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#walle is the only good one I know of with two robots in love
kometqh · 3 days
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𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧'𝐬 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭
Captain Rex x F!Reader Pt. 1 Rex tells the story of his first love, his first heartbreak, his one last regret. Word Count: 1,166 Warnings: None (from what I can tell) A/N: This is meant to be a multiple-part story, the second chapter will be out soon!
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"Rex? How come you're so good with kids?" Hera's soft voice rung out in the almost empty cockpit of the Ghost. It was an early afternoon when Kanan, Ezra, Zeb and Sabine left, leaving the two captains behind. And Chopper.
They had been sent on another stealth mission, something about retrieving data on the Empires latest star fighters. Now it was the early hours of the evening, and they still weren't back.
"Huh?" He hummed as he turned around, his swivel chair squeaking in protest at the sudden movement. "What do you mean?"
He had an inkling of an idea of what she meant, though he wasn't too happy to pursue this topic. Play stupid, yes, play stupid, Rex thought as he nervously made eye contact. Maybe she'll drop it.
"Oh come on Rex, you know exactly what I mean. You're practically a second father to our youngest ones!" She exclaimed, elbowing him in the ribcage as she leaned over, egging him on.
"Beep boop!" Chopper added, his tiny, robotic arms raising into the air.
Rex left out a soft grunt at the sudden dig, recoiling into the soft cushion of his chair. He rummaged through his thoughts, trying to form the most believable lie in the next five seconds, before the two managed to catch on.
The cogs in his brain turned, working overtime as Rex dragged on the silence, scratching at his beard in thought.
After a few moments, he let out a sigh, his shoulders drooping.
"I-I'm not sure this is appropriate, Hera." His voice was soft and yet firm, he used it often on his brothers back in the day when they wanted to disobey command, he agreed, and yet followed orders like a good soldier.
In response he received a confused 'huh' before a sudden pain erupted in his shin. That goddamn clanker!
A grunt left his lips as Rex attempted to smack the top of Chopper's metallic head, a slight burning pain erupting in his palm as the robot mechanically cackled, enjoying Rex's demise.
Though to Hera and Chopper this was a sweet, lighthearted moment, to Rex it was a sticky situation. He hadn't yet told the others of this part of his past, and he wasn't sure he wanted to dip his fingertips in deeply drowned memories.
"Oh come on, you know we won't judge." Hera continued, wiggling her eyebrows at the older man. "And plus, this is great for team bonding." She wiggled her eyebrows at him, trying her best to look as convincing as possible.
The two got on well, being somewhat close in age even with Rex looking like a grandpa. He still had the refreshing energy and spirit of a young man, but he also had the knowledge and experience of an experienced veteran. How fitting.
Rex would do anything but talk about this. The room felt a little too hot for his liking, his heart beating harshly against his rib cage.
"It's a bit hot in here, isn't it?" He asked, getting up and moving over to the temperature control panel.
Though as his gaze moved from the control panel to his fellow captain, Rex couldn't help but sigh out loud, his head hanging down. "Fine. You got me."
Before she could even proclaim her victory, Hera was quickly hushed by Rex.
"Just know this doesn't have a happy ending." He warned, crossing his arms over his chest. All of a sudden, the cool steel grey of the cabin seemed more inviting to look at than his fellow crew members.
Leaning back against the wall, Rex thought over how to tell her. These.. Memories, these events, he had hidden them away deep within his subconscious, like sacred mementos in a time pod.
Only a few people were allowed to dig them back up, if they hadn't been by his side as he lived through them.
I guess it's their time now too.
A heavy sigh and a shake of his head later, Rex was feeling ready enough. As ready as he could be.
"Long ago-"
"You sound old."
"Be quiet," Rex hissed out, his words whistling out like bullets from a gun.
He could tell Hera meant it as a joke, but this wasn't something he could bring himself to joke about.
"Long ago, when I was just a shiny, I met this.. Girl."
"Ooo."
"It was during one of my first missions," He paused, observing the scratched out pattern on the floor, "She was caught in the crossfire, and I saved her." He felt his chest twist as more words spilled from his lips. Even though so many years had passed, the memories still felt as fresh as the day they were formed.
He couldn't stop now. He wouldn't. 
"As we made our escape, a plasma bolt grazed her hand, and she fainted and then we defeated the bad guys and my brother Kix had gone off to tend her wound, he was a medic clone, y'know." His shoulders shook as he scoffed, remembering how well Kix had handled the situation.
"She was so.. So weird. She insisted on walking herself home, but then proceeded to get lost on our ship. So I had to find her and escort her, like a gentleman," He paused, his gaze locked onto a scratch of the ships floor, "I think that was the first time I ever felt like a human, like a man."
"From there on, we became closer. She was moved t Coruscant and so I was able to see her during every shore leave. We wrote letters to each other, we went out together, we slept together. Waking up to her by my side was like a dream come true. Until it wasn't."
At that, Hera's posture straightened out a little. She wasn't sure where this was going, and she could feel Chopper shielding himself with her leg.
"My duty to the Galactic Republic outweighed my duty.. My loyalty to her. I left her when she needed me most." He paused again, this time his shoulders shaking, tears tiptoeing at the edge of his waterline. "She wasn't my priority. And neither was Tala."
"Rex-"
"I spent so many months, weeks, days yearning for her. She was there when I closed my eyes, reaching out to me, she was as beautiful as a morning sunshine, her eyes held so much love for me. And I abandoned her." He paused, hiding his face in one hand, seemingly pushing the tears back with his thumb and forefinger. "Tala was three when I left, and I hadn't seen them since."
Silence fell over the trio. Rex didn't want to continue, and Hera was at a complete loss for words. Even Chopper, the usually chippy chirpy robot, had nothing to beep out at this.
Simply put, nobody knew that side to Rex.
"R-Rex I- I don't know what to say.."
"It's fine. I've made my peace with it." He waved her off, the tears having evaporated from his eyes in mere seconds.
"Are they.. alive?"
He felt his breath get caught in his throat, encircling and squeezing at his wind pipe like a tight fist.
"I.. I don't know."
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barleyo · 7 months
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Love Machine.
Android! Leon Kennedy X Fem! Reader (smut)
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A/N: I got this idea while listening to a song with the same title. This was my first time writing for Leon, I hope it isn't too clunky or too short! I am slowly coming out of my hiatus, so my writing skills are a bit rusty, I need you all to give me a little grace for the next few posts in case they aren't great LOL. Love you all so much, thanks for your support!
Part Two: Here
Wordcount: 2.4K
Tags: sex doll/living sex robot (?), sex toys, oral (fem receiving), reader is called things like "pretty girl", p in v, creampie (but not really because he's a sex doll??), unprotected sex, fingering, nipple play
“Welcome in, can I help you find anything?”
(Y/N) gave the cashier a polite smile and shook her head as she walked past him at the check-out desk, trying to be as non-awkward as possible, especially since she was the only customer in the small store at that time of night. It was an in and out trip, she tried to convince herself of that. She needed something small, just enough to get the job done. 
Normally, she would’ve waited until the next day to run an errand like this, but days of stress had left her needy and frustrated, so when her trusty wand finally gave out on her mid-fun, she grabbed her car keys and headed out into the night. 
Her eyes scanned the wall of toys in the back of the store. Pink and purple covered the shelves, vibrating toys and dildos being her main focus. 
“Mini-vibe, bullet vibe,” she mumbled, squatting down to read the boxes on the lower shelves. “What’s even the difference–?”
She settled on a purple rabbit vibrator. Its packaging was the least indicative of its contents, and it was on the smaller side. Easy to hide. 
“Will that be all?” the cashier asked, looking over the box. 
“Yeah, that should be it.”
“You know,” he said, giving her a wide grin, “I can’t say I can suggest this one.” He held the box back out to her, waiting for her to take it. “We’ve gotten a lot of refunded purchases due to it.”
“Oh, shit, really?” (Y/N) took the box back, tucking it under her arm. “Okay, uh, I guess I should ask what the best option would be, then?”
The cashier gave a nod and waved her over, lifting the divider between behind the counter and the rest of the store. “Come with me to the back, we’ve got all the good stuff tucked away back there.”
She chewed the inside of her cheek, thinking about whether or not to follow him. She didn’t immediately catch any red flags in his behavior: he was polite enough, no major creep-vibes. (Y/N) finally walked past the open divider and followed him into the stock room. 
“So, over here,” he said, waving his hand over a heavily stocked shelf, “is all the high-powered stuff. These over here have a high-customization level, lingerie over here, and over here ....” 
The man continued to go over the ‘hidden’ options in the store, but (Y/N)’s eyes traveled over to a large, sheet-covered box. 
“Hey, what’s that over there?” she asked, pointing at the box. 
“Oh, that? That’s new, uhm, probably a little out of your comfort zone, though, he’s a little advanced.”
“He?”
The cashier sighed and stepped up to the box, gripping the corner of the sheet. “It’s—it’s a long story, but, here, have a look.”
He pulled the sheet down, dropping it to the cement floors of the room.
“What the fuck is that?!”
A blond man stood in the plain box, the only adornment on the cardboard being his name in bolded letters: Leon. His eyes were closed, his hands sat idly beside his sides, and his body stood bare before them both.
“His name is Leon, he’s a prototype for a new line of responsive sex dolls. I mean, most of the bugs are out of the system, he’s not faulty or anything.”
(Y/N) walked up to the box and scratched the cellophane covering, trying to get his attention. “Is he awake? Or on, I guess?”
“Nah, he has to be set up, there’s a manual in the box, I think,” the man replied, bending down to pick the sheet back up to throw over Leon’s box. Just as he began to shake the sheet off, clearing the residual dirt off of it, (Y/N) spoke again.
“How much for him?”
She mentally smacked herself for asking. There was no doubt he was expensive, hell, he probably wasn’t even up for sale.
“You want him?” He raised his eyebrow, looking the girl up and down, confusion painting his features.
“I– I don’t know, can I have him? How much?”
He crossed his arms for a moment, thinking. “He’s not for sale, per se, but– so, listen, okay?”
“Yeah?”
“You can have him for free, okay? But if you aren’t satisfied with him, you can’t bring him back here, you’re stuck with ‘em.” He held his hand out expectantly. “Deal?”
“Deal,” she said, taking his hand quickly, giving it a few affirming shakes.
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The boxcutter in her hand worked quickly, slicing open the cellophane. (Y/N) bunched up the plastic and threw it to a random corner in her bedroom, turning back to face Leon. She gave him a testing poke, and when he didn’t respond she turned that poke into a gentle tapping on the side of his face.
“Leon?” The name felt like acid on her tongue, guilt already creeping through her. “Wake up.”
She dropped her hand from his face and guided it further down his chest. The synthetic skin felt real, almost in an uncanny way. He was warm to the touch, not plastic-y and cold like how she assumed other sex dolls felt. 
“Come on, big boy.” she muttered, pulling Leon’s large, heavy body out of the box and placing him on his feet near her bed. “Where’s your–? Oh, got it.” (Y/N) snatched the instruction manual from the box. The print was foggy, and some words were horribly misspelled, but she flipped through the pages and located the directions page. She read the page to herself quietly. “I am Leon, your AI-powered male sex doll. The setup process of a Leon doll is extremely easy. To turn me on, just set my dial. After that, just sit back and let me love you for a little while!” 
(Y/N) walked a small circle around him in search of his ‘on-switch.’ She found it right on the back of his neck, almost hidden by his swoop of blond hair. On the silver dial sat three options: Off, gentle, and rough. A hand rose and ticked the dial to gentle. She stepped away from him quickly after hitting the switch, nervous to see what would happen.
His eyes opened slowly, and a weak blue light beamed from them, scanning outwards before shutting off completely. A grin slowly spread across Leon’s all-too-real features as he powered on. 
“Hey there, pretty girl,” he said, standing still in her room, only moving his head to face her. “Looks like you could use some company.”
“Uh, hello.” Her mouth was dry as she spoke, feeling like she made a bad decision the second he had snapped to life. 
“Hm, why don’t you come closer to me? I don’t bite,” Leon paused before cheekily adding “unless you want me to.” He took her in his arms and let his eyes drift down her body. He eased her shirt over her head and tried to undo the clasps of her bra.
“What are you doing?” She tried to pull away but he held her in place.
“You have all your clothes, but I’m exposed over here. That’s not so fair, is it?” He looked down at his hardened length, ushering her to look down with him.
Her eyes widened a bit. “When did you even get hard–?”
“I’m always hard around pretty girls like you.” He slipped off her bra and groped her breasts with his large, somewhat calloused hands. “Look at these, baby. You have pretty tits, and a pretty face, huh?” 
A hum left her throat as she felt his head dip down and take one of her swollen nipples into his mouth. He swirled his tongue over the bud, latching on to properly suck it after a few teasing moments. She ran her hands through his hair and gripped onto it tightly, whining at the feeling of his mouth popping off of her tit. 
“Bet you’re getting wet from this, aren’t you?” His voice was airy and muffled while he spoke. He left open mouthed licks over her pebbled nipples, grazing over them with his tongue’s warmth.
She gave a weak nod in return.
“Mm, maybe I should take care of that,” he chuckled lightly and lowered himself to his knees. “Gonna let me take these off you?” He tugged at the waistband of her shorts.
“G’head,” (Y/N) said, feeling her thighs rub against each other impatiently. 
He pulled them down to her ankles and she stepped out of them, leaving her in just her panties. She shuddered at the feeling of his tongue darting across the cotton covering her wet center. Again, Leon laughed a bit at her reaction and licked a heavier stripe against the fabric. When he was rewarded with a gasp from her open mouth, he pulled the panties to the side and pressed his tongue at her slit.
“F–Fuck, that feels good,” she whined, hand still messily buried in his hair. 
Leon kept his eyes on her the whole time, not letting a moment pass where his blue irises weren’t piercing hers. 
His tongue dipped out of her entrance and moved up to her clit. He fidgeted with it, trying to see which motion worked best on her, and settled on a circular movement. The longer he sat slotted between her thighs, her knees thrown over his shoulders, the more frequently he felt her cunt jump from pleasure. He placed his tongue hard on her clit, giving it rough, pressured licks. 
“Almost there, I’m close,” (Y/N) said, feeling a coil form in her stomach. She had felt this with other toys, but by far, Leon was the best at the job. “Don’t stop,” she hummed, voice catching in her throat while he moved his head side to side, dragging his mouth sloppily over her cunt.
A string of profanities escaped her mouth when she felt her orgasm hit. A sputtering wave of warmth flushed through her body, her pussy clenching around nothing. 
“That’s it, good job,” Leon cooed. He held his hand up to her face expectantly. “Spit.”
Her mind already felt melted, like it could’ve oozed out of her brain at any minute. She mindlessly complied with him, spitting onto his lengthy fingers.
“Ah–! S’too much, Leon.”
“No, no, you can take it. I’ll be gentle, I know you want another one,” he said with a slightly mocking tone. “Greedy girl needs something to fill her up.” Plunging his fingers into her pussy, he groaned at the feeling of her slick walls still fluttering. “Y’haven’t even recovered from the first one, but I’m gonna give you another one,” he said, curling his fingers, “gonna be twice as strong.”
“Fuck, it’s too much,” (Y/N) knew her sobs of pleasure were pathetic sounding, but she couldn’t muster anything else up as she tried to push his wrist down and away, not being able to stand the feeling of his two fingers prodding at her most sensitive spot. 
“Don’t fight it,” he warned, “not when you’re so close. Yeah, I feel you getting all tight on me. Mm, you’re gonna love how it feels, it only gets better from here, pretty girl.” 
Leon became more aggressive with his movement, moving his whole arm as his fingers jammed in and out of her. (Y/N) was lost in her ecstasy. Her hands shook and flew aimlessly before taking purchase of Leon’s shoulders and holding onto them, nails digging into the skin.
Her second release, as promised, was much stronger. Her legs clamped around him, her moans came out in long, shaky intervals, and her brain was mush. She couldn’t force herself to focus on anything but the cum dripping out of her cunt and down Leon’s fingers and forearm. She screwed her eyes shut, feeling even the dim light of her bedroom to be too much for her now fucked-out, slutty head to handle. 
She hardly noticed when he had placed on her back in the bed with her legs spread. Not until he guided his cock across her folds, tapping the head of it against her swollen, abused clit. 
“More?” she asked, voice breaking and weak. “Can’t take it ‘nymore.”
“C’mon, sweet thing, you can give me one more, can’t you? Just one more?” He whispered into her ear, slowly pushing into her, holding himself back. 
“Jus’ one? No more after that?”
“Mhm, just one.” Leon bottomed out and stretched her walls with his girth. The tip of his cock gave sweet, shallow kisses to her cervix’s tip, gently pressing into it with each thrust. His hips rocked into her, but he felt his dick being forced out of her walls, pushed out of her heat. “Even after all that, still tight f’me.” He slid back in, rougher this time, trying to keep himself inside. “Need somethin’ to stretch you out, baby. Good thing y’got me now.”
His hands were placed under her knees, scooping and holding them apart while he fucked her. He slowly transitioned from fucking and burrying his cock into her, to bringing her body forward, bouncing her on his cock. 
“Leon—”
“Hush, now, you’re okay. Mm,” he wiped the drool from the corner of her mouth, “look at how you take it. It’s like you were made to be used like this, sweet girl. Maybe you’d be better off as a toy.” 
She moaned at this, feeling her cunt twitch at his words.
“Yeah? You like that?” Leon’s eyebrow raised at her a bit, teeth barring in smirk. “You like being a little toy. Being– oh, fuck, you’re enjoying this so much. Your pretty little face...”
(Y/N) threw her arms over his neck, pulling him closer to her body. Their chests pressed together, her sweat slick between them both. “God, Leon, please!”
Leon pressed his mouth on her to quiet her down, swallowing her moans as their tongues and teeth gnashed against each other. He winced as (Y/N) bit down on his lip, choking back her sobs when she clamped down on his cock. Taking this as a sign, Leon emptied his thick, synthetic cum into her. 
Once he pulled out, a mixture of both of their cum pumped out, gushing and wetting in between her thighs.
“Good job, baby,” he said, stroking her face, grinning at the warmth of her cheek. “You did so well, getting all cockdrunk for me. To think I was being gentle. Wanna try my rough mode out for size?” He joked, letting his hand grip her hip. 
“Goodnight, Leon,” she responded, unimpressed at his teasing and tired from what he had done to her. She brought her hand to the back of his neck and turned his dial to ‘off.'
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𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓮𝓵 𝓝°5 ~ 𝓗𝓾𝓼𝓴𝓮𝓻 𝔁 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻
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Oh, to be young and in love, in the most romantic era of the notorious 1950s, with one very magical man who never fail to make you swoon with every suave look who offers.
It isn't very often that Husker reminisces his past life - He knows, if he does, he will remember all of the good times, when his heart was gold and trembling with pure emotion - After all, if he recalls the time he was alive, and very much in love, his frozen heart will just shatter to dust once again, with the same infinite anguish he felt once everything was ripped away from his grasp.
A pain so intolerable, that runs so deep - A pain that no amount of alcohol can mend.
He never truly knows whether he wants to remain asleep forever, so that he will never have to face reality again, or if that would be a nightmare, tormenting him for the remaining abyss of eternity...
Or, perhaps he should stay awake, so that memories will stop toppling him over, beginning with a most beautiful reverie, yet always ending with the same night terror he must face every time.
If this is his way of paying for his irredeemable sins, then he is well aware he deserves it, and even more - Yet every smell reminds him of that sweet Chanel N°5 that she used to wear. Every time he closes his eyes, he dreams of the gracious dances he would share with her. Every song he hears, he recalls that angelic voice of hers, and every time he lays abed and stares up at the ceiling, her seraphic visage flashes before him.
"You are drinking again." Angel slumped in one of the stools by the bar, noticing his best friend looking in a far worse state than usual. "Rough day?"
"Rough life." Husk rasped, chugging down a whole bottle of strong spirits.
"Wanna talk about it?" he tried, in vain, to appear sympathetic - The feline demon was far too gone into his own darkness to even think about slurring away his never-ending sorrows.
"I wanna die, that's what I want." he growled, slamming away the bottle into the nearest wall. "Just like this fucking bottle. That's what I fuckin' wanna do - I wanna die, damn it!"
Angel's eyes widened greatly - Yes, life in hell surely was crazy, and especially for demons like the two of them, who sold their souls away because of their own failures, both in life, and now, in hell - But what in the world could it have caused him to get so hopeless that he was unable to fight back the tears glistening in those tortured eyes?
Even someone like him couldn't dare to make light of the situation, or try and crack a joke, let alone taunt or flirt with him. He felt... Pity, for the poor bartender who always listens to others' woes, yet dares naught speak out his own problems.
"Listen... Husk, ergh... I'm not the best at comforting, okay? But... If I can help, you can tell me... And, if not, then... I'll still be here. And maybe try to keep the others away from you. How's that?" Husk didn't quite seem to compute what his friend said, though he robotically nodded his head, as if remote controlled.
Angel remained in that stool for a few hours, watching the winged demon drink bottle after bottle after bottle, yet his sorrows only washed over him tenfold with each shattered glass against a different wall. He wonders what is going through Husk's mind, what he's ruining himself over with each sigh o grip on his fur.
Who would have thought that, of all things possible, Husker's greatest lament was...
"I fucking hate red. Why the fuck are my wings red? Of all the fucking colours in hell, they just had to be red, yeah?" he stammered angrily, pulling at his feathers. "Y'know what? They can't change colour. Tried dyeing 'em, but nothin'. Got so much fuckin' red on me - I wonder if it's Hell's way of punishin' me forever for my fucking sins."
He hates red...? What an odd statement - He truly seems to have a personal vendetta against that colour - But why? It's just a colour, after all, it can do no wrong. "Why... Do you hate red so much...? Angeldust dared to ask.
At first, he was met with a low growl, hostile, yet inoffensive at its core. Then, he heard a most disturbing answer. "That was the colour of my wife's dress when I last went home." Angel's brain shut down completely. To think someone was trusting him with such a vulnerable piece of himself, the very core of their hopelessness, their weakness; In a way, he felt flattered that Husk trusted him so much, yet in another way... He couldn't help but feel borderless pity for his friend. He wishes such a fate to no one... Well, maybe to Valentino.
Angel forced himself to smile softly, placing his hand gingerly over his own, taking away the alcohol from his hand. "What was her name?" Husk looked up with shock, a little startled, right into his dual coloured eyes - He hasn't ever spoken her name out loud, it almost felt like a blasphemy against her purity. Yet... Maybe... "Y/N." he dared whisper.
"Y/N." Angel repeated after him. "A beautiful name for a beautiful lady." Husk nodded his head.
"She was a Princess." he muttered, his sight blurry with tears.
"A Princess? Really? Nobility and all that?" much to his surprise, Husker chuckled.
"Nah, not quite." he rasped. "At heart, she was. Her family was very rich, so she was pampered up. Huge manor, servants, a personal maid, luxury brands, jewellery and perfumes, indulging in any studies and hobbies she liked..."
"How'd you two meet? I don't suppose you were a Prince or something, were you?" Angel tried to joke friendly, encouraging his friend to open up.
"Ha. Far from it." in his hand, a few dices appeared, and he idly played around with them. "I was an ugly dead beat from a working class broken family. Hardly worthy of her attention." he gritted his teeth bitterly. "Got around to finding work at a young age - Gambling, magic, sax player - If I had money to live, anything worked."
"Did you meet at one of your gigs?" Husk nodded his head affirmatively.
"No clue what she saw in me, Angel. She could do so much better." for a split second, he had a dry smirk on his face, before it disappeared again. "I asked her once, what the hell did she see in me - And she said... I played her favourite song. Silly, innit?"
He didn't receive a mocking laugh, much to his surprise - Instead, Angel cooed. He never imagined the jaded demon before him could be so romantic! "What did you play?" Instead of answering, Husk turned around to his bar, and took out another bottle, yet this time, he hummed a familiar tune as he was doing his bartending for two glasses. "Oh, now I get it - You always hum that song when no one's around! I thought you were just bored out of your mind." he let out an amused exhale. "Fly me to the moon... Refined tastes, alright."
"The stars in the sky never sparkles as brightly as those in her eyes when she looked at me." no wonder he never accepted any flirting from anyone - How could anyone match the love he had for Y/N? "If I were a decent man, I'd have told her not to waste her precious time and love on me. Instead, I was a selfish fuck. I stole years of her life... And in the end, I even stole her life. All because I wasn't even half the fucking man I pretended to be."
The conversation soon turned significantly sour. "I was the man - I was supposed to provide for her. Afford all that fucking expensive Chanel N°5, and the Dior dresses, the Chantelle lingerie, and the damn Cartier and Tiffany's jewellery." even someone more modern like Angel knew all those luxury brands, and was even more impressed and shocked that they could so easily afford such high-end items. "I brought her flowers every day and I took her out on brunches every morning, on dates every afternoon, and to soirees every fucking evening. She loved dancing at parties... But I suppose she preferred the moonlight over the chandeliers."
"You must have overworked yourself a bunch to afford all these things. I'm sure she appreciated it." Angel tried to comfort him, earning a nod of agreement.
"She told me she didn't need any gift, except for my presence. Genuine woman, that one. But how could I, in good conscience, go to her parents and ask for her hand in marriage, when I couldn't even afford a half-decent house with a room for each of her hobbies, a drawer for each month outfit, another for her shoes and three more for her bags, jewels and perfumes; and a large flower garden and a fucking rose gazebo and a swan pond with ten different breeds of pedigree dogs." Angel cringed a little, realising the tremendous gap between their living conditions. "I lost myself on the way to greatness. She was making me so euphoric that I just wanted to see her excited every moment of her life. I didn't need to eat or drink, I just needed to see her smile, and I could work again a few more days without rest."
"But then... You collapsed from overworking?" Husker shook his head.
"Worse. I fooled her parents completely, and we planned our wedding." he replied bitterly.
"How is that a bad thing? Isn't the wedding day the happiest day in a couple's life?" Husk sighed, from the deepest part of his soul.
"It was." he said. "I got greedy. I went to loan sharks, took a shit ton of money to make that wedding the most grand event the country saw in a while. Then went on a month-old honey moon around the world." he cursed in a few different languages that Angel couldn't understand, but was sure were some highly offensive and crude words that he would never utter around Y/N. "I don't need to say more, do I?"
Yeah, he needn't continue speaking the descent into madness, alright. Angeldust didn't want to hear that his friend's love story ended up in his soulmate getting murderer by the loan sharks, only for him to end up killing them, and then himself, out of pure rage and sorrow. He didn't want to hear that an innocent woman like Y/N never knew that her husband was broke and took loans, just to try and mimic the lavish lifestyle she grew up with and deserved. He didn't want to hear the broken shriek of anguish, or the streaming river of tears that befell as Husker saw her dead, on the floor, her pearly pink dress dyed a deep crimson from her own blood, and getting even more stained with each strong embrace he held around her shattered body, just like a precious porcelain doll fallen off the shelf.
They only just recently became something akin to 'best friends' from both sides... Yet Angel couldn't bare to hear the tragic end of the story, and he couldn't even begin to imagine the pain he felt, having to live his afterlife as a Sinner, for as long as he has, without the woman he loves by his side.
"It's better this way, I guess. At least she finally got rid of me. Wherever she is, she must be living far better, than with a lying fuck like me who couldn't keep it together." the spider demon frowned, watching his friend slump on the bar counter.
"I don't think that's the case." he spoke vehemently. "I don't believe there is any person, of any kind, treasuring her as much as you did." Husk's ears perked up immediately, twitching lightly. "At least on an emotional way, I'd say, you and Y/N were lucky. There's so many people who never experience the love you had, let alone get to meet and marry their soulmate."
"What the fuck would you know?!" he growled, throwing a bottle at his head, only for the demon to dodge.
"... I wish I had fallen in love too, you know?" Husk gritted his teeth, realising the sensitive wound that he unwillingly stabbed open - But it wasn't his foult - He is hurt! He is in pain! "As a human, as a demon... I was like you, sort of. I was so shit at managing my life, that I ended up falling prey to my vices... I needed more and more, and I couldn't resist. I had no ration or logic. I gave in to my so-called 'friend group' and got addicted to drugs... Couldn't get rid of that addiction even after death... And I clinged on the only demon who could give me what I wanted... And now, I can't escape Val, even if I wanted to turn my life around and live the life that I never could." Angel had a wry smile on his face. "Do you really think a drug addict or the most famous porn star of hell would be able to meet his soulmate, without destroying their life in the process also?"
The two remained silent, only hanging their head and sighing. No matter how happy life can be for some... It will never have a chance of turning around for them. It just couldn't be. They are in hell, after all. Even Charlie won't be able to save them and bring them on the path of redemption, no matter how insanely enthusiastic and cheerful she can be... They were still sure to drown.
Somehow, this few hours of vulnerability brought Husk and Angel closer, and although they won't be speaking about it again, it was clear to the residents of the Hazbin Hotel that the two were as close as two demons can get, without the inclusion of vice or extortion.
Things were going well enough for them, even with the new addition of Sir Pentious, the villain turned... Something? It was still not too bad around the hotel. Though unsure of whatever Charlie's plan was, to fight against the purge from the Angels, they were still there to sort-of support whatever dream the Princess of the Pride Circle has.
That is, until the Hotel opened its doors to a brand new resident, a gorgeous demoness dressed elegantly in a dress of pearly pink, adorned with high quality jewellery, and with her long hair done stylishly, and smelling like a fresh day of Spring. She walked in guided by the Radio Demon, of all people, and she was smiling so demurely, completely unafraid of the fiend next to her, yet still reserved and soft.
"No way, is that Chanel N°5?! How'd you get it in here?!" Angel squealed, fangirling over the flowery perfume - But then, it clicked for him. Didn't Husker mention his wife loving this scent the most?
"Oh, you noticed! I am so happy that there are more sensible people - Erh - Demons with refined tastes!" the girl unfolded her laced fan and giggled behind it demurely.
Although she looked even more regal than even the Princess of Hell herself, as they stood next to each other, there was one particular detail that made the new-comer stand out from any other netizen.
With her hands clasped together over her chest, a bright white gold ring, with a most brilliant zircon was shining brighter than even the moon herself.
Whilst the other demons gathered around the seraphic beauty, wanting to have her attention, and even going as far as to have Alastor speak out about this new lady, Husker's breath stopped completely; His brain was going into overdrive, and his heart, he wanted to rip out of his chest.
That ring... That ring, he knew all to well - After all, he bought it himself, when he proposed to Y/N. That voice, the fashion, the mannerism... Even with altered looks, she looked the same. Even in hell, she looked the same. Even with demonic eyes, she looked the same.
She was the most beautiful woman in the universe.
"Y/N, this is Husker, our bartender." Charlie's face was split open by her overly-cheerful grin. "Husk, won't you introduce yourself to Y/N?"
"I'm not a fucking child. I don't need to introduce myself." the man hissed aggressively. "This is fucking stupid, I'm out." without even realising, he shattered the glass in his grasp, before stomping away into his room.
How could that be? Was this a nightmare? Surely, this must be some impersonator demon or something - There's no way an innocent being like Y/N could possibly have ended up in Hell, with a bunch of Sinners, of all thing. Was this his fault also? Did he bring her down with him to hell? Was he never going to be forgiven for all of the shit he's done in his previous life? Did Alastor bring her to the Hotel, so that he could blackmail him even more? Was his empty soul worth so little, in the end?
He was so afraid - Will Y/N be angry once she realises who he is? He couldn't blame her, obviously, he's earned her scorn... Yet why is his heart hurting so bad? He wishes so badly to jump on her and wrap her in his arms and wrings, and never again let her go. Ah, but he looks like a stupid flying cat... He looks ridiculous. There's no way...
...
Perhaps... She should stay with Al...
He has the influence, the money, the fashion sense, the looks, the freedom and privilege, the elegance...
Alastor has everything, and embodies everything that he could never be.
In life, he was selfish, and he didn't let go of her. Perhaps, the only way to apologise and make up for his sins was to let her be cherished by a man capable of doing what he never could.
As he lay awake on the bed, curled up and cursing his whole existence, wanting to sob until his body was all dried up and shriek until his throat was bleeding raw; he wanted to claw his face to velvety ribbons and drown his lungs with all of his blood... As he was succumbing to his self-hatred and spiraling down into the depths of despair, Y/N decided to end the day with some delicious pastries and an aromatic cup of tea in the garden, with her friend, Alastor.
Y/N was idly playing with her ring, looking at the inscription inside of it. 'Y/N ♡ Husker'. How absolutely adorable, she thought, a beautiful smile gracing her features. "He looks... Different. Are you sure it is the same person, Alastor?" her voice showed nervousness.
"Y/N, Y/N, would I lie to you?" he grinned, as always, sipping from his tea. "You should hear him purr. He truly resembles a little kitten."
Y/N looked up into he friend's eyes, a look of intense surprise and borderline intrigue taking over. "Are you being truthful? He... Purrs?" she gasped, quickly slipping her ring back on her finger.
"Yes, my darling. Unconsciously, someone strokes his fur, he gets so very adorable~." Alastor hums, watching the lady before him being so romantically melancholic over a life long gone. "What did you think about today's meeting?"
Y/N sighed, looking up into the sky. "I feel guilty for enjoying the moment I ripped Velvette apart, yet I feel no remorse for killing her. Such an uncouth and vulgar person has no right to behave with such disrespect towards me." Alastor's grin widened significantly. "And... I cannot wait for the next purge. I want to burn Heaven to cinders. Those hypocrites have grown far too arrogant for their own good, and I believe they need to be taught a harsh lesson."
"I see we are on the same wavelength as always, my dear." the demon sipped from his tea. "I am quite glad those arrogant hypocrites turned you away, for such a silly thing like - Vanity - They say. Beautiful women should be allowed to feel that-a-way, not ostracised for being such jewels for one's eyes." ever the charmer with poison dripping from his tongue. "Before I turn in for the evening, I have a gift for you - For friendship's sake." Y/N rose a suspicious eyebrow, watching as he took out a carefully folded picture from his blazer's pocket, and handing it to her. "I am going for a new fitting with Rosie tomorrow, should you wish to join us for a lovely day of self-care." the girl smiled, nodding her head at him in appreciation. "Have a pleasant evening."
Y/N muttered her pleasantries, and waited for Alastor to leave her sight, before unfolding the picture and bursting to tears. She cradled the precious memory to her heart, and sobbed for as long as her heart needed.
What have they done so wrong to deserve this? They were so happy while alive, so what went wrong? Was her opulent life, the reason for their downfall? Did her beloved think she wouldn't love him, if he couldn't match her family's wealth? Were all soulmates made to be torn apart while at their most blissful?
Still, she was grateful that she wasn't accepted into Heaven, for she would have had a most awful afterlife, as opposed to the many Overlord friends she made since she's been sent to Hell after her gruesome death, and the many favours she received from the Lords and Royals who went to Earth to retrieve items of importance for her.
Drying her tears, Y/N walked back inside the hotel, ready to turn in for the night, only to stop in her tracks as soon as she heard a soft sob, followed by a few very familiar curses in a variety of languages that she knew all too well. Her heart clenched as she stepped cautiously towards the foreign room, eavesdropping for any other sound, only to be met with more muffled cries.
Biting her lip, the demoness knocked on the door, only to be cursed harshly and told to fuck off. Y/N gulped, feeling taken aback by being talked in such a way - Though she immediately composed herself, reminding herself that he, too, is hurting, most likely far more than she is.
She excused herself before opening the door and entering. "What fucking part of 'FUCK OFF' don't you FUCKING UNDERSTA---" Husk was livid, getting in a sitting position as he growled with incredible hostility at the one who dared barge in his bedroom so rudely, only to remain speechless as he realised it was the demoness herself, standing with a sympathetic smile on her face. She also seemed to have been crying prior to this. "Oh. It is you." he cleared his throat, getting back on the bed, unable to face her.
"I have missed you dearly." her voice was so soft, so beautiful, so endearing... "I... Cannot believe that I am seeing you again. It seems to me that, no matter how far apart, our souls will forever traverse oceans of time and space, just to embrace each other once more."
She could hear him sniffling, his nails digging deep into the blanket. "You have always been so romantic and poetic." he grumbled, hiding his face in the pillow. "You shouldn't be here."
"You will have to be more specific, my love." she hummed, moving to sit on the edge of his bed. "Here - In Hell? Or here - In your room? Either way, I would say, I am right where I need to be."
"I don't understand." as if burning with frustration, Husk shot up, looking with self-hatred at the girl. "You did nothing wrong your entire life. You were nothing but a living sunshine. A fucking flower in human form. What the fuck did those angels not agree with, that they cast you to this shit hole?"
"There was a time when you would beat up any man who would curse in my presence." Y/N's adorable giggle made the demon's face flush red. "I am sorry that you are suffering so much, at my expense. I could never repay you for everything you have done for me, while we were alive."
"What the hell are you apologising for anyway? I got you killed, not the other way around - And even if it were that way, it'd've been a blessing in disguise, getting rid of a dead beat worthless fuck like me." he huffed, looking away. "You always were too good for me." the demon had so much to say, so many regrets to yell, so much love to spill... Alas, he remained quiet. "You seemed happy with Al. I wish I could be that, while we were alive." his voice went to soft, it was barely audible. "You should... Stay with him."
"Yes, I am happy being friends with Alastor. He was the one who introduced me to Rosie and Carmilla and Zestial, and I cherish them all dearly, as my like-minded friends." Y/N spoke calmly, reaching her hand to cup her lover's soft cheek. "He also was the one to tell me of your misdemeanours. How you succumbed to your vices; to gambling and alcohol, to the the point that you lost your soul in a deal with him. How pitiful." he was so confused as to where she was trying to get with her words, yet in spite of the anticipation for blames and reproaches, he couldn't help but lean into her warm and gentle touch. "He is the one who helped me become an Overlord, and I took your place. And it is Alastor, and some other friends of mine, who helped retrieve some objects I thought long lost."
"... You still smell like Chanel N°5." his comment made the girl giggle again.
"One of my friends had his little imps go to the human world and rob an entire Chanel store, to bring me all Chanel N°5 perfume bottles." how incredulous, Husk thought, staring at the girl flabbergast, speaking of a clear crime, committed in her name. And then, he started laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of her statement.
"Angel would kill to have a whole room of Chanel N°5." he said, his eyes softening as he put his hand over hers. "Y/N... Knowing that you are doing fine... That you aren't suffering... Or anything that I put you through... It makes me... Content."
"My darling." Y/N called out. "Do you remember the day of our wedding?"
"Of course I do. What's that question?"
With a cheeky grin, she took out the picture from her purse, handing it to her beloved. "Alastor was able to find this. His connections truly are amazing." Husk's eyes were wet with falling tears, and his lips were trembling. "I forgot I had pink roses braided in my hair. I was so busy looking at my handsome husband, that everything around me vanished." Husk's sobbing got even louder. "I wanted to frame this picture first, but I couldn't resist showing it to you first."
"Get out, Y/N! Get out!" his voice was broken and raw, so pained that even her heart shattered. "I am not the man you fell in love with. Why do you think my name is 'Husk'? I am just that - A husk of the man I never was. I am not worth anything. I don't amount to anything. I just gamble money I don't have and drink booze until I pass out. I don't deserve a second chance, and I certainly don't deserve you. I never did. I got you killed, damn it!"
"You think too much, you fool." Y/N cupped his face, bringing him into a gentle kiss - A kiss so loving that it numbed his pain, and hightened his senses, that got his heart pumping again and his lungs screaming for air. "I fell in love with you for good reason, and I intend to remain by your side, loving you." she smiled, wiping his tears with her thumb. "You can try as much as you wish to drive me away, but it will not work. You may succeed in convincing yourself that you are a lesser man, but you cannot do that with me. I know the man before me, and I know I will never leave you."
"Y/N..." the man sniffled, burying his face in her bosom, holding so tightly onto her petite body that he almost feared breaking her.
"There was once a time when you would only call me 'Sweety'." her honeyed giggle sounded so teasing, yet it didn't embarrass him. It served only to make him chuckle.
"There was also a time when I would only call you 'Chanel', if you recall." it almost felt as though they were both alive, and during their honey moon, without a single care in the world, and living a most carefree life.
"That does bring back some very amusing memories." Husk hummed in agreement, feeling melancholic, despite the intense joy surging through his body. Perhaps it was due to the unfamiliarity of this positive feeling, that he felt exhausted, or maybe from his excessive crying and whining. Regardless, he wanted nothing more than to cuddle up in his wife's arms, and never leave this blasted room ever again.
"Can you promise me something?" the man asked. "I am selfish still - Even more so as a demon. I am nothing but filth. I didn't deserve you then, and I deserve you even less now. Still... Now that you're here... I can't let you go again. So..."
Though he found himself eating his words, Y/N only smiled, laying down on the bed and taking him down with her, nestling him comfortably into her loving embrace. "Alastor said you purr like a kitten. I would love to hear that, tonight." she hummed, hearing his annoyed snarl. "And every night going forward, for as long as we may live in this afterlife we have." Husk's body became stiff, frozen with shock. "That is what you wanted me to promise, isn't it? That I will never leave you." he didn't respond. "It is within our wedding vows, silly. There is no way I would walk away, after I have just found my soulmate."
"... Even though I look like... This? And I am irredeemably addicted to gambling and drinking, even more so than before... And I have lost my soul to the Radio Demon? I am stuck doing his bidding for eternity... And..." Y/N only hugged him closer.
"No matter what, in sickness and in death, you and I will still be soulbound." his small body was softly trembling with emotion. "I've got you, my darling. Worry not about anything. I have got you." she remained silent for a little while. "But, Husk..." her voice sounded so distant, so... Melancholic. "Do you... Still like me? The way you did before?"
Startled by her words, Husker jolted up, looking at the pitiful visage of his lover. "What... What do you mean...?"
"My skin is pure white, with no colour, except for my make up. My eyes are black where they should be white, and the worst carmine red, where they should be embodying the aspect of nature. Even my hair looks to be an abnormal colour, and no matter how much I try to dye it, it will not retain its original shade." she gulped, looking away from him. "Any shred of normalcy that I have... Is so tiresome, so much work to keep up, the princessy facade that I used to have, that I used to love... That you used to love..." she sighed softly. "Yet even that completely dissolves as soon as I transform in the monstrous form that I fight so hard to keep veiled from the world."
"Y/N." he caressed her soft face, only to notice small particles of powder latching onto his fur. "I'm a fucking furry mammal with wings. I look like a children's plush toy or somethin'. Meanwhile, you look as doll-like as always, and you're afraid I wouldn't like you anymore? How silly." he sighed, leaning to place a kiss on her forehead. For a few seconds, he stopped to ponder over a rather bold move, and in a split second, he retrieved a wooden box from under his bed. "This is my secret. Nobody has to know about this." he spoke, a rosy tint on his cheeks. "Open it."
Carefully, the girl did as instructed, revealing the content of the box. A bunch of letters were preserved there, all of them neatly placed and handwritten with black ink. "Husk..." Y/N felt the air in her lungs dissipating, as she realised all those letters were recreating the exchange of love words from their time alive. "H-How...?"
"I have all our letters memorised." he chuckled lightly. "I... Needed some way of keeping you close... Of remembering you. I am shit at drawing, but I have a good enough memory... So this was the only way of preserving what we had."
"It's been so long... And yet, you... You still remember... All of it? There must be tens, if not, hundreds of them... How...?" the girl was flabbergast, yet melting completely.
"I read them every night before sleep, when alive, and I read them every night now also." those precious teardrop diamonds caressing her cheeks falling down so gracefully.
𝐼 𝓃𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓀𝓃𝑒𝓌 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓅𝒾𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈; 𝐼 𝒹𝒾𝒹𝓃’𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝓀 𝒹𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓂𝓈 𝒸𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝓇𝓊𝑒; 𝐼 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹𝓃’𝓉 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝒷𝑒𝓁𝒾𝑒𝓋𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒, 𝒰𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓁 𝐼 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝓂𝑒𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊.
His usual raspy voice sounded so romantic as he recited the love poem he wrote to her. A voice that he only reserved for her. A voice that only she would ever know.
𝐸𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎 𝒹𝒶𝓎 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝑔𝒾𝓋𝑒𝓈 𝓂𝑒 𝒶 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝒾𝓁𝓁; 𝒜𝓁𝓁 𝓂𝓎 𝒹𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓂𝓈 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓇𝒾𝒸𝒽𝓁𝓎 𝒻𝓊𝓁𝒻𝒾𝓁𝓁. 𝐼'𝓂 𝒶 𝒻𝑜𝑜𝓁 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓇𝓂𝓈; 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒷𝑒𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝒶𝓇𝓂𝓈; 𝐿𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓂𝑒; 𝓅𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝑒 𝓈𝒶𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁.
A love so pure and true, bottomless and without boundaries; Husker himself forgot just how endless his emotions could run. He thought himself jaded and cold, having lost his own heart, the second he lost her... Yet now... Perhaps it wasn't as bad as he first thought. Perhaps... Even someone like himself deserves some kind of redemption.
𝐻𝑜𝓁𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓂𝓈 𝓂𝓎 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝒾𝓉𝓈 𝒸𝑜𝓇𝑒. 𝐼𝓉’𝓈 𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝒾𝓂𝒶𝑔𝒾𝓃𝑒 𝐻𝑜𝓌 𝐼 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒.
Without her, he wasn't whole. Without her, he is not himself. Without her, he is empty. Without her, his whole life falls apart. Without her, he is nothing but a worthless deadbeat.
𝒥𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝓁𝑜𝑜𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒢𝒾𝓋𝑒𝓈 𝓂𝑒 𝒶 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝒾𝓁𝓁. 𝐼 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓃𝑜𝓌, 𝒜𝓃𝒹 𝐼 𝒶𝓁𝓌𝒶𝓎𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁.
But now, he is not alone anymore - Well, perhaps he never was to begin with, considering he still had Angel and Charlie, to some extent, yet nothing can compare to sweet Y/N's existence by his side. Nothing can heal his aching soul, or revert the damage he did to himself throughout life and afterlife, the way her love for him did.
♡ ~𝓘 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾, 𝓶𝔂 𝓼𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓽 𝓟𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓬𝓮𝓼𝓼~♡
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ghost-proofbaby · 10 months
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who could stay? (you could stay.) (eddie munson x reader)
summary: you're convinced that being loved comes with a cost. he finds a way to prove you wrong. (wc: 9.7k+)
order up! i've got one ash's special for anonymous. ♡
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Keep going, keep going, keep going. 
Agree to run that errand for someone. Offer a shoulder to cry on for that person. Fix that problem for this friend. Keep going, keep offering, keep becoming indispensable. 
You couldn’t pinpoint the exact age you’d figured out the formula. You can never know for sure if the day was sunny or if it were rainy, if it were a calm December morning or a buzzing July night, but those details aren’t very important. The only important detail is that you had finally cracked the code at some point – you had finally figured out the solution to feeling unlovable. And that was that, truthfully, there wasn’t a solution. Once you were destined to feel this way, to feel so sour at your core, there is no easy way to rid yourself of that rotten pit. It would always be there – always churning, always burning, always yearning. Yearning to be loved, yearning to feel those waves of warmth cascading over your brain and down your spine, the ones others had always described to you but you’d just never… experienced. Never became familiar with.
It felt like everyone was playing an over-elaborate prank on you. They’d all conspired against you, invented a false feeling in which someone claims to feel loved, only to sit back and watch as you fumbled to find it. They’d laughed as you dug through a graveyard of relationships, caked your fingernails with dirt as you sobbed and would continue to claw deeper, trying to find just one set of bones that might hold that warmth for you. 
The only solution to that detrimental feeling of being unlovable, was to feel needed. 
You needed to feel so necessary, so essential, to everyone around you at all times. It never mattered how much of you it took. You’d give away every piece of yourself a million times over just to feel wanted at some capacity, even if that capacity were one you’d forced upon the other person. You didn’t care if you’d built the glass cages of theirs – you just cared that they kept you around to wipe away any smudges that appeared. 
Being wanted wasn’t quite the same as being loved. And if you thought about that for too long or too often, you might just break irrevocably. 
“I just don’t understand him,” Nancy sighs from the head of your bed, reclining against a wall of pillows you’d lined your headboard with. Two of which were body pillows. Long tubes of fluff to try and fill lonely spaces, you suppose, “Why didn’t he just tell me he didn’t want to go to the same college? Why… Why do I feel like I am forcing him to be with me?” 
Because you are. Just like I force you all to need me. 
“I don’t know, Nance.” 
That bland, bitter, half-thought out answer lingers on your tongue, almost burns your throat with the whisper of say more, say something useful, say something comforting. It’s the whisper of those four words not being enough. It’s the whisper of that threat that those four words could be the beginning of the end, the thing that makes Nancy realize she doesn’t need you. 
After all, what use is a friend that can’t give good advice, or be supportive during relationship rants? 
You open your mouth to add on something sweeter, something to coat the conversation like honey and smooth out the lines forming on Nancy’s forehead, but she beats you to it, “I’m sorry, I’m rambling, aren’t I?” 
Yes. “It’s fine,” at least that wasn’t a lie – you’d dug this specific grave, had rooted down tooth and nail only to find another empty coffin of a friendship curtained with want instead of love. You’d all but asked for this, “What he did really was shitty. It’s not fair to you.” 
The words are almost robotic, telling Nancy Wheeler what she wants to hear rather than what she needs to hear.  You don’t always do that, you do make a point of investing in the truth from time to time to truly secure your position as someone who is genuinely needed in her life, but the headache nagging at your temples tells you it’s not worth the fight tonight. You’re tired, you’re agitated, and you really just want to get Nancy to the point of contentment in her rambling so that you can send her on her way. 
God, you’re an awful friend. 
It turns you quiet, a ricocheting thought that bruises your inner skull the rest of the time Nancy sits on your bed. The guilt eats you alive for that moment of irritation the rest of the night. Even after Nancy goes home, even after you’ve brushed your teeth and you’ve tucked yourself into bed. The guilt gnaws on the edges of that emptiness inside of you, that ever-present black hole that already existed, and says this is why you cannot be loved. 
Maybe the pity party for feeling like a bad friend is what makes you a bad friend. 
And maybe if you were a better friend, you would be loved instead of wanted for once. 
It’s all part of a cycle, never-ending and treacherous. It’s always been this way. You make promises to your friends and rip yourself to shreds before remolding yourself into whatever they need; giving rides to the younger kids within your circle to the pool all summer which evolved into taking turns with Steve as to who would pick them all up after their D&D club ran late every Friday night, always lending a listening ear to Nancy once Johnathan moved away and she’d had to witness her relationship and her love vanishing in real time, always being the one person who will listen to Robin ramble for hours about her sudden interests. None of it was born of ill-intent, but when you’d go home lonesome at the end of the night, you could see it all for what it was. 
You were trying to fill a void. A hollow rot, a black hole. And it was only working half the time. 
Half the time, until he came along. 
And make no mistake, his arrival was as bloody as anyone who had previously entered your life. For a while there, you believed his headstone was at the end of the line already, sanctioned away in this graveyard of the ability to be loved. He came crashing into your life on a random Friday night, and you had sworn you could already see the end as it began, but you had been wrong. 
“So, you’re the infamous babysitter.” 
His voice caught you off guard. You’d been sitting in your car with your windows down, enjoying the reprieve of a cooling autumn evening as you waited for the boys to finish up with their D&D club. With your head buried in the latest sci-fi novel that Dustin had recommended and would no doubt be grilling you on once he got in the car, you hadn’t even heard the club exit the school. 
“Nope,” you fought a smile as you glanced up from the pages to see an older guy standing there, closer to yours and Steve’s age than the kids. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that this was the famous Eddie all the boys would ramble on about for hours on end, “Harrington’s the babysitter. I’m just the taxi driver.” 
There was something particularly pretty in the way he threw his head back with laughter at your words. Curls that messily fell just beyond his shoulders, full lips disappearing as his teeth peeked through and shined beneath the parking lot’s lamp posts. His denim vest looked purposefully distressed with a mirage of patches and pins, and he was wearing a leather jacket beneath it, even if it wasn’t quite cold enough for it yet outside. He was cute – and watching him laugh because of you sparked something irreversible inside of you. 
“C’mon now,” he sighed as his cackles quieted, “Give yourself more credit than that. At least call yourself something fancy, like ‘chauffeur’.” 
“Ah, but ‘taxi driver’ insinuates that I charge them,” you don’t miss a beat, and your quick wit has him chuckling again. 
You caught sight of his eyes, corners creased with joy – brown. They were deep, russet, tantalizing brown. Almost indiscernible from his pupil in the dark. 
“I’m Eddie, by the way.”
You took his hand that he shoved through your open window with ease, and felt an immediate shiver run down your spine. Not quite from the cold, but not quite warm. You saw the first flash of his grave, and you knew you’d be digging your greedy hands into it soon enough. 
As you gave him your name in return, you knew you wouldn’t be leaving well enough alone. 
You had been half right that night. You wouldn’t be leaving well enough alone, you would be seeking out the impossible from Eddie – but so would he. 
It quickly became apparent that Eddie was a pest. Someone who weaseled his way into the lives of others, who made his presence felt and never forgotten. 
You’d started with the same slow dance as you did with every new person, a hesitant dipping of your toes into their waters, unsure if your presence in their life would only cause more trouble than you’re worth, when you quickly discovered that nothing could ever be hesitant or slow with Eddie Munson. He’s the one constantly reaching out to you. Driving the kids home now takes double the time it used to, long conversations being had with him that has the kids dragging you away, practically begging to just be taken home. The day he’d asked for your number, you couldn’t tell which one of you burned brighter red. And the moment he had your number in his clutches? Forget about it. You never heard the end of Eddie Munson, and you never really wanted to. 
Unlike your friends you already had and loved deeply, Eddie was observant. 
It’s within the first month of knowing you that he had picked up on your insecurities. Maybe he hadn’t directly seen that gaping hole in your chest yet, but he noticed your habit of running yourself dry to see others thrive. 
The need to be needed. He picked up on it quickly. 
“What about Sunday?” Eddie’s voice traveled over the line as you laid on your stomach, stretched out across your bed for a few moments of rest before you had to get up and take the cookies you’d baked for Steve and Robin into Family Video, just like you had promised, “I’m free then if I finish all my fuckin’ homework on Saturday night.”
Surprisingly, that phone call with Eddie hadn’t been something expected or planned. It had been impulsive; in a rare moment of peace, you found yourself craving to hear his voice. Somehow, the two of you had ended up trying to figure out a free day to properly hang out. Eddie wanted to go to Benny’s for milkshakes, and you wouldn’t turn down the free fries he also promised.
“I can’t,” you paused just to hear his predictably dramatic sigh, grinning as you continued to explain, “I’m taking Max to the skatepark that day.”
“And it’s going to take all day?” 
“It could!”
“There’s absolutely no way.”
“You clearly haven’t seen that girl skate.” 
The conversation continued, light-hearted enough with plentiful jokes made. Something about talking with Eddie made your heart lighter, the usual unbearable and contradictory weight of emptiness no longer on your mind as you listened to him ramble about something that had happened in one of his classes – a teacher tried to embarrass him when he caught Eddie doodling for a D&D campaign by asking him a question, not expecting him to know the answer. Eddie had, of course, leaving the teacher baffled with a smirk.
 It’s all about my charm, sweetheart, he responded when you asked how he hadn’t earned a detention from that. 
Only towards the end of the call, when the conversation finally lulled and the two of you found yourselves settled into a comfortable silence, did Eddie finally circle back to the beginning of your conversation. 
“You know,” he started, “When I first met you, I never took you to be someone so…”
“Amazing? Wonderful? Funny?” you jokingly attempted to finish his sentence.
“Busy.” 
Oh. You hadn’t expected that one. 
“Busy?” you repeated back to him, “I’m not that busy.” 
Your mind immediately started racing with thoughts of what he had meant. Was he feeling neglected? Maybe you should have canceled on Max on Sunday, agreed to Benny’s with him instead. No, you couldn’t bear Max’s disappointment. Maybe you could tell Max you had a time constraint, even though you knew she hated those when it came to her skating days. Was there any other plans you could abandon? Anyone else you could bear to let down for the sake of not leaving Eddie high and dry? No, no – all your other weekend plans involved going to the movies with Robin, helping Steve look into colleges finally, taking the boys to the Starcourt mall to shop for supplies to make figurines for their newest campaign. The room was suddenly getting smaller, your chest constricting, your head spinning. You couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing any of those people, no, but what about Eddie? Maybe he was right in feeling neglected, maybe you deserved whatever guilt was to come from whatever his next words would be. He was your friend, you were supposed to make time for h-
“Sweetheart,” he scoffed over the line, and you swore you heart stopped right then and there, “You’re the highest thing in demand since Cabbage Patch Kids last Christmas – and trust me, I should know how in demand those fuckers were. I worked seasonally at the mall, remember?” 
Your breath caught. He was feeling neglected. You weakly began your apology as tears were already filling your eyes, that panic turning over itself in your gut, “I’m-”
“And it’s not a bad thing, don’t get me wrong,” It’s clear your voice had been too soft, too weak, for him to hear you, “Just means I’ve gotta fight harder to be worth your time, am I right?” 
You had to clear your throat, but it did nothing to subsidize that anxiety that rattled your bones. It’s blatantly evident as your voice shook with a second attempt at an apology, “I’m sorry, Eddie. I didn’t mean- I can… I’ll… Just tell me when for Benny’s. I can make it work, I swear-”
“Woah, woah, woah.” 
He had to have heard the tears that had escaped down your cheeks. The shake of your breath as you’d stuttered over your words, grasping for a solution. 
“You don’t need to apologize for that,” his voice was soothing and soft, the most gentle it had been the entire night. You pinched your eyes shut and just tried to imagine those stupid, big doe eyes, those ungodly messy curls (you’d started to tease him about if he ever even brushed or combed them). The panic remained, but Eddie’s voice started to give it a run for its money, “I was just playing around. You know that, right?” he paused to give you room to answer, but your throat was still tightly squeezed by overwhelming emotion, overwhelming fear of having scorned Eddie, “You could only have enough time in your schedule to see me once a year, and I’d still be your friend. We could only have these random phone calls, even if they were never longer than a minute, and you’d still be worth it. You know that, right?” Another pause, another wave of silence from your end, “Sweetheart, you don’t owe me your time. And I don’t need monopoly over it for us to be okay.” 
Each word made the panic settle. You weren’t sure how he did it. You weren’t sure how mortified you should be that he had only been in your life for a month at most, and had just overheard you at your most vulnerable. 
All you were sure of was that you believed him. 
“Okay,” you croaked, finally feeling that ring of fear loosen, vocal chords finally functioning once more. 
“Okay,” Eddie repeated back in that same gentle, soothing, soft tone. 
You weren’t disappointing him. You weren’t making him feel neglected. He still found use for you, he still wanted you around – he still needed your friendship. That had to be enough.  
It was quiet over the line for a few moments. 
It has to be enough, you reminded yourself. 
“Say,” you finally said, voice back to normal strength and the tears having dried themselves up for the most part. Your heart had almost returned to normal rhythm, “How does Benny’s sound tonight?”
“Tonight?” he chimed back, sounding as excited as a little kid the morning of a cherished holiday, something like Christmas. 
A shiver ran down your spine. It’s not from the cold, and you tell yourself it’s not quite warmth – it can’t be warmth. 
“Tonight,” you confirmed, “With a detour by Family Video, if you don’t mind. I’ve got a special delivery of cookies to fulfill.” 
“What kind?”
“Excuse me?” 
You were grinning - God, you were a pathetic fool, grinning and clutching onto that phone like a lifeline. Like if you let go of it, you’d lose his voice, and if you lost his voice, that would be the end of the world. 
“What kind of cookies?”
“Chocolate chip.”
He hummed, not answering right away as if he were deliberating this information. When he finally spoke again, another shiver wrapped around your spine, spinning down, down down. Waves of what you almost believed were warmth. “Okay. I suppose I can be your taxi driver, for a price.”
“What’s your price?” 
“One cookie.”
“Deal.”
It had to be enough, because you were still clutching that telephone tightly to your cheek, long after the phone call ended with Eddie’s promise of being at your house soon enough. It had to be enough, because after that night, it became clear; the world would not end with the loss of just Eddie’s voice from your life, but the loss of Eddie, period. It was the first night of many in which you played a very, very dangerous game. 
Even with Nancy gone, you felt restless. You couldn’t help but linger just a little longer in all that self-pity, still replaying the night and all you could have done differently. 
Had she caught on with how out of it you had been? Had she seen through your act and immediately assumed the worst – assumed you weren’t worth keeping around? 
The thoughts might be an overreaction. 
You were definitely overreacting. 
You didn’t really care that you were overreacting, though, because you really couldn’t control it. It was just another dark path you couldn’t stop your mind from traveling down. It was endless, and it was lonesome, and… and it was just normal. What should be devolving into a panic attack can only settle like an emptiness deep within your chest; you’ve been staring at the blank wall of your living room for so long without blinking, your eyes have gone dry. 
A pattern. That’s what the therapist said. You had a pattern for overthinking these interactions, for projecting feelings onto others that didn’t exist. You think all your friends hate you, you think that a stranger found your smile to be more of a grimace, you think your mom hasn’t called in months because she recognizes you as a failure finally. But none of it is actually what those people think. It’s like a mirror – you look into the eyes of others, and you see all your own insecurities reflected back. 
She’d asked you to work on it. To take a step back and just breathe, just remind yourself of that, whenever this happens. You’d decide whether you’d mention this minor slip up later. For now, you were going to wallow. You were going to spiral with just you, this damn blank wall, and maybe even the bottle of wine in the fridge. 
Yes, your mind was made up, and you force yourself to stand from the couch and wander into the kitchen, eyes still dry and chest still caving in on itself as you open the fridge. 
That’s as far as you get. Your fridge is wide open, the bright luminescent light flooding your kitchen floor in time with the trickling chill that sneaks up on your warm cheeks and already numb toes, when you spot it. 
A box of takeout. It’s old enough now you could throw it out, you had known the moment he’d taken the last of his meal to-go that he wouldn’t finish it. Teased him about it, even. But he was stubborn and you weren’t capable of turning down the opportunity to let another piece of him, another flash of evidence of his place in your life, occupy this apartment. So there it sat, a half-eaten burger he hadn’t revisited. 
But he had revisited the apartment – revisited you. He’d been here every night this week, and you’d practically had to shove him out on the street to get him to leave this morning to get to work on time. 
The edges of that emptiness that weighs down your insides blur, already lightening microscopically as you slam shut the fridge and forgo the wine completely to grab the phone instead.
“You don’t have to always take care of everyone, you know,” he murmured as he joined you in the kitchen to retrieve popcorn for the gang, everyone gathered in the living room for a movie night. 
“Pardon?” you asked, hardly glancing over your shoulder as you punched in the designated time for the microwave to turn the kernels into an easy, mouth-watering snack of butter and crunch. 
“You always take care of everyone. You don’t have to.”
His words rang clearer that time, loud enough to have stopped you in your tracks. You paused mid-reach, the cabinet for the Harrington’s bowls wide open and shelves nearly too tall for you. 
“I-” you weren’t sure exactly what to say, “What do you mean?” 
His brows scrunched, eyes having narrowed in the slightest in your direction, “Please don’t play dumb right now.” 
“I’m not playing dumb. I’m trying to get popcorn for our movie night,” you waved your hand towards the shelves lined with bowls for emphasis on your point, “That’s not really taking care of everyone – it was just being polite. Steve’s hosting, it’s the least I can do.” 
“The least you can do? The least you can do is actually just sit with friends, enjoy the movie,” the crease between his brow deepened, eyeing you with an unfamiliar concern. You shifted beneath the weight of his gaze. 
You don’t know what to say. Except, “It’s not that serious.” 
He scoffed, and you nearly flinched from it. Fear threatened to bubble up – he’s upset, he’s getting irritated at you. He’s getting tired of you. 
You waited for him to say something more as the buzz of the microwave filled the tense space, but he remained silent. Brooding. 
“What?” your voice shook, your entire being torn between succumbing to all that fear and anxiety in upsetting him further and that voice in the back of your mind that urged you to push him, to hear what he really thought. “I know you have something more to say.” 
“In the six months I’ve known you, you haven’t taken a single break for yourself.” 
He met your push, stood his ground and didn’t let it put any distance between you two. It felt like a goddamn revelation, right there in the Harrington kitchen. 
“I take plenty of breaks, Eddie,” you tried to laugh off, “I do spend time away from you all, hard as that may be to belie-”
“Hardly,” he cut you off as sharply as the first resonating pop that echoed from the microwave. 
“What’s your point? I just like being around you guys. Like I said, it’s not that serious.”
This was the part where the distance would happen. You kept pushing, took the inch he’d given you to bite back and ran with it. Normally, you avoided conflict with any of your friends vehemently. Always afraid, always assuming the relationships to be so fragile and so delicate. You would take such care in never giving them a reason to hate you that you’d never taken to a battleground before.
But there had been a look in Eddie’s eyes that night. A shine that, breaking through all the worry for you, whispered, fight with me. Stand your ground with me. I’ll still call you tomorrow, no matter what words we exchange tonight. 
A safety net had formed that you’d never even noticed. That delicacy wasn’t needed here. You could pick up the sword, there in that kitchen, and it wouldn’t turn Eddie to smoke and shadows. 
“My point is…” he paused, he swallowed hard, he exhibited the delicacy that was usually expected from you, “You can like being around us. But you should put yourself first. At least once. At least on movie night.” 
“How is me making popcorn not putting myself first?” you got the question out, you took a deep breath, ready to go on some sort of defensive tirade for your habit you were well aware of.
He beat you to it, “Every day last week, you only got three hours of sleep, at most, before your shifts. You gave up sleep to hang out with us all way too late, refused to throw in the towel and go home before anyone else.”
“I could have napped-” 
“You didn’t nap,” he stressed, taking a step closer to you. The popping of the snack turning in the microwave was erratic, mere seconds left on the timer. Static noise to the conversation at hand, “I know you didn’t fucking nap after your shifts because you were immediately running errands for everyone else, or hanging out again. You offered to give Robin a ride to work every single day, and her shifts start… what, an hour after yours ended? And then you had to give her rides home, right? But in those hours she was at work, you were helping Dustin with an essay for school – that little fucker told me all about it. You were awake when Johnathan called you and we were all stoned off our asses, went and got us food we didn’t need but still wanted. We didn’t even expect you to pick up, you know? I told them, I swore to them, you wouldn’t pick up. You had a morning shift. You were scheduled literal hours from when we called you. But you picked up. You fucking picked up, and you went and got the fucking food for us fucking idiots.”
Your brain completely malfunctioned. You couldn’t comprehend how he was saying all of these things that should be good things, things that proved you were needed and you were reliable, but with such venom in his tone. 
Anger had sparked within you as you pictured how giddy Dustin had been over the B he’d earned on his essay, that sincere appreciation on Robin’s face every time she left your car last week, the dopey grin that Argyle had worn when you’d arrived with their food order in your pajamas. All previously things to fuel you, filling that aching hole inside of you, now being tarnished because he was concerned.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” you seethed at him, “Would you prefer I hadn’t been awake? Would you prefer I let Dustin just… get a fucking F on that essay? Or Robin walks to work?” 
“Yes!” 
You were both shocked at the sudden volume in your voices. The quickness in his reply. The quiver in your lip. 
“Yes,” he breathed out, quieter this time, “I would prefer those things if it meant you were taking care of yourself. The word ‘no’ should be in your vocabulary, sweetheart. I… The world doesn’t end just because you don’t constantly make yourself available.”
But you all needing me might.
“Just… just…” your breaths came out in huffs, eyes downcast and unwilling to meet Eddie’s stare. A final push, and it came out more fragile than you’d ever intended, “Just mind your business, Eddie.” 
He opened his mouth to say more, but the microwave started to go off, signaling what you saw as the end of the conversation – the fight. You’d raised your voice at him, you’d swung that sword in his direction, and he hadn’t vanished. His friendship – he – wasn’t as breakable as you’d thought. 
You spun on your heel, you took the popcorn out and divided it into bowls for the group, busying your hands in any way possible. All the while, he never left the kitchen. He stood just feet away from you and let you do what needed to be done, and only stopped you as you turned to exit the kitchen with the snacks acquired. 
His hand caught onto your elbow, “You have bags.” 
“Excuse me?”
“You have bags under your eyes,” he elaborated. He no longer looked frustrated, but defeated, a morose distress pinching the edges of his feature.
“Jesus,” you were now scoffing, adjusting your grip on those bowls, “You really know how to compliment a girl, don’t you?”
“They’ve been there for months,” his grip refused to loosen, thumb trailing over the crease in your arm, “Please don’t run yourself into the ground.” 
You gave him a cold shoulder as you left him behind to rejoin your friends, unable to shake his consternation. It was so genuine, it terrified you. It made your insides churn, it turned your anxious attachment to dust. 
It made a shiver of warmth travel down your spine. 
The empty space beside you on the couch only remained for seconds after you’d passed around the bowls, keeping one for yourself. He was back there, back at your side, as if the two of you hadn’t just exited a battle ground. As if a stand-off hadn’t just occurred, as if it all hadn’t ended in a draw. 
He looked at you with those eyes.
Fight with me. Stand your ground with me. Don’t walk away from me. I will still call tomorrow.
He did more than call that night. As the movie started, he didn’t so much as flinch when your head fell to his shoulder in exhaustion. He only tucked an arm around your shoulders, only shifted you to be more comfortable as you used him as a personal pillow. He glared at everyone in warning not to grill you on the plot of the movie when you’d awoke mildly disappointed, he’d let you sleep on the drive home. He never once brought the fight back up. 
And he still called the next day. 
After your shift, he was the first voice you heard after dragging your feet into your apartment. A brief apology was exchanged before it was back to business as usual between you two. And somewhere between his rambles, you fell asleep with your phone balanced half-haphazardly between your cheek and shoulder. You could only dream of the grin he wore when he’d hear your soft snores over the line, quieting down immediately to let you rest. He never hung up – he was content to sit on a hushed line if only for the assuredness that you were finally resting. 
The warmth no longer traveled down your spine, instead curling up timidly near that hole inside of you. You let it. 
“Munson residence!”
That warmth that had found home in your chest still remains to this day, rousing at Eddie’s voice over the line. It’s nearly enough to make you cry – the relief that floods you just by the sound of him and his endless chipper. His optimism that always seems to exist, even in contrast with those harsh edges he tries to portray. 
“Eddie,” you whisper, as if you’re not the only one in your apartment, “Can you… Are you free?” 
Even after a year, you still sometimes felt guilt, asking so much of him. Asking so much, and giving so little in return. 
But you weren’t the one who set that standard. Eddie had. Ferociously, fiercely, stubbornly. The insistence that you simply being was enough for him. 
“For you, sweetness?” he chuckles lowly. He recognizes your voice immediately; you never have to say it’s you calling. You could have shrugged it off as Caller ID, but you knew the Munson’s phone didn’t have that. No, he recognized you by voice only. He’d once joked that only you would one day be able to rouse him from the dead, based on the ‘sweet melody alone’. Recognition in death – you had managed to burrow your way so deeply into his life, you’d earned recognition in death. “Always. What’s up?” 
You could have just kept him on the phone. Had one of your infamous conversations about everything and nothing. Sat on the cold tiles of your kitchen and smiled like a child as you listened to him rant. But the cold chill of your lonesome apartment was becoming suffocating, and you remembered that take out in the fridge and the way one of his socks had ended up in your laundry last week. You remembered how you started keeping his favorite brand of beer in your fridge and how one of your pillows started to permanently smell like his aftershave.
He had a toothbrush in your bathroom. He had a key to your apartment. He had a space, here, in this lonesome apartment. And all you had to do was beckon to him, and he would come to fill it. Always. 
“Can you come over?” 
You don’t even have to explain yourself. He complies readily, whispers out a soft yes in the voice you’d also recognize even in death, and promises to be there within ten minutes. 
He makes it within eight. 
And you’re still leaning on your kitchen counter, your head still swimming dangerously with all the different ways you’d let down Nancy. Once upon a time, you might have worried about inviting him over, worried that your anxieties and your short-comings might bleed into your relationship with him. In the beginning, it had been simple enough. You kept him at an arm’s length away the moment you realized you couldn’t make yourself needed to him, not out of selfishness but out of fear. Fear, because if he didn’t need you, why would he stick around? 
Because without need, if you did the wrong thing, there was no necessary thread tying them to you. Because without need, there was no chance for the day that you might find love in your grave robbings, and you couldn’t handle the thought of someone like Eddie Munson deciding you weren’t worth his time. 
It hadn’t occurred to you for a very long time that maybe, possibly, you’d been going around the concept of love with a very wrong mindset. 
Your safe place. That’s what the back of the van had become over these sticky summer nights – your safest refuge. 
It was always the same scene; Eddie on his back beside you, lazily nursing a joint, while you sat up reading passages of the latest book you two had embarked on together. Sometimes it was poetry, sometimes it was fantasy, and sometimes, it was just a reread. That night, it was a reread. The Hobbit. 
“‘I don’t see that this will help us much,’ said Thorin disappointedly after a glance. ‘I remember the mountain well-’” you recited off of the page, when Eddie suddenly sat up abruptly and snatched the book from you. 
“No, no, no!” he wagged his finger at you after he discarded his joint into the ashtray you’d made him start keeping in the fan, “Sweetheart, you’re doing the voices all wrong.” 
You rolled your eyes at him, reaching to take the book back, “Not all of us have a Dungeon Master voice to whip out, Munson. Give it back.” 
“Absolutely not.” 
“Do I need to say please? I’ll say please.” 
It was best like this. Just the two of you, away from everyone else. Some nights, the two of you hadn’t even needed a book to bond over. You’d just gaze at stars, or indulge in whatever weed he’d brought along with him. He never pressured you, though – if you shook your head at his offer of the joint, that was that. He seemed to apply that to most aspects of your friendship this last year. 
You never had to prove anything to him. He saw your worth as if it were glaringly obvious, as if it were as simple of a concept as breathing. No extra effort needed from your end. 
Just by being, you had managed to become something important to him. He needed you, if only because you were you. 
“The puppy dog eyes aren’t gonna work on me,” he snorted, shifting so that his shoulder pressed against your own. A warmth spreads from the point of contact. “Let the master show you how it’s done.” 
You tried to not let it show, but your grin was radiant. He was the master at those ridiculous voices, at theatrics and at bringing the story to life. You were transported from the shore of Lover’s Lake, in the back of that stuffy yet comforting van, to meadows of soft grass and hobbit holes of comfort. To a place where all the threats were mythical and all the expectations of you were released. 
You’d spent the week helping Steve finish up his college plans. His parents had tried to pressure him into picking his top three universities, but the moment he had confided in you that he might prefer a community college to begin, you’d held his hand as you guided him through the process. A rewarding process, have no doubt, but it had left you numb and reeling. Sharing someone else’s stress, shouldering their burdens – it had been a bit much.
You needed this. You needed Eddie’s ridiculous voices and the sharp press of his shoulder against your temple. 
“Falling asleep on me already?” he teased when he’d noticed how quiet you had gone. 
“Never,” you lied through a yawn that quickly exposed you. 
“Liar,” he huffed. You didn’t even need to glance up to confirm the smile you knew he wore. “We can head back home, if you need. I know it’s getting late-”
“No,” you quickly sat up, effectively making yourself dizzy, “No, I- It’s fine. I’m awake. I swear.”
“It’s okay that you were falling asleep,” he was quick to reach out, to tug you back down to his side, wrapping his arm around you to press you even closer than before, “I just don’t want to keep Cinderella out past Midnight.” 
“It’s barely ten.” 
“Nothing gets past you, Sherlock,” he scowled as you pressed your grin against his t-shirt clad shoulder, “I’m serious, though. Do I need to take you home?”
“No, Eddie. I’m good.”
“Swear it? Swear you don’t have an early shift, or some… some obligation?” 
“No shifts, no obligations.” 
“And if I just kidnap you for the weekend? Am I going to have an angry mob at my doorstep, demanding your service?” 
You smiled wider at the thought. The idea of him hiding you away, letting you live in this reprieve for the entire weekend. It was a nice thought, “I certainly wouldn’t complain.” 
And so the two of you sat there like that for an hour more. Eddie coming up with ridiculous tones for the various characters, you slipping in and out of consciousness as his warmth stayed wrapped around him. You don’t even notice when the warmth he’d planted in you finally covers up that hole inside of you, not even missing the absence of that emptiness until Eddie went quiet.
In the silence, you noticed it. 
The gash you’d grown accustomed to, the hole that had become an extra limb for you. Vanished. Gone. Disappeared without a trace.
It was a sudden and terrifying realization. Everything in you urged you to jump up, to scramble around you to find the darkness again, like a comfort blanket you couldn’t stand to lose. You went against the instinct, though, and rose slowly from Eddie’s hold. 
In lieu of scrambling, you peered at Eddie curiously. “Hey, Eds. Can I ask you something?” 
He nodded sleepily, almost as drowsy as you. You’re shocked when he shifts and instead of pulling you back to him, he opted to lay his head in your lap. 
That hole was still gone. The weight of his head on your thighs, the feeling of his breath on your bare thigh. For a moment, you can’t breathe. 
You’re warm. Not uncomfortably so, but encapsulated with an internal warmth. Like a fever spreading, the ice in your spine that you had lived with for years had begun to thaw. 
“Why do you keep me around?” you whispered, still sitting stiffly, staring in awe down at the way he just nuzzled his face into your lap.
With his eyes still closed, face smooth from any worry from the question, he mumbled, “What do you mean?” 
You only hesitated due to the thought crossing your mind; what if you bringing this up reminds him? 
You thought back to the night in Harrington’s kitchen. The push and the pull, the bloody battle and the way he still called.
He was not as delicate as you took him for. 
“I- What do you get out of this?” you couldn’t figure out how to phrase it correctly. You knew what you got out of this, but what does he get? 
“Get out of what?” 
“Get out of keeping me around.”
His eyes finally opened, twisting in your lap so that he could stare up at you. “You say that as if you’re forcing me to be your friend.” 
I could be, that nagging voice in your mind whispered. You could very well be forcing him, and just be blinded because you were enjoying the summer of warmth that he carried with him too much to let him go. 
“You never let me do anything for you,” you sighed, fingers finding themselves tangled in his roots against better judgment. But you needed to touch him, to ground yourself, as you admitted this hard truth, “You do shit for me all the time. You drive all the way out to this lake just because I complain about everything being too much. You’ve started playing chauffeur for the kids to give me a break. Harrington said you even offered to look at college brochures with him. And…. And I’m not stupid, Eds,” your voice shook as you looked down at him, a sudden feeling of undeserving striking you in your chest, “You do so much for me lately. And you don’t ask for anything in return – you don’t let me do anything in return. Why?”
His smile twisted with a hint of sadness, and brown eyes met your gaze without so much as flinching, “Sweetheart, why do you think you have to repay me for that stuff?”
“I-”
“No, hear me out,” he reached up, taking your hand out of his hair and lacing his fingers with yours, slowly dragging it down to rest on his sternum, “I chose to do that stuff. And, yeah, maybe I was trying to take some of that shit off your plate. But you didn’t ask me to. I chose to. I wanted to do those things, do nice things for you, because you won’t let anyone else.” 
You bit back a scoff, “I let people do nice things for me-”
“You really don’t,” his hold on your hand tightened, “You really, really don’t. You constantly…. You just, you take care of everyone else, but you act afraid to let someone take care of you. People are allowed to take care of you, too, y’know? You should let them. They love you – they want to take care of you, just like you take care of them.” 
They love you. 
The air drained from your lungs in a slow, silent sigh. You waited a few minutes, but the oxygen never replenished as you tried to grasp his words. 
They love you. 
Why would they love me? 
“Why wouldn’t they love you, sweetheart?” Eddie looked more concerned now, suddenly prepared to sit up and remove his head for your lap. But his hand still held yours tightly, still clung to you, “You know they love you, right? God, you gotta know that. We all love you.” 
You hadn’t realized you’d spoken the bitter thought out loud until he looked at you, utterly heartbroken, in complete disbelief. “I…”
No. I don’t know that. What have I done to deserve their love? 
“They need me, sure,” you started, narrowing your eyes at the breaks in the waves of Lover’s Lake, “I mean, I just try to make myself useful to them. It’s the least I can do when I… when they…” you struggled to get the words out. You saw that hole again, like a light at the end of the tunnel, but so far from the relief most mean by that metaphor. Something peeking around the corner, ready to devour you all over again. So you plunged, you prepared yourself for it to spring to life and take you whole as you nearly whimpered, “When they put up with me. It’s the least I can do when they put up with me.” 
“No one puts up with you,” Eddie’s voice cracked. You couldn’t even look him in the eyes. “Least of all me.” 
The deadliest of blows. He cracked your hardened surface with that, shook the foundations of every belief you’d held for eternity. 
“Most of all you,” you corrected without thinking, “God, I- Eddie, seriously. What reason do you have for keeping me around? I don’t know how the fuck you put up with m-”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” you’d never heard him beg so painfully before then, “Please. Don’t… You want to know my reason?” you nodded numbly, finally looking to find him with wet eyes and lips pressed into a fine line, “Because you’re you. I… Fuck, I love you. I keep you around because you’re you. You’re good for me. Whether you believe it or not. You’re good for me just by being you, and there’s nothing you have to do to accomplish that,” you started to look away before he grabbed your cheeks, turning you to face him as he emphasized each word, “You don’t have to earn love. That’s not what love is. Got it?” 
You looked into his eyes, and saw all the soft declarations of love echoed back to you, even from the very start. 
‘Sweetheart, you don’t owe me your time. And I don’t need monopoly over it for us to be okay.’
‘The world doesn’t end just because you don’t constantly make yourself available.’
The entire time you’d been so worried about taking care of everyone else, he’d been worried about taking care of you. Endless late night phone calls, careful check-ins when he saw the exhaustion take the frontlines, sparse fights about putting yourself first. The only thing he ever wanted from you was for you to take care of yourself. 
While you were busy being there for everyone else, he was busy being there for you. 
He never once made you dig to the bottom of his grave to find the warmth. He’d handed it over on a silver platter. 
So how could you look him in his at that moment, and tell him that you didn’t ‘get it’? That you’d never been sure if what you were seeking from your friends was really love? That, really, you’d given up on being loved a long time ago, assuming it was asking too much? 
How do you look him in his eyes in that moment and tell him you had long since declared yourself unlovable? 
He didn’t make you say it. Only kept your cheeks pressed between his palms, as he leaned forward, forehead meeting yours and whispering words for only you, “I love you, no strings attached. You’re my… friend. I love you. Okay?”  
No one had ever fought so valiantly to get the point across. Not just that night at the lake, but in the entirety of his friendship with you. 
The hole slinked back behind the corner. The darkness decided it could wait another day. And in its place, warm brown eyes filled the void. Whether he even realized it or not. 
You nearly believed him. Nearly. But you bit down hard on that belief, throwing it out of sight, and instead of echoing back the ‘okay’ you assumed he was seeking out, all you did was sob out another, “Why?” 
When you collapsed into him, he held you. Your sobs remained dry, your confusion palpable as you clung to him and tried to let that belief envelope you like his arms had. 
I love you. 
How could someone love you? 
He didn’t press it the way you thought he would. He didn’t scold you for continuing to question him and he didn’t lash out at your disbelief. 
He just held you. Letting your face press into his neck as his fingers ran up and down your spine, giving it a moment before he started talking again. 
“Your humor,” he hummed after a couple moments of silence, heavy breathing eventually evening out. 
“What?”
“The way you take care of others,” he continued on like he hadn’t heard you, “That spark you get in your eyes when you tell someone about something good. A favorite book, movie, story from your day – whatever it is. The way you give the best hugs – and you don’t give me them nearly often enough. The way you snore, and the way you definitely deny snoring.” 
You opened your mouth, about to lift your head and argue with him, but he just placed an encouraging palm on the back of your head to keep you close to him. 
“The way your favorite color changes with the seasons. The way you only like artificial cherry flavoring, not the real stuff. The way you look at night when we’re driving and you’re just screaming your favorite lyrics. The way you look at me to see if a joke lands. The way you fuss about my wrinkled clothes, even when you also don’t care about the wrinkles in your own shirts. The way you take your coffee. The way you always offer to paint one of my nails to match yours. The way you treat your recipe for chocolate chip cookies like some top secret, government trade. But we both know it’s just some recipe from a cookbook you thrifted when you were ten. The way you get excited over the small things, like the cows we pass by on the way out here. They're always there, and you always point them out. The way you just… are.” 
He didn’t have to say it. He was answering your question. 
He was listing his whys. 
“You don’t have to earn it,” he didn’t say the word, not this time. You felt it, “It just… it’s there. It’s there and it’s not going anywhere. I’ll remind you of that every day if I have to.” 
Loved. For the first time ever, it felt like a possibility; to be loved. 
Eddie always knocks on your front door a certain way – a pattern he rarely strays from. But you can always tell. He’s the only fool who would find humor in knocking out such an annoying compilation of hits on the wooden panels until you finally unlatch the lock and open it to find him standing in your threshold. 
His hair is frizzy and in a low ponytail, wearing a baggy band shirt and plaid pajama pants. He greets you with such a wide smile, your chest aches. 
“Hey there, sweetness.” 
You don’t say a word, just drag him inside before you wrap your arms around his waist. Ever since that night, and his admittance of enjoying your hugs, you made a conscious effort to hug him more often. 
“Miss me?” he chuckles, and you feel the vibrations against your cheek as you softly pinch his side. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make him only laugh harder once you pull away. 
“Not at all,” you snark back as you make sure the door is securely shut and properly locked.
“Not even a little bit?”
“Nope.” 
He smacks a fist to his chest as if you had stabbed him with your words, “Ouch. You wound me, sweetheart.” 
“Get over it,” you tease. Your head has finally stopped swimming, your chest no longer tight with the fear of not being enough. Nancy is long forgotten as you say, “Have you eaten dinner?” 
“Depends,” he hums as he toes off his boots, “If you’re offering to buy me some, then no, I definitely did not eat spaghetti with Wayne right before you called.” 
You throw your head back laughing as he’s already making a beeline for your kitchen, digging out that damned takeout menu and reaching for the phone, already so sure of your order.
Knowing your order at restaurants. Without having to ask. Apparently, that was part of the whole ‘being loved’ gig. 
Adjusting has taken months. Since that night in Eddie’s van, he’d kept his word. Not a day went by without him finding a way to remind you, whether it be by direct words or small actions, that he loved you. You both kept it under that friendly guise. He loved you in that familiar way, the way the others supposedly loved you. A way you could manage to recognize some days. 
Other days were still rough. Days like today were still rough. 
The takeout is ordered and Eddie sets up camp on your couch, rambling about something that had happened during one of the DnD nights he still hosted with the kids. Something about a dumb decision Mike did that cost most of the group their character’s lives. You have a hard time following along, and he’s quick to pick up on it. 
“Hey, sweetheart?” he murmurs as you lean into the back couch cushion, smooshing your cheek as you watched him animatedly speak.
“Hm?”
“Bad day?” 
He never judged you for the rough days. He never judged you for the days you still couldn’t find the love, even after he worked so virtuously to show it to you. He may never understand it, that hollow ache that resided in your darkest corners and whispered that none of it was real, but it never deterred him.
He loved you on good days, and he especially loved you on bad days. 
You consider lying to him, but you can’t. Not when he looks at you so earnestly, “Yeah. It… yeah.” 
“Wanna talk about it?” he asks you, shuffling to be more comfortable where he sits as he motions for you to lay down. You do so immediately, head finding a home against his thigh and his fingers stroking over your cheek before they toy with the ends of your hair. 
All you can do is shake your head. You didn’t want to talk about that fear of failing Nancy as a friend, especially when you know that wasn’t her take away from it. It felt silly now; all that overthinking, when you know now if you questioned her on it, all she would have seen from the day was a friend lending a caring ear. You know because you had asked her about it once, if she found your listening habits too callous, upon Eddie’s insistence. 
She hadn’t. In fact, all she could do was thank you, had insisted that she was just grateful someone would listen to her ramblings. And you understood that, left it at that. 
“Okay,” he murmurs, voice so quiet you nearly miss it. His fingers continue to play across your shoulders now, barely weighted against bare skin, “That’s fine.” 
He didn’t mind if you didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t mind if you never spoke another word, if all you needed was him here. You just needed him close by and to sit with you, to make it all a little less much. 
Nothing. He needed absolutely nothing from you, asked nothing of you. Because you didn’t have to earn this. All you had to do was simply be, and he would provide this. 
Love. What an odd concept, to have found warmth in a grave you never even got the chance to dig your shovel into. 
“Hey, Eddie?” his fingers pause at your croaking voice. You smile at his stillness, at the way he hums carefully in response, still trying to offer the silence you quietly begged for, “I love you.” 
There’s more to unpack there. More than just familial love, more than just two friends that love each other without conditions. But tonight is not the night, and you both see that it is enough. There will be other nights to dig your claws in and to dissect what those three little words mean between you two. There will be other nights to consider how your other friends don’t have a permanent spare toothbrush on your bathroom counter or a space for their takeout in your fridge. But not tonight.
For tonight, this was enough. The quiet, and the warmth, the being was enough. 
“I love you,” he emphasizes the last word, leaning down and his lips grazing your temple. 
You notice the way he leaves off the too. He’d love you, even if you didn’t love him. You’d love him, even if he didn’t love you. Unconditional, no strings attached. A warmth you do not have to fight to earn. A rarity you never encountered before, and may never encounter again, but you have for tonight and for as long as he chooses to stick around. 
Your shovel sits abandoned in a shed in the distance. Your fingernails are clean of the dirt. The graveyard, it seems, would go another night without its robber. 
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gumycandyyy · 6 months
Note
Heyo I'm here to request that Male Reader x Winter King you wanted-
Anyways, can you write for a male Reader that used to be Simon and Betty's friend before the crown and the Mushroom War, who randomly shows up in the Land of Ooo? As in, Simon thought that they had died a long time ago, alongside Betty, but the Reader had survived through some odd means and got reunited with him?
Lol, if that's too much, then I'm sorry. It could be a fic or Headcanons, whichever you prefer!
⠂"ʏᴏᴜ'ᴠᴇ ɢᴏᴛᴛᴇɴ ᴏʟᴅ."⠐
⠂"ᴡᴇ ʙᴏᴛʜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ."⠐
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AHJFHJGSKHA HOW DID YOU KNOW I WANTED TO WRITE ABOUT SIMON?? I LOVE THIS WET CAT.
Winter King actually isn't this one, because I wanted to focus on Fionna and Cake ver. Simon
Male reader
Platonic/Romantic (I'm leaving it ambiguous, because I mean, c'mon. It's Simon.)
Type: Headcanons (With a drabble and oneshot mixed in)
Summary: An old friend shows up after a bunch of time-related shenanigans, and is finally ready to settle back down in Ooo. Though this sudden happening is quite a shock to Simon.
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-You used to be an old family friend of Betty's, and met Simon through her.
-Y'all were really close, and they invited you over for dinner every other weekend.
-But one day, you just...
-Vanished.
-Everyone thought you were kidnapped, and Simon and Betty were heartbroken.
-However...
-Through some odd means, you were kept alive for a thousand years.
-It all started one weird day when you bought a little doodad from a garage sale.
-the next thing you knew, you were in a big yellow cube with a pink wall guy.
-Apparently the little thing you bought was an item from another universe, and it was janking up Ooo.
-Aaaaand technically you just committed a serious crime by purchasing the little thing.
-And whether intentional or not, you now had to go on trial for this little accident. You tried to explain what happened, but you were found guilty.
-You were sentenced to a thousand years in some donked up time jail.
-Apparently, you wouldn't age in there, and a thousand years would pass on Ooo before you were set free.
-It was the worst thing that could've ever happened to you.
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-The time jail kept you from losing your sanity, and a thousand years later, you were released.
-You were teleported back to Ooo, which looked quite different than how you remembered it.
-It felt like an eternity since you've seen rolling green hills and a clear blue sky. An eternity since you've breathed familiar air.
-You heard something, about a hundred yards from you.
-You approached the loud noises to see some buff dude with a sick beard and robotic arm beating up some one-eyed monster.
-He punched the creature, and it was sent flying towards you.
-You ducked, and the dude noticed you.
"Ah, sorry man! Didn't see you there!"
-You assured him it was nothing.
"You're not from around here, are you?"
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You shook your head, then blinked confusedly. Well, technically you were. It had just been 1000 years. You tried to get your story straight, then told the guy.
"Woah, so does that mean you're technically a time traveler?"
You shrugged. Time travel hadn't been proven yet, has it? You weren't sure. You asked the guy his name, so you didn't have to refer to him as just 'the guy.'
"Oh, yeah. Name's Finn. Good ol' Finn the H."
"The H.?"
"Y'know, the Human?"
But you were human too. With all due respect, you asked him about his strange surname.
"Oh, uh.. My real last name is Mertens, but I like 'the Human' better. It's only recently other humans have started living in Ooo. So I'm kinda seen as 'that one human' y'know?"
You nodded, trying to make sense of what he said. what had happened that caused humans to leave Ooo? How was that even possible?
The two of you talked for a short while, and you learned a little bit about Ooo. You were used to knowing a lot, but you barely even recognized this place.
"Oh, you're from the 20th century, right?"
You nodded.
"I've got a friend from then, maybe you'd like to meet him? He's one cool dude."
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-You agreed politely, wondering if this 20th century man would help you adjust to life in whatever century this was. What century was this anyway? 30-something?
-Finn ended up taking you to a scrappy little bar filled with people that looked to be made out of candy.
"Anything you'd like to order?"
"Nothing for me, Dirt Beer Guy. Maybe he'd like one, but we're just waiting for-"
⠂⠂⠂⠂⠂⠂⠂⠂⠂⠂
"Simon?"
You stared in disbelief at the face of your old friend, who looked at you with the same expression. He was carrying something under his arm, but he dropped it in shock.
"No way, you know him? That's awesome!"
Simon slowly walked up to you, as if afraid you'd disappear at any second. Tears welled up in the both of your eyes, and you had to suppress breaking down right there. It hadn't occurred to you that this 20th century man could've been Simon, but now that you were seeing him, you realized you subconsciously wished it would be him.
He spoke your name softly, not much more than a whisper, as if anything louder would cause reality to shatter, or one of you to wake up from a dream.
"You... You're really here, aren't you?"
You nodded softly, not daring to say a word. Tears spilled out of your eyes, and Finn looked slightly confused.
"Do you guys, uh.... Wanna step out for a minute?"
You agreed, still quietly, saying it would probably be better to not make a scene. Finn gave you a thumbs up and shooed you out, saying he'd wait for you when you got back inside.
You stepped out of the little bar with Simon, realizing it got dark out while you were inside.
"So..."
"How about we take a walk?"
You nodded, falling into step with Simon as you walked into a nice little forest. The small stream rushing by provided ambient noise.
"How are you here..?"
Simon asked, with an air of disbelief. He blinked, wiping his glasses and rubbing his eyes. As if you'd disappear once he'd open them. You explained what happened, and suddenly gasped.
"If you're here, that means Betty must be here too, right? Where is she?"
Simon sighed, bringing his arms up to hold himself.
"She's..."
"She's not."
You decided not to pry, but you couldn't help but notice the sinking feeling in your gut. She was one of your best friends, and she was gone. But she was Simon's fiancee. It must have hit him harder, whatever happened to her. You'd ask later, when the emotional turmoil between the two of you wasn't so fresh.
You walked in peaceful silence between the two of you, listening to the sounds of the stream, or chirping crickets.
You took that time to study Simon, how his appearance changed, and things that stayed the same.
Same fashion sense,
same goofy circle glasses,
even the same walk you remember.
There was a white streak in his hair now.
Wrinkles on his face.
Something about him just seemed so...
Sad.
"You've gotten old."
Simon smiled, though it seemed bitter.
"We both have."
"I missed you, Simon. Not a day went by that I didn't think of you, Betty, or any of our other friends."
Simon stopped walking, and you copied. He seemed as if he was about to cry again. To be honest, you were too. Talking about all of this while looking him in the face didn't fare well for your emotional state.
He took off his glasses, wiping at his eyes. Simon smiled bitterly through it though. He seemed to be so lonely. You wondered where he lived now.
". . ."
He wiped his eyes again, then looked straight at you with an unwavering gaze.
"You have no idea how much we missed you. Even years after you disappeared, we still looked. Even when the police failed, we still-"
He inhaled sharply, breath shaking. He turned his head away, as if ashamed of his emotions.
You placed your hand on his shoulder, trying to provide comfort. Simon suddenly wrapped his arms around you, pressing his face into your shoulder. You returned the embrace, holding onto him just as tightly.
Simon's breath shook, and you softly rubbed his back. You had no idea what he's gone through, and you were genuinely unsure whether you were helping or not.
"Simon..?"
His grip on you loosened, and he looked up at you.
You said nothing else, but you gently rested your forehead on his. He sniffed, then took a deep breath. Your hands fell to his waist, while his rested on your shoulders. Simon closed his eyes, cherishing this small bit of comfort.
After a few moments, Simon pulled away, bringing his fist up to his mouth and clearing his throat.
"W- well, today was certainly... Eventful."
You laughed softly, agreeing with his remark. The two of you walked back to the little bar, realizing you'd gotten farther from it than you thought you did.
Simon cleared his throat yet again, once you reached the outside of the bar.
"Yeah, Simon?"
He thought for a moment, then spoke.
". . .Thank you."
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Thanks for reading! I absolutely loved writing this, and Simon needs a hug.
Your complimentary artwork ^^
reblog for a beginner writer?
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floshoe · 10 months
Text
You Mean Everything To Me
warnings; fluff, angst, talk about death, medical stuff, violence, injuries, bad parents
summary: you save Yelena’s life and in return she becomes your everything.
pairings; Yelena Belova x Fem! Reader, Wanda Maximoff x Pietro Maximoff x Half-Sister! Reader, Avengers x Fem! Reader
a/n: i am IN LOVE with this picture 😍
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It wasn’t until later in life that you found out you were only born because of your moms' infidelity. So, when you looked back on your childhood it made sense. You guess that you were just a reminder of her biggest mistake. (It also didn't help that you looked so much like your father) So instead of getting parents, you got to watch your parents love and cherish your half siblings.
And as a you got to the toddler stage, you started to resent your siblings, and that led to fights and tantrums, which, in turn, lead to punishments.
Wanda and Pietro never got punished, even when they started the fights: they stole your toys, pushed you, teamed up on you, and when they broke something, they blamed it on you. Which meant you spent most of your time sitting in the corner facing the wall.
They were the angels of the house who could do no wrong. Because you weren’t even supposed to be born. They made that fact very clear as you got older.
So, the night that your parents died wasn’t the worst day of your life, you never wished death upon them, but you couldn’t be as upset as your siblings.
But when it came to HYDRA, they wanted you to go with them. You’re still not sure why, but they did and sometimes you’re not completely sure you’re happy they did.
So on and so forth Ultron happens and while you were fighting robots Pietro got killed saving clint’s life. And for some reason Wanda blamed you for it.
“Why didn’t you stop him?!”
“I didn’t know he was going to do that! I wasn’t even near him, why didn’t you?!”
You two didn’t talk for a long time after that. Yes, you were saddened by his death; but you couldn’t be as sad as Wanda because you practically had no relationship with him.
But the Avengers still accepted you as a part of the team. Until once again Wanda poisoned your only friends against you just like when you were kids. You don’t know how she does it, but she always managed to make you look like the bad guy.
And once again you were isolated into a corner, all alone with no one to pull you out. The final straw happened on your last mission as an avenger.
Your job on this mission was basically to just keep the enemies busy while Steve tried to save the undercover agent he was sent to help escape. You were doing well, your powers making it easy to do it. Or so you thought.
You were so caught up on what was in front of you that you didn’t notice some of them coming up from behind you. They made you lose focus, and your powers caused the whole building to collapse.
You killed the undercover agent and all the information they had gathered. And almost killed Captain America.
That was when you swore off using your powers, you had almost killed an avenger. You had killed someone. And your powers got too out of control, so you didn’t trust them anymore.
That was the last straw, after that mission no one ever trusted you again and you were banned from missions. But that night you just packed up and left, you were no good to them otherwise; and it’s not like they’d miss you.
And that leads to you now, in a decent apartment in New York City, currently trying to decide what to do for dinner. Pizza or mac and cheese were your options tonight.
You eventually decided on pizza and made your way out of your apartment. Grabbing your coat on your way out as you decide on where you want your pizza from. You decide to head to your normal place and relax for a while. It’s been a while since you’ve had a relaxing night.
Not too long after you left the avengers you went into nursing school, helping people had always been a passion. Which was why you were so happy to be a part of the avengers. You’ve been a nurse for about a year now and you’ve loved it. You’d given up on friends a long time ago; who would want to be friends with you anyway?
Sure, it got lonely, but you just got to live your life without restrictions.
You were walking home when you heard someone breathing heavily in an alley way. Your nursing instincts pushed you to investigate, so you slowly walked into the alley, but not before grabbing your taser.
You don’t walk too far in before you see a blonde in tactical gear sitting against the wall struggling to breathe. It doesn’t take too long for you to put the pieces together.
She’s Natasha’s sister.
Before Natasha turned on you, she had told you about her sister. The one she had left behind in the Red Room. Which made you nervous about her intentions when it came to her seeing you. But then you remembered that the Red Room had been taken down but the two widows. (You saw it on the news.)
So, you can only assume she was with the avengers now and this had happened due to a mission. You see that she’s not conscious. you worry about her not making it, so you get her to your apartment.
You lay her down on the guest bed and run to your bathroom to grab your things to help her. You felt weird unzipping her suit but when you did you continued without remorse because she had been stabbed more than once and she was probably close to bleeding out.
It took at about 2 hours to stitch her up completely, she had some cuts on her legs and arms too. Along with some bruises, she won’t feel good tomorrow. You help her into some of your clothes and shut the door behind you.
The next morning you wake up early and see she’s still asleep. Which makes you feel better because she could try to kill you in your sleep if she woke up first.
You’re alerted to her waking up when you hear a groan from the guest bedroom. you slowly make your way to the room, knocking on the door.
“Hello?” her accented hoarse voice calls.
You slowly open the doors with your hands up, not knowing how she’ll react.
“Who are you?” her accent heavy in her words.
“My names y/n,” you tell her.
“What am I doing here?”
“I found you in an alley almost dead so I brought you here- to my apartment to help you.”
Her demeanor shifts a little bit before she tries to get up, “you really shouldn’t-”
“Don’t,” she cuts you off. “I don’t know who you are, but I need to leave.” She tries to get up but as soon as she sits up the sharp throb of the wounds shoots through her, and she falls back onto the bed. “What did you do to me?”
“You mean what did I do for you? I saved you from bleeding out in that alley Yelena.”
Her defenses shoot back up, stronger than before, “how do you know my name?” The coldness in her voice almost makes you shiver.
“I used to be friends with your sister, Natasha,” you tell her.
“What? how?” her confusion evident in her features.
“I used to work with the Avenger, I don’t know if they told you about me.”
She shakes her head.
“I’m y/n Maximoff, Wanda’s sister.”
“I thought she only had a brother,” Yelena says.
You scoff, “of course she just completely erased me when I left- anyway you should probably stay here for a little while so you can recover. I don’t want to be the reason that the famous black widow’s sister dies.”
“Why did you work with the Avengers? Did you have powers like Wanda?”
The mention of your powers makes you freeze, “you should eat something. mac and cheese, okay?”
She just stares at you, so you leave the room to make the food.
Yelena got a weird feeling when you checked her wounds, it took a lot of convincing, but she eventually let you.
You used nothing but care when you touched her, touches so soft she almost thought she was imagining them.
“You never answered my question,” Yelena whispers.
“Hm?”
“Do you have powers like your sister?” she asks.
“Yeah... yeah I do,” you hesitate.
“Why aren’t you an avenger anymore?” she asks again.
You sigh as you put on new gauze on her wound, “it’s a long story Yelena.”
“I have time,” she motions to her current state.
you sighed again and sat down at the edge of the bed, Yelena looking at you expectantly.
“I was never close to my family; my parents practically abandoned me as soon as I was born except i kept living with them. i honestly don’t know which is worse,” you start.
“To keep it simple I raised myself as I watched my parents raise my siblings. And when they died, we went to HYDRA for their experiments. And then after that we joined the Avengers Pietro died, our brother, and I made a mistake on a mission that got someone killed.”
Yelena’s brows raise, “was it an accident?”
“Yeah, but I killed someone, someone important and I was banned from missions after that, no one trusted me anyway, I wasn’t close to anyone thanks to Wanda, so I left.”
“What do you do now?”
“I’m a nurse, helping people just like I’ve always wanted,” you smile.
Yelena’s lips curve into a small smile, “Did you know who I was when you saw me in the alley?” you nod. “So, you know what I’ve done?”
“You mean what you were forced to do? Yes. But I don’t judge you for that,” you tell her.
“so, you aren’t scared of me?”
“Even if I was I would be able to protect myself, powers or not,” you tease.
“Mhm, I doubt that” she smirks.
“Maybe when you’re better we can test that theory,” you offer.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
The month Yelena spent with you was honestly one of the best months of her life. It was filled with friendly banter, teasing, and her making a new friend. Natasha hadn't tried to contact her because Yelena told her she was at a safe house for now. Natasha was reluctant to leave her be and demanded her location but Yelena being the stubborn woman she is refused to tell her. Only telling her that she'll be back soon.
She found comfort in the way you were able to calm her down if her mind kept her up. She was hesitant at first but the genuine worry in your eyes helped ease her worries.
those nights where she had trouble sleeping; you treated her with the upmost care. You offered to watch tv to help keep her mind off of her nightmares. she would inevitably get tired and fall asleep, and she would let her head fall onto your shoulder.
You honestly didn’t mind, you were just glad she felt comfortable enough with you to fall asleep, let alone on you. You just wrap your arm around her and her head leans onto your chest.
The next morning Yelena woke up on top of you on the couch, she immediately got up and went into the guest bedroom. The sudden movement had woken you up, “Yelena?”
You see her as she shuts the door. You didn’t see her for the rest of the day.
Later you learned that that was the first time she had ‘cuddled’ with someone and she genuinely didn’t know what to think of it. When it came to touch, all she thought was of how she had hurt people and how people had hurt her. So, when she woke up that close to you it had caught her off guard.
That’s you tried to help ease her more slowly into touch. You would sit closer to her on the couch and lean into her when something was funny, your hands would touch when you handed her something. Like your clothes since she had arrived here in her tactical suit.
Wearing your clothes also made it easy to be close to you, smelling your scent in the clothes she wore, on the bed she slept on.
She learned more about you in a month than any of the avengers had in the years you had as an Avenger, more than your own sister. you learned more about her too, her time at the red room, reuniting with Natasha, and even her time in Ohio.
As she got more comfortable with touch, she began to initiate it too, sometimes holding your hand when watching movies, or hugging you in thanks after you help her through some particularly hard nights.
You never expected a thank you, it was something that came easy to you: helping her.
And as she spent more time with you, she started to wonder why you never used your powers if you had them.
“Why don’t you use your powers?” Yelena asks as the two of you eat dinner together.
“Because i don’t trust them anymore.”
“Why?”
“Do you not remember when i told you that i killed someone?”
“It was an accident.”
“Someone’s still dead.”
She never asked about them again after that.
When Yelena was healed enough to leave you were honestly sad. You weren’t sure if she would come back. you were worried that if she asked them about you, they would poison her against you.
“Be careful okay,” you tell her as you part from your goodbye hug.
“I’ll do my best,” she teases. “I’m sort of an avenger so that’s not exactly unavoidable.”
“Oh, I know, just don’t die.”
She nods and looks in your eyes, “I don’t want this to be the last time I see you.”
You sigh in relief, “good, because I don’t want this to be the last time either. I happen to enjoy your company, Belova.
“I also happen to enjoy your company Maximoff,” she smiles.
And that’s when the arrangement started.
After missions, you were the person she went to, not Cho, her sister, or even an Avenger. you.
The way you would take care of her made her heart skip beats. the care you had for her obvious when you would worry over her when she showed up hurt.
And when you weren’t at your apartment, she went to the hospital you worked at praying you weren’t busy. Of course, you were but you were always able to aid her.
“What happened to being careful Lena?”
“Getting hurt isn’t something that is easily avoidable, y/n/n.”
“I know, but it feels like I’m always fixing you up after every mission you have. you know you can come see me when you're not injured, right?” you tease.
she smirks, “I know I just barely have time to.”
“Where do they think you’re going?”
“I honestly don’t know, I just sort of leave and when they ask I do this,” and she shows her glare.
“Okay easy there, I don’t want to have a heart attack before I finish your stitches,” you joke.
She smiles and shakes her head.
This arrangement goes on for about 3 months before Yelena starts to realize her feelings towards you, they felt more than friends, but she didn’t know what that meant. And her only solution was her sister.
“I don’t know what to do about it, I can’t talk to her about it because she’s the one I have feelings for, and I can’t function around her. she thinks there’s something wrong with me when I can’t form a sentence when she looks at me or when she touches me, I don’t know what to do!” Yelena rants as she falls onto Natasha’s bed.
“Sounds like love.”
Yelena’s head snaps up, “what?”
“You love her.”
After that she starts analyzing her interactions with you, thinking about how she would feel doing this like cuddling, kissing, cooking together. She often smiles when she thinks about it.
And she’s not the only one struggling with feelings. You’ve had trouble with them since about a month into you being her personal doctor. You’ve seen the way she looks at you when you’re patching her up, it’s not that hard to notice considering she’s never had to hide this sort of feeling before.
The feelings came into light on accident, she had finally had time to just come see you without getting hurt. You guys decided to sit on the roof of your building and have dinner since the landlord had been able to decorate the roof with lights and furniture.
You sat next to each other on the couch and ate your dinner in a comfortable silence, you both had had long days and just simply being in each other’s company was enough.
And as the night went on, Yelena's mind drifted to what her sister said,
"You love her."
And after a you noticed she wasn't listening to you, you wave your hand in her face, "you okay there?"
She nods but that doesn't really convince you, "what's going on?"
She sighs and puts her bowl down and moves so her body is facing you. You mirror her actions and wait for her to talk.
"Do you ever get the feeling that this could mean more than we think it does?" She asks.
Her question throws you off guard, having not expecting this from her, "I mean, yeah, but I never thought that you would."
She furrows her brows in question, so you clarify, "Being more than friends with someone didn't really seem like something you wanted. You never really talked about anyone like that before."
"Because I've never felt like this before, and plus I wasn't going to talk about my feelings to the girl I like. Especially when I didn't fully understand them."
Oh. Well, that makes sense. Wait- "You like me like that?"
"Yes, isn't that what this whole conversation is about?" She giggles at you.
"Well, yeah, but I guess, I don't-" Yelena can't listen to you ramble any longer so she grabs your face and pulls you in for a kiss.
It's unlike anything you've ever experienced before, the feeling of her soft lips perfectly fitting with yours giving you a feeling of euphoria. Yelena no different, this being the first kiss she's shared with someone she truly cares about.
You both pull away and rest your foreheads on the others', looking into each other's eyes. "We should do that more often," you breathe.
"Definitely."
The rest of the night was filled with longing looks, soft touches, kisses, and long talks about the possibilities for the future.
-------------------------------------------------------------
It's about a year after you guys confessed your feelings for one another and it's been great, you’ve been able to see her a little more often since she hasn't been assigned to as many mission recently.
Your relationship. has gotten to a point too where Yelena wants to tell her sister about you. The woman who both saved and changed her life. But that didn't really go over well.
"Why can't you meet her?" Yelena asks.
"I already have remember? It didn't exactly go to plan," you remind her.
"I know but maybe it's okay now, it's been a few years," the ever-stubborn woman that you call your girlfriend points out.
"Please? You've become one of most important people in my life and I want to share that with other people. Show them how much we love each other." She walks over to you and wraps her arms around your neck.
"The last time I saw all of them wasn't pretty Lena, I don't want your relationship with your sister to be impacted by this," you plead with her. "Maybe someday, but I'm also not ready to see all of them again, especially my sister."
This conversation didn't lead to the result Yelena was hoping for, so she dropped it.
It's only a few weeks later when Yelena is sent on a mission that's supposed to last for a little while. As she's getting ready to leave you make sure to give her a good luck kiss. "Be careful, okay?"
"I always am," she gives you another kiss. "I'll see you soon dekta." And she grabs her bags and she's out the door.
It's only two weeks later when you see a distress call from Yelena, saying she's hurt. You immediately use your powers to teleport to where she is so you can help her.
You run around to try and find her, and when you do you see her laying on the ground similar to the way you had found her the first time.
You run over to her and try to figure out what happened. You see she’s awake and hold her face so she looks at you.
“Lena, baby?”
“y/n?” she groans.
“What happened honey?”
“Explosives,” her eyebrows furrow when she looks behind you and that’s when you hear a gun click.
“Get away from her,” the authoritative voice of Natasha Romanoff orders.
“Nat,” Yelena tries to tell her who you are but she’s too weak to do so.
“Get. The hell. Away from her. I won’t ask again.” she demands as she walks closer.
“She needs medical attention-”
“I know she does, now walk away so she can get it.”
Yelena looks you in the eye and slowly nods for you to walk away. “She isn‘t going to listen to you,” she whispers.
You reluctantly set her head gently against the wall and get up and turn around with your hands up per Natasha’s request.
When you turn around and she sees your face you watch as she recognizes you. “What the hell are you doing here?
“She needed help, so I came.”
She shakes her and puts her gun down to run to Yelena, she picks her up and takes her to the quinjet. Taking off without you. Yelena looks around for you but she can’t find you.
“Where is she?” she asks.
“Who Yelena?”
“y/n,” she whispers before she falls unconscious.
The next time she awakes she’s in the medbay with Natasha sitting next to her.
“Are you okay?” she asks her younger sister.
“Fine,” she says even though her head feels like it’s going to explode and her entire body is sore.
“How do you know y/n?”
Yelena looks at her but doesn’t answer. “Where’s my phone?”
“Why?”
“I need to call someone.”
There was really nothing you could do as you waited for hours for Yelena to maybe call you to tell you she’s okay. It’s the next day when you finally here from her. And she’s asking you to come to the compound so she can see you.
You agree. You’re there within a couple minutes but you’ve run into an issue. How do you get past the entrance. You try and teleport to where you think the medbay to be and hope.
You look up and see the room Yelena’s in. You quickly walk to her hoping not to run into anyone. You walk on the room and see Natasha and Yelena talking.
They both look up and Yelena smiles. “So, you’re the person who’s saved my sister life,” Natasha says.
You nod, looking at Yelena who motions with her hand for you to come closer. You walk over and she immediately grabs your hand with hers and you rub your thumb over her hand.
“You okay?”
“Sore, but yeah I’m fine.”
The moment is ruined as the rest of the Avengers walk into the room and see you. You tease and move to let go of Yelena’s hand but she holds yours tighter.
Tony is the first to acknowledge who you are and he doesn’t really react except for a nod. The rest of them do the same except for Wanda. She glares at you and looks down and sees you holding Yelena’s hand.
“You two know each other?” she practically hisses at you.
You nod.
“How?” Wanda asks.
You don’t really know what to say so Yelena tells her. She tells all of them how you guys met, you saved her life, became her person, patched her up after missions, and are now her girlfriend.
“So that’s where you go,” Sam realizes. He wasn’t an Avenger that same time you were so he doesn’t know about the grudge the others held against you.
“Why did you go to her instead of Cho or at least one of us?” Natasha asks.
“I felt safe with her,” Yelena admits. Her response making you smile even though you’re still have a staring contest with your sister.
“Wanda, it’s okay,” Natasha tries to tell her.
“No, there is no world where this is okay,” she growls at you and walks closer to you. “You have done nothing but make everyone’s life harder so do us all a favor and get the hell out of here,” she demands as her eyes start turning red.
“No.”
“No?”
“No! I’m tired of you bossing me around. First, you’re younger than me, second, I haven’t done a single thing wrong towards you m my whole life. Third, yes, I was born being our mother cheated on your father, but I have done nothing wrong except for being born. The only reason you hate me is because your parents did and their resentment towards me reflected onto you so you hate me too. I’m not going to be your punching bag anymore. I’m done!” You yell and watch as her expression falls and she leaves the room.
All that’s left is awkward silence left after your outburst but you haven’t felt this kind of relief in so long. You’ve had this pressure on your shoulders tour whole life and now it’s gone. You’ve stood up to someone, not who you really wanted to but this is as close as you’ll get, and let them know that how you were being treated wasn’t okay.
You look down and Yelena and see her proud smile as she squeezes your hand, happy that you stood up to your sister. The rest of the Avengers eventually leave and you sit in a chair next to Yelena’s bed.
You just take a moment to look at her, the strong, beautiful woman you’ve been able to call your girlfriend. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Your cheeks warm from getting caught and say, “I just love you.”
Her smile widens, “I love you too dekta.”
You stand up and cup her face, her hands lightly grasping your wrists as you lean in and kiss her lips. It having been weeks since the last time you were able to kiss the green eyed beauty.
You kiss a couple more times before you lean your forehead against hers.
“You mean everything to me,” and she smiles brightly with rosy cheeks and pulls you in for another kiss. Letting you feel nothing but the love she has for you, and you revel in the fact that you finally have someone who truly loves you.
———————————
hope you enjoyed it <3
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orchidyoonkook · 1 year
Text
Under The Willow Tree | MYG
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Title: Under The Willow Tree   
Pairing: Bad Boy!Min Yoongi x (F)!Reader
Rating//Genre: (T) | One Shot, Small Town AU, S2F2L, Implied Age Gap, Slow Burn, Angst, Touch of Fluff, Darker Subject Matter, First Kiss, Silce of Life
Summary: The town outcast shows up in the one place you find solace from it’s residents. The people you force yourself to fit in with, even though you never want to be anything like them. Will he ruin your only place of salvation, or become the most unlikely friend?
Warnings: PG16, some not necessarily positive non-specific religious discussions, people using religion in a negative may, plot twisty, cursing, kissing, semi-apparent abandonment issues, discussions of dead parents and guardians, mentions of alcoholism in a parent, mentions of illness in a parent, yoongi has tattoos and a motorcycle, motorcycle lessons, longing, mishandled emotions, catharsis.
Word Count: 7401
Release Date: April 10, 2023, 4:05PM
A/N 1: This happened due to a writing prompts post I shared sometime in late march. I’m quite proud of it considering I hadn’t planned anything so the entire story was written as I was writing. Very different than my normal writing process. 
A/N 2: Thank you endlessly to @borahae-k​, @katykatmeow​, @here4btsfics​ and @phthartic-fox​​ for beta’ing this. I love you all for your help, support and kindness. 
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It happened under a willow tree. A weeping willow.
Your favourite willow, to be specific. Even though there’s just the one.
It’s by the pond deep in the woods behind your house, where you watch ducks swim through the long, wispy branches that just reach its shore. Where you sit at the base, waiting for the sun to set the sky ablaze with colour as it falls into the horizon for another good night's sleep.
The one under which you had your first kiss.
You’d been waiting. Wanting it to be special, with the right person.
But a brief brush of soft, pink lips with the last person you ever expected had you wanting more, more, more.
It’d been a few months since he started coming to the willow. You’d assumed for the same reason you did.
To get away. From anyone and everything.
There aren’t many places in your hometown that allow for privacy, and you imagined he needed it more than anyone. Somewhere far from the residents' judgmental stares that were always nothing less than smothering.
Hailing from a very small, very rural, religious town where everybody’s known everyone for generations, your community is one where you follow in the footsteps of your parents and grandparents before them.
Where your life is already decided for you at birth, whether you know it or not.
Copy. Paste.
Copy.
Paste.
You’re born there; either at home with a midwife or in the one floor hospital down the main road. Raised there; a hand-me-down wearing, bike riding, creek-playing child.
You go to school there; stuck inside the same four walls from the ages of 4 to 18. Get your driver's licence there; from the sheriff after a road test that a 9 year old could pass.
You graduate there; from the same high school your friends, parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents went to. Get a job; in town or on a farm, the only two options there are. 
And marry there; before 25, lest you become a spinster, subject to the gossip vultures also known as your neighbours. Then have some kids before growing old and dying, your permanent resting place dug in the same graveyard as everyone else that came before you.
Copy. 
Paste.
It’s a suffocating fate that petrified you to your core. And you’ve known you didn’t want it for as long as you can remember.
You never liked their rules. Didn’t want to become one of them, to do as they do, live the way they live.
You’d skillfully escaped making any true friends as you grew older, but kept the people you could tolerate close enough to not be bored on weekends. They’re all temporary placeholders in your life anyway, people who sound like robots stuck in the same settings. People who would hold you back.
What’s worst of all is that you don’t share the religion they claim to be so hallowed and wonderful. The one that’s unwittingly forced them all into this life of monotonous repetition.
You dream of more. Of life outside this dreaded purgatory.
Of leaving.
But no one ever leaves. They’re stuck here, in this downwards spiral of life you’re so desperately trying to dig yourself out of. It makes you feel like a fraud, constantly pretending to be one of them. Always wearing a mask just to make it to the next day alive, unharmed by them and their values.
It makes you feel like there’s always a pair of eyes watching, waiting for you to mess up and reveal your blasphemous self.
You’re terrified they’ll discover the truth. Terrified of the ostracisation that will come the second they know you aren’t one of them.
You’ve seen it in real time. What they do to people who don’t conform.
Seen how they treat him.
Two years older. Bleach blond hair and a sleeve full of tattoos. A leather jacket he wears like armour with all black clothes to match. And last, but certainly not least, a motorcycle.
You daydreamed about that bike. Taking it and riding far, far away.
The busybodied people of your town never had a kind word to be said about him. Instead, choosing to call him any and every horrible name under the sun.
Beast, bastard, demon, monster, criminal.
Unable to understand him, understand anyone different.
They herd their children away from him in the streets; parting like the Red Sea when he walks by.
As if he were acid.
As if he was evil itself, and not just a young man.
You’ve never even heard him speak because no one dares to talk to him, worried any contact could turn them, seduce them into whatever his sick ways were.  
And you’re ashamed to admit you’re one of them…sort of.
You aren’t worried about speaking to him, you’re worried about what being seen speaking with him will do to you.
You’re someone whose only salvation from complete and total social isolation relies on fitting in.
And even if it kills you to pretend, you only need to do it for a little while longer.
You just had to make it to college. You’d be the first one in decades to go. Their mindset of ‘you have everything you need here so why bother leaving’  having not once in your life resonated.
You can deal with them and all of their beliefs about what you should do with your life for the short hours of school and occasional shifts at the diner, so long as you can escape to your willow tree, you’ll be okay.
The weeping willow in the middle of the forest behind your house is the only one in the area. You never understood why that is, but it’s your oasis away from everything you hate.
The tips of its branches sway rhythmically in the wind, and moss creeps up its trunk. It’s surrounded by dense, plush grass for you to sit on, and after all the years of sitting in the same spot, a little groove in the shape of your body has formed at its base. 
Its canopy protects you from the outside world, creating a space where you don't have to hide. Where you can proudly be yourself without fear. Where you spend as much of your time as you possibly can to keep your sanity intact.
No one bothers you here.
Your mum died years ago from an illness they never diagnosed, her plot in the town’s graveyard long since filled.
And your dad never notices you gone, too drunk in your house up on the hill to care.
So as long as there’s a constant supply of food on the counter and beer in the fridge, you’re free to do as you please.
Under the willow you do your homework and sketch. You take pictures and eat breakfasts and lunches and dinners. You listen to music and dance under the safety of its shade.
Under the willow you read great adventure novels, and dream you’re the protagonists whisked away on grand adventures. Anywhere but here.
Under the willow is your home away from home. Next to the pond, under the stars.
So it’s to your great surprise when an unexpected guest pries open the curtain of flowing foliage one spring afternoon. A bleached blond, leather jacket wearing, motorcycle riding, guest.
You don’t see him at first, too focused on the sketchpad in front of you. He steps in, and watches you work quietly, waiting for you to notice him.
You fascinate him. Every other girl in town can be found at one of three places, yet you were never at any of them. Not at the restaurant sipping on a milkshake. Not at the library studying. And not at the church volunteering. 
You’re always elsewhere. 
And he’s finally figured out where that is. 
He was nervous at first. To follow you. You’d never spoken but that wasn’t anything new to him. No one in this town ever did. 
Not to him.
But you don’t look down at him like the others do. Or jump out of the way when he walks by. You don’t tear away from his gaze as fast as the others. You hold on, even if for just a second longer. 
Unknowingly, you’ve captivated him more than anyone else he’s ever met.
So he followed you to see where you vanish off to, not expecting you to go into the forest behind your house. 
For a half second he considered you dangerous, because what on earth could you be getting up to in a forest for hours? But as he trailed the sounds of your footsteps and saw the small clearing with the tree, it began to make sense.
After jumping ten feet from seeing something tall and dark in your periphery, you exhale a large breath when you realise you aren’t in any danger, and shake out the nerves. 
You’d normally worry he was there to hurt you, but something in you knew he never would. Never could. Maybe it was the look he gave as he regarded you. 
Soft. Wistful even.
“What are you doing here?” You ask, wary. The first words you’ve ever spoken to him.
Barely contained inside the limits of the willows perimeter, he shrugs, and takes a long look around your little sanctuary.
And as he does, you get your first real look at him.
He’s handsome. Stoically so. And for only a moment do you wonder about all the stories hidden behind his eyes.  
The ones now focused on you.
“Wanted to see where you disappear to. You’re never in town.”
So what if you were never in town? Why did he care? Wait—How did he know? Does he pay attention to you?
…Why you?
You didn’t think he cared to notice anyone in this town, let alone you enough to know you don’t follow the social expectations of someone your age.
To pick up on the fact that you’re never there at all.
It makes a million things run through your mind—Why does he care about where you go? What about you is so special? Does he even know your name?—before one resounding thought hits you like a ton of bricks.
Can you trust him?
No one else in this town does, but all of their reasons are superficial bullshit.
All you know is you don’t know the first thing about him, and that now he knows about the one place you feel safe.
“That’s intentional,” you say, cautious. Not giving away anything but not saying much either.
“Can’t blame you,” he responds, before checking out the rooftop of bright green and muttering, “Eyes and ears everywhere.”
Those four words alone are all you need. 
He gets it.
“Yeah.”
Maybe you can trust him.
Observing each other for a silent minute, there seems to be an unspoken understanding forming between the two of you.
And he shoves his hands in his pockets, asking, “Mind company?”
You think about it for only a second.
No. No you didn’t.
“As long as you’re quiet. I’m trying to focus,” pointing the eraser end of your pencil to the sketchpad on your lap. “The cattail leaves are the hardest to get the lines right.”
He nods, finally breaking free of his position at the branch's edge. Nearing the base of the tree, he crouches down, about a quarter of the trunk's diameter away from you. It’s close enough to still see each other, but far enough to not bump into one another.
And before nestling in fully, he extends a tattooed hand to you.
“Yoongi.”
An introduction.
“Y/N,” you return, putting your pencil down in the crease of your pad and shaking.
His hand is calloused, the ones you get from years of working with your hands. And strong, a firm grip. The kind you’d want to pull you up if you were dangling over a cliff. 
So many stories contained in a 3 second touch. Yet you find yourself wanting to know all of them.
Releasing, he settles in.
What surprises you most about the whole encounter isn’t his arrival, or speaking to him for the first time, or even the handshake.
It’s that when he’s comfortable, with one leg up for an elbow to rest upon, he digs a book out from the confines of his jacket.
Jules Verne, The Mysterious Island.
Your favourite.
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Spring fades into a wonderful summer of late nights and early mornings. Of beautiful blue skies and vivid sunsets you appreciate a little more now that you have someone to share them with.
Yoongi comes almost, if not, every day to the willow. Always a different book in hand. Always one of the classics.
The Iliad, 1984, Jane Eyre, Moby Dick, Anna Karina, Dracula, Little Women, Frankenstein, Catcher in the Rye, and those are just the ones you can remember because you’ve read them too. Some of them more than once.
You never expected to have anything in common with the boy that sits next to you. But from the little you’ve spoken to one another over the months, you’ve found that you share so much more than just reading habits.
On a warm April afternoon he told you he reads because he loves it but also to escape the daily hell that is your town.
    “Mmm, what’s your favourite?” you’d asked.
    Yoongi was lying down with an arm behind his head, staring into the treetop. Brave New World sat opened and facedown on his chest, his hand resting atop it.
    “Pride and Prejudice.”
    That was the last answer you expected.
    “Why?”
    He lifts his head to look at you.
    “I thought the answer would’ve been obvious.”
After a cold drink on a hot June morning he told you his dreams of moving across the country. As far away as he could get.
    “Just have to save up enough money first.”
    You wondered how he made any. He definitely didn’t work anywhere in town…maybe waiting to inherit?
    Who knew?
    Both on a blanket you’d brought, Yoongi’s lying opposite and beside you, his feet by your hips. He used his balled up jacket as a pillow while you sat in your usual spot, capturing the way the branches swayed in your sketchpad.
    He’d taken to reading to you while you drew, including you in the grand stories he now knew you loved to read too.
    That day he had The Great Gatsby, a story you’d read about 20 times.
    You often dreamed of attending one of his parties. Of seeing the green light across the way, or having a conversation with Nick, why he stayed.
    “Are you anywhere close?” you asked, in reference to his saving goals.           
    “Getting there,” was all he gave.
And on a miserable, rainy night in the middle of August, is when you learned he’s all on his own.
    Sitting beside each other, you both huddled underneath his jacket for what little protection from the rain it could give. Water droplets fell from the tips of his bangs as he spoke.
    “My parents died in a car crash when I was 9, and then my grandma who took care of me, when I was 15.”
    You grieved for him as he told you his story.
    How he had to raise himself.
    Just like you did.
    “I’m sorry,” you’d replied gently. Softly. Knowing how it felt to have no one support you. No one to help you.
    Knowing how it felt to be alone.
    You understood.
    You did, you did, you did.
    Yoongi just stared at the ground, unable to meet your eyes. And you’d wondered if any of the water on his face was salty as he breathed out a quiet and heartbreaking, “Thank you.”  
    It made you question how many kind words he’d heard since his family passed.
    And also incredibly pissed off at the people in your town for how they’d treated him.
    How you’d…treated him.
    A silent promise was made then and there. Never having felt more embarrassed and furious with yourself than in that moment. You’d learned your lesson, and hoped that offering up your own piece of vulnerability might help him feel not so alone.
    Though you watched the rain turn the pond into a canvas of vibration as you did. Words dragged from the deepest parts of your soul, burning the back of your throat as they left.
    “My dad hasn’t been sober a day since my mom died. His eyes are turning yellow,” you said, hugging yourself to stop shaking, convinced yourself it was because of the cold.
    Even though it was August.
    “He doesn’t recognize me most of the time.”
    You closed your eyes, a familiar tang washing over your tongue as you licked the water dripping from your lips.     He gave no response, but an arm found its way over your shoulders and squeezed.
    He understood.
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It’s the beginning of September. The air’s started to nip at your cheeks, and the ground crunches a little more everyday with all of the leaves falling underfoot.
The tips of the willows leaves have begun to turn the colour of the morning sun, and by the time mid October rolls around, it’ll look like golden hour every hour of the day.
Yoongi finally tells you about the job he has at a mechanic's in the next town over. He explains how they don’t pay him nearly what they should, but he doesn’t complain because every cent brings him closer to leaving.
Just him and his bike.
You turn sheepish.
“Can I tell you something?”
He sits closer after all this time, more comfortable around one another. Still not enough to touch, not crossing that invisible boundary line, but enough that you don’t have to turn your head much anymore to see his eyes.
Brown and endless.
“Yeah, sure.”
You take a deep breath.
“I kind of always dreamed of taking your bike to get away from here and never come back.” He gives you a look and you shrug. “Seemed the easiest route to take.”
A smile that starts as a smirk turns into a healthy laugh.
“What’s so funny?” You demand. He has to calm himself down a bit before answering.
“You just uhm…don’t seem the criminal type to me, Cattails.”
There’s a flutter of something in your chest at the stupid nickname. For the drawing you did the day you met.
He continues, unaware of the goings on inside you. “Stealing? You? Nah. Not a chance.”
You open your mouth in mock outrage, scrunching your brow and bringing a hand to your chest.
“I’ll have you know I’d make an excellent criminal,” you lie to his face. He knows it too. 
But giving in, you detail the plan you’d always kept in your head for emergencies, heat slowly rising in your cheeks with every word.
“I’d take the key from you when you weren’t looking, duplicate it at the hardware store, and slip it back into your pocket before you ever noticed it was gone. Then go to your place in the middle of the night and be halfway across the country before morning.”
“Oh yeah?” he says with a raised brow you don’t trust.
“Yeah,” you confirm with a little too much faux confidence.
“And where do I keep my key, Y/N? Hmm?”
“Your jacket pocket,” you’d deduced long ago.
“Mmm,” he tsks with a shake of his head. “Nope.”
Oh. Well then it must be,
“Your pants pocket?”  
“Nuh uh, try again.”
Damnit!
You’d never thought much about it. How many places can someone keep a key on them without a bag and it not be in their pockets?
“Ummm, in your wallet?” Far-fetched but worth a shot.
“Ooo,” he blows through pursed lips before smirking at you again, but this one was different. It caused something very deep inside of you to turn to lava. “Good guess, but also no.”
Closing his book and setting it down, Yoongi straightens and reaches inside the collar of his shirt, retrieving a necklace you didn’t know he wore.
It’s small, the key, and almost silver. The colouring is tarnished from years of use, with worn teeth and some lettering at its base.
He holds it against a palm to show you.
“Why there?” You ask, wondering if there’s a reason aside from convenience.
With a sad tug of his lips, he answers. “Bike was my dads. I like to keep him close.”
A tender smile meets your own plush as you stare at the little key, appreciating it more after learning the importance it has to him.
And Yoongi watches you, viewing his ticket to freedom with the biggest eyes he’s ever seen, full of that same compassion and understanding you’ve always given him.
An understanding he didn’t think he’d ever see again from this place.
One he doesn’t know if he deserves.
Before you can respond, he’s taking the chain off and sliding it over your head, hand lingering for a second longer than necessary at your nape.
“Yoongi,” you hesitate.
It’s the first time you’ve said his name out loud.
You like the way it feels on your tongue. Warm, sweet. Like honey.
What you don’t know is he loves the way it sounds coming from you.
You falter. “W-what are you doing?”
“What’s it look like I’m doing?”
“But it’s your key! Don’t you need it?”
“Nah, got a spare in the storage compartment of the bike,” he says, gesturing to the one you now hold in your palms. “This way you won’t have to go through the hassle of stealing it.”
“But I—”
“Keep it,” he cuts you off. “In case you need it more than I do.”
It never leaves your neck.
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“You want me to what?” You ask as you walk towards the forest edge, Yoongi trailing on your left.
“Take her out for a spin. See if you even can. You’re the one who has all these grand plans but doesn’t even know how to turn it on,” he explains, referring to his motorcycle.
“Those were just daydreamed plans! I never thought I’d actually use them! What if I crash?”
He was kidding right? He must be.
For all the time you two have spent together, you’ve never spoken or been around one another in public. An unspoken agreement.
What happens under the willow tree, stays under the willow tree.
So to be out in the open? On his bike? You don’t know if you can. Or if you should.
But then you remember a promise you made not long ago.
“You won’t crash,” he says, like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard.
“How do you know? Like you said, I don’t even know how to turn it on,” you hmph.
“Because I’ll be there.”
And maybe it’s the tone of voice he uses, or the fact that you trust him, you find yourself saying,
“Okay, fine.”
Minutes later you’re swinging a leg over the bike, and sinking on to the surprisingly comfortable seat.
“Where do I put the key?” You ask, taking it from your neck and handing it over.
Yoongi puts it in the side of the motorcycle, somewhere close to your knee.
“Here,” he shows as he turns it to the ‘ON’ position.
“Oh.”
What a weird place for an ignition. 
“Mhm,” he acknowledges, then points. “Put your hand on the brake, it’s the part that sticks out on the right hand side. Hold it firmly against the handlebar. Don’t roll the handle bar itself back though, okay? That’s the throttle.”
Doing what he says, you hold the brake tight against the handle bar, murmuring an ‘okay’ under your breath.
“Now hit that button there on the right to let the fuel pump start up,” referring to the button beside the brake near your thumb. You do so.
He checks a little gauge on the side near the ignition. Seemingly pleased, he continues. “And now hit the button on the left to start it.”
Following his words once again, the engine roars to life the second the button is pressed, purring powerfully.
You feel exhilarated and a little terrified. But he’s here. You know you’re safe.
Voice a little louder to combat the noise from the motor, he says, “Okay, now on the left handle bar, grab the clutch. I’ll show you how to move into first gear, and look at me,” your eyes meet his, “do not let go of the clutch.”
You nod, but for extra precaution, he clamps his hand over the one you have holding it. You watch as he bends to put your left foot on a pedal and presses it down till you hear a pop, pushing up the kickstand when he rises.
The bike is heavy, now that you’re the only thing keeping it up right, you can feel its weight. And you understand why they’re designed to be able to have your feet on the ground even when sitting. You’d probably fall over otherwise.
“If you’re uncomfortable you let me know, yeah? And if you get scared just do what you’re doing now with this hand,” he squeezes for emphasis, “it’ll take all the power away from the engine and you’ll just coast until you stop, okay?”
“Okay!” You say, more excited by the minute. Your toes and fingertips are starting to tingle.
“I‘m gonna let go and you’re going to very, very slowly let up on the clutch—not all the way. Just enough that you move at about a pedal bike's pace. Let me jog down the road about 50 feet or so, and then you meet me there. Hold tight to the clutch again when you’re about 20 feet from me and I’ll catch you. Sound good?”
Nodding one more time in confirmation, nerves crawl all over your skin. You can’t describe the new feeling fully, but the closest you can find to it is probably the beginnings of an adrenaline rush.
You watch as Yoongi jogs down the road, throws his hands up over his head, and gives you two big thumbs up.
Taking a deep breath, you slowly release some pressure off the clutch and begin to move forwards. You know your feet are supposed to go on the metal foot rests below you, but you're so focused on not falling or crashing that you just stick them out so they don’t touch the ground.
Halting your left hands release at the speed he said to, you cruise along, wind picking up with your increased pace.
Holy shit!
You’re riding a motorcycle! 
You never thought you could, it was just a dream for so long. Something you kept in the back of your mind just for fun, but now you’re actually doing it! Your driving down the road on an actual real life motorcycle!? All by yourself!?
Turns out all you needed was a little encouragement and someone you trust to spot you.
Aiming for Yoongi, you clamp down on the clutch once again, cutting power to the engine. You drift right into his awaiting hands braced for the impact, and he slides a little on the gravel road before getting you to a full stop.
He presses one of the buttons you did earlier and the bike shuts down, allowing you to jump off.
You’re positively giddy.
“Oh my god did you see me?! I just did that! I just drove a motorcycle! Can you believe it?! I can’t believe I just did that!” You don’t even register what you're saying, too full of excitement to care.
Yoongi can’t contain his grin as he gets the bike standing on its own. Your joy is too infectious not to take part in, and he walks over for a high five to celebrate. 
But to his surprise, you bypass his hand completely and embrace him, throwing your arms around his neck.
It takes only a second before he’s enveloping you with his own, not letting the chance to hold you go by.
“Thank you!” You say, before letting go, not even realising what you did. You’re too busy catching your breath from all the rambling and jumping around, still filled with the remnants of your elation.  
Meanwhile, Yoongi can’t get the feeling of your body against him out of his head. How soft you were. How warm. The way you smelled like a mixture of your natural scent and outside.
And he’s asking, “You wanna to go for a ride?” before he can tell himself not too.
The question makes you pause. Was he serious? Because you can’t think of anything you want more.
Staring at him, your answer is far too gentle for someone who was just screeching with joy. 
“Really?”
He nods, still untrusting of his mouth, confirming with a ‘mhm.’
You don’t hesitate. You want to feel like that again.  
Not a minute later he’s giving you the helmet and securing it tightly. He also makes you wear his leather jacket to protect your torso, leaving him in just an oversized black t-shirt and dark ripped jeans.
Swinging a leg over, he pats the seat behind him.
And you’re glad to have the helmet on because without it he would most definitely see your inability to meet his eye. You can barely focus on anything aside from the sight in front of you and being wrapped in the scent of him. But then he gives a tattooed hand to help you hop on, and says,
“You have to put your arms around me and hold on. Otherwise you might fly off the back when we accelerate,” holding his hands behind him to guide yours. 
What? You didn’t think this far. He—you have t—Ummm, well... 
“Okay,” you answer, voice small, letting your hands be guided. 
Despite the loss of his jacket, he’s still deliciously warm, and the heat in your cheeks increases tenfold with your hands now splayed over his abdomen. 
Lightly defined muscles meet your fingertips through the thin material of his shirt and you do your best to memorize them as he turns on the bike and pulls away from the curb.
He starts slower than normal to make sure you’re alright, but when you give him the thumbs up, he speeds up to just over the limit and you hold tight.
You’ve never felt so free, loving the rush of wind that flows over your body from going so fast. It’s pushing a welcomed cold through the fabric of your clothes as your body temperature has only increased since getting on.
You could go anywhere, do anything. Nothing and nobody could stop you.
You want that. You want it so bad. And he gave you the key to be able to. 
Literally.
But now when you think about leaving, you think about leaving with him. Yoongi driving and you sitting right here on the back, nothing but each other, the road, and hope for the future.
Growing confident enough to release your grasp after a few minutes, you raise your hands in the air, and let the wind catch your fingertips.  A whoop of joy leaves you at this newfound feeling he’s given you. 
Then another, and another, before returning them to their place around him.
Yoongi can’t help but smile the biggest he has in years when hearing your squeals of glee.
Because for the first time in a long time, he feels it too.
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Yoongi doesn’t come to the willow for almost a week.
He’s never done that since he started coming. Not once.
And you’re worried.
Where is he? Is he okay? You have no idea.
It’s not like you can go looking for him.
And you two aren’t anything anyway, so you shouldn’t even be this worried in the first place. If he’s safe, or in the bottom of a ditch somewhere.
But you can’t help it.
Just like you can’t help the feelings that have blossomed for him over the months. The feelings you didn’t want to admit to yourself for fear of him not returning them.
Yet there they were, and there isn’t anything you can do about them now.
They make you wonder if you’ll ever see him again.
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Six days.
It takes him six days to return. Stomping in, and visibly pissed off.
“What’s wrong?” You ask once he’s close enough to hear.
“I’m leaving,” he says flatly, uncaring. Like you asked him what colour the sky was.  
And your stupid, silly little unrequited heart shatters.
“What?”
“I’m leaving. Taking off. Getting out of here. I can’t do it anymore.”
Piece by piece it falls from your chest and into the depths of your stomach.
“B-but why? What happened?”
“I got fired.”
“Fired?”
“Yeah, fired. I tried all week to fix this one stupid mistake I made,” he explains, smoothing over his creased brow with two fingers. “But it cost more to fix than to keep me around, so they fired me. I don’t have the amount of cash I planned for, but I have enough to make it work. And I can pick up odd jobs on the road if I need to.” He nears, extending a tattooed hand. “I just came to get my key and say goodbye.”
Your hand reaches for it, clutching it tightly. You don’t want to give it back.
Who the hell is this? Because you barely recognize him. It certainly isn’t the Yoongi you’ve come to know.
The wonderfully kind, classics reading, dream-sharing, motorcycle instructing, freedom key giving man.
The one who told you about his grandmother, and his parents. Who read you stories while you drew and ate meals together. Who taught you how to ride his motorcycle.
The Yoongi you fell for.
Your Yoongi.
The person currently standing in front of you isn’t him at all.
He’s the hard, cold exterior, crafted over years of verbal and societal abuse. The one everyone avoids at all costs when walking through town. The person he had to become in order to survive.
You don’t know this person.
And you hate it.
You hate it so much it decides to exit your body in the form of tears. Ones of sadness, frustration, and heartbreak.
He’s—he’s leaving. 
Actually leaving.
This place, it’s people.
You...
The few remaining pieces of your heart plunge to the floor, crumbling to dust as they hit. Nothing but a hollow, empty cavern remaining where it once sat.
“But I–you…,” the lump in your throat only getting bigger when you try to speak. You face away from him.
Don’t let him see you cry.
He’s clearly never felt anything close to what you do for him, so suck it up. Reign it in. You do it everyday. So why can’t you do it now?
You don’t get to feel this way!
Shove it back down, get it down!. Crush it all until it’s nothing.
Make it go away. Far, far away. 
Yoongi’s face is falling while you’re taking deep breaths to calm down.
In all of his rage and despair at his terrible week, he’s forgotten who he was speaking to.
His kind hearted, music-sharing, been through hell and back, kickass girl. The one he can call his only true friend.
He’s such an asshole. He hadn’t seen you for almost a week, which killed him in of itself. And then the second he does, all he‘s able to do is spew the frustration and misery he’s been feeling the entire time you were apart.
Nah, he’s worse than an asshole.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t ha—”
But he freezes at the sound of a small, wet inhale.
You’re crying.
He made you cry.
And a regret bigger than the ocean drowns him.
“Hey, wait, please,” he says, rushing over, but you hold out a hand to stop him. “Please, don’t cry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
He reaches for you again, and again you stop him. You can’t let him comfort you.
Not when he doesn’t realise he’s become the only person in this whole godforsaken, judgemental hellhole of a neighbourhood wasteland you have.
Your grandparents are dead, along with your mum. Your dad’s an abusive drunk, too far gone to remember he has a daughter. You don’t have any aunts or uncles or cousins to rely on, nor do you have any real friends.
You have no one, aside from Yoongi.
And now you won’t even have him.
So you can’t let him comfort you. Can’t let him see you break.
You can’t, you can’t, you can’t.
Because you don’t know if you’ll be able to put yourself back together without him if you do.
But a quiet, “Y/N, please,” imbued with pain you haven’t heard since a rainy August night leaves his lips. A last ditch effort to get you to look at him, to let him help. 
And it breaks you completely, bursting into a million tiny pieces to match your heart on the floor.
An unrestrained sob falls from your mouth, and he pulls you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you. Yours go to his neck as he drags you onto his lap, gripping tight. 
He holds you through every whimper and hiccup and stuttered inhale and shudder. Through every muttered ‘please don’t go’ and ‘please don’t leave me,’ that escapes, stroking a hand along the back of your head and down your spine, soothing.
He whispers, “it’s okay. I’m right here. It’s okay,” on repeat with the motion. Over and over and over until only occasional sniffles and deep breaths remain.
You hug him tighter as you start to shiver, the warmth created from your breakdown beginning to wear off. Yoongi doesn’t hesitate to slide off his jacket and throw it over your shoulders. An instant cocoon of warm and comfort.
When his hands find their place back around your waist, he dares to speak.
“I got you.”
“I know.” And you do. Your voice is a little wobbly, as you’re unmoving from the embrace, but you most definitely do. 
This is your Yoongi. The one you’ve come to know. To trust. 
Of course he’s got you. 
You use one of your long sleeves to dry your eyes and under your nose. With the nearing autumn weather, you’ve returned to occasionally wearing them.
“I’m sorry,” you breathe into his neck after a long beat of silence.
“What could you possibly be sorry for, Cattails?”
The return of your nickname has a grin threatening to emerge.
“For freaking out. I didn’t know that was going to happen.”
“Don’t be,” he says firmly. “I sprung that on you in such a shit way because I was in an even shittier mood. And you clearly weren’t prepared to hear it. I should’ve known better, so don’t you dare be sorry about anything,” he loosens his hold to pull back and look at you. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
You look down, hiding, not wanting him to see you like this.  
“None of that,” he whispers, and brings a finger to your chin, tilting up.
It doesn’t meet much resistance.
Your eyes are still a bit swollen and patchy, but it’s the concern in his that makes you crack the smallest of smiles, if only to see his worry erased.
He already has enough on his plate. No need to add to it.
Not able to offer much more than a quirk of the lip, you’re relieved that it’s enough when he starts to wear one of his own.
It’s then you realise your position. Like the sight of it cleared your brain fog.         
You’re kneeling over his lap, sitting on his thighs, face inches from his. One of his hands is holding your chin up while the other rests low on your waist, your own still loose around him.
So close, yet so far away.
Because he’s leaving.
And that thought alone allows you to throw caution to the goddamn window. It’s not going to matter once he’s gone, and you’ve wanted it to be with someone special.
He’s as special as they come.
Leaning forward, you close your eyes and the gap between the two of you.  
Eyelids fluttering as your lips brush his. Soft, and gentle.
Like him.
You hold only long enough to make sure it counts before pulling back.
It’s funny, really.
It was just a few seconds, but you already find yourself wanting so much more with him. An unfamiliar but welcomed electric pulse finds itself running through your blood at the thought, and it makes you want his lips everywhere. 
Your mouth, your jaw, your neck.
Anywhere he can reach.  
Sparks pool inside you. Sparks and butterflies and fast flowing lava.
You let yourself relish in the glorious feeling for a single moment, before the reality of what you just did sinks in.
And then you’re scared.
Terrified, actually.
To open your eyes, see his face. His reaction.
What if he hated it? What if he’s never felt anything but platonic affection towards you and now you’ve gone and done this?
Sure, he’s leaving. But now that you think about it, does him leaving mean you’ll never see him again?
What if you just ruined everything?
Teeth sinking into the plush of your bottom lip, you take a peek.
For the second time today you feel your heart breaking, this time at the look on his face.
Is it shock? Or worse.  
Disgust?
Doesn’t matter.
“I’m sorry,” you blurt. Not knowing what else to say.
“I’m sorry,” you say again, trying to get out of his hold, but he keeps you there. Unyielding. And you start rambling. “I shouldn’t have done that. You clearly don’t—It’s just that you’re leaving and I—“
Lips on yours shut you up.
It’s fervent and needy and passionate as he pulls you closer by the hips, desperately trying to get you as close to him as physically possible. Your nails drag over his scalp as your fingers snake through his blond locks. They elicit a delicious groan from his mouth that you consume with your own.
It’s the most intoxicating sound you’ve ever heard, and you want more of it. So you do it again, and again, and again.
He moves down your jaw and neck, sucking at the tender flesh near your pulse point, and your mouth drops open at the feeling.
You’ve always wondered, but…you didn’t know it could feel like this.
Every touch, every whisper, every press of his lips to yours feels amazing. He’s pulling pleasure out of places you wouldn’t have thought possible before him. And you never want to go back to not knowing.
The sweetest of whimpers leaves your mouth as he gently bites a soft spot, then soothing the glorious pain he created with the kindness of his tongue.  
Yoongi swears to any god who will listen that he’ll do whatever they want so long as he gets to hear that sound repeatedly and for the rest of his life.
He returns to your lips and says, “come with me.”
You’re so focused on feeling that it takes a moment for his words to land. “What?”
“Leave with me. Let’s get the fuck outta here, and never look back, the both of us. Together.”
Yoongi looks so serious but..
He—he can’t be serious can he? 15 minutes ago he was going on and on about leaving and needing his key back and saying goodbye.
And now?
Sensing your hesitance, he punctuates each of the next three words with a kiss. 
“Come. With. Me.”
It makes your answer arrive without really thinking. You don’t need to think. Not when you know deep in your newly reconstructed heart that it’ll always be the same whether you think about it or not.
So long as you’re with him, you know you’ll be,
“Okay.”
“Yeah?” He questions like he can’t believe it. Can’t believe you'd agree.
You make sure there isn’t a single doubt in his head as you look him dead in the eyes and confirm.
“Yes, Yoongi,” another kiss. “I’ll go with you.”
He pulls you into him for what feels like a million more under your shared willow tree.
Your salvation.
And you know they’re going to be the firsts of many, many more to come.  
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Three days later, and two bags packed full of all your earthly possessions, you’re on the back of Yoongi’s motorcycle.
In those three days he’s prepared everything else you’ll need. He’s gotten a cute leather jacket and helmet for you, some reading materials for the road, snacks, drinks. A place by his side for the foreseeable future.
In the same span of time, you’ve given him a home in your heart, someone he can rely on other than himself. Talk to, trust, experience life with.
Something he hasn’t had in nearly ten years. 
Something he never wants to lose again.
He swings a leg over and you unclip the chain from your neck, handing him the key to the bike, to your now shared future.
Driving out of town—straight down Main Street—you watch as all the people you grew up with, who you almost destroyed yourself to fit in with, gawk.
Watch as they judge you for being with him, your best friend. For leaving, and not doing what they all expected of you.
For not being like one of them.
Because you’re not one of them. 
You never have been.
And just like the dust that flies behind the wheels, you feel weightless, not giving a single fuck what they think for the first time in your life.
You don’t have to anymore.
You’re free.
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A/N 3: Thanks for reading, loves. Xoxo, - Yoon <3
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carolmunson · 1 year
Text
peanut butter vibe. (steve harrington x thick!reader)
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fulfilling my own request for mean!hot!thick!reader and hot!rich!wealthy!corporate!steve harrington who is not so secretly in love with you. takes place in 1996 - reader and steve are 29 turning 30
word count: 10.2K
warnings: 18+ minors dni, f!reader, smut smut smut smut, there is smut everywere in this. from flashback smut to actual smut, they've BEEN fucking. mild daddy kink, face sitting, face riding, unprotected p in v sex, fingering (f receiving), oral (f and m receiving), references to shower sex. body type mention, very little body insecurity mention, reference to an ex boyfriend saying reader was 'too big' for something but it's not like -- something that they take into consideration. dirty talk, pet names (honey, baby, 'good girl' etc.), mild choking, steve is so bitchy but also so soft in this i hate him.
"Hi Stevie, it's me. I'm uh, I'm back a little early, Carly's having her baby soon -- I know it was a little weird last time with Andy being with me. We um, we broke up so he's not here this time. It wasn't like a big blow out or anything but -- why am I talking about this on your answering machine? Sorry. I'll be at Porter's tonight around 6 if you wanted to meet me there? It'd be cool to see you, I guess. -sigh- It's hard to bully you when you aren't responding. Anyway, bye -- I know you'll be there at 5:57 because you can't wait to see me."
Steve let out a sigh while the answering machine closed out with a beep, the robotic voice announcing 'End of Messages'. He took his glasses off and ran a hand over his face, tossing a look at the clock on the wall across from him. It was almost quitting time, and Porter's was only a twenty minute drive away from the office. Part of him selfishly didn't want to show up, or maybe show up a little late to make you sweat since you'd forced him to meet your boyfriend last time. Well, ex boyfriend now.
You and Steve weren't friends in high school. He was busy being King Steve, basketball playing jock covered in ladies and popular people. You were busy in drama club and creative writing in the library, protecting your friends from people like Steve. Sure you knew each other, you graduated in the same year, had a couple of classes together -- but neither of you were very interested in offering each other the time of day. Two incredibly different ships passing in the night.
You weren't Steve's type in high school, either. Steve was always caught with what you'd describe as 'pretty little things'. Girls with waists he could wrap his hands around, thin and toned thighs, girls with a little jiggle where it mattered the most and none where it didn't. The girl's wearing bikini's to his house parties when the pool was open. Maybe if you had looked like that, you would've known Steve in high school -- but then again, he wasn't really the kind of guy you were trying to hail down in Hawkins.
When you weren't getting finger blasted backstage by Eddie 'The Freak' Munson when he got to the theater too early for Hellfire Club, you were making eyes at college freshman at the coffee shop you worked at. Something about slightly older men, y'know? A little mature, a little more sure of themselves. Pouring over books and scribbling in their notebooks behind their frames, staying until close to finish a paper or study for an exam. You had one or two wrapped around your finger your senior year before you left to go to school in Chicago. After Chicago it was New York -- working in marketing for a cosmetics line.
You'd come back to Hawkins every year for the holidays, but one year when your grandfather passed away you ended up at Porter's after the funeral. You were 24 and heartbroken, nursing a glass of red wine, looking out of place in your Manhattan clothes in the cozy small town bar.
You were alone at the stools until Steve Harrington came through the door, suit jacket slung over his shoulder and tie loosened over his button down. He nodded at the bar tender who instinctively poured him a whiskey before he even made it to the barstool two over from you.
"Rough day, Harrington?" he asked, sliding the drink down to him.
"You wouldn't believe, Paul," he shook his head, carding his fingers through his hair. He rested his chin on one hand, propped up on his elbow, catching your movement in the corner of his eye. He turned his head and looked over at you, a endearing smile lighting up his tired face -- that Harrington charm.
"What about you? Rough day?" he asked. At first you didn't realize he was talking to you, looking down into your wine and listening to the drone of whatever sports game was on the TV. You were brought back to earth when a soft 'hey' came from his direction.
"Me? Oh, yeah. My grandpa's funeral," you said with a scrunched face, shrugging, "Sort of a huge downer."
"Oh, wow," Steve said, turning his full body towards you on the stool, "Sorry for your loss -- that's -- yeah that beats my day. Sorry about that."
You murmur a thank you and go back to your wine, hearing him shift in his seat.
"You look really familiar," he says gently, scanning your face.
"We went to high school together," you say with a smile after a sip of your Malbec, "Class of '85."
"Hawkins High? You sure?," his voice gets a little syrupy, "I think I'd remember you."
"I was in drama -- wasn't really your type," you say with a smart head tilt. It didn't bother you that you hadn't been. The same way it didn't bother you that you might've been his type now.
You spent three hours together talking at the bar, exchanging stories about high school and your years out of it. He told you how he just started on the sales team for some big insurance company and felt so out of his depth but at least he got to wear a suit. You told him about your dingy apartment in the Lower East Side and how you missed driving all the time.
You spent another hour fucking in his BMW, riding him in the back seat tucked in a dark corner of the Porter's empty parking lot. Your skirt pushed up over your hips.
"Fuck," Steve grunted through gritted teeth, splayed out in the center of the back seat, his legs as far out as that could go, "Y'feel so fucking good. So fucking good on top of me."
You whimpered in response, the curve of his cock hitting your spongey, sensitive g-spot with every bounce. Your grip on his shoulders tightened as his hands moved smoothly over your thighs, finger tips digging into your fleshy hips when he got your reflection in the rear view mirror. Rear view, indeed. He let his eyes rest on the reverberation of your ass coming down on his hips and big legs with each shove down on his cock. The wet smack! of is crotch hitting against your soaked pussy making him want to fuck you even harder. He kneaded your body in his hands, grabbing handfuls of you as he got to your backside, humming while he felt it shake just out of his grasp.
You yelped when his warm palm cracked down on it, an angry sting running through your lower body. You couldn't help but tighten around him, slick dripping over him between your legs.
"Hm, you like that? You like when I smack that fucking ass?" he asked, holding your hips down so he could buck into you with a faster speed. Groaning while he pumped with vigor, you hear another hard crack on your ass resounding in the backseat before you feel the burn of it. Your whines made his cock twitch, slowing down to feel your hips grinding desperately against him for more friction. You slapped your palms gently against his clothed chest, pouting as you shimmied for more of his assault against your aching cunt.
“You love this cock, huh? Look at you, so fuckin' needy for it,” he gloated while your eyes narrowed in on him. Oh no, you weren't about to give Steve Harrington the satisfaction of telling him how fucking amazing his dick felt plowing into you. You weren't about to admit that all the things girls would say about him in high school were true. You reached for his jaw, holding it tight in your hand to look down at him while his hips slowed to a stop. He looked up at you, his eyes a little glassy, his grip loosening on your hips.
“Shut - your mouth,” you hissed down at him. He flushes, a smirk slips onto his lips as he leans back, putting his hands behind his head, his elbows splayed out next to him.
"Yes ma'am," he says with a soft raise to his eyebrows.
"If you'd like," he starts, taking his glasses off and tucking them into his breast pocket. He looks unbothered by your act of dominance while he runs a hand through his hair and leans forward to close the gap between you. His hands digging firmly into your ass to keep you balanced on his thighs.
His lips ghost yours while he speaks low and huskily, "I can take you back to mine and show you all the other ways I know how to use it."
He ate your pussy with the lights on and gave you his number before driving you back to your place.
'I like talking to you,' he shrugged, 'Call me whenever.'
And so began a so far, five year friendship -- you'd have long phone calls every few weeks or months when your busy schedules allowed. Staying updated on each other: how work was going, what bad dates you both had been on, what hijinks you'd been getting into with friends. Promotions, birthdays, hardships. It was nice to have a friend from home, someone who sort of knew the people you knew before you left. Nice to gossip a little, nice to laugh with each other.
Every time you came back to Hawkins, you'd meet up at Porter's for a drink. Have a real talk like you did the first night you got to know each other and then somehow, for some reason, you'd end up back at his place.
"What'd I say? Right on time, Harrington," you call out when he comes through the door. Steve groans, looking at his watch -- 5:57 on the dot. He'd had a long day, he was tired, and for a moment the sound of your voice made him grit his teeth.
You watch him check his watch and his smile tightens. He looks good -- suit much more refined from when you first really met him five years ago. Tailored, in a color that compliments his skin, his tie perfectly kept to his chest with what you assume was a pricey tie clip, shoes shined. He'd fit in great on Wall Street if he'd just get a fucking hair cut.
The way he walks towards you holds a different confidence than it had in the last year and a half when you were with Andy. Though it was clear he didn't particularly like Andy, he was perfectly pleasant -- able to slip right into a cadence of faux friendship you only wished Andy could've done. You once him over a second time as he sits in the stool next to you, his cologne was new, but expected. It felt like every man you knew was wearing Aqua di Gio.
"I know you're always so desperate to impress me but I gotta say, you look a little overdressed for Porter's. Were you nervous or something?" you ask sweetly, sipping on your red wine. You slide a whiskey double infront of him and he looks down at it, a frustrated smile breaks against his face. He bites the tip of his tongue between his teeth, shaking his head -- his hair moves with him.
"Looks like you didn't bother getting dressed up for me at all," he bites back, "C'mon, Manhattan -- a Hawkins High sweatshirt?"
Manhattan -- his favorite nick name when you got too big for your britches. A little too snobby for his liking, which was funny coming from a man with more designer clothing than you could dream to afford.
You looked down at yourself, you'd stolen the sweatshirt from your little sister -- your original one too battered and stained to see the light of day again. Sure, maybe your light wash bootcut jeans weren't screaming high fashion but your black square toed boots were cute! You swore you looked good before you left, but suddenly you weren't sure. You'd fallen off dressing 'nice' when you were home, it just wasn't worth it.
"Okay, mean," you spit, not giving off offense -- but not hiding it either.
"I like the boots, though," he shrugs, lifting the tumbler to his lips. The golden brown of the whiskey matched his eyes, they seemed to soften as the liquid met his mouth.
"Top shelf?" Steve's teeth are bright and straight in his smile while he sets the glass down.
"Do I ever disappoint?" you ask, crossing your legs. He burns pink at the question.
"Never," he's earnest in his response, finally making full eye contact with you, "You staying through the holidays?"
"Just for a few days, then heading back to wrap up Q4, I'll be back on the 23rd like always," you say. He nods and stands up, scooting his bar stool closer to yours -- just enough that your knees brushed. He leans forward, acting like it's too loud to hear you but the bar is only half full. You lean forward too, resting your chin on your hand, elbow drilling into your crossed thighs.
"And how's Carly?" he asks, you can see the delicate five o'clock shadow peeking through on his chin and neck. His lips full and wet with whiskey, he slides his tongue over them slowly to collect the flavor.
"So over being pregnant," you roll your eyes over your older sister's dramatics, "But you know -- she's excited. I'm excited, too! I get to live out my dreams of being the mysterious, hot, rich aunt."
"So, what -- Andy didn't want to be the rich uncle?" he asks, you note that he drops 'mysterious' and 'hot'. The mention of Andy stings a little and your eyes droop down to your wine.
"Sorry," he says, his comforting hand falling on your knee, "I'm sorry."
He squeezes your knee when you don't look up at his apology, a beat passes while you contemplate saying something mean -- but it's a little nice to see him feel apologetic.
"Do you wanna talk about it?" he asks, his thumb soothingly running back and forth over your thigh as his hand moves further up. Steve frowns at your disappointed face, he hated crossing the line by accident.
You shake your head no, tilting your head back up, "Let's wait on that. I wanna hear about that big promotion you got -- we haven't really gotten to talk about it."
Steve got promoted to Director of Sales six months ago and it was kicking his ass way less than his previous management position. What was most exhausting was how incompetent everyone was.
"Well, you were kind of too busy --" he started, but quickly shook his head out of the bit, "It's fine, it's a lot of work -- god, no one ever knows what they're doing. A lot of directing going into this director of sales thing."
"Aww, my little scumbag -- running the insurance show," you coo, "You should do car sales next, so sleazy, you'll fit right in."
"You're somethin' else, tonight," he laughs, taking his hand off your leg, "And are you any better? Working for a company that tells women they're ugly so they'll buy all your shit? How's it going at L'Oreal anyway?"
You sigh and roll yours eyes, "More like L'Ore-hell. I just transferred into the marketing team from customer insights and it's somehow -- boring? I already know the answers to all of the problems they come up with. It's like they don't know who their customer base is."
Steve's eyes sparkle while you continue to rant about ROIs and think tanks, he loves when you talk about how much you hate your job. You get so passionate, you talk so fast he can barely keep up.
"I wish I could check your blood pressue right now," he jokes, it's the kind of joke adults make. Sometimes it feels like you're both playing the parts of adults at these bar hang outs -- two kids in their parent's clothes on barstools, just giggling.
"When I went to the doctor they had to check it twice because I was talking about work when they checked it the first time -- that's how stressed out it makes me," you huff.
"Sorry, I just made that all about me, can you please let me more about your director job -- are you at least happy about the promotion?" you ask.
You miss his hand on your leg but it's probably just the wine talking. Paul comes over to replenish the glass without asking, you and Steve were both two drinks and go kind of people (sometimes you'd sneak a third if he wasn't paying attention).
"I mean, sure -- I'm a step away from getting into a chair position. I'm making more money than I know what to do with. My dad is thrilled for the first time ever," he explains, always so expressive but you catch him nervously swipe through his hair, "But -- fuck...y'know?"
"I don't know," you laugh into your glass, "What do you mean, 'fuck'?"
"I'm gonna be thirty next year and like, what do I have to show for it other than --"
"Other than being a wealthy hometown high school basketball super star, swimming in pussy, who got a cushy office job two years after graduating because your daddy was tired of seeing you work at Family Video, and now is the director of sales at a big wig insurance company after only what -- seven years in the company? And wears designer suits and is still swimming in pussy?" you say in one breath. He sighs at you and leans his head into his hand, elbow resting on the bar.
"Sure -- I guess," he smiles, but it's a sad smile.
"What more do you want, Steve?" you ask with a shrug, "You've got a pretty sweet deal here."
"I don't know," he shrugs, "I mean look at you -- every time you come back you have a new story to tell me, something exciting that happened to you. I have -- pfft -- 'They hired a new secretary! Here's the gossip about other people in Hawkins I learned from my mom! I'm still sort of a loser!"
"I mean sure, yeah, you're a loser," you agree, "But not, y'know, not like -- in the bad way."
He tosses you a look but you smile back at it, making him smile back at you. This time it's genuine, you figure the whiskey is helping. Steve sits back up to full height and leans back in his bar stool, knees splaying out. If he took his suit jacket off you'd swear he'd look like one of those 1950's husbands whose a little annoyed that dinner isn't ready yet -- your thighs press tight together.
"I think you sound bored," you suggest, "Like you need something different."
He drums his fingers on the bar, staring at them while he speaks, "I have some options I've been thinking about, but I don't know. Don't wanna make a fool of myself if it doesn't work out."
"Don't wait too long," you say with a shrug, "Another ten years will fly by like that." You snap your fingers for emphasis.
"What happened with Andy?" he presses, sipping his whiskey to down the rest and putting the empty glass on the table.
You 'ugh' under your breath and take a big sip of wine before you feel him tug at the end of the stem, "Sloooow down. Don't wanna to have to carry you out of here."
"You couldn't carry me, Harrington," you say flatly.
"We both know that I can carry you, but okay," he says with a quirked brow, unimpressed with your attitude. The memory of him hoisting you up against the shower tile in his bathroom with your fleshy thighs wrapped tight around him flashes through your mind. Hot breath and hot water running all over you while he grunted into your ear with each desperate thrust. Steve notices your cheeks heat up -- he knows what you're thinking about, because he is too. A satisfied smile settles onto his lips.
"Alright, settle down," you say, pushing your glass a little away from you towards Steve while his next whiskey arrives. You aren't sure if you're talking to him or to yourself.
"I just..." you breathe out of your nose, "It wasn't working out. I was tired of taking care of him."
"Oh, you broke up with him?" Steve confirms.
"Yeah," you sit back a bit, furrowing your brow, "Did you think he broke up with me?"
"I don't know, you seemed really sad about it!" Steve says, his hands outstretched, "I thought he left you."
"He didn't," you say, "I left, but it's still a bummer. Thought maybe he could've been it, y'know? But, thinking back it would've been -- I don't know -- it wasn't going to happen."
"He didn't want to get married?" he asked, a little surprised.
"I don't think that was in his five year plan, he barely took me out to dinner," you complained, "I was paying for everything 'cause I had a better job."
Steve crossed his arms while you talked, frowning while you continued to ramble about Andy and the break up.
"I just felt like I was putting a lot of effort into him, and I wasn't getting anything in return," you shrug, "And like, that's okay. I'm so used to doing that but...I don't know, I think I just would like for someone to take care of me for a change."
You pause, considering what you said and shake your head, "That sounds so selfish, oh my god."
"I don't think it sounds selfish at all," Steve shakes his head, "I think you're sort of asking for the bare minimum -- I mean fuck, he didn't take you out to dinner? I've taken you out to dinner and you've never even been my..."
You're both quiet for a beat while he trails off, neither of you looking at each other. You reach for your wine and he moves the glass away just as your fingers graze the stem. You lift your butt of the stool and pluck it out of his hand, taking another - smaller - sip. He looks at you like a disappointed father.
"Maybe I wanted to try it? Ugh, you're right Manhattan, you're so selfish," Steve teased.
"You don't like Malbec, Stevie," you swirl the booze in your glass, "That's why I order it."
Steve knows that's why you order Malbec, that's why he kept ordering whiskey -- you don't like it, but he'll know you're getting a little drunk if you ask for a sip of his drink. That's when he knows it's time to take you home, he'd sleep with you another night. He doesn't want you to get too drunk tonight, something about your flushed cheeks. The way you look in those boot cut jeans -- especially when you excused yourself to the bathroom and he could watch you walk away. Whew.
Steve waits for the door to close behind you to hail down Paul to get the check.
"She's gonna get pissy that you're covering it," Paul said while passing him the bill for your drinks, "She told me not to let you pay when she got here."
"Paul -- What's she gonna do? Kill me?" he gestures his hand out while using the other to reach for his wallet. He pulls out a few bills, including a generous tip, and passes them to Paul indiscreetly.
"Steve -- come on!" He winces at your voice, "I told you last time I had it next!"
"My hand slipped -- suddenly the money just appeared in Paul's register, there was nothing I could do," Steve held his hands up.
"Paul!" you call down the bar, but the yell turns into a laugh, "You promised you wouldn't let him pay!"
"He threatened me within an inch of my life. Had to let the man do what he wants," Paul said, putting the cash in the register. You settle back into your stool and cross your legs again, smoothing your damp hands on your jeans.
"I'm gonna kill you, Harrington," you mutter to your knees.
"I feel like 'thank you' would've been a much nicer thing to say," he's always so cool when he talks. You envy how easy it is for him to be charming, to turn it on quickly. Sometimes he makes you feel nervous and seventeen again, even though you've done this so many times before. He looks at you over the whiskey glass while he sips it, eyes glittering behind his glasses. Neither of you have to say anything to know what happens after his finishes his drink.
When you left, he reached for your hand when the door to Porter's closed behind you. You didn't need the support, the parking lot wasn't icy or snow covered, you weren't drunk -- but you let his fingers lace with yours. He guides you deliberately to his car -- of course it's new -- a dark green Porsche 911. What a tool.
"You like my new toy?" he asked. It was easily the most expensive car you'd seen in Indiana.
"Steven," you're a little exasperated -- sometimes he was such a poor little rich boy, "Why?"
He shrugs, "Felt like it."
You let go of his hand to walk to the passengers side door, waiting for him to unlock it while you shiver. He notices you didn't have a coat on, shaming himself silently for not offering his trench for the short walk.
You both get in when he unlocks to doors and you eye the interior, the plush leather of the seats. You squint a little when you cast your eyes over to him, "I feel like you're compensating for something."
"Oh yeah?" he asks casually, starting the car and cranking the heat, "What am I compensating for? Wanna remind me?"
You cross your arms and don't answer because he doesn't have anything to compensate for. Steve Harrington was born blessed, if you were more religious you'd swear he was God's favorite.
"That's what I thought," he says with a grin while pulling out of the parking lot. His hand meets your head rest while he stretches his neck back to check for cars. The same hand falls to your thigh when you make it on the road, sliding his palm over the swell of it -- his fingers resting inside. He let his eyes glance at how your hips filled up the small passengers seat at a red light, your jeans tight over your thighs.
Steve gave you a soft squeeze when the light turned green, you put your hand over his hand at the gesture -- relacing your fingers. You don't notice the gentle smile blooming onto his face, too busy looking at Christmas lights on the houses outside.
--
You don't waste time when you both get into his house, slipping off your shoes at the entry way -- bolstering passed the darkened livingroom to the stairs in his mini-mansion. He follows quickly behind you, getting ahead of you to get into his room to turn on the bedside lamps.
"Are those new?" you whisper -- it's not like anyone is home, it's Steve's house, but the darkness makes you feel like you have to be quiet. He comes back over to you, quick on his socked feet and pulls you in for a feverish kiss.
"Yeah," he says between kisses, all harsh breaths and wet clicks, "I had a new -- mmm -- uh fuck -- new decorator come in."
His hands are wound in your hair while he keeps control of your head, his kisses go from fast and hungry to slow and controlled.
"I'll show you later," he mumbles against your lips. You nod in agreement, you did genuinely want to see. What fancy hotel was it based off of this time?
"This is okay, right?" he asks, pulling away, "I'm sorry I didn't ask I just -- old habits, I guess."
"It's okay, Stevie," you assure, his hands slipping out of your hair and onto your full cheeks. He squishes them together a little and smiles into a little chuckle. Sometimes you're so cute to him he can't stand it, he wants to eat you whole -- wants to keep you in his bed forever.
"Good," he mumbles again before settling back in for a deep kiss that leaves you moaning softly into his mouth, "Missed feeling you like this."
"You're so needy," you tease, his hands dropping from your face to your hips, feeling his own press against yours.
"Oh, you feel that?" he smirks, dick hard in his slacks -- straining despterately to get your attention.
"Needier than I thought," you scoff, "You gonna make it, Steve? You don't even have your jacket off yet."
"Watch your mouth," it's not mean when he says it, he likes when you tease him because you have nothing to back it up. You've never left unsatisfied -- even when you were on top calling him your 'sweet boy', you'd get in the shower after with your legs shaking. Shivering against him when he'd get on his knees and lick at your sensitive clit just to watch you leave hand print on the glass.
"You just sound so pretty, miss. I can't help myself," he'd say from below you, water droplets resting on his eyelashes while you gushed over his mouth.
Steve breaks away to take off his jacket and looks at it for a split second -- hesitating.
"You wanna hang it up, huh?" you know how he gets.
"Will you be mad? I just don't want it to crease," he pleads.
"You're gonna get the suit dry cleaned anyway," you say back, laughing.
"I know, I know, but I have to -- I just have to hang it up, I'm so sorry," he presses a chaste peck to your lips before disappearing into his walk in closet. You take your time getting undressed because you know he'll be at least seven to nine minutes while he puts everything back in the 'to be dry cleaned' part of the closet.
You keep your bra and panties on, white satin, a little lace. He's always a sucker for something angelic that's a little grown up -- but you guess you are grown ups now. It's weird to consider.
He emerges from the closet in his boxer breifs with a frown, "Why'd you take your clothes off without me?"
"You took your clothes off without me," you counter point, "Did you want me to just sit here and wait for you?"
"Kinda," he says with a half shrug, "Would've been nice."
You get a little giddy while he approaches you, his smile building when yours does. His hands skate over the flesh on top of your flared ribs, over to your back. His fingers gliding over the back strap of your bra before snapping it off of you, dropping it to the floor. He traces the indents on your skin from the clothing, red and raw. Big hands grope at your breasts before following the slope of your waist back down to your ass, filling his hands greedily.
"Missed her the most," another chaste kiss to your lips, "But I think you knew that." Steve had always thought he was a tits guy until he met you, maybe you were the exception. Maybe he liked all your parts.
"I knew that," you say, wrapping your arms around his neck, "Can you stop stalling, Harrington? This wine's gonna wear off soon."
With your hold on his neck, laying you back on the mattress was an easy feat. He spread you out wide, pushing your hands above your head while he settled his hips against yours. He couldn't help himself from starting to rut against you -- you were so warm, your pussy practically begging him to fuck you.
"Ooh," you moaned out against your better wishes, his covered cock giving you just enough friction in your panties to set you ablaze. You could feel yourself dripping into them, begging, waiting for him.
"You really want me tonight, huh?" he asked hungrily, knowing the answer.
"Y-yes, Stevie," you whined, letting go of his hands to let your nails graze down his back, feeling the length of him trapped in his boxers press against you.
"Oh-ho-ho, whose needy now, hm?" he teases in your ear, grinding mercilessly against you, his chest pressed up against yours while he keeps you pinned the the mattress.
"So quick with that tongue earlier, what happened?" he smirks, getting right in your face, brushing his nose against yours. You roll your hips against his, your thighs sliding against his hips as another mewl escapes you at the friction.
"Oh, I see. You wanna be good for daddy now, don't you?"
"Steven," your eyes pop open, your mouth gapes with a smile, "You can't just say stuff like that."
He laughs into a kiss on your neck, "C'mon, I think you liked it."
"I don't really think you're the 'daddy', type," you say, your voice taunting.
"No?" he asks his voice is calm, but his eyes are challenging you.
"No, you're too nice," you smirk while he comes up to kiss your mouth, "You've never won a fight in your life. And you're what, almost 30? Who're you bossin' around?"
He watches you raise a brow when you say it, your lower lip tucking slowly between your teeth in a grin -- god he loves when you do that.
"Lot of secretaries to go through in the office, mmm," he hums when your lips graze his neck, your tongue striping up to his jaw, "Learned a couple things."
"You think I can't boss you around?" he asks, pressing up off of you and leaning onto one of his forearms.
"I know you can't boss me around," you say, your brows quirking while you push at his chest to get on top of him like you always do. Already soaking at the thought of him whining for you to fuck him, to cum all over him, grabbing at your thighs, hips, and ass desperately. His heaving breaths after finishing, resting his head on your stomach while you stroked his hair, feeling his lips press against your soft, pudgy, belly to let you know he's ready for the next round.
He caught your wrist as you pushed and pressed it back down into the mattress.
"Oh c'mon Stevie, I love hearing you beg for me," you tease before he presses his mouth against yours, noses squishing together. Over the years, Steve craved closeness from you -- pulling you flush against his chest when you were on top, wrapping his arms around your back. Clutching you, fingertips sinking into your cloud-soft flesh while you moaned into his ear.
"Think you can beg for me for a change," he mutters, pulling away as you reach to kiss him again. A little whine pulls from your throat and he purrs at the sound. Right where he wants you.
He gets on his knees between your legs and looks down at you, eyes roaming the expanse of your body -- your broad shoulders, soft skin, delicate curves and indents. His personal Aphrodite -- flesh turned fine art. All the Rennaissance paintings in the world couldn't do you justice. He stuttered the first time he saw you naked, overwhelmed by you and how not shy you were for him to see you. Steve let's a finger trail along the lining of your silk panties at your thigh, you shiver at his soft touch.
"Take these off," he says, but it comes out as a demand.
"So mean," you tease, tugging at the elastic and lifting your hips up to push them over your butt and thighs. He shrugs off your jest, grabbing your underwear when they get too far down for you to reach and throwing them on the floor. He's rough when he flips you over to your stomach, the flesh of your ass bouncing with the movement and he salivates immediately.
"I'll show you mean," he says, it's more playful than menacing. He brings a hand down hard on your soft body, ass reverberating with the action and you gasp -- tensing all around.
"Ow -- Steve!" you cry out, trying to catch your breath.
“Oh, shit,” he smooths over the pink handprint blooming on your skin, “I’m sorry.”
"It's okay, it's fine, just -- I don't know, warn a girl," you laugh. His hand drags over the curve of your ass to your thigh.
"Did you like that?" he asked, his voice dropped to his lower register and you inadvertently press your thighs together. Your face drops into your arms on the mattress, blushing.
"Is that a yes?" he asks, fingers snaking to your inner thigh and your hips roll slowly at the feeling. He hums when he sees you nod into your forearms.
"On your knees, baby," he suggests, tapping your thigh. You adjust onto your knees, forearms still on the mattress in a perfect deep arch. He sits back at first, taking a moment to marvel at your ass in the air -- committing it to memory. He keeps his hand on your inner thigh, massaging gently while you settle into position.
"Open up a little more for me," he's gentle, pushing at your flesh so you open up wider. You adjust and he grins, sliding his boxers off -- you whimper when he does.
"You okay?" his voice laces with acute concern, it wasn't a sexy whine or cry like you usually do. He stands up so he can soothe you from the side of the bed, his hand smoothing over your back.
"I thought you were gonna -- I didn't know we were immediately gonna fuck," you say, leaning your face to the side to look at him.
"Oh no - I wasn't just gonna - when have I ever just gone in and fucked you?" he laughs, "I just wanna jerk off while you sit on my face, is that okay?"
"So much for me begging for you," you smirk, "Sitting on your face, just like old times."
He huffs a breath through his nose looking down at you, his face unimpressed. He leans forward, face inches away from yours, "Who was just whining over the idea that I might not eat her pussy tonight?"
You burn at his words and he notices, "Was it you?"
You nod with an embarrassed smile, "If you're a good girl, I'll let you be the boss next time. I'll teach you a few things, yeah?"
"Steeeeve," you whine while your skin is in flames, "You can't say that."
He gets on the bed behind you, one hand on the bend of your hip, the other with his fingers sliding against your open folds -- finding slicknes without surprise.
"Can't say what?" he asks with a smile, "Can't call you my good girl?"
Your hips push back on his fingers when he says it and you scold yourself at your body's betrayal. You hear him tutt behind you and you clench around nothing at the sound, "Sure feels like I can."
He slides under you like a well versed mechanic, arms and hands immediately wrapping around your thighs, stifiling their nervous jiggle. He guides you down to his mouth, your posture changing while you sit further up and back so you can see his eyes and he can see all of you. Your hips wiggle as you feel his breath on your opening.
"Are you excited?" he asks, you nod and he can't hold out anymore at the sight of your smile. You feel his tongue drag, poking between your folds once you relaxed -- his fingers reaching to keep you spread open to start.
Your smile transforms to a pornographic gasp, head immediately thrown back as his tongue stripes you again. Your hips rock against his mouth, Steve smirks to himself into the next lick, flicking over your clit and a peal of mewls escape your lips.
He feels at home here, your full, thick thighs keeping his ears warm in the December weather. This big cold house suddenly feeling full with your voice moaning his name. He didn't need the whiskey if you were offering to quench his thirst like this.
You feel his tongue lap at your opening, the thick, wet, muscle pushing in past your walls trying to desperate to out maneuver him. His face was coated in your juices, dripping freely own onto his chin and cheeks while he fucked you with his tongue. He watched as your hand reached down to tease your clit, he caught it in his, pushing it up to your breasts.
"Play with your tits f'me baby, let me watch," he says, scooting up a bit.
"But Steve I --" you huff, desperate for some extra stimulation.
"I'm getting there, if you'd just be patient for like, twenty seconds," his voice sounds like he's back at the bar, admonishing you like you're rushing him to get out of the bathroom.
"You're ruining the mood," you cross your arms over your chest, pouting.
"Aww, I'm ruining the mood?" he mocks, a fake frown matching yours. He slides a finger slowly past your tight walls and you falter a little but hold to your convictions. He holds eye contact with you through his glasses, pushing a second finger in to meet the first.
Your mouth gapes, eyes pricking with tears as your walls close down hard on him, "Am I still ruining the mood, baby?"
A silent cry rattles your chest, falling quietly out of your open mouth. Your eyes close tight while he snickers, pumping his fingers in a steady rhythm, "It's all better now, isn't it?"
His voice makes you dizzy, he used to talk to you like this when you first started fucking. Cocky and confident -- certain he was making you feel good, and fuck he was. What did he ask you to do before? Your brain was racking for the command, but too overwhelmed with pleasure when he hooked his fingers to find your g-spot.
"Stevie -- oh fuck, fuck, please more," you whine out, you sound pathetic but you can't even find your self to care. It feels like a roller coaster reaching it's peak with every curve of his fingers teasing your spongey center. 'Play with your tits f'me baby, let me watch.' There it is, that you could do. You palm your breasts, pulling and pinching at your hard nipples looking down at him over your belly pooch. He winks when his tongue finally makes contact with your clit and you shudder instantly. You gush over his fingers, taken by surprised by your own orgasm -- already feeling the second one building.
"That's my good girl," he purrs beneath you, "Stay just like that, okay? I'm not done."
You gulp, feeling his soft kitten licks back on your clit start to ramp up to fast flutters -- Steve didn't want to start you back up slowly. Your breath had barely steadied before it picked back up again, flexing your core to keep yourself hovering above him. Your hand reached down to his hair, tugging while your thighs tensed.
"Ride my face, baby, come on," he encourged, "You've never been nervous to do it before."
"I --," you hesitated, "I didn't with Andy -- it's been a while."
"What?" he asked, surprised, pushing up so his full head peeked out from between your legs, "Are you fucking with me?"
"He...ugh, Steve," you leaned your head back and then turned it back down, mumbling, "He said I was too heavy."
Steve's eyes furrow, mouth open, unsure at first how to respond -- aghast, "This guy sounds like a fucking loser. You're not too heavy -- god -- who says 'no' to that? What's wrong this this guy?"
Steve shakes his head and pushes back down, "Sit on my face, baby. Fuckin' suffocate me."
You don't have a choice, he pulls you down onto him, your knees sliding further apart and you can't help but start grinding your hips against his tongue. The whole act sounds as lewd as it looks, wet and sticky as he captures your slit in his mouth to suck on it. Spreading your ass in his hands to spread you further apart, moaning low into your pussy so you can feel the vibration through your core.
"Ohmygod, ohmygod, ooh daddy just like that," the words just pour out of you while you start reaching your second peak, hips writhing onto him with your back arched. Steve grips your ass cheek hard before smacking down on it with a loud 'thwap!', satisfaction burning in his stomach -- daddy, daddy, daddy. The same hand reaches for his neglected cock, covered in pre, leaving a patch of cold liquid on his hard, muscled stomach.
Steve feels your hips hump his mouth in quick succession, his nose bumping your clit rapidly. Your moans get shorter and higher with each flick of his tongue against you until they're just huffed breaths.
"Mmm, come on," he nods up at you, "You can do it, angel."
You nod back, face contorted while tears stain your cheeks, the next roll of your hips his mouth makes contact with your clit again. You see stars, you cum so hard you swear you're pissing. You can hear Steve's grunts under you, collecting your slick to add friction to the fist he's fucking behind you.
"Get on your back," he demands, "Need t'fuck you, holy shit."
You get on your back, looking up at him now on his knees, both of your eyes lust blown in the low light. You weren't a stranger to his cock, but every time you saw it you couldn't help but feel spit build in your mouth. It was angry tonight, tip red and leaking, veins pulsing while he stroked himself looking down at you.
"I don't know, Stevie -- it might be -- it's too much," you say, thighs pressing together to protect your sensitive cunt.
"Two is nothing, honey," he shakes his head opening your legs up, crawling over you to line his tip up with your entrance, "You've given me four in less time."
You whine like a child, but you don't stop him when he slides the tip against your entrance, building up the slickness to slide over his cock. When his tip pops in you hiss, back arching to feel another inch push into you.
"Oh, that shut you up, huh?" that voice was back again, Steve was starting to feel so confident, you might as well start calling him Manhattan. He pushes deep into you, all the way to the hilt -- your legs springing up against your chest automatically -- heels hitting his back.
"You feel so good, Stevie," you moan into his mouth while he leans in to kiss you.
"Pussy's fucking made for me," he rasps while his thrusts pick up, forceful and deliberate. Steve loves fucking you because he knows how well you can take it. You were built sturdy, plush, soft -- he loved how it felt to slam into you. He'd heard it on the radio, some cheesy line 'more cushion for the pushin', but fuck if it wasn't true.
Steve knew he wouldn't last long inside you, your pussy tight and wet -- hugging him in place, resisting his exit. He filled you completely, your eyes rolling back the second you felt the hair at the base of his cock tickle your skin over and over again.
"Steve, oh god Steve," you moan through gritted teeth, tears back to rolling down your cheeks as your nails dig into his back, "Just like that daddy, fuck me like that."
His mouth falls open at your words, the girls on his desk never talk like that. He can't fuck them how he wants to, never throws them around. They don't look at him the way you look at him, soft and pretty. They don't wanna wash his hair for him in the shower after, and kiss the freckles on his back. He doesn't wanna make them dinner after, or give them a ride home. He doesn't blush the way he does when it's you that calls him daddy. When you call out his name. When you look up at him with those eyes. When you hold his hand in the car. When you tease him for coming to Porter's early. When you call every time you come home just to see him when you could see anyone else.
Steve's hand finds your jaw but you guide it to your throat while you bounce against his thrusts, he chuckles wickedly, "When'd you turn into such a whore?"
His fingers press down expertly on your neck while you attempt to moan out an answer that he doesn't wanna hear. He just wants to keep watching your fucked out face and body while he drills into you deeper. His voice lilts into a mocking coo, your cunt drools.
"Just for me, isn't it?" he asks down at you through his glasses, and you nod quickly in his hold, "They're not fuckin' you like this in the city, huh?"
"Had to come all the way back to Indiana to get this dick, didn't you? All the way back home so daddy could fuck you just how you like it," he huffs, feeling himself get close.
"Yes, yes -- had t-to come back for you - oh fuck, fuck," you whine out, raspy and nasal from lack of blood flow.
"Who fucks you like I do, hm? Who else is makin' you come like I can?" he eases up on your throat, moving back to your jaw -- leaning in to give you a sloppy tongue kiss into your gasping mouth. You tighten again over him, gushing whatever creamy spend you had left in you, gripping his shoulder tightly while your eyes pinched closed.
When you're nose to nose again you look up at him, "Nobody, Stevie. Just you, it's just you."
He growls at the confirmation, his hips stuttering -- 'Nobody fucks her like I do,' ringing in his head while he feels his vision start to go white.
"Baby, baby," he starts, his voice softening, "God, fuck -- can I come in your mouth?"
You nod and he groans, panting while your wet walls keep his cock warm and tight inside you. Steve slows his thrusts which just makes the feeling more intoxicating, your sticky thighs meshing with his soaked hilt. You whimper and cry with every push into your overstimulated cunt, your legs almost giving out from being pressed against your chest.
"Jesus Christ. Gonna come in your mouth," he whispers into your neck, "Feels -- oh shit -- fuck, it feels so good in your pussy, though."
Steve knows he can't hold back, quickly pulling out of you while you shoot up onto your elbows. He pulls your head forward with one fell swoop of his big hand, your mouth and thrat sucking in his cock in a vice grip. You can feel the warm liquid start shooting into your mouth immediately, but it doesn't stop you from obediently sucking on it. He's peak caveman brain while he watches you, your eyes shining up at him while he holds his weight up on your head -- grunts and snarls coming out of his mouth while he finishes thrusting into your face.
You take your mouth off as he softens and swallow, gingerly sitting up slowly. Your thighs ache, you're exhausted. He sits down onto his calves, both of you panting on the center of the bed.
"Let me -- let me get you some water," he huffs out, sliding off the mattress into the attatched master bathroom. He's only gone for ten seconds, passing a clear glass into your shaking hand. You sip slowly to start before gulping it down.
"You okay?" he asks, leaning over to kiss your forehead, "You're quiet."
You nod, taking a deep breath and letting it out, "That was...insane."
He laughs, it makes you laugh, and he lays down onto the mattress to stare up at you. You look down at him, offering Steve a weak smile before looking back at your empty water cup. You slide off the bed like he did before, putting the glass back on the bathroom counter, peeing, washing your hands, and walking back out.
You let out a tired sigh, reaching for your clothes strewn about by his dresser -- sliding on your panties.
"What're you doin', Manhattan?" he asks, sitting up, "Got somewhere to be?"
"I'm getting dressed, Steve," you explain, putting your bra back on. Steve's chest hollowed, normally you'd have some pillow talk after -- talk it out. He still had to show you the new house decor.
"Hey, stop," his voice is soft as he waves his hand at you, "You don't have to do that."
"I gotta get home, Steve," you assure, "It's getting late."
"You..." he trails off before taking a deep breath, replenishing his confidence, "You could stay. I can drive you back in the morning."
"Steve..." you start, shimmying a little to get your jeans over your hips and thighs, "I never stay. That's not us, that's not what we do."
"It could be..." he suggests, his voice cracking a little, "Please?"
You stand there, in your bra and unbuttoned jeans, your tummy poking out where the zipper is undone. Your bra suddenly feels tight and uncomfortable, your underwear constricting you under the jeans that feel a size too small.
He looks you over, watching you contemplate it and gets up out of bed to meet you by his dresser. His hands reach to each side of your face, warm and big. His fingertips graze the hair at the edge of your scalp, pinkies and ring fingers on the back of your neck. He tilts your head up slightly to look at him and your heart hammers, more than it did the first time he started kissing you in his car. Steve's heart matches your cadence, remembering how nervous he was the first time he talked to you -- desperately wanting you to be impressed by him.
"I --" you start blushing, he's never looked at you quite like this, "I don't have anything to wear to bed."
"I don't want you to wear anything to bed," he says, leaning forward to capture your lips in his while you both step awkwardly as a unit back over to the bed, "It'd just get in the way in the morning."
"Please stay," he pleads again, pressing a gentle peck on your lips, "Please -peck-, please -peck-, please -peck-. "
"Okay, okay," you laugh, "Are you sure?"
"I'm begging you," he smiles, leaning his forehead against yours. The tops of his frames hitting your brow bone. He lets go of your face to make work of the top of your jeans, shoving them back down until they pool at your ankles. He unhooks your bra, a little too expertly, and snaps the band of your satin panties before rolling those down too. He moves down with them so he can skate his hands over your thighs and leave a warm kiss on the flesh over your hip bone -- apologizing to the bruise he left there earlier.
"Can't believe you kept your glasses on," you tease, "Dweeb."
He comes back up, sliding his glasses off smoothly, like he did in the back seat of his BMW five years ago, "I like being able to really see you."
"Am I blurry without them?" you asked, trying to take them out of his hand. He snatches them out of your grasp, hiding them behind his back.
"Not really," he says, walking over to the bedside table and placing them next to the lamp, "You told me they made me look handsome back in - think it was -- '94 maybe? -- So I just wanted to keep them on for insurance."
You look down at the floor, "I always think you look handsome, Harrington."
You feel his hand at the back base of your neck and turn to see him behind you, "Come back to bed." 
He gets under the sheets and both duvets and turns down the covers next to him, slapping the pillow you're going to sleep on to beckon you forward. You want to roll your eyes but you can't force down the giddiness building in your chest -- sleep over!
You maneuver over to your side of the bed, slipping under the covers while he turns them back over you to tuck you in. Fuck are the sheets nice, they had to be some luxury brand you can only order through a catalog.
Steve clicks off his bedside lamp, leaning over you to click off yours and you catch the remnants of his cologne on his skin. It's not long before you feel his hand skate over you under the covers, sliding over your belly, up over every curve and bump on your body before resting a warm hand on the side of your breast. He hums sleepily and pulls you close to him, pressing his chest against your shoulder. His hot breath fans against your neck where he's settled his head.
"Isn't this nice?" he asks. You nod, turning onto your side to face him while his hand splays across your back to pull you closer. You slide a hand under the pillow, and savor the coolness on your hot skin. Steve looks at you with soft eyes, studying you.
"Can I tell you something?" he asks, "Or, well, can I ask you something?"
"Yeah, of course," you say, looking at him, trying to read his expression.
"Remember -- ah fuck, okay I'm doing this," he says, trying to psyche himself up, "Remember when I said I had some options? To make changes?"
"Yeah, I remember. You can't wait when those opportunities come, Harrington," you lecture, "I've fucked myself so many times with that."
"There's a position in the New York office," he blurts out, "In the head quarters that they're eyeing me for."
Your heart races, "Okay."
"And I'd be...I don't know, sort of demoted but I'd get a huge -- like, huge fucking pay raise," he explains, "And I -- I wanna take it."
A beat passes while he tries to figure out what to say.
"And maybe, I don't know -- maybe we could try this out? Like for real? Instead of just fucking around every Christmas."
You consider it, heat blooming in your cheeks -- the good kind. Your heart starts to swell -- not Steve Harrington asking you out when you're twenty-nine. Sixteen year old you would be screaming.
"What do you think?" he asks, he swipes his hand through his hair and even in the dark you know his cheeks are pink.
"I don't think it's a bad idea," you say, "I think it's the excitement you're looking for -- New York I mean, not me."
"I think you're really exciting," he leans in to kiss you with a grin.
"And I think," he presses his lips against yours again, "I'd do a pretty good job at taking care of you, if you let me."
You laugh through your nose, blushing hard while he kisses your cheek, "That sounds nice, doesn't it?"
"It does sound nice, Steve," you agree, but you don't want him to feel too good about it. You had a reputation to uphold, still. He leans back to look at you, thumb caressing your cheek as your lids fall half down your eyes, "I think I'd really like that."
"You wanna shower? You too tired?" his voice his so gentle you start to melt, but exhaustion weighs heavy on you.
"Too tired," you say, nuzzling forward into his neck -- your head now partially on his pillow.
"We can talk about it more in the morning, yeah?" he asks, a hand reaching up to smooth over your hair.
"Yeah," you said, your breath steadying, "I'll see you in the morning."
He knows you don't like eggs for breakfast but it's all he has in the fridge. It's fine. He'll just order in.
2K notes · View notes
junosmindpalace · 1 year
Note
Hello! Do u still do dr stone request? If yes. Can u write senku on how would he confess to his crush. I think it would be pretty cute and sweet? LOL. Anyways please take ur time with my request, take care and have a nice day! :))
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hi there anon! thank you for your request! i hope you're taking care of yourself and doing well! this oneshot is a little…all over the place since i had so many ideas, but i hope you enjoy anyway!
synopsis: senku finds a uniquely romantic way to confess his feelings for you.
warnings: none
wc: 2.1k
note: oneshot takes place before the petrification!
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Knock knock.
Byakuya Ishigami perked up from the awkward angle he was hunched over his laptop in, turning his attention away from the endless amount of emails from students and colleagues alike and toward the sound coming from the end of the hall. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he turned away from the hall and toward the clock on the kitchen wall in front of him. It wasn’t too late…
“Was I expecting someone?” 
Rapid muffled foot stomps thudded down the hall and toward the front door where the knocking was coming from. “It’s for me!” 
The owner of the second voice made a sharp u-turn as he propelled himself toward the front door. He straightened his posture and adjusted the sleek white lab coat he wore before opening the door. On the other side stood a cheery kid around his age holding the handle of a yellow toolbox with both hands, and who’s small smile widened upon meeting face to face with their friend.
“Hiya, Senku! I hope I’m not too late!” 
The latter, Senku, chuckled and stepped to the side to allow you to enter the apartment.
“You’re right on time.” 
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“Hi, Y/N!”
“Hello, Mr. Ishigami, sir!” 
“Senku! You didn’t tell me you were inviting someone over! I could’ve made food!” 
“You would’ve burned the house down.” 
You laughed beside Senku, the two of you now standing side by side in front of the boy’s father for you to properly greet him. 
“We’ve got work to do, Y/N! C’mon!” 
Senku hurried toward his room and you went to follow, turning around with an apologetic look on your face. “Sorry for the unexpected drop-in. Nice to see you again, Mr. Ishigami!” 
“Wait! You two didn’t let me know if you want food or not!” 
The teacher received no reply from either his eccentric son or his cheerful friend, and he sat down after rising halfway up his chair with a small smile on his face, mumbling “kids…” before resuming the work on his laptop. 
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“I got all the stuff you asked for!” You held your toolbox up with one hand, its contents cluttering loudly. Senku’s room was filled with all sorts of gadgets for the project you two had been working on. On his desk, a variety of different tech parts were scattered, and his laptop revealed multiple tabs of code and other analytics. 
“Wheels?”
“Yes!”
“Voicebox?”
“Yes!”
“Paint?”
“And brushes! I got some sprays, too.”
Senku smirked and chuckled yet again as he took the box from you and rummaged through the supplies. “Good job! Now we can finally finish the robot!” He laid out a thin, dull purple blanket on his floor and moved his computer parts from the desk to the floor. “What are we waiting for? Let’s get started!” 
Ever since the two of you were kids, you and Senku bonded over your mutual love of science. Senku was an extravagant kid who never failed to leave a lasting impression with his projects and experiments. Not only that, but his resolve and excitement only made him more attractive to you. For Senku, such a bright and intelligent person was exactly someone he’d get along well with. Your creativity and drive for passion was what drew him in, especially since you both promised each other excitement and indulgence. 
You visiting Senku was not uncommon, but despite how much you frequent his house to work on his experiments, the giddiness he feels when he hears the doorbell signaling your arrival has never gone away. 
The end goal today was simple- finish building a robot from scratch. Senku’s blueprints showed a detailed diagram of a tiny robot a little bigger than the size of a hand, its body a short, white rectangular prism (with stylish blue stripes- your addition) and a cube attached on the top side to make a head. Two eyes would be placed on either side of its head and two wheels on either side of the body. 
When Senku first presented you the blueprint, you were in awe and immediately eager to get started, asking questions about where to begin and what parts were needed.
And so that very same day, you walked with Senku to his apartment and had a similar encounter with Byakuya a week ago as you did today. Senku walked you through all the steps; programming the robot, building it, and operating it. There were many errors along the way- in the programming and the building, but the two of you took turns working on each aspect over the span of a week. 
And this evening a week later was finally the day you two would finish. 
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“We made all the adjustments…”
“Do you think it’ll finally work?”
“Only one way to find out.”
You and Senku nervously hunched around the tiny robot on Senku’s bedroom floor. It sat unmoving and waiting to be operated. It looked exactly like Senku’s blueprints- four wheels, two on each side for the robot to move around, and two eyes that were currently closed. You and Senku exchanged a glance before Senku took a deep breath and leaned in slightly. 
“Rei?” 
The robotic eyes blinked to reveal small black circles behind its artifical eyelids. The bot slowly turned around to face Senku. “Hello, Ishigami Senku!” It then titled its head toward you. “Hello, L/N Y/N!” 
The two of you turned toward each other and let out gasps of excitement. The robot was finally a success! You leaned toward your friend, laughing joyfully while he stared at you with a toothy grin. 
“I can’t believe we did it…!” You cried as you straightened up, stretching your arms above your head. “We actually finished faster than I anticipated!”
“Science requires patience and diligence. With both, you can ten billion percent reach your end goal in no time.”
You smiled and titled your head. “Your passion and dedication is amazing, Senku. I’m always in awe of you.” You laughed, and Senku stared at you with a small smile. 
You say that about him, but you’re more the person Senku will ever be. You're so very kind and motivating, things he knows you’d argue he is as well. Throughout every step you’ve stuck by Senku’s side, working alongside him to finish this project. Never once did you suggest abandoning it and you never once shied away from the challenge. After every setback, you would tell him that the two of you just needed to keep at it, provoking brainstorms by asking questions. Your endless enthusiasm and unwavering resolve was exactly why Senku liked you so much. 
And Senku wanted you to know it, so he decided to leave you a message.  
For a while, Senku had been fighting down romantic feelings for you, and try as he might, everyone, especially Senku, knew that he is no fighter. And so after losing the battle of denial, Senku came to terms with his feelings. Getting rid of them wasn’t an option, and so he’s been anticipating the best way to execute his next solution- confessing.
His thought process? If he confessed, he could move on quicker. The faster any subconscious thought of reciprocation was shut down, the quicker he could get these feelings to pass entirely. And so he didn’t put much thought into his confession. He figured he could just pull you aside one day and confess in the most unromantic way that would be sure to have him rejected, and the two of you could move on with your friendship. But over time, the thought of giving you, his sweet best friend who constantly goes the extra mile for him, such an unthoughtful confession made guilt swirl in his stomach and his feelings for you grow more and more. 
And after some time, Senku realized that he didn’t want to get turned down. He wanted to make you smile. He wanted to stay by your side as something more. He wanted to impress you the best way he knew how- with science. And so a half-assed confession wasn’t going to cut it. Suddenly, he went from rolling his eyes at the thought of just pulling you to the side to thinking of the most memorable and meaningful way to confess.
And Rei was his answer.
Rei represented the best parts of yourselves, both as individuals and as partners. She represented something greater- all of the experiments and projects the two of you worked on together, where you both showcased your creativity, innovativeness and brilliance through a combination of your strengths. Rei was a representation of all the fun the two of you have together, not only while working on projects, but while indulging in mutual interests, while talking about even the most mundane events. Rei represented easy conversation and collaboration between you two- something so important in relationships.
What could be a more fitting way to confess?
So during the process, he programmed a way to send you a message. But of course, it couldn’t be something so direct. Rei represented the mutual love you two have for everything science related, so why not make this fun? 
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After an exhausting couple of hours entirely dedicated to finishing Rei by fixing a couple of bugs, the two of you were ecstatic but worn out. Hungry, you suggested going to a ramen joint not too far from Senku’s home for a celebratory meal. 
“My treat! Your dad seemed pretty concerned with making sure we were fed.” You joked, and Senku let out an airy laugh. 
“Sure. I’ll be right there.”
He watched you walk out of his room and down the hall to the exit. He stared back at Rei on the floor, contemplating his next steps. He approached the robot and crouched down in front of it. 
“Rei?”
Rei whirred to life.
“Hello, Ishigami Senku! You have one undelivered message. Would you like me to discard?”
“No. Send the message.”
“Who is your recipient?”
“L/N Y/N.”
Rei beeped a couple of times as she continued staring at Senku. With a final swoosh and a short tune-  “Message sent to L/N Y/N!” 
As you were slipping on your shoes at the front door, oblivious to what Senku was up to, you noticed him approaching you with Rei in his hand.
“Oh, taking Rei with you?”
You grew more confused when he suddenly placed the robot in your hand. “Keep her safe, will ya?”
You looked between Senku and Rei, stunned for a moment before giving the scientist a wide, toothy smile. “You’re letting me have her? Thank you so much!” 
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That night, you thought you’d familiarize yourself a bit with Rei’s features. After getting ready for the night, you placed Rei under the bright gaze of your desk lamp and sat crossed legged in your desk chair. Upon turning her on however, you were surprised that the first thing Rei had said to you was…
“Hello, Y/N! You have one unopened message from Ishigami Senku.” 
Huh. Why did Senku add this to the robot? Was it just part of the fun? You were amazed thinking of all the features Senku must’ve added for his own personal touch, or just out of curiosity and experimentation. 
“What’s the message?” 
Rei blinked once before she whirred and started playing an audio recording. There were a couple of clicks, and then pauses. Clicks and pauses. At first you were confused, thinking there was some sort of malfunction, and then…
“Morse code?” 
You had interrupted Senku in the midst of learning morse code in the science club room one day and invited yourself to join him, finding it fascinating. From then on, the two of you would occasionally challenge each other to translate what the other was saying by sending each other messages in class. Sometimes it got competitive, and other times you would hit Senku when he’d playfully tease or insult you. 
Smiling, you pulled out a notebook and a pen to keep track of the letters. You listened carefully, trying to catch every click and pause.
Two clicks. That’s an I.
A click. A long pause. Two more clicks. L.
Another two clicks. I again.
A pause, a click, a pause. That was a K, right?
A singular click. E. 
You listened a little while longer, asking Rei if she was capable of rewinding the audio (she was!), and confirming some of your original answers. 
As you got closer to deciphering the message, your heart started to race. You reread the message you had written down over and over till the words stopped processing in your head. Did you mishear? You must’ve gotten something wrong. But after going back and replaying the message multiple times, rewriting it once and twice and thrice more, you were certain this was the message given. Even so, there was just no way Senku of all people would be sending you a message that read...
 I-L-I-K-E-Y-O-U. 
You had a lot to say to Senku the next day.
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anyoldfandom · 2 months
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I am actually. I am so emotional over the Salazar parents and I need to share this to tumblr too.
A lot of stories where the MC is adopted I feel. Either dismiss the biological parents and the impact they have on the kid's life, or makes them evil and abusive, framing the loss of the bio parents as a good thing, or at least something we shouldn't think about just look at this new family.
But Genrex doesn't do that. From the start, Rex wanted to find out more about his parents - it's one of his primary character motivations, next to helping people. He loves them, even though he doesn't know them.
And the more he finds out about them, the more he realizes they loved him. Rylander is consumed by guilt but as Rex's first connection to his pre-Event life, the first thing he does is hug him. And when he tells Rex about his parents, the two things Rex knows is that 1) they were scientists, and 2) that when he was in danger, they were desperate enough to use their secret, experimental technology to save him. Technology built from their desire to help the world, to save countless lives and end countless suffering.
And then. When he finds out that they were dead, he doesn't stop caring. It'd be so easy, too, to tie it up there - his parents were good people, he got his answer about them, the end. But they don't. He doesn't. Because the show is saying once again that they are his parents. He still calls them mom and dad, even as the show makes it clear Holiday and Six adopted Rex as their son. Even as the show even parallels Six and One with Rex and Six (and I will talk about that more later if I don't forget, trust me), to really drive home how much they're family. Rex even says he considers the two of them family, and later that he considers Noah, Claire and Annie family.
He has new family, the show tells us, but his old family still matters to him. He's upset that he never has the chance to meet his parents, that everything he hears about them, about his time with them, is secondhand knowledge. It tells us clearly that not only does Rex still love them, but that he still wants to know them. And everything we find out about them reinforces the love that they had for each other.
We see Abuela and the family in Mexico, who connect him to his birth family and tell him that he was so loved back then, and still is now. We see their office in Abysus through Rex's eyes. The picture of him and his dad on his desk. The drawing Rex drew, proudly pinned to the wall.
We see it in the familiarity of the drawing. That that robot, that build, was what Rex created when he was lost and scared and alone - that it was made to keep him safe. That it first appeared in his mind in a place he felt safe.
The show says, tenderly and softly, that the love is still there. That the fact these people died was nothing but a tragedy, that their love is a big part of what made Rex who he is today - that every molecule in his body is filled with their final gift to him. That every time he cures someone, every time he uses a build, every time he makes a machine - we see the love that they had for him.
And the way he quietly absorbs his father's face. The way he freezes and whispers "Mamá?" when he finds out Zag-Rs has their mother's voice. The fact that she even has her voice as a testament to Caesar's love, too - that it was meant to bring comfort and safety. The way Rex yells at Caesar when he finds out they have a family property, a connection to their past, the way he fights to protect it.
And, none of this takes away still from Six and Holiday being Rex's family too. None of this removes the work either set of parents did for him, the love either set has - the show says that it was unfair that the Salazar parents were lost. That Six and Holiday are not replacements, that they still love him as parents but play different roles in his life. They can not, and have no desire to, replace the Salazars. But Rex needs parents, he needs protectors, and so they will do what they can for him - at first out of necessity, to keep this kid they barely know safe, but then out of love. They aren't replacing what was lost, but are doing their best to do what Rex's bio parents would do. And they do mess up in it - they mess up in ways Rex's bio parents might not have. Six is clearly bad with showing affection, affection we saw the Salazars give Rex so easily, and Holiday is overworked and stressed constantly, sometimes breaking under the pressure and snapping at Rex and Six, things we never saw the Salazars do.
It's just. It's about how sometimes things will not be the same. They will be different. That doesn't mean the people you lost aren't still with you.
#This is also. Why I dislike the 'Rex was secretly made for the nanite experiments the accident was a lie' theory so much#Bc it assigns malice where the show says over and over again there was only love.#That this was only ever a tragedy of good people whose good intentions were manipulated and twisted.#And I think giving them something shitty to have done in the past especially goes against the message of the show's perspective on adoption#The family we choose is not always stronger than the family we are born to. Sometimes they are equal in different ways.#Rex's bio parents are gone but not replaced. They have also shaped who he is#Six and Holiday are just picking up where they left off. Because they have to.#Also I don't like the theory that Rex's parents are EVOs somewhere bc I think it diminishes the impact of the tragedy too.#I get. Wanting them to have a happy ending. But I think it's important to realize that this is the closest they can have to a happy ending.#Some things cannot be replaced. Or fixed. Sometimes life takes what we love and what loves us. And that is okay.#It is okay to be upset at that and it is okay to never fully move on.#'What about Caesar?' I have. Another post's worth of thoughts about him.#But I think he's also a character who is defined more by Rex by their relation and defined by the story by his guilt#I think he is the closest thing Rex has to a shitty bio family member and he is shitty in plenty of ways#But he's also a parallel to Rex in a lot of ways. He fails where Rex succeeds bc of it.#generator rex#genrex#Anyways. Sorry for the big post.
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vrisrezis · 6 months
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hello (i have read you're taking requests at the moment. it's okay if you can't do this but if you can i will be so so so grateful ) could you please write satoru x reader who has kind of a stronger, more introverted personality (a bit of a tsundere) so people normally deem them as intimidating, emotionless and hard to approach but satoru is falling so hard for them? like they've been close because he's been one to genuinely care and get to know them for who they are and that's why he's so protective and whipped. he's the only one who the reader lets baby them around and vice-versa, because they both know how hard it is to keep the "strongest" facade while being so soft and love starved inside. thank you if you do this really it means a lot!
SO CUTE. love satoru x tsun! Readers opposites attract okay….
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- satoru is not one to be intimidated by anyone, so you don’t scare him like everyone else. He probably finds you personally fun to tease as you get annoyed easily!
- also, it’s just nice to see you show emotions since everyone thinks youre so emotionless and he likes to know he has an effect on you!
- but eventually aside from the teasing he tries to genuinely be your friend, which he doesn’t do with many people (the only true friends he feels he has being shoko, nanami, geto, and haibara. Secretly utahime too but.)
- this mainly comes from a place of finding you fun to be around despite your personality, (you’re fun to be around cuz it’s fun to tease you) but also he does genuinely find you interesting and wants to learn more about you
- a friendship would be formed of course, and slowly he’d get to see every bit and piece of you and falls for you in the process :)
- he’d be aware of it too, and kinda just accepts that as his life
- he would really value your friendship a lot though, due to how he can’t really be this vulnerable around anyone else, except maybe geto but it’s not the same.
- the closeness he feels with you is really special to him, so he wouldn’t tell you how he felt for a long time as he valued what you two have together
- regardless, satoru is very sweet to you! Aside from all the teasing cuz he does love to do that a lot
- but he actually goes out his way to buy you things! claims it’s cuz you’re such close buds, but you see a chibi geto laughing in the corner for some reason
- he likes buying you sweets :) he knows despite that rough exterior deep down you’re a softie just like him who loves to munch on some gummy bears
- also he isn’t subtle btw
- like he thinks he is but he isn’t
- bro straight up watching a movie on the couch and then be like “oh man! It’s so cold in here! Can I cuddle up to you?” and it’s like 90 degrees outside
- satoru typically isn’t all that protective of people he likes, cuz I genuinely can’t imagine him with somebody he would view as weak (I also think even if he did it’d be very unhealthy and savior complex-y)
- he doesn’t doubt you can handle yourself, but he doesn’t like to stand back and watch people judge you and assume you’re some robot, incapable of feeling. Incapable of being sad or incapable of being exhausted from a long day. You’re a human being, and he will not hesitate to remind people of that, if you won’t.
- and vice versa cuz even satoru forgets he’s a human being that’s allowed to rest
- satoru will ask for some of your praise cuz it’s his favorite but you almost never deliver. The few times you do he’s blushing and also never shutting up about it. Two years later and he will still talk about the time you said he did a good job baking those chocolate chip cookies.
- satoru feels like he can tell you anything, his worst mistakes, his fears, his guilt. And he’s happy you feel the same way. That you can let down your walls too.
- your relationship is interesting because of how similar and different you both are, you both build up walls and hide but in a completely different manner. You act mean and tough all the time, while gojo acts happy and silly all the time. You both have a hard time being vulnerable and letting people in, and you both know what it’s like to be the strongest and have people assume nothing bad could happen to either of you because of the strength you both constantly show to the world. But you both have such big and soft hearts that you’re both terrified to share. And yet, because of that understanding, you both find solace in one another and let eachother in as if neither of you cared about letting people in, in the first place.
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minimallyminnie · 10 months
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Gift for @enassbraid!!!
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Summary- Rui just thinking about you. Wait…maybe a bit too much about you…
Gn Reader, Rui Kamishiro x Reader, Fluff, really fluffy, like little to no angst, no tw needed! Pre relationship, huge crush.
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My Thoughts Shall Follow You.
Rui isn’t the type of person to really focus on someone who isn’t he friend
Unless it’s the lovely and amazing audience of course!
The people he really focuses on is his parents, Tsukasa, Nene, Emu, Mizuki and co.
But any random person who might judge him?
Nope! Not his problem!
But. He met you.
You for some reason, didn’t judge him in a bad and weird light.
Saying strange things to him…
“Nice robot Kamishiro! It looks great!”
Or just saying a nice greeting to him
He scanned you in case you had some sort of strange virus or something
Even analyzing your intentions
But, you genuinely wanted to get to know him…
What on earth is the matter with you?!
He’s the “weirdo kid”. Your reputation is going to get ruined like what happened to Tsukasa!
Well Tsukasa was already excluded like them but still! He’s weird!
But you continued to ask him questions, not crossing his boundaries
Even talking to Tsukasa and Nene!
What?!
One day, during lunch Tsukasa called you over to the rooftop to eat with them
Course you didn’t say no
He put up his guard in case you were messed up but even so, you just talked normally to the two of them
“Do you think I should play an evil villain in our next show to try something new or a shining hero?”
“Hmm…why don’t you try a play in the perspective of a villain to show their side of the story? That way, it’s something new but you have a clearer image of a misunderstood villain.”
“That’s actually a good idea! Rui! We must do this idea! As a shining star, if this is what our audience could like, our job is to make them smile!”
“What do you think Kamishiro?”
It’s actually a good idea…you have a real smile of curiosity on your face…
“Fufufu~ I think it’s a wonderful idea! Let’s talk it over with Nene and Emu later though. Wouldn’t want them to be surprised by this unexpected direction!”
Tsukasa high fives you and you look really happy at the fact that he liked your idea
When they go with the idea, he invites you along not expecting you to actually go
But you did, in the front row with Emu’s showtime pass (You two had met after one of the days at school, the girl happily tackling you to the ground as she thanks you for helping with the show.)
During the show, he sees how your eyes twinkle with delight and how amazed your expression looks
The flowing movements and dramatic shifts, the well written story…you just had to!
He thinks some people in the audience teared up at the villain’s backstory just like you
In the end, when they all bow to the audience, he can see you stand up and cheer for them
You go backstage and congratulate all of them, smiling at them with bouquets for all of them…
…Your smile is the only one he really focused on during the show, wasn’t it?
He trades numbers with you and let’s you call him by his first name afterwards
Your messages consist of many things
You: Rui, what did you do to Tsuka?
Cheshire: Well! I misheard him and heard him say “We should put on these ants.”
You: Next?
Cheshire: I gave him pants with decorative realistic ants on it!
In reality, he said we should put on these pants like the ones with cloud on the cuffs but he fainted when he saw those ant pants!
You: Is he okay?!
Cheshire: Yes! He got caught by Nenerobo!
You: Jfc Rui, you’re going to give him a heart attack one day 😰
Cheshire: New inventor of black plague?
You: NO
Cheshire: [|87
You: RUI NO, WE CAN’T BE IN A PANDEMIC BECAUSE OF A 17 YEAR OLD 😭😭😭
Yeah…chaotic.
But you always go with him, and slowly he lets down his walls carefully
And inside his walls crawls his thoughts of you.
Leaking into the main core of his heart.
Your shining expression when you see one of his shows.
Your attempt on trying to replicate one of their dances alongside Tsukasa.
Your kind words to him and his friends family.
The laugh you give that plays his heartstrings.
You’re engraved in his head 24/7.
He’s sitting in the stage taking his lunch break when all of a sudden he thinks of you. A startled look on his face.
“Rui, are you alright?”
“Tsukasa-Kun, is it normal for me to be thinking of the same someone randomly everyday?”
“Randomly? Hmm…I don’t think it’s randomly. You think of things that you like, you don’t randomly think of someone.”
Rui’s blushes just a tiny amount
“If this person…makes me feel weird…is it..?”
Tsukasa looks at him with surprise before grinning at him with genuine excitement
“I think you’re in love with that person then!”
And Rui’s eyes widens as he blushes, no words coming to his mind for once. He feels Tsukasa happily laugh as he pats Rui on his shoulder.
He’s in love.
He’s in love with you.
And oh, his smile is wider than ever as he classifies it.
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Yhhshshsjsj just a random gift for my moot
Fluff and stuff for her favorite man
No, Tsukasa does not have a crush on Rui or Reader, don’t take it like that man. I’ll say something if he does 🤨
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Hey Honey it's me again! I was wondering if could a Pomefiore and Diasomnia Headcannons with a Yor Forger! SO
I MEAN- WHO DOESN'T LOVE HER??? SKJDHSJDHDK I'm so sorry that I only did up to Pomefiore, but I'll try doing your other requests. ;-;;;;
You seem to lack social skills and initially come across as a somewhat aloof and sticking with the minimal with interacting, interacting, short and straightforward with a seemingly robotic and mechanical way of talking to others.
You are remarkably calm and collected in the face of danger, and you're incredibly polite… although sometimes you're rather blunt in compliments. Despite your front, you are actually a very kind and have a strong maternal instinct and as you grow closer with your peers, you're more expressive, and you have no problems with going to extreme measures to protect the ones you love.
However, you're usually insecure about your abilities, and you worry that you're not capable to be a good friend or more. Surely, they would see something more in you than you know it…
TWST The Aloof, but kind and motherly (and a bit violent) s/o (Yor Forger)
Vil Schoenheit
He doesn't really mind you being aloof, in fact, he prefers you being "straight to the point". You keep your answers sweet, short and relevant for anyone to understand, which he appreciates.
Vil values your politeness and courtesy, perhaps that's why he was charmed by you. Needless to say, when you got into a relationship, he realized that that calm nature of yours is to hide a very easy to fluster, sweet person.
In a way, it amuses him how someone who seems so calm gets their cheeks flushed when their lover simply gives them a simple kiss on the forehead. Who knew you were actually this adorable, potato?
Furthermore, you get more and more emotional the closer you are with him and your peers, which he blinks at a bit surprised to see you grin and chuckle, cry and whine. Oddly, however, you do seem to also... take "action" a bit too much when he's in trouble.
For example, one time a fan of his was being very pushy on Halloween, clearly neglecting his personal space and the number of times he tried to politely shoo them off, but to no avail. As he was wondering what to do with a slightly irritated look, you swiftly cut through the thick air to chop down a pole right next to that fan.
"He. Said. Personal. Space." Needless to say, that fan finally listened. Wow, how unexpected. Again-
What an odd lover he has. <3
Rook Hunt
To be honest, isn't Rook similar to you? He appears very kind (a little dramatic, pretty weird too with his shooting and stuff), but he has quite a backstory and... are those photos of students on his wall???
Anyways, like Vil, Rook doesn't mind your aloof nature. He thinks it's rather endearing to see you very polite as well as keeping most of your conversations short. So, he was a bit surprised by your change in attitude after you became his s/o, because the transformation was completely in contrast to your known nature.
You were more kind, more expressive, very sweet and easy to fluster. Oh my! How adorable! Beaute! He thinks it's lovely, absolutely lovely to see this adorable side to you. This dynamic between you too would be very interesting, nonetheless...
Rook does seem to know of you being "a bit" violent when it comes to protecting the ones you hold dear... like himself! (Oh god-)
When Rook found himself in a fair bit of trouble with the ghost, you swiftly used a pebble of some sort and threw it hard into the tree, which pierced through its trunk and flew to the other side. Seeing the intimidating and darkened look on your face, leaving the ghosts too stunned and they ran off in a frenzy. They can't even get hit...
Alas, he still thinks you're his beloved! You two sure make an interesting couple. <33
Epel Felmier
He didn't think much of it, but you are being aloof has him a bit awkward on his end. With your quick, short replies and mostly being quiet, he doesn't know how else to continue on with any conversation with you.
Somewhere and somehow down the road, he managed to get into a relationship with you, and to him, he has won the lottery of a romantic life.
The way you get so flustered easily, with your sweet and kindhearted attitude chiseled out of your usual calm composure is something real cute to him. On top of that, you called him "a real man" when he chased off those ghosts during that cursed wedding (quite literally cursed-)! He's ecstatic!
Furthermore... when did you learnt to fight??? He saw you punch the wall when a Savanaclaw student was making fun of his petite body, as you glared intensely into the soul of that now victim student.
"Leave. Him. Alone." Of course, he shrieked and backed off, the delinquent fleeing the scene without wanting to be the one your fist touched. Epel thinks you're so cool, and he wants to learn from you!
Well, he's trying his best. <3
Reblogs help! ^^
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Imposter | TP Wheeljack/Makeshift x f!robot reader | NSFW 18+
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Word count: 2400+
Warnings: Smut ( Touching, spike in valve, semi public, rough interfacing and slight choaking ), dominance, impersonating and perhaps a little dark ending . NSFW 18+.
Notes: This is an idea I had thought about. Unsure how the triggers might go as it is a little different but nothing was forced, simply tricking. The ending is a little creepy, but I like that. I might do a second part but unsure still, will think about it. Sorry for the delay. Let me know what you'll think. 🥰
Coffee ☕
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The history behind you and Wheeljack was long, but nothing regretful. Your friendship has always been very flirty. You were both flirty to one another, it came naturally. It was fun, of course, and you grew to love the wrecker. But like all great things they do have their bumps. It had nothing to do with either of you at first, more like the war got in between, and then after joining the autobots, you simply went your separate ways.
Wheeljack could never stay in one place for too long, he liked to travel and move around which you prefer to stay put. So yeah, no regrets what you two had, nor was there any hate from either of you for each other. In fact, over time whenever you did bump into one another, you would always end up having a good interface. Just fooling around, releasing all that built up tension, before moving on again.
Now here you were, settled on Earth with team Prime. For the past decade you've all been hidden on earth, watching for any sort of decepticon activity. A lot has happened though. Humans suddenly arrive within the base, Megatron had returned, then he offlined, or so that's what everyone thought to believe.
Putting that aside, your focus is on today, and today that brings you and the autobots a new incoming transmission, someone you haven't heard from in a long time. Wheeljack.
Knowing he is coming here not only made Bulkhead excited but so you. Sure, you were all friends, but there was something more between you and Wheeljack, a lingering spark also seeking attention. Off and on again over time you would run into one another and make up for old times. In those old times, before the war, you were quite the playful couple.
War always got in the way and things just never progressed between you two, but you both always somehow managed to bump into one another as time went on, blowing off steam as you might put it.
Upon his arrival it was no surprise that the decepticons would get involved. This was Wheeljack though, he could handle it, but that doesn't stop the others from giving the new arrival a helping servo.
Once returning to base you can't help but stare at Wheeljack. He hasn't changed at all, just the same old Jackie you grew to love. Once Bulkhead finally gave him that little space he met your stare. There's a pause, optics drifting across your figure, before he gives that cute smug smile of his. You know he's checking you out and you can't help but return the same jester.
You want to be alone with Wheeljack, and so you offered to show him around the base before the party starts for his arrival.
Now it's just your two together strolling down the hall.
"It's good to see you again, Jackie." You tell him fondly.
"Yeah, you too, y/n." Wheeljack answers, his optics glancing over sideways on you. "You look good."
You go to answer but this was tossed away when he suddenly pins you against the wall and latches his scarred lips over your own, glossa pushing in and devouring your own in a dominant act. The action did surprise you, but you melted into the heated kiss eagerly, craving it. You missed him a lot.
He lets out a growl that sounds so beast-like making you quiver in delight. You try to remember when he used to make such sounds, finding it kind of new, but this doesn't last as he suddenly turns you around and pins your front into the wall, pressing himself behind and grinding his heated panel against your aft, his lips and dentas biting against your exposed neck cables.
The action sparks a new arousal that rushes through you directly to your valve. It's been far too long, and you can tell it's been a while for him as well. Though his behaviour was so much more needy, desperate even, not that you are going to argue about that. But you did feel a little anxious feeling his servo move down and rub between your legs against your heated panel.
"Right here? What if someone sees us?"
"Let them."
Being semi-public was something you've never done during interfacing. What if the humans saw you both? That would be a long and embarrassing conversation to have with the kids.
These thoughts are long gone as he continues his desperate touching against you, letting out heated vents into your audio making your frame shiver through a growing warmth. As if answering his silent demands, you retract your panel, and suddenly feel his digit push into your valve, pumping quickly inside you.
You have to cover your mouth with your servo to prevent any loud sounds from leaving you, not wanting anyone to hear down the hall. Feeling his digit you clench around him and lean into his chassis. This doesn't last as he removes his digit and you hear his own panel retract, right before he shoves you against the wall again and thrusts himself into you firmly.
The sudden stretch does cause you to gasp out feeling it hurt just a little, but it doesn't last as the pleasure blooms through you, and he doesn't hold back as he starts thrusting into you roughly, slamming his hips against your aft with your body trapped against the wall.
This was something different that you don't think you remember happening between you and Wheeljack before in the past. Sure, you both got in the moment sometimes, but this was a control kind of rough, but you don't hate it. His movements cause your frame to scrap against the wall making you hold onto anything possible to try to keep still under his rough thrusts. It's not that you weren't enjoying it, you were loving every second of it, it just surprises you mostly.
His chassis presses into your back with his servos gripping at your waist, digits digging into your armour, with his heated grunts filling your audio as he rutts into you at a quick pace, so fast, forcing small squeaked pants to leave you over again.
Suddenly, he stills, grunts, firmly pressing against your aft and you feel a sudden warm feeling in your depths. Oh, he overloaded?
It all happened so fast and as turned on as you were, you weren't close to your own overload. Wheeljack always made sure you both overloaded, at least this is what you remember.
You hear him venting heavily as he rests against your back, cable still buried deep in you as if he was savouring it. For a moment you keep still before turning your helm a little to try and look at him. "Jackie?" You got his attention but he seems to have no words for you, making you go on. "You overloaded pretty fast." You say through perhaps what might've sounded like a little amusement, teasing in your voice, which you regret.
Wheeljack stiffens and he looks away from you as if he's embarrassed. He lets out a murmur that you don't hear as he removes himself from you, and before he could put himself away you stop him.
"Hey, Jackie, it's alright." You assure as you turn around and tug him closer against you, servos running along his cheek plating with your digits tracing over his scars. "Don't worry. It must've been a long time for you, hey?"
"Yeah." He answered through a heavy vent. "Too long." You watch as he slowly leans into your touches making you smile softly.
"It happens. But...that was something different. I never thought you liked it rough, though I didn't mind it, pretty wild."
"Oh? Is that something you like?" He smiles a little, making you beam softly in return.
"Maybe." You can't help but giggle lightly before biting your lower lip a little. "Hey, think you've got a little more in you to help me overload? I bet I could make you overload a second time."
"Yeah, sure, though I....just might need a moment." He starts palming his semi soft cable but you place your servo over his cable then.
"Allow me."
He doesn't say as much as he lets you take control, pumping his cable slowly and giving a small squeeze here and there while keeping your optics on him. Slowly you start to sink down onto your knees and he watches you as if he were in a trance. Not something you should be doing in the hall, but honestly it's all giving a small added thrill to the experience.
Taking his cable you lean forward and run your glossa along the length, pressing into each ridge and swiping over his tip as you taste his fluids and your own juices. You can also feel some of his fluids running down your inner thigh. Letting out a hum you take him into your mouth, optics up and stuck on Wheeljack as you take him inch by inch. He doesn't take his optics off you, not for one second.
Wheeljack lets out a low moan before leaning his arm against the wall in front of him, watching as you take him whole before you start to bob your head over his cable, slowly growing semi-hard as you bring his arousal up again.
"Frag..." He can't help but curse as you already manage to build up his arousal again, feeling your warm mouth and glossa running along his length while his waist moves against your mouth.
Getting him hard again gave you such pride as you let out a lingering hum around his spike before moving back slowly, letting go with a wet pop between your lips and standing back up in front of him. Some of his fluid was smeared at the corner of your mouth, and using your digit you wipe it away before sucking it clean off. Wheeljack looks on as if something was about to burst in him causing you to smirk softly.
"Do you like that?" You decide to play a little with him, running your servo all along his throbbing cable, squeezing gently. "Do you like my touches?"
"Your servo feels much better than my own." He chuckles through a throaty moan.
Letting out a soft smirk you manage to climb yourself up onto him and wrap your legs around his waist, positioning him over your drenched valve before sinking down on him.
"I think my valve can do a better job."
"Frag yes." That cute smile of his is so childish that it causes you to lean in and kiss the wrecker as you rock your hips into him.
Again, he presses you into the wall and gains firm control, thrusting slowly but firmly, and you can tell he's holding back. His moans mix in through your own while keeping a tight hold on him, moving with him as he buries his face into your neck.
"A little bite never hurt anybody." You whisper between heated vents to him. "Go ahead."
He does that, latching his dentas onto your exposed neck cables while his moans vibrate against your frame. A boiling mewl leaves you as you node is now grinding up against him giving you the perfect stimulation you needed as he leaves marks against your neck.
In the burning bliss that rocks through your entire frame you became lost but you didn't want to find a way out. You are taken out of this trance for a moment when you feel his servo suddenly wrap around the front of your neck to replace his lips. You meet his lustful dark gaze but you're not afraid, and he gets the silent approval as he adds a little pressure and drives forward into you more firmly against the wall.
The dominance is new. Wheeljack never use to do things like this, but bots can change, and you weren't complaining. Much to your surprise the change was rather thrilling as your body reacts quite positively under his rough treatment of you, but not enough to cause harm.
"Jackie...Jackie." You managed to chant his name under the tight servo wrapped across your neck, letting out thrilling mewls as the the back of your pedes dig into his rocking aft. You can feel yourself about to overload, and you don't hold back.
Your valve clenches around the throbbing cable rutting into you, feeling every ridge rub along your inner walls, right before your overload hits and sparks through your entire frame and letting out a muffled cry out moan you tried to bury under your servo in an attempt to tone it out from the echoing hall.
Wheeljack was close, so close, as you feel him hump himself against you at a rapid pace before he overloads a second time right there. He bits into your shoulder as his servo tightens a little more at your neck, only for a short moment before he loosens his hold and sags himself against you.
Eventually you both move off the wall, fixing yourselfs up and you lean forward to kiss him. He flinches, as if surprised, before quickly leaning into your kiss that turns into a hunger. You don't know why he's so flinchy, like he wasn't used to being kissed. All you do is remind yourself that it's been a long time for you both, you don't think on it too much. You missed him. Breaking the kiss you caress his cheek plating while looking up at him lovingly.
"Later, you will definitely need to show me more what I've missed out on." You whisper close to his lips. Wheeljack smirks rather proudly.
"You can count on that."
You take his servo on your own and drag him back down the hall.
While you hold his servo leading him back to where everyone was waiting, Wheeljack stares at you with a lingering hunger that you don't see. You also don't see his optics flashing white, or his sinister grin that is foreign to the Wheeljack you knew.
What you don't know is that it's not Wheeljack.
Makeshift was on a very important mission for Lord Starscream. Invade the autobot base and open a ground bridge up for the decepticons to wipe the autobots out once and for good. You weren't part of the mission, but he couldn't pass up the opportunity to blow off steam with a beautiful femme like you. He didn't mean to overload so fast before, it's just he hasn't had a good interface in a long time. But that second round was something else, very special you were indeed. Afterwards, when he succeeds in his mission, Lord Starscream will reward him, and he'll ask for you. He'll want you to be kept online all for himself.
Not the evening you might have planned, but he surely did have plans for you.
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Text
Otacon x Reader
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Warning
Highly cursed at the halfway point. Spoilers for End of Evangelion and I wouldn't recommend that sane people watch it just to try to understand what the hell is going on. Yes there are parts where people turn into orange liquid followed by screams and upbeat happy music about suicide. Also do not look up the hospital scene for this movie (which it is infamous for). You have been warned.
_______________________________________
Otacon
Your smash main is Snake, you're a weeb or you fall in love easily and are used to being hurt by others.
First Date:
None. This man is busy raising a child with Snake.
Second Try:
The two of you meet on a fan board and quickly exchange numbers. Soon he invites you over to his house for a date. You asked where he lived but he said he would prefer to pick you up. You wait outside until you feel what seems to be an earthquake. You go to run but then you look into the sky. "IS THAT A GIANT ROBOT!" The "vehicle" pulls up and sure enough, Otacon is waiting for you. "Good evening. You look wonderful..." He then handed you a bouquet of flowers and you came inside.
Man, he really was an otaku. His home consisted of a bedroom that was really more like a storage space, a bathroom and a kitchen. "Make yourself comfortable, I'm going to bring some refreshments." You looked around for a spot to sit down, his room being like that one photo of Yoshihiro Togashi but notably much cleaner. The walls were stacked from the floor to the ceiling. You would have to tell your date that piracy was also an option. Most of it was just anime so you knew better than to touch it.
There was a small CRT and just about every console you could think of. Even the bad ones.At the far end of the room was a computer. You didn't really understand how that stuff worked but you figured his setup must be very expensive since all you had was Windows 95. You saw a purple creature on the desktop. "What's a bonzi buddy?
"You then noticed that Hal had come back. "I brought you a bento and some pocky. Only the best for my little waifu." He then blushed and turned the television off. "Sorry. I forgot that I was playing Policenauts on my Saturn earlier.."He then asked Alexa to play his spotify playlist which consisted of nothing but Hatsune Miku.
After you were finished eating, he took you by the hand. "Allow you to show you my prized collection." He brought you to his glass stand filled with various figures. It had a little bit of everything. Transformers, all the Gundams, some Code Geass. Even this weird one he called Zone of the Enders? "Yeah, I'm a huge fan!" He then looked around to see if the almighty Mr. Kojima was watching."
But this... This is my favorite." It was a giant build of EVA 01. "I never knew you liked Evangelion..." He then pulled out a copy of End of Evangelion. "Would you like to watch it with me? I have the renewal edition..." You gazed into his eyes and kissed him. "Wow..." He then turned on his hello kitty DVD player and inserted the disc.
The two of you started frenching during the komm susser tod sequence. You began to stroke him while the lyrics "It all returns to nothing" played. "Looks like someone's snake is solid..." He then thought to himself while the screams of those being turned into orange juice could be heard. "It's just like one of my Japanese amines!" You gave one final pull, yelling "It all CUMS TUMBLING DOWN, TUMBLING DOWN, TUMBLING DOWN"
________
Having finished, Hal shut off his VR machine. Ever since David had left him to go on a date with a woman, he hadn't felt the same. He thought back to when he asked him if love could bloom on the battlefield and then started to sob into his arm. "WHY DOES EVERYONE I LOVE LEAVE ME!?" Little did Snake know but Otacon had created a program where he could be with him in a dating sim. He would later sell it on steam and become as rich as Snake did from the fortnite cameo, bringing him into the spotlight. They would later get back together and become the ultimate power couple.
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sillyromance · 3 months
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Heres a fun request. How about heatwave being stubborn and clingy to his prey?(aka the reader?)
Good day, dear anonymous!
I'm really sorry that it took so long to write this - I was emotionally burn out, so it was hard to force myself doing anything... However, finally, It's finished!
Hope you enjoy!
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The deal.
- Hey, let me out!
-...
- "Earth calls Heatwave!"
- Nope.
- Heatwave, it's not right! I can't sit here all day!
- I said "No"! You'll stay in there as long as it's needed. You're grounded after all!
You kicked the wall in front and frowned, crossing your arms.
Pumpkin head! He won't get away with this...
You almost fell into the fire while helping him and Kade to put it out from a building in the center of the town that morning. You was caught just in time, coughing out smoke getting into your lungs and violently eating your eyes. Though you didn’t quite understand what happened because literally at the next moment you were thrown into the pitch darkness. Something big and wet was moving quickly underneath, efficiently coating you in sticky liquid rapidly pouring into the room. That was a minute when you figured out the situation. But, before you could even think to protest, the bot's glossa bent deftly - you shrieked, sliding down like a skier via icy snow. Your legs and torso were unceremoniously dragged into tight, humid space with a powerful, demanding gulp, your arms securely held to your sides. So, the only thing that could do was to grunt in irritation as your huge robotic partner forced you down his throat, tracing a moving bulge passing through his thick neck and chest - and feeling as you were wriggling grumpily.
You arrived in the fueltank. Being released from the uncomfortably strong grip of the esophagus, you stretched your arms and legs, then curled up, allowing the organ to give you its usual snuggly "check-up". Frankly, it wasn't so bad; you relaxed, adrenaline leisurely washing away from your veins and your pulse normalizing. The walls gleamed with soft blue glow; its deep, calm hue was the best treatment for your sore eyes. Cool air flowing around Heatwave's internals healed your poisoned lungs. The living metal kneaded upon your tiny form, harmless gurgles and confident, measured sparkbeat being soothing and luring as always. You even gave yourself a chance to pass out for a half of an hour or so; this short sleep session refreshed you perfectly after the great distress you experienced.
However... As you woke up, you began to wonder. Time was passing, and so impatience was slowly growing in your chest. Of course, it was good to take a break from everything, but you had never been a lazy butt! Peace, when it lasts for too long, is demoralizing and fatal for a person, especially for as energetic one as you were. So, finally, you couldn't wait any longer. And even if you wasn’t so active – everyone could get bored sitting cooped up and thinking if they were getting out at all!
That was when you two had this short conversation.
You knew, he was just too caring even if he didn't want to admit it. Heatwave could be deadly annoying and irascible, sometimes even rude; despite all his positive characteristics all the people around were absolutely agree on the point that he had an unbearably "hot" temper.
Regardless, no one else could be as thoughtful and caring as he was to those he loved, especially to you. No doubt, dating someone like him could cause terrible headaches... But these relationships truly worth it.
And still, that time he crossed the line.
- Jerk... - You crawled away from the front wall as far as you could and sat down in the corner, hugging your knees. You saw the silhouette of his servo searching for you from the outside, but you was too exasperated to let him touch you now.
Slight swaying of your chamber stopped; he stood still.
- I can hear everything, you know? - The mech grunted; it was simple to recognize he was insulted.
- Very glad to know. Live with it. - You hissed. Temptation to hit him once more was strong, however you kept yourself from this action. There was no need in pushing the limits of his patience.
Heatwave just snorted and continued… whatever he was doing. You could only catch muffed sounds of your friends' voices laughing and chatting outside. Though, it was clear that the building would require modernization; well, Boulder and Graham would be glad to provide good help with that. The fire was gone, all people were safe and sound...
Suddenly, you recalled the moment when that damn board cracked under your feet and you almost collapsed right into the flame. You didn't even have time to get frightened back then. However, the vivid memory made your heart skip a beat. The suit wouldn't let your body to get burnt instantly... But it didn't mean you could escape easily either. What if you was alone? The wall was high enough as well as the risks that you would break an arm or a leg if you truly fell down. Toxic gases, heat, injuries and tormenting death were the real things which awaited you at that hell. So, didn't your lover do the right thing encapsulating you here? Of course, it seemed a little bit extreme. But his reaction was purely logical after all.
While such thoughts were circulating in your head, the atmosphere outside calmed down. Quite soon it became obvious you and Heatwave stayed alone. He was walking; considering the distance between the area of the accident and the location of the base, you felt even more grateful to him for not transforming into the vehicle mode - though it wouldn't do you any damage, such experience couldn't be called pleasant since you would be thrown into the walls for a hundred times...
You gave the fueltank a softer look. You did come here often, actually. This wrinkly, warm room turned into your private spot where Heatwave sometimes hid you from the rest of the world. He wasn't a fan of going out like other couples did; he must be thinking it was ruining his authority and the image of a severe, stoic bot he always tried to be. However, you two found a way to satisfy your great need in cuddles without Heatwave feeling embarrassed – and going even more red than he had already been.
... That was the reason why there were moments when you "disappeared" from the station. Although, everyone knew (or predicted) where you could be found.
It was like a piece of cake to forget about all the troubles while lying in the bed of alive squishy flesh and listening to the sounds of complicated work happening around. The mech didn't admit this, but he liked the sensation of your weight moving around his fueltank and giving him some nice internal rubs; your presence stabilized his thoughts, made him confident and calm because he was "in charge" of the situation. Losing control was Heatwave's the greatest fear. But feeling you inside him, under the layers of his thick armor, in the place no one could reach you provided him with a comforting knowledge of full responsibility. Nothing could go wrong – he wouldn't allow it.
Protection. All the autobots had sworn to protect humanity, but here was an exceptional situation. You inevitably felt that it was safe to rely on the red bot since the very first day of your partnership with Heatwave. He did everything in his powers to defend you no matter secretly or officially. As he was opening up for you and you both were carefully growing feelings for each other, one day it appeared he was constantly nervous about you could suddenly... die. It wasn't a maniacal obsession with the idea, but more likely a hyper-cautiousness. There were so many threats around people who were so small and fragile. Marota's machines reminded him of the war his brothers in arms had to fight in... It was similar to how he watched after Cody. Surely, such attitude seemed offensive to you from time to time - you weren't a child after all! But he was genuinely worried. That made him swallow you in a sec that time too.
And that shall be respected.
You crawled out of your gap and moved closer to the front wall again. Once you gently stroked it with your lap, the place shivered and tightened around you, the fueltank giving you a lovely hug.
He noticed the change.
- Heatwave...
- Hm?
- I'm sorry.
The sparkbeat above you fastened up, though the bot didn't answer. Fighting with anxiety rising deep inside - apologizing was definitely the hardest thing in the universe - you continued rapidly, still caressing slick, blue muscles holding you.
- I really am... I shouldn't have behaved like that. I know you're mad at me being such a clumsy person - I will be more careful next time. Please, don't go crazy about what happened. I promise, I can stand for myself.
The giant remained silent for some more time; his large hand slightly poked at your tiny figure, then laid firmly at his waist – you could sense its comforting pressure from the outside. Heatwave softly chuckled.
- I know. I should apologize too. You're not a baby, you know... Just, watch where you step. Deal?
- Deal.
You smiled, nuzzling into the flexible flesh wrapping you entirely like a thick blue blanket, and didn’t notice as you dozed off again, snuffing peacefully while sleeping...
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