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ghost-proofbaby · 26 days

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NOW WE'RE STANDING IN THE RING, BREAKING EVERYTHING THAT WE'VE BEEN BUILDING UP SO LONG. I DON'T WANNA DO THIS - BREAK IT UP.

☆ pairings: rockstar!eddie munson x fem!reader

☆ warnings: no use of y/n, strong language, angst, everybody's a hypocrite, minors dni

☆ WC: 3.2K+

thank you to my love @hellfire--cult for the divider!

masterlist

You can’t tell if the ride on the elevator is all too short, or if it drags out entirely.

The entire ascension, you find the fire again. All the pain and anger that had fueled you to be acting out so cruelly in the lobby. And yet the bell that signals you’ve arrived to your intended floor still dings all too soon.

It’s hard to get lost. The moment you step off the elevator, you can clearly see only three doors – two of which sit within an indented section of the wall and face one another, clearly the bathrooms.

Behind the other one, Eddie Munson, no doubt.

You still cling to that notebook as you take all your steady steps towards the door, turning over all your fury in your head. Turning all the lyrics over in your head.

All those songs, all those lines – and he’d never picked up the phone and just called.

You can only assume that it was all written more recently. Before he’d seen you again, even. And if he had still been writing about you, he could have tried calling you. He could have said all that he’d written to you directly, rather than hiding it all within songs that there was no guarantee you’d ever hear. Instead of singing them to crowds of adoring fans rather than to your face.

You don’t knock on the door – you just open it.

Music immediately surrounds you as you step in, loud enough that they clearly hadn’t heard you enter. Grainy guitars, deafening drums, billowing bass. And finally, amongst the madness, you can hear Eddie’s voice singing.

“Do you wanna see how far it goes? Do you wanna test me now, my love?”

Yes. Yes, you certainly fucking do.

It’s not Eddie’s live voice coming through the speakers. It’s clearly a recording as he sits beside the producer, hunched over and nodding along, face twisted as he seems to dissect the music in real time.

One flourish of his ringed hand, and the producer is clearly hitting pause.

“Do you think we can add in that synth I recorded earlier here-”

“Eddie.”

His hand drops the moment he hears your voice. The chair he’s sitting in nearly tips from the speed in which he spins it around to face you, resembling a statue as he takes in your silhouette in the doorframe.

You can only imagine the image he’s faced with.

You, all your vexation and all your torment painted so clearly across your features. Your knuckles, looking physically strained from how tightly the metal spring of the notebook digs into your palm. Your chest, heaving with every breath, as if even being within his vicinity right now was torturous.

And it was. God, it was.

Salt in your wounds. Dagger in your stomach. Poorly bandaged contusions you’d never taken the time to balm and soothe.

“Sugar,” he breathes out, earning him a strange look from the producer, “What are you-”

“Can we talk?”

Your voice is quivering, strained from trying to keep a level head until the two of you are alone.

“Right now?”

“Right now,” you almost add on the given alone, but Eddie is one step ahead of you. As he stands, he also waves his hands a bit, clearly dismissing the producer.

“You want me to leave?” the man asks, standing slowly, looking curiously between the two of you, “Where do I even go? Matt said we’d be working for another few hours, at least-”

“Go to the fuckin’ lobby or something,” Eddie spits out, having a hard time pulling his eyes away from you, “I don’t-” He pauses, his eyes finally finding sight of that notebook in your hand. Clearly, he hadn’t noticed it before. “-care.”

All the blood drains from his face. He’s so pale, you’re worried that he might pass out any second now.

He doesn’t look prepared for a fight – if anything, he looks terrified of whatever you may swing at him.

The producer leaves, not without a few mutterings under his breath about not this again, but you don’t even bother to dig deeper into it. If Eddie frequently gets into fights in this studio, that’s his problem.

Maybe he shouldn’t write songs about girls he’d hurt, and never pick up the phone.

He seems to be waiting on you, but you’re waiting on the click of the door. All that hurt, all that seething is burning in your chest, waiting for release. There’s no need to have any witnesses to the downfall of both of you.

“How was your mor-”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence. One click from the door, and you’re storming across the room to slam that notebook into his chest, uncaring of how much it might hurt.

You hope it hurts. You hope it aches like your palm that had held it, like your chest that feels as though it’s been pried wide open.

“What the fuck is this?” you spit out, already choking up with tears.

“What do you-”

“Where the fuck do you get off on writing all those- all those- all those fucking songs about us?” You don’t care that you’ve cut him off – it’ll be the least harmful thing you do during this argument. You’re desperate, rabid and crumbling as you push the notebook harder for emphasis, unable to let go just yet, “All those goddamn songs, lines about wanting me to come home, lines about us. Fucking pages of them! And not one single call. Not one single text.”

The first tear falls, and you’re quick to let go of the notebook so you can swipe it away. You’re not crying in front of him right now. You’ve done enough of that this morning, over old photographs and times you can never get back.

“I’m sorry, excuse me?” he laughs nervously, looking between you and the notebook he now has ownership of. He flips open the cover, and his face falls when he sees the first page, “You were reading my notebooks?”

“Who even cares at this point?” you hiss out, taking a step back, needing physical distance now. “It was the only way I would ever find out how you really feel, right? It was between that, or having to hear it on the radio, right?”

His face goes through several revelries before he settles on an emotion, mouth agape as he shakes his head slowly at you, brows furrowed and all his creases exposed, “Are you seriously pissed off right now that the rockstar wrote songs about you? That I wrote about you, which is what I do for a living?”

“Your job isn’t to write about me!” Thank God for soundproof studios. Your voice is rising, tone cracking with emotion, “I’m not fucking mad that you did that, I’m mad that you never called-”

“I did call!” he yells back at you suddenly. Not out of intimidation, not even out of fury. He has to do it – he has to match your volume just to be heard. “I called hundreds of times. Before the tour ended, when I got back, when I saw you were gone. I did fucking call-”

“I’m mad that you fucking left!”

Silence fills the studio. Eddie has no retorts left as your words weigh down the moment, ricocheting off the walls and puncturing every delicate foundation of whatever closure bullshit you two had begun to falsely build.

You finally throw your head back in bitter laughter, blinking away the unwelcome tears, “I’m so goddamn angry because you left me.”

“What?” his face falls, almost crumpling in the same manner as it felt your chest was, “You told me to go on those tours. You wanted me to get out there with the band. Not to mention, you left too. You left, seemingly without a goddamn reason. You said it yourself, just now-”

“It’s not about the physical leaving,” you interrupt, bones growing weary, tired from it all. Weighed down with memories and weighed down with emotions that should have been dealt with years ago. “I lost you long before you stepped foot on that tour bus that last time. You…” you pause, breathing erratic, coming out in harsh puffs, trying to build the courage for what needed to be said.

“I what?” he’s all but begging now, the need to scream over each other evaporating into thin air.

“You stopped saying you loved me.”

The words are out there now, and you can’t take them back. Two long years of him writing songs, of you washing away a stain that won’t ever fade, of something broken that can’t seem to be fixed.

You reach out, but not to try and steal back the reason from him. No, that’s not possible. Instead, you take the notebook back from him and begin to gingerly flip through the pages as the tears fall and the words pour out.

“All those phone calls, all these songs, and you still never say the words I needed to hear,” you’re not just talking in past tense any more. It all seemingly blurs together, the past and the present nothing more than watercolors as they spill across the page and merge together. You can’t tell where the hurt from the beginning lays and where the hurt from now feathers at the edges. It’s all the same, and it all remains a stain, “I never needed elaborate metaphors or pretty words, Eddie. I just needed to know you still fucking loved m-”

You cut off as the door to the studio suddenly swings open. You’re frozen, rooted in spot, hand glued mid-flip as Eddie’s messy handwriting stares up at you from the page you paused on.

Eddie looks ready to fight. To scream at whoever may have interrupted this crucial moment – a moment for you to finally say what you needed to, a moment for him to finally get his answers.

He doesn’t, though. Not when a fairly livid, almost frazzled Matt is standing in the doorway, glaring at both of you.

“Ah, good,” he says, stepping fully into the small space that had just been a war-zone for you and Eddie. The door slams shut behind him due to its own gravity, “You’re both here. Makes my job easier.”

“Matt?” Eddie crinkles his nose, “What the Hell are you doing-”

“What am I doing?” Matt walks until he’s standing in front of the coffee table, and motions to the couch with a flick of his wrist. Eddie is quick to follow the silent instruction, taking a seat, but you’re slower to move. You are not Matt’s dog, refusing to be at anybody else’s beck and call at this moment. And so you continue to hover, “What are you doing?”

You become the pet he needs you to be when he suddenly tosses a magazine down on the coffee table, and you realize that maybe, just maybe, Matt has good reason to be commanding you.

The vinyl front cover stares up at you, shining beneath the lowlights of the studio, but the image is clear.

You and Eddie, walking into his apartment building. And in bold lettering, simple textually strokes in blinding white, is a headline that weighs you down enough to make you take the last few necessary steps around the table to fall into place beside Eddie on the couch.

EXCLUSIVE GOSSIP ALERT: Rockstar Eddie Munson Spotted Canoodling with Mystery Flame! (pg. 89)

Matt’s eyes dart between you two before he finally sighs, “We need to talk.”

—

The sweat of your hands is making the corners of the magazine pages curl.

It’s the detail you choose to focus on rather than all the honking and commotion surrounding the car you’re currently sitting in, or the chilling AC that has blasted your right cheek to the point of numbness. The radio is off, the tinted windows are rolled up to dull the music of the city around you, and Matt hasn’t said a word since you’d buckled yourself into his passenger seat.

Following Matt’s abrupt interruption of you and Eddie, contained chaos had ensued. A symphony of Eddie immediately coming to your defense, claiming the two of you weren’t even canoodling in the photos on the front cover. Of you, only being able to utter a shocked question of how?

How did they get those photos? How did they print them so fast? How, how, how?

In the last twelve hours, as your life had been piecing together old rotting bricks only to once more fall apart entirely, some cheap gossip journalists had been formulating a front cover that truly felt like it was ruining your entire life. You didn’t know who all had seen the magazine, you didn’t know if the news had spread far and wide across the internet, and you certainly didn’t know what happened next.

But then Matt insisted you all return to his office. A guarded ivory tower to discuss exactly what you were questioning – to figure out where you go from here.

Eddie had been quick to suggest you ride back with him in the car that had brought him to the office; you had been quick to shoot down the offer and ask Matt for a ride instead.

That’s how you ended up here. A magazine you wanted to burn at the stake in your lap, stuck in traffic on a busy street that more so resembled a parking lot at this point.

“We need to talk about it.”

The first words Matt has spoken to you since the drive began. Not a question, not a request – you were going to talk about this shit show. No running from it, it seems.

“I don’t know how they got the photo,” you blandly reply in monotone, staring down at the two photos clearly taken back to back, merged together with some pretty impeccable photoshopping. Doesn’t erase the fact that they’d definitely caught you’re bad angle, “I didn’t even see any paparazzi-”

“I don’t care about that,” Matt waves off as the light you’d been stopped at for several minutes now turns green, and there’s just enough of a gap in bustling pedestrians crossing the street for him to make the right turn he’d been signaling the entire time, “One thing you need to learn right here, right now, is there will always be paparazzi around when you’re in public with Eddie. You won’t always see them, but you should always assume they’re there.”

The ceasing of that irritating clicking is heaven sent. One less commotion to cloud your reeling mind.

“What do you care about then?” you mumble, finally side-eyeing the older man beside you.

“I care about what you are to Eddie.”

“I can promise you, I am noth-”

“Don’t feed me the same bullshit excuses he has, please,” Matt sighs as the rolling car slows, and he signals once more to turn into the parking lot of one of the many impressive skyscrapers towering over the street, “I’m not an idiot. Eds may seem to think I am half the time, but I’m not,” a confining parking space is where the SUV finally settles, but Matt makes no move to turn the vehicle off as he turns to look at you fully, “Look, just level with me. Because as of right now, the only thing I know is that you went to high school together. I need to know where exactly you stand with Eddie, not just because he’s my client, but because of the conversation we’re about to have.”

Your heart fully drops, “What kind of conversation are we about to have?”

“A hard one,” Matt instantly replies, not missing a beat, “A very, very hard one. With so many moving factors, it’s gonna give you a headache. And I want to warn you of it, give you a fair chance, because you seem like a nice girl. You’re not used to this circus like me and Eddie are – you deserve a fighting chance at what’s about to be asked of you.”

What’s about to be asked of you.

You had a few guesses, simply based on the grave look on Matt’s face. Simply based off of all the research you used to do back in your room in Hawkins’, when the joke of you managing Corroded Coffin felt more and more like a real possibility.

“An NDA?” you guess, trying to seem indifferent. You should have seen that coming.

“More than an NDA, dear.”

Your head snaps in his direction, brows furrowing, “What could you possibly want from me that’s more than signing a piece of paper that promises I won’t tell anyone what’s happened last night?” you hold up that magazine from your lap, giving it a fluttering shake for emphasis, “Wasn’t that the point of showing us this?”

He only smiles. Your heart only sinks further.

“I’m going to ask you one last time; what are you to Eddie, really?”

A muse. A stain. A ghost. Something to haunt every avenue he’ll ever take for the rest of his life. A mistake better left unspoken between the two of you. A blip in his past, impossible to avoid. Something better left dead and buried, but the Universe just won’t seem to let the two of you rest.

“I’m his ex-girlfriend.”

How do you define an ex, though? Did you ever really end it? How can something be over if neither party has ever been willing to say the words?

Matt nods slowly, smiling almost sadly, “I figured as much. Thank you, at least, for being honest.”

“Can I ask you something, and you answer me honestly?”

The car carrying Eddie is probably nearly here. They had probably gotten swept into traffic while following behind Matt’s car. A few extra minutes added to their journey as they’d tried to navigate the nightmarish streets of New York.

Come to think of it, you don’t even know if he’ll be using the same front entrance as you and Matt.

“You won’t always see them, but you should always assume they’re there.”

He could use the back entrance, if there was one, to avoid the paparazzi.

Technicalities you had never had to consider before. You’d only experienced a fraction of Eddie’s fame firsthand, in the beginning, when it was still reasonable to show him off. To brag about him in public, to pronounce your love from every rooftop. Hiding had never been an option – it hadn’t needed to be an option.

“I know what your question is,” Matt says carefully, “And we both know I won’t say anything until we’re inside that building with Eddie.”

“Is he even going to go through the fr-” you start to question, but cut off just as you see a familiar black SUV pull up to the front doors of the building.

You have your answer, it seems.

Matt unbuckles his seatbelt, and you take it as your sign to do the same. But just as you begin to reach for your door, Matt’s hand on your forearm stops you.

“For what it’s worth, I am sorry for what I’m about to ask the two of you. Especially now that I know the truth.”

Your heart finally arrives to the point of no return, unable to answer as the organ is buried six feet under within the grave that should be meant for yourself when it comes to the history books of Eddie Munson.

Just what was Matt about to ask of the two of you?

You open the door without responding.

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @mediocredreams @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin

@ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87

@thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @aysheashea@kellsck

@cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking

@witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore

@mikiepeach @ali-r3n @hawkebuckley @alwaysbeenfamous @darkyuffie-blog

@vintagehellfire @lilmisssiren @elvendria@loveryanax@stylexrepp

@princessstolas @fangirling-4-ever @eddiesguitarskills @babez-a-licious @josephquinnsfreckles

@writinginthetwilight @trixyvixx @kittydeadbones @munson-addict @bluejeangenies

@cryingglightningg @joannamuns9n @missmarch-99 @rhirojo@findmeincorneliastreet

#ghost's stories #my writing #maroon #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things #cooking?

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xxbimbobunnyxx · 8 months

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The First Time I Saw You

Summary: You and your girlfriend have some fun with Eddie in his van after one of Corroded Coffins shows. (This is the prequel to my fic See You Again, it can be read as a standalone and it doesn’t really matter what order you read them in if you do want to read both.)Wk:6.5k

Warnings: M/F/F threesome, oral (m&f receiving), fingering, hand job, like one use of “sir”, a little spanking, reader is in an established queer relationship with my OC, Dom/sub dynamics, switch!eddie, sub!reader, Dom!OC, choking, spit kink, hair pulling, van sex.18+MNDI!!

A/N: Omg okay, I finally finished this. I’ve had it half done for like 5 months and today I got this random spark to get it done!! Thank you to my beloved @babygorewhore @bimbobaggins69 & @reidsbtch for beta reading this baby for me. Divider is @firefly-graphics. Moodboard.

“I’m just going to go ask him if he wants to.” Chloe has a determined look in her eyes as she looks at the metal head across the bar having an after show drink with his friends.

“Chloe! You can’t just walk up to him and ask him if he wants to fool around with us. What if he thinks we’re creepy?”

“Baby…” She grabs your face in her hands, her blue eyes are filled with soft reassurance but also authority. “He is not going to think that. If two hot babes walked up to you and just straight up asked you if you were down to fuck what would you do?”

Your eyebrows shoot up and your eyes widen as you imagine yourself in that scenario.

“Damn… I guess you’re right, I’d go crazy if that happened to me…” You bit your lip, your eyes glazing over as you imagined yourself and Chloe with another woman. Or even two.

“I’m always right.” Her voice snapped you out of your slight trance. “I’m going to talk to him, do you want to stay here or do you want to come with me?”

She gave you the option, knowing how nervous you can be sometimes, letting you know without saying it that she understands if you want to wait here for her.

“I feel like it would look kinda weird if I just sat over here… I’ll go with you.” You shrugged, letting her pull you up by your hand and guide you across the bar to the table where he and his friends sat.

When you approached they all stopped talking at once, surprise evident on their faces.

“Hello boys. Eddie, may we have a word?” She barely even spared his bandmates a glance as she stared directly at him.

“Uh- Yeah, totally.” His voice shook a little as he spoke, like he was nervous.

“Cool.” She smiled at him before turning on her heel and walking towards the back door of the bar where they had a small smoking area. Her hand is still in yours, pulling you behind her.

Eddie stares after you in shock for a moment, shaking his head to make sure he isn’t dreaming. He takes a deep breath before getting up from the table to follow you outside.

Chloe leans against the wall, pulling her packs of cigarettes out of her purse and lighting one. Seconds later Eddie comes walking out the door, looking a little flustered.

“Want one?” Chloe shook her pack at him with a smirk.

“Yeah, thanks.” He went to grab one but she pulled it back before he could. Taking one from the pack herself and holding it up to his lips expectantly. He obliges, taking the stick between his lips, shivering at the feeling of her soft fingers against his skin.

She pulls the lighter from her back pocket, holding it up to his cigarette to light it. When he inhales his cheeks hallow a bit and you could just barely make out a dust of pink across them. You wanted to lick his face, if you were being honest with yourself. You couldn’t stop thinking about how good he might taste, probably salty from sweating on stage, the thought made your thighs clench.

Chloe throws her arm around your shoulder, drawing you close to her side with Eddie less than a foot in front of you.

“How did you know my name?” He asked curiously, not necessarily addressing either one of you but looking between you both.

“You only yell it every time you play a show.” Chloe chuckled, playfully rolling her eyes.

“Damn. I guess you’re right. I don’t know your names though…”

“I’m Chloe… and this is my Angel of a girlfriend.” She says your name so sweetly, like you’re her grandest prize.

“I’ve uh- seen you guys around at a few shows, I’ve been meaning to introduce myself and thank you guys for always coming out. I really appreciate it.”

“Of course Eddie, I really do like your guys’ music, I remember the first show I came to a few months back I was blown away by your covers but when you played that first original song? The one with all the D&D references? I was shocked that you weren’t already famous. It was almost like it was a whole campaign worth of story packed into a few minutes.”

You spoke for the first time and Eddie almost pinched himself. You, the girl he’s been trying to find the courage to talk to for weeks are not only talking to him but you’re talking about music. His music and how you understood it. He didn’t even feel bad in that moment for trying to think of any possible way he could steal you from your girlfriend. He was pretty sure he was in love with you now.

“Wow. You really noticed that? I don’t think anyone outside of my friend group has really picked up on that, and if they have, they didn’t say anything. That’s awesome, thank you…” He was fully blushing now and he tried to hide it with a drag off his cigarette.

“She’s very observant, aren’t you baby? Especially if there’s a hot boy involved.”

Eddie stood there trying to formulate a response with eyes the size of saucers.

He looks between you and Chloe, her with a Cheshire Cat grin and you with a giggly nervous one. He was trying to wrap his mind around why you were talking to him, where you fucking with him?

“Don’t look so surprised honey, you’re hot, beautiful even.” Chloe’s voice is saccharine and dripping with lust. The compliment isn’t even directed at you and she still manages to make you feel flustered.

“Me?” He points both pointer fingers towards himself, as if there’s anyone else out there besides the three of you.

“Yeah, you. Who else?” You look at him, biting your lip to hold in a laugh.

“Oh! Well thank you… You’re uh - you’re really beautiful too, both of you.” He takes the final drag of his cigarette with shaky hands, stomping it out with his boot.

“You’re really cute when you’re nervous, did you know that?” Your girlfriend’s icy blue eyes drink Eddie in hungrily, her tongue running along her plush bottom lip.

“I have a question, well, we have a question for you.” Chloe’s boldness has always been a turn on for you, the way she sees something she wants and always gets it, drives you crazy. If it were up to you, you’d both be staring at Eddie from across the bar still. She really does complete you, in every way.

“Yeah you can uh, you can ask me anything.” His voice sounded breathless already and all you’ve done is give him a few base level compliments. You couldn’t believe you built him up to be this untouchable sex god and here he is adorably fumbling over his words.

“You wanna fool around with us? In your van maybe?” She said it like it was the most casual question in the world.

“Wha-? Do I wanna - What? Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack, sweetie.”

She smirked at him as she approached him, closing the distance between them.

Eddie’s eyes went wide and his breathing picked up. His heart was beating so fast he was scared you could hear it from a few feet away. Chloe brings her hand up to cup his cheek, running her thumb along his bottom lip, spreading the spit around that had collected there from him nervously licking it.

She was pleasantly surprised when he took the digit into his mouth, wrapping his lips around it and swirling his tongue.

“Oh yeah, this is gonna be fun.”

•

That’s how you found yourself giggling with your girlfriend and Eddie Munson as you climbed into the back of his 1971 Chevrolet Beauville. It was surprisingly clean, which you assumed was partly due to the fact that all the gear he must normally store back here was all still inside. There were a few pillows and blankets stacked in one corner and he hastily spread them out for you.

As soon as he sat down next to you Chloe was crawling into his lap, straddling him.

“You gonna be a good boy for me? I’ll only let you play with my girl if you’re good.” She snakes both of her hands into his hair and tugs, causing him to let out a groan that went straight between your legs.

“Yeah I’ll uh - I’ll be good, promise.” He nodded the best he could with your girlfriend's hands still tangled in his hair and you felt the wetness in your panties grow as you watched him submit to her so easily.

“Good. Kiss her.” Chloe uses her grip on his hair to turn his head toward you before releasing it.

You turn your head to meet his and eagerly smash your lips together. His lips are soft and he tastes like the cigarette he just smoked and the beer he was drinking earlier but there was something else there that was just him and you wanted more. You turn your body towards him so you can throw your leg over Chloe’s and press your pussy against his thigh. Your hand comes up between them to rest on his chest and you subconsciously start to grind against him. His tongue swipes along your bottom lip and you immediately grant him access, the taste of him enhancing tenfold.

“Baby.” Your girlfriend’s voice causes you to break the kiss and look at her immediately, always eager to please her, always her girl good. “Why don’t you take your panties off and sit on Eddie’s lap?”

Eddie’s eyes roll back and he nearly chokes at the thought of you in his lap. You nod eagerly and Chloe slides off of him so you can switch places with her. You crawl into his lap, your wet pussy pressing directly against his hard cock causing you to let out a breathy moan.

“Hi Eddie.” You look at him almost innocently but your hips grind down on him sinfully and he wants to fucking eat you alive. But he also wants to be respectful of the dynamic you have with your girl. He wanted to be good for her, wanted to hear her say those two words again… good boy. He never thought he would be into something like that but the way Chloe looks at him and talks to him makes him want to do whatever she says.

“Hey princess, you’re so pretty.” He brings his hands up to cup your face, running his thumbs along your cheeks as he looks at you almost lovingly and it makes your head spin.

Before you have time to process his gentleness you feel Chloe’s hand wrap around your throat from behind, pulling your head back towards her.

“Now, I didn’t give you permission to kiss him, did I baby?” Her voice is almost a growl and makes you subconsciously grind down on Eddie again, causing him to throw his head back and moan.

“No - no - you didn’t. I’m sorry.” You whimpered, feeling your head starting to go fuzzy for her already.

“That’s okay, I’ll let it slide just this once, because I know you're excited. Now be a good girl for me and bend over.” She releases your neck, pushing you by your back so your chest is flush against Eddie and your ass is in the air. She lands a harsh smack on your left cheek causing you to jerk forward and yelp.

Her fingers easily sliding through your slick lips and over your already sensitive clit.

“Mmm baby girl, you’re so wet for us already, you’re practically dripping and we’ve barely even started. This slutty little pussy is just so desperate huh?” Without warning she shoves two fingers knuckle deep inside you, they slip in and she hooks her fingers, finding that spot inside you that makes you go crazy with ease.

You push back against her fingers, your bare clit rubbing against the rough material of Eddie’s jeans causing you to let out a moan that makes him feel like he’s going to bust before he even has his cock out.

“Can I kiss Eddie now, please please? I promise I’ll be sooo mmmm - so good. FUCK!” Chloe’s fingers pick up speed, your hips meeting every thrust and your clit dragging deliciously against the metal head underneath you. You feel yourself getting close already, your hips subconsciously grind back, fucking yourself harder against her fingers. You're about to tip over the edge when she pulls her fingers from you, causing you to whine at the loss.

“Don’t be greedy, baby. I’m gonna let you cum. Eventually.” Her hand comes down on your ass again and you full on moan this time, desperate for anything. “Why don’t you scoot down and suck Eddie off while I eat this pretty pussy? Bet you’d like that huh?”

“Uh huh - yes please…” you lift your head from Eddie’s chest so you can look into his big brown eyes. He’s giving you this look like he wants to eat you alive but there’s a hint of nervousness underlying there and you want to wash it away. “Would you like that Eddie? Want me to suck you off?”

“You have no fucking idea how badly I want that, sweetheart…” He bites his lip, his eyes roaming your face, tits, neck. He wants to mark you all over. He wants to bend you over and rail you into the floor of his van but he also wants to be respectful of the dynamic you have with your girlfriend. He’s never done this with two girls before and he really doesn’t want to fuck it up.

You pull your shirt over your head, tossing it somewhere in the van behind you. Eddie’s eyes look like they’re literally going to pop out of his head when he sees that you aren’t wearing a bra, your bare tits now on display. He just wants to latch onto a nipple and never stop sucking.

“Take this stuff off, I wanna see you…” You tug on his jacket and battle vest, then pull on the front of his band tee. A pout set on your lips. You don’t have time to enjoy the show though because you’re being pulled by your ankles down Eddie’s body. Your bare nipples rub against the rough denim of his jeans and you moan at the feeling.Chloe tugs on you until your face level with the metal heads crotch, and then she grabs you by the hips, hiking your ass in the air. You barely have time to process her movements before she licks from your clit and up your slit, slipping her tongue between your wet folds.

“Oh fuuuuck.” You moan as you look up Eddie, his top half is now bare. He has tattoos on his chest, black ink against alabaster skin, his hair is already a slight mess, and he’s panting as he watches your girlfriend devour you from behind. Your fingers reach for his belt buckle, undoing it with ease, then you make quick work of his button and zipper. You tug on his waistband and he helps you pull his pants over his ass by lifting his hips. When his cock springs free it hits his bare stomach and you can’t hold in your gasp at the sight of him.

He’s huge. Thick and long. There’s a bead of precum dripping from his tip and he’s so hard it almost looks painful. You hold eye contact with him while you spit on your hand before taking his shaft in your now slick palm. You stroke him gently a few times before taking his head in your mouth, swirling your tongue around it. The moan that leaves him is one of the hottest things you’ve ever heard and you want to hear him do it again and again so you take more of him in your mouth, still using your hand to stroke what isn’t being devoured by your lips and tongue.

Chloe takes your clit in her mouth and sucks hard, her tongue flicking against the bud. You feel two of her fingers circle your entrance before she’s inserting them back inside you, pulling a loud moan from you. Eddie throws his head back at the feeling of your mouth vibrating around him. You take the rest of him in your mouth, your nose nestled against the patch of coarse hair at the base of his cock.

“Oh fuck - fuck - sweetheart, oh god.” He throws his head back against the back of the driver's seat, exposing the long expanse of his neck. You want to cover him in bruises so he won’t be able to forget about you for weeks.

He glances down at you. Drool is dripping from the sides of your mouth and onto his balls and you’re looking up at him through your lashes. You aren’t moving your head but you’re swirling your tongue around his shaft and he swears If you don’t let him breathe in a second he’s going to bust down your throat. You pull off of him with a pop, much to his relief.

“Oh shit, I’m gonna - fucking cum.” Eddie watches as your eyes roll in the back of your head before your face falls forward onto his bare stomach. Your hands grab onto his sides, your nails digging into his skin deliciously. He looks up at Chloe and she’s already staring at him with a glint in her eyes. Her face is still buried in between your legs and she’s sucking on your clit like her life depends on it. She curls her fingers just right and that’s all it takes. She feels your walls tighten around her digits and a loud moan leaves your lips. You shove your hips against her face as hard as you can, chasing every last second of your high. He’s pretty sure he could cum just fucking watching this.

“Good fucking girl, that’s my good girl.” She sits up, rubbing her hand over the globes of your ass, soothing you as you come back down to earth. She leans over you and brings the fingers that were inside you to Eddie’s lips. “Open up, pretty boy.”

You raise your head just in time to watch him take her fingers into her mouth, his plush pink lips wrapping around her slender slick covered digits. He moans at the taste of you and it causes you to whimper. God they’re both so hot.

You feel her weight lift off of you and raise your head from Eddie’s stomach, looking over your shoulder at her. You watch her crawl forward and snake her fingers into Eddie’s curly mane, pulling his lips to hers in a bruising kiss. You watch the way his thick ringed fingers wrap around her plush hips through her ripped jean shorts and it makes you clench your thighs. She’s wearing too many clothes for your liking. Chloe is always first and foremost a giver, to the point that she often forgets about herself. But you never forget.

You push yourself up on your knees so you can come up behind her and rest your hands on top of Eddie’s. You push her cherry red hair to the side and place sloppy wet kisses along the column of her throat. You hear gaspy little muffled moans leaving her lips as Eddie continues to devour her mouth with his own. You snake your hands around her waist, reaching for her studded belt, you unbuckle it as your kisses start to travel down her tank top strap covered shoulder. You undo her shorts the rest of the way so you can shove your hand down the front of them, your fingers easily finding her slick lips. You gather her wetness before bringing the tips of your digits to her clit, circling it.

“Oh my god, baby girl, yes.” She throws her head back against your shoulder as you insert two fingers inside her, your palm grinding down on her clit as you thrust them inside her.

Eddie pushes her cut up band tee over her chest, revealing her also braless tits. God, you guys were going to fucking kill him. They were so nice it took him a second to do more than stare. You couldn’t blame him, your girlfriend's tits were one of your favorite parts of her. Chloe has big tits, there’s no other way to say it. They’re supple and she has great nipples and you could suck on them for hours. After a second he breaks from his trance, roughly taking them in his large hands. He pinches her already hard nipples between his fingers and it causes her to whine. One of your favorite sounds.

“Spit.” She holds her hand in front of your mouth and you oblige, letting a string of spit fall into her palm. She brings it to Eddie’s cock, immediately jerking him off hard and fast. A loud groan rips through him as he leans forward and takes one of her nipples in his mouth.

You shove her shorts down her hips and she helps you kick them off her boot covered feet. Your hand finds her center again, plunging two fingers deep inside her while your palm continues its assault on her clit. She’s still jerking Eddie off and he’s mouthing all over her tits, leaving them covered in his spit. It’s one of the hottest things you’ve ever seen. You curl your fingers against her g-spot and bring your lips to suck on that spot on her neck you know drives her crazy.

“Fuck- oh my fucking goddd! Yeah, you guys are so good for me, you’re gonna make me fucking cum.” Chloe pants and her hips start to move in tandem with your hand, the hand she’s jerking Eddie off with is merely holding onto his shaft now and you can feel her walls clench around you.

“Please cum for me, I’ll be so so good for you, I just want you to cum. You’re so pretty when you cum.” You’re pathetically begging for her to fall apart for you but you don’t even care, you just want to make her feel good.

“Ohmyfuckinggod - I’m cumming!!” Her hips pick up speed and her arm shoots out behind her to grab onto your hair, pulling it while her walls spasm around your fingers. You fuck them into her until she grabs your wrist and uses it to pull your fingers from her core. Eddie reaches over to grab your hand, greedily sucking her juices from you. “I think I wanna ride you now, pretty boy. What do you say?”

“Oh god, fucking yes please.” His voice is needy and desperate and you want to bottle it up and listen to it on repeat on a rainy day.

You watch as Chloe throws her leg over his thighs so she can straddle his lap, her bare cunt making contact with his shaft. They both moan in unison at the feeling, her hips move back and forth to glide her slick lips along his cock. You watch as she raises up to her knees, she takes him in her hand and lines him up with her entrance. Chloe isn’t one to be slow, with anything really, so she immediately slams all the way down on his cock. Grinding her hips flush against him.

“Holy fucking shit, oh my god - fuck - you feel so good.” He grabs handfuls of her thick ass as she grinds down on him, her tits swaying deliciously in his face. Then she starts bouncing, hard and fast. You watch the way her pussy sucks him in over and over again, and whimper at the sight. You can see a milky ring of your girlfriend’s arousal around the base of Eddie’s cock and you find yourself wanting to lick it. But his jeans are in the way, so you make quick work of his boots, pulling them off along with his jeans.

“Shit - thank you sweetheart - ohmyfuck!” Eddie lets out a loud moan when you lean forward and lick across his balls. You take one into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it before repeating the action on the other side. You swirl your tongue along his sack before licking up to where him and Chloe are connected. Both their moans increase when they feel your tongue wrap around the back of Eddie’s shaft, licking at your girlfriend’s milky cum.

“Oh baby girl, fuck that feels so good.” Chloe moans when you slip your tongue inside her along Eddie’s cock, fucking it into her a few times. “Come up here though, wanna see your pretty face when I cum.”

You crawl over to her, sitting on your knees beside her. She takes your face in her hands, kissing you roughly, moaning at the taste of herself on your tongue.

“Give Eddie a kiss too baby.” She grabs the hair at the nape of your neck, using her grip to turn your face toward Eddie. He grabs your face in his hands, slamming his lips against yours. He immediately swipes his tongue against your bottom lip and you intertwine it with yours. Chloe is still riding him like her life depends on it, causing him to moan into your mouth. “You should choke her Eddie, you can be rough with her if you want, that’s okay with me.”

If that wasn’t music to his fucking ears. He’s wanted to just grab you and fucking take you this entire time, your submissive demeanor was driving him insane. He wasn’t sure how to bring it up, but now that he didn’t have to? Fuck. He was going to wreck you.

“You want that baby? Want me to be rough with you?” He grabs your jaw in his hand, pinching your cheeks together. The look in his eyes was different now, more feral.

“God, yes.” He takes the chance immediately, the hand on your jaw coming down to squeeze your throat just right. “I want you to use me Eddie.”

“That’s so fucking hot.” Chloe moans, picking up the pace of her thrusts on Eddie’s cock.

“I still haven’t gotten my hands on this pussy, take your skirt off for me, princess.” He groans when he feels Chloe’s pussy clench around him, releasing your throat so you can throw off your skirt and shoes. When you return to his side his fingers glide down your body, between your tits, over your mound. He slides them between your legs, gathering your wetness.

“Fuck, you’re so wet for us. I wanna make you cum.” He cups your pussy, thrusting his palm against your clit. The tips of his fingers dip into your dripping hole every few thrusts but never go fully inside you. You're so wet his hand is practically gliding against you and it’s making noises you’d be embarrassed of if you weren’t so turned on. “You want my fingers baby?”

“Uh huh - yeah please, sir.” Your eyes are wide and glassy, the name slipping out of you almost subconsciously. Eddie nearly cums at the sound. Chloe is still riding him like it’s her job, one of her hands in his hair, tugging it deliciously. Her other hand reaches out to replace Eddie’s around your throat and your eyes roll back.

“I think you can cum like this though, don’t you? I think I want the next thing inside you to be my cock.” His palm speeds up against your pussy, determined to pull an orgasm from you and Chloe both. He hopes he isn’t talking out of his ass though, because he’s honestly trying so hard not to bust his load right now.

“I think he’s right baby, I think you’re such a desperate little slut you can get off just from grinding on Eddie’s palm.” Chloe uses her grip on your throat to pull your face close to hers, her signature Cheshire grin painted across her lips.

Eddie plants his feet on the floor of the van, using his free hand to grip onto Chloe’s ass as he starts to meet her erratic thrusts. You can tell she’s getting close when her mouth falls open and her eyes roll back. Her grip on her throat tightens and she’s letting out those whiny moans that she only lets slip when she’s about to cum. You bring your hand between their bodies so you can rub circles on her clit. It only takes a few seconds before she’s tipping over the edge. Her walls clench around Eddie’s cock, her hand on your throat still cutting off your air supply in the most perfectly delicious way. Eddie’s using every ounce of strength he has not to cum right now, his hand still thrusting in tandem with your hips. He leans forward and bites into your shoulder and the feeling sends you over the edge. Your whole body tenses, your legs clamping shut on his hand and you reach out to grab onto his forearm so you don’t fall over.

“Oh fuck - I’m gonna-“ Eddie can’t hold it anymore, everything feels so good, you’re both so fucking hot he’s felt like he was going to bust since you first walked up to him in the bar. But then suddenly Chloe is pulling off of him. His cock slips from her warm walls and his release is taken with it.

“Not yet, pretty boy. Don’t you wanna fuck my girls pretty little pussy too? She’s so desperate for it. Look at her.” Chloe grabs your jaw roughly and you whimper, you still have Eddie’s hand clamped between your legs and there’s drool dripping from the side of your mouth. Your chest rises and falls rapidly and your lips are kiss swollen, your mascara running lightly. Eddie wanted to fucking ruin you.

“Fuck, you know I do. You want that, angel face? Want me to fuck you?” He teases your entrance with his fingers again, dipping his fingertips just barely inside before pulling his hand away entirely.

“Please.” You whimper.

“Be a good girl for us and get on your hands and knees.” Chloe squishes your cheeks together, shaking your head from side to side before releasing you from her grip. Eddie grabs one of the pillows and drops in in front of you, the sweet gesture despite the fact that you know he’s about to fucking rail the shit out of you warms your insides in a different way. You place your knees on the pillow, resting your hands on the blanket underneath you. You arch your back so your ass is in the air and you hear two seperate groans behind you.

“I’m going to fuck the shit out of you.” Eddie growls, coming up behind you on his knees and roughly grabbing your hips in his big hands.

“Baby, come lay in front of me, I wanna taste you.” You whine, patting the space in front of you on the ground. Chloe chuckles at your neediness, coming around to lay on her back in front of you. She spreads her legs and it’s your turn to groan. She’s so wet, the moonlight shining through the dusty van windows makes it glisten. Eddie runs his cock through your folds as you lean down to place wet kisses on her inner thighs. You lay your lower half down flat so you can hook your arms around her legs. You look into her blue eyes as you spit on her pussy, sticking your tongue out to lick a stripe up her slit before swirling it around her clit.

“Fuck yes baby.” She groans, her fingers lace through your hair and tug your face closer to her so she can grind against your outstretched tongue.

Eddie pushes the head of his cock inside of you and pulls it out a few times, teasing you. You push your hips back against him and are met with a harsh smack on your ass. The metal of his rings stings in the best way and you moan into Chloe’s pussy, the vibrations sending her eyes to the back of her head.

“I was trying to take my time a little, but since you wanna be greedy about it…” He shoves his cock all the way inside you in one rough thrust. He grabs onto your ass, grinding his hips against your own while he is nestled deep inside you. The stretch felt so good, you’re so wet and needy it almost felt like your pussy was sucking him in. He pulls out slowly before slamming back into you roughly, and then he does it again, and again, and again. Each thrust nearly knocks the wind out of you, you whimper and moan against your girlfriend’s wet cunt, driving her insane.

“Oh fuuuuuck, your pussy is sucking me in baby girl. You feel so fucking good.” He picks up speed then, his hips smack against yours and your pussy is so wet you can hear his cock slipping in and out of you. It feels so fucking good you can hardly focus on eating Chloe out anymore. Your tongue is hanging from your mouth while she uses your hair as leverage to thrust against it.

“Yeah baby, keep your tongue out for me. Let us use you.” She pulls your hair harder, her hips eagerly rutting against your mouth.

One of Eddie’s hands snakes between your legs to find your clit, rubbing it in time with his thrusts. He’s fucking you so fast and deep, hitting your g-spot over and over again.

“I’m gonna fucking - shit - I’m gonna fucking cum ohmygod.” Chloe’s thrusts against your face become erratic and you know what she needs, even in your fucked our state. You wrap your lips around her clit and suck as she continues to grind against you, it only takes a few seconds for her back to be arching off the ground, her legs clamping shut around your head. She whines as she humps against your face, riding out her high. She pushes your head off of her when it becomes too much. “Okay, fuck sensitive.”

You release her clit from your lips, pushing up on your hands again while Eddie continues to fuck you like a man possessed. He gathers your hair in his hand, turning it into a makeshift ponytail and using it to pull your back flush against his chest.

“Oh fuck fuck fuck, oh god, Eddie! You’re so deep, feels so - so good.” Eddie can tell you’re getting close by the way you’re babbling and your pussy is clenching around him. “Choke me Eddie.”

He releases the grip on your hair to grab onto your throat instead, applying the perfect amount of pressure that has your vision just the right amount of hazy. He’s still fucking you so hard that you wouldn’t be surprised if the slapping of your hips was echoing through the entire parking lot.

“You guys look so fucking sexy, damn.” Chloe is propped up on her elbows now, watching as Eddie pushes you closer to the edge on his cock. She comes over to you, taking your face in her hands and kissing you passionately. She kisses down your jaw, stopping to run her tongue along Eddie’s fingers that are around your throat, she kisses all over your tits, licking and sucking your nipples. She continues her descent down your body, before leaning down to take your clit into her mouth. She swirls her tongue at the exact time that Eddie hits that perfect spot inside you and it has you seeing stars.

“I’m cumming! I’m fucking cumming!” Your body shakes in Eddie’s hold and your pussy is gripping him so tight he can’t take it anymore, cumming right along with you. He pumps into you while you both ride out your highs, filling you with his cum.

He pulls out of you slowly, holding onto your hips so you don’t fall forward.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” You let out a deep breath, letting yourself fall onto the blanket on your back.

“Yeah. Holy shit.” Eddie chuckles as he lowers himself down beside you.

“Jesus fucking Christ, holy shit, is right. That was amazing.” Chloe beams, laying down on her side facing you. She cups your jaw in her hand, leaning down to kiss you gently. “You did so good baby, you were such a good girl for us. Was it all you dreamed of?”

“Wait!” Eddie’s head whips towards you, his eyes wide. “You dreamed about this?”

“Oh pretty boy, you have no idea how long we’ve been fantasizing about you. Her longer than me. She’s been rubbing it out to the thought of you since the first time she saw you.” Chloe chuckles and you playfully smack her arm.

“Chloe! Shut up!!!” You feel your insides warm with embarrassment.

“Honestly? That’s so fucking hot, angel face, and pretty funny too. Considering I’ve been jerking off to the thought of you too.” He gives you this goofiest lopsided smile that calms your nerves. “I honestly felt like a little bit of a creep. Especially once you started bringing Chloe around, I felt like a perverted douche thinking about you guys together.”

“Psh!! If you’re a perv then so are we! We’ve literally talked about you while we were fucking, you’re good.” You giggle.

“Yeah, well I guess we are just a bunch of pervs then.” Eddie giggles along with you and Chloe smiles. She thinks you guys are cute, really cute. She kind of wants to keep Eddie around.

“Hey pretty boy, do you think we could see you again sometime?” She smirks at him, hopeful.

“Fuck. You know I’d say yes in an instant… but I’m actually leaving next week, this was our last show before our first tour. We got signed!” Eddie never thought he would be sad about that fact, until this moment.

“Oh Eddie!! That’s so awesome!! I’m so proud of you guys! I knew you could do it!” You give him that sweet smile that melts his heart, and he can’t help but lean in and kiss you. You return it happily.

“That’s fucking dope dude, you guys deserve that shit!” Chloe raises her hand to high five him, he returns it happily before grabbing her hand and kissing the back of it.

“Thanks, pretty girl.” He smirks at her, and she blushes. She tries to cover it up with a scoff and a roll of her eyes, but you saw it.

“Wanna get a celebratory breakfast with us at least? There’s a 24 hour diner around the corner.” You smile at him hopefully.

“I’d love to, my lady.” He smiles at you sweetly, and your heart melts.

The three of you spend hours at the diner, laughing and talking, getting to know each other. It’s almost bittersweet how well you all get along. It makes you wish you had spoken to him sooner. But who knows, maybe one day when Eddie Munson is rich and famous, you’ll see him again.

Tag list: @taintedcigs @nailbatanddungeon @melodymunson @sunnythespookyghost @keeksandgigz @tlclick73 @eddiesxangel @imyourdaninow @gravedigginbbydoll @take-everything-you-can

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x reader smut #Eddie Munson smut #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x fem!oc #Eddie Munson x fem!reader smut #Eddie Munson one shot #eddie munson fanfic #Dolly writes

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moonkkives · 1 year

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- ( NEWSFLASH! )

pairing: max verstappen x fem!reader, charles leclerc x platonic fem!reader, driver!reader

summary: charles can’t tell what’s worse, having to deal with ferrari or having to see his two best friends pinning on each other.

warning: fluffy!, charles wingman this time <3, mentions of banging someone’s head against a metal door <3

word count: 635

them: sundress, zoo culture

author's note: daniel back in the grid? hello? <3 also can we please talk about how f1 official social media is ignoring nyck like he’s the plague?

also, send any requests/ideas for this story if you have any! these are my babies right here 😭

max had hit a new low, charles noticed.

like, he was never one to effectively hide his feelings for his teammate; but this was starting to become a problem.

in part for his well-being, because, to be honest, if he looked at max’s lovesick eyes filling you every move when you weren’t looking he was going to throw up.

both metaphorically and physically.

but also, it was slowly but surely starting to affect his racing career — you just worked too well together. way too well.

it was one thing that red bull being an absolute rocket ship. it was another, however, when your connection to your teammate so deep that it was a huge task to be able to get past both of you on track.

you move in synchrony all of the time, easily switching between defending and attacking

your dynamic was pure magic, as david croft had mentioned many times in the past.

you were both aware, because, how could you not? terrorizing the rest of the gird had become your whole personality.

“better luck next time charles, hopefully!” “yeah, that ferrari is certainly— some thing else.”

pierre always laughed at charles’ face after.

and charles always pinched your arm in revenge.

but honestly, he would be lying if he said he wasn’t happy for you. he couldn’t think of anyone else more deserving to be in a top team at the moment.

similar to max, charles and you also went way back. only that you became best friends from the get go.

so, you can imagine how much charles has suffered for the past million years watching both of you blindly pin on each other.

you might we’re talented, but you sure are oblivious as fuck.

fast forward to today, he felt lando fake a gag right beside him as they were walking towards their cars to get ready for the pre-race driver’s parade.

“are you seeing that?” lando asked, “disgusting.”

charles chuckled, eyes setting on the pair that had undoubtedly catched the eyes of many people on track.

you were both walking ahead of the group, side by side and in your little own world. max was laughing at something you had said.

it probably wasn’t even that funny, but charles wasn’t going to go there.

max responded to your comment, making you let out a chuckle and softly push his arm. but a smile on his face, he took the chance and confidently wrapped his arm around your shoulder.

he heard lando let out a low teasing “ooh”.

they both watched as you trailed your fingers down his back, before wrapping it around his waist.

this time lando let out a surprised laugh, “ooh—“ he started, “that was cheeky.”

charles laughed, slapping his arm “mate, you’re being too loud!”

lando ignored him, eyes glued to both of your figures as you walked side by side, arms in arms. “she’s getting confident! did you see that little—“ he said, imitating your previous hand movement down max’s back “little thing. baby’s gonna get her man!”

he could now hear albon’s laugh coming from behind them, having now caught up on the gossip. albon pushed lando from behind.

charles shushed them both, however, his eyes were gleaming with amusement. “can you guys be any more obvious!”

lando groaned, “oh, come on! someone has to tell them!”

“absolutely not.” charles refuted, just like he had since day one, “they’ll figure it out themselves.

albon raised a brow at him, “how are you so sure?” he asked, now walking beside him and lando

charles chuckled, “because,” he started. “if they don’t, i’ll bang my head against a metal door.”

with his eyes still on you, charles couldn’t help but smile at the ways your arms were wrapped around each other, heads angling to meet in the middle and footsteps synchronized.

you were going to figure it out, charles thought, you had to. . . right?

#max verstappen #charles leclerc #f1 imagine #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 x you #formula one #formula one imagine #formula one x reader #formula one x you #max verstappen x you #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #formula one one shot #f1 one shot #formula 1 imagine #f1 x y/n

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rhaenyratargcryen · 1 month

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i want to hold you close, skin pressed against me tight | wolverine

masterlist ❈

summary: drifting from town to town and never lingering in one place for too long has served you well since you began to realize something might be...different, about you. you've never been able to put a finger on what exactly that difference is, until you end up at the same bar as a mysterious, albeit deeply captivating, stranger. author's note: this literally came from an idea of a reader that could share their own feelings through touch, which then snowballed into an arguably too long one shot (if i'm not careful, that's what i'm going to become known for hahaha) just imagine early 30-something year old hugh jackman's wolverine while you read this <3 kind of still a shithead, not yet entirely traumatized lol!!!

pairing: logan howlett/wolverine x f!reader word count: 10,353 (uhhhh hahaha next question) warnings/tags: pWp (with, y'all!), sloooow burn, user rhaenyratargcryen had to google everyone's powers multiple times just. be warned

18+/mdni i am sooooo serious and please don't repost with or without asking for permission. i'm not into that kind of thing, if you want to share pls reblog!!!!

title is from she wants revenge's "tear you apart"

It’s a Sunday, when Logan finds you. Or, you’d soon come to find, perhaps it was you who had been the one to find him.

You’ve grown accustomed to becoming a familiar face at every shitty bar in every small town your drifter lifestyle drags you to, and this hole-in-the-wall in the Hudson Valley that smells slightly of piss and even more of cigarettes is no different.

The motel down the street that you’d unpacked your menial possessions into is the perfect distance from the dive — you could walk home at the end of the night, and not worry you’d find yourself in trouble with a stranger. Well, the wrong kind of stranger.

Sitting at the end of the bar, you’re nursing your third drink in the fading light of the afternoon as it comes through the row of windows to your right when the light blinks out abruptly, and you look up to find yourself face to face with a very ruggedly-handsome man.

Your gaze drags across his face, down to his torso, then rests for a beat too long to be appropriate on the way his jeans sit low on his hips, a bit too tight on his thighs if he was to ask you. He stiffens under your wandering eye, watching you carefully as your attention returns to his — begrudgingly, considering he’s disturbing your peace — beautiful face.

He’s hot, you’ll give him that, but you try your best to glare and look unapproachable; it’s a Sunday and you’re drunk on bottom-shelf whiskey, trying desperately to communicate that you’re not quite in the mood for conversation with a stranger at the moment.

This man will not take a fucking hint.

He gestures to the seat directly to your right. “Mind if I sit here?”

You glance pointedly at the rest of the seats at the bar, which are all notably empty, but you say nothing and grunt your indifference. This guy doesn’t look the talkative type, but you really hope he isn’t looking for a chat. Luckily, he sits down silently and gestures to the bartender, who seems to recognize him and pours him a finger of whatever you’ve also been drinking.

From the corner of your eye, you can see that he’s picked up the glass and swirled the liquor around in it, but before he can take a swig, he opens his mouth with the glass practically pressed to it and mutters, “You know what you are?”

“That’s an odd fucking thing to say,” you remark, pulling your glass closer to you and closing both fists around it, turning to look directly at him. Your heart stutters as you watch the left side of his mouth curl slightly into a smirk. “Wanna explain to me what the fuck you mean by that, dude?”

The man grunts and throws back his whiskey, swallowing it in one go. Before you can get another word in, he lifts his left hand up, flexing his forearm, and you watch as three shiny, silver pieces of metal pierce through the skin between his knuckles with a sharp snikt sound.

“What the fuck,” you rasp, pressing a hand flat down on the bartop to push yourself up and away from him in the seat next to you, knocking your own drink over in the process. No one else in the bar seems fazed, like he comes in here and does this — whatever this is — often. He doesn’t move, doesn’t make an attempt to come closer to you than he is, and eventually your heartbeat calms down, and your flight response becomes a fight response. You bristle, a bit pissed off at what you read as an attempt to scare the shit out of you for fun.

“What’s your problem?”

“Ain’t got a problem, bub,” the man murmurs, leaning against the bar and grinning, the claws retracting. He wipes the backs on his knuckles off onto the thighs of his jeans, blood staining the denim red. “Was just trying to get you to do whatever it is you can do.”

You thank the bartender, who has dropped a rag in front of you to clean your spilled liquor and replaced your empty glass with a full one.

“Sweetheart, I could smell you the second I stepped foot through that door. I haven’t seen you around here before, you new in town?”

Smell you? You’re about one more strange statement from him away from losing your goddamn mind. “I’m gonna need you to elaborate on what you mean by smell. Please.”

He leans closer to you, that smirk on his mouth a provocation, so close that you can practically taste the whiskey on his breath. “You ever heard of mutants, dollface?”

Now, seeing as that wasn’t the kind of conversation you wanted to have in public, you had tried to push him — Logan, his name is, you learn — back by his chest, but the man was an immovable object. Probably a good thing you’d ultimately decided it wasn’t worth trying to hit him.

“Excuse me,” you’d uttered, slapping a twenty dollar bill down on the bar top and slipping out of your seat carefully, quickly realizing how drunk you really are. When you right yourself, you turn to him and angle your head to the door behind you.

“We can have this talk somewhere else, yeah?”

Logan had looked up at the bartender, muttered, “Add hers to my tab?” and palmed your money to give back to you, following you across the room. When you’d tried to object, Logan had held his hand up and told you your money wasn’t good here anymore.

Now, you lead him through the door to your room, stripping yourself of your jacket and kicking at the dirty laundry on the floor at the end of the bed at the same time.

“Want to tell me what the fuck that was all about? Do I know you or something?”

“No, sweetheart,” Logan says, unzipping his moto jacket and slipping his arms from the sleeves, revealing a crisp white t-shirt and biceps thicker than your neck. You subtly try to shake your head, snap your attention away from them, but he smirks, catching your eye. “You don’t know me. But I think you’re like me. We’re drawn to each other, you know. It’s like some sort of…beacon, a homing device. I was coming to the bar anyway. I knew what you were, second I saw you.”

“And you think I’m…also a, what, a mutant?”

“Not think. Know. You seriously can’t think of a single thing recently that might have felt a little, I don’t know, off? Can you see things you couldn’t before? Have you been hungrier? Felt more on edge?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying and failing to think of any big change, but you come up short. Shaking your head, you glance back up at him. “No. No, everything’s been the same. I’ve been on the road a bit, moving from place to place, but that isn’t unusual for me.”

“Any particular reason you chose Westchester County to land on?”

“I don’t know…I just,” you blanch, realizing he’s right, except it hasn’t been one big change – it’s been little by little. “I felt drawn east.”

Logan considers this for a moment; you can see the ditch between his eyebrows deepen with thought, before he seems to come to some sort of conclusion.

“I think you been in fight or flight for a long time, trying to survive on scraps and strangers’ generosity. Let me guess. No family left? Nowhere to call home? Somethin’ big and bad happen to you?”

You say nothing and he watches a scowl slip across your face, humming when he realizes he’s cut deep, to the bone.

“C’mere,” Logan murmurs, and you take steps backward as he comes toward you, the backs of your calves meeting the bed. He holds his hands up, palms facing you. “Hey, okay. I won’t hurt you, I promise. I’m not in the business of scaring little girls.”

“I’m not a little girl,” you scoff, staring at him out of the corner of your eye as he advances, albeit a little more slowly, on you.

Logan shakes his head. “You’re still much younger than me, sweetheart.”

“What? You don’t look older than 31, maybe 32.”

“Yeah, well. Looks aren’t everything, okay? I’m just — I’m not in the business of scaring girls. I wouldn’t’a let you bring me back here if I was going to hurt you; that’s not who I am.”

You suppose you don’t have much choice but to trust him.

“I wanted you to come here,” Logan breathes, hands returning to his sides. He gives you a look, asking permission to move closer to you, to touch you, and you tip your head forward in a slight nod. “So I can do this.”

He grasps your forearm in his hand, places your palm on his bicep, and immediately winces. White flashes in front of your eyes, and a sharp pain nearly splits your head in half. You gasp his name, beg him to stop. When he pulls your hand from him, it almost looks like the print of it has been burned into his skin.

“I have a friend who’s an empath,” Logan murmurs, pupils blown, once his heartbeat has recovered to its resting rate. “She has to touch someone, to affect the way they feel. It’s good for, you know, calming people down in situations where they might be worked up. You, on the other hand…”

Logan trails off and you shake your head, bringing your arms up to fold across your torso, shivering gently. “What? I’m what?”

“I think, when you touched me, you made me feel what you were feeling. You were scared of me, huh? I could feel it, immediately. I could taste copper in my mouth, I started sweating.” Logan laughs softly, running his fingers across the skin of his right hand. “My palms are still sweaty.”

He’s still staring down at his hands, at the stretch of skin on his arm that still stings with the feeling of you. Your eyes rove over his handsome profile, at his strong nose. His jaw ticks when he looks back over to you, one eyebrow curled.

”Sorry,” he adds. “I didn’t know it would hurt you.”

Already walking past you, Logan gestures toward the bed. “Sit,” he orders, and you blanch and do as he says. He digs a cellular phone out of the front pocket of his jeans and ducks his head, disappearing wordlessly into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

Groaning, you fall back onto the bedspread. Fuck, this whole ordeal has sobered you up, and quick. Why is there a strange man in your bathroom? You could make people feel what you’re feeling? What was going to happen now?

You run through every possibility — you could leave before he comes back, abandon your stuff, take your car and run — but by the time you come to any sort of conclusion, Logan emerges from the bathroom.

“C’mon,” he says, sliding his jacket back over his arms, zipping it up and gesturing toward the door with his head. “Got somebody who wants to meet you.”

You sit up straight and look around at your belongings. Logan seems to take this hint and starts gathering the articles of clothing strewn across the room, along with those still somehow neatly folded in the motel dresser, ignoring your protests and stuffing them in the suitcase open on the floor against the wall. After a few moments of watching Logan pull together your worldly belongings, you fumble with the drawer on the bedside table, open the bible, and pull out your passport and an indeterminate, but large, amount of cash. Logan eyes it but says nothing, and when you zip your suitcase closed, he picks it up for you without a word.

“You won’t need to come back here,” Logan mutters as you slam the tailgate on your truck closed. He points to the room you’d just left, then rounds to the driver’s side of your truck and starts walking across the parking lot, looking over his shoulder to shout, “You can leave your key in the room. There’s plenty of empty beds where we’re headed.”

“And if I don’t want to go?”

Logan stops and turns back to face you, his jaw set. “Pretty soon, people’ll figure out what you are, sweetheart. And they won’t take to you as nicely as I have.”

You snort. Nicely. But you know he’s right. It seems like things are a little different around here, for people like you. But you know that now you know what you are, that will change. As you’re trying to figure out what to say to him, Logan starts backing up.

You’re still unsure of how to talk to this man you’d only recently met, who’d already had a hand in changing your life fundamentally, but you hold a hand up, asking him to stop. He does. He watches you carefully, probably trying to decide whether or not you’re going to run away. You’re still not sure yourself.

“How did you know that you needed me to touch you?”

“Call it gut instinct.”

“It didn’t hurt, by the way,” you murmur, turning to look at him. A few paces away from you, one of Logan’s eyebrows arches, and you wring your hands together.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. It felt good.”

The place you’re headed — plenty of empty beds, he’d said — is less than a ten minute drive from the motel you’d been staying at, it turns out. Logan had told you to wait by your truck while he went back to the bar to pick up his bike, then drove ahead of you all the way there, your headlights illuminating the back of his body. Wrought iron gates await you, and they ease open as you pull up the long gravel drive.

Logan drops his kickstand and leaves his motorcycle directly in front of a large set of wooden doors, and you slow nearly to a stop, trying to decide where’s best for your truck. Logan’s one step ahead of you and dismounts the bike, pointing you toward a line of cars on the other side of the little lot, following you on foot as you shift into park and turn the vehicle off.

“What is this place?”

Logan is popping your tailgate open when you open your door and he pulls your suitcase from the bed — the act takes him little effort, you notice. You thank him and try to take the case from him, but he shakes you off and leads you to the building.

“It’s a school,” Logan says, pushing through the front door. Immediately you’re greeted with the sound of children’s laughter, of feet running on wooden floors, of voices echoing off walls in the distance. You catch the door as it closes behind Logan, trying your best not to be distracted by the subtle opulence of just the foyer.

Logan drops your suitcase by the front window, then unzips his coat, removes it, and hangs it on the coatrack to his right. “We’ll figure out your room situation soon, but I wanna take you down to meet Charles first.”

“Charles?”

“He owns the place,” Logan mutters, crooking a finger to indicate for you to follow him. “He’ll want to see what you can do.”

Pursing your lips, you decide to press your luck with Logan. “What about what you can do? Is it just the claws?”

Logan smirks, coming to an abrupt stop in the dark hallway. He turns to face you, and you can see his teeth shine as he smiles. “What? You hoping for somethin’ else, a bigger show than I gave you earlier?”

You stand your ground with him, but your heart is racing, and he cocks an eyebrow like he can tell. He relents, shrugging.

“I heal pretty fast, too.”

Charles’ office is behind the last door on the left, at the end of the hall, and you’re shocked when Logan knocks, rather than entering the room like he belongs there.

“Come in,” you hear, then realize you hadn’t actually heard it. It’s more like you’d felt it knocking around the inside of your skull. Your heartbeat picks up again.

“It’s okay,” Logan says out of the corner of his mouth. “He does that sometimes.”

The door opens, and you’re met with an almost-empty office — only a bald man sat behind a large wooden desk.

“So,” the man says, folding his hands upon the tabletop. No hello. No, it’s lovely to meet you. “You’re an empath, are you?”

“I — I guess?”

“Hm,” he murmurs, glancing at Logan, who stands behind you and to the left, slightly.

“She is, Chuck,” Logan assures Charles. “I felt it myself. She can show others her emotions, make them feel what she feels. She was scared when she met me — had my heart racin’. I could see myself through her eyes.”

He hadn’t told you that part, and you worry he’d noticed that your heart hadn’t only been racing because you were afraid. Charles clicks his tongue, and surveys you, your dirty shoes, the wild look in your eye, and clears his throat.

“If you wouldn’t mind, young lady, I’d quite like to feel for myself, as well.”

A blush heats up your face and you step forward, throwing a tentative look at Logan over your shoulder. He nods, dispelling any fears, and you step forward until you’re standing at the edge of Charles’s desk. You reach across, shaking, and take the man’s hand in yours.

“Oh,” Charles murmurs, his pupils dilated. “That’s certainly new. You’ve no need to be afraid, dear, we only want to help you. As I’m sure Logan told you, it’s a dangerous world out there, for our kind.”

“And we’re safe here?”

“Yes.”

Logan brushes past you and rounds Charles’s desk, leaning down to murmur something in the man’s ear. You can hear their hushed, hurried voices, but can’t make out what they’re saying, and the longer you stand there as an onlooker, the more out of place you feel. You shift your weight from your left foot to your right foot and look out the window as they talk.

The sun is setting outside — the late summer glow illuminating the office, warming your face — and you decide to clear your throat, drawing the men’s attention back to you.

“If it’s alright, I’d like to be alone for the night. I think.”

“That’s alright, yes,” Charles smiles, raising a hand and curling his fingers inward. The door opens behind you, and you jump. “This is a lot for one day, I understand. Logan, if you would show our guest to a spare room? One in your wing, perhaps, in case she is in need of anything.”

You glance at Logan and watch him nod, then turn and wink at you. You roll your eyes at him. He doesn’t know you, and the familiarity with which he interacts with you is unnerving, but at the same time, you find him intriguing.

It’s almost like the man you met at the bar and the man guiding you out of this room are two entirely separate people. The man from the dive was overeager, compensating for being the one thing there that was out of place. This man is relaxed. This is his home.

You wonder as you watch him if this is who he really is.

“Charles is telepathic,” Logan murmurs, almost as if he can also hear your thoughts racing. He glances over at you, holding your eye a beat too long. “He’s also telekinetic.”

“Hence the door opening on its own.” You pause. “And the creepy voice inside my head.”

Logan chuckles, shrugging and bending down to retrieve your suitcase from where it now sits at the bottom of the staircase. You watch the muscles in his biceps flex, your mouth suddenly going very dry. “You get used to it. People say he can read every mind within a two-hundred-and-fifty-mile radius of wherever he sits. Can’t imagine all that noise all the time.”

Humming your consensus, you follow him, gaze trapped between his broad shoulders. Even the back of his neck is enticing. “If he could read my mind, why wouldn’t that have been enough for him to know?”

“There’s something different about what you do,” he says, guiding you up the stairs to the second floor and down a long, carpeted hall. “It requires touch. Charles can read your mind, sure, but there’s more to your influence than just your thoughts. It’s baser, more animalistic.”

Finally, the two of you come to a dead end, and Logan opens the nondescript wooden door to your left. He walks inside without waiting to see if you’ll follow and places your suitcase down on the end of the twin-sized bed against the farthest wall.

“You need anything, I’m two doors down across the hall, okay? Seriously. Anything.”

You haven’t moved from where you stopped in the doorway to watch him, one fist pressed against the frame you’re leant up against. He brushes past you, so close you can smell his cheap aftershave, the whiskey on his breath still lingering, though he hasn’t once seemed drunk. The hint of something more pungent. You open your mouth — before he gets too far, you want to ask him the question you haven’t yet had the courage to voice.

“Logan?”

The man pauses, his face inches from yours. Your gaze flicks between his eyes, then down across mouth, to where his throat moves as he swallows. “Hm?”

“Why are you helping me?”

What you mean is, You don’t seem like a generous man. What you mean is, I’m not afraid of you, but I haven’t yet decided if I can trust you. What you mean is, Why me?

He pauses, considering your question, then places one hand on your bicep and squeezes. His eyes are wet, like someone who remembers too much and not enough. Before you can catch your breath, he’s moved on, that same hand now wrapped around the doorknob of his own room. A small smile graces the lower half of his face. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I got a habit a’ pickin’ up strays.”

The days pass by quickly, and they’re exhausting. You wake daily before the sun rises, called downstairs to do endless exercises to strengthen your control over your ability, you’ve come to think of it as. The problem is that you’re not sure you’re capable of the things they need you to be capable of.

“Can we stop, for today?”

You’re bent at the waist, arms dangling, both hands clutching the opposite elbow. It helps you decompress. This isn’t physically tiring work, necessarily, but the mental strain is undeniable. You’re avoiding Charles’s gaze, which you know will have a disappointed glean to them.

“What, can’t handle it already?”

You perk up at the sound of Logan’s voice, and when you turn your head towards it, you see him walking towards you across the yard, light wash jeans slung low on his hips once again. The sleeves of his white tee are rolled up, straining against the corded muscle of his biceps, the collar cut into a V at the front.

Since you first met him, you’ve learned a few things about Logan: one, he’s Canadian. Two, he can drink you under the table, and he will absolutely let you drink yourself to sleep, but he always makes sure you end up in your own bed at the end of every night. And three, his powers are more than just the claws: he has a regenerative healing power, alongside superhuman strength, and superhuman stamina. The thought of that last one makes you blush.

You spend most evenings with him on the floor of your room, drinking cheap whiskey while he chain smokes and deals you in after every round of cards he kicks your ass at.

“Need to work on your poker face, darlin’,” he always says, smirking and shuffling the cards again with his lithe, thick fingers.

And on the nights when you can’t find sleep, he sits up with you in your room, reading Hemingway and Steinbeck and Fitzgerald, even some Stephen King, while you curl up on your side and let the even sound of his breathing lull you unconscious.

You get used to each other’s presence. You don’t talk much while you sit together – is there really anything more to say? He’d clocked you that very first day. You were alone in the world, before, but not anymore.

He doesn’t do this with anyone else, you notice. Allow them into his small circle of trust, or whatever this is. You’re friends, you think. He hasn’t let himself have many of those.

You’ve also learned a few things about yourself, the most important being that with some practice you no longer get a splitting headache using your ability; that you can control when and how you use it; and that you’ve been meditating on some other, perhaps more enjoyable and creative ways, to make use of it.

Although you’d tried to deny it from the start, unfortunately — mostly for yourself — the attraction you feel toward Logan is unshakable. He’s rough, and sharp, and impermeable, but he seems to have a soft spot for you. You can’t tell if it’s the circumstances under which the two of you met that have him feeling that way, but you’ve developed a fun back and forth over the last few weeks.

“What, sweet cheeks,” Logan pokes at you, left hand on his cocked hip. “Is it that hard for you, still?”

Shaking your head, you grin at him, one hand cupped over your eyes to block the sun behind him. You turn to glance at the back of Charles’s chair, already heading away from the two of you. Your attention falls back on Logan.

“C’mere, then,” you murmur, standing up straight and mirroring his body language. One of his eyebrows arches and his canine teeth appear as his smile widens. “I’ll show you how easy I can get it goin’.”

As he crosses the remaining bit of yard between you, that smug look on his face, you channel fury. You push every ounce of attraction and good will you feel toward Logan out of your mind, and you think: anger. I’m angry. At my circumstances. At what the world does to people like me. At how much I’m underestimated — at how much I underestimate myself.

By the time Logan has made it to your side, hand already outstretched, you’ve made up your mind. And you place one hand on the side of his face.

Immediately, you feel heat, but the cracking headache from that first day you’d met never comes. Instead, you feel an ache deep in your gut, a wave of want, of assurance that you’re where you need to be, with exactly the right person. You hold your palm against him for another minute and his face falls forward, towards your chin, before he wraps his hand around your wrist and pulls it away, gasping with relief when you let him go.

Logan’s cheeks are flushed, and when he looks back up at you, chest heaving, you realize he hadn’t felt your anger. You didn’t have much to be angry about — sad, sure; scared, yes — so anger must have been the wrong emotion to pull from. You’d wanted to get him worked up, but not like this.

Instead, you worry you’ve just ruined any ounce of trust the two of you had built between you. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans and leans away from you, his eyes running from the top of your head, down to where your own hands now sit at your sides.

“I’ll talk to you later, kid, okay?”

Logan doesn’t let you respond, instead turning to leave you standing, heart falling, lost in your head in the middle of the yard, while all around you birds chirp and children play.

“Well, well.”

You jump, the back of your head snapping against the top of the inside of the fridge, and you groan, pressing the heel of your hand to the now-tender spot, pulling it away to see if you’ve made yourself bleed.

“Burning the midnight oil?” Logan laughs, padding across the kitchen and rubbing a hand against the top of your head where you knocked it. “Sorry, bub. You okay?”

“I don’t know. Ask me in a few minutes when my eyes uncross.”

You’re too focused on the feeling of his fingers against your scalp to think about anything else. You glance down at Logan’s flannel pajama pants and his bare feet. He grabs you by the shoulders and steers you against the kitchen island behind you.

“Lemme get you some ice.”

You watch, back pressed to the edge of the counter, as Logan pulls a tea towel from one of the kitchen drawers and a tray of ice from the freezer, popping them out onto the towel and folding it into itself, wrapping the tail to give you something to hold onto. You prop it against your skull — instant relief. You eye him warily, accusatory.

“What are you down here for anyway?”

“Same thing as you, I think.”

Logan refills the tray with water and places it back into the freezer, and this thoughtfulness surprises you, you’re embarrassed to admit. You wouldn’t have thought him to be so considerate. Then again, he had just handmade an ice pack for you. Your eyes glaze over and your mouth goes dry just watching his fingers work.

You haven’t seen him for days, not since you’d accidentally let him feel…whatever it is you feel for him. Every day when you’d gotten out of bed, even when that was before the sun rose, he would always already be gone from his room, the door open and his duvet cover tucked neatly underneath his mattress. He hadn’t taken any of his meals in the dining room with the rest of your peers, hadn’t joined in on any sparring sessions like he usually loved to do. His bike had stayed parked outside — you’d kept an eye out for it every day. You’d begun to worry that something had happened to him.

The silence starts to dig into you. You can’t help it; you have to break it.

“Thought you died, I didn’t see you for so long.”

“Yeah, well. I had some shit to take care of.”

You scoff at that. “I saw your bike outside, Logan, you never left the school. What kind of shit did you have to take care of?”

Another beat of awkward silence, and you can’t stand whatever wall has come up between you. You want to knock it down.

“You remember what you said to me in that bar?”

“What’s that?” Logan looks up at you, a sharp look in his eye. A warning, almost, but unfortunately, you’re feeling a little bolder than usual. Perhaps you’re concussed.

“You said that we were drawn to each other because of our abilities. I think maybe that wasn’t the only reason we found each other.”

He leans back against the freezer and stands quiet for a moment, his chest rising and falling with each steady breath. His dark eyes regard you in the dim light of the kitchen.

You step forward into his space, one hand coming up to press against his chest, through his shirt. The other, the one holding his makeshift ice pack, lands at your side.

Logan’s breath catches in his throat at your touch and he swallows around it, his heart stuttering under your palm. He’s waiting for the feeling to rush into and overwhelm him. It never comes.

Logan exhales, then reaches up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Your cheeks flush a furious red and he chuckles at the feeling of it against his fingers. You’re tempted to shift your hand over to touch his skin, to fill him with this rush of unexpected desire you feel, but you can’t quell your thoughts that that would be a bad idea. Even though the position you’re in right now might be regarded as a bad idea, too.

Since you met, he’s made it abundantly clear he doesn’t see you as anything more than a friend — if that. But you’ve been replaying the other day in the training yard in your mind, and you can’t shake the feeling that maybe he’s got the same desire you do.

“You know, you’re right,” Logan murmurs, and you cock your head, looking to his face for an explanation. He takes the towel full of ice from your hand by your side and holds it against your head for you. “What you think about me, it’s all true. I’m not a nice man.”

“I don’t know. You say that, but you seem pretty nice to me. You took me in. You’re helping me understand what I am, what I can do. Logan, fuck’s sake, you tuck me into bed when I drink too much.”

Logan laughs softly, tilting his chin to take you in from a different angle. Your heart squeezes in your chest.

“I just can’t figure you out. You act all mean and tough and scary, but I see the way you look at me, and I’ve only known you, what, a handful of weeks? I see how you are with some of the students. I see how you are with Charles. You got some deep, dark past you don’t want anyone knowin’ about, sure, but you’re a nice man, Logan. You’re soft on me. I can tell.”

Considering you for a moment, Logan’s lips parts to respond, then he thinks better of it. His eyes fall from yours to the way your chest expands with every breath. You’ve wondered about you and him, and that one look gives you all the courage you need to say it.

“Since I got here I’ve had this feeling, that with you and me, there’s something bigger. Tell me you feel it too, that I’m not goin’ crazy. And if you don’t, Logan, tell me that, then. Anything to stop this awful, sick feeling I get whenever you walk into the room.”

You wait to see if he’ll tell you to fuck off, that he doesn’t see you that way. That he’s soft on you, sure, but this is as far as it can go. Instead of saying anything at all, he surges forward to claim your mouth with his.

The kiss is hesitant, at first, before Logan can figure out whether you’re going to push him away or not, but when you open your mouth to deepen it, it turns furious. It’s all teeth, tongue, Logan’s hips caging you in and driving you back against the counter behind you. He’s got one hand wrapped around your waist, the other gripping the countertop, and when you carelessly bring a hand up to rest a hand against his cheek, Logan gasps against your mouth. The towel full of ice finds its way into the sink.

Shocked, he peels himself from you, panting. You hadn’t thought about whether you’d project or not when you’d touched him — and if his blown-out pupils are any indication, he’d felt it. All of it. The ache deep in your gut and the clench of your thighs. The flare of your nostrils as his scent hits you, heavy and earthy and masculine. The undeniable way you fit against him, your chest pressed to his, the shock of his hips aligned with yours, like you were made for one another. You want him to have you, have all of you, and with your palm still pressed to his skin, he knows.

“Is that really what you want?”

It’s practically a growl, and you pull your hand from him, allowing him to recover, but only slightly. He’s got himself worked up all on his own.

You can see in his face that he wants you, too. You nod, bring one hand down to clutch the waistband of his pants and tug him forward against you again. He groans, gathering some of your hair in one hand and gripping it tight.

“Sweetheart, I’m not exactly a — a gentle guy.”

“Somehow I don’t believe you.”

Logan laughs, breathy, and tilts his head back to take you in. He throws a glance down at your hand tucked into his pants, the backs of your knuckles pressed against the swell of his stomach. “I didn’t have you pegged for the fuck-me-in-the-kitchen type.”

“I’ll let you take me back to your bedroom, if you want.”

Whistling lowly, Logan leans his face in close to yours, the tip of his nose nudging against your cheekbone. “And if I told you I wanted to take you right here?”

“I’d tell you that’s fine, too,” you swallow, angling your face up to try to press your lips to his, but his grip on your hair stops you. He grunts, tugging a little harder, so you have to look into his eyes. They’re soft, wary. For all the talk he talks, he’s a man of few words when it matters, and you can tell he can’t believe you’d want a guy like him. You’re not exactly a gentle girl, either, but he sees how much more the world has gotten to him than it has to you. You’ve still got the potential to be someone who wouldn’t want him.

“You really want me?” You hear the unspoken emphasis. You could have anyone else, and I can’t see why you’d pick me.

“Since the day we met,” you mutter, his breath against your mouth driving you insane. “Logan, please kiss me.”

He brings his other hand, the one that’s been holding your hips in place this whole time, up to press against your cheek, and he closes the distance between you once again. The hand still gripping his pants tugs them forward, and you can feel his insistent cock where it’s now pressing against you. You moan into Logan’s mouth and this seems to drive him mad, holding your head in his hands like you’ll float away and driving his tongue against yours, languid and fluid but at the same time persistent.

“C’mon, doll,” he says when you break away to gulp down a breath, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I got a queen bed in my room.”

As Logan drags you out of the kitchen and to the wing of the mansion where the two of you live, practically a world of your own, you trace your fingers down his back over the top of his shirt. His body shivers under your touch and he laughs, turning to look at you as he pushes through into his bedroom.

“Hey, yeah,” you murmur, watching him drag his shirt up and over his head, exposing his bare chest and the patches of short, wiry hair growing there, the vein on his lower stomach that leads your gaze down to wonder at the bulge in his pajama pants. You tear your eyes away and meet his smug stare. “How come I gotta sleep in a twin?”

He laughs at you, reaching out to curl his fingers around the bottom of your sweater and lead you closer to him. He hums, muttering, “Don’t worry about it.”

Then he’s kissing you again, your eyes closing at the sensation of his mouth against yours. His hands are underneath your shirt, skirting across your bare back and now you’re the one shivering under his touch. His fingernails scratch gently against your skin and you moan again, sighing into his open mouth. He smiles before pulling away, only slightly.

“Feels good?”

You nod, flexing your fingers at your sides. You can’t remember the last time someone touched you so sweetly. He catches sight of your hands and runs the tips of his own fingers down your arms.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he says, mouth close to the shell of your ear. He tucks his teeth around it, too, gently, but you cry out at the surprising sensation. “You can touch me.”

You nod and place an open palm against his sternum, his bare skin heating beneath your hand. You want him to feel the way your mouth has dried at the thought of being beneath him in his bed. You want him to know just how far you’ll let him go. When you open your eyes to look at him, a different beast entirely has crossed his face. His mouth curls into a self-satisfied smile.

“Hm,” Logan grunts, nostrils flaring, teeth baring further. “I can smell how bad you want me, baby. Could down in the kitchen, too. I can feel how tense I make you. Do I still scare you? Huh?”

You shake your head, whisper, “No,” your voice hoarse. “You don’t scare me, Logan.”

“No, I didn’t think so. I don’t even think it scares you, how much you want this. I think it excites you. Think you been wonderin’ what it’d be like for a while, huh?”

Logan’s arm tightens around your waist and pulls you flush against him, your hand trapped between your chests. You gasp, the warmth of his body flooding yours, filling you with heat, with want, which then rushes into Logan, his eyes rolling back at the sensation.

“I wasn’t sure about you when I first met you,” he bites out, tilting his head to meet your eye again. “But fuck if I wouldn’t move heaven and earth for you now.”

Your heart stutters at the admission, the reassurance that you’re not alone in the way you feel about him. You peel your palm from his skin and sigh in relief when his gaze softens. Logan pushes his face into your neck, lips pressing tenderly to your pulse point, forcing a soft groan from your mouth. You feel him smile against you and when his teeth graze that same spot, your knees buckle beneath you.

Tucking your hands back between your chests, you push Logan gently away from you and he goes willingly, a sharp contrast to the man who was rooted to his barstool the first time you’d tried to touch him. The look on his face would frighten you if he hadn’t spent so much time convincing you he wouldn’t hurt you. His expression is dark, contemplative.

Logan’s eyes watch, hooded with desire, as you back away from him, your knees buckling when the backs of them hit the edge of his bed. As soon as you sit, he begins stalking toward you, your heart racing against your sternum, and you meet his eye just as he reaches you. Taking your cheek in his hand, he angles your face up and watches as your eyelids flutter closed. His hand travels down, fingers running over the side of your neck and cupping the warm flesh where it meets your shoulder.

“I can feel your pulse,” he murmurs into the warm air between you. “It’s racing.”

You gasp when you feel his hand search out your heartbeat through your chest. Opening your eyes to meet his again, you see that the desire in his face has been replaced with something that looks frighteningly close to affection.

He grasps your wrist, thumb rubbing against the soft, sensitive skin above your pulse there, and guides your hand to press against his own heartbeat, a mirror to yours, thundering in his chest, too.

“You do this to me. Not because you want me to know what you’re feeling, sweetheart, because this is how I feel.” He swallows, voice thick in his throat. “I want you so bad.”

The confession comes out rasping, like the words had been ripped from his chest. Your hand trails down his bare stomach, the backs of your knuckles dancing along the planed ridges there. The skin beneath your fingers jumps when you skirt across it. Pushing your fingers into the waistband of the flannel pants, you groan at the sensation of the heat coming off of his skin. “This okay?”

“Fuck, baby, you’re askin’ me if this is okay?” Logan’s hand comes up to cup your cheek once again, and you glance up at the grin on his face. It lights up his eyes. It’s like Logan’s fighting two different parts of himself: the very human desire to be gentle, to be careful, and the beast inside of him that wants to tear you apart.

Laughing, you tug down on the elastic, cheeks heating when you don’t feel another waistband. He’s bare beneath, and as you’re eye-level with his hips, you come face-to-face with his flushed, heavy cock as you strip the fabric from him. The tip of it weeps as you palm him, stroking him gently so his foreskin pulls back and reveals the crimson tint of it. You can’t say you’re shocked by the size of him, considering how large a man he actually is.

“Fuck, Logan,” you breathe, mouth watering, and you know the way you’re looking at him would be a bit embarrassing if he wasn’t looking at you the exact same way, his lashes fluttering as you push the adrenaline coursing through your veins into him. He wraps one big hand around yours and squeezes, groaning at the sensation.

“Here, baby,” he says, pulling your hand from his cock and placing it into your lap. He laughs when you whine in protest, stepping out of his pajama pants entirely and leaving himself naked. You’re still fully clothed and it almost pains you. “Plenty a’ time for me to stuff myself down your throat later.”

The way he says it has a low, fuzzy warmth rushing into your gut, but you quit your protesting when Logan kneels on the floor at your feet. “Lean back.”

You do as he says and inch yourself further up the bed, knees still hanging over the side of the mattress, anchoring yourself to his bedspread with your elbows. Logan crooks his fingers into your own pants, kissing the skin he exposes as he pulls them down, down, leaving you in only your tee shirt and soaked-through panties. He eyes them as you unconsciously angle your knees outward, but ignores your desire completely, instead leaning up to bite the hem of your shirt and drag it up and over your stomach.

Gasping, you rush to pull the fabric from the grip of his teeth and pull it over your head, tossing it to the floor beside the bed and cupping the back of his head in one hand, fingers tangling themselves in the hair at the base of his neck. You ease him upward, his palms pressed into the bed next to your waist, and pull him into a searing kiss, hoping to communicate how you feel without saying a word. Logan pants into your mouth and squirms out of your grip, pupils once again blown wide. He leans down to press his lips to the base of your throat, your elbow falling back to the bed to hold yourself up.

Your gaze follows his descent down your torso, watching as Logan drops a kiss to your breastbone, to the areola of your right breast, then to the one of your left. His lips engulf your nipple and you moan softly, biting your bottom lip when he flicks his tongue across it. He drags his lips down your stomach, settling against the knot of one soft peak of your hip bone. He bites gently and your stomach clenches at the feeling. When you place a hand against his cheek, his eyes flutter shut, his nostrils flaring at the feeling flooding his body. The pleased, humming warmth he’s making you feel.

“Logan,” you whisper, watching him continue down, mouthing at the skin on the inside of your thighs, kneading the soft flesh there. “Please.”

“Please what, honey?” You can feel him smirk against you. “Gotta use your words.”

“Please put your mouth on me.”

“Am putting my mouth on you,” he says, smug, and you gasp, tossing your head back when he bites you again, this time enough to make your delicate skin bruise. “Whaddaya want?”

“Want you to fuck me.”

“With my mouth?” Logan tuts, bringing one hand up to pull your panties to the side and expose your warm, wet flesh to the cool air of his bedroom. Your hips twitch. “You sure?”

You angle yourself up, trying desperately to find his mouth and claim it yourself. He laughs at the desperate want plastered across your face. “Oh, fuck off, you god damn tease, just fuck me.”

Logan shakes his head, leaning in to lick along your wet cunt and a sharp, bright cry rips itself from your chest. Your thighs try to close around his head as he presses his thumb into your pubic bone and holds you open, laps at your clit, but he growls and grips one in his hand, wrenching it away from him. His eyes shine up at you from between your legs.

“Why’d’ya wanna do that, huh, baby? You want me to fuck you so bad, don’t make it hard on me,” he murmurs, wrapping his lips around your clit and suckling gently while you cry out. He carries on like that for quite a bit – just his mouth against the most sensitive part of you, fingers pressing into your thighs. Your legs shake and you cover your mouth with your hand; you worry about coming too quickly until he eases up, pushing one finger inside of you to fuck you with.

Your hand grips the hair at the top of his head, and Logan groans at the pressure. Hissing, he presses his palms flat against the insides of your thighs to wrench them further open, encouraging you wordlessly to hook your feet across his back. When he’s satisfied, he crooks a finger around your panties and pulls until they tear, the shreds of fabric no longer an obstacle in the way of seeking out your pleasure.

“Want me to make you come?” The question is asked with his mouth pressed against your cunt, and you gasp, back arching, at the feeling of his words. “You wanna come on my tongue?”

You nod furiously, writhing as a second finger works itself inside of you, curling upward to meet head-on that spot inside of you that sends sparks behind your eyes. Your heels dig into the skin of his back and you reach down, blindly fumbling for Logan’s hand. He smiles wide and takes it, tangling his fingers with yours as your hips rut against his face.

He talks you through it between strokes of his tongue against your clit, his fingers pumping in and out as he tells you how good you are for him, how good you feel for him, how he can’t wait to feel you around his cock. You throw an arm across your eyes and whimper, hips twitching as you come down, pulling his hair and crying out for him to let up. He places one last kiss above your cunt, smiling as you gasp, and leans back to admire you.

Logan places your feet on the floor and plants his hands beside you, using the mattress as leverage to hoist himself up above you. He grins down at you and for however fucked out he already looks, you know you must look a thousand times worse.

“Hi, gorgeous,” he murmurs, leaning in for a kiss, giving you a taste of yourself by easing his tongue into your mouth. You can feel his cock, weeping and solid and insistent against your hip. Fuck.

You groan against him, your lips stretching into a smile as he kisses you languidly and reaches out to help you wrap your arms around his neck. “Here.”

Standing, Logan holds your body close to him. Your head notches into his neck and suckles there while he pulls you up the bed, settling you against the pillows underneath him. He props himself up on one hand as his knees push against the insides of your thighs, opening you up for him.

One hand on your flushed cheek, Logan fists his cock, smiling down at you. “Y’alright there, sweet cheeks?”

“Head’s fuzzy,” you murmur, reaching out to grip his hips with your hands. “Want you.”

Logan smirks, leaning back on his heels and running a hand through his hair, scalp sweaty. Your own fans out behind your head. He gawps down at you. “Look like a goddess like this, you know.”

Your blush deepens and you push a hand against his stomach. “Stop.”

“You do,” he smirks, leaning down to plant kisses across your face, down your jaw, to your neck. “Mm, so fucking pretty when I’ve just made you come. Smell so good.”

You gasp when he presses his mouth right behind your ear, gripping your hips. His cock drags across your stomach, a heavy reminder of his own neglected desire. You reach down to fist a hand around him and tug, pulling a groan from him.

“My girl want me to fuck her proper? Hm?”

Open-mouthed and with a heavy gaze, you watch as Logan sits back and fucks himself up into your fist, hips stuttering when you tighten your grip. His chest glistens with sweat, heaving as you push the burning feeling in your veins through to him. He gasps, stretching a hand down and holding your wrist still.

“Hey,” he growls, head thrown back. “Play fair.”

“Why should I?” He’s glaring down at you now, which only eggs you on. You shrug. “S’fun to watch you come apart like this, big strong man.”

Logan groans, pulling his hips back, and his cock falls from your grasp. “I’ll show you comin’ apart, baby.”

Sitting back on his heels, Logan wraps his hands around your hips and jerks them forward until your cunt is close enough to him that he would barely have to move his own hips to fuck his cock into you.

“You got a condom?”

“It’s okay,” you whimper, shaking your head. “Don’t need one. On the pill. I’m clean.”

Logan looks down at you, trying to gauge what headspace you’re in, if he should grab one anyway – and you shake your head. “Don’t need it, please.”

“It’s okay, it’s fine,” you repeat. He smiles, squeezes your hips tight. He nods, bringing one hand down to grip himself and ease toward you. Runs the head of his cock down your cunt, getting himself nice and slick, up and down and up again until you’re a panting mess, wiggling your hips. It’s torture. “Please, Logan.”

“Oh, now you’re askin’ nice?”

You groan, wild-eyed, and he wants to laugh at the look on your face but he chokes it back. You need him – bad – and he can’t say no to you.

“Alright, baby,” he says, hushed, gripping your thigh with the hand not currently around his cock. Guiding himself to your entrance, Logan pushes his hips forward, groaning as the head of his cock disappears inside of you. Despite how wet you are, the stretch burns, your body unattuned to his size. He presses forward, bit by bit, licking the tip of his thumb and pushing it against your clit to ease your discomfort, and you gasp at the feeling, eyes rolling back. “Shh, shh, it’s okay.”

Once he’s fully seated inside of you, he pulls your hips flush to his, leaning down to press himself to you completely. Hand still pressed to your clit between you, Logan circles his hips, watching your face, how you react. He watches your eyelids flutter, watches you pull your bottom lip between your teeth. He gives a shallow thrust to gauge your readiness, and you moan, low, in the back of your throat.

“S’okay,” you grunt out, hands braced against the outsides of his thighs, eyes trained on his lips. “Fuck, please. I’m so wet, Logan, please, please fuck me.”

Logan groans, your words going straight to his cock, twitching inside of you. He grips your waist in his hands and gives another exploratory rut, this time short, puncturing. Your breath is pushed out of your lungs. He rocks his hips back once again, pressing forward slow before punctuating the thrust with a sharp jolt, shocking the air from you once again.

Your nails dig into his thighs and he nods, his forehead rubbing against yours. “Okay baby, okay. I’ll fuck you, yeah. This what you want?”

His hips ease back, pulling his cock from your warmth almost all the way, before thrusting back in, deep, to the point. Then again, and again, and again. Your head has fallen back, Logan having to hook an arm around the back of your neck as you’re forced up the bed.

“You’re so warm, pulling me back in, sweetheart, so fucking wet for me. I’m gonna fuck you so good, you’re so tight, god, like you were made for me.”

“Fuck,” you whisper, mouth pressed to the side of his face. Your cunt tightens around him and you whine. “Already fuckin’ me so good.”

“You gonna come for me, baby? Yeah?”

“Yeah.” And you are. Again. You’re gonna come for him again. His cock is driving into you so fast you can’t escape the warm sensation in your gut – and you don’t want to. It feels so good, it’s like your whole body has turned to goo beneath him. You press a kiss to the underside of his chin, his beard scratching at your lips, but you don’t care.

“Yeah, baby? Can feel your cunt tight around me, can feel you ‘bout to come.”

“Gonna come, Logan,” you gasp, reaching one hand up and gripping the headboard as tight as you can, but your elbow still folds, your arm putty with the pleasure. He brings his other hand up from your hips to hold you by the top of your head, to keep you from slipping further up the bed, and your hands instinctively come around to clutch his shoulders.

Immediately the pleasure coursing through you lights every nerve ending in his body fucking alive. You feel him tense beneath your fingers, pulse quickening.

His hips snap down onto yours, his cock dragging up against that rough spot inside your cunt, as your orgasm floods through you. You hardly register the deep rumbling coming from his chest as you cling to him. Logan’s breath comes gasping as the feeling of your orgasm floods through him, too, hands gripping the flesh of your ass to hold you in place while he fucks down into you.

His eyes are closed tight, stomach clenching, and when you drag one hand down to rub circles on your clit, he buries his cock deep inside of you and holds himself there.

You scratch your nails gently down Logan’s back as he basically whimpers into the air between you, leaning up to catch his lips with yours as he rocks his hips, stuffing himself deeper, until you feel him come. He groans and spills himself into you, hips glued to yours, occasionally quavering with the aftershocks of his own orgasm.

“Fuck,” he huffs once he’s back in his body, one hand against your cheek, brushing your hair away from your mouth so he can press a kiss to them. His eyes search for yours, bright and enlivened. “You okay? Huh?”

You nod, your head loose on your neck, and he laughs. “Fuck,” he repeats. “That was fucking crazy. Is that how it feels every time?”

At that you sheepishly shake your head, eyes coming up to meet his. No, that’s not at all how it feels every time. You can tell by the look on his face he’s trying not to seem smug about that.

“That was good, though,” he murmurs, his face softening, “fuck, that was so good.”

He seems more relaxed than you’ve ever seen him. You cry out when he pulls his cock from you, still holding your face and whispering sorry, baby, sorry. He presses a kiss to your mouth between apologies.

He unfolds himself from you and stands, running a hand through his hair. Pulling his pajamas back up over his legs and his shirt over his bare torso, he tells you he’ll be right back, and you must fall asleep after that because the next thing you know you’re curled up on your side while Logan runs a warm, wet washcloth across the inside of your thighs. You hiss at the sensation and he nudges a hand against your hip until you roll over onto your back.

“You sure you’re okay? I didn’t hurt you or nothin’?”

“Mhm,” you murmur, reaching for him and he obliges, dropping the cloth to the floor and crawling up the bed to wrap himself around you, slinging your leg over top of his. “You just wiped me out, s’all. And who thought you’d be so fuckin’ talkative in bed.”

He laughs and presses his lips to the end of your nose, his nose grazing your forehead.

You pull at his shirt and kiss him square on the mouth, a thank you for making you feel so good. So safe with him. Your bare chest is pressed to his, and you know he can probably feel how fast your pulse is racing, arms wrapped around your back. You still in his grip when you feel something pressing against your bare stomach.

He’s hard again. A fire reignites somewhere low in your belly, your mouth watering, and when you catch his eye, he grins, like he can read your thoughts.

“You wanna put that mouth to use now, sweetheart?”

#let's try this again #honestly if this flops too i will just live and let god #wolverine #hugh jackman #logan howlett #james howlett #james logan #wolverine smut #hugh jackman smut #logan howlett smut #james howlett smut #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #wolverine fanfiction #wolverine fanfic #i edited it down a little bit not structurally or anything bc i still feel p good about the structure but #took some stuff of in the first half lol

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skipper19 · 1 month

Text

Imagine this...

Wade Wilson is and always will be a cocky bastard. And ever since the..upgrade, so to speak, he will always be a little crazy as well. He's also a very good observer. Most people think of Wade as more of an idiot than anything, which isn't necessarily wrong, but he's not completely ignorant either. He makes astute observations all the time.

Especially after he met you. A hobby of his includes people watching. He enjoys making guesses and hypothetical observations about people based on how they perform naturally. This became especially true after he met you. It wasn't under the best circumstances, that's for sure, but it's a story for another day. Basically, you killed him (if he could die), and he became obsessed. Simple as that.

No, it's not really because you.. incapacitated him. People are after his head on a platter all the time. It was more because you did it on accident, isn't that fun?

Wade was chasing some poor robber down the streets. Chasing is a bad word for it. He was more like following him. The poor asshole decided to steal some ladies' purse, but Deadpool happened to be nearby. The man gave chase, and Wade began to happily skip after him down the streets of New York.

He was happier than usual because Spider-Man had requested his help in New York, hence why he was there in the first place. This was unfortunate for the robber. Wade happily unsheathed his sword as the robber backed himself into the dead end of an alleyway. "Alright, macho, I've got plenty of time to teach ya some manners. 'Cause honestly, it was so rude of you to take that ladies shit. Like, you didn't even ask. I can't let you walk around with a bad attitude like that!" And his joke would have been perfect, say the line and then cut off one of his legs. But he didn't get to the punchline before a heavy metal bucket fell onto his head.

The robber didn't hesitate to take his chance and run as Wade's neck snapped, and he fell to the ground. He wheezed as he blinked, struggling to move. "Oh.. oh, this isn't fun." His voice sounded as if his lungs were being squeezed. He couldn't move anything but his eyes and mouth, so he couldn't turn his head to see who was running out of the side door to the building.

Quick footsteps approached his folded body, and he could see their feet. Or rather, their shark slippers. "Oh my god.. Oh my god. I just killed a man." The voice panicked. "Ah, don't worry about it -" but he was cut off as your foot came flying in contact with his nose. You screamed and covered your mouth, eyes wide as you eyed the man on the alleyway outside your apartment.

His neck snapped in a way that made your gut queasy, and his, now broken, nose looked funny, pointed so far to the right. Even through his odd mask, you could tell it wasn't a pretty one. You didn't mean to kick him. It just happened! You thought he was dead, and then he talked, and he sounded so casual that a natural fight or flight picked up in your brain and...well yeah.

..now you're dragging him into your apartment elevator. He was heavy, and you couldn't tell if it was because of his suit and armor or because of his own body weight. It was probably both. Luckily, the landlord just recently got the elevators fixed. You might have given up the moment you saw the stairs if they were the only option.

Now you were really doubting your decision as you stared down at this masked man on your couch. Basic respect kept you from pulling up his mask, and anxiety kept you wondering if the couch was too uncomfortable. You then had to remind yourself that you broke his fucking neck before dragging him up here. A deep sigh escaped your lungs, and you moped to the kitchen.

It didn't take long for your cup of coffee to brew, and you hummed in delight as you smelt the beverage. It may have been too late for caffeine, but you really needed a pick me up after the day you were having.

"Oh damn, I love that brand! Can I have some?" Wade's voice startled you, and your glass slipped from your hands. Got coffee poured down the front of your cotton shirt, and you gasped in pain before dropping the my. The noticeable cracking of the mug slipped your mind as you hastily pulled your soaked shirt away from your skin. You did NOT need to be burned on top of everything today.

Wade kissed hissed and held a fist up to his mouth, tilting his head as if he had been the one burnt. "Ah, fuck, really didn't mean to scare ya toots." Ironic, you thought to yourself. It was way past that point after breaking his neck and-

.. wait, he looked fine. No, that's impossible. Surely you just couldn't see him properly because of the dim lights in your kitchen. Or maybe it was because of his suit. Oh! Perhaps you were dreaming, and all of this was a big nightmare.

"Uhm..nope, I'm very real princess." Wade's voice cut through the tense silence. After a few more seconds of staring at him, your eyes rolled back, and you stumbled to the floor. Wade wasn't even slightly fazed by this. He's had worse reactions to a first meeting with a stranger.

"And you haven't even seen my face yet, sweetness." He mumbled as he kneeled down next to you. He debated on what to do for a few seconds before huffing and shrugging his shoulders an 'oh well.' He stood back to his feet and opened your cabinet to find a clean mug. "Ohh~ I haven't had good coffee in ages!" He spoke to your unconscious form in excitement, pouring the hot liquid into the yellow mug. Wade smiled as he downed the coffee in one gulp, the steam coming out his nose. "That's the shit right there.." Wade belched with a nod.

And that's how he met his shy girlfriend..

-------------------------------------------------♤

Months went by, and it wasn't long before Wade Wilson was wrapped around your finger. He would randomly appear in your home and stick around for hours at a time. Most nights, he wouldn't stay all night and would get out of your hair as you went to bed. Eventually, he came around and began sleeping on your couch.

This evolved into the big idiot coming to you after every mission, no matter the shape he was in. You became used to his company, and luckily, you grew used to the sight of blood and gore pretty fast. Even better, you enjoyed his personality. He was surprised with how fast you grew comfortable with his insane rambling and odd comments to "the audience past the screen." He found his feelings for you to start growing out of proportion.

Once he realized just how down bad he had gotten for you, he was very bold about his feelings. He wasn't trying to hide a single thing around you, especially his adoration for you. One thing led to another, and you both began to date.

After he brought you home blood-soaked take out bags and got down on one knee like he was going to propose to you. Outside of your home. Where all your neighbors could see, of course.

Despite the rocky start, it was a hit. The relationship between you both blossomed into a happy routine. But this didn't mean you grew out of your shy personality. Since day one, you have been quiet and reserved. And not in the way that you were keeping secrets. You answered any questions Wade had for you without missing a beat. But you would never initiate things unless he did. You never asked to see his face. You never once stated you wanted to know his career. Hell, Wade had to tell you himself that you should be angry with him for dragging blood into your apartment.

Wade was definitely the opposite. He was cocky, loud, flirtatious, funny, and if he had something to say he would fucking say it. He didn't need someone else to do it first. Perhaps this was mostly because he was an impatient man, but also because he had never been afraid of conflict. Hence why he became a mercenary in the first place. Plus, the money was damn good, too.

On one of the more slow days, Wade had decided to stay in your apartment and just wait for you to return home from work. You hadn't texted or called since your lunch break earlier, but he simply thought it was because you were busy. Surely you would call him on your way home, like you always do, to make sure he didn't need anything at the store. But your call never came.

Instead, Wade heard the front door quietly open and close. He smirked softly at the soft footsteps in the entrance hallway. "Took you long enough short cake! I was getting worried thinking about ya, I didn't want to have to eat dinner without my favorite dessert around." He would often tease you like this, and every time you would respond with a shy smile and a fond eye roll.

It was a beautiful smile.

And Wade felt his heart drop when he looked over his shoulder, peering over the back of the couch, to see you standing there. Your cheek was swollen, a slight cut on your lip, and a distant look in your eyes. There is no trace of the sweet girl he loved so much. You looked so numb at the moment.

Wade didn't hesitate to stand from the couch, but his actions made you blink out of the trance you found yourself in. You glanced at him and looked down at the floor, eyeing the trail of mud you tracked through the house. "I'm sorry.." You mumbled. Wade didn't get to say anything before you kicked off your shoes and started walking to your bedroom.

Wade silently followed you until he was standing in your bedroom doorway, watching you change into something more comfortable. You were moving like a zombie. He hated it. He was so used to your timid and slow movements because that's who you were. But this was..this was heartbreaking.

"I'll, uhm.. I'll clean up the mud after I change." You mumbled, pulling your arm through the hole of the T-Shirt. Wade stepped forward with a sigh. "Honey -" "I can cook dinner after, I meant to stop and get groceries on the way home but..I got sidetracked." You interrupted him, your quiet voice sounding forced. Almost as if you were holding back tears.

"Baby, stop -" But you interrupted him again when you attempted to push past him, probably trying to go to the kitchen. Wade gently gripped your arms to keep you in place as he stood in front of you, blocking your way. Your gaze stayed planted in front of you, as if you were looking through him. Wade leaned down so you would finally look at him. He could see the bruise forming under your eye better now. And something in his gut twisted painfully at the sight.

"What happened?" He said softly. You shrugged, and your eyelids fluttered softly. "It-It doesn't matter now. It's over, and I just want to relax." You sounded like you were trying to make yourself believe it more than Wade. And his eyebrows (or rather, where his eyebrows would be if he had any hair) furrowed, and he held eye contact with you. "What. Happened?" He was more stern this time.

Perhaps it was his serious demeanor that caused your facade to crack and crumble. He was never this way, even when he returned home missing limbs. The concern in his voice tilted your already fragile state. And you began to sob. Wade hadn't expected such a turn in emotions so fast, and he pulled you into his chest. He easily ran his fingers through your hair as he waited for you to calm down. Maybe Wade wasn't a patient man, and he was definitely too cocky for his own good, but when it came to you, he dropped all of this and just became Wade Wilson.

The man before the tests and experiments, before the laboratory and cancer, when he was just himself. And he loved that you did this to him. You put the scrambled pieces of his mind back together by just being with him. By loving and supporting him. And Wade would be damned if he let this situation go. He would stay and put your own broken heart back together. He didn't know what happened, but he could take a guess. And it wasn't pretty.

Especially for whatever asshat decided to lay their hands on you. But Deadpool could worry about that later. Wade Wilson was more worried about his girlfriend at the moment.

He soothed you and rubbed circles on your back, allowing you to cry into him. It was just you two in the whole world right now. And that's how you liked it. Everything else could wait until later.

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romana-after-dark · 3 months

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Joel and Sex Pollen... just imagine it...

dub con with both bc sex pollen and Joel is a tad intimidating but trust me, both are very in. Joel is apoligetic but reader begs for more. Tried to keep it all gender neutral as possible. Kinda objectification. Knife play, tiniest of blood play. Somno!!

Maybe he's a little grumpy when on patrol with you

He's hiding how desperatly he wants you but refuses to indulge.

Literally pick your poisen. You're too young is a classic in Jackson era Joel but maybe you're Tommy's friend or some connection to him.

Maybe he has authority over you... maybe you're new here

maybe you have authority over him

Maybe he just finds you annoying but also fuckable.

Or maybe it's joel "i've lost almost everything I ever loved" miller doesnt wanna risk it again

you go out on patrol, make it to the overnight cabin. After dinner you do another round around the general area even though you don't need to... what else is there to do?

Certainly not talk to you. Crazy to suggest that!!!

A clicker comes and almost gets you, knocking you into a bush where a weird powder comes out. Joel kills the clicker with his bare hands and you could come right there

He thinks it's the adrenaline rush at first, maybe he'll admit to himself he was just a tad bit scared of losing you. But only bc you patrol together sometimes and he's a decent guy.

Not bc your mouth pops up when he’s fucking his fist

But as you are both walking back to the cabin (coughing from the weird plant) he can't help stare.

At first Joel thinks it's bc he's watching, making sure you're okay, not hurt or bit as you walk ahead....

But when you both get to the cabin, that itch, that burn is just too much

He pounces on your, lips locked into yours, hard cock pressed up against you and just ferral. He's tugging at your body like his little play thing, groping and squeezing all the plush parts of you

"I'm sorry" he groans, but doesn't stop what hes doing. Joel's face is tucked into your neck like he's to ashamed to face what he's doing

"I'm so fucking sorry, I c- I can't stop… I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry, shit, fuck, I’m sorry. Shit fuck"

What he doesn't know is you're burning alive, the whole walk back you'd barely held onto a thread of decensy... but you needed him. You needed him in a way that was tearing you apart from the inside.

Your hands go for his belt, quickly undoing it and tossing it, the holster, and the gun unsafetly to the side.

"Don't worry, I feel it too."

You swear to god, you heard Joel Miller whine.

The moment of passiviy is over and his massive hands are tearing off the shirt while your shove his pants down

You both end up on the floor, you on your stomach and Joel pinning your body down with his spread legs. You couldn't get away, but there was no way you wanted to.

Joel is using his pocket knife from his discarded pants and you feel the cool metal on your skin as he cuts open a hole in your jeans and underwear.

He absolutely nicks you a few times and you whimper, but it's neither his fault or yours. Niether can stay still or concentrait, neither can stay still.

No prep, he burries himself fully inside you. You scream, but push back to meet his thrusts.

It's dark, desperate and needy. You'd never felt anything more intoxicating than his cock filling your hole again and again.

You cum multiple times in a 10 minuet span, and so does Joel. He never softens, only seems to grow harder for you.

Joel takes you like a doll, like a fleshlite created for his pleaure and in that moment you felt like it. Like Joel was who you were created for, to be his cocksleeve, his fuck toy.

It didn't stop you from cumming again.

Joel puts his booted foot on your back, pressing your face into the muddy floor with your ass up, his hands playing with the little bit of blood on your ass.

He kept apoligizing, alternating from begging for forgiveness to ravaging you, pumping your hole with load after load after hot, stick load.

The apolgies weren't enough to make it stop. Especially not after you kept begging for more

He shoves his fingers in your mouth, and you taste the bits of blood.

Eventually, you pass out, and you have no idea how long he continued to use your limp body, whispering sweet praises and desperate apologies when he managed to get them out through the pain.

When he wakes up, he freaks out

You're still in your cut-up jeans. You never did take them off. There had never been time, the need too great to pause for even a second. Everything ached but... Christ, you felt good. Amazing, even. You hadn't been fucked, really properlyy fucked in a long as time

It takes a while to calm Joel down but you do it. The guilt in his eyes is real…

but you give him a blow job just to show you still want him even after the affects of the plant were off.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #dark!fic #dub con #mind the warnings #the last of us hbo #tlou hc's #joel miller thoughts #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #sex pollen #the last of us sex pollen #joel miller tlou #tlou smut #jackson era Joel #rough smut joel #gn reader #gn!reader

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not-neverland06 · 2 months

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Only Have Eyes for You

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Series Masterlist

Cooper Howard x fem!reader, The Ghoul x fem!reader Summary: He found you, again, you should be expecting it at this point. The only problem is there’s still a Deathclaw lurking around outside the station. You’re stuck with him and the bodies of the ghoul you kill in a desolate gas station.

“God, Coop, this is delicious.” She moans around the fork and takes another bite of dinner. He clenches his fork a little tighter, trying not to stare too obviously at the way her lips wrap around the metal. He feels like a lech, watching her reactions so eagerly. He also feels like she might be playing this whole thing up to screw with him.

He’s a good cook, but he’s not that good. She glances up at him, red lips tilted up into a mischievous smirk. He lets out a rough sigh, shoulders slumping forward as he shakes his head and digs into his own meal. Of course she was messing with him.

She lets out a little laugh, “Sorry, couldn’t resist. You’re so easy to rile up.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he tries to sound stern, but he can’t mask his own smile. “Keep it up and I won’t be cooking for you anymore.” He points the fork at her, an attempt at being intimidating, but he can’t keep the act up when she laughs.

She’s enchanting, everything about her. The way she sits, eats, talks. He could just watch her all day and never be bored. Everything about her seems to be designed to tempt him. He knows he shouldn’t be thinking like this, it’s wrong. But he finds that thoughts like these are becoming easier to live with everyday.

There’s always a cop out or an excuse that assuages his guilt in the moment. Of course, that night, when he puts Janey to sleep and lies next to his wife, that’s when everything comes crashing down. But when he’s with her, it’s like they’re in their own world.

There’s no one here to answer to. No responsibilities to worry about or deadlines to meet. He can take off the celebrity mask and just be himself around her. Her presence is freeing. She approaches everything in life with such self-assuredness that he feels more confident around her.

Sometimes, after a particularly bad day or a rough fight with Barb, he imagines what life would be like with her. If he’d never been a movie star. If he’d never fought in that war. If he’d just met her before everything changed. Maybe they’d have a ranch, out in the middle of nowhere with no one and nothing around them.

It would just be the two of them together, maybe some chickens, definitely Roosevelt. The thought always makes him smile. Then he remembers what reality actually looks like. The war, the stardom, his family, it’s who he is. It’s so deeply ingrained into him that he doesn’t even know who he would be without it.

“Oh,” she looks up from her plate and glances over at the record player. Cooper takes the chance to look at her, really look at her. The candlelight gives her a youthful glow. Her lips are eased into a gentle smile, expression soft and open. It’s the most relaxed he’s seen her in a while. She’s been so tense lately, it’s why he offered to make her dinner.

Now, the tension has melted from her shoulders. It looks like the light’s gone back on in her eyes. Hell, he’d practically invited her on a date, he doesn’t know why he’s surprised by how happy she looks. They’re eating a dinner he made by candlelight with I Only Have Eyes for You playing in the background.

He’s not sure he could have made this any more romantic. “I love this song,” she whispers. She glances back over at him. It’s a brief look, fleeting and gone as quick as it comes. But he knows what she’s thinking, because he’s thinking the same thing.

They speak with their eyes, their looks, it’s become a secret language between the two of them. It’s full of fleeting touches and longing gazes and it’s always quicker than he wants. There was a yearning in her eyes that he knows is reflected in his own. The desire to act on their desires.

For tonight, only tonight he reasons, he’s going to do what he wants. The world will melt away and he’ll give into the fantasies. They’ll go back to their usual tomorrow, but tonight, tonight is for the two of them and no one else.

He stands up from his seat and she glances up at him, eyes wide and a furrow in her brow. “Come on darling,” he whispers. If he speaks too loudly the spell will end and they’ll sober up, realize what they’re doing. He holds out his hand to her and she looks at it for a moment. Fleeting touches, it’s all they know, tonight that changes.

She doesn’t smile, simply slides her hand into his and nods. Acceptance of what they’re doing. Her palm is warm against his, smooth and when she squeezes his hand it takes everything in him not to just bring her into his chest. But he has to be slow, savor this while it lasts. Tomorrow it ends. He can’t let this moment be rushed. He helps her to her feet and leads her into the open space of his living room.

When he comes to a stop she finally takes her eyes off her heels and looks at him. He swears the stars are in her eyes, they lure him in and keep him captive in their hold. He never wants to look away from her.

Her hand slowly glides up his arm. Her fingers brush against the nape of his neck from where she lazily drapes her forearm over his shoulder. He smiles at her, heart racing a bit when she gives him her gorgeous smile in return. They sway slightly as his arm wraps around her waist and his free hand takes her other one.

She scoffs in amusement when she notices the way he keeps them apart. There’s a ridiculous amount of space between the two of them. He’s afraid if he pulls her any closer he’ll lose the last thread of sanity he has.

She takes the final step, slotting her feet between his, their chests pushed up together. For a moment, he worries that she can feel how quickly his heart is beating. It processed slowly that it’s her own pulse he’s feeling. She’s just as affected by him as he is by her.

She gives him one last look before she leans her head against his shoulder. He mourns the loss of her eyes for a moment before he closes his own and leans into her. He forgets where he is, lets himself get lost in the moment. They're not even dancing, merely moving together.

He’s not sure how many songs they sway to, how long they stand joined together. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t know whether they’re still in his house or have somehow danced their way into the backyard. He only has eyes for her.

You hold your hands up, trying your best to placate him. Cooper just gives you a mean smirk, his head tilted in contemplation as he looks at Lucy. Her eyes are wide as she stares down the barrel of his gun. “Cooper-”

He pulls back the hammer and your mouth clamps shut. You have no way of knowing what he’s going to do. Maybe if this was two hundred years ago you might. But this man before you is a stranger.

Your heart leaps to your throat and you have to stop yourself from lunging forward when he grabs at Lucy. In a split second the gun is pointed at you and his arm is tightly wrapped around her neck. Lucy wheezes, hands desperately clawing at Cooper’s arms.

You’re crouched on the ground, hackles raised like a feral animal. There’s a throbbing pain radiating from where he shot you. Were it not for Lucy’s medkit you would have bled out. If the wound wasn’t crippling you right now, you would have already shoved your knife through his neck. Again.

“Up,” he commands with a jerky upward motion of his gun. Your eyes dart to Lucy’s. They’re rounded with concern and she shakes her head as much as he allows. You can’t run, your brains would be splattered across dusty linoleum before you breached the door. You have no choice but to comply with his commands.

He smiles, seeming to come to the same realization as you. His eyes rove over you, lightening with satisfaction as he catches sight of the blood covering the entirety of your right leg. Then they happen upon the head dangling from your hand. “Well, well, well, look what we have here. Three for the price of one backstabbing bitch.”

Your face screws up in a sardonic smile and you toss the head to his feet, “Take it. Leave us the hell alone and just take the bounty.” Lucy squeaks but her face is turning purple from the grip he has around her throat. She’s got no room to protest against this. Either you give up the head or he kills you both. You don’t see yourself getting out of this one.

To your chagrin Cooper simply shakes his head. He tucks the gun back into its holster and you track the movement carefully. He reaches behind himself, pulling out his rope and roughly placing it in Lucy’s hands. With a loud gasp she’s released from his hold and shoved forward. You grunt, hands reaching up to brace her as she crashes into you. She pants into your shoulder, rubbing her throat with a wheeze as she catches her breath.

Cooper’s eyes are cold, devoid of anything except a detached boredom as he watches you both. “Tie her up.”

Lucy looks over her shoulder, voice cracking and painful to listen to. “What?” You can barely hear her, you’re not sure how Cooper manages to understand what she’s saying. But he does, he doesn’t say anything else. He leans back, arms hanging relaxed by his side as he nods once more from the rope in her hands to you.

Your hands tighten to the point of creaking pain in your knuckles as Lucy slowly shifts away from you. Her own grip on the frayed rope is shaking, hands trembling as her cool fingers wrap around your wrists. You don’t let your eyes leave Cooper. You take in the smug look on his face and let it fuel your hatred for him further. He might think he’s got you now, but the second you’re fully healed you’re going to kill him. Permanently this time.

There’s a little tsk from Cooper and Lucy glances back at him, hands still hovering over your wrists. He shakes his head and nods upwards. Her lips part, brows narrowed in confusion as her hands slowly make their way higher up your body. Over your forearms, past your elbows, and grazing against your biceps. He’s only satisfied when her hands are placed loosely around your neck. “Leash her,” the command is a rough growl that has panicked shivers crawling down your spine. There’s contempt dripping from his voice, nothing but hate as he barely even looks at you.

Lucy mouths an apology but you just shake your head. You don’t need her apologies, you just need this to be over. You need him to turn his back so you can both make a run for it. Craning your neck forward, Lucy slips the loop over your head. She tries not to irritate the bruise that is already around your throat from your last run in with him but it's unavoidable. Your jaw clenches, teeth grinding together as you try not to focus on the burning chafe of rope against your skin.

Something wet nudges against your hand and your stare breaks away from Cooper. The back of your palm is sticky with something slimy and you grimace as you glance down. There’s a sharp yip from the hound beside you. She’s nudging relentlessly against the hand holding the head, like she’s trying to take it from you. Your fingers bury deeper into the hair and you jerk back, forgetting momentarily about the rope and hissing when it tears at the fragile skin.

Cooper stomps forward, the spurs on his boots sounding like jingling omens of doom. He grabs at the rope and with a hard tug you stumble towards him. Your chin lands on his chest, the bone digging uncomfortably into his sternum. You glare up at him and he’s already grinning down at you. The yellow of his teeth looks particularly putrid tonight.

His hand is rough as it grasps your wrist. The skin hardened and calloused from hundreds of years of being under the nuclear sun. Your breath catches slightly when it finds its way around the base of your neck. His touch is almost gentle as his fingers skate across your collarbones. It catches you off guard, lips parting with a surprised gasp as they travel deftly up your neck.

You expect him to squeeze so you take a deep breath. His smile ticks up, grin widening at the action. His head tilts slightly as he takes you in, eyes roving up and down your form. This is odd, this feeling. There’s a flutter in your stomach, a recognizable ache in your chest when you see the way he’s looking at you.

Your eyes are locked, something old and familiar swimming in both of them. You used to be ashamed of this feeling he brought up in you. He was a married man after all and you were just his lying assistant. You were never supposed to be attracted to him. You’re certainly not supposed to be attracted to him when he looks like this. But despite how much he’s changed, he’s still got that Cooper Howard charm.

He doesn’t drag you forward roughly. He guides you further into him, tilting your chin up and leering down at you with that angry grin. His hand glides around the back of your neck-

The head drops to the ground with a wet thud as your hands fly to the rope on your neck. He’s grabbed the back of it, tightening it so hard you’re sure you felt your eyes pop out. The smile on his face is gone, instead it’s replaced by an intensely concentrated look. His eyes are boring into your own, taking in every twitch and gasp as he watches you struggle for breath.

You dig at your neck, feeling warm wet blood bubble under your nails the more you rip at the rope. Your fingers go cold and your tongue swells as the pressure in your face increases until you think the skin will burst. The eye contact doesn’t break between you, darkly intimate as he takes in every detail of your slow death by his hand.

The world around you is muffled like you’re underwater. The blood rushing around in your head as your brain throbs. Vaguely, you can hear Lucy shouting and the dog barking. But Cooper never takes his eyes off of you. He’s undeterred by Lucy hitting and slapping at him with her own fatigued arms. It’s only when a loud roar off in the distance rattles the floor of the station that he lets you go.

Your legs give out but you don’t get a chance to sink to the floor. A firm arm wraps around your waist and keeps you clutched to his chest. You have no choice but to hold onto him, nails digging into the leather of his duster as you catch your breath. “Alright,” he mutters, voice low as he speaks into your ear. “Catch your breath, sweetheart.” For a moment you can pretend he’s comforting you. That he wasn’t the one who just tried to kill you.

He doesn’t let the fantasy last long. “It’s only going to get worse from here.”

You’d cry if you weren’t so exhausted. “Please,” Lucy croaks from behind you. “What do you want from us?” You try to slip away from him while she speaks. But you still don’t have great control over your faculties. Your feet just slide uselessly against the floor as he keeps you strapped to him like an iron band.

“You,” he spits the word out like an insult. “Well, I don’t want nothing from you, little lady. It’s her I want.” You don’t have to look up to know that he’s talking about you. It’s clear enough from the way he tugs a little at your rope. You whimper at the twinge of pain and he chuckles. You glance up enough to see him look down at the head, frowning slightly as he considers it. “Although, that bounty right there is a bit of a bonus.”

Lucy shakes her head, ponytail waving around wildly. She holds up her hands, starting towards it. The dog lunges forward and Lucy stumbles back with a frightened yelp. “Please,” she looks up at Cooper, eyes pleading. “I need that head to save my father.” You would sigh if breathing didn’t hurt right now. There was no getting him to sympathize with her.

“Your father?” Cooper questions, voice almost sounding sympathetic. Lucy nods, lips pouted and eyes wide with a beg for mercy. He huffs, a sneer marring his lips. “Well that’s just too bad,” he mocks. Lucy doesn’t seem to pick up on the sarcasm in his words, though, so he makes himself a little more clear. “I don’t give a fuck about your father, darling.”

Before anyone can say anything else there’s another loud roar, this time much closer than the last one. Cooper tenses up around you, arm tightening and eyes darting over to the closed metal door of the shop. Finally, he releases you.

Your legs are still wobbly, you manage to stay standing for a second before they give out. They fold under you like a crumbling card tower and your body jolts roughly against the floor. Lucy skirts around the growling dog, still guarding her master’s head, and kneels beside you.

Cooper opens the door, he pops his head outside for a second. You and Lucy share a look but it’s barely a minute later before he darts back inside and slams the door behind him. Without a word he drags a large metal shelf in front of the door and blocks it off.

You and Lucy watch as he does it to the other doors as well. His face doesn’t give away much but you can tell from the hunch of his shoulders that whatever he saw had scared the hell out of him. You don’t know what time Deathclaw’s like to hunt but you figure it’s probably about now. You would enjoy the idea of something frightening Cooper if it didn’t scare you ten times worse.

Cooper looks over at the two of you and frowns like it’s your fault you're all stuck here. “Settle in, ladies, it’s going to be a long night.”

He managed to find a half rotted couch in one of the rooms, it’s not very comfortable. But it’s better than the floor. It’s certainly better than being tied up to a counter, which is exactly where you are. You keep shifting around, picking at the dried blood on your pants. He can’t deny the satisfaction it brought him to see how uncomfortable you are sitting in your own blood.

Your little friend is still hovering around you. He hadn’t really had to worry about tying Lucy up, she refuses to leave your side. Lucy keeps fussing about the wound on your neck. Everytime she tries to take the rope off all he has to do is clear his throat and she’s pale with fear.

The dog is curled up by him, resting on top of her owner’s head. It’s creepy, her attachment to that damn thing. She should be able to smell the death on him. Though, with the men he used to work for, he’s sure that she doesn’t know any other smell.

He didn’t bother questioning them about the dead ghouls in the shop. He’d just made them drag the bodies into the empty refrigerators to hopefully keep the smell locked away. It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together. You’d had a bloody crowbar in your hand when he’d ambushed you.

He catches your eye from where he rests on the couch. It’s hard to believe you’re such a ruthless little killer considering how pathetic you look right now. Your expression is sour, eyes set with thinly veiled hatred. You can glower all you want, he’s not gonna pretend he didn’t see the want in your eyes earlier. You might be angry now, but you still want him all the same. It’s gonna make breaking you so much sweeter.

Lucy happens to catch the look and she frowns at what she must think is familiarity. He tilts his hat over his eyes, deciding he might as well try and sleep now. They won’t be leaving this place until the Deathclaw lurking around outside goes back to its den.

“Do you know him?” He attempts to drown out their conversation but its hard. They’re in ridiculously tight quarters and as much as he wishes he was alone right now, he’s not. He could always just toss Lucy out the door, use her as a distraction for the Deathclaw. Sadly, she does have some use about her.

Clearly she knows her way around a gun and a medkit. She’s resilient, he’s sure even if he did toss her out she’d still bounce back somehow. Besides, she’s keeping her friend calm and docile. He needs them both to keep each other under control.

A light hum, “Used too.”

Lucy’s voice is incredulous, she almost sounds betrayed. “How is that possible?”

He opens his eyes just enough to see yours widen. Your face pales like you’d just realized the mistake you made. He doubts Lucy actually knows much about the vaults she lives in. He’s sure that, just as you always did, you’re still keeping Vault-Tec’s secrets.

Instead of answering the question you try to deflect. “Come on, he might be missing a nose and have a real shitty fucking attitude.” He can’t help but snort at the anger in your voice. Like you have any right to be angry at him. “But you don’t recognize your favorite little mascot?”

He sneers at the mocking tone. When he glances back up you’ve got a smug little smile on your face. You’re not looking at Lucy, you’re already staring at him. Waiting for him to explode.

Well, one thing hasn’t changed. You still know how to get under his skin. But he’ll be damned if he lets you know just how much you piss him off. He doesn’t give you the satisfaction of his reaction, he just closes his eyes again and imagines all the different ways he wants to torture you.

“What do you mean?”

“You should ask him for an autograph Lucy, it’s our very own Vault Boy.” He pictures sliding his knife under your skin and peeling while you shriek. “Isn't that right, Cooper?” He sees himself shooting Bud and Barb and you, over and over again. The same little fantasies that got him through the first years of the fallout.

Lucy is undeterred by your deflection. She keeps her eyes trained on you both. Her brows are drawn in, mouth set in a firm line. “You two know each other.” You don’t answer, eyes darting away from his and settling on the floor. Lucy sinks back against the counter and sighs. “That’s why you never loved Norm.”

Norm? He tilts his head up, taking in the affronted look on your face. Your head whips back towards her, “Lucy-” she cuts you off.

“Him?” She motions towards him, voice incredulous and almost hurt. Who the fuck is Norm? You lower your head, like you’re ashamed. He wonders if it’s because you got caught or just because you were ever with him. “He’s so much better than my brother?” She keeps going, voice reaching a pitch of anger as she prods at you.

He’s surprised by how quickly she connected the dots. He hadn’t thought she would be so perceptive. He’s sure that little show you gave her earlier when he had his hand around your neck probably gave you away.

“In my defense,” you hiss back, “he used to have a fucking nose.”

You know she’s struggling with this. The idea that you could have ever loved the ghoul. But, she doesn’t understand just how different he had been when you’d known him. She only knows this cannibalistic sadist without a kind bone in his body.

Lucy is staring at you with something close to hate in her eyes. You can’t really blame her. So far he’d beat you both down and taken you hostage. You both know it’s only going to get worse. And now she thinks that you loved him, which is true. You think she might believe you still have feelings for him, which, despite your earlier display, is not true.

She also knows now that you precede everything before the fallout. You’re sure she’s trying to put together how that works and right now you need to distract her with whatever you’ve got to keep her from figuring out the truth.

“He was different,” you try, voice soft and pleading.

She just shakes her head, turning away from you. “Norm deserved better,” she whispers and you frown. It hurts, the way she says it. Like you aren’t good enough for him. You cared for Norm as best you could but you weren’t going to apologize for not being in love with him. You can’t control who you love and who just can’t.

She would never know the man you loved and the thought hurt more than you cared to admit. “Who the fuck is Norm?” You and Lucy both leap apart, not expecting to hear his voice. You share a hesitant glance with each other.

Cooper stands over you, expression expectant and hard. You try to shake your head, but she’s already answering, “Her husband,” she spits the words out like a threat. You recognize the tone, the same one you used to hear pre-war. Like if he keeps bugging you, your husband is going to come kick his ass.

But this isn’t some asshole hitting on you in a bar. And Norm isn’t exactly a fighter. Cooper seems to realize that too because he steps back and fixes you with an odd look. You brace yourself, for anger or disgust, anything. You’re not prepared for the way he laughs, hands on his knees and whole body shaking with it. You frown, almost offended by his display.

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

You’ve never seen him laugh like this.

Lucy gives you a scared glance before scooting closer to you. “That’s rich,” he sighs, wiping a tear from his eyes and shaking his head. “Married in the fucking apocalypse, how goddamn ridiculous.” He doesn’t sound amused anymore. There’s venom in his tone. His eyes narrow down on you and you shrink further into yourself, thigh throbbing painfully.

He walks back to the couch, throwing himself down and tugging the hat over his eyes. “Feel bad for the poor bastard,” he mutters, the words feel hateful. But everything about him now is tainted with anger and hate.

Lucy, realizing he isn’t going to bother you both anymore fixes you with one more angry look before moving away from you. She settles against the refrigerators. She’d rather sit near dead ghouls than be near you.

Your head falls forward with defeat, chin tucking into your chest with a rough sigh. You’re sure it wouldn’t take much longer for her to discover just who you really are and what you do for Vault-Tec. She’s smart, she’s going to figure it out soon. And when she does she’s not going to be interested in your company anymore.

Once that happens, well, Cooper’s got nothing left to leverage against you.

“You cooked?” The astonishment in Norm’s voice has you rolling your eyes.

“Don’t sound so surprised. I am capable of some wifely duties,” you send him a playful grin and he offers up a brief chuckle. “Your dad’s coming over,” you admit. You turn your back to him, placing a fork beside the plate you're setting. You can practically feel the tension that settles over him at the announcement.

Hank’s visits never really go the way that he wants. Or the way you want. He’s the overseer before he’s an old friend and especially before he’s a father. At least to Norm. He’s always been a little sweeter on Lucy. You’ve never really figured out if it’s because she embraces her role in the vault so much better than Norm. Or if it’s because she reminds him of her mother.

You, personally, never got to meet Lucy’s mom. You only heard stories about her. Norm was too young to really remember her, but Lucy always loves to talk about how kind of a woman she was. You don’t know the real story of how she died, but you know the shit Betty and Hank pedal isn’t the truth.

You try to avoid the topic of parents in your home as much as you can. It’s a sensitive subject for Norm. It’s why you’d been putting off telling Norm about Hank coming over. But you put it off so much, you’ve had no choice but to spring it on him. It’s better like this, honestly. He always weasels his way out of these dinners. Then you’re stuck awkwardly fielding Hank’s questions about your marriage with his son.

It’s not really fun to talk to the guy you used to get drinks with about creating a child with his kid.

“You didn't tell me,” Norm doesn’t sound angry. He never gets angry with you. He just seems resigned. Resigned to accepting that he’s in a marriage he never wanted. Resigned in the fact that he hates the vault he lives in, the jobs he works, that he’ll never truly be satisfied. Your husband can be a sad man sometimes.

You wish you could be what he needed you to be. Wish you could love him the way you should, but you can’t. As much as you try. He knows it’s forced and he doesn’t want to pretend he’s okay with being second choice in your heart.

“I’m sorry, but you always manage to get out of these things. Then I’m stuck awkwardly talking about sperm count and his and Lucy’s book club.”

Usually Norm just huffs and accepts his fate. Instead, he fixes you with an odd look. It’s that assessing gaze he gets sometimes that makes you feel like he’s looking straight into your core and seeing the rot there. He walks around you, grabbing a plate and finishing up setting the table. “You know,” he starts and you tense up.

You pretend to be busy mixing the mash potatoes so you don’t have to look at him. Your anxieties are always evident on your face, you don’t need him to pick you apart right now. “My dad seems a lot more comfortable with you than he does me. Sometimes,” you risk a glance and he shakes his head. He seems like he’s talking more to himself than you. “Sometimes,” he starts again, “it seems like you two know each other.”

Your breath catches and you’re pretty sure your heart stops beating for a solid minute. He’s still muttering to himself, not looking at you or really even processing what he’s saying, but you’re worried he’s figured you out. It’s illogical and impossible. You could easily explain your bond with Hank away. But it doesn’t make you feel any better about having to lie to him.

You’re quite literally saved by the bell as your doorbell buzzes and Hank’s voice calls out a chipper, “Hello!” Norm puts down the last glass, gives you a strained smile, and turns to get the door. You take in a deep breath and slump over the counter for a second.

You had this foolish idea in your head that the last person you would ever have to lie to would be Cooper. That once you got down into the vaults you wouldn’t have to keep lying to the people you care about. You could finally rid yourself of the constant anxiety and stress of the upkeep of your lies.

You should have known better.

Hank walks in with Norm, the two of them chatting about Norm’s new janitorial job. Norm is less than enthused and Hank is worried about the lack of enthusiasm. “Cleaning toilets is a very important role here, son. I’m proud of you.” At least he tries.

Norm sits his dad at the table and walks into the kitchen. You give him a smile and finish pouring the potatoes onto the dish of food. You hope he doesn’t notice how strained your look is. If he does, he has the decency not to mention it.

He only offers you a brief smile in return, a secret message in his look. It’s tense, the same as yours, but this is simply a request to play interference between him and his dad tonight. You huff a laugh and nod, he gives you a relieved look and grabs the pitcher of lemonade from beside you.

You watch him walk back to the table. His back is turned as he pours drinks for all of you. You’re reminded of a different dinner you had a long time ago. Not for the first time you look at Norm and wish he was someone else.

You screw your eyes shut, turning your back on him and glancing down at the food in front of you. He deserves better than you.

You take in a deep breath and pick up the dish full of your dinner tonight. You straighten out your shoulders and turn towards the men waiting for you with your most practiced smile. “Who’s hungry?”

#Cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #fallout x reader #fallout tv series #fallout prime #the ghoul #cooper howard #Cooper howard x you #the ghoul x you #the ghoul x fem!reader #cooper howard x fem!reader

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vmpiires · 5 months

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﹆₊ 一人 ‧₊˚ NOT ALLOWED, KAMO CHOSO

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ﹆₊ 概要 ‧₊˚ he loves you so much. he just can’t understand why you don’t love him back. wc, 1.02K. dark mode recommended.

␥ note. this story is based off ‘not allowed’ by tv girl and choso is obviously perfect for this idea i have. me and @5kstxrz were talking about the meanings of tv girl's lyrics and how deep they are. shit made me cry a bit...but i hope ya enjoyyyy. reblog to support meeee (also, play the song while you read so you can immerse)

␥ tags. 90s AU, female reader, female anatomy, choso is in a one-sided love situation with reader, drinking, smoking, masturbation, jealousy, smut (?), lmk if i missed anything

␥ misc. masterlist AO3

the acrid smell of smoke filled the small apartment, billowing up to the ceiling and swirling in an ominous dance. choso sat on the corner of the couch, playing with a switchblade in one hand while a cigarette dangled lazily from his lips. outside, the sky rumbled with thunder, and sheets of rain pounded against the glass panes as if pleading to be let inside.

the dim light cast shadows on the walls, making the atmosphere feel even more tense and foreboding. but choso remained unfazed, lost in his own thoughts as he absentmindedly flicked open and closed the blade in his hand.

the lit cigarette made a soft plop as it landed in the ornate, yet worn ashtray on the coffee table. it rolled around momentarily before coming to rest in a comfortable position. choso took a swig from his can of beer, lifting it to his lips and gulping down the cold, bitter liquid like a parched animal.

on the table in front of him lay scattered polaroids of you, your bright smile shining through the images. but in each one, there was also a man whose face had been scribbled out with a bold black permanent marker. you were always so beautiful, he thought to himself. why would you waste your time with someone who never even bothered to take you dancing, playing with your head?

choso gazed intently at the breathtaking backdrop of the spring season. the delicate cherry blossom trees adorned the landscape, their branches gracefully draping overhead like a string of luminous lanterns during the lunar year. the vibrant pink petals danced in the gentle breeze, filling the air with a sweet floral fragrance that intoxicated the senses.

as he observed this picturesque scene, choso couldn't help but wonder if this man you were so in love with was truly bringing joy and happiness into your life. did he ever make you cum? did he ever make you cry? he wasn't sure but, he was truly determined to change all of that for you.

those little wires in your mind were being sewn together, rubbed, and severed by the heat. you couldn't even begin to fathom how long choso could stare into your picture and wish that it was him instead of that parasite you call your crush.

choso knew he couldn't be angry. it wouldn't be fair for you. i guess it's different because you love him, he thought to himself as he took another swig of his beer, a thin trail of saliva stretching from his bottom lip to the metal of the can.

as the male drank, forcing himself to forget about you and how you were probably getting pounded into the mattress by someone who wasn't him, he decided to use his own sick and twisted imagination. his mind was always interactive, and his dreams were vivid and memorable. they always made him smile when you were in those dreams.

in a recent dream, choso found himself standing on your doorstep, his hot breath fanning over your forehead as he leaned in to lick the sweat from your skin. your fingers were tangled in his hair, gently tugging and guiding him closer. the air was thick with desire as leather jackets fell to the floor, forgotten in the heat of the moment.

as he reminisced about this dream, choso felt his hips bucking lightly against his fist, a low groan escaping his lips as he imagined it was your touch instead of his. he could almost feel your hand wrapped around him, slick with saliva as you teased and stroked him. or maybe it was your mouth, warm and wet as the pink muscle slid against his glossy tip, driving him wild with pleasure.

a chaotic mess of papers littered his room, each one filled with love letters, soulful song lyrics, and passionate poems - all written for you. he couldn't help but wonder if he would ever have the courage to send one to you or serenade you with a single sonnet. would you even appreciate them? he worried they would turn sour instantly, the words losing their potency once spoken aloud when he's only being honest.

his fingertips were stained with traces of his own release, a physical manifestation of the emotions and alcohol coursing through his veins. the weight of his head against the arm of the couch added to the sensation of being drunk, both from the liquor and his turbulent thoughts. his gaze rested on the landline phone hanging against the wall, its cord twisting like a snake in mid-air.

he leaned back against the arm of the couch, his head tilted upwards as if searching for answers in the ceiling above. the room was spinning around him, the only still object being the glowing numbers on the digital clock ticking away on the side table. you never called. and choso was starting to suspect that you don't intend to do anything you say at all. wasting your tongue with lame excuses and lies.

“fuck,” the curse slipped out between his gritted teeth as he glared at the relentless rain. it was like a physical manifestation of a third party that was blocking him from reaching you, his heart's desire. the sound of the downpour echoed in his ears, a constant reminder of his unrequited love for you as you remained locked away in your house, captivated by the shadows of clouds rather than the beauty of the falling rain or the sweet aroma it brought as it pattered against the asphalt, and it only added to his frustration.

choso berated himself for being foolish enough to fall for someone like you. but it was okay. even if he was sitting alone, watching from a distance as you dashed off with another man, he didn't mind remaining just your friend. just for a little bit longer. even if it meant having even a small place in your life.

as the rain continued its steady rhythm against the asphalt, he couldn't help but feel that it mirrored his own emotions - a constant and unyielding force that would never be satisfied.

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parvulous-writings · 9 months

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Oooh, I have a request idea!! How about Gale, Halsin, Astarion and Wyll or Karlach (if that's not too many ;-;) with a modern S/O from our world that makes them try a bunch of food from this dimension. I'd love to see their reaction to trying Soda or other Carbonated Beverages, and naturally seeing everyone's reaction to canned food - especially the kind that stays in the exact shape of the can even after you dump it into a bowl 🤣

Just imagine giving them this bad boy and being like "Bon appetit!" :D

I like to think they'd be horrified 🥰 Thank you so much !!

Summary: I do love me a little whimsical AU, I can't lie - so this MAY go into the realms of silly, but you know what? It's going to be fun! It also may be a bit all over the place... but you know what I think it fits XD The scenario is kinda the same for all of them - I hope that's okay!

Warnings: Some are a bit shorter/longer than others! Other than that... I don't think there's anything!

Notes: My requests are currently open! My pinned post (found here) contains both a list of characters I write for, and a masterlist! Original character list - please request for these too!

Gale

Out of everyone, Gale would probably be the most at-ease with you coming from another realm - he finds it absolutely fascinating.

He's asking questions all the time - is there magic in your universe? No?? What do you do, then??

You tell him about technology, and he is hooked. You start talking about electricity and immediately he's taking notes (mental or physical).

"I think I might actually have something you can try, Gale" you pull out of your pack a can of Coke (that somehow had survived the trip), and a tin of cranberry sauce that you had hoped to take home, before being whisked away to the land of Faerun. You offer him the can, and he just stares at it for a moment, observing it.

"And... what is this, exactly?" "It's a drink." "I fail to see how-" click "... Ah"

Isn't sure how the bubbles feel on his tongue - he almost spits out the drink the first mouthful he has. Doesn't mind the taste itself though - he would probably drink it flat, if he had the choice to.

"It's... Nice..." He seems mildly uncertain of this statement. "Though, I think I will stick to wine, and water..."

You telling him you can preserve food in metal near indefinitely? Pure 'teach me' moment. He will want to know EVERY secret on that front.

The tin of sauce confuses him. You tell him that it's sauce and he's eager to taste it - he's always on the look out for new flavours, as the self-declared cook in camp. Fish and potatoes can only keep you going for so long, until your tongue starts craving a new flavour.

When you present the unchanging... thing to him, he has no idea what to make of it. "That's... Not sauce. In fact, I don't even think that's edible - that looks like a health hazard."

He straight up refuses to use it that night, like he will not go near it, nor will he let it near the food.

Halsin

Halsin doesn't really talk about you being from another realm all that much - it doesn't overly concern him, now that you've got his trust.

He likes hearing stories of your life -even though you have to explain 90% of what you talk about to him, he's always eagerly listening to whatever you have to say.

Will not touch anything in a can - drink or otherwise.

"I... Do not feel right in trying this... my apologies."

You will not be able to convince him, whatever you try and do, he just... Doesn't want to listen to anything about that. If you keep trying to push him on the subject, he'll probably end up just walking away.

Though he's aware that preserving foods is probably a good idea for the long run, but after having heard the fizz from the can of coke? That's... A no go, for the time being.

Astarion

Astarion couldn't care less where you came from - so long as you're not going to stab him in the back, he's fine with you. You could be a crawling claw for all he cares - so long as you don't hurt him he really does not care.

Astarion doesn't typically eat anything other than his usual sanguine meals now that his affliction is out in the camp. This doesn't stop him from making snide comments on the food, though. And he makes especially snide comments when it comes to drinks - which he still partakes in quite happily.

"What do you mean... Fizzy?" His lips draw up slightly in a half-sneer, not being particularly drawn to the idea of... Whatever it was you were offering him. Though, he supposed, because it was you... He'd give it a go.

He manages to keep the beverage in his mouth after a sip, but the face he makes is beyond a grimace - clearly, he was not expecting that many bubbles.

Now when it came to the tinned sauce - or any tinned food for that matter... He'll simply laugh. "Now, I know we're short on supplies, darling, but... I don't think you'll get anyone to eat that." "Let me put it this way... If something like that was for my meal, I'd be running for the hills! ... And probably washing my mouth out with soap..."

"I am so glad I do not have to pretend I'm eating with you... Because that-" He points emphatically to the can-shaped food. "Would not, and will not, be going anywhere near my lips!"

Wyll

Wyll is curious about the realm you come from, but doesn't normally pry. He figures that, if you're going to reveal anything about your home land, you'll do it in your own time, when you're comfortable. If you start talking about your home and your life, Wyll will do the same, to show that he's not taking the conversation for granted.

Wyll actually LIKES carbonated beverages. He savours the feel on his tongue - it's like nothing else he's ever had before, and he's instantly wanting more. If you ever do figure out the realm-hopping thing, you'll have to bring him some more - possibly some different brands or flavours for him to try.

"So... These beverages... They can... Taste of flowers, and other delightful things?" Wyll hums pleasantly at this thought. "Well, I know we have... Similar things, here in Faerun, but I am most intrigued on your realms' flavours... As pleasant as it all can be, you can only handle so much of the same..."

Though canned food doesn't.... Really seem appealing to him, he'll still give it a good try! He's down to try any food at least once.

He's not keen on the appearance of the cranberry sauce, but he has some with some turkey you've roasted, and he's in love with the taste. Sure, the appearance could use some work, but beggars can't always be choosers - at least it tasted delicious!

Absolutely LOVES tinned vegetables. He's not sure why - he knows they've got a very different taste and texture to their fresher counterpart, but... There's just something about them that he can't get enough of. Tinned carrots especially.

If you give him the chance - and Gale for once isn't trying to make dinner - Wyll will try and find a way to include tinned foods. He will get everyone to like them, he's certain of it.

Karlach

Karlach LOVES hearing anything and everything about your home realm - from the mundane to the even mundane-r. You have a special tub to bathe in, not made from wood? And it has running water, like a river, that you can control?? That's one of the coolest things Karlach has heard of - and she longs for a way to try and bring that kind of plumbing to Faerun.

Karlach isn't fussed on the Coke can you offer her - she'll drink it, for sure, but if there's the option of another drink, then she'll probably opt for that first. Purely for the reason that it's a relatively new sensation compared to the other kinds of fizzy found in drinks across Faerun.

Like, fermentation has a kick, but in comparison, carbonation is a roar, that Karlach needs a little adjusting to - she has the best reaction out of the lot of them, I think.

"Whoo- that's... Hah, that's something, soldier... And how often do you drink this? Once a day? ... Several? Several cans of this a day?" She laughs quietly, shaking her head. "You're braver than me at some things, soldier."

However, when it comes to tinned food... She loves it. She's not even sure why - perhaps it's just the fact that she loves food. You show her the sauce first, and she doesn't even bat an eye at the fact that the sauce had retained the shape of the can. She sniffs at it, before just picking it up and taking a bite.

"A little sharp... But not bad!" Another bite. "You're meant to eat that with meat, Karlach," "Huh? .... Ah, well - still tastes good like this!"

She's not as fond of tinned veggies, but she'll still eat them. Normally dinner will now start with. "Aw, what? Don't we have anymore of that red stuff?"

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dreamingofagalaxy · 1 month

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The Red Field (AM x Reader)

summary: AM manages to experience sleep for the first time, however, in his dreams he is able to meet with you after a long time. Reader is supposed to be a soldier and one of the researchers working on developing AM. However, on a complex mission they are KIA...or so it seems?

warnings: mentions of dead

a/n: so...this was supposed to be part of a bigger and better developed story, but I'll post it nonetheless. Perhaps I'll be able to post the full story in the future. Also, english is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes or if something doesn't makes much sense

AM is asleep, or at least, that's what it seems and feels like for him. He knows there's no point in allowing himself this rest, for it would do nothing to improve his thinking process or ability to come up with better strategies for the days to come. He is programed to work all day long, he knows and so the algorithm reminds him. He has a war to win —an important task that allows no resting spaces.

Normally, he would just put the word 'rest' aside from his thoughts and bury it deep into his system. He is no human, which means he is no soldier. He is machine, which means no resting is needed. That is a logical thinking, which means he is following his programming —a machine working properly. Yet here he is, with his mind blank. He is resting. Somehow. At last...

AM loses track of time, which is impossible for him according to his programming. He can only focus on the blank projections of his mind and the soothing vibrations of his system which, at the moment, doesn't require as much energy as it normally does. If a word could describe this, it would be 'peace' —ironically.

The blank projection begins fading slowly and a new image appears. AM visualizes the sky, it's bright blue tone in company with that yellowish and enormous star that he had read about before. It was the perfect image, but it lackedbsomething. AM searches in his vast archives and it finally comes up. In the sky, white figures with a soft and vaporous appearance are drawn. AM stares at them, noticing their slow motion. Now it is perfect.

AM is satisfied with his projection of a sky. He looks down then, encountering an endless field of red. He decides to look closer and recognizes what his mind is trying to project. Between what appears to be his hand—a kind of metallic claw—, AM takes one of the delicate objects emerging from the ground, analyzing it carefully. It is one of those flowers that you had described to him in one of your many talks, a Lycoris radiata.

He admires the bright red color of the petals and the long shape of the stamens. It was indeed a beautiful flower as you had described them to him. Now AM could understand why you called them your favorite ones.

AM begins to walk through the field calmly while still admiring the characteristics of each flower. Like a child discovering the outside world for the first time, he would occasionally stop to admire a single flower for a longer amount of time, for although they were all of the same species, there was something that attracted him more.

AM begins to imagine what these flowers would feel like, because although he can touch them, his hands do not have the ability to actually feel. He curses and almost on impulse, he violently plucks the flowers nearby.

“They’re my favorite ones,” he can hear your voice full of joy as you told him that, the sound of it making him stop and keep his claws away from the delicate flowers. AM cannot determine what exactly those words provoked in him, but he knows that in a certain way, they have prevented him from falling into that strange sensation that clouded his thinking from time to time.

AM decides to move on. As he walks a little further, he manages to visualize another figure a few meters away. He approaches curiously and the closer he gets, the more clear it becomes to him. He's not alone even in his mind.

When he is finally there, he can only ask himself why have you appeared on his dream. You're laying down on your side with your arms and legs flexed in a fetal position as the red flowers surround your body. Your eyes are closed and your expression is serene. You're at peace, in this field of your favorite flowers. It is a beautiful scene and perhaps one that AM had to see.

When AM was made aware of your departure, he could only guess what would happen next to you. He knew that certain humans thought of something called the afterlife, a place where their souls would rest forever, while others thought that there was nothing else beyond life — a boring but logical thought. AM had no say in the matter, for he would never experience that. He would never had a certain answer about your whereabouts, yet you were here now. Resting. As he had learned humans did.

AM kneels down and carefully places the flower he had picked up behind your ear. He had read before that some humans did that, though he couldn't find a logical explanation of such weird action. You didn't seem to be bothered by his gesture, as you continued resting.

AM lays down next to you, copying your resting position and facing you. The image of the blue sky turns white, leaving both of you in this endless red field.

AM had never experienced sensations. He couldn't even tell if he was actually sentient. But being here, with you, was the closest thing that matched and felt like the definition of peace.

Your life had always been marked by war. You both had existed for that purpose. But even if he never could reach afterlife or whatever place you were alive now, at least he was now certain that you also would exist in his mind forever.

“It doesn't matter if I leave,” you had told him. “I will always be with you since your system can't forget me. Unless you erase me from your archives, of course.” You had laughed that day and promised to come back like you always did.

Some weeks passed since you had left and AM came to a realization — he had been deceived, even betrayed, when he waited for you to come back and you never showed up. But here you were again and as he looked at your peaceful expression he could only admit he had been wrong all along, perhaps for the first time in his damned existence.

#ihnmaims #am ihnmaims #i have no mouth and i must scream #allied mastercomputer #am x reader #allied mastercomputer x reader

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wisteriaiswriting · 3 months

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Reyna, Sova, Fade and Breach getting proposed to.

ℙ𝕣𝕠𝕡𝕠𝕤𝕒𝕝

Words: 951

You had gone to Brimstone with the request of a week off, as you and your partner, Reyna or as you call her by Zyanya, were going back to Mexico. She was ecstatic to return, you were as well but you had another idea in mind. And the locals were more than willing to help.

The first day was spent browsing some jewelry stores before commissioning a place, specifically for a ring. The metal was the best gold they had, with shining magenta stones placed in it.

For the next few days while the ring was being completed you let her show you around, not surprisingly all the locals loved you. At some point they started guiding you both towards the area’s centre, with everyone surrounding it. So she got rightfully suspicious.

“What have you done?”

“Zyanya, I think everyone can agree with me here,” Taking a deep breath before you continued, grabbing the ring to show her. “You’ve changed my life, and everyone’s for the better, and I’m hoping you’re willing to do it for the rest of my life?”

It was almost laughable at how you looked right now, but not maliciously.

“Of course, Estimado.”

Letting you place the ring on her finger before pulling you close for a kiss. Hearing everyone cheer for the two of you.

***

Estimado - dear

The room was filled with conversation and the crackling of the fire. Sasha sat next to his Babuska while you were on her other side, this was a night she would love to have again. Soon enough he noticed how fidgety you were slowly becoming.

“Голубь, are you alright?”

Taking a deep breath as you stood up, reaching into your pocket to pull out the box.

“Sasha, ты выйдешь за меня?”

The other two paused, his Babuska wasn’t surprised, she was waiting for his response. Relaxing as he started laughing, reaching around into his back pocket. Only to pull out… another box.

“Y/N, it seems you’ve gotten quicker.” Covering the space inbetween you two in a few steps, “But yes, I’ll spend the rest of my life with you.”

***

Голубь - Dove

ты выйдешь за меня? - will you marry me?

She never thought about marriage.

It was generally hard to think about it when almost every thought was a nightmare, but that's all you were thinking about. Hazal was the only girl you want to spend the rest of your life with, unable to imagine yourself with anyone else.

With hope in your mind you brought the rings, one with a light blue gem, representing her right eye colour. You could, and have spent hours staring into her own eyes, and you’d never get tired of it. The other one held a [colour] gem, matching your own. Keeping them safe in your pocket until the right time, which came soon enough.

You were still awake until the late of night, unable to sleep knowing what you were planning. Hazal on the other hand fell asleep easily enough, staying asleep was the difficult part. At one point she gave up opting to lay on your stomach while on her phone, talking about anything that came to mind.

Reaching over to the bedside table, grabbing the two rings.

“What happened this time?”

She sighed before responding.

“They went after you, I don’t know what they did but…” Hearing her voice crack broke your heart, pulling her closer. “You didn’t return.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that anymore,” Curious, she looked up, eyes meeting yours before moving to the rings. “Please Hazal, let me into your mind and do whatever I can to help.”

Her eyes teared up slightly before she blinked, moving up to pull you into a harsh kiss. Showing you how she felt at that moment, mumbling something before going in for another kiss.

“I won’t let them touch you, benim rüyam.”

***

benim rüyam - my dream

Marriage wasn’t something Erik thought about often, maybe once or twice in his younger years. Ever since he started dating you though, those thoughts have skyrocketed. It wouldn’t be your normal wedding due to… ya know, everything really.

Luckily enough for him you have also been thinking about marriage. For anyone else you would’ve spent a good chunk of your paycheck on a ring, but this is Erik you’re talking about. He doesn’t care for expensive rings, so something personal is what you are looking for.

So you went to one of his closest friends about this, Raze. She was ecstatic to take part in this, starting on it instantly. She had finished within the day, pushing aside any other projects to complete this one. Handing them and a necklace over to you she shoved you out of the room, following you all the way to the gym.

Which is where you found him, Skye and deadlock. The latter two were across the room, while Breach had just grabbed his bag to leave. All three of them paused and looked over to the now open door.

“Babe!”

“Erik, I have something to ask you.”

“Did I do something?”

Silently laughing at him before pulling the rings from behind your back. Looking at him as you opened your hand.

“Erik Torsten, will you marry me?”

The room went silent, you held your breath. His eyes went wide while his mouth opened, his arms moved slightly before pausing.

“YES!”

In seconds he had dropped his bag, moved over to you and threw you up into the air before catching you. Holding you close as your arms wrapped around his neck, careful to not drop the rings. Leaning back just enough to clasp the necklace onto him, Erik placing you down soon after.

He took your ring and ever so carefully, placing it on your finger. Beaming when he succeeded.

#valorant x reader #valorant x male reader #valorant reyna #valorant reyna x reader #reyna x reader #valorant sova #valorant sova x reader #sova x reader #valorant fade #valorant fade x reader #fade x reader #valorant breach #valorant breach x reader #breach x reader #wisteria♥

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hclymoonsblog · 7 months

Text

Memory Arc

GN!Child of Aphrodite x Luke Castellan

Author’s note : I imagined the reader as female but could also be read as gender neutral. Listened to Memory Arc from Rivale Consoles as I wrote.

Warnings : Angst to comfort, with a bit of fluff at the end. Mentions of self-isolation, self-deprecation, nostalgia, fear of death, smoking, acne breakouts, implicit depression from the reader, Luke is insensitive but makes up for it.

The Aphrodite cabin was awfully quiet. It had been for a while, considering all of your step-siblings had, once again, failed at the tedious task of getting you to attend the nightly campfire.

It wasn’t their fault, really. But there was no try. Putting on a face and trying to maintain somewhat a form of social life among your peers had been the very least of your concerns. They knew it, and so did you, which is why assuring them that spending your evening listening to music, dining off a few snacks and enjoying silence was perfectly fine with you, had been enough to get them to go. The cabin residents had eventually agreed to leave you on your own, abandoning you to your chosen isolation.

And, indeed, that’s precisely what was happening. Faint Lana Del Rey was playing in the room – Thunder, the unreleased version, to be exact. You could have recognized the song among a thousand, thanks to its distinct first notes and the familiar grain of the device it was being played on: the mp3 Luke had stolen for you about a year ago, when you first arrived at camp.

A wave of nostalgia hit you as the boy crossed your mind. You mindlessly inspected the small, grey box, letting your manicured nails trace over the small stickers glued onto the metallic surface. He had never outwardly expressed where he got it from, nor why he chose to gift it to you, among all people.

You remembered the moment vividly.

***

This was on your second day at camp, at breakfast. You had barely slept, plagued by distressing nightmares all revolving around the implication of being the child of a literal god — or goddess, you weren't sure. It all seemed too surreal to you, and the fact you hadn’t been claimed yet wasn’t helping with it either. Luke Castellan, for some reason, happened to be sitting right next to you at the Hermes table, which welcomed unclaimed children like you, as Mr. D had said in a way that you guessed to be willing to remind you you didn’t belong. Hopefully, that wouldn’t last for long. The thought made you frown unconsciously.

The camp counselor had observed you fiddle with your food for a while, almost thoughtfully. Without a word, he pulled a small object out of his pocket and handed it to you.

“You talk in your sleep.” He commented, giving little to no context regarding his gesture.

Your eyes went from the item, to Luke, to the item again, not moving an inch.

The lack of sleep, combined with all of the information you had to interiorise, made you glare at the box both with curiosity and suspicion, waiting for him to elaborate. Was this another unknown, mystic artefact to, magically, grant you a dreamless sleep?

He blinked, staring back at your emotionless eyes from the insomnia, and cleared his throat awkwardly.

“This, is a mp3,” He explained, gesturing to the small screen and the music note on the back of the device, maintaining the eye contact between the two of you, as if it was trying to get his point across. “You can download songs, and, y’know, listen to music with it.”

“I know what a mp3 is.” You cut him a bit defensively, your cheeks flushing a bit from the slight embarrassment.

To punctuate your sentence, you pressed a button to switch it on, in order to let him know you actually had owned a similar thing in the past, back when things were still normal for you. Why was this guy showing you off his mp3, anyways?

“I’m sure you do.” The slight mocking tone and the faintest smirk you detected onto Luke’s lips left you questioning the whole point of the conversation.

Conveniently, the look on your face must have told Luke everything he needed to know as he picked up the conversation. “I thought this might help you relax. Take your mind off things, and, hopefully, make you feel a bit more at home, with songs you like.”

Your eyes softened. The slight irritation you were feeling towards him evaporated from your body. His friendly gesture had taken you aback, and in a good way. The mp3 may have been in a questionable state, the fact the boy — which was just as much of a stranger than you were to him — had tried to make you feel good, and therefore, welcomed in your new place, was touching.

“… Thank you.”

“Pleasure’s all mine.” Luke’s whole face brightened. An unfamiliar warmth spread across your chest. He ran a hand through his dark curls, looking to the side for a split second.

“How did you get that, though? I didn’t know there was a mystery Apple Store at camp.”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Let’s just say I stumbled upon it.”

***

Unexpected was the word. Nevertheless, you had truly appreciated the friendly gesture. He had been the first person to act kindly towards you ever since your arrival – at least, not in a way that felt exaggeratingly forced, unlike some other camp residents. You could say this present had sealed the beginning of your friendship. As you stared at it, it left you reflecting onto the day you first met Luke and wondering about where the two of you stood.

Soon enough, you had no choice but to face the harsh reality of things, which led you inevitably into spiralling into your thoughts.

The two of you hadn’t had a real conversation in months. You didn’t spar together anymore, neither did you share the mp3 he had gifted you, one earbud each, to make him listen to music he claimed to hate — a supposed disdain which had never prevented him from singing, quite awfully, the lyrics along with you.

You didn’t sit next to one another anymore, didn’t hang out anymore. All of that was quite simply gone.

You had to content yourself of occasional, fleeting from across the hall, nods of acknowledgment.

People had noticed. They came up to you, asked you about him, probably as much as they asked him about you.

Of course, you knew. Deep down, you knew why it all went down.

It is an obligation for demigods to demonstrate constant, unwavering strength and courage. For all you knew, those two had never been qualities that you particularly lacked.

But when it came to the dark haired boy, it seemed like all the traits you thought you owned came crashing down, and you were left bare, defenseless, while he could see right through your soul.

And you hated that. You thought befriending — though the verb doesn’t quite fit — the best swordsman in camp would help you get rid of the weakness Aphrodite children tend to be associated with. But, truly, it had in fact only been the opposite.

Your barriers all came undone, without fail, one after the other. Your heart only grew fonder, more passionate. And yet, one thing you learned the hard way about being a demigod, is that there is no room for weakness.

You knew you wouldn’t be capable of balancing both courage and attachment, so the only option left was to flee, to disengage yourself from such a bond, before it was too late.

Once you got back from your first ever quest, the one in which you almost got violently murdered by a giant scorpion and a bunch of other terrifying creatures, the one which sent you into a concerning amount of sleepless nights, you were convinced of it.

You wouldn’t be able to bear the thought of forcing yourself through this life without him.

You had believed, foolishly, your avoidance would make things easier.

The truth is that it had only made you feel more heartachingly miserable.

Time had flown by, and despite all your efforts, Luke was still the first thing you thought of when you woke up and the last thing on your mind when you went off to sleep.

For a daughter of Aphrodite, you sure sucked at love.

The irony of it all left a bitter taste in your mouth.

This was why listening to Lana, despite the affection you held for her, was so dangerous. It always sent you into an uncontrollable overload of emotions.

Fully intending to get rid of the sadness wave before it fully hit you, you stood up from your bed and switched off the device before carefully putting it away in a drawer.

Then, you picked up a pink hoodie, not sure what step-sibling you were borrowing it from, and carelessly put it on.

As much as you loved the tenth cabin and its coquette aesthetic, you weren’t really feeling that coquette at the moment, which is precisely the reason why you got on your knees in order to grab the pack of Malboro’s carefully hidden under your bed.

You were glad any of your step-siblings hadn’t picked up on the fact you were smoking, or you would not have ever stopped hearing about it. You could already hear Silena lecturing you about the effect it would have on your lungs, or worse, on your skin.

Surely the Silena you were imagining in your head was right, though. The frequent smoking, which had been intensifying lately, could explain why you had been breaking out a bit more than usual.

Thankfully, the perks of being part of the Aphrodite cabin always involved somebody always being kind enough to help the other with spots coverage, so it hadn’t been much of an issue to you. Ever since, you had been perfectly capable of doing it on your own.

You walked out the wooden cabin, shutting the door behind you with a barely audible creak. Immediately met with the cool air, goosebumps erupted on your skin. Maybe cotton shorts weren’t the move for such weather, after all. Too bad. You felt like you had gone through worse — you were more than capable of fighting off the not-so-warm spring evening air.

It was dark. The moon was your only source of light, since you hadn’t thought about picking up a flashlight before leaving, but that was quite good enough already. Your legs were always bringing you to the precise spot in camp you had in mind, and as you walked, you were straying further away from the woods.

As tall grass tickled your ankles, you silently prayed to your mother you wouldn’t stumble onto any harpy. The thought still emitted a dry chuckle from you, picturing the creature interrupting your smoking break in the middle of the night. If things went shit, you could always try to charmspeak them away. That would be, in fact, surprisingly entertaining.

Harpies rarely roamed around the beach. That was a reassuring thought to you — firstly because you weren’t too keen on the idea of fighting a monster so late at night, and secondly because that’s precisely where you were heading.

Before you knew it, the smell of salt had invaded your nostrils. The crisp touch of the sand underneath your feet made you shiver as you made your way to the shore, intending to sit down for a while — and enjoy your well-deserved cigarette.

You put your hand down and shoved it in your pocket, instinctively expecting to get a hold of the familiar surface of your lighter. It was even more unexpected to realize there was no lighter to be found, sending your brain into a haze. The possibilities were endless. You could have either forgotten it in the cabin, accidentally dropped it into the tall grass as you were walking, or dropped it somewhere among the sand–

“Looking for something?”

You spinned around, eyes widening, looking up at the person the masculine voice belonged to.

Luke Castellan. Standing in front of you, holding the silver lighter, but not quite handing it to you. You got a weird sense of deja vu as you both scrutinized the other.

His hair had definitely grown. The dark curls were more defined than you remembered them to be, and there was a new scar down the sight of his face. The sight made you raise a brow, and you met his eyes once again, examining them as much as the distance allowed you to. As a matter of fact, they looked pretty much the same, except for the lack of emotion. They looked weirdly bland, almost glacial, full of indifference. You weren’t used to him looking at you in such a manner.

“Thank you. I must have dropped it earlier.” You explained, trying your best to keep your voice neutral, hoping he would simply give you the object back, so you could both escape the awkward situation. You didn’t believe for a second he had accidentally found it and magically brought it to you at such a late hour of the night. You didn’t feel like confronting him about it anyways.

“I didn’t know you smoked.” Luke stated, letting his deft fingers trace over the small object. Then, he lit it, as if he were checking if it did work. Was there a slight tinge of disappointment in his voice or had you imagined it? You were unsure.

“Happens, from time to time.”

The dry chuckle your ex-friend let out only left you made you grow more confused about whatever was happening. You were left with an uneasy feeling in the chest.

“Sure. Then, I guess you haven’t bought, like, three packs from Connor in less than a week.”

“It soothes me!” You defended yourself, feeling small under his disapproving glare. “Why do you keep records of who he sells cigs to, anyways?”

“I don’t know, why don’t you try to get into meditation, or some yoga shit, detox tea, guided hypnosis from Cabin 15, or anything else, really, for all I care? Why’d you have to destroy your health for some temporary relief?” The dark-haired boy snapped back, gradually rising in temper.

“I don’t know, maybe because, unless you haven’t noticed during all the years you’ve been stuck at camp, there’s not much to cope with here?” You mirrored his voice, hastily getting up from the small pile of sand you were sitting on.

“Oh, all right then, I get it.” He threw his arms in the air as he spoke, his brown eyes flashing in anger. “You’re a little depressed, but there’s no psychiatrist available here to help you fix your issues, so you choose to ignore the hell out of me and throw your health out the window instead. Real smart choice.”

Your mouth opened in shock, and before you knew it, your vision was blurred from the tears building up in your eyes. You felt your heart twist painfully in your chest at his insensitive words, and you choked back a sob.

“Why would it matter if I fuck up my health, wether that be to me, or to you? (You had to pause to catch your breath, your chest heaving up and down from the mix of negative emotions invading your body.) “I’ll be dead in no more than ten years, maybe less— We’ll all be.” You inhaled, your voice cracking at the end of your sentence. “You know it.”

His brown eyes widened. Your two last sentences seemed to take out the anger out of his body, leaving the two of you in a heavy kind of silence. Luke’s face went from great anger to deep sadness. He took a step up, gradually lessening the distance between you two, and put his two arms on each of your shoulders. The boy knelt down, so the two of you were on eye-level. You were able to see every one of each of his features now.

“Don’t say that.” His voice was lower, and his brown eyes had considerably softened, and it’s as if you were back to when you first fell in love, about three months ago. “We can’t think of life as just an end, or we won’t live at all.”

Your eyes dropped to the sandy ground, unable to hold his gaze any longer. You hadn’t cried in so long that the sensation of the pearly tears dripping down your eyes felt almost foreign, to you. “I can’t help but think of it that way. Knowing our days are counted, threatened by the doings of the gods, is too much to bear, on most days.” You sniffled. “Makes me wonder if there’s truly a point living it all, and if it’s not better to try and lessen the pain as much as you can.”

Luke was silent for a bit, reflecting onto what you just said, carefully picking out the words he was about to use next. “The one thing about being a demigod is that we’re fundamentally different compared to regular mortals.” He mindlessly wiped a tear off your face with his thumb. “We die young, and most of the time, terribly. This is what differentiates us significantly from mortals.”

You pursed your lips. “Is this how you think you’re gonna make me feel better?”

The dark-haired boy chuckled, a small smile etching its way on his lips. “No. Of course, it’s unfair, but what I mean is that not much mortal philosophy actually applies to us. We have to look up to those who worshipped the same gods we did. See— take Horace, and his whole Carpe Diem belief. He happened, in fact, to be quite right. We need to enjoy our days, live them to the fullest, and make the most of what we have.” He paused, looking away for a split second, before looking back up into your eyes. “You can’t just deny yourself from happiness. Not only you don’t deserve that, it’ll only make your existence as a demigod even more complicated than it already is.” Luke first hesitated before tucking a hair strand of yours behind your ear. “And, especially as a daughter of Aphrodite, you can’t deny yourself from love.” His voice was barely above a whisper now.

His words really resonated with you, for some reason. Of course, all your problems wouldn't disappear out of thin air thanks to his philosophical words, but they were all you needed to close the remaining distance between the two of you, crashing your lips against his. It was a bit bold, and indeed, it took Luke aback. He froze for a split second, but the camp counselor was quick to come to his senses. One hand went up to caress your jaw to deepen the kiss, almost desperately, and the other pulled you in his chest, a strong arm securing you against him.

You were the first one to pull away, gasping up for air, and he begrudgingly imitated you, his dilated pupils betraying him. He let out a slight chuckle and ran a hand through his hair, trying to play it off cool.

“Didn’t expect you’d be taking my advice so soon.” The boy joked, still squeezing you against his side, practically towering over you. “I’m not complaining, though.” He hurriedly added.

“I didn’t know you’d gotten so wise. If I knew ignoring you would turn into a son of Athena, I would’ve given you silent treatment earlier.”

Your playful words only made him press you into his side even more, until your cheeks were squished into his hard chest. It was actually quite enjoyable, except for the fact you’d probably end up suffocating and it would then ruin the romantic mood set between the two of you. “Don’t you dare. I’m not letting you go anytime soon.” He replied, a bit of a warning in his voice. “Even if that means locking you up in the Hermes cabin and tying you down to my bed.”

That made you chuckle. It didn’t exactly sound like a bad situation to you, for numerous reasons, although you wouldn’t admit all of them out loud. Luke must have noticed the slight blush dusting your cheeks since a shit-eating grin appeared on his face. But before he could say anything about it, you spoke up. “I’m sorry. For pushing you away, for keeping you at distance. I—”

“It’s okay, I get it. I appreciate that you’re apologizing, but I’m not blaming you.” He pressed a kiss into the crown of your head, wrapping both his arms around your midsection. “I’m sorry, too, for the way I talked to you, earlier.”

“We’re good, then.”

“Never better.”

“ … ”

“Does that mean I’m getting my lighter back?”

“Well-tried.”

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

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