#Though. Now that I think about it. It'll be hard for someone to find it if I'm keeping it on my player ^^

prael · 4 months ago

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Drive You Crazy

Aespa Winter x Male Reader // Quickfire Challenge 2

words: 4,988 Masterlist

"That's it. You're so not getting any tonight. I already told you, it's the lighting." There's an inflexion at the end of the sentence. A little indicator, a warning light, Winter's about to raise her voice - lose her cool - and it'll be the second time in as many minutes.

"Did you shave them off?" you ask, leaning in far too close to her brow.

"What?!" she snaps. "I did not shave off my fucking eyebrows."

"Is it some sort of trend? Are people into that? If it is then I don’t think I like it."

"Not only are you not getting any, you're sleeping on the floor." She's trying not to get angry, trying to make this all into a joke, but the way her lips are pursed - and those are still perfect, as ever - means you've pushed her a little too far.

"I don't want to sleep with someone with no eyebrows anyway."

No words this time, only a punch in your left arm. You yelp in mock pain, rubbing your shoulder as though she's actually done any real damage. You start stumbling ahead of her, acting out a limp, and you know she's staring at you with that 'fuck-off-now-or-I'm-actually-gonna-hit-you' expression on her face. "That did not hurt, stop it."

"I'm pretty sure I've got a bruise, look." You turn around, rolling up the sleeve of your t-shirt to expose the skin below. It's not there, obviously, but you wait until Winter's standing beside you before you start laughing. She doesn't find it quite so funny.

"You're so fragile. So easily damaged," she says, walking past you, bumping your shoulder again. Her dress ripples in the gentle breeze that whips up behind the trees to your right, before flowing through, carrying the scent of pine, earth, and fresh grass. A fitting compliment to the lake on your left, and the setting sun above. The sky is painted a vivid red, with a gradient of pink, orange and purple, and the clouds are thin, like wisps of cotton candy.

You follow a few steps behind, plotting your next move, your next opportunity to annoy her. It's a game you love to play because you know that no matter how much she might pretend otherwise, Winter does enjoy it. And it's easy to wind her up, so easy. "Hey, can we go for a swim? It looks like it's really warm."

"No," she says, not even bothering to look back at you.

"God, you're so boring." You catch up to her, walk side by side, and wrap an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close, kissing her on the temple, just below her hairline. "But you are the prettiest girl here, I'll give you that."

"Shut up, I'm the only girl here," she says, though the hint of a smile appears. "I'm boring for not wanting to throw myself in a lake filled with who knows what."

"Fish," you say.

"Exactly."

"And plants, and water..."

"Thank you for clearing that up."

"Don't mention it."

"You're an ass, do you know that?"

"So you keep telling me."

"Yeah, well, maybe one day you'll start believing me."

"Maybe."

The two of you continue walking along the dirt path, through the trees, and out towards the clearing. Winter's arm has made its way around your waist, and now the two of you are walking in time, matching strides, the sound of your steps on the gravel echoing in a pattern that becomes almost rhythmic. You're close to your cabin now, just a few more minutes and you'll be able to throw off your shoes and fall onto the bed, pull her down with you, and-

"I'm gonna take a bath," Winter says.

"Funny, I was just thinking something similar."

"Really?"

"Oh yeah, I was thinking you could take a bath right now." You bend and scoop Winter up into your arms, lifting her from her feet and holding her tight against your chest. She lets out a loud, high-pitched scream, but it's followed by a laugh.

"What are you doing? Put me down."

"Nope." You're already moving, already half-running, and as her hands come to rest on the side of your neck, you feel her fingers pressing hard into your skin, trying to keep her balance.

"Are you serious?"

"Always," you reply.

"You're such a dumbass. If you drop me-"

"Gonna drop you alright." You veer left before you reach the cabin, stepping onto the pier and out towards the middle of the lake, ignoring the screams of protest from Winter.

"You are not dropping me in there, I swear to God, if you do, I'm leaving you. I will never-"

You cut her off, letting her drop into the water with a splash, and you stand there, watching as her head pops out from beneath the surface, hair flat against her forehead, sticking to her cheeks. "It's freezing cold, you shit!" She yells.

"What? You were looking a little hot, figured a dip in the lake would cool you down."

"I hate you." She splashes water in your direction.

"Oh, you don't mean that," you reply, bending at the knees, peering over the edge of the dock. She's wiping her hair from her face, and there's a glare, a dark shadow cast across her features that makes you think you've gone a step too far.

"Get in," she says, grabbing your ankles and pulling.

"Winter! Don't-" You're falling before you have time to finish the sentence, and the world seems to move in slow motion, the water approaching as if it's coming to a stop for you, rather than the other way around. You break the surface, spluttering, coughing. "It's fucking freezing."

"That's what I just said."

"Yeah, well," you try to catch your breath, "I guess I was too busy admiring how hot you were to pay any attention."

"Don't start saying nice things after you've already dunked me in here. I'll never believe you again."

"Come here."

"Why?"

"Just, come here." You reach out, grabbing her hand, and pulling her towards you.

"We're gonna get hypothermia," she snaps.

"I'll warm you up."

Your hands meet her hips, and she wraps her legs around your waist, her arms around your neck. It's an embrace that's been repeated a thousand times, but one you know will never become repetitive. The way her lips move against yours is always exciting, always fresh, as if it's the first time all over again. And when you feel her tongue slip inside your mouth, and her fingers tangle themselves in your hair, there's nothing in the world you want more.

"You're an asshole, you know that?" Winter says.

"I know."

"But you're my asshole."

"I know."

You kiss her again, and as her teeth gently bite your bottom lip, your grip on her tightens.

"Let's get back to the cabin," she whispers.

"Why?"

"Because," she says, "I want to fuck you."

"I thought I wasn't getting any tonight."

"Shut up already, will you?"

You leave a trail of water in your wake. Through the doorway, over the hardwood floor, making a trail to the bathroom. There are puddles on the carpet, droplets of water clinging to your skin, and goosebumps covering both your bodies. You feel them on her as you peel the dress from her body. Light fabric, sodden and made heavy, clinging to her every curve, and every crease, until it's a puddle on the floor.

"You're a mess," she says, and there's a playful grin on her face.

"Me?" You look down, running your eyes over her naked form. "Yeah, right. Look at you. Think we washed off whatever was left of your eyebrows, though."

She hits you with the palm of her hand, and then her arms are wrapped around your neck, her lips pressed against yours. You step forward, pushing her into the shower and then you reach out, palming against the wall and searching for the knob. Water cascades from the ceiling, and your eyes are open, staring straight into Winter's as her hand grips your wrist, pulling it downwards, pressing your fingers against her. You're smiling, and she is too.

"Is this the part where I'm not getting any?" You ask, and her response is a roll of her eyes and a shake of her head.

"It's the part where you stop talking." She kisses you again, and you're more than happy to comply. Her tongue slips into your mouth, your finger into her cunt, and it's hot, wet, and desperate - the kiss and the cunt. It's the latter that has you weak at the knees.

You press her against the tiled wall, her back arching away from the cold surface. The shower's a tight squeeze, and the steam and spray are starting to fill the small space, but the water's warm, and Winter's warmer. And as you slip another finger inside her, her eyes flutter closed and her nails dig into the back of your neck, dragging along the skin.

You're at her neck now, an assault on her senses. Tongue and teeth and lips and hands, all working together to coax out moans, gasps, and whispers. "Don't stop." You hear her say, and it's not as if you could, or would.

It's the little things that make you want to worship her. The way her breath catches when you suck on her pulse point, the way her nails dig harder, her hands grab tighter, the way she starts rolling her hips and grinding against the heel of your palm. You curl your fingers, push in deeper, and feel her clench, tightening around them.

You've got her fucking planted against the wall. Water runs down her naked form. Rolling down those shoulders; a cascade over her breasts; flowing over her toned stomach that tightens ever more by the second; dripping off her thighs, which are spread wide, and shaking with each thrust of your fingers. And, finally, the rivulets of water that stream down her back, her ass, her legs.

You pull her into another kiss, and the noises she's making are driving you crazy. Her moans, her pants, her curses. And the way her lips tremble and her jaw quivers. "Fuck, keep going, just like that," she whispers, and your heart skips a beat, and the throbbing between your legs becomes almost painful.

You know she's getting close. She always gets the same look on her face. That expression of pleasure mixed with pain like the feeling's almost too much, but it's just enough. And when she cums, she throws her head back, and her hands ball into fists. And the only sound she makes is a gasp, and her body goes rigid, her walls tighten, and you feel her cumming against your fingers, and then her knees buckle and you have to catch her, hold her steady.

"You're always so easy," you tease, and her eyes open. She's looking at you like she wants to punch you, or fuck you, or both. Maybe.

"No, I'm not." There's that signature furrow of her brow, that telltale crease.

"So easy," you repeat.

"I'll show you easy," she says, and the next thing you know, your back's against the tiles and her mouth is on yours.

And, oh, does she show you.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

You're lying beside each other, the sheets pulled up, barely covering the two of you. Your bodies are entwined, your limbs tangled, and Winter's head rests on your chest, her ear against your chest, listening to the rhythmic thump of your heartbeat.

"Talk about what?" Winter asks.

"Well, we've never done that before."

"We have sex all the time," she says quizzically.

"That wasn't just sex," you reply.

"My ass?" She looks up at you.

"Your ass." You nod, smiling. "That was.... new. How was it? Did it hurt?"

"You know, the fact that you're asking questions and not making jokes is kinda weirding me out. Don't think it's going to be a regular thing, okay?" Winter rolls off your chest and onto her back, her head resting on her own pillow, eyes fixed on the ceiling. "How was it for you?"

"Unexpected. Hot."

"You can stop trying to play it cool. I saw you back there, losing your mind while you fucked my ass."

"You're the one who came so hard that she nearly passed out."

"Shut up," she laughs. "Go to sleep. And don't even think about touching me in the morning. My ass hurts."

"I could kiss it better."

"Fuck off," she says, slapping your arm, but there's a smile on her lips, and then she shuffles closer to you, draping an arm over your stomach.

"Last day," Winter sighs as she looks out onto the lake from the balcony, her arms folded across the railing as she leans forward against it. The metal is cool on her exposed stomach. She's wearing one of your shirts and nothing else, and the way the morning breeze ripples against it sends a chill running up her spine. The sun is already warming her skin though, and the coolness is more than welcome.

"Not ready to leave?" you ask from inside the cabin, still packing the clothes you brought with you.

"I'm not sure," she replies, turning her head, and watching you fold a t-shirt and place it into the suitcase that sits open on the bed. "I do miss my own bed, but I'm not sure I want to go back to reality yet."

"Reality can wait another few hours, don't you think?" you ask as you approach her on the balcony, wrapping your arms around her from behind, your hands resting on her stomach, pulling her closer.

"I guess," she says. "We'll leave and then be replaced by some other young couple that will fuck all day, every day."

"Is that a hint of jealousy I detect?"

"No, not at all," she says, rolling her eyes. "I'm not the jealous type."

"I think you might be," you say, pressing a kiss against the back of her neck, just below her hairline. "Remember when we were in that bar, and the bartender kept winking at me?"

"How could I forget? I wanted to smash my bottle over her head."

"Point proven." Another kiss and your fingers begin to play with the edge of the shirt. "So, we have a few hours left. Want to go for a walk somewhere? Maybe we can see where the trails go today?"

"Maybe you can get down on your knees?"

"You want to waste the last day of vacation in bed?"

"Sex with a view? Yes please." Winter pulls your hand onto her ass, and you can feel her smile when you press your lips against the back of her neck again. "You can't say you don't like the idea."

"That doesn't mean it's not a waste." You reply, trailing kisses on her neck, and along her shoulders.

"So you don't want to fuck me against that balcony?"

"Don't get it twisted. I'm going to fuck you against that balcony." You run a hand up from her hip, over her toned stomach, underneath the shirt, until it meets her breast. It fits perfectly like it was made just for you, and you feel her hardening nipple press against your palm.

"Then stop talking and put that mouth of yours to work."

"I'm gonna eat you until your legs give out," you whisper into her ear. She lets out a soft gasp just before you slide down to your knees, your hands on her ass. "Hands on the railing."

"Why?"

"Just, trust me," you reply. You hear a faint giggle and then feel her shift slightly, the skin of her palms pressing against the metal bars of the railing.

You push up the shirt, bunching it at the small of her back, baring her cute ass to the world. You plant kisses on her right cheek, biting gently, dragging your teeth across her smooth flesh. Your hands run down the backs of her thighs, fingers trailing up the inside until they reach their destination, her wet cunt. You feel the heat first, the warmth emanating from her, the dampness between her thighs. Your thumb runs along her slit and her legs buckle ever so slightly, her grip tightening on the railing.

You start slow, your thumb parting her, the tip running along her folds, stopping just short of her clit before repeating the pattern. She lets out a breathy moan, her body already responding to your touch. You continue to adorn her ass in kisses, your tongue leaving wet patches on her soft skin.

Winter rolls her hips, pushing herself against you. "Not quite the knee-buckling orgasm I was promised."

"You're so needy." You smile and take firm hold of her ass with both hands. "And annoying." You spread her open and run the flat of your tongue from the front to the back. She moans again, her back arching, pushing her ass further out, and you do the same thing once more, and again, and again. Until she's whining, and the muscles in her stomach tighten.

You eat Winter's ass as if you were starved of her like you hadn't already spent days doing exactly that, as if her taste were a drug you'd gone too long without. You lose yourself in her. You forget the world around the two of you. You're barely aware of your surroundings anymore; all that matters is having your face buried between her cheeks, your tongue in her hole, and the sounds coming out of her mouth. You're drunk on her.

"Fuck!" she moans. Her knuckles are turning white, and you know that she's trying to stop herself from reaching behind her, pulling you into her, grabbing fistfuls of your hair, and forcing you deeper.

You take a moment of respite, planting kisses over her soft cheeks. "You're gonna wake up the entire forest if you keep making noise," you say.

"Don't stop," she replies.

"Wasn't planning on it."

You dip back down, running your tongue over her hole, pressing harder this time. Her body shakes and shudders as she fights to stay upright. Her thighs are shaking and she's clenching, and you feel the pressure of her ring tightening as if she were trying to pull your tongue in.

The sun is beating down on both of you now, and the sweat rolls down your back. You can taste it on her too. A sheen on her skin, kissed by the morning sunlight, and there are droplets of sweat collecting in the dimples above her ass, which you make sure to kiss, too.

"Oh fuck, keep going." Winter's head drops and her hair cascades around her face. You reach around her, finding her pussy soaking, dripping. You dip your fingers in, pushing them past her folds. She's tight and wet, and so hot that it almost feels like your fingers might melt. Almost. Her hips buck and her breathing quickens. "Don't you fucking stop."

"Not planning to," you reply, muffled, your face pressed against her.

So here you are, middle of a forest, on the balcony of a rented cabin that feels as if it's a million miles away from society. Your girlfriend is standing with both hands gripping the metal bars of the balcony railing, naked, her head down, hair everywhere, back arched and pushing her ass back against your face. You're on your knees, hands on her hips, fingers inside her. Your mouth, lips, and tongue are worshipping her in a way that feels almost religious. And you wouldn't have it any other way.

She's going to cum. It's some sort of cosmic truth that you can feel, in the same way you know the sun is going to set tonight, and the moon will appear. She's going to cum on your fingers and on your tongue. She's going to shake and scream, and she'll have to sit down when you're done with her.

"Oh, I'm so close," she moans.

You don't respond. You simply redouble your efforts. You curl your fingers and you drag the tip of your tongue over her sensitive hole. Her breathing is ragged, and she's losing her mind. The muscles in her ass and thighs are tightening and her back is arched so hard that it looks painful. You feel her clench, and then her entire body is spasming as if electricity is coursing through her veins.

Winter lets out a string of curses as she cums on your fingers, your hand, your arm, the floor - she's making a mess of everything. And when it finally passes, and she's standing, shaking, you stand too, wrap her in your arms and pull her into an embrace. "I think my legs actually went weak." She's breathing hard and there are tears in her eyes, and she's looking at you with that same expression she always has after she's cum.

"Told you," you say.

"Yeah, well," she breathes hard, looking out over nature's beauty. "I'm still standing." You kiss the back of her neck again and you can't help but smile. It's the smile that only Winter can put on your face, and as the sun climbs higher in the sky, you're happy to be spending your days in this little piece of heaven.

"Good. It would have been a real shame if you gave up already. We have a whole morning, after all." You pull her shirt (Your shirt? The details are meaningless.) up roughly and expose her lithe body to the world. You pull it at her neck, using the bunched-up fabric to hold her in place. You press into the small of her back, bend her over the railing, and your hand wanders down to her hip.

"I'm surprised you have anything left to give after this week." Winter chuckles and pushes her ass against you. "Drained you dry and then some."

"Just keep your eyes on the road, will you?" Winter snaps.

"Kinda difficult with you doing that," you say.

"I mean it. Don't you dare crash. I don't want to be in the news as the idol who crashed with her boyfriend's cock in her mouth."

"It's not even in your mouth."

"Not yet." She flashes a mischievous smile as she strokes you.

"We've been on the road for less than twenty minutes and you're already on me," you laugh. "You can barely go an hour without me inside you."

"You weren't complaining earlier when I was riding you."

"I wasn't driving a high-speed hunk of metal down the highway then. , take it easy."

"I don't think I can. I've got my hands on your big cock, how am I meant to control myself?" Winter's hand runs down the entire length, from base to tip. "I just want it in me all the time."

"I'll pull over, okay?"

"Don't pull over." Winter's hand is replaced by her head in your lap. "Eyes on the road."

"Fuck," you say, as her tongue swirls around the tip. You can feel her hand gripping your cock tight. Her lips slide down to meet it. She's wet, warm, and so inviting that you find your eyes drifting down to watch, only to have to look back to the road.

Winter doesn't take your entire length in one go, no, she takes her time, teasing the tip of your cock before licking the entire length, base to top. It's a game for her, a game you love, but a game nonetheless. She wants you to cum, but she wants to drag it out for as long as she can.

Your hands are gripped tightly around the wheel, knuckles white. The urge to grab her head and push her down on your cock, to gag her with it, to have her choke on it, to use her pretty little face for nothing more than her own pleasure, it's overwhelming. "Just let me pull over," you say.

"No time. Eyes on the road."

The next ten minutes seem to last an hour. Winter's mouth is doing its magic, taking you deeper with every movement, taking more and more until the entire thing is down her throat. You hear her gag on it, feel the vibrations against the head, and your cock throbs in her mouth.

She pulls up with a pop and a gasp for air, and then she's at it again, bobbing up and down on it, her spit running down the sides of the shaft.

"Shit, keep doing that," you whisper. Winter's tongue runs over the head of your cock, and you're struggling to concentrate, but then it stops - the contact gone. "Fuck, Winter. Come on, I'm so close."

"I know." She says. "That's why I stopped." There's a glint in her eye, something you recognise.

"Oh come on, are you seriously-"

"Yep," she cuts you off, sitting back in the passenger seat. "My turn." She unbuttons her jeans and shimmies them down off her hips. Just enough so she can slip a hand under them.

"That's it. I'm pulling over."

"No! We'll be late. You have to keep driving," Winter moans as she begins to touch herself. Her legs spread wider and you watch her out of the corner of your eye.

"Winter..."

"I said eyes on the fucking road," she growls, her fingers picking up pace.

It's the most awkward fifteen minutes of your life, and it feels like you spend more of the time staring at her than at the road. Winter is panting, gasping, moaning. She's grinding her hips into the seat and she's thrown her head back, eyes shut, mouth agape. And her fingers are working her pussy like she's possessed.

She puts her leg up on the dash and sinks deeper into the seat. You can see how wet her cunt is from here. It glistens with the juices dripping out of her. Her nipples are poking through her shirt, and you want to pull over and fuck her brains out, but she keeps telling you no, so instead, you watch her finger herself in the passenger seat.

Winter's close, you can tell. Her breathing is shallow and ragged, and she's mumbling something under her breath, too quiet for you to hear. Her body starts to tremble and shake, and you're half-watching, half-driving when she finally cums. Hard. And she screams, and you swerve, and someone behind you blares their horn, and you can barely breathe. She looks like a mad woman. She's still writhing, grinding, and panting, her fingers rubbing circles on her clit, her back arching.

"This is torture," you whisper, eyes glued back to the road, heart thumping, palms sweating.

"I think I'm going to pass out," Winter breathes, slumping down in her seat. "Fuck that felt good."

"Great, now how about a fucking hand here?" you laugh, gesturing at your dick. It's throbbing, and aching, and it needs to be touched.

"Oh, right." She's out of breath, but she manages to pull her pants back on, button them up, and crawl back into your lap, her fingers wrapping around your shaft. "Guess I forgot."

"How convenient."

Winter wraps her lips around your cock again, and this time, she's more eager. Her tongue swirls around the tip while she moves her head up and down. You feel the pressure building in your abdomen, and the world is starting to blur. It's just her and her pretty pink lips wrapped around you. Her tongue is hot and wet and so fucking soft. And she's sucking you. She's moaning with your cock in her mouth, and it's sending waves of pleasure throughout your body.

"You're hungry," you grunt.

"Mm-hmm," Winter responds. She shifts onto her knees on the passenger seat, her cute ass in the air and her mouth wrapped around your dick. Everyone you overtake could just glance over and see her. Tight jeans and a tighter ass; they'd be hard-pressed to look away. But you're not going to be pressing anything except her face into your cock. Your hand finds its way to the back of her head and you push down gently until the entire length is in her mouth.

"Winter..." you grunt with one hand on the wheel and one in her hair. She bobs her head, and you feel her gag and choke. Spit dribbles down the corners of her mouth and onto your lap, and her eyes water, but she doesn't stop, she just keeps going, and you feel yourself building up, getting closer.

Winter moans around you and the vibration sends shockwaves through you. It's so hard not to thrust up into her. She gags, and you feel the head of your cock hitting the back of her throat.

"Fuck, just like that. Keep doing that." Your knuckles are white, and Winter's eyes are watering. Your fingers grip her hair tighter, pushing down on her, and her eyes roll back, her body trembling.

You cum in her mouth. Your entire body tenses up, and the road disappears. Your eyes are shut, and your back arches off the chair, and your hand grips her head. You fill that pretty mouth with your hot cum. She sucks it down, greedily swallowing it all.

Your eyes snap open. You're lucky. You didn't crash. You're still on the road, and you're alive, and you've just cum harder than ever.

"Better?" Winter asks, popping off of you.

"Much better." You say, trying to regain your composure.

"Good." She smiles at you, wiping at her chin. "How'd you like to get home late?"

"Oh, so now we're pulling over?" You laugh. You find a turn and take it, then another, until you're parked, overlooking a field. Winter's hands are already exploring under your shirt, and she's kissing your neck.

"Gonna ride you so hard that you can't think straight for the rest of the day."

#winter smut #aespa smut #minjeong smut #aespa winter smut #aespa winter #kim minjeong #kpop smut #kpop fanfic

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deansbeer · 6 months ago

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★ in his arms, the world fades // clark kent.

synopsis. feeling unwell and overwhelmed, you seek comfort in clark's arms. his warmth, soothing touch, and sweet words make the ache in your stomach—and your heart—feel bearable.

kari yaps. last night, i had horrible stomach pains and wrote this <333 + a lil disclaimer! i'm on ep 5 of smallville (the ads on hulu r mad annoying) so i only know a little about clark. but don't worry i will get to know all ab pookie soon !!! trust <33

it starts with the ache. sharp and twisting, like someone's wringing your stomach out like a wet rag. it's been days now—days of barely keeping food down, of your appetite wavering between nothing and everything, only for nausea to win every time. eating has become a battle, and losing feels inevitable. but you haven't told anyone, not really. maybe it's pride. maybe it's not wanting to worry anyone. maybe you're just hoping it'll go away on its own.

still, it lingers, and today's no different. you pull up to the kent farm, the gravel crunching under your tires, the sight of the red barn and yellow farmhouse somehow grounding you. you're supposed to be here to study. algebra—not exactly something you're excited about, but clark's always been good at making the hard stuff easier. it's one of the many things you love about him: his patience, his steadiness, the way he seems to know when you need a little extra reassurance. and maybe you need that today more than ever.

"hey, pretty girl," clark greets you at the door, his smile soft and familiar, like it's meant just for you. "you okay? you look…" he trails off, squinting at you in that way he does when he's trying to figure you out. "…tired."

you force a smile, shrugging it off. "just didn't sleep much last night."

it's not a lie, exactly. the ache had kept you up most of the night, twisting and turning beneath the covers, unable to find a position that didn't make it worse. but clark doesn't need to know that. not right now.

he nods, stepping aside to let you in. "i made us some lemonade," he says as you follow him up the stairs to his room. "my mom said it's good for focus or something. i don't know, but it tastes good."

you hum in response, though the thought of drinking anything right now makes your stomach churn. you'll figure out a way to avoid it later.

when you get to his room, it's the same as always—neat but lived-in, the bed made but the desk cluttered with papers and books, a small stack of cds next to his stereo. it smells faintly of pine and something distinctly clark, like sun-warmed hay and fresh laundry. it's comforting in a way you didn't realize you needed.

you settle on the floor with him, textbooks and notebooks spread out between you. he's already flipping through his algebra book, pen tapping idly against his knee as he scans the pages.

"okay," he says, glancing at you with a smile. "where should we start? graphing inequalities or quadratic equations?"

you groan, letting your head fall back against the bed. "do we have to start?"

he chuckles. "the exam's next week. i don't think mr. phillips is gonna let us wing it."

"worth a shot," you mutter, but you sit up anyway, flipping open your notebook to a blank page. you try to focus, really, but the ache is still there, dull and persistent, and it's hard to think about numbers and graphs when all you want to do is curl up in a ball and sleep.

half an hour in, you're staring at your notebook, pen tapping against the paper. clark's voice is distant as he explains something about parabolas, the words blurring together in your head. you're not even sure when you stopped listening. all you know is that your chest feels tight, your stomach twists again, and suddenly, you just can't anymore.

"hey," clark says, his voice soft with concern. "what's wrong?"

you don't answer, don't even look at him. instead, you set your notebook aside, shifting closer to him until you're wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face in the crook of it. his skin is warm against your cheek, the faint scent of his cologne lingering there. you don't say anything, and neither does he, not at first. he just sits there, still and quiet, letting you hold on like he's been expecting this all along.

then, slowly, he moves. his arms come around you, strong and steady, and he shifts your things aside before effortlessly pulling you up with him onto the bed. his back hits the mattress, and you're lying on top of him, your head resting against his chest. his hands find your back, warm and soothing as they rub up and down in slow, gentle strokes.

you close your eyes, letting out a shaky breath. his touch is enough to warm you, enough to quiet the ache in your stomach, at least for now. you don't know how he does it—how he makes everything feel a little less heavy just by being there.

your hands move to rest on his collarbone, fingers brushing against the fabric of his t-shirt. the side of your head presses against his chest, and you can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear. it's grounding in a way you didn't know you needed.

he doesn't say anything at first, just keeps rubbing your back, his touch slow and deliberate, like he knows exactly how to calm you down. but then he starts murmuring soft, sweet things in your ear, his voice low and soothing.

"you're okay," he says, his lips brushing against the top of your head. "whatever it is, you're okay. i've got you."

his hand moves to rest on the side of your head, his thumb tracing gentle circles against your hair. he presses another kiss to your temple, then another, each one softer than the last.

"you don't have to say anything," he whispers. "just let me hold you."

and you do. you let yourself relax against him, let yourself melt into his warmth. his chest rises and falls beneath you, steady and strong, and you match your breathing to his without even realizing it. the ache in your stomach is still there, but it feels distant now, muted by the way his hands move against your back, by the way his voice wraps around you like a blanket.

"you know," he starts after a while, his voice still soft, "i'm not great at algebra either. but i'm pretty sure lying here with you is a way better use of my time."

you let out a quiet laugh, your breath fanning against his chest. "you're supposed to be the responsible one."

"yeah, well," he murmurs, his fingers threading through your hair, "even superheroes need a break sometimes."

you tilt your head to look up at him, catching the small smile playing on his lips. "superhero, huh?"

"what? you didn't know?" his grin widens, teasing. "i'm kind of a big deal."

you roll your eyes, but there's no real bite to it. "you're ridiculous."

"maybe," he says, pressing another kiss to your forehead. "but i made you laugh, didn't i?"

you hum in response, letting your head fall back against his chest. the silence that follows is comfortable, the kind that wraps around you like a warm blanket. his hand moves back to your back, tracing slow, lazy patterns against your spine.

"i mean it, though," he says after a while, his voice quieter now. "whatever's going on, you don't have to go through it alone. you can tell me."

"i know," you whisper, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. "i just… i don't know. i've been feeling off lately. stomach stuff. it's probably nothing."

he frowns, his hand pausing mid-stroke. "how long?"

"a few days," you admit. "it's not a big deal. it'll pass."

"you don't know that," he says gently. "have you eaten today?"

you hesitate, and that's enough of an answer for him. he sighs, his hand resuming its slow movements against your back.

"you're stubborn, you know that?" he murmurs, but there's no heat behind it. just concern, soft and steady, like everything else about him.

"takes one to know one," you shoot back, your voice muffled against his chest.

he chuckles, the sound rumbling beneath you. "fair enough. but promise me you'll let me know if it gets worse, okay?"

"okay," you say, and you mean it. because if anyone can make you feel like everything's going to be okay, it's clark.

you stay like that for a while longer, wrapped up in each other, the rest of the world fading away. the algebra books are forgotten, but neither of you seems to care. right now, this is enough. he's enough.

and for the first time in days, the ache in your stomach feels bearable.

⎯⎯ SPECIAL TAGS. @titsout4jackles @aileenunfiltered @st4rfckerz @jasvtsc . . . ୨୧

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dawneternal · 9 months ago

Text

now my head's splitting at the seams

✴︎ in the labyrinth of my pain, would you find me?

✴︎ Azriel x Valkyrie reader, platonic Cassian x reader

✴︎ Summary: you miss a few days of training, down with a bad migraine. It turns out Cassian has a few misconceptions about your condition and, possibly, about pain itself.

✴︎ Warnings: mentions of nausea and vomiting (no descriptions), pain, toxic positivity and ableism, internalized ableism, Cassian's a jerk in the first half. Also I'm so sorry for the tense changing back and forth 💀 I would definitely not call this one a masterpiece

✴︎ Word Count: 3.4k

AO3 Link / Writing Masterlist

✴︎ Notes: somehow writing out my feelings about having a migraine turned into something pretentious about pain and ableism. I think a lot about John Green's "pain is the opposite of language" and how much that's changed my perception of pain

Also listen I love Cassian and I have no problems with him but I had to pick someone to take my feelings out on I'm sorry 💛 also just want to acknowledge that everyone experiences migraines differently and it's not a topic I'm an expert on so I'm sorry if you don't feel well represented by this.

Tbh I could write several essays about the way pain and disability are handled in the acotar books but that's for another time.

Letting out a frustrated groan, you squeeze your eyes shut tighter and twist your knuckle into the pressure point at the base of your palm, chasing the momentary relief it'll give you from your nausea. It works for a minute, and you're considering making your way to the bathroom before another wave hits you when your bedroom door flies open.

"You're late," Cassian's voice bellows through the room and he doesn't see you wince. He strides into the room, footsteps booming across the floorboards, and he's left the door open behind him, letting a traitorous amount of light into your dark room. What good were black out curtains if your darkness was going to be invaded like this anyways?

"Oh my gods you've got to talk quieter," You curl tighter around yourself, head clutched in your hands.

"So you're hungover?" He stops near your bed, arms crossed as he towers over you.

"No, I have a migraine."

"Isn't that the same thing?"

You squint up at him, scowling, swallowing every bad word threatening to spill off your tongue. Though maybe he deserves it for coming into your room without asking.

"Please leave," You say quietly, all the venom you could usually imbue into your voice completely swallowed by your current condition.

"You've missed three days of training." He says by way of answering, definitely not following your request to lower his volume. "You can't coddle yourself like this."

His words punch the air from your lungs. Coddle? Something terrible is rising in your gut, along with the desperate thought that you can't deal with this right now.

"I'm not - this isn't - I don't think you understand how much it hurts." You scramble for words, cheeks heated from pain and anger.

"You've gotta push through it," He says, no hint of sympathy.

"Cassian please."

"I'm not leaving until you agree to come with me."

You don't have time to respond before you're running to the bathroom and throwing up whatever you'd managed to keep down last night, head throbbing with every movement.

Breathing hard, you lean back from the toilet and clutch your head in your hands. The silence rings in your ears and you aren't sure if Cassian is still there or if he finally took mercy on you and left, until his voice makes it's way to you, with just a hint of remorse in it -

"I'd better see you up there."

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

Cassian did not see you at training that morning, and you're assuming you've bruised his ego because the next day he doubles down.

The thing is, Rhysand knew of your condition. The other priestesses knew. It's only Cassian being out of the loop and if he understood what a migraine felt like, you're certain he wouldn't be dragging you up there. You were used to dealing with people who didn't understand, had worked hard to learn how to give yourself kindness no matter what other people said. But it's like he knew exactly what things to say, what buttons to press to undo all of that progress.

It was like he'd pulled off your armor, piece by piece, leaving you cold and exposed. Going back to that world where weakness was your given name and it hurt worse than stepping into the ring and fighting the pain. If you could prove him wrong, just make it through a couple of hours, you could return to your sanctuary of darkness. And at least then, you wouldn't hate yourself on top of everything else.

So you followed him up to the training ring, struggling to open your eyes all the way in the morning light, hunched over to make the pain down your shoulders and neck just a bit more bearable. You sway on your feet, but Cassian either doesn't notice or doesn't care.

When he moves aside, revealing your small, huddled frame trailing beside him, Gwyn gasps.

"Cassian!" She cries, her tone scathing, and the hint of smug triumph slips from his face. It disappears completely as Gwyn rushes to your side, folding you into her arms to block your eyes from the light. You groan into her shoulder and go limp in her arms, grateful for the support.

Azriel stands to the side, watching with narrowed eyes. His arms are crossed over his chest like Cassian's, but there is no determination or judgment in his posture or expression. There's angry, crackling flames as he watches the redheaded Valkyrie thread her fingers through your hair and murmur soft comfort.

"She missed training all this week," Cassian says, but he's not barking any more. He's feeling a little bit small underneath the glares that pin him where he stands.

"Yeah, we know," Gwyn says, and it's the closest she's gotten to snapping at him in the whole time they've known each other. She turns to you and her eyes soften. "Let's get you back to bed, love."

"No," You murmur, guilt and shame bringing your resolve to the surface once more. You gently push her away to stand on your own, raising your squinted eyes to meet Cassian's. "I can do it. I'll be fine."

She watches you take shaky steps to the nearest mat and begin stretching, body obviously stiff from a few days in bed. You're conscious of all the eyes on you, far too sympathetic for your liking. This is exactly what you hated.

"Are we starting or not?" You let out a stiff laugh, too aware that your words are lightly slurred. That is absolutely not helping the hangover accusations.

The other priestesses shuffle to get into place, bumping into each other as they move to find their positions. There was still a horrible silence, crackling with fierce anger, all rippling in Cassian's direction. He halfheartedly called a few orders, visibly uncomfortable with the energy in the ring.

And you tried. You tried hard. To move your body through the stretches like normal. But your muscles protested every move, threatening to lock back up, sending stabs of pain through your skull. It didn't take long for the nausea to take over, forcing you to the edge of the ring, doubled over and dry heaving.

"This is ridiculous," Gwyn scoffs before she's at your side again. "You're going to back to bed."

"I will not be weak," You growl at her, panting as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, "I am not lazy."

Gwyn's head snaps around to find Cassian, mouth dropped open in fury as she silently dares him to confirm that he may have suggested weakness to you.

"You're not and you know it," She says softly, hauling you up and leading you away from the training ring. “Don't do that to yourself.”

Cassian is feeling like he's surrounded by wolves, all the glares that are being sent his way. He understands by now that he's messed up, and in front of a group that may not be easily inclined to forgive him. He's sure every single one of them has experienced the disbelief that he foolishly shoved your way. For their pain, or for anything else.

He thought you would snap back to your normal self after a bit of warming up, shake off your symptoms with a bit of movement and sunshine. You were strong enough to, if you wanted to. He'd seen it before. He thought you just didn't want to.

A small, firm hand lands on his arm and he finds himself looking down at Nesta. There's sympathy in her expression, but her eyes twinkle with the threat of a nasty bite if he dares to say anything stupid.

"She gets them after particularly bad flashbacks," Nesta says, "Or sometimes they're just random. Madja says there's no fix for the pain but darkness and sleep."

Cassian's stomach twists so terribly he thinks he might puke, too. In the midst of attempting to instill resilience, he's understanding that he knows nothing of this kind of pain. This is something different, something that cannot be conquered in the same way as emotional pain, as every day aches and injuries. You are a soldier in a battle he has no strategy for.

He may understand the concept of emotional resilience, of getting back up and into the training ring when you don't want to. But this is different.

The final blow, the thing that makes him want to cower and hide, is meeting his brother's eyes. Seeing the fire there transports him back in time, sending flashes of a smaller Azriel pushing himself too hard, determined to show the world that he'd never be less because of the damage to his hands. Fighting against words far too similar to the ones his own brother had spouted to you this morning, desperate to become strong enough that no one would ever doubt his pain and live.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

It was not a surprise that Cassian found himself in Rhysand's office later, confessing how thoroughly he'd fucked up, desperate for a little direction in how to fix this mess.

"It has to be their choice," Rhysand is saying, eyes meeting Cassian's over his glass.

Cassian's mouth opens and closes as he tries to conjure a response. He knows that. Of course he knows that. But apparently, his brain had not wrapped around how far that concept might go.

Cassian let out a grunt as he sat back in his chair, arms crossed. Rhysand knew he didn't have to push any further, he recognized the conflict in his brother's eyes. So he sat with him, quiet, while he processed.

"Do you want to know what it feels like?" He broke the since after a while, as the idea came to him.

"What?" Cassian blinked, startled from his thoughts.

"A migraine," Rhys explained, "Do you want to know what it feels like?"

Cassian frowned, studying his brother's expression for anything resembling amusement, but there was none. So he nods.

Not even a full second later, his skull is attacked with throbbing pain, deep in the base of his neck. He hadn't even noticed the fae lights before, but now they overwhelm him, causing a dull pain to surface behind his eyes. Nausea curled up his throat, threatening ruthlessly.

"Oh gods," He leaned forward and clutched his head in his hands, finding that his limbs trembled under his own weight.

"Do you push yourself when you feel like this?" Rhysand asked softly, not taunting. Prompting.

"I don't really ever feel like this," Cassian grumbled out.

"Hm," Rhysand mused, his brows drawing together. He'd experienced episodes like these often, under the mountain. He knew that Azriel struggled with them through his teenage years, like his brain still struggled to process his senses outside of a dark cell.

Deep in thought, he only remembered to ease up on Cassian's mind when his brother whimpered.

"Some say pain cannot truly be described with language," Rhys says, gaze somewhere else as Cassian gulps down air. "And that your pain is one of the few things that is truly yours, that you can never share. Even if you manage to describe it, it will never be felt by anyone else."

"I thought she was just hungover," Cassian says, but he's not defending himself. Rhysand knows.

"What if she was, though?" He tilts his head to the side, watching his brother carefully.

And that is the thing that had begun to unfurl within Cassian as he stood surrounded by the priestesses he'd wronged. He understood that having true control of your body meant that dictating how pain is handled had to be yours, too. He understood that pushing someone to deal with pain in his own way was a violation in and of itself. He had stepped into the world that you had carefully balanced and re-built around your condition and dared to tell you that you may have done it wrong.

"Will she get better?" He asks, thinking of the agony he'd just experienced for a few short minutes. The same one that you'd been experiencing for three days, now.

"It's hard to say," Rhysand shrugs, "Madja says she will likely experience these off and on for the rest of her life, but she may have some periods of remission."

He tilts his head at his brother again, "You know that a majority of the priestesses have an invisible disability of similar kinds, right? They won't get better. They will be in pain every day until they die."

Rhysand sighs, thinking of the hundreds - possibly thousands - of tins of salve that Azriel has gone through, numbing the pain of his nerve damage. Trembling hands hidden in black gloves, tucked into his body and away from the world. And that is the reason he's bothering telling Cassian of any of this. Otherwise, he might let him figure it out on his own.

"But the healers-" Cassian begins.

"Are there to help them cope with their emotional pain and trauma," Rhysand nods, "But some of them, a lot of them, were disabled as a result of what they went through and will never get better. Like Clotho.”

Oh.

It clicks in Cassian's mind, then. Who else Rhys meant. Who else Cassian had insulted. He had never barged into Azriel's room, insisting that he still train even when he could not flex his fingers without wincing, without trembling too hard to hold a glass of water. But he'd done it to you, in front of him. And that pinned his disbelief on Azriel all the same.

Azriel's pain, your pain, were enemies that neither of you could defeat. And here he was, shoving a sword into your hands, and insisting that you try.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

A soft knock sounds against your door, so quiet you almost don't hear it. You stare at it, wondering if you should pretend that you didn't. But then the knob turns slowly and it opens just a crack, and a soft voice is saying into the darkness,

"Hey, it's Azriel. Can I come in?"

Your breath catches in your throat, and you watch his shadows dancing back and forth through the thin wedge of light he's letting in.

"Sure," You say, moving quickly to smooth your rumpled clothes and tangled hair before he steps in. You're not exactly sure what he thinks of you after this morning.

He steps inside and closes the door behind him. His eyes seem to glow in the darkness, an amber-honey color, and somehow you can still see his shadows, like they're even darker than your room with no light.

"I just wanted to check on you," He says, crouching down beside your bed so you don't have to sit up.

"I'm okay," You say, still getting over the surprise of the Shadowsinger in your space. It's true, though, you suppose. You're used to all of your other symptoms by now, and your heart hurts worse than your head.

"He's an idiot sometimes," Azriel says, basically spits. A smile begins to spread on your face so he continues, “Like, sometimes he's just an asshole, straight up. But this time, believe it or not, I think he actually meant well and was just an idiot.”

“I know,” You give him a sad smile and all of the anger melts from his face.

“I think he went to buy flowers if that makes you feel any better,” He sighs. You know he's just as mad at Cassian as you are, maybe even more mad. But he still can't help vouching for him. It's definitely going to take more than flowers to forgive him, but it's a good start. You also appreciate that Azriel has bothered to warn you ahead of time, in case you wanted to avoid Cassian's apology.

“How are you feeling?” He asks, so quietly. And you wonder who else has earned this tenderness from him.

“It's not too bad right now,” you say truthfully, though you know that sitting up or going outside might be pushing your luck.

“Still hurts?”

“Yeah. Still hurts.”

He nods. “I can try something that helps me, sometimes.”

You search his eyes for a moment, then nod.

“Can I touch your face?” He asks, almost a whisper.

Your heart leaps into your throat and you fight to keep your face neutral as you nod again, no idea what he's planning to do with you.

Slowly, leaving enough time for you to stop him, he reaches out. He's not wearing gloves, like usual, and in the dark you can just barely make out the uneven silhouette of his dimpled, scarred hands.

His fingers land gently on your forehead, and he presses his thumb between your brows. Gently at first, and then harder, circling a tender point under your skin. It makes the pain in your head sharper, and you let out a hiss.

“I know,” He says, “Bear with me a minute.”

You close your eyes, biting back a whimper, but after a moment the pain begins to ease. He keeps going for a few minutes and you feel your whole body relax, pain free for the first time in days.

You don't realize how much you've leaned into his touch until he gently pulls away and you find your head falling forward with him.

“What is that?” You open your eyes and blink at him.

“A pressure point,” He grins, and it almost looks like he's blushing.

“That's magical,” you say. You hesitate for a moment, and then, “you can sit on the bed if you want.”

Azriel smiles and straightens, and you move your pillow to the side to make space for him. He slides off his boots and sits on the bed next to you, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. You place your pillow next to his lap and settle back into it.

“Thank you,” You say, your body feeling lighter than it has in days.

“Of course,” he says.

A silence settles, but it's not uncomfortable. There's something in it that you understand. He's just keeping you company. Here to sit with you in your pain.

It's easy to relax in his presence, between his calm aura and the pain relief he's offered you. And you find yourself spilling the question that's been circling though your mind since this morning.

“What if I can't fight, someday? What if I can't be a Valkyrie anymore?”

Azriel stills beside you. It's a long moment before he says anything. You're tense beside him, and it makes you flinch when he brings his hand so gently to rest on your head. Not moving, just resting.

“First,” He says, in the same soft voice, “You'll always be a Valkyrie. Because you cut the ribbon. Because you sisters will never let you go. And because I know for a fact that the Valkyries did not strip their warriors of their title if they became disabled by an illness or an injury.”

“Really?” You breathe.

“Mhm,” He hums in affirmation. You forget sometimes that he knows the Valkyries from more than history books.

“And second,” His voice drops lower, like he's sharing a secret with you. His hand moves, fingers slipping gingerly through your hair. And it makes you realize that he came here with his hands uncovered as an offer of solidarity. Combing his scarred fingers through your hair, he is offering you vulnerability, like recompense for what you bared this morning. A trade. A truce.

“If you cannot fight,” He continues, “Then you will show the world that a formidable woman can be made from more than fighting skills. You will still be - will always be - something incredible.”

Tears prickle at your eyes, form a lump in your throat. You reach up to grasp his hand, the only thank you that you can manage in the moment, and he lets you.

There's another silence, as he holds your hand in the dark.

“Who helps you?” You ask, turning to look up at him. He watches your eyebrows knit together, so serious, and he swallows a smile.

“What do you mean?” He says.

You bring one finger up to tap the space between his own eyebrows.

“With your pain? Who helps you like you helped me?”

“Um,” He shrugs, “Sometimes Rhys if he has time. Otherwise, no one.”

That's what you thought, but it still makes your heart twist in your chest. It takes a deep breath before you have the courage to say the next words out loud.

“You should tell me next time you're in pain. And I'll help.”

Azriel stares back at you, something bewildered in his eyes. Because he sees your suggestion for what it is. The same thing he offered you. A trade. A truce.

A beginning.

“Yes,” He whispers into the dark, and his hand closes around yours. “I will.”

#relieving someone else's pain is strangely intimate???#idk what this is honestly #acotar #acotar fic #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #azriel x reader #cassian x reader #platonic cassian x reader #Rhysand #Azriel #cassian #madja acotar #Gwyneth berdara #nesta archeron #disabled reader #chronic pain #hurt/comfort

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mintmatcha · 11 months ago

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cw: Reader with low self esteem, fat reader

Something unusual happens. A man makes eye contact with you from across the bar and smiles.

Well, it's not the fact that men making eye contact and smiling is unusual, but it's ultimately strange that its happening to you.

You write it off as a fluke and try to listen to what your friends are saying, straining over the din of the crowded bar, but you keep catching yourself looking back there, seeing if he'll look again.

Another strange thing happens. He looks again, this time with an even bigger grin smeared across his face. His dark hair is slicked back and his dress shirt is unbuttoned much too low, scooping past his sternum. The stranger is attractive-- intensely so-- so much so that you find yourself swallowing your heart.

You turn back to your group and he turns to his.

"There's a guy looking at me." You try not to be excited. "The green shirt. Black hair."

"Next to the blonde and the redhead?" One of your group looks over, ignoring all subtly. "He's cute. Are you sure?"

Surprise is understandable. You're the biggest of your friend group and you know how it affects your dating life. Next to the rest of them, there was almost no chance of being noticed.

"I dunno, girl." She wields that word like a weapon. Girl: a round hole to your square peg, a label you never seemed to wear just right. You rub the corner of your eye even though you know it'll smude the lines you worked so hard for. "Don't you think he'd want someone more...?"

She looks you up and down. Sometimes, you think, friends and enemies have the same expressions.

When you look back at the man, he and his friend are staring back. It seems so obvious now; your guy will play wingman so the other two can talk to your friends without worrying about the one they don't want getting in the way. It'd feel cruel if it wasn't life.

He moves and you brace for impact.

"Hey!" The stranger slides into the booth with you, just like you expected, eyes aglitter as he talks to you and only you. Your friends chitter, almost annoyed. "Can I buy you a drink?"

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vevobly · 7 months ago

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Yellowjackets Reactions To Clingy Reader!

Jackie Taylor:

Jackie would be flattered at first, just absolutely enjoying the attention you're giving her and basking in the idea that someone values her that much. She'd just casually lean into it, and be all playful with you.

“Wow, you really missed me even though I was only gone for five minutes?”

But if your clinginess ever became too much, she'd lowkey try creating space from you; using excuses like needing to focus on something else. She wouldn't want to hurt your feelings and would try hard to soften any pushback with reassurance.

“You're sweet, really. Just, like, give me a little room to breathe, okay?”

Shauna Shipman:

Shauna would be a little awkward about it, unsure how to handle someone being so attached to her. But she'd tolerate it to an extent, especially if it seemed like genuine affection to her; making jokes about it eventually and easing tension.

“You really don't have to follow me everywhere, you know”

She'd say that with a small laugh. Despite her discomfort, she wouldn't be that harsh. And if you just happened to be one of the lucky people, she might secretly find it endearing that someone values her that much.

Taissa Turner:

Taissa would definetely take it in stride, appreciating you being loyal and close to her that way. She's naturally protective, so she might view your clinginess in a way as you trusting and feeling safe around her.

However, if it started interfering with her personal space or responsibilities, Tai would address it immediately and directly but kindly with you. She'd be firm, and understanding!

“Hey, I love hanging out with you, but I need to focus on this right now, okay? We can catch up later.”

Van Palmer:

Van would be amused by your clinginess, she wouldn't take it too serious and would probably even tease you with a grin about it every once in a while. She wouldn't mind the extra attention as long as it isn't constant.

“Wow, didn't know I was that amazing”

She'd probably find it cute that someone cares that much. But if it ever became too much? she'd probably nudge you gently toward independence like a mother would with her own clingy child.

“You know, I'm not going anywhere. You can chill for a bit.”

Natalie Scatorrcio:

Natalie definitely might have been caught off guard by your clinginess at first because she's not used to people being so openly attached to her that way, but she would just brush it off.

Over time, she would eventually warm up to it, seeing it as your way of showing affection to her. Of course, if it ever crossed a line, Nat would be straightforward about it with you. It'll be short and cool.

“Hey, I need some space right now, okay? Nothing personal.”

Lottie Matthews:

Lottie would handle your clinginess with an odd calmness and grace. Similarly to Tai, she'd see this as a sign of you trusting and valuing her. This would mean a lot to her despite what you think, and she'd hold it on a very high careful pedestal.

Lottie might even encourage your clinginess to some degree, just offering reassurance whenever you seem worried or needy. But if it starts to overwhelm her, expect her to guide you on being more self-reliant and practicing boundaries!

“It's okay, I'm here.”

Laura Lee:

Laura Lee would see your clinginess as a sign of you seeing her as someone comforting, which she'd take as a compliment. She'd be patient and kind with you, being very understanding and even encouraging a bit.

If it started becoming too much, she's addressing it like a therapist would with their patient. She'll suggest much "healthier" ways to spend time together without you being overly attached to her.

“I'm glad you feel comfortable with me, but..”

Misty Quigley:

Misty would absolutely just love your clinginess. Considering she thrives on attention and validation, having you attached to her makes her feel pretty special and valued.

“Oh, you don't have to apologize for wanting to be around me all the time!”

Out of all the girls, she would be the one to encourage it fully more. But her enthusiasm might turn possessive if she even slightly felt like you weren't as clingy to her anymore. So, expect the girl to work harder to keep your attention on her!

#yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets x you #jackie taylor x reader #jackie taylor x you #shauna shipman x reader #shauna shipman x you #taissa turner x reader #taissa turner x you #van palmer x reader #van palmer x you #natalie scatorccio x reader #natalie scatorccio x you #lottie matthews x reader #lottie matthews x you #laura lee x reader #laura lee x you #misty quigley x reader #misty quigley x you

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teambyler · 8 months ago

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(Spoiler) Noah Schnapp is CLEARLY trying to avoid spoiling something MAJOR about Mike and Will here! (Breakdown with TIMESTAMPS)

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Okay Tom Holland, Noah Schnapp lol.

I'm usually a very careful person, and so I mean it when I say that this video of Noah at a recent con is the biggest confirmation of Byler endgame we've ever gotten.

0:04: Noah's NERVOUSNESS combined with TRYING TO SUPPRESS GIDDY EXCITEMENT in the first 5 seconds. His literal first reaction to a question about how Mike and Will's relationship has evolved was "You guys can't get me in trouble! I don't wanna say anything! Spoiler..."

0:16: Mike and Will's relationship "had its ups and downs in the beginning..." In the beginning? It was never down in the beginning mah dude, not until Season 3. By "the beginning" he's contrasting everything before to NOW (Season 5)! Now, when things are FINE, and as Mike said they're "a team..."

0:24 "Mike was always super protective of Will and Will always leaned on him, and you could never really tell if it was something romantic or just a really special friendship" !!!!!!

0:33 "And as it goes on you kinda realize that Will does have... Am I allowed to say this?" Noah should know he can say Will likes Mike: Noah told the press 2 years ago that Will loves Mike. Either his mind is GLITCHING because he's afraid he'll spoil something, or he thinks that JUST TALKING about Mike and Will's history is a spoiler for some reason! =)

0:41 Cara: "Ummm.... I don't know!" She knows that "yes" would encourage him to say more and "no" would sound like they're hiding something. Noah: "I don't wanna talk about this!"

0:47 Throughout Cara's entire talk Noah is GRINNING and he's trying his best to hide it. Clearly just THINKING about Mike and Will makes this gay boy wanna giggle. It literally feels like HE is Will and someone's there talking about his relationship with his boyfriend who he can't stop thinking about.

0:58 Cara saves Noah but then beats around the bush and talks about friends growing together and apart. She says they diverge and "Mike goes on his journey" while Will remains "stuck." Then she says "...So I think in Season 5..." and Noah gives her a LOOK knowing that they have to be careful here. Then Cara talks about SOMETHING ELSE entirely, pretending she never started the sentence! She says it's "a friendship evolving" and that friends can grow apart and together, "and we'll see what happens"(!) What ELSE could this all mean but that they grow closer together after growing apart in season 3? And that Mike's "journey" was one of self-discovery? (From all the glimpses of s5 we're getting, Mike's clearly not "journeying" far from Will's side!)

1:39 Even though Noah should know better (lol), he chimes in AGAIN to say something about Mike and Will and dig another hole for Cara to dig them out of! Then he thinks better of it: "Actually I"m not gonna say anything."

In another clip from this talk, Noah says that in nearly every scene he's done on the show Finn/Mike has been there. The way he talks about it, it's clear he's reminiscing about his entire experience with the show including Season 5, where they're sharing all their scenes again. Mike and Will's relationship is important to Noah, who of course is gay.

In that same clip, Cara says it'll be easier to answer these questions when the show is over. Noah: "It's just so hard to talk about it. It's so secretive and we don't wanna get in trouble."

It's extremely clear that Noah and Cara do not want to give a MAJOR SPOILER ABOUT MIKE AND WILL.

In s5, Mike HAS to find out Will loves him because of the Painting Lie. If what results is that Mike rejects Will because he's straight, which the vast majority of the audience already assumes, would they be this secretive about it?

Of course not.

Plus, they're so careful to NOT DENY THE POSSIBILITY of Byler endgame either, which they can do EASILY. ("Will loves his straight best friend..." or "Mike's only interested in El...") That would've been a NON-STORY. They're going OUT OF THEIR WAY not to rule out Byler. AND they fully know that teasing the audience with it only for it NOT to happen would be queerbaiting.

Byler doubt? Never knew ya.

-teambyler

#byler #noah schnapp #upside down epic con #cara buono #will byers #mike wheeler #stranger things #spoilers #st5

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dearhargrove · 1 year ago

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Sink or swim

summary When the tsunami hits you're at the pier, watching in confusion and shock as the huge wave nears. You're swept away with a dozen others but gain back consciousness with a weirdly attractive guy and his.. son?

tags medical inaccuracy (I made everything medical up pls ignore it), blood and injuries, one POV change, cursing

word count 2831

a/n just watched the episodes with the tsunami and oh my god? I’m so in love with Buck, Chris and Eddie. These three are adorable. Also these episodes were just good as hell, wtf? Andddd I hope I didn’t make any of them OOC (out of character) but if I did forgive me yall 🫶🏻 also English isn’t my first language, so… 🥹

masterlist

Maybe you should've guessed what it meant when the sea started retreating and a huge wave built up more by the second. But somehow it seemed so surreal that you didn't. You clung to the thought that it was an optical illusion, after all there was no way a tsunami would hit that one time you're at the pier.

Now moments later you regret not running faster, earlier or simply finding a spot to hide. You're pulled under the surface every few seconds, swallowing mouthfuls of salty seawater that makes your nose burn and eyes blur.

You're choking when you're swept against a hard object, it's sharp edge digging into your waist. “Fuck!” you curse, though it ends in a gurgle when more water sweeps over you.

When you resurface you're facing an object that turns out to be a sunken fire truck. The red is striking against the blue and Grey around you and you could cry at relief when you manage to hoist yourself onto it.

You're exhausted, your side hurts and you're dizzy. Your phone is useless, the water having destroyed the technology. Cursing, you pocket it again and lean back. You're about to relax, aware that it could take hours for emergency services to reach you when you hear high pitched screaming. You look up, just in time to see someone with a yellow sweater being pulled towards you with the current, screaming at the top of their lungs.

“Jesus,” you swear and crawl to the edge of the truck, yelling to get their attention with your arm reached out as far as possible.

You almost faint when the person turns around and a small child looks at you, red glasses full of water and messy brown hair. He's crying, reaching out as he's struggling to stay afloat.

“Hey! I'm here, grab my hand!” You yell and lean over the ledge as far as you could. As soon as you saw that little boy you knew you'd jump after him if he couldn't grab your hand now.

“I got you, sweetheart, come on!”

Your assurance seems to help and he kicks his legs, managing to move closer to where you are. In a split second you grab his hand and pull him over the railing and onto the truck, holding the little boy close to your chest in relief.

“Thank you,” he mumbles, coughing a little as he adjusts his glasses. You try to look as calm and collected as possible, gently smiling at him and beckoning him further away from the railing and rushing water.

“Are you okay? Does anything hurt?” He shakes his head, biting his lip as he looks out at the water again. He must've been with someone else, you guess when he sits up at every piece floating by.

“Are you looking for someone?” You ask gently and he nods. He slowly speaks, hands fidgeting in his lap, “B-Buck. He's a firefighter.”

You stop yourself from cooing at this adorable child and nod, “We're gonna find him, okay? Just stay here and it'll be okay.”

He looks worried but slowly nods. You go back to sitting between him and the railing, looking out for anyone else.

Just as you spot someone, the small boy moves rapidly and pulls your shirt, “Buck! It's Buck!” He stutters loudly.

You whip your head back around to the rushing water and try thinking of a way to save him too. You couldn't just grab his hand, he would probably just pull you off the truck and you wouldn't risk leaving the kid by himself.

“Shit,” You mumble as you look for a way to help the man, the boy desperately crying out for ‘Buck’ behind you.

It seems you don't need to do much when something slams into the truck and seconds later the man pulls himself up and next to you.

And, damn. He was attractive. His dark blonde curls stick to his forehead as his blue eyes fixate on you and then the boy, strong arms holding him up as a smile builds on his lips, “Christopher!”

You move a bit as the two reunite, the boy- Christopher throwing his arms around the man's neck and giggling wildly.

You watch with a smile, the adorable sight momentarily distracting you from the tsunami keeping not just you but these two strangers trapped on top of a fire truck.

He turns around after a minute, keeping Christopher in his lap as he looks at you. He clears his throat and nods, “Thank you for saving him.” You shake your head and wave your hand in dismissal, unsure how to deal with compliments.

“No, really. I was going crazy when I couldn't find him,” his eyes are fixed on your face and you blame the heat creeping up your neck onto the temperature changes from the water and sun, smiling nervously. “It's all good. Your son is a sweetheart.”

He chuckles, “He definitely is. Though he's not my son,” he mentions, poking the boy's side when he mumbles something. You quickly nod, embarrassed. “Sorry, I shouldn't have assumed-” he shakes his head and a relaxed smile sets on his face.

“It's fine, don't worry. Did you have any luck reaching 911?” You shake your head and hold up your broken phone, screen flickering sadly as you do. He sighs and brushes a hand through his hair (you try not to stare at the hot sight because wow, what are the odds of meeting such an attractive man in the middle of a tsunami?).

“We're probably just gonna have to wait. It'll take time to get boats and units here. It probably looks like this everywhere,” he explains and you tilt your head in surprise before remembering that the kid had mentioned he's a firefighter. Meaning he knew the protocols.

“Right. Christopher mentioned you're a firefighter.” You smile when the boy perks up, a seemingly never faltering smile on his face. “Guess I'm lucky to be stuck with you. Safest I could be.” You shrug, a bashful smile on your face.

“Buck will s-save us all,” Christopher proclaims proudly and you coo at the cute boy. The man now seems a bit uneasy and sighs before his eyes widen, “Shit, right, I'm Evan. Everyone just calls me Buck, though.” You shake his outstretched hand and introduce yourself in turn, biting your lip as a nervous habit.

“So you're a firefighter?” You prompt curiously.

“It's a bit complicated right now…” He sighs, a frown setting on his forehead. You're about to apologize for overstepping when Christopher speaks up again, “He threw up blood.”

Your eyes widen and Evan- Buck pinches the boys’ side in reprimand. “Blood clots,” he elaborates as he looks at your slightly shocked expression. You hum sympathetically before realizing something. “Wait. You were the one trapped under that fire truck? On the news?”

He chuckles (which makes him even more attractive, what the actual fuck?) and nods, “Yep, that's me.”

You grimace in sympathy at the memory and automatically glance at his leg, “Is it all healed? You don't have to talk about it, it's fine if you don't-” he waves you off assuringly, looking relaxed.

“It's fine, don't worry. Yeah it healed fine, had some physical therapy and stuff but now I have blood clots kicking my a- butt.” He stops himself from cursing with Christopher on his lap and you almost smile at the adorable expression of confusion on the kid's face, when Buck presses his hands over both of his ears and whispers what he was originally going to say.

You laugh at the two and a relaxed and almost light atmosphere surrounds the three of you, momentarily disregarding your situation.

“It's kind of ironic isn't it?” He starts and you tilt your head in question. “You saved me, a firefighter, by pulling me onto a fire truck,” he elaborates and you can't help but chuckle, “Right. It should've been the other way around,” you sarcastically add and he holds up his hands in mock surrender.

You relax back against the railing, your eyes drawn to Buck again just to notice him already looking at you. You cock your head questioningly and he bites his lip before grinning, “Sorry, you're just- like, really beautiful.”

Your jaw drops momentarily before you compose yourself and hide behind your hands, “Stop! Geez,” you laugh and he does as well. You exaggerate a shake of your head as you look at Christopher who giggles happily and exclaims, “He likes you!”

Now both you and Buck fluster as he continues, “He's always angry but n-now he's happy.” You notice the small struggle of getting his words out but you couldn't care less, you'd wait hours for this sweetheart to finish a sentence if you had to.

“Oh, really?” You ask in mock surprise and he eagerly nods before Buck intervenes, “Woah, Woah. I'm not always angry. Just.. grumpy.” Christopher makes it a point to look at him and then at you, rolling his eyes and shaking his head which makes it hard to refrain from laughing.

When Christopher busies himself with leaves floating around them Buck lowers his voice a bit as he speaks to you again, “Don't get the wrong impression it’s just, it’s hard. Not being able to work, saving people and all that.”

You nod quickly, “No worries. I’d go insane if I was in your place. I’m guessing they’re keeping you from really doing anything ‘dangerous’?” You ask, careful in case of him wanting to change the subject.

He nods and drops his head back against a siren light, “It is. They’re trying to put me behind a desk! I mean, I’m supposed to be out here, saving lives, fighting fires. That’s my purpose.” He frowns and you hum to show that you’re listening.

“I know they just want me to recover, but…”

“It feels like they’re holding you back?” You finish for him. He chuckles in surprise at the accuracy of what you said and nods.

“I’m probably in no place to tell you this, but trust me, it’s worth it. Get better, do the light work and sooner than you think you’ll be back doing what you love. But if you start now and ignore your health.. it’s going to catch up with you. And it’ll be way worse than a few weeks behind a desk.”

He looks thoughtful for a moment before slowly nodding, “You're right. Thank you.” You smile and put a hand on his leg, making sure he doesn’t mind before adding, “I mean look at you, crushed by an entire ladder truck and you’re up and running already.”

“I’m just that great,” he sarcastically pats his own shoulder and you both break into laughter.

You don't know if it's been minutes, seconds or hours when you wake up, laying on top of destroyed concession stands and other things. Something is digging into your back, your leg is awkwardly bent and your ears are ringing.

Groaning you sit up, wincing in pain when a sharp pain strikes through your back at the movement.

Around you is just more trash and destroyed cars, you see an arm laying on one of the cars and decide to avert your eyes as quick as possible for your own sake.

Every step hurts but you keep going; walking through the flooded streets with your eyes looking for either of the two boys you’d spent earlier with or other survivors.

The sun is starting to set and you’re starting to get hopeless. You have no clue where you were, completely disoriented as you pass houses that look entirely the same. Your phone is useless and you’re alone. Shouldn’t you have met at least one person by now?

Your back has gone practically numb, same as your leg, when you see faraway lights in the distance. Your steps get quicker as you see people and to your utter relief firefighters. You don’t know if the tears in your eyes are of joy or utter despair from what happened but you couldn’t care less when a man with short, brown hair spots you and approaches.

You’re trying to walk closer when a small voice somewhere close stops you. You’re not sure if it’s your imagination but you turn around, squinting your eyes in the darkness. And then you see it. A small boy, waddling your way with his arms stretched out like he couldn’t see.

Could it be..?

“Christopher?” You see his head perk up and he tries going faster, stumbling over his own feet. Your heart drops in relief and you gather your last strength to run to him, “Hey, you remember me right?” He nods and you note the missing glasses.

“There’s help, come on,” you point out but he doesn’t look happy. He looks almost angry, “Buck.” You had almost forgotten about the charming firefighter. But your priority right now was Christopher.

“We’re gonna find him. Let’s get you help first,” you say with fake enthusiasm in your voice. He doesn’t look okay with that but stays silent and you awkwardly wrap your arms around him after making sure he’s okay and lift him into your arms.

It’s hard to avoid any obstacles while walking but you manage, seeing the brown haired man from a few minutes ago still there.

“Hey! I need help! It’s a kid!” You yell.

He waves you over while walking towards you and as soon as you can actually see him you’re once again surprised. What was it with these firefighters and their good looks? Jesus.

When he’s close enough you nudge Christopher, “There’s help, he’s gonna make sure you’re okay,” you nod at the man and he stands still before running the last feet over to you, basically ripping the child from you.

“Chris!” He cries, clutching the kid with all his might. Oh, this must be his father.

You smile, relieved that they found each other. He looks up at you with gratitude, “Thank you so much. Thank you.” You just smile.

“He’s found us himself. I couldn’t find him after..” you don’t even know what happened- you just know you passed out and woke up alone. Sighing you rub your temples and shake your head.

“You should get checked out, too. You’re barely walking,” the medic (you guess) advises. You take in the people behind him, the full cots and stressed professionals. “I’m okay. There’s people that need more help,” you nod.

He frowns and shakes his head, “I could tell you at least two injuries of yours that need treatment. Come on.” He nods his head in the direction of one of the tents and you chuckle but follow him. At least you try to. Four more steps and your legs give out, you clutch a random person's arm to prevent your fall, mumbling a sorry when they just barely catch you.

The ringing in your ears is back and you groan when you’re laid on one of the cots, your back protesting painfully.

Your vision is blurry and you can’t understand what’s being said - what the hell was happening to you?

“Wait, she’s- she was with me and Chris.” Eddie looks up in confusion as he hooks you up to an IV, checking your pupils with a small torch. “What?”

Buck nods, “Yeah, she saved Chris and then me. When the last wave happened she was swept away- we were all swept away.”

Eddies brows furrow and she looks down at you, your hair a damp mess, clothes dirty and bloody. “She saved Chris?” His best friend nods and crouches down next to you - Eddie notes the pained groan he tries to conceal as he does so - extending a hand and awkwardly patting your shoulder.

“Will she be okay?”

Eddie's answer is interrupted when you open your eyes and wince at the lights surrounding the tent.

“Hey, you feeling okay?” Buck asks before Eddie can get a word out, and you almost faint again seeing these two fine men looking down at you with concern. Great first impression, you think.

“Feel like I was in a tsunami,” you grunt and both of them laugh a bit. A third voice pops up next to you, “We were in one, silly.” Leaning over your head and looking upside down at you was Christopher, a smile on his face.

You huff a laugh and hum, “You’re right. Smart boy.”

Eddie looks at Buck at the exchange and he just shrugs with a grin. Chris walks to Eddie and leans into his side, eyes still on you.

“Is there something on my face, or..?” You ask half joking as three pairs of eyes stay trained on you.

“Just beauty,” Buck grins and there’s a second of silence before Eddie gags and rolls his eyes, “That’s so creepy, díos.” You laugh as Buck tries defending himself, simply looking just as cute to you as earlier.

#evan buckley #evan buckley x reader #911 spoilers #911 show #911 fanfic #oliver stark #eddie diaz x reader #eddie diaz

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bigfootsboytoy · 2 years ago

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Steve ends up heartbroken, lonely and depressed after season 2. Nancy called him bullshit, even after he ditched all his old friends for her. Billy Hargrove took his spot at the top of the food chain. He can have it, Steve doesn't really want it anymore. But Steve does want to find some sort of connection. Someone to have in his life who isn't an 11 year old kid he barely knows. He tries to go on a date one night, take a nice-seeming girl to a party. He wants to find connection, to kill the loneliness that's been building for months, but just as he's feeling kind of good about things, his date ditches him.

So. He decides to drink his feelings. He gets majorly fucked up, and ends up laying on the ground in the backyard, contemplating how much life seems to hate him.

Only to literally get tripped over by Eddie Munson, who was at this party selling pot and is very confused as to why Steve Harrington is alone on the ground with a bottle of vodka clenched in one hand.

Eddie ends up chatting a little with Steve, nothing substantial, but enough to know that Steve is very very drunk, and also very very sad.

He asks if Steve wants to go back to the party, and Steve staunchly refuses. He doesn't want to be around a bunch of annoyingly happy people.

He asks if Steve needs a ride home, and Steve just kind of shrugs. His parents just left for another trip, so home is kind of depressing right now too. But he doesn't exactly have any other friends he can stay with so. Home it'll have to be.

Only Eddie can *tell* he doesn't really want to go home, though he has no idea why Steve wouldn't want to return to his veritable mansion after a shitty night. The reason doesn't matter much. He offers to let Steve crash at his place. Steve can take the couch, or hell he can stay in Eddie's room if he doesn't mind sharing, that way he wouldn't risk being woken up when Wayne comes home that morning.

And well, Steve agrees. Can't think of any reason not too. Munson has been nice so far, he's got a good easy-going energy that Steve likes. Why not stay the night.

By the time they get to Eddie's, Steve is *slightly* more sober. Not much, but he's slurring his words a little less, and he can walk with only a little help.

Eddie grabs them each a little plate of leftovers, because he has no idea if Steve's eaten at all. It's quiet while they eat, Eddie doesn't push Steve to talk, and Steve isn't sure what to say. Eventually Eddie sets the plates aside and give Steve an easy grin.

"So, do you want the couch, or are you crashing with me?"

Steve thinks about it for a while. He hasn't shared a bed with a guy-friend since he was a kid, and he's heard rumors about Eddie, whispers in the hall about the way he looks at other guys. But...Steve can't really bring himself to care. He's tired, and he really doesn't want to be alone.

"I don't mind sharing."

Eddie sets them both up in his room, letting Steve choose which side of the bed he wants, and they both settle in. There's a respectable distance between the two of them, and Eddie says a quick goodnight to Steve, figures they won't talk and just go right to bed.

Except Steve isn't sober, and he really isn't in a good headspace, so he can't stop himself from blurting things out into the quiet of the dark room.

"Are you really gay?"

Eddie stiffens next to him, he can feel it, he can hear the way that the other boys breath cuts off and he seems to stop breathing all-together.

"It's okay if you are, I'm not going to be an asshole about it, I'm trying not to be that guy anymore. I guess I was just curious."

It's quiet for another beat before Eddie seems to loosen just a little. He starts breathing again at least.

"Yeah I uh- I am. Gay. And if that's weird the couch is still open, I can-"

"It's not weird."

"Okay."

Steve let's himself mull over this confirmation, and then his mouth starts moving again, without his permission.

"Is it lonely? Cause I mean, it's got to be hard to date in Hawkins. People here are shitty. Unless you've got like, a secret boyfriend or something."

"No...no secret boyfriend. It does get a little lonely sometimes. I'm lucky though, I've got my uncle, and my friends are pretty great. That's enough most days."

"What do you do when it's not enough?"

"Hmmm?"

"When your uncle and friends aren't enough, what do you do? To try and...make it better?"

Eddie is quiet again for a long stretch before he shrugs.

"I try to focus on something else. I'll play my guitar or work on a new campaign, read a book. Something to take my mind off it."

"Oh."

Now Steve is the one who seems tense, his jaw is tight and he's got his arms wrapped around himself. His next words come out as a whisper, but Eddie manages to catch them.

"I don't know how to do any of that."

He sounds almost choked, and Eddie is caught off guard. He's never seen Steve Harrington as anything other than solid, as happy. He's the king, after all. He's supposed to be all smiles and great hair. Only...Eddie's noticed that he hasn't hung out with his old friends lately, that he's eaten alone at lunch too many times to be anything other than strange.

"Steve...are you lonely?"

Eddie expects a denial, for Steve to laugh it off and tell Eddie that he's perfectly fine and fulfilled. Or maybe he expects a shrug, a non-answer. What he doesn't expect is the gut-wrenching sob that seems to tear past the other boys lips.

He doesn't expect to turn and see Steve Harrington's face, a scant foot from his, shining with tears.

He panics a little at the sight.

"Fuck- I'm so sorry-"

"Don't be." Steve tries to wipe his eyes, to hide the tremble in his voice. "Not your fault there's something wrong with me."

"What do you mean?"

"It's like I'm broken man, like nobody can stand to be around me. Tommy and Carol hate me now, Nancy- hell even my own parents hate being at home with me for more than a week. It's like I'm repellent or something. Couldn't even get a date to stick around for a whole night."

And Eddie's pretty sure *he* might start crying now. He'd never have expected this much from Steve, all that sadness to come pouring out. It wouldn't have happened if Steve was completely sober. Without thinking, he reaches out.

Eddie puts a hand on Steve's shoulder and waits to see if the touch gets rejected, but Steve seems to lean into him, so he lets his hand linger.

"This probably won't help, but I don't think you're repellent. And that's coming from somebody who your whole group used to torture. I don't know much about you, but I kind of liked having you around tonight."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Steve gives him a tiny smile. His eyes are still wet with tears, and the smile doesn't come close to reaching them. He seems impossibly small here in Eddie's bed.

"I don't know man. I just wish-"

He cuts himself off, apparently deciding his words are too far, but Eddie urges him to keep talking.

"What do you wish Steve?"

"I just wish that... there was somebody out there I could have a future with. Somebody who actually loved me, you know?"

It might be the saddest thing Eddie's ever heard, and he blames that fact for what he does next.

He takes his hand off Steve's shoulders and instead hauls Steve closer to him, fitting the other boy against his chest and wrapping his arms around him. It's a move that might get him decked, but he doesn't think it will. And he'll be damned if he doesn't hug Steve right that second.

He doesn't get hit. Steve tenses for a second, but it's just that one instant before he's melting into the embrace.

Eddie feels more tears falling against his shirt, and he couldn't care less. He keeps Steve close, let's him cry into his chest, runs a hand through that famous mop of hair.

He isn't sure how long it takes for Steve to calm down, but eventually he does. His breathing evens out, and he shivers a little before speaking.

"Thanks man."

And Eddie takes another leap of faith.

"I could be that person, you know."

"What?"

"I mean. You know Im... not straight. It may not be exactly what you're wanting but. I think I could picture a future with you. If you want to, just for tonight...I could be that someone who loves you."

Steve looks at Eddie, like he's a puzzle that he needs to solve, before a other shiver seems to wrack his body.

"Just for tonight?"

It comes out as a whisper, but Eddie hears it all the same.

"Yeah. For tonight Steve."

"I think...I think I'd like that."

Eddie gives him the sweetest smile he can muster, and nods.

"Alright sweetheart."

Eddie isn't exactly sure what it means, to love Steve for the night. After all, Steve is straight. He figures it doesn't matter much though, it's only for a night.

He keeps a hold on Steve, let's him get comfortable tucked against Eddie, and he does what feels natural. He runs a hand up and down Steve's spine, traces shapes into the soft fabric of his shirt. He tangles their legs together, and in a moment of insane bravery he presses a kiss to the top of Steve's head.

He's met with a sigh, full of relief, and figures he's on the right track.

"Just close your eyes Stevie, I've got you."

"Can you tell me about it?"

"Hmmm?"

"The future. You said you could see one. Can you tell me?"

And he asks so carefully, he sounds almost afraid, Eddie can't say no to that.

"Do you want the fantasy future, or the realistic future?"

"The real one."

"Alright then. Well, if I'm not going to be a rich and famous rockstar...I'll probably graduate and get a job somewhere in town. A real job, maybe working on cars or something. I'm good with cars. You'd come over all the time, have dinners with me and with Wayne. You'd have to meet Wayne. And we'd have more nights like this, sleeping close."

Steve let's out a pleased sounding hum, and shifts his face so it's buried even closer in Eddie's neck. He can feel Steve's breath on him.

"We could save up money and get a little place together, somewhere outside Hawkins. I have to stay kind of close, for my uncle, but maybe Indy?"

Steve nods, mutters something about staying close 'just in case'. He sounds like he might fall asleep, so Eddie keeps going.

"We could get an apartment, nothing too fancy. We would get two rooms, so nobody gets suspicious, but we would share a bed most nights. I'd play with my band on weekends, just for fun, and you'd join some little local sports team. I'd make sure to schedule DND nights so that I never miss a single game, even though I don't understand a damn thing about sports. We would come home for holidays, but most of the time it would just be us. I'd take good care of you, make sure you never go more than a few hours without me telling you I love you. I'll show up wherever you're working just to give you a hug and a kiss, and make sure you don't forget it. And I'll annoy the hell out of, but you won't mind too much, because I'll make you happy too."

Eddie can think of more. He can think about so many things. How he could give Steve one of his rings, even if they couldn't legally get married, even if Steve would never want that. Just as another reminder that he's loved. They could take trips together and go out to parties where Steve will never have to worry about getting ditched. Eddie doesn't do things halfway, and he has a hell of an imagination. He could picture them growing old together, if he tried, if he let himself. But this is just for tonight, so he doesn't. Instead he runs a hand through Steve's hair again, and listens to his quiet breathing. He thinks he may have fallen asleep, but he's wrong.

"That sounds nice."

It comes out muffled, spoken into Eddie's neck, but he manages to make it out, and he let's the vibration of it sink into his skin.

*It's only for tonight.*

He has to remind himself, because Steve is just feeling lonely. He doesn't want that future with Eddie, he just wants to feel loved.

But even if it's just pretend, just to help Steve for a few hours, he's okay with that.

Steve may think he's broken, but Eddie thinks he would be easy to love for a long time. Loving him for one night is nothing. He doesn't even have to try.

Tomorrow Steve will wake up sober, and he'll thank Eddie for letting him stay over, and they won't talk about it. Eddie will drive Steve back to his car in silence, and they'll say their goodbyes. They may not talk ever again, they never had before.

But for tonight? Eddie Munson will love Steve Harrington, and Steve? He'll let himself be loved, let himself beleive it. And he'll love Eddie right back.

Just for one night.

And if Steve ever needs it again? Eddie will love him for another night. And Steve will give that love right back. He's got plenty to spare, after all. And there's far worse people he could share it with.

#steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve harrington whump #steve is sad #eddie helps #pre-season 4 #this takes place between seasons 2 and 3 #I wrote this in a fit of insanity while I was supposed to be working #hope yall like it

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nerdygirlramblings · 3 months ago

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Off to See the Wizard (10)

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Giving an update on the mission is both easier and harder than you anticipated when you told the team you were willing to try being theirs. Before last night, you knew these were life or death situations they were getting into, but now, you can't bring yourself to meet John's eyes as you detail how dangerous the landscape they'll be dropped into in three days is.

"So until someone is able to find and take down whatever is cloaking the satellite signal, I have to send you in blind and-" Kyle reaches to where you have a hand braced on the table to steady your nerves. His warm hand on yours draws your attention.

"Doll, we've done this blind before. You were on the other end then and got us all out safe. We know you'll do it again," he says gently. Across the table, Simon grunts his assent.

You take a deep breath and look at the your men. Each one meets your eyes. No one shows fear. No one looks worried. Meanwhile, beads of sweat keep rolling down your back. "I just...I mean, how..." The air rushes out in a huff. "Is it always like this? This fear?"

John's chuckle rumbles in his chest. "The fear never goes away, dove. It's a little easier when we're all tapped because we know we're together, no matter what happens. But when Laswell sends one of us on a solo mission, it's hard." His smile softens as he looks at you. "And even though we're all together now, knowing we're leaving you behind it's going to make this hard. But it also gives us every reason to come back home. To be with you the way we want to. The way you deserve."

After lunch is another call with Laswell, this time to solidify decisions for dropping the boys into their mission. She carefully pokes at the information you shared the day before, but you don't give her any ground. While you don't normally shy away from sharing your love life with her, there's something different about this. You know that this mission and its outcome will change things. You're not sure how you feel about all of that just yet.

What you do speak with her about however is another way to keep track of the boys while they're radio silent. You know her team has been coming up with some new tech, and you prod her about the ability of one thing in particular. As you start digging, she understands exactly what you intend.

"I can have four in your hands in twenty-four hours, but you've got to be the one to convince the boys to use them."

Normally, you'd worry more about how to do that, as hard-headed as your men are. But you are absolutely not above a little emotional manipulation, and if this tech can do what you think, it's another way you can help keep them safe.

The barracks feel as tense as they did the night you found out all the boys were together. It's nothing to do with a secret this time, just the impending op. You still need to get them to agree to Laswell's tech, so you suggest an outing off base.

"I'm sure none of you are thrilled with the idea of nothing but MREs for the foreseeable future, and while the mess is great, I like a little variety too. Let's say we head into town and you show me some of your favorite spots?" You hold your breath and watch the silent conversation between your boys. "You could consider it our first real date," you say coyly, "something for all of us to keep close while you're on the mission." You know you're manipulating them but silently pray they agree.

Soap frowns slightly, there's small furrow between Simon's brows, and Kyle sits stiffly. It's clear they're not thrilled with the idea of going off base, and you remember how protective they were at the pub, but your ask was so innocent, you know they're going to struggle saying no. John clears his throat, looking between you, plea clear in your eyes, and the rest of his men. He's their captain, so it'll be up to him in the end.

When he huffs out a breath, you know you've won. Simon cuts his eyes to you and you smile sweetly, keeping any vindication from it. You really are excited about the idea of spending some quality time with these men now that you are all on the same page about what you want. You don't let yourself think about how this might be one of the only times it happens.

You spend the drive to town again wedged in the middle of the back seat between the two sergeants, but because of last night's decision, tonight each man has a heavy hand on one of your knees. The difference in their personalities is clear in the way Kyle rubs gentle circles into the side of your knee with his thumb while Soap slowly slides his hand as far up your inner thigh as you let him. Before his wandering digits get too far, the car stops and the engine cuts off.

Kyle slides out and John leans in and offers you a hand. He tucks your hand into the crook of his elbow as he takes off down the main street he'd pointed out last time. He steers you past the pub with the leering barman and to the open storefront of a little restaurant off a side street. Had he not brought you over, you'd never notice the place. The walls are cream and images of deserts and mountains in white frames line the walls. There's Arabic script painted on the wall below 'Kashmiri Sindabaat,' which seems to be the name of the place.

There doesn't seem to be an employee about, and there's no one at any of the tables. You pause for a moment on the threshold despite the shop's entire front being open and spilling onto the sidewalk. John gently tugs your arm, and you trail after him, looking over to see Simon at a table in the back left, facing out at the road. There's no corner booth here, and the boys didn't take the table against the wall, so Simon's facing any incoming threat, and the open seat next to him is probably for John. Soap and Kyle are already seated across from him. You watch the silent conversation they have about where to put your chair, eventually putting it next to the other empty seat on Simon's side.

Once everyone's finally seated, an employee materializes out of the door behind you, genuine smile on her face. She's an older woman, threads of silver winding through the dark expanse of the braid that drapes over her shoulder.

"My boys! You're back!" she cries. Clearly they're regulars here just like the pub. John smiles back and Soap winks. Simon tips his head with a, "Hullo, Miz Miriam."

Kyle looks up at her and introduces you. "Oz, this is Miss Miriam. She and 'er daughter run this place. Best Pakistani food outside of Kashmir, right, Miss Miriam?"

The woman blushes and motions at him to stop. She reaches her hand down, saying, "Pleasure to meet you, Oss."

John picks up where Kyle left off, telling the woman, "Oz's just transferred to base. We've been showing 'er where to go if she needs anything, an' when she said she was tired of the mess, we couldn't think a' a better place to bring here than here."

You let the others order for you and the table, and when Miriam ducks into the back, you sit for a moment, letting the warmth of the boys' conversation flow over you. When you feel a bump from your left, you look over at Simon. "Look like yer a million miles away," he says. Glancing around, it's clear the others have noticed your distraction too.

A breath to steady your nerves helps you start. "I spoke to Laswell this afternoon. I was, am, worried about you dropping in blind and having no way to reach you until you're able to find and disable whatever is preventing satellite signals and GPS."

"We told ya, doll, we've done it before," Kyle says, smiling.

You wave his comment away. "I know, I know, but being here instead of in D.C., being with you, makes it feel more dangerous than before," you tell them. "And I hate that." Your lips twist in a frown you try to smooth out quickly. "So I spoke to Laswell and had an idea."

The look John cuts at you feels knowing. His fingers start gently tapping the table. "And what is this idea you had to butter us up to tell us?"

You feel the blood rush to your cheeks at being caught. There was no use beating around the bush now. "Her team has developed wearable RFID trackers, and she's overnighting a set."

"Wot?" Simon asked, and Soap jumped in with, "Like a dog, lass? Ye think so highly of us." His crossed arms and sharp tone conveyed his frustration.

Kyle looks confused, and John has stilled beside you. "Wearable?" Kyle asks. "How so?"

Whether he intended it as an opening for you or not, you seize it. "It's sort of like what Soap said. A little. You can microchip a pet in case it gets lost, but you it only works if the pet is scanned by a chip reader. You can't open an app and find Fido if he's roaming the neighborhood."

"But ya can with an Air Tag," Kyle says leaning forward.

"Yes, exactly," you respond. "But those are bulky." You lean forward and drop your voice. You don't need someone overhearing this, even though it isn't actually classified. "Somehow, Laswell's team got Air Tag tech into something less than a millimeter thick. It goes on a pulse point - your body acts as its power source - and can be hidden under prosthetic skin."

Soap's put his elbows on the table as you talk, and there's excitement in his eyes when he asks, "Like special effects stuff in films?"

You can't help but smile. "Exactly like that," you tell him. "It'd go on before you leave and so long as there are any radio towers in the vicinity, which even black sites have, your location would report to me."

When you lean back, you feel a strong arm behind you. You know it's John because the hand on your shoulder canters you towards him. He brushes a quick kiss against your temple and murmurs, "Clever girl."

Miriam appears a moment later with a woman who looks to be a younger copy of her. Both women are carrying several dishes, which they put in the center of the table. John looks at you and says, "We'll continue talking about this when we get back to base, yeah?"

It's not a ringing endorsement, but he's not shooting the idea down either. You dig into your meal with hope your idea can keep them safe. So long as they agree to it.

series masterlist | main masterlist

Taglist: @blackhawkfanatic @starriestarlight @grayskel @mxtokko @imjustheretofightforlove @miss-vanta-likes-to-write @thriving-n-jiving @madsothree @silly-starfish @danielle143 @beelzebee @nova-willow-541 @alchemyfreak321 @lilynotdilly @eternallyelvish @viylikescats @erintaro @hidden-treasures21 @lil-writer-523 @mordacioust @echo9821 @yunho-leeknow @aria-writer @chaosundcoffee @boogeysmoth @capswife @fruitymoonbeams-blog

#cod #poly!141 #poly!141 x reader #tf 141 #tf 141 x reader #simon riley #kyle garrick #johnny mactavish #john price #nerdygirl says #off to see the wizard

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bigfan-fanfic · 6 months ago

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Some Type of Way (Male!Reader x Joel Miller)

Sarah smirks at her father as the man helps her gather her overnight bag for the sleepover.

"Wipe that look off your face it or it'll stay like that." Joel nudges her shoulder playfully. "What are you even smirking about?"

"Someone has a daaaaaaa-aaaaate."

"Smart mouth."

"Buy my silence."

"I'm letting you go on this sleepover, aren't I?"

"Yeah, cause you have a daaaaaa-"

He tugs her out of the kitchen by her backpack. "All right, I have a date. Happy?"

When she finally gets to plant her feet, she looks up at him. "Are you? I mean... how many dates is this? Have you two-"

Joel raises an eyebrow. "Do you really wanna ask that question, baby girl?"

"Ew. No, never mind." she shudders. "But still... you like him a lot."

"Yeah. Yeah, I do."

"Dad?"

The car pulls up. She has to go, but he can tell this is important. "Yeah, baby girl?"

"I like him too." she says softly.

Joel hugs her tight for a moment and they share it together. All the things they don't say, all the hopes they have. Then she smirks again.

"Say hi to him for me."

"Will do. Now you call me if anything happens. I got you that dang cell phone for emergencies."

"Yeah, Dad!"

She breezes off, and Joel stands on the porch, distracted, until you pull up.

He holds you tight when you hurl yourself into his arms, pulling you inside, closing the door on the world so he can just experience you.

Joel's life is pretty stressful. Being a single dad, dealing with his less-than-steady carpenter work, and trying to muddle through. But you are always his oasis, it seems.

He wants to give the people he loves everything, and he hates that he sometimes can't give them all he thinks they deserve.

But you don't ask for much, really. No matter how many "stay-in" dates with crappy spaghetti with store-bought sauce he makes, you don't ask to go out for fancier meals. Sometimes you even take him out.

Sarah likes you too - you relate to her well, even if you try to not get involved in her raising, knowing Joel might take offense.

He feels some type of way about you. And though you both know he's head over heels for you, you've never rushed him to say it.

Joel has always been uneasy about owing people. But with you, the emotion of gratitude is something powerful.

"I thought we would cook together this time, so I brought some stuff." you grin, and he kisses the top of your head.

"And here I thought I'd be your personal chef tonight. What, you don't like my spaghetti?"

You wink. "I love your spaghetti. But I think you'll love my garlic bread more."

When you first started dating, Joel was rigid in trying to maintain the role he thought he had to play. Provider and rock, masculine and constantly steady.

But your ease and the comfort you bring to him has allowed him to soften, to show you his true self, the one that usually only comes out around Sarah.

He's a jokester, with a wry and sarcastic wit, but also happy to follow along and find something to enjoy or find something humorous in any situation.

He puts on some music from an old CD and you two dance with each other as you cook and bake the garlic bread.

"I'll handle the cleanup. So we don't have to worry about it in the morning." you offer, and Joel winks.

"You mean I ain't kicking you out right after tonight?" he teases, and you smack him in the gut. "Fine, fine, but you let me cook breakfast for you."

"Oh, you drive a hard bargain, sir. But I guess I'll allow it. Besides, I got the whole weekend off, so I can stay over if you want."

Joel comes over, wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing the back of your neck. "Do you have to leave?"

He's asked things like this before, flirting and romantic, but you sense something... more, this time.

"Well... my lease will be up in a couple of months."

He stiffens, recognizing the unsaid offer, and then he hugs you closer. "I'll have to talk to Sarah about it, but... how would you feel about moving in here?"

"Are you sure, Joel? I know you're starting to save up for your startup and-"

"I want this. You. I want to wake up with you and take you to bed. I think I wanna share my life with you. Fully."

There's a moment you turn and kiss him where he knows he should say it, but he just can't, yet. He's far too cynical and far too wounded to say it without knowing for sure.

But ironically, the fact that you don't push is bringing him to that conclusion anyway. "You make me feel some type of way, Joel Miller."

He kisses you back, barely resisting the urge to pick you up and carry you off right then. "So do you, babe. So do you."

He'll tell you. Soon enough. After all, you two will have all the time in the world...

#joel miller x male reader #joel miller x reader #the last of us x reader #the last of us headcanons #headcanons

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kawhh · 3 months ago

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Oh nothing much, just dark!Quinn looking amused when he met your eyes. You are trying to escape but all doors are in a childlock, because he just kidnapped picked you up. He left you in the car because silly him, he forgot your phone that he'll definitely not tamper with and will definitely not hold over you.

You were passed out from the drugs. Maybe he took a little bit of time finding your phone. Maybe he got distracted by your cute little panties that he definitely did not breathe in. But now, you are just all panicked and distraught, all tied up with your own silk scarves, tears running down your cheeks, lips trembling, trying your best to break the windows with your shoulders--

Huh, must've been the wind...

Gonna get my lawyer on the phone real quick. I've taken horny damage. The pic was enough of an attack nevermind sending me on a kidnapping thirst mission.

Warnings: Quinn has lost all his marbles, stalking, watching you while you sleep, breaking in, obsession, drugging, him getting off on your panic, you don't know him

I think it'd start off slow. He might be beyond obsessive, but he's never stupid. Physically kidnapping you would be a major risk and he'd have to have time to deal with it.

There's no way you won't overreact and he'll need time to soothe you, to make you see sense. Your panic would be adorable but it'd stop him from fucking you properly for at least a few days. He could rush you, but he wants you to be his. Needs you to be his. He has to be delicate about it.

You're making things complicated for him though. You're not giving him enough alone time in your house. You're staying awake too late, staying home when you'd usually be out.

It's frustrating. It's making him rush. He had a routine and you're ruining it. He was comfortable with sneaking in to keep watch over you at night. His hours spent standing over your bed, prioritising you over his own sleep. It was a routine. A guarantee. A way to keep himself in check.

He's lucky to get half an hour now. You've changed the lock on your door forcing him to get creative. Every little noise startles you awake. You even pathetically tried to install cameras in your house. He wasn't having that. Every single one is broken. He knows you don't know enough to fix them, he knows you have nobody to ask for help.

He's not sure what's made you paranoid, but it's making him even more out of control. What if he's missed you being threatened by someone? Another stalker? He can't help that he misses chunks of time with you, it'd be too suspicious if he stopped showing up to practice and games. People would be onto him, would start looking too deeply, asking too many questions.

It does mean that he needs to move forward. To finally make you his. He can't have this happen to you, can't have some fucking creep watching you. He needs you next to him, chained down if he can't be with you. He's run out of track.

It's not hard to make the first move. His time in your house might've been cut, but he only needs a few minutes to drug your food. He knows what you eat. He monitors your fridge every single time he's over. What you rebuy, what gets eaten first. When you eat things. He knows he can drug parts of your breakfast and you'll be out like a light when he gets home from practice.

He's thankful that you have a back entrance, it'll be easier to move you from your house to his car without anyone noticing.

It's dark when he gets back to you, he's absolutely exhausted but the promise of you finally being his keeps him going. He's been rock hard all day, the thoughts of you being weak, being all his, not being confined to his nightime vists constantly running through his head.

He's not even taking the time to pick the lock. It doesn't matter. You'll be passed out and you won't be coming back. Nobody will check on you, nobody will report you missing. He doesn't need to be careful with your possessions. It doesn't matter if he touches things now, doesn't need to avoid making you panic.

Your cute body passed out on the couch almost makes him snap. Almost makes him take you on the couch, the need to be inside you attacking his brain, the thought of your cunt making his fists clench.

This is why he needs to be yours. You're so vulnerable, so alone. What if the other stalker saw you like this? It's unacceptable. He wouldn't worship you. Wouldn't shatter your purity in the way you need.

His arms reaching for you, cradling your body against his chest. Feeling your weak heartbeat against his skin. The little puffs of air escaping your pretty mouth. You're so perfect for him. So small in his arms.

He doesn't waste time getting you in the car. You're stirring in his arms but he's not concerned. He parked close, every second planned out. He's borrowed some of your silk ties - he doesn't want to harm you with his restraints. Every inch of you needs to be protected.

Smoothing your hair as he rests you against the seat, making sure he wraps the ties around you tight enough to stop you from causing any problems. Wrapping them around your arms and legs. He knows you won't hurt yourself in your initial struggle to escape.

Pulling back to lock the car, making sure there's absolutely no way you can escape. He won't be leaving you alone for long, but he does need to fully explore your house without risk. He needs to go through everything you own and you might appreciate some comforts in your new home.

Hanging back long enough to see you fully stir, licking his lips as the immediate panic kicks in when you realise you're not where you were when you were awake. The way you tug at your restraints, the way you notice him standing there. Watching you, resting his hand against the car window. The confusion on your face, your muffled yells.

Fuck, it'll be worth it. He can have your lips wrapped around his cock every morning. He can come home and ruin you. He can breed you. He can make you his little whore. He can do anything he wants. You're in his possession now. He owns you.

You can't break out from the car. It's too expensive, too well locked down. You can scratch and yell at him all you like when he's back in the car if you somehow get loose. It won't matter. Won't make a difference. He's protecting you. It's needed.

It's refreshing to be able to just stroll through your house. It's been so hard to be cautious, he feels like he can finally know all your secrets now.

Your discarded phone on the floor is an easy first target. Must've fallen from your hand when you passed out. He'll need it to make sure nobody actually does try and contact you. You might have bills set up, deliveries. He needs all the information. He can't raise any red flags.

The smell of you flooding your bedroom makes him moan, he's obsessed with every scent. Your sweat, your tears, your cum, everything. It's perfect, it's addicting. There's not a single thing wrong with you, you're like a drug to him and he's barely scratched the surface with you.

He's having to swallow down the saliva filling his mouth as he reaches for your underwear on the floor. His messy little girl. They're so innocent. Pale cotton with little bunnies on them.. fuck. It's taking everything in him to not jerk off with them right now. They're calling to him in his hand. It'd be so easy to slide his cock against them, like a little preview of your pussy.

He's carrying them out the door with him, inhaling them as he walks back towards the car, the scent of you overwhelming him.

He really has made the best choice.

#quinn hughes #qh43 #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes x you #quinn hughes blurb #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes slight smut #quinn hughes imagines #dark quinn

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