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queers-gambit · 8 months

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Curiosity Killed The Cat

prompt: after rescuing you from kidnappers, you overhear your boyfriend-turned-savior complain about how clingy you've become.

pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Marvel

word count: 5.1k+

note: author wants things out of her drafts! also don't take this fic too seriously, it's not much at all - just me writing for the fuck of it until i'm ready to focus on my bigger projects.

warnings: modern AU, Mafia AU, obvious cursing, small hurt and comfort, brief depiction of physical violence and self-destruction in the form of: loss of appetite, lack of sleep, other symptoms of depression. NOT edited! author is ashamed because she knows she can give you something better but oh well.

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Your feet planted, jarring you to a halt the moment you heard your name in a conversation you were not apart of.

You heard the hammering of your heart, echoing beats of your blood pumping with harrowing desperation. Hands turned cold and clammy, sweat breaking out on your brow and then freezing, feeling as if your throat had swollen to a new restriction and you were anchored in you in place.

Rooted.

But for now, all you could identify was the paralyzing anxiety that anchored you to your spot and made your heartbeat thunder in your ears. You stood outside the lounge, unable to comprehend relevant thought; still listening to low, docile tones continue their conversation, but you couldn't hear real words.

You were stunned. Panicked, confused, hurt - so very hurt. That seemed to register, too; you were really, really hurt.

This was perhaps why curiosity killed the cat.

You reprimanded yourself for listening in - transporting back to childhood during all the times your parents would scold you for eavesdropping. You knew it was wrong, you knew this was a private conversation meant to be shared between trusting confidants, but you couldn't help it - you heard your name and stopped. It was natural, right? To feel curious regarding a conversation seemingly about you that you, yourself, was not apart of?

Curiosity, indeed.

Blinking rapidly, you remembered the only other time you felt such mounting, pressurized fear, and while it might be dramatic, the only other time you could remember this level of anxiety was from about two months ago...

"Yes, baby, I got the bacon."

"And the jalapeños?"

"Uh-huh, the biggest they had."

"Cream cheese?"

"Do you know who you're talking to?" You laughed into the phone. "I'm a professional housewife by now, you can relax. I got all you needed for your fancy little dinner experiment."

Bucky laughed down the phone, "Oh, please, like I didn't see you salivating when we watched the segment on Top Chef."

"Hush," you laughed, too. "I'm leaving the store now," you told him, pushing out of the heavy glass doors, "and should be home in, like, 10 minutes?"

"Lemme pick you up."

"I have legs to walk with, so, no thank you."

He sighed, "Well, I'll open the wine to let it breathe. Red's still good?"

"Let's do a white tonight, please."

"Good deal," he mused softly. "Hey, I was thinking earlier - "

"Hang on," you pleaded.

"What's wrong?"

"No, nothing. There's just a van slowing down, I don't want to get hit," you chuckled some, looking up and down the street before crossing. "Sorry, so, what were you thinking?"

"We haven't been to Paris in months."

You smirked, "I'm sure our plants in the apartment are dead by now."

Bucky laughed, "Oh, I am, too. But, look, how 'bout it, Peach? You, me, all the croissants we can consume this weekend. I'll take Monday and Tuesday off, we can leave tomorrow night."

"Oh, that sounds nice," you moaned. "Paris in the spring? Baby, that's so dreamy!"

"So, is that a yes?"

"It's a hell yes," you grinned. "Do you know the weather?"

"Supposed to be nice and sunny, not too warm or cold. Figured this would be ideal," he chuckled. "But does the weather matter if we're in bed the whole time?"

"No, we're not wasting our time!" You laughed. "We're gonna go do shit, okay? Stereotypical tourist-couple shit."

"I'll bring the camera."

"And I was hoping we could have dinner at that little place we love?"

"I wouldn't take you anywhere else," he mused.

"I think it's - FUCK!" Bucky froze when he heard the screeching of tires; a van coming up to a skidding halt, flurry of voices all yelling but he heard yours clearly. "No, no, no, hey, hey, what the hell's happening? Hey! What's this - hey, hey! Don't touch me! Ow, shit! No! Hey! Fuck's sake - oh, my God! Ow! Hey!"

"Baby!? Peach! Hey! The fuck's going on!?"

There was a thudding over the phone, and Bucky listened to more struggling - more fidgeting and fighting - and then the slamming of a car door. Still calling your name, Bucky heard a scrape over the line before a different voice answered your phone, "James Barnes. On behalf of HYDRA, you're overdue on your payment and we warned you there would be consequences. Deliver the full amount of 17 million - "

"It's 15," he growled.

"Two million more for the inconvenience of stalking your woman."

"If you even so much as touch her, I swear to God - "

"17 million at midnight, at the pier, or every minute you're late, she'll receive the brunt end of our frustration."

"Don't hurt her - "

"Midnight, Mr. Barnes, at the pier - you know where. Don't be late, she looks like she won't last long."

The line went dead after he heard your screech of pain, confusion, and fear. The moment the line cut, he dropped his phone and slowly lowered himself to sit on the kitchen floor, shock coloring his system. It wasn't that he didn't have the money, quite the opposite - but he and his men had a plan in motion to take out HYDRA, their org's competition, and this was totally against all they anticipated. After a minute to sit in his own worry, Bucky jumped to his feet, grabbed his phone, keys, wallet, and two handguns; holstering them both before shrugging his suit jacket on.

He made every phone call he could, gathering the men he trusted most to (one of) his warehouse(s).

For hours, you were strung up by your wrists in a joint-pulling position while the Brooklyn Mafia formulated a plan of attack. It was the most pain you've ever known, but then the abuse started and you were blinded by this new pain. You had bruises most places, cuts that wept blood; scars that would never heal, wounds that wouldn't ever close. You were delirious, miserable, confused, just dazed and confused; praying to a God who didn't listen.

"Oh, look at that," your captor mocked, holding a thick-bladed hunting knife in hand, "it's one minute til midnight, and I don't see your loverboy anywhere."

You sniffled, unable to respond.

He stared out the lone window, tisking and narrating, "Nope, I see not a soul - and with how protective he is over you, you'd think he'd want to ensure your safety. Not leave it to chance, huh?"

You whimpered as the clock struck midnight, your heart hammering in heavy-hung worry. You had tears in your eyes, heart nearly beating out of your chest, feeling incredibly nauseous. The desire to scream never lessened, just fearing what was to come; the men in the room making you fear for the state of your life, their knuckles cracking. You only begged, "Please. Don't."

The main captor laughed, "You can do better than that! C'mon, give me the satisfaction of tellin' ol' James you begged for mercy - but it wasn't enough to sway me. I'll lie, for sure, and say it happened but it will be so much sweeter if you actually do it."

"Please," you shook your head, avoiding eye contact. "Just don't do this, please."

"Oh, honey," he mocked, "it's not our fault he's late. Lads! Have at her, but leave her face for now - she's still real pretty."

You listened as he gave commands in Russian, understanding after the years at Bucky's side; whimpering when the first blow landed to your gut and knocked the wind out of you. The minutes drug by and you felt your resolve crumbling, heart still hammering to a never-before-felt speed that made it feel as if it were jumping out of your very body at every single pulse point. You struggled in your restraints, but it was futile by how tight you were bound; unable to protect yourself.

At 12:03 am, the doors blew open in a resounding blast; concrete crumbling and sprinkling the floor. You cried out as the smoke choked you, coughing through the haze; only barely able to make out certain figures to know Bucky had brought his best men. However, despite the sting to your eyes from the swirling dust and smoke, you saw a lone man stalk through the blasted wall, through the fray, and straight up to you.

"Bu-Bucky!" You choked in relief as he reached to untie your feet first. You dangled for only a moment as his metal prosthetic ripped off whatever held your wrists to the torture contraption. "Oh, my God. Oh, my God, Bucky, holy shit, baby, please, please, please," you rambled as he freed you and instantly caught you on his broad shoulders.

"I got you, Peach, I'm here, I've got you," he promised in your ear, hoisting your legs around his waist so they latched and then wrapping his arms around you securely. "Don't let go and don't look up, okay? Hear me, Peach?"

You nodded into his neck, only able to cry.

Bucky jolted and jerked slightly as he moved through the fight again, but not a minute later, you were stepping outside into the sobering, brisk spring air. This was the moment you understood how dangerous and fleeting life with Bucky could be, making a promise to yourself that if he says take the car, you'll take the fucking car.

And now, here you were, outside the high-rise apartment's lounge (which was just a converted bedroom), listening to your boyfriend complain about you some 2 months after the whole fiasco. HYDRA had been all but wiped out, and in the weeks since, Bucky's men had gone on smaller missions to eradicate the HYDRA members they heard rumor of being local. Yet you didn't feel safe, yet.

You didn't feel safe if you weren't around Bucky.

Everything made you jump: the beep of the done-dryer, that spritz of the automatic fragrance mister in the bathroom, the "duh-dunnn" of a loaded-up Netflix. Keys jingling, car horns, the barking of the dog in the apartment a floor below you... Everything.

Being around Bucky was just like holding a safety blanket. He would always protect you, and for about a week after your rescue, he laid in bed and around the home with you; being lazy; time off work to simply hold you and assure you were safe. Safe in his arms. Safe in his embrace, his presence.

So now... To hear this... You were devastated.

You didn't mean to eavesdrop, it just sort of happened. It was still earlier in the morning, but Bucky hadn't been in bed beside you and based on the feel of the sheets, his body hadn't been there in a while. So, you made some coffee and then ventured around the home in search of your lover; coming upon the lounge and hearing voices from within.

You knew it was common for Steve Rogers and / or Sam Wilson to stay late or visit early, so, you weren't shocked by that, but did falter in announcing yourself when you heard Sam ask how you were doing since the kidnapping. He used your name specifically, making Bucky sigh, and for your curiosity to peak.

"She's different, man."

"How so?" Sam wondered.

"She doesn't like being without me now," he chuckled without humor. "I'm serious, she won't go to the gym until I do, waits to have meals together, won't leave the house if I'm out, and," he scoffed to himself, "you can forget going to the grocery store or anything - she's even stopped going to work - "

"You told her to stop working, like, two years ago when y'all first moved-in together," Sam deadpanned.

"I know," Bucky shrugged, "but it feels tenfold now that she's so reclusive."

"It's normal," Steve sighed gently.

"Yeah? Is it normal that I can't even go take a shit without promising her I'll be right back?" Bucky snapped in exasperation. "It's that bad, she's that fucking clingy, man. I go in the kitchen to make dinner, she's in there 30 seconds later to 'help' me. I take a shower, she finds a reason to linger in the bedroom, but that was better than before, when she wouldn't even shower by herself. It's just a lot, she's everywhere I look. I'm starting to find new reasons not to come home, man, she's always fucking here - and when I walk in the door, she's on me. I need to fucking breathe, but I can't tell her to stop, she'll get her feelings hurt and then I'm the bad guy."

"Man," Steve laughed, "you can't be the bad guy if you go to her in a calm and collected manner, but it's only been two months. She's still recovering."

"Exactly why if I say anything, no matter how calm and collected, I'm the bad guy. I get she's hurting and tryna recover, but Goddamn, does she have to be in every room I'm in? Do everything with me? How do I tell my traumatized girlfriend to back off? Let me breathe?"

Sam laughed, "You don't! You just said it - she's traumatized! Cut the girl some slack, she's got a lot to fuckin' deal with!"

"I'm not negating from that fact," Bucky argued, "I'm just trying to say, the way she's clinging onto me like she can't function without me is just grating at my nerves. I just need to breathe and recharge, but I can't tell her that - fuck's sake."

"Buck," Steve smirked, "you're worried Peach isn't gonna listen, but that's her literal superpower. Just communicate, she can't read your mind, but you need to remember how traumatic all of that was for her to experience - she's scarred from that kidnapping, man. So, sure, you need to recharge, but she needs the support."

"Is it wrong to ask for a day here and there to do that? To recharge?" Bucky asked quietly.

"If you communicate, it's perfectly reasonable to ask for," Sam assured softly. "And whatever you do, don't tell her you think she's clingy. Chicks hate that, that word is, just, like, taboo or something. Real heavy, negative connotations."

"But she is," Bucky growled quietly, "'s like she's afraid to let go 'cause I'll disappear or something."

"Oh, noooo," Sam mocked, "I'm Bucky and my girlfriend loves me too much and trusts me too much and actually feels safe and dependent on me too much - ohhh noooo!"

There was a thump, Sam's cried, "Ow!", and Bucky telling him to shut up. You slowly backed away from the door, trying to settle your breathing as you made your escape down the hall. When back in the kitchen, you whimpered and let the first tears fall... The first of many you shed in the hour it took you to prepare breakfast for everyone; doing your best to eat as you cooked so you didn't have to linger around the men. You took Bucky's words to heart, and maybe you were too sensitive, maybe you should venture outside again.

So, when the lads came out, you set the table without making eye contact with any of them. "Here," you directed, setting the pancakes down, "I made breakfast, come eat, it's still hot."

"Wow," Sam smiled brightly, "thanks, Peach!"

You hummed, still avoiding their eyes as you just set the abundance of food to the table. "You... Cooked without me?" Bucky asked you with skepticism.

"Mhm," you hummed, setting the coffee pot down to a hot pad, "and I'm going out shopping with Nat, so, eat up, lads, I'll do the dishes when I get home. Love you, boys, bye," you waved them off, snatching your keys and then moving to the door to stuff your feet into your sneakers.

"Woah, woah, woah," Bucky left the table, approaching you urgently, "hey, what do you mean? You're goin' out?"

"Yep, figured I've stayed in too long, might as well get out and remember life doesn't stop just 'cause I'm sad."

"Peach - "

"I'll see you when I get home, Buck, okay?" You mumbled, slinging your purse on your shoulder.

"Well, here, here, hey, wait, hang on," he pulled his wallet out, handing you over a wad of big bills. "Spend it all, okay? Have fun, call or text if you need me, yeah?"

"Sure."

Bucky leaned in to kiss you but you just opened the door, ready to leave. He frowned, watching you, barely managing to call a quick, "Love you!"

You didn't return the sentiment, feeling hallow and all too silly to return the affection. In your purse was your laptop, headphones, chargers, and whatever else, so, instead of meeting your friend, Natasha - being just a ruse to avoid Bucky - you started small and just went to the local café. You used to frequent it back in the day, but times were changed, and yet, they were all the happier to serve you the same as before. Getting cozy in the corner, you set up camp and ordered your favorite coffee basically every other hour - letting the day waste away as you caught up on work emails.

Might've wasted time on Instagram and Facebook and Pinterest. Got shopping done on Amazon. Browsed through Target's online selection. Checked out the sale items at Kate Spade. Perused Fenty Lingerie because you could.

Before you knew it, a message was coming in over your MacBook from Bucky, asking where you were - why had you turned your location off?

You packed up and with a to-go cup, made the short trek back home. When you got back, Bucky was pacing in the living room; staring at his phone and typing, then deleting, retyping, groaning, glancing up, typing again, then doing a double take. "Where've you been, Peach? Huh!?" Bucky demanded. "You're late!"

"Out with Nat," you eased.

He huffed through his nose, nodding slowly, "You have a nice time?"

"It was okay," you answered. "I'm gonna go to bed after I shower."

His brows furrowed, "I have a meeting tonight."

"I know."

"O...kay?" He let you go, wanting to ask why you didn't ask him to join like you had so often in the past few weeks.

And it didn't stop there, in fact, it got worse. When Bucky got home from his meeting, he was actually shocked to see you nestled in the bed; teetering on the edge of the shared space while snuggling a weighted body pillow.

When he tried to give you a snuggle, you stirred to life and pushed him back, muttering, "Too hot."

The following morning, he was relatively surprised to see you up and about before him; barely getting a word in before you were slipping out the door to go on a morning jog. He was confused by how all of a sudden, where you were once everywhere he looked, now, you were disappeared and distant and gone. You worked out alone, cooked alone - but always left him a plate, but long gone were the cute little sticky notes you left for him. You once haunted the apartment by never wanting to leave, and now, ghosted in and out of it on a daily basis.

You never bothered to go far from home. You liked hanging at the coffee shop and luckily, your job let you work from home most days, and the rare time you were due back in the office, it was only about a 20 minute walk. You got better at lying, couldn't even remember the last time you and Bucky had sex, and even now, the last time you had a meal together. You didn't text him about your day; where you once might've told him about an adorable dog you saw on the street, now, you only ever texted him if he asked a direct question.

Food lost appeal, your appetite vanished.

Sleep evaded you, plaguing you with nightmares when you did rest.

Interest dulled, passions were snuffed, and only fearful, confused anger remained. It showed in the way weight seemed to shift around your body, thinning; the lack of sleep creating dark rings and bags under your bloodshot eyes.

After two weeks of this, Bucky grew irritated and short with everyone around him. It reflected in his work, the way he spoke to everyone; even Steve and Sam getting the brunt end of his anger. Without you to assure him, Bucky was off his rocker; losing his cool; his patience stretched far too thin. So much so, the two mates approached an outside associate, Natasha Romanoff, after a particularly snappy meeting to plead for her to talk to Bucky.

"James," Nat greeted as she strode into his office without knocking.

"I know you're my oldest friend, but you don't have that privilege yet," he mused, never looking up.

"What?"

"Not knocking. What is it, Nat?"

"Just came to check on you, you know, like friends do."

"Hm," he chuckled without humor, "and what did Peach say to you?"

"About...?"

"Me."

"Nothing, I haven't gotten ahold of her for weeks."

Bucky paused, slowly lifting his head in confusion; brows furrowed and mouth set in a firm, straight line. "What?" He grit.

"Huh?" Nat wondered.

"She's been telling me that she's hanging out with you for the past two weeks," he revealed.

"Nope, not since the incident with HYDRA."

Bucky's (right) flesh hand crushed the pen in his grip, taking a long breath. "All right," he sighed, "so, why come today?"

"What's really going on, Buck?" She worried softly. "Is it really whatever's going on with Peach? You're this pissed off? What'd she even do?"

"She just..." He cut himself off with a long sigh. "It's nothing."

"Bucky," Nat gave a pointed look.

"She's just avoiding me," he muttered. "It's like she's barely home, almost like a ghost."

"Isn't that what you wanted?"

"Yes, and no," Bucky snipped, rolling his neck out. "I'm just worried about her now, she's never not communicated before."

"Something's bothering her," Nat shrugged. "She probably needs you right now, Buck."

"I can't do it all," he whispered. "I can't be who she wants and run this organization at the same time."

"She doesn't need that, she just needs you to be her partner," Natasha spoke softly. "She needs to feel loved and supported, and surely, she maybe felt weird about whatever you were projecting. Instead of taking it out on your men," she smirked, "why don't you just talk to her? 'Cause I hear you're bein' a more-than-usual asshole lately. You need to ease up or get laid, 'cause you're taking it out on good, loyal men, and that's entirely unfair."

"They can take it."

"Sure, but they shouldn't have to," Nat rolled her eyes. "Look, since you won't answer me, I'm assuming the sour mood is in regard to whatever relationship issues you have right now?"

"Sure," he tossed the pen away, opened a skinny drawer to his right and select an identical one.

"Bucky," she growled.

He sighed, "She's lying to me, Nat. Saying she's with you when she's not... Is this an affair? She's gone all the time now."

"No way," Nat laughed. "Baby girl doesn't have the energy to entertain anyone - let alone two men. You're just the exception."

"Why lie, then?"

"Maybe she didn't want you questioning her..."

"No shit."

"Well, did you get into a fight?"

"No."

"Any reason she doesn't want to be home?"

He shook his head with a sigh, "Not that I know of."

"You had to do something."

"Honest, I haven't. She was being all clingy, but then one day, a switch flipped."

Nat frowned, "You think... Your girlfriend is being clingy... Because she was kidnapped and beaten up... Because of your fucking job... And is probably scared...out of...her mind...? I get that correct?"

Bucky paused for a long moment, muttering, "Oh, my God."

"Yeah, you asshole. Think of it that way! She's afraid!" Natasha snapped. "And probably picked up on your energy, so, she made herself scarce."

"I didn't mean - "

"I don't care, go home, apologize to that sweet angel - she doesn't deserve this."

Bucky paused, "What is 'this' exactly?"

"James. Focus on the present - your woman. Go make this right. We all know you're this big, bad dude - but it's okay to be a little sensitive towards the woman who loves you without condition!"

Bucky relented, figuring the redheaded Russian mobster was right.

The entire drive home, Bucky considered the ways you had changed in the few, short weeks since he vented to Sam and Steve about your clinginess. You didn't take meals with him, didn't cook, work-out, or do anything you used to do together. Sex? Forget it. Dates? Nope. Cuddling? No, you're always 'too hot'. And when he thought about it, he remembers seeing the wads of cash he'd leave for you stuffed in his sock drawer - surely trying to make him think it was just another emergency fund he had hidden. You never spent his money, feeling humiliated by his choice of words.

Clingy...

You didn't text or call him when he was gone, you hadn't even so much as kissed him in what felt like ages... Well, more like you hadn't initiated any kisses...

His heart weighed in his chest as he realized he hadn't even so much as hugged you in days. You were rarely in the apartment together, and when you were, you were just silent and busy with chores. It was as if you operated on the exact opposite schedule as he did, went to new extents to avoid him, and his heart clenched in his chest.

When he got home, you were caught cooking in the kitchen - being obvious that you weren't expecting him. The door slammed and his baritone voice snapped, "Peach!"

You gulped, holding the sauce-covered wooden spoon to your chest. When he rounded around the corner, he found you and slowed down, sighing in relief. "What's wrong?" You worried in a timid tone.

He panted lightly, relaying, "Needed to find you."

"I'm here."

"I know," he relented, charging up to you and engulfing you in a tight, heavy hug. "I needed to talk to you, Peach," he whispered.

"What's wrong?"

"You. You're what's wrong."

"What the fuck does that - "

"No, no," he pulled back to stare down at you fondly, "I don't mean it like that, just that... You're struggling. I can see that. But you're not alone, I'm here with you, and I got a little caught up in my head when I realized someone was so very dependent on me - it fucking scared me. But then... Then you just shut yourself off and hid away from me, and oh, my God, it's so much worse, baby. Don't do that," he breathed, "okay? Don't ever shut me out - don't stop loving me, don't stop talking to me, don't give up on us. I can't read your mind, you can't read mine, it's not an excuse - but we understand better when we trust each other enough to communicate what's required. I'm so sorry I got caught up in myself, I didn't know what you needed - but I'm here now, I'm here - I'm not leaving you."

You collapsed into his chest, taking a shuddering breath.

"Don't ever stop talking to me, Peach," Bucky whispered, kissing the top of your head; keeping you close. "I'm so sorry, baby, if I - "

"If?" You snapped, pulling back to glare at him through your tears. "I heard you, Bucky. I heard you talking to Sam and Steve, and about how clingy I am."

"I was wrong," he insisted. "I was overwhelmed and tired and just stretched thin, the easiest thing to do is attack those closest to me, and that's you. It's not right, it's the worst I could do to you after all you've been through, and I'm so sorry. I was wrong, you're not the person to take this out on - and I'm so sorry, Peach."

You sighed, "I don't mean to be... I don't mean to cling - "

"Nah," he chuckled, caressing your cheek, "you cling as much as you want. Cling as tight as you want, baby, don't let me go. I'm sorry for what I said and the way it made you feel, it was wrong - so fucking wrong of me, and I see that. When you pulled away from me, I just... I couldn't think. It felt so wrong, and I knew it was my fault." He took your face in both palms, promising, "I'm so sorry, Peach."

You shrugged meekly, "It's okay."

"It's not."

"No, but apologizing is a step in the right direction."

He nodded, "What else can I do?"

"Nothing - "

"Peach."

You paused to think, smiling shyly, "Movie night?"

"Whatever my pretty girl wants," he nodded.

"Hmm... Get a bath with me?"

"All right... Sure, okay..."

"And face masks."

He sighed, "Okay."

"And mani-pedis."

"Baby."

"You said you were making it up to me, right?"

He smirked, "That's right... All right, yeah, sure, fine, we can..." He sighed again, "We can do all that, Peach, whatever you want."

"I just want you," you told him softly. "I didn't mean to be so clingy. I was just afraid... I felt afraid everyday, just so very unsure in this life. You're the only thing that makes sense to me, Buck, and when I heard you, I just... I guess I realized how dependent I'd been and wanted to give you space. Last thing I want is to smother you, to drive you away from me."

"Not ever gonna happen," he promised softly. "I just didn't handle it like I should've. I'm sorry, Peach, but I'm here now - for whatever you need. Want me to take a few days off, just be together? I'll arrange it. Want to get away for a bit? We can go."

"I just need you," you whispered. "Only you and I should be okay - I can be okay if I have you, but feeling like I lost you? Even a fraction? Buck... James, it was such a harrowing feeling, I wasn't sure what to do to move forward. So, I think I just panicked, shut down; thought if I could just get back to normal, you'd love me again..."

"I never stopped loving you," he swore, "I just had a bad lapse in my own judgement. Nothing against you, baby. Nothing."

You nodded again, letting him tuck you into his chest; perfectly snug under his chin as he coiled his arms around you. He let out a long sigh, his guilt swelling to new heights, but for that present moment, everything seemed okay.

Felt okay.

Appeared okay.

And you'd both do whatever it took to remain as okay as you possibly could.

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Clingy Baby collection masterlist

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jinkicake · 11 months

Text

Spring Is In The Air~

Something happens to them when the seasons change.

Itto, Tighnari, Yae Miko, Zhongli x Reader

A/N: I wrote this like two months ago and never posted it... I’ve always wanted to try writing something like this so here is my pathetic attempt! It’s corny BUT, smutty!!! :-)

WC - 2,224

NSFWWWW // SMUTTYYY

~~~

ITTO

Itto is not subtle. Try as he might, the poor oni cannot learn the art of subtlety. His reactions always give him away to you within seconds.

His struggle can currently be seen in the way he braces himself against the counter but still attempts to stand up straight to play it off.

“Hey,” He sounds breathless, almost as if it is hard for him to breathe. You know he’s going to break any moment now, you can see it as his chest begins to rapidly rise and fall. His breathing quickens and all you can do is stare at his expanding chest. “I need you.”

Itto breaks every spring and putting him back together is your favorite part.

“Fuck me, fuck me!” Itto groans loudly and the sounds, one after another, fly off of the walls. He’s absolutely losing himself as you bounce on his lap, up and down while your thighs pound against his own. The pace is fast, quick, and your knees are not able to handle it alone. It’s entirely him, Itto uses the strength in his muscular arms to toss you around on his lap. His tongue hangs out of his mouth, eyes squeezed together shut all while both of your hands are wrapped around his throat. “Yes, yes, yes,” It’s almost pathetic, the way he is singing your praise and grinds down onto the mattress. He can’t get enough of the feeling, of it all.

Itto is loud in everything that he does and he never shies away from expressing his desires.

“I’m gonna cum so fucking hard,” He sounds entirely desperate, almost as if he is about to break into tears. You squeeze your thighs together and watch his every reaction as you clamp around him. His reaction is almost imminent. Itto’s hands on your waist squeeze you tightly as his bare nails dig into your skin as he cums with a drawn-out groan. The oni chases his high without stopping, still wildly thrusting up into you just as before. His pace then grows slower, impossibly slow as he slams into you a handful of times. There’s something final about this but, you know better.

This is just the beginning. It takes hours to satisfy Itto, especially during the spring.

You don’t even have the chance to catch your breath before you feel him twitching inside of you again, now hard as ever. His fast recovery is almost as quick as his reflexes. Itto pulls you off of him within a flash before mounting you from behind.

“I’m sorry, just one more, one more, okay?” You can hear how his voice shakes in your ear but, you don’t have the chance to reply as he effortlessly slides back into you. In this position, you can hear everything, every puff of air that escapes his lips and every whimper that falls. Itto cries into your ear, tongue lapping at the surface as he moves his hips at a quick pace. “You’re fucking me so good,”

You can almost feel him in your fucking stomach as you clamp around him but, his brutal strides feel so good. Each thrust against your bottom sends you flying and you end up face-first in the duvet. Itto keeps you still with a firm hand on your hip but, you can imagine how broken his expression must be as he groans above you.

“One more time, one more time,”

((It’s never just one time with him.))

TIGHNARI

“(Y/N), please,”

Hearing the forest ranger beg is something you are not used to. Tighnari never begs or yearns for your touch and attention. If he wants something, he takes it with little hesitation.

Except when the seasons begin to change.

When the air grows colder, something primal shifts in Tighnari. You can see it in the way his eyes soften into pools of need and how he becomes much more sensitive to the slightest touch. If you even think about touching his fingers, over his gloves, he will drop whatever is in his hands.

Tighnari becomes reactive all over.

“It’s happening again.” He murmurs into your ear as he presses up against your side. His tail wraps around your thigh, squeezing over and over again as he ruts into your leg. “I need you.” When Tighnari gets like this, you know it’s best to just let him take.

“You poor thing,” Your voice is full of sympathy, perhaps a bit condescending, and it makes the forest ranger whimper. His ears flatten against the top of his head as his eyes squeeze shut in concentration. Your quiet sighs and hums only make him more delirious, Tighnari burrows his face into the crook of your neck and simply inhales. His breathing gets heavier as his messy thrusts become erratic. If he had not been holding onto you so tightly, you’re sure you would have fallen to the floor by now.

He cums with a gasp, one that sucks the air from his lungs, and he tries to hide it by biting on your shoulder. Tighnari grits his teeth against your skin as little whimpers leave his lips, his tail rapidly thumping against your leg. His weight becomes too much and you both sink to the floor under his passion.

That first orgasm meant nothing to him, it’s merely a warm-up.

Tighnari can’t even bring himself to guide you to your shared bedroom, he takes you on the floor.

He can’t help the way that he spreads your thighs and licks, running his tongue along your slit. The poor man devours it all, spitting and lapping up at whatever he can reach. His harsh sucks make you shiver and squirm but, you can’t move under the tight grip he has on your waist.

“Ah,” Whatever Tighnari planned to say is muffled by your cunt as he shoves his tongue inside of you. He thrusts the muscle as far as he can go, ears flattened in concentration while his nose grinds against your clit. It’s as if he has become utterly consumed by you, everything about you because all he can focus on is getting his tongue in you as deep as possible.

But then, he suddenly pulls himself off of you as if it hurts to touch you.

In the blink of an eye, Tighnari is above you, staring down while his legs get situated between your own.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry but, I need it,” His breathing has become erratic, eyes almost feral as he begins to heavily salivate. With his primal urges brought to the surface, you know you won’t be able to leave this position and similar ones for a few days. “I have to- I have to fuck you.”

YAE MIKO

With the amount of time you’ve spent beside Yae Miko, you know her exceptionally well.

You know when something begins to shift within her, almost as if it is in the air. It’s seen in the way the other shrine maidens keep their distance and in the way Miko’s fingers dance along your skin as she grabs you at any possible opportunity. She makes sure that she’s touching your bare skin, her pink nails nearly breaking it as she stands behind you.

“I require your assistance, pet,” Her breathy voice always confirms it for you and is the tell-tale sign of when her primal urges begin to show. She drags you by your wrist to a lone room, one decorated exceptionally well with everything you could need to last for weeks. Your lover’s touch grows lighter.

“You know what I need from you.” Yae Miko stares down at you as if she is truly looking down on you, her eyes hold little interest but you know better. You can see how her finger is nearly starting to tremble and how her lips have begun to part. “Come here,” She doesn’t even have to lift a finger for you to stand in front of her, within her grasp.

Her lips are on you without another second to spare. Immediately, it’s all tongue. She parts your lips with tight squeezes of your sides before her hands move to paw at your breasts. While letting her tongue run over your own, shoving the muscle as far down your throat as she can, she towers above you. Her moans are low and entirely full of pleasure.

You have a belief that her urges bring out something in you, something similar because you can’t help but want to be used by her every season.

With heavy hands, Miko pushes you to the ground forcefully on your back. She slowly lowers to her knees, watching you carefully as you pathetically stare up at her. Your lips are still part and slightly swollen because of her previous ministrations. It makes her heart stop as desire stirs in the pit of her stomach.

She spreads your legs with her slim hands and hooks one of your thighs over her own. Your underwear is discarded in seconds by her nails and her shorts are magically on another side of the room.

Yae Miko’s lips turn slightly upwards, almost in a mischievous grin as she presses your leg to your chest and sits on top of you. She’s hot, the touch of her skin nearly makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. An immediate roll of her hips makes you moan loudly, the feeling of her sopping cunt against your own renders you speechless.

“How funny,” She coos but, struggles to hide back her own shakey exhales. Desire takes the forefront of her brain and all she can think about is satisfying the demanding urge in the pit of her stomach. Over and over, she presses her clit against your own and rubs at the sensitive area while roughly thrusting her hips. This is only the beginning, you’re too aware of it.

With the way Miko is squeezing your breasts and pinching your nipple, you can’t help but anticipate the rest of her plans with you.

ZHONGLI

After spending lifetimes with Zhongli, you still end up winded when the seasons change.

Your husband is a dutiful man and always gives you a fair warning, a notice before something ever happens with his body. However, sometimes a warning is not nearly enough.

It’s been days since his insides have turned into a molten heat and Zhongli has not been shy about tackling this issue with you. You’re always so good to him, let him do whatever he desires just to satisfy the annoying urges.

Day after day, he can’t help but grow stronger about his affections. He’s a selfish man and he desperately needs more.

“Oh, you’re-” The words can’t even leave his lips as his head tilts back, a loud moan leaves his lips. Zhongli grits his teeth painfully, grinding them down as his hand tightens in your hair. He’s not being careful and neither are you. You continue to choke on him, around him, as your spit coats his entire cock. The cool sensation makes your husband’s thighs twitch as he grunts at the feeling spreading between his legs.

You feel incredibly lucky that his primal form has yet to take over, perhaps it won’t even show this time around. It would be nearly impossible to satisfy him with another appendage hanging between his thighs. But, the thought still makes you moan wantingly.

“My love-” Zhongli finds it hard to speak, his balls painfully tight and it only gets worse when he sees your hand hidden between your thighs. He focuses on your fingers moving against your clit and his eyes nearly turn into slits as he focuses on the image. The realization that this brings you as much pleasure as it does him causes a guttural groan to leave his chest. “Come here,”

His voice changes, it becomes much deeper, much more commanding. Zhongli doesn’t wait for you, he roughly pulls you up to your feet before pulling you into his lap. The way he manhandles you, forcing you to sit back on his face makes your entire being light up with need.

“Morax!” You screech as your hands press into his abdomen, his tongue doesn’t waste a second now that you’re on him. The archon presses his tongue into your cunt, thrusting in and out before running the muscle over your clit. The stimulation makes it hard to focus but, you still reach for his heavy cock.

You grip him tightly and lick at his slit, tongue digging into the area as you hum at the taste. Zhongli’s grip on your thighs becomes stronger and he fights back with his sharp nails digging into your skin. Had you been any more focused, you would have thought he had grown claws.

Your cunt pulses around his tongue and all Zhongli can do is continue to shove the muscle inside of you. He doesn’t shy away from rubbing against your walls, no, he has his own agenda. It’s almost sick how he coaxes you to gush around him, all so he can swallow it greedily to satisfy some gut-clenching demand.

But, he can’t help it, he also can’t help how his skin begins to turn and scales spread across his arms. He can’t help but connect with his primal side when you satisfy the very deepest desires that he has.

#arataki itto x reader #tighnari x reader #yae miko x reader #zhongli x reader #itto x reader #tighnari x you #yae miko x you #zhongli x you #itto smut #tighnari smut #yae miko smut #zhongli smut #genshin smut #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin x y/n #xiaos spicy almond tofu

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notmyneighbor · 1 month

Text

Let Me in ~ Doppelgänger Francis Mosses/The Milkman x Female Reader

Chapter 3

Word Count ~ 2.5k

Rating ~ Explicit

CW ~ blood and gore, body horror, character death, minor violence, dubious consent, sexual content

Also available on AO3

Fanart used with permission @kaworinx on Instagram and TikTok

You sit on the side of the bed that had once belonged to Francis Mosses.

The comforter and top sheet have already been pulled down. You lean over to slide out of your low heeled pumps, tucking the pair of navy leather shoes neatly under the bed.

There’s a bible on the nightstand. A worn looking copy. Beside it a glass with a shallow amount of water resting in the bottom, the remnant of a late night attempt to quench thirst, perhaps.

The doppelgänger watches your movements. How methodical each action is. Slow and deliberate. You’re stalling.

He settles beside you and the mattress creaks as the springs are compressed. That odd sort of shimmer you’d noticed earlier outside the security booth outlines his frame for a brief moment. A surge of light and color as the skin ripples before settling. They still weren’t completely able to disguise what they were. All hope was not lost.

Your own fate, however, seems sealed. You lie down slowly, carefully. You feel as if you are laying yourself to rest in your own coffin. Turning your face ever so slightly to see if there is any trace of the man that had once slept here, some lingering scent or an indent from his face. Nothing but the fragrance of clean linen. The imposter moves as if to join you but you halt him, your fingers closing over his forearm. Your first time touching him and not the other way around. “Take your shoes off.”

The creature snickers, glancing down at the scuffed oxfords he’s wearing. Overdue for a shine. “What possible difference does that make?”

“It’s respectful. You never put your shoes where someone sleeps.”

“He won’t be sleeping here ever again.”

You inhale sharply, wincing. “Please just do it.” You can’t say why you’re so hung up on this. Only that it seems the right thing to do. A small thing in a sea of wrongs that you’re clinging to like a life preserver.

“Fine.” He acquiesces, bending to unlace them. There is no care in his actions. Just brisk, impatient pulls to undo the knotted ties. Then he is lying beside you. Your heads sharing the same pillow. Francis only used a single one, apparently. Preferring to slumber lying with his head and neck rather flat. You always used two fluffy pillows, minimum.

You can hear the sound of music starting to play, emanating from the resident’s apartment next door.

Mia Stone, perhaps. The blonde teacher who was Dr. Afton’s fiancée. You instantly recognize the musical artist crooning through the walls: Billie Holiday.

I say I'll move the mountains

And I'll move the mountains

If he wants them out of the way

You would have loved to play this record for Francis. You envision trying to dance in the cramped space of the living room, twirling around in his arms. “Did he really like my fragrance?” You know the creature could lie, of course. He’d say anything to manipulate you and get what he wanted. But you have to ask. Your heart won’t let you avoid the query.

The dark eyes of the pretender regard you. You detect no malice or dishonesty there. “Yes,” he says simply.

You close your eyes, sighing. “What else did he like about me?”

“Your smile, gifted once you were certain it was really him. The way you covered your mouth when you laugh, making some little relieved joke when you passed his identification and entry request back to him each day. The strands of hair that came loose around your face as the day wore on into late afternoon when he returned from his route. The—”

“—Stop. Please.” Tears well in your eyes. They didn’t sound like the kind of details the deceiver would create on his own. There was a note of truth to them. Genuine recollections. He truly was all that remained of Francis Mosses. A man that had been fond of you. You could have been with him, if only you’d been a little braver.

“You asked me to tell you.”

“I know. It’s just overwhelming.”

Like the wind that shakes the bough

He moves me with a smile

“Your kind is so fond of music. Your milkman was always humming. I don’t see the use for it.”

The your wrenches your heart. He wasn’t yours. Never would be. “It’s a way to expression emotions. When words alone aren’t enough.”

“Hmmm.” He reaches out and you flinch. “Why are you fighting this so hard? This is what you wanted.”

“I didn’t want Francis to die.” You pause, swallowing past the lump in your throat. “Why do you want this?”

”Curiosity. An experiment of sorts. There has never been a union between our kind. Not of this nature. A desire to know what it feels like. To see what might result.”

You shudder. An experiment. Using you like some kind of animal for breeding. A mere whim.

He reaches again and this time you force yourself to hold steady, your chin lifting with a short jerk of defiance. Your hair is his goal. Tucking it back behind one ear. Maybe something the milkman had wanted to do. There’s a sudden softness in the doppelgänger’s eyes. As if the human he’d once been was peeking through at you. You find yourself melting again, your defenses coming down.

I say I'll care forever

And I mean forever

He moves closer to you. Inching over across the white fitted sheet. A thumb strokes away one of the tears that has escaped its prison. He captures the other from the opposite cheek, bringing it to his lips, his tongue darting out to taste the droplet. “Salt,” he says, recognizing the mineral.

He kisses you.

You’re not sure if it’s better to think of the man you had loved or not. Was it dishonoring his memory or was it a way to keep him present in some vague capacity? There’s no clumsiness this time. He knows the feel of your mouth. The way to shift against you. Tongue mapping past smooth cheeks and dragging along the carpet of muscle at the base of that maw. Maybe it was better to pretend this was Francis after all. You cup the back of his neck, fingers teasing the edges of his milk chocolate tresses. Curling slightly on the ends. It would be time for a trim soon. Would have been. The illusion you’ve created is crumbling again. Your lips falter, your hand dropping away.

Crazy he calls me

Sure, I'm crazy

Crazy in love am I

“Sweetheart,” the invader murmurs, tasting along your jaw, your neck. “I like the way you smell.” Speaking for himself, not Francis. You hear the sharp intake of air. The hand that had been casually laid across your shoulder slides down until it reaches your breast, gently kneading that globe through the layers of your bra and blouse. “Does this feel good?” His voice is octaves lower than you’d ever heard from the milkman. Slightly raspy and sultry, not unlike the singing voice that permeates through the wood and plaster behind the bed. You don’t dare answer, merely whimpering a little and he seems to take this as an affirmative response.

His hand leaves your breast and finds the top button of your shirt. Always sensible, pure white, part of the uniform standard the company requires. Another threaded plastic disc is pushed through the hole. He works his way down until all those that are exposed have surrendered, the remainder still tucked within your skirt. His fingers part the edges of the fabric encasing your torso, peeling them back to reveal the white satin brassiere beneath. He caresses you briefly through this slick material before tucking inside the cup until he brushes across your areola. Your nipple peaks beneath his ministrations as his lips move back to yours. He is surprisingly gentle, lightly pinching and rolling the aroused tissue. Your body betrays you, responding to the creature’s touch. You should be ashamed, disgusted. Instead you find yourself wanting more.

“Off,” he murmurs impatiently, plucking at your bra before his hand departs your chest. You struggle to sit up and he allows it, watching you pull your blouse free from your skirt and unfastening the cuffs before sliding it off your arms. With a swift gesture borne of long practice you easily pinch and release the hook and eye closures resting along the center of your spine, the cups immediately folding down over the underwire, the straps drooping over your shoulders.

The doppelgänger assists you now, sliding the brassiere off the rest of the way, exposing your chest to him. Your cheeks are pink, flushed like the nipples he’s toying with again, his head bending to suckle at one and a lick of flame sears your core. This is part of the invasive species’ learning process, you think. Taste as important as touch. His mouth moving not with the sole purpose of your pleasure in mind, but as a means to explore flavors and textures. Cataloguing. More of humanity’s secrets unveiled.

There is a song you don’t recognize playing next door now. Muffled voices. You’d had no idea the walls were so thin. Francis had never complained.

You’re shoved back down onto the pillow. His mouth wanders, back up to sample a collar bone, the hollow at the base of your throat, then dips in between your breasts and tastes the skin of your abdomen. You wonder if he can detect the floral soap you’d bathed with that morning, the traces of lotion you’d applied during your hygiene routine.

“I like this,” he says, his breath warm on your body. “You’re so soft. Smooth. Not like…I’ve never taken…” It had often been debated if there were sexes in their species. How they propagated. There was still so much unknown. Was there a reason he’d only chosen men to replicate? Was it simply because he was male himself? You could not explain how you knew it, but there was something distinctly masculine about him. Authoritative. Blunter than a woman would be. A lifetime of being raised to respect decorum had been firmly ingrained in you. Society valuing a woman who knows her place. Taught to be demure, deferring to the wisdom and guidance of their male counterparts. Serving and obeying, like you’re doing now.

The imposter returns his attention to your face. Licking your mouth back open. He likes this, you think. All of what you’d shared thus far, but perhaps the kissing best of all.

The background melody silences and you think you detect the front door opening and closing. You wonder if the couple will be going out to an early dinner. Curious when they find there is no one guarding the building. But not alarmed. Not yet.

Your skirt is being lifted, polyester dragged upward after the copycat’s hasty reach downward to gather the hem. Immediately sliding back down, stroking over your exposed thighs that are clad in nylons that stop midway across each of your upper legs. Nothing fancy, just utilitarian features in a shade of nude slightly more tanned than your own complexion. He nudges against the seal you’ve created by pressing your legs close together. “Let me in, sweet girl.” An echo of what he’d said earlier in an attempt to gain access to the building, now seeking entry into you. You feel your limbs parting for him nearly as promptly as you’d opened the door.

The pretender works his way back up to the fork of your body, teasing along the crotch of the white panties. You gasp and he smiles against your lips. His palm drags over the fabric until his fingers find the elastic waistband and he dips beneath it, running overly the neatly trimmed hair on your pubic mound, following the curve of that padded flesh until your sex is palpated.

Another gasp and a moan escapes you. “So wet,” he remarks, fondling the pink lips, parting the petals with his middle finger to slide through the slick arousal your body is creating, working the lubricant up and down, passing over the hooded nub and then delving back towards your entrance, where more fluid escapes.

It feels good and yet it doesn’t, his fingers too rough and just shy of where you need him. You squirm and wince at the harsh handling of your clitoris and he pauses, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Show me. Show me how you like to be touched.”

You reach down cautiously, guiding his fingers to one side of your sensitive bud, lightly pressing and rolling a fingertip so that your clit is ground slightly against the bone beneath. Alternating now, reaching back down to gather more of your slick before spreading it over that hooded button, a few direct strokes applied before beginning the process again. He replicates your actions and your body responds immediately, a hum of pleasure heating you. You close your eyes and you think of the milkman, the real one, with his kind smile and his tired eyes.

“Francis.” The name escapes your lips and you freeze, the rocking motion of your hips against the imposter’s hand abruptly ceasing. You hadn’t meant to say it out loud. Alarmed by how easily you’d allowed yourself to give in to the desire, accommodating this make believe passion.

“It’s alright, love. It’s me. I’m here.” His tongue laps at your ear, at the sensitive patch of skin behind it. You shiver and resume grinding against his fingers, letting yourself be deluded once more, your hand curling over his forearm.

“Francis,” you say again, hoping he can forgive you, in whatever form he now occupies, if he is saved as his faith professes he would be, finding redemption and peace, somewhere far from your sinning body that writhes in pleasure from his murderer’s touch.

You push against his hand and he allows it, applying force against the hollow cavity that leads to your womb. “Let me in,” he breathes, and you feel a finger invading your body, shoving through the narrow confines of that muscular tunnel. Withdrawing and spearing again, the digit saturated with your arousal. You moan and lift your pelvis to meet him. Curling inside, massaging that dip of spongy tissue. Crooking each time he enters as if he is leading you forward, beckoning, his thumb drawing circles over your clit. You feel as if you’re on the edge of a chasm, teetering on the rim, about to drop forward into heat and darkness. Keening now. Thighs tremoring violently. Your face turns and your teeth sink into the pillow. “There you go, love. Give it to me. Give in to me.”

The coiling pressure within you snaps and you find release at last, the fabric clenched in your teeth doing little to muffle the sound of your orgasm. You’re drenched in sweat, the aftershocks of your appeased nerves still sizzling through you. The doppelgänger cradles you through all of it, holding you as you ride the waves that exhaust your limbs, making you feel boneless and limp.

“Francis.” It’s a yearning plea, a futile prayer, answered by the thing that is not him, but masquerades as such, crooning to you, whispering false promises, draping you in synthetic affection, a lie you want so desperately to believe.

#thats not my neighbor #francis mosses #milkman #francis mosses x you #francis mosses x reader #milkman x you #milkman x reader #doppelgänger

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hannieehaee · 16 days

Text

18+ / mdi

content: bff'sbrother!jungkook, softdom!jungkook, enemies2lovers-ish, he's a lil annoying in this, angst, mentions of rejection, one-sided crush, afab reader, smut, fingering, dry humping, penetrative sex, overstimulation (kinda), etc.

wc: 4076

a/n: another jk fic bc im taking time off work and have nothing to do</3 this went longer than anticipated lol sorry

masterlist

"what are you doing here?", grumbled the man as soon as he opened the door and spotted you on the other side of it.

"can you get out of the way? i'm obviously here for minji."

"she doesn't get here til tomorrow," he responded, though still moving out of the way to let you in.

you were about to snark at him again when he stopped in his tracks, eyes widening when they made contact with the suitcases you were struggling to drag behind you, "why are you carrying suitcases? fuck, don't tell me you're staying here," he grabbed onto one, stopping your movements.

"yes, jungkook. minji told me i could crash here for spring break. what's it to you? your house is big enough. just ignore my presence," you attempted to move your suitcases again, knowing you'd receive no help from the boy even if you asked.

"so you're here to ruin my break?" the complaints were never ending despite having entered the home only mere moments ago.

"stop being a child and get out of my way," you grumbled when the idiot refused to remove his hand from the handle of your suitcase.

he let out a heavy sigh, scrunching his eyes closed in annoyance before speaking again, "okay, move. i'll bring your shit upstairs."

"no, i can-"

"you can't carry all this upstairs. my mom's gonna be mad if i don't offer to help you. just let go," he muttered, pushing your hands away and somehow lifting both suitcases at once as he walked towards the stairs.

without any energy to argue with him, you just followed him upstairs, annoyed he insisted to pretend to do you a favor.

"are your parents home?", you asked, confused as to why he had been the one to open the door.

"no, they went out of town this weekend. they should be here tonight."

"why are you here?"

you knew this was his home, but it was a valid question. this had been the third time you'd spent some sort of school break at minji's house, yet jungkook had never been there during the duration of it, usually only popping up for a day or two by the end of each break.

"you mean in my house?", he chuckled sarcastically.

"you're never here- you know what i meant."

"didn't have any plans this time. why? am i ruining your break?"

the two of you finally made it to the extra guest room in minji's house, with jungkook settling your stuff on the bed and uncharacteristically taking a seat on it, as if planning to hang around. you ignored the thought and went to open your suitcase, planning to unpack a few of the things since you'd be staying for over a week.

"yeah," you deadpanned.

he scoffed, "not like i wanna spend my break with you either, princess."

groaning, you threw a folded shirt at him, "ew, i told you not to call me that."

seemingly pleased at having annoyed you, he chuckled and picked up the shirt you threw, folding it and placing it on the bed. he continued to occasionally grab one thing or another as you unpacked. you always knew jungkook to be quite fidgety, so you didn't question him grabbing your stuff to entertain himself as you unpacked.

jungkook wordlessly stayed on your bed as you went around the room organizing your stuff, attempting to ignore his presence but not entirely able to. you were willing to retain peace without complaining, but then he started making noise.

you usually didn't care for his presence too much, even as badly as the two of you got along, but the constant humming quickly got on your nerves. he hummed and hummed and did not stop even as ten minutes passed by, still taking stuff from your suitcase to fidget with. currently he was entertaining himself with a random shoe.

"jungkook! why are you still here?", you suddenly snapped, confused as to why he'd been sitting on your bed with a blank look on his face despite usually being liberal in expressing his dislike for you.

he looked at you for a few moments, no emotion on his face before speaking up.

"why don't we get along?"

"what?"

"you heard me. why don't we get along? you've been friends with my sister since childhood, but you've always hated me. why?"

"you started it," you murmured, taking the shoe he currently had in his hold and turning around to place it somewhere else.

he got up, walking over to you and turning you around by your shoulders and taking the shoe from you again, "i started it? what are you talking about? you've been rude to me since the seventh grade. i've just been returning the favor."

sighing in frustration, you grabbed shook his hands off your shoulders and stubbornly grabbed the shoe again, "why do you think that is, jungkook?"

a confused look overtook his face at your insinuation of your relationship being his fault, clearly not remembering what you were referring to.

"wha-what are you talking about?"

"god, you're such a dumbass sometimes. i mean, i assumed you didn't remember, but to have confirmation of it just kinda sucks," you chuckled bitterly.

he grabbed onto your shoulders again when you tried to walk past him, "tell me what you're talking about," he insisted.

for the most part, you didn't want to. you still felt embarrassed thinking about it, even if it had been over a decade since it had happened. to know he really didn't remember the source of your dislike for him also didn't really help matters. it just frustrated you at his presence even more.

through the years you had learned not to take the mutual banter too seriously. it was mostly lighthearted, to be honest. but any time you thought back to how it had started, you became beyond angry at the boy who was seemingly nice too all those he knew but you. sure, you had technically been the one to source this animosity, but he bad been the instigator of it after all.

you had been nine years old at the time, having recently moved into town and befriended minji. she had been your salvation, becoming instantly interested in being your friend despite you being brand new. you became quick friends, hanging out inside and outside school almost every day.

minji had the good fortune of being extremely close to her family, which allowed you to bond with them quite a lot. that was when you met her older brother, one of her favorite people in the world.

jungkook had been pure perfection in your young eyes, seeing him as unattainable at the young age of nine. he was two years your senior, which made you come to the quick realization that your crush would remain one-sided forever. except this didn't stop your naive heart to read into his nice demeanor and wishfully believe that maybe he'd like you back.

you crushed on him silently for three years, even coming to befriend him in the process. you wouldn't see him too often, but it was always nice when you did, always getting along quite well. this continued up until you hit twelve years of age, your tweenhood years. unfortunately, jungkook was now into his teens, meaning that he followed the footprints of every other man and had a short-lived phase where he was a bit insensitive to girls his age.

being completely delusional and being on your way to graduate middle school, you took a leap, deciding to invite jungkook as your date to your middle school prom. you had thought you read all the signs right, thinking that even if he rejected you, he'd still be nice enough to go with you as a friend. your hopes were completely crushed when he turned you down with zero hesitance, even patronizing you in the process.

the worst part of it all came later, when you were first entering high school. somehow a few of his friends had gotten word of the situation, dubbing you as desperate and obsessed with him. although the rumors died pretty quickly, and you were able to feign indifference to jungkook and everyone else, the seed of hate began to grow in you. little by little, you stopped speaking to jungkook altogether, eventually coming to proudly dislike him. despite minji's constant questioning about your change in demeanor towards her brother, you never told, not wanting any drift to be caused between you and minji, nor her and her brother.

the gradual change in your feelings for jungkook had been so natural that it made sense for him to not remember the source of the current state of your relationship. he had caught on naturally, simply bantering back with you whenever you gave him attitude. it was likely that he believed it all to be lighthearted at first, eventually becoming accustomed enough to it to not question it.

and now you were here, having to explain a stupid childhood heartbreak to the perpetrator of it all as he stared down at you in absolute wonder.

"eighth grade, jungkook. remember?"

he shook his head in confusion, his eyes still wide as his brain wracked itself to remember.

"the dance?"

"the dance? what dan- oh! the- the dance? that's it?"

'that's it'?

he mustve caught the look of annoyance in your face, as he quickly went to retract himself.

"fuck, wait. i didn't mean it like that, just- is that why you hate me? because i said no to you?"

you took a step away from him again, still frustrated, but his arms remained on your shoulders so you would keep looking right at him. it was awkward and extremely uncomfortable considering the context, but you didn't move away.

"it wasn't just that, jungkook," you started, "was it that horrible of a thought to go to the dance with me? i was twelve, you couldve been nicer about it. and to tell your friends about it? i was mocked for weeks after that. and now you wanna act like this is my fault? like ive just been mean to you for no reason?", you scoffed, looking at your feet in favor of not having to look at him.

"wait, who ... who made fun of you? i- i never told anyone what happened. why would i do that?"

"jungkook, stop. taehyung? jimin? they wouldn't stop bringing it up for weeks. it died down after a while, but i was already humiliated."

he shook his head and denial, seemingly at himself. finally letting go of you, he sat back on the bed, look of confusion still on his face before a lightbulb metaphorically manifested itself above his head.

"oh fuck," he muttered, "i- i remember now, but it didn't go down the way you think, okay? let me explain."

you crossed your arms and nodded, signaling for him to continue.

he uncrossed his arms, running them through his hair in a frustrated fashion before he began to explain, oddly passionate as he did so, "i told them right after it happened. i felt so bad for saying no to you, they noticed how down i was about it and asked. i swear i didnt say anything bad. fuck, i never knew they teased you about it, im so sorry," he rambled, "and i didnt- i didnt mean to make you feel bad when i said no. you're my sister's best friend and- and you were so young. i know it doesnt matter anymore, but saying yes felt wrong. it felt like id be taking advantage of you somehow."

"jungkook-"

"if it makes you feel better," he hesitated before continuing, "i, uh, i kinda had a crush on you when we were 17. i- i was going to ask you to my prom, but you picked a fight with me that day and told me to get the fuck out. thats, that's kinda when i started to hate you back," he smiled awkwardly towards the end.

that took you for a bit of a loop. you weren't a heartless asshole. it wasnt like you meant to hurt him through your dislike of him, but rather protect yourself from further rejection. it made you feel bad to know that you'd somewhat done a similar thing to him at some point, even verbally berating him time after time when his intentions hadn't been malicious.

"are you serious?"

"do you really hate me? for what i did, i mean," he interrupted.

did you? for the most part, you had just grown far too used to your animosity with jungkook. due to your own mean behavior towards him, he became equally as rude, creating a vicious cycle of disrespect between the two of you. but did you hate him?

the answer was probably not.

if you did, your heart wouldn't have jumped at the mention of him having had a crush on you back when you were seventeen.

"no, i don't hate you. do you?"

he turned to you, shaking his head, "of course not," he confirmed, "do you wanna start over?", he asked, getting up from the bed and walking over to you.

you couldn't help but chuckle at his sudden proposal. you also couldnt help in nodding in agreement, confirming that yes, you'd be willing to put aside a petty middle school misunderstanding in favor of starting over.

then he opened his arms, gesturing for a hug before asking for permission for one, "hug?"

wordlessly, you accepted the offer of a friendly hug, reasoning that it was only natural considering how touchy he was with everyone other than yourself.

when you went to pull away, his arms tightened around you, head burying itself further into your hair, "just a little longer," he murmured.

with no reason to deny him, you wrapped your arms around him once more, only letting go when he started to slowly pull away.

that's when you made the mistake of looking up at him as he attempted to make himself let go of you.

seemingly, he had made the same mistake, now locking eyes with you at a proximity far too close for two people who hated each other just mere minutes ago. stupidly enough, your eyes predictably went down to his lips, not realizing his own had done the same. the only difference was that he was far more daring than you, allowing his lips to lower down onto yours and envelop them in a soft kiss.

greedy hands dug into your hips before making their way to your waist, holding you as close to him as he could. your own hands wrapped around his shoulders, moving to play with his hair as soon as the kiss turned more heated.

moaning against him, he pulled away for a second, still keeping his lips entirely too close to your own as he breathed through his nose to calm himself down. the following kiss was even more harrowing, causing you to take a step back due to the sheer force of it. he walked you back, pressing you up against the nearest wall as he took advantage of being able to crowd you, allowing his hands to get a feel of your body as you kissed.

despite how pathetically you followed his lips, he still pulled away, throwing his shirt off before going back to kissing you, letting his hands wander underneath your own shirt as he did so. his hands dug deep under your shirt, feeling up your bare breasts and groaning at the lack of bra.

gradually, his lips made their way to your ear and then down your neck, murmuring against your skin.

"fuck, so fucking pretty ... and so needy for me, huh? sound so good moaning for me like that," he breathed against you.

you burned up, embarrassed by how easily he had an effect on you, but you still let him do whatever he wanted, knowing that nothing you did would prevent your body from wanting his touch.

throwing off your shirt, his lips trailed down even further south, latching onto your nipples and groaning into your skin at the way you arched your body, pressing up even closer to him.

but suddenly there was a shift.

jungkook halted his movements, making his way back up to your lips and locking them with his own in a heavy and greedy kiss, resulting in a lack of breath from both of you. against your lips, he whispered something that made your knees buckle.

"i'm gonna pay you back for all those times you were mean to me, baby," his lips moved to your ear, chuckling at your anticipatory shudder, "gonna do whatever i want with this pretty body, yeah?"

nodding pathetically, you gave way for him to do anything he wanted. already drenched, there was no way you could possibly formulate any words that didn't come out as an embarrassing whine. he seemed to enjoy this too, holding a pleased smirk in his face as he easily dragged you over to the bed, pushing off your suitcase and dropping you on it with a bounce.

before you could even think, jungkook had already thrown off his shoes and undone his pants, his hands coming to do the same to you. your shaky hands attempted to help him, but he simply tsk'd at you, letting you know that he'd take care of everything tonight. everything, he emphasized.

"oh, fuck," he groaned once you were fully nude, "this is all mine now, yeah? fuck, been waiting for years for you to stop being a brat and let me have this pretty body all to myself," he kissed your lips between each sentence, "might lose control at how gorgeous and mine it is ..." he murmured as his hands took their rightful place exploring your body.

"kook-" you whined, already wanting him to do something – anything.

"shh, baby," he coo'd, "i'm gonna do whatever i want. and you're gonna take it like a good girl, okay? gonna behave for me for once."

fully crawling on top of you, jungkook went back to making out with you, wrapping your legs around his waist as he began humping against your already soaked cunt.

groaning, he pulled away for a second in favor of nibbling softly at your lip, "oh, this pretty pussy's so fucking soaked already ... thought you hated me, baby, what happened?" he chuckled darkly, giving you no room to answer before shoving his tongue in your mouth.

just as his tongue attempted to suck all air out of you, his hand suddenly snuck between your bodies, finding your cunt with ease and beginning to drag his fingers up and down your folds, not giving you want you needed.

"pretty fucking pussy," he murmured, "gonna play with your clit now, baby. it's gonna cry for me by the time im done."

his fingers found your clit almost immediately, taking turns in rubbing teasing circles over it and hammering in and out of your cunt. he swallowed every single moan, groaning against your lips any time your cries went so high they went straight to his cock.

"that good, pretty? so good that you have to cry for more? oh, baby. you're so lucky this pussy's so fucking cute. lucky i cant control myself around you ..."

"f-faster, please ..."

"faster? oh, like this?", his fingers slowed down drastically, barely stimulating you at all as you cried and clawed at his back, whining for more than he seemed willing to give you.

"n-no! please, just- just wanna cum, kookie. please?"

his fingers curled entirely too well at your cry of his nickname, even making him groan when he felt your own reaction to his fingers. it was clear he liked you crying out for him, so the more you did it, the more of his fingers he gave you, leading you to the verge of an orgasm.

afraid he'd try and deny you just for sadistic means, you cried for him prematurely, begging him to let you cum.

"kookie, p-please, please let me cum, i-i'll do anything. i'll give you anything, just, fuck, please!"

there was not a single care in you about how pathetic and out of character you sounded, not when jungkook's wasnt faring any better at the effect your desperation had on him.

"cum. cum for me, baby. wanna feel that cunt cream around my fingers so i can fill it back up with my own, okay? be good for me and- fuck, and cum ..." as much as he wanted to be in charge and show a dominant side to him, your cunt just kept dragging his fingers back in, making him feel a carnal need to steal your orgasm all for himself and many others after this one.

your hand wrapped around his free wrist, needing it as support as an otherworldly orgasm took over you. back arching and eyes rolling back, you became a sight that jungkook had only ever seen in his most depraved of dreams about you. he was surprised at his cock not bursting upon such an arousing view, making him realize that he needed to fuck you as soon as posible before losing his mind.

despite talking you through your orgasm, jungkook still gave you no time to recover before shoving his tongue in your mouth and grabbing his dick to drag up and down your sensitive folds.

crying against him, you attempted to push him away at first, feeling too sensitive for immediate stimulation, but your body gave up quickly after, melting into the overload of pleasure. tears crowded in your eyes, but your legs wrapped around his waist to pull him closer, needing more of that pressure against your cunt.

taking the hint and far too horny to drag this out any longer, he pushed inside you, groaning against you at the feeling of finally being wrapped around your warmth.

"it's so fucking wet ... oh, fuck. you wanted this so bad, didnt you, baby? fucking soaked and just pulling me in ... it's so- so tight n warm n perfect for me," he babbled, lost in pleasure.

jungkook's hips were restless against yours, an insatiable desire to chase for his pleasure taking over him as the sound of skin slapping made him dizzy. the occasional babble accompanied by a pitiful hiccup that came out of you did not help his situation, making him fear that he might cum before you.

"let- let me just get my finger there- yeah, fuck. just gonna rub that tiny little clit, okay? shit, you just tightened around my cock so fucking good ..." he groaned, thumb circling your clit to accelerate your orgasm.

"g-gonna, fuck, gonna cum ... p-please ... with me? cum with me?" you begged, barely able to get a single coherent word out while jungkook showed no mercy against you.

nodding, he kissed you, promising he'd cum – begging you to cum. counting you down, he whispered against your ear while his hips stuttered messily against your own, now completely overtaken by both yours and his orgasm.

the sounds shared between the two of you were nothing short of shameful, consisting of whines and cries filled with desperation. it was a depraved scene only meant for the two of you to enjoy.

pulling out of you proved to be a challenge, as jungkook would happily remained inside you until his last breath, but the thought of holding you innocently in his arms as you caught your breath was something he did not want to miss out on.

and so he held you against him, crowding your face against his chest so you could lay your head right by his heart.

"that was-"

"yeah," he breathed with a chuckle before turning to you with a boyish smile on his face, "i have a confession to make."

you turned around too, unable to not match his smile, "what is it?"

"i lied earlier. i, uh, i did like you when you were seventeen, but ... i kinda still like you."

it was impossible not to feel your face warm up at this, scrunching up your nose at how cutely he had confessed, "what if i said it was mutual?"

his smile somehow got bigger at that, "then i'd say i'm gonna have to steal you away from my sister," he pulled you into his chest again, enjoying the vibrations of your laugh.

a/n: this was rushed and not proofread sorry</3

#bts fanfic #bts smut #bts x reader #bts imagine #bts oneshot #bts scenario #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook scenarios #jungkook imagine #jungkook smut

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deadsetobsessions · 2 months

Text

“DIDJA SEE THAT, DANNY?!” Tim, a scrawny eleven year old now, excitedly smacked Danny’s arm.

“Ow. Yes, yes I did.”

“Oh, gosh, I have to tell Jazz about this!!” The kid waved his arms about wildly, grinning from ear to ear.

“Jaso- I mean, Robin, smiled at me! And said he liked my t-shirt!! Oh my god, he likes literature puns, he even laughed! And then he punched the bad guy in the face! Look! I even saved the tooth!”

“Okayyy, nope!” Danny plucked the tooth and tossed it, ignoring Tim’s betrayed face. “I’ll trade you that for this.”

Danny Held out a piece of paper with Robin’s and Batman’s sigil on it, from when he asked them to sign it after they “saved” the two brothers from the two-bit thugs trying to mug them.

“Oh. My. God. This is like the best day of my life!! I love you, Danny! You’re the best brother ever!! Oh my god! I have to get Nightwing’s signature!!!”

Danny felt a rush of warmth at Tim’s proclamation of affection. Ah, he should probably step in.

“Hey, wait, no, we’re not going to Blüdhaven for you to stalk another vigilante.”

“It’s not just any old vigilante-!” Tim ignored Danny’s dramatic clutching-pearls gesture of mock hurt. “It’s Nightwing. The original Robin! He gave me my first ever hug!”

Danny paused. God dammit.

“…Fine.”

“YESSSSSS!!!!”

——

Danny-

“I’m gonna be Robin whether you want me to or not!”

-is so damn tired.

“Tim. I’m literally a vigilante ghost. What makes you think I’d be stupid enough to argue with a kid who runs around Gotham at night to take pictures of other vigilantes?”

Tim deflated. “Oh. Honestly, I thought you’d put up more of a fight…”

Jazz laughed and ruffled Tim’s hair. “I definitely couldn’t stop Danny when he went out. He trusted me to support him and I trusted him to come to me if he was injured, though. Can you promise me that, Tim?”

“Yeah… okay, Jazz, I promise.” Tim promised, even if he was still pouty.

Danny chimed in.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’m totally worried and I’m gonna hover like a mother hen when you go out, but again, I know how stubborn and crazy we vigilante types have to be.” Danny paused. “Do you want me to put up a token protest?”

Tim nodded, sulking. “Yes, please. I had a speech planned out.”

Jazz and Danny exchanged amused glances.

“Oh, okay, my bad, kiddo. Here, let’s start from the top.”

“Okay. Ahem,” Tim straightened his back, settling into his previous mulish expression once more. “I’m gonna be Robin whether you want me to or not!”

Danny placed an appropriately disapproving frown on his face. “No, you can’t! It’s dangerous! You could get hurt! You’re just a child!”

Tim launched into his speech. “But I can’t stay still and do nothing when people are getting hurt! Even…!”

They were gonna be here for a while. There was definitely something about Batman going on a spiral because Jason wouldn’t be able to walk again after the Joker got to him. Danny wondered if ectoplasm could help. He might offer, if it actually had a change of getting Tim out of the vigilante business.

But that’s for later, because they had time. Jazz was on Spring Break… and they’re still staying here for free, after all of these years.

“So, how are you going to convince Robin to let you be Robin?” Jazz asked Tim.

Tim froze. “I… hadn’t thought of that yet.”

“Well, you could always remind him of the fact that we saved him from the Joker. He seemed pretty ready to leave the Robin mantle, the last time I saw him as Phantom.”

“I don’t want to blackmail him into it!” Tim whined.

“It’ll just be a suggestion, Tim.” Jazz smiled patiently.

“Besides,” Danny continued, smirking mischievously at his adopted little brother. “If you were actually blackmailing him, you’d pull out the photos where he ate dirt.”

“I guess that’s true…” Tim mumbled. “I know! I’ll have to follow them to see how I can best approach him!”

"I think that's called stalking," Jazz deadpanned.

"Well, it's not any worse than what he's already done." Danny shrugged at his older sister. "Sure, kid. Why not? Do whatever you want."

"I was planning to!" Tim bounced off to grab his photography gear. Jazz stared off after him.

"Should we be encouraging that?"

"More like can we actually stop him?" Danny leaned back, lazily completing his GED assignments. Jazz sighed.

"Guess not. Make sure he doesn't get in trouble."

"Do you even know how hard that is, Jazz?" Danny complained, dodging the whack Jazz sent at the back of his head. She smirked at him.

"Womp, womp, Danny. How does karma taste today?"

Danny flipped her off as he put the last punctuation on the paper. He heard a clatter and groaned.

“I’m gonna go watch Tim stalk Batman for the night. Want anything from the store?”

Jazz hummed. “Get me the specialty strawberry ice cream, from that one place?”

“The one that’s definitely a front for Falcone’s money laundering??”

“Yeah. They make good strawberry ice cream.”

“Sure.”

Danny went ghost and flew straight through the walls to catch Tim sneaking out by the scruff of his collar.

“No. Bad Tim.”

“Awww, come on Danny!”

#danny phantom #batman #tim drake #bruce wayne #jason todd #dc x dp #dick grayson #nightwing #bamf danny phantom #dcxdp #dpxdc #Tim is a fanboy above all fanboys #Jason is just straight up not having a good time #baby Jason would totally giggle with a kid and punch a grown man in the face right after #jazz: oh how the tables have tabled #jazz Fenton #Danny Fenton #squatter! danny fenton

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bth3cowboi · 1 month

Text

paint me in lovely red, mv1xreader

masterlist

pairing: max verstappen x artist!reader

summary: a tiny slip can make your most beautiful secrets public. Sometimes the slip comes in the form of a painting, sometimes the secret is a relationship with a world champion.

format: social media au

a/n: all paintings used here were made by Malcolm Liepke! Part 1/?

( instagram )

verstappen1updates

liked by fanuser and 500,233 others

verstappen1updates Max just admitted that he’s in a relationship on stream! Transcript of the clip for those asking:

G: Max, they’re asking about the new painting in the background. I haven’t seen it before either.

M: Ah yes, that was a gift for the championship win from- [Stops to keep driving]. Well, my girlfriend really.

G: [Laughs] That’s cute, she’s great at painting. Oh- they’re surprised now- [Laughs] about your girl.

M: Ah- We just like to keep to ourselves, mate.

see all comments

user1 YO WHAT???

user2 and just like that we’ve lost him🥲

user3 u don’t know that man

user2 a girl can dream…

user4 sooo whos the girl?? I want to know noww

user5 a whole picture of his winning car??? she must be HOOKED

user6 after that season i cant blame her

( twitter )

( instagram )

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1 and others

yourusername Spring is coming so new prints are out on my online shop!! Make sure to check them out💛🧡🍋

From the vault: “my yellow mirror II”, oil on canvas, 18x24. Also: my bike, me.

see all comments

user1 I just came expecting more Max honestly

user2 SAME

user3 the only thing interesting on this page

user4 ok seeing her now I get why Max let her paint him like that😂 shes cute

user5 paint me like one of your french girls- max, probably

yourfriend beautiful as always Yn🥹🫶 only focus on that

liked by yourusername and maxverstappen1

yourusername thanks bby🫶

user6 oh girl stop being so dramaticcc

user7 drop the painting of the car instead, this is boring

user8 i get it know, date rich so you can afford to do your silly paintings🤯

maxverstappen1 just lovely

this comment has been deleted

comments on this post have been disabled

( messages )

( instagram )

inthef1paddock

liked by fanuser and 876.334 others

inthef1paddock Max Verstappen and girlfriend Yn Ln caught together after she arrived to Melbourne for the Australian GP.

The driver had to ask through his instagram stories for fans to respect their privacy and Yn’s career after people flooded her social media with disrepectful comments, he did so by posting this selfie.

Mean comments will be deleted.❤️

see all comments

user1 People are so rude, its obvious they love each other

user2 Oh that hug🥹 what a lucky girl

user3 Did you see the video? He RAN to her, shes blessed

user4 idk she still seems weird…

lando.jpg

liked by yourusername, danielricciardo and 698.442 others

lando.jpg 🇦🇺 nights

tagged charlesleclerc, maxverstappen1 and yourusername;

see all comments

user1 last photo made me SCREAM, MAX???

user2 Lando is so crazy for this lol

user3 From Charles dropping it low to a hard launch he knows his public

charles_leclerc 😎😎

yourusername 🕺🕺📸📸

charles_leclerc You mean 💋💋📸📸?

maxverstappen1 Lando wont post those because he is lonely and he will cry

landonorris mate thats not true

yourusername its ok to be single lando we dont care you cried to our happy photos

landonorris I did NOT cry 🤢 you guys made me sickkkkk

charles_leclerc sick to tears

maxverstappen1 😂😂

landonorris Stoppp

landonorris Dont know what its worse, the kissy photos or the porn paintings

yourusername not porn🖕

maxverstappen1 Dont be rude🖕

yourusername I will paint you crying now idc you crybaby

landonorris Sure😂

charlesleclerc Famous last words

user4 its ok Lando I will take 💋 pictures with you

user5 me toooo, I volunteer 🤩

maxverstappen1 Please send me the rest of Yn’s photos👍

liked by landonorris and 5021 others

user6 oh wow i get lando now this is so sweet its sick😭

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, charlesleclerc and others

yourusername “Lando Norris, the crybaby”, oil on canvas, 24x30.

Prints will be available online soon🧡

see all comments

user1 Oh she ate this one up😭😭

landonorris NO YN

landonorris YN THIS IS SO MEAN

landonorris why would you do this😭😭 I didnt think you were serious

yourusername See, crybaby

carlossainz55 Dont worry Landito you dont look too bad

landonorris 😭😭😭

user3 LMFAO THIS IS SO FUNNY

user2 the devil work fast, but yn works faster

danielricciardo Jesus how much for this one, I will give ANYTHING

charlesleclerc No man ask for your own, this one is mine

maxverstappen1 This is not leaving my house👍 good luck

charles_leclerc WHAT? NOT FAIR, YN I WILL PAY TOO MUCH

danielricciardo Whatever he pays I will give double

yourusername Sorry its been bought already

charles_leclerc ???

mclaren Thank you Yn, this will look great in our hall 🧡🧡

yourusername 🧡🫶

landonorris WHAT

charles_leclerc oh my god

landonorris NO WAY

user4 SOLD TO MCLAREN? this is a fever dream

user5 I, too, want a portrait of me kissing max verstappen

user6 I respect Yn so much, cause she went from making tittie art of her bf to paint their friend crying while they makeout in the background

maxverstappen1 Lovely😂

maxverstappen1 Can I request one but without the crybaby?

yourusername I have a few already 🤔 whats one moree

user7 DROP THEM, I KNOW YOU HAVE THE HOT ONES TOO

charles_leclerc Dont drop them please think of the children

yourusername wow youre so boring

maxverstappen1 Make fun of him on a painting for that baby

danielricciardo I will pay for that one this time

charles_leclerc God no have mercy

yourusername dont worry i wont do that, being a ferrari driver is punishment enough

charles_leclerc 😐

landonorris LOL DESERVED

maxverstappen1 Love you my Yn❤️❤️

yourusername love you too🥹🥹

——

a/n: Thank you for reading!!! I might do a second part to this fic, I think there is so much more to do with the plot so if anyone is interesed make sure to stick around❤️🥹 My inbox is now open if anyone has suggestions or ideas they want to se me writw!

#max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #f1 smau #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #mv1 #mv33 #mv1 x reader #f1 imagine #mv33 x reader #mv1 imagine

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taylormarieee · 5 months

Text

Tie's and Trends Miguel O'Hara

Summary: You saw a trend and wanted to try it on Miguel...

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x Fem!Reader

Word Count:

Warnings: MDNI 18+ ONLY, Smut, edging, porn with plot, PiV sex, Miguel begging, Switch reader, Switch Miguel, Cream-pie

A/N: This was kind of requested but heres the original post where it all started...

"Miguel! Can I do this to you please!" You ask on your knees begging to do this TikTok trend with him.

He stares at your phone again and you can see the way his mind is racing. Moving like Clockwork.

"I don't know Bebita." He runs. his fingers through his hair. Little did he know you were making those cute puppy dog eyes you know he couldn't resist.

He finally looks down to you still on the floor and see's your face. He mentally curses himself and out loud.

"Mierda, You little-" Before he could finish his sentence your smiling, getting up and sprinting to go find a ribbon.

You. already knew what the answer was because of his reaction. When you finally come back with the ribbon he is staring at you with a look you've seen time and time again, but did you care? Nope!

"This is so stupid." He says as you tie the ribbon around his arms. His arms were a lot larger than others so you needed a slightly longer ribbon.

Once you finish tying it, you step back and observe your man. He looks so cute, yet extremely hot with those bulging veins in his arms.

You observe his hands and ten move down to the sweatpants he's wearing. He always wore sweatpants to tease you.

He knew you couldn't stop looking. Every 5 minutes you tried to at least get one glance of down there before he caught you.

But now? He was dead staring at you with his beautiful brown eyes. That red tint sparkling in the light.

"Miguel..." You whimper. It was supposed to come out nice and clear but more thoughts entered your head.

Miguel sits down and spreads his legs as if he alrfead knows what your about to ask.

"C'mere princess." He whispers motioning to his thigh. You walk over and sit on his thigh. He jolts his leg slightly to tease you.

"Miggy?" You whine out. He raises and eyebrow and smirks. "Yes mama?" He asks.

"Can ride you p-please." You squeak out. You fiddle with your fingers and look down trying to hide from his intense gaze.

"Go on baby..." He replies. When you look up at him a surge of confidence bolts down your spine and you feel the urge to become dominant.

"Your keeping the tie on. And No touching. I mean it." You sday pulling down your pants. He pulls his down halfway, without breaking the ribbon.

You pull them down to his ankles and remove his boxers. His semi-hard cock springs out and soon stiffens at the cool air.

You rub your hand up and down on his cock making precum leak out from the tip.

You quickly lined yourself up with his dick and slid down on him. You moaned out as you felt his huge cock stretch you out. He throws his head back in pleasure dying to touch you.

He knows he could break out of this ribbon but for you and your wishes, he has decided to keep it on until you say otherwise.

"Yea? You like that Miguel?" You ask as you roll your hips in that way that has Miguel cumming in seconds.

"y-yes, oh fuck... Meirda my love!" He says tightening his fists in the sheets.

"You gonna cum for me Miggy? Huh baby?" You taunt bouncing on his deliciously huge cock. You feel him all in your stomach.

You move your hand close to his throat as you roll your hips, lifting your hips and sinking slowly back down on him.

"Please mama, let m-me cum. Please? I-I've been good." Miguel whimpers out. His eyes wide and glossy.

You nod your head and he suddenly rips out of the ribbon dying to hold you while he shoots his delicious load inside you.

He flips you over a fucks into you to keep his load in. Something animalistic emerges from him as he roughly thrusts into you.

You cry out before you orgasm comes rushing through you. You scratch at Miguels back leaving red fresh marks.

"OH Fuck Miguel! Yes, give it to me please!" You cry out. He gives you what you want. He helps you ride out your high before pulling out.

He watches as his cum drips from your abused pussy and admires you in your fucked out state.

"I hated that." Miguel speaks out into the silence. You look up at him and prop yourself up on your elbows.

"Too bad, we're so doing that again." You say with a teasing smirk on your face.

He whines and whimpers at the fact that you want to do it again but you can see him trying so hard not to smile at the idea.

You loved your good little boy Miguel O'Hara...

Strictly written for ( @luvrxbunny , @queerponcho and @sunve1ns)

Taglist: @obviouslynini @itzdarling @grixonsdoll @aerangi @

#miguel o’hara smut #miguel o'hara x reader #atsv miguel #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel ohara x you #sub miguel o'hara

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kyeomofhearts · 2 months

Text

Before the Day Begins | J.WW

+ summary: an interesting way to start an early sunday morning with your boyfriend wonwoo.

+ pair: wonwoo x fem!reader

+ word count: 1.3k

+ content: smut, fluff, soft, oral (f.receiving), fingering, edging, penetration, creampie (use protection!), some aftercare.

[ᝰ.ᐟ] Happy Spring Break!! College has been so tiring lately but that doesn't mean I don't have any ideas... >:) Anyways, I hope you enjoy this Wonu fic! ૮ ․ ․ ྀིა

As much as you hated Sundays (they were a bitter reminder that the weekend was indeed coming to an end.), you couldn't help but enjoy the mornings that came with them, especially one like today.

Your eyes were still heavily coated with sleep. You noticed that the room was dimly lit, only a few rays of sunlight could make it past the heavy blackout curtains Wonwoo had purchased a few years ago. You couldn't tell exactly what time it was, but it definitely had to be before 10 am because the light coming from outside was barely visible, even without the curtains.

What caught your attention was the warm hand that was slowly making its way to your breast. It didn't help that your pajamas were incredibly thin, allowing you to feel everything that your lover was doing. Once his hand had made its way to your breast, he began to slowly massage it in smooth circles. Wonwoo's touch was firm yet tender, his sole purpose was to give you pleasure. You let out a few whimpers, enjoying the attention he was placing on your chest. The rest of his body was warm, you couldn't help but push yourself deeper into him. This pulled a low grunt from him, your ass now providing a fraction of the friction that he was craving. It was no surprise that Wonwoo woke up like this, sleeping while spooning you always managed to make him hard in the mornings. Wonwoo eventually grew impatient and decided to take it further by teasing the hem of your underwear, sliding it down inch by inch.

In the midst of his teasing, you decided to have your own fun. With your closest hand, you snaked your way down to his boxers where he was hiding his hard-on. You encased the majority of his clothed cock, testing the waters with a few strokes. Eventually, you started to copy his movements from earlier, drawing slow, tender circles on him. This seemed to work in your favor, considering that Wonwoo had ceased all of his ministrations. He groaned here and there, his voice was awfully deep in the mornings. After a few more minutes of your dangerous teasing, Wonwoo firmly pulled your hand away from him.

"Had to stop you before I blew a load in my underwear," his voice was strained, showing you just how close he was. You lightly chuckled at this.

After a moment or so, Wonwoo began to move around and positioned himself right in between your thighs. He continued lowering himself until he was met with your pussy. Before diving in, he suddenly asked, 'May I?'. As much as he wanted to taste you, he always made sure to ask before giving in to his selfish desires. You nodded quickly but realized he couldn't see so you opted for a quick 'yes'. That being said, Wonwoo couldn't help but feel enamored by you, no matter what, you were always wet for him. He slid both of his arms underneath your thighs, in preparation for keeping you grounded. With that, he landed a few long licks to your slit, the pressure on his tongue being somewhat firm. He took his time with each lick, each one better than the last. Occasionally, he would plant a few kisses on the sides of your lips. His pressure got increasingly stronger the closer he got to your bud, knowing how sensitive you were in that area.

Once he felt that familiar bundle, Wonwoo began sucking on the bud. You couldn't help but yelp at the sudden pleasure he was giving you. He played with the pressure and motions that he used on you, switching from light flicking to harsh sucking within a matter of seconds. You couldn't help but reach over to his head, grabbing a fistful of hair and tugging on it. Wonwoo loved it when you did that because it let him know just how good of a job he was doing. After what seemed like hours of him devouring you, he decided to add his fingers to the mix. He briefly pulled away from you to make room for his fingers, coating them with your juices. Slowly, he slid one finger in, pumping it a few times before adding the second, then the third. His technique was slow at first, allowing you to adjust to all three of his fingers at once. He eventually sped up and started curling them upwards, knowing that it was a gateway to having you come within minutes. Setting a good rhythm, he latched onto your clit, firmly sucking on it once again. Your whines then turned into moans, and you knew you were nearing the end. With just a few more strokes you would feel-

Nothing.

You cried at the sudden loss of his mouth and tongue, god, you hated it when he did that!

"Let's cum together?" He said while smiling, happy that his attempt at edging you was deemed a success.

Wonwoo then sat up and positioned himself right between your entrance. He pumped himself a few times and slowly covered his cock with your slick. With that, he started pushing himself in, bit by bit. He lowered his head and connected his lips to yours, successfully covering up his whines. His pace was slow at first, wanting to give himself time to adjust to your delicious walls (he knows he will immediately cum inside you if he doesn't start off slowly). You let out a few gasps, his thrusts were hitting deeper and deeper the more he went. Wonwoo couldn't help but spread you out even more, loving the way you kept sucking him back in. Although the room was dark, Wonwoo was still able to see the way your pussy was taking him in. He was enamored at the way your bodies seemingly connected with every thrust.

He peppered a few kisses to your neck and chest before pulling away to see you in all your glory. Wonwoo then slid his hand onto your pussy, the pad of his thumb directly above your neglected clit. Alternating from lazy circles to firmer ones, his pace also quickened with each stroke. He knew that you were really close, and with the pace that he set himself, Wonwoo was not too far from filling you up. After pistoning himself further into you, Wonwoo was so close to tipping over the edge. He lowered his head towards the junction where your neck and shoulder met, biting you once his lips made contact with your plush skin. You immediately felt yourself come undone, unable to control the fluttering walls of your pussy, you felt Wonwoo completely empty his load inside you. His groans were muffled by that chunk of skin that he was still latched onto, surely there would be a bruise.

The two of you continued to lay there, limbs tangled between each other. By this point, his cum was already making its way out of your entrance and was beginning to overflow. You didn't mind staying like this but you knew that Wonwoo was eventually going to get up and clean the two of you. By which you were correct because shortly thereafter, Wonwoo scooped you up into his arms and took you to your shared bathroom. He used a damp rag to clean up any remaining cum in between your legs. For the most part, it was quiet between the two of you, only sharing the occasional smile or two. You lived for the quiet moments like this, where you didn't need to say anything because you already knew how he felt. Aside from having only fucked less than five minutes ago, you couldn't help but feel overly domestic with him. Wonwoo handed you a fresh pair of underwear while he slipped on another pair of briefs. You felt a sudden wave of sleepiness take over your body, and as if he read your mind, Wonwoo grabbed your hand and led you to your shared bed.

"Let's go back to sleep, yeah?"

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peachesofteal · 2 months

Text

Simple Math / Part Eleven

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 6k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Graphic depiction of domestic violence. This fic contains mature themes. Mention of pregnancy. Nurse!reader, hospital setting, medical inaccuracies. Bun is in pain, goes to a doctor. Dissociation. Lots of despair, fear, anxiety. The 141 reunites. Nightmares. Comfort. Tenderness. Angst. Welcome home.

“Knock knock.”

“Bunny.” Johnny murmurs, lifting an arm, urging you close, a moon to a tide.

“Hi.” You bend, moving into the hug, pressing your face to his neck for a quick second before straightening.

“I miss ye.” You survey him, glancing at the monitor, the brace on his leg and hip, the disconnected fluid line. He’s doing well. You’re so relieved to see it with your own eyes, ribs rattling with a long exhale. Satisfied, you smile, tension bleeding from your spine.

“Simon says you’re terrorizing your night nurse.”

“Am not. She’s jus’ not gentle, or quiet. Wakes me up.”

“That’s her job.” He scoffs, waving you off. You settle in the chair at his side, and he takes your hand in his, lifting it to his lips, dotting kisses across your knuckles. His affection is freeing, sweet and easy, a warm breeze on a spring day. It overflows your heart with warmth until you think it might spill over, and you go with it, following his lead, even though your better judgement, the girl in the mirror, wails.

“Ye look good. Better. Swellin’ gone down?” He cradles your chin, turning your face from left to right, inspecting with a crystal-clear sapphire gleam.

“Yeah, my shoulder is still sore but… yeah. I feel better.”

“’m glad. Simon keepin’ ye off yer feet all day then?”

“Oh my god.” You laugh. “He keeps telling me to lay down. Or asking if I want to take a nap.” Johnny chuckles.

“Sounds right. He’s a bit o’ a mother hen, that one. He cares though, we both do.”

“I know.” You squeeze his hand. “And I missed you too.”

“He said ye an’ him had a nice chat the other night?” Your cheeks burn. Oh god. Did he… “I’m a wee bit jealous.” He complains, turning his nose up and away in a mock pout, and you roll your eyes.

You laid in bed all night and thought about these moments. Thought about Simon’s mouth on yours, his hand on your ass, squeezing and stroking. You thought about how he tasted, how he smelled, the way he looked at you, like you were a part of their world, a piece of them.

And you thought about Johnny. Johnny alone here, Johnny trapped in the hospital, healing, unable to leave or even get out of bed. How anxious he must be, being separated from his family, how frustrating it is to spend so long trying to get better.

You wanted to give him something. Wanted to make him feel better, see him smile.

Here goes nothing.

Leaning, standing, you dip into his orbit, lightly bumping your noses together. It takes no time until his good hand is around the back of your neck, crashing your mouth into his, and he breathes you in, holding you steady, tongue and teeth and lips swirling together in a ubiquitous, overwhelming haze. He tastes like summer rain, the feeling in the air before a giant storm, electric and blazing, brilliant glow transferring between the two of you, lightning striking a mountaintop. He nips your bottom lip, heat flooding your stomach, and you pull away slowly, his eyes jeweled and shimmering, brilliantly blue.

“Bunny,” You try to swallow a quiet giggle and fail. “I’ll have to tell ye I’m jealous more often.”

“Don’t take advantage.” You playfully scold.

“Me? Take advantage?” He pretends to be outraged, voice piquing higher, and you laugh again. “How can I take advantage when ‘m the one stuck here in this bed while ye two are at home, playin’ house, takin’ couch naps and gettin’ butt rubs. No one cares about Johnny, no-“

“Shhh.” You press your lips to his, silencing him, remaining in the kiss that’s long and soft and saccharine. He sneaks his tongue back between your teeth, mischievous and wild, every bit the man you’re drawn to, an attraction you can’t fight.

“Well.” Simon clears his throat from the doorway, brows raised, mask snug. “Hope I’m not interrupting.” You don’t know why, but you fly backwards, nearly stumbling, cheeks on fire. You feel like you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t, and that feeling, the pit in the bottom of your stomach, is all too reminiscent.

It frightens you.

“Whoa, hey.” Johnny tries to snag a finger around your wrist, but you step out of the way.

“It’s alright.” Simon moves inside fully, clicking the door shut behind him. “You’re not in trouble. Nothing is wrong, I was just kidding. That’s my fault.” You shake your head.

He’s not mad. Johnny is fine. Everything is fine.

You’re overreacting. You’re making a mess of this.

You shouldn’t even be doing this in the first place. What’re you doing? Who are you kidding?

“I’m s-sorry.” You stammer, hands wringing together anxiously.

“Ye dinnae have anything to be sorry about.” Johnny protests, still trying to reach for you.

Get it together. You have to get it together.

You close your eyes.

Deep breath. In and out. You can do it. Just breathe.

It works. You’re steadier, and you meet their watchful gazes as your eyes open.

“You okay?” Simon murmurs, moving very slowly to the other side of the bed where you’re standing, like he’s approaching a spooked, scared, wild animal.

“Yeah. Sorry. Just… had a moment. I’m fine.” Not entirely true, but that’s alright. You feel a little unsteady, a little unnerved, and Johnny frowns.

“Ye should sit.”

“I’m fine.”

“Bunny, please. For me?” He bats his eyelashes, and you want to groan.

But you lower yourself in the chair all the same.

Quiet falls over the room. It’s awkward and stiff, and you curse yourself for ruining the moment.

“Hey.” Simon soothes, reading your mind. “Hey, you’re alright. Everything is fine.” You nod, unsettled. He squeezes your good shoulder and dips past you, leaning to press a gentle kiss to Johnny’s brow, before dotting his nose and pushing their lips together. Their kiss is long, languid touch melting away to expose their connection, trust and love on full display. Delicate and rare, their affection makes your heart flutter, pulchritudinous whispers given to one another as Simon holds Johnny’s hand, stroking a familiar pattern into his skin, something similar to the way he touches you. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine. Wish they’d let me out of this bloody bed.” Johnny grumbles. You clear your throat.

“They’re waiting on your wrist. Once your wrist can support your weight on crutches, then you’ll be able to start PT and be released.”

“Ach. I know.” He’s frustrated, it’s clear. You know it’s not easy, being here, being separated, stuck in a hospital.

“It won’t be too long.” You try to reassure him, and he nods, still a little forlorn. “Here,” you stand with a burst of confidence, knocking his arm with the back of your hand as a direction, “scooch over.”

His eyes light. Simon laughs.

You fold yourself onto the edge of the bed, turned on your side, curled along where he’s the least banged up, careful of the sensitive graft lurking beneath his hospital gown.

“There. That better?” His good arm wraps around you carefully, settling on your ribs, a thumb tracing the wrinkle of your shirt.

“Aye, much better.” Your knees are bent, and cool air ghosts over your lower back, where your shirt has ridden up and exposed your skin. You shiver.

“Cold?” Simon murmurs, and you nod. He’s close, hovering, pulling a blanket up from the end of the bed to cover both you and Johnny. He tucks it around the two of you carefully and leans forward, pulling his mask down again to brush his lips across Johnny’s brow.

You watch in a daze. They don’t speak, but there’s something happening between them, something being said in their eyes as Simon holds his face briefly, and Johnny nods.

They both look to you, your bottom lip caught between teeth.

“Want one too?” Simon hums, cupping the back of your head. “Here.” He kisses you, lingering in it, heat of his naked mouth still a shock to your system.

Johnny is beaming, and cuddles you as close as possible, cheek resting atop your forehead.

They make you dizzy. All of it feels like some kind of dream, a world impossible, a fantasy suddenly turned real life. You’re on the verge of spinning out of control inside it, losing yourself.

It doesn’t help that everything you’ve done over these last few years, this identity, this life, the work that went into hiding and planning and saving and scraping, trying to stay unseen and unnoticed-

Was all for nothing.

“Bunny?” Johnny whispers, bringing you back to them. Simon is settled in the recliner, the same one from the ICU room, but his arm is stretched past your head, fingers playing idly in Johnny’s very long mohawk.

“Sorry. I’m here.”

“Where did ye go?” He tightens his hold, and you snuggle in closer, hiding away from everything bearing down on you, the pain and the panic and the doubt. You hide your face from it, refuse to acknowledge it, desperately trying to stay in this moment, hoping to just be… be here with them. In the sun.

“Nowhere.”

A day passes. Then another, and another, and another. Your face nearly looks normal, puffiness and swelling practically gone, and your neck aches less and less with each passing day.

Your shoulder, on the other hand, is a problem.

It never stops hurting. You struggle to get your arm through your shirts, can barely lift it, can't pick anything up, and it’s so sore, tender, and stiff, like it’s been dislocated or worse, broken. You’re worried, worried about going back to work without a full range of motion, worried about being in pain.

Worried about being even more permanently damaged than you already are.

Just another tally mark. Just another thing you must live with now, a permanent remnant of him, a forever reminder of just how foolish you really are.

You’re weak. You’re stupid. You’re damaged.

The pain breaks you down. It prevents you from sleeping, keeps you twisting and turning through a roil of dark dreams. It depresses you, sinks its teeth into your flesh and gnaws on the pieces touched by the sun, the parts of your heart still beating, somehow.

It reminds you of everything you’re desperate to forget.

It all comes crashing down one morning. The despair. The helpless feeling brewing in your stomach. The loneliness. It keeps you there, in bed, in agony, past breakfast.

It keeps you there, until you hear the creak of the stairs, a firm knock.

“I’m coming in.” Simon advises, trying the door, cracking it enough to stick his head through.

You’re crumpled in the middle of the mattress, pillows strewn about from trying to find a comfortable position, tears already dried. Your shoulder hurts so bad, and you don’t know why, don’t know why it’s not getting better, not healing.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” He sits at your side, hand resting on your hip, inspecting the worry lines, the frown tugging at your lips. “What’s going on?” Guilt swamps you.

“It’s nothing, my shoulder just kept me up, so I’m a little tired. That’s all.” You paste on your work smile, forced and believable, but he only shakes his head.

“Don’t do that.” He thumbs your brow. “I think you should see a doctor.”

“N-no.” You can’t. He doesn’t understand. They’ll want to take x-rays. X-rays lead to questions.

He never takes you at face value. Always pushing. Always digging, looking you over. “Why not?”

“It’s… it’s not necessary. I’m fine, it’s probably just a deep bruise.”

“You’d be experiencing less pain if that was the case.” You raise an eyebrow. He shrugs. “I know a little bit. We all have basic medic training, and I’ve been reading up, for when Johnny gets home.” He pats your hip. “Let’s make you an appointment.” You shake your head.

“No!” It’s too sharp, too insistent, and he freezes. You wince. “I’m sorry. It’s just-“

“You can’t go to a doctor.” He finishes, like he knows. “Tell me why, sweetheart.” You take a shaky breath.

You can’t. You shouldn’t.

Sunlight taps against the iron that’s encrusted around your heart. It knocks, wanting to be let in. It searches for weakness, places of opportunity, slivers of space where it can find its way.

Your mouth starts moving before you give it permission, like it knows this is where you’re headed, no matter how hard you fight, no matter how deeply the survivor’s logic is ingrained in your brain.

“It… it’s not safe.”

“It creates a trail.” He surmises, and you nod. For a wild moment, you wonder if he’s a plant. If they’re a trap, designed to get you to lower your guard, fabricated to encourage you to trust, to love, just so the jaws of Philip’s cruelty can close around you at the most opportune moment.

They wouldn’t. They’re not. You’re being ridiculous. You’re paranoid.

“We’ll make it under my name. Our primary is service member focused, and very discreet. You’ll be safe.” He makes it hard to argue, even though you want to. You should.

“I- I don’t know.”

“I can’t stand to see you in pain like this.” He rebukes, and then smiles softly, eyes lighting up. “Besides, I’m going to need your help. Johnny’s coming home on Friday.”

“He is?” You push upward. “Really?”

“Really.” He’s beaming, radiant sunshine spilling from his lips, and it makes you emotional, seeing him so happy, so weightless. “He passed a strength test on his wrist this morning. He needs a few days of PT in hospital, and then he can do it outpatient. His care team has signed off, and he’s ready.”

“Oh my god, that’s great!”

“It is. But I want both of you on the mend, not just one. Please.” It doesn’t take much more for you to concede, unable to find an excuse or a good enough reason, one he’s not able to combat.

“Alright, I guess.”

“Simon. Good to see you.” The doctor extends his hand and Simon shakes it readily, keeping his body positioned between you and the physician, one hand still on your knee.

He’s had a hand on you for the last half hour. You’ve been rattling on the exam table, shifting and fretful, disquieted energy spilling forth since he coaxed you into the car this morning.

“Dr. Fitch.”

“This is my patient?” He motions to you, and Simon stands to the side, concentrating, eyes focused above the mask. You give your name, and the provider repeats it with a warm smile.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Fitch.” You raise your good arm to shake his hand, and he pulls the rolling stool underneath him, taking a seat opposite Simon at your knee.

A warm palm flexes at your lower back. It’s soothing, comforting.

I’m here, it says. You’re safe.

“Simon says you’ve been having some shoulder pain?”

“Yeah, I had… I had an injury. Thought there was some soft tissue damage, maybe some minor bruising, but the pain is too persistent.”

“Mind if I take a look?” He points to the side you’re clearly favoring.

“Sure.” It’s not comfortable, to have another man’s hands on you outside of your job. There’s no trust there, no familiarity like there is with Simon and Johnny, and your body knows it, practically vibrating as he walks his fingers up your scapula. Simon stays close, still with a hand at your back, watching intently.

Dr Fitch holds your elbow, and slowly lifts your arm until you’re telling him to stop, pins and needles radiating through your shoulder and up your neck.

“I think we need an x-ray so we can really see what’s going on.” Your fingers curl, nails digging into your palm.

Fuck.

“I… I think I just need a sling, or an immobilizer for a few weeks. Give it some time to heal.” You try to protest, but he shakes his head.

“I can’t be sure of any of that, without an x-ray.” Oh god. You think you might throw up.

He’s right, though. You know he’s right. You know no good provider in their right mind would sign off on a treatment plan without knowing the extent of an injury. He’s not going to let you dictate what you need.

“Bun.” Simon murmurs, and you blow out a rough breath.

“Okay, fine.”

Dr. Fitch is grim when he reappears almost an hour later, throwing the films up for both you and Simon to see.

You spot what’s soured him immediately, and there’s a sharp intake of breath behind you, the tell-tale sign of Simon noticing it too.

“This side of your body has seen a lot of trauma.” The doctor says gently. He’s not unkind, but still clinical. The kind of provider you’d like you work with, you think. “These old injuries, your clavicle, acromion, even this break in your ulna, make your scapula a very delicate part of your body. I think an MRI would show a fair amount of cartilage damage in these areas.” He motions around your joint, and you close your eyes.

You can’t do this.

If Dr. Fitch sees your unease or panic, he pushes past it. “You have a rotator cuff tear. The good news is, it’s not surgical. I recommend physical therapy for injuries like these, along with activity modification and lots of rest. I want to do a corticosteroid injection for your pain as well. Today, if you’d like. You’ll need to rest your arm for twenty-four hours afterwards, make sure you’re not lifting anything or moving it…” He continues, but you lose track, lose focus, staring at the vinyl tile, weird grey and pink and green patterns all worked together to make some of the ugliest floor you’ve ever seen.

You zone out. Lose yourself. The films mock you, their ugly, horrific images hanging you out to dry, showcasing the truth, the reminders you’ll never be able to escape.

The pieces of you, changed permanently.

It’s hard to look at. Hard to think of.

You’d rather be considering survival. Counting your cash and researching new places to live. New communities to disappear inside, a new life to assume.

It’s easier to run.

You can’t look at Simon. Can't bear the shame. Can't believe he's seeing this, your nightmares on display.

You keep your eyes fixed on the wall.

The girl in the mirror is falling apart. She despises being confronted with your failings, your weakness, the results of your stupidity.

It’s far less common now, these mistakes. These slip ups.

But before… before… they indulged Philip in a beautiful game of cat and mouse. You made it fun, made it exciting. A wolf with his prey. Playing with his food before he eats. Before he strings it up and breaks its collarbone because he likes to hear it scream.

Simon is talking to the provider, asking questions, receiving answers. You can barely hear him. You’re underwater.

The only thing that tethers you to the earth is the hand on your back, the warm, gentle, broad, grounding pressure.

There’s more conversation, and then Dr. Fitch is vacating the room.

Is it time to go?

You try to stand on autopilot, but Simon holds you steady.

“We’re going to do the steroid, for your pain.” He drifts into your line of sight, pulling the mask down. “Bunny, look at me.”

When you can’t, he follows your gaze.

The films come off the wall within the next second, ripped down by the long reach of his arm.

Gone.

“I have to go.” You whisper.

“You’re not going anywhere. You’re going to get this injection, and then I’m going to take you home and put you to bed.”

He doesn’t understand your meaning.

Or maybe he does.

Home. The word rings in your ears like a punch. It’s like you’ve been hit with it, burned with it.

Home.

He’s not forceful, but you still feel the pressure, the insistence. You expect to rail against him. To cower.

Instead, you slip inside it. Allow him to tell you what to do, to make the decision. You fall easily into him, and he holds your hand through it all, while the injection site is swabbed, when the needle goes in. He holds your hand out to the car, holds your hand as he buckles you in. He holds your hand as he tucks you into a bed larger and softer than the one you've been sleeping in. It smells like him and Johnny, soft sheets and pillows piled around you like a wall, false sense of security building every time you twitch, testing where is he is, if he’s left yet.

The last thing you feel before you drift off to sleep is your hand, still in his.

You don't know how long you sleep. You sail in the darkness, navigating turbulent seas, waking every now and then, sometimes alone... sometimes not.

The baby monitor blinks pale green, little circle fuzzy on the edge of your vision, appearing and disappearing throughout the day.

Sometimes the bed is warm. Sometimes it's not.

When it is, you seek him out on instinct, trying to crawl inside his ribs, frantic with your effort to hide, to run. He holds you through it, rocks you gently, tells you you're safe, says you don't have to be afraid anymore, he's here now. He'll take care of you.

There's a rope around your ankle, tied too tight, tethered to the ocean floor. It drags you down, rips you away from him, fills your lungs and silences you.

You didn't make it.

All you can see behind closed lids is those films. All you can feel is the phantom ache in your limbs, the remnants of a shadow, still living and breathing inside of you.

The girl in the mirror is silent. Nothing to say for once in her life, she weeps like her chest is being carved open, sobs and screams pouring out in a flood.

I know you'll be here when I get back, won't you?

The house is vibrant today.

Lou has been here, stocking the fridge, precooking some meals, and her husband is helping Simon rearrange the living room, moving pieces of the couch to be more accessible, laughing back and forth quietly. Occasionally, he stops into the kitchen where you’re seated next to Pen in her highchair, checking in, but never encroaching.

He doesn’t get too close, right now. You’re still underwater somewhere, lost in a current. You’re here, but not really, silently drifting like a ghost, watching and waiting for something or someone to shake you out of it.

Simon hasn’t yet, but he’s watching. Always.

He’s intentionally careful, loud. Announcing himself everywhere he goes in the house, telling you everything he’s doing.

You didn’t understand why at first. Didn’t realize you hadn’t spoken in eight hours, and then ten, then twelve.

Trapped in a tomb of yourself, locked away with the girl in the mirror.

Guilt burns like a wildfire.

This should be a happy time. A wonderful time.

But all you’re doing is making a mess of their life.

Lou, thankfully, doesn’t push you either. She’s content to let you sit there, next to Pen. She keeps an eye out, glancing over at you occasionally, but your placating smiles seem to satisfy her.

Simon steps in front of the counter, ducking his head down to catch your eyes. “I’m going to pick Johnny up.” Somewhere, in the pits of hell, excitement blooms. Happiness tries to sprout. “Do you want to come?” Definitely not. They’ll certainly clap him out, and there’s no way you can be there for that.

“No, I’m… okay.”

“Okay. Penny is coming with me, but John and Lou are staying here. Kyle is coming by. If Johnny’s feeling up to it, I’m hoping to do dinner all together.” Acid is tossed around, tempestuous in your stomach. Lou smiles around his side.

“Want to watch something while we wait?”

“Sure.” She disappears down the hall, saying something to John, and Simon slowly pulls Pen from her chair, kissing her cheek and nose before cradling her to his chest. She’s not a small baby, but in his hold, she’s tiny, soft and delicate, content in her dad’s arms, still a little sleepy from her afternoon nap.

“We’ll be back soon.” He whispers, turning to go.

Your hand whips forward instinctively, out of control.

It latches onto his.

“Simon. I’m… I’m sorry.” You’re sorry you’re ruining everything. You’re sorry you’re fucked up beyond belief, you’re sorry he had to see all that in the doctor’s office, you’re sorry, you’re sorry, you’re sorry.

He squeezes. “Shhh, hey. There’s nothing to be sorry about.” He shifts, still holding Penny, but stooping down to crouch at your knees, his own popping with effort. “It’s okay, if you have to go somewhere else for a little while up there, as long as you're not lost in it.” He motions to your head. “Nothing has changed. We’re still right here, everything is alright. Huh, Penny girl?” He bounces her, and she shrieks out a giggle, reaching for his face. He kisses her hands like he’s trying to eat them, rumble in his voice making her squeal, and he catches your faint smile. “There she is.” He kisses your forehead. “We’ll be back soon, okay?”

“Okay.”

You hear Johnny before you see him.

There’s a scrape of crutches, his voice animated, talking to his baby, Penny giggling wildly outside on the walk. Lou and John exchange a comfortable smile, and she manages to get the door open before Simon can get his key in the lock.

“Welcome home!” She exclaims, and Penny squeaks, clapping excitedly. She’s wriggly, wanting to get down immediately upon crossing the threshold, but Simon holds her firm, turned around so Lou can snap their picture.

“Ach, Price, can ye do somethin’-“ Johnny laments, but the captain only laughs and looks on.

“Hey! Come on, you’ll want this, later. I promise. Look over here.” They’re picture perfect, Penny cradled between them, Johnny’s hair moved out of his face, his posture a little slouched because of his hip and leg. His head rests on Simon’s shoulder, an arm stretched across his middle, right under Penny, who glows from her perch, the center of attention.

An ache unfurls in the middle of your chest, a sore spot, growing, spreading through your body.

They’re so lovely, it hurts. This moment is beautiful, a homecoming, a story of survival and perseverance. Johnny’s strength and determination. Doing something you know a lot of people initially doubted.

The dark spot of pain passes, fleeting.

Johnny’s eyes find yours. “Ye goin’ make me hobble all the way over there?” He teases, and you shake your head.

The two of you can only give half hugs, but you make it work, holding onto him, fingers fisted in the back of his shirt.

“Welcome home.” You whisper in his ear, and he pulls away, notching his forehead against yours. His eyes glitter, heavy, trembling breath filtering through his nose, and he kisses you slowly, so painfully slowly it’s like you’re the only one in the entire house, in the whole world.

“You too, bunny.”

Dinner is lively. Kyle arrives shortly before it’s time to sit down, greetings and warm wishes passed around as everyone gets settled, Penny positioned in highchair between the guys with mashed potatoes and peas already scooped onto her tray. Johnny’s on your left, with Lou on your right, and Simon sits at the head of the table, across from who you realize now, is his old, or kind of still, boss.

He looks perfect there, half turned towards Pen and Johnny, radiantly smiling at his partner and daughter, trying again and again to catch your eye. Johnny's knee stays steady against yours, fingertips occasionally brushing your thigh, and the two of them try to draw you in, pull you towards them, over and over.

Conversation flows easily. They’re all talking, laughing, swapping stories, poking at one another. Kyle tells you about a time he fell out of a helicopter, and they all tease Johnny about nearly dying this time, or a different time, you can’t be too sure.

“Ye jus’ wish ye had the natural ability I do.” He sniffs, and Kyle chortles, struggling to swallow his food.

“I’d probably be dead, mate.”

“’Cause ye cannae handle it!” He retorts, and Simon laughs, causing Penny to giggle too, and then the entire table erupts in it, attention redirected, cooing at the adorable girl with mashed potatoes smeared on her face. Johnny and Simon fuss over her, a perfect family in unison.

There’s a whining, buzzing noise in the back of your head. It’s an off-key tenor, annoying and coarse, like the snag of rough skin texture against a soft sweater.

What are you doing here?

The world, this room, these people, spin and spiral around you. Talking, laughing, loving. Making connections with each other, feeling the warmth of love and friendship, of happiness.

The buzzing gets louder.

You’re vaguely in it now, still seated but not here, not anywhere. You’re drifting, falling away, slipping behind walls and layers, hiding.

The girl in the mirror approves.

What makes you think you have any right to be here? What makes you think you could ever possibly belong here? With them? With their friends? Their family?

You’re an intruder.

You’re risking their safety. You’re making a mistake.

Lou boasts a sharp laugh, and you nearly flinch.

You don’t belong here. You’re supposed to be alone. It was supposed to be okay, to be alone.

You’re selfish.

Simon reaches for Johnny’s hand, stretching across Penny’s spot, eyes heavy with love. There’s so much in his expression alone, dedication, devotion, borderline obsession bleeding through, and he holds Johnny like he’s holding his lifeline.

You’ll never be loved like that, known like that, cherished and protected… like that.

And why should you be?

You’re standing before you announce it, trying to hold yourself together. Both guys look to you, Simon’s expression changing from amusement and love to worry and concern, while Johnny mirrors it, and tries to grab your hand.

“Ye alright?”

“Bun?”

“I’m fine, just… uh. My stomach.” You lie, motioning away from the table, like it makes any sense. You excuse yourself quickly, apologizing, and practically run up the stairs.

The guest bathroom door locks, and you slide down against the tub, slumping over to rest your cheek on cold tile. “Fuck.” You whisper, rubbing at your cheeks. What is wrong with you?

You lay there long enough that your shoulder starts to hurt. Everything aches, your heart too, and wipe your cheeks over and over, trying to regain control of a sinking ship.

God, you really, really hope they aren’t mad you bailed.

The bed is your only option, your only salvation, and you sink into without fuss, burying yourself beneath a pile of blankets, hiding yourself away from the world.

At least when you sleep, you can’t think.

At least when you sleep, you can’t feel.

“Philip, please.”

“You made a fucking fool of me tonight.” He grips your upper arm so tight it feels like he’s cutting into your flesh, branding you, burning you down to the bone.

“No, I- I wasn’t trying to, I swear.”

“I think you were, spitfire. I think you wanted to see me sweat, didn’t you? Wanted to play a little game, huh?”

“No!” you’re crying, chest heaving with giant sobs, and his fist tightens in your hair, dragging you down to the ground. “No, Philip, stop. Stop!”

“Shut up.” You’re crawling on your knees, trying to keep pace, trying to stay in stride with him as he tugs, practically pulling you down the hallway to the bedroom.

Once he gets there, he jerks you upwards.

The hardwood floor is the next thing you see as your face crashes into it.

“S-stop.” You’re barely audible, buried in sobs. He mocks you.

“Stoooop, babe. Stop please.” Your arms cover your head, trying to protect your delicate bones there, your skull, your nose, your cheeks.

His foot rears back.

The world goes cold.

“NO!” you jerk your knees up to your chest, rolling away. “No! I’m pregnant!”

You think he’ll be happy. You think he’ll be pleased.

Instead, it’s raw, concentrated fury you see lining his face, lightning and thunder gathering in his eyes.

“You’re what?”

You come to trembling, coated in a cold sweat.

It’s okay. He’s not here. He’s not. You’re safe.

You clasp a hand over your mouth to ward off the volume of the sob, nausea rising until you’re almost gagging.

It’s okay.

You can do this. Get it together.

Time ticks away, but the agony of your memory, your nightmare, doesn’t fade. It settles in your bones like a sickness, infecting your mind and heart, keeping you from closing your eyes.

You can’t go back there. Not in real life. Not in your dreams. Not ever.

You would die before that happened.

Johnny and Simon sleep down the hall. You wonder if they’re wrapped up together, if Johnny is comfortable, if their room is cozy and homey, bed heavenly and full of love.

You could…

No.

The clock on your phone reads three in the morning. You feel like you haven’t slept at all, but every time you try to close your eyes, dread spreads, tenebrous and sticky, clinging to every synapse in your logical brain.

You eye the door.

You could…

Should you? Would they be mad? Would they welcome you? Would they even answer?

You don’t know how you convince yourself to do it, to drag your weak will down the hall and knock on their door, but you do. You’re a child the whole way, padding up to a parent’s room in the middle of the night, looking for salvation and sanctuary, desperate for comfort.

It takes almost no time after your timid little rap for the door to swing wide, Simon standing behind it, little lamp flicked on where Johnny is half sitting up, mostly still asleep, rubbing his eyes.

“Hi.” You whisper, distracted by Simon’s naked chest. He’s wearing sweatpants, but they’re slung low on his hips, soft tummy with wispy light brown hair peeking out above the drawstring. You think you’re staring, and you force a blink, trying to appear normal.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing, I just… I had a nightmare and…I… I can’t…” the rest doesn’t come out, laying heavy on your tongue, trying to organize itself so it doesn’t seem so intrusive, or weak.

He doesn’t make you feel bad. Or guilty. He doesn’t even ask, he just steps aside, motioning to bed, clicking the door shut behind him.

“Take the middle.” He whispers, and you crawl across the expanse, timidly smiling at Johnny, who’s still yawning. He’s got his bad leg and hip set up on a bunch of pillows, and the spot next to him is still warm.

“Hey pretty girl.”

“Hi.” He pats the empty space, shoving the blankets down to the best of his ability to let you get underneath them.

“Bad dream?” He drawls, slow and sleepy.

“Yeah.”

“C’mere.” He tries to tug you closer, but Simon scolds him softly.

“Johnny, easy. Your graft.” He turns, sliding, encouraging you to settle on your side, with him at your back. “There we go. That’s better, hm?” It is better. So much better. Warm and safe. Blocked in on either side by them, your hand resting on Johnny’s sternum, grounding yourself with the rise and fall of his breathing, Simon nestling you into his chest, heavy arm slung across your ribs to hold Johnny’s hand.

It's so nice, tucked between them like you belong there, things start to spiral a little bit, doubt and worry fueling a cycle of second guessing. You shift restlessly, and Simon rubs your hip, soothing whatever he senses amiss back to neutral, lips humming just above your ear. “Close your eyes, little bunny. We’re here. You’re safe.”

#peaches writes #simple math #ghoap x reader #ghost x reader x soap #ghost x soap x reader #simon riley #john mactavish #simon riley x reader #soap x reader #john mactavish x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #ghost x reader

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munson-blurbs · 9 months

Note

Hi! I absolutely love your work and I hope this week treats you well!💗 I was thinking of this Eddie imagine I don’t know if you’ve done something like this but I haven’t been able to get it out of my head. Ok here it goes: Eddie’s fucking you stupid, it’s raw, it’s passionate, it’s filthy and in the midst of it all he says, "marry me". You think nothing of it, so you say yes obviously cock drunk and Eddie starts to fuck you even harder. Cut to the next morning you wake up stark naked next to the love of your life with a pretty engagement ring on your finger

I'm such a sucker for fluffy smut, and this is no exception 🙃

WC: 717 Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), unprotected p in v, pet names (baby/baby doll)

The night is still, save for the sound of bed springs creaking and panting breaths that you and Eddie exchange into each other’s mouths. Strong hands pin your own wrists to the pillow as he thrusts into you, moaning as he sucks a bruise into the crook of your neck. A bead of sweat trickles down his sparse chest hair and lands between your cleavage, another way your bodies are joined tonight.

“Baby, baby, baby,” he groans just under your earlobe. “How d’you always feel s-so fuckin’ perfect? Jesus Christ!” You can feel him tremble as you clench around him, already indebted to you simply for letting him see you like this. Small, crescent-shaped indents mark his bicep from where your fingernails dug into him earlier, a piece of you left behind. They’d eventually fade, but Eddie would always remember them being there.

He’s deep inside you, his wiry patch of curls brushing against your clit with each piston of his hips. You bite your lip to suppress a moan.

“Nuh uh.” Eddie briefly lets go of you, bracing his body weight on one forearm as his other thumb peels your lip from between your teeth. “Wanna hear those pretty noises loud and clear, baby doll.”

You nod and whimper, “yes, sir,” which only makes him increase his pace. He lowers his body so that your chests are pressed together, and slips an arm around your waist when you arch your back.

“This body…this perfect—fuckin’—body,” he grunts, thrusts accompanying each word. “Want this body forever.”

“‘S yours,” you manage, breath hitching in your throat as he grows even harder inside you. “All yours, Eddie. No one else’s.”

He leaves nipping kisses along your shoulders and collarbone. “Marry me,” he murmurs, surprising himself. It’s something he’s wanted for an absurdly long time, but he hadn’t planned on asking you mid-fuck. “Let me worship you for the rest of our lives. Please, baby.”

“Y-Yes, fuck—fuck, Eddie,” you cry out, and your affirmation has him bucking his hips without much precision. Still, he hits your sweet spot over and over again, throaty yeses emanating from your diaphragm.

Yes, that feels good.

Yes, I’ll love you forever.

Yes, I’ll marry you.

You chant it until you’re both cumming, your release creaming his cock and his release filling you entirely. Harsh breaths make way for giggles as he flops down next to you, falling asleep with his tattooed arm draped over your torso.

His sleeping form leaves no way to discuss his marriage proposal—if that’s even what it was, and not just something he’d spouted out in the heat of the moment. Exhaustion overtakes you soon after, and you don’t wake until you hear Eddie pattering around the kitchen the next morning.

It’s not until you wipe the sleep from your eyes that you catch a glimpse of something new: a shiny diamond ring on that finger. It’s beautiful but modest; nothing flashy, but you’ve never been the type for over-the-top jewelry. It’s perfect.

Eddie comes into the bedroom, a bowl of cereal in each hand. He’s in just his plaid boxers, exposing the soft happy trail below his belly button. Heat blossoms in your core at the sight of him.

“Hi, fiancée,” he grins, placing your breakfast on the nightstand. A bit of milk sloshes over the side of the plastic bowl, but you don’t care. You’re too busy frantically kissing him, morning breath be damned. “I guess that ‘yes’ of yours still stands?”

“Mhm,” you murmur, fingers dipping below his waistband. He’s always at least half-hard in the morning—he claims it’s because of you, but you know it’s probably just basic biology. Your hand easily finds what it’s looking for, and Eddie chuckles.

“Don’t you want to eat first?” he teases, but he’s already putting down his bowl and climbing on top of you. He takes your left hand and kisses just above the ring now adorning it.

“I love it,” you tell him, noticing that you’re wearing matching smiles. “I love you.”

Eddie presses a kiss to your nose. “I love you, too.” He slides a hand up your still-naked body, cupping your breast and gently sucking on a pert nipple. “Y’know what’s better than morning sex with your boyfriend?”

“Hmm?”

He grins wickedly. “Morning sex with your fiancé.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie stranger things #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #requests

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munsonsreputation · 3 months

Text

i can't talk to you when i'm like this

steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: [2.1K]

warnings: warnings: no use of y/n, established relationship, reader has a history of shitty ex's, steve accidentally makes reader cry, a lot of angst regarding past relationships (feelings wise), steve's shitty childhood & terrible dad (brief), fluff at the end (yes because i am a softie)

summary: steve never raises his voice at you, but the first time he does, you can’t find it in yourself to tell him what's really bothering you when you’re seconds away from breaking down.

You hate how the tears coming springing to your eyes the second Steve raises his voice a little too loudly beneath his already apparent annoyance.

Your brain blanks out the second it bellows against the walls and comes hurtling down to your eardrums. It feels like glass shattering in a million different ways, cutting you open and killing you with a thousand cuts.

He’s frozen in front of you, blinking with a look of oblivion on his face because he’s waiting. His arms still held wide open after he asked a question: one that was posed with a tone too sharp for your liking.

“Why are you making it such a big deal?”

His usually sweet and gentle tone was long gone, or at least that’s how you heard it. Instead, it dribbled with irritation and resentment meshed all in one. The kind that sounded like he was fed up and wanted nothing to do with you anymore.

He was just trying to do a sweet thing by picking you both up some coffee and yet here you were starting an argument — you always had to ruin a good thing.

Your teeth dig into your gums, trying to find any way to hold off on the waterworks that you know are about to pour any second now. Cloudy orbs shoot down to your bare feet, trembling against the floorboards while you excuse yourself from the kitchen.

“I’m g-going to the bathroom.”

Your voice is delicate yet not the kind that Steve knows like the back of his hand — the one where you keep it so quiet like an oath when you whisper you love him when you think he’s asleep and no one else is around to hear it.

This time the oath is broken, cracked, just like your voice, torn at the seams between fear and panic. Its edges are frayed and tattered, and its tenderness that is usually formed out of affection is long gone as it cuts through your chest and causes your back to heave as you walk away.

He knows he messed up.

It’s stupid. You shouldn’t be so worked up over the barista leaving her number on Steve’s cup. But you are. You’re worked the hell up and you want him to understand why it is such a big deal to you.

It’s upsetting because you shouldn’t be this wound up and insecure. You know Steve would never even dare to dial the numbers left on the cup, let alone remember the name she left on there. He’s head over heels in love with you the same way you are with him — yet you just don’t get it.

You don’t get the way this makes your insides turn and the thoughts to start whirlwind in your head. At first you were just upset about the number, maybe even just mildly irked — but then the second Steve’s voice came to you like that… that’s when you entirely forgot how to even tell him how you felt.

Now you just felt stupid for making it such a big deal and turning it into this.

“Breathe….” you murmur to yourself jaw trembling as you try not to tense.

The tears finally roll when your back collides with the bathroom door and your shaky fingers lock it shut. Your heart feels like it’s on fire, one that consumes your entire being and engulfs you in the bluest blue instead of the blazing red.

The only thing keeping you from collapsing is the door that’s holding up your weight and it’s not long after that the person you love yet are avoiding is on the other side making it more difficult for you to attempt to make it seem like it’s not a big deal.

“B-baby… I’m so sorry.”

The apology comes in an instant, and you could almost feel his breath hitting your neck from behind the wood. You know it’s genuine…Steve has never ever made you cry. You feel now like you’ve taken everything out of proportion — you should’ve just giggled and said ‘oh that’s cute! too bad you’re my boyfriend!’

All of the things you wished you would have said play in your mind like punishment for the way you’ve acted. How you know you’ve turned the tables on him and made him look like the bad guy when he was far from that.

He was just shocked to come home and hand you your favorite drink only to be asked about the barista he barely gave his attention to. Your accusing voice after he did something nice wasn’t something he was expecting.

Your throat tightened, eyes squeezing shut as you tried to cover it up and make it seem like you weren’t upset. You shuffled from the door, towards the sink, turning it on yet making no move to put your hands under the water.

“I’m fine! I—I just had to wash my face!” You lie, trying to cover your tracks as if Steve doesn’t already know it.

There’s been times when things have upset you, not things that Steve has done, but things that life throws at you and most of the times you hate how wound up you get. Without failure, you sneak away, just wanting a moment by yourself to cry without anyone feeling bad for you or asking questions because they’ll never get it. They don’t understand that the littlest things can trigger something inside of you to completely shut down from the rest of the world.

No one gets it… but Steve does.

“Baby,” His voice is stronger this time, yet tender, “please, can I come in? I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean…”

Your fingers finally come in contact with the frigid water, dabbing the droplets over your eyes attempting to get them to settle instead of looking like you were just crying. There’s a sniffle that comes from you as you clear your airways and a pathetic smile that you press onto your face to try to hide how you’re really feeling.

The water shuts off and you’re opening the door, cutting his apology off altogether.

“I’m fine, Steve!”

Your voice isn’t swaying even with the volume it carries and neither with the faint laugh you give him when you meet face to face. Your lashes still bear the droplets of salt and your cheeks tinted red with the path they’ve traveled down.

He can feel the pain in your voice and see the wobble of your chin as you hold back everything inside. He hates that you feel like you have to mask how you’re really feeling when, in actuality, you should be furious at him for what he did.

“Baby,”

Sadness joins his concern, and he doesn’t bother to hide it — he’s not sure he can when his eyes leak the same emotion, “Baby, you’re not fine…I know you’re not fine.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes unconvincingly. “I literally am, babe… it’s cool. Everything is fine.”

He knows that now you’re trying to reassure yourself rather than him. Trying to play it off and make it seem like everything was okay. Like he’s just supposed to accept it and let you hold everything inside like torture when that’s far from what he wants.

Your attempts to brush past him are futile when his hands come out to hold your shoulders, his fingertips kneading your tense skin. He can feel the blood rushing from under your clothes and it’s not the kind of warmth you usually carry — you are blistering and if he looks hard enough, he can see the way your chest is trying to level itself out as you hold back.

It takes everything in you to not draw your eyes away from his because you don’t want him to know that you’re still feeling it. Feeling stupid and at the same time nothing at all because you don’t know what to feel anymore. There’s a whirlwind of emotions and none of them you can put a finger on because you’re just lost.

You just don’t want him to think you’re crazy… like you reacting to him raising his voice like that was something that would daunt him away.

One of his hands stops its movement on your skin, raising up to your cheek and cradling you gently. There’s a crease between his brows and his eyes seep with regret and guilt. His lips part and the words that leave them come in whispers and fragility — croaks and cracks guiding them.

“Everything isn’t fine… I acted like an idiot and raised my voice at you. I’m sorry baby, I—I never meant to do that on purpose. It just came out, but that isn’t an excuse.” He shakes his head at himself disappointingly because he knows better.

Steve was far from perfect in his own eyes, but he knew better because all his life if there was one person he didn’t want to be like, it was his dad. The dad that used to scream at his mother, and scream at him, and scream at the world when everything went wrong, and didn’t know how to talk if it wasn’t screaming.

He’d never forgive himself if he made you feel that way or even became a smidge of what his father was. But it wasn’t him who he was blaming for this — this was all Steve himself, and he knew that. Accountability needed to be taken from himself because the only person he was hurting was you and it was going to be okay.

Not in the heat of the moment, not ever.

You hadn’t even noticed you had tugged your bottom lip between your teeth, the faint taste of iron trickling onto your tongue when you realized you were biting down on the skin too hard trying to stop yourself from crying.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry baby, please just—just tell me how to make it better.” His voice pleads and reasons, wanting to make it right with you anyway he could.

You close your eyes, letting the tears fall as you feel his thumbs wipe them away. He’s done this times before, wiping away your tears that had spewed from another’s doing. Never did he ever think he would be the cause.

“I-it’s nothing… it’s stupid, I’m stupid and dramatic.” You swallow thickly, sniffling and twisting your fingers in your hand to fight off the lingering feelings.

He shakes his head. The obvious look of disapproval for your words covers his face because this was far from your fault. Sure, he was bewildered about the whole incident, considering he didn’t even know the number was left there until you brought it up, but for him to not know how to convey his frustration better was the real issue at hand.

Not the accusation, not the stupid number, not the oblivious girl who left her number: it was him, Steve’s idiotic actions that got you both here.

“Stop, don’t talk to yourself like that.” He insists, staring deeply into your eyes, searching for a reason why you were blaming yourself,

Your jaw shakes roughly before a sob rips through your mouth. Tightening your eyes to try to get the tears to stop, yet they don’t cease no matter how hard you try. Frustration builds inside of you because you should be over it by now. The fact that he apologized and was here trying to comfort you should be enough.

But something inside of you won’t let it die. The silence is filled with the memory of his voice shouting at you and the face that he stared back with.

“I—I don’t want you to think there’s something wrong with me.” You croak, covering your face and turning away from him to save you the embarrassment.

But he strays to where you are, sticking beside you with a comforting hand resting on your back, “Sweetheart, nothing is—”

You sob one more, this time with a grunt that is direct to yourself. Stomping your foot against the cold tiles, your hands come down to grip the edges of the counter tightly. Your reflection in the mirror is only half of what you feel, and when Steve steps behind you, all you can see is guilt, but at the same time patience knowing he’s ready when you are.

You try your very best to at least keep your sobs at bay just enough for you to speak through them and for him to understand.

“You’re not gonna wanna be with me anymore knowing I can’t—I can’t talk to you when I’m like this! I don’t know why, but I can’t… it makes me feel stupid, like I’m crying over something so tiny and now I’ve totally forgotten why we were even arguing in the first place.”

He clicks his tongue, shaking his head and reaching in front of you to bring your hair back and away from your face. His eyes keep yours in the mirror, watching at you with such a gentleness that even now doesn’t falter.

“We weren’t arguing. I was just dumb and raised my voice when you were asking me about it.”

You move your sights from his to the bottom of the sink, shaking your head, “No, b-but I shouldn’t have reacted like that and made you look like the bad guy when yo—”

Your voice is traveling faster than you can think, spewing out words so hastily like you have to make him understand that it’s not his fault, but yours. It takes your breath away, hiccuping and coughing between a sob that leaves your mouth and bobbles in your chest.

Steve’s instantaneously rubbing your back, shushing you and trying to get you to calm down knowing you going on and on like this wouldn’t do you any good. He understands that you feel a lot of things very deeply and sometimes it isn’t an easy task to get them all out at once: he knows it and he’ll spend forever with you until you got it all out.

“Hey, hey, baby, c’mon… breathe,” He coos, his palm never stilling on your back feeling the deep breaths in and out, watching the tears fall down your cheeks and drip onto the counter.

It’s a kind of scene he hates to see, the one he wishes he could take from you and shoulder instead because watching you in such a state breaks his heart more than he could imagine. And this time it stings a little more knowing that he not only cannot shoulder your pain, but was the one creating it this time.

“Talk to me, please. What’s going on? Why’re so you upset at yourself and not at me?” He begs, trying to get a glimpse of what you’re feeling so he knows where the root is.

“B-because… I made it such a b-big deal.” You hiccup.

When you swipe angrily at your eyes with a ferociousness, that’s enough to make Steve step in and take it from here now that he knows where you’re coming from. A warm hand comes down onto your shoulder, pulling at you just enough for you to face him completely, weakly hanging your head low not knowing if you were strong enough to see him just yet.

“You didn’t make anything a big deal. I promise, we’re okay.” He whispers quietly, cupping your face in his hands, and bringing you face to face, “You’re not stupid and I could never think that you were. You’re human honey. It’s normal for you to be upset by things.”

“B-but I…I don’t want you to think you did something wrong—“

He stops you with a shake of his head. “But I did. I did something so wrong. I yelled when I shouldn’t have, and I made you feel like shit.”

Steve desperately needs you to know it. That this was his fault and no one else’s. That him making you feel like crap was the worst thing he could have ever done, but he was willing to man up to it and try to make things better, and at the same time he would understand if you wanted nothing to do with him after this.

Still, even after his words, you’re somehow even angrier at yourself, mind blaring at you for being such a dramatic person for making him go out of this way with all of this. That this was surely your fault and yours only, and if you didn’t take it off his plate, it was just something he would use against you one day to realize that he didn’t want to be with you anymore.

It’s what they all did — held it over your head and made you feel like you were wrong for feeling how you felt, so instead it was best not to feel anything at all. To hide it away and hope that being noncombative meant that everything was going to be okay and it wouldn’t give them a reason to run.

“I-it’s my fault—” You pinch your eyes, gulping back a cry as you shake your head in his hands.

His brows pull together, eyes squinting at you, not completely understanding why you’re doing this.

“Hey, stop, it’s not your fault. Don’t do that. Don’t take the fall for me,” Steve assures you with a sternness to his soft voice, continuing to wipe the seeping tears.

Somehow you can’t let it go, “But—”

“But nothing.” He starts, his voice composed yet unyielding in his tone.

He can’t stand it, clutching your face a little firmer, hoping that you would peek your eyes open to see him because he desperately needs you to. The second you do, your face twists again with heartache, praying that he would just let you go and walk out already, because by now, he probably thinks you’re insane — there’s no way he’s not thinking it.

His lips part, trying to find the right words to say, needing the perfect ones to get through you because he hates how you won’t let him take the fall, the one he so rightfully deserves to come crashing down on. You are everything to him and in some ways the feelings that you feel hit him right in the heart, and right now is no different, but there’s a wall between you both and his only goal is to knock it down completely.

“I—I don’t know why you feel like you have to protect me, but I promise you don’t.” He whispers, watching as you try to calm yourself, little sniffles going in and out and broken cries leaving your mouth.

His thumbs rub back and forth across your cheeks, soothing your withering skin. Slowly but surely your cries die little by little, eyes fixed on his, trusting that he means everything that he says, because Steve isn’t like the others — something that you should’ve known judging from his character alone.

“If I do something that makes you upset or sad, you should be able to voice that, not keep it in. I don’t ever want you to feel like you can’t tell me when I’ve done something wrong. I—I want you to feel safe and okay around me, enough to know that my love for you isn’t gonna change, just because you bring something up. You have every right to be upset, and angry, and disappointed, everything.”

He says it like he means it and you know it’s because he does. He lets every word hang from the stars as if he put them up there, and points them out just for you to know that they are there and true, because that’s all he ever wanted. For you to know that every word he speaks comes from his heart, and no matter how many times he needs to repeat it, he’ll do it over and over again, just so you know it’s real and until you believe them and know he won’t ever break them.

“Don’t ever blame yourself for me, please? I-I don’t want you to do that to yourself because I’m here and…and every time I fuck up or make a mistake, I swear I’m gonna own up to it and try to fix it. But I’m not gonna let you take the blame, okay?”

Being with Steve for so long still feels so new, especially when you know he isn’t like the rest of the boys from your past. He’s patient and kind with a big heap of understanding. Like everyone else in the world, he’s guilty of his own poor moments, but he’ll be damned if he takes that out on you or makes you feel like it’s your responsibility.

“I’m so sorry, baby.” He murmurs, letting his hands fall away from your face, letting you decide what the next move is.

The tears that escape are more so in between the remains of the sadness being washed away with tears of love and gratitude. Your arms wrap around his torso, pulling yourself into him and burying your face into his chest where the tears soak through his chest. Without a second thought, his arms envelop you, rocking you both back and forth as he presses kisses on the top of your head.

It mends your heart not merely because he’s just sorry, but because you didn’t get plenty of sorries before. Left only with sweeping things under the rug and pretending like nothing ever happened — it never solved anything and never gave you much.

But Steve gives you everything and so much more.

A big chunk of you feels like you don’t deserve him because he seriously is the best person with an even better soul wrapped up into one and yet he chooses you — every day. He sees you through all the good and the bad and never makes you feel like you’re alone even when you could be a distance away when you’re right beside him.

When you talk too much, say too little, or sometimes say nothing at all — he’s there giving you a listening ear and comforting shoulder to lean on whoever you need it. And on the days when you can’t talk to him when you’re like this… he’ll wait until you’re ready and show you that he’s always going to be there every step of the way.

He’s everything you could have asked for and more.

You pull your face away from hiding, resting your chin up on his chest as you stared up at him.

“I’m sorry too. I—I shouldn’t have been so indifferent earlier and just told you what I was feeling from the get-go.” You sniffled, rubbing your hands over his back, smiling faintly when he nodded understandingly.

He knows that sometimes he might not quite get it, might not see things in the same light as you, but he would never try to dismiss your feelings. He would sit beside you through the storms and sunshines, knowing that he was learning more about himself and you with you in his life.

That because of you, the younger version of himself got to heal his deepest wounds and open himself up to a love he only through he could dream up. You were here making him a better version of himself, all while he was doing the same for you. Showing you that the scars and fears of your past didn’t have to live in the next person you met — that you could let it go and open yourself up to the love you deserved.

His love.

“I forgive you only if you forgive me,” Steve grinned, swiping away at the dampness on your cheeks.

You grinned, nodding up at him. “Of course, I forgive you.”

“I love you so much… nothings ever gonna change that.” He hummed, cupping your face, taking you all in for the person he loved so dearly.

You closed your eyes blissfully before a kiss was placed on your lips.

“I know, I love you too.”

💌 reblogs, tags, comments, + likes are greatly appreciated! leave a comment and let me know if want to be added to my taglist!! 💌

a/n: hi all, I hoped you like this little one-shot/imagine... i had this one sitting in my wips for awhile and it was nearly finished but I didn't have the inspiration to finish it until now. I don't usually write angst bcs i am a fluff girl, but this concept just came to me bcs like a lot of people when someone raises their voice at me...i just freeze and i don't know what to make of it and i just start crying. i think steve would be super apologetic and i wanted to write this bcs i needed some stevie!comfort so yeah... i hope you all enjoyed!!!

taglist: @translatemunson @kennedy-brooke @manda-panda-monium @tvserie-s-world @givemeth @steveharringtonswife @astolenkiss @loving-and-dreaming @awkotaco24 @engenelxver @elfiaaaa @pbs-theundeadmaggot @johnricharddeacy @gaysludge @keerysfolklore @micheledawn1975 @ihatepeanutss @bakugouswh0r3

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