shifted your weight a bit, but he could tell it wasn’t because you were uncomfortable. You still held yourself confidently. Shoulders rolled back, posture straight but not stiff.

“Bloody hell.”

He groaned, rubbing his brow.

“Is that it, then?”

You prodded further.

“No.”

You seemed thoroughly dissatisfied with his answers. But he didn’t know what else he could say. You seemed fine. Pretty girl. Got him closer to an orgasm than he’d come in weeks. He just couldn’t get over the fact that you were hired out to do this. Made him feel too dirty. That and he’d already looked too far into the situation. You seemed like you’d been doing this longer than anyone should have to. Strangely enough he felt some obligation to protect you. Wanted to pull you away from whatever situation that had pushed you to this.

“So what’s the hang up?”

You huffed a sigh.

“Don’t usually do this.”

He grunted out, resigning to the fact that he’d have to drink himself to sleep at this point. Leaning down to jerk his sweatpants back up his legs.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

You snarked back. He snorted a humorless chuckle from around the cigarette.

“Nothin’ against you.”

“Yeah, alright.”

You shook your head, a small smile curving your mouth. A mix of confusion and amusement. Like you couldn’t believe that this was really happening.

“I’m not in the business of I.O.U’s.”

You said, looking over your shoulder while you walked over to grab your coat from the dresser.

“S’at so?”

He ashed his cigarette into his empty glass. Trying not to snort when you flashed him a sour look.

“You’re sure? I’m supposed to be here all night.”

You were already fastening the buttons on your coat. Glancing past him to the window on the back wall of the small room. The curtains were drawn, but through the backlight of the street lamps outside you could see rain streaking the glass.

“Mhm”

He hummed his answer. Silently grateful that you were finally moving toward leaving. Least he’d be able to get a few hours of shut eye before having to go back out tomorrow. Hopefully sleep off the guilt and the slightly sick feeling that’d settled itself over him.

You left a few minutes later. After making absolutely certain he was sure. Then it was ‘cheers’ and he was dead bolting the door. He got a fresh glass and downed the rest of the bottle of whiskey. Not enough to even get him tipsy, but enough to lull him into a dreamless sleep for the few hours he allowed himself.

He should have been expecting that Johnny would give him a fucking earful in the days following. You must’ve said something to the auburn haired girl and it got around. Wouldn’t shut up about it. Gave him shit like he was getting paid to do it. Couldn’t believe that he’d pass up an opportunity like that.

They got shipped back to base about a week later. Simon was thankful for the short break. Slowly working on forgetting the entire mission. The whole ordeal with you. Focused his efforts on training and filling out the endless towers of paperwork that’d gathered on the edge of his desk in his absence.

And then it was months later. And he’d made good progress on forgetting France. Mission was a bust. Wasted time and money and effort for no payout. Turns out their mark had been in Germany the entire time. Tipped off that they were on the lookout for him. Johnny slowly stopped his teasing. Only occasionally bringing it up when Simon dismissed the efforts of an overly eager private. Things went back to normal.

After getting intel on a new assignment, Price had urged the boys to get together at some pub by base for drinks on him. Chat about next steps and do some more of the team bonding he was so keen on. Simon grudgingly obliged. The bar was full of people seeing as it was a Friday, so he was content people-watching and grunting a few words when prompted. Decent way to kill a few hours.

He’d excused himself to go outside for a smoke, pushing through the crowd until he finally reached the side alley next to the pub. Taking a few long moments to work his way through a cigarette and let his head stop pounding from the noise of the inside. He wasn’t focused on anything in particular, at least not until he heard some shouting on the street.

He furrowed his brow slightly, pushing off the brick he’d been leaned against and sidling out to see what was going on. Not usually interested in the commotion, but moving out of some deep-rooted obligation to supervise a situation.

He saw a car with dark tinted windows rolling slowly down the road. The driver leaning half-out his window and shouting something over to a girl who was walking by herself down the sidewalk. Her back was to Simon, but he could tell by how stiff she was that this wasn’t a friendly exchange.

He groaned under his breath, taking a moment to debate on if he should get involved before flicking his cigarette to the ground and crushing it under his heel. Starting down the street toward the girl.

It didn’t take him long to close the distance between them. The girl was walking slowly, he could see the way her head was on a swivel, searching for an escape. The driver of the car was shouting something crass at her and she was making a point of not engaging.

“Alright?”

He called out through the dim street, rolling his shoulders back and tucking his hands into the pockets of his coat. Puffing out his chest slightly in case his sheer size alone wasn’t enough to impress.

The driver faltered slightly, the girl did not stop to look back.

“Yeah, mate. Cheers.”

The man called back, trying to sound casual. Simon grunted and nodded, staying as friendly as he could. Moving a little closer to the curb to shield the girl from view. Thankfully, this was all the interaction the driver seemed to need to get the hint. Pulling off without much more prompting.

The girl’s posture immediately relaxed. Shoulders dropped, slowing her gait to a stop.

“Thanks. I owe you-“

Her voice cut off like someone had pressed mute when she turned to face Simon. He was stunned. Fucking shocked to see your face. This had to be some cruel trick played on him by the universe.

You looked great. Better than you had in France- if that was even possible. Even with the way your face paled, he could tell. Your eyes were brighter. Shining at him like headlights. He would have been able to convince himself he was hallucinating if you hadn’t had that same look of recognition painted over your face.

“Thought you weren’t in the business of I.O.U’s.”

He broke the silence after a few long moments. Both of you stood rooted to the pavement mere yards apart. Your breathless laugh broke the tension like a stone dropped in the middle of a stilled lake.

“I wasn’t.”

He nodded sharply.

“And now?”

You smiled. Brighter than you had before.

“I could be persuaded.”

He scoffed.

“S’at so?”

#cod mw2 #call of duty #cod x reader #moongreenlight #moongreenlightwrites #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley smut #simon riley x you #simon riley smut #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost smut #ghost x reader

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nvoirs · 1 year

Note

i had an idea and I was wondering if I could request you write it! <33

So the reader is a rookie agent working with Leon to save Ashley in re4, but Leon's salty about it because he prefers to work alone, but after getting to know her better and having an extreme attraction to her.. they hide out somewhere while taking shelter from an attack by salazar and they share an intimate moment? 😏

could Leon be dom and the reader is nervous and sub... but Leon's still respectful while still fucking her dumb?

ty!!!

Disclaimers: Thongs are not practical for missions but whatever! Cowgirl + missionary position, Leon dom but he's a respectful man, female reader sub, cussing, fingering, hand job, spanking, marking, biting, hickeys, creampied.

There he goes off again, walking ahead of you yet again. If you were ambushed he probably wouldn't even bat an eye at you probably saying “you can handle it on your own.” Leon Kennedy was the epitome of an arrogant bastard, he made your blood pump angrily around your body fists clenched ready to punch him squarely in his perfect nose.

You didn’t hate Leon. it’s just that he got on your nerves sometimes, he preferred to ‘work alone’ as he put it. He was acting as if you had chosen to come along with him like some dumb puppy of a rookie. You actually did look up to Leon, copying his hand movements with his gun and shielding yourself the same way he did. He wasn’t a brilliant partner to you but he sure knew how to take care of himself.

“Leon, look! There’s the church, hunnigan mentioned.”

He mentally rolled his eyes at you ignoring your little buzzing voice as he trudged to the church shotgun in hand with you scurrying behind his tall form.

“Hey you know Leon, you don’t have to be such a rude bitch ya know? Lighten up a little.” You looked at his stoic expression that slowly changed into a mixture of arrogance and disgust.

“Watch your mouth rookie, I’m your superior. You follow my orders and speak when I tell you to.”

You scoffed as you tagged along, pistol in hand as you glared at him. He was so fucking handsome you couldn’t lie. His golden hair wet with rain water made him look so sexy and you were biting your lip but quickly turned away when he caught you staring.

Leon was about to open his mouth when you heard a distant cry in the distance. A bunch of axe wielding cultists came scrambling your way ready to stake you both. You both turned a corner the opposite way from the church, when Leon shockingly grabbed your arm flinging you into the side of a cabin door.

“Quick in here!”

You thought you saw an apologetic gaze for quite literally smacking you into the door but it was gone as quickly as it was revealed. You silently followed his orders walking through the door of the small home. The air smelt musty and dust particles swarmed everything you touched, a faint smell of rotting meat lingered making you curl your lips and scrunch your nose in disgust.

“Get down!” Leon hissed. “Alright, alright.” you replied, hands surrendered in the air, getting down on your knees, your back hitting the wall below the window just as a mumbling villager swept past.

Your heartbeat thumped in your chest, and you could hear blood rushing in your ears scared of being caught. Leon however was poking his head out just so he could see out of the window.

“Fuck, they're setting up a camp goddamnit.” His frustrated words made your mind hazy, and you swallowed the lump in your dry throat.

“Looks like we're going to be here for a while, unless I can get in contact with Luis or Hunnigan.” He smacked the radio in his palm, but all that could be heard was a faint crackling sound. Not a good sign.

“So.. what now?” You trembled, wait to go to make it obvious you were shitting yourself right now.

“Don't tell me you're a scared rookie.” He chuckled a cheshire grin etching itself upon his pinkish lips.

“I mean I might be sawn in half if they find us here, in this tight little hut with barely any ammo left so yeah Leon I am a bit scared.”

For the first time ever, Leon's face seemed to soften at your curt words. “Don't worry rookie, I'll keep you safe, I promise.” He stuck his pinkie out, and you looked at it as if he was mocking you.

“Seriously, What am I five?”

He pouted. “No but we're never too old for pinky promises.” You laughed, slapping his pinky playfully away.

It had been around an hour since you and Leon had been stuck, waiting for the right time to bolt through that door and make your escape. That time had yet to come as the villagers looked like they weren't budging at all. You'd gotten to know Leon slightly more than you had known sixty minutes ago. He was actually a pretty cool dude, and your crush on him just intensified at all the things he spoke to you about.

You eventually both stopped speaking, sighing, your eyes drooping with sleep. You couldn't help but just close your eyes..

“Wake up!” Leon whispered to you. Your eyelids shot open, “W-what can we leave now?” Your head moved from something soft beneath you, and you realised it was Leon's thigh.

You moved swiftly, coughing to mask the embarrassment bubbling inside of you. “Sorry Leon, didn't mean to fall asleep on you.” You awkwardly laughed scratching your head before stretching.

“No we can't leave just yet, but you sleeping on me was kinda cute.”

“W-what?” Your eyes widened, like a deer stuck in headlights you didn't know what to say.

“Need me to repeat that?” He whispered into your ear, smooth like honey, warm like the sun.

“No? But thanks I guess.” His deep chuckles had butterflies fluttering violently inside of you as you swallowed.

“So cute.. do you maybe want to do something else to pass the time, rookie?”

You weren't entirely sure what he meant, but then it hit you like a truck.

Sex? Here? Out of all places!

“Leon, I'd love to but not here..”

His eyes glistened, the pupil of his eyes dilating in excitement.

“But wouldn't it be fun here baby? What other place will we have this much privacy?”

He had a point. You and him would eventually meet back up with Luis and Ashley and you wouldn't have another chance of trying this new side of Leon you hadn't seen before.

“There isn't that much privacy.” You mumbled, looking up at the window, the ragged curtains fluttering in the cool breeze.

“Enough privacy then.” His hand was clutching your thigh lightly and you hadn't even realised. You wiggled your thigh slightly, and Leon gripped tighter. He was still waiting for an answer.

“O-okay.”

He grinned when you nodded, showing his pearly rows of teeth.

He cupped your face gently, moving in for a sweet passionate but desperate kiss. His blonde stray hairs tickling your face, as his kisses slowly got more sloppy, more needy. He bit your lip, and you whined at the sudden intrusion but you liked it. Your hands slid around the nape of his neck, trying to pull him impossibly closer. At this point you were sitting on his lap, grinding down for any sort of friction.

“Aren't you just the sweetest when you make those sounds for me?” Leon gently pushed you off of him, pinning you down to the dusty, wooden floor. His hands trailing up your torso, before hovering over your chest.

You watched him, locking eye contact while the wetness grew inside your underwear. You nodded, giving him permission to undress you at your will, he started ripping off your tactical gear. It was dangerous, he knew that because the crazed villagers were only a few feet away but he couldn't help but want to see you completely naked on your knees for him.

Managing to shimmy of your pants, he squeezed his eyes shut from the view. Your underwear was so skimpy, it was barely covering you and he raised an eyebrow at the choice of underwear you'd gone with. A thong.

“What? I find them practical for missions” You pouted.

You watched his eyes darken with a brewing lust for you. Rolling you over so your tits were squished and your ass exposed he slapped a cheek. Not loud enough to alert the cultists, but loud enough that you got the message. You were driving him to the very edge, knowing what choice of clothing you had on underneath this whole time. If he had known, you would have been fucked and full of his cum long before. The stinging sensation made your pussy clench, groping the other cheek Leon left another searing slap making your eyes water.

“You okay down there?”

You nodded, “Want more please.”

He chuckled, tutting at you, “Always so eager, even at a time like this.”

Leon unclasped your bra, the straps falling down your quivering shoulders as his calloused hands ran over the skin of them. Leon pulled you up so your bra slipped from your body completely, leaving you exposed. He hummed as he dragged you onto his lap, grabbing each breast in the palm of his hand and kneading them causing you to throw your head back from the burst of pleasure.

“Oh yeah, just like that Leon.”

Your moans of encouragement spurred him on to pursuit, taking a finger before wetting it and bringing it back to your erect nipple. He rubbed his saliva around, tight little circles making you jerk up. Your pussy was leaking like crazy as you whimpered into his ear, rutting like a pup against his clad thigh. The thin of your underwear made it easier for you to grind against him, hot and sweaty you could feel yourself getting closer-

Coming to an abrupt stop because of the strong pair of hands glueing your hips into place you mewled at the loss of contact.

“No! was so close.” Tears filling your eyes.

“Aw baby, don't you want to cum on my fingers instead? don't cry shh now.” He twisted you around so you were facing him, clasping your face in his rough hands.

“Y-yes please.” Pulling your panties to the side, and with a satisfied hum Leon slipped two of his fingers into your throbbing hole.

“Oh!” You were surprised at your own noises, but maybe that's because your senior had his fingers buried deep inside of you.

“You like that?” The smug look annoyed you a bit, but you couldn't open your mouth because if you did you weren't going to form a coherent sentence for him to understand.

A low whine slipped its way from under your breath, making you slap a hand to your filthy mouth. Leon saw this, grabbing your hand that was plastered across your face and pinning it to the ground.

You were panting, the curdling feeling in your stomach increasing second by second.

“I want to hear you, want to hear how good I'm making you feel.” Leon mumbled inside your ear, sending straight up shivers rolling down your slumped form pressed tightly against his broad chest.

“Leon I'm gonna- I can't hold it I'm gonna be too loud-!” He already knew this with the way you were tightening your walls around his fingers like you never wanted them to leave.

Leon hushed you and you panicked as the coil in your abdomen snapped making you scream but Leon was quicker pressing a large hand swiftly to your loud mouth.

You rode out your high by grinding against his lap, until finally you were back down to earth again.

“Baby if you're that loud with just my fingers, how are you gonna take my actual dick?”

You flushed an incredibly red colour, “You want to do that?”

His eyes glinted, “Of course I do, we've gone too far to start anew.”

The corruption was real, and Leon had you in the palm of his hand.

He dropped his pants, clutching his throbbing cock in one hand stroking it as you watched him. Your eyes fluttering hidden beneath your long lashes making Leon's cock twitch.

“Do you want to help me out angel?” His grin widened, as he watched you move from your sprawled out position on the ground.

“Yes please, I want to.” You sprung up at the opportunity, making him chuckle at your eagerness to please him. To please your senior.

You were naked completely, vulnerable to the touch and Leon watched you move your unblemished, smooth skin unmarked. He'll have to fix that later.

Holding his cock, you felt the warmth of his skin blossoming beneath your fingers. Your up and down movements made Leon grit his teeth, head leaning against the cracked wall as you rubbed him increasingly.

“Oh fuck yes, go faster.”

His command worked wonders on you, as you sped up your movements. Leon opened his eyes and took in the view right in front of him. Plump lips swollen covered in something he believed to be his own saliva, hair messily strewn on your head, and the sparkly red nail polish looked good holding him like that. He didn't really think your nail polish was professional at first but he just found it really cute now.

He was coming before he knew it. Spurts of cum covered himself, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd been this intimate with somebody.

“That's a lot.” Your widened eyes caught his attention and he chuckled.

“That's the way you make me feel, now why don't you clean up the mess you made?”

Your mouth was honest to god heavenly. Heavenly could really only be the one that could describe you finally on your knees gracing your presence for Leon to admire.

“Oh yeah, get that tongue working c'mon.” He was huffing and puffing by the time you were done, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

“C'mere, come and ride me before we have to get going.” You gulped as you shifted your body weight over to Leon.

Slowly sinking yourself down onto him you felt his dick press against your inner side.

“Did you miss the entrance because you're still a little out of it baby?” He lifted you off of his lap, stroking your clit making you bite your tongue hard.

“You should try again, maybe you'll land a bullseye.” His glistening eyes didn’t seem blue anymore, but something darker entirely like he was enjoying embarrassing you.

You sunk down again, the burning sensation of Leon's cock filling your walls made tears prick your eyes.

“Need help moving?” He muttered softly in your ear.

“N-no I don’t” Your head lolled into the crook of his neck, smelling the sweat and dirt accumulated from the job. It was surprisingly comforting and you stayed like that till you heard Leon chuckle grabbing a fistful of your tied up hair yanking your head back not too hard but it definitely wasn’t soft either.

“You're so stubborn, just ask for help, you know?”

Grabbing a hold of your hips, he began to grind you against his cock and you made your way towards the snug spot in his chest once again.

“Mmph Leon- so big!”

“Or maybe you're just too small.”

Your bottom lips trembled at his words, a shudder passing over you as you gripped onto his shoulder practically glueing your hand to his skin. Making out the top of the ganandos heads you gasped when you saw one of their heads slowly turning to observe the surroundings.

Without thinking you pushed Leon to the ground, his damp hair tickling your face as you held your breath. He looked at you confused, but you just enveloped your lips in his to stop your high pitched moans. His cock was impossibly deep inside of you at this angle, slick dripping down your leg as you felt yourself reaching that orgasmic bliss.

“Any reason why you did that?”

“They were fuck- gonna see us.”

“Well they would have seen me fucking you stupid that’s all.” Grabbing your ass cheeks, Leon bounced you harder on his cock. You couldn’t even warn him as you cummed hard, creaming his cock trickling down your thighs.

Muscles tensing as a hard wave of overstimulation washed over your whole body, Leon had rolled you over pounding into you as hard as he could. Grunting and fallen curses leaving his blessed lips as he came hard inside of you. You're already warm insides, warmed even more by his creamy load.

“So glad I got to feel that pussy, hope you're on birth control baby.”

“What if I’m not?”

You were, but wanted to tease him a bit, get his heart pumping.

“Well there’s no morning after pills around here, I mean I could ask the merchant but I don’t think he’d have those in stock so- Ouch!”

A sharp pain to the ribs welcomed Leon, as he clutched his now sore side baby blue eyes blinking up at you as he watched you pull your pants up grimacing.

“Hey what was that for?”

“For being a dick, superiors can still be dicks, you know.”

He huffed, crossing his arms, eyes narrowing at your appearance.

“Well if you want a mini Kennedy running around your legs for the next twenty years, be my guest but he’d be tough just like his papa.”

Leon had finished pulling his pants up, and buckling his belt before running a hand through his matte blonde strands.

“I was joking, Leon.” You clicked your tongue.

“Oh right, I knew that.”

“Sure ya did, now how am I going to wear this?” You brandished the torn underwear you held between your thumb and index finger.

“Well, that’s pretty unwearable rookie I’d go look for another pair.”

“We fucked and your still calling me rookie?” You hissed. “Where exactly do you want me to look for another pair of underwear in this shithole?”

His eyes were travelling to the stairs that led to the top of the house,you caught that following his lead.

“No way Leon! I am not wearing someone else's underwear, gross!” You scowled at the thought.

“Underwear really wasn’t covering you anyways, but hey It’d be nice to feel my cum drip down your legs, show you who took you right here.”

He placed a swift kiss on the corner of your mouth, leaving you to indulge in your new feelings for your sarky but extremely attractive superior.

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy smut #leon scott kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #resident evil smut #leon s kennedy #resident evil #resident evil x reader #re4 leon smut

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guess-my-next-obsession · 1 year

Text

A New Friend (Part 1/2)

pairing: park ranger!frankie morales x f!reader

rating: M (mild sexual desire but nothing even mildly explicit, reader has a douchey boyfriend, breakups, frankie is an angel because i said so, just cutesy flirting mostly, we get sexy in part two don’t worry)

wc: 4k

frankie masterlist

Where the fuck am I?

You turned to study the woods around you, the trees notched with marks you’d made after having watched one too many survival shows on your couch looking a little too familiar for comfort.

You’d been trying to find your way back to the trail for two hours now, sunset turning into night before your eyes.

Now, you had to come to terms with the fact that you were indeed very lost, going in circles when you were supposed to be heading south—you were supposed to be heading south, right?—to your campsite, the campsite your boyfriend and his friends were at getting shitfaced, likely not even noticing your absence.

As you wandered the dark woods in hopes of finding any sort of sign or guide to safety with your dull flashlight, you considered why you even came along on this trip in the first place.

This weekend marked your fifth anniversary, plans of a trip for just the two of you becoming quickly derailed by the unexpected—at least on your part—visit of his two best friends who showed up and invited him out for a camping trip. Not wanting to spend the weekend all by yourself, contemplating the future of your relationship, you decided to join them, much to their dismay judging by the way they’d been ignoring you since the start of the trip.

This evening, you decided to go out on a walk to get some much needed air from the men who were busy pretending you didn’t exist—including your partner. That’s how you found yourself lost, stuck stumbling through a navy blue washed forest, every sound heightened from fear, your brain creating scenario after scenario of how you’d reach your demise. Be it a bear or a bobcat, a stranger or nature, your anxious heart was sure somehow, this would be the end for you if you didn’t find safety.

Luckily, after a few minutes of hopeless navigating, your flashlight shined on a wooden sign with an arrow pointing left, “Ranger Station: ¼ Mile”.

“Thank god,” you exhaled, nodding as you started off in the direction of the well-used path.

As if the universe were laughing at you, halfway to the station, you began to feel a light drizzle from the blackened skies above, the clouds that had looked harmless this afternoon now slate-grey and rumbling. Shaking your head at your luck, you started to move quicker, but it seemed the rain had the same idea, the drizzle quickly spiraling to a full downpour by the time you walked up the steps to the Ranger’s lodge.

“Please be open,” you mumbled to yourself, noticing that the lights were off inside the tiny cabin. “Please, someone fucking be here.”

You pounded on the door after your knocks failed to earn a response, your eyes frantically looking around the building for any sign of life that could help (or hurt) you. Suddenly, your luck seemed to turn as a man dressed in a tight, form fitting uniform of khaki and forest green came running up the pathway with his coat thrown over his head.

“Excuse me!” you called out over the loud, crashing thunder, pulling his eyes from the ground up to yours. He seemed startled to see you standing there, drenched from the downpour and helpless.

“Oh—sorry,” he apologized as he stepped up the porch to unlock the cabin door, guiding you inside with the flick of a light switch. “I was out sweeping for stragglers when it started to get dark, must’ve missed you.”

“I got myself pretty lost, I don’t blame you,” you chuckled, overcome by the immediate relief brought on by shelter and warmth.

The cabin was small, a warm little space washed in golden light. There was a plaid loveseat in front of a fireplace, a half-read book laying on the coffee table in front of it. Turning your head a bit, there was a kitchen nook built in, nothing extravagant, just a mini-fridge, microwave, portable stovetop, some pots and pans, and a coffee machine. Beside the kitchen rested a desk that looked more like a dinner table, littered with papers and manilla folders as well as a closed laptop. Above, there was a loft built in, though you figured you’d need to climb up there yourself if you intended to study the layout.

“So,” the Ranger’s husky, low voice interrupted your snooping. You turned to watch him as he hung his coat up on the hook by the door before kicking his boots off. “How can I help you? You mentioned you were lost?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, clearing your throat. “I don’t remember the campsite location. I’ve been wandering for hours now.”

“By yourself?” he questioned, a crease forming between his brow as he studied you better, his eyes raking over your entire form before the reality of your soaked state dawned on him. “You cold? I have some tea, or…coffee?”

“Tea sounds great, thank you.” You watched him as he nodded, walking over to the kitchen nook to get the stovetop heated and water placed in the kettle he had hidden in a cupboard. Meanwhile, you looked longingly at the fireplace, hoping that he’d notice your shiver and light it. “Do you…possibly have a spare set of clothes? Anything would help, really.”

“Oh. Sure,” he nodded, avoiding your eyes but remaining attentive as he left the kettle on the burner and walked over to a closet by the door. He tugged out a plastic bin and lifted the lid off, a stack of brand new ranger uniforms inside. “What’s your size?”

You begrudgingly disclosed that information in exchange for warmth, and soon he was setting a pair of forest green pants and a beige t-shirt in your open palms.

“Uh, the restroom’s right there.” He pointed at the closed door in the corner of the room. “I’ll light the fire.”

“Thank you,” you offered him a smile but he was still avoiding looking at you directly, so it went unseen. With an awkward nod to him, you walked into the tiny bathroom to undress and redress, the full-length mirror mounted on the door serving as a good source of entertainment as you studied the way you looked in the ranger’s uniform, the pants undeniably, and shockingly, hugging every good curve on your body.

“The, uh, tea is ready when you are!” His voice sounded through the wooden door, making you jump as you posed in the mirror. gathering your damp clothes in your hands, making sure to hide your undergarments in the pile, you walked back out into the living room, spotting the man in uniform sitting at the table/work area with a mug of his own. “Yours is on the coffee table.”

“Thank you so much, for all of this,” you gestured around and he gave you a nod, no sign of a smile on his face, but there was no apparent anger or discomfort either. “My, uh, my name is…” You gave him your name and offered another friendly smile.

“I’m Frankie,” he greeted you back. Still no smile. “The storm is gonna go on all night. I think the odds of getting back to your campsite are slim, unfortunately.”

Your heart sank a bit at the news. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust this handsome ranger to house you for a night, but the thought of being an inconvenience to yet another person made you feel sick.

“I, um, I have a tent, so…I can stay outside and you can stay in here,” he offered.

“I know I’m not an expert at this stuff but that doesn’t sound very safe.”

“There's a cover, so, it’s not too bad. Your comfort and safety take precedence. It’s sorta my job.” He shrugged and took a sip of his drink.

“I appreciate the thought, but honestly, I think I would feel more comfortable with you in here with me.” You weren’t sure why you cared so much about keeping this glum ranger around, but there was something in his eyes, in his voice that calmed you in a way you desperately craved after the weekend you had. You weren’t naive to the deceit of men, but you truly believed this one meant you no harm. Besides, you were pretty sure sleep wasn’t going to come easy tonight anyway.

“Okay,” he agreed, his voice softer than before. “There’s, uh, not much for entertainment around here.” He chuckled, watching you as you set your clothes down by the fireplace before taking a seat on the sofa. “There’s books. Lots of books, but I know that’s not everyone’s—“

“Oh, I just finished this,” you interrupted him by picking up the book from the coffee table.

“Did—was the end any good?” he asked, standing up from the table and walking over to the kitchen nook to refill his mug.

“It was. Are you liking it so far?” You turned to watch him, the sight of his shirt straining against his broad back making you feel like a cheater for the lustful images your brain decided to flood your mind with.

“I am, but I’m an anxious reader. Constantly have to fight the urge to flip to the last pages.” He laughed again and you felt yourself melt further into the sofa. “So, are you camping alone, too?”

“No,” you sighed as you shook your head and set the book down.

“Touchy subject?” he guessed, resuming his seat at the table.

“I don’t know,” you exhaled and scratched your neck, chuckling at your own predicament. “It’s my anniversary tonight, and instead of spending it with my boyfriend and his two closest friends in the middle of the woods, I’m spending it with a stranger…ranger?”

He chuckled at the rhyme and let out a sympathetic sigh. “Can’t say the first option sounded very good, either.”

“No,” you nodded, looking to him with eager eyes. “It fucking sucks! And they were just ignoring me anyway. This is the most conversation I’ve had all weekend.”

“So is he like…an avid camper or something? You guys do this often?” Frankie questioned, sitting forward with his elbows on the table, his mug held in both hands.

“No, he’s just…an avid douchebag.” Frankie’s boisterous laugh both shocked and delighted you.

“Which is why, I’m assuming, you went and got lost in the woods by yourself?”

“Yep,” you sighed and shook your head. “And the sad thing is, I bet they haven’t even realized I left.”

“It sounds like you need to make this your last anniversary,” he advised, shrugging his shoulders when you turned to look at him.

“Yeah,” you agreed with a sad whisper. “Sucks.”

Frankie studied you for a moment, something more earnest than sympathy in his eyes as you stared down at your lap, picking at your cuticles.

“Hey—“ He caught your attention, your eyes lifting to meet his from across the room. “I’ve got a few board games in case my daughter comes to stay with me on duty. We could…play one? Pass some time?”

Knowing that the only alternative was to dwell on the crumbling state of your relationship, you agreed with a soft, barely there smile and a nod.

Frankie sat down on the rug in front of the fire, clearing the coffee table before pointing to the stack of board games on the shelf below the wooden top.

“There’s Candyland, Life, Monopoly, Scrabble, and Uno.”

“Huh,” you smiled and thought about the options, your stress taken away by this kind and charming stranger tasked with sheltering you for the night, seemingly in more ways than one. “We can start with Candyland.”

“Start, huh? Gonna be up playing games all night?” he asked with a matching smile as he set up the board game. “I guess I’m not one to talk given my personal track record, but I heard that sometimes it helps to face your shit, not run from it.”

“I’ll face it in the morning,” you replied, soft and vulnerable. “Tonight, I just want to be a stranded woman in the woods playing Candyland with a park ranger.”

“Okay,” he rasped back with a smile and a nod.

“I hate you,” you kissed your teeth and rolled your eyes as you reached for the stack of Uno cards on the table, picking eight up and stuffing them in your hand previously only holding one, that near-victory long gone after he matched your +4 card. “You actually ruined my night, wow. How dare you?”

“Jeez,” he laughed and held his hands up in defense. “I didn’t expect such a violent reaction—“

“Oh, yeah right,” you rolled your eyes at him again before meeting his, your laughter fading into just a few soft, breathy chuckles the longer your eyes remained glued to his soft, brown, puppy-like stare.

“You, uh—“ he chuckled and looked down at his lap, shaking his head. “Nevermind.”

“No,” you giggled and urged him on. “Tell me.”

“You just have nice eyes. That’s all.” He shrugged and went to place a card on the stack, changing the color to red.

“I think you have nice eyes, as well,” you spoke softly, almost shyly as you searched your hand for an appropriate card, choosing a “reverse” card to lay on top of his. “Very puppy-dog.”

“Puppy-dog?” he asked in a laugh, amused by the unusual comparison. “Never heard that before.”

“You know, the way puppies look when they’re begging for scraps? You’ve got that same…charm, I guess. Like I couldn’t say no to you.” You mumbled the last sentence, the words not entirely meant for him to hear.

As much as you were enjoying your time with this handsome stranger and planned to end things with your boyfriend the minute you were reunited with him, you were still a taken woman. Cheating was never your thing, but you couldn’t deny the pull to the man sitting in front of you, illuminated and washed in the golden amber light of the fireplace, the buttons on his long-sleeved beige dress shirt undone at the top, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“It’s getting late.” Frankie stood up abruptly and cleared his throat before looking at the watch on his wrist. “Two A.M. already. Sun’ll be up around six, we can head out and find your campsite then.”

“And in the meantime?” you asked, standing up as well though you weren’t sure why. Frankie’s eyes softened on you, not missing the hopeful twitch of your lip. He shook his head at you, but it was so subtle you nearly missed it.

“You’re…involved. It’s not cool,” he reminded, proving that at least one of you had your head screwed on right. “But believe me…I want to.”

“Yeah,” you nodded and looked down at your feet, embarrassed by the mere suggestion. “I—uh…yeah.”

“I’ll take the couch. You can go up into the loft. I have some clean pajamas on my bed, if you want.”

You climbed up the wooden ladder to the loft, finding a cozy space with a full-size mattress on the floor by a large window, a little lamp for reading in the corner, and a record player pre-loaded with a copy of Nirvana’s “Nevermind”. The rain was visible from the window, pattering on the glass while lightning struck in the distance, a loud boom of thunder cracking a few moments later. Lowering your eyes back to the bed, you spotted the set of red flannel pajamas at the foot.

“Mind turning the lights off so I can change?” you called out, and for a minute hoped he’d change his mind and come undress you himself.

“Sure thing,” he replied, and a moment later the cabin went black, except for the golden light of the fireplace.

You changed quickly, desperate to wear his clothes, to smell him up close for the first time, but the scent that flooded your nostrils was too clean, too soapy to have been him.

Now dressed, you walked to the fenced in ledge of the loft to watch him as he sat on the sofa, a book in hand. The fireplace illuminated him in a way that made him look painted, almost, like the product of an artist’s imagination. It was a painting you’d quite like to own, so that your eyes could study him everyday.

“Night,” he called, not looking up from his book.

“Good night,” you replied, smiling to yourself all the way to bed.

Hours had passed by, the sun now up but hidden behind the clouds, the rain pattering against the window calming to a light drizzle. You hadn’t fallen asleep the entire time, your mind spinning with thoughts of seeing your boyfriend again, of the conversation you needed to have before getting the fuck out of this godforsaken National Park.

“Morning,” Frankie greeted you as you stepped down the ladder to the main floor of the cabin. His smile served as a better stimulant than any coffee you’d ever consumed, your tired eyes going bright as you took in the sight of him scrambling eggs in the kitchenette. “Thought I should feed you before I take you back to the douchebags.”

You chuckled. “Thanks.”

“Did you sleep okay?” he asked as he scraped half of the pan of eggs onto one plate before repeating it with another. You pulled up a seat while he carried the food over, placing one in front of you and the other in front of the seat closest to yours. A smile tugged at your lips at his choice of seat.

“I tried,” you answered, remembering that he’d asked a question. “But…my brain doesn’t like to shut off.”

“I feel you there.” The sound of liquid pouring into a cup caught your attention before the waft of coffee hit your nose. You felt yourself salivating as he walked your cup over. “Creamer, sugar?”

“Neither,” you shook your head. “This is incredible, thank you, Frankie.”

“It’s no problem,” he assured as he sat down beside you. “Part of the job.”

“I doubt that,” you laughed.

“Keep the park and its visitors safe. That’s the entire job,” he argued with a tilt of his head, his fork stabbing at the eggs.

“So you do all this for every stray that shows up at your door?” you asked in a playful tone, hoping to conceal your hurt at the prospect of simply being an obligation to him even if that’s exactly what you were.

“No, I don’t typically let my strays wear my PJ’s when I shelter them.” He smiled, his eyes lowered to the flannel set you were still wearing. “And I never, ever, let them win at Candyland like I did with you.”

“Oh, let me win, huh? Someone’s a sore loser,” you teased, grinning at your eggs as you mindlessly stabbed at them. “Maybe we should have a rematch, then.”

“I was counting on it,” he replied. Your eyes lifted to meet his, both of you swallowing thickly at the tension that seemed to keep building with every passing second. “You should eat.”

“You should kiss me,” some out of character being possessing you replied, shocking not only him, but yourself as well. “I’m sorry. That was…god, that was way too forward. I’m sorry.”

“I’ve thought about it,” he admitted, reaching his hand over to lower yours as it shielded your eyes in embarrassment. “Believe me. But I like you, or, could like you…a lot, I think…if we did this the right way, I mean. But kissing you now—“ He shook his head. “S’not the right way.”

“I know,” you exhaled and lifted your fork to your mouth, swallowing down a bite of food that you could hardly get down with all the butterflies swarming in your stomach.

It only took Frankie about half an hour on his quad to find your campsite based on your half-assed description, your arms hugging him closely as you sat behind him.

When you arrived, your eyes widened at the sight of the once clean grounds now littered with trash, the boys, their tents, and the truck you all came in long gone. All that remained was their garbage and your duffel bag, a note sticking out of it.

“Well,” he sighed as he parked the quad and turned it off. “They are indeed douchebags.”

“What the fuck?” you whispered, staring at the note. You turned to Frankie and shook your head, a tear falling down your cheek as you started to read the note out loud.

Since you want to be dramatic and run off all night, I’m gonna give you all the space you could ever want. I’m so done with your shit. Consider this me breaking up with you.

“Fuck,” Frankie shook his head and through your tear-blurred vision you could see his jaw clenched. Frankie climbed off the ATV and walked up to you, reaching for your hand as it crumbled the note up. “This guy is a fucking dick—beyond a fucking dick, he’s…they don’t make filthy enough curse words to describe how shitty he is. You deserve so much better than that.”

“How do you know that?” you sighed, pulling away from him to pick your bag up off the ground. Frankie quickly took it from you and walked it back to the ATV, tying it onto the back.

“I guess I don’t,” Frankie finally answered your question as he returned with a trash bag. “But, judging by how kind and friendly you’ve been so far…I’d say that alone makes you at the very least better than him.”

You huffed a weak laugh and smiled at the sight of his dress shirt stretching over his back as he bent down to clean the campsite. Feeling guilty for your ex-boyfriend’s sins, you rushed to help, practically stealing the bag from Frankie’s hands.

“Thank you, Frankie.” You gave him a sincere, heartfelt smile. “I’m really sorry you got dragged into all my bullshit—“

He cut you off with a shake of his head and a reassuring smile.

“Don’t apologize,” he ordered before checking his watch. “My shift’s over in an hour or so. Do you live in town? I can drive you home, if you want?”

“I do, and that would…that would be really nice.”

You attempted to keep your tears at bay as he started the quad up and turned back around. Here was this stranger, treating you better than your boyfriend of five years ever had, and he’d only known you for one fucking night.

Back at the cabin, Frankie left you with the WiFi password while he tended to his end-of-shift duties, knowing that your phone had no service and that you should probably update your loved ones on your whereabouts considering you technically went missing last night.

You called your best friend first, giving them the rundown on not only what happened between you and your now ex-boyfriend, but also the building tension between you and your knight in shining khaki, Frankie. After some much needed words of comfort and reassurance that you deserve someone better than your shitty ex, you said goodbye and hung up.

Next up was your ex. You’d planned on telling him off, on calling him out on all the shit you’d been putting up with since the beginning of your relationship, but you never got the chance. The fucker sent you straight to voicemail.

By the time Frankie arrived, you already cried out all the tears you felt your relationship deserved, which wasn’t much.

“Everything okay?” he asked, walking over to join you on the sofa.

“Yeah,” you gave him a soft smile. “Or at least it will be.”

“Breakups are hard,” he empathized, reaching a hand over to rest on your knee. You stared down at the contact with a smirk before looking back to his eyes, finding him deep in study as he watched you. “This might…might not be the right time, but…and it doesn’t have to be anything romantic, but…are you doing anything tonight? Maybe we could go out for a drink or go see a movie or…anything, really. I could be a friend.”

“I’d like you to be more than a friend, Frankie.”

“So would I…eventually,” he added with a smile. “But for now, I don’t want you rushing into anything with me. It’s…it’s easy to confuse distraction for acceptance. Believe me, I made a lot of mistakes after my divorce. And…I really don’t want to be a mistake or a distraction to you. So, for now…friends?”

You twisted your mouth as you smiled, looking down at his hand on your knee and resting yours on top of it.

“Friends.”

•

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fluff #frankie morales fluff #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x y/n

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azureseacloud · 7 months

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Stage Lights

Ghost (band)

Part 1

Pairing: Swiss x reader

Warnings: swearing, no smut but there’s sexual tension, biting

Words: 762

Summary: Reader is a ghoul and part of the band. During performance, Swiss manages to make the reader mess up.

Hi guys, this is my first fic in the ghost fandom :O. I have been obsessed with the ghouls since I saw them live and I just had to write them. Also I am open to requests for the ghouls x reader, so feel free to message me with requests. :)

The blue lights flashed across the stage as you strummed your guitar, watching the crowd as they screamed the lyrics and reached out for Copia while he strut along the stage.

You moved forward, leaning over the edge of the stage and tilting your head at the crowd below you. They shrieked with excitement, phones filming as you ran a hand across your neck then slowly flipped them off. You leant back, returning to the middle of the stage that you shared with Rain.

You could feel a presence growing closer behind you. An arm wrapped around your hip, the other caressing your shoulder as the crowd got louder. You knew exactly who it was from the way he gripped your body. Swiss.

You ignored him, strumming at your guitar as his hand ran seductively down your arm, his body pressed firmly against yours.

It had become a challenge, whilst on stage, for Swiss to try to break your focus. He tried the same with Dewdrop, always trying to get one of you to mess up a chord or solo piece. Both you and Dew had become determined to ignore his antics. It pissed the multi ghoul off when you didn’t even acknowledge his actions, something you and the fire ghoul delighted in doing.

Swiss had gotten more creative though. You could see that Dew had been close to losing it when Swiss had mimed jerking him off while biting his shoulder. The fire ghoul had managed not to miss a single chord, though he had been gripping his guitar so tightly that his knuckles had gone white. Dew had glared at Swiss for the next day, the multi ghoul sending him a cocky grin each time.

Swiss moved his hand away from your arm, sliding it across your shoulder until his hand rested around your neck, firm but not constricting. You kept your eyes focussed on your guitar, even as your skin prickled from pressure. He’d never done this before—usually it was Dewdrop that had a tendency to rest his hand on the other ghouls’ throats.

A breath ghosted the side of your neck against the slip of skin that was exposed from where your clothing had slipped a tiny bit. That was the only warning you had before his mouth closed over the side of your neck.

He was biting you. Swiss was biting you.

It was hard enough for you to feel his teeth but not to leave a mark. Heat rushed through your face as your heart raced, and before you could stop it, your head had tilted back a tiny bit. You froze, forcing yourself to keep strumming the guitar in time while praying to Satan below that Swiss hadn’t noticed you lean into his bite.

That he hadn’t heard the tiny rush of air that escaped you.

That he hadn’t noticed the way your body stiffened.

You felt him smile against your neck. Shit. Shit. You were so close to losing it, you could barely manage to keep in time with the music—

Then he bit down harder.

You missed a chord as you gasped.

Fuck.

His teeth stayed for a second longer—just enough time to leave a definite mark, even through the fabric, as his hand gripped your hip harder.

“Gotcha,” he purred smugly in your ear.

Then he released the hand around your neck, swiping it seductively over your helmet before he headed back to his podium.

You were so thankful for the mask because your face was burning. Looking to your left you could see Dew eyeing you. He’d noticed. You were sure they had all noticed.

That bastard.

The crowd was still screaming, and by the amount of phones that were in front of you, you knew that the footage would be circling the internet for the next few days. Swiss was going to love that.

Even worse was that you knew he was going to use this new information to fuck with you both on and off stage.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

You could still feel the imprint of where his teeth had been. Where his hand had gripped your hip. It was hard to focus when Swiss had just bitten you. And you had liked it.

Barely managing to keep in time, it was a relief when the song ended and the stage was plunged into darkness.

You risked a look at the sly ghoul gripping his microphone. He grinned, teeth flashing. You flipped him off, determination rushing through you.

You were so going to get him back.

#nameless ghouls x reader #ghost band #swiss ghoul #swiss ghost #dewdrop ghoul #dewdrop ghost #nameless ghouls

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shattersstar · 8 months

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when my life is awful at least i can think of college basketball jason being a bit of a cocky shit around his friends/teammates and you’re just. not for it. like you get there’s ego involved in not only basketball, but sports in general, especially at this level, and jason’s a centre. he’s the biggest dude on the team and bound to b bit arrogant, yet it’s always during games when showboating matters. so when you’re out and jason’s being insufferable? you leave.

well you tell him to cut the attitude first and jason’s like what attitude? while knowing exactly what you’re talking about. it’s just hard to turn that side off when all these (big ass) men bring it out of him.

and when you give him the chill out or i’m going home ultimatum, jason just replies with “i don’t care. leave.” you both know it’s a lie but you’re like oh? say less.

when he realized you did in fact leave, jason thought youd come back or at least return to his apartment which you had basically been living out of. but no, you’re ignoring him fully until he shows up at your apartment door, he looks exhausted and eyes wide like a sad puppy left in the rain. it made you grin.

he’s all awkward and apologetic, it reminds you of when you first became friends. when he first fell for you. and jason isn’t dumb, he knows he pushed you but all you do is smile at him, pulling his 6’7 self down to your level by his collar. jason’s all smiley until you tap his cheek and warn “act or speak to me like that again and watch what happens. to you and to us :)” he’s like mark me down as scared and horny but got it boss 🫡

—

edit: rb/interact with this version pls <3 (jason gets bullied more i promise it’s worth it)

#he needs someone to balance his big ass ego #the type to b cheering him on but will glare at him when he fumbles #or misses a ft #jason’s too good at basketball to get sympathy from u lmao #shot at the night #jason todd x reader #dc imagine #writing #this is my comfort au i think djdjdjdj

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sspiderliliess · 2 months

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diamond .

⟶ astarion x nervous, soft gn!tav — romance

i hyperfixated on bg3 for a while... i should get back to it. this feels like a bit of a word vomit and im still learning to express right but gosh i love emotional astarion stuff. (astarion and tav have a moment while they tend to his wounds | tav is gender-neutral but takes ideas from a female oc) ❤️‍🩹

⟶ rating — fluff?? suggestive at the end | tw blood, references to astarion's past

A tender flame danced. Outside, beyond the tent’s flimsy walls, rain poured for miles. The thriving forest floors squelched with a sea of puddles, the skies veiled with gray. But the pale crimson of the vampire’s tent was blooming with orange as the light within a lantern flickered across the walls and his belongings.

Trinkets left and right beckoned my wonder, chiseled figures and crackled books that showed their age placed atop the shelves and the indigo rug. In the dark, the gold gleamed and teased my vision. Against the petrichor and iron from his bleeding gashes, the faintest aroma of wisteria tickled my nose.

Ah, yes! The nighttime florals just nearby. I remember being so delighted that our group’s camping spot was placed so conveniently close to those lovely plants. Purple was a soothing color, and those wisterias could comfort me almost as well as any lavender-based remedy could.

It reminded me of Astarion, sometimes. My gaze wandered to the deep cuts across his leg, caked with drying blood and shining against the lantern’s light. The sight had been with me since it happened early in the day; a bundle of determined trolls could certainly leave their mark on someone—particularly three right across his calf and thigh. But sitting here, breathing in the smell of his blood that strengthened with every dab of the washrag, my stomach began to stir.

Either that, or his more notable nature came back to my senses. Had I really forgotten how regal he was after all of this? A magistrate, he said. Different circles, he said… I love you, he said. I’d spent a good time getting to know him and his quick-witted remarks. His irritable nature reared its head often, but something beneath the rough had always twinkled if I squinted just right. He didn’t have to take these hits for me. I knew my heart felt truly for him, but I didn’t know he’d be the type to do that so quickly.

“Darling, I don’t mean to be rude, but—ack—it’s just that this blood is finding its way all over my bedding. I could tend to this myself, you know?”

I turned my attention back to Astarion, who had propped himself up and was leaning my way with a hand reached for the stained rag. The gash on his thigh was oozing with blood, a thick trail pooling onto his blanket.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” I gasped and crawled forward to continue the cleansing.

He furrowed his brows, then raised them, and a smile etched onto his lips. “Now, for a vampire to get lost in thought at the sight of blood, I could understand… but what’s making you so bothered?”

“I’m,” I hummed. “I’m unsure.”

I tilted my head and continued to absentmindedly dab at the cuts. He laughed under his breath.

That familiar Astarion in his playful quips and egotistical humor. Those with a demeanor such as that rarely gained my attention for too long; I was always frightened by what judgments they might make, how out of place I felt. In the beginning when our group happened upon him, it’d bothered me quite a bit and I was sure he caught onto that, thus, I did what any mature person would have done when met with some sort of problem.

I ignored it.

The sly fox had taken note of this reaction. Maybe that was what got him to be nicer to me so quickly, less… prickly, especially in the times where I let him feed. But as I’d grown closer to him in our travels and had more meaningful conversations, I found him to be a book I might like to read, and the teasing came back on its own. I wasn’t bothered then. I might’ve enjoyed it. I still find myself thinking of that evening back near the grove, where he nearly choked at the teasing he threw my way when he saw the small and clumsily crafted animal in my hand. I told him how my mother had made those kinds of things with me, back in Baldur’s Gate when I was just a child and felt lonely, and his laughter stopped.

He seemed hurt by that. Regretful, almost. I'd like to think that turned out to be a nice day, though.

I was pulled from my gnawing thoughts once again as a slender finger slipped under my chin. Astarion looked less playful now, eyes glazed with what looked to be concern. He sat there in silence for a moment, staring at me until I felt my skin heat with blood and my heart tremble, and then he sighed. “Sometimes, I don’t know how to go about talking. It’s easy to flirt, to say things you don’t mean. But I would like to know what you’re thinking. Truthfully.”

He continued to hold my chin up with that single finger, his eyes almost pleading to listen and talk. It was the Astarion less familiar to most, and like a timid rabbit spoken to with the softest voice, I found myself being drawn closer right then and there.

“You told me a while back that you were a magistrate, a long time ago,” I began, awaiting his response.

He swallowed slowly and shuffled to make room for me on the bed. “I was, yes. I don’t remember much more than that. That life is so distant now, a pained memory of what was and what could have been, I suppose.”

He didn’t move aside from a mournful wince that I was sure had little to do with the physical state he was in. He laughed bitterly, “It’s funny to think about. I remember that simple fact, but nothing about me.”

It almost shocked me, the way he seemed to care so little about his old role. To be of such importance in Baldur’s Gate, to have such power over just about anyone before you… and yet, have it taken away in an instant. It threatened to sprout an ache in my chest—the thought of such a family and stability gone in the blink of an eye, power replaced with powerlessness. In the quiet and my dwelling, I understood him just a bit more. I could only wonder what happened to make the paths fall as they did.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “Thank you for helping me today. We might not know who you were back then, or what happened before, or what you looked like, or what you knew… But I know you now. And I’m grateful.”

I’d always been so cautious with him, so much so I could hardly form the words properly. I pushed myself to keep my eyes on him, though, and I watched as he looked to the ground with a smile. Those crimson eyes appeared much glossier.

In that moment, I did what any confident, self-assured individual would do. My heart pounded against my chest the minute I leaned forward to gently wrap my arms around him. He paused briefly and I heard his breath hitch, but he returned the gesture.

“I’m grateful to know you, too,” he sighed into my ear.

His breath and curls tickled my neck, where old bites were planted. I’d forgotten they were there until his nose brushed against it and a dull pain bloomed in their place. He stayed like that for a while. “I know that I’m in no place to have a passionate night,” he said a bit awkwardly. “But I would like to spend what time with you that I can, if you’d like..?”

It took me a second to understand just what he meant, and I couldn’t help but pull away with tensed brows and a muffled giggle. “I don’t know if passion is the best idea, seeing as though you’re still bleeding as is.”

I pointed to the fresh puddle of blood on the blanket, where his leg had pressed into the furs. He scowled and pursed his lips, but his smile soon resurfaced. “Well, perhaps that another night, darling.”

He leaned back to lay down again and I grabbed the rag from the bowl of water, wringing it out as the dark reds faded to pinks again. It was then that I’d notice what sat opposite of me while I crouched on the ground. Tucked away from most prying eyes was a spindly little nick-nack on his shelf, with leaves and vines coiled together to make a deer-like toy that you’d think only a child could love. It was placed within a makeshift forest scene, crafted impressively from grass and sticks. It’d been a while since I’d seen it.

I didn’t think I would again.

#astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion fluff #gn!tav #astarion ancunin #bg3 fanfiction #bg3

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ivymarquis · 8 months

Text

Under My Skin

Pairing| Kyle “Gaz” Garrick x F!Reader Rating| M Content/Warnings| Angst, smut, miscommunication trope, two idiots in love

My contribution to @glitterypirateduck’s Gazfest! Squeaking in at the last second as per usual because nothing motivates me like a deadline

One Shot + “You’re not going out in that”

The setting would be romantic in another situation.

Rain is not at all an uncommon sight, especially at this time of year. All day the weather’s been dreary and drizzling.

Here, now that the sun dips below the horizon as the rain picks up- the dull lighting is cozy and you’ve gone and done the exact same thing you always do.

You’ll never figure it out, will you?

That would require learning from your mistakes, though, and Kyle Garrick is one habit you can’t bring yourself to break.

But when you’re on your back underneath him, knees drawn up as your ankles lock behind his waist-

You can trick yourself into thinking this is more than what it is.

What had started as a one night stand has become a situationship of sorts. He doesn’t tell you the dirty details of his job but his phone can go off at any point and that’s the end of the time you had with him.

His absence gnaws at you far more than you’ll ever care to admit- that would break the rules. Even with him buried as far in you as he can be, the anxiety of knowing this won’t last interferes with your ability to enjoy the present.

Everything you want is tangible and in your hands. You want him, and for tonight- for right now- you have him.

He holds you like he’s missed you over the past weeks.

You both said you wanted to keep this simple with no strings attached. That was before when you hadn’t known him as a person. Before, bit by bit, you learn his quirks and idiosyncrasies.

Simple has, at some point and without warning, packed her bags and runs clear out the door- never to be seen or heard from again. There are most assuredly strings where there should not be.

Fortune favors the bold but you are a coward. Too afraid to ask for what you want- what you delude yourself into thinking you can take in another life.

So you try.

Try to ignore the voice in the back of your head. Try to ignore that little incessant something eating away at you.

Try to enjoy the time you have with him, because you’ll never know if the last time is the last time.

It would be easier, you think, if he was like any number of your prior partners. Greedy. Self centered.

Kyle is giving and kind and attentive.

He reads your body language and verbal cues as easily as a book- knocks the air out of your lung with each stroke once he’s hit his stride. You’re helpless to do much more than cling to him, nails marking up his back in pleasure. If anything the scratches seem to spur him on.

“Kyle please- oh fuck-” your eyes squeeze shut in pleasure as he gets you almost to the precipice.

The rain builds outside much like you do.

“You getting close, doll?” It’s a rhetorical question, surely. Kyle knows your tells at this point, the way your body clutches and clings to his, the way you have to force your breathing to be steady.

“Yes!” Your answer is a wail that, were you in your right mind, would be embarrassing. As it is, your only focus is on the growing knot in your gut, the fire stoked with each wet thrust of his hips against the back of your thighs.

“Come on then, pretty girl,” he goads, one hand slipping between your bodies as the other supports both of your weight. “Cum for me, be a good girl,”

You would do anything for him. If you had a shred of shame or dignity left it would be embarrassing. As it is, he’s got you wound so tight it takes virtually nothing- just a few firm, steady circles of his thumb around your clit- to get you seeing white and clutching to him with a whine.

Your thighs are shaking as he works you through your orgasm, lips locked with yours as his thrusts sharpen for a few cants before stilling entirely as he fills the condom he barely remembered to put on earlier.

He’s always slow to work the pair of you down. You relish in the attention, how his warm hands span the length of your back, roaming down to squeeze the flesh of your hip or cup your bottom before trailing his fingertips back up and leaving you a trembling mess.

It’s later, once the pair of you have cleaned up that you start gathering your things. The rain still pelts down outside- you’ll need to be careful, but you’re certain you can make it home in one piece.

Neither of you stay the night at the others. You have your fun, pray he doesn’t get a phone call in the middle of things, get your clothes, and leave.

“Where are you going?”

You pause, finishing righting yourself after bending over to grab your bra.

“Home?” It shouldn’t be a question. You are going home. You’ve always gone home.

He shakes his head.

“You’re not going out in that.” Decision made, case closed, conversation over. Like it’s the most normal thing in the world. That you routinely wait out bad weather with him.

“Here, I’ve got a shirt you can borrow somewhere,”

You stare at him like a deer in headlights. Not that the thought of him being kind to you is such an unimaginable concept.

But there are boundaries- rules of engagement- that the pair of you agreed to at the beginning of this all these months ago. To keep things unmuddled and uncomplicated.

It’s a simple interaction, the way you follow him to his closet. You could easily insist on wearing your clothes- there’s nothing wrong with them.

But there’s a gesture in the way he hands you a shirt that’s several sizes too big for you.

Maybe Kyle wants more too.

#kyle garrick #kyle garrick x reader #cod x reader #gazfest #my writing #kyle definitely was not watching the weather app and planning in advance for this #he'd never do such a thing

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cinnajun · 2 years

Text

ᵕ̈ ೫˚∗: sun and moon | lhc

summary | your childhood best friend, donghyuck, claims he loves you. given his other friends and who he is as a person, you don’t believe him.

genre | lee haechan x fem!reader, high school seniors! au, childhood best friends to lovers, angst, fluff at the end, hyuck + the rest of 7dream are canonical assholes

warnings | high school parties (i.e. underage drinking)

wc | 6.1k

a/n: got a little carried away w this one, so thanks to the anon who requested it! anywho, i listened to tek it by cafune on repeat while writing this, so if u want a song rec ^^ imagine black haired glimo hc for this one <33 (p.s., if you want to play the game reader describes, this is the link) (p.p.s ignore their high school classes this is fanfic logic)

ft. sungchan, loona’s gowon, le sserafim’s chaewon

IT’S A SATURDAY AFTERNOON, and Donghyuck is laying down on your bed, watching you play whatever stupid video game you were infatuated with now. He didn’t come over often, not since your first year, so there was a slight bit of awkwardness between you two.

Nevertheless, you allow him to lay there, dressed in the tacky cool-guy getup that he seemed to love so much.

Outside, rain poured, and you knew that was the chief reason he was in your bedroom right now. If there wasn’t a flash flood warning, he’d be out and about with Mark Lee, Na Jaemin, and the rest of them, ruining people’s days left and right for the fun of it.

You wanted to consider Donghyuck to be your best friend, still. Given who he was now, the reputation he harbored, and the lack of time spent with one another, you didn’t feel like he was.

“I don’t understand the game,” he said, catching your attention fairly easily. You turned your head, giving him a dirty look for interrupting your flow. “You just look like you’re putting lines and boxes on a screen, but there’s a score.”

“You’re supposed to make paths. You close them off with the little dots,” you mumbled, turning back to your screen. The sound of Donghyuck sliding off your bed and kneel-walking to your side filled your ears but was mostly drowned out by the rain and the sound of the music coming through your speakers.

He stopped his kneel-walk adjacent to you, squinting at the screen. You didn’t slow down or try to explain your moves, simply placing each piece you were given in a way that most made sense.

“I seriously don’t get it. Is there a strategy to this?”

“No.”

“So you just…play for fun?”

“U-huh.”

“Man,” he mumbled, leaning his chin on the edge of your desk. You continued playing, clicking your shapes around into places they most fit, ignoring the way Dongyuck seemed to stare at you, now, rather than the game. “Who’ve you been hanging out with, these days?”

That question struck a chord. Briefly, you remembered the week-and-a-half where you stuck to Donghyuck as he began growing close with his current friends, and how left out you felt through the whole experience. It was, quite possibly, the worst week of your life.

“Sungchan from the grade below, Chaewon, and Gowon,” you replied, wondering if he’d even know who they were. From the way he didn’t respond, you assumed he didn’t, which hurt a little bit. “Uh, Chaewon is—”

“The girl with the short hair. Yeah, Renjun had a bit of a thing for her a while ago,” he cut you off with some unprompted information, which shocked you. If you remembered correctly, Chaewon had a massive crush on him for about a year; the new information made you wonder if he’d pursued her and dropped her the moment he’d found a better target.

“Really? Huh,” you hummed, glancing down at him. You made eye contact for a split second, but you broke it off the moment you realized how intense his stare was.

“So, how do you play this game?”

A small sigh escaped your lips, short in duration yet heavy in weight. You pointed at one of the boxes on the screen, turning to him once again. “You want to put the little circles in the boxes. Using the ‘X’ shapes, parallel lines, and the single lines, you want to connect all the boxes together to make paths. You put the little circles on the end of empty lines, too. You get points depending on how many circles you put in the boxes and how many circled-off paths you make.”

“Yeah, that makes absolutely no sense,” he scoffed. You were glad his attention was on the screen again. A bright flash of light broke through your bedroom windows, followed by a floor-shaking boom shortly thereafter. “You were always smarter than I was.”

“Not a chance. You just never tried hard enough.”

Silence fell between you two, and the only noise in the room turned into soft clicks and the droning of your music. It was nice being able to pretend like he wasn’t there, although you couldn’t help but wonder when you started feeling so…averse towards him. Maybe it was a product of the leftover hurt of his abandonment last year, or maybe it was because of how different his presence was.

When you were little, your mom always called him the sun and you the moon. He was bright and happy, always dressed in vibrant colors and ready to stand up for you whenever anyone did or said anything mean. He loved it when you and your mom took him to the beach, in the same way you loved it when he and his mom took you up into the countryside.

You were opposites as a kid, in the way that you were puzzle pieces that easily fit together. At some point, though, other pieces were added to that puzzle, and you both were torn apart by pieces that just fit better.

“[First]! Donghyuck!” Your mom called, her voice barely comprehensible above the pouring rain and the music. “Dinner!”

You picked up your phone, paused the music, and unplugged your phone from its charger. But, before you could stand up, Donghyuck put a hand on your knee, sending a shiver down your spine. You gave him a look, mentally saying “what the hell?” but he quickly explained himself.

“Can we talk? Just for a second.”

You gave him another look but complied. “One second, Mom!” you yelled, hoping she heard. “Just finishing up a game!”

He pushed himself off the floor, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. You spun around in your desk chair, pulling your knees up to your chest and chewing on the inside of your cheek. He cleared his throat as if he was nervous, which would be surprising given his personality.

You never thought you’d see the day when both you and Donghyuck were nervous to talk to each other.

“You don’t hate me or anything, right?”

You wished you knew the answer to that.

“What? No,” you replied, shaking your head. “Why would I hate you? We just grew apart, it’s not the end of the world. It was bound to happen.”

“Yeah, well,” he mumbled, looking off to the side. There was a pause in his sentence, then he cleared his throat again. “I’m in love with you.”

The whole room seemed to freeze over. You were utterly speechless.

“Pardon?”

“I love you. A lot. Like, love you.”

Letting your mind move faster than your mouth, you replied faster than you would’ve wanted to.

“No, you don’t.”

That seemed to stun him, as his eyes widened and his lips parted ever-so-slightly. You watched as hurt filled his expression, but you couldn’t help but stick with your response. He didn’t move to say anything else, so you stood up, stretching your arms into the air.

“Look, we’re friends and all, but you don’t love me, Hyuck. You can’t love someone when you barely know them.”

Saying that probably hurt you more than it hurt him, but you stood by it nonetheless. “How do I barely know you?” he asked, standing and walking to block your path. “Did I imagine the past fifteen years or something? I practically know everything there is to know about you.”

“I’m not sixteen anymore, dude. We’re practically eighteen. The last time we talked frequently was the end of our first year,” you said, crossing your arms. “If you told me you were in love with me back then, I might’ve believed you. But, as things stand right now, you are not.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” he replied, frowning at you. “A year isn’t going to change everything about you, [First]. I knew you were weird about this, but that’s—that’s just ridiculous. Don’t you realize how ridiculous that is?”

“It’s not very ridiculous when I spent three months wondering if we were even friends anymore. You realize it took you three months to even text me back? You ignored me, pretended like I wasn’t there, and now you expect me to think you’re in love with me? Give me a break.”

“Maybe I ignored you because I was trying to get rid of the part of me that was hopelessly in love with you because I didn’t want to destroy the decade and a half of friendship we’ve built. Ever consider that? I bet not because you’re always so goddamn unreasonable with this. God forbid anyone gets too close, huh? God forbid the one person who knows you best get too close.”

“I let you get close, Donghyuck,” you spat, narrowing your eyes. “I put my whole trust into you, my entire life was you. I was nothing if not yours, and then you threw me to the curb the moment you found better people. I’m not upset about that, it was bound to happen, but—”

“But what?”

“But you didn’t even apologize.”

He scoffed at that, crossing his arms. “Oh my god, it’s not like I told you to fuck off and never talk to me again, did I? Back then even looking at you was difficult, but, for the entire three months, my friends—who you so vehemently hate—kept telling me to reach out. I thought that if you disappeared, if I pretended like I never let my feelings go that far, things would go back to normal, but they didn’t. They still haven’t.”

“Why now, then? Why now, after I already decided that our friendship was pretty much over, huh? Why did you wait? Why not after those three months? Why not any time other than now?”

You side-stepped past him, opening the door to your bedroom and approaching the stairwell. You didn’t hear him follow, but you didn’t care to look back or check what he was doing. Instead, you ran downstairs, cringing when your mom’s face turned into one of confusion.

“Where’s Donghyuck, sweetie?”

“He’ll be down in a second,” you said nonchalantly, assuming your normal seat at the dinner table. “He just needed to deal with something quickly.”

The summer sun beamed down on you and your friends, and you lamented the lack of clouds, or really anything, blocking the sun. You sometimes wondered why you and your friends had decided to eat lunch at the very corner of the school’s soccer field, but, when the weird time between summer and autumn hit, you were sure to remember.

“It’s so god damn hot,” Sungchan panted, flopping onto the grass. The green seemed to cradle him in a way that made him look a bit majestic, even with your ugly uniforms. Chaewon hummed in agreement, shoveling noodles in her mouth; she, like you, always brought lunch from home.

“Where’s Gowon?” you asked, glancing down at him. He put a hand over his eyes, covering the painful gaze of the sun. “Did you see her in the lunch line?”

“She’s not walking over yet?” Sungchan asked, turning his head towards you. Chaewon waved away a fly that was getting too close to his uncovered lunch, mumbling something about how bugs in the summer were always so terrible. “She wasn’t too far behind me in line. I dunno where she would’ve gone.”

“Hm.”

You scanned the field, looking for any sign of her, but she was nowhere to be found. Chaewon turned her whole torso around to look as well, looking for any sign of her. “She might’ve gotten caught up with somebody. I’ll go check, just to make sure.”

She hopped up from the grass, running in the direction of the building’s doors. You looked at Sungchan, who didn’t move at all. “Dude, P.E. wrecked me today. I can barely feel my legs.”

“You wouldn’t have to take P.E. if you had taken a music course.”

“Oh, shut up, not everybody is as perfect and lovely as you, [First],” he huffed, pushing himself off the grass. You reached out and brushed a blade of grass out of his hair, but he didn’t thank you for the gesture at all. “You’re quiet today. Is everything good?”

No, my childhood best friend, who I didn’t think even liked me as a friend anymore, confessed his love for me, you thought.

“Yeah, just a bit tired. We had a big English test today.”

“Gross,” he replied, finally picking up his tray and beginning to eat. “Man, I can’t imagine having to start preparing for my CSATs. Do you ever go home?”

“I don’t study often. I’m gonna study enough to get into a college and get a degree.” You shrugged, taking a bite out of the fruit sandwich your mom had made you after you woke up incredibly late. Suddenly, in the distance, the doors to the school building burst open, revealing Chaewon, who was dragging Gowon behind her. Gowon barely had a steady handle on her lunch tray, keeping it balanced enough that it wouldn’t spill everywhere as they ran.

“Jesus,” Sungchan muttered, taking a bite of whatever they served for lunch that day.

Gowon and Chaewon made it to you both at record speeds, with Chaewon practically sliding into her previous sitting spot. “Dude,” she began, huffing and puffing from the running she did. Gowon practically crumbled onto the floor, taking three big swigs from her water bottle. “What in the world happened between you and Donghyuck?”

“What?”

“I found Gowon, like, surrounded by his little gang as he talked to her. She looked like she was going to faint, but he pretty clearly asked where you were,” she giggled, reaching out and slapping your shoulder. “So? What is it?”

“He told me he was in love with me yesterday.”

Chaewon practically shrieked with joy, to the point where it almost made you feel bad for the outcome of his stark leap. “And? And?”

“I told him that he didn’t love me and that he doesn’t know me very well anymore.”

Gowon choked on her water, covering her mouth and trying not to spit it all out. Instead, she just coughed to the side, barely able to swallow it all down. Sungchan stared at you in complete shock, and Chaewon’s excited face morphed into a sad and confused one.

“Excuse me?” Gowon breathed out. “You what? You, [First] [Last], known for your compassion and kindness, said what?”

“I mean, he doesn’t love me. He loves who he knew a year ago, when we were still attached at the hip and he still wore that stupid yellow bomber jacket that I bought him in middle school,” you sighed, taking another bite of the sandwich. “I’m not—I’m not the same, you know? I like different things, I do different things, and I hang out with different people. He’s not the same either. It wouldn’t…it just wouldn’t work.”

“Bullshit.” Sungchan laughed dryly, giving you a sour look. “You can’t just say that to someone confessing their love to you, no matter how well you know them. I mean, imagine if you worked up the courage to confess to someone and they immediately invalidated your feelings?”

“It’s not like I don’t know that my approach was bad, but it’s the truth. We just aren’t compatible as we are now.”

“But…but weren’t you two…? I mean don’t you still hang out?” Chaewon asked, frowning.

“When he can’t make it to his other friends, yes. Snow days, the flash flood yesterday, when we had that huge dry lightning storm and the power went out. I’m his backup entertainment, and, even when we do hang out, we usually just watch movies in silence or do our own things.”

“I agree with [First].” Gowon nodded, her voice hoarse from the coughing fit she just escaped. “She has a point. I mean, you guys remember what he was like first year…nothing like he is now, y’know?”

“But it was mean to do that,” Chaewon argued, crossing her arms. “You can’t just say stuff like that. You need to apologize, [First].”

“I’ll apologize when I feel like I need to. For now,” you paused, taking a final bite of your sandwich. “I am not going to talk to him about it.”

“[First], don’t be an asshole,” Sungchan replied.

“Oh, I’m the asshole? Shall I recount when he left me in the dust last year? Or when he forgot my birthday and skipped out on my birthday dinner, which both of his parents attended, because he was going to Incheon with Na Jaemin and Lee Jeno? Or when he blew me off every single time I tried to keep our friendship going?” you scoffed, turning towards him. Gowon, who’d been the first person to befriend you after you lost Donghyuck, kept quiet, but she placed a hand on your shoulder in support. “I don’t owe him anything for being a dick, and then deciding he wants to date me. It’s a miracle I even keep him around.”

Chaewon frowned, laying off, but Sungchan didn’t seem to like your answer. Instead, he picked up his tray, pushed himself off the ground, and began a tantrum-ish march to the school building. Nobody tried to stop him.

“I didn’t know,” Chaewon muttered, twiddling her thumbs. “Sorry.”

“No harm, no foul,” you hummed, packing up your lunch box. “Sungchan’ll get over himself.”

Once again, rain poured outside, trapping you and your classmates in your classroom while everyone waited for the principal to announce it was safe to leave. For the most part, it was quiet, with mostly everybody parked at their desk and studying or napping. You were watching some random Japanese drama from 2008, laying your head on a quasi-pillow (your bunched-up sweater) that rested on your desk.

Everyone was tired. Of course they were, as it was a Thursday, and nobody wanted to be at school past 4 pm on a Thursday.

The sound of the classroom door being thrown open seemed to grab everyone's attention. You glanced up, cringing when you saw who was invading your peaceful, little classroom. They instantly caused everyone (who was awake, that is) to start whispering back and forth as if the visitors were the president and his men.

You were lamenting the fact that the boy who sat in front of you wasn't at school today.

Donghyuck pulled the chair in front of you closer to your desk, taking a seat so that he’d be facing you rather than the chalkboard. You didn’t move, trying to focus on the subtitles of your new show. But, it seemed he wasn’t very deterred by your current activity, as he easily plucked your earbud from your ear.

Sighing, you paused your show, pushing yourself up from the uncomfortable position. Your back creaked as you did, causing a few sharp pains to travel up your spine.

“Did you need to bring your entire posse with you? you mumbled suppressing a yawn. He shrugged, leaning his elbow on your desk and putting his head in his hands.

“My birthday’s tomorrow,” he said, glancing down at your little setup before looking back up at you. “I’m having a party tonight, though. I’d like for you to come.”

Last year, you missed his birthday party, simply dropping off a gift with his mother before it began. You remember looking out your window, staring at the lights protruding from his house at the end of the street, the kids in the front yard, and the cars parked down the street. The neighborhood you lived in was a nice one—your house was one your mom inherited, which was the only reason you lived somewhere that nice—so houses were spread out to the point where he could get away with a party.

Plus, neither his mom nor his dad seemed to care what was happening. After you dropped the gift off, you watched them drive off together, and they didn’t seem to return until the next Sunday.

You remember thinking how much you would hate to go to a party like that.

“I’m not really into stuff like that,” you replied. “I’ll drop off your gift again and say hi, or something, but I’d rather not go to a party.”

“What if I said you could lock yourself in my room and hang out there the entire time?”

You scrunched your nose up, thinking about what your mom would do if she saw the party happening again while you lazed around in your bedroom. “No studying, no partying, just useless,” she’d tell you, pinching your cheek. “At least do something.”

“I guess,” you mumbled, looking around to see everybody staring at you. In the doorway stood Huang Renjun and Zhong Chenle, both watching you converse a little too intently.

At your response, a warm smile blossomed on Donghyuck’s face. “Great. See you tonight.”

He pushed himself up from the chair, leaving it where it was rather than tucking it in. He shoved his hands into his pockets, pushing past Renjun and Chenle, who stayed and stared at you for a second more. Chenle said something, but you couldn’t hear what it was; after that, he walked off, Renjun following.

You laid your head back down, putting your earbud back in your ear, but you didn’t go to play your drama. Instead, you sat there, staring at the rain pour, slamming into the window faster than you’d ever seen it go.

You hoped he’d leave you alone after this. Getting over the loss of the person you spent nearly your whole childhood with would be difficult, but you’d muscle through it—you always did.

Chaewon and Gowon sat on your couch, watching you fail at wrapping the gift you’d prepared for Donghyuck. They were dressed casually for the event so that you didn’t feel out of place as you walked in and beelined for the upstairs.

“So, you’re…regifting him something?”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, ripping tape out of the dispenser. “It’s a little keychain he got me two years ago, along with a ring I put on a chain. He likes necklaces…I think. It’ll be a good way to say, ‘let’s not see each other for a while,’ you know?”

You ignored the tugging at your heart and the way your throat seemed to close at the thought, focusing on how best to wrap the small box in a way that didn’t look ugly. Because of your intense focus, you were lost on the way Chaewon and Gowon looked at each other as if they somehow picked up on the way you were feeling.

“You’re sure there’s no way you could be in love with him too, right?” Chaewon suddenly asked, causing you to perk up. You furrowed your brows at that, your heart lurching in your chest at the question. It made you nervous.

“What? No.” You shook your head, placing a final piece of tape on the gift. You held it up and examined the poor wrapping job you did, frowning at it. For a temporary-last gift, it sucked. “Not a chance.”

“Should we go then? It’s 8, we’re already an hour late.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, standing up with the box. “Now or never, I guess. Have you heard from Sungchan?”

“He’s probably there already. Heard he’s friends with Zhong Chenle and never told us,” Gowon said. You looked at her, eyes widened.

“Really? I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Yeah, well, now’s the time for learning, I guess,” she said. The three of you approached the door, slipping on shoes and putting on jackets. The moment you opened the door, you were hit with a blast of wet, hot air.

“I hate summer,” you mumbled, stepping outside. Your friends followed, and, together, you made the small trek to Donghyuck’s house. It was surrounded by cars and kids, and the sound of loud music accompanied by bright lighting filled the air. You were glad you didn’t live in a packed area, because, if you did, you were sure this would’ve gone a lot worse.

You pushed past all the already-drunk people outside, grabbing onto Chaewon’s hand for support. “This doesn’t look like a gift-giving party,” you whispered, to which Chaewon rolled her eyes, squeezing your hand.

“And you’re close to him, so you’re expected to get a gift.”

Gowon opened the door and, instantly, you were hit with the scent of alcohol and sweat, which wasn’t pleasant at all. Donghyuck’s house, having been renovated when you were kids, was the perfect location for a party like this one, with people roaming about and searching for something to do. The music drowned out anything you could hear, so you hoped Gowon would follow as you moved ahead, slipping past several people you knew (and, many people you didn’t).

The stairwell wasn’t far from the door, and you made it easily. Jaemin and Mark were lingering near it, seemingly making sure nobody tried to sneak up there and potentially steal something. You nodded your head at Jaemin the moment you made eye contact, but he didn’t step out of the way.

“I can take the gift,” he half-yelled, holding his hand out. Despite the volume of his voice, you could barely hear him and were a bit confused when he took the box out of your hands. You leaned closer to hear him, but you halfway wished you hadn’t. “Only you’re allowed up.”

You lurched back, looking at Chaewon and Gowon, who both nodded at you reassuringly. Chaewon released your hand, giving you a small smile before linking arms with Gowon. You sighed, running up the stairs as fast as you could. As promised, it was much quieter upstairs—as quiet as it could be given the surroundings—and much emptier. The upstairs looked just as you remembered it looking, with the only difference being a couple of newer pictures placed along the walls.

This felt like your childhood. A bit of nostalgia squeezed your heart as you walked down the hall, staring at pictures of the Lee family that you knew so well. Donghyuck’s parents were beautiful—unsurprising given how beautiful their son was—and that was made known by their wedding pictures, which sat framed at the edge of the hall.

You approached them, examining the bundles of photos they had put up. You remembered the several times you, as a small kid, told Donghyuck’s mother how you wanted to look just like her when she got married, with her gorgeous white gown and veil.

How ironic.

You turned the corner, approaching the final door in that section of the corridor. It was closed, and a small “do not enter!” sign was plastered on it. You blatantly ignored the directions, turning the knob and pushing inside.

His room looked different from the last time you were here.

It was darker, more mature, with more posters and less empty wall space. It looked like the teenage boy's room you’d see on a TV show, especially with the fancy computer and three monitors he had sitting on the desk. You shut the door behind you—it was kind of shocking how his room blocked out all the sound from downstairs—looking around at all he had up.

On his dresser were a few framed pictures, all of which were pictures of you two. The first one was one when you were little, two kids smiling on a playground with no worries in the world, dressed in matching sun and moon outfits. Then, there was a picture of you two at a class performance you had to do in second grade, dressed in tacky outfits that your parents had made together.

The third was a picture of you two in middle school, dressed in your uniforms roaming Lotte World, eating ice cream and laughing at whatever joke was shared between you two. You look back on that day fondly, remembering how much fun you’d had. That was where Donghyuck had gotten the keychain you were gifting back to him.

The final picture was one from your first year of high school. This one was much more robotic than the rest, both of you smiling for the picture and not just to smile. You stood far apart from each other, holding onto your school bags and looking mildly uncomfortable. Your hair was messy from a long day, and there were prevalent bags under Donghyuck’s eyes.

He looked unhappy, in a way. So did you.

Sighing, you approached his bed, taking a seat on the floor and leaning your back against it. You slid your phone from your jacket pocket, scrolling through various notifications you had. Most were from Chaewon, who was using her phone to have her and Gowon communicate with you.

“On an adventure to find a bathroom and lock ourselves insides,” read the first one, along with a couple of random emojis she tacked on.

“Sungchan is all up close and personal with some of Donghyuck’s posse. Who’d have thought they were friends when he’s such a loser lol.”

And, finally, a “Hiding in a non-crowded corner!! Only one bathroom was open, but we will survive by people watching!!”

You typed back a swift response, confirming you were in Donghyuck’s bedroom and feeling quite tired. If you had to guess, this night would end without you seeing Donghyuck at all, and you’d fall asleep on his bedroom floor, only to be woken up by Gowon and Chaewon, who’d snuck upstairs after everyone passed out drunk.

“Gowon here, and I think Donghyuck opened your gift. He doesn’t look pleased, I think. Storming towards the stairs. Fighting!”

Okay, so maybe you spoke too soon. You looked towards the door, wondering what he would have to say to you about it; maybe he’d reject it, giving it back to you and telling you to fuck off, or maybe he’d be reasonable about it, let you talk through things.

Considering the way the door opened, you assumed it to be the former.

Donghyuck practically slammed the door shut behind him, holding up the small white box that you’d put the ring-necklace and keychain in. He stared at you for a second, and you stared back, waiting for him to say something.

“What is this?”

You shrugged, looking at the box. “The sun keychain you got me a few years ago and—”

“The ring you liked to wear all the time in middle school. Yes, I know, I’m aware, but that’s not what I meant.”

You knew what he meant, but you didn’t want to. “Okay, then what did you mean?”

He narrowed his eyes, dropping to the floor in front of you. He stared at you, trying to gauge what exactly you were trying to accomplish by acting clueless. “Why are you giving it back?”

“Because I feel like we need to separate for a bit longer. Like, actually separate this time. Not the not-see-each-other-for-three-weeks routine anymore. A few months without being sun and moon, and just being two different people.”

He put the box down, crossing his legs. Donghyuck didn’t say anything, assuming the same hurt face he had when you told him he didn’t love you. “This is exactly why I never wanted to tell you,” he finally said, letting his head drop to the floor. “One chance your perfect bubble is disrupted and you’ll freak out and shut down.”

Your mouth dropped open, and you were a bit shocked at his response. You had nothing to say, nothing to defend yourself with other than the pitiful look you gave.

“But I’m going to say no to that, [First]. You can’t run every single time something doesn’t go your way. So we either figure this out right here and now, or I don’t think we’ll make it much farther as friends.”

You didn’t want to lose your friendship with him. He was the closest thing to you, the closest person to your secrets, the closest person to your happiness. You were okay with a break for a few months, maybe more, but you did not want to unfriend him for forever.

The way your heart hurt, the way your head spun, the way you found it hard to look him in the eyes and say “but we need this” was taking a toll on you. And, as you went through the motions, a little voice in your head began to say “Maybe you are in love with him, just a little bit. Maybe you have been for a while.”

“I’m sorry for ghosting you last year,” he continued, taking a deep, shaky breath. “I didn’t consider how you would feel and put myself first. I ejected you from a big change in my life, and I just assumed you’d be there to come back to after it was all said and done. You didn’t deserve it.”

You bit your lip in an attempt to keep your emotions squared off and invisible. Even hearing the apology made you want to fall apart, after waiting so long to hear anything of the sort. You remembered how lost you felt without him around, how hurt you felt when you sent text after text and yielded no response.

“Okay, I forgive you.”

It was short, but it got the point across without you bursting into tears at Lee Donghyuck actually apologizing to you. He took another deep breath, closing his hands into a fist.

“One more time, then. [First], I am in love with you.”

You sharply inhaled, looking down at the floor. “Okay. I could be, too. Maybe a little bit.”

It went silent between you, and you refused to look up from the ground. Gently, you reached out and began tracing little drawings on the floor, ones that you visualized in your mind. Saturn, the moon, the stars, the sun, you and Donghyuck, in constant orbit with each other, up in a boundless space you would never reach.

Suddenly, he got onto his knees, causing you to look up. Faster than you would’ve imagined, he shuffled over to you, encasing your face with his hands and pulling you into a soft yet heavy kiss. It left you stunned, but you didn’t seem to mind it that much.

Like the sun, Donghtuck was warm, from the way his hands managed to warm up your already burning cheeks or the way he practically emulated heat, as you felt from the close contact. He tasted like sour lemonade, perfect for a hot, summer day that had you trapped outside for the majority of the day. In a way, he was summer, carefree and bright, ready to ditch all responsibility and run off into the sunset.

When he pulled away from you, he seemed a bit embarrassed, sitting back on his feet and looking off to the side. “Sorry,” he mumbled, clearing his throat. “I didn’t ask if I could do that. Sorry.”

“I…didn’t mind too much,” you responded, looking down at the floor for the white box that held the keychain and the ring necklace. You opened it, picking up the chain and sliding the ring off it. You grabbed his hand, hoping it would at least fit on his pinky (which it did, thankfully). “Happy birthday.”

He looked down, a small scoff escaping his lips. “What, are you proposing? It hasn’t even been a minute, I mean, are you that obsessed with me?”

“Oh, yeah, For sure.” You rolled your eyes, dropping his hand so you could leave a small punch on his shoulder. “Let’s date, Lee Donghyuck.”

He repeated your idea with a high-pitched, mocking voice, and you could tell he was incredibly embarrassed. It made you giggle, and flick his forehead, to which he lurched back and gave you an incredulous look.

“Get over yourself.”

“If I do, will you take the keychain back?”

“Oh, shut up, loser.”

thank you for reading!

#cinna.nct #nct dream angst #nct dream fluff #nct dream x reader #nct dream scenario #nct dream imagine #nct 127 x reader #haechan x reader #lee haechan x reader #donghyuck x reader #lee donghyuck x reader #nct dream au #nct x reader #nct fluff #nct angst #nct scenarios #req

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weirdkpopgirl · 1 year

Text

Stay | Dream Reaction #7

Reaction: To the First Time their GF Stays at their Place

Genre: Fluff, slight angst

Warnings: mentions of stress, subtle mental health stuff in Renjun's, making out in Haechan's (but nothing explicit), oh, and mentions of fighting in Jaemin's part?

Word Count: 2780k

Author's Note: Hii, this was requested by a lovely anon. It's been a while since someone requested something, which made me really happy. To the person who messaged me, this may not be exactly what you had in mind. I did go a slightly darker route with some of the members. But I still hope you like it. Thank you for reading ^ - ^

Also, no one probably cares. But I've been listening to Dream's mini album nonstop XD

~ ~ ~

MARK

The corners of your lips downturned into a frown at the sight of your boyfriend’s workaholic state. Honestly, you weren’t surprised. But it didn’t make you any less angry.

Taeyong had sent you a text, relaying his concerns about the boy overworking again. He already had enough on his plate with hectic schedules for both 127 and Dream. Yet there he was, hunched over his computer and surrounded by crumpled balls of paper.

“Baby, it’s so late,” You said quietly, walking up from behind,

Alerted by your voice, Mark lifted his head. “(Y/n)-ah? When did you get here?”

“Just now,” You replied quickly. “I was worried about you.”

You gently lifted his chin, to get a better look at him. Despite his room's dimmed lights, you could still see the dark circles under his eyes.

Mark brushed you off. “Babe, I’m fine. You don’t need to worry.”

He always told you that, and it always lit this flame of anger in you. Usually, you refrained from saying anything for fear of causing him more stress. But you cared too much to hold it that night.

“How can you tell me that when you've been working nonstop this past month without a break?” Your voice wavered. “You probably haven’t gotten any sleep, have you?”

Mark looked down, unable to respond. So you took matters into your own hands and started by shutting his computer off. You ignored his poor attempts to protest and brought him to his bed.

“I’m going to stay here to make sure you get some actual rest,” You asserted before laying down beside him.

Even though Mark knew you were being serious, he couldn’t help but smile. This stern side of you was refreshing, and a reminder that there were people who cared about his well-being.

“Will you stay the whole night then?” Mark asked softly, reaching for your hand.

You didn’t expect him to say that, as you've never slept over at his dorm before. Honestly, you didn’t hate the idea. And if it meant getting your boyfriend’s mind off work for the rest of the night, then you’d say yes.

When you nodded, the two of you moved closer to get more comfortable. And for the first time in weeks, Mark finally got some sleep.

✎__________________________________________________________

RENJUN

It was one of those days when Renjun had a small gray cloud of rain over him. Maybe because work has been hectic lately, or maybe he was suffering from a lack of confidence. Whatever it was, sometimes Renjun just felt down. Fortunately for him, you were determined to cheer him up.

Before going to his dorm, you stopped by the grocery store and picked up a few things for hot pot. Renjun’s eyes immediately lit up when he saw you even bought his favorite shrimp balls. Since some of his members were there, you guys all ate together.

Aside from dinner, Renjun locked the two of you inside his bedroom. Then he would vent to you about what’s been bothering him lately. Sitting beside him on the bed, you would hold his hand in yours and listen the whole time. When it came to responding, you gave the best encouragement you could and reassured him that his feelings were valid.

8:30 p.m. was when you usually left to go back home. But this time, Renjun tugged on your wrist when you made a move to get up.

“Stay, please?” He spoke in a tiny voice.

You were a bit taken aback because this was the first time he’s asked you to stay over. The two of you could get pretty shy about these things. But there was none of that from Renjun tonight.

So you nodded and let him pull you back into the bed to lay down next to each other. He hummed as your fingers stroked his hair.

“Thank you. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you,” He’d say a few moments later. In response, you smiled and kissed him on the forehead.

“Of course. I’ll be here for as long as you need.”

✎__________________________________________________________

JENO

He and the Dreamies had just returned from their tour in Japan. Even though he was gone for a few days, the time was too long for Jeno. So when you came over to cook a welcome-home meal for him and the Dreamies, the boy refused to leave your side.

Throughout dinner, you were practically glued to Jeno’s lap. His arms remained securely wrapped around your stomach, as his chin rested atop your shoulder. Any teasing from his members went largely ignored. Even when it was late, Jeno didn’t want you to go home.

“I spent all week missing you. Can’t you stay a little longer?” He avoided the stern look you were giving him.

The sensible part of you said to just go home like you usually did. Jeno’s slept over at your apartment a few times. But you’ve never stayed in his dorm, afraid that it’d be weird with his members also being there. However, they had all retired to their rooms by now. And it wasn’t like you had any plans the next day.

Your eyes dropped down to the boy who was playing with your fingers with a pout. Though you had a hard time expressing it, you had missed him just as much as he did. There was no harm in staying over one night, right?

You let out a pretend sigh, “Okay…I guess I can stay.”

“Really?” The boy’s eyes lit up, surprised that you said yes.

Since you didn’t have any clothes to wear to sleep, Jeno happily lent you one of his shirts and a pair of sweatpants. His eye smile appeared when you waddled out of the bathroom.

“I look ridiculous, Jeno-ssi.”

“No, you look cute,” He stood up to take you in his arms. “I should just have you wear my clothes from now on.”

You shook your head with a smile, and let him carry you to his bed. From there, you guys would lay in each other’s arms, talking about miscellaneous things until you guys fell asleep.

After the first time, Jeno knew that he wanted to sleep with you in his arms for the rest of his life. This was where he belonged.

✎__________________________________________________________

HAECHAN

A smile crept on his lips when he heard you yawn beside him. Since the holiday season was busy for both of you this year, you took this single free night to have an at-home movie date. And by at-home date, you were at the 127 dorm, cuddled up with your boyfriend in the living room.

As the ending credits of the movie you just watched played on the screen, you sat up to check your phone. It was pretty late. You then glanced out the window and gasped when you saw how much snow was flying everywhere. The storm had just started when you arrived, but you didn’t expect it to be still going on. And you didn’t have a car, which meant you’d have to walk home because the buses were most likely done for the day.

You then glanced at Haechan who already read your mind. “Well, it looks like you’re snowed in. I guess you won’t be leaving tonight,” He cutely shrugged.

“Of course, you’re happy about that.” You narrowed your eyes at him.

He pouted in response, “Whyyy? This means we can spend more time together!”

If anyone else saw how clingy and cute Haechan was around you, the boy would never hear the end of it. You shook your head at the boy and reached for the remote.

“Should we watch another movie then?” You suggested.

The male smirked and looked at you with a teasing glint. “I was thinking we should try something else.”

Before any suspecting questions could be asked, Haechan grabbed you by the neck and pulled you into a passion-filled kiss. You let out a gasp, only to be swallowed by the pressing of his lips on yours. The initial shock quickly faded as you felt yourself melting into his touch. However, your eyes opened as soon as they closed. You forced yourself to pull away, earning a whine from the boy.

“You do realize any of your Hyungs can walk out this very second, right?” You pointed out while trying to catch your breath.

There have been too many embarrassing times when someone caught the two of you in moments like this. All thanks to Lee Haechan, of course.

“Don’t worry about them. They’re all sleeping.”

He kept his hand on the nape of your neck, ready to kiss you again. But just as your noses touched, the sound of shuffling footsteps disrupted the two of you.

“Hey, Donghyuck are you still up?”

You instantly motioned for the boy to get off you and sat up to see Mark coming from the hallway.

“Oh (Y/n), I was wondering if you had gone home yet. It’s pretty messy outside,” He scratched his head.

You nodded in agreement, “Yeah, it is.”

“What were you guys doing?” He asked. Haechan rolled his eyes, annoyed by the rapper.

“Before you interrupted us, (Y/n) and I were—”

“Deciding on what movie to watch next!” You cut in, afraid of what he was going to say.

Haechan shot you a “why did you do that?” look. You sent him a glare in response. Mark, on the other hand, remained clueless as ever.

“Really? Has (Y/n) seen Elf yet? You should totally watch that,” The elder walked around to sit at the end of the couch. “Do you mind if I join you guys?”

Before you could answer, Johnny and Jaehyun came into the room.

“Yah, are you watching Christmas movies without us?”

You laughed nervously and turned to your boyfriend who was dumbfounded by this turn of events. Things certainly didn’t go as he had wanted them to. You mouthed a “sorry,” as the other members started to join you guys. He sighed in defeat and rested his head on your shoulder.

And that’s how the first time you stayed at Haechan’s dorm ended up turning into a Christmas movie marathon with the 127 members. Not as romantic as he would’ve liked. But it was certainly memorable.

✎__________________________________________________________

JAEMIN

Over the past week, your roommates have been at each other’s throats. As someone who was a little afraid of conflict, you chose to stay out of the situation. But their screaming at each other nonstop prevented you from getting any sleep. They remind you of when you lived with your parents who fought all the time. You tried to hold it together, repeatedly telling yourself that you should be used to this by now. Yet no matter how strong you pretended to be, it wasn’t enough.

One night, you decided that you couldn’t take it anymore. You knew it was late, but you were so desperate right now. After grabbing your phone and wallet, you snuck out of your home. Not that you think they would’ve noticed if you had left in front of them. They probably wouldn’t care and continue blaming each other for things.

Jaemin would be lying if he said he wasn’t surprised when you showed up at his apartment at 11:30 p.m. But he was more concerned when he saw the clear distress on your face.

“I-I’m sorry.” You huffed out cold air. “But can I stay here for the night?”

It only took him one look at your watery eyes to tell you were on the verge of breaking down. Of course, he welcomed you with open arms. Not many words were exchanged as you guys settled in his living room.

“Sunji and Juran haven’t made up yet?” He asked in his usual low voice, as he sat beside you on the couch. You noticed that he sounded deeper in the nighttime.

You shook your head despondently. “At this point, I’m waiting for one of them to move out.”

A short silence followed your words. Jaemin watched as your eyes fixated on the mug of green tea he gave you.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” You mumbled, before finally taking a sip of the warm beverage.

A small smile stretched across his lips. You always kept up this wall around your friends and family. Part of him was grateful because he was the only person who saw your vulnerable side.

“You did well (Y/n)-ah,” He cooed, reaching his hand to pet your head. “Thank you for coming to me.”

Calmed by his touch, you glanced up at those adorable eyes of his that were overflowing with admiration. In the next second, you let him take you into his embrace. The two of you stayed cuddled on the couch, watching some k-dramas to get your mind off things. Every so often he’d press kisses into your hair, which made you snuggle into him further.

You guys only started dating two months ago, and have never spent the night at each other’s places before. He was probably tired from work, and yet he let you in without question. If this wasn’t love, what was it?

✎__________________________________________________________

CHENLE

It was just another one of those days where you were at Chenle’s house keeping him company. His mother and aunt weren’t in Korea at the moment, so you guys had the whole place to yourself. The both of you agreed it was nice, after not seeing each other for the past few days.

Currently, you guys were napping on the couch. Napping was a more recent thing for the two of you. Mainly because he was always tired from work, and for you it was school. Though you were hesitant about the idea at first, you started to love these moments with your boyfriend. They were those few chances you got to relax and recharge.

Chenle secretly loved when you guys did this as well. Especially when you nestled your head into the crook of his arm, while your arm rested on his chest. Often he found himself staring down at you, admiring your features. It was always the hardest when you guys had to break out of such a comfortable position. And today, he really didn’t want to.

You had woken up first, realizing you had slept much longer than you intended. But when you began to sit up, Chenle brought you back down.

“Don’t go,” He said with his eyes still closed. “It’ll be too dangerous to walk home when it’s so late.”

“It’s only nine,” You murmured. “And I have university tomorrow.”

His hand wrapped around your wrist, pulling you closer to him. “Your class isn’t until noon, and you have your school bag here.”

You weren’t sure how he could speak so coherently when he was half asleep. But he was right. His place was also closer to the college you went to.

“Just stay.”

His words were simple but persuasive. So you returned to your previous place in his arms and closed your eyes.

“Okay.”

Chenle would smile, pleased to have won you over. He placed a small kiss on your knuckles before letting sleep consume him.

✎__________________________________________________________

JISUNG

For the first time, Jisung bought an apartment and was able to move out of the dorm. It took some convincing from his manager and the members. But Jisung was ready for this. After all, he wasn’t a 14-year-old kid anymore.

With that said, Jisung and you decided to take the next level into your relationship. By “next level,” that meant spending an entire night together. Jisung was quite excited because he would get to spend some quality time with you. However, things didn’t go quite as he expected.

Everything was normal up until you finished your third movie and it was time to sleep. Despite being together for almost two years, you guys were as awkward as you were when you started dating.

“I can sleep on the couch…” You suggested.

Jisung instantly turned down that idea. “What? No, we can just sleep on my bed!”

So after some anxious rambling between the two of you, you eventually ended up in his room. The two of you would lay face to face on his bed, with his comforter covering you up to your necks.

“Not too bad, right?” Jisung chuckled nervously.

You nodded, “Yeah, we’re okay.”

The two of you would spend the rest of the night giggling like little kids and exchanging kisses under the covers. Overall, 10/10 experience!

✎__________________________________________________________

#nct dream reactions #nct dream #nct 127 #nct dream fluff #nct dream scenarios #mark #renjun #jeno #haechan #jaemin #chenle #jisung #nctzen #czennie

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renecdote · 1 year

Note

ren please my love will u write me "wiping their tears when they cry" for buddie mwah

Also for @abcdefuk-off who requested the same prompt. This got so much longer than planned lol but enjoy the Buck angst <3

[Read on AO3]

Those first few days after waking up, and after leaving the hospital, everything hurts. Buck gets used to a baseline of pain: headaches, muscle aches, healing burns on his hands, fractured ribs, bruised lungs, something vague and unrelenting that coils tight in his stomach. It all ebbs and flows, a tide teetering between low and high, easy enough to ignore sometimes, but never fully gone.

It gets better, as days blur into weeks. One and then two and then three, and after four he’s sitting in Dr Salazar’s office and she’s saying, “You can go back to work as early as next week.”

Buck doesn’t know how to explain the flash of panic that seizes him. The way he wishes she could just tell him that something is wrong, that there is some physical explanation for the way he feels. But all his other doctors say the same thing: there’s nothing wrong with him. His lungs have healed enough for him to go back to work. His hands aren’t even going to scar. There are no blood clots in his leg, no reason it should be hurting at all, except for how it will probably always hurt sometimes.

“But it’s worse,” Buck tries. “It hurts more, and more often, doesn’t that—shouldn’t it mean something is wrong?”

“You’ve been through a trauma,” is all the doctor will say, shrugging behind ultrasound and CT results that all say the same thing: he’s fine.

So why doesn’t Buck feel fine?

Why can’t he just feel fine?

****

He gets through the first shift fine. He’s exhausted at the end of it, a headache knocking behind his temples, but it’s fine. He’s fine. He lets Eddie talk him into going home with him, manages to smile through breakfast with Christopher before crashing hard on the couch, and when he wakes up a few hours later, he’s fine.

The second shift, he doesn’t go home with Eddie. Doesn’t leave the station with a headache, either, which is nice, but he’s left with something restless and itching beneath his skin that makes him want to run until he has forgotten how to breathe.

He goes home instead. Deep cleans his apartment. Heats up frozen lasagne for lunch and eats sitting on the balcony, squinting at the grey edge of the sky and wondering if it’s going to rain.

Come over for dinner? 🥺 Chimney texts around four p.m., and Buck spends several minutes frowning at the message before he sends back a question mark. Chimney sends back a block of the same emoji in response and refuses to elaborate.

Fine, Buck replies. But just for the record I’m sick of eating pot roast.

He’s half expecting it anyway; Maddie isn’t a bad cook, but her repertoire is a bit limited, and Chimney’s even more so. When he arrives at six-thirty on the dot, he’s pleasantly surprised, and then a little suspicious, to find them setting out containers of Thai from one of Buck’s favourite takeout places.

“This isn’t another intervention, is it?” he asks, and he tries to make it sound like a joke, but he’s pretty sure he doesn’t succeed.

“Should it be?” Maddie asks, eyebrows raised.

“No,” Buck answers, matching her raised eyebrows with his own narrowed eyes. “I thought we agreed you couldn’t fix me.”

Chimney fumbles a grease-stained paper bag and two spring rolls make a bid for freedom, rolling across the counter. He snatches them quickly, muttering hot hot hot under his breath as he drops them onto a plate. He doesn’t say, “ah, so there is something that needs fixing,” but he may as well have. Buck steals a spring roll and bites down on it hard, chewing and swallowing even as his eyes water at the burn of too-hot pastry and filling.

Maddie rolls her eyes. “Sometimes dinner is just dinner, Evan. Why don’t you help Chimney set the table? I’m going to get Jee washed up to eat.”

Just dinner would be sitting in his apartment alone with whatever leftovers he dug out of the freezer, but Buck doesn’t argue. He takes the handful of cutlery Chimney offers him and sets it out on the table, Maddie and Chimney side-by-side, Buck opposite them both, plastic cutlery arranged carefully on Jee’s high chair at the head of the table. It’s hard to feel anything but warm inside when handling toddler cutlery, which was probably Maddie’s goal all along.

It spreads through him while they eat: warmth soaking into aching muscles, loosening the tension in his spine, helping him breathe a little bit easier. They don’t ask him if he’s okay and at some point he stops expecting them to. It’s like the moment after a jump scare in a movie, when all the tension that has been building snaps, the door pushed open to reveal a cat or a squawking bird where you expected to find a killer, adrenaline draining away to leave you loose and giggly. Buck stretches out his legs under the table and he can almost trick himself into believing that the twinge of pain is just in his head.

After dinner is over—plates and cutlery packed into the dishwasher, leftover Thai in the fridge—he helps Maddie give Jee a bath and put her to bed. It’s good. Normal. From the moment the tap turns on until Jee’s bedroom light is turned off, he feels like he can breathe. Like he might be okay.

Which. That was probably Maddie’s goal all along.

“You can stay,” Chimney offers when they’re back out in the kitchen. “The guest room has a proper bed and everything now.”

Buck smiles, appreciating the offer. “Nah, I should get home. Thanks though. For dinner and…”

A gesture, vague and all-encompassing. Chimney shrugs it away.

“Anytime,” he says, and Buck knows he means it. He could show up here at three in the morning and he wouldn’t be turned away. “See you at work tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Buck agrees. “See you at work.”

Maddie follows him to the door and hugs him tightly before he steps outside.

“Drive safe,” she says against his shoulder, words cast like a spell. “Text me when you get home.”

It’s the kind of thing she has said to Buck all his life. He used to roll his eyes good naturedly, grumble through a yeah, okay , and he’d still speed through yellow lights but he’d always feel a little more guilty about it with Maddie’s words in the back of his mind.

Tonight he just squeezes her again and promises, “I will.”

He slows down for every yellow light on the way home.

****

It’s not so bad at first: a dull ache, deep enough in his leg that he can almost ignore it. He’s getting pretty good at that, with the way it feels like the pain is always there these days, lurking, waiting to pounce. Buck avoids looking at it head-on for as long as he can, like it’s a monster in the dark that he can keep away by pulling a blanket over his head.

So it doesn’t sneak up on him, really, but it still takes his breath away when the pain corkscrews through his leg, suddenly sharp and biting. Buck stumbles, catching himself on the engine, choking back a curse that becomes a strangled wheeze. His first thought— fuck, ow ow ow —is followed quickly by a second: thank god everyone else is already in the engine .

“Buck?” Bobby calls, head sticking out through the front window. “You coming?”

Buck gives him a thumbs up, words trapped behind tightly clenched teeth. Climbing into the engine is hell, his leg pulsing with every step up, and he curls his hands into fists to hide the way they’re shaking after this seatbelt has been clipped into place. It was a long call, the kind that leaves everyone tired and not in the mood to talk, and Buck is absurdly grateful for it because it means nobody is paying too much attention to him. Nobody sees the wince he can’t hide when the truck jolts over a pothole, or the way he has to brace himself before jumping out when they’re back at the station.

There’s a bottle of Tylenol that lives in his work bag and he goes straight for it after he gets his turnout gear off. Everyone else has already drifted towards the bunks, but Buck tries not to limp as he walks up the stairs anyway. It feels too much like giving in. Like letting his leg and that bomber kid and the whole fucking universe win.

He tries to pace, tries to shake the cramp out by moving, but every step is like a knife through his ankle, his knee, shooting up through his hip to grip his chest in a vice as well. Buck makes it three limping circuits around the loft before he gives up and collapses on the couch. He folds over, head against his right knee, left leg stretched out while he digs his fingers into the long-healed muscles and wishes the pain would go away.

A stress headache is setting in now too, the kind that feels like his head is in a vice, the pain squeezing and squeezing and squeezing. Buck takes a shaky breath, then another, then another, trying to figure out whether he feels sick, or if it’s just the same coiling tension in his stomach that he’s been dealing with for weeks.

“Hey.”

He flinches, startled, and Eddie moves closer with a frown.

“Buck? You okay?” he asks, sounding like he’s already halfway convinced that he answer is no . Which it is, but.

Buck swallows. “Yeah, just—my leg. ‘M okay.”

Eddie hums, an I’ll be the judge of that kind of sound, and he perches on the edge of the coffee table, so close that their legs have no choice but to touch. “Can I…?”

There’s a half-hysterical thought in the back of Buck’s head that his leg will fall apart if he lets it go. The pain will tear through flesh and bones and leave nothing but broken, jagged pieces behind. Blood and sinew and useless muscle hanging off splintered pieces of bone. The thought of it makes him sick and he has to swallow hard against the nausea before he can make his fingers loosen their hold. It gets him a smile, quick and gentle, like Eddie knows the mental battle it took.

“Okay,” he says, easy and soft. “Do you want to lie down?”

Buck shakes his head. Even if he’s lying on his back, even if it’s the couch in the station instead of the rough asphalt of the street, his edges are too frayed right now for it to feel like anything other than being back there under the truck. He stretches his leg out in front of him instead, hands curled into tight fists while Eddie does his exam, quick but thorough.

“I don’t see anything concerning,” he judges, and Buck shouldn’t mourn the touch of his hands but he does. “No redness or swelling… is it just the pain?”

“Yeah,” Buck manages, too shaky. He doesn’t need to explain because Eddie knows more than most what it’s like when an injury heals but doesn’t ever fully let you go.

“Alright.” Hand on his knee for a second, two seconds, warmth lingering even after it’s gone. “Heat or ice?”

Buck shakes his head because—he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know if anything will help.

“Okay,” Eddie takes his non-answer in stride, “we’ll try heat first, then switch if it isn’t working.”

It doesn’t take long to grab a couple of heating pads from the first aid cupboard, nor to pull the coffee table a bit closer so Buck can put his feet up on it without having to stretch. Hen would smack him if she saw him doing it, but he’s pretty sure Eddie would defend him. His only other option is stretching out on the couch and—no. Not tonight.

“Here, drink this,” holding out a glass until Buck takes it. “It’ll help.”

It’s only half full, which is good because Buck’s hands shake when he holds it. He still feels vaguely sick, but he chokes down a few sips anyway, clinging to the way Eddie smiles at him when he does.

“Better?” he checks, adjusting one of the heating pads that had started to slip off Buck’s knee.

Buck wants to say yes. He wants to say yeah, all good now, thanks for your help but you don’t need to stay . He wants to rewind time and never get in the front seat of the truck. He wants to rewind time and wait just a few minutes before climbing up that ladder so the lightning doesn’t hit him. He wants and wants and wants. He’s spent his whole life wanting—his parents to love him, somewhere to belong, to be useful and good and happy —and even now that he has so much, he still fucking wants.

Buck bites his lip through the sting of frustrated tears, determined not to cry.

“It’s been, um, worse. Lately. Since the lightning strike.”

Eddie frowns. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Buck shrugs, as if he doesn’t know the answer. As if the words aren’t right there on the tip of his tongue: I didn’t want anyone to worry .

“No,” Eddie says, gentle and a little bit—sad, almost, but trying not to be. It’s like he can read the words spinning through Buck’s mind. “Why didn’t you say anything to me?”

Because Eddie isn’t anyone . He hasn’t been for a long time. Buck rubs a hand over his face, then picks at a loose thread on his knee, avoiding Eddie’s eyes.

“Are you going to tell Bobby?” he asks.

“You don’t want me to,” Eddie says, not a question. Buck shakes his head anyway. “Because you don’t want him to worry? Or because you don’t want to be benched for the rest of shift?”

The simple answer is both . That’s the answer Buck is supposed to give. It’s what Eddie is expecting to hear. But the truth is that Buck died, and nobody will let him forget it, and he still doesn’t know how he really feels about it.

That coil in his stomach tightens, dread clogging his veins. A traitorous, frustrated tear slips out and Buck squeezes his eyes shut. He makes a belated movement to wipe it away, but Eddie’s hand is already there, the curl of his fingers warm under Buck’s chin and his thumb warmer still as it swipes gently across his cheek. It’s that, Buck thinks, more than the pain and the frustration, that makes the next two tears slip out.

“I won’t tell Bobby,” Eddie promises him, the absence of his touch burning like frostbite when he pulls his hands away. “But I’m going on record saying that I think you should.”

“I can still do my job,” Buck mutters, sinking into his corner of the couch. It’s the easiest excuse to hide behind. It’s even mostly true: he can do his job, even if adrenaline and determination are the only things that get him through.

Eddie rolls his eyes. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

Buck wilts. He does know. And he doesn’t want to argue with Eddie. It’s always so much easier to be angry, to burn hot and fast and deal with the fallout later, but whenever he reaches for the flames these days, whenever he thinks it’s not fucking fair , all he feels is tired. Bone deep, achingly tired.

You’ve been through a trauma , people keep telling him, but Buck has been through traumas before and they’ve never left him feeling quite like this.

“Fine,” he sighs. “I’ll tell Bobby if it becomes a problem.”

If it comes down to other people’s lives, he would have done it anyway. He’s not stupid; he’s not going to risk anyone else.

Eddie nods, satisfied. He takes the glass of water from Buck’s hands and sets it on the coffee table, out of the way, then settles into the couch at his side. There’s enough space that they don’t need to be touching, but they end up pressed together from thigh to shoulder anyway.

“Do you think you can sleep?” Eddie asks.

Buck shrugs, but he’s pretty sure the answer is no. He’s pretty sure that Eddie knows it too.

“Alright,” he says, reaching for the remote. “But it’s my turn to pick what we watch.”

It’s not, but Buck doesn’t fight him on it. He doesn’t care what they watch, doesn’t think he could focus on it right now anyway. He closes his eyes, letting the sound of some late-night soap rerun fade into background noise, and waits for the pain to fade with it.

****

Buck doesn’t sleep, but he drifts, sinking down to something close enough to sleep that it can almost be called rest. His leg doesn’t hurt as much anymore, the weight of the heating pads over his knee and ankle as much of a relief as the heat itself. He’s not sure what time it is when footsteps on the stairs make him tense, threatening to undo all the hard work that Eddie and the heating pad have done to relax his muscles. The only thing that keeps him still is the hand Eddie puts on his thigh, warm and grounding. He squeezes gently— relax, you’re okay, I’ve got you —then stands up, meeting Bobby in the kitchen with an easy, “Hey, Cap, you want some coffee?”

Buck relaxes, listening to the familiar sound of people moving around the station kitchen: mugs clinking, the coffee machine gurgling, the slightest squeak of boots on the floor as Bobby and Eddie move around each other. It’s so familiar and soothing that he’s almost back in that state of not-quite-resting, drifting through the currents at the edge of the room, when he hears Bobby ask, “He okay?”

It’s right there in his voice: worry worry worry . Buck bites the inside of his cheek hard enough that he tastes blood, sudden and metallic. It stops his heart in his chest for a beat, two beats, and he has to breathe carefully through the swell of memory and nausea until the taste of blood and bile have both been swallowed down.

“Yeah,” Eddie is answering behind him, and that helps too, “just a leg cramp, he’s okay.”

Buck doesn’t get to find out what Bobby’s response to that is—the alarm rings and he’s on his feet before it’s a conscious thought. Before he stops, one hand on the bannister going down the stairs, and wonders whether he should actually stay behind. Whether Bobby will make him stay behind.

He hesitates too long. Long enough that everyone else is already climbing into the truck and Bobby is looking back at him from the app bay, eyebrows raised.

“You coming, kid?”

Buck shakes himself and follows. He can still do his job.

****

The fire burns hot and fast, two townhouses already alight when they join the 122 on scene, a third just starting to go up as well.

“Shit,” Chimney mutters, and Buck feels it in his bones: people are going to die tonight. People are probably already dead, just waiting for someone to pull their bodies out.

“Buck—” Eddie starts, low and close, fingers twisted in his sleeve, and Buck doesn’t know what he’s going to say but—

“Not now,” he says, shaking Eddie off.

Eddie lets him go.

Buck tells himself that he’s grateful for it, even as his leg throbs in protest. He’s fine, he reminds himself. He’s fine, he can still do his job.

And he does. He lets the smoke and the flames numb him, sinking into the routine: check room after room after room, pull out body after body after body. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t think.

He’s limping by the time they clear the buildings. The pain isn’t as bad as it was before, but it’s deep and persistent, the kind of always there pain he got used to feeling in the weeks after the ladder truck crushed him. Buck sees a life stretching out before him where it never goes away: he’ll wake up hurting every morning, go to sleep hurting every night, probably have to quit his job because he’s always, always hurting.

He feels sick. Thinks he might actually be sick, stuck on a roller coaster he doesn’t know how to get off, and he leans shakily against the engine, pressing his forehead against the cool metal while he tries to breathe the feeling away.

Bobby finds him there.

Of course Bobby finds him there.

“Here,” he says, and his hand is a steady pressure between Buck’s shoulder blades until he turns his head, blinking past the red of the engine to find a water bottle being held out. Bobby shakes it a little when Buck doesn’t immediately reach to take it. “Come on, Buck, you know the drill.”

Buck wonders which drill that is. The stay hydrated when fighting fires one, or the don’t disobey orders one, or maybe the let people take care of you one. It doesn’t really matter, he supposes, the answer is all the same. He grabs the water bottle from Bobby’s hand. Fumbles it open and takes a few sips.

“Sit,” Bobby suggests, hand still on Buck’s back, gently guiding him the few limping steps until he can sit on the front of the engine. The scene is still bustling around them, firefighters moving like moths around the flames, but Bobby seems content just to stand beside Buck, watching silently.

Buck lasts five minutes before he breaks.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” he asks, exhausted down his marrow.

“About your leg?” Bobby doesn’t pretend not to know what he’s talking about and Buck is grateful for it. “I figured you’d come to me if something needed saying.”

Buck swallows.

Swallows again.

He’s pretty sure they’ve reached the point where something needs saying, but he has no idea where to start. I’m sorry , maybe. I swear the doctor cleared me , probably. The words all feel frothy on his tongue, taking up more room than they should, and he opens his mouth without really knowing which ones he’s going to say and—

“I’m scared.”

It’s a whisper. A confession meant for the dark safety of night, spilled out here in the burning daylight of a new day like oil on the road. The sun glints off it like a beacon: here! look, beware, there is danger here! Buck wants to scoop the words back up, shove them deep inside his chest, lock them up where he’s the only one who might choke on them. He wants to find a smile, or a joke, anything that he can tape over the moment to wipe the look of quiet concern off Bobby’s face. He wants to pretend that he’s fine because maybe if he pretends hard enough it will become true.

“I don’t even know why I’m scared,” he finds himself confessing anyway. “I don’t know why my leg hurts, or how to make it stop, or—”

or if I’ll ever feel normal again

There’s a flash of memory—Eddie crying at the dining table, Eddie’s room destroyed, Eddie’s door locked, Eddie dying in the street—so sudden and visceral that Buck flinches away from it. His breath stutters, and his leg throbs sharply, and it’s all so much that he almost flinches when Bobby puts a hand on his shoulder as well.

“I’m not going to pretend that I have all the answers,” Bobby says, as warm and steady as his hand. His lips twist into something wry for a second as he adds, “Or any of them.” Buck doesn’t smile, even though he thinks he’s supposed to. “But I’m always here if you want to talk, or even if you don’t.”

Bobby breakfasts . It’s not a secret at the firehouse, but it’s always talked about in low tones, the same way you’d whisper about something sacred. They’ve all had one at some point: a quiet invitation at the end of a hard shift, “we don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” then the comforting bustle of a café with good coffee and eggs cooked any way you want them. Buck remembers sitting in that café three days after Eddie got shot, the taste of blood still in his mouth and his stomach too messed up to even think about eating, sipping camomile tea while Bobby ate a bagel and did the crossword in an honest to god newspaper beside him.

He remembers wondering where the newspaper even came from. Remembers the flash of fear at the realisation that he’d lost time somewhere between the firehouse and the café. Remembers his hands shaking around his teacup, china rattling as he set it back in the saucer, and Bobby’s knees bumping against his even though the table was big enough that they shouldn’t have.

He remembers that it helped, even if he didn’t really know it at the time.

“Captain Nash!” someone calls, and it’s like a bucket of ice water over Buck’s head.

Bobby glances behind him, towards the IC who called his name, then back at Buck, his reluctance clear on his face.

“Go,” Buck tells him, hugging himself. “I’m okay.”

Bobby still hesitates, long enough that the IC calls his name again, and Buck tries for a smile that is probably more like a grimace by the time it reaches his lips. It gets Bobby moving though. Gets him to nod, once, and squeeze Buck’s shoulder again before he turns with a parting, “I’ll send Eddie over.”

Buck opens his mouth, halfway to a protest, but Bobby is already striding away. He should be annoyed, he thinks; he doesn’t need a babysitter. But instead he’s just kind of grateful as he sinks back against the engine, knowing he won’t be alone for long.

****

The shift is over by the time they get back to the station, but Buck still finds Bobby in his office. The door is open, but he knocks anyway, leaning heavily against the doorframe because he thinks his leg might collapse under him if he has to take one more step.

“I can’t,” he says, when Bobby looks up at him. “Talk about it. Not yet.”

Not with Bobby, at least. Not until he can find a way to say I’m not okay without also saying you died, you know? in my coma dream, you died because I wasn’t there to help save you, and I don’t know what to do with that because sometimes I feel like I can save everyone except myself .

“Okay,” Bobby says easily. “Would you like to have breakfast anyway? We don’t have to talk.”

Buck smiles, tired but real. “I appreciate the offer, Cap, but—maybe a rain check?”

Bobby’s face is a silent ah . “You’re going home with Eddie.”

It’s not a question. Buck nods anyway. If he turned his head just slightly, he’d be able to see Eddie hovering by the engine, both their bags slung over his shoulder, waiting for Buck to be ready to go. Waiting to jump in if he’s needed too, knowing Eddie.

“Good,” Bobby smiles, and Buck knows it means he’ll take care of you . “If you need anything, let me know.”

“I will.”

Bobby nods, satisfied, then looks back down at his paperwork. “I’ll see you next shift, Buck.”

Buck bites the inside of his cheek so he doesn’t do something embarrassing like burst into tears. He has to breathe through the sudden lump in his throat a couple of times before he can say, “Thanks, Cap. See you next shift.”

He turns carefully, weight balanced on his good leg, and limps out towards the parking lot. It only takes a few seconds for Eddie to fall into step beside him, their shoulders bumping gently.

“Okay?” he checks, brown eyes warm and serious on Buck’s face.

Buck smiles; still tired, still pained, but still real.

“Yeah,” he answers. “All good.”

And it’s not really. Not fully. But—

“It will be,” Eddie agrees, smiling back.

It will be .

Yeah.

Yeah, Buck thinks, he’s gonna be okay. His family will make sure of it.

#Evan Buckley #Eddie Diaz #Maddie Buckley #Chimney Han #Bobby Nash #911 Fox #fic #post lightning buck is something that can be so personal

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ghosttotheparty · 7 months

Text

a mess of holy things 8 also on ao3 // prev. // next cw: mentions/brief descriptions of childhood neglect & physical punishment

There are sheets of paper littered around Steve’s entire room. Across his desk, filling his trash can, spread over his bed, each page filled with scribbled notes, his handwriting worse and worse as the words make their way to the last lines. The pen is smudged on most of the pages, the side of his hand stained with ink.

He’s been studying for hours today, and yesterday, and the day before, writing and rewriting rough draft after rough draft for his essays, revising and revising and revising, and he’s bored out of his mind.

There are three textbooks on his desks, all of them open to different topics, marked with pencil and more smudged pen ink.

His head hurts. His hands are sore from writing, from gripping his pencils and pens so tightly. He finds himself nibbling on the cross around his neck, the chain draping from his mouth, his teeth bumping over the ridges of Jesus’s body. He thinks maybe he shouldn’t be biting it, being a family heirloom, being something holy, but his fingertips haven’t bled in a while. He hasn’t tasted any blood.

He’s got the curtains open today, letting the morning sunlight in.

The phone rings as he’s letting his head fall back, stretching his neck and closing his eyes to rest them, fingers still gripping his own tightly. He startles at the sound, and he drops his pen, reaching for the phone.

“Hello, this is Steve.”

“Hey, Stevie.”

“Hi,” Steve says, voice softening. “How’re you?”

“Uh, I’m good,” Eddie says, but he sounds unsure. Hesitant. “Uhm…”

“What’s wrong?” Steve says, lifting his head, eyes watching the tree outside his window.

“Nothing, just…” Eddie pauses, clearing his throat. “Uhm. I have to— to tell you something.”

Steve blinks.

“Okay,” he says slowly. “What is it?”

“I…” Eddie is quiet for a moment. “I’d— I’d rather tell you, uhm, in person.”

“Okay,” Steve says again. “Should I— Do you want me to go to your place?”

He’s quiet again.

“…You know that cafe near mine? With the teacup sign outside?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you meet me there?”

“Yeah, ‘course.”

“Okay,” Eddie says softly, almost whispering.

“…Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says with a light laugh. “I’m okay, I just… I’ll tell you when you get here.”

“Okay,” Steve says, furrowing his brows a little bit. “I’m gonna go catch the next bus.”

“Okay.”

There’s traffic on the way into town, and Steve watches the cars all pull to a stop from where he’s sitting at the back of the bus, chewing his thumbnail. His knee bounces up and down anxiously, and he does his best to ignore the way his stomach is twisting, flipping over with nerves.

Eddie sounded so off on the phone. Off in a way Steve’s never heard him before. His voice was short, almost breathy with every Uhm… and too-long pause. It sounded like he was keeping his voice steady, like it wanted to shake and waver and he wouldn’t let it.

It’s drizzling when Steve finally gets off the bus, thanking the driver quickly, and he squints even though the sun isn’t that bright anymore. He avoids stepping in the puddles on the sidewalk as he makes his way to the cafe, swerving around pedestrians that are walking too slowly.

His jacket is spotted with rain when he finally gets to the cafe, and his hand gets wet when he pushes his hair back, out of his face. It’s warm in the cafe, and the stark difference hits him the second he steps inside, exhaling with relief. He takes off his jacket as he scans the cafe, spotting Eddie on the other side of it, sitting by himself at a small table, holding a mug, looking at it. His hair is down, falling over his shoulders, over the soft knit of his black sweater.

“Hi,” Steve says as he sets his jacket over the back of the other chair. Eddie looks up at him, smiling a little bit, but it’s tight, strained, forced. “What’s going on?”

“Uh.” Eddie takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he watches Steve sit. Steve moves closer to the table, leaning over it to look at Eddie intently. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Steve says again, raising his eyebrows, smiling hesitantly. “You okay?”

“I’m okay, I just…”

He fidgets with the handle of his mug, flicking his thumbnail over it, making a quiet tapping sound that sounds kind of like the rain hitting the roof. He swallows, looking away, his cheeks rosy.

“Eddie,” Steve says softly, his stomach twisting. “What’s wrong?”

Eddie lets out a weak, humorless scoff, dropping his head and then shaking it.

“Sorry,” he says to his lap, holding his mug tightly.

“You don’t have to be,” Steve says gently, twisting his fingers together to stop himself from reaching out and taking Eddie’s hands. “Just… You’re worrying me, I…”

“You don’t…” Eddie shakes his head. “You don’t have to be worried, it’s just, uhm… Okay.” He takes another heavy breath, sliding his tongue over his lips as he looks away again. “Uhm. I didn’t… I didn’t want to say anything, but it’s… It’s getting too hard to just ignore, I guess.”

“Did I do something?” Steve asks, his throat tightening as nausea threatens his stomach.

“No,” Eddie says quickly, shaking his head. “No, you— you didn’t do anything, Steve, I…”

Steve.

Not Stevie. Not sweetheart.

Steve feels like he might cry.

“What is it?” he asks weakly.

“I, uhm…” Eddie lifts a hand and rubs his cheek. Looks away. Looks back at him. “I have feelings. For you.”

Steve blinks.

“Like…” Eddie pauses, looking at him, stammering for a moment. “Like— Romantic feelings.”

“Oh,” Steve says softly. Eddie looks away again, his cheeks red, and he rubs his own forehead before he pushes his hair back behind his shoulder.

“I— I know it’s just me, so I can just—”

“You like me?” Steve says weakly, and he knows he sounds like a child, like his friends in high school sounded when they gossiped about their classmates.

Eddie is quiet, looking at him, and his eyes look glassy. He swallows, nodding a little.

“Yeah,” he says breathlessly.

“...Why?”

Eddie stares for a moment, and then he scoffs, smiling softly, his eyes shining brightly at Steve even though he still looks so… helpless.

“You have no idea how amazing you are,” he says quietly.

Steve’s cheeks flush with warmth, and he blinks again.

“You…” Eddie pauses, shifting in his seat, looking away, down at his coffee. “You’re brilliant. And you’re funny, and you’re creative, and you’re so… so fucking nice. Like…” He exhales, looking up at Steve again. “You’re, like, the kindest person I’ve ever met. Even though your parents are shitheads, and they— they raised you to be like them, you’ve only ever been kind to me, and I…” His voice shakes a little bit, and he cuts himself off, looking away and blinking his eyes repeatedly.

Steve’s throat tightens.

“I miss you when you’re not around,” Eddie continues after a moment, looking down again, his voice soft. “I… I like your voice. I like listening to you talk, even if you’re just complaining about your classes. And I like how you sit on the sofa like you’re trying to hide from something, like you— you make yourself as small as you can and it’s fucking adorable, and I like how you bite your pens when you think really hard, and how you scrunch your nose up when you laugh, and…”

He exhales sharply, blinking at Steve, and he looks like he’s going to cry again.

“And you’re so beautiful, Steve,” he whispers.

Steve’s eyes sting.

No one’s ever called him beautiful before. It’s never even seemed possible. But Eddie is looking at him like he’s the sun or something, like it hurts to look at him.

“You’re gorgeous,” Eddie says softly, weakly. “You’ve got these eyes that could— could make flowers bloom, and your smile’s like the fuckin’ sun, and you…” He exhales shakily, eyes flicking back and forth between Steve’s. His voice trembles when he speaks again. “You understand me. In ways that no one else ever has.”

Steve’s lip quivers.

Eddie looks away. Clears his throat.

“Sorry.” He takes another breath. “Uhm. I know it’s just me. So. If you wanna just… pretend I never said anything, that’s… I understand. Or if you… If you just don’t wanna see me, that’s— that’s fine.”

Steve opens his mouth to speak, to say something, but nothing comes out.

“Okay, uhm.” Eddie looks away, rubbing his nose and sniffling, twisting his mouth. “I’m gonna go.”

Steve’s vision blurs as he watches him stand, and Eddie’s name is stuck in his throat, but it can’t make its way out. His hands are shaking just the slightest bit, still clutching at each other under the table, and he has no idea what he feels right now, what name belongs to the feeling that’s tangled in his chest, in his stomach, but he wants to let it out.

But he can’t.

He doesn’t know how.

He watches Eddie go, silent.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there.

Staring at the table, Eddie’s words on repeat in his head.

I have feelings. For you. Like… Romantic feelings.

Steve’s never thought of himself as someone worthy of romantic feelings.

He heard rumors a few times that there were girls that liked him, but it’s never mattered. They never told him, never asked him out or anything. Not that he would have gone out with them if they had. He was raised with the belief that marriage is the only option, that everything is saved for the one.

He picks absently at one of his nails, his eyes trained on the mug Eddie left on the table. It’s almost empty.

He hadn’t meant to ask why. He knows it’s a stupid question.

He’d meant to ask how Eddie knows he likes Steve.

Which also might be a stupid question.

He doesn’t know.

But his friends never really went into detail about how they knew they had crushes. They only ever went into detail about their crushes, about their hair, their waists, their lipgloss. It was always She’s so hot. And other things Steve just pretended he didn’t hear.

And that was all he thought romance was.

His parents have never been in love. He knows that.

He’s never seen romance in movies or on television, he’s never read about it in books.

He remembers one of his friends in junior year gushing about his girlfriend, leaning back against the bleacher behind him with his eyes closed. Guys, I think I’m in love with her.

They’d all laughed. Teased him. Poked at his face and ruffled his hair.

But Steve couldn’t stop thinking about how blissful he’d seemed, and it was so wildly different from his idea of what romance was (which was what his parents had, which…) that Steve daydreamed about it. Liking someone so much it made him smile just thinking about it.

He still thought it was still… Well. Physical.

But…

I have feelings. For you. Like… Romantic feelings.

Steve’s never heard anything talk about him the way Eddie talked about him. He’s never been called beautiful, or gorgeous, or creative, or brilliant, or funny, or amazing.

And Eddie said it all so sweetly.

Like it was all real. About Steve.

And Steve believed him.

The taste of blood blossoms on Steve's tongue, and he blinks. His eyes focus, and he pulls his hand away from his mouth, huffing as he watches blood rise to the surface of his skin around his fingernail. There’s a napkin on the table next to the mug, and he reaches for it, wraps it around his finger tightly, squeezes. Watches the blood seep through the paper.

His heart hurts.

It’s never felt like this before.

His whole chest aches, like there’s an absence, like something is missing.

His fingers find the cross around his neck, twisting it and twirling it, blinking tears back as his eyes burn.

You have no idea how amazing you are.

Steve’s stomach twists, and he leans over, lets his forehead press to the cold wood of the table in front of him. His shoulders shake as he suppresses a sob, hides it from the rest of the cafe, from the eyes around him.

He doesn’t think Eddie has any idea how amazing he is.

How smart, and gentle, and sweet he is. How kind. How safe.

Steve’s hands are trembling as he grips the end of his sweater tightly. He wishes, instinctively, habitually, that he was wearing one of Eddie’s hoodies, and the thought drags through him, pulls at his muscles until they all ache.

And he misses him.

He misses him in a way he never thought was possible. He misses him so much it hurts. And he’s stuck here. Sitting at a table by himself because he can’t have Eddie’s arms around him, which is all he really wants. Eddie to hold him. To comb his hair back the way he does, to call him sweetheart.

Steve presses a hand over his chest, rubbing over his heart so hard the sweater he’s wearing slides over, scratching and folding.

His parents would kill him.

He’s thought that countless times in his life. Every time he’s missed a prayer, every time he’s skipped grace. Every time he’s gotten a bad grade, forgotten an assignment or a chore, every time his awful friends have said something blasphemous or sinful.

They’ve never killed him.

They’ve locked him in the cupboard under the stairs, in the dark. He had to start bending over in it when he was twelve, when his limbs started stretching overnight. He’s always hated it there. But they insisted it gave him space to think, with nothing to look at, nothing to touch, nothing to do. He’d curl up into a ball, the broomstick and mop handles pressing into his back, head ducked, eyes closed, to pretend the dark was just his eyelids and shadows, to pretend it wasn’t surrounding him completely.

They’ve confiscated his things, his favorite shirts, his comfortable shoes. They’ve sent him to bed without dinner, to school without breakfast. They’ve kicked him out for the night. He didn’t have a key for the front door until he got older, and when it was locked he was left on the front porch, shivering until the sun came up again.

They’ve smacked the backs of his hands with switches, with rulers, until his knuckles were bruised purple and blue. They’ve dragged him by his ear and by his hair where they want him.

For misbehaving. For forgetting.

But for this, Steve doesn’t even know what they’d do. If they’d lock him in the broom closet for a full day, if they’d withhold all three meals. If they would beat sense into him, if they’d force him to his knees in prayer until it hurts to straighten his legs. If they would cry. If they would be angry. If they would call him names. If they would kick him out for good instead of for the night.

He feels sick.

So he stands, his chair scraping back over the floor loudly, and he goes outside, pulling his jacket on. The air is cold, rushing over him as he opens the door and steps out, and his eyes burn, tears finally falling down his cheeks, leaving cold tracks in their path.

He sits on a bench facing the street. There’s melting snow on the curb, grey with soot and dirt, and the road is wet from rain. It’s still raining, but it’s so light Steve barely notices it, wiping tears away from his skin as mist is dropped on him from the sky.

He likes Eddie.

He supposes it should have been obvious sooner, but he would have had no way of knowing. Of realizing.

He wishes knowing could make something settle inside him. He wishes it could calm the storm inside his chest, that it could soothe him the way Eddie’s hands do, but it doesn’t.

He also wishes knowing Eddie likes him back, that it’s reciprocated, could make him feel better. It doesn’t.

Because what is he supposed to do?

He wants to go to Eddie. To hug him until nothing hurts anymore.

He tastes blood again. He almost lets out a weak whine, like a child, and he presses his finger to the side of his leg, watching blood stain the denim of his jeans. He raises his shoulder to wipe his cheek on his jacket. The zipper scrapes his face a little bit.

His parents used to talk about queers.

They didn’t talk about it often, but enough for Steve to know where they stand in regards to it. They taught Steve about it when he was old enough to know what sex was, when he was old enough for them to tell him his body will change, that it will tempt him, that he must not give in. They talked for far too long that night, describing God’s loving design, telling Steve that intimacy is for a married man and wife. That he mustn’t give into covetous desires.

Steve still remembers the verses they gave him that day, the ones they had him highlight in his bible in orange.

1 Peter 2:11 Beloved, I urge you as sojourners and exiles to abstain from the passions of the flesh, which wage war against your soul.

Matthew 15:19-20 For out of the heart come evil thoughts, murder, adultery, sexual immorality, theft, false witness, slander. These are what defile a person.

Ephesians 5:3 But among you there must not be even a hint of sexual immorality, or of any kind of impurity, or of greed, because these are improper for God’s holy people.

And of course:

Leviticus 18:22 You shall not lie with a male as with a woman; it is an abomination.

Though Steve supposes that, in a way, he’s already disobeyed that particular verse. He’s laid in Eddie’s arms, let Eddie hold him tenderly the way he’s supposed to hold his wife. He’s twisted their fingers together, traced the art on his skin, played with his hair. Gazed at him. Whispered to him.

Longed for him.

Steve’s skin feels like it’s on backwards. Like it’s inside out.

The rain starts coming down harder, and the world turns a blurry shade of gray. Raindrops get caught in his hair and in his eyelashes, and as people hurry past him, rushing to canopies and doorways to escape the clouds, none of them can tell that he’s crying.

He doesn’t know how he finds himself here.

Soaked in rain, starting to shiver, under God’s eye.

This church is bigger than the one his parents attend; there are rows of pews, more options for where to sit, more stones lining the floor that click quietly against the bottoms of his shoes with every step he takes. The sounds echo in the church, and it sounds for a moment like he’s completely alone, surrounded by stone walls and glass saints.

But there are a few others here, kneeling, praying, whispering to God. Steve’s eyes linger on a woman wearing a pale blue veil over her hair, kneeling at a pew with a rosary clasped between her hands. As Steve passes by her, he hears her voice, so soft he almost mistakes it for the rain hitting the roof.

He slides into an empty pew. Looks forward to the altar. There are candles flickering, sending golden light across the front of the church, making it all gleam even though it’s dark and cold and gray outside, and Steve’s eyes raise to find Jesus above it all, arms outstretched, pinned to an ornate cross. His hair is a little bit curly. It makes Steve think of Eddie.

Jesus blurs in Steve’s vision as his eyes fill with tears again, and for a moment, he feels filthy. Like he needs to leave his flesh and bones out in the rain, like he needs to bath in holy water. Like that will fix him.

He slides off the pew, falls to his knees, just like when he placed his head on Eddie’s lap and felt himself melt into the floor. But he doesn’t feel fingers running through his hair, and he doesn’t hear a quiet voice murmur sweetheart to him.

He hears the rain outside, pouring from the sky, and he hears the soles of someone’s shoes clicking against the floor. He hears someone whispering a prayer. He hears the kneeler beneath him creak under his weight.

He bows his head, rests his clasped hands on the pew in front of him. Squeezes his eyes shut when they start to sting even more, ducking his head as though to hide.

And he talks to God.

He prays silently, facing the floor, letting his tears fall to the old embroidered cushion beneath his knees. He doesn’t see the tears seep between the seams, bleeding into the threads to stay.

He remembers what it used to be like when he prayed. His head would empty except for the words he whispered to God, and in those brief moments, he wouldn’t have to worry about anything except the next word. He just spoke, and let himself drift, let himself find the peace in it, in knowing someone was listening even if he couldn’t see Him. He used to pray in the cupboard under the stairs a lot; there wasn’t anything else to do except cry, and he got tired of that, so he would find himself talking to God, telling him how tired he was of the dark, how scared he was in the enclosed space. And God listened until his parents finally opened the door again.

It was easier to pray then. Easier to find the words. Easier to feel a response.

Steve doesn’t feel anything now.

He doesn’t even really know what his prayer is for, really. He supposes he’s asking for guidance, for instruction, for something, but his prayers turn to pleas, and then he’s just begging under his breath, tears streaming down his cheeks. Please, please, please, please, please….

God doesn’t answer.

When he finally stops crying, he lets his forehead rest on his clasped hands. His hair is still wet, cold on his fingers, and the chill of his wet jacket is finally starting to reach him, but he can’t stand the idea of going back to his dorm room. Somehow that seems even more lonely than sitting here.

He sits heavily in the pew, looking back up at Jesus, and he kind of wants to hold a grudge now. How dare He hang there, within earshot? How dare He not say anything?

Steve wipes his face with his hand, sniffling. He feels like such a child. Crying in church.

“Hello.”

Steve startles, blinking and looking up.

He kind of wants to cower when his eyes meet the priest, when they find the white tab in his collar, but the priest is smiling kindly, softly.

“Mind if I join you?” he asks, nodding to the space beside Steve in the pew, and Steve hesitates before shaking his head silently. The priest smiles and sits next to him. He’s quiet, looking ahead like he’s admiring the crucifix.

Steve looks at him. He’s an older man, around Steve’s father’s age, but the years show on his face instead of the way he carries himself. He doesn’t seem as tired as Richard does, or as angry, and Steve wonders what the difference between them is; they both have God, but only one seems to reap the benefits.

“What’s bothering you?” the priest asks after a few quiet moments.

And Steve can’t just say it.

That he has a crush on his best friend, on his only friend, that he has a crush on a man.

So he’s quiet instead, looking at his own hands. He’s bleeding again. He hides it with the sleeve of his jacket. Somehow it feels sinful to bleed in church. His blood isn’t holy like Jesus’s.

The priest waits for him. Unprompting and patient.

Steve’s voice is rough when he finally speaks.

“...I don’t find peace in prayer anymore.”

The priest hums, nodding, and Steve glances at him. He feels like he’s going to be in trouble, like he’s going to be pushed into the cupboard under the stairs until he can pray properly. But he doesn’t sound angry when he speaks again.

“Where do you find peace?”

Steve’s throat tightens.

He’s so tired. Exhausted.

He rolls the question over in his mind, searching and searching and searching for the place that would make his heartbeat slow, that would make his mind quiet, and his eyes burn as he sees the letters on Eddie’s fingers, as he sees the leaves and blossoms wrapped around his arm, as he sees the bat resting over his throat. Steve closes his eyes, stifling a weak sob, remembering the way he knelt by Eddie’s bed, the way it didn’t actually bother him that he couldn’t finish that prayer.

“Home,” he says finally, his voice soft and weak, and the priest looks at him. He looks sort of sad, sympathetic. Kind.

Steve’s father has never looked at him like this.

“Why don’t you go there?” he asks gently, almost whispering.

Steve looks away. Stained glass isn’t as beautiful when it’s dark out.

“Shouldn’t you be… telling me to pray harder, or something?” he says dryly. “Telling me to go to God?”

The priest laughs lightly.

“Maybe,” he says, shrugging in a way that seems almost childish. “But…” He sobers, hesitates. Looks at Steve again like he’s considering something. “You deserve peace,” he says softly. “Even if it’s not with God.”

Steve blinks.

The priest seems to notice it, the blankness, and he keeps talking, looking back up at the crucifix, his voice too casual for what he’s telling Steve, for what he’s making him feel.

“It’s okay to find peace elsewhere. And if you decide to try again, to come back…” He looks at Steve, but his face blurs. “God will still be here. He isn’t going anywhere.”

Steve’s hands are shaking, and he tightens his fingers around each other, squeezing so tightly it hurts his knuckles. He looks up at the priest after a few moments.

“Go home,” the priest says softly.

Steve nods.

The priest gives him another kind smile, and then he leaves him alone. Steve hears his shoes click on the floor as he walks away, back down the center aisle. Steve inhales deeply, slowly, closing his eyes for a moment.

Steve’s jacket is soaked. His hair is dripping, and he’s cold, and he’s shaking, and the rose on the door is blurring in his vision as he knocks.

Please.

He tastes blood as he waits, biting the skin next to his nail. The stairwell is so quiet he can hear his own breathing, uneven and choppy and on the verge of panicked.

Please. Please.

He chokes on his own breath. His hands are trembling so hard his finger pulls away from his teeth.

The door swings open.

Steve’s chin quivers, and he drops his hand.

Eddie’s hair is tied back in a ponytail, loose curls falling around his face and his neck, and the collar of his shirt is stretched out, draping loosely over his collarbones. His eyes are shining, his cheeks and nose rosy, and Steve can tell he’s been crying. He wonders if Eddie can tell that he’s been crying, too.

“Hi,” Eddie breathes.

Steve’s whole body aches. It feels like it’s been months, years, since he’s seen Eddie, even though he saw him just this morning.

Eddie’s hands are bare, ringless, still holding the door open. Steve can’t tear his eyes away from him, and he’s never felt more desperate in his life, even though he doesn’t know what it is that he’s dying for.

The quiet stretches on. Steve’s eyes flick back and forth between Eddie’s like he’s trying to use telepathy, like just looking at Eddie can make him know.

Until Steve finds his voice.

“It’s not just you.”

Eddie blinks.

“…What?”

“You said— You said you know it’s just you, but it— it’s not.” Steve’s voice wavers, and he blinks tears back. “Me too.”

And Steve can see the words sink in. Eddie’s expression shifts, relaxes. His eyes widen. His lips part.

“…Oh.”

♡ permanent taglist: @estrellami-1 @theplantscientist @spectrum-spectre @carlprocastinator1000 @starman-jpg @romantiklen ♡ holy things taglist: @stevesbipanic @pearynice @ao3whore @slowandsteddie @swordsandflowercrowns @dragonmama76 @mikeys-thoughts @sofadofax @cyranyx (comment to be added/removed to/from either list!!)

♡ art of steve and eddie ♡ pinboard // playlist ♡ buy me a coffee

#eheheheheheheheh #love u all #kissing ur foreheads #mwah #steddie #steddie fanfic #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #a mess of holy things

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buckyscombatboots · 2 years

Text

Monstertober Day 4:

Somebody’s watching me🦇

Pairing: Vampire!Bucky x Victim!reader

Warnings: Non con→Dub con, near death, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, dacryphilia, marking/biting, bruises (not the kinky kind), scratching, aphrodisiac, choking, spiting, making you drink your own blood, utter filth

Nicknames: Bambi, Doll, Deer, Pet

Word count: 2.5k

༻𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫༺

Have you ever felt like there was a pair of eyes following your every move?

All day that feeling’s been persistently nagging at the back of your mind. Each time you turned around, your eyes frantically scanned your apartment for the traces of the eyes. Nothing. You honestly felt like you were going crazy the entire day; when you were cooking you placed down the vegetable peeler to take the lid off the pasta that was boiling, you couldn’t have been turned around for more than fifteen seconds, you felt warm air blow against your neck and spun around instantly and there was nothing, no one and your vegetable peeler was also gone. You later found it on the coffee table. Odd, that’s all you could really say to abate the panic bubbling inside of you, the agitating feeling that you were not alone in your tiny one bedroom apartment. There was no way that you put that vegetable peeler on that coffee table, you knew that—but you lied to yourself.

As if nothing had happened, you sat down at the coffee table, put on Netflix and drowned out your fears for an hour, relaxed and laughed and now it was time to shower.

Slowly, you slipped off your clothes; shivering at the chilly air as it sends ripples of goosebumps across your skin, your nipples harden and you wrap your towel around yourself protectively, unsure if you’re protecting yourself from the cold or prying eyes. You open the bathroom door, staring out into the corridor one final time before letting out a steady breath and closing it. No one was there. “There's no one here, you’re being silly.” You reassured yourself, letting out a stifled laugh at the notion of someone being in your apartment.

You got in the shower, allowing the hot streams of water to wash away the stress that had plagued you all day. You lifted up your body wash squeezing a generous amount in your hand before spreading it across your body.

Thud

Your blood ran cold.

You turned off the shower, grabbed your towel, swaddled yourself in it and threw open the door to the bathroom “Listen! I know someone’s in here! So you better get the fuck out before I find you!” What were you going to do if you found someone? You had no idea. There was no way you could overpower someone, especially not in your towel.

Silence rang out in your apartment. Maybe you were going absolutely nuts. But it sounded so real.

You stomped through your apartment, heart hammering against your ribcage like a prisoner trying to escape, searching every single room. Throwing open each door one by one; as you did the terror you were feeling began to dissipate. You reached you living room, the rug was a bit dirty, but that was probably just from you spilling some dirt after repotting your plants.

Returning to your shower, you felt confident no one was inside your house. You had thoroughly checked reached individual room of your small apartment; looking behind your sofa, behind tables in the corner, even under your bed which took you a while to type yourself up to do.

You finished your shower, uneventfully, and got into your pjs and staggered over to your bed practically collapsing into it. The storm outside was raging on, rain hammering against your window, you laid on your side staring at the void. Lightning flashed and a rumble of thunder rolled on behind it, making you snuggle further into your heap of blankets. You let your eyes fall closed, listening to the rain.

Scratch

A branch must have been scratching against your window, you tried to ignore it.

Whack

Scratch

You threw your covers off, stomping over to the window and throwing it open to snap the branch. That’s when you realised. There was no tree that close to your window.

You were pushed to the ground by a person that came through your window. Your head hit the carpet as the person caged you in, the rain soaking his clothes from outside dripping onto you “Thanks for letting me back in, Doll.”

Glowing red eyes stared directly into your soul, you slammed your fists into him desperately in an attempt to get him off “Get the fuck off me! Who the hell are you?!” A scream died in your throat when an icy arm snaked around your throat pushing painfully into your trachea and pulling you into his broad chest.

“That is not very nice, I’ve been watching you all day after all. I even helped you clean up your vegetable peeler.” Your eyes grew as wide as dinner plates and your throat went dry at his confession. Hot tears streamed down your face and you opened your mouth to scream but a powerful hand clapped over your mouth “shhh. No need to talk, just relax for me little Bambi.” He steadily let his hand covering your mouth slip to below your chin and turned your head to face him. The harsh blue glow of lightning lit up the room for a brief moment and you were able to see him more clearly. His chiselled features are burned into the back of your eyelids; his chocolate brown hair, his sculpted jaw besprinkled with the beginnings of a beard. He was so enchantingly beautiful.

“You look so beautiful when you cry.” His reddened lips were slightly parted in an impish smile exposing his needle sharp canine teeth that glinted in the fleeting light, the sight of his wolf like canines only deepened your unease “Your heart is pounding Bambi.” He cooed letting out a dark chuckle as he tightened his hold on your throat, pulling you flush against you till his whole being is engulfing you—imprisoning you against his bulky figure, you cough as he squeezes. He lowers his head to the crook of your neck nudging his nose just below your ear and inhaling deeply. The strange man let out a groan in response “Fuck you smell so good, little deer. You’re going to be good for me aren’t you? Gonna be so good for Bucky whilst he eats his fill…In more ways than one.” His tone is honeyed, smooth and so sinfully deep that it allows you to momentarily forget that he is only using one of his arms to hold you in place, also the fact that he climbed through your window which was on the fourth floor. Then you feel something wet and cold lick down your neck before a sharp pain radiates through your shoulder, you wail in response; digging your nails into his hairy arm leaving bloody crescents as you drag them across Bucky’s skin praying that he will let you go.

Your head grows cloudy as he continues to suck, the wet lapping of his tongue against your skin and the sound akin to the slurping of a straw in an empty juice box overpowers the clattering of the rain outside. Uncomfortable heat spreads across your skin, leaving all your limbs tingling. Costively he lowers you to the floor, as he does the whole world feels like it’s tilting on its axis, the room around you is barely visible as your vision swims making your stomach do somersaults as you swallow down the urge to vomit. Your head is pressed sideways against the carpet and you rest on your elbows, knees bent with your ass in the air. The queasy feeling in you subsides and instead melts into a pleasurable throb in between your thighs.

Bucky’s teeth finally leave your neck, but he remains bent over you—his tongue swiping across your skin, collecting the excess blood that’s dripping from the punctures on your neck “God I knew I made the right choice. I could smell you from miles away, I followed the scent and it brought me here. This is the sweetest blood I’ve ever tasted, you’re like a heavenly nectar. My forbidden from the tree in Eden.” He growls, you feel him run his tongue across the holes last time; his head hovers over your neck, mouth open, hot puffs of air warming your skin. He pulls away. “I’ll stop for now, I still want you conscious whilst I fuck you and I need to savour your flavour.”

You slur out a jumbled ‘no’ and ‘fuck off’ in response, but he just titters condescendingly at the state of you; running his hands across your back in an exaggeratedly soothing motion. His hands slink round to your chest, squeezing your breasts before he tears your shirt down the middle in one harsh yank. You shift under him, unintentionally rubbing your ass into his bulge “Where’d all the fight go my frightened little bambi? Did it feel good having a vampire drain you of most of your blood?” Bucky withdraws himself from his position on top of you, removing his arm from the side of your head, instead opting to perch on his knees behind you. Planting both his hands on your hips and pulling you against him, grinding his clothed dick against you dampening pyjama shorts.

“Uhn- feels so good.” You keened into his touch, your previous hesitancy and fear becoming a distant memory, replaced by overwhelming lust that was corrupting your mind. His metal hand meanders down to the thin fabric tearing it and your panties easily, exposing your leaking slit to the cold air leaking in from the open window.

Bucky swiped two of his fingers down your creamy cunt, humming approvingly at the slick “Us vampires have a certain venom in our saliva, you’ll find that this is going to be the best pleasure that you’ve ever experienced. Rather sad, because it's going to be the last you ever feel.” He squeezed your clit between his fingers, toying with the button to hear you pathetic whines “Your pussy is practically drooling for me.” He roughly shoved two large, chilly fingers into you, pistoning them in and out—watching as you hole clenches around them trying to coax them back inside. He scissors his fingers twice before landing a slap on one of your ass cheeks, you yelp, your pussy clamps around his thick fingers. He repeats the action and you clench tighter “Naughty girl, getting turned on from me spanking your ass.” His tone playful and teasing. Bucky slips his fingers out and you whimper at the loss, the burn within you becoming unbearable, your ability to think coherently fading with each passing second—the only thought left behind was of him. Of Bucky and his cock that was going to split you open. You knew it was thick and long, you could feel it against your thigh as he finger fucked you. “Even your juices taste divine, Doll, you were made for me.” You hear him suck his fingers a bit more, before the brief sharp hiss of his jeans zipper being undone puts an end to your needy groaning. You feel the girthy wet tip of his cock circle your quivering hole, goosebumps litter your skin once again as both of his cold hands return to their position at your hips.

He plunges all of his length inside you at once, his thick length stretches you painfully around him.; you’re painfully aware of every inch and vein of his cock. Your toes curl as he continues to pound into you at a ferocious pace, not stopping once for you to adjust to his length. You let out a scream, biting your forearm as he angles his hips making you squeal. A ruthless smack meets your rear, you tighten around him; but even that doesn’t make him falter. His grip on your hips grows tighter, tight enough to break through the stifling pleasure and bring you back to your senses briefly; until another harsh thrust that bashes your cervix knocks you back into your pleasurable slurry—that has you sobbing with every rhythmic thrust. Orgasm builds in your lower gut, you were in sheer bliss as you came on his cock. It was the most mind numbing orgasm you’d ever experienced. Your legs give out below you, but his beefy arm keeps you up. He drapes himself back over you, his pace quickening, thrust becoming more erratic, hungrier as face lingered above your other shoulder. He licked the shell of your ear and pressed wet, hot open mouth kisses to the skin of your neck, the dusting of stubble on his jaw itching your skin; he grunted as his cock twitched inside you. Bucky rammed his hips into yours with one last powerful thrust, then he sank his fangs into your other shoulder.

The agony of the bite granted you a fleeting moment of clarity of what was happening. The fact that a strange man, a vampire, had climbed into your window and taken you against your will and was now sucking you dry of your blood. It all seemed like one convoluted dream, no, a nightmare. But these thoughts faded just as quickly as they flashed in your mind, instead they liquefied into a sea of nothingness. No thoughts, just feelings. A delightful, spine tingling, lip biting sensation that flooded your whole body, making you a pliable, moaning, dribbling mess below the vampire that was mauling your shoulder. You couldn’t feel the blood trickling down your chest or the barbaric way his teeth dug into every square inch of your neck and shoulder. You were on the brink of death and yet you put up no fight, you were revelling in the ecstasy that was muddling your brain. He was killing you so softly “You taste so good, best thing I’ve ever tasted. I’m so glad I followed your scent, Bambi.” Bucky pulled himself off your shoulder and slipped out of your tight heat, grabbing your arm and flipping you onto your back. His eyes stared down into yours; your pupils blown wide as you laid delirious mouth hanging open dumbly. He spat into your mouth; then glided his fingers over the blood running down your tit and shoved it into your mouth, wiping the blood on to your tongue “Swallow it, Pet, and be mine forever.”

You did as he said and reality grew clearer. You looked at him cluelessly “What?” You croaked, voice strained from screaming.

His cold hand stroked your face and he hushed you, a smile that did not reach his eyes contorting his features “I made you a Blood slave, Bambi, so I can feast on you forever. Forever and Always.”

Tag list: @alina02 @winterslove1917 @unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men @petesey @getwellsoontana @feyfantome @alexxavicry @ashenc-blog @floral-recs @renster05 @redbloodedgurl @teambarnes72 @shrekwreck @sweetwrathoflilith @cjand10 @flamefoxxrecs @addie5587483 @little-bunny0523 @tenpointsforbucky @sojuxxi @adoreyouusugar @teambarnes72 @wintasssoldier @gryffindorqueensworld @aerangi @itwillgetbetter

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