#I know what a seizure looks and sounds like THAT was a seizure | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bpmiranda · 11 days

Text

Comfort |l. howlett| nsfw

A/N: age gap, car sex, old!logan, 18+ f!reader, mutant!reader(can identify diseases in person), smut, oral m! receiving, unprotected intercourse, cheating(?), creampie

You are not exactly sure how it began between you and Logan, how it is that you became so close. Looking at it from the beginning, it was a simple arrangement, a favor for Charles Xavier who had once upon a time helped you out in a time of need. With your position at the hospital, you were able to supply Logan with the medicine Charles needed for his seizures. It was quite often that Logan appeared tired and worn out from the long trips he drove as a chauffeur. The sight of him so broken down weighed on you and there was nothing you wanted more than to help him, ease the aches and pains he was no doubt constantly feeling.

“You okay, Logan?” You ask as he meets you outside of the emergency area. It’s drizzling softly and he’s struggling to get up the slight, slick incline of the sidewalk towards you.

“Fine,” He forces a smile. “Just fine, sweetheart.” But he’s lying and you know it and he knows you’re aware, but he can’t burden you with himself too.

However, it is built into you to help those in need. “Have dinner with me.” You offer, holding onto his hand as you give him the medicine. Logan shakes his head. “Please, I need a ride home anyway. My boyfriend’s got my car, but he’s not answering my calls.” Logan looks at you for a moment with concern and you roll your eyes playfully. “He’s kind of absentminded. It’s no big deal. Come on, give me a lift home and I’ll make you something to eat?”

It’s hard for Logan to pass up the invitation, especially when there’s a damsel in distress and he’s grown soft for you. Not only because you’re helping him out or because you’re incredibly pretty and you give him the type of looks he hasn’t received from a young girl in ages. He’s particularly soft for you because of all you do for others, nursing the sick, giving your deadbeat boyfriend every benefit of the doubt, indulging Logan even when he knows he’s being a complete pain in the ass.

You sit in the passenger seat with him as you rant about the patients, the doctors at the hospital, and your boyfriend. “I just can’t ever seem to do enough, you know?” You say as you look over at him and he’s listening with a pained look, struggling not to interrupt you with his coughing, the features of his face illuminated by the red stoplight you are currently sitting below. You feel your cheeks warm up in embarrassment as you realize you’ve been complaining this whole time. “I’m so sorry, Logan. I don’t mean to bitch about my problems when you’ve got all this shit worry about with Charles and yourself.” You say, pressing you palm into your forehead as you shake your head in disbelief. “Ugh, I’m sorry, I just get to jabbering and I don’t know when to-”

Logan’s hand is suddenly on your thigh and you look back at him, your face warm for a different reason now. “You’re allowed to bitch about that asshole.” He reassures you and you chuckle, biting your lip as he gives you a comforting squeeze on your leg. “Your boyfriend sure doesn’t sound like a prize.” He chuckles, leaving his hand where it is as he drives past the now green light and you let him. “How is it that you met again?”

You chuckle, shaking your head at the meet-cute you and your boyfriend had at the very hospital where you work. “He was bringing in a friend of his who had sprained an ankle. I could feel the cancer in him when our hands touched and I advised him to get a check up. When his results came back and they were able to treat it early, he invited me out to eat as a way of thanking me.”

“I should’ve done the same, huh? Maybe you and I would’ve ended up together.” Logan says, looking over at you with a small smirk while you frown because he knows you don’t like when he talks about what could’ve been. “Don’t be like that. I’ve lived a long life. It was only a matter of time before something killed me.”

You had sensed the adamantium poisoning him when you first shook hands at the beginning of your arrangement. You were hesitant to tell him, but you only confirmed what he already knew. It didn’t make it any easier to see such a great man slowly dying, weakening with every passing day. It made your heart ache and you just wanted to care for him. Logan knew of your feelings, but he was living on borrowed time, you needed someone that was going to stick around and he wasn’t going to let you take him on as another problem, another patient.

“You’re kidding me.” You say angrily as Logan is pulling up in front of your town home and you see your car parked outside. “That fucking asshole.”

Without another word, you leave your belongings in the car as you storm into your home and chew your boyfriend out for not picking up the phone or coming get you. Logan isn’t quite sure what to do, but he waits. After a few minutes, he watches you hurry back out with a backpack which you angrily toss into the back of the limousine and you sit back there with your face in your hands as you cry softly. “You okay?” He asks, driving away from your home, unsure of where he’s going, but assuming you don’t want to be there anymore.

“No.” You mumble, wiping your eyes and leaning back into your seat as you stare out of the tinted windows. Your phone, which is still in the passenger seat, is going off with texts and calls and you hear it. “Just turn it off.” Logan turns it off and he looks at you through the rear view mirror where you give him a sad smile. “Am I an idiot for giving him all those chances?” You ask suddenly and he shakes his head which makes you chuckle dryly. “Please, I have got to be the dumbest bi-”

“Don’t.” Logan’s voice is stern and you stop talking, crying quietly into your hands again as he finds a safe place to pull over so he can get into the back with you. His strong arms wrap around you and you cry into his chest, holding tightly onto him as he comforts you. You can hear his heartbeat, you can feel his breathing is forced and shaky, you look up at him through your eyelashes, tears clinging to them like raindrops. Logan softly brushes the droplets from your cheekbone, his thumb moves slowly down to your jaw, and you lean up to kiss him. His initial thought is that you’re sad, you need comfort, you need to be shown appreciation, and as much as he would love to do that for you, be that person, he can’t. He won’t live long enough to build something real with you, he couldn’t possibly do that to you.

“Please,” You beg as he begins to pull away. Your hands grab fistfuls of his dress jacket as you bring yourself up to kiss him again. “Please.” You whisper against his lips while you climb onto his lap.

Logan, in an attempt to be a good man, gently grabs your arms and pulls away from you. “Sweetheart, you’re not thinking clearly. You’re hurt, you don’t really want to do this.” He says, looking at you in his lap, pouting and broken hearted.

“Logan, I know you’re hurting too,” You say, gently pushing his jacket of his shoulders, rubbing his tense back softly and a low moan emits from his throat. “You want this as much as I do.” You whisper, unbuttoning his white dress shirt as you lean in and kiss his forehead. “Let me take care of you, and you can take care of me.” Your lips trail down to his jaw and you feel him force down a lump in his throat.

Hesitantly, for only a moment, he considers telling you to stop, to just talk about your feelings. You’re not some schoolgirl though, and you’re not someone he’s going to screw and forget about in a week. This isn’t going to be a one time thing with you. Genuinely, he wants to make you feel better and you’ve obviously got it set in your mind how that will happen. Logan gives you a small nod, grunting as you have him remove his button down till he’s left in his white undershirt. You move off his lap and undo his belt buckle, your eyes on him as his jaw tightens at the sight of you between his knees. “You don’t got-”

“Let me.” You say as you pull his hard cock out of his pants and kiss the head tenderly. Logan wants to take your mouth and shove himself deep down your throat in that moment, but he resists the urge. He lets you kiss him, he lets you slowly run your tongue around his length, he groans when your lips close around his tip. One of his hands is tangled in the back of your hair while his head hangs back slightly as you’re sinking your mouth around him. Your tongue cushions his heavy cock as you blow him, your hands pressed into his thighs while he’s guiding you gently. His other hand holds onto your arm as he shudders and jolts from the things your mouth is doing to him. “Mm,” You hum contently, your saliva spills down the sides of him as you gag and suck him off, stroking the underside of his veiny cock with your tongue until his precum begins to coat your tastebuds.

“Fuck, c’mere.” He says as he lifts you up, a pop sounds in the empty limousine as your mouth comes off his shaft. He pulls your scrub top off your body and he moistens his lips at the sight of your dark green lace bra, quickly pulling your bottoms off as well, confirming his suspicion that you’re wearing a matching set. You giggle softly as he pulls you back into his lap, his lips kiss sloppily at your breasts and the valley between them, his thick salt-and-pepper beard tickling you. Your fingers tangle in his hair and you whine as your clothed pussy rubs against his hard length. “You deserve better than that asshole.” He says, pulling your panties to the side so he can feel for your wet entrance with the tip of his cock.

“Oh, Logan.” You moan as you sink down on him and your eyes water from the stretch, surprised that for someone his age he is still so well hung and fit. You find yourself wrapping your arms tightly around his shoulders as he bounces you on his lap while you whine for him. “Uh, fuck!” You cry out as he continues kissing the tops of your breasts and your neck. “Logan, I want you so bad.” You gasp as his large hands grab fistfuls of your ass, spanking you hard and you tremble in his hold.

“It’s yours, sweetheart.” He grunts, sinking down slightly in the seat so he can watching you bounce on his cock. “Goddamnit, look at you.” He groans, his member throbbing and you whimper like a bitch in heat. You’ve thought about him like this before, you’ve gotten yourself off to the thought of him. It’s much better than your imagination could’ve made up. One of his hands comes up to fondle your tit, his thumb stroking your hard nipple through your bra as you’re rocking your hips into him. The drag of his cock against your walls makes you shudder and you feel the tension building up in the pit of your lower belly. “You’re so damn pretty.” He groans, bucking up into you and your mouth falls open from the added force.

“‘M gonna cum, Logan.” You warn, your hands now balancing yourself on his chest as you’re bouncing rhythmically, your ass slapping against his thighs which are wet from your leaking arousal. Logan growls, the smell of you so intoxicating he can’t see anything, but the end goal which is to fill you with his seed. “Yes, fuck!” You scream out weakly, your head dropping forward as you’re shaking violently with the force of your orgasm.

Logan keeps you steady, holding you up by your waist as he fucks up into you with an animal-like pace. You feel him deep in your core, hitting your cervix repeatedly until he suddenly pins you down, his large hands hold onto your shoulders as he pumps his load inside you, the hot spurts of semen coat your walls and you feel it, so deep, so much of him filling you up all at once. “Fucking-” He groans, burying his face between your tits as he pants breathlessly, his muscles shuddering as you gently rub his back and shoulders. “Didn’t think I still had it in me.” Logan comments making you laugh. His eyes wrinkle at the corners as he smiles at the sound, your genuine laughter that he doesn’t get to hear often because of all the bullshit weighing on you. He’s honored you share it with him, humbled that you share yourself with him.

“That was the best I’ve had in a while.” You say with a warmth on your cheeks from the smirk he gives you as he shakes his head incredulously. “Thank you.” You whisper, kissing him softly, still sitting on his cock as you make out in the quiet lull that follows orgasms as intense as the ones you just experienced. His hands roam your body slowly as if committing every curve and shape to memory.

“No, sweetheart, thank you.” He says.

That night is committed to comfort. The next to experimenting. The following to pleasure, and so forth, until you find yourselves in a habit of simply seeking each other out for the sake of the love growing between you. Even if it doesn’t last long, even if it’ll only be a few months or a few years before he’s too weak to continue, you’ll still have the comfort of knowing what you had was real.

Oh, you know, just breaking my own heart one writing session at a time:’)

🏷️: @dontfeedthebigbadwolf @peterparkernotfound @httpsells @evasmlp @ayatotiddies @thatlittlered @seasonofthenerd @littlemisscantloveyouback @scorpiosaintt @simpingfor-wakasa @spencerswh0r3 @thatweirdtheaternerd12

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut #logan howlett fic #logan howlett angst #logan howlett fluff #logan howlett fanfiction #wolverine #wolverine x reader #wolverine angst #wolverine fluff #wolverine fic #wolverine fanfiction #wolverine smut #deadpool and wolverine #hugh jackman

903 notes · View notes

celestie0 · 7 months

Text

gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch.7 to lose someone you love

ᰔ pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. he's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. but he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying & drinking while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. but when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem reader, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, mentions of weed, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot

ᰔ chapter. 7/x (probably 12)

ᰔ words. 8.5k

a/n. sighhh i'm rly sorry for the wait. and thank you sooo much to the love for the last chapter omg :') this chapter is gojo pov and it's a bit different than the rest, but i still hope you enjoy and that it was worth the wait. if there are typos, they're not typos they're actually 100% intentional and you are the silly one

nav. masterlist

☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1

♬.*ﾟplaylist

When Gojo was just four years old, he called for the paramedics for the very first time.

He had wandered around the house, wide and innocent blue eyes searching the room for the landline in the dim light of the evening, his lip quivering in a pout. His small arm reached up to pet around at the top of his parents’ dresser before his fingers wrapped around the phone. He couldn’t remember what the number was at first, the one his mother always told him to call in case of an emergency, but he remembered he scribbled it down somewhere with red crayon in one of his coloring books. By the time Gojo first realized he needed to call for help, located the landline, looked through all of his little portraits of dinosaurs and spaceships sprawled across the carpet of his room, found those three numbers, and then finally dialed them, his father had already been seizing and shaking on the bathroom floor for longer than twenty-four minutes.

He was just a child. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know any better.

Gojo spent the remainder of that night hugging his mom in the hospital’s emergency room, his tears soaking through her shirt as she gently rocked him back and forth in her lap while whispering soothing words in his ear. His father lay motionless on the hospital bed before them, eyes shut, and Gojo will never forget the haunting sounds of the machinery that was keeping his father alive. It was a sudden onset seizure, likely stemming from the traumatic brain injury his father had suffered a few years ago, and the prolonged convulsions he experienced on the bathroom floor that night had resulted in severe brain damage. Gojo could still hear the echo of his mother’s silent cry when the doctors informed them that it’s unlikely his father would ever fully recover from this.

No reasonable adult would ever look a four-year-old in the eyes and say if you had called for help sooner or knew what to do, maybe your father would’ve still had the chance to live a long life. Yet, even at his young age, Gojo was aware of the energy in the room, and that explanation was the only truth his mind could grasp onto to make sense of what he had just witnessed.

After two weeks of clinging to life, his father miraculously woke up from his coma and persevered for the sake of his wife and son. Shortly after the incident, he began to have recurring seizures but fought through them each time. Without fail, he made Gojo breakfast in the mornings, even if it meant having to clean up the spilt orange juice on the counter every now and then because of how his hands could not stop trembling. He always walked Gojo to the bus stop, waving him goodbye, despite how troublesome and embarrassing he found it to use his cane. The love he had for his son was so palpable that it eclipsed the bitterness over how his life had ended up because of the blessing it had brought him.

In his prime, Gojo’s father was a renowned soccer player, so incredibly talented at the sport that he left a lasting mark on the way teams strategized, his presence on the field commanding respect, and he was one of the greatest talents the entire college division had ever seen.

He met Gojo’s mother at one of his freshman year games, a pretty lady in the stands that caught his eye from the sight of her laughter among her friends, her radiance drawing him to her from the field, and that’s how their love began. Exactly one year following that day, he stole one of his grandmother’s thrifted rings from her jewelry collection and that was what he used to propose. Gojo’s mother had accepted it with so many tears and so much snot running down her face, and he had never found her more beautiful. They married young and sweet, like most people back then.

During the thrilling semifinal match between Keio Uni, Gojo’s father’s team, and Yokohama Uni during the end of his senior year, spectators witnessed a game that most college soccer enthusiasts would deem was a once-in-a-lifetime watch. Both teams engaged in relentless offense, and Gojo’s father was on his way to shatter the record of the most goals scored in a single championship match within the history of the league, but when he received a call from his wife during a timeout with the most life-altering news he could have ever heard, he abandoned everything on the field that day to go home and be with her. Grainy footage from the televised broadcast still exists online today—the moment he sprinted across the field, confused players glancing in his direction, amidst the uproar of the crowd. She called to let him know she was pregnant.

No one knew that would be the last game of soccer he would ever play.

It was a freak accident, a distracted driver behind the wheel of a gray Chevy on a dark and rainy night, veered straight towards Gojo’s parents car to avoid a branch on the road. In a moment that could only be described as his instinct to protect, he quickly swerved his vehicle, taking the brunt of the impact on his side. His family surrounded him at his hospital bedside as they grappled with the news that he would be unable to play the sport ever again due to his traumatic brain injury that would lead to lifelong motor function loss. According to the doctors and police, had he not swerved to shield his wife and unborn child, the outcome would have been far more disastrous. After months of rehabilitation, he regained enough ability to walk and just enough function in his extremities to welcome his newborn son in his arms.

When Gojo was just six years old, two years after witnessing his father’s first seizure, he stumbled upon a dusty, forgotten soccer ball tucked away in the corner of the garage. When he eagerly presented it to his father, excitement gleaming in his eyes, he was only met with a scowl and the demand to discard it, to never bring such things like that to him ever again. His mother protested, ensuing in an argument, and as Gojo lowered his gaze to the ball in his hands, he noticed his father’s faded signature adorned with a heart and message of love for his mother. The ink, once vibrant, now faded with time.

It wasn’t until Gojo turned seven that his father finally relented to teach him more about the sport, knowing it was all his son wanted for his birthday. With determination in his heart, Gojo pleaded for his father’s guidance, eager to kick around a nearly deflated, weathered ball. His father watched his son, expression morphing from reserved and stoic, softening to surprise, then hopeful, and he found himself cheering on his son’s clumsy endeavors on the field despite how many times he tumbled and fell. Because that was his son, his pride and joy, reminiscent of him embracing the sport that he himself had cherished so many years ago.

As Gojo grew older and excelled at the sport, securing victory after victory in every youth league, his father’s health steadily declined. The recurring seizures caused by the brain damage from his prolonged convulsions on that fateful night exacerbated over the years and started to take an increasing toll on his body. Yet still, he never missed even a single one of his son’s games. Whenever Gojo swiftly sent the ball flying through the net, the first person his eyes would search for on the field was his father, the joy in his eyes being all he cared about in the world. Gojo lived to make his father proud, because it was the only thing that made him feel like he could make up for what little he had done to protect his father that night.

You were just a child. It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know any better.

The day following Gojo’s eleventh birthday, his father had his second major seizure, falling into another coma, but this time he never woke up. Two years later, his mother made the tough decision to end his life-support, and then he was gone from their lives. Gojo’s mother was inconsolable, and he knew that his father took a piece of her soul with him to heaven that night. The piece that allowed her to smile.

one day, you’ll lose someone you love. and everything following will fail to have meaning.

But why was he remembering all of that now?

The shrill of Gojo’s alarm clock woke him up from the intrusive memories that were washing through the fore-front of his mind, and he grumbled to himself before whacking at his nightstand haphazardly to shut the thing off. He ran a hand across his face in an attempt to wipe the sleepiness away, features instantly settling into an annoyed scowl as he blinked his eyes open and the filtering sunlight through the windows harassed his vision.

He laid there for a few seconds, mending to the pounding headache at his temples with his fingers rubbing circles, and then he finally sat up in bed. Blinking at his sheets, the images of last night start to flash through his mind. The heavy music, the dim lighting of the bathroom, the dizzying jealousy, and the taste of you on his tongue–

The memory is supposed to arouse him, and would on any normal day, but because you had left him standing there stunned with no release of his own at all, he instead just feels a pulsing, soul-deep throbbing pain at his crotch that could really only be due to the fact he was left high and dry by you last night. He groans at the sensation, palm pushing down on his lower abdomen to try and relax the torture, which barely helped. It’s either he jerks off or takes a cold shower, and given the former was likely not possible for him right now since his god-forsaken brain decided to push the traumatizing experiences of his childhood to the forefront of his headspace first thing in the morning, meaning it’s unlikely he’ll be able to settle into the memory of you bent over that bathroom counter for him, he decides on the cold shower. And it’s safe to say that today already fucking sucked.

The moment the chill water hits the skin of his body, he recollects the look you had on your face right before you walked out on him. Soft, searching, to him almost seraphic, but you also looked wounded. And something from your anger with him since before he even had you in that bathroom, to the agonizing moment you left him in there by himself, told him he’d messed up big time with you somewhere along the lines.

He knew he had been a jerk last night. He didn’t really have much of a right to be seethingly possessive of you, but the sight of you kissing another guy had him seeing red and his knuckles turning white. He finds himself clenching his jaw at the unwelcome memory even now. He figured he probably ruined what would’ve otherwise been an enjoyable night for you, and so you decided to get revenge by walking out on him. However, he can’t shake the feeling that things are messy and complicated now, primarily because of him, and he felt like he needed to apologize for dragging you into his weird, confusing emotions.

He gets himself dry and dressed, grateful for the barely sufficient relief he had down south, and sighs as he grabs his phone and taps on your name, thinking about what to say to you, and just settles on typing out Hey, can we talk? and then presses send. He turns the ringer of his phone off, tosses the device onto his bed and then heads out the door.

Geto was sitting on the couch in the loft, rubbing an ice cube across his forehead as he sprawled on the cushions and let out low and consistent groans to himself. Gojo flopped down on the armchair across from him and assumed a similar position, rubbing at his temples to nurse his own headache. Geto opens an eye to look at him.

“Morning,” he grumbles.

“I take it I’m not the only one that feels like they’ve been hit by a truck?” Gojo asks.

Geto makes a disgruntled noise and throws his head back on the cushion. “I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking. God knows how much I had last night.” He reaches over to the console table in the center for the bottle of Ibuprofen and tosses it to Gojo, who catches it and stares down at the label. “I didn’t really see you drink that much though. Don’t know why you’re hungover.”

Gojo sighs. He wasn’t hungover. His headache was from the fact that had a lot on his mind. Like the feeling of your skin last night. And then the pain of being blue-balled. And also for some reason his father’s death. Very exhausting to juggle those thoughts at once.

Gojo twists the cap off the bottle of Ibuprofen and pops two pills, drowning them in his mouth with Geto’s glass of water, then runs a frustrated hand through his hair. The man across from him raises an eyebrow.

“You good?” he asks.

“Super peachy,” Gojo replies.

He sighs. “Well, whatever it is, just make sure it doesn’t affect your play today,” Geto warns him, sinking further down into the couch. Gojo lets out an exhale through his nose. Geto usually pushed further for answers whenever he was in a mood, so the fact that he didn’t this time meant that hangover was bad.

“I’m more worried about you. You think you’ll be fine in a few hours?” Gojo asks. Geto just waves his hand in the air in response as he grabs the hand towel on his chest and drags it up over his face, shielding himself from the light of the room.

“I have no choice but to be fine. We have to win this game,” is all he says through muffling cloth.

Gojo nods, resting his elbows on his knees and looking down at the carpet. It was finally the game of the 28th, arguably the second-most important game of the season. If they take home the win, they’re automatically seeded into top sixteen teams, which means they’ll only have to win four more matches after today to take home the championship. But if they lose, they’re seeded to the bottom, and then four turns into a daunting eight. In the history of the league, not a single team has ever lost their pre-seed game and still continued to win the playoff championship. So Geto was right, they have no choice but to win today. Otherwise, they could kiss goodbye to a 12-year UTokyo championship streak.

“Not going for your run?” Geto asks, interrupting his thoughts.

“Nah, not feeling up for it,” Gojo replies.

He clicks his tongue. “Never skip the pre-game ritual, man.”

Gojo groans, knowing that he’s right, and so he reluctantly gets up off the chair and heads back into his room. His phone lay there on the bed, facing down, and he felt so tragically taunted by it that he weighed the options of whether or not he should check if you replied back before his run or after his run. And then he’s wondering why you affect him this much in the first place.

He resolves to check after his run, and only gets one arm through his shirt before his hands betray him and he snatches his phone, eagerly tapping the screen to turn it on.

He sees your name at the top, where you had just replied barely a minute ago. Sure, we can talk. He blinks at his phone when he sees the polite period at the end of your message, and the proper capitalization, not to mention a vocative comma? He was starting to feel really nervous.

He didn’t care that you had only replied a minute ago, he quickly typed out his response and sent it.

|| 10:35am Gojo: Do you know how to get onto the stadium field today?

He sees you typing, and he’s holding his breath.

|| 10:36am you: yes, I do. I’m going in w the newsletter journalists. Was this what you wanted to talk about?

What did he want to talk to you about exactly? Something like I’m sorry about being an ass last night, totally not cool for me to be that territorial over you, although I can’t say I wouldn’t do it again because seeing you kiss someone other than me kind of made me want to die. Also, I’m sorry for acting like you’re just someone I know, I don’t know why I did it. I guess it’s because I didn’t know if you thought of me as any more than just someone you know either, and that thought was frightening. Did I mention I hated seeing you kiss someone that wasn’t me?

He’s never really been good with words. Or feelings.

10:37am Gojo: No, it’s not, it’s something else. I’ll come find you on the field before the game starts

He stands there, gaze fixed on his phone screen for the minute-long pause you took to respond, that for him felt like tortured eons, just for you to send-

10:39am you: k

Gojo finishes getting dressed for his run, anxiety brewing in his stomach drearily, and when he heads out the door of the house, the fresh morning air doesn’t help calm him down like it usually does. Of course, as he’s running, his thoughts wander to you. He’s thinking about the smell of your hair–or was it the perfume on your skin?–either way, it was intoxicating. The curve of your neck, that spot that made you whimper– fuck. Think of other things. Like the sound of your voice, soft and sometimes needy, but he enjoys it that way–makes his head spin. Or when you’re being sweet and thanking him for something you shouldn’t, because to him everything about you was a privilege and never a task. Even in the hot spring sun of the late morning, he finds himself missing the warmth from your body, and that look. That goddamn look in your eyes when you’re peering into his like you want him to–

“I’m sure he’s really proud of you.”

His legs stop him on their own, like they know something about the feelings in his chest that he doesn’t, and he’s standing still on the sidewalk of the neighborhood now. Short puffs of air escape his lips from his blood pumping fast through his body, and he could physically hear the sound of you in his head. Intimate enough to where he turns to the side slightly facing his surroundings, like there was no way it was just a memory and you weren’t actually near. He finds himself swallowing hard and having to consciously keep moving forward.

Gojo makes it back to the house, freshens up for the second time today, and gets dressed into his UTokyo soccer uniform with his signature #10 jersey. He leaves with Geto to campus, where all his teammates gather before eventually boarding the bus to the UTokyo stadium field ten minutes away. Coach Yaga yells their ears off in the locker rooms in an attempt to get their plays for today through their brains, and the exhilarating noises from the stands as they make their formal entrance through to the field fills Gojo’s senses, along with the obnoxiously loud music playing as pre-game rituals settle in. Gojo sets his bag down on the bench and joins the others in warm-ups for about fifteen minutes, before catching a chance to sneak away and look for you across the expansive pristine grass.

After lightly jogging around the perimeter of the field for a couple of minutes, he finally spots you, his raised eyebrows now flattening under the fringe of his hair as he relaxes. He didn’t realize he was tensing his shoulders until now. You were just beyond the sidelines near a hydration station, fidgeting with something in your camera case, lips pressed together in a frustrated expression, and he saw your body sulk with the sigh you let out as you must’ve realized you had forgotten something. The corner of his mouth twitches upwards into a slight smile, an unconscious reaction to seeing you look so damn cute from your troubled face decorated with a pout. And then he remembered he had been looking for you, and he had found you, and the only thing to do next was to be near you.

He ambles up to you, and you only catch sight of him when he’s just a few feet away and finally standing in front of you. He sees your eyes widen slightly, lashes blinking once, twice, and then there’s a blush of color to your cheeks as you fidget with the stadium access badge hung around your neck. He noticed there were grass stains on your jeans over your knees when he looked down.

“Hey,” Gojo greets you over the loud music playing on the field.

“Hi,” he sees you say, and he realizes he can barely hear you.

“Let’s go over there,” Gojo yells, jerking his head over to the side.

He leads you over to an area tucked near the east side entrance, a corner slightly underneath one of the sectioned stands where the loud cheers of the stadium somehow reflected off less. It was about as private or silent of a place that the two of you could manage to have a conversation on a soccer field before a match, if you could just ignore the dressed up school mascots rehearsing their walk-ins and walk-outs through the entryway.

You take a few steps backwards until your back hits the concrete slab wall, and he’s in front of you as he watches you study him for a second, taking in the sight of his uniform, before your eyes finally meet his.

“Are you ready to take your photos today?” he asks you, poorly attempting to make small talk despite the images of you with him in that bathroom last night flashing through his memory. Now was seriously not the time to be turned on.

You nod, and respond “I am”, giving him absolutely nothing to work with.

He sighs. “Listen, about last night, I just wanted to apologize. For dragging you into that bathroom with me, although you did ask me to-” He sees you narrow your eyes and cross your arms across your chest. “Sorry,” he sighs, “Seriously, I just…I don’t know what got over me then.”

“You don’t know? Or you just don’t want to tell me?” you prod at him. He briefly considers pretending he doesn’t hear your question over the sound of the stadium, but he knows he wouldn't get away with that, not with the way you’re looking at him like he’s just one more fuck-up away from making you storm off.

He looks at your lips. “I guess the only thing I know is that I didn’t like seeing you kiss someone else.”

You shake your head and close your eyes. “I know you didn’t, Satoru. Otherwise last night wouldn’t have happened. What I’m asking is why.”

He’s struggling now, searching his head for answers, like he’s fighting for his life on a test that he didn’t study for. When he looks down, he notices your foot has been tapping impatiently. And when he looks back up, there’s that wounded expression from last night again. “I don’t know,” is all he can offer.

You uncross your arms from your chest, lips parting slightly as your eyebrows pinch upwards with a disheartened look. He sees your gaze shift slowly across the features of his face, searching, and he wonders if you can see something within him that he can’t. The thought terrifies him. “Fine. It’s my turn to speak.”

He nods slowly. He wasn’t sure what you wanted to say to him. He imagined you would just cuss him out with a few choice words for being a raging asshole last night and then you’d be on your merry way. But he senses sincerity in your voice. Not that he was phenomenal at reading people, though.

He watches as you clench and unclench your fists at your sides nervously, then twiddle with the strap of your camera, then tuck your hair behind your ears, then blink rapidly as you look up at him, then worry your bottom lip between your teeth, then open your mouth to speak just to close it again.

“Do you need me here for any of this?” he says in an attempt at a joke to ease you, but when all you give him is a glare, he’s fearful enough to be serious again.

“I like you.”

He blinks. “Thanks? I like you, too.”

“No, no. I like you as in I have feelings for you,” you clarify. Gojo’s eyes widen at the confession, and he stands up straighter.

“Oh,” he finally replies when he realizes he hasn’t said anything yet, “I…I wouldn’t have guessed that.” Holy shit, if that was how you felt, then he really has been a raging asshole this entire time.

You roll your eyes. “I know. You’re a hopelessly dense, menacingly flirty, sleazy frat dude college athlete,” you sigh, “But I still like you. Unfortunately, tragically, annoyingly, much to my dismay, against my better judgment,”

“Okay, I get it-”

“I think it started that night you stayed with me when I was stranded with my flat,” you confess suddenly, your chest rising a little bit faster, and his expression softened. “I just really appreciated you being there for me.”

His voice is gentle when he speaks next. “You don’t have to thank me for that. I would’ve been there if it happened ten times over,” he pauses, “although I’d seriously question your ability to drive if it happened that many times.”

“And I think it started when you walked me out to the practice field for the first time, and you told me you cared about my dreams,” you say with a slight step forwards to him, unable to acknowledge his words at all, as if there was a script you needed to stick to that was the only thing keeping you from falling apart in front of him.

He finds himself instinctively leaning towards you, close enough to where he notices you’re wearing a different perfume today. “But that was before the night of your car incident,” he reminds you.

“I know,” you nod, and there’s that look in your eyes that he loves, “and I also think it started that first night we met and you looked sad when I said we weren’t friends.”

Gojo’s eyes widen, his heart skipping a beat in his chest, and he finds himself breathing shallowly as he listens to your words. “y/n…I think you’re working backwards here.”

“I’m trying to say I’ve had feelings for you this whole time,” you say to him, “they were tiny at first, I didn’t really see them, but now they’re too big for me to hold all by myself.”

Gojo nods slowly, and he already knows what you’re going to ask of him next.

“I like you in a way that makes me want more from you,” you admit, eyes steadily on his with resolve, “I don’t want to be just someone you know, or someone only for sex-”

“y/n-” he tries to interrupt you.

“And I certainly won’t be someone that sits around to wait for a guy if he doesn’t want me back,” you say, but there’s an apprehensive look in your eyes when you speak next, “so, I need you to answer to my feelings.”

Gojo blinks at you, his heart beating fast in his chest from your confession, and he feels like with every testing second that he fails to answer you back, you slip further and further away from him.

He knew he had affection for you. He always wanted to be close to you, even when he already was, as if he couldn’t get close enough. He wanted to take care of you, and see that softness in your expression when he knew you felt safe and happy. He couldn’t stand the thought of you with someone else, and it took him this damn long to realize as he stood in front of you that he had no interest in being with anyone else either. So then why did his chest feel so tight? And why was he struggling so much to give you an answer?

one day, you’ll lose someone you love. and everything following will fail to have meaning.

Gojo’s eyes widened as the memories of his life flashed through his mind, a chill running down his spine as they knock the wind from his lungs and he feels that same sense of dread that has been following him like a ghost since that day when he was just four years old, standing in the hallway, wondering why his father was having a nightmare on the bathroom floor when he should’ve known it was something far worse than that.

Gojo blames himself for so much that had gone wrong in his life. And he should know that it’s not his fault, but all of his grief was greedy to breathe and live, desperate to find a reason for why he had to lose someone he loved, and his grief found a home in all of his guilt.

And he was terrified to lose someone close to him again. Even if he decided to see what could become with you, even if he thought for a moment that he was allowed to feel any sort of happiness with you, the thought of falling short and failing frightened him. He was so tired of adding to a long list of regrets in his life. And he knew he wasn’t what you needed— what you deserved.

“I…” he starts, swallowing the lump in his throat, “I’m sorry, but I don’t feel the same way about you.” He knows he sounds convincing enough from the way the light in your eyes dimmed, anticipation faltering and replaced with a sad expression over your features. He needs to take a shaky breath to continue speaking. “It seems I’ve led you on in a lot of ways, and I apologize for that. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen anymore.”

You’re silent for a long moment, twiddling with your fingers as you look up at him. “I see…” you say, and when he sees your lower lip quiver slightly, he feels sick. His instinct is to reach out for you, pull you closer to him, but he knows that’s not a luxury you would allow for him, and he knew it wasn’t one he deserved either.

Your voice is trembling when you speak next. “I appreciate you letting me know. And you don’t have to worry about not leading me on anymore, because this will be the last time you see me.”

His entire body runs rigid.

“Why?” It’s a stupid question, but he asks it anyway.

“So I can get over you.”

All he can do is stand with the feeling of a chill in his bones.

“And I ask that you’ll respect my space while I do,” you add on at the end.

He’s silent for a long moment, then lets out the breath he was holding in. “I will,” he says, the promise leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

There’s a moment where you both just look at each other, as though the two of you were trying to hold onto the moment, but you’re the one to break out of it first, and he’s the one to wish it would’ve lasted a little longer.

“I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me.” The words already sounded like goodbye. “I’ll make sure you look nice in your photos,” you say with a small smile, holding your camera up slightly, “and good luck today.”

He wonders if he’ll regret this moment.

“Thanks.”

He steps aside so that you can walk past him and back out to the field. Gojo takes a deep breath, releasing it slowly, and relaxes his shoulders. Well, that was intense. Definitely not the direction he thought that conversation was going to go in at all, but that’s fine. He handled it fine. Totally fine. Things were going to be totally fine. He just has to play the match now.

The first step he takes back towards the field, he feels his uneasiness return, with the second step the feeling of his heart beating becomes violent in his head, with the third step he swears he can’t feel the tips of his fingers, with the fourth he feels severely nauseous, and with his fifth- was he seriously about to throw up?

He barely makes it back onto the grassy field cutting across the obstacles of people at the sidelines, using all his strength to not double over before he reaches a table and grabs one of the water bottles. He sees a group of men, all dressed in suits and loitering near the team manager’s station, perk their heads up at the sight of him and he’s groaning internally. The last thing he wanted to do right now was talk to any damn recruiters, but he sees one of them bold enough to approach him in his periphery. He sighs, taking one last gulp of water, and tries to stand up straight and look like he wasn’t going insane.

“Hi, I’m Jousuke Tsuda, recruiter for Tokyo Metropolitan’s national league team,” he says and stretches his hand out for Gojo to shake. The man looked aged, with thick creases to his forehead that could only mean he’s witnessed a hell of a lot of life and he has the soul to prove it.

Gojo’s eyes widen at the mention of Tokyo-Met’s team, and he grabs onto the man’s hand in as firm of a handshake he could manage. “Gojo Satoru.”

The man laughs. It’s deep with a slight crackle. “I know your name, son. Every recruiter in the country does. You’ve got a lot of eyes on you right now.”

“I’m flattered.”

The man raises an eyebrow at him. “Surely you feel pressured.”

Gojo only hums to himself.

The man glances at his watch. “I know the match starts in a few, but if I could have a moment of your time. Take a walk with me?”

“Sure.”

The two trail down the line of the field. “I’ll get straight to the point, kid. Tokyo-Met’s really keen on scouting you for the national league following your graduation,” he says.

Gojo feels like he should be excited about that news, actually, he should be ecstatic and groveling at this man’s feet, but instead he just feels empty and hollow inside.

“Forget the fact that you’ll be playing in the nation’s most revered team,” the man continues, “but compensation is high, too.” He pulls his phone out from his front suit pocket, tapping away at his calculator app, then turns the screen towards Gojo. Holy shit. “I’m talking about a 350 million yen per year contract here. I could advocate for higher based on how well you perform the rest of the season.”

“I…I don’t know what to say,” Gojo responds.

The man is silent for a second then sighs. When the two of them reach a somewhat secluded bench near the corner of the field, he sits down on it and expects Gojo to do the same, to which he complies.

“You know, I’m used to much more enthusiastic reactions from players that hear this kind of news, although they’re usually ecstatic for barely a hundred million a year compared to what I’ve just offered you,” the man says.

“I guess it’s the pressure,” Gojo says to him, “it’s got my emotional response circuit all fried up, y’know?” He was pulling excuses out of his ass.

A small hmph noise is heard beside him before he sees the man pulling a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of his slacks. “I know your father has left big shoes to fill, kid. I can’t imagine the fear of feeling like you’ll fail, or the anxiety of an injury taking you out any time you’re on the field, not wanting history to repeat itself.”

Gojo’s eye twitches and he narrows his eyes at the man seated beside him. “My dad got injured in a car accident, not while playing the sport.”

“I know,” he responds, finally pulling a cigarette out of the pack, holding it between his two fingers as he rests his wrist on his knee. “The story touched the hearts of everyone in Tokyo, and the entire soccer community in general. I remember reading about it in the school newspaper. Back in the day when they still printed those things out.” Gojo’s surprised, and he’s only given a sideways smile before the man continues. “I knew your father, went to the same college as him.”

“I don’t think he ever mentioned you,” Gojo says.

He lets out a hearty laugh. “He despised me. I was a money-hungry finance major that saw a huge opportunity in mediator sports recruitment agencies. Figured if I could sign a player like your father to my start-up, I’d be set for life. He was a smart man not to sign, regardless of how things turned out.” He shakes his head musingly. “I gave up after that and got a real job. You’ll find a lot of your hopes and dreams die in college.”

“I see,” Gojo says.

The man leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and looks over with a serious expression on his face. “Tell me, son, what does this sport mean to you? Why have you dedicated your entire life to playing it?”

Gojo only gives him a cursory glance.

“Is it the fame and attention? The pride? The thrill? The prospect of earning millions and then retiring at thirty, and you get to watch your wife and kids playing in your grand estate’s pool on a sunny summer Sunday while you’re swirling around a glass of ‘90s scotch in your hand?” he asks, tone derisive but luring. “Or does it mean something more to you?”

Gojo looks down at his hands that were clenched tightly into fists. He relaxes them so that his fingers fall open weakly and his palms face the sky. He remembers the feeling of being a kid, the smell of freshly cut grass consuming his senses, the sight of bruises on his knees from how many times he fell on the field chasing after the ball, and the admiration in his father’s eyes every single time he stood back up. “It’s a chance to prove myself,” he finally says.

“Prove yourself of what?” the man pushes.

“That I’m capable of greatness,” Gojo admits, “like my father.”

The man nods slowly in acknowledgment. “Yes, your father was a great man. But not because of how he played the game. He was a great man because he knew which sacrifices were truly important.”

Gojo looks at him wearily. “Are you trying to tell a player you’re attempting to recruit that the sport isn’t important?”

He shakes his head, looking straight ahead. “No, it’s important. But it’s the meaning you give to your life outside of it that gives it importance.”

Gojo raises an eyebrow at him, not really sure what to make of the cryptic sentiment.

The man claps his hands together and stands up. “Alright, I’m sure that’s all the time you’ve got for me. Think about my offer, and if any other recruiters approach you with better ones, just know I’ll push for higher.” He hands Gojo his business card and brings his cigarette to mouth, balancing it between his lips. “Reach out if you have any questions.”

Gojo looks down at the card, his finger tracing the edge of it as he studies the shimmering gold lettering. “Why not just hit me with your best offer and leave? Why bother having this kind of conversation with me?”

The man pulls his cigarette from his mouth, pinching it between his two fingers once again. “We’ve all got regrets we want to make right, kid,” he says. And with his hands in his pockets, he walks away.

Gojo watches the man as he makes his way down the sidelines back to the cluster of men in suits. When he hears the referee whistle, he shoves the business card in the pocket of his uniform shorts, and makes his way towards the center of the sidelines.

His teammates instantly come up to him with optimistic smiles and encouraging pats on his chest and back, trying to keep the energy high to manifest a win for today, but Gojo just feels exhausted and like he’s drowning. He has so many thoughts swimming around in his head, he can’t even begin to explain, and he just wants someone to see through him at this moment.

The teams stand on the field for the national anthem, and then Osaka Uni’s team disperses while UTokyo’s alma mater plays. Coach Yaga yells for all the players to huddle before the coin toss and reminds them of their plays for the afternoon.

Nanami pulls his sweatbands onto his wrists, Geto pulls his hair back up into a bun, Chosou pulls tightly on the straps of his goalie gloves, and Gojo pushes his hair up off his forehead to snap his headband onto his face. He looks around to his other teammates and that sense of pride he feels to be a part of this team swells dully despite his emotions.

UTokyo wins the coin toss, choosing to kick, and Gojo finds his place in the center of the field. The crowd is already cheering preemptively, their pride in their home team evident in the passion of the filled stands, and Gojo peers across the large expanse of the field as he rests his foot on top of the soccer ball. It’s a scene he’s seen a hundred times in his life, but the sight is daunting today. He takes his foot off the ball when he hears the referee signal the start of the match with a short piercing shrill of his whistle, and the second Gojo draws his leg back and his foot makes contact with the ball, sending it flying forward, he can already feel that something feels very off.

Every single time he had the ball in his possession, his footwork felt heavy and delayed. His teammates had set up more than three chances for him to score, and he shot wide every single time. The crowd’s cheers started to diminish, and he could feel the growing discontent and exasperation from all eyes on the field. Ten minutes before halftime, they were down 1-0, and stakes were starting to feel high.

One of his teammates passes a ball right to Gojo’s favored foot, the crowd instantly erupting with noise and stands to their feet as Gojo shuffles the ball past the penalty line, through Osaka’s defenders, eyes locked with the perfect opportunity to strike. This was good, he had his rhythm back, even if just for a moment, and he can see it, clear as day–the trajectory to the goal. With the feeling of slick sweat on his face and determination in his veins, he withdraws his leg back to kick the ball. The world went silent in his head, the only sound being the beating of his heart, and-

“this will be the last time you see me.”

When he recalls your voice, everything moves in slow-motion as his ankle slips slightly on the grass from his moment of hesitation, and then the ball is swiftly stolen by an opposing team player and maneuvered past him.

“Fuck!” he hisses, immediately turning his head around as he helplessly watches the opponents players move with fervor in pursuit of another goal. The crowd hushed in horror as Osaka passed the ball through UTokyo’s defense, swiftly steadying down the side and sending the ball flying through Chosou’s outstretched arms. 2-0, and the lead ref calls for halftime.

“Dude,” one of his teammates comes up to him as they walk back towards the benches and throws his arms up in the air, “what the hell is wrong with you today?”

“Seriously, man, not a single goal in the first half? You know how many times I’ve set up a shot for you?" another one of his teammates chimes in, nudging Gojo’s shoulder way harder than he’d usually warrant, and shortly after, a blaming fest begins among the players.

“Enough!” Coach Yaga yells out. All of the players quiet down and look at him, some grudgingly gulping down water while others just try to regain their breath. Gojo’s arms just hang at his sides in defeat. “We’re pushing everything on offense now, we can’t afford to miss any more shots,” Coach Yaga says, his fear of losing the match evident too despite his rough tone, “Satoru, I’m switching you out. Dai, take his place.”

“What?” Gojo asks incredulously, charging forward so he’s in front of the older man. “I’m not getting benched.”

“You will, because I say so,” Coach Yaga says sternly, “you’re distracted, boy. I can see it all over your face.”

“I’m n-”

“Just sit down,” Coach Yaga lets out a disgruntled noise. “When players are distracted, they get injured. Have faith in your teammates.”

“Coach,” Gojo asks again, this time almost pleading. He hardly ever questioned Coach Yaga’s calls, he had a great deal of respect for the man. But something within him just absolutely refused to get benched today.

Coach Yaga stares at him for a long moment, and it’s only when one of the refs chirps their whistle that he finally exhales and gives him a reluctant jerk of his head towards the field.

Geto sets up the perfect shot for Nanami to sweep for a kick that barely lands through the goalie’s lunge for the ball, and then on the next play, secures another goal himself. The score is tied, 2-2, with eight minutes left on the clock. Gojo manages to steal the ball on a defensive play, and it’s only really a stroke of luck that he manages in one solid pass the entire game, straight to Geto’s foot, crowd roaring, and he watches his best friend shoot and sink within the last minute and a half of the game.

3-2. UTokyo’s win.

Gojo sighs, exhausted as he makes his way to the bench, crouching down and zipping open his duffle bag. Spirits are low among the team despite the excitement from the crowd over their win because of how hauntingly close the loss felt during the last moments of the match, disinterested in celebrating at all as they meekly dispersed across the field. Gojo knew he was going to get a massive yelling-to from Coach Yaga and he could feel the searing disappointment from his teammates for not carrying the game more. This was just a bare win, could’ve gone either way, and his performance today wasn’t a good look for any recruiters either. He felt so emotionally and physically drained from this entire day, and he wasn’t sure how the hell he could feel any better.

Shuffling through his bag for a water bottle, his knuckles hit something cold and metallic-sounding tucked away inside. He hums to himself curiously before grabbing it and pulling it out.

strawberry vanilla soda.

Hm. This wasn’t the one you gave him a couple of days ago. He already drank that one. Did you sneak this into his bag? His brow furrows, and he stares at the sparkling smiling sloth on the label. When he turns the can in his hand, he sees a little note messily scribbled in black ink.

good luck today! u got this :) ur a star

His eyes widened.

And putting his heart through a shredder would’ve hurt less than when he realizes what an idiot he’s been this entire time.

He’s instantly searching the field, peering through crowds of people, mascots, banners, flags, for any sight of you. He’s not sure how or why he goes in the direction that he does, but deep down it’s because he knows you like taking millions of pictures of flowers, and the west side exit has endless blooms of them. And so when he runs out that way, cleats tapping against the concrete pavement that leads out into the courtyard in the front of the stadium, and spots you standing there, he finally lets out the breath of air he feels like he’s been holding in his chest all day.

You’re aiming your camera at teal and orange petals scattered across the decorative florals lining the raised concrete planters, then pull it down from your face and twiddle with the settings, tilting your head to the side. You then pluck at one of the blooms that was spilling over the edges, bringing it to the tip of your nose curiously. And he just watches, chest heaving from the urgency that he rushed to get to you, heart aching from the desperation of wanting to be near you. He wanted to ask you how you were feeling, he wanted to know how your pictures came along, he wanted to know what you were doing after this, and he wanted you to be with him. But most importantly, he wanted to make sure that this wasn’t the last time he ever saw you again.

It isn’t until a minute after that you seem keen on his presence too, and you swiftly turn your head in his direction, surprised. “Satoru?” you say. He wonders if he’ll melt. He wonders if those ice-cold barriers he’s built over the years could thaw just from the way you say his name.

But when he takes a step forward, you take a step back. And he halts. The expression on your face was unfamiliar to him. Once soft, curious, trusting. Now you looked at him like you were guarding something, keeping it safe from him, and he no longer had the right to intrude. And then he realizes the hell he’s put you through all this time.

He regrets pushing you away.

“I know I said I’d respect the fact that you want space,” he says through bated breath, “but I…I just can’t stand the thought of never seeing you again.”

You’re solemn when you look at him, reading the plea in his eyes, and then slowly shake your head. He feels like he can’t breathe.

“I’m sorry. Goodbye.”

And then you walk out of his life.

a/n. thank you for reading! i have a few more author notes that explain a few things that i couldn't really find a way to fit into the chapter organically, but wanted to address before moving on, if you're curious you can find them here. hope to see you in the next one! pls lemme know if i missed any tags i'm sorry if i did :')

➸ take me to chapter eight!

taglist: @who-can-touch-my-boob @lost-resonance @foulprincesscycle @purplehallow11 @tsukikourito @getitsatoru @erencvlt @slut-4-gojo @cactisjuice @kissofife @tiredflame132 @cliosunshine @ethereally-lyann @prince-wyiilder @semra4 @gojosimp26 @hojoslutoru @drthymby @ninitoru @btszn @bbyxxm @fvsm4x @sadmonke @zoinks1010 @bakuhoethotski @fvsm4x @colouringfrogssittinginleaves @ri-sa20 @cierocanteat (thank you to everyone <3)

1K notes · View notes

navree · 2 years

Text

i make fun of my dad for being a hypochondriac but i have been agonizing over whether a cut on my finger is worth a trip to the er for at least half an hour now

#personal #i don't think it is but i'm not sure i live alone #i did get freaked out enough that my body definitely went into overdrive or smth because i swear i nearly passed out #not due to blood loss because it's just a cut on the finger but i was freaking out #and i know what it feels like when i'm about to pass out my vision gets really blurry and everything sounds very far away #and i start shaking bad to the point where it looks like i'm having a seizure #but i was just being overdramatic #also i ate some bread and immediately felt better #but still nervous about whether the stupid cut needs to be checked out

0 notes

ellecdc · 6 months

Text

The Winner Takes it All (you don't need to compete for the boys) ->The Loser Has To Fall (companion piece) Swim Lessons (meet cute with swim instructor marauders) When One Door Closes (the boys support you as you end your toxic relationship) Sweet Tooth (you love baking for the boys, and they love you) Overthinking (you're convinced they're mad at you) Our little gremlin (fem!readers sense of humour) Sirius' Arch Nemesis (fem!reader finds a kitten) 🫧 The Sound of Music (muggle born gn!reader x poly!marauders) Two Steps Forward (fem!reader struggling with mental health, hurt/comfort) 🫧 Marauders + your younger sibling headcanons It's been you? (when they find out their gf is a secret animagus) who are you talking to? (they find out their date talks to her cat) we've got you (the boys help gn!reader through an epileptic seizure) we don't need to celebrate (marauders x roommate!reader who cleaned her room) quit (reader gets upset when James is injured during a match) "she's fine" "she's crying" (the boys are called to pick up sad drunk!reader) popping wheelies (marauders x wheelchair user!reader blurb) 🫧 Scout's Honour (the boys find fem!reader sleeping with her stuffie) not alone (zombie AU) -> worried about vs worried about (zombie au p2) post-war panic (x fem!reader hurt/comfort) what it feels like to win (sirius takes autistic!reader to get her nails done) why sirius is banned from shopping for reader (fluffy/suggestive blurb)

+ Lily Evans James & Sirius & Remus & Lily &...you? (poly!marauders + lily x fem!reader) -> shy!reader's first date with the marauders + lily -> shy!reader doesn't know about Remus' furry little problem [marauders + lily] -> shy!reader learns about Remus' furry little problem [miscom trope] -> shy!reader finds her own way to help Sirius [hurt/comfort, Sirius-centric] Too Much (marauders + lily x their shy!reader who gets overwhelmed)

Seer!readers What did you See? (Seer fem!reader Sees a happy domestic life) 🫧 -> Saw Bad (their oldest child inherits seer!reader's abilities) Sight's Set (Seer slytherin fem!reader Sees a new relationship with the boys) -> the case of the missing pickles (reader does not go on a date with the boys) 🫧 -> the boys help her through one of her Sights

whimsical!readers Where'd you go? (whimsical!reader wanders off) 🫧 Slimy (the boys meet whimsical!readers pet snake for the first time) battered by baggage (whimsical!reader is missing, fluff) 🫧 raising harry with poly!marauders? (how that might look feat. whimsical fem!reader)

feisty!readers Hard Softie (you're feisty to everyone except your boys) 🫧 I wasn't running from you (slytherin reader feels insecure) Beginnings (feisty reader stealing the 💖 of the only one not already in love) 🫧 -> The beginning (how feisty!readers relationship with the boys started) -> the viper and her admirer (the boys learn of feisty!readers admirer)

🫧 = elle’s favourites

#marauders era #marauders au #marauders fanfiction #reader insert #self insert #sirius black #remus lupin #james potter #poly!marauders #poly!marauders x reader #poly!marauders x you #poly marauders x reader #poly marauders x you #the marauders #the marauders era #marauders x reader #marauders

982 notes · View notes

user211201 · 5 days

Text

Modulated

--- Original author: realhankmccoy ---

“I ain’t no motherfuckin’ redneck, you assholes! Don’t you fucking get it? I’ll never be ok with you being here and disrespecting our gay spaces!” I had shrieked and screamed, and I was being sassy as fuck. But they had darted me, so it was too late for me already. I had been one of the hottest little twinks in Colombia back then. I had such a tight little body, I was non-binary, and I was supportive of my local drag scene. I was absolutely into resisting these fucking fascists and their goddamn bullshit lifestyles, which I couldn’t stand.

That’s how I thought of it all back then, anyhow.

Man, that dart though, it had done its dirty work. I was writhing on the floor of the club, so I didn’t even get to witness the way it transformed me as I went into spasms. It was almost like having a seizure, but I could feel the muscle growing on me, and I could hear my shrieks and wails shift in pitch as I grew on into this whole new, far more masculine body.

I was getting to be built like a brick shithouse really fucking fast, and was taking on more of a mature look. Everywhere I was getting more muscle. I was splitting the seams of my jeans, and my underwear, and felt my back pressing up and splitting my tight pink t-shirt.

When I finally was able to sit up, I was in a daze. I had rendered my clothes asunder. I had bristles of hair all over my face, and the har on my head had grown longer, too, sort of flopping in my eyes. I was a mess.

And then the headache came. I was clutching the sides of my head and moaning, almost screaming in pain out loud, as my twinkish mind collapsed and got replaced by a growing part of me I didn’t even know existed. That part, my friends, is the motherfucking, take-charge redneck stud I am today.

My friends helped me get out of there, and I was still in transition. It takes a good seventy-two hours at least until you can fully collapse one of those weak-ass brains like the one I had before and until a more dominant, superior personality takes over like the one I was starting to get.

So yeah, like I said, I was a mess, and when my friends got me back to one of their apartments, I was still sporadically ranting about how dare those fascists do this to me, they’d never win, this was fucking awful. But as I heard myself talk, there was a growing part of me that was observing myself and thinking “so what? You sound like a raving lunatic. Look at this body! Damn, boy, just look at that muscle!”

Sleeping on it, man, that twink brain of mine must have collapsed even further. I woke up and I just wanted coffee with a splash of alcohol in it, so that’s what I got. Then I added two splashed. I had already stripped out of my shredded pink t-shirt, and my friends had some loose boxers that fit me, but I was just this naked, muscular stud in awe of his own body and trying to come to terms with who I was now.

I was seeing my friends with new eyes, too. They seemed anxious to me, weak, full of nervous, overly feminine motions, jittery, immature, skittish and mostly just kind of fucking annoying. “Those are your friends,” I’d remind myself. “This isn’t you who’s thinking this.”

But that growing part of me was thinking “This is you. This is all you, stud. You’re so much better than them. They don’t even know you’re thinking this, and if they only knew, they’d probably be terrified.” That thought made me want to laugh out loud, so I did.

“What are you laughing at?” one of them asked.

“Oh, nothing man, nothing,” I said, looking away and scratching my head. “These are your friends,” I told myself again, but I didn’t really seem to believe what I was trying to tell myself that morning. “So what if they’re your fucking friends,” my new mind was saying. “They’re fucking losers, man. Don’t let them drag you down. You ought to just get out of here.”

That morning, I was feeling just hornier and altogether more fucked up than I’d ever been. I was thinking, nah, this can’t be the new me. I’m no motherfucking redneck. I don’t think like them. But already I was feeling excited, having this body, having these different feelings, realising that I didn’t feel like such an evil guy like this, not like I thought I would, anyhow. All I wanted to do at that point in time, I felt like, was get the hell away from these people. I didn’t know to where. I borrowed some shoes and a t-shirt that was so tight it hurt, pleading that I had to get back to my apartment. It felt like the shoes would split, and the shirt was riding up on my belly, as I trotted back to my place.

I didn’t know what I was doing or what I was gonna do. When I got home, I felt thirsty, just wanting to drink a little, feeling like that would make this feel better, even though I told myself no, you have to compose yourself, you have to call people, you have to report this. Just one drink, I thought. It turned into shot after shot, and before I knew it, I was drunk, hard in my boxers, having kicked off the shoes and thrown that tight-ass shirt on the ground as soon.

Then I was beating off, and cumming, and the build-up to that orgasm, man, it flooded my brain with some real redneck juice. I wasn’t thinking of the type of guys I usually did. I was thinking about redneck studs, studs like myself, feeling the drool run down my chin as I beat off. As I came, shooting way up on my pecs, rubbing it in with my hand, I was whispering to myself, almost like a confession that I had yet to voice to anyone, “You hot fucking redneck. Holy fuck, you love this, don’t you. You’re a redneck now. Holy fuck. Holy fuck.”

The desire to live for working out and fucking was already growing in me.

Thoughts were just racing through my head then. I knew I didn’t want to be some lame-ass yuppie or some weak-ass queer, man. I felt this powerful attraction to the redneck scene, the working class scene, the country scene, the military scene, the jock scene, you name it, any scene were men were men instead of the glitter fairy I had been before. I couldn’t quite pin it all down at that point yet, but my thoughts were sure racing.

Can you picture me, getting drunk in my apartment, turned on at my own body and swirling thoughts? And then I started to really know, man. I started to know. There was no going back now. The guy I used to be was a loser. I didn’t want to be him anymore. I was pissed off that I ever even was him.

I walked barefoot into the bedroom, checking out his stuff in the drawers and on the walls. Almost none of it would even fit me anymore. His feminine attire and the way his shithole apartment was decorated disgusted me. It made me want to punch the wall, even, so I did that and it felt good. I saw the paint crack and the drywall cave in. This new body had power.

I screamed then, a roar of pure rage and exhilaration. I punched the wall again, and it felt so fucking good that soon I was ripping all his shit off the walls and throwing it in a corner, ripping that flouncy shit off the mattress and I didn’t stop, screaming the whole while, until the bedroom at least look bare bones enough to resemble something a man would want to sleep in. I’d be damned if I ever let that loser back into this mind.

There were a few flashes, sure, and man was he a crybaby as he went out, as well as one hell of an angry little prick. Lots of hatred in his heart. I’d just laugh and say, “Fuck you!” sometimes out loud as I felt that twink brain collapse forever.

And now, as far as I’m concerned, he’s gone man. No longer a part of me, thank God.

I was nervous at first, when I started trying to hang out with guys I thought I’d have a lot more in common with that my old friends. Would they accept me? I was pretty desperate for acceptance at that point. I starting hanging out at a diner that I knew a lot of them liked to frequent, classic diner that pre-dated even the 1950s, a real antique. But these sexy ass guys would show up there, and soon we got to talking over waffles and hash browns.

Soon I was telling them I was darted, and they were saying that was hot as fuck, wanting to hear the story. Soon I was telling it to them, my legs in the air, sweat dripping down my bearded chin, as I was getting fucked.

Months after that, I was almost fully integrated into the lifestyle, man, and soon I was the one doing more of the fucking, especially after I got these sweet-ass tattoos all over my right arm. Getting fully into it, the desire to be that all I could be as man, hell, it ran in my veins now. I was going to let those commies know that I was better than them in every single way imaginable, and I wanted to show it off. I still get hard just at the thought of that, demonstrating my own superiority in the most tangible – well, to them, intangible, because I don’t want them even fucking touching me – methods available to me.

Yeah boys, it meant war for me, just like it had when I was a stupid twink, only this time I was playing for the other side, and it was chess instead of checkers.

Of course, there’s a lot more to life than just that for me, namely having hot-ass sex with all sorts of country studs and military men, hell, being part of that whole network of strong and powerful men who worship and respect other guys who’ve worked for it. I feel like I’m serving my country and being a paragon of virtue for it even when my legs are slung over some guy’s bull neck and thick, rounded deltoids as he plows the fuck out of me with his long-ass rod.

I had never gotten fucked this good when I was a twink.

I do real work with myself now, a man’s work. I dress like a man, I eat like a man, and I live my life like a man. I’m fucking proud of it, too. I love who I am now, and relocated to the other side of town, too, where the action’s hotter and I have way more in common with most folks.

I am sure glad I’m a buff stud with a thick-ass chest these days, and I don’t ever go clean-shaven. Been really into guy’s pits lately, and getting them to flex for me so I can lick those. Yeah, shit, I’ve gotta stop, because here I’ve got a raging boner just telling you all about that right now. I swear I’m way more horny than I used to be. At least seventy-five percent of the time now, I’d bet, I’m a top these days.

I don’t really like bottom boys, either. Their mere existence tends to piss me off, to be honest, so when I do fuck them I tend to be an aggressive power top. A lot of the time I don’t even think of it that way, though. I just think of them as so weak that the same rules don’t even apply to them. Different rules, in a way, because they’re a different kind of guy than me. Much more like women, unable to control themselves, you know how they are. I used to be one of them, and I’m so glad I’m not anymore, that’s for fucking sure.

A lot of the time I prefer to just fool around with guys such as myself. I love topping another top, having to wrestle somebody for hours in a strength and dominance competition. Gets the blood flowing. I like somebody who puts up a fight. C’mon, son, do you have any idea how fucking fun that is for me now? To meet up and hook up with another guy who’s just as manly as I am? That’s the stuff I live for now. I’m ready to just fuck my life away with hot ass guys at this point.

So, yeah, I’m a top who loves to wrestle with other tops and see who can dominate. I must be pretty good at it if I swear I’m scoring a seventy-five percent these days, but that’s just because occasionally I throw in some twink losers. Yeah bud, even some of these leftists get thrown a bone by me every now and again. They need us, and I like them to know they need us. They wouldn’t know what to do without us.

One of these days, I might even check with one of my army friends and see if I can come along on a mission so that I can dart one of them myself. I think I’d laugh my ass off when my dart goes in his neck or his shoulder, wherever it his him. Just to see the look on his face, shit boy. That could turn a guy on just by imagining it, so one of these days I’ll have to make it legit.

Fuck if I care about the loser I once used to be or what I’m supposed to be doing with my life. My life is better now and that’s all that matters to me.

Hot-ass guys, man. That’s what I live for.

#redneck tf #jock tf #nerd to jock #masculinization #mental change #personality change

203 notes · View notes

corroded-hellfire · 1 year

Note

Steve having a little sister (who’s like a first-time) senior who has a crush on Eddie. But she’s a cheerleader, her parents expect her to marry an Ivy League, senator’s son or something. She kept her crush a secret until Jason calls him a freak in front of the whole cafeteria- and she punches him.

I had so much fun writing this request! I hope you enjoy what I've come up with, and if you notice the joke I stole from Glee, no you didn't. Reader’s race is not specified and she could be adopted because adoption is a wonderful, amazing thing. Harrington!reader and Eddie 4ever.

Words: 3.1k

“Mr. Munson, late again, I see.”

Mrs. O’Donnell heaves a disappointed sigh as Eddie gives her an over the top smile.

“Sorry, had a meeting with the principal. He wanted to know why you gave me detention again.”

Mrs. O’Donnell frowns. “I didn’t give you detention.”

“Oh, phew,” Eddie says as he slides into his seat. “Glad to hear it. I’ll try and be on time next time.”

The class lets out a titter of laughter as Mrs. O’Donnell rolls her eyes and turns back to the board. The dopey grin is stuck on your face as you lean forward in your seat. Resting your upper body on your desk, you bite your bottom lip as you look Eddie up and down. From your vantage point, you can only see the back left side of him, but you’ll stare at that for the entirety of the class period if you can.

“Miss Harrington?”

Begrudgingly, you tear your gaze away from Eddie’s glorious hair and see Mrs. O’Donnell watching you impatiently.

“Um, yes?”

“I was wondering if you’d like to enlighten us about the Stamp Act?” the elderly woman says.

“Uh…” you trail off, mind suddenly blank of everything that isn’t Eddie Munson. “I would not.”

A few people in the class let out snorts of laughter, but Eddie barks out the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard. It makes your stomach fizzle, and your head feel all floaty. Even O’Donnell’s disapproving scowl can’t dampen your giddiness.

The rest of class, you’re riding on a high. You made Eddie laugh. Out of all the accomplishments in your life, you’re not sure if one has ever meant more to you. Making honor roll? Eh. Becoming a cheerleader? So what? Doesn’t compare to making the cutest guy you’ve ever seen laugh.

Okay, you tell yourself. When class is over, you’re going to talk to him. The bell rings, and you’re scrambling to get your things together. Tossing them into your bag, you sling it over your shoulder and follow Eddie out of the classroom.

“H-Hey, Eddie?” you manage.

He turns his head to look over his shoulder and gives you a smile that has your heart stuttering.

“Hey, Harrington. What’s up?”

“Did you see A Nightmare on Elm Street Part 2?” you ask, somehow not stumbling over your words. You’d had Steve bring the VHS tape home for you to watch just so you could ask Eddie about it.

“Freddy’s Revenge?” Eddie asks, wrinkling his nose up. “Such a letdown after the first one.”

“Yeah,” you say with a chuckle. “The first one was pretty good. This one made me want to fall asleep.”

“Ironic,” Eddie says with a smirk. He opens the school door for you, and you give him a grateful smile as you step out into the parking lot. You watch as he digs his keys out of his pocket. “See you tomorrow, Harrington.”

“Bye, Eddie.” You’re staring at him as he walks away, and you know you need to stop. But how can you when his ass looks the way it does in his jeans? Once he hops into his van, the trance is broken, and you make your way to your brother waiting in his car at the other end of the parking lot.

You groan as you yank open the car door and slip inside. Steve looks less than thrilled himself, but it has nothing to do with you. Your parents are forcing the two of you to join them at a company party tonight, which both of you are vehemently against. But Steve was tasked with picking you up from school, taking you home so both of you can get ready, then to the party.

“Think I can fake an epileptic seizure and get out of this?” Steve asks on the way home.

“You’re not epileptic,” you say.

“That’s why I said ‘fake’ it,” Steve says with a scoff.

“They’d find a way to make you come anyway,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest.

The party is just as horrible as you and your older brother imagined it would be. You’re forced into an itchy blue dress and Steve looks like he’s about two seconds away from ripping his tie off. The stuffy guests walk around with their noses in the air, only deigning to talk to those they deem successful enough. You want to throw yourself out of one of the windows as you see your parents approaching you with an older couple that they’ll probably expect you to remember from somewhere.

“Well, look at you,” the older man says. “All grown up.” The way he says it makes a shiver go down your spine.

“You must have all the boys chasing after you,” his wife says with a wink. It’s like they’re competing to see who can make you the most uncomfortable. Before you can open your mouth to speak, your mom jumps in.

“Oh, we have high hopes for her,” she says with a chuckle. “Going to go to Yale or Stanford and find her an Ivy League man to settle down with.”

And when exactly did we decide this? you think to yourself.

“Someone well-to-do,” your father adds. “A senator’s son, maybe. Who knows? We could be raising a future First Lady here.”

You want to gag. Steve must sense your temper rising, because he rests a hand on your shoulder and gives it a reassuring squeeze.

“Remember us when you’re famous,” the older man says.

I don’t even remember you right now. The words are on the tip of your tongue, but your dad changes the subject to something about profit reports.

Steve drives the two of you home before your parents, the two of them insisting they were going to stick around a little longer. The minute you get into your room, you throw your heels towards your closet. Your brother hears you banging around and comes to stand in your doorway, leaning against the doorframe and crossing his arms over his chest. He’s taken his tie off and undone the first few buttons of his white button up shirt.

“What’s the matter, First Lady? Didn’t like getting signed up for an arranged marriage?”

You whirl on him, practically shoving a finger in his face. “Do not call me that. I am not some prized pig they can sell at the fair.”

“Technically, I think the pigs are judged at the fair, not sold.”

Groaning, you rub your hands down your face.

“I’m running away,” you say, throwing your hands in the air. “I’m joining the circus. Or a motorcycle gang. Anything! As long as it’s not here.”

“Oh, relax,” Steve says. “When you go off to college you can date whoever you want. They’ll never know.”

“Why do I have to wait until I go off to college?” you demand. “Why can’t I date whoever I want right now?”

“Do you want to date someone right now?” Steve asks, furrowing his brows.

“That’s not the point,” you say, but you feel the heat rising to your cheeks.

“Holy shit, you do,” Steve says with a huff of laughter. He pushes himself off the doorframe. “Who is it?”

“Goodnight, Steve.” You shove him out of your doorway before slamming and locking your bedroom door.

“The fuck did you say, Freak?”

Jason Carver’s voice grates on your nerves as you make your way down the hall. Unfortunately, there’s only one person the jock douche would be calling that name and it has you seeing red. You were still steamed from your parents’ comments last night, and this is just going to push you over the top.

“Who, me?”

You walk into the cafeteria to see Eddie grinning at the basketball playing asshole.

“You’re the only freak here,” Jason says.

Your white cheer sneakers squeak to a stop on the linoleum floor, and you drop your bag down by your feet. The clatter has Jason’s gaze shifting to you. Most of the cafeteria’s attention shifts to you, actually. But you don’t notice as you stalk up to the bully. Normally, you might say something snarky to him, but you’re done with words. All your pent up frustration is taken out on Jason’s chin as you serve him a right hook. He stumbles back a few steps and there are gasps around the cafeteria. Your hand is throbbing, but the pain is nothing compared to the satisfaction you feel at shutting that jerk up. The small smear of blood above his upper lip has you smirking.

“Miss Harrington!”

With a groan, your satisfaction wanes when you see Principal Higgins glaring at you. His glasses are perched low on his nose and his hands are high on his hips.

“My office. Now.”

Thankfully, Principal Higgins’s secretary is kind enough to give you some ice to put on your knuckles. Some staffing emergency took precedence, so you’re stuck sitting on a bench outside his office while he deals.

“You’ve got some arm.”

The voice that you’d know anywhere sounds from above you and your neck cracks from how quickly you look up. Eddie stands there with his hands in his pockets, a sheepish smile on his lips.

“Oh. T-Thanks,” you say.

Eddie takes a seat next to you on the bench. He yanks a black bandana out of his back pocket and smooths it out across his lap before folding it lengthwise.

“May I?” he asks, gesturing to the ice you’re holding against your hand.

“Sure.” You extend your injured hand out, and Eddie secures the ice against your knuckles with the bandana, then ties it tight enough to keep everything in place.

“How’s that?” he asks.

“Better. Thank you.” You find it hard to meet his eyes, so you keep your focus on your hand as you bring it back into your lap.

“So,” Eddie says, turning himself sideways on the bench and making himself comfortable. “What made you punch ol’ Carver? I mean, I know we all want to do it, but no one’s been quite so brave. Not until you, that is. And from a cheerleader? One of his own?”

“I’m not one of his own,” you say, looking up at him. But Eddie has a playful smirk on his lips.

“Nah, I know you’re not. I’m just teasing you. But what did want to make you do that? Couldn’t have been all on my account.”

“Why not?” you ask with a frown.

Eddie lets out a chuckle and shakes his head. “Listen, Harrington. I don’t see you as someone who goes around punching people for the hell of it. You’re one of the nicest people in this hell hole of a town. The jackass must’ve done something to deserve it.”

“He did,” you say. “He called you a freak.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” he says, leaning in towards you with a conspiratorial whisper. “But most people do.”

“Well, they shouldn’t,” you say with a frown. “You’re not. And I hate how Jason always does it in front of a crowd. It’s like he needs to put you down in front of others to prove he’s this king or whatever. So, someone needed to knock him off his throne in front of people, too.”

“My knight in shining cheer skirt,” Eddie teases with a wink. He’s shocked when your face goes red and you’re unable to look him in the eye. “You okay?”

“Y-Yeah,” you say, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. The heat in your face is getting worse by the second and you feel it’s only a matter of time before you crack.

“You sure? I didn’t make you uncomfortable?”

God, that’s the last thing Eddie could ever make you feel. You immediately shake your head, refusing to let him think those thoughts even for a moment.

“No, no, not at all. I’m sorry, I guess I’m just an…awkward person,” you say with a wince.

“Maybe I like awkward,” Eddie says, gently kicking his black boot against your white sneaker. Butterflies erupt in your stomach, and they have plenty of room to buzz about, seeing as you hadn’t gotten to eat your lunch.

“Maybe I like awkward, too,” you say softly.

Eddie smirks. “Oh, then you must adore me, Harrington.”

“Maybe I do,” you say with a shrug, forcing yourself to maintain eye contact with him.

“Well, maybe I like sweet, pretty cheerleaders who can sucker punch like Bruce Lee and talk to me about horror movies.”

Your mind stopped listening after Eddie called you “pretty” though. Did he really think that? Or was he just saying it to be nice?

“Hmm,” you muse. “Guess I should send Hailey Hudson from the team your way to talk about Halloween then, huh?”

Eddie chuckles and the same sensation as when you made him laugh before fills your body.

“Nightmare on Elm Street is more my cup of tea,” Eddie says. “Plus, talking to any other cheerleader bedsides you doesn’t seem very appealing to me.”

“Miss Harrington,” Principal Higgins says, sticking his head out of his office. “You can come in now.” He steps back inside, and you release a sigh. Of course talking to Eddie would have to come to an end eventually, but why now?

“Well,” you say, standing up from the bench. “Guess it’s time to hear my sentence.”

“Maybe if you get released early for good behavior, we could grab pizza sometime?” Eddie looks nervous, and that alone makes you want to laugh. Why on earth would he be nervous asking if you wanted to hang out?

“That sounds great,” you say, the euphoric smile unable to stay off your face no matter how hard you try.

“Yeah?” Eddie asks, seeming shocked.

“Why do you sound surprised?” you ask with a giggle. Taking courage from the fact that he seems to be getting nervous around you as well, you decide to be a little bolder. “I don’t just throw punches for anyone, you know.”

The most endearing smile grows on Eddie’s face, and he places one of his ring-clad hands over his heart.

“I am very honored to have the most beautiful girl in school defending my honor.” He outstretches his hand out to you as you begin to walk backwards towards the principal’s office. “I’ll wait for you.”

You can’t help but giggle. “I’ll have my parole officer contact you.”

“Should be easy since I’m in the phone book.”

“I’ll make sure to let her know. Bye, Munson.”

“See you later, Harrington.” He gives you one last smile before you step into the office.

The worst part isn’t the detention you were given or that you have to apologize to Carver. It’s that you’re told to call your parents to come and get you. Apparently, the school nurse is out for the day, and they can’t have you staying in school with a potentially injured hand. It hardly even hurts anymore, but you’re not going to let them know that. Let them think that you’ll be headed to the hospital for all you care.

When you pick up the phone from the desk, your finger hovers over the numbers. Principal Higgins is sitting right there, making sure you’re going to tell your parents exactly why you need to be picked up. At the last second though, you dial a different number.

“Thank you for calling Family Video, this is Steve. How can I help you?”

“Uh, hi, Dad,” you say, gripping at the receiver pressed against your ear.

“Dad?” you hear Steve ask in confusion. “This is—”

“I-I know,” you say. “I’m just calling, Dad, because I need you to pick me up from school. I’m in Principal Higgins’ office.

You can tell Steve understands now by the sigh that comes across the line. “What did you do?”

“Well, my hand is injured, and the nurse isn’t on duty today, so they don’t want me staying at school while I’m hurt and no one can check it out.”

“Tell him why it’s injured,” Principal Higgins says.

“Yes, tell me,” Steve echoes, obviously being able to hear his former principal’s words.

“I, um, I punched Jason Carver,” you say.

“You did what?!” Steve all but screams.

“He called Eddie Munson a freak in front of the whole cafeteria.” You say this piece looking Higgins dead in the eye. Are you going to do anything about that? you want to ask. “So, I punched Carver to shut him up.”

“Honestly, I’m impressed,” Steve says.

“Thanks. So, uh, can you come get me?”

“My shift is over in ten minutes,” Steve says. “I’ll head there as soon as I get out of here.”

“Thanks, St—uh, Dad. I’ll see you soon.” You hang up the phone and Principal Higgins stares at you over the rims of his glasses.

“He on his way?” he asks.

“He’ll be here soon.”

“I can’t believe you punched Jason Carver,” Steve says, shaking his head in amusement as he drives you home.

“He’s an asshole,” you defend with a shrug.

“Over Munson, though?” Steve asks incredulously. “Seriously? Couldn’t have picked another hill to die on?”

“Nope,” you say through gritted teeth. Crossing your arms over your chest, you stare out the passenger window.

“Why Munson, though, I—” Steve cuts himself off with a groan and shakes his head. “Oh, no. Please tell me I’m wrong.”

“I’d love to,” you reply. “But I need to know what you’re wrong about first.”

“Munson isn’t the guy you want to date, is he?” Steve asks nervously.

Your face gets hot for what feels like the millionth time in the past few days. But that’s all the confirmation your brother needs, because he’s letting out a groan that makes it sound like he’s in agony.

“You really have a thing for the Freak?”

“I have one good fist left,” you say. “Want me to use it on you?”

“I’ll tell Mom and Dad about your detention then,” Steve says with a shrug.

“Then I’d tell them about you moving the dirty magazines from beneath your bed into the air vent,” you counter.

“How do you even know about that?” Steve asks, shooting you a glare before looking back at the road.

“Your room and mine share the same vent and I can hear the pages rustling when the air is on.”

“You’re the worst,” Steve grumbles.

“You also have no room to complain with some of the trash you’ve dated,” you point out.

“Are you and Munson…a thing?” Steve asks, sounding like he hates every syllable of the question.

“No,” you tell him. “But he asked me to go get pizza with him. So, maybe soon.”

“And that will make you happy?” your brother asks.

A smile comes to your face just thinking about it. “It would.”

Steve nods his head and lets out a deep breath as if he’s resigning himself to the fact that you have feelings for Eddie.

“Okay, but you’re telling Mom and Dad.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x harrington!reader #harrington!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fanfic #request

3K notes · View notes

azrielwingspan · 7 months

Text

'SOMEONE' (AZRIEL X READER)- PART 2

Summary: You are convinced that Azriel was the one to send the note. Anxious about facing him, you lose yourself in your head but strangely, things are turning out...weird.

Warnings: Mild swearing

A/N: Thankyou so much for the response on the first part you guys! It was supposed to be a one shot but due to popular demand, I wrote down a second. Not gonna lie, I'm a bit nervous about this because peer pressure haha. Really hope this meets expectations. Did my best to make it fun and playful.

Read Part-1 here.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

'It's hard not to pry when you're involved.' The words kept flitting through your mind , jumbling your thoughts and stirring up a butterfly party in your stomach.

You knew it was from Azriel. Who else could it be ? Not believing it at first, you tried to think of all other possibilities and came up with zero. No else could possibly know about it.

Except him.

After stewing upon the unexpected turn of events for a good couple of hours, you did something anyone else in your position would've done.

You tried to hide.

From a spymaster.

You were really setting standards in the department of intelligence.

It had all started when you were having lunch with Cass and Mor at the House of Wind. "How was your new book?" Mor asked stuffing herself with the mashed potato in front of her. "It was alright. It just felt a little flat." you stabbed at the piece of chicken on your plate.

"Why the gloomy face? Everything okay?" Cass looked at your face intently. You sat up a little straighter, forcing a small smile onto your face. "I'm great."

"Are you on something?" Your head shot towards Mor, a flabbergasted look on your face.

"What made you say that?"

"You've been acting weird since yesterday and just this morning you stared off into space with a stupid smile on your face. Now, you're gloomy. I've seen this before--"

"Oh for Mother's sake, I'm not on anything Mor." A choked laugh burst out of you at the incredulity of it.

"Is it because of the stable boy thing yesterday? Shit Y/N, we didn't know you still --"

You narrowed your eyes at Cass , daring him to finish that statement. He immediately backed off, putting up his hands in the air.

"Just a concerned friend." He said with a teasing smile.

"You guys are the worst." Soft laughter was shared between the three of you before disaster struck.

Footsteps echoed from the stairwell making your head whip towards it. Eyes widening a fraction, your brain was thrown into a whirlpool of thoughts , each one fighting for dominance over the other. You knew with absolute certainty that it was him. There was no one else in the house. You also knew the sound of his footsteps but that was a fact to be pondered upon on a different day.

Wait, he was a spymaster. Why was he making a sound in the first place?

He wants you to know. Doesn't want to catch you off guard. The still functioning part of your brain helps you out.

"Are you having a seizure?" Mor's voice registered in your head.

"No , but I might." you muttered under your breath, your body reacting before your mind could give it a command. Almost stumbling from your chair all the while trying to look as unbothered as possible, you excused yourself from the table mumbling a reason to your companions.

Exit points available. The stairwell. Your mind supplied. YOU CAN'T PASS BY HIM. DO BETTER.

The plant. - THE PLANT ?! What were you supposed to do ? Photosynthesize yourself ?!

Under the table.- Ah yes. Have a front row view to his crotch. Way to go.

Balcony.- We don't have WINGS! You screamed at yourself.

The door to your right.- Finally. A good option.

Your face must have exhibited a plethora of emotions during the internalized battle with yourself because Mor and Cass were staring at you like you had two heads.

"Y/N. Please sit down. Something is seriously wrong." Cass said rising from his chair.

"No. No. I just forgot to do something very very important. I'm going to be screwed. I just need to---"

"Have lunch. I'll help you out with whatever it is." The voice like night whispered over your skin setting off goosebumps in its wake. His scent enveloped you, taunting and teasing your senses. It almost seemed to whisper- Look at me.

So you did.

You had expected a smirk or a smile or even a twinkle in his eye. Nothing. No hint or trace of what had happened. No clue to suggest that he knew or that he was the one to send the note.

What if you were wrong? What if it wasn't him but someone else playing a joke on you?

"No it's alright. I..." You didn't get to finish the sentence as he pulled your chair back and motioned for you to sit down.

Sighing out loud you returned to your place at the table trying not to look at Azriel as he took the seat across. "What did you forget?" Cass was starting to sound suspicious. Racking your brain for a quick and believable answer, you blurted out "I have to respond to a letter. A very important one."

The double meaning of your reply hit you the moment it left your mouth. Your body betrayed you and turned your gaze towards Azriel.

Nothing. Blank as a slate.

Starting to grow frustrated, you stabbed into your chicken a little too enthusiastically.

"It's already dead." Azriel said dryly, not even bothering to look up from his food.

Mor let out a snort and thankfully started to recall a conversation she had with a friend of hers. You could feel the tension leave your body as the conversation and attention was steered away from you.

Get your shit together.

Fortunately, all of you were done eating not long after and everyone went back to their duties. Azriel hadn't said or done anything for the rest of the afternoon and you were seriously starting to doubt if you were wrong.

You made your way back to your room trying to make sense of your emotions along the way. There was a sense of relief that Azriel didn't know and yet it was tinged with the undertones of disappointment that he didn't know after all.

Did you want him to know or did you not?

You didn't know. UGH. Idiot.

Stepping into your room, you almost missed the note that caught under your foot.

Fuck. Another one.

Heart thudding painfully, you picked it up with trembling hands. It read:

Anyone is capable of falling in love with your heart. Me? I want to be the someone you give it to. -'Someone'

A/N: I did not intend to end it this way at all but here we areeee. Hope you guys enjoyed it !

TAGLIST : @crazylokonugget , @hayrunnwr , @fxckmiup , @wildlyobserving , @harrystylesfan2686 , @63angel , @charlotteintumbleland , @willowpains , @nyx-the-alien , @acourtofbatboydreams , @marina468 , @anuttellaa , @kalulakunundrum , @amygdtjhddzvb , @lulu22156

400 notes · View notes

tvseries-writings · 8 months

Text

We care about you

Maya x Carina x reader (Amelia is reader’s bff)

Prompt: Reader has a car crash with Carina’s car and she feels so guilty that she refuses to go to the hospital and it’s not the best choice.

TW: car crash, seizure

When you open your eyes, your first thought does not go to the probable concussion you gave yourself, nor to the poor light pole you knocked down. No, your concern becomes the car: the Carina's very expensive and beautiful Porsche that you have just crumpled against a stupid pole that you could very well have avoided, had the road not been wet. Your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the driver's door, yours, suddenly opening.

"Miss, miss can you hear me? Y/n?"

Vic's face appears in front of you, and as soon as he notices it's you, her gaze changes from a calm and placid one to one quite panicked.

"Are you okay? Do you want me to call Maya and Carina?"

Vic unbuckles your belt, intimating you to stay still while she checks you over. She feels your legs, asking if you can feel them. You nod. By the feel of the pain in your ribs, you probably have one or two cracked if not broken ribs, blood is pouring out of your nose since the airbag exploded in your face, and most likely the deep cut on your forehead indicates a more serious concussion than you would have liked but you don't care. The only thing you care about is the car, and right now you really have no other concerns besides.

"Were other people involved?"

"No, just a poor pole. But I don't think it will complain. We need to get you to Grey's Sloan. Montgomery, Warren! Give me a hand, we-"

"No."

Relief floods you as soon as Vic confirms that no one else besides you was involved in the accident. You know full well that it could have been worse, yet you refuse to go to the hospital, you won't let anyone waste time because of your stupid mistake. Carina's car...you destroyed it, the Italian loves that car and you literally crumpled it for her.

"Y/n, you know you have to go to the hospital. Maya and Carina would kill me if they knew I didn't take you to the hospital...please don't make me carry you or call them."

You shake your head, immediately regretting it as soon as you do when a twinge in your head makes you squint in pain.

"No, Carina is going to kill me as soon as she sees what I've done to her car..Vic, you don't understand. She loves this car more than anything, she went to pick it out with Andrew as soon as she got to Seattle-" a sob involuntarily escapes your mouth as your body is shaken as more follow. Tears line your cheeks and though you want to stop them, you really don't have the strength.

"Y/n, Carina loves you more than a stupid car...she won't care if-"

"No Vic, you don't understand, I don't want to go to the hospital, please, please, I can't look at Carina and tell her that I destroyed one of the things that reminded her of her brother. Please Vic, take me home, don't take me to Grey's Sloan. Please."

You plead with her and see her struggling internally with herself, even turning a glance over her shoulder where Ben and Travis, having heard it all, are struggling in the same dilemma as she is. Then, Vic shakes his head and you decide that you have just chosen which battle to fight, at least for the next few minutes.

"I'm sorry y/n but we need to get you checked out and Grey's Sloan is the closest. I'm really sorry."

You shake your head, tears continue copiously to line your face, and the adrenaline slowly begins to fade, making your head feel lighter and your chest feel heavier.

"No Vic, this is not your choice. I am conscious and aware of my actions, legally you have no right to transport me anywhere unless I have harmed other people."

You use your best lawyerly tone, the same tone you use in the courtroom and see them exchange a look and then nod.

"You're right, legally we can't force you but we can call Maya and Carina, y/n."

You grit your teeth; this was an option you had not calculated but, instead, you come up with an idea that is better than the others and will probably save you from going to the hospital. As they say, if Muhammad does not go to the mountain then the mountain will go to Muhammad.

....................................................................................................................

"Thank you for coming."

Amelia shakes her head, a look of disapproval quite legible on her face.

"Well, when your best friend as well as roommate for a good six years of college calls you and tells you she's been in an accident, it's hard not to check in on her."

You smile at her, and before you can try to speak, she's asking you rapid-fire questions.

"Have you lost consciousness? Have you had any dizziness? Altered vision?"

Amelia pulls a small light from the breast pocket of the lab coat she is still wearing before pointing it in your eyes.

"I'm fine," you close your eyes, instinctively turning away from that blinding light.

"Mm yeah, no. You're not all right. Now be still and stop saying you're fine."

Amelia holds your head still, probing multiple places for some kind of bump and glancing at the gash on your forehead.

"This cut needs stitches and you need a CT scan. Oh and you still haven't answered my questions, don't think I forgot."

When Vic notices that you don't answer, she does it for you.

"When we arrived she was unconscious and was unconscious for about three minutes while we were there and soon after she recovered she had trouble recognizing me so I wouldn't rule out visual changes."

Ladies and gentlemen, the traitorous bastard Victoria Hughes.

"Hospital, now. No discussion. I remind you that between the two of us, I am the doctor and also one of the best."

You sigh, shaking your head a few times or at least trying to, as Amelia holds you firmly in place.

"I don't even think about it Amelia, not-"

You stop suddenly, a high-pitched ringing in your ears not allowing you to hear whatever Amelia is saying and then, your pupils rotate back and your body is suddenly shaken by convulsions and everything goes dark.

....................................................................................................................

It is Amelia who takes you to the hospital, with Warren by your side as they check your vitals all the way to Grey's Sloan while Vic and Travis brush all speed limits in order to get their captain's girlfriend and great friend to the hospital as quickly as possible.

After administering Diazepam, fortunately the seizures have stopped and Amelia is squeezing your hand, as if to let you know she is with you.

"Everything will be fine, stay with me y/n. It's all right okay? It's all right. I'm here, I'm here with you."

In less than five minutes, your unconscious body is quickly brought through the doors of the emergency room at Grey's Sloan.

"Female, 25 years old, car accident. Unconscious for three minutes, probable head injury. She had a seizure episode before entering the ambulance; diazepam was administered. She has been stable ever since."

Vic says, before leaving you in the hands of Dr. Teddy Altman, who rolls her eyes as soon as she recognizes the woman lying on the stretcher.

"Y/n? Do Amelia, Maya, and Carina know?"

The neurosurgeon sighs, shaking her head and slipping on gloves and a sterile gown to carefully examine how severe your head injury is.

"Damn it, Schmitt, call Dr. DeLuca. Warren, alert your captain. I can't believe you guys didn't say anything, those two will kill you."

Warren swallows before nodding and pulling out his phone.

"What was I supposed to do? This idiot didn't want to and I remind you she's a lawyer, she knows her rights very well. We need to do a CT scan on her, Schmitt did you reserve the room?"

"Y-yes Dr. Shepard and Dr. DeLuca is coming. I told her that her partner had been in a car accident but I didn't have time to tell her that she was okay that she had already shut me down."

Teddy pinches her nose between her index finger and thumb, sighing in exasperation.

"Schmitt, did you even check that she wasn't operating?"

The resident looks at her embarrassed before shaking his head.

"No ma'am, I-"

The boy doesn't have time to finish the sentence that a worried Italian doctor enters the emergency room, nearly bursting through the doors.

"Where is she? Is she okay? Teddy tell me she is fine-"

The Italian woman suddenly stops, noticing only then your pale, unconscious body on the crib in front of the two doctors and the resident.

Caria quickly approaches you, stroking your forehead and being careful not to graze the cut before turning to Amelia as they move to the exam room to have you scanned. "What happened?"

Although she is addressing the neurosurgeon, her eyes do not leave your figure, and her hand does not detach from yours.

"She lost control of the car and drove into a light pole, the airbags deployed, which caused her to have a massive nosebleed, and a head injury. She had a seizure episode before we brought her in."

Carina gasps as she hears the last sentence.

"Has she woken up since then?"

"No."

The Italian closes her eyes, aware that this is not a good sign and praying that you have not suffered more damage than she initially expected.

As they prepare you for the CT scan, Amelia and Carina being the only ones in the room, Carina decides to ask Amelia one of the questions that came to her mind as soon as she noticed the neurosurgeon standing next to you, slightly sweaty in the face and aware of all the information from your journey from the accident site to the hospital.

"Why were you with her in the ambulance?"

"She called me; she was afraid you would be upset about the car and didn't even want to go to the hospital. She said she would report us if we took her, I doubt she would have done that and I would have done it anyway but you know, Vic and Warren weren't too keen on taking the risk. And then he called me so that they wouldn't take her to the hospital and they wouldn't call you or Maya."

Carina shakes her head as she and Amelia tuck you inside the machine, before exiting the room.

"You idiot, I don't care about the car. All I care about is that she's okay."

"I know Carina, I tried to reason with her and then...well, she had the fit. It will be fine Carina, she is a fighter. She will come back to you. She loves you too much to leave you."

Carina nods, chasing back tears as she looks at the monitors in front of her, waiting for the results of your CT scan.

The Italian gasps as she feels two powerful arms embrace her and hold her close.

"It will be okay love, Warren told me what happened. She will be fine, otherwise how could we give her a good telling off for how much she was considered?"

Maya kisses her wife's shoulder, also looking at the monitors despite not understanding anything written on them. They both sigh, looking at Amelia waiting for good news.

...........................................................................................

When you open your eyes, for the second time that day, you realize you've fucked up again. The cold white walls of the hospital room you are in are proof of that. You try to move your head to the side, to look around, but a twinge in your neck puts you off. You recognize Maya's warm grip in your right hand and the Italian's wavy hair caressing your stomach as the latter sleeps peacefully.

You give the fireman's hand a squeeze and a gentle caress to the Italian's face. Carina wakes up, crinkling her eyes and looking at you surprised, happy and worried at the same time.

"Bella, how are you feeling? Are you okay? I'll call Amelia..."

Carina speaks frantically, not even realizing she is speaking in Italian, and as she reaches toward the button to call the nurses, to the right of your bed, you fuss her wrist, turning a smile to her.

"I'm fine and before you call anyone else I...I have to tell you how sorry I am Carina. I'm so fucking sorry. I know how much you cared about that car and I'm so sorry, I wanted to try to fix it before you knew it...although I don't know if it can be fixed and-"

Carina hears the beeping sound getting louder and louder; she turns to the monitors and when she sees how fast you are breathing and your heart rate, she knows you are having a panic attack.

"Bella, love, it's okay. It's okay love, I'm not mad. I don't care about a stupid car, Andrea will always stay in my heart; I care about you, Bella. The car will buy back but you worth more than anything, do you understand?"

You keep breathing fast; the throbbing pain in your head does not allow you to think clearly, and unfortunately, Carina's words come to you so muffled that they have no effect on you.

The chaos around you makes Maya suddenly wake up; it takes the blond firefighter a few seconds to figure out what is going on and to join his wife in trying to drag you out of the panic attack.

The blond climbs onto the bed, sitting right behind you and holding you in her arms despite you trying with all your might to free yourself. Carina, on the other hand, kneels in front of you, taking your hands in her own.

"It's okay love, it's okay. Breathe, listen to my heartbeat" Maya whispers in your ear, leaving a kiss on your cheek.

"Follow my breath Bella; that's it, good, keep it up."

In less than ten minutes, the incessant sound that resonated in the hospital room is replaced by a soft, steady BIP. Your chest hurts and you rub it hard, to ease your pain, before a hand forces you to stop.

"Hey, hey, you're going to hurt yourself if you keep this up. Do you want me to call a nurse to give you something?"

You nod, closing your eyes and waiting for the nurse to arrive. Carina reaches out to press the button before immediately returning to hold your hands. Maya continues to leave kisses on your neck and face as you continue to keep your eyes closed.

Contrary to what you expected, it is not a nurse who enters the room but Amelia.

"Hey rock star, you're awake. What's wrong? Do you have a headache? Dizziness?"

You nod, opening your eyes and looking into her eyes. A small smile ripples your lips as your best friend walks over to your bed and hugs you.

"You had me worried idiot."

The neurosurgeon pulls away from the hug before giving you a weak punch on your right arm.

"I'm sorry."

Amelia shakes her head as she sticks something into your IV.

"This is a painkiller, not too strong but it should ease your pain. Call me if there is any problem. I'll be back later to check how your head is; I know you have a hard head but it's always best to be cautious."

Before you can even insult her for the joke she just made, Amelia sneers her way out of the room.

"What an idiot," you shake your head, rolling your eyes. Your body begins to relax as the medication kicks in.

"So will you tell us why you didn't go to the hospital right away? You know how dangerous a head injury can be and you still decided to not go to the hospital right away. It was stupid and reckless and you can't, you CANNOT do that with your health. Ever again."

Maya looks at you sternly, with her ‘’Captain's look’’, as you and Carina call it.

"I'm sorry Maya, I know you are angry and I understand why but my only thought was only the car and the fact that I had destroyed one of the things Andrew had given Carina."

Maya holds you close and Carina joins your embrace.

"No physical thing or not, none, will ever be worth as much as your life y/n. And don't ever have a seizure over it again, am I clear? A car will never be worth as much as you are to you and me, ever. I don't care if I have to throw it away, I don't care if I have to buy another one. I care about you and your health so don't ever pull that crap again because if you had the crisis while you were alone, at home, after getting dropped off there, then it could have ended really badly and I, we, need you to understand that Bella."

Carina strokes your face gently; some tears line her face and you promptly wipe them away. Maya leaves a kiss on your cheek, holding you close.

"Car is right love, you really scared us today and when I think about the fact that we could have lost you I..." Maya shakes her head, her voice breaking and you turn to her, pulling her into a kiss.

"I'm sorry Maya, I'm so sorry I...I won't do it again."

You hug and hold each other tightly, you know you fucked up but now that Carina has calmed you down the relief you feel is priceless; therefore, you enjoy the embrace and that warmth you love so much as the medication slips you back into sleep.

Thank you so much for reading! Sorry, I know it is not the best so excuse me… I will try to improve. Have a great day!

Support me on ko-fi

Taglist: @mmmmokdok @blackhill2245 @melatonindaydreamz @foggytidalwavefun @sevnheaven @budoxinha @gayshyandreadytocry @lighthousekiller @m456300 @blitzar-3 @in-love-with-heda @idontknownemore @lesbianbabe @speedup500 @differentranchempathfestival @mebeingthatbitch @jemilyswife @yuleni18 @darkstar225 @whyamihere2673 @your-my-mission @finca-lotr @coollemonsaresour @nuianced-tck-enby @fishlikestuff @ktstwice @idontknowhowtogay @liladoesfanfics @maria-403 @kawaiitoga @razorscooteer

460 notes · View notes

iheartmapi · 1 month

Text

ARCADE ANTICS

Mapi x Fem! Reader

Summary: As Barça’s current season is ended you and Mapi leave for Ibiza, together you decide to go on a date at the Game Arcade nearby.

TW: possible bad translated Spanish, one mention of a seizure, slightly suggestive at the end.

Fluff.

Word count: 1,545.

Together with Mapi you had decided on taking a trip to Ibisa, in a way celebrating finally having some free time to yourselves since this season has ended. You two wasted no time beating around the bush and packed everything that was necessery for your journey.

As expected the weather on Ibiza was nothing but hot during the summer, most of your time there was spent lounging together on a Yacht, drinking in the golden sunlight and each others company.

As of now you were laying comfortably on a plush lounge chair on the Yacht’s terrace, your sunglasses perched on your face while the sun kissed the uncovered skin of your body and face. You closed your eyes and sighed softly, listening in to the sound of the waves gently rolling over and seagulls screeching somewhere in the distance. The short moment of your intense concentration was finished when you felt the familiar touch of one’s soft hand upon your shoulder, you opened your eyes and turned your head to look at your girlfriend, Mapi was holding two bottles of what seemed to be some juice.

“Thirsty, Tesoro?” Mapi asked with a silly smile gracing her gorgeous face. Her damn smiles were quite literally contagious, because no matter the situation whenever you saw the ends of her lips curling upwards something in you just instinctively made you smile as well. “Can’t lie, I am” you answered, Mapi just handed you the bottle meant for you before moving along to sit down on your lounge chair, you immediately sat up to make some space for her. Your pupils swiftly moved across the letters on the juices label, “blueberry and pomegranate”, it read, classic but with a dash of avant-garde with the pomegranate element. You popped off the bottle cap and took a test sip, it was pretty tasty, a sweet and tart mix. “These are quite tasty, we’ll definitely have to get more” you started watching as Mapi sipped on her own juice as well, “Obviously, after all I only ever pick out good things” Mapi rolled her eyes playfully, “You sure about that?” You raised an eyebrow still smiling “Don’t you remember that God awful hard candy you brought home that one time?” Mapi puffed out her chest “Are you going to bring that up till my last days? My good taste disappointed only one time!” She defended herself, “I’m sure there were many more times-“ before you could finish Mapi cut in “Cállate la boca!” ‘Shut up!’ she laughed, “Alright…sorry Mapi, I trust your good taste a 100%” you chuckled, leaning in closer to her, “That’s what I like to hear” she answered.

Your arms wrapped around Mapi, resting your head on her shoulder as the two of you embraced one another, “You know I was thinking…” Mapi started in a quiet voice “I wanna take you out, like on a date” that caught your interest “Oh yeah? Any particular idea you’ve got?” You asked, “There’s this Game Arcade, it’s pretty nearby actually” Mapi added, you raised your head, now looking straight into her eyes “Game Arcade? Wow…pretty 80’s Mapi” you joked, “What are you calling me old-fashioned? I’ll have you know Arcades are FULL of fun” She put her hand on her chest feigning being offended for dramatics, you couldn’t help but laugh at your girlfriends humorous antics, you patted her arm “I was just joking babe” after a moment you added “I know if we’re thinking fun then you’re the person to go to” Mapi smiled at your comment “I’m flattered, querida”

You spent some extra minutes together on the yacht before changing into some fresh clothes and heading for the Arcade. Together, you and Mapi walked through the streets hand in hand talking about everything and nothing..occasionally pointing out some places and views you passed by which you’d definitely want to visit some time. Finally after a not very long period of walking you arrived in front of a medium sized building, it generally didn’t stand out too much save for a couple of game posters in front and a neon coloured sign that said “LA ARCADA” in a funky font. Mapi turned to face you, “What about this…we’ll play some games and whoever loses buys dinner today” she challenged you, you raised an eyebrow before smirking and shaking her hand “Deal.”

The two of you entered the building, inside you could really feel the spirit of the 80’s, the walls were dark as well as the flooring and dim lighting, neons flashed everywhere, emanating from the countless of Arcade cabinets, you looked over at Mapi, you could tell that right now she must’ve felt like a little kid in a candy store, she was observing every corner of the Arcade with clear excitement in her eyes, “Come on let’s play something!” She pulled on your hand, dragging you to the game machines. The two of you stopped at a random one, you took your place and Mapi did hers, carefully you pressed “begin” and the screen faded to reveal the first level of the game, it seemed to be a simple 8-bit type of game where you walked around some dungeons and fought with monsters. You and Mapi began your rivalry, playing the games and talking with each other, mostly making comments about the game…About good 10 minutes later you and her reached the final level..the summary that flashed on the screens revealed you to be the winner of this round, “Aw look at that…I think I’ll be getting free dinner today” you teased, Mapi just rolled her eyes “Bite your tongue, you’ll see I WILL beat your ass in the end” Mapi then took hold of your hand again, you walked through the countless aisles filled with bright flashing machines…soon you felt Mapi poking your arm “Babe! Look! Isn’t that one of those dance machines?! Come on I need to try that one out!!” She stated, her excitement rising unbelievably.

Mapi took her place, reading the neon-purple coloured instructions that were on the screen, afterwards when she seemed to get the hang of what you were supposed to do she looked at you over her arm “It’ll be fun trust me!” She urged you, you couldn’t deny her…especially not when she was being so adorable being happy over a simple Arcade game. Many fits of laughter followed after the two of you started the games, the first time on those things was definitely something else..ultimately Mapi won that one.

Now you two were back on the prowl searching for fun games again, your eyes scanned everything, but it’s fair to say that all of that technology gave you a slight colour seizure…then you saw what appeared to be a game of Donkey Kong, “Hey Mapi, you intrested in that one?” You pointed over at the cabinets, Mapi nodded and you made your way over to the final game of this date. “Well Mapi…let’s see who’ll buy dinner today” you giggled “You better get your wallet ready now” Mapi answered with an almost Cheshire grin on her face.

It was three minutes into the game, you and Mapi were so focused and passionate about this game, “What?! That’s not fair I dodged that barrel!” Mapi yelled frustrated that something seemed to bug a little, “Games not about being fair my love” you joked laughing at her outburst…the ultimatum was that..Mapi won somehow, after the summed up points flashed on the screens she turned to you with a wide smirk, “I told you!” She started hysterically jumping up and down and also humming some funny little winners chant of hers…the sight amused you, but in the best way possible, after all her happiness as your happiness..even if it meant you paying for dinner today. “Alright Champ…it’s time for dinner isn’t it?” You linked hands and made your way out of the weirdly old but fun place. For a quick moment you stood still together thinking of a place to eat at. “What about that place we passed by earlier? I believe it was called Tapas y Vino or something like that..” you suggested, Mapi thought for a second before agreeing “I think that’ll be great, guapa”. With that your ending destination of this little date was the restaurant.

You took a seat in the small garden area of the restaurant (of course you paid for the meal as you agreed) enjoying the now setting sun of Ibiza with Mapi while eating a hearty dinner..quiet jazz music and people’s conversations filled your ears, the sky was fading from an orange-y colour to a more violet one, the view looked beautiful but you were sure that the most breathtaking one was seated in front of you, her mouth stained with some sauce from her meal as she joked about the game Arcade from earlier..maybe she was a goofball, but she was your goofball and you were the happiest to have her in your life. And so you conversed, laughing and smiling. Mapi gave you a piece of her dish when you asked her about how she was enjoying it, you chewed the food..raising your brows ever so slightly.

“It’s actually quite delicious…not as delicious as you though”

“For Christ’s sake we’re in public…”

#mapi leon x reader #mapi león #barca femeni x reader #woso x reader #fc barca #barca women #woso community #woso fanfics #fanfic #fluff #wlw

167 notes · View notes

estellan0vella · 3 months

Text

You're stuck with us ❀ SatoSugu (REQUESTED) Masterlist HFBU

It's a sunny afternoon, and the three of you are lounging in the spacious living room of your shared apartment. Satoru is sprawled out on the couch, lazily flipping through channels on the TV, while Suguru sits cross-legged on the floor, reading a book.

You're curled up in an armchair, a mug of tea cradled in your hands. The room is filled with the comfortable silence that only comes from being completely at ease with each other.

Suddenly, you feel a familiar, unsettling sensation. Your vision blurs at the edges, and the sounds around you begin to fade. You know what's coming, but there's nothing you can do to stop it.

You try to call out to Satoru and Suguru, but the words won't come. The mug slips from your fingers and hits the floor with a dull thud, spilling tea across the carpet.

Satoru's head snaps up at the sound, his eyes immediately locking onto you. "Hey, are you okay?" he asks, pushing himself off the couch.

Suguru's book falls to the floor as he quickly rises to his feet. "Y/N?" he calls, concern lacing his voice.

You don't respond. Your eyes are unfocused, staring blankly ahead. Your lips move, opening and closing as if you're chewing something invisible. Your hands lift to pick at the hem of your shirt, tugging at the fabric absentmindedly.

Satoru is by your side in an instant, his hand hovering near your shoulder, unsure if he should touch you. "Is this...?" he starts, looking over at Suguru.

Suguru nods, his face pale but composed. "It's a seizure."

Satoru's usual confident demeanour is replaced with a look of helplessness. He hates not being able to do anything, especially when it comes to you.

He kneels beside your chair, his gaze fixed on your blank expression. "We're here," he says softly, even though he knows you can't hear him. "It's going to be okay."

Suguru moves to sit on your other side, his hand gently covering yours to stop you from picking at your clothes. He speaks in a calm, steady voice. "We're right here with you. Just let it pass."

The seconds stretch into what feels like hours. Satoru and Suguru keep talking to you, their voices a steady murmur in the background. They know they can't pull you out of it, but they want you to know that they're there, that you're safe.

Eventually, your eyes begin to clear, and the world comes back into focus. The sounds around you grow louder, and you become aware of Satoru and Suguru's worried faces. You blink, feeling disoriented and exhausted. "What...?" you manage to croak out, your throat dry.

"Hey," Satoru says, relief flooding his features. "You're back."

Suguru squeezes your hand gently. "You had a seizure. It's over now."

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. "I'm sorry," you mumble, feeling the familiar wave of embarrassment and frustration wash over you.

"Don't be," Suguru says firmly. "You have nothing to apologize for."

Satoru nods in agreement. "We're just glad you're okay." He brushes a strand of hair away from your face, his touch light and comforting.

They help you up and guide you to the couch, making sure you're comfortable. Satoru disappears for a moment and returns with a glass of water, which you gratefully accept. Suguru sits beside you, his presence a calming anchor.

"Do you need anything?" Satoru asks, sitting on your other side. "Food? More water? A nap?"

You shake your head slowly. "Just... stay with me," you say softly.

"Always," Suguru replies without hesitation.

Satoru grins, his usual playful spark returning to his eyes. "You're stuck with us, whether you like it or not."

You manage a small smile, feeling a bit more like yourself. "I think I can handle that."

For the rest of the afternoon, they don't leave your side. Satoru keeps up a steady stream of lighthearted chatter, trying to make you laugh, while Suguru ensures you're comfortable and keeps an eye on your condition. They're both protective, but not overbearing, giving you the space to recover at your own pace.

As evening falls, the three of you are still together on the couch. Satoru's arm is draped over your shoulders, and Suguru's hand rests on your knee, a silent reminder of their presence. You feel a sense of peace settling over you, knowing that no matter what happens, you have them by your side.

"Thank you," you say quietly, looking at each of them in turn. "For everything."

Suguru smiles softly. "We love you. We're always here for you, no matter what."

Satoru nods, his expression uncharacteristically serious. "You're stuck with us, remember? We're a team."

You feel a warmth spread through your chest at their words. In this moment, you know that you're not alone. You have two incredible people who love and support you, who will be there for you through every challenge. And with them by your side, you feel like you can face anything.

As the night deepens and the city outside grows quiet, the three of you stay entwined on the couch, a tangle of limbs and hearts, bound together by love and unwavering support. In their arms, you find a sense of safety and belonging that makes all the difference in the world.

209 notes · View notes

inlovewithquestionablecharacters · 3 months

Note

Hi,

I just stumbled upon your blog and I am already obsessed with your stories.🥰 Your writing style and the way you describe the characters is simply amazing.

Anyways, I‘ve got an idea for a one-shot, could you please write one, where the reader is Dr.Lecters patient and they bump into a very distraught Will after his session and start talking to him. Hannibal get‘s jealous, because he thinks Will is interested in the reader,after the conversation ended, tension is really high during her sessions and it get‘s steamy in the end.(nsfw?)

Hannibal x Reader: What's mine is mine

Warning: smut, oral ( f receiving), no use of y/n, penetration ( p in v), possessive behavior, jealous Hannibal, anger, not proofread, gn reader, female anatomy.

Word count: 1,2 K

“What was that?”

“What was what?”

“I've told you a thousand times that that door is for exiting clients only and you continue to use it.”

“Oh come on Hannibal you know how i hate using the other door. That empty waiting room always puts me on edge.”

“And talking with another patient is prohibited, you know that.”

You spin on your heels, angrily looking at your therapist.

“For the love of god hannibal! Did you see what he looked like? He was shaking so much I thought he was having some sort of seizure!”

You’d stumbled onto a very distressed will on your way into your appointment and simply couldn’t feel like you needed to help him.

“I'm surprised you let him leave at all. That man was a complete wreck.”

“It is my job to know what my clients need.”

“Clearly you're not doing it very well.”

You could tell you’d hit a nerve because instead of debating you Hannibal simply closed the door and stomped over to his chair. You shook your head. You didn’t understand why Hannibal was so worked up about you talking to Will. It’s not like you’d done anything wrong.

And the truth was you hadn't done anything wrong. If anything you’d shown you were an empathetic person. You weren’t the issue. Will was. Or more accurately, Hannibal's jealousy of Will was. Seeing you talk to Will had sent Hannibal into a sort of spiral. In his mind you belong to him but in reality you don't.

“Okay what the hell is up with you?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh so is your face just stuck like that now? You gonna give me the stink eye for the rest of the session? I mean come on! You’re acting like you caught me kissing him.”

Hannibal's body tensed at your words. He forced himself to open his mouth.

“Did you want to?”

“What?”

“Did you want to kiss him?”

“Oh for fucks sake what does that have to-”

“Answer the question.”

Hannibal had risen from his seat. He walked over to you boxing you against him and the wall behind you. You looked up at him staring into his eyes. Hannibal was so close to you that you could smell his perfume. You took a shaky breath in.

“No.”

“What?”

“No, I didn't want to kiss him. I’m not interested in him.”

No in him but in someone. That's what your words sounded like to Hannibal. He desperately needed to find out who you were interested in. Even if it meant having to get them out of his way.

“Who then?”

“You’re kidding right?”

Hannibal continued to stare at you as he awaited you to answer his question. You shook your head at him.

“You’re such an idiot.”

You pushed forward, hitting Hannibal's shoulder with yours as you moved away from him. Hannibal grabbed your wrist, stopping you from getting too far.

“Who?”

You tugged your arm out of his grip, turning to face him. You looked pissed, it caught Hannibal off guard.

“You! It’s you, you ass!”

Hannibal stared at you. You’d never yelled at him before. He felt rooted to his spot. He barely noticed you moving forward before you were tugging his tie. You gave him a bruising kiss. He moved to wind his hand around your waist but before he could you pushed off him.

“There. Satisfied?”

No. He would never be satisfied. He could still taste you on his tongue. And the taste was addicting. He surged forward grabbing your head with his hand. He shoved his mouth against yours, kissing you roughly. You let him, your hands moving to grip his suit jacket. The two of you stumbled across the room, hands wildly pulling at each other's clothes. Somewhere in the middle of the process you’d managed to unbutton Hannibal's shirt and he’d managed to remove your pants. Your body fell onto the loveseat, hand moving to tug Hannibal on top of you. He kissed at your skin, his hand moving to shove your shirt up. You gasped as his hands cupped your breast, kneading them in his hand.

“Oh Hannibal!”

God he loved the way you sounded, gasping his name. He placed a kiss to the valley of your breasts before insching himself lower. He placed small kisses all over your stomach. You watched him with glazed eyes, observing him until he was on his knees before you. He tugs your underwear off your body, moving to place it in his back pocket. You raise your eyebrows to him and all he does is shrug. You squeal as Hannibal tugs you closer to him. He leaned his head down until he’s inches from your pussy. You bite your lip in anticipation. As soon as Hannibal's tongue makes its way to your fold you can’t help but throw your head back. Hannibal grips onto your thighs as you squirm against the loveseat.

“Oh fuck. There! Hannibal there- shit!”

Hannibal grinned against your pussy, reveling in the way your hand grabs onto his hair in desperation. His fingers moved inside you, helping his tongue in his task to make you cum. You could feel yourself clenching around Hannibal's fingers, silently telling him you were close. If that wasn’t enough the high pitched moans you kept letting out should have been a sign. Hannibal sucked at your clit and you were a goner. Your hand gripped onto the love seat as you came. Hannibal watched you breath for a moment before beginning to climb over you. You tugged him down for a kiss, tugging at his hair. He bit your lip in return.

Hannibal's dick nudged against your thigh, his pre cum mixing with your own juices. You smiled up at him, wrapping your legs around him. Hannibal took the hint, moving to align his dick with your entrance. He glanced at you for a moment, awaiting your approval. You gave him a small nod. He moved slowly into you. Once he’d bottomed out Hannibal stopped moving, giving you time to adjust. You opened your mouth in a silent moan, brows furrowing as you felt Hannibal twitch inside you. He desperately wanted to move but he would wait for you okay.

“Jesus Hannibal, what are you waiting for? Move!”

Well that was one way to put it.

Hannibal began to thrust into you, his movements growing more rapid as your pleasure increased. He placed one of his feet on the ground, attempting to give himself more strength. You drew a breath in as he rocked into you rapidly. Hannibal leaned down tugging one of your breasts into his mouth. He sucked at your nipple, making sure to leave a mark. From the way you clenched around him he could tell you enjoyed it so he continued his ministrations.

“Are you almost there?”

“Uhum please don’t stop-fuck-please i’m…”

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, fingers digging into Hannibal's shoulder as you came. Hannibal felt you sag beneath him, taking it as his chance to guide your movements. His hands found your hips gripping them tightly as his thrusts began to flatter. Pretty soon Hannibal seed spilled into your walls. He laid down beside you, pulling your body closer into his.

“Remind me to make you angry more often.”

“Careful dear. That's a dangerous game.”

“Maybe that's how I like it.”

#smut #smut fanfiction #smut tag #hannibal fanfiction #hannibal lecter #hannibal tv show #hannibal #nbc hannibal #mads mikkelsen smut #mads mikkleson #mads mikkelsen x reader #mads x reader #mads mikkelsen #hannibal x reader #hannibal x you

183 notes · View notes

steddiehyperfixation · 10 months

Text

don't you forget about me (part three)

(part one)(part two)

Everyone’s left to “let him get some rest,” but Eddie doesn’t rest, not really. Although he does drift off the second he closes his eyes, his sleep is not restful and his dreams are plagued:

Chrissy Cunningham stood in his trailer, small blonde girl in her cheerleader uniform. If Eddie hadn’t only just come out of his room with an unopened baggie of ketamine, he might’ve thought she’d already overdosed. Her eyes were rolled back, body frozen stiff like she was having some sort of seizure. Eddie shouted at her, shook her shoulders, waved his hands and snapped his fingers in front of her face, but Chrissy didn’t respond. He feared she might collapse, but then she did something much, much worse: she began to levitate.

Eddie immediately let go of her shoulders and scrambled back as some invisible force slammed the girl into the ceiling. Her bones snapped; one at a time, her arms and legs twisted in unnatural angles. Her jaw unhinged and cracked out of place, her mouth now stuck in a horrible, soundless scream. Her eyes bled, dripping red down her cheeks, and then they exploded, popped with a sickening squelching sound, and her eyelids caved in to empty, bloody sockets.

Eddie wakes up screaming. His heart pounds frantically, the monitor beeping like crazy, and all his muscles are tense like he’s ready to run.

Someone is at his side immediately; a gentle hand slips into his own, a soothing voice asks if he’s alright and tells him it’s okay, he’s safe now, it was just a nightmare. Eddie recognizes that hand, that voice, that shape in the dark. When did Harrington come back?

Eddie’s gasping, struggling to inhale a proper breath into his fear-frozen lungs. His wild eyes dart over the figure sitting beside him before landing on the hand that’s curled around his. Harrington must misread something in his expression then, because he mutters, “Sorry,” and starts to pull his hand away.

“No,” Eddie manages, instantly grabbing the other’s hand again and gripping it tight. “Keep- keep holding onto me.”

“Always,” Harrington whispers, the word an exhale under his breath, so soft Eddie thinks he may have imagined it.

Harrington rubs his thumb over the back of Eddie’s hand. His touch is calming, grounding. Eddie’s breath begins to even out and his heart returns to a normal pace as his residual panic slowly dissipates.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he sighs heavily once he’s recovered a bit. He presses his free hand to his chest. “That was the most terrifying dream I’ve ever had in my life.”

“It’s over now,” Harrington says, still soft, still tracing circles across Eddie’s skin. “Whatever it was, it can’t hurt you anymore.”

But it can, because Eddie can still see those horrible images behind his eyelids every time he blinks. He says so, shakily, “Think it's burned into my brain now, though. It was so real, man, I’m not sure I’ll ever get her disfigured face and mangled body out of my head.”

Harrington pauses. “Wait a second, did you dream about Chrissy?”

“Yeah, how did you-?” Eddie starts to ask, then stops as he remembers what Harrington had said yesterday about Chrissy being murdered in his trailer. The realization sets in with a cold chill. He shakes his head in horror, tightening his hold on Harrington’s hand like it's a lifeline. “No. Oh no, please don't tell me that actually happened.”

“It did. I’m sorry, it did.” Harrington clasps Eddie’s hand in both of his now. “That wasn’t just a nightmare, Ed, that was a memory. You’re starting to remember.”

“Well, shit,” Eddie mutters. If that’s what his lost memories are like, he thinks he’d very much rather them stay forgotten. “I’m starting to see why my brain blocked it all out in the first place, then. Was the whole rest of the last 11 months that awful too?”

“No…” Harrington frowns and that kicked puppy look flashes across his face, darkening the spark of hope that had just flickered in it before. “Well, maybe, I don’t know. I hope not.”

“Great,” Eddie sighs, tired and sarcastic. He stares up at the ceiling where the gnarled ghost of Chrissy’s corpse still haunts his vision. “Can’t wait to remember more.”

“I’m sorry,” Harrington says quietly. A heavy sadness runs thick in his voice again, same way he’d spoken when he first learned of Eddie’s amnesia. He squeezes Eddie’s hand once and then lets go.

So much for always, Eddie thinks dimly. His hand feels cold now, naked and untethered without the solid pressure of Steve’s fingers curled around it.

“You should try to go back to sleep,” Harrington tells him. The mattress shifts, the springs creak, as he rises from where he’d been perched at the edge of the bed. In the empty space he leaves behind, Eddie only feels even more untethered.

A sharp rush of panic grips him at the thought of being left here alone in the dark with the twisting shadows and afterimages of his nightmare. “Wait, Steve,” Eddie calls out immediately, before Harrington can even begin to turn away from him. “Will you stay?”

“Yeah.” Harrington nods, murmurs, “I’ll stay.”

So Steve stays. He stays and he sits in the stiff chair by Eddie’s bed, and he spirals. Of course he spirals, in the silence, in the dark. He can’t seem to do anything else in Eddie’s presence lately but let his mind spin around in circles ‘til it breaks.

Was the whole rest of the last 11 months that awful too? Eddie’s previous question is the catalyst of his spiral this time, the words that are currently echoing in the whirlpool of Steve’s consciousness, because he hadn’t thought of that before. He has already wallowed in the idea that he was something so unimportant he was easy to erase, but Steve hadn’t yet considered the possibility that he was something so horrible he needed to be erased. It makes sense, though, doesn’t it? The nurse did say Eddie’s amnesia was in part due to psychological trauma, and his memories do end just before he and Steve properly met. Was being with Steve so awful Eddie’s mind lumped it in with all the other recent traumas and just had to wipe it away?

An ugly guilt twists beneath his skin, like a deep rot running black in his veins. Steve curls his hand into a fist in his lap, digs his fingernails into his palm as if the sharp bites of pain will help release what is dark and decayed inside of him. As if it will choke the voice in the hollow behind his heart that now tells him he deserved to lose Eddie’s love, or that maybe he never truly had it in the first place.

And, see, Steve knows he’s spiraling. He knows his brain has just tripped down some bullshit rabbit hole of self-deprecation and that really his despairing conclusions are not in any way rooted in reality. He knows Eddie loved him. He knows Eddie’s amnesia is not his own fault nor is it a reflection on him. He knows it’s got nothing to fucking do with him. Yet nonetheless, his mind continues to tumble downwards on a quest to prove the opposite. The rot still festers; the hollow still whispers.

“Hey, Steve?” Eddie’s soft-spoken words eventually cut through the quiet and shake Steve from his lamenting thoughts.

He sits forward. “Yeah?”

“I can’t sleep,” Eddie says. “Do you, uh- sorry, could you…maybe hold my hand again?” His voice is small like he’s asking for something embarrassing, and his hesitancy kind of breaks Steve’s heart. “Just until I fall back asleep. It just- it makes me feel safer.”

“Yeah, of course.” Steve scoots his chair closer to the bed and gently takes hold of Eddie’s hand again.

Eddie sighs, a heavy exhale of relief, his body beginning to relax almost immediately. He squeezes Steve’s hand. “Thanks,” he mumbles.

“Anytime,” Steve whispers in response. Always, forever, anything; because I love you, want you, need you, miss you. He swallows down the emotion that rises in his chest. Another spiral threatens to drown his mind again and he fights that off too, tries not to think about everything that fucking hurts.

He focuses on the familiar feeling of Eddie’s hand in his (it’s bittersweet; he’s not thinking about it), on watching the steady rise and fall of Eddie’s chest as he slips back into a more peaceful sleep (he wants to kiss his forehead, tuck him in like a child; he’s not thinking about it).

Steve leaves first thing in the morning. The second Wayne walks in and Eddie now has someone else there to watch over him, Steve tells the older man briefly about Eddie’s nightmare and then he’s out the door before Eddie even wakes up, and he doesn’t return that day.

He can convince himself, illogically, that it’s better for Eddie if he stays away - that Steve’s spiral was right and he’d only make Eddie uncomfortable in the daylight; the less he’s around, the less the rot inside of him can poison Eddie too. But also it’s selfish. Mostly it’s selfish. Because as much as Steve craves to be near him, it hurts far more to be around him and not be seen, not be known, not be loved. The ache of missing him when they’re apart is so much easier to bear than the ache of missing him when he’s right in front of him.

Still, Steve does come back that night. He doesn’t want Eddie to be alone, and with Wayne working graveyard shifts and everyone else having parents to answer to, Steve is the only one left who’s both willing and able to sit with him through the night. He has a feeling, just a feeling, same as he’d had the night before, that Eddie might need him again. Well- maybe not him specifically, but just someone, anyone, to comfort him in the dark, and Steve can be that someone. And maybe that’s selfish too, because it feels good, eases the ache a bit, to be the one to help Eddie, to take care of him. If Steve cannot be loved then he will settle for being needed.

Good for them both, then, that Eddie does end up needing Steve that night. Eddie jolts awake from another nightmare memory - this one about being chased onto the lake by Jason Carver and watching another body float above the water and be crumpled and killed by Vecna - and Steve is there once more to hold his hand and soothe him back to sleep.

And then, again, Steve is gone the next morning, back the next night. Such is the pattern he’s fallen into, the selfish, stupid pattern: gone when he cannot feel loved, back when he can feel needed.

Tonight is the worst nightmare yet. Steve can tell it’s bad even before Eddie wakes. The heart monitor begins to beep more rapidly, Eddie whimpers and twitches in his sleep. Steve grabs Eddie’s hand and tries to ease the nightmare before it worsens, though to no avail.

Eddie doesn’t wake up screaming this time, but choking and crying, rasping through hyperventilating breaths fragmented nonsense about bats and pain and death. He doesn’t seem to be completely aware or lucid right now, still stuck in his nightmare where he’s dying and he’s scared, so scared.

“Shh, Eddie, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Steve can’t stand to see him like this. Holding his hand isn’t enough. “C’mere,” he murmurs. “You’re alright.” He doesn’t even think, just climbs onto the bed with him and very very carefully, very very gently, sits them both up and pulls Eddie onto his chest, wrapping his arms around him and holding him close. “You’re alright,” Steve continues to whisper softly, lips brushing against Eddie’s hair. “Just breathe, baby, it’s okay.” (The pet name just slips out; neither of them notice.)

Eddie clutches Steve’s arms, leans back against his chest and tucks his face into the curve of Steve’s neck. He’s trembling, breath still rapid and panicked, not yet free of the waking dream he’s trapped in. “I died- I’m dead- I was dead,” Eddie keeps babbling in shaky, sobbing gasps. “It hurts- and I died. I don’t- I don’t wanna die- I don’t-”

“You’re not dying, Eddie, you’re not. You’re okay,” Steve reassures him. “You’re alive.” He gently pries one of Eddie’s hands off his arm and guides it to the boy’s chest, covering his hand with his own as he presses it over Eddie’s heart to give proof to his words. “Do you feel that? You’re alive, you’re so alive.”

Eddie sucks in a deep breath, lets out a tremulous exhale. “I’m alive,” he repeats, his voice wavering like he’s trying to convince himself of something he doesn’t quite believe.

“Yeah,” Steve confirms, still holding his hand over Eddie’s slowly steadying heartbeat. “You’re alive.”

Eddie repeats it again, a little more solidly this time. “Okay,” he breathes out. “Okay, I’m okay.” His hyperventilating has finally begun to ease, his tremors gradually dissipating. He seems to wake up a bit more now, settles back into reality. He rolls his face out of the crook of Steve’s neck and tilts his head up to rest it against his shoulder instead as he looks at him. “Steve,” Eddie says, not like a question or the beginning of a sentence, but more like he’s only just now becoming aware of who’s holding him.

Steve gives a small hum of confirmation in response. He doesn’t know if Eddie is going to want him to move now, if the way they’re situated is uncomfortable for him or if Eddie is even okay with this situation at all. Steve can’t tell. He should’ve thought of that first. Holding his hand is one thing, but pulling Eddie half on top of him and holding him there is another thing entirely. And Eddie doesn’t know him anymore. Steve wouldn’t blame the guy if he freaked out at coming out of a panic attack to find himself in some strange man’s arms.

But Eddie just closes his eyes, goes quiet and still for a few long moments, and so Steve stays where he is, assumes Eddie’s trying to go back to sleep. Steve will keep holding him until then.

“Why are you always here at night?” Eddie asks suddenly, opening his eyes again. So he’s not trying to go back to sleep.

The question catches Steve off guard, and not just because he hadn’t expected Eddie to speak again. “I, uh, I don’t want you to be alone- you know, with your nightmares.”

“No, yeah, I know, and I-I’m grateful for that, but,” Eddie clarifies, “I meant, why are you always only here at night? I know you’re around during the day, dropping off one of the kids or Robin or whatever, you just don’t come in. Like- you’ll hold me through a nightmare, but you won’t actually hang out with me and just, like, eat shitty hospital food and watch shitty hospital TV with me. What’s up with that?” Eddie looks up at him. His tone is light enough, but there’s a genuine curiosity in his eyes, and a confusion that borders on hurt. “Thought we were supposed to be friends, Harrington.”

“We are,” Steve says immediately. “We are friends. I just- I didn’t want to force that on you or-or make you uncomfortable or awkward or anything. I know you don’t know me anymore.”

“Well, you haven’t given me much of a chance to get to know you again,” Eddie states plainly, and that catches Steve off guard too.

“I didn’t know you wanted to.”

“Of course I want to,” Eddie mutters. “You’re a decent guy, Stevie. Not how I thought you’d be. Maybe I want you to keep surprising me.”

The way one corner of his mouth quirks up then, popping a dimple in his cheek, makes Steve’s heart stutter, chest warm with a rush of affection. He can’t help but smile a little too. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Eddie echoes, smirk stretching into a proper grin now. He taps his fingers where they rest on Steve’s arm. “You better hang out with me tomorrow.”

“I will,” Steve agrees, because how can he say no to a smile like that? “Promise.”

Satisfied, Eddie closes his eyes and settles back to try and fall asleep again. A lingering fear still runs like an undercurrent beneath his veins though, scared of sleep and dreading the possibility of another nightmare, another memory. He shifts, pulls Steve’s arms a little tighter around him. Eddie never seems to have bad dreams once Steve is holding onto him.

(part four) taglist: @romanticdestruction @daydreamsandcrashingwaves @paintsplatteredandimperfect @hallucinatedjosten @mugloversonly @estrellami-1 @alongcomesaspider @thatonebadideapanda @tell-me-a-secret-a-nice-one @dragonmama76 @wxrmland @nuggies4life @sirsnacksalot @myguiltyartpleasure @lolawonsstuff @marklee-blackmore @vinteraltus @sebastiansstanswhore @0happyeverafter0 @scarlet-malfoy @hotluncheddie @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @emsgoodthinkin @alyelf @warlordess @stevesbipanic @lil-gremlin-things @rockandrolodex @badcaseofcasey @bat-outta-hel @fandomcartographer @manda-panda-monium @littlewildflowerkitten @giopandaonice @mightbeasleep @queenie-ofthe-void @krazyperson @worldofshea @marvel-ous-m @tartarusknight @a-little-unsteddie @xenon-demon @goodolefashionedloverboi @xxsky-shockxx @mc-i-r @bookbinderbitch @aspenshade88 @slowandsteddie @thedragonsaunt @daydreaming-mood @space-invading-pigeon @irregular-child @a-lovely-craziness (i have hit my limit on amount of people i can tag in one post; taglist will be continued in replies. please lmk if you'd like to be removed from this list. no longer accepting any more additions atm!! also, thank you guys so much for all the support on this so far omg??? this is insane for me and i'm so glad y'all are enjoying my writing <3)

#progress progress progress #steddie #steddie angst #steddie fic #steddie fanfiction #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #fanfic #mine #dyfamsteddiefic #<- specific tag for this fic

946 notes · View notes

gravehags · 2 months

Text

three times you sexted copia, and one time copia sexted you

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x f!Reader (Curator!Reader)

Rating: EXPLICIT

Words: 2,391

Tags: sexting, nudes, masturbation, reader being a devious little shit, ghouls also being devious little shits

Summary: What it says on the tin.

a/n: i have nothing further to add other than i absolutely know in my heart copia is terrible at taking nudes

~~~

Cardinal Copia’s hand flies to the pocket of his cassock when his phone begins to vibrate loud enough that it sounds against the wood of the pew. Cardinal Leroux turns in front of him to give him an ugly side eye, his mouth downturned in disapproval.

“Eh, sorry,” Copia whispers with a sheepish smile, and he sees Secondo glaring at him from the pulpit where he’s delivering his sermon. Anyone who knows him knows not to text him at this hour - that he’s either participating in mass or observing it - and his stomach drops as his phone vibrates again. If it’s anyone though, it’s you and he begins to conjure the horrible scenarios that would cause you to text him at this hour. You were fine when he left that morning, gave him a swift kiss on the cheek before he hustled out the door, but what if something terrible happened between now and then? What if you had slipped and hurt yourself, or what if you had a heart attack, or a seizure, or…he can’t stand it anymore and fishes his phone out of his pocket. When he opens his texts he chokes on his own spit.

Well…you’re not hurt, that’s for sure.

The first photo is you, reclined on his bed wearing nothing but one of his red birettas. You’ve got a sinful little pout on your face, teeth tugging on your bottom lip and he knows he’s mouth breathing as he attempts to shield his screen from any potential onlookers. He’s not prepared when he swipes to the next picture - an angled shot of you with your head tilted back, eyes closed in pleasure as your other hand is three fingers deep inside your–

“On that note, I believe Cardinal Copia would like to lend his voice to today’s sermon.”

His head jerks up at the sound of his name and he looks around panicked, fumbling with his phone in an attempt to shove it back in his pocket. All heads are turned to look at him - including Terzo, who looks wildly entertained - as he gapes like a goldfish.

“Eh…no…no thank you Papa.”

“I insist, Cardinal.”

Secondo looks positively venomous as he stares Copia down. Someone loudly cough-speaks the word “idiota” and Copia’s head swivels to Terzo, who looks like the picture of innocence. He can give a sermon drunk and with his eyes closed but his hands are currently folded in his lap hiding the…delicate state your photos have put him in. Leroux turns around again and gives him an evil little smile, the smug bastard. For a moment Copia actually entertains refusing to get up but he knows such stubbornness will only get him in further trouble. He sighs deeply and rises to his feet, cheeks beet red, as he sidles out of the pew and down the nave. He’s got his hands not-so-discreetly shielding the tent in his cassock and as he approaches the pulpit, someone lets out a loud wolf whistle. Secondo glowers down at him for a moment before giving him a slow, deliberate wink and a smirk.

Piccola volpe, he thinks as he looks out on the congregation, when I get my hands on you.

This meeting sucks.

That’s the only thought running through Copia’s head as he slumps in the uncomfortable wooden chair sitting at the end of the conference table. Meetings with the other cardinals and Terzo always consisted of at least one person getting offended by something lewd Terzo says (what is this, the Vatican?) and then Terzo changing the subject to something entirely off-topic. Right now he’s spouting off about how the Ministry needs to put in a pool with a swim up bar.

Copia wishes you were here.

You made even the most boring staff meetings tolerable, sitting next to him and giving him sideways smiles or texting him under the table. He wonders what you’re doing right now. Grabbing his phone off the table, he tucks it below the surface and taps out a text.

Amore this meeting blows. Save me.

A couple minutes pass and his phone lights up.

Poor thing. Give me a sec.

He has a vision of you kicking the conference room door in and dramatically rescuing him from this ridiculous fate and it makes the corners of his mouth twitch. He’s about to send you this exact thought when his phone lights up.

This better?

He almost drops his phone as he beholds a photo of you sitting at your desk, top yanked down to expose your breasts.

Amore! Warn me next time!

A moment and then a video pops up. He makes sure the volume is turned all the way down and hits play, sucking in a breath. You’re blinking sweetly at the camera, lips turned up in a teasing smirk, as you massage your breast with your free hand. When your fingers deliver a sharp pinch to your hardened nipple, he sees rather than hears your mouth open in a gasp. A text follows.

If you don’t like my pictures I can always find someone else to send them to.

The leather of his glove squeaks as he clenches his fist. Terzo and Cardinal Bergoglio have now entered into a shouting match that the other cardinals are trying desperately to intervene upon.

You can’t send me this and expect me not to do anything about it.

Oh yeah? Gonna slip away and take care of yourself? Or are you gonna come take care of me, Your Eminence?

Cazzo, you know exactly how to push his buttons and he loves every second of it. He’s jolted out of his lustful haze by Cardinals Leroux and Xavier jumping out of their seats to hold Bergoglio back while Terzo laughs in his face.

They won’t notice him missing.

Slowly he rises from his seat and backs out the door.

He’s thankful your office is not too far away.

___

It’s been 34 days.

Thirty-four long, arduous days since he’s seen your face, felt your presence. Thirty-four days since he’s smelled your perfume, your hair, your…well. He sags into the tour bus couch as the vehicle speeds down a dull highway in the middle of nowhere. The North American tour was almost over and he’s thankful it’s been such a success but cazzo, he misses you terribly. He opens up his texts and sighs as he types one out.

Miss you, amore mio.

He has to smile at the speed with which you text him back.

Miss you more, bello. What are you up to, where are you?

Copia looks up. Aether, Mountain, and Cirrus are sitting at the table playing Yahtzee while Dewdrop naps in one of the swivel chairs. Cumulus is folded up on the couch on his left, crocheting something while Swiss sits on his right, fucking around on his phone. He winces when he realizes that Rain is probably in the bathroom emptying his stomach again - the road did not agree with the poor water ghoul.

“Eh, where are we performing tonight?” he asks the room. Without even looking up, they answer.

“Little Rock.”

“Grazie.”

On the road to Little Rock. Not doing anything, just sitting here being miserable and wishing you were here. What are you doing?

I’ll be totally honest with you, I was just about to uhhhh take care of myself if you get my drift. You’re not the only one wishing I was there.

Oh. Now this is an intriguing turn of events. He shifts in his seat and he tucks his phone closer to him.

Show me

A few minutes pass and he wonders if he’s offended you in some way when his phone lights up again. The image presented to him is an angled shot of you in his bed, wearing the Ghost shirt he got you. On your legs are black thigh-high stockings and in your hand…oh ho ho. He knew it was genius to get you that little parting gift before he left for tour.

Gonna fit all that inside you, diavoletta mia?

It’s a poor substitute for you but I’ll do my best

Copia’s eyes dart up and around the cabin. Everyone is still doing their own thing, oblivious to what is occurring on his phone. He begins anxiously jiggling his leg, fingers playing out a rhythm on his thigh as he waits for your next update.

I’m soaked, baby. Just from the thought of you. Thinking about your tongue and how your nose bumps my clit just right.

His mouth goes dry and his sweatpants tighten.

Lemme see

The next picture is a close up of your fingers, your slick glistening on them in the low light followed immediately by a picture of you sliding them against your tongue. When he lets out a slight whine, Cirrus looks up at him with a cocked eyebrow. He shifts in his seat again, clearing his throat.

Bellezza mia, my filthy girl. I miss your taste. Remember when I told you I wanted to tie you to my tour bus bed? Wish I had made good on that

Mmm me too. Keeping me spread open and ready for you to use. The Cardinal’s little fuck toy. Is your cock hard? Thinking about bending me over while your ghouls listen in the other room? Are they there now?

He takes several deep breaths and jumps when Dew lets out a loud snore.

They are. Show me how well you take my little gift, sì?

Slowly, Copia shifts to grab the pillow next to him and cover his hardened cock. Cumulus gives him a small side eye but says nothing. When his phone vibrates again he almost drops it. The picture you have sent him is of you on your knees, thighs spread and shirt lifted up to bare your cunt and the thick dildo buried inside it to the hilt. He stares at it so long his eyes go blurry and doesn’t even realizes he’s rutting against the pillow until–

“Unholy fuck.”

This time he really does drop his phone as Swiss and Cumulus loom over him with open mouths.

“Wait let me see it again–” Swiss starts, moving to grab the phone.

“See what, what are we seeing?” Dew grumbles, yawning loudly.

“The Cardinal’s mate,” Cumulus begins with an eager grin, “She had a dil–”

“That’s enough!” Copia squawks, holding the pillow firm against his crotch while also attempting to slap away Swiss’ hand.

“Aether, hold him down so I can get it you have got to see this–”

“That is private, you little fucker!” Copia shouts, even as Mountain gets up and promptly sits on him.

“She said she wanted the ghouls to watch–”

“No, she said she wanted the ghouls to listen–wait how much did you see?”

Swiss grins, triumphantly securing Copia’s phone in between his fingers.

“I’ll tell her,” Copia growls, “She will not be pleased.”

“She’s a little freak,” Dew says with a filthy smile, standing up to stretch, “she’ll love it.”

Cirrus and Cumulus look at each other and shrug, making noises of agreement.

“Ghoul, get off of me. Swiss if you don’t–”

“Relax, boss,” he says, slapping his phone back into his hand. “Don’t worry, I saw enough to give me some inspiration later. I’ll give the others a thorough breakdown.”

Copia lets out a strangled howl as Rain stumbles into the room. Everyone falls quiet as the slender ghoul looks around bleary eyed.

“Wait, what did I miss?”

___

You’re thinking about your bed.

Your nice, soft, warm bed with your beloved tucked in it which is exactly where you should be right now instead of being glowered at from across a table by Papa Nihil. You should be in Copia’s arms, your nose buried in his neck smelling the remnants of his cologne. You should be carding your fingers through his chest hair as he murmurs sweetness at you in Italian. You should–

Well, speak of the Devil.

You surreptitiously look down at your phone as Sister Imperator talks about a fundraiser, smiling at what you see.

I am sorry I abandoned you, amore.

He told you this morning he wasn’t feeling well and you knew it must be serious for him to call out. If only you had the wisdom to do the same but both of you missing from the staff meeting would immediately be suspicious. And Imperator had just started tolerating you again after the incident in her office with Copia so you didn’t want to piss her off.

It’s okay, beloved. How are you feeling? Need me to bring you anything when I get out?

A pause.

I have a confession to make

Your lips tilt downwards in a frown as one of the bishops - Walsingham, you think? - starts to speak.

…what?

I’m not sick

You purse your lips and have to force yourself not to stomp your foot childishly.

You little fucker! You made me come do this bullshit on my own and for what!

For this–

A minute passes and then an image pops up on your screen. You’re not entirely sure what you’re looking at. It’s blurry and poorly lit and you think it might be–

Did you get a hairless rat?

You’re still squinting at the screen when his response pops up.

Amore! That’s my dick!

Huh. Yeah you can kind of see it - the familiar thick vein running down the length, the swollen head, the brown and silver curls at the base. You smile fondly.

Is this your first nude? Because I have some pointers

AMORE MIO I SHOWED YOU MY DICK AND THAT IS WHAT YOU SAY

Whoa. You have to raise your hand to your mouth to cover the smile stretching your face.

My apologies, beloved, your dick looks very nice. When I get out of this god awful meeting I’m coming back and showing you how it’s done. Then you’re free to send me all the lewd photos at inopportune moments as you want, okay?

A beat passes and briefly you wonder if you hurt his feelings before your screen lights up again.

Va bene, padrona. Will you be back in time to take care of my…situation or should I take care of myself?

You look at your watch.

Keep it hot for me. I deserve a treat after this meeting.

#curator reader series #cardinal copia x reader #cardinal copia x female reader #the band ghost #the band ghost fic #rachel writes

161 notes · View notes