#this is mean. i usually *never* get this shit two days in a row | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

darkworkcourier · 1 year

Note

Could you write Ghost x fem!reader where she finds him attractive but is too shy to actually tell him but also can't hide the way she's feeling, so Ghost notices her interest and eventually they end up in bed (*cough* you know what I mean)? Also Ghost being gentle and protective towards her, plz

Ps. I love your writing!

Word Count: 8314

i’m incapable of short prompt fills, apparently! o, but i am filled with grief!

anywho, reader’s codename is ‘ladybird’ (hc that soap gave it to her because she’s lucky) but is otherwise nameless.

contains masturbation, oral sex, lots of feelings, wee bit of slow burn, ghost being like weirdly emotional and soft, and soap’s gratuitous and unfortunate use of emojis. 💀/🐞4ever

---

The first time it really hits you, you're in a helicopter about two miles above the ground—honestly a terrible place to face your feelings. It's a velvet-dark night, strategically chosen for the new moon, the countryside below nearly invisible. You're almost in a doze, caught up in the Chinook's blades' low, thunderous pulse and the sporadic rocking as it hits little glades of turbulence. Your eyes lose focus on some of the running lights, until they turn hazy, and its only when the man across from you moves his boot do you snap back to attention.

Ghost. Right. You learned his name a few weeks ago during your orientation, but he was deployed on a recon mission only a day later. Price summoned him back for this mission, but aside from a few gruff comments at the all-hands meeting, you haven't heard him say much.

For a moment, you think he might have dozed off, too. He’s leaning back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest, eyes closed. And that’s fair, you think; Soap told you he didn’t think Ghost ever slept.

You silently study him, the way his head rocks a little with the turbulence, how much taller he is than everyone else in his row, the peculiar illusion that the eye sockets of his mask are empty—

And suddenly they aren’t.

He’s looking back at you, dark eyes regarding you passively, even though the mask makes every look significantly more intimidating. For moment that goes on way too long, you don’t look away, your gazes locked. Your heart takes the tracheal elevator to your throat, beating loud enough to drown out the Chinook’s roar.

You look away first, and you swear you hear him snort.

The rest of the journey to the drop-off zone, you deliberately don’t look at him; but when you close your eyes, there he is.

All you can think is ohhhh, shit.

---

Military crushes aren’t abnormal. Put enough people at the peak of physical excellence in a room, throw around some form-fitting uniforms, and mix in a few adrenaline rushes—it’s a goddamn potent mixture. You’ve had your share of mess hall dreamy-eyed gazing sessions, and a few ‘I hate to see you leave, but I love to watch you go’ moments in gyms and fitness centers. That’s fine; that’s normal.

What you start feeling for Ghost isn’t that.

Nevermind that he’s rarely out of tactical dress, and if he is, he usually defaults to a hoodie or something that doesn’t exactly entice the imagination. And he’s never out of some variation of his mask, so you can’t think woah, pal, do you cut glass with that jawline because as far as you can tell, he doesn’t have one. No mooning over cheekbones, admiring the curve of lips. He has nice eyes, but ever since the night in the Chinook, you haven’t been able to meet them for more than a second before your heart does that terrible little samba again.

Per your mental checklist, aside from being tall and muscular, he doesn’t check all your normal boxes. By all those counts, Gaz or Soap are way better fits. Hell, Soap likes to hang around in his silkies like they’re pajamas, showing off plenty to keep your fantasy fodder trough filled. And you’ve caught Gaz doing push-ups in the lounge, his tight shirt doing wonders for his shoulders.

But it’s Ghost who makes you feel like a hormonal teenager. It’s Ghost that gets you antsy and fidgety when he enters a room. And it’s Ghost that you think about during your rare alone time in the shower, when your hands start drifting south and the tile walls are your only support.

You’ve got it bad for him, and you have no idea what to do about it.

---

You’re doing recon in Berlin when Soap notices.

The mission details are simple: a drug lord known as Keiler using a night club as a go-between for his suppliers and dealers—all further complicated by the fact that he has plenty of friends in the arms trade, and by Laswell’s reports, he’s very generous to those friends. The club is a front, a money laundering wonderland. Through your observation, drugs and alcohol are doled out in equal volume, all to the backdrop of skull-splitting bass and sharp scalpels of strobe lights.

The biggest obstacle is that Keiler likes to use a private room overlooking the club as his perch, and your intelligence says that at any given time, he has a small army defending him. Getting to him requires an incredible degree of finesse. Naturally, Ghost is the one to do it.

You, Soap, and Gaz are scattered around the main floor of the club. Gaz is out on the dance floor, Soap’s taken up a spot near the bar, and you’re in the lounge. It’s the first time you’ve done something like this (and in an outfit with so little fabric), and you’re really not used to being ogled and pawed by a bunch of drunk, drugged, or horny Berliners.

Soap must see your discomfort from his position, as you hear a dry, amused, “Feelin’ a little tense, Ladybird?”

You swallow hard and chase it with a sip of your drink, which definitely needs to be watered down. “I’m fine,” you say.

“You look like you just drank petrol.”

“You’re the one who ordered it for me.”

Gaz cuts in with a weary, “Do we have eyes on Ghost, yet? I’m starting to get tired of people grabbing my—”

“I’m here,” Ghost’s voice scrapes over the comms, causing you to sit up straight and look around. You catch sight of Soap who has his hand curled in front of his mouth, clearly snickering like a heathen.

“Think you scared the shit out of Ladybird, LT,” he says.

He’s lucky he’s on the other side of the room, otherwise you’d pretend to be extremely clumsy and find an excuse to spill your drink on his (very, very tight) shirt. You mouth ‘shut up’ at him, and he reaches up with his pointer finger to draw an invisible halo over his head.

Ghost ignores him. “I’m near the east stairwell, headed to second deck. Got one guard at the far end. Gaz, you seein’ anything I should know about?”

A pause, then, “Negative, Ghost. I’ve got what you’ve got.”

“Copy. Going to second deck now.”

Out of habit, your eyes go to the east stairwell, peering through the haze pierced with multicolored lights to see a single dark shape ascending. He disappears behind a catwalk, then reappears to the right, mingling with the crowd near the second floor bar. Once he’s there, he seems to fade into the throng of people, most in dark clothing, some in masks. Just like that, he’s invisible.

It’s hard to focus on looking calm and happy to be there, but you keep sipping your drink, watching the dancers and feeling the bassline of yet another techno song thrumming in your chest. You’re glad you’re not out on the dance floor, or being called to give come-hither glances to bouncers and guards.

Then, “Coming back down to first deck,” Ghost says, clearly agitated. “Too many guards and too many people. We need another way up.”

Soap grins. “Violence isn’t the answer, LT?”

“Negative. Start looking for another route.”

On cue, you stand up and cross the room to the bar, sliding in beside Soap. He’s fishing for another couple Euro from his wallet, pushing it across to the bartender with two fingers. The bartender gives him a brief nod and refills his glass, while Soap turns his attention to you.

“Any bright ideas?”

You frown and adjust the straps on your top again. It’s a stupid piece of clothing, always feeling like it’s going to fall off. “Only the emergency stairs by the front doors, but I can’t imagine Keiler leaves those undefended.”

Soap looks thoughtful and scratches at his stubble. “Yeah, but probably no civilians, either. And if the door’s alarmed, Ghost can take care of that.”

As if summoned, you feel Ghost appear before you see him, a huge presence over your shoulder that makes you jump. “Jesus!” you hiss.

And Soap, the traitor, laughs to the point of wheezing as Ghost takes up the bar stool on his other side. “I think you’re giving our Ladybird here a complex,” Soap says through his laughter.

Ghost rolls his eyes. From this angle, you can see Ghost in more than just the dim light you’ve been working with most of the night. He’s not dressed too far outside his usual fashion wheelhouse—heavy boots, black trousers, and a loose black hoodie. His hood’s pulled up over a black beanie and a skull-painted gaiter, and he’s foregone his usual thick coating of greasepaint for black-ringed eyes (is that eyeliner?) and a streak of smoke-colored paint that just manages to obscure the color of his brows. The downside (for you, at least) is that the combo manages to draw his eyes into sharper contrast, making them that much more intense.

Suddenly, your heart’s doing the thing again.

Ghost doesn’t seem to notice any change in you, but you think Soap’s actually looking for it. He watches you, brows lifted, mouth curled like a flirtation of a smirk. Briefly, he glances between you and Ghost, and then the smirk appears in full force, enlightenment dawning.

Before he can insinuate a thing, you’re shoving your half-empty glass across the bar top with a too-high, “Bitte.” The bartender only gives you a brief, unamused look before taking your glass and remaking whatever godforsaken cocktail Soap ordered.

It’s not a good distraction, and the damage is already done. Soap knows, damnit. His smile is too easygoing, but he turns to Ghost and starts talking about the emergency stairwell, which is a relief. Ghost looks over his shoulder toward the stairwell in question, and as he does, Soap looks at you and makes the gesture of zipping his own mouth shut, throwing away the proverbial key with a wink.

As he does, Gaz pipes back up with, “Ghost, you copy?”

“Yeah, Gaz?”

“You, uh, know anything about a big guy with a tattoo of a boar on the back of his head?”

Ghost looks toward the dance floor, brows furrowing. “Yeah, that’d be Bauer, Keiler’s right hand man.”

“Great. Glad you know him, because he’s here.”

Shit. He wasn’t supposed to be. If Bauer’s here, then either Keiler’s doing something more than his usual partying upstairs, or Keiler knows someone’s here looking for him. Either way, the mission just got significantly harder, and your night got that much longer.

With a grunt, Ghost pushes off the bar and starts making his way to the emergency stairwell. “I’ll take care of it,” he says. “Keep your eyes open. Out here.”

Once he’s gone, there’s a pause—a very heavy pause. Then, Soap looks at you with an expression that is just a hair too pleased. “Ghost, huh?”

Your face heats up, right as the bartender hands you your drink. You reach for your wallet, only for the bartender to put a hand up and shake his head. “Nein, für das schöne Mädchen,” he says.

For the pretty girl.

“Bet Ghost thinks so, too,” Soap says, and you resolve to definitely spill your free drink on his too-tight pants.

---

Weeks after Keiler’s nice and cozy in a maximum-security prison and the 141 is back at base, you have another miniature existential crisis.

It’s all an accident—just a tempest of bad timing and bad luck. Ever since you came back from Germany, you’ve had a tough time getting a full night’s sleep. It’s easy to blame the natural stress of your work, the long hours, the high-adrenaline action you see more than you ever did before this job. And, well, part of it has to come from Ghost. He’s occupied your thoughts more than ever since the night club.

Your solution is to hit the gym late at night, pushing yourself until you can’t keep your eyes open and no amount of insomnia can overcome it. The first few nights of this effort work fine—you end up in bed around one or two in the morning, and sleep until your alarm goes off. No one bothers you; no one hogs the machines. It’s kind of nice.

However, you don’t account for all the night owls that share the base with you.

You head to the gym late on a Friday night, towel around your neck, water bottle at the ready, podcasts preloaded. If you ever hit the gym during the day, you usually do so in a t-shirt and sweatpants. At night, you’ve started opting for PT shorts and a tank top, happy for the lack of eyes around the room.

Except for tonight.

You open the door into the gym, only to hear the mechanical drone of a treadmill and someone sprinting damn fast on it. For a second, you freeze, hiding behind the corner. Then, slowly, you peer around it, clutching your phone and water bottle close to your chest.

Jesus Christ. It’s Ghost.

Ghost, in a t-shirt. In sweatpants. Running on a treadmill set to the highest incline. Panting.

Ghost, with bare arms, showing a detailed tattoo on his left arm, and prominent veins running over his chiseled muscles. He looks like a fucking Greek statue, and that’s just what you can see.

“Ohhh, my God,” you whisper to yourself, immediately working on an exit strategy that doesn’t involve catching his attention.

Which obviously doesn’t come to pass. It’s something you probably should have learned on the helo ride—Ghost knows when he’s being watched. He turns his head, dark eyes fixing on you immediately. Briefly, he looks back at the treadmill, then down at his watch, and back to the treadmill’s controls. He slows it down, dropping the incline, until he finally steps off and starts walking toward you.

Abort, abort.

You think about fleeing, running back to your room or rolling under a table or hiding behind a counter like he’s a goddamn velociraptor in the kitchen. You do none of those things, because despite your training, you freeze up. No one could blame you, you think. It’s hard to do much else when a six-foot-something skull-faced wall of muscle walks up to you. And you must look stellar, holed up in a corner by the door, your water bottle and phone held up like a shield.

Ghost takes in the sight of you, eyes flicking up, down, up. Heat rises to your face, and down to—to nowhere, because it’s better not to think about it. You suddenly feel too vulnerable in your choice of outfit, naked under his gaze.

“Ladybird,” he says. Your nickname becomes a hot scratch of sound, losing its whimsy in favor of a tone you can’t define. “You need somethin’?”

There’s a patch of sweat by his collar. You stare at it, then at the floor.

“No, I just— I was, um, just about to leave, and... Yeah, I’m gonna go.”

He’s silent until you finally look up at him, meeting his eyes for the first time in what what feels like an eon. He looks amused, but there’s a quirk in his brow like he can’t quite get a good read on you. “You look like you were about to use the gym.”

You look down at your bottle, phone, and towel like you’re just now noticing them. When you bring your attention back to him, you feel like you need to just kick the door open and escape, dignity be damned. “I... was,” you say slowly. Then, you rally yourself, trying to look upbeat and resolved. “Y’know what? You can keep using it. I’ll come back later.”

He shrugs, but you see it. Some secondary expression slinking around in his eyes like it’s working through the perpetually-moving cogs in his head. He gives you another one of those assessing glances, and for a second, you think he’s going to step into your space. His body language looks primed to do so, and you hold your breath in anticipation for it, unsure of what he’s going to do.

Then he takes a step back, and another.

“Suit yourself,” he says. “I wouldn’t mind it, though.”

Before you can process his words, he’s back on the treadmill, tweaking the settings and raising the incline again. The belt starts moving, and he’s back to looking like power personified, a vision in motion.

You have got it so bad.

It’s a hasty retreat to your room, and once the door’s shut behind you, you’re panting like you had run on the treadmill and lifted weights.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you hiss, discarding your things on the table beside your bed, kicking off your running shoes, then laying down and staring at the ceiling. He knows. He has to. Ghost’s whole job depends on him being observant, and he looked at you like he was reading a fucking book.

You groan and press your palms into your eyes until phosphenes appear, dancing around and shimmering like fireworks behind your eyelids. You’re going to have to leave the 141 out of pure mortification. You’ll have to go into some kind of witness protection, change your name, and move to the other side of the earth. Or if you stay, you’ll have to pretend Ghost doesn’t exist. You’ll hide behind walls, slinking through the building’s HVAC just to avoid him like you’re working on a heist. Maybe you can convince Soap or Gaz to accompany you everywhere so you can hide behind their bulk.

But then, your horrible brain reminds you of what you’ll miss out on. It runs through a greatest hits reel of your crush so far—Ghost’s eyes, his presence stretching long over you like a shadow, his massive frame, his arms. The tattoo, detailed enough to tell from a distance, and then the thought of running your fingers over it, tracing all the fine points and lines. And are those his only tattoos, or are there more?

And his voice. Jesus, you replay the few words you’ve heard him say over and over, savoring each syllable, each quirk of his accent. Even the last thing he said—

I wouldn’t mind it, though.

That makes you open your eyes again, widening them as you take in the pocks and scrapes on the ceiling. He wouldn’t mind what? Having company in the gym? Having you, specifically, as his company? You don’t know what to make of it, or what he meant by it. Honestly, you feel like you don’t know anything right now.

Except that you want him. That’s the only thing you’re sure of. You want to know how his hands feel on you, how they would run over your bare skin, what the callouses on his fingers would feel like on the most delicate and sensitive parts of your body. Your imagination leaps ahead of you, guiding your own hand down into your shorts and under the band of your panties. You tease yourself, just dipping your fingers into the wet heat, trailing them over your clit like a hint to yourself, coaxing your arousal out of your panic.

His hands would feel different. When you rub your index finger over your clit, you imagine his finger instead, pressing gently against you, building up friction slowly, making you ache. You wonder if he’d savor your reactions, watching you get worked up, grinding against his hand to seek any kind of relief.

“Easy, Ladybird,” you imagine him saying, the nickname now a tease. And he’d know your real name, the one hidden away in your file. He’d whisper it into your ear, breath hot on your neck, his whole body eclipsing yours.

Your pace quickens, fingers running urgently between your clit and opening, causing your core to tighten and your breath to come in short gasps and barely-concealed moans. Ghost would tell you to let them out, let the whole damn base hear how aroused he makes you, how badly you’ve wanted him.

You breathe his name into the small space of your room, a whisper in the still air broken only by the low hum of the forced air in the vents. When you finally plunge your fingers in, it takes every bit of self-control not to outright moan and let everyone nearby know what you’re doing. Normally, you can stay quiet when you get yourself off, but you’re damn near frantic with this, whatever it is Ghost has done to you.

His fingers in you, fucking you in long, languid strokes, drawing himself out and pushing back in—all the while, watching your reactions. When you rock your hips to the pace of your hand, you imagine his voice again, “That’s right. Fuck yourself on my hand. Let me see you.”

You’d show him. Hell, you’d soak his hand, and it would remind him that it’s his fault you’re like this.

The wet sounds of your hand on your cunt is lewd and loud. It’s almost too much, enough to make you stop at the apex of your pleasure, to hide yourself under the blankets in shame and pretend that none of this happened.

But the vision of Ghost keeps you going, keeps your fingers moving in and out, crooking them inside and forcing out a gasp as a white-hot shock of pleasure lances up your spine and settles warm in your belly. The pad of your thumb presses against your clit, and you multitask on yourself, building up that friction, bringing yourself to the precipice.

He’d take you there. He might even pull you back from the edge over and over, teasing you with the fall.

“Do you want it? How bad? Show me.”

God, you would. Any way he wanted, you would show him. You’d beg and plead if that’s what got him to finally make you come.

So you whisper, “Please,” into the night, to a man who is never going to be in your bed, never going to touch you like this, never going to see your pleasure through to the end. The Ghost in your imagination has to stay there, behind locked doors and bulkheads, secured and contained for good.

But until then, you chase your orgasm with him, hitting that divine height and going into a freefall. Blood rushes in your ears, muscles twitching, heart racing. Your head comes off the pillow, back arching, toes digging into the mattress, mouth open on a moan that you refuse to let loose. You come way harder than you ever have using your own hand, enough that when you finally lower yourself back onto the bed, you grimace at the feeling of a wet patch on the sheets.

“Fuck,” you say, very emphatically. To yourself, to Ghost, to the whole damn situation.

Groaning, you reach over and grab the towel, wiping your hand and tucking it under your ass before rolling onto your back again and wondering what the hell you’re going to do.

---

You’re going to hide from Ghost, that’s what.

Captain Price gives the team a few days off to rest up for the next mission, and you decide right then and there that you’re going to spend every second off base, as far away from the barracks as you can get. You’ll get a hotel, order a ridiculously expensive amount of room service, and marinate in your feelings for a couple days until it’s all out of your system. Maybe you’ll go to a bar or coffee shop and chat up some nice person who isn’t a tall, broad, terrifying British soldier. And maybe you’ll have a night of incredible passion and twisted sheets, and it’ll be so cathartic that when you come back to base, you’ll be a whole new person.

That plan holds until your phone goes off while you’re packing up.

It’s a text from Soap: ‘wyd?’

‘Going off radar for a couple days. Why?’

He sends a sad emoji, then two beer glasses clinking together, a soccer ball, and then a big red question mark. Apparently, Soap only knows how to speak in hieroglyphs.

You smile, and type back, ‘Sorry, need to go clear my head.’

Skull emoji. Question mark.

‘None of your beeswax,’ you send, followed by the soap emoji.

‘that sucks,’ he types back. There’s a short pause, and then he types again. ‘cause he was looking for u earlier’

Your heart damn near comes to a stop, and you very hesitantly respond, ‘Why?’

‘idk. think he wanted to ask u smth’

Nope. You’re not taking the bait. If Ghost wants to talk to you, he can come right up and—and you can walk off in the opposite direction and act like there’s something incredibly interesting that you need to see right that second.

You type a few variations of ‘Then he can come and talk to me himself,’ but none of them sound particularly nice. Ghost hasn’t done anything wrong, so there’s no reason for you to act like he has. And for that matter, you’re supposed to be hiding from Ghost, not encouraging him to find you. Instead, you send back a clipped, ‘Okay.’

Nothing.

For one hopeful second, you think Soap’s mercifully let the conversation go, allowing you to go in peace to your nice hotel and your overpriced room service food.

Instead, you get the sunglasses emoji, a wink face, and, ‘k i told him to come see u’.

‘WHAT’

The only response is the skull and the little running cloud dash emoji, suggesting that Ghost is making a beeline right to your room. Panic seizes you and you fling your phone on your bed like somehow it’s going to help. It bounces harmlessly, then lands screen up, emojis taunting you.

Quickly, you start shoving the rest of your clothes and toiletries in your bag without a care as to where everything goes, eager to book it out of there as fast as your legs can take you. Once your bag is zipped up and thrown over your shoulder, you think you might be in the clear. Mission nearly accomplished.

Nearly.

Two solid knocks on your door almost make you hit the ceiling. You hold still, using that Jurassic Park wisdom again: if you don’t move, he can’t see you.

That applies to fictional dinosaurs, not trained killers, and certainly not Ghost. He knocks again, then follows it up with, “Ladybird, it’s me.”

Yeah, you know. That’s the problem.

Briefly, you consider going out the window, shimmying out and potentially getting caught on a base security camera for someone to laugh at later. That doesn’t make the problem go away, though.

You can just tell him you’re in a hurry, that your ride is at the gate right now and you don’t want to keep them waiting. Whatever conversation he wants to have, it’ll have to wait until you get back. It’s a good response. Solid. Foolproof.

And it dissolves the second you open the door.

He’s there, not vanished in the disappearing act you were hoping for, and all that want flares up again the moment you see him. He’s in casual dress like what he wore to the club—boots, jeans, t-shirt, hoodie, balaclava. His posture’s more relaxed, one hand in his hoodie pocket, the other hanging at his side. You meet his eyes, and your regret mixes with desire welling up inside you.

It’s that intense gaze from the helo, the brief but incendiary look from Berlin, the thoughtful gaze from the gym. You’re drawn up in it immediately, and this time, there’s no possibility of looking away. Ghost has you locked in.

He takes in the sight of you, dressed in your civvies, backpack on your shoulders, and raises his brows. “Going somewhere?”

Your mouth is cotton-dry, and you’re proud of yourself for putting a little syntax together. “Yeah,” you say. “I’m headed out.”

Right now, you should say. I’m going out right this second and I cannot be stopped. Do not engage.

But you don’t say that. You leave the words as they are, hanging between the two of you. In that moment, you’re two opposing fronts of contradictions—you want him to go, stay, talk, stay silent, touch you, leave you alone.

Ghost seems to sense this, that you’re not making any move to either speak to him or push him away. He doesn’t get into your space, staying right where he is while looking at you with his head slightly tilted. “Can I come in a sec?”

No. “Yes.” Please.

You take a step back, allowing him to walk into your room. His presence seems to fill it, like there’s too much of him and too little space to contain it. He closes the door behind himself, then finds a spot against the wall (the rare section that isn’t covered by posters or mementos) and leans against it. Still, still giving you your space.

You’re all nerves, waiting for him to speak, yet feeling like you should say something—to get all your feelings out in the open, exposed and waiting for him to pick over and do with what he will. But your anxiety and silence wins out, and instead you fidget, trying to find a point in the room to fix your gaze. Ghost takes all your attention though, holding it in a firm, invisible grip that can’t be broken no matter what you do. You get now, more than ever, why people are so scared of him when they end up at the wrong end of his skill set—he immobilizes them, rendering them completely unable to do a damn thing.

He watches you for an agonizingly long moment, then sighs. “Look, I didn’t want to bother you if you were busy, but Soap said you were around,” he says. Ghost doesn’t trail off or leave a space in his words for you to fill in the blanks. It’s a good thing—no place for you to misinterpret him—but it suddenly leaves you terrified at the possibility of what he’s going to say.

“Just for a little bit,” you hear yourself say, voice subdued and small.

He nods. “Then I’ll just get it out now before you go. More or less a question.”

Fuck. You feel a strange, uncomfortably cold sensation curl up tight and tense in your stomach. The feeling of standing at the edge of a long drop, knowing you have no choice but to let go.

His eyes are locked on yours, unrelenting, pinning. And then he says, “Do you have feelings for me?”

Right. No way to misinterpret.

You suck in a breath—a gasp, jerking at the question even though you knew it was coming.

You could lie. It’d be easy to do, just a few movements of tongue, jaw, and lips. No, I don’t. Three easy words. You could say you appreciate him as a teammate, as a professional, as someone you can trust in tough situations. He has your back; you have his. Anything beyond that is too much, to far outside of the commanding officer-subordinate hierarchy.

But you can’t lie to him. He’ll know. He’s trained in looking for tells, for the slightest quirk to denote that you’re holding back the truth. That, and you don’t want to lie to him.

Instead, quietly, you say, “Yes,” and inwardly brace for impact. Any kind of dressing-down from your C.O. and reminder of responsibilities and duties; or on a personal level, that Ghost doesn’t do relationships. You’re tensed up, waiting for its inevitable blow and all the shrapnel that’s definitely going to land right in your heart.

“Oh,” he says.

Oh.

Just one syllable, said deceptively, uncharacteristically soft. It belies so many things—possibilities, dangers. This man is fucking complicated.

And then he takes a step toward you. Just one. Just enough to close the gap that many inches. You don’t back up, but you’re too afraid to walk to him, unsure of what’s coming next.

He’s looking down at you, gaze passive, calm, and strangely open. You’ve learned new and interesting ways to read his eyes since you fell for him, but this one has an unknown definition, a kinesic oddity that you can’t translate.

And for a moment, you let yourself hope.

Then, he says your name. Not Ladybird. Not your rank. Your name. The sound of it is a rush in your ears, in your whole head, through every artery, vein, and capillary. He takes another step, slower than the first, drawing in closer before he says, “Do you want this?”

You nod. There’s nothing else you can do. You take a step toward him, looking up into his eyes and trying to read everything there. “Do you?” you ask. You’re still waiting for the rejection, as though Ghost is the type of person to lure you in only to shut you down.

Rejection doesn’t come. Instead, he steps forward to close the gap, one of his hands finding your waist.

“Yeah,” he says. “I do.”

Holy shit.

You stare at him in surprise, and the look on your face must be ridiculously easy to read. His other hand goes up under your chin, tilting your face toward him. The touch of his fingers is exactly like you imagined, the callouses on his thumb brushing over the soft skin underneath your jaw, causing you to shiver.

Ghost leans in close to your left side, skull’s grin close to your ear, and whispers, “Thought you hated me. Every time I looked at you, you’d look away.”

A near-hysterical laugh bubbles up in your throat, and comes out as a compressed, breathless giggle. All that time, you were so hopelessly in love with him, you couldn’t look at him without feeling like your heart was about to give out; and he interpreted that as dislike.

“God, no,” you say. “Total opposite.”

He laughs in your ear, and the sound chases out the remainder of that cold tension, replacing it with a newfound heat that feels good. “Wish I’d known sooner,” he says, and one of his hands goes up to push a strap of your backpack off your shoulder.

You ease out of it, dropping it to the floor, before reaching out and tentatively touching his waist in return. Through the fabric of his hoodie, you can feel how solid he is underneath, and you run your hand along his side in silent wonder.

Ghost moves back suddenly, and you only have a second to question why before the light goes out, leaving you in muted darkness permeated only by the bare sliver of sunlight filtering through your curtain. One hand finds your waist again, pulling you close, walking you toward your bed.

All you can think is no fucking way over and over, even as the back of your legs hit the side of the bed, and Ghost is lowering you down. Your back touches the mattress, head on the pillow, and Ghost is over the top of you, his hands bracketing your head. He looks down at you, mostly in shadow, only the bright white of the skull motif visible in the darkness. Then, his eyes flicker to his left, and he abruptly snorts.

You furrow your brow. “What?”

Wordlessly, his hand moves to the right of your head, and he picks up your phone.

Your phone which is still on, showing the emoji-heavy conversation with Soap. Ghost flips the phone to show you the last text he sent.

Skull emoji, kiss, black heart, red heart, ladybug, eggplant, peach, confetti ball, birthday cake.

“What the fuck, Soap?” you say under your breath, grabbing the phone from Ghost. You quickly turn it off and shove it onto your bedside table, groaning in embarrassment.

Ghost shakes his head, and unlike Soap, he doesn’t remark on it. Instead, he brings the situation right back on the rails with one hand going up under your shirt. Then, he says, “Close your eyes a second.”

You do, without question. You hear a faint rustle of fabric, and then his lips press against yours.

You gasp against his mouth, and that thrill you felt at hearing your name seems to rush back through you twofold at the thought that he took his mask off for you. He kisses you firmly, a guarantee that this is what he wants. You reach up with one hand, combing your fingers through his hair, nails scraping along his scalp and drawing out a quiet groan. He smells like standard-issue soap and laundry detergent, and the faint spice of cologne only just clinging to his skin. The feeling of kissing him is dizzying, entrancing, and the sound of it just hammers home that this is happening to you, in your room, with him.

He pulls back just a little, kissing a trail from the corner of your mouth down to your chin, then your jaw, and up to your ear. The sensation makes you shiver again, arching up into him involuntarily. You hear and feel an amused huff of breath, before he says, “What do you want?”

Good god, what don’t you want?

“I don’t know,” you say honestly. “Anything. Whatever you want.”

He nods against your neck, then tilts his head up to press a kiss to your temple. “Tell me if it’s too much, or if there’s something you don’t like. Communicate.”

You grin, mostly at the sotto voce version of his command voice. “Yes, sir.”

He huffs a laugh and continues kissing down your neck, down to the hemline of your shirt. Undressing comes as an easy next step, shoes off first (and they were on the bed, ugh), and then Ghost pulls your shirt up; you lift yourself enough to help him pull it over your head. In the darkness, he does the same, and you watch his silhouette remove his hoodie, then pull his shirt over his head and drop it off the side of the bed. You can’t see his face, but the faint beam of sunlight touches his hair and brings out a hint of pale gold. It feels like a secret shared between you, adding to that warmth building up inside.

He leans back down, kissing down your sternum to the upper hem of your sports bra. He starts to go lower, and you decide then that you’d like to take at least a little initiative.

“Wait,” you whisper. “Come back up here.”

He does, like he’s accustomed to obeying your orders rather than the other way around. You reach up and touch his chest, eager to feel this part of him, the one he typically buries under layers of clothing and gear. He sighs at your touch, head dropping down to rest on the pillow beside you.

He’s firm and toned with well-honed muscle earned through endless missions and exercise. At the same time, the skin of his chest is surprisingly soft—even the scattered network of scars and keloids that mark his body. You feel old and new wounds, some still raised as they heal, some concave with age. They’re long, short, thick, thin, orderly, and jagged. Starbursts of bullet wounds, hard lines of cuts, spatters of shrapnel, textured lines of old stitches. His whole torso tells a long, tragic story from cover to cover, chest to back.

But he leans into this read of him, letting you feel every scar, every painful moment. His breathing is steady in your ear, giving way to the occasional sigh as your fingers trail over his skin.

In turn, he touches you. You don’t have even a fraction of his scars, but you have a few he can note. You know when he touches them, by the way his touch lingers, learning each one. It feels reverential, or communal—the two of you engaging in a silent trust exercise. He doesn’t ask about them, and neither do you. All of that is for another time.

Ghost presses a kiss to your shoulder, then pushes up until he’s over top of you again. His free hand goes down to the waistline of your jeans, finger tracing teasingly over the zipper. “Can I?”

“Yeah,” you say, breathless. As if you’d say anything else.

He undoes the button, then the zipper, slowly pulling your jeans to your hips, then removing them entirely. He sits up on the edge of the bed for a moment, removing his boots, then his jeans. You lay there, watching him move, feeling your arousal start to grow and burn like a low flame.

When he touches you again, you silently agree that you wish you’d said or done something sooner. It’s bliss. He’s gentle with you, mindful even, in a way you’ve never experienced or anticipated from someone like him. He helps you out of your bra, letting you pull it all the way off before his hands palm your breasts in slow, deliberate movements. It’s an extension of his exploratory touches, learning your body inch by inch.

Your breathing quickens, and Ghost looks up at you in what you guess is concern. “Doing alright?” he asks.

Your face grows hot, and you nod, turning your head to kiss his cheek. “I’m fine,” you reply. “I just don’t know what to do.”

It’s not like you haven’t had sex before, but sex with him feels completely different, like it doesn’t belong in the same category. You’ve never wanted someone this badly, or had someone respond to you like this. It’s almost overwhelming, but Ghost reaches up and combs some of your hair away from your face before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Lie back a bit,” he instructs. “And tell me if you need me to stop.”

You do as he says, leaning up against the pillows as he moves down your body, leaving a trail of kisses down your torso to your hips. He’s a shadow moving over you, long and languid, and every touch just adds to the mounting heat. When his fingers touch the hem of your underwear, you shiver in anticipation, then arch your hips to give him a little leverage in removing them. In one motion, you’re exposed to him, even in the dark. Yet after touching him, and him touching you, you don’t feel as vulnerable. If anything, this feels safe. This feels right.

His hands go to your hips, then run slowly along the outer sides of your thighs. You think he might fulfill that fantasy from earlier, fingering you until you’re a mess, drawing out every last ounce of pleasure with his skilled hands.

Which is why it surprises the hell out of you when he goes lower, until his head is between your thighs, sunlight leaving gold stripes along his back.

“Ghost,” you gasp.

He looks up at you, and now more than ever, you wish you could see his face. You only see the faint shine of his eyes, but at that moment, it’s enough.

Then he spreads you, and licks a stripe from your opening to your clit.

If you were entertaining any thoughts before, any fantasies carefully curated in those rare hours of alone time, they flee in that single movement. Even the Ghost of your imagination never did this, tasting and savoring you in long, slow laps that make your whole brain short out like a blown fuse. The sound is goddamn obscene, especially as he leans in close and starts to lap at your clit. It’s a shock of sound in the silence, louder than even your own noises when you got yourself off.

Your right hand finds his head, fingers running through his hair as he licks you. He alternates between short laps and long strokes, tongue circling around your clit, teasing you, making you shudder and moan. It’s frustrating and fucking heavenly, the sensation of ebb and flow, receding and rushing waves of heat building up then flowing back.

Right when you think you can’t take the teasing anymore, he switches tactics. The teasing abruptly ends, and Ghost gets relentless.

You moan way too loud when he sucks at your clit, tongue swirling around it, the sound of his mouth on you loud as a gunshot. You swear they have to hear it down the hallway, or anywhere on base. At this point, though, you really don’t care who hears you, because they don’t have Ghost between their legs, getting them off in ways no deity ever intended.

Then his fingers join his mouth, index tracing circles around your entrance, dipping in slowly, tauntingly.

“Fuck.” The word is sharp in the air, as you arch at the sensation.

It’s too much; it’s not enough.

He tilts his head up a little, but when he speaks, you feel his warm breath ghost over your sex. “Let me hear you,” he says, words drawn straight out of your fantasies. Every door containing that imaginary version of Ghost is unlocked, every bulkhead breached—that Ghost and this one are one in the same.

And when he pushes that first finger into you, you follow his order to the letter.

It comes out as a broken wail, cut off when he starts thrusting and licking you in alternate strokes. His pace quickens, merciless, sharp eyes watching you from the shadows as your head rolls back on the pillow, chest heaving to catch a single solid breath. Your hands drop to your sides, fisting the sheets just to have something to hang onto, any kind of anchor as Ghost guides you through a tempest.

You moan his name, last consonant catching on a sob of pleasure when he starts to add a second finger. Only then does he pause, and the absence of his mouth is stark.

Then he says your name, temporarily drawing you out of the cumulonimbus of arousal you’re flying through, briefly bringing you back to earth.

You look down at him, the silhouette of his head, small locks of hair sticking up from where your fingers combed through. You see him tilt his head to rest his cheek against your inner thigh, and his voice rolls out like a dull roar of thunder in your ears. “It’s Simon,” he says. “I wanna hear you say it.”

Somehow, hearing his real name in the midst of all this is almost too much. Like the last little vestige of a play on stage falling away and revealing the inner workings of the backstage, all the ropes and pullies holding the show together. He’s more exposed now, more raw, more human.

You reach down, trembling hand brushing over his cheek, over stubble and scar tissue, and the soft skin of a very real face.

“Simon,” you whisper. It sounds like a confession.

He doesn’t reply, but you feel him smile against your hand, briefly turning his head to press a kiss against your palm. Then he’s lowering himself down again, coaxing you out of the eye of the storm and back into the maelstrom. Two fingers thrust and curl, filling you, leaving you empty, touching places that send bolts of pleasure through you.

Your pulse becomes the thunder of the helo’s blades, your body trembling with midair turbulence. Simon fucks you on his fingers, tongue lathing over your clit, mouth fucking worshiping you. He takes you to that precipice, the long fall, the drop through cloud cover to a faintly-marked point on the earth.

The step off the edge feels like perfect, natural progression.

Your orgasm sweeps through you from toe to tip, a roll of white-out pleasure shaking you, wringing a cry out of your mouth that makes Simon fuck you harder. His fingers don’t let up, working you through the tidal wave, taking you to shore on the other side.

You’re boneless at the end, slumping back on the pillow and panting, shivering, taking stock of your limbs and extremities as they each come back online after the outage. You only vaguely register the feeling of Simon moving on the bed, coming up to lay beside you.

He murmurs your name, then kisses you, and you can smell and taste yourself on him. Your hand goes up to run along his jawline, one rogue thought telling you, yeah, you can cut glass with it.

How everything gets so gentle afterwards is beyond you. Simon’s hand is on your face, thumb brushing the soft skin under your right eye. You can feel his erection against your leg, and somewhere in the back of your mind—still tingling with pleasure, shimmering bright and brilliant—you know how you’re going to take initiative.

You break the kiss just for a moment, delighting in the soft sigh of protest you hear and feel against your cheek. Then you lean in close, pitching your voice low like his, hoping it has the same effect on him.

“Hope you don’t have any plans this weekend,” you say, brushing your hand over his shoulder.

You feel him smile against your skin, and he shakes his head.

“Thought you were heading out,” he says.

“Only if you’re going with me.”

One arm goes around your waist, pulling you close as he nuzzles against your neck. “We have some time, though, right?” his voice slides over you, suggestion clear and presented like a gift.

God, yeah you do.

---

Somewhere in between rounds, your phone goes off on your bedside stand.

Once.

Twice.

You don’t hear it, and the short buzz is drowned out by moans and the soft slap of skin on skin. When Simon makes a move like he’s going to check on it, you hook him back in place with your leg around his waist, pulling him in close, then kissing him silent. He falls into it, all too happy to oblige.

So you miss the skull and ladybug emojis, then the volume symbol.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley x you #em dash and italics party is here to staaaay #can you believe this was going to be longer #am i super happy with it? not totally but it was p fun

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steddieas-shegoes · 1 year

Text

Eddie was acting weird.

Well, he was always a little weird. But this was weirder than usual.

For one thing, he kept sneaking into the bedroom as soon as he got home from work, not even acknowledging that Steve was cooking dinner in the kitchen. He always came up behind him and kissed his shoulder before going to shower. Always. But not for the last couple of weeks.

Then, Steve noticed he would be on the phone with Hopper of all people. It’s not that they didn’t get along, they’d moved well past that, but they didn’t exactly seek each other out for conversations. He waited until Steve was in the shower or already in bed, which rubbed Steve a bit wrong. Eddie never hid shit from him.

But the turning point, the moment that Steve decided he needed to say something, was when Eddie went to dinner with Robin. Alone.

Eddie and Robin were friends. Some would even say close friends. It’s hard not to be when you face what they have together. But they always hung out with Steve.

So when Steve found out they’d been out without him, he confronted Eddie.

“What the hell are you up to?”

Steve was maybe coming off as a bit of an asshole. His hands on his hips like he was ready to discipline a child, his face serious, voice stern. But he had to know what was going on.

Eddie raised an eyebrow, not used to being at this end of Steve’s mom pose. He usually stood behind him with a smirk, arms crossed in front of his chest to emphasize his disappointment and amusement at whatever child had earned it.

“What do you mean?”

Steve rolled his eyes.

“You know what I mean.”

“Do I?”

“Dinner with Robin? Without me?”

“Am I not allowed to be her friend without you?”

Eddie’s voice had turned guarded in a way that it hadn’t been with Steve in years.

Steve paused. Something was wrong. Eddie wouldn’t be acting like this if it wasn’t something big.

But what could he possibly be talking with Robin and Hopper about secretly? Was he in trouble? Were they trying to charge him with something from years ago? Why would he go to Robin about that and not Steve? Why would he have to sneak into the bedroom every evening?

The math wasn’t adding up, but Steve nearly failed math two years in a row so maybe he shouldn’t try to make the calculations.

“Are you in trouble? I can help. We can go somewhere. Hopper doesn’t have to know. Is he helping you? He should, he knows you’re innocent. They can’t even charge you for anything anymore right? There’s like, a statue of limits or something?”

Eddie was staring blankly at him.

It must be worse.

Maybe he was going into Witness Protection and Steve couldn’t come so he was trying to plan how to tell Steve. Oh God, Steve couldn’t let him go with no idea where he would end up or what his name would even be.

“Eds, please. You can’t go. They may not give you a choice, but you could maybe write to me so I can follow you? I’ll change my name too.” Steve felt tears in his eyes, and he hated it. He hated that his reaction to this was panic and crying as if he was the one in trouble and on the run. “Do they know we’re a package deal? And Robin. Robin will have to come. Is that what you talked about at dinner?”

Eddie was still just staring at him.

“Eddie please. Talk to me.”

Eddie shook himself out of his stupor, looking down at the floor and mumbling something Steve couldn’t quite hear.

“What? I can’t hear you.”

“I’m taking you to Disney World.”

That was not a sentence Steve ever thought he would hear. Especially not from Eddie fucking Munson.

His first reaction was to laugh, but when he saw the way Eddie’s face fell, he stopped.

“Um. Okay. You’re serious,” Steve let his thoughts wander as he watched Eddie’s whole body tense the way it did when he was working himself up.

Steve thought about how they had watched the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade last year and saw a float from a new Disney film, he couldn’t remember which one now, but he remembered turning to Eddie and saying, “you know my parents never took me to Disney World? All that money and they spent it all on their exotic vacations and cruises and left me at home.” Eddie had looked at him like he broke his heart before he said “Wayne could never afford it so I never really bothered to ask.”

And it wasn’t that a lot of their friends had been. Growing up, more kids spent time at beach resorts or the lake for summer vacations. Disney was still so new to people, it seemed like a pipe dream for anyone who didn’t have at least a middle class income.

But Steve saw the commercials. He watched the movies. He secretly loved the idea of a whole park dedicated to the childhood happiness and magic he felt when he watched them.

But he never asked his parents, and by the time he thought he could try to go, he was “too old.”

He’d given up on the thought.

Eddie was playing with his rings nervously, still avoiding eye contact with Steve.

“You’re taking me to Disney World?” Steve felt his voice break as the realization washed over him.

Eddie was somehow finding the money to take him to a place he’d secretly wanted to go since he was a kid, even though it was a place he probably didn’t want to go, and he’d wanted to take him so badly he somehow involved Robin and Hopper in the planning process.

God, he loved him so much.

Steve stepped closer to Eddie, hesitantly reaching out to pull his hands apart and lace their fingers together.

Eddie finally looked up at him and Steve couldn’t help leaning in to kiss him softly.

“You’re taking me to Disney World.”

Eddie nodded, a smile slowly spreading across his face.

“How? When? Why does Robin know? Why does Hopper know?”

Eddie chuckled before he placed a kiss on Steve’s forehead.

“Robin knows because she’s been arranging everything. I couldn’t really do it here and work’s been busy so I couldn’t do it there. She offered to help. We’ve been planning it since last Christmas.”

Steve felt himself fall even more in love. Somehow, the love of his life and his platonic soulmate have been planning this incredible trip for him for six months and had only recently given anything away.

“Hopper knows because I did have to make sure I could leave the state. I know my name was cleared, but I just wanted to be certain. Then, he got involved with the planning because he wants to take El and Will this year.”

Steve was gonna start crying, probably any second. He could feel the lump in his throat getting thicker.

“I’ve been saving up anything extra for months. The kids all put in some money to buy your ticket. Mrs. Wheeler let me use Mr. Wheeler’s airline miles to book the flight so it was only about half the cost. Mrs. Henderson gave me her work bonus to put towards the hotel at Dustin’s insistence. Apparently she usually uses it to send him to camp, but he didn’t want to go this year. So. Yeah. Surprise?”

Steve was crying.

Everyone had played a part in this happening, and Eddie was the man behind it all.

Steve threw his arms around Eddie’s neck and jumped to wrap his legs around his waist. He did this all the time, so Eddie only stumbled a little before settling with his hands under Steve’s thighs to hold him up.

“I love you so fucking much,” Steve said against Eddie’s shoulder, tears staining his shirt. “Thank you.”

“I love you, too, sweetheart.”

Eddie placed a kiss on Steve's temple, letting his lips linger for a minute before pulling away.

“So we leave this weekend.”

Steve dropped his legs, immediately panicking about the trip.

“What? What about work? I have so much to do. How long will we be gone? I’m supposed to bring Dustin and Will to a show Sunday. Oh no. I don’t even have a bathing suit. There’s a pool at the hotel right?”

Eddie kissed him, effectively shutting him up, though not quite quelling his panic.

“I’ve already arranged all that. Mike got his license and got permission to drive them. Robin got you off the schedule. There’s a bathing suit in the bag I’ve been packing slowly for weeks.”

“Oh my God, that’s what you’ve been doing. I’ve been standing here waiting for my hello kiss while you secretly pack things for a surprise trip to Disney World. I’m so stupid.”

“Hey. None of that.”

Steve nodded once distractedly. Yeah, yeah, no talking negatively about his own intelligence or whatever they all made him agree to.

“When were you gonna tell me? When we were on the plane?”

“As if you would have arrived at an airport without asking me ten million questions,” Eddie rolled his eyes. “I was gonna tell you tomorrow night at dinner. Will even made this card that had clues inside.”

“Shit, I ruined it.”

“Sweetheart, no. It’s okay. I won’t tell Will. You can still keep the card. It’s a really cool design. He made Disney World look like a D&D game, said you’d probably not get all of it, but thought it was cool. It is, and I think I want him to design a tattoo for me when we get back, but I may have to call the shop in Indy I go to and –”

It was Steve’s turn to cut off his rambling with a kiss.

“I can’t wait to go with you. I can’t believe you would want to.”

“I’d go anywhere with you, you know that.”

“Yeah, I guess I do.”

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #tumblr drabbles #steve goes to disney world #i believe in my heart and soul that steve heals his inner child a lot at disney world #is that projection i hear #nooooooo couldn't be #i do not have the time to continue this right now but maybe someday #or if someone wants to take this on i would give you a hug and forehead kiss (if i can reach)

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the-kr8tor · 2 months

Note

hihi!! I hope you're having a great day and a new year!

I have a small fic request (u can take it any other forms u want, all up to you!) Can I request a fic where reader asked Hobie if he would rather elope instead of a normal wedding? Since he doesn't like the idea of getting marriage (My hc by the way). Eloping is still kinda like a wedding but just the two of them! No loud music, not alot of money spent etc etc! U can write on how they would do it!

(also I'd like to imagine this is them getting 'enganged' before having the twins HEEHHEHEHE) (i hope this isn't too much) (i would love to see on how you'd write this!!)

reader can be gn or FEM btw :)

Thank you for the adorable request 😘

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

Word count: 1.5k

Tags: No use Y/N, no specific description of the reader (r is mentioned wearing makeup though), lovestruck Hobie, FLUFF.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

Hobie watches you sing with the band that's currently playing further away on stage. He dragged you out behind all the crowd so you could properly enjoy the concert without getting elbowed by someone. He doesn't mind standing that far from the stage since he gets to see you dance unabashedly when there aren't a lot of people this far back.

The music isn't that loud from where you're both standing, helping Hobie hear your singing, providing a front row seat to your very own concert. He thinks you deserve top billing from how you belt out the lyrics.

The strobe lights illuminate your face, lighting up your best features, add it up with the moonlight shining directly at you like your very own spotlight, he can't get his eyes off you, lips softly smiling, fondness seeping out from his pores.

You feel his stare before you feel his featherlight touch atop your arm, knuckles brushing on your skin, goosebumps spreading through them like fire.

Grinning at him, you wipe sweat off your brow, guessing the summer heat has probably melted all of your makeup, thinking that you look worse for wear.

“Yeah, Hobs?” He once hated that nickname but with you saying it, it might as well be his given name. He loves it if it's you who says it.

Hobie has never seen you look so beautiful even with your mascara running down your cheeks. He's seen you at your worst, loved you more through it, and will continue to love you through your best too.

He loops his pinky around yours, clammy hands meeting equally clammy skin. He blames the weather for the lack of physical affection, if it weren't for the heat he'd be embracing you like a boa constrictor, taking your breath away without devouring you for dinner of course.

“You okay? You look like you're about to pass out. Do you want to sit down for a minute?”

His next words shocks you both.

“I have no idea where we go from here.”

“What?” You chuckle nervously. Maybe you should've worn waterproof mascara. “What are you saying, Hobie?” You forgo his pinky, opting to hold both his hands instead.

Your frown tells him he should've thought this through.

“Sorry,” he laughs shakily, none of the usual Hobie charisma you're used to. “I meant, fuck this is hard.” he's sweating, why did he decide to wear leather vest and heavy boots in this heat? He blames the weather for his shortcomings.

Your heart falls in your stomach. “Are you…are you breaking up with me?” words barely strung together with your tongue tied up.

“What? No!” Hobie backtracks in a split second. “No, love, that's not what I meant.” shaking his head, he removes his hands from yours, deepening your frown.

In an attempt to fix his blunder, he cups your face, thumbs rubbing just under your eyes, spreading the dark ink all over your skin. He definitely needed to think it all through.

Tears start rolling down your cheeks, mascara running with the wetness, turning you into one of the heavy metal band mates that played a couple hours ago.

“Shit!” He roams his face around the concert hall, not knowing how to fix the situation.

“What did you really mean, Hobie?” You sob, balling his shirt in your hands tightly.

Hobie inhales and exhales, collecting his thoughts properly. “We're living together.”

“Uh huh.” You nod, confused.

“We clearly love each other.”

“You're just stating the obvious.” you pause your weeping when he groans in frustration. “What is happening?”

“I–” his next words surprises you more than him. “I wanna fuckin' marry you, love.”

You blink rapidly, tilting your head, utterly flabbergasted. “Huh?”

“That's what I meant with ‘I have no idea where we go from here.’” he sighs, facepalming, pursing his lips. “I want to take another step forward with you, but fuckin' hell I hate the bloody pomp and circumstance of it all.” A smile spreads across your face with every word he says.

Did he just ask for your hand in marriage?

“At the same time I don't think we have to marry just so people would know how committed we are to each other.” He's rambling and you smile wider through mascara filled tears. “Not to mention the fuckin' government knowing about all of it, seriously, why can't they just mind their own business about—”

“Hobs,” it's your turn to hold his face, he stops speaking, his chest heaving, eyes glued to you. “Let's elope then.” Hobie mentally conks himself right on the head for not thinking that. “just us, no two hundred guests, no thousands of pounds needed for the ceremony, no stuffy officiant. Just us and our vows.”

Hobie laughs at himself before he places his head on your shoulder, he can't believe he just asked you to spend the rest of your life with him.

Nosing your neck, he embraces you fully, swinging you slightly to the music that's definitely not for slow dancing. Holding on to him, you kiss his hairline, tracing it with your lips.

While Hobie recuperates from his blunder, you on the other hand feel like you're about to burst out of the seams, flooding the entire venue with your love for the man before you.

After the song ends and they announce the new act, with the roar of the crowd Hobie has one last thing to add.

“Let's do it now.” Hobie lifts his head, facing you in all your glory, heart shaped eyes staring at him affectionately, face aglow with so much love that Hobie can feel it flowing directly to his chest. “Let's elope right now, say our vows, we don't need an officiant to declare us married when the band corroded coffin works just as fine.”

“With a few hundred witnesses and a cover band as our wedding singers?” You loop your arms around his neck, linking your fingers together just to hold him closer. Nodding, you can't help but giggle. “Sure, let's do it right now.”

“You first.” Hobie thinks he chose right.

“Nu-huh, you asked, you go first.”

With a joking huff and a thumping heart, he eggs you on.

“I think the bride goes first.”

“Yeah? You've been to a ton of weddings?”

He laughs, the sound is better than the band playing in the background. And in that musky concert hall, underneath the stars and strobe lights, you do your vows.

“Okay, I'll go first.” You clear your throat, hands shaking not from nerves but from excitement. “I vow to always mend your wounds when you get home.” He smiles, eyes shining with unshed happy tears. “But I can't promise that I won't complain and nag you the entire time.”

Chuckling, you continue. “I vow to always be understanding, and to love you until I'm six feet under ground and even then I'd continue to love the shit out of you, Hobart Larry Brown. Even love your government name.”

Hobie can't help in anymore so he leans in but you stop him with your hand shielding your lips.

“You're horrible.” His words lack venom, all love and endearment pointed at you.

“I just vowed to love you unconditionally and you call me horrible?” Your words are muffled that he barely understood it. Yet he still pecks the top of your hand, to satisfy his need to kiss you. “You're not allowed to kiss me, not until we finish our vows.”

He rolls his eyes comically and you laugh. Your lips hurt from all the smiling.

Face hot, (not from the weather) you wipe his cheek free from sweat, leaving your hand to grasp his face. You hope it's enough to convey how utterly in love you are with him.

“My turn?”

“Mm-hmm”

Hobie inhales, he has fought a bunch of villains who wanted to end him but asking you if you want to marry him has him more terrified than facing green goblin. He's exhausted just from that. But he's more than ready to do this, to make his vows. It's only you isn't it? The love of his life who's currently staring at him warmly.

He's glad you agreed to elope, he can't imagine doing this in front of a hundred guests.

“I vow to always come home even when I'm beat up and bloodied. I'll crawl just to get to you.”

If your makeup wasn't ruined before it's properly ruined now with how much tears you're letting out. A few people look at you two weirdly.

“I vow to make time for you, I'd sacrifice sleep if you ask me.” He whispers the next line. “I'm serious. That's how much I love you.”

You laugh through the tears, gripping his collar, it might look like you're about to beat him up but you're actually holding back from snogging the shit out him.

“I promise to love you as long as you let me.” Hobie takes one of his rings off his finger, a favourite of his, a promise to you. The word wife slips his tongue and it has you almost fainting.

That got you and now you're sobbing your heart out. But after a beat, he lifts your face by your chin to let him look at you, he's right, he chose the right one.

“How does forever sound?” you manage to let out, lips still wobbly.

“Perfect. Forever sounds bloody perfect.” He leans once again, this time you don't stop him.

“You may kiss the sweaty bride.” You laugh and you kiss your husband.

#request done #hobie brown x reader #spider punk x reader #the kr8tor's creations #hobie brown #atsv fanfiction #atsv fanfic #atsv x reader #atsv hobie #hobie brown x fem!reader #spider punk x fem!reader #hobie brown x you #spider punk x you #hobie fluff #hobie x reader #fanfic #spiderpunk

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maraschinomerry · 1 year

Note

Hi! Could you please write a Lockwood x reader fic involving the prompt: You aren't well, but you don't want to skip training and make them worry, so you continue on as usual, thinking it's not that serious. But that's proven wrong when you faint right in front of them mid-fight. Mixed with the dialogue: "You hold it like this and- why are your hands trembling?" Thank you in advance! 💙

Pretty Boy

Pairings: Anthony Lockwood x gn!reader

Content: mild swearing, whump (fainting as in the prompt), mentions of not eating or sleeping, cute flirty ending

A/N: thank you for such a great request!! I've actually also just got over being not well while I was writing this (I'm fine now and wasn't this bad!) so it was weirdly cathartic 😅

Word count: 2.3k

The blissful quiet of the kitchen at 35 Portland Row was shattered by an incredibly loud, almost violent sneeze. You threw your arm across your face just in time to catch it. That was weird. You never sneezed.

"Bless you," Lockwood frowned over the top of his magazine.

That was day 1.

On day 2, you were all out on a case, in a dilapidated Victorian house. In a divide-and-conquer strategy for such a big place, Lockwood and George had headed upstairs while you and Lucy stayed on the ground floor. Fumbling around in the dim light of the dining room, Lucy threw open the curtains to let in what was left of the evening sun, accidentally unleashing a cloud of dust which shimmered in the beam of your torch. You both coughed a little in surprise.

Your coughing didn't stop for the rest of the night.

Day 3 was spent relaxing, recovering from getting home in the early hours of the morning after a gruelling fight with a pair of Type Twos. Or rather, everyone else was relaxing. You were in your room, fluctuating between wrapping your shivering form in your duvet and throwing it off so you wouldn't melt into a puddle. The bowl of soup you'd made yourself for lunch grew cold where it sat untouched on your bedside table.

A sleepless night heralded the arrival of day 4. Your symptoms had mostly abated by the evening, and you desperately hoped to claw back a few hours of rest. By dinner time, bleary-eyed, you forced yourself downstairs to try and get at least one meal of the day. Fortunately, the kitchen was empty, so at least you didn't have to explain your recent lack of presence to anyone. Unfortunately, none of the contents of the fridge were even remotely appealing right now. You settled for a slice of toast which you took back upstairs. Two bites in, you felt your stomach flip. Great. The rest went straight in the bin.

A gentle knock sounded on your door the morning of day 5, after another night of tossing and turning without ever drifting off.

"Yeah?" you called wearily.

Lockwood poked his head in, dressed in a loose Henley T-shirt and sweatpants. "Morning. Just thought I'd check you were alright, you didn't come down for training." Oh shit. You and Lockwood had been doing weekly training together for months - it started not long after you joined the agency, when he'd come down to the basement for practice and found you already there, and you'd ended up sparring. It had happened a few more times, and eventually you fell into the habit of both going down on Friday mornings so much it became an unofficial appointment.

"Oh, sorry," you swallowed a yawn. "I lost track of what day it was. Give me five minutes."

"I sort of assumed you weren't coming down dressed Iike that." He nodded to your fuzzy pyjamas with a smirk, and you tugged shyly at the hem of the top. "Have you had breakfast?"

"Yeah." That was a lie. Lockwood studied you for a moment, and you wondered if he could see right through you, but then he nodded to himself.

"Alright, see you downstairs." He began to leave, but popped back at the last second. "I'm not saying the pyjamas are a bad look, by the way, they're cute, just maybe a bit warm for fighting in." He grinned again, and disappeared. What was that supposed to mean?

—

Five minutes later, as promised, you traipsed down the basement steps in runner shorts and a tank top. This was the last thing you wanted to be doing right now, but you loved getting one-on-one time with Lockwood and knew how much it would hurt him to break the tradition and how concerned he'd be about you if he found out you'd been ill.

Lockwood gave you another puzzled look. "Are you sure you're okay?" He'd seen you this low energy before, but normally only the day after a case.

You gave the most convincing smile you could muster. "Fine. What's the plan?"

He furrowed his brows once more, before apparently deciding against whatever he was thinking. "Okay, there was a new move I figured out on the last case. I thought I could teach you and see if you think it's any good?" That last part sounded so open and vulnerable. You could imagine what he was thinking - was it a fluke? Was it him overselling his talents? Did it look ridiculous? He got like that sometimes, needed snapping out of it. Reassuring. Your smile was more genuine this time.

"Sounds good, it certainly seemed effective."

You tried your best to concentrate while Lockwood demonstrated the move, really you did, but you were running on empty and the basement was so delightfully cool. Maybe if you just lay down on the floor for a bit, you'd sort yourself out.

"Did you get that?" Lockwood's voice cut through the fog of your thoughts, and you dragged your eyes up to meet his, which were nodding to your hands. You hadn't the slightest idea what it was he expected you to have got.

"Uhh…"

To your relief, he mistook your distraction for confusion and stepped closer to help, carefully off to one side to avoid the blade as his hands rested over yours.

"You hold it like this and- why are your hands trembling?"

You barely registered the alarm in his voice, or the uncontrollable tremor that was indeed present and spreading up your arms. Nothing in your body seemed to be responding properly any more. Did you still have hold of the rapier? Why was your chest so tight, not allowing any air in? An invisible wad had trapped in your throat, and you desperately sucked in a breath through your nose. Gosh, Lockwood smelled good. Lavender and bergamot. And he was pretty, too. So pretty. Those deep dark eyes, gazing at you with so much longing. No, not longing. He didn't do that, did he? Plus, he was frowning too much for longing. Concern? You didn't like it when he frowned. You tried to pout, but your lips didn't move. That was annoying. So were the lights. Had they always been this bright? It hurt. Everything hurt. You needed to leave. Now.

Panic took hold of the last working corner of your brain and sent a jolt of electricity down to your legs which finally reacted, carrying you shakily towards the stairs. You muttered something incoherent, mouth not quite as functional. The effort drained the last dregs of energy, and your legs stopped working again.

"Whoa, whoa-" a voice behind you gasped, hasty footsteps echoing. Who was that? There was someone else down here, wasn't there? You couldn't remember. Wait. There was a pretty boy, right? He seemed nice. You tried to tell him you were okay, you wanted to. As you pitched backwards, the silhouette of the pretty boy swam into view, blocking out the harsh lights above. That was better.

Everything went black.

—

You were laying somewhere warm and soft. That was odd. And it was less bright behind your eyelids. Where were you? Hadn't you been down in the basement? With the cold floor and the cold lights… and the pretty boy? Was he still here?

You tried to call out for him, succeeding only in a groan. The surface beneath you shifted by your feet in response, and your eyelids fluttered open a fraction. There he was. Framed by the golden rays filtering through the window behind him and dappling across his dark hair.

"Hey, pretty boy," you murmured. Proper words; that was more like it. Next step: opening your eyes fully.

Ah.

The pretty boy was Lockwood, brows knitted upwards as he shuffled further up what you gradually realised was your bed.

"Hey." His voice was thick, with the hint of a shake. "How are you feeling?"

You groaned again, moving to sit up. Lockwood instantly reached out, one hand on the small of your back and the other lifting the pillows to prop up behind you. "Been better."

Under any other circumstances, you think he'd probably have laughed. As it was, he huffed out a breath and you spotted a brief tic in his jaw. "That's a mild way of putting it. You collapsed in the middle of training. I had no idea what happened, I thought…" His gaze dropped to his lap as he trailed off. The silence clenched tightly around your heart. Eventually, he spoke again, still not looking at you, voice cracking and barely above a whisper. "I was so worried about you."

The tension in your chest pressed down further, and you thought you actually heard your heart shatter.

"Hey, Lockwood, look at me." You raised a hand, still trembling but for an entirely new reason, up to cup his cheek. At last, he looked. Those beautiful dark eyes were watery, and his nose ruffled as he tried to hold back the tears. "I'm okay, see? I'm here, I'm okay, and I'm so sorry for making you worry."

A warmth spread over the back of your hand as he brought his up to meet it. His fingers curled over yours, thumb rubbing calmingly across your knuckles. Whether the calming was for you or him, you couldn't say. "But are you sure you're okay? People don't just collapse like that, and you've been out all day." Your eyes widened a little as you glanced at your alarm clock. Almost 6. Wow.

"Honestly, it's nothing serious. Kind of stupid, actually; the irony is it all happened because I didn't want you to worry." That made him chuckle. That was promising. You continued. "I was ill - I don't know if it was a cold or flu or what - but that wasn't great to begin with, and then with it ruining my ability to eat and sleep I just… didn't have anything left to give."

You don't know what reaction you expected from Lockwood: frustration, confusion, disappointment perhaps. You certainly weren't expecting him to look quite so… guilty? "Why didn't you say something when I came to find you? We could have cancelled training." It came out sharper than you were expecting. Oh. There was where the guilt came in.

"I didn't want to break the tradition."

"To hell with the tradition if this is what it does to you!"

You faltered. Was it just your current condition, or had your mouth gone very dry? "Wait, I'm sorry, I didn't mean…" You took a steadying breath. "It's not just that. I don't mean it like it's some obligation. I love our sessions! Getting to have that time just for us, having it be our thing, it's the highlight of my week. And it's been a pretty shitty week so I wanted this one thing to be nice."

The fire in Lockwood's words died out, and he almost visibly deflated. His free hand reached up unexpectedly to brush a strand of hair from your face.

"Well, I'm glad it means that much to you, but next time will you please tell me when something's wrong? I can survive missing our date more than I can survive missing you."

Hold on.

You were definitely still ill. Your cheeks felt warm and your heart was pounding against your ribcage. That was the only possible explanation. Definitely nothing to do with the fact that the boy you'd been in love with for months had just called your training sessions a date. Oh god, you'd infected him too, his face was flushed. "Date?" you breathed.

"Only if you want it to be, of course, I don't want to jump to conclusions. Although you did call me 'pretty boy' barely five minutes ago, so I'm sure even George would agree with the legitimacy of my hypothesis." Oh, how you'd missed seeing that smirk he'd grown all of a sudden.

"I'm not entirely sure you can take the high ground on this one, love, when you said even more recently how you couldn't survive without me."

"I think so long as I'm right I can. Especially since, if we're going off who said something last, you couldn't even argue without calling me love."

"I wish we were still holding rapiers, I've got a chance of beating you at that."

Lockwood laughed, all earlier emotions replaced with nothing but tender affection. "Get some sleep, and then we can test that theory." He made to leave, but where your hands were still entwined you tightened your grip a little.

"Will you stay? Please? In case I didn't make it clear enough with fainting, I haven't been doing so great at the whole sleep thing."

When he nodded, you wriggled over to one side of the bed, allowing him to slip under the covers behind you. Everything about him felt cosy, and you snuggled towards that feeling. It took him aback for a moment until he draped an arm over your stomach, gently tugging you closer so the two of you slotted together like you'd been designed to fit one another from the start. His breath tickled your ear, but its constant rhythm slowed yours in turn. Your eyelids grew heavy.

"You know," you mumbled sleepily, "you could take me on a proper date. Only if you want to, of course, wouldn't want to jump to conclusions."

He squeezed you playfully. "I think I've got enough evidence to consider it. Lunch tomorrow if you feel up to it?" You hummed a contented agreement. As your eyes drifted shut, a feather-light kiss pressed against your temple. "Good night, love."

"Good night, pretty boy."

#lockwood & co fanfic #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood #gn!reader #lockwood & co

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abbyslev · 1 year

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𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑻𝒀 𝑴𝑶𝑵𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑹- 𝑯𝑨𝑵𝑮𝑬 𝑿 𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑫𝑬𝑹

A/N: hi angels! i wrote this in two days and its probably rushed, so i apologize, but i wanted to post something while i work on some other stuff. as always, feedback is appreciated and i hope everyone is having a good day! ily all!

WARNINGS: alcohol consumption, fingering, bathroom sex, rough! hange, top! hange, hair pulling, mirror sex, let me know if i missed any!

You traced the edge of your cup, staring at the red lipstick stain that was on the cup.

You didn’t regret coming, you just wish you friend didn’t leave you stranded in the middle of a party. You were familiar with everyone here, but not enough to go up and start a conversation.

You picked up your cup, taking a small sip. You brushed off the burning in your throat, licking your red lips. “Did your date leave you?” A voice startled you from behind. “Jesus.” You turn around, laughing. It was someone from your old highschool.

“Date? Oh no, I came with them.” You point at your best friend, who was taking a row of shots with her girlfriend behind her. “Yeahhhh, I'm assuming your DD?” The reach behind you, pouring themselves a shot. “Eh.” You shrug. You watch them as they drink the shot with ease.

“How’d you do that?” Your eyebrows furrowed, mouth slightly open. “You get used to it.” Hange shrugs, laughing it off. You roll your eyes, shaking your head. “It’s loud as hell in here. Wanna go upstairs?” Hange nodded their head towards the stairs. “Yeah.” You nod.

They push open the bathroom door, flipping on the lights. “Surprised it's clean, they usually trash this place.” Hange sat on the edge of the bathtub, taking your drink from your hand. They closed their eyes, holding back a laugh.

“What?” You lean on the counter, raising your brows. “This is 95% punch. There’s like…no alcohol in this.” They hand it back. “Okay first of all, you’re not funny. Second of all, I'm not a crazy alcoholic like you.” You drink a bit, setting it down. “I could definitely make you some better shit than that.” They nod towards your cup.

“Sure.” You nod. “I remember you used to throw the best parties in high school.” Hange smiled. “That was all her, not me. I just bought the stuff.” You shook your head. “Oh, yeah? And you’d be in the middle of the circle, always dancing on someone. Drunk as hell, too.”

You didn’t even really notice Hange. You knew they were played the drums and were top of the class, especially in chemistry, but that’s all you knew. Hange on the other hand, they knew everything about you. They knew you loved getting shitfaced, loved cherry flavored rolling paper, preferred vodka over pink whitney, and hung out with Connie and his crew.

“I was not.” You covered your face in embarrassment. “After prom, at Sasha’s house, you danced with a whole bottle while making out with Sasha and then threw up in her yard not even an hour later, so yeah, you were pretty drunk all the time.”

“Okay, what about you?” You crossed your arms. “You were all nerdy, always getting everything right in class.” You faced them, pushing your hair behind your ear. “That doesn’t mean I deprived myself of having fun. I was smart and partied all at once.” They stood up, leaning on the wall next to you.

“That still makes you nerdy.” You smiled, holding back a laugh. “Well, you always came to school late, all pretty and shit. You always had your lips all shiny and the cutest outfits. You were never in dress code.” Hange approached you. The room became a whole lot smaller. “Are you implying you liked me, Zoe?” You tilted your head, pushing yourself off the counter. Their hands landed on your waist, bringing you to them.

“Did I say that?” They leaned in, lips brushing over yours. Their nails dug into the skin of your thighs. “N-no. But you’re acting like that.” You looked up at Hange. “Acting like what, mama?” They grabbed your chin, making you look up at them.

“Like you wanted me.” You place your hands on their upper arms. “Who said I didn't?” They push their lips onto yours. You were lifted up from the floor onto the counter. You opened your legs a bit, hands running inside their shirt.

“Fuck.” They push their forehead against yours, hands working on the back of your dress. While you slip off your dress, they take their shirt off. You lick your smudged lips, eyes lowering down to Hange’s happy trail. You felt yourself becoming more wet by the second.

Hange pressed their lips to your bare collarbone, sucking and tracing random shapes. Your voice gets caught in your throat. “Come here.” They slide you off of the counter. “I need you.” You whisper. “I know, baby.” They push your back up against themselves.

You were now staring at yourself in the mirror. Hange stood behind you, head in between the crook of your neck and shoulder, pressing wet kisses along your body. Your dress slowly slid off the rest of your body, leaving you in your black, lacy panties. They grabbed your thigh, placing it up on the counter.

You made eye contact with Hange through the mirror. “Someone’s impatient.” She mumbled against your shoulder as she saw the desperation in your eyes. They slid their hand in your panties, fingers hovering over your dripping clit. “Please.” You watch their veiny hands rub your lower stomach.

“You have to be quiet.” Hange placed a cold finger on your aching bud. Your eyes rolled back, a quiet whimper sounding at the back of your throat. “Shhh.” They whispered in your ear, forming small circles. One of your hands sat on top of their working hand, the other held a fistful of their hair, whispering their name while your face scrunched up in pleasure.

“I haven’t even touched you yet and you’re already so whiny, baby.” They press a kiss on your shoulder blade. Hange inserted a finger inside you. You gripped their wrist, your legs twitching, aching to close.

“Keep them open, baby.” They whisper, adding their ring finger. Your back arched as they pumped in and out of you, sucking and nibbling on your sensitive neck. “Fuck.” You choked out, leaning your head back into their shoulder.

Hange pushed you over. Their hand went from your lower stomach, to a fist full of your hair. Your skin crawled as the cold counter came into contact with you. “Look at me while i fuck you.” Hange pulled your head back. Your lipstick was smeared and your neck was covered in hickies.

Hange’s waist pushed you up against the marble even more. Her fingers slipped from inside of you, into her mouth. You watched as they stuck them into her mouth, licking them clean. “So pretty.” Her wet fingers traced your back tattoo.

Your whimper, jutting your hips out to let her know that you wanted more. You felt a sharp pull at your head. “Patience.” She tsked. Her fingers slipped in your again, this time from the back, without a warning.

“Hange,” You mewl loudly. “Hush.” She watched as your legs closed themselves. She slipped her knee in between, shaking her head. She lowered her lips near your ear, grunting. Her fingers sped up, a quiet squelch made Hange whisper your name, praising you for how beautiful you were.

A knock startled you. Your eyes shot open, making your neck snap towards the door. “Hey, you in there?” Your best friend called your name, jiggling the doorknob. “Hange.” You whisper, freaking out. Hange continued to pump her fingers in and out of you, disregarding the fact that your friend was right outside the door and you were clenching around Hange.

“You ok?” She called out again. “Please.” You beg, closing your eyes. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip, your legs shaking. “Answer.” She nibbled at your earlobe, now facing up at the ceiling.

“I-i’m in here.” You manage to choke out. Suddenly, Hange started to toy with your sensitive clit. Your polished nails dig into your arm. “What’re you doing in there?” She asked, her words slurred a bit together. “Uh,” You racked your brain for something, but it was hard when Hange was fucking you dumb from the back and you were close.

“Fuck.” You moan into your arm, before Hange yanked your hair to face the mirror again. “Tell her.” Hange mouthed. “I felt sick- shit.” Your legs gave out. Hange held you by your waist, watching as you rode her fingers, head against the mirror.

“Want me to come in?” She jiggled the doorknob. “N-no! It’s ok, i‘ll be out in a- fuck…” You felt your cum run down your thighs. “minute.” You finished your sentence. “Good girl.” Hange kneeled down. “Okay, well i’ll be downstairs. Find me when you feel better.” You heard her footsteps fade.

Hange grabbed your waist, twisting you around. She grabbed under your thigh, placing it on her shoulder. She had a small spider tattoo on her arm you didn’t notice before. She licked up your thighs, pressing a small kiss on your clit.

“Hange, please, I can't.” You shake your head. “Yes, you can, baby. I know you can.” She licked you clean, smiling as you placed a hand over your mouth. She stood up, pressing her wet lips against yours. “Can a nerd do that?” She handed you your dress. You roll your eyes as Hange slips their shirt on. “Call me soon.” They press another kiss against your mouth, shoving their hoodie in your arms, before leaving that bathroom. You look at yourself in the mirror, realizing you needed the damn jacket. “God.” You mumbled to yourself, getting dressed.

#attack on titan #hange aot #hange x reader #hange zoë #hange zöe #snk hange #snk hanji #hanji x reader #aot hanji #hanji zoë #hanji zoe #hange zoe #hange x y/n #hange x you #hange smut #snk smut #aot smut

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eddiesfaerie · 2 years

Text

blood on your knuckles

Summary: Say it like you mean it with your fists for once. OR Your best friend puts up a fight for you. So you take him home to clean him up. (7.3k words, i swear i meant for this to be shorter) read on ao3 here

Pairing: Eddie Munson x f!reader

Warnings: NSFW, smut, angst, canon typical violence, friends to lovers, misogyny/harassment towards reader (very brief tho), hurt/comfort, drinking, alcohol, smoking, description of blood and cuts, tending to wounds, unprotected PIV sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, dirty talk, blood kink, honestly really soft sex for everything else thats going on here, soft dom!eddie, possessive + protective eddie, marking, a single use of the word daddy

A/N, he protec he attac but most importantly he break your bac <3

Having a crush on your best friend was not your proudest moment.

Watching him play at The Hideout with his band and nearly creaming your panties wasn’t too low on that list either.

In all fairness, this is the first show of his you’ve been too. Eddie told you it’d get fucking crazy, that the girls at these shows usually get fucked up and start throwing themselves at them because the bands are never as good as we are but shit, you didn’t think you’d be one of them.

You stand backstage, watching your best friend perform from the sideline while the girls in the front rows make eyes at Eddie. All you could do was giggle and squeeze your thighs together, your face growing hot whenever Eddie looked back at you and winked your way. Some of the girls could see you, some glared, some smiled. Either way you didn’t care too much. It’s not like you were his girlfriend, not like you had any reason to get jealous, to feel as possessive as you do.

But you can’t help it. It must be the lingering weed in the air, the one or two beers in your system, or the way Eddie smiles at you despite all the pretty girls smiling at him that’s making you all loopy and desperate. You can’t help how fucking hot he looks out there, shredding on his guitar and grabbing the mic stand like he wanted to shove it down his throat and fuck it right there on stage, in front of everyone.

The truth was, you’d always found Eddie attractive. You met at the beginning of the summer, only a few months ago when your new friend and coworker Robin introduced the two of you when he walked into the movie store one day. You found him very charming and cute from the moment he asked if they had Halloween, your favorite horror movie, in stock.

But now you’re friends. Just friends.

And seeing your friend play a show for a packed room of horny girls and metal guys was making something hot and syrupy twist up in your gut. A feeling you’ve been trying to ignore all summer but it was proving to be pretty damn hard tonight.

The show’s been over for a couple of minutes, the lights in the venue dim after the guys wave and thank the small crowd a few times. Eddie runs over to where you stand backstage. You can’t help the way your face lights up at the sight of him.

“So? How was that?” Eddie asks, face shiny with a thin sheen of sweat, his voice breathy, raspy and deep like you’ve never heard it. Your chest tightens, something like a girlish giggle bubbling in your throat.

You bite your lip and smile enthusiastically, nodding your head.

“Amazing, Eddie. It was fucking insane.” You smile.

Eddie engulfs you, hugging you to his chest. His scent is overwhelming, something that can only be described as boy and the cologne he sprayed on his neck and chest before leaving for the show tonight. It’s nothing but comforting.

You let him hold you, you welcome his warmth despite the hot and heavy atmosphere of the venue which nearly suffocates you. You don’t think about his bandmates that give you an odd stare, the same ones that ask you over and over if you guys are dating. The same ones you always say no to, insisting that you’re just friends.

“Knew you’d dig it.” He says proudly, his smile evident in his voice. You hum into his chest but pull away before you get lost in it, in his embrace.

“Do you guys need help packing up?” You ask meekly. You look towards the stage, most of it is packed up anyways. Eddie shakes his head.

“Nah, they’re almost done anyways.” You nod your head, looking around the venue awkwardly. Eddie reaches into his leather jacket for his pack of cigarettes. He hits one out of the pack and sticks it in his mouth.

You avoid looking at the way his brow furrows, how his full lips purse around the stick and turn to look towards the bar instead. An older man sits there, staring at you and Eddie, or perhaps just you. You make eye contact with him but he doesn’t look away so you do, unnerved by his unshakeable gaze. Okay, rude.

“Alright, let’s get you home. It’s way past your bedtime anyways.” Eddie chuckles, the cigarette between his lips now lit, smoke puffing out of his mouth after every word. You giggle as he ruffles your hair as though you were a little kid.

Eddie throws his arm over your shoulder, hauling you into his side and leading you out of the venue, towards his van. You let him guide you outside, his arm dropping from your shoulders as soon as you hit the cool night air of late summer.

However you find yourself wishing he had kept it around you as a figure emerges from the shadows.

“Pretty girl you got there.” The strange man sneers, whistling as if trying to beckon over a dog.

Eddie barely pays the guy any mind. You don’t have to turn around to know it's the guy from the bar who’s followed you outside, he’d been looking at you all night. Eddie gives the man a side glance, a silent acknowledgment that something was said to him without further engaging with the guy.

You reach Eddie’s van but the man is fast approaching, a crooked gait to his walk. You stand closer to Eddie as he searches for his keys in his jacket seemingly unhurried, not anxious about the stranger encroaching on the two of you. Eddie just sucks on his cigarette.

“She’s out of your league bro.” The man slurs.

Eddie chuckles, still not looking at the man. “Yeah well, we’re not together so I realize that, bro.”

Your heart twists in your chest. You wish Eddie would unlock his van. You wish you were alone in there together, listening to music with the late summer wind blowing through your hair and his alike.

“Not together, eh?” The guy smiles, reaching for you. His clammy hand wraps around your forearm and you jerk away from him quickly.

“Guess she’s mine for the taking…”

“Get off me-”

Eddie is so quick you can barely register what’s happened before you hear it. The first thing you notice is his half finished cigarette, falling to the pavement and burning red until it dies.

Then, the sickening crack ringing out through the quiet night, out in here in the desolate parking lot.

Eddie’s fist makes contact with the guy's jaw. The man groans, crumpling to the ground and grabbing his face. Eddie shakes his fist out, his chest heaving as he approaches the man on the floor, ready to swing again. You stand there in quiet shock, unbelieving of what you’ve just witnessed.

“Mother fucker-” The man groans.

The man gets back up, holding his jaw and smiling something twisted at Eddie, blood pooling and spilling out of his mouth thick like strawberry syrup. Your stomach churns.

The stranger moves too quickly for how hard Eddie just hit him. Before you know it, he’s hitting Eddie back square in the mouth. Eddie groans before quickly hitting the man back twice as hard. You cover your mouth as blood flies onto the dark pavement - who’s, you’re not quite sure.

The man is drunker than Eddie, so he’s able to beat him to the ground fast, until the man is curling in on himself. Eddie lands blow after blow on the man’s face, grunting with exertion as his arm comes down and down again, his silver rings unforgiving on the man’s soft body - they leave sharp imprints on his face, cutting on his cheekbone and upper lip like a knife.

Eddie suddenly stands, looming over the stranger like the reaper himself. Eddie kicks him in the back, hard. Something cracks and the man lets out an emasculating, high pitch scream and you call it, finally snapping out of whatever daze the fight had put you into. You grab Eddie’s arm and pull him away from the man.

“Oh my god, Eddie stop!”

Eddie whips around to face you, his mouth and shirt bloody. Something shines behind his marble eyes, something absolutely fucking livid and wild and unhinged.

“Y-You’re bleeding.” You point out, unable to say anything else as you take in the blood that’s splattered all over him.

Eddie blinks at you, his marbled eyes huge and watery and dark like black opal.

“Are you hurt?” He asks you, like he didn’t hear what you just said to him, like he didn’t just beat this man to a pulp who still lays there on the ground, motionless.

You pull Eddie further away from the stranger, back towards his van. He goes reluctantly.

“Eddie I’m fine, you literally just beat up a guy.”

Eddie looks around, looks back at the guy on the ground who’s crawling away now, only standing up when he gets to the curb and hobbling in the opposite direction of the two of you. Eddie smiles, spitting blood onto the asphalt and then wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, staining his milky skin crimson.

“Yeah, I guess I did.” He chuckles darkly.

You grab his hand, looking at his knuckles, at the blood coating what used to be his pristine silver rings. You can’t help that it does something to you, can’t help but clench at the fact that he did this for you. Even though you’re just friends.

“Alright, let’s get you home.” He says suddenly, like everything’s normal.

Before you can object, he's dragging you to the passenger side and lifting you into his van by underneath your arms, slamming the door shut behind you and jogging to his side. Eddie starts his van and speeds like hell out of there.

The car ride is silent, the quiet radio fills the empty silence as you can’t quite find what to say to him.

Eddie just beat up a guy for you. He beat the shit out of a guy. For you.

You try not to think about the way his bloodied knuckles grip the steering wheel, his knuckles tight and the skin scraped open as he steers you back to safety. You try not to think about his body, how it moved on stage with such elegance, such fluidity, and then how it moved while he pulverized that stranger who tried to hurt you; what was once a seductive wave had become hard, his muscles flexing differently - no longer to seduce but to do harm. How his muscles must have rippled underneath the cover of his leather jacket, how said jacket had ridden up his back, revealing the soft skin of his hips to you. As the man screamed, all you could look at was Eddie’s back, how wide, how strong he was.

He did it for you. And he had smiled.

The van jolts as Eddie parks outside your parent’s house. All the lights are off. It’s lonely and vacant and after what just went down, you’re very uncomfortable being left alone. Or more so just uncomfortable with the idea of being without him, without Eddie.

“It seems we’ve reached your castle, princess.” Eddie smiles, leaning back in his seat all too nonchalantly. You look at him with such sad eyes, filled with so many unsaid things. He can barely look at you. His jaw fucking hurts and he needs another cigarette.

“Let me clean you up.” You offer, voice quiet and soft. Crickets chirp from the trees.

Eddie hesitates before shaking his head ‘no’.

“Please, it’s the least I can do.” You beg and Eddie’s heart clenches in his chest.

“Not too sure your parents would love the idea of you inviting a boy in after midnight.” He smirks, his hand wrapping around the steering wheel again and clenching it tight. You swallow hard.

“They’re asleep. We’ll be quiet.”

Eddie smirks, enjoying the double meaning of your words. You’re his friend, you’re his friend, you’re his friend, he has to remind himself. Even if he did just beat up a guy for you. Even if he would do it a million times over if it meant you’d look at him the way you did - with so much admiration, so much security in your eyes. Like you trusted him, like you trusted him to protect you.

“I’ll give you one of my dad’s beers.” You offer up, knowing that’ll get him.

His hands do ache, they do burn with the sting of an open wound and there’s blood all over him. Eddie sighs dramatically, throwing his head back against the headrest before reaching down for his seat belt.

Eddie groans, like it pains him so. “You know me too well, sweetheart.”

A sly smile creeps up on your face and you jump out of his van too quickly, slamming the door shut behind you too loudly for how quiet you just promised you’d be.

Eddie’s never met your parents, and he would not want the first time to be tonight - when they’ve been roused from a peaceful nights sleep in the beautiful suburbs of Hawkins, when he’s bruised and battered and covered in another man’s blood from trying to protect their perfect little daughter. But the longer he thinks about it, the more and more perfect that actually sounds. He reaches down and subtly adjusts his hardening length in his pants.

He follows closely behind you as you unlock the door, barely taking in the sight of your pristine house, instead, he’s intently focused on the back of your head. He just wants to hold you, to be held by you.

You instruct Eddie to head upstairs to your room while you get him his beer from the fridge and the first aid kit from the bathroom.

He’s sat all pretty on your pink duvet covers when you get back; covered in blood and sweat from his show that feels like hours ago now. You close the door quietly behind you.

Eddie smiles at you, all lopsided and goofy and your tummy flutters. He makes grabby hands for the beer which you’ve already opened, taking a quick swig of the ice cold drink as soon as you’ve handed it to him.

“Cute room.” He tells you and he means it.

It’s fucking adorable, actually: memorabilia from your childhood everywhere, things that maybe you’ve been meaning to get rid of but can’t really because you still love them, posters on your walls, the overwhelming warm smell of girl that he can only describe as you. It’s fucking intoxicating and Eddie never wants to leave, doesn’t want to drive back to his cold dark trailer after this.

You ignore the way your face grows hot at his comment. You can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic, or being mean to you, so you say nothing.

You set the first aid kit down next to him on the bed and start assembling the things you’ll need. Rubbing alcohol, wipes, gauze, bandages… God, hopefully his skin hasn’t split so deep that he’ll need stitches.

You look down at him and realize you’re sort of standing in between his legs. And you’ll need to get even lower to tend to his hands and face properly. You swallow nervously and slowly lower yourself until you’re on your knees in front of him. Eddie watches you go down with wide eyes, taking another swig of beer to mask whatever burns inside of him. The alcohol stings the cut on his lower lip, Eddie decides to focus on that sensation instead of the one in his jeans.

“This okay?” You ask, your own voice shaking. Eddie nods his head quickly, keeping the glass bottle to his lips.

You have a brief flash of a vision, him looming over the man like he had tonight, but this time over you as he looks down at you between his legs. You feel vulnerable, yet unafraid of him. You feel small in comparison to Eddie, but you like it. You like it a lot, actually.

You blink it away, sighing quietly to yourself and begin soaking some cotton pads with rubbing alcohol, Eddie watches it all intently. You take his hand into yours and immediately press the disinfectant into his skin. Eddie hisses through clenched teeth, the knuckles on his other hand going white around the bottleneck and you pull back quickly.

“Yeah, yeah just go crazy like that, no warning or anything.” He groans, eyes squeezing shut in pain.

“Sorry, sorry I thought you were looking!” You defend, voice urgent in a quiet whisper.

He had been looking right at you, but more so at the way you’re just sat all pretty in between his legs like it was the easiest, most natural thing in the world. Like you do it all the time. You could have been sitting there doing anything and he wouldn’t have noticed you pressing literal lava into his skin, not when you looked up at him with such big eyes like that.

Shit, he’d let you do anything to him if all you did was just look at him like that.

Eddie takes another swig of beer, flicking his chin at you in a silent command to keep going. You press the pad to his skin again and his flinches less this time as you wipe away the blood from his aggressed skin.

You clean his knuckles in silence for the most part, besides quiet hisses and protests from Eddie’s end. You wipe the blood from his guitar calloused hands, you polish his rings. Your mouth waters as you hold his hand in yours, his fingers so much rougher than your own and you try to think about anything else rather than how badly you want to kiss each individual digit, each cut that ruins his hardened knuckles. You try not to think about how much rougher and stronger they’ll be once they heal.

Your windows are open, the cool night time summer breeze wafting into your room cools the both of you down from the rather hot and humid night you’ve both just had.

Both of his knuckles are nearly clean by the time you speak again.

“You look really cool there, Munson.” You tell him, a small smile pulling at your lips. An identical one creeps up on him.

“Oh really?”

“Yeah. You look pretty metal.”

Eddie’s face lights up.

“Shit, I should go beating guys up for you more often if you’re going to butter me up like this.”

You snort. “No, you definitely shouldn’t.”

Eddie grins the way he does, all wide so that his dimples pop out. He leans in close, tilting his head at you and making his hair flip a little.

“‘Kay but… you kind of liked it, didn’t you?” He asks cheekily.

You don’t respond, instead you throw the bloodied cotton pads into the trash can and look up at him, smiling at him quietly, not denying nor confirming anything.

Eddie’s nostrils flare, eyes narrowing.

“I bet you liked seeing me beat that guy up for you, liked seeing me covered in that asshole's blood.” He sneers, voice suddenly gone ragged and something like a gasp gets caught in your throat. You look away from him, refusing to indulge him in this, in the careless violence of it all.

You did like it though. You loved it so fucking much. And that was a problem. It was dangerous, reckless and he could’ve gotten seriously injured, he could have killed that guy, could’ve gotten the cops called on him if anyone from the venue saw the brawl that was going on in the parking lot -

You feel his fingers at your chin, forcing you to look at him. His eyes are dark, his lip split with a deep dark red. You realize there’s still blood on his face, you’ll have to clean that next.

“Tell me you liked it.”

“You’re drunk, Eddie.”

“You gave me one beer.” He scoffs.

“You had multiple before your show even started.” You remind him. Eddie smiles.

“M’not that drunk either way.”

You laugh a little, smiling through a scoff.

“Well I know I liked it.” He admits, his voice suddenly sounding more serious, deeper.

You roll your eyes at him but his hand finds its way to your cheek, pinching your lips softly between his thumb and pointer finger, not enough to make you pucker your lips, just enough to hold you in place. You wonder if he can feel how hot your skin is, how much you burn for him.

Eddie looks into your eyes and remembers how scared you looked when that guy touched you, when he had the audacity to grab your arm to try and pull you into him. He remembers the rage that coursed through him, spilling through his mind and just sending him flying, filled with fucking fury and his fists up. Eddie thinks he could have killed that guy then and there for putting his hands on you. Eddie thinks he would kill anyone who scared you the way that man did. He never wants to see you like that again.

“I loved it,” he says again, “and I’d do it again, and again, and again if it meant that they’d all leave you alone, if they knew you were-”

Eddie stops himself short. Stops himself from blurting something out he probably shouldn’t. Something he’d probably regret in the morning.

Too bad you’re nosey.

“If they knew I was what, Eddie?”

He swears your voice has gone up a pitch, swears you’ve gone all breathy and wide eyed as you look up at him from between his thighs on your quickly bruising knees. His cock twitches in his jeans, he’s so fucking hard he can’t believe you haven’t noticed yet.

“If they knew you were mine.”

Your breath hitches in your throat.

“A-And how would they know I was yours?”

“Sweetheart,” he says sweetly, a slight tone to his voice that was almost condescending, menacing, “I’d be all over you. I’d never leave you alone for a second.”

You hum, something filled with yearning, something restrained and you swallow it down so that you don’t moan at what he’s suggesting.

“They wouldn’t even think to come near you again. No one would touch you. Except me.” Eddie tilts your head with his hand that still holds your cheeks, moving you so he can ghost his lips along your neck. You stand up on your knees in between his thighs.

Eddie leans in closer to you, his lips hovering yours and you can practically taste the blood that’s on his mouth, the blood that flowed out of his gums when that man punched him in the face. You don’t seem to mind it anymore.

“Would you like that?”

You nod your head almost immediately. You don’t have to think about it, you don’t. Your mind practically goes blank due to the proximity of his lips to yours. You can’t think you can’t think you can’t think -

“Say it, baby.”

Baby. You nearly die on the spot. You think you do.

“Yeah, Eddie.” You respond, not even entirely sure what you’re agreeing to anymore. Eddie leans in, nudging his nose to yours and you suck in a breath.

“I-I’d like that a lot.”

“Good.” He growls. And then he’s kissing you.

His tongue is hot on your lips and you’ve let him into your mouth before you’re sitting up higher on your knees while he leans down into you. Your knees dig into the hard wooden floors of your bedroom but you can’t seem to mind with your mouth on his, whimpering pathetically like you can’t get close enough to him, like you’ve waited your whole life for this.

You have you have you have.

There’s metal in his mouth, it's thicker than water and you feel the red blood on your tongue before you’re fully aware that you’re tasting it and swallowing it down. You whimper and Eddie’s hand is hot on your throat, feeling you swallow.

You continue to kiss him hotly while your hands go to his belt, unbuckling it quickly. Eddie smiles against your mouth and you tongue at his teeth, desperate to taste all of him.

“Want you in my mouth.” You tell him, practically begging for it and Eddie groans, squeezing his eyes shut.

Eddie pays no mind to what you said, as if he had not even heard you with the loud thumping and coursing of blood through his system, loud in his ears and deafening every other sense of his besides the ones that were focused on you. Smelling you, looking at you, getting closer to you, pushing into you. His cock was raging in his jeans and although he’d love nothing more than to shove it down your tight little throat, he had to smother you, had to lay his body flat, tight against yours and get as close as he could, to assure himself that you’re okay, you’re here, you’re real, you’re his.

You’re his and he’ll take care of you. There’ll be plenty of time for you to return the favor afterwards.

You let out a pathetic squeak as you hit the bed, bouncing with the force of his throw. Eddie watches you, just as mesmerized as you are as he peels his blood soaked shirt from his body. The blood barely transferred onto his milky skin, or perhaps its dried now and has left some damp patches that’ll taste of metal on your tongue but it’s too dark in your room and he’s too covered in tattoos for you to be able to tell what’s the glistening sheen of blood versus sweat over his soft yet toned body.

Eddie lunges at you, his hands frantic and desperate as they grasp at the waistband of your cute little skirt, ripping it from your body along with your panties with so much force that you wonder how he didn’t just tear it to shreds to get to what's underneath.

He stares at you like that, just admiring you underneath him in nothing but the shirt you wore tonight that clings to your breasts, damp with your sweat from the humidity of August. You’re angelic, his own personal angel to ruin for tonight. Eddie ducks down, diving in between your thighs, mouth hot and velvety on your weeping slit and your hands are in his long hair, curling and fisting and pulling his face further into you if it were possible.

Eddie groans, his mouth just as open and wet as your pussy is, his tongue a red hot savior for you to clench and grind on as he feasts on you.

“E-Eddie, oh fuck-”

He shoves his fingers inside of you, rigid and hard and his rings are cool at the base, the same ones that cut that man’s cheek, the same fingers he was clenching into fists as he pummeled that man to the ground, the same ones you clench on now, the same ones you grind and flex your hips on, chasing what’s quickly approaching.

Eddie’s tongue goes flat against you, his fingers deep and spearing and curling against something fleshy and textured and he’s groaning as loud as you are. You cover your own mouth with the back of your hand, biting into the paper thin flesh to keep quiet, to keep from screaming his name in the middle of the night and alerting everyone in the neighborhood that your best friend was in between your thighs, making you cum.

And suddenly, like it was nothing, you were. Your back arched beautifully and your pelvis twitched against his hold on you and you were cumming on his tongue. You could feel his smile, feel the way his lips curled devilishly as he continued to flick his tongue against your clit and pump his fingers as deep as they would go, like he was reaching for your heart through your cunt. Your body spasmed, your chest heaved like you were desperate for air, like you had just been held underwater and now you were up, gasping with every fiber of your being.

Eddie did not let you rest, his surged forward and attached his mouth to yours and fed you what you gave him, the tang of girl sex strong on his tongue and you melted back into him all over again.

“So fucking good, you taste so fucking good.” He groaned into your mouth, pushing you back onto the bed, back onto your soft duvet blanket and cushiony pillows. “Could eat you forever.”

You whimper.

Eddie pulls back from you and you make a pathetic, sad little noise that has him grinning like a wolf, all too fucking pleased with how desperate you are to be near. He feels the same, but he needs to get these fucking jeans off if he’s going to do anything about your weeping cunt that flutters and winks at him, clenching around nothing at the pure thought of soon getting stuffed.

You had half undone his belt already, he does it the rest of the way, quickly undoing the zipper and shoving them down along with his boxers before flinging them across your room. And you stare at what he’s now made bare to you.

His cock hangs heavy with its own aroused weight, the tip red and leaking precum. The heavy length of him molds perfectly into his hips, his bones only protruding slightly, enough to only make him look strong, lean yet still soft. The thatch of dark hair at the base of his cock trails upwards onto his belly, just until his belly button and something carnal inside of you begs you to shove your nose, your face against it.

Your mouth waters almost too quickly, something Pavlovian about it; like you were made, trained to crave him. Like this wasn’t the first time, like you knew and were familiar with how much you’d want him, need him inside of every single hole. Made for him.

“Eddie…”

He spits into his palm, wrapping it around his cock and then smearing it across himself, pumping, once twice before he’s towering over you again. One arm by your head, the other leaving his cock momentarily to push your knee up to your chest, crushing you underneath his weight. You hold your legs there without being told to, your wet sticky cunt on what should be a shameful, embarrassing display for him but you’re so needy, so desperate for him that you couldn’t care less. Your parents could wake up and you’d still beg Eddie to fuck you despite it all.

Eddie runs the head of his cock through your glossy folds, your hips automatically twitch upwards into him and he smiles, his cheeks a furious red, his golden sweaty chest heaving with labored breath, much like your own.

“Fuck, please - please, need it so bad.”

You look up at him then, hovering above you with those big wet eyes of yours. His features are dark in the night of your room, everything around him such a contrast in aesthetic, in feel. Where your room is soft, warm and welcoming, Eddie is dark, imposing and sharp - everything should lead you to be scared of him, to be timid in this situation but you only spread your legs further, pussy desperate to suck him into your core.

Eddie notices, notices you watching him, observing him so vulnerable and he smiles, leaning down to connect your lips together in a messy ensemble the exact moment he begins to spear you open on his cock. He kisses you and your mouth parts in a broken gasp, unable to kiss back while he just settles for licking at your open lips, nibbling at the lust swollen petals.

He groans into your open mouth, letting you swallow it down, watching your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head just from the pure stretch of him breaching you for the first time. It’s a lot. He’s much bigger than you had anticipated, and you’re tighter than he had envisioned, even when he had you on his fingers - he worries briefly that he hasn’t prepared you enough, that he’s hurting you but your thighs fall open for him and your back and pelvis are arching perfectly, letting him in deeper until he swears he feels the end of you.

Eddie closes his eyes, pressing his forehead against yours and rolls his hips, drawing out, then pushing back in and shivering at the way you suck him in desperately, at the crude, wet sounds your pussy’s already making. He’s barely fucked you yet.

He was quiet in the lead up, barely able to contain himself, so focused on just getting inside of you that he could barely speak. But now that he’s got his cock wet, now that he could feel your gummy walls clenching him like a vice - all of hell’s breaking loose in his mind now.

“Fuuuucckk, fucking- pretty girl, you feel so good oh-” He moans, voice broken and hoarse and desperate as he surges his hips into yours again, his thrusts much too slow for your liking.

You anticipate his onslaught, you wait for his hips to dig into yours abusively but it never comes, he stays just like this, feeding his cock to your pussy in slow, mind numbing drags. You can hear how wet you are, you both can - the creamy drag of every inch of his cock through your body. It’s sickening.

“M-More. Harder, please.” You beg, legs going high, tightening on his waist, your arms around his back, nails threatening to pierce his taught, muscular skin.

Eddie growls, stilling his hips for a moment before continuing to push himself into you at his own pace. You whine, desperate for him, desperate for more, for him to hurt you in the way dances the line between pain and pleasure.

“I won’t break,” You pant, voice quiet and needy, “I can take it, E-Eddie. promise.”

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut as he swallows a groan, his cock reaching something deep inside of you and he curls into you, burying his face into your neck, breathing you in and willing himself not to spill himself inside of you just yet.

He can’t get close enough, he needs to be all the way inside you, he needs you to feel him in your stomach, your throat. He never wants to leave, never wants to not be inside of you again.

“Baby,” He practically whines, “c-can’t, just wanna take care of you, wanna feel you all over.”

You grumble something unannoyed, unhappy with his rejection to give you more, to fuck you dumb stupid harder. After seeing what he was capable of tonight, what he did for you - something dark and twisted had grown in your gut, had blossomed into something totally unholy and you needed him in a way you didn't think you could want a man. You want him violently, you want him rough, mean - you want him to do to you what he did to that man only with an edge of softness around his violence. You want him scary and intimidating, you want him whispering filth, near threats in your ear in between kisses and harsh thrusts of his cock inside you, the same one that was giving it to you almost luxuriously slow.

“W-What you did, Eddie- fuck, want you to be rough with me. Please, please, please.”

But Eddie meant it when he said that he can’t. After seeing you so vulnerable, so small and fragile in comparison to the world, that scary idiotic scum of a man who tried to hurt you - he couldn’t think to handle you the same way he had handled him. He won’t lie, something twists in his gut at your pure desperation for him to be rough with you, to get manhandled and roughed up around the edges all by his hand - how he usually fucks. But he can’t tonight, not this time, not with you, he can’t he can’t he can’t -

“I don’t care,” he growls suddenly, hips stuttering into your own, cock drilling into you for a near painful second and you screech before Eddie’s clamping his hand over your mouth. Oh right, you’re in your room, your parents asleep just down the hall.

“I-I don’t care how you want it. You’re going to take what I give you and daddy needs it slow right now, okay angel?”

You swear your eyes roll into the back of your head. He did not just refer to himself as-

You clench around him. Eddie groans, hands on your hips tightening their grip and you mewl for him.

The way he calls you angel is nearly menacing and you have to bite back a smile on your lips at the slip of his character. You nod your head, his hips unrelenting this whole time and you’ve nearly gone cockdrunk already. Eddie smiles, burying his head back into your neck, licking and sucking like he wants to swallow you whole and continues what he promised to do.

So Eddie fucks you how he wants. He fucks you slow, languid, like he has all the time in the world and it has tears welling in your eyes as you cling onto him for dear life. You nails anchor themselves into his muscular back, trying to root yourself here, in this reality, where you’re fucking your best friend in the middle of the night while cicadas chirp outside, and the neighbourhood is asleep, clueless to your affair.

He sucks on your neck until he swears he can taste blood seeping through your pretty skin, till you’re all marked and bruised and painted in him and he’s desperate for more, needs more but he doesn’t know how much closer to you he can get. Eddie’s already enveloped you whole, his entire body laid flat, tight against your own while his hips and cock rut desperately into your molten core.

“D-Don’t, don’t wanna stop- don’t ever wanna stop fucking you, sweetheart. Your pussy- fuck your pussy’s so fucking good, so tight around me- shit.”

You moan at his incessant babbling, his loose tongue and swollen lips promising to sink you if he doesn’t stop fucking talking like this, like he’s obsessed with you.

He is.

“Eddie- oh my god.” You break around a particularly hard thrust, the coarse hair at the base of his cock grinding against your clit and you see white, something painful and blinding building in your core.

“I would have killed him, you know?” He says suddenly and something kin to an eruption flares up inside of you. Red and burning and devastating.

I know I know I know you want to respond but you can’t because suddenly he’s fucking you harder - not faster, but rough and hard and precise like he’s trying to break through something inside of you. You swear you can feel him in your stomach.

It comes out a garbled mess, between moans, whines and hiccups. “I-I…. I know.”

Eddie hums or growls. His voice deep and raspy and booming through his chest, you can feel it vibrate through your own from how tightly pressed to you he is.

“Do you?” He asks, his voice laced with challenge and your pussy tightens around him menacingly.

“Do you know how much further I would have gone, what I would have done to him if he - fuck - if he hurt you?”

You shake your head from side to side, tears spilling down your hot cheeks and Eddie licks them away as you cry for him.

“I’d kill anyone for you, I’d fucking kill anyone who tried to hurt you like that.”

“Eddie-” You moan, but it’s no use. He’s going to make you cum.

“I promise, pretty baby, baby angel, my good girl- Jesus, I promise.”

“Eddie I’m- I’m gonna cum-”

He speeds up, gives you a sliver of what you had begged for earlier. He fucks you a little rougher and suddenly you can’t see anything, your eyes screwed shut, hands tangling themselves in his long hair and your thighs squeezing him like you’re afraid he’ll leave you.

Eddie whispers to you, “You’re so safe with me, do it baby. Fucking cum for me.”

And you cum as if on command. Your back arches like a bow into his body, you swear you would have levitated into the heavens had his body not been anchoring yours down to your bed.

Eddie feels you gush around his cock and he can’t help the smile that spreads across his face almost subconsciously, so fucking proud of you, so obsessed with the way your cunt rythmically clenches and unclenches around him, coating him in your sweet, sticky cyprine that soaks both of your thighs. Messy girl.

“Thaaat’s it, that’s a good fucking girl.” He keens, watching you as you fall apart beneath him, leaning forward and pressing kisses all over your face.

He can feel his own end nearing, the tight spasms of your cunt sending him threatening to send him into oblivion. It will, it does.

Eddie leans into you so that his chest is pressed tightly to yours, so much so that you can barely breathe in anything that’s not him. His groans rumble throughout his chest like thunder, loud and deafening and all consuming - yet utterly beautiful. He sounds beautiful like this. Completely broken for you.

His cheeks are pink, deep and rosy and soft as he smushes his face to yours, his tongue going hot into your mouth and licking into you like you’re candy.

“M’gonna cum,” he mumbles, pressing the promise into your open mouth. “Gonna cum inside of you, okay?”

You whine your assent, happy and delighted and you nod your head against his even though Eddie wasn’t really asking. There was no way in hell he wasn’t cumming inside of you tonight. He needs to feel it, needs to feel his hot spend seep into you and then gush out when he fucks it deeper. He needs to make a mess of you.

“Yeah? Gonna let me fill this pretty pussy up?”

“Uh huh,” You moan, over and over again, cock drunk and stupid and so so pretty with your eyes all glassy, Eddie thinks. So pretty with not a single thought in your head besides how good he’s making you feel.

His hips speed upas he pistons his cock into three, four, five more times and he’s cumming so fucking hard, impossibly deep inside you. You can practically feel him filling you up to the brim, can feel it gush out around his cock and onto both of your thighs, your ass and your mattress underneath you.

Eddie quivers, he groans and nearly growls deep in his chest, so much so that it reverberates through you and you cling to him impossibly tight, with your pussy and arms like he could vanish from you at any second - like you need him bound to you.

You whine as you feel his cum leak onto your thighs, the sticky squelch of it as he pushes it deeper.

“O-Oh my god.” You cry, overstimulation an oncoming threat.

Eddie just laughs, a bit breathless and exhausted.

He collapses onto your chest. You hold him there, your hands immediately tangling themselves in his sweaty hair. Fuck he smells good, how does he still smell so good after that. Cheap cologne, blood and sweat and metal. It’s intoxicating.

You both stay like that for a while, maybe an hour. You can’t tell, lost in the way his ragged breathing slows to a crawl, soft like a kitten’s, fanning over your bare chest. His hands are at your sides, gripping you just as tightly as you grip him.

Eddie still has his rings on. His knuckles have split open again and you’ll need to clean your sheets. The blood had seeped from his knuckles down to his rings, the rings that leave imprints in your skin as he digs his nails into you - so you can be bound to each other.

#eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #reader insert #eddie munson x you #smut #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #my writing

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bultaoreunheyyy · 25 days

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It’s not a mountain, it’s a butte (1/2)

Title: It’s not a mountain, it’s a butte (1/2)

Word Count: 5451

Summary: Jungkook loves hiking. He absolutely loves being in nature– even if nature does not love him back. And today, on a very rare occasion, all six of his best friends are joining him for a short hike that he’s been planning for months. It does not go quite as planned.

Sickie: Jungkook (snz, allergies, asthma)

Caretakers: OT7

A/N: This got a bit long, so I split it into 3 chapters. I'll probably post the other chapters sometime next week. This first one is the main story and fulfills this request, but I couldn't resists adding on the aftermath of Jungkook's allergy/asthma attack and the aftercare and then the after after care of the next day too, lol. Also, this is completely unedited and likely full of typos and grammatical errors per usual.

Jungkook lowkey hates springtime.

Overall, spring is actually his second favorite season because of the milder temperatures. His first favorite season by far is winter, because hot weather sucks and cold weather is where he belongs to his very core.

Spring, however, usually means allergies. Lots and lots of allergies. Itchy, sniffly, sneezy allergies. Jungkook’s body unfortunately did not get the memo that other bodies get and so on top of allergies, he also has asthma, which of course is always the worst for him in the springtime.

On this particular spring Saturday morning, he wakes up with puffy eyes and a stuffy nose. It’s pretty typical for this time of year, and he’s usually not so cheerful upon waking when he has to immediately sneeze before he even fully has his eyes open, but this morning he doesn’t give a shit because it’s hiking day.

Jungkook loves hiking.

He absolutely loves being in nature– even if nature does not love him back. And today, on a very rare occasion, all six of his best friends are joining him for a short hike that he’s been planning for months. He’s very excited for hiking day.

With a mildly irritated sigh, Jungkook pulls the comforter completely over his head, sneezes six times in a row, and sniffs sharply to chase away the tickle that will be returning as soon as he lets his guard down and then remain in his sinuses for the rest of the day.

When he resurfaces he finds two faces staring down at him.

“Morning,” he says with a cheerful smile and a soft sniffle.

“Good morning, and bless you!” Jimin responds.

“Good morning!” Taehyung says. “We thought we would have to wake you up.”

“Nope!” Jungkook replies. He cups a hand over his mouth and nose and sneezes once more, his whole body shaking. “I’m up. It’s hiking day!” He pauses, hand still over his lower face, anticipating another sneeze that never comes. After a minute he shakes his head and scrubs hard at his nose with a sleepy, irritated groan.

Both Jimin and Taehyung, looking more than half-asleep themselves, lean down at the same time– Jimin on his left and Taehyung on his right– to pat him on the chest sympathetically.

“Don’t forget to take your allergy pill,” Jimin reminds him. “Did you pack your inhaler last night?”

Jungkook glances towards his nightstand where his inhaler is. “Yep.”

Taehyung pokes him in the belly. “Well, get up, then. You made us all wake up at the asscrack of dawn so this better be worth it. Let’s go hike your mountain.”

“It’s a butte,” Jungkook corrects him, but Taehyung is already leaving the room, yawning so widely his jaw cracks.

“I need coffee,” Jimin says, also yawning, and he trails behind Taehyung.

Despite his excitement, Jungkook is the last to be ready, and when he gets to the living room everyone else is lounging about.

“Let’s go!” He practically shouts, urging them all out the door. “It’s hiking day!”

“Does the whole street have to know?” Yoongi grumbles, making a face as Jungkook pushes a set of keys into his palm. Even though he’s making a show of being grumpy, he’s the only one Jungkook trusts besides himself to drive at such an early hour.

The seven of them take two cars to the trail, arriving before the sun rises. There’s a slight chill to the morning air, but the skies are clear and it’s already the start of a beautiful day weather wise.

Jungkook gets out of the car and reaches his arms up high above his head, leaning to one side and then the other and moaning loudly at the stretch. He’s wearing tight black spandex shorts and a black hoodie that’s halfway to being a crop top, and Taehyung pokes at his exposed stomach with a smirk.

“We might see some deer if we’re quiet enough,” Jungkook announces, ignoring Taehyung. He pulls a camera from his backpack and hangs the strap around his neck. After he shoulders his backpack, he turns towards the trailhead. “Ahhh,” he says with a noisy exhale that he follows with a long, deep breath in through his nose. “Smell that? That’s the beautiful smell of nature.”

He sneezes immediately afterwards.

“Bless you,” Hoseok and Namjoon say in unison.

“Did you take your allergy pill?” Yoongi asks.

“I take it every morning,” Jungkook responds. “Did you take your brain pill?”

Yoongi flips him off and mimics, “I take it every morning.”

“Only because I have to remind you,” Seokjin mutters under his breath.

Taehyung yawns and plasters himself against Jimin’s back, snaking his arms around his waist and tucking his hands into Jimin’s hoodie pocket. “I can only smell Jimin’s coffee breath.”

Jimin, still half asleep, only pouts.

Jungkook sneezes, again.

“Bless you,” Hoseok and Namjoon say in unison, again.

“Doesn’t seem like you took your allergy pill,” Yoongi grumbles. “At least tell me you brought your inhaler.”

Ignoring him, Jungkook bends down to check that his black hiking boots are laced up properly. He adjusts his backpack, stretches his calves for all of ten seconds, and straightens his posture.

“Let’s hike this butte,” he says cheerfully, and then he takes off at a light jog, disappearing down the trail and leaving them all behind.

When they catch up to him, Jungkook has his camera raised to his face and he’s squatting by the base of a pine tree, looking at the ground.

“What are you taking a picture of?” Taehyung wonders. “A worm?”

“Caterpillar,” Jungkook murmurs. “See? Right there.”

Taehyung pats him on the shoulder in a way that indicates that he does not in fact see the caterpillar. “It’s a very nice caterpillar,” he says anyway.

The hike Jungkook has chosen isn’t too long nor too strenuous of a hike– only 7 kilometers or so of a well established trail– and they get a beautiful view of the sun rising when they start their hike in earnest, climbing up the east side of the butte.

Although he’d started off at a fast pace, Jungkook isn’t feeling particularly competitive today, and because he has his camera he chooses to take his time watching wildlife and taking pictures of every bird and plant he sees along the way.

Namjoon leads the group instead, long legs carrying him far very quickly. Jimin has the shortest stride but he’s the second most competitive of the group behind Jungkook, and so he falls into pace right next to Namjoon. Taehyung, Yoongi and Hoseok stay in the middle of the pack, their pace a bit more average.

Seokjin falls back and keeps Jungkook company in the rear. He watches fondly as Jungkook gushes over the beauty in nature and patiently listens when Jungkook explains the different species of birds they see on the trail.

“Do you think we’ll see any deer?” Jungkook asks Seokjin, scanning the hillside hopefully.

“Maybe,” Seokjin replies. “Are there usually deer on this mountain?”

“It’s not a mountain,” Jungkook whispers as a curious chipmunk peeks out at them from behind a fern. “It’s a butte.”

Jungkook and Seokjin continue up the steepest part of the path until it evens out in elevation, stopping every so often so Jungkook can take his pictures, and they’re the last to reach the summit. There’s a small lookout with a view of the surrounding mountains and the other five are all crammed onto the one single bench there, eating snacks.

“Look,” Hoseok says around a mouthful of trail mix. He points at the ground where Jungkook and Seokjin are standing. “There’s a compass on the ground. It shows what mountains are in the distance, too.”

Jungkook already knows this. He’s been up hiking here before. He’s about to look down at it when Seokjin covers his eyes from behind.

“Guess which way is north?” he says, chuckling in Jungkook’s ear.

“Fuck off,” he says, shrugging Seokjin off, because he’s shit at directions and has absolutely no idea which direction north is.

Hoseok and Jimin nearly fall off the bench from laughing so hard.

Jungkook flips them off and then walks to the lookout point, cheeks flushed in sudden embarrassment. He lifts his camera to hide his face and marvels at the beautiful early morning view. He can hear Seokjin join the others on the bench– if Yoongi’s complaints of getting squished are anything to go off– and he can’t stay mad for long when he hears their chatter and joyful laughter.

He turns and snaps a picture just as Seokjin is shoving a massive handful of trail mix into his mouth.

“That’s hot,” he smirks, and this time Seokjin is flipping him off.

They stay up at the summit for about fifteen minutes before Jungkook is itching to get moving again. He takes a long drink from his water bottle and shoves it back into his backpack. Even though it’s still a bit chilly, he peels off his hoodie and ties it around his waist, snaps one more picture of the group sitting on the bench, and then starts the descent knowing they’ll all follow quickly once they realize he’s leaving.

Jungkook smiles when he remembers there’s a meadow just on the other side, full of beautiful wildflowers that he can’t wait to photograph. Sure enough, he doesn’t have to go very far down the trail before he spots the colorful field ahead of him.

“Hey,” Seokjin says, catching up to him. “Wait up!”

“Fuck off,” Jungkook mumbles, but there’s no real heat behind it.

He hears Seokjin’s pace quicken behind him and slows down a little. His eyes are starting to itch and he scrunches up his face, trying not to rub at them. His nose is starting to itch, too.

Seokjin peers at Jungkook, taking in the irritation he can see on his face. “Oh, come on,” he says. “I was just teasing about the direction thing. Don’t be grumpy with me.”

“I’m not grumpy.” Jungkook gives in and digs his fist into his eye.

“Okay,” Seokjin says, sounding unconvinced.

Jungkook rubs at his nose, and then sniffles, and then nearly stumbles a step when his nose prickles sharply, bringing a few tears to his eyes.

And then he sneezes.

It’s not just any sneeze. It’s harsh, quick and forceful and so itchy sounding that Seokjin winces.

“Oh, shit,” he murmurs. “You okay?”

Jungkook doesn’t respond. He’s bent at the waist, sneezing again. The irritation makes him cough afterward, and he feels Seokjin’s hand on his upper arm, like he’s getting ready to steady him if needed.

When he straightens, his eyes and nose are streaming and his eyes are still itchy as fuck.

“You okay?” Seokjin repeats. He’s biting his lower lip.

Jungkook rubs at his eyes with his fists. “Yep. I’m fine.”

At this point, the others have caught up to them.

“Was that Jungkook sneezing?” Jimin asks, pulling a small packet of tissues from his pocket of his sweatpants. “Here.”

Jungkook accepts the tissues, but he doesn’t have time to get one out before he has to sneeze again, another harsh expulsion that has him bending at the waist.

Jimin rolls his eyes in amusement and takes the unused tissue pack back, opening the plastic and pulling several tissues out before passing them to Jungkook. They all know by the sound that it’s not just a regular sneeze– it’s very clearly the start of an allergy attack. Jungkook thinks about how often they all like to comment on his sneezing, which apparently sounds different depending on what’s making him sneeze. To him, it all just sounds like sneezing. Instead of going off the sound, he goes off the feeling, and the current feeling is an unbearably itchy allergy attack that’s going to have him sneezing his head off for the rest of the hike, probably.

Fuck springtime.

While Jungkook blows his nose, Yoongi digs through his backpack and locates Jungkook’s epi pen, extra inhaler, allergy medication and more tissues.

“Holy shit, Yoongi,” Jungkook laughs. He scrubs the wad of tissues in his hand under his nose back and forth several times until the undersides of his nostrils are bright pink. “I actually did my meds this morning.”

“When are you due for more?”

“I’m fine.” Jungkook says instead of answering. He tucks the used tissues into his pocket. “I can breathe. I’m just a little itchy.”

Hoseok watches him rubbing his eyes again with a frown. “Yeah, we can see that. Quit rubbing your face.”

Jungkook sneezes again and does not quit rubbing his face.

Namjoon sighs and pats his shoulder. “Why did you plan your hike by all these flowers?” He asks, gesturing at the meadow. “There are so many. Damn.”

Jungkook starts to answer, but he’s hit with another sharp prickle in his sinuses. He holds up a finger, sucks in a massive breath, and then sneezes loudly four times in a row.

“Uh, pretty sure you just scared all the deer away,” Seokjin teases, smiling a little before going back to chewing on his bottom lip.

Jimin pulls more tissues out of the pack and hands them to Jungkook. “Bless you!”

“Jimin, you’re a lifesaver with these tissues,” Jungkook says with a sniffle. His nose is drippy now and he can feel the next sneeze approaching fast. “C’mon, let’s start heading back to the car. There might be deer closer to the trailhead.”

“Wait! Don’t you want to take a moment and–”

Whatever Yoongi’s saying, Jungkook doesn’t catch the end of it. He’s scanning the meadow for deer and wondering how close he can get to the pretty wildflowers without throwing himself into an asthma attack on top of everything. He might already be heading for an asthma attack, with the way his chest is starting to feel, but they’re already halfway through the short hike and he has his own inhaler in his backpack in addition to the one Yoongi apparently thought to bring along.

In the end, he decides to take pictures of the flowers as he walks and doesn’t stray from the trail even an inch. Namjoon and Seokjin take the lead once they catch up, but they don’t let themselves get too far ahead, and Jungkook notices them glancing back over their shoulders every time he sneezes.

Jimin, his sweet angel of a friend, sticks close and keeps handing him tissues. Hoseok blesses him from behind so frequently that eventually, Jungkook stops and turns around.

“Seok,” he says, and wow he sounds like shit. He clears his throat and holds up a tissue. “You don’t have to say bless you every single time.”

Hoseok blushes. “Sorry. It’s just a habit.”

Jungkook rips the tissue in half and shoves one half up his right nostril, then the other half up his left. “There,” he says, sounding even more stuffed-up and ridiculous. “This will hold off the sneezing for a bit.”

Yoongi raises an eyebrow skeptically but doesn’t say anything.

“That’s…kind of gross, but okay,” Jimin tells him. He stays close by with tissues at the ready anyway.

They all start walking again. The tissue stuffed up his nose does keep the sneezing at bay, but only for about ten minutes. In that time, they descend past the meadow and get back to the treeline, where Jungkook spots a woodpecker and spends a good few minutes photographing it.

“That’s a nice bird,” Taehyung says, reaching up to thread his fingers through the hair at Jungkook’s nape. “You sure you can breathe okay like that?”

Jungkook sniffs hard in response, which turns out to be a mistake since there’s still a half a tissue stuffed up each of his nostrils. The intake of air pulls the tissues further up his nose and sets off an intense tickle that makes him snort and then cough.

It’s not his smartest moment.

He reaches up and tugs the pieces of tissue out of his nose, and he’s pretty sure Jimin gags next to him at the sight, but he doesn’t really hear him because doing so only makes the tickle so, so much worse. He finds himself suddenly trapped in between sneezing and not sneezing, his lungs forcing him to suck in air and his nose twitching in irritation but not quite completing the job. It’s torturous and it lasts for what feels like hours, but in reality is probably only twelve seconds before he hears the crinkle of plastic next to his ear.

“Try blowing your nose,” Jimin suggests, and Jungkook forces his eyes open so he can see. He takes the tissue that Jimin’s offering and cups it over his nose.

“Jungkook,” he hears Jimin say after a moment. “You gotta try blowing your nose. Or sneeze, or something.”

He’s vaguely aware that he’s still standing there in sneezy limbo, mouth wide open and nostrils flaring, but he can’t do anything because his sinuses are on fire and his breath keeps catching with nowhere to go and the tickle is spreading to the back of his throat and he’s still not sneezing.

He feels something swipe beneath his eyes to catch the irritated tears– Jimin’s fingers– and then a hand covers his hand around the tissue and squeezes lightly.

As soon as the air is cut off to his nostrils, Jungkook sighs in relief, the tension draining from his body, and as soon as Jimin lets go of his hand, he sneezes explosively.

“Bless you!” Hoseok chirps.

“Bless you,” Jimin says. He passes another tissue over.

“Fuck, shit,” Jungkook grunts out, coughing a few times.

Taehyung squeezes the back of his neck.

Hoseok and Yoongi are looking at each other, communicating silently with each other in their own secret language that only they speak, but that Jungkook can understand perfectly– they’re debating whether or not to ask him if he wants to take his inhaler. Jungkook can tell by the way they’re staring into each other's eyes and frowning, and also by the way that Yoongi is cradling Jungkook’s inhaler in his palm.

“So, that sucked,” Jungkook croaks out. He coughs a few more times. “Please never let me put tissues up my nose again.”

“Gladly,” Jimin responds with a grimace.

“Let’s go,” Jungkook says, rubbing his eyes as he starts walking down the trail again. “I don’t want Joon and Seokjin to see a deer without me.”

“That would be tragic,” Taehyung agrees, following behind.

Jungkook’s sinuses and lungs are starting to ache, and his eyes are so itchy he can’t keep himself from rubbing at them every minute or so, but he’s still in good spirits as they take a switchback and finally get the final, glorious view for the last part of their hike.

Jungkook lifts his camera and snaps about ten pictures. He uses his viewfinder to spot Namjoon and Seokjin below, not too far ahead of them on the trail, and takes a picture of them too.

Taehyung, Jimin, Hoseok and Yoongi stop behind him as he takes pictures and drink from their water bottles.

“Why does going downhill hurt my knees so much?” Yoongi complains.

“It’s because you’re old,” Taehyung retorts.

Hoseok and Jimin fall into each other with laughter, and Jungkook shushes them. “Shh, you’ll scare the deer away!”

It doesn’t matter how loud they’re laughing, though, because in the next moment a tickle flares in Jungkook’s sinuses and he has to sneeze. The sneeze rings out through the air, and it’s followed by a second sneeze, and then a third, the itch spreading again in a way that only his allergies can do. He reaches up and scrubs hard at his nose, but it does nothing to stop the tickle nor the resulting sneezes, one right after the other without much of a chance to breathe in between.

“Bless you,” Hoseok says after about seven or eight sneezes.

Jungkook shakes his head, swipes the back of his hand over his streaming eyes, and then cups both hands over his mouth and nose and keeps on sneezing. He sneezes so many times in a row that he grows dizzy, head spinning when he tries to open his eyes. He instinctively reaches out and grabs on to the thing nearest to him, which happens to be Jimin’s arm.

“Woah, Kook–? What’s wrong?”

Jungkook can only dig his fingers into Jimin’s arm as another fit of sneezes takes him over.

“Sit down for a sec,” Hoseok says in his ear, helping to guide him to the ground as he sniffles and blinks against the spots in his vision.

Once he’s sitting on the ground, he feels Jimin take his hand, press a handful of tissues against his palm, and then help lift his arm back up to his face.

“Blow,” he says, waiting until Jungkook gets the tissues to his nose before he reaches over and slides Jungkook’s backpack off his shoulders for him.

Jungkook sneezes into his wad of tissues. And sneezes some more. And then sneezes about ten more times for good measure, and not a single sneeze does anything to relieve the maddening tickle in the back of his nose and throat. He pauses to suck in a greedy breath of air, cough harshly, and then sneezes twice more before he can finally stop. The tissues in his hand are soaked through and are practically useless by the time he tries to blow his nose, but he does it anyway, snorting air out of his nostrils forcefully and shuddering at the awful, raw feeling he always has post sneezing fit.

“Bless you!” Jimin and Hoseok exclaim at the same time as soon as it’s apparent that Jungkook is done sneezing for the time being.

Seokjin and Namjoon are squatting down in front of him.

“You’re both going to get permanent wrinkles from frowning so hard,” Jungkook tells them. His voice is nearly gone.

Seokjin heaves a deep sigh and stands up. He offers a hand out to Jungkook, helping him up off the ground. Jungkook hops up and brushes the dirt off his ass, then turns to Jimin.

“Please tell me there are more tissues.”

Jimin holds up another unopened pack of tissues. “So many more tissues. Take all you need.”

Jungkook grabs his backpack from the ground and opens the front pocket so he can shove all the used tissues inside, emptying out his pockets as well. He finishes off the rest of his water, shoulders his backpack, and gratefully takes the pack of tissues from Jimin.

“Need your inhaler before we keep going?” Yoongi asks. He cups a hand under Jungkook’s chin and gently tilts his head back, eyes narrowed as he inspects the puffiness around his eyes and nose.

“Your nose is so red,” Taehyung comments, poking the tip of Jungkook’s nose with a grin.

Jungkook squirms under their gaze.

“I’m fine,” he says hoarsely.

Taehyung reaches over and pulls the collar of Jungkook’s t-shirt from his neck.

“I’m not going to get a rash!” He nudges Taehyung’s hand away just in time to get his own hand up to his face, sneezing against the back of his wrist once. “I’m really fine,” he tries to reassure everyone, even as his breath hitches in preparation for yet another sneeze. “Honestly, I’m just really sneezy right now.”

“You’re sneezier than I’ve ever seen you before,” Seokjin agrees.

“I hope I didn’t scare all the deer away,” Jungkook pouts.

Hoseok hooks his arm through Jungkook’s and gives him an optimistic smile. “If you did, we’ll just come back some other time.”

They start walking again, this time sticking together as a group. Jungkook carries his own tissues this time, though his sneezes have gotten smaller and stuffier and he stops trying to cover them up after a while. Soon, he’ll be too stuffed up to sneeze properly and it will hurt– he can already feel his sinuses throbbing.

He has to stop walking again not five minutes later, annoyed about having to pause every three steps to sneeze. Despite the increase in frequency of sneezes, he’s getting very little relief from sneezing so much– his whole face just feels too itchy and he knows it’s only going to keep growing worse until he can get back home and shower. After a fit of sneezes that lasts too long for him to count, making him have to stop on the trail for a good several minutes, he turns to Yoongi.

“You happen to have eye drops in that bag?”

Yoongi does in fact have eye drops, and Jungkook takes the bottle as fast as he can because Yoongi looks like he’s a second away from putting them in Jungkook’s eyes himself. After, he unzips his own backpack and pulls out his inhaler to take a hit.

“Preventative measure,” he croaks out before Yoongi can say anything.

Suddenly, Taehyung gasps and they all startle.

“What?” Hoseok squeaks.

Taeyhung is pointing just over Jungkook’s shoulder. “Kook, look at that butterfly!”

Jungkook turns and looks to where Taehyung is pointing, a grin spreading over his entire face when he sees one of the biggest monarch butterflies he’s even seen before, fluttering so close he could probably reach out and touch it. He lifts his camera, snaps a couple of pictures, and then turns to Taehyung.

“Good spot!”

Taehyung puffs up his chest, proud of himself.

Jungkook’s nose twitches. His smile fades, his breath hitching erratically. “Fuck,” he pants out breathlessly before sneezing harshly. When he looks up, six mouths are frowning at him. “Sorry,” he rasps, suddenly feeling upset. “I don’t…” He trails off, unsure of what to say, but Yoongi immediately grabs his hand.

“No apologizing,” he says firmly. “Let’s get you back to the car, hm? Do you want Namjoon to give you a piggyback ride?”

“Hey!” Namjoon protests halfheartedly. “I didn’t agree to that.”

“I would take up that offer in a second if there wasn’t the risk of me sneezing in your hair the whole way back,” Jungkook chuckles.

“I appreciate that,” Namjoon says with a grin.

As soon as the parking lot is in view, Jungkook launches into another seemingly endless sneezing fit.

He stifles each sneeze into his hand, trying to hold them back as best as he can so they can make it back to the cars. It’s a difficult feat– his sneezes, especially his allergy sneezes, are strong and not at all easy to contain– but it makes it so he can keep walking and sneeze at the same time. One of the downsides, however, is that as soon as he starts stifling, he also starts to wheeze slightly, and it only takes a couple of minutes for everyone else to hear it.

“No, no,” Yoongi scolds when he realizes what Jungkook is doing. “Do not hold them back like that. Shit, Kookie, what are you thinking?” Then, a little softer, he adds knowingly, “Really, just let them out, baby. We’ll help you get back to the car.”

Jungkook raises an eyebrow at the pet name, but doesn’t say anything.

He feels Namjoon cup the back of his neck. “We’re almost there, Koo.”

Jungkook slows his pace just a little. Now his friends are breaking out the pet names and the gentle touches, which means they are officially worried about him and they’re going to be openly babying him like they’ve been wanting to this entire time.

Not that he cares, in this moment, because now that he’s not allowed to hold back his sneezing, he has to fully stop walking every time he sneezes.

One step. A harsh, ticklish sneeze that sucks the energy out of him and makes his eyes water. And before he’s taking the next step, he’s already building up to the next sneeze, sucking a trembling breath in, in, in– before he explodes. And then it repeats.

Jungkook feels a soft grip on his upper arm. Jimin is on his right and Hoseok is on his left, and at first they’re just trying to gently guide him along, but he’s sneezing so helplessly that eventually they each hook and arm through his elbows, and start nudging him a little more firmly down the trail. He trusts them to get him back to the car and not let him trip.

“Here, love,” Jimin says, holding a tissue to his nose for him.

Another pet name. Jungkook feels his face heat up. His nose is running profusely, though, so he doesn’t really have room to refuse the help.

“Don’t know why I can’t stop sneezing,” he mumbles congestedly, his breath rushing out in a wheezy exhale before he promptly sneezes again.

Jimin and Hoseok guide him to a bench near the trailhead to sit down, even though they can literally see their cars from the spot. Jungkook slumps against whoever is sitting next to him– Hoseok, he’s pretty sure, and closes his eyes tiredly.

“Poor thing,” Taehyung murmurs. “You sound so miserable and itchy.”

“Should we try to let him ride out the sneezing first?” He hears Seokjin say. “It seems like it’s slowing down, right?”

Namjoon voices his agreement and Jungkook hopes he’s right, because he honestly can’t tell at this point.

Yoongi keeps a hand on his back, rubbing lightly between his shoulder blades, standing behind the bench. Jimin sits to his right and holds tissues for him, which would embarrass Jungkook on most days, but in this moment he tolerates simply because he’s so fucking itchy and he can hardly see past the irritated tears that won’t quit– not to mention the fact that his nose is a drippy faucet now.

Hoseok sits to his left and keeps a grounding hand on his thigh, allowing Jungkook to lean on him. The others hover and give him sips of water every so often, petting his hair and squeezing his shoulders, offering encouragement after every sneeze.

Jungkook does eventually slow down on the sneezing, enough that he can actually tell he’s slowing down, but as the sneezing dies down a growing sense of irritation and embarrassment replace it.

He also might be the tiniest bit grumpy, because hiking day did not go as he planned at all.

Fuck springtime.

He huffs out a wheezy breath. “Sorry I ruined the hike,” he rasps, crossing his arms and frowning.

Yoongi holds his inhaler out. “What did I say about apologizing?”

Jungkook snatches the tissues that Jimin is holding and pulls several out of the pack, pressing the bundle to his nose. He stifles a tired sneeze, coughs, and then closes his eyes. “Well. I’m still sorry.”

“Come here, baby,” Hoseok says, wrapping his arm around Jungkook’s shoulder, and Jungkook lets himself be tugged against his chest.

He feels tears welling up in his eyes and keeps them squeezed shut, not willing to let them fall. He jams the tissues under his nose, stifles two more sneezes, and then pinches his nose shut so no more can escape.

Jungkook, not at all pouting and definitely not crying, rests his head on Hoseok’s chest and only his stuffy breathing fills the still-early morning air. For a moment, they’re all quiet, listening to Jungkook breathe. As soon as he feels like he has his tears under control, Jungkook squints one eye open, glancing between everyone to get a read on their expressions, and feeling relief when he doesn’t see any disappointment on any of their faces. He blinks a few times to clear any remaining tears, looks towards the parking lot to determine how much farther they have left to go, and then freezes.

Suddenly, Jungkook snorts, which results in a soft sneeze, and then full-on giggles, because he absolutely cannot believe his eyes.

“What?” Namjoon asks, whipping his head around to look at Jungkook.

“Are you laughing?”

“Kookie, baby, are you okay?”

They follow his finger when he points away from them and see a deer in the distance, standing so still it looks fake, staring directly at them.

“See? I didn’t scare all the deer away,” he croaks out.

“The fuck, Jungkook?” Seokjin yells. “Don’t joke about deer at a time like this!”

Jungkook stands and coughs hoarsely into his fist. The deer is still unmoving despite Seokjin’s loud voice, but he wants to get a picture of it before it runs away. He raises his camera, snaps a picture, and then lets his camera fall back against his chest just in time to cup both hands over his mouth and nose and sneeze mightily.

The deer bolts. Jungkook swipes his wrist under his nose and turns to Seokjin.

“At a time like what?”

With that, Jungkook turns and strolls back toward the cars, leaving his friends in stunned silence behind him.

Read Chapter 2 HERE

#chaptered fic #bts sickfic #sickfic #bts snz #sick jungkook #allergic jungkook #allergy fic #asthma fic #jungkook snz #bts hurt/comfort #hurt/comfort #caretaker seokjin #caretaker yoongi #caretaker jimin #caretaker taehyung #caretaker namjoon #caretaker hoseok

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nevieatiny · 2 months

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Chasing Shadows in Water

Part 3

Ex!Mingi x Reader/ Reader x San

Summary: You had the hottest boyfriend in campus, handsome, captain of the swimming team, tall, but when he takes you for granted you decide to take a break from relationships, winter break helps to recover and focus on yourself again, but what happens when a new student shows up as a christmas miracle, you swore not to get distracted by a boy gain, but maybe life is giving you a new chance and things do happen for a reason.

Word count: 903

Genre: Angst / fluff

note: IM BACKKKKKKKK, i had a writer's block for a while, but i hope i can continue with the series bc im super excited for the next parts, hope you enjoy <3

to say he was feeling like shit was an understatement, and yunho could tell right away, Mingi came into the apartment that night as pale as a ghost, when Yunho asked him if he was ok he just nodded and laid on his bed without saying a word, he's known Mingi long enough to know that he was not the best at expressing his feelings and the best thing he could do in this cases was to give him space to process whatever happened to him and wait for him to talk first

"I'm going to the convenience store, you want something?" Yunho asked while picking his wallet and jacket, he could hear mingi moving around in his bed, and before heading out the only thing he could see was his friend (or what seemed like his friend) buried in his sheets.

He knew how dramatic Mingi could be at times, but the thought of you breaking up with him never crossed his mind, he thought that you just had a fight, he could see that coming weeks ago when he himself had to sit and talk with his friend and remind him that yes, he might be new to the dating world and he seemed happy, but dating also comes with responsibilities, after noticing that he was not showing up to your performances claiming that "Y/n said it was fine ,don't worry about it" for more that 3 months in a row and sadly being in the middle of his best friends relationship he constantly heard about how he stood you up for dates, so yeah, he could see this coming in a way.

However, when he came back and saw his friend crying his eyes out like never before he knew that he had to intervene, he sat right beside him trying his best to calm him down and to get him to formulate a complete sentence instead of just mumbling a few words, in that moment he saw his old friend, that was the kid he meet on highschool, insecure, afraid to be alone and the one who would constantly try to be liked by everyone, if you weren't friends he would probably hate you for the state you left his friend in, but knowing the whole situation was way more difficult than just find someone to blame and hate

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

after the break up you had to continue with your normal life, what else would you do? the sad thing was that you were feeling good as usual, as if nothing happened before to the point where you felt guilty, didn't you love him that much?, yes, yes you did, but sadly you got used to not being with him after a few months when YOU stoped waiting and YOU stoped asking for attention, it felt like you actually broke up months ago.

That does not mean that it didn't hurt, a few times a day you found yourself checking your phone, waiting for a call at night, or even heading to the pool after class as if it was the most normal thing in the world, you just had to endure one more week before winter break.

things started to get awkward between you and Yunho, you knew you were friends, but he was Mingi's best friend first, and even if you talked about the situation and he made sure to let you know that he understood why you made that choice you couldn't help but feel like he kinda hold grudge against you, which made things even more awkward for the dance team, the two of you being the ones who would bring the team together avoiding each other out of nowhere was hard to watch, that was the longest week of your life, and you felt sorry for your teammates, at some point it felt like this was all your fault, but they didn't knew what you had to go through to take that decision, and even if you enjoyed their company you knew better that telling your relationship problems to everyone

Mingi himself tried to call you a few times but you didn't answer, you knew it was a bad idea and that it would probably make you feel even more guilty.

So as winter break started you took your things and ran away to your home town as if someone was chasing you, thankfully he didn't showed up at your apartment that week, your vulnerable state would've probably betrayed you if he did.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

once you arrived at your parents house you went directly to your bed room and slept for long hours during the whole day, even at night you still felt sleepy enough to continue, even if you had a good relationship with your parents you never told them about mingi or anything related to your love life, so for them their daughter was just exhausted due to this past semester.

You honestly felt like being there all day would affect you even more, but putting you brain on airplane mode did wonders, you even went for walk one morning, it never happened again because you almost froze to death that time, but it felt good knowing that you started to feel even more motivated and well rested every day, and ever since then the guilt started to faint, because why the hell would it be your fault whatever Mingi choose to do.

#ateez #ateez au #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #ateez imagines #ateez fluff #ateez imagine #ateez angst #ateez mingi #ateez san #ateez series #ateez choi san #ateez song mingi

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pawnshopbleus · 10 months

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Put Me in a Movie - Chapter Two

Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

Summary - You’re a famous actress and he’s one of the greatest directors of all time. What happens when you get cast in his new movie?

Chapter One

There was nothing essential to do right now. You had the opportunity to lounge around in your house so you took it. Later, you would have to get ready for an event you were invited to. You loved dressing up and attending events. They made you feel like an important person, but you loved being comfortable even more.

You stayed in bed thirty minutes after waking up just scrolling through Instagram and TikTok. The edits fans made of you on red carpets or in movies always warmed your heart. You remember being one of those fangirls and how much getting recognized by one of your idols would mean to you.

Stella called you about five minutes after you got up to use the bathroom. She was calling to tell you that she has more information. You were going to play a Russian spy that falls in love with an American soldier during world war two. “And you’re getting paid a million dollars upfront as well as one percent of the total box office revenue. You are one lucky son of a bitch,” Stella laughed.

“Stella, you know I don’t like it when you say stuff like that,” you playfully scold your agent over the phone.

“Sorry, but it’s true. Anyways, you have a table ready to do tomorrow so please don’t get shit-faced at the event tonight. I know you like to party, but we can’t have another New York Fashion Week incident,” Stella remarked.

You were invited to New York Fashion Week two years ago and were never invited back. At the after-parties, you had one too many drinks, and the next thing you know, photos of you sleeping on the sidewalk were all over social media. Luckily, it only took two weeks for the media to forget about the whole incident. Let’s just say New York City is a place you don’t go unless you absolutely have to.

“I’m a good girl, Stella, I’ll have a few shots at the after-party and I’ll be on my merry way. No more sleeping on the sidewalk for me.”

“Fine, I’ll see you soon.”

You hung up the phone and sighed. Other than Stella, no one really ever talked to you. There were a few people here and there, but they were only interested in furthering their careers. There are shallow and fake people in Hollywood and you’ve definitely met a few. When you move to a city like this it’s almost inevitable. It’s like high school but worse.

You pushed the loneliness aside and turned on the television. There was never anything good during the mornings so you just settled for the regular old news channel. The two news reporters provided you with sufficient background noise to get you through the day.

Around two in the afternoon, your hair stylist, make-up artist, and stylist came over. The type of event you were attending tonight was a fashion show and then the after-party. You were the brand ambassador for the fashion house so you had to look your absolute best as you sat in the front row.

Your hair stylist and make-up artist did quick work on your already beautiful features. Your make-up artist went with a very natural and glowy look that would make you look ethereal. Your hairstylist lets your natural hair out and loose. Tonight you were just going for a simple yet classy look and you felt like doing an intricate hairstyle would take away from your face. Your stylist put you in the brand's latest design and complemented the way you looked in it.

You checked yourself out in the mirror and you were completely blown away by your beauty. This usually happens when you get all dolled up for a premier or an event. The last time you checked your phone it was two thirty, now it was five twenty-three and you needed to leave soon. You thanked everyone that enhanced your beauty today and waited for your driver.

The event was in the heart of downtown. Thirty minutes of sitting in the back seat of a limo with only the sound of you and your driver breathing was going to drive you insane. Thankfully, you made it to the event alive.

The designs on the runway were beautiful and camp. The fashion house had already showcased its ready-to-wear line last winter and was working on bringing in younger designers for some fresh ideas. You were paid to be here so you had to look interested and intrigued by the designs. You saw some pieces that you wanted and some that you absolutely loathed but by the end, you were ready to party.

The after-party was being held at some mansion in Beverly Hills. You don’t know how you got there, but does that really matter? Right now, you were doing shots in Beverly Hills of all places. Shot after shot after shot. The burn disappeared after the third one anyway.

You know you promised Stella not to get shit-faced again, but sometimes promises were meant to be broken. You were twenty-six after all and you were never going to be twenty-six ever again. Luckily, you weren't the type of drunk to get on the table and strip, but you were still sort of embarrassed by your state. It’s not your fault alcohol tastes so good.

Outside by the pool, you lay on one of the tanning chairs. You’re facing the night sky while also trying not to throw up. Your eyes are blinking slowly. You mentally fight with yourself not to fall asleep. You can’t fall asleep now! “You okay there?” A voice asks. The voice came from the left of you. You turn your head to see who was talking to you and you’re faced with one of the most majestic beings ever. His face is chiseled to the gods and his voice is smooth like butter, but also harsh like rocks. It’s hard to explain but it definitely does something to you. He looks like Adonis reincarnated.

“I’m fine. I think I just had too much to drink,” you slur your words a bit but they’re still understandable.

“Ya, I can see that,” he chuckles. He takes in your tired frame. Your make-up is a bit smudged from a night of partying but you still look beautiful nonetheless. “How about I take you home,” he offers.

“Woah there mister, you are obviously very attractive but I don’t just go home with people. I don’t even know your name,” you sat up. You must have sat up too fast because soon your head was pounding.

“Miguel,” he said, “Miguel O’Hara.”

You must have sobered up enough to get your act straight. This was Miguel O’Hara, the director you would be working for for the next few months. You couldn’t let him see you like this. You didn’t want him to think that you were just some drunk party girl that doesn’t take acting seriously.

“Oh, Mr. O’Hara. I’m-” You tried to introduce yourself but he just waved his hand causing you to shut your mouth.

“I know who you are,” he said, “Now, I don’t want my actors to show up to table reads with hangovers so I think it’s best if I take you home.”

You didn’t want to argue with him so you followed him to his car. It was a modest black Range Rover with a black leather interior.

“My address is-” You started but once again he interrupted you.

“I know where you live. Stella gave me your address after I told her that you were drunk.” You groaned, “Stella’s going to kill me. I promised her I wouldn’t get drunk.”

Miguel just smirked at you and pulled away from the house in Beverly Hills. As the two of you drove, you couldn’t get over the fact that you just decided to trust Miguel so fast. He was technically your boss for the next few months so you had to listen to him.

Miguel’s letting the radio play. He’s playing a station that plays old cumbia music but it does the opposite of its purpose. Instead of making you want to get up in dance, it lulls you into a deep and peaceful sleep.

Chapter Three

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x female reader #miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader

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blainesebastian · 1 year

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a dream is a wish your heart makes

words: 1,287 ship: austin butler x reader summary: (anon request) “sequel to Disney proposal fic” notes: this is a small part 2 to ‘full of magic’, you should read that first :) warnings: none tag list: @killerqueenfan, @karamelcoveredolicity, @elizabethrosecresswell, @gigisworldsstuff, @stylespresleyhearted, @rairaielv

You'd never consider yourself that much of a worrier, there's never seemed like much of a point. In your opinion, worrying is just gonna mean that you'll suffer twice, so, why bother? Clearly in all the times you've told yourself this, you were never planning a wedding—so what do you know?

You know that wedding planners exist and that maid of honors and family members usually help with this sort of thing, getting all your ducks in a row...because at this point all you feel like you're doing is putting out small fires for something else to pop up in your peripherals but. One of the mistakes you think you make is that you kind of insist on doing everything on your own. And so much of it feels doable? You make lists all the time and get shit done and only accept help when you absolutely need it—but then a year turns into five months and now you're at three and then one and...you're worried about a day that's supposed to be one of the most perfect in your life.

And maybe that's the issue. Too much pressure for a 'perfect' day and not allowing anyone to take things off your plate (or well, checklist). You can figure out most of this on your own, right?

Right...that's why you're drowning in a sea of paperwork on your dining room table and you've lost at least two mugs underneath somewhere. Swallowed up. You frown—you're beginning to forget what this table actually looks like beneath.

The thing is, everything major is booked—this is just the little things, which are somehow worse and more stressful. These are the placecards, the flowers, the reception favors, the small cards and giftcards for the caterers and other people who are gonna work to make this wedding perfect.

"What was I thinking?" You mumble, shifting papers around. Getting proposed to at Disney was one thing...but now getting married? Whole other can of worms.

Of course, it seemed like such a good idea at the time--why wouldn't it? You were also completely swept up in the romanticism of having a Disney wedding. Austin was willing to spend any expense, even though you insisted that you didn't need to. You had joked about having your wedding at Disney once and that was kind of the end of it, those comments became checklists, and those checklists became plans. To be fair, it's not that you're not excited...even though you're incredibly stressed, it's just...it almost feels like part of a dream. Though how could it not when you're going to get married in the most magical place on earth?

Admittedly, you love Disney—you've always been a huge fan even though it's taken you a bit to get there. You're definitely able to associate perfect memories with Magic Kingdom, given that's where Austin proposed to you. Being with him within itself feels magical, so—and you know how corny that can sound on the outside, but...you're not gonna deny that's how it feels. So how can you pass up that opportunity to continue it there?

There's this gazebo before the Boardwalk near the Beach Club resort and it overlooks the bay, the Swan and Dolphin and Yacht Club resort. It's simple, beautiful but there's so many hoops to jump through, I's to dot, T's to cross. You run a hand over your face, pinching the bridge of your nose as you close your eyes.

You feel rather than see Austin come into the room, his hand slipping along the back of your shoulders and running down your back. He leans down and presses a kiss to your head, a small shiver coursing down your spine as you catch a hint of his cologne.

"I keep having nightmares I'm gonna get buried under paper."

Austin chuckles lightly, squeezing your shoulder before slipping into a chair next to you. "You're gonna give yourself a migraine—you know we got other people to help you with this, right? Including me?"

You sigh a bit dramatically and tip your head back before rolling your gaze to your fiancé. "I know," You reply quietly, a soft smile tugging the corners of your mouth, "I just keep thinking about everything that needs done and I get tunnel vision."

He hums before nodding, reaching for a few pieces of paper aside. He knows you, doesn’t need to elaborate on that—he gets exactly how you’re feeling. But he’s also right. You can’t take utter control over all of this. For starters, there’s way too much to do that you can easily delegate to some other people to help and secondly, the last thing you want to do is associate your wedding with negative feelings of stress and general ickiness.

Alright, fine. You’ll get some help, stop trying to control everything, because it’s not possible anyways.

“I guess I just wanted everything to be perfect.” You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head as you push the chair back from the table. You turn your body, facing Austin, knowing how cliché that sounds.

You should know better, at this point, than to be a perfectionist—there’s no good reason to be. And yet it’s difficult to stop when those nagging thoughts come rolling in. Austin’s pretty good at shushing them, though, sometimes with a simple touch. He shifts slightly in his chair to take a look at you, brushing your hair over your shoulder in a fond gesture. He gives you this look which you know says—you worry too much.

“It will be.”

You crinkle your nose because…you know that Austin is an optimist but, “How can you know that?”

He holds your gaze for a long moment and before he speaks, you can tell how serious he is about the words that are going to leave his mouth, an emotion you can’t quite name in the depths of his blue eyes, “Because I’ll be with you.”

And despite the fact that there’s a slight glimmer of added mischief a moment later in his gaze, you know he wasn’t kidding. You laugh softly and roll your eyes, making Austin grin.

He takes your hand and squeezes, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, “What, you didn’t like that? I was gonna make it part of my vows.”

You playfully push his cheek with your other hand but he’s quick, grabbing it and using it as leverage to tug you closer, kissing you.

Needless to say, you definitely have a necessary distraction for the afternoon.

And it is pretty perfect, as if you had any reason to doubt or think otherwise.

You think one of the most surprising aspects is just how fast everything goes—all that planning and worrying for it to be over and done in the blink of an eye, in the flash of a camera bulb, a heartbeat.

You go back to where Austin’s proposed before you both leave Florida for your honeymoon, standing in front of Cinderella’s castle, looking down at the ring on your finger. A small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth, running your thumb over the underside of the band. The sky is orange this time, candied pink, as the sun dips down behind the soft blue and silver structure.

To face the future with another, who means more than any other, is to be loved.

You can’t help but smile as you feel Austin come up behind you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. He presses a kiss to your shoulder, your jawline and your cheek before you turn your head and your lips brush. Your thumb runs over his wedding band.

That’s definitely the magic of love.

The line in italics come from the Disney movie The Rescuers.

#austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin butler imagine #austin butler fic #mccall writes things #elvis 2022

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overthestars-and-offtoneverland · 5 days

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Some People Will Not Believe Me

If it's any consolation, this story slightly embarrasses me because it feels like some fake shit I'd tell younger me to hype myself up in an attempt to convince them it might be worth making it to adulthood.

So, I work in childcare. I interact with kids all the time and being a person who enjoys children's media tends to help me bond with my kids from time to time.

There is a little girl at my job named Violet.

Now, me being me, I asked if she liked A Series of Unfortunate Events because she's in the target age group for the series.

She says yes and that she is a big fan of Violet Baudelaire, though her parents don't really like her watching the Netflix series because they think it has scary subject matter (literally the point, but go off). I suggest the books to her and inform her that I myself have been a fan of the series since I was a little younger than her.

We bond a little over the series and then I physically watch her eyes drift down.

To my left ankle.

And, in spite of my tattoo being the book version rather than the Netflix version, she immediately recognizes it.

She proceeds with a suspicious squint in my direction.

And let me tell you the amount of dopamine and serotonin that rushed into my brain! I have been waiting forever to have a moment like this!

Truth be told, other children have recognized my tattoo and given me this look in passing. Usually in bookstores, once in a Pizza Hut, don't asked questions.

But none of them actually said anything or confronted me and I would never just walk up to some random child that doesn't have some form of relation to me.

But this child was one of my students. And she was certainly going to confront me about it.

And her name is Violet???

Hence begun the world's weirdest coincidence and playful rivalry I now have with a child as she has decided I must be her personal Firestarter Nemesis (all a game, all in good fun).

She has accused me of being Count Olaf to other students. (I even got to pull a "What eye tattoo?" once)

She taunts me that I'll never get away with my schemes.

She loves the Count Olaf impression I occasionally do with my students (I'm an art and drama teacher lol. Fun fact: Kids love when you commit to a bit and are slightly and jokingly mean i.e. "It's time to go home, hun" vs *looks at them bluntly* "Go home." Gotta be able to read your audience though)

Tell me why this child has walked into the facility with fake, giant hundred dollar bills two days in a row giving me a physical "fortune" to steal?

Gotta say I'm doing way better than Olaf because I've succeeded twice (again, all in good fun. She got it back after I got my gloating out of the way).

Point being, adulthood is fucking weird, but occasionally life lets your inner child have some fun.

#asoue #a series of unfortunate events #count olaf #lemony snicket

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blackacre13 · 11 months

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I think its pretty much an established fact that lou is a total womaniser, so I have this headcanon that after Debbie comes back from jail and they rekindle their relationship Lou has some problems going back to being completely monogamous. So could you do a Lou pov where she has all these girls flinging themselves at her and usually she wouldn't hesitate to say yes but Debbie means so much to her that she could never cheat. bonus points if the end has loubbie smut ;)

“You sure you don’t want to come with me tonight?” Lou asked, lingering in the doorway like she’d done every night for the last week.

She didn’t want to push Debbie. She didn’t. Lou couldn’t even imagine what it would be like to try to slip back into any sort of normal after what Debbie had been through, but a selfish part of her wanted Debbie to make her presence known in Lou’s club. Mark her territory. Declare that she was back.

Lou could say she was taken in a dozen different ways, but she’d also been saying that for years while Debbie was away. It had been habit. A habit that most women knew wasn’t actually the truth of the matter. Debbie had told her not to wait. Lou wasn’t in a committed relationship. Lou and Debbie and been label free for as long as they’d known each other, the truth of what they were never uttered aloud. And with Debbie behind bars, Lou had no one to go home to and only the option of inviting women who weren’t Debbie back to her place.

It had been difficult at first. She had blonde hair. She was a redhead. Nobody had Debbie’s brunette hair that slid from mahogany to midnight. Green eyes. Blue eyes. Never the right shade of brown that glimmered like amber. She had just seen Debbie last week. And then it was last month. And then she’d lost count of the days. Couldn’t remember the scent of her or the feel. She wasn’t sure what was fact and what was fiction when she pulled up a memory to pine over.

The “no thanks” and “I’m good” were habit, but there were other dangerous habits too. Helmet long gone on her bike. Nicorette gum down the toilet in a rage and a pack of cigarettes in her back pocket the same night. Vodka. A shot or two snuck in between serving. Then a pint glass. Then just like the days of Deb away behind bars losing meaning, Lou lost count of drinks.

Tammy was there to pull her out of her stupor. And she was beyond grateful for someone to chide her like a mother and hug her like a sister. But it was Danny of all people who closed his eyes and pinched his nose as he uttered softly, “when’s the last time you let yourself get laid, Miller?”

After giving him shit for saying it and having a much less awkward conversation about it with Tammy and Debbie too, courtesy of Tammy playing monkey in the middle, Lou replaced liquor with women.

A shot with a kiss. A drink with willing fingers slipping through her waiting heat. Bottle after bottle with tongues and teeth and sex. Never two nights in a row with the same woman. Never letting them call her by her name. Barely giving and more receiving. She felt too guilty. She only wanted to give Deb pleasure. Make her feel good.

And when Lou had returned to the club with more than a pep in her step, a permanent grin slung across her lips, she felt like she was sending out flashing lights and warning signs: I’m taken. I’m not interested. Don’t approach.

But much to her chagrin, she’d established a pattern. Women leaning over the bar a little too far, showing off cleavage and twisting their hair. A hand slipping into Lou’s own cleavage or pocket with a tip and the promise of just a little something extra for serving them.

It was easy to say no. It was just a word. But it was harder to see the pout. Harder to hear the “your loss” and “you sure?”

She just wanted Debbie to decide that tonight was the night she’d come to the club, strutting through the door, moving through whatever interested gaggle was barricading Lou behind the bar that night and claiming her as her own. She’d take a kiss or a hand leading her out of the club. she’d take a hickey to the neck or nails raked down her arms. Hell, she’d let Debbie fuck her against the bar right then and there. Her head was swimming with the thought, but now it was Debbie backed against the bar, skirt hitched up around her hips, Lou’s thigh between the brunette’s as she nipped at her ear, whispering in a low, deep voice what she was going to do to her right here and right now, without caring who saw.

Lou wanted to demand that Debbie come with her. Just drag her by the arm and take her back into her world. But she found herself slamming the door shut and pacing back towards the brunette, melting against her on the couch as Debbie looked up at her confused, but accepted the kiss Lou offered, moaning as it went from chaste and sweet to messy and deep, Lou tugging at Debbie’s lip in a way that was sure to bruise.

“You don’t have to come with me,” Lou promised, scraping her nails down Debbie’s chest as she groaned, haphazardly tugging at Deb’s shirt, buttons snapping and scattering. Her eyes were practically glazed over as she took in black lace and olive skin that waited for her beneath, Debbie’s nipples poking against the embroidered flowers. “But I want you to come with me. Right now.”

“Jesus, Lou,” Debbie whimpered, her hips lifting as Lou undid her slacks, her own legs straddling Debbie as she wiggled her hand inside Debbie’s pants, hissing at the heat.

“I want you on my fingers and on my tongue, Debbie. I want you all over me. I want them to know I’m yours. Only yours. That you’re the only one I take home. That I’m coming home to you. And I want you on my mind the whole time I’m gone.”

“Well, I think—“ Debbie smirked, rolling her bra cups upwards to reveal her breasts as she led Lou’s head roughly towards her, the blonde’s lips locking around her nipple. “I have just the plan for that.”

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project-sekai-facts · 6 months

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would it be too out there to predict the rest of the units this rotation getting an event this month and having 5-in-a-row unit events (especially since there were 3 mixed events in a row just before this) The characters are generally equal in limited card amounts (either 4 or 5) so I think rui getting a 6th lim isn't too improbable (for tsukasa it is since the devs would have likely stated something regarding back-to-back lims by now), and mmj and n25 have their 2nd lim sets already.

There isn't really an indication of who could have the banner if it's mixed, or who would be in the mixed event in general, except for if they're allowing a vser in the banner (since there's been lims for all the vsers in the past two months) Len is an obvious choice in either direction since hes still lacking a lim with the ocs (rin and meiko having 2, and the others having only 1) (and yes, there's a two month gap only but that has happened a lot at this point)

and if it is a wxs lim then nene is also definitely a lim since her last one was in january, which is currently the most due for a lim of all the characters and has only 4 lims at that, so that could indicate her appearance if this event is a mixed event too.

the game has never done more than 4 unit events in a row before, but given the mixed event spam, maybe 5 in a row could happen. it would balance out the 3DMV:2DMV ratio as well if they did 3 3DMV events and 2 2DMV events.

i think rui lim is possible, but mainly because nene needs a lim and wxs needs a lim banner. i'm still sorta hesitant on him because less than half the cast is on 5 lims right now, so maybe it's a bit too soon for 6th lims. i dunno they did get shiho and an to 5th lims when len got to 3 though so anything goes atp.

if it's a mixed event i think all OC is most likely unless they decide they hate len fans. i had the old 1-B duo down plus Haruka because they're like the most in need of lims right now. all i know is that if it's mixed haruka there's no way haruka isn't lim. usually 11 months is the max between lims aside from that one time with kanade. nene is also most likely for mixed event right now i think, or maybe emu (i think if it is a perm rui unit event then it would have emu as gacha considering how they seem to be trying to balance out how many times characters appear on each other's banners). having 3 mixed events in a row kinda threw off the schedule so i dunno if seasonal events (read: vday/white day) are gonna be a thing this year, but if they are that knocks out akito and probably minori. actually wait considering the time of year there's probably a cultural festival event coming up. miyajou doesn't really work for that though. yeah haruka isn't getting a lim i need to give up on the 11 months thing MMJ lims don't work, miyajou lims don't work. Kamikou 2-A Nene banner...? eh that doesn't really work either. Rui/Emu/Nene wxs banner maybe that works best right now. either way 6 lims might actually happen. i've lost track of what i'm saying take this

this is probably so so wrong but i'm too tired for logical thinking right now oh shit haruka already had a new years lim idk what we're doing with her anymore. also toya and an being reward on VBS could mean they have 4*s soon which kinda backs my kamikou cultural fes spec. i dunno. i'm gonna stop now

#asks #speculation #mod talks #sorry this is a mess it's 1am

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murswrites · 1 year

Text

Patrols 1 ⎯ Joel Miller One-Shot

Pairings: Joel Miller x Nonbinary!Reader Fandom: The Last of Us MASTERLIST Word Count: 1.4k Warnings: Cursing, gore, panic attack, description of a bloater (yuck), y/n & joel being a weirdly good team ;) SUMMARY: Patrols have been kicking your ass but luckily you're paired with Joel Miller instead of Jesse. Unlucky for you: You're on patrol period.

A/N This has been in the works for like a year now LMFAO but I finished it instead of doing my work <3 Pedro Pascal IS the only Joel Miller I know <3 This is going to be a multi-part series so I'm not rushing relationship development

Patrols were kicking your ass. A recent resurgence of infected made for more work for everyone. It was exhausting but primarily annoying. You weren’t bad at patrols, you just didn’t like going on them. You were paired with Joel some of the time and Jesse others. It wasn’t too bad with Joel, he did the job and did it well.

Jesse on the other hand liked to make small talk and you weren’t known for your friendliness. Thankfully you were paired with Joel today, you would have collapsed from exhaustion had Maria put you with Jesse for the third day in a row.

“Mornin’,” Joel nodded toward you.

“Hey,” You yawned loudly from atop your horse, “Ready?”

He chuckled, “Seems you’re less ready than I am.” You shot him a dirty look, “Woah, I didn’t mean it like that, now.” Joel held his hands up.

Your horse, Ochre, was mild-mannered and usually sassy but it seemed she sensed you were exhausted. “Where are we patrolling today?”

“West side of the pines, someone said they heard somethin’ funny yesterday.”

“I bet you what we find isn’t going to make either of us laugh.”

Joel shook his head–a smile ghosting on his face. You were never too interested in getting closely related with anyone in Jackson. Sure, the town felt like home and you would protect the others with your life–but you didn’t have any family. Not like Joel did. He had his brother and a daughter.

You didn’t even have many close friends. Dina was the only person you could really tolerate, and by extension, you tolerated Ellie–Joel’s daughter. The two girls were the funniest people you’d ever met, they were the only people who could get you to crack a smile anymore. It was weird because ever since the outbreak, you’d been completely empty.

Only 17 when things went to complete shit–you were supposed to start college before the outbreak. That never happened. Nobody in your family made it out alive. You’d been in New York when it happened on your senior trip, everyone was at home, and before you could even think to go home… you were quarantined in NYC. You were probably lucky to be alive considering how quickly things spread in big cities.

Some days you wished you’d been unlucky. With how tired you were, today was looking like one of those days.

“Don’t fall asleep atop that horse now,” You yawned once more, struggling to find the energy to glare at Joel, “Hey, don’t give me that look. You should go on back.”

“We’re almost there, I’m fine.” You gathered the reins tighter and brought Ochre into a steady gallop. Joel sighed loudly but followed you.

The pine trees in this area were massive, they loomed over you two ominously. You hated this area of the woods the most. You two stopped and tied your horses to a tree, beginning to walk deeper into the woods.

“I honestly really hate these woods.” Your shotgun was heavy in your hands as you looked around quickly. “The trees look like infected sometimes.” You mumbled, keeping your focus on watching around you two.

Joel slides his rifle onto his back and carries his pistol in hand, “Ellie used to get frightened in this area, she said stalkers like to hide under the branches.”

You scoff at his attempt to make conversation, “That doesn’t help me at all, Miller. Let’s get this over with.”

—

Half an hour of wandering aimlessly, listening for the sound of infected. The only sound came from the pine needles under your feet. You were beginning to lose your patience, wanting to scream and hope for the best.

“I swear to god if they were making this up about there being infected out her–” Joel shushes you loudly and that sets you on high alert–raising your shotgun to look down the sight.

He jerks his head to the side and you slowly turn, two clickers were facing your direction. The infected chattered to one another and you leaned down to grab a hefty pine cone. You arched the cone over the pair of clickers. The clatter of the cone smacking a tree made one of them screech and rush for it.

Joel snuck behind the one that stayed behind and you followed his lead, slinging your shotgun over your shoulder and squeezing your shiv tightly. While he took out that clicker you moved as quietly as possible.

Your attention was pulled away when you spotted a runner a few yards away. Luckily it wasn’t paying you any mind and so you stood up behind the clicker and stabbed it through the fungal growth–effectively killing it. You didn’t know how but Joel got behind the runner and choked it out.

There being a runner meant that somebody was out here recently. Runners were quite rare all the way out here.

“Check that body, Miller, it’s a new one.”

Joel kneeled down, “Already on it,” You did the same with the clicker just to be sure that there wasn’t anything useful on it.

It wasn’t unusual to be rifling through the pockets of a dead body… you were desensitized to nearly every gory part of the new world. You just couldn’t get over the smell of blood. Copper and metallic would upset your stomach so bad that sometimes you’d have to wear a mask just wandering around.

“They were a Firefly.” Joel tossed their pendant to you.

Another commonality… while runners were rare, whenever they were found… it seemed more and more of them were Fireflies who had bad luck.

“Aren’t they all Fireflies these days?”

“Yup. Come on let’s make sure we got ‘em all.”

—

There were three more infected wandering in the pines. But the cabin ahead seemed to have been recently vacated.

“I really don’t want to go in there.” You admitted, cringing at the thought of what could be inside.

Joel shrugged, “Then stay here.” He was the only person who didn’t force you to follow him inside buildings. Typically you would but the cabin was small, what could go wrong?

You sat on the ground and leaned against a tree, now that there wasn’t anything to keep your focus on–you were getting sleepy. Just as your eyes began dropping a loud bang startled you into an upright position. “Joel!?”

The door to the cabin slammed outward and Joel stumbled out, “Might wanna run,” His eyes were wide with surprise. “Move!” Joel pushes you in front of him and you bolt.

You sneak a glance behind you and see it. A huge bloater with three legs and four arms, “What the fuck is that!?” The infected disgusted you and it made your stomach churn. “That’s so fucking nasty!”

“We just gotta get some distance between us and it.” The bloater was slow-moving and seemed very unstable. “We’re gonna kill the son of a bitch.” That didn’t sound like a question to you.

“I know. Just haven’t killed too many bloaters.” You began lighting a molotov cocktail, “Guess we should get to work?” Joel gave you a single nod and you both launched a molotov cocktail toward the bloater.

It roared in pain as the fire spread across its skin. Joel brandished his rifle and began taking calculated shots. You stepped a few feet closer in order to make best use of your shotgun ammo. The bloater took any chances it could to throw poisonous sacs of spores at you too. It made firing harder but after about ten minutes it finally went down.

You dropped your gun on the ground and sighed loudly, “I think I’m gonna pass out.”

“Woah, woah, woah, what’s happening?” You shrugged, Joel watched you carefully as your head spun. “Y/N, you need to breathe.”

When he said that you noticed a lack of air in your lungs and tried to force your body to do its job. But it was no use. Exhaustion paired with disgust pushed your brain into panic mode. You just wanted to lay down and die, honestly. You could tell Joel was a bit freaked out because if your actions (or lack thereof).

“I’m–” You gasped through a breath, forcing air into your nose. “I’m okay. Just really tired.”

Joel nodded, “How about you wait here and I’ll bring the horses to you?”

That sounded really nice, “Oh god, that’d be great. Thank you.” He gave you one long look before jogging off in the opposite direction.

Tags: @musicallisto <3

#murswrites #joel miller #the last of us #joel miller x reader #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #tlou imagine #tlou x reader #tlou one shot #the last of us imagine #the last of us x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #pedro pascal joel miller #tlou hbo

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marleyybluu · 1 year

Text

Miss Ivy part 2

here we are again.

if you need a refresher or haven't read part 1 you can check it out here

Other than that, hopefully, yall enjoy part two. We love a slow-burning romance 😏it won't be that slow I promise

Word count: 2.1k

Another weekend had come and gone and in the blink of an eye, it was Monday again. A bittersweet day for Ivy, happy to go back to her students but forever wishing the weekend was longer than two seconds. She sighed taking a sip of coffee at her desk while her student piled in, she never understood how they were so chatty in the morning-- she missed being that young and alive. Almost all of her kids were in except for a young boy named Ruby and Cesar, they were close friends and always sat together after usually walking in late but they were yet to be seen.

She frowned looking at the clock and then the door frame, she was about to start class and there were still two empty seats in the middle row. "Alright, uh, good morning kiddos. How was everyone's weekend?"

A majority of them replied with the simple, "Good," But others started telling stories. She allowed it knowing she was genuinely interested in what they had to say. In the middle of a shocking revelation by one of her students, light footsteps entered the room, she saw Ruby in the corner of her eye. He was alone. Ruby sat in his chair and sulked in his seat placing his bag in the vacant chair. Where the hell was Cesar?

All day there was no sign of him and his absence continued the next day, she wanted to poke and prod at his friends but kept her mouth shut waiting until Wednesday to see if he reappeared and he did, he acted as if nothing happened. Ivy stopped herself, maybe she was becoming too involved but Cesar was one of her best students, he was a smart kid, very passionate about schooling and she didn't want to see that go to waste. The school day ended and he appeared in her empty class. "Hi miss Ivy," She smiled looking up at him. "Hey, what's up?"

He shrugged tossing his bag on a random desk. "Nothing, do you need help with anything around here?" She had a puzzled look on her face. "It's parent-teacher night, sweetie. I kind of have to leave early."

Cesar scratched the back of his neck, he didn't have a ride home and lately, there'd been no sign of his father, and whenever he asked his brother he'd say that Ray was just at work or he would shut down the conversation altogether. He knew their father had a job that he somewhat liked and seemed to be good at but it wasn't one that kept him away for this long. He was getting worried and found that Spooky was pretty much the complete opposite. In fact, it seemed that ever since last Friday he'd become even colder than he was before.

He felt like he couldn't ask Spooky or even talk to him about feelings, they just bottled that shit up and kept it moving. Ivy noticed his silence, "Is your dad coming tonight? I mean I know you haven't been to class in a while but I gave an extra sheet to Monse just in case she saw you." He awkwardly chuckled. "Yeah, I don't think he's gonna show. You can just tell me how I'm doing in class right now and we'll call it that."

Ivy laughed. "Well, is anyone coming to get you a bit earlier than usual?" He looked down and she sighed. "Maybe I'll just walk," but she didn't like that idea. The streets of Freeridge weren't really the best place for children to roam alone in her opinion, with all the gang violence going around and some of these joy riders blazing down the street she didn't want him getting caught in any crossfire. She looked at her watch, she had a good two hours to set up her room, go home, eat and take a quick shower before she had to come back for her first meeting.

She pondered looking around her classroom. "Tell you what, I do need help making the class look a little more presentable so if you help me with that I'll drop you home. Sound good?"

His face lit up. "Really? You sure?"

"Absolutely."

Ivy put on some music and the two began to work around the classroom, she poked around at his love life with Monse asking him how the date went and if they were finally an item. She found it sweet the way he talked about her, how he'd describe her-- she was starting to wonder how the hell a thirteen-year-old kid was more romantic than the grown-ass men that lived in this town. It all made her mind wander back to her own love life, or rather the lack thereof. Again, she was okay with being the single friend, often telling them it was cool because she didn't really want another person around her house which was true. She had everything where she wanted it and how she wanted it. But she wouldn't mind someone misplacing something once in a while.

"I'm thinking about taking her out again this weekend," said Cesar as he hooked his bag over his shoulder. Ivy smiled as she grabbed her purse and car keys. "Where to this time?"

"There's an arcade somewhere in town, it looks like a lot of fun."

She smiled. "Well, I hope you have fun."

They made their way out of the school and through the parking lot until they arrived at her vehicle, Cesar sat on the passenger's side and checked his phone hoping for a text from his brother but there was nothing. He rolled his eyes putting the device face down in his lap. The car ride was a bit silent except for the sound of the keyboard on Cesar's phone as he texted back Monse, he gave Ivy directions to where he lived and it led her to a part of Freeridge she hadn't really stepped foot in-- yeah she'd occasionally pass by but never actually looked around.

Soon, she found herself in front of a house that looked a bit run down on the outside, it wasn't in terrible shape, to be honest, but it wasn't necessarily a "clean" look like some of the houses near it. In the front yard were about five men who chatted amongst themselves, two sat on a couch that was planted on the lawn while three hung out on the porch step. Whatever they were talking about had been put on pause once they saw the unfamiliar car pull up to the curb.

They didn't do anything yet, they just watched as Cesar got out of the car with a woman stepping out with him. Their defences were down once they saw her. She didn't bother to walk him up to the door, a bit too intimidated by all the grown men who were ogling at her-- she was becoming uncomfortable. "I'll see you tomorrow, Miss Ivy. Thanks for the ride."

"No worries kid," She was about to retreat back into her vehicle when she saw Spooky emerge from the house. "Yo, what are you doing home so early?" She heard him ask, Cesar pointed behind him and he followed only to see the young woman at the end of the street. She instantly caught butterflies, she started to feel queasy.

Spooky was surprised, to say the least when he saw her in front of his house, his boys even took notice of how long they were staring at each other. He cleared his throat and instructed Cesar to go inside the house. Ivy's heart was in her ass as he stepped off the porch and onto the lawn heading her way. "Miss Ivy," She could almost moan at the way he said her name. "What'd he do? Shake you down for a ride home?" A dimple popped out as he smiled. She bit her lip. "Nah, I just have parent-teacher night and I gotta get out of these clothes and put on more... professional ones."

He looked over her attire, she wore a large black shirt with Tupac's face dominating the front with the words Poetic Justice under him-- it was her favourite movie and she knew that script better than some of the things she was teaching her own kids, she had paired it with a pair of black joggers, she hated wearing jeans to work it always made her feel restricted. He kinda liked that she didn't dress like a regular teacher, with a pencil skirt and a buttoned-up blouse or whatever. "Only parents are allowed?" Spooky asked.

The inquiry made her blush she wouldn't mind seeing him again and actually having a conversation, she could hear him talk all day.

"No, uh, any guardian can come really."

That's what he wanted to hear. "Cool, maybe I'll swing by."

"Cool," Ugh! Why did she feel like she was being lame all of a sudden? Ivy had to remind herself she still had to drive home, eat and get ready to go back to school. She sheepishly excused herself from his presence and returned back to her car. One last wave and she was out of sight.

It quickly became dark outside as Ivy wrapped up parent-teacher interviews, some parents she got along with and others had strong opinions on their children obviously not knowing that their child acts like a completely different person outside of the home. She was exhausted and ready to go to bed. Although she didn't want to admit it, she was a little disappointed Spooky didn't show up she would've loved to have more than two words with him.

As she reached under her desk for her bag a knock was on the door. "Yes, Mr. Taylor, how can I-" She hadn't been paying attention and assumed it was the janitor about to ask her a question but she was wrong, it was Spooky. "Hey." He nodded. "Hi."

"Still doing interviews?"

She smiled. "Yeah, for sure. Come in." Spooky carefully closed the door behind him and took a seat on the chair in front of her desk, she pulled out Cesar's file and placed it in front of him. He watched as she opened it and spread out his brother's work in front of him. "So, Cesar's doing great I really have no complaints. I'm probably not supposed to say this but he's one of the smartest kids in here."

He was proud to hear that, proud to know that his hard work in raising his brother didn't go to waste. He took his time to go through his graded sheets, mostly seeing A's and maybe a couple B's but nonetheless he was satisfied with what he saw. "That's great to hear. He likes school, likes this class too, trust me. He won't shut up about you."

Ivy beamed glad to know she was making a difference in someone's life. "And uh, it's nice knowing someone else is looking out for him and I wanted to apologize for the other day. I didn't mean to insult you if I did."

She leaned forward and rested her chin in the palm of her hand. "You didn't, I'm just letting you know this ain't a babysitting service. I stay with him cause I care about him. Would do it for anyone in this class."

Her fingers tapped against her skin, a goofy ass grin on her face as she examined his features again, this time noticing a tattoo on his neck- a crucifix with the word Santos down the middle. Another tattoo under his eye, a teardrop. She was grown enough to know what that means but for some reason it wasn't going to turn her away, he seemed like he'd only harm someone because he had to, not just 'cause he wanted to. "Can I ask something though?"

Spooky leaned back in the chair he mindlessly spread his legs a little wider to get comfortable.

Fuck.

"Go ahead."

"What happened with Cesar on Monday... and Tuesday?"

His face fell and his eyes landed on the floor. A question he didn't want to answer, he didn't need her to think less of them for what he had kept his brother home for. "My dad came home on Sunday, and uh he just wanted to spend time with Cesar I guess."

Ivy squinted. She wasn't buying it, but she didn't interrogate any further, if he didn't want to tell her didn't have to and maybe she shouldn't have asked in the first place. "Fair enough."

She gathered Cesar's work and placed it back in the file, "Uh, do you have any questions for me?"

"Yeah, what are you doing this weekend?" He didn't hesitate, almost laughing at the way her eyes widened practically popping out of her head. "I, um, nothing." She wanted to come up with an excuse but she couldn't, it's not like she wouldn't want to hang out with him but she hadn't been out with someone in a long time she didn't want to make a fool out of herself so she felt it'd be easier to not go altogether. But maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

Spooky smirked and slid his phone on her desk, she picked it up and typed in her name number before handing it back. He stood up placing it in his back pocket. "I'll call you aight?"

She felt like she was floating. "Okay."

"Bye Miss Ivy." He said in a teasing tone, "Bye Spooky."

He turned around and said, "It's Oscar, you don't have to call me Spooky."

"Okay, Oscar, I'll see you this weekend."

#oscar diaz #black!OC #spooky #spooky x OC #spooky x black!OC #oscar diaz x black!OC #oscar diaz x OC #spooky fanfic #spooky fanfiction #on my block fanfic #on my block #on my block fanfiction #poc reader #marleywrites #marleysfanfictions

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