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iluvmattsbeard · 5 months

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say it (m.s)

master list

matt sturniolo x reader

warnings: VERY heavy smut and strong language

preview: Matt has been stressed out all day because of filming. his brothers have been on his last nerve. when he gets home, he takes out his frustration on you and he doesn't think you're taking him seriously. so he makes you take him seriously.

a/n: I literally imagine Matt take out his frustration on me 24/7. like yes give it to me lmao.

it was 10 p.m at night. you were waiting for Matt to get home. he was out filming a car video with his brothers Nick and Chris, for their youtube channel. you sat on your bed reaching down at the laundry basket beneath your one foot dangling on the side of the bed. you started folding your clothes neatly as you watched tv.

it’s already been 2 hours since he left at like 8 ish. you yawn still folding your clothes. you always waited for him to get home before falling asleep. you always wanted to make sure he got home safely.

suddenly, you hear the front door opening. you stopped everything you were doing, standing up about to head to the door but you freeze at the loud slam. “i’m home” you hear him yell out from behind the door. he was angry. you open the door and face him. “hey Matt…” you say hesitantly. all he does is look at you giving you a nod before walking to the fridge to grab a root beer. he twists the cap open, then taking a sip. all you do is stare at him before speaking, “how did filming go?” you ask stupidly. Matt then looks at you with a blank stare, “how do you think it went?” he says. “okay so i assume it didn’t go as well.” you say walking up closer to him but he turns away sitting on the couch.

“what happened?” you say turning to look at him crouched forward sipping his drink. “nothing it’s fucking stupid.” he responds clenching the plastic bottle. “well it’s clearly bothering you.” you lean back onto the counter saying. “so it’s not-.” Matt interrupts, “y/n just mind your business.” you knew how he gets when he’s upset. he turned cold and sometimes said stuff that really upset you. “i’m sorry. that was rude of me.” he says placing the bottle on the coffee table. he turns his head looking at you, “it really wasn’t a big deal. i’m just irritated by the fact i can’t ever get a word in without being interrupted.” he says with clear frustration. “Chris won’t ever shut his big mouth. the stupidest shit always comes out and Nick entertains it. every time i try to speak, Chris does it on purpose i swear, he just blurts out something we won’t even be talking about in the moment.” you let out a laugh but shortly stop as Matt darts his eyes at you seriously. “sorry” you mumble out. “see not a big deal since you think its so funny.” he says with a scoff.

you roll your eyes as you speak, “Matt don’t even start. i already said sorry.” his eyes were piercing through yours making you clear your throat. “okay Matt continue please.” you say. “no. you don’t care.” he responds looking away getting on his phone. you groan and shake your head. “fine be like that. i’m going to bed.” before you head to your bedroom, you pour yourself a cup of water and then walk towards the bedroom door.

Matt puts his phone down next to him, shaking his head letting out a scoff behind his smirk. “stop” he sternly says looking at you. you stop in your tracks as you turn around and face him. he stays quiet looking at you up and down before speaking, “put the water down” he says. “Matt i’m going to-.” you let out but he interrupts. “put it down.” with a dominant tone. you put down the water on the counter. you turn to look back at him but you see him walk out onto the balcony. you follow shortly after and join him outside. he was standing there leaned against the railing staring at the city lights. "why are we out here?" you ask confused. he keeps his eyes on the view not saying anything. you let out a soft sigh as you mimic his stance. “Matt-.” you were about to say but he gives you a glare. “you’ll find out.” he responds with a blank face.

eventually he looks away and sits on the arm chair that decorates the balcony. you turn to look at him as you can't help but notice his dark eyes. he leans back into the chair and spreads his legs slightly. he licks his lips raising his hand onto his lap, patting it, "come here" he demands. you nod your head as you walk over to him. you were going to sit on his lap but he sits up stopping you. "on your knees." your eyes widen at the command. "w-what?” you stutter out, “out here on the balcony?” he looks at you with the same glare from earlier. "do it." you nod hesitantly eventually kneeling down slowly. you gulp as you look up at him with your doe eyes. he stays silent as he brings his hands to unbutton his pants not breaking eye contact. he slightly brings down his pants as he pulls out his hard cock into his hand, stroking it.

"you're going to help me. aren't you?" he says. you bring yourself slightly up as you replace his hand on his cock with yours. he brings himself forward a bit. you stroke his dick slowly looking down at it. your hand looked small wrapped around it. slowly, you wrap your mouth around his tip, moving with a normal pace. not too slow and not too fast. you use both of your hands to stroke the remainder of his cock that couldn't fit in your mouth. he lifts his shirt up getting it away from your face. he then uses his other hand placing it on top of your head. he then pushes your head down, repeatedly bobbing it, making you tear up from how big his cock is. you take your hand and tap him to signal you can't handle the size hitting the back of your throat. he lets out a small low laugh as he grips your hair continuing to bob your head up and down. "who's laughing now?" he says. you gag slightly every time your head goes down. more tears streamed down your face with your eyes feeling cloudy. "look up at me." he says.

you look up weakly at him as you keep eye contact. he groans at the sight. "what? you can't take it no more?" he asks slowing down the pace he had you at. you couldn't say anything but look into his eyes that were filled with dominance. he releases your head from his grip, pushing you off him softly. you stay on your knees letting out a soft cough as he wipes your drooling mouth. he leans forward grabbing your hands as he pulls you up. once you stood up slowly he lets go of your hands still sitting there. "take these off." he says tugging your pajama pants lightly. you look into his eyes, pulling down your pants, along with your panties, letting them hit the ground. you step out from the soft fabric and laced garment standing there nervously.

you were scared the apartments in front of you could see you guys through their windows. your next door neighbors could also potentially catch you both in the act if they step outside their own balconies to peak. Matt grabs you by the waist, pulling you onto his lap. he immediately pulls you in by your face, attaching his lips with yours. you could feel his hard dick twitch under your entrance as you kiss back eagerly. the kiss was filled with anticipation. he runs his hands down the sides of your body as he lands on your hips.

he keeps them there gripping a little hard as he starts moving you back and forth against his cock, grinding on it not breaking the kiss. you felt yourself getting more wet after each kiss and each hip movement. he then pushes his tongue inside of your mouth as you fight for dominance. of course, he won. you tangle your fingers in his hair as you buck your hips, matching the pace of his hand movements. Matt then pulls away not wasting time attaching them onto your free nipple. you throw your head back slightly by his wet mouth sucking harshly on your hard nip. still grinding on him, he then stops you, also pulling away from your tit as he raises you up a bit. Matt takes his cock into his hand as he slips it into your wet core causing you to slip out a loud whimper. he darts his eyes onto yours as he brings up one hand, covering your mouth. "you don't want to be caught don't you?" he whispers.

you shake your head as he whispers, "okay then keep it down." he places his hands back onto your waist, with you slowly starting to ride him. you bite your bottom lip trying to fight back the noises. his grip gets tighter as you speed up your pace. he pushes you down a bit more making sure every inch of his cock sits inside of you. you wrap your arms around him, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. "you enjoy this huh?" he whispers in your ear. you try to make out words but you failed or else moans would fly out. "say it." he says firmly. "y-yes" you finally let out. "then prove it." he says breathlessly. you lean back slightly as your hands rest on his knees behind you. you roll your hips back and forth making sure you were pressed down all the way, having him deep inside. he throws his head back biting his bottom lip hard. you throw your head back as well, gulping down your moans.

"you move your hips so perfectly." he says bringing his head back up straight. he bites his lip again as he watches you continue to ride him. "just like that." he says. you wrap your arms around him, hiding your face into his neck again, still keeping your pace. "f-fuck Matt. your dick feels so good inside of me." you moan in his ear. he smirks as he stops your movement. you sit back up confused.

he leans back into the chair, pulling you up slightly as he starts to take control. the sudden thrusts make you moan out by surprise. "shhh.. just take this dick." he whispers. but you were really struggling keeping it in. the more he heard you fall apart, the more he sped up. he covers your mouth as he pounds harder into you, bruising your pussy. you bite the inside of his hand from the feeling of pain and pleasure. your eyes clouded up again as tears rolled down your cheeks. it hurt so good.

you look up and see your reflection in the window. you saw your tits bounce up and down from his thrusts. the clapping noise that was being made with your guys bodies coming together, started to get louder. you and Matt both look at each other when you hear someone open their sliding door. you widen your eyes as he continues to thrust. his hand was still on your mouth so you tap him signaling to stop. all he does is shake his head.

you grip onto his shoulders with your eyes rolling back feeling your stomach in a knot, indicating you were about to cum. you could feel Matt’s thrust getting slightly tamer; you could tell he was close. after a few more thrusts, you finally released all over his cock almost falling because of how weak you felt. “o-oh fuck” Matt whispers out at your actions. he then pulls you off his twitching cock as he cums on his stomach. you collapse onto his chest weakly as you both lay there out of breath.

after you both caught up with your breathing, you guys continue staying quiet, knowing your neighbor is outside on their balcony. but thankfully, after a bit they went back inside. you and Matt look at each other and let out a sigh of relief at the same time.

a/n: likes and reblogs are appreciated!

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landosjpg · 5 months

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so high school | ln

the one where you feel like a teenager in love.

lando norris x fem!reader

word count: ~1.0k

warnings: fluff, smut (MDNI, +18), public masturbation, fingering, orgasm denial

note: i’ve been listening to this song on repeat for almost a week now, it’s so catchy and the GTA lyrics made me laugh so i had to write something inspired by it. it’s short but i hope you enjoy :) not proofread

being in love had never been as easy as it was with lando.

you had been in love before, sure, but your heart beat in a different rhythm whenever he was around.

you both had felt the spark between you the very first time you met. you could swear the sound of his laugh would always be your favorite song and something as simple as the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled made the butterflies in your stomach flutter all around every damn time.

“come on, tell me again!” your voice was high-pitched, it always was when you were with your boyfriend.

you heard lando let out a chuckle at your insistence, his body spread on the couch as you rested your head on his lap. his hand found yours, fingers entwining under the blanket that covered your body and you gave him a little squeeze, encouraging to tell you once more what you were asking.

“alright, alright,” he facetiously rolled his eyes, earning a giggle from your lips. “i thought you were the most beautiful girl i’ve ever seen.”

you had heard his first impression on you about a thousand times before, but it always brought a smile to your face, being reminded of how enamored he was with you since the very first night.

“fuck, i could barely sleep that night because you wouldn’t leave my mind,” and you had felt the exact same thing.

you two had just clicked instantly, your friends surprised at the chemistry of the both of you.

despite of how crowded the club was that evening you met, it had felt like no one was around you. endless conversation and laughs that seemed to never cease lured you away from the presence of everyone else, and when his lips finally met yours hours later you felt your heart exploding. your bodies moulded together as if you were made to each other, smiles and soft giggles breaking the kiss every few seconds.

and wrapped in his arms you felt like you were sixteen again; and admittedly, no one had ever loved you quite like him before.

୨୧

for the almost eight months that you had been together, you and lando had always loved to invite your mutual friends over during the weekend. at the end of the day, they were the reason you two had met in the first place, and there weren’t enough words in the english language to just show how grateful you were.

every few saturdays all of you would reunite in your —his —living room, a few bottles of alcohol and snacks set on the tea table as you played some stupid drinking game. after that, you would just play the first movie that one of you could think of, lights off as everyone settled either on the couch or, most likely, on the floor, a little too tipsy to even bother getting comfortable.

that night it was american pie playing on the big screen as you cuddled into your boyfriend’s embrace under the soft blanket; it was chilly, the cool summer freeze making you need to cover the bare skin of your legs.

you softly sighed as your leaned your back to his chest as his arms circled around you; and then one of his hands was creeping under the blanket, fingers gently brushing the skin of your thighs.

you smiled at the comfort of his warmth, eyes fixed on the screen mindlessly.

but lando had had a little too much to drink that night, so his fingers slowly moved up, up, up, until they found the seam of your shorts. and the innocence of his previous touch was immediately thrown away the second you looked up to his face, eyes furrowed in confusion, just to meet his smirk.

“what are you doing?” you whisper-shouted, your thighs closing together as he tried to get closer to where he knew you wanted him.

and he shushed. that sly grin of his not leaving his lips.

you bit your lower lip and complied, legs slowly giving him access to your core as your eyes went back to the movie. with slow, teasing movements, he managed to push your shorts and your panties to the side, fingers finding the nub of your clit with ease. this was the most patient you had ever seen him, the tip of his digits slowly rubbing circles on you as he pretended to watch that stupid movie, not even looking at you.

your breath got heavier and unsteady as he touched you at a tauntingly pace, inaudible to everyone else thanks to the loud volume of the tv.

but when he slid his fingers down your folds, coating them in your slick before slowly pushing two of them into your hole, you couldn’t help a gasp from escaping your lips.

you felt your face heating up when the sound earned a look from some of your friends, and you tried your best to cover it with a chuckle. that scene better had been funny, you thought.

lando, however, seemed to find your situation hilarious. you looked up at his smile as he kept fucking his fingers into you slowly, and you could tell he was trying his best not to laugh.

as the seconds passed, stifling your sighs was getting harder and harder, your walls already clenching around your boyfriend’s digits. your fingers wrapped around his wrist, warning him that you were close, and that’s when he stopped.

the withdrawal of his fingers almost made you whine, and you shot a glance at him, this time, a disappointed one. he seemed to like how you responded, because his smile widened and he lowered his head to press a gentle kiss to your temple.

“later, baby. i want to hear those pretty sounds you make when you come,” he whispered into your ear before leaning back on the couch again, shamelessly cleaning his fingers on your thigh and leaving you craving his touch even more.

#lando norris #lando norris fluff #lando norris smut #lando norris blurb #lando norris drabble #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #f1 x reader #ln4 fic #ln4 #ln4 x reader #ln4 imagine #ln4 fluff #ln4 smut

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pupkashi · 7 months

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satoru loves yapping [to you]

satoru was always chatty, shoko could definitely attest to that statement, subjected to too many conversations she definitely did not care about.

“isn’t it hotter than usual? i swear last year it was colder around this time of year-” he began, continuing to talk as shoko tried to focus instead on healing an injured itadori in front of her.

it seemed that his chatty characteristic only amplified when you were around, his eyes would visibly brighten, practically gleaming when you appeared in his eyesight.

“sweetheart! how are you? staying cold in this heat?” you can help but smile at him, walking straight into his already outstretched arms and squeezing his waist a bit, pressing a soft peck to his cheek before pulling away.

“heat? it feels so good out today!” you sigh happily, waving yellow to shoko and itadori, “it is hotter than last year though I’ll tell you that,” satoru grins at your words, turning to shoko with a flint in his eyes before turning back to you.

“that’s what I said! global warming is getting too severe-” the two of you walking out hand in hand, the taller man still talking as you listened intently.

satoru never felt the need to be quiet around you, always finding things to talk about no matter the task or the hour.

“and so you would think that since they were doing so bad they would think of making changes right?” you nod along, humming so he knows you’re listening, “but no! they keep going with same stupid strategy and it’s so frustrating as a fan to see, i just want him to achieve his dreams,” he sighs sadly.

“can you pass the salt?” you ask, taking it from his much larger hand, thanking him before speaking up again, “why does he keep resigning if they always treat him so poorly?” you ask, satoru smiles, heart warming at the fact that you really do pay attention to him.

“he’s always wanted to win with Ferrari- let me take you back to the beginning” he begins, giving you a summary of charles leclerc’s life as you finish cooking dinner.

you could always tell when he got a bit insecure of how talkative he was, but you’d always smile at him, urging him to go on. “and then what? why’d you stop talking?” you’d say, making him smile widely before quietly starting again.

“I’m listening, angel boy,” you mumble in between dreams, listening to him talk about how orange juice isn’t the same as it was when he was growing up and how the new game he downloaded was more complicated than it seems.

it could be nearing 2 in the morning but you wouldn’t mind, satoru would be discussing how and why wombats have cube shaped poops and how koalas eat eucalyptus and pandas have half a brain cell they don’t bother to use.

“it has no real nutritional value and that’s why they have to eat so much of it,” he mumbles, eyes drooping as he cuddles closer to you.

“aren’t they made to digest meat?” you whisper, head tucked into the crook of his neck, your breath running a chill down his spine.

“think so, dunno” he mumbles back, breathing evening out before he’s fully asleep.

your eyes open slowly as you crane your neck, his pink lips slightly parted as he takes soft breaths, snowy hair pointing every which way.

you can’t help but smile at your lover.

“goodnight pretty boy” you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, “my little yapper,” you chuckle to yourself, already looking forward to what he’d talk about tomorrow.

masterlist

a/n: hi friends ! just a quick little something i put together bc i miss satoru so bad lately </3 he’s def a yapper and i want to hear him talk all day and night

taglist (send an ask to be added!): @chilichopsticks @anime-for-the-sleepless @safaia-47 @nanamikentoseyebags @fushironi @nineooooo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @gojoshooter @sat6ru @beautiful-is-boring @sweetheart-satoru @luna0713hunter @torusmochi

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keeksandgigz · 8 months

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somewhere we can be alone

stage manager!eddie munson x theatre kid!fem!reader

a collab with @reidsbtch- mariah is literally the best person to collab with, it's like our brains were making out the whole time we were writing this. thank u for letting me collab with you to write this absolutely not self indulgent, way too long fic together <3

summary: Now on the tail end of graduating, Eddie Munson is required to take part in an extracurricular activity. He's assigned as stage manager for the school's production of Romeo and Juliet. You, the star of the show, aren't too happy to have your senior performance sabotaged by one long- haired metalhead.

word count: 7.7k words

warnings: no y/n, no physical description of reader, swearing, oral (m & f receiving), enemies to fuck buddies to lovers, mentions of queer!reader, it's actually just fucking smut, fingering, unprotected piv (wrap it up), cream pie, use of nicknames (baby, sweets, sweetheart etc), eddie being a stupid lovable idiot

This and all of mine and mariah's works are 18+ minors do NOT interact

He’s been slumped in the guidance counselor’s office for thirty minutes, the wooden chair digging into his bones, growing uncomfortable as he listens to her, hardly believing he’s so close to leaving this fucking school himself.

“You’re keeping up your grades and maintaining regular attendance, Eddie. You’re just missing one last thing to be able to graduate.”

He rubs his face, maybe from the lack of sleep, or the restlessness of finally being able to leave the office he spent way too much time in during the past six years, as long as he keeps showing up to school for the next two months. He groans regardless.

“What would this ‘last thing’ be? Am I gonna be sent on a quest to slay a fucking dragon? Is that what’s gonna take me to graduate?” He snaps, the lack of sleep has finally gotten to him– school doesn’t really appeal to his late bird nature.

The counselor gasps at the crudeness of the profanity “Language!” She exclaims, like he’s never heard that before, daring to swear in front of students, staff and faculty alike, but the blonde lady with the ridiculously coiffed and teased and sprayed hair composes herself again, jutting a look down to his student folder again.

He imagines it to be full of red pen marks, every single one of those a proof of his own failure. He’ll steal it the day he graduates– and set it on fire. Hell, he’ll even roast marshmallows on it.

“Anyways,” she explains in a way that really shows the massive stick up her ass that makes her think Eddie should just stop bothering with school altogether. “You have to partake in an extracurricular activity.”

And he chortles. He was thinking something dreadful like picking trash up at the park or feeding and bathing the old people at the retirement home.

“Something funny, Mr. Munson?” Her nostrils are flared, she can’t wait ‘til he leaves her office.

“So like- like drama club and shit?” His tone is incredulous, he can deal with a couple lines to memorize. He’s had to do way worse for his Dungeon Master role, and even then, Miss George likes him– she’s let him and the club play DnD in her room for the past two years. Should be easy.

The counselor takes her glasses off her pointy nose, letting them hang with a tacky pink, flowery chain around her neck. “Well, yes– that’s one of the options. Unfortunately, your GPA is not high enough for you to partake in the school play, per se, so I can only place you in the backstage crew– building sets and moving things around. We’ll put that brain of yours to work.” She chuckles as she hands him a slip of paper to give to Miss George.

Eddie picks up his bag, “Real funny, huh.” He shrugs his shoulders and heads to the school auditorium. Last time he was there he’d gotten caught by a custodian while Terry Richardson’s face was stuck in between his legs, trousers pulled down halfway down his thighs as she gave him a toothy blowjob. He got suspended for a week.

He sees Miss George sat in the audience, scribbling notes onto a notepad as you recite the famous balcony monologue from Romeo and Juliet. He knows you, he’s seen you around– you’re by no means in the popular crowd, but you stand out, in the way that your clothes always seem to border the fine line of what's socially acceptable and outrageously eccentric.

Even if you’re not part of the popular crowd, there’s no denying that, like the rest of the school, you avoid him like the plague, cute as he is. You interrupt your monologue as you see him smirk down the central aisle of chairs. Miss George turns around at the sudden interruption. Eddie just hands her the slip.

“Oh my goodness!” she coos, “We have a stage manager.” And he wishes he could have photographed the look on your face. “Stage manager?! Miss George, you can’t be serious!” You exclaim as Eddie takes a seat next to her, kicking his boots up on the back of the chair in front of him.

A smirk ever present on his face as he crosses his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow at you. “He doesn’t have any experience.” You continue, not about to have your senior year performance ruined by Eddie Munson of all people. “Shouldn't be that hard to keep a diva like yourself in line, hmm?”

Eddie answers before Miss George has a chance to, the theater now going quiet except for a few snickers from the tech crew. “Alright, that’s enough from the both of you. Eddie, I’ll have our ASM get you up to speed. Now, please continue with the monologue.” The male only grins wider as you glare back, before looking back down at your script with a sigh.

He ventures backstage– not sure what ASM stands for and maybe too embarrassed to ask as he sees kids dressed in black moving wooden planks onto the stage, carrying cans of paints and brushes.

He taps a kid on his shoulder, arranging a prop table, he looks at Eddie like he’s seen a ghost.

“I was looking for the ASM?” The kid is looking side to side, still wondering why Eddie Munson is talking to him.

“Uhhh, she’s in the booth.” He mutters, before turning around and going back to his props. What the fuck is a booth?

Eddie just plainly decides to look for it himself, since nobody’s any fucking help in this school. He opens door after door- a storage closet, a closet just for wood, a bathroom. Arrived at the last door, he isn’t exactly sure he’s ever going to find this stupid ASM- and he still doesn’t know what that stands for.

The noise of a door opening startles you, as you try to put on your dress as quickly as you can to avoid flashing someone. It’s only when you see who it is that you start screaming, and with you, Eddie just pops a hand in front of his eyes, screaming a string of sorries, and that he hasn’t seen anything.

“I was just looking for the booth! Stop screaming!” he screeches, worried he’s gonna get himself in trouble with Miss George if she hears you screaming like you’re getting skinned alive. Thankfully, you stop, as Eddie looks away, aware of your exposed back peeking through the zipper. You clutch the fabric against you, struggling to zip up the back of your dress one-handed.

Eddie makes a whistling sound, distracting himself from the way you seem to be teetering between asking for his help and telling him to fuck off.

“The door to the booth is in the audience, by the way. Off to the side, there’s some stairs.” You huff, slightly getting your zipper up. He goes to turn around, but you stop him. He cocks an eyebrow.

You roll your eyes, lips in a thin line as you keep the door open with one hand.

“Can you make yourself useful and help me with my zipper?”

With an annoyed huff he steps fully into the dressing room, shutting the door behind him as you turn your back towards him once more. Carefully clutching the dress, your eyes meeting his in the long row of vanity mirrors in front of you. You can feel his warm breath on your neck as he steps closer, carefully lifting your hair over your shoulder.

Eddie’s fingers follow the seam of the unzipped garment, barely tracing the bare skin of your back. You try to hold off the shiver from passing through you as he slowly begins zipping it up. A hint of a smirk on his mouth as he notices the goosebumps breaking out across your skin. “Anything else princess? Or am I free to go?”

His fingers now fall away from you, clearing your throat as you try to shake off the arousal that was now coursing through your veins. You wouldn’t let him have the satisfaction of knowing how frazzled he had just made you.

Instead of answering, you just groan, eyes lifted up, going past him and clocking him in the shoulder as you headed back on stage. God you were fucking insufferable.

Eddie finds out that ASM means Assistant Stage Manager and that said ASM was none other than Max Mayfield, roped into doing theatre tech for extra credit. And that the booth was where they tampered with the lights and shit. All he had to do as Stage Manager for that rehearsal was oversee the light cues, which proved to be a little more complicated than he initially expected.

He messes up most of the cues in the first act before he finally seems to have gotten a grasp of it. All the while you’re tossing glares his way, using the light cues as an excuse for the harsh looks. But really it’s due to your annoyance at how the mere brush of his fingertips left you wanting more. Wanting more of him, despite your better judgment– you were not about to have him ruin your senior show.

And in spite of that, you closely follow Eddie’s actions. In a lull between scenes he stands up, you follow him with your eyes as he enters back into the auditorium, beelining backstage.

Eddie’s not totally sure what shit designer built the theatre, because he might as well have pissed himself on the way between the booth and the only bathroom in the auditorium. Not only that, but he kept missing cue after cue, followed by the dirtiest looks known to man, straight into his eyes. After the encounter you had in the dressing room– fingers caressing the soft skin of your back, feeling you shiver under his touch, he knew he had some kind of leverage over you.

So when he’s done taking a leak and looks down at the door, he’s sure you’re behind it, slipping a little piece of paper in the crack.

Meet me in the booth after rehearsal. XX

Eddie wouldn’t say he was nervous, his curiosity was piqued more than anything. However, he’s antsy the last half of the show, leg bouncing as he tries to listen and follow Max’s instructions. The girl gives him an annoyed lecture in between cues. But his mind’s a little preoccupied, trying to figure out what exactly you want from him.

So when he re-enters the dark light booth once everyone else has left, he doesn’t expect you to shove him up against the door, locking it with a swift click. His breath hitches in his throat, both in confusion, and at the fact that you’re fumbling with his belt, despite the dirty looks you’ve been giving him the whole afternoon.

“What uh- what are you doing?” His tone is alarmed, stammering as he tries to grab onto the door handle for purchase. You’re too busy getting his jeans down to bother.

“Sucking you off. That okay?” You look at him for a reassurance that comes almost immediately with a violent nod of his head.

He’s confused, but he’s not going to turn you down. After all, he felt the way you tensed under his touch while he was pulling up your zipper, “Shit, fine by me.” He shrugs, acting like he isn’t busting at the seams waiting for you to pull down his pants.

Eddie’s belt makes a clinking sound, along with his wallet chain while you pull his pants down to his thighs. You move his trembling body away from the door, against the table with the light console. His knuckles turn white as he grabs the edges on the table for support.

Gripping the hem of his checkered boxers, freeing his hardened length. Your eyes widening slightly at the sight of it, he’s big— a lot bigger than you expected. Even in the dim lighting he notices your shocked expression.

“Ya gonna just stare at it all night sweetheart?” He asks, a smug smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he looks down at you. You shoot another glare his way, before grasping the base of his cock in your fist, licking a long stripe up the shaft. Feeling satisfied as you hear his shaky intake of breath. Eagerly you take him past your lips, as a low groan leaves his own.

“Shit,” he curses as your warm mouth envelops him fully, ringed fingers knotting themselves in your hair. You open your mouth as wide as you can, taking him deeper. Gagging slightly as he hits the back of your throat, tears brimming in the corner of your eyes as you try to adjust to his size. He’s by far the biggest one you’ve had.

“Talked such a big game with that mouth of yours sweetness, am I too much for you?” Your fingers dig into the skin of his thighs, his cock slipping from your lips as you pull back.

“Do you ever shut the fuck up Munson?” You huff, but before he can reply with another snarky remark your tongue is swirling around the tip of his cock. Silencing him for a moment as you take him back into your mouth.

Another string of curses falls from his lips, as his hips begin thrusting into your mouth with an abandon you haven’t seen before. Your cheeks are hollowed and he can feel himself getting embarrassingly close.

“F-fuck where- where’d you learn all of this?” It comes out in broken pants, and he can feel a smirk forming on your lips as you take him out a second time.

“One thing about theatre people is that we’re all gonna fuck each other. You should see how I eat pussy,” you shrug, putting him back in your mouth, and Eddie swears he’s about to bust in less than a minute.

“I’m gonna- fuck.” But he doesn’t get to finish that sentence, as you take him out of your mouth and stand back up.

Eddie’s bewildered expression is easy to read as he looks at you like you shot his dog. But you get close, dangerously close to his lips, your nose almost bumping his.

“That’s for fucking up my light cue, idiot,” it’s a feeble whisper against his lips before you’re gone into the darkness of the theatre. Too shocked to react, Eddie’s left with his pants pulled down for a good two minutes before registering what happened.

So he’s left blue balled in that stupid light booth, fuming and confused. There was no way in hell he would let you treat him like that and walk away the way you did.

Eddie had been scheming all week between rehearsals, attempting to find a good time to get you alone. He wasn’t about to let you get away with leaving him like that, but you were actively avoiding him.

But an opportunity fell into his lap without any effort on his part, Miss George asking you to stay behind to work on some blocking with her. As the stage manager he was required to stay behind too, his mind already reeling with possibilities.

So when you duck behind the curtain to change out of your costume, Eddie is quick to swoop in. Offering to shut down the lights and lock up, and Miss George is more than willing to let him.

By the time you get back on stage the theater is dark, the ghost light shining brightly center stage. “Eddie? Miss George?” You call out into the darkness, getting complete silence in return.

“Oh you’ve got to be fucking kidding.” You groan, clutching the strap of your book bag tightly. Of course he’d leave you in the dark theater to fend for yourself. “Asshole.” You mumble under your breath, reaching your hand out in front of you as you make your way across the dark stage.

You’ve bumped into multiple set pieces at this point, as you attempted to find the stairs leading down to the audience in complete darkness. Your frustration grows with each passing minute, that is until you hear the shuffling of feet.

“Hello?” You call out again, squinting as if it would help you see any better. Fear stirs in your gut as the theater is silent once more, shadows seeming to come to life in the corner of your eyes.

Once you finally reach the edge of the stage, you grip onto the railing tightly as you fumble your way down the stairs. Sighing in relief as you feel the carpet beneath your feet.

You only make it a few steps further before you feel a hand snaking around your waist, pulling you back into a hard chest. The other hand cupping itself over your mouth to muffle the scream that leaves your lips.

“Screaming for me already sweets? Haven’t even touched you yet.” His voice is mocking, his warm breath fanning across your neck as he laughs. You quickly squirm out of his grasp, a flashlight clicking on to illuminate his stupidly gorgeous features.

“You fucking psychopath! What were you thinking?” you shove him on the shoulder, he laughs as he zeroes in the flashlight on you, red in the face and furious.

“Had to get back at you for how much of a little tease you were the other day,” he croons. You purse your lips together, a deep blush spreading across your cheeks as you try to stabilize your still quickly beating heart.

“Whatever. Fuck you, Eddie.” You spit, but he’s quick to grab your arm and push it behind your back, the flashlight hitting the ground and rolling under one of the seats. His chest is pressed against your shoulder blades as you shudder in his arms.

“You’re not getting away so easily, sweetness.” He breathes against your earlobe as you keen into the warmth of his chest, his nose buried in the crook of your neck as his free hand goes to your waist.

“This okay?” he murmurs, and you nod. A sharp nip to your earlobe makes you hiss.

“I can’t fucking see you nod, can I?” You can tell he’s having too much fun torturing you, feeling his hand travel all across your torso and chest.

“N-No,” you whimper.

“Exactly. Try that again,” his hand rests against the waistband of your jeans, awaiting an answer, teasing the skin behind the fabric. The tips of his fingers brush the skin there, making you whimper in response.

“This is okay.” you breathe out, and it’s the only answer he needs to slip his hand past your jeans, unbuttoning the offending material to push his hand further down into your pants.

“That’s a good girl,” he whispers against your ear as his hand cups your clothed core. You waste no time grinding against the heel of his palm, letting small, breathy moans escape you. Afraid to get caught in the dead of night getting touched and fondled by the town pariah.

“You sound so pretty singing for me, don’t you sweets?” he whispers smugly. His hand feels a little too good against you, your hips grinding back and forth following the rhythm he was creating, “Hmm, but I think you can be a little louder.”

You gasp as he slips his hand inside your panties, his calloused fingers encircling your swollen clit. Your head falls back onto his shoulder, your hand gripping onto his thigh. His digits dip lower, teasing your entrance before slipping one inside and curling them up.

You can’t stop the shaky cry from leaving your lips, the sound now filling the auditorium. A smirk tugs at his mouth, using the heel of his palm to press against your clit. “Listen to that… you’ve got such a pretty voice don’t you?”

You dig your nails into the denim covering his thigh, a low groan sounding in his throat. “Wonder what it sounds like when you beg,” he easily adds another finger inside your wet cunt, thrusting them deeper. “N-Never gonna happen Munson.”

Eddie laughs, pulling another moan from you as his other hand drifts up under your shirt to cup your breast. “We’ll see about that.”

His breath is fanning hot and humid against your neck as you reach around to bring his head closer, needing him to be closer.

Nothing he’s saying is registering in your brain, as his fingers pump in and out of you with a torturous pace, feeling his wolfish grin plastered against the skin of your cheek.

He’s watching your every move, your every breath and whimper, biting his lip at the way your eyes roll to the back of your head every time his fingers curl up in a certain manner. You don’t think you have much time left before you release yourself all over his hand, and he knows it.

From the way you keep twitching and tightening around his fingers, he feels you’re getting close, but much like you did that night in the booth, he won’t let you get it that easily.

“Y’close sweets?” he groans, his own hips now grinding against the swell of your ass.

“Uh-huh,” is all you can manage to say, brain scrambled from his words and ministrations.

“You know what you gotta do now, don’t you, pretty?” he bites at the hinge of your jaw, as you cry out, the noise echoing in the empty theatre.

“You gotta beg for it.” And he hears you gasp at that, a dry chuckle leaves his lips. “You didn’t think I was gonna make you cum that easy did you?”

“Mmm- fuck you, Munson.” you struggle against your brain’s desire to one up him and your body’s desire for release.

“C’mon, don’t you want to cum? I bet you’re so pent up from a whole day of staring at me building sets, aren’t you?” and he’s right, your eyes did wander to his arms in his tight fitting t-shirt, with his hair tied up in a low bun as he hammered nails into wooden boards.

His fingers speed up and you can feel it, you’re so, so close.

“Please, let me,” you whine into his arm, biting at the muscle there. You’re getting so loud.

“That’s right, keep begging for me– good girl gettin’ nice and loud for me,” it’s a growl at this point, a string of please please please follow it. Tears pricking at your eyes with how intensely good he’s making you feel.

So close, so close–

He removes his fingers, jerking you out of that hazy state you were previously in. The male now removes himself from you, retrieving the flashlight from under the seat. Your chest is heaving as you turn to face him, anger now coursing through you as he grins devilishly down at you.

“How cute, you thought I was actually gonna let you cum with how you left me the other day?” Eddie’s laughter fills the theater as he steps closer to you. Your bodies almost touching, lifting his fingers that were just inside you up to your lips.

The brunette carefully drummed the digits against your mouth, “Now, be a good girl and clean up the mess you made.” You glare as you let his fingers slip into your mouth, swirling your tongue around them in a teasing manner.

You noticed how his breath hitches, his cock straining uncomfortably in his jeans. But there’s no way that you’re helping him out with his little problem now. You playfully bite his fingers that are still in your mouth, as he utters an annoyed ‘ouch’ before taking them back out.

His fingers make their way to your scalp– yanking at the hair, making you hiss. “You think you’re fucking cute? I’ll see you tomorrow after rehearsal,” his tone makes you tremble, as he takes his hand out of your hair and disappears into the darkness of the theatre, leaving you once again in the dark.

You stumble down the side stairs of the stage and get out of the side door, quickly making your way home.

And it becomes a regular thing, you and Eddie blue balling each other to the point of frustration, like it’s a sick and twisted power game you both play. After rehearsal he offers to lock up for Miss George and you wait for him in one of the dressing rooms, or in the dimly lit booth. He’s become irritable, and you have as well.

If you were insufferable before, now you’re downright hateful as you yell at the light crew to stop messing up your spotlight moment, or that your costume felt too constricting or your prop too flimsy.

Everything has you on edge, but you don’t hesitate to meet Eddie every night that week after rehearsal. Maybe he’ll let you cum this time.

You wait for him backstage, sitting on one of the set pieces, a throne. There’s a dim overhead light shining on you. Eddie’s lip is caught between his teeth as he looks at you on his Dungeon Master throne.

“Get up.” he commands. The shirt he’s wearing is tight, it makes his shoulders look more prominent. You squeeze your legs together.

“Why should I? My legs are tired from being on my feet all rehearsal,” you give him a fake pout as he inches towards you.

“Because that’s my Dungeon Master throne,” it sounds funny coming out of his mouth, voice low and gravelly “It’s mine.”

You chuckle a bit at that, how is this man being territorial over a set piece?

“And what if I said no?” a smile trapped in between your teeth, looking up at him through your lashes.

A dry laugh escapes him as he crosses his arms, “You’re so spoiled huh? Think you can always get your way? Last time I checked, this week it’s been the total opposite, hasn’t it?” and he’s not wrong, he’s given you all but what you want.

“This is my theatre, Munson. I believe you’re on my turf.” and he laughs at that, like you’ve said some kind of joke.

“You do theatre, sweetheart, c’mon you can’t be serious.” he kneels in front of you, grabbing your thighs and moving them apart with ease.

“Don’t be a bitch, Munson.” you hiss, as you feel his lips on your exposed thighs, kissing the skin there.

He whistles, low and sardonic. A wicked smile on his lips “That’s rich coming from you, you’ve had that nasty little attitude this whole week.” he continues with his kisses, while his hand ghosts over your inner thigh. Your breath hitches in your throat.

“I wouldn’t have this nasty little attitude as you call it if you would just let me- fuck.” his free hand ghosts over your panties. Your skin is sensitive, your brain is sensitive. Another touch and you might explode.

“Hmmm, what was that?” he bites at the flesh of your thigh, a high pitched whimper falling from your lips “Need me fuck that little attitude out of you sweetheart?”

And you’ve been wound up so tight for the past week that it doesn’t take you long to rid yourself of your panties. He takes advantage of you standing up, plopping down to take his rightful seat on the throne.

That cocky smirk is adorning his features, but you wanted to smack it off. “As cute as you think you look in this seat… it’s always been my throne sweets.”

Before Eddie has time to mutter another snarky remark you’re climbing into his lap, crashing your mouth against his. You’ve learned throughout the past week that it’s really the only way to shut him up.

His ringed fingers dig into the curve of your hips, eagerly grinding yourself against the bulge in his pants. Eddie moans into your mouth, his tongue licking your lower lip. You part your lips, allowing him entry as your tongues fight for dominance.

He tastes like Twizzlers and cigarettes, a combination you shouldn’t find as delicious as you do. But it only seems to make you needier, the denim becoming damp as you continue to grind yourself onto him.

“Look at you making a fucking mess on my jeans,” he mumbles against your mouth, nipping at your lower lip which causes you to whine as he pulls away. His chest rumbles as he chuckles, grabbing your cheeks in his hand— forcing you to look at him.

“But I’d rather you make a mess on my cock sweetheart.” His words have your head reeling, the male now gripping behind your knees and lifting you up. You squeal in surprise, clutching onto his shoulders to steady yourself. “Eddie, put me down.”

He carefully lets you slide down his front until your feet touch the ground, spinning you around before bending you over the armrest of his throne. His hands travel up your bare thighs, taking his time to appreciate your soft skin.

“Are you going to fuck me or not Munson?” You huff, the male now flipping up your skirt and landing a harsh smack on your ass. “So goddamn impatient aren’t you?”

You hear the sound of his belt clinking open, the zipper being tugged down. It makes you clench your thighs together, something Eddie didn’t miss. His fingers dipping between your legs, teasing you further.

“Trained you well didn’t I baby?” You can’t stop your eyes from rolling, despite how your stomach flipped at the word baby.

And you can feel him then, carefully lining himself at your entrance as you try to grind back into him. A firm hand against your hips stops you. “Ready? I’m gonna go slow,” he mutters, and there’s a gentleness in his words, despite his meanness in how he’s handling you.

You hum in approval and brace yourself. There’s a loud groan coming from behind you as he slips inside your warm heat, reveling in how you almost suck him in, a small gasp leaving you from the stretch.

“Big stretch, huh?” he coos in a cocky lilt, and you almost wanna reach around and punch him, but this idiot has your eyes rolling back from the fullness, and he’s not even all the way in yet.

So you nod, followed by a needy little whine that makes him chuckle low in his chest– you need him that much?

He goes deeper, spurred on by your noises, by how much you need him to fill you up. A sardonic smile on his lips as he bottoms out and slams all the way in, causing you to shriek.

Eddie sets a fast pace, not really giving you any time to adjust, but he’s already nudging that spot deep within you, making you see stars.

You hear him groan, “So fuckin’ tight, aren’t you sweets?” and it’s a rhetorical question, because your tongue feels too big for your mouth and there’s nothing coming out of it besides unintelligible whines and moans as you hold on to the armrest across from you.

Your noises only encourage him to go faster, and it’s almost too much the way he’s hitting that sweet spot inside you. You try to distance yourself from him, just enough to catch your breath, but he grabs your shoulders, using them as leverage to ram deeper into you.

He leans over, his clothed chest against your back, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear.

“Goin’ somewhere, baby? Thought you could handle me.” He bites at your earlobe, and there’s just so much going on in your brain that you can’t possibly muster any response to whatever he’s telling you.

“Oh I said that, didn’t I? When we first met. I said I could handle a spoiled little diva like you, and look at that,” he laughs, and you’re sure you’re about to combust. Your fingers reach to grip the cushioned seat of the throne, as another wail leaves your lips.

“Singin’ my praises now aren’t you baby?” The wood of his throne digs into your hips and stomach as he pushes you further into it, a feline movement as he drapes himself off and over you, his hands now gripping the armrest opposite of you for purchase.

Your legs begin to give out, as you beg God or whatever entity up there that he won’t give into his sick little game. That he’ll let you cum this time.

“Shit, sweets, you’re gripping me so tight.” he grunts, a boyish grin on his face as small uh uh uhs fill the room.

“Should we let you cum tonight? We can’t have you being a bitch tomorrow, it’s the end of hell week,” he jokes, and it almost feels humiliating, how he can make fun of you like this and you’re just going to keep fucking yourself back onto him.

“God- Fuck- Please!” you beg, with all the strength you can muster, and he can’t help but let a satisfactory grunt leave his lips.

“Look at you begging, don’t even have to ask now, do I?” and you can feel him twitch inside you. He’s also getting close.

“Ready?” he huffs, with the last little bit of stamina he has, and you can’t brace yourself enough for the wave of pleasure that washes over you with the last few snaps of Eddie’s hips as you come undone with a loud cry, echoing through the dark halls of the theatre.

“Fuck, okay, where should I–” he begins, he’s at his wits end.

“In…side,” is all you can say before he stills himself inside of you, letting his release take over him with a loud groan. His warm cum painting your inner walls, leaving you feeling satiated.

Eddie stabilizes his breath, forehead leaning against your shoulders, days on days of pent up frustration hanging like mist in the air. You’re both able to think clearly for the first time in what felt like forever.

“Jesus Christ,” he huffs, lifting himself off of you as he slowly slips his cock out. You can feel his cum beginning to drip down your thighs, your legs wobble as you attempt to stand. Knees buckling as you try and find your discarded panties.

“Whoa there, I got ya,” he wraps his arm around your waist, holding you against his warm chest. It felt good, leaning against him like that. But you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, “I’m fine Eddie.”

You push yourself off only to nearly fall once more, an annoyed grumble leaving his lips, “Are you always so stubborn?” He reaches down for your panties, guiding you to sit on the edge of the throne so he could help pull them up your thighs.

It was an unusually tender action, and not one that you expected from him. “Thought you didn’t want me sitting here?” You tease, his brown eyes glancing up as he’s kneeling before you.

“I’ll let it slide this one time,” he chuckles, the corner of his mouth lifting in a grin. A dimple you had never noticed before indenting his cheek, another feature that now found annoyingly attractive.

You roll your eyes at him and stand up, “Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow after rehearsal.” You quip, as you try to wobble off the stage, he runs after you.

“There’s no way in hell I’m letting you walk home like this,” and there’s a tender look in his eyes, something close to genuine concern. “My van is out front, I can drive you.” He points in a general direction behind him, and you want to say no so badly.

But you don’t, and now you find yourself being driven home by Eddie. His dingy van smells like cigarettes and weed and it squeaks every time he goes over a bump. There’s loud music blaring through the stereo speakers and an uncomfortable silence between the two of you.

“So uh, you excited for next week?” Eddie’s the first to break the silence, briefly turning towards you.

“I’m actually kinda nervous,” you admit, sinking into the seat. “It’s a big role, big shoes to fill. I guess I’m just scared I’m not gonna be any good.” You chuckle, almost embarrassed at your admission.

“You? Not good? I’ve seen you, y’know? I’m not just staring at your tits during rehearsal. You’re pretty darn good.” He gives you a half smile at that, pulling up next to your house.

You’re a bit flustered by his compliments, finding yourself not wanting to leave his company just yet.

“Thanks, Eddie. I appreciate it,” you smile at him.

“And hey, if you still feel nervous opening night come find me— I’ll help you,” he winks at you and you can’t help but laugh, as you see him looking at you with a big grin on his face.

You look at him back, and God, maybe it’s the streetlights or the moon, but he’s never been more beautiful. In a leap of courage you lean over the dashboard and peck him on the lips.

As you detach from him and reach for the door handle, he pulls you back in deeper, searing and intense, one of those kisses that have your tummy flipping. Except it’s not in the comfort of the theatre, and without an underlying motive behind it.

Just you and him. In his van.

You let your lips part, give him access to your mouth, but he stops you.

“It’s midnight,” he whispers against your lips. “Dress rehearsal tomorrow, you need to rest.” He smiles as you place another peck on his lips. Pouting as you reach for the door handle. He doesn’t take his eyes off of you until you’re inside, seeing the light of your room turn on.

Once he knows you’re safe, he starts his van back up and pulls away from your house with the cheesiest grin on his face.

Opening night. It’s finally here.

You should feel excited, and yet all you want to do is lock yourself in one of the broom closets and hide. You’ve never felt so nervous before, thinking of all the different outcomes that could occur. What if you forget all your lines? Or you have an embarrassing wardrobe malfunction during a quick change?

Your mind is reeling as you enter the dressing room, the rest of the cast buzzing excitedly around you. You fake a smile and sit at your station, noticing the bouquet of lilies resting on the counter top. You can feel yourself flushing, opening the card that came with it.

Break a leg Juliet xx.

You ask around the rest of the cast but no one knows who left them, and while you hoped they came from a certain metalhead… you couldn’t be so sure. Your little cat and mouse game had suddenly turned into something very real, and part of you was afraid it would be over once the curtains closed.

You get ready for the show in a daze, now staring at yourself in the dressing room mirror as nerves rage through your insides. The rest of the cast had dissipated, leaving you alone with your racing thoughts.

“There’s the leading lady,” Eddie’s voice snaps you out of your haze, meeting his eyes in the mirror’s reflection. He must have noticed the look of panic across your features, as he rushes to your side.

You give him a weak smile in return, letting a heavy exhale escape past your lips.

“So uhhh, did you like the flowers?” He asks, and he can see your eyes light up in the mirror, momentarily forgetting nerves, fear and anxiety.

“So it was you,” he coaxes you to face him, kneeling next to you with a large grin.

“T’was I, fair maiden.” He does a half bow from his kneeling position, making you giggle.

“So you’re in love with me now?” You tease, as Eddie’s hands come to rest on your thighs, spreading them as much as he can in your dress before moving in between them.

“I’m literally going to die from nerves, what if I mess up my lines?” you begin, but Eddie seems to have much different plans.

“There she is….” he murmurs, more to himself.

You feel the heat pool in your middle at his words, squirming a little in your seat. Eddie reaches to cup your chin, tilting it down so you meet his gaze. His brown eyes sparkling with mischief, “You know, my offer still stands Lady Capulet.”

“Here? The doors are literally opening in fifteen minutes, don’t you have stage manager things to take care of?” your tone is alarmed, rather, a mix of alarm and excitement.

“My job as stage manager right now is to make sure Juliet feels comfortable enough to go on stage,” he grins, peppering kisses over your hand and wrist.

“But what if we get caught? Or you make me cum so hard I forget my lines?” The nerves make you ramble, as his chin rests on one of your thighs.

“As good as I am at eating you out sweetheart, I doubt that’ll happen.” He bunches the fabric of your costume up your thighs, beginning to give sweet caresses on the skin of your legs.

You seem unconvinced, still.

“Look, I’ll sweeten the deal. If you get all your lines right, which I don’t doubt you will, I’ll take you out on a date.” His lips are pursed in a coy smile.

Your eyes widen, “Like a date date? You and me?” and your heartbeat picks up.

“Who else, idiot?” Eddie laughs, which makes you smile, “Now,” he begins.

“Do you want me to do something about those jangled nerves of yours?” And you can’t help but bite your lip and nod.

His lips begin trailing up your thighs, a shiver running through you from his tender actions. “But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?” He pauses, shifting closer as he switches sides, now leaving open mouth kisses along your opposite thigh. “It is the East, and Juliet is the sun.”

You feel your breath hitch in your throat as he works his way to your clothed center, his eyes flicking up to look at you. “Arise, fair sun and kill the envious moon… and whatever the fuck else Romeo says.” Eddie chuckles before eagerly pressing his mouth against your clothed pussy, his tongue lapping at the wet spot on the cotton.

A gasp bubbles deep in your throat at the sensation, feeling the bliss of his tongue through the cotton barrier, your body easing up from its nervous state.

He looks up at you, “Good, huh?” He hums through the fabric, and you’re wound up so tight you’re already panting.

He taps the side of your thigh to get you to lift your hips, removing your panties in the process.

A low whistle escapes him as you spread your legs for him again, “Talk about eating in costume, baby, jeez.” He chuckles, and the joke makes you laugh too.

A short lived laugh at that, turning into a breathless gasp when his tongue makes contact as he begins to lap up the length of your pussy.

Your hand immediately goes to tug at his curls, not caring that they’re tied up and out of his face to be able to see the cue sheets. The delicious pull at his scalp makes his eyes roll to the back of his head.

A low moan falls out of your lips, catching yourself, hand flying to your mouth as you hear the rest of the cast clamoring outside.

“Gotta be quiet, Lady Capulet,” he snickers as he goes back to burying his face between your legs. His tongue darting in and out of you as a hand reaches for your mouth, wetting two of his fingers.

You don’t hesitate to open up your mouth for him, a bite at the juncture between your pelvis and your thigh, “Atta girl.” He mumbles against the wet skin, popping his fingers out of your mouth to tease at your entrance.

“That’s it baby, focus on me.” A whine escapes you as you’re now grinding on his tongue, his fingers enter you slowly, head thrown back in pleasure.

“You nervous, baby?” He asks, a cocky smile on his face. His fingers curl upward, your eyes squeeze at the overwhelming sensation.

You shake your head, still sentient. Not too far gone yet.

“You gonna use me to get off, my lady?” His fingers are pumping faster, feeling tears brimming on your waterline, hoping to not spill all over your face, your stage makeup seems to be in precarious conditions.

A familiar warmth, deep in the pool of your tummy, “Don’tstopdon’tstopdon’tstop” You know how much he likes to hear you sing for him. His spare hand grabs onto your thigh, rings biting the soft skin there, feeling yourself teetering on the edge.

“Thaaaat’s it, you’re doing so well,” he whispers. One more pump of his fingers and you cum with a silent cry, biting onto your hand, feeling yourself pulsate around his fingers.

Without much warning he slips them out, sucking on his own fingers, tasting your own delicious essence.

“Places!” You hear Miss George say backstage, as Eddie retrieves your panties for you and slips them up your legs.

Eddie fixes his hair in the mirror, tying them back. He places a kiss on your cheek with a hurried, “Good luck— uh fuck I meant break a leg.” Then he furtively leaves the dressing room.

You feel a blush spreading across your body, finally relaxed and ready to begin the show.

You leave the dressing room, joining the rest of the cast, full of excitement. You know all your love monologues are going to be directed towards a certain metalhead tonight.

The show goes smoothly and you don’t forget a single line, you’re surrounded by family and friends, ready to do it all again the day after.

You go back into the dressing rooms to grab your stuff and change, but a long mop of curly hair occupies your chair.

“Eddie, you can’t be here!” you whisper, as he turns around with the biggest smile plastered on his face.

“Just wanted to tell my girl congratulations in private. You smashed it tonight,” you blush at the nickname.

“Since when am I your girl?” you ask, not letting him see how much it affected you.

“Since you kissed me in my van when I dropped you off, gorgeous.” He flirts, bottom lip trapped in between his teeth.

“So, how about that date?”

thank you for reading! comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

tagging: @thornsnvultures, @xxhellfirebunnyxx, @duuhrayliegh, @ali-r3n, @sunnythevampireslayer, @bimbobaggins69, @jamdoughnutmagician, @eiightysixbaby, @aphrogeneias, @daisy-munson, @gravedigginbbydoll, @s6raphic, @take-everything-you-can, @strangerstilinski

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson imagine #stranger things #eddie munson x you #stranger things fanfiction #stage manager!eddie munson x theatre kid!reader #eddie munson fluff

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all-purpose-dish-soap · 4 months

Note

im not sure what it ia, but i LOVE the little remora. i love it i love it i lvoe it

it makes me insane id love to groom ghosts scales, and everyone elses scales. i want to clean soap up, even if he see's poor ol remora as a toy to play with, i just wanna scrub them all up!

(i love this already. i love mer's)

the more shark mer Ghost pushes you away the more you wanna take care of him so so bad <3

you find yourself pouting a lot at Ghost’s surly attitude, darting up and down his big scarred body, as he tries to nap. tries to, but can’t.

it has nothing to do with you. he has these bouts of insomnia. but they make his temper real short.

regardless! you insist he needs to let you groom him. it’s been days. you get twitchy when he makes you skip your daily grooming with him. the rituals. the rituals are intricate.

“i’m trying to rest, you little pest,” he growls. "come back later. or not at all."

you tell him (tartly) that he said that yesterday and the day before.

“i meant it then and i mean it now. go away before i decide to chase you off.”

like he would. he hardly exists during the day as anything but a grumpy seafloor log. you swear you’ve seen bottom-feeders start nibbling on him he’s so inert.

(nibbling on him is your job.)

you settle down on the sand next to him on your stomach. you don't touch him yet, but he's just within reach. you stare at his pale, scarred sharkshin with bright eyes, practically vibrating in place.

he can feel your eyes on him. worse—he can feel the impatient flicking of your tail fin agitating the water as you stare at him. how can such a small creature be so terribly full of want, he wonders. your anxious energy is like too much salt in his gills.

“i will bite you," he warns. “i’m not in the mood.”

rationally, you know he doesn't like to be touched sometimes, no matter how you insist he'll feel better once he's clean. and still your anxious mind won't calm down until you're absolutely sure you've made yourself useful.

you lay your palms on the silt, fingers inching silently closer to him.

he growls, low and dangerous. the one that means he’s run out of patience and is about to make good on his threats.

you jolt and flatten yourself against the sand in instinctive submission. you’re not a threat, see? you’re harmless. you’re basically just a little piece of seaweed, c’mon.

your instant compliance does nothing to calm him. if anything, the sight of your immediate surrender drives him to double down.

he grabs you by the by the nape of your neck and lifts you up to eye level. “i warned you not to touch me.”

your stupid little heart leaps because all his attention is on you now. you want to wrap your hands around his eagerly, want to reach out and touch his chest. but you can only get close enough to skim his chest with your clawtips.

the sensation only makes him tense.

you quickly bring your hands in and wring them, trying to stop being a bother. "please can i—"

he glares down at you, teeth bared. “no,” he snaps. cold, firm, immediate.

but the more he tries to repel you, the more desperately you want to please him. to get back into his good graces. you feel every bit the creature full of anxiety and neuroses he thinks you are--always trying to figure out how to feel useful and stay on the other mers' good side.

he can see that in your eyes—the desperate need to be useful. it’s what he hates most about you. he can't stand how compliant you are at this moment. how desperate. how eager you are to please even after he's been nothing but cruel to you.

he squeezes you. your body thrums nervously in his grip.

“you little parasite. what part of ‘don’t touch me’ is so hard for you to understand?”

all of it. you stare up at him with big, blank eyes.

“you can't get the simplest instructions through your thick skull, can you?"

you shake your head (kind of, best you can) in his grip as a shameless display of agreement. he’s right, you’re stupid. so stupid.

Ghost scowls. eager, willing to degrade yourself at the smallest fucking thing.

"don't tell me you're getting off on this.”

okay! you won’t.

at that, you see the look in his eye shift from anger to something more devious. your response is so quick and willing that he can't help but smirk.

of course. of course you’d comply. no matter how hard he pushes, how cruel he is, you simply ask for worse. you're a little masochist. a nuisance. worse, you’re his nuisance. you insist on being around him, on seeking him out every bloody day.

he tolerates your presence. that's more than anyone else gets. and you take the precious little patience he gives you and wear it threadbare??

he can’t abide that. he can’t let your audacity go unchecked.

"look at you," he hisses. "eager to debase yourself at the first sign of anger. don't you think that's just pathetic?"

you nod enthusiastically.

mindless creature. willing to let him treat you any way he wants if it means attention. pitiful.

"say it," he growls.

you do. you happily tell him you’re pathetic.

“that you are. finally, something sensible out of that pretty mouth.”

you’re wired—fucking blitzed at the mere implication of good girl in his tone.

“and you're my little parasite. mine to do with as i please."

your whole body wants to curl in delight, your tail twisting like an eel in the sand below you as he eases you onto your back.

his eyes rake over you. you are the picture of obedience and submission, all pinned down and ready.

“look at you,” he rasps. “so desperate to please me. you’d do anything i tell you right now, yeah?”

yes. yes. anything.

he leans in and puts his mouth to your ear. "then let me sleep."

then he’s gone.

you lay in the sand in blank, sexually charged confusion.

by the time you slap your tail into the sand to twist yourself up into the water, half-flustered and hot-tempered, you see the ends of Ghost’s chewed-up tailfins disappear into his favorite dark cave.

before you can give chase, the familiar shape of Soap passes overhead, and he's chuckling as he dives down to you.

Soap’s grin widens as he watches your face cycle through frustration, confusion, and irritation.

you can’t believe Ghost would do that to you.

“of course he’d do it,” Soap says. he saw the whole thing.

you bluster and he coos a little teasing sympathy at you, ushering you up into his arms instead. poor wee cuttlefish, he calls you. lays it on thick because he knows you're looking for a place to expend all that pent up energy now.

he whisks you away somewhere more private so you can tend to him instead. groom him all you want. tell him your troubles. maybe let him make good use of your compliant nature. he tells you it’s a good way to make Ghost jealous.

meanwhile, Ghost is finally able to snooze contentedly, dreaming of you, maybe. he does owe you a little thanks for that small catharsis you gave him.

...

more mer au / more Ghost / masterlist tag

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hencheri · 1 month

Note

Mark and cock warming. Maybe he slaps the reader 🫶🏾

18+. mdni.

hard dom!mark :(

mark doesn't fuck slow and steady. he fucks like he can never get enough — fucks like his dick is going to fall off. it never ends without a mess either, whether it's his cum everywhere on your body or the bottom half of his face covered in your arousal, there's always a mess.

but there are those days where mark wants to be intimate, where he needs you as close to him as possible. sometimes he's very tired and he just needs to relax with some cuddles — and in mark's book, cuddling means cock warming.

he swears he doesn't have any dirty intentions, but he's still rock hard just at the thought of having your walls tightly hugging his cock (though, to his defence, he has to be hard to slide inside of you).

so you reluctantly agreed, letting him play with your pussy a little bit to get you wet enough for him. your back is facing him, his pelvis totally flushed against your ass with his arms wrapped around your waist.

surprisingly, mark is very silent, and you're the one who's bothered, face burning hot and teeth sinking into your bottom lip. his cheek is laid on your shoulder, eyes closed, listening to your breathing that is clearly irregular.

you shift a little, creating some friction and getting mark out of his slumber.

he tightly grips your hips, pulling you back on his cock. "stop squirming around," he groans, his breath hitting your uncovered neck, making you shiver slightly.

"sorry..." you mumble back in response, feeling a little embarrassed for not being able to just relax. how is he so calm with your pussy around him? he'd be pounding you down onto the mattress by now.

and just thinking about that has you clenching around mark involuntarily. he definitely felt that.

"baby." he warns you, his fingers digging into the fat of your hips, so, so close to your crotch.

you clench again, and he doesn't like that.

"what did i tell you?" he growls, delivering a sharp slap to your pussy, making you flinch out of surprise.

he takes a hold of your jaw, turning your face to the side so he can look you in the eye. you're speechless, only gulping down as mark looks really pissed off.

"you speak when talked to," he says through gritted teeth, glaring at you with angry eyes, eyebrows frowned. he presses down on your cheeks, and you wince out of pain, forcing your mouth open. "i'm not repeating myself ... what did i tell you?"

"to- to not move!" you say, trying to wiggle your face out of his painful hold, but mark follows your movement, steadying your head in place.

"why are you being a little brat? d'you always need me to dick you down?" he asks, his hand still remaining on your hips inching closer to your heat, nails sinking into your soft skin. "can't think straight with a cock in your stupid, little pussy, huh?"

that's rich coming from him when he's fucking you every chance he gets, but you won't comment on that if you don't want to be in more troubles.

"n-no," you manage to croak out, but it sounds a little sloppy due to your strained neck and mark's hand around your face.

"what was that?"

you inhale, taking in your breath, "no, i can't think straight, so you better fuck some sense into me."

and he chuckles right in your face, the corner of his mouth lifting up into a grin. he eyes you down, looking at your lips before going back up to your eyes.

"want it that bad, huh? little slut."

and he finally pushes you onto your stomach, holding your head down against the pillows. he immediately starts moving his hips back and forth, hard cock sliding between your walls, hitting all the right places that make you scream his name.

he spanks your ass, too, the sound of his skin hitting yours echoing in the room. mark doesn't go easy on you, and he doesn't hold back either, especially not since you quite literally asked him to fuck some sense into you. which he will gladly do.

#nct smut #nct x reader #nct imagines #nct 127 smut #nct 127 x reader #nct dream smut #nct dream x reader #mark smut #mark lee smut #mark lee x reader #nct hard hours

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roosterforme · 5 months

Text

The Younger Kind Part 61 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: The wedding day itself wasn't all that important to Bradley. He just wanted to get to the point where you and he were officially married, and the details didn't much matter. At least that's what he thought before he saw you step out of the house. Then he realized that these were the exact moments he'd never planned for but desperately needed to experience.

Warnings: pregnancy topics, swearing, smut, fluff, and age gap (18+)

Length: 5400 words

Pairing: Single dad!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x babysitter!female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! The Younger Kind masterlist.

Bradley must have been able to tell that you were anxious on Friday evening. It was just a normal day, really. He went to work and dropped Noah off at preschool on the way. You used a vacation day to clean up the house a little bit with the promise that you wouldn't overexert yourself. And you made some snack trays for Saturday afternoon along with a lasagna for dinner.

But to you, it wasn't a normal day at all, because you were getting married tomorrow. Whenever you started thinking about it, you had to stop what you were doing and sit down for a few minutes. When Bradley left with Noah this morning, he kissed you goodbye like he always did, seemingly unfazed by the weekend plans. But now it was hitting you hard. You were getting married.

When the boys got home, they ran inside while Skittles barked at them. "Hi, Mommy! I painted a wedding!"

Bradley scooped Noah up with one arm before he got to you, and Noah brandished a colorful painting that looked absolutely nothing like a wedding, but you took it and exclaimed, 'It's perfect!"

"I know," he replied as you kissed him on the cheek. Then he started to squirm to the floor, and after that, Bradley's lips were on yours.

"It smells good in here," he whispered. Then he really looked at your face and asked, "Everything okay?"

You nodded and kind of half shrugged. "Yeah."

"You and the baby feeling okay?"

"Mmhmm."

He gave you a skeptical look. "We're getting married tomorrow, Baby," he murmured, holding up a cup from the coffee shop. He'd written Princess across it like he always did, and you looked up at his earnest eyes as tears filled yours. "If you've got cold feet, then I-"

"No!" you gasped, reaching for the cup and pressing your body to his. "No," you told him with all of the conviction you had. "I love you." His arm wrapped around your back, and you felt instantly better. You tried not to jostle the coffee too much as you ran your fingers along his cheek and up into his hair. "It's just hard for me to believe I was just your babysitter earlier this year."

Bradley smiled and said, "You were never just my babysitter. God, I wanted you bad. Right from the start. In my bed, and in my life."

You let your cheek rest against his shoulder as you inhaled the scent of French vanilla coffee, and Bradley traced your spine with his fingers until you shivered. "I wanted you just as bad, Daddy."

He kissed the top of your head. "Nothing's changing. You know that, right? We'll just have a little piece of paper saying we're legally married, but nothing is really going to change. We can take a honeymoon next year. We can eventually tell your parents we got married if you feel like it, or not. We can talk about combining the rest of our bank accounts if you want to. But it's still just me and you. Us and Noah and the baby."

"And Skittles."

"Obviously Skittles, too," he said, and of course the dog came running into the room.

As the kitchen timer started going off, you tried to slip out of his grasp, but he held on. "Tell me what's bothering you first."

You buried your face against his neck and inhaled deeply. Bradley smelled like home. "I'm a little nervous. I wrote my vows, and now I think they sound stupid."

"Nothing you say could sound stupid to me."

You groaned and added, "And I'm exhausted by eight o'clock every night now, and we have all these people coming over for the wedding. I look tired all the time."

"You're beautiful all the time. And I'll kick everyone out after dinner. I'm not going to want them here after that anyway."

When you laughed, Bradley started walking with you held against him. The kitchen timer was still beeping, and you didn't want dinner to burn, but you didn't want him to let go of you either. "I just want to adopt Noah and have a million more nights like this one," you whispered, still holding Bradley's hand and the coffee as he pulled the meal out of the oven.

You took a sip of your drink and it was delicious, and so were Bradley's words as he told you, "Then that's what you'll get."

So maybe it was kind of a regular night after all. You cut up Noah's dinner into bite size pieces for him, and Bradley was drawing lazy shapes on your pregnant belly with his knuckles while he ate. Then he cleaned up after he sent you and Noah to the couch to watch Mickey Mouse cartoons.

"Mommy, do you remember when we met Mickey? With Aunt Natasha?"

"I sure do," you said with a yawn. "That was the best day." Then Noah yawned, too, and it didn't take much coaxing to get him into his pajamas and into bed.

"Will you lay with me?" he asked as you tucked him in.

"Just for a minute, because I need to finish a few things for the wedding tomorrow."

You climbed into his bed, and the next thing you knew, Bradley was waking you up with a kiss. "Come on, Baby. Let's get in our bed."

You groaned and let him help you stand, and you ran your fingers through Noah's hair. "What time is it? I still need to vacuum and wash the kitchen floor."

"I already did it," he whispered as he led you out of the room.

You yawned. "I wanted to shower and shave my legs."

"Do it tomorrow. Or don't. I don't care."

"But it's our wedding day."

You let him tuck you into bed, and he slipped in next to you. "It is, Baby. Our almost-Christmas wedding since I couldn't wait until next year. And all I need is my exhausted Princess with her hairy legs for it to be fucking perfect."

You stifled your laughter as he curled up behind you, keeping you warm while you dozed off again with his big hand resting on your belly.

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

When you woke up the next day, Bradley and Noah were already gone. You knew the plan was for them to get ready at Natasha's place while she joined you here to help you with your makeup, but tears stung your eyes as you walked around the empty house. You missed them already, and you wanted them to come back home so you could make Bradley your husband. You decided to take that feeling as a pretty good sign that the wedding was going to be perfect.

The kitchen smelled good, and you found that Bradley left the fancy coffee maker on for you, but you gasped at what else you found. There was a light blue bakery box, and you opened it to find crown shaped donuts with icing that spelled out I LOVE YOU. You moaned softly and picked up the letter I donut and took a bite. You also found the bag from the jewelry shop, and you immediately remembered how sneaky he was the night you picked out the wedding bands.

You shoved the rest of the donut into your mouth and dug inside the bag. Your eyes went wide when you pulled out a tiara. An actual tiara with some purple gemstones adorning it, like an upgraded version of your paper crown. Now you really wanted Bradley to come home so he could see it on. He probably spent a fortune on it, like he did everything else for you, but you were already imagining that it might make its way to bed later.

"It's me!"

Natasha's voice pulled you from your wedding night daydream, and you rushed into the living room where she was already wearing a simple blue dress and holding several bags. "How are my boys?" you asked.

"Great. Excited. Noah already looks adorable. I guess Bradley looks okay."

You were cracking up as she wrapped you in a hug, and that's when you realized you were wearing an old TOP GUN sweatshirt and your underwear. "I need to start getting ready."

"Yes," she replied with a smile and a quick kiss on your cheek.

"And I really need to shave my legs."

"You should do that first."

"Yeah," you replied, laughing as you made your way to the bathroom. "I'll do that first."

Once you were clean from the shower, Natasha helped you into your new set of purple lingerie. You appreciated that she treated it like a business deal, simply saying, "Bradley will lose his mind later," instead of making a big deal about your growing belly. You were sure you'd be marrying him even if you weren't pregnant, but maybe it wouldn't be happening so soon. "Let's get your hair and makeup settled before we get your dress on. Go grab your tiara."

"You know about that?" you gasped, excitement filling you up.

"Please. I know about everything."

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

Perhaps you were a little nervous last night, but now Bradley was the one who could barely handle himself. You were inside the house, but he wasn't even allowed to go in there, and it was killing him. He wanted to see you in the worst way and make sure everything was okay, but instead he and Noah were stuck on the back patio as everyone else started arriving. All he managed to get was a text from Nat with a thumbs up emoji.

"You look adorable!" Bradley turned around to see Penny kneeling in front of Noah, making a fuss over him. "You match with your dad!" It was true, because you had been the one to find the light gray suits and floral purple dress shirts. Bradley simply ordered them and got himself and Noah dressed.

He hated to say it, but the wedding wasn't that important to him. Not really. He would have done a big, overpriced ceremony if that's what you said you wanted. But this was fine as well. All he really wanted was to make it official. The Bradshaws. His family. He didn't need anything else.

As Maverick pulled him in for a hug, Bradley saw some more of his friends from work arrive. Not that he'd ever really consider Jake Seresin a friend, but after he took the seven hundred bucks in tip money, Bradley said it was fine if he wanted to stop by. You were with Bradley now, and you were never going anywhere. He'd see to that. He'd had a lot of time to come to terms with how young you are and how guys were always going to be looking and hoping. If Bradley were less confident in himself or your love, he'd have never made it this far. But here he was, waiting for you to walk outside in your wedding dress so he could take the wedding band out of his pocket and slip it on your finger.

Nat came strolling casually through the back door as Bradley hugged Tracy and Noah played with Amelia. Bradley broke away from his lawyer who congratulated him and assured him that all of the paperwork he needed was in perfect order for today and for the adoption. When he pulled Nat aside and asked, "Is she okay?" he got an eye roll in response.

"She's great. She ditched you and ran away with another man and his adorable son not five minutes ago." Nat smirked at his deadpan expression and said, "You need to learn how to relax. I was just coming outside to tell you that we're ready to get started, okay?"

"Yes," he replied, already scrambling to locate Noah and Skittles. "Let's fucking do that."

Bradley knew the ceremony was going to be short; you and he had designed it that way. Ten or fifteen minutes, and you'd have it in the bag. It would be a done deal. But when Natasha screamed at everyone to be quiet and Javy started playing the song Bradley asked him to, it all felt very real. The music was just the right volume, flowing through the speakers as Bradley held Noah and Skittles in his arms, and it washed over him when he finally saw you. His favorite song, the one you knew immediately back in your babysitter days, had him remembering the way he fell for you. How you picked on him in the best way about all the old music he loved. The way this song made him think only of you ever since he heard you singing it in his kitchen.

And now you were stepping out of his house wearing a wedding dress and the tiara he picked out for you. Your glossy lips only made your smile brighter as you walked across the deck, purple shoes peeping out from the bottom of your dress. It wasn't a long walk along the path to where he was standing, and he'd remember every step you took for the rest of his life.

He grunted softly as he noticed the way your dress was snug enough to hug your bump like you were showing it off, allowing everyone to see what he'd done to you. He knew that the bouquet of purple wildflowers you held in one hand smelled as sweet as you always did, and you waved your fingers at him as you got closer.

"Hi, Daddy," you said with a smile just for him, and he rushed forward a few steps, closing the gap to get to you sooner.

"Princess," he whispered, leaning down to kiss you while Nat balked behind him.

"You're already doing everything out of order!" she said. "The kiss is literally supposed to be the last thing!"

You just laughed and kissed him again before also pressing your lips to Noah's cheek and patting Skittles on her purple bow. "It's okay, Natasha," you told her as you wrapped your free hand around Bradley's bicep and guided him to where she was standing. The song faded away, but you remained next to him as you smiled and said, "It doesn't really matter what order we do this in just as long as I end up married to Bradley."

"Okay, fine," Nat said, opening her notebook in a huff as Bradley set his son and his dog down. Skittles ran off toward Amelia, and Noah stood with his arm around your thigh looking up at you. As you ran your fingers through his son's curls, Bradley leaned in to kiss you again. "Stop kissing. Seriously. Or there won't be a big climax at the end."

The guys all hooted with laughter at what Nat said, including Bradley. "I don't think that will be a problem," you said, lacing your fingers with his.

"It certainly won't be," he whispered. "You gonna keep that tiara on all night?"

You looked a little bashful, but you said, "Of course, I'm a Princess."

When he tried to kiss you again, Nat started snapping her fingers in his face. "Enough. I need to read all of this shit that I wrote down so you can get married, okay? Just stand there for a minute, and keep it in your pants."

You were laughing now as you said, "This is already the best wedding I've ever heard of."

Nat cleared her throat and started reading from her notebook. "Hi everyone. You all know me, and you all know these two idiots who decided they wanted to marry each other, so I'll make this quick. Bradley Bradshaw is my very best friend, and I don't even know why. He's not particularly funny, nor is he the wittiest guy around, and he absolutely can't cook anything."

"Jesus," Bradley said. "Why did I ask you to officiate?"

She chuckled and said, "Because I also have a couple nice things to say about you.... Bradley is a lost cause in many ways, but he's loyal, and he has a cute son. Hi, Noah."

"Hi, Aunt Natasha."

Bradley was shaking his head as you squeezed his hand, and he gave Nat the signal to keep going. "Right, well, here's the other thing about Bradley: he's been there for me for a long time, so any time he needs something, I'm always going to help him. It was easy to see that he was lonely and ready to start dating again at the beginning of this year, and when he said he was falling in love with his babysitter instead of the women he was meeting from the dating app, I told him to go for it. I'd never seen him happier than he was on the days when he got to see you," Nat said, smiling at you.

"Really?" you asked, looking at her before looking up at Bradley in wonder.

"Really," he and Nat said at the same time, and he had to fight the urge to kiss you again. Instead, he ran his fingers along your cheek and didn't take his eyes off you as he asked, "Nat, can I say my vows now?"

You kissed Bradley's thumb as Natasha said, "Clearly you're just going to do whatever you want, so go right ahead."

"Great," he whispered. He had everything he wanted to say written down on a note card in his pocket, but he didn't really need it. With Noah standing in between the two of you, he knew he had everything he needed right here with him. "You still never told me how you did it, Princess."

You looked up at him as he held your hand, a puzzled look on your face. "How I did what?"

He ran his thumb in slow circles along the back of your hand and said, "How you walked into my crumbling life and made everything better."

Your lips twitched as tears filled your eyes, but you were smiling as you said, "There was nothing to fix, really. You and Noah just made me fall in love with you."

"Mommy, I'm hungry," Noah whispered, tugging gently on your dress as Bradley tried to contain his own tears.

"I know," you told him with a watery laugh. "I made you a snack tray, but you need to let Daddy finish talking first."

"See, Baby? We are pure chaos," Bradley told you, reaching down to scoop Noah up again. "We were so much worse before you, though. Thank you for falling in love with us. Thank you for putting up with me. Thank you for being more patient than anyone else I've ever known. Thank you for taking care of us, and for letting us take care of you. All I want is to be with you forever. The four of us," he said, his knuckles grazing your belly. "It's perfect, really. But I can't promise we will ever be less chaotic. All I know for sure is that I'm always going to love and appreciate you. And that it was worth going through all the bad stuff to get to this point. You were the missing piece. You were always the missing piece that we needed."

You nearly dropped your bouquet of flowers as you threw your arm around his neck and snuggled in against Noah. "I love you both so much," you sniffed. "And I don't even think you're chaotic at all. Being around you is the calmest I've ever felt. Like I know you'll protect me and make sure I'm comfortable. I started falling in love as soon as I met you both, and I keep falling in love a little bit more all the time. And I will never take this for granted, because I never expected anything this good to happen to me."

"I'm still hungry," Noah whispered loudly, clearly concerned everyone had forgotten about him.

"I know, sweet Noah," you said as you laughed and cried at the same time. "And I'm going to take care of you forever, okay?"

Bradley watched you kiss his forehead as Noah said, "I got you a coloring book. It's Princesses."

"Of course you did," you told him as your voice cracked. "You're the best." You were crying more now, but you looked so happy.

Even Nat was wiping at her eyes as she said, "Are we ready for the rings then?" When you both nodded at her, she pulled Bradley's wedding band out of her dress pocket and handed it to you. "Just put them on each other. Oh my God, I didn't think I would cry."

Javy handed Nat his handkerchief as you took Bradley's hand in your smaller one and slid the thick band into place. Then he kept his eyes on yours as he and Noah did the same with your diamond wedding band. You let your hand slide up Bradley's arm and settle on his chest. Your eyes were focused on his, and the purple gems in your tiara were catching the sunlight. You were flawless. You were his wife. Almost.

"Nat?" he asked, covering your hand with his own and pressing it against his heart. "Are we married?"

"Oh, right," his best friend replied as you laughed softly and bit your glossy lip. "Yeah, according to me and the state of California, you're married. You already kissed and messed that entire part up, but you can kiss again, I suppose."

He handed Noah to her, and your lips came crashing to his as he wrapped one arm around you. This other hand settled against the side of your belly where the baby was growing, and he heard everyone cheering in the backyard. You were right, this was the best wedding he'd ever heard of as well. "I love you, Princess," he murmured against your lips, the sweet smell of wildflowers everywhere as you deepened the kiss again.

Then you pulled away and whispered, "I'll love you forever, Daddy."

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

With two rings on your finger and your husband standing behind you, kissing your neck to the point of distraction, you tried to pull Noah's tray of ants on logs out of the refrigerator. "Daddy!" you gasped when his hand slid up from your belly to your breasts which did look pretty great in your wedding dress.

"Hmm," he hummed, giving you a little squeeze. When you whimpered softly he made a suggestion that you almost agreed to. "Let's sneak off to our bedroom for a few minutes. I want to play with my wife."

That word made you giddy, and you could feel every inch of Bradley's strong body pressed against yours. When you glanced outside, you saw your handful of wedding guests, dancing and playing with Noah. It was very tempting. Nobody would miss you, but everyone would know where the two of you went and why. "How much longer until you can kick everyone out?" you asked softly.

You felt him shrug behind you as he said, "The caterers will be here shortly, so probably about two hours before I can demand everyone leaves."

"Damn it," you said, pulling the snacks out of the fridge and unwrapping them. "I just want to take you and a slice of wedding cake to bed." You thought back to Noah's birthday party and the horny kitchen sex with the leftover cake.

"I'll feed it to you, and then I'll fuck you so good," he crooned, and you were about to tell him to send everyone home now when dinner and the cake arrived.

"Mommy!" Noah shouted through the back door, apparently no longer worried about his healthy snack since the sweets arrived. "Come look at the cake I picked out!"

You turned around in Bradley's arms, and he looked delighted to be presented with your baby bump. "You let Noah pick out the wedding cake?"

He winced in response as he ran his hand along your belly. "Yeah... about that. I'm really sorry."

You grabbed his left hand, his wedding band smooth against your skin where his fingers were usually a little rough, and you pulled him back outside with Noah's snack. "I don't know if I should be scared or-" You gasped when you saw it. "Oh my god, Bradley. It's perfect!"

The cake had two tiers. The bottom was decorated with white buttercream and a bunch of green and brown dinosaurs. The detail was amazing. There was even a volcano. The top tier was decorated with purple flowers and topped with a knight holding hands with a princess that looked a lot like you. The two layers looked pretty ridiculous together, but it was beautiful.

"I love it!" you squealed, making sure Amelia took some pictures of it for you. Actually, everyone had been doing a pretty great job of capturing the afternoon on camera. After dinner, when you cut into the cake and fed a bit to Bradley, Nat took a video of you smearing some of the purple icing all over his lips and mustache. He looked startled as you started laughing before kissing him.

"You'll pay for that later," he promised, holding you close while someone queued up his favorite song again for you both to dance to. But he wasn't complaining when your mouth was on his for most of the song, tasting all of the sweetness on his lips.

The afternoon was kind of crazy, and Bradley held onto you the whole time, only releasing you so you could dance with Mav and then Javy. And then all it took was one yawn out of you, and your husband was clearing everyone out of the backyard. Noah was all pumped up with too much sugar, but luckily he was going home with Penny and Amelia for the night. And lucky for you, your husband was as sweet as the wedding cake.

"Let me help you out of your dress," he whispered, setting butterflies off in your belly as he carried you inside the kitchen. "And I'll get your tiara out of your hair so you can get some rest."

"But I don't want to rest," you said, licking at a bit of icing that still clung to his mustache. "I want my husband."

He paused in the middle of the kitchen, eyes closed as you dragged your fingers through his hair. "Say it again, Baby."

"Husband," you whispered, kissing the prickly stubble on his jaw. "Please?"

Bradley just grunted in response, slid the door shut with his foot, and carried you all the way to bed. Once he had you spread out, you watched him make quick work of removing his suit coat and purple shirt. "Did you pick out this dress on purpose because of the way it shows off your bump?" he asked, kicking off his shoes. "That sounds like the kind of thing my wife would do to make me go insane for her."

"Maybe." You felt silly there in your tiara and high heels, but oh... the way he was looking at you. Bradley climbed into bed where you were being careful not to put your feet on the bedding, but you didn't need to worry for long. He took your ankles in his hands and placed them over his shoulders, stroking his hands up and down your thighs.

"Tell me what you want to do instead of resting, Princess."

The fabric of your dress was bunching up around your hips, and you knew the moment he saw your purple lingerie, because his knuckles connected with your core through the lace as you moaned, "I want my Daddy."

Bradley kissed the inside of your knee and caressed your thigh until you shivered. "Want me to do what?" he crooned, leaning down to kiss your lips. You could still taste the icing from the wedding cake when you ran your tongue along his mustache, and even though you knew what you wanted, you still felt shy asking for it.

When Bradley reached back to gently take your shoes off and toss them aside, you whimpered his name. He worked the zipper down the side of your dress and helped you shimmy out of it, and then you had your legs spread before him in just your tiara and purple lingerie. He looked sinful in his suit pants with his erection bulging and his wedding band on his finger as he said, "You're my wife. You get anything you want. Especially when you're wearing this."

You coaxed him closer so he was on top of you, and his length was resting on your core as you whispered, "I want you to make me squirt."

He groaned as he got to work like it was absolutely at the top of the list of things he wanted, too. "My pleasure, Mrs. Bradshaw," he murmured against your lips, and you were already clenching as soon as his fingers tucked inside the front of your underwear.

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

Bradley let you be as loud as you wanted. In fact, he was trying his damndest to get you louder and louder. You were his wife now, and Noah was gone for the night. Skittles seemed to have retreated to the kitchen for some solace as Bradley buried his face in your ass and pussy, legs spread open wide and shaking.

You cried out, "Daddy," over and over again as he changed his tempo from luxuriously slow to rough and fast. You wanted to squirt? Well he wanted you to soak the fucking bedding until you were crying. Every time he looked up at your face, he saw the swell of your growing belly, and he couldn't stop himself from grinding his cock against the bedding.

"Fuck," he growled, watching the rings on your fingers as you grasped at the pillow beneath your head. He could tell you were getting close as he brought you to the edge and then let his pace slowly fade away one more time, and when he slipped two gentle fingers inside you while sucking on your clit, you screamed his name. You soaked his face and hand, and he was afraid he was going to cum in his suit pants as your thighs clamped around his head, riding him through your orgasm.

"Oh my god, oh my god," you panted, sitting up in a bit of a daze even as your legs went limp. Your tiara was crooked, and your makeup was smeared, and Bradley couldn't get enough of the sight of his sated, pregnant Princess. Your eyes met his, and you smiled through your daze, sitting there on the wet bedding with your left hand resting on your belly. Meanwhile Bradley was a different kind of mess, trying to get his zipper down and alleviate his aching cock.

"Let me help you," you whispered, putting your hands on his wet ones before taking over for him. "Want me to go down on you?"

Bradley shook his head as you eased his pants and underwear down his legs and took his cock in your hand. "Baby, I want to fuck you. It's our wedding night, and I want to be inside you."

A soft yet determined look settled on your face, and somehow he ended up sitting in the wet spot with you straddling his hips. You didn't seem to care that his forehead was covered in a sheen of sweat and that he wasn't going to last very long. You just sank down around him, rocking gently as he whispered, "I don't want to hurt you. Either of you."

"I know," you replied, kissing him and brushing his hair back from his face. "I know, Daddy." He came with you just like that, your lips and hands gentler on his body than any touch he'd ever known before you. Your voice as soothing as his favorite song. It was no wonder he was so in love with you. It was no wonder he and his son couldn't live without you.

After he got you cleaned up and carefully removed your tiara, you fell asleep in his arms as he reminded you that in a few days, you and he would be finding out the sex of the baby after you adopted Noah.

"You're already the best wife and Mommy. I can't wait for number two."

"I love you."

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

It's official! Bradley married his babysitter! Noah is on his way to officially having Princess as his Mommy, and we will learn more about the baby so soon! Two parts of this series left! Thanks for reading and interacting and making this so much fun to write! Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 62

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athenamikaelson · 2 months

Text

Klaus Mikaelson x Soulmate!Reader x Elijah Mikaelson Pt. 11

Word Count- 3.8k

Warnings- Mentions of Suicide(Damon trying to die because of his wolf bite), swearing, death, blood, gun/gun-shot wounds, smaller chapter but big things happening cliffhanger ending

“Yes, Elena. Once again, I’m fine. I have to go run an errand and then I’ll see you guys at the square. OK? Toodles!”

I quickly hung up my phone, just in case Elena decided to ask what errand I was running. How the hell am I supposed to tell her I’m going to try to talk a dying Damon Salvatore off the ledge?

It’s been two days since Demon dropped the bomb that he was dying and then disappeared. He hasn’t answered my calls and whenever I ask Stefan about him he says “I’m working on it.” Not well enough, clearly, because the Bunny Eater called me 30 minutes ago telling me Damon just tried lighting himself on fire and he needs my help talking him down. I’m not sure why I’m the one he called for this since I’ve heard Damon on more than one occasion say he’d rather die than listen to me speak.

Damon and Stefan have made me keep quiet about this, so no one else but us three knows. Which is why I fibbed a bit on my phone call with Elena. I’m not entirely on board with keeping this a secret. What do the Salvatores think is going to happen when the werewolf bite kills Damon? Just tell everyone Damon went upstate to a farm, just like what parents tell their children when their turtles or dogs die.

Although Damon and I have had our differences, I can admit the thought of him dying doesn’t sit well with me. Especially since he got bit trying to stop the ritual. Even though it didn’t stop it, it did save Tyler and Caroline. Who I guess was replaced by that bitch Jules and some random vampire Klaus had in his back pocket.

I take a deep breath as I exit my car and walk up to the front door of the Salvatore house. I don’t bother knocking since everyone kind of just lets themselves in when it comes to this place. I’m about to call out for Stefan but within a moment he’s flashed in front of me.

“Oh good lord,” I clutch my chest in surprise. At this Stefan’s eyes widen and he reaches out to me.

“I’m sorry, Y/n! Is it your heart again? Do you need anything? Here take some of my blood,” Stefan frantically says.

I put both of my hands up and shake them, “Stefan calm down dude, okay? I’m good, you just scared me. I’ve got to start getting you vamps little bells to wear around your necks.”

Stefan slightly laughs but I can still see the weariness in his eyes.

“Really Stefana, I’m good.”

Stefan sighs and nods, “Sorry, I just…with everything going on I’m just…,” Stefan rubs his hand over his face and now I can clearly see the exhaustion and sadness on it.

I take a step closer and wrap my arms around him in a hug, “It’ll be ok, we’ll figure it out, alright?”

Stefan doesn’t say anything but I feel him nod as he wraps his arms around me tighter as if me hugging him is the only thing keeping him grounded. And after seeing his older brother trying to light himself on fire, it might just be.

After another moment Stefan releases me and smiles at me but it doesn't reach up all the way.

“He’s down here,” He says and I follow him down to where Elijah was when he was daggered.

At the thought of the Original my heart sinks. It’s been three days since I’ve seen or heard from him. Each time I hear my phone ring a small part of me expects it to be him with his stupid posh accent telling me he’s sorry for ghosting me, but every time I answer it’s never him. I’ve tried to distract myself with hanging out with the girls, or Theo, and even the occasional phone call with Jenna who talks to me a lot now about the supernatural since we both learned about it recently. Bonnie and I have also been going through her deceased Gram’s grimoires and things to see if we can find anything on why my chest bled and then magically healed itself, but nothing comes up. It’s disheartening but Bonnie says she won’t stop searching until she’s found the reason. Our time together has made me realize just how good of a friend Bonnie is. She’s loyal and kind and she’d fight for her friends until her dying breath. Which is sadly something she has already done once. I really like hanging out with her and her teaching me more about her world. I may not understand much about witches but it’s nice to see how excited she gets when she talks about it.

“Are you going to be good down here by yourself,” Stefan leans down to whisper to me.

“What,” I question now realizing he’s been talking this entire time.

“I have to go to the square to go speak to Elena but after I’ll be back. Just whatever he says, don’t let him out. Ric should be here soon too. He can take your place when he gets here.”

I do a soldier’s salute and he rolls his eyes as he walks back upstairs. Leaving me and Grumpy down here by ourselves. The door that separates us is big and wooden with a small window that has three metal bars. I look through and frown when I see Damon scrunched up, sitting on the far side of the room.

“Are you going to eat me if I come in?”

“Drinking your blood would be a fate worse than death,” Damon’s scratchy voice speaks up after a moment.

I roll my eyes as I unlock the door and push it open, I quickly make my way inside and close it. I lean against the door and cross my arms as I look at the dying vampire in front of me.

“Stefan really thought you of all people would be the one to talk me off the ledge,” Damon grunts out as he puts his head up to look at me.

“That’s exactly what I said. I told him you’d be more likely to do it again after hearing me speak,” I laugh out.

Damon’s upper lip twitches for a moment and he lets out a strangled laugh, “You’re not wrong.

We’re both quiet for a moment before Damon speaks up again, “I’m going to die.”

I take a deep breath and sit down against the door mirroring Damon, “At the moment, yes you are.”

Damon raises an eyebrow at me, “So you’re not going to fill me with fairy tales about some special cure and that by tomorrow I’ll be fresh as a daisy?”

I shrug my shoulders, “Is that what you want me to do?”

Damon stares at me for a moment and then shakes his head, “No, I don’t.”

“Alright then. Works for me. You know, Stefan called me to try to talk you down because he thinks what you did was crazy. But… I understand why you did it.”

This captures Damon’s attention as he stares questioningly at me, “You do?”

I nod as I play with a loose thread on my shirt, “Ya. You’re scared. And in pain. You think this is the only way out, but it isn’t. And I’m not saying that because of some magical cure. I’m saying that because you still have time left to say your goodbyes and to be with those who actually care about you. Even though you’re an actual hellspawn. I know that this is scary, you’ve been alive for over a century and now you’re facing mortality for the first time in years. I would be scared too.”

Damon’s jaw clenches and for a moment I think he’s mad but when I see him turn his head to stare at the wall next to him I realize he’s trying to hide his emotions.

“Damon you can stare at that wall all you’d like but I meant what I said.”

At the sound of footsteps, I stand up.

“Ric’s here. Try not to be such an ass to him. You’re kind of like his only friend,” When he doesn’t make any noise about my joke I frown and start to unlatch the door, “I’m glad I met you, Damon. I don’t tell a lot of people that, but it’s true. Thanks for bringing out a fire in me I didn’t know I had.”

Damon says nothing and I quickly wipe a stray tear from my face as I open the door.

“I’m glad I met you too, Y/N. Even though you’re a pain in the ass,” I turn and make eye contact with Damon, and even though the room is dark, I swear I can see small tears building in his blue eyes, “I don’t believe in next lives or whatever…but if they somehow exist, I wouldn’t mind meeting you again in that one, Pukey.”

I let out a small sob as I run over to the seated man and throw my arms over him. He lets out a grunt of surprise and after a moment he wraps his arms around me and I can feel the dampness from his tears on my shirt.

“If you tell anyone about this I’ll kill you,” He tries to threaten but his voice comes out strained so it doesn’t hold much punch.

“Ya whatever, Demon.”

—

It’s night by the time I get to the square for whatever movie night the town’s having. Elena asked me to come earlier since she says everyone needs a break from all the chaos that has happened. I’m not excited to see how she’s going to react to the news about Damon. But for now, I’m grabbing my fluffy blanket and walking towards my friends and watching this stupid movie.

Jenna, Jeremy, Bonnie, and Caroline all sit together talking as I walk up behind them.

“Hey guys,” I say and they all spin around to look at me. Bonnie and Jenna both send me warm smiles and waves, Caroline hops up and guides me over to the group talking my ear off already, and Jeremy tries to send me a smile but that dude looks like he would rather be anywhere else.

“What errand took you so long,” Caroline questions.

“Oh, Theo just needed some help bringing back his football gear and stuff. I guess the coach has been bothering him to get it back for weeks since the season ended,” I say which isn’t a total lie since I did do that after leaving the Salvatores.

“How is Theo,” Jeremy asks.

Ever since the funeral Jeremy and Theo have been gaming together. When I asked Theo about it, he said he was doing it out of pity and that someone as cool as him wouldn’t hang out with an emo like Jeremy. But after passing by Theo’s room and hearing him and Jeremy laugh and make fun of each other over call, I don’t think Theo is really doing this out of pity anymore. After moving here and with everything that has happened with our parents it’s been hard for Theo to make friends. Even though he says otherwise. I know he has people to hang out with at school, but it’s all brainless jocks who probably don’t even care to know my brother’s favorite color. He needs a good friend like Jeremy in his life.

“Theo’s good. Even though he was pissy this morning because he says you cheated last night,” I admit to him as I sit down next to Jenna and Caroline.

Jeremy shoots me a look of disbelief, “I did not cheat! That jerk! He’s the one who cheated,” Jeremy lifts up his phone and starts angrily texting someone. A someone, who I’m guessing is my brother.

I look around noticing the absence of my best friend, “Where’s Elena?”

They all look at each other wearily before Bonnie grabs my hand, “You might want to prepare yourself for this.”

I look at her confused for a moment and whisper, “Is this about the Damon thing?”

“You knew?!’’

“What?”

“Excuse me?”

“Bro!”

They all yell out and I raise my hands in surrender, “Hey! Stefana and Demon made me keep quiet. They didn’t want to stress anyone else out more.”

“How long have you known,” Caroline asks me and I grimace, “Like… since John’s funeral.”

“Y/N!”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! It just wasn’t my place to say.”

They think about this for a moment before nodding.

“Elena went to go talk to Damon and Stefan is off trying to find a cure,” Bonnie says.

“Let’s hope he finds one in time.”

We all quiet down after a moment and go back to watching the movie, but 5 minutes later I feel a tap on my right shoulder.

I shoot Jenna a questioning look as she leans down to whisper to me, “Anything from Elijah?”

I just send her a small shake of my head and she returns it with a comforting smile and a squeeze to my shoulder, “His loss then.”

Over the past few days of Jenna and I talking about the supernatural, we’ve also been chatting about other things like school and relationships. It took me a while to open up but after I did I brought up Elijah. Talking to Jenna about Elijah, and everything that’s happened with him has actually made me feel somewhat better. Jenna’s been more of a mother figure to me these past three days than my own mother has in almost 18 years.

Out of the corner of my eye, Jeremy quickly stands up, capturing all of our attention.

He hangs up the phone and turns back to us with a nervous look, “Damon escaped and Elena wasn’t there yet so Ric thinks he’s coming here to see her. Ric says the bite is making him hallucinate so he’s not himself right now.”

“Fantastic,” I mutter to myself and Jenna slightly elbows me and shoots me a disapproving look.

“If Damon is off the rails, there is nothing you can do to stop him. Let us take care of it,” Bonnie gestures towards herself, and Caroline and I want to groan at this. It’s really starting to piss me off how the supernaturals keep pushing us humans away every time we want to help. Just because we don’t have super strength or heal within a split second doesn’t mean we’re useless.

“You keep doing this! You left me behind before, and guess what, Elena was still killed,” Jeremy exclaims to his girlfriend, “I’m going to find my sister. You go ahead and try to stop me. Y/N, Jenna, you with me?”

Jenna instantly nods and I shoot a look at Bonnie and Caroline before walking towards Jeremy, “Let’s go.”

—

“There he is!”

I follow behind Jeremy as we see a wounded Damon staring off into space. Jenna left a while ago to go find Ric, leaving Little Gilbert and I to try to find Elena. “Damon,” Jeremy tries catching the attention of the delusional vamp and I watch with caution.

“Where’s Elena? I need to see Elena now,” He frantically says and I send him a smile as Jeremy walks closer to him.

“Hey, let’s get you out of here first, alright,” Jeremy grabs Damon, who instantly falls into his arms. I go to the vampire’s other side and grab his arms trying to help Jeremy with the deadweight.

After a bunch of odd stares and murmurs from passersby, we finally get Damon through the crowd and into the empty Grill.

Jeremy drops Damon off at a table and goes to tell Ric where we are. I’m still holding onto Damon's arm as I watch Jere, but turn around when I feel Damon do the same. And I freeze.

“Y/n, move I don’t want to hurt you,” Sheriff Forbes stands in front of us holding her gun and pointing at Damon.

I go to try to reason to her but Damon flashes away, spooking Liz and all I hear is the sound of a gun and a piercing in my left arm.

“Oh god,” Liz looks at me for a moment in shock but when she looks behind me her features go straight to fear.

A strangled sob escapes my mouth as I watch Jeremy fall to the floor, his once-grey shirt turning red, as blood spills from his chest.

“What the hell did you do,” I scream at Liz as I run over to Jeremy with tears in my eyes.

I strip off my sweatshirt and place it over his bleeding chest.

“Come on Jeremy, you’re going to be alright,” I sob, “You’re going to be alright Jere,”

Another sob comes from my mouth as Jeremy’s shaking hand grabs mine for comfort.

“I know this hurts but I have to keep pressure on it, okay. You’re going to be just fine.”

I can hear Liz call for paramedics as she tries to move my hands so she can hold down the sweatshirt.

“Don’t you dare,” I snarl at her and she sits back.

“Jeremy…Hey! Jere,” I shake my head as he closes his eyes.

Bonnie and Caroline rush up to us and Caroline gently sets me back so she can try to help Jeremy. I sit there with silent sobs as I watch Bonnie tell Caroline that Jeremy’s ring won't bring him back since the sheriff is human.

Caroline bites into her wrist and places it onto Jeremy’s mouth, “Go on, Jeremy. Drink.”

“What are you doing,” The sheriff questions her daughter even though she is not the one who should be speaking at all right now.

“I’m helping him.”

I sit there with tears in my eyes as Jeremy doesn’t wake up and I know it’s because he’s dead. The others must realize this too because they all sit back with sobs of their own. The sound of a door opening captures my attention and I look up to see Ric and Jenna staring over at us.

“Bonnie what’s wrong,” Ric asks as he and Jenna run over to us. As soon as they see Jeremy though they halt. Jenna instantly falls to her knees crying and I crawl over to her ignoring the shooting pain in my arm. I grab her into my arms and she instantly latches to me and sobs into my shoulder.

“I know what I need to do,” Bonnie says aloud as she stands, “I need you to grab him. T-Take him with us.”

“No, no, no, no. You can’t move him. This is a crime scene,” Liz tries denying which has me wanting to smack her. Jeremy’s dead all because of a prejudice she has.

“Mom, just let them go,” Caroline tells her mother and Liz stands up so Ric can grab Jeremy’s body.

“Okay. Alright, come here, buddy. I got you,” Ric says and I hug Jenna tighter.

—-

Bonnie sits in front of us chanting over Jeremy’s body. Candles around us burn hotter as Bonnie shakes her head, “No.”

“What? What is it,” Ric asks.

“They’re angry at me for coming back here. They don’t wanna help.”

I shake my head in denial.

“Well, they have to.”

Bonnie looks at Jeremy with tears in her eyes, “They said there’ll be consequences.”

“Well, he’s just a kid. Tell’em to shut up.”

Bonnie continues chanting and the witch house starts to shake.

“Emily! I know you’re there. Please help me. I love him.”

Jenna, Ric, and I watch in silent horror as everything stops and Jeremy is still lifeless. Bonnie cries holding him and Jenna crawls over to her dead nephew.

I look down at Jeremy and let out a sob of relief as I see him flutter his eyes open.

I sigh deeply as I watch Jenna and Bonnie hug Jeremy.

“Y/N?”

I turn to Ric who is staring at my arm, I watch as he slowly lifts his fingers and touches my shirt. I fight the urge to groan in annoyance as I look at the fresh blood on his fingers.

“Anyone want to take me to the hospital?”

—

“OK, so it appears you’ve lost quite a bit of blood,” The doctor tells me as he tapes gauze over the gunshot wound on my shoulder. I have a gunshot wound. I was shot. What the hell?! Somehow the bullet that killed Jeremy went right through the upper part of my shoulder.

Ric and Jenna had dropped me off about an hour ago. They insisted on staying, but I told them my mother would be here soon and they should get back to Jeremy.

“We’re going to have to give you some blood. Do you happen to know what you’re blood type is? It appears that on your medical records, your mother and father’s blood types are listed but yours isn’t.”

I shake my head, “I’ve never had to get blood drawn before so I don’t know.”

The doctor nods, “That’s fine. We would give you the universal donor blood but for some reason, we’ve had a shortage in blood lately,” I nod along as if I don’t know exactly why that is, “But we’ll take some of your blood and do a test then find out what your type is.”

I nod and thank him.

“We called your mother but it seems she can’t get out of work and your father didn’t answer. Is there anyone else you’d like to call to be with you?”

My heart hurts as I think about how both my parents couldn’t bother to come to see their own daughter in the hospital, “Um...no thank you. I’m alright.”

The doctor sends me a smile, but he looks almost as hurt about my parents not being here as I am. Tell me about it man. I watch silently as he takes a vial of my blood, tells me he’ll have my results soon, and then leaves.

Great who the hell is going to drive me home?

—

I’m awoken by a small shake to my uninjured shoulder. I squint my eyes to see the doctor from before looking down at me wearily.

At this, I try to sit up but waves of pain stop me.

“Don’t move sweetheart it’ll just rip open your stitches,” The doctor gently pushes me back down. But the look on his face makes me nervous.

“Is everything ok,” I question.

The doctor is silent before he shows me a blood bag, “I was able to find a match for you, but… your blood type is Type B,” His tone and words confuse me. Wouldn’t he be relieved he was able to find me blood?

“I don’t understand,” I shake my head in confusion.

“I don’t know if I should be telling you this without a parent present. I could be fired,” He says to himself as if he’s fighting some internal battle.

“Please… what are you talking about?”

The doctor places a hand on my shoulder and frowns at me, “Your mother’s blood type is Type A, and your father’s is Type O,” At the confusion still clearly on my face he sighs, “Genetically those two blood types combinations can only produce Type A and O children. So…”

My entire world seems to come down crashing on top of me as he finishes his sentence.

“You can’t be related, biologically, to your father.”

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prentissluvr · 3 months

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you'd dance with me? — sam winchester

for : 200+ followers event [ closed ] ➖⟢ pairing : sam winchester x gn!reader ➖⟢ genre : fluff, light angst ➖⟢ cw : reader gets sort of stood up, alcohol, reader is tipsy, swearing, (not) unrequited love, barely edited ➖⟢ wc : 1.4K prompt : telling them they deserve better (and silently wanting to be the one who gives it to them)

the man from the bar, james, isn’t your exact type. no one is except for sam, because you’re irrevocably in love with him. but since you can’t have him, and you’re dying to have a fun night without every second being consumed by thoughts of him, how much you love him, and how much you’re sure he doesn’t love you back, you turn to flirting with the nearest handsome single man.

and that means james. james has been nice enough and asked you to call him jamie, because “that’s what his friends call him.” dean gave you an impressed look as you walked past with “jamie” on your arm, and you winked at him, feeling playful and hopeful for a fun night after a tiring hunt. dean grinned back and sam barely gave any indication he noticed you before you settled at the bar and launched into a decently boring conversation with james about his corporate job and the fake life that you spin up for him.

that was over half an hour ago and it’s been at least twenty minutes since james excused himself to the bathroom with the promise that he’d be right back. you know he’s not coming back, but you stay rooted to your seat anyway.

it takes a few more minutes before sam appears, taking the previous man’s spot by your side.

“he left, didn’t he?” you ask, forlorn and not even bothering to look at sam as he settles next to you. sam cringes and nods. you sigh, not having to turn your head to see the movement through the corner of your eye as he confirms your suspicions. sam wonders if he should tell you that the asshole left with someone else. you deserve to know, but he’s hyperaware that it’ll only add to the sting.

he takes in the look on your face and the empty shot glass that you fiddle with, and he immediately knows that you’re much more upset by this than you normally would be. of course, the situation is completely shitty, for anyone, but on any other day, you’d probably brush it off by looking for someone better or heading back to sit with him and dean for some fun with them (if dean’s still around by then). today, you’re alone and at least an extra shot or two in since the guy left, likely making you more tipsy than you intended to get tonight. more than that, the frown on your lips is easy to see and read, far different from the smile you normally give him when you’re pretending not to care. tonight you don't attempt hide it.

“you okay?” he finally asks. you sigh again and surprise him a bit by dropping your head on his shoulder. this kind of touch between the two of you isn’t abnormal, but these days it feels like you’re avoiding it a little, which sort of kills him. it takes you a moment to answer, but when you do, sam’s heart clenches.

“i just wanted to dance with someone tonight.” your voice is sad and candid from the removal of your filter by the alcohol in your system. for a moment, sam is blindingly angry with the asshole that stood you up, and he has to hold back a vehement curse before recentering his focus on you and the sad pull between your eyebrows. he just clenches his jaw and lets you say what you need to before he lets any of the million things he wants to tell you fall from his lips. “he said he’d dance with me when he got back… then he didn’t come back. d’you think it’s stupid i wanted to dance? think that’s why he left?”

now sam’s heart is plain-old breaking for you. he wants to ring the neck of the stupid man that made you question yourself like this, made your voice sound so dejected. then he wants to sweep you up in his arms and hold you close and kiss your forehead and tell you that it’s the sweetest, most endearing thing in the world that you want to dance. tell you that he’ll dance with you every night despite the fact that he can’t do much more than hold you and sway with you. tell you that he’s completely and enduringly in love with you. he discovered that recently, though he figures it’s been true for a long while now.

he has to settle for something a little more tame because you’re upset over another guy, because you're a little tipsy, and because he can’t lose your friendships if those words don’t come across well.

sam puts his arm around your shoulders and you sink further into him. “if that’s why he left, he’s an idiot. anyone in their right mind would trip over their own feet to dance with you. no one in their right mind would leave you– someone like you, sitting here alone,” he says your name so soft and loving that he thinks he’s given himself away until he remembers you’re not picking up on everything right now, “he didn’t deserve you. you deserve a whole lot better than that ass.” i’d be so good to you, he thinks.

“yeah,” you agree, still sounding a little despondent.

“if you– if you still wanna dance, you’ve got a willing partner,” sam forges ahead, anything to make you smile.

“mm, where? james probably left with someone else, for all i know.” he doesn’t like that man’s name on your lips, and maybe you’re a little more drunk than he thought, because you’re not getting the hint as quickly as you normally would. if you were sober and trying not to act upset, you’d say that all with a playful tone to your voice to tease him for offering. right now, you just sound sort of unbelieving.

“you know,” sam responds, keeping his voice just as serious as yours instead of matching that tease like he normally would.

this time you let a bit of humor slip into your voice, but it’s still sort of pessimistic, “what? are you gonna drag dean away from whatever girl he’s found just to cheer up my sorry ass?” sam has to laugh a little at that thought, because it’s a silly image and almost funny how you refuse to see him as an option.

“your ass isn’t sorry,” sam smiles all soft when that pulls a half-hearted snort from you. his voice is still gentle as he finally says, “i’m right here, you know.”

when you tilt your head up to look at his face, and finally, finally, he gets your eyes on his, he almost melts to the floor. you’re looking at him, sweet and soft with your eyebrows pinched together like you’re not sure if he meant it. then there’s that little hint of hope and joy swimming around in the pretty pools of your eyes and it sets his heart afire, just like that. you’ve done just about nothing special, but to him you’ve done everything.

“you’d wanna dance with me?” you say it like you can’t believe it, like that’s exactly what you’d really been hoping for all night and it takes everything in sam’s power not to swoop down and kiss you right then and there. he’d wanna do a whole lot more than dance with you, but it’s a wonderful, glorious, honey-sweet way to start, he thinks.

“of course,” he grins at you, and that’s all it takes to pull a big smile over your features too. that’s just about everything sam could ever ask for, and it brings a flood of relief over him. he just can’t help himself when he asks, “that is, if you’d want to dance with me? i’m sure i’m not your ideal dancing partner for the night, but hopefully i’ll do.”

“of course i want to dance with you, sam,” you say, so blatantly honest that it makes his heart hurt, “and that’s not true.” you won’t explain what you mean by that, so sam stands with you and gladly lets you use him for balance. it’s not true that he’s not your ideal dancing partner? is that what you meant? he certainly hopes so, because that must mean, by default, he is your ideal dancing partner, and you wanted to dance with him tonight, not this awful james.

maybe you love him back a little, he hopes, as your wrap your arms around his middle and let him sway you back and forth, all gentle and smiling.

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pedgito · 3 months

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𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 | Francisco Morales x reader

summary | working your summer job you find yourself fawning over a boy you barely know, realizing by the end of the summer that letting go of him may not be the best idea.

content warning | young!frankie morales, reader is working in bar (if there’s some things wrong, just know i tried fjsjsj), background tf boys, phone texts, inebriated hook ups (frankie is a lil drunk but he’s okay i swear) smut out the wazoo, oral (m/f receiving, protecting p in v, hints of voyeurism, idk let me live in this dream pls

word count — 7.5k

The bar was supposed to be easy cash, a second job you picked up during the summer, between the interim of your final year of college and the beginning of your life—just some extra money to keep you afloat amongst the drowning seas of tuition debt. But, the job came with unexpected challenges—rude customers, drunk customers, (given that you worked in a bar you really couldn’t fault them) but it was the rowdy ones that really got under your skin. And you quickly learned the unspoken schedule of customers as they made their weekly round for a few drinks, some over-fried bar food, and a game of darts or pool.

Monday through Wednesday were some of your more favorite days, friendlier people who liked to visit earlier in the day before the bar got packed after sunset, some relaxed chit chat and a beer or two. They tipped very nicely, too.

Thursday was the slowest of the week, co-workers sliding in to catch a game of pool or watch some sports game on the old, ratty television tucked in the corner area of the bar, even with you squinting your eyes it was still barely visible and they almost always left the biggest messes at their table—but again, you couldn’t complain when it was only a few tables you had to scrub down.

Friday was always busy, the weekends just as bad—from open to close you were shuffling around behind the bar, in tune with your co-workers as you moved around each other. You knew some people by name and some would politely remind you—you saw about a hundred different faces every week, some were bound to slip through the cracks.

But, within your first week there, you found a particular group of boys would show up every Friday without fail—a few rounds of beers, a mountain of wings and fries and whatever else they could get their hands on, and a game or two of darts and a pool table they had just to themselves.

The charmer, Santiago, was the first to introduce himself.

A crisp hundred dollar bill slipped over in advance with a softer tone, “I’m apologizing in advance, they tend to get a little, uh, loud.” It wasn't the right word, but you smiled nonetheless, still checking the money behind the counter in case he tried to slide you a fake and mask it with a simple courtesy that wasn't shown often. Kindness.

You start their tab, grab their orders, and within twenty minutes their voices are already booming over the rest and arguing about a stupid game of darts, three other boys crowded around Santiago as their faces are within an inch of the board, fingers pointing all over.

There is a straggler, though—a man who’s similar in age to most of the boys, late twenties maybe? He had to be close to your age or just a little older but the sodden expression on his face made him feel much older, sipping at the round of beers you had brought by as soon as Santiago headed back for the table.

They call him Catfish, whatever that means—and it seems like they all have nicknames for each other and you wanted to ask, but it didn’t seem worth it. Your Rolodex of names in your head was already bursting at its seams and Santiago was the only one you could bother to remember, especially when he’s sliding over a chunk of cash in advance rather than blowing up his tab and then scrambling to pay.

For a few weeks it’s just that. They come in, Santiago pays, and then they spend a few hours in the back of the bar arguing like boys, rather than men. But, they always leave you a hefty tip when they don’t fill out their tab or when they go over and pay it out and then some.

And naturally, you’re curious. About them. About him.

So, when Catfish comes in on a Saturday night completely alone, that curiosity does get the better of you.

He doesn’t make much of a scene, sliding into the bar stool instead of taking up a table, and seeing how busy it is, he waits—quietly and with a faint smile on his face that you catch a few times in passing, refilling cups with ice and offering a polite smile back.

When you finally get to him you're slightly breathless, wiping your hands on the towel tucked into your back pocket, “Hey, sorry about—what can I get you?”

“Just a beer,” He says with a shrug, promptly sliding over a twenty as you pour and hand off the glass.

“Where’s the others?” You ask curiously, an attempt at casual conversation despite selfishly wanting to know.

“A party,” Fish explains, “Benny won his tournament so they’re celebrating that.”

The name sounds familiar but you can’t quite place it.

“The younger one,” He adds with a subtle smirk, seeing the furrow in your brow of you thinking too hard.

“So Benny, Santiago—but you get stuck with Catfish?”

It can’t be his actual name, but they never use anything else.

“Francisco,” He takes a generous sip of his beer before setting it down, tapping his fingers idly against the surface of the bar, “—but, just Frankie. If that’s easier.”

You tilt your head with a genuine smile, putting a name to a face and it feels fitting, the hat suffocating his mop of hair, curls peeking around the edge of his hat and the dark colored tees he always wore, some sort of dismay always written on his face. You can’t explain it, but it works for him.

Frankie. Francisco. Catfish.

“Well, Frankie—if you need anything just yell. That’s probably the only way I’ll hear you,” You tell him with a laugh before attempting to depart—the bar isn’t too bad at the moment, all customers dealt with but the roar of the bar is loud.

“Well—wait,” Frankie half shouts, grabbing your attention, “what’s your name? I gave you mine, seems fair to ask.”

You tell him with a shrug, “But, I only ever hear honey or sweetheart all night, so really, I’m whatever you want me to be.”

Frankie chuckles at that, looking away briefly as if to busy his mind with something else and you slip away then.

You don’t ask why he came alone—why he would skip out on a party with the men he came here every Friday night with—maybe he needed a break. Alone time. It wasn’t your business.

But, one Saturday becomes another. And two months later he’s come by every Saturday. Alone. And giving you his undivided attention. It’s sweet, you’ll admit that.

He isn’t as closed off on Friday’s when he arrives with the other boys but isn’t as outwardly friendly as say, Santiago would be during that time. But, Saturdays—he’s a whole different person. Lighter. Happier.

He only ever orders one beer, makes small talk, and lately—he’s been walking you to your car. So, not only is he nursing that beer over the four hours left in your shift by the time he gets there, he’s waiting for you. To clock out, that is.

Really, it’s against your better judgment. Allowing a total stranger to know what you drive, where you park, what time your shift ends, but Frankie is a… friend.

He isn’t like most of the customers, terrible at small talk and flirting and only making half-assed, nasty comments toward you when they get a few rounds in.

He’s seen it a few times. He never berates the guys, but he does pull your attention away, occupies your mind, and always manages to slip in a few words that make your legs go weak and encourage the dull throb between your thighs—even if it’s just a smile and an apology on their behalf.

Frankie always shows interests, ask about you and your life in the politest way he can without seeming like a complete creep—you can tell he doesn’t flirt often, by the way he’s quiet around his friends when you stop by their table or how he never asks for your number despite twirling his phone in his hands idly most of the night, trying to seem occupied but mostly staring at a blank screen until he finally gains the courage to ask you another question.

The first night he walks you to your car it’s quick—he stays until you close up for the night and walks around back, a careful and watchful eye on your surroundings as he nods and wishes you goodnight with a half-hearted smile, kicking himself in the ass for not just asking for your number.

And it continues like that for weeks, within those couple months, and gradually Frankie bursts out of his shell little by little until you both are giggling one night over a particularly rowdy customer, having gotten himself arrested for indecent exposure and broken a table.

His hand grazes your lower back as you walk out, a genuine mistake but you turn your head toward him quickly, soothing his worries with a smile as you stick the key into the lock.

“Don’t worry about it,” You tell him with a comforting tone, “I’m used to men being a little more handsy than that, so, if anything, you’re a gentleman.”

“Those aren’t men.” Frankie argues lightheartedly.

“Eh, men who act like boys,” You say, “they’re assholes either way you put it.”

Frankie nods, readjusting his cap on his head as he pushes his fingers through his hair.

You twist the keys in your hand and start the walk toward your car.

“Do you ever take that thing off?”

Frankie’s eyes dart up toward the hat and he chuckles, hidden under the scruff and grown out facial hair, “No. No, not really.”

“Would you do it if I asked you to?”

He contemplates but never gives you a straight answer, forcing you to prod him gently with the end of your key, “Don’t worry—I won’t. Not yet.”

Frankie’s fingers curl around the edge of your door as he holds it open and watches you climb in, mind swimming with a million ways to ask what he wants, but it never comes.

But, you see it on his face immediately, the caution behind his eyes in being so forward with you.

“Ask for it,” You tell him, turning on the ignition to your car, still looking at him as he looms between you and the car door, “—unless you want to make me ask.”

Frankie looks away briefly and you laugh softly at his sudden unabashed expression as he smiles and turns back to you, “Can I have your number?”

You hold your hand out in wait, thumbing in your number the moment the phone finds your palm. You send yourself a short text with a smiley face to make sure it goes through and hand it back over, feeling a sudden flutter of anxiety in your chest.

Not good, not bad—but it is something.

“Put it to good use,” You warn him, “don’t make me regret that.”

Frankie smiles wider that time, his teeth peeking out behind full lips.

“Right,” He agrees, “absolutely. I promise.”

He adds a soft goodnight and you depart, feeling your phone buzz again before you even pull out of the parking lot.

[Unknown Number]: Goodnight

You snort a quiet laugh to yourself.

An hour later, a toothbrush tucked into your cheek as you stare down at your phone when it vibrates. You had half the mind to save his number despite your exhaustion from the shift you worked.

[Frankie]: Home safe?

[You]: Yep. :) Thank you for checking on me

[Frankie]: :) Goodnight.

[Frankie]: Again lol.

It’s stupid—it shouldn’t make you smile. But, it does.

You quickly find every day occupied by Frankie in some form, through text or just the thought of him. He’s everywhere and you can’t seem to care—and you give up sleep in the middle of the night for text conversations that come from just wanting to hear from him, as nervous as you are to just call—you could, you knew he wouldn’t care. But, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

You try to learn as much as you can about him.

[You]: Why Catfish?

It’s a random Tuesday when the text comes through his phone. He’s busy in class, cramming himself in as many hours as possible before he tests for his pilot license.

[Frankie]: Long story. Obnoxiously long. Why?

[You]: Just curious. It’s a strange nickname

[Frankie]: So what does that make me?

Frankie doesn’t get a response for a while and he knows you’re probably working, but he finds his fingers reaching for his pocket any time his phone vibrates in the hopes that it’s you.

[You]: Sorry. There was a mess at work.

[You]: It makes you strange btw

[You]: I’m kidding. But, it’s still a weird nickname.

Frankie can tell it’s you from the constant buzzing and he takes a peek at his phone.

[Frankie]: Oh shit. How bad of a mess?

[Frankie]: I know. Maybe I can explain it another time.

You’re busy wiping the beer off your face as you look at his text, the security dragging out the guy who had splashed the glass of liquid back at your face.

[You]: Some asshole threw a beer at me. Nothing new. Clothes are soaked.

[You]: Don’t try to make a joke about that or I’m double charging you this Friday.

Frankie frowns at the implication that you think he’s first instinct is to make a joke at your expense, but you can’t help to protect yourself from the behavior you’re used to from most men.

[Frankie]: Do you need me to bring you something? I can stop by on my way home?

[You]: I’ll survive. Thank you, though. My shift is almost over.

A couple days later you end up going down a fireshot line of questioning to get to know him, much to his surprise.

[You]: Okay. Birthday?

[Frankie]: April 2nd.

He returns the question to which you answer but add on another text with a joke at his expense.

[You]: Damn, a day short and that would be perfect for you. So, you’re an Aries.

[Frankie]: Yeah, whatever that means.

You laugh to yourself, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth as you walk through your local grocery store to pick up items for dinner that night.

[You]: It fits you. Oh! What do you do for work?

[You]: Fair game since you know what I do.

[Frankie]: We’re all in the army. I work on aircraft.

Oh, that’s…not what you were expecting.

[Frankie]: It’s new. I’m trying to get my pilot's license right now. I’ve got a big test coming up for it.

[You]: That’s so cool! Take me for a ride sometime?

You smirk to yourself as you press send.

[Frankie]: Yes.

You look ridiculous smiling at your phone in the middle of the aisle but you can’t help it.

In the army. A pilot. And a gentleman? Or, at least he’s provided himself to be nice enough. You were both young, so it didn’t surprise you that you were both unluckily single. But, Frankie seemed like such a catch—and it terrified you how badly you wanted him. Even in the simplest form.

A friend, a best friend, even. Or more, definitely more. But, you didn’t mind either way.

He’s due to take the test for his pilot license the Monday after your last shift, showing up with the boys on that Friday before—typical routine and behavior, but he does seem a bit more handsy. Santiago has always been friendly, but he does hug you this time he sees you, catching you on the way back to the bar and he plants a kiss on your cheek that you welcome with a soft, playful shove of your hand at his face and if it strikes Frankie with jealousy, you don’t notice.

But, he does shock you when he wraps an arm around your front and hugs you lazily, haphazardly slumping his other arm over your shoulder as he plants a kiss in your the hair at the crown on your head and rubs your hip with his thumb, leaving you dumbstruck and wanton the rest of your shift, frazzled every time you glance his way.

Santiago orders a round of shots toward the end of the night and thanks you with a wink, departing for the table and interrupting the idle conversation the men were entranced in.

You’re not sure what was going on, wiping down the counter as the night slowed down and casually flicking your eyes up to check on them, hearing them laugh occasionally, glancing your way briefly and suddenly Frankie was headed your way, fiddling around with the brim of his hat as he pressed a forearm against the countertop you had just wiped down.

You snap him gently with the towel and give him a look, he backs away slightly, hovering over the edge of the counter.

“What’s up?”

“They’re a bunch of dicks, I’m sorry.” Frankie deflected, glancing back at the boys who were staring on with sated smirks, clearly enjoying the sight of him fumbling and dropping the ball as he spoke to you. His eyes flick up wearily, soft and so distinct to him that it makes your heart ache. “Pope—Santiago, he dared me to come over and kiss you. And it’s stupid but if I didn’t at least try I would never hear the end–”

You pull him in by the collar of his shirt, the brim of his hat being pushed askew by the force as you press your lips to his in a simple, but unmistakable kiss. Tilting your head slightly as you pull away briefly to kiss him once more, dropping your towel to push your fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck and it seems like his brain catches up too late, his fingers barely grazing your neck as you pull away.

You pointedly look around Frankie to flip the other three off with both hands.

“Get out of here,” You warn playfully, “before I murder one of them.”

Frankie huffs a soft laugh through his nose before he turns away, speechless.

They were out of there within a few minutes, but an hour later your lips were still tingling.

Frankie is different that Saturday—more energetic, seeming lighter and more playful.

He drinks one beer, then two, surprisingly a couple shots of tequila—and before you know it, you’re seeing a much different side of Frankie than you're used to and it is quite the sight.

“Am I cutting you off?” You ask curiously, “I don’t want you nursing a hangover tomorrow when you have your test on Monday.”

“One more,” Frankie promises, “but—surprise me?”

You shrug, not finding a problem with it.

“Sweet or savory?” You ask him.

You feel your breath catch slightly as he pauses, his eyes doing a subtle drag over your body as you take a couple steps back, reaching for an empty glass.

“Sweet.”

It has an underlying tension to it neither of you address.

You make something up on the fly—fruity and sweet with the slightest bit of tang, nothing that screams Frankie but when you set it down in front of him and he drinks, his eyes widen slightly.

And for half a second you think he might spit it out, but then he’s chugging the rest down—and maybe it’s alcohol dulling his taste buds but he makes a quick show of assuring you he liked it, even if it’s mostly for your own benefit.

Shaking his head as he licks at his lips with his tongue in a way that feels so unnecessary that you can’t help but giggle, snatching the empty glass away from him as he smiles, his eyes half-lidded from the faint buzz he has going on, but otherwise he still seems fine.

You couldn’t let him get that drunk, not when he had so much riding on that test.

By the end of the night, your side hurts from laughing so much, forceably having to shove your hand in Frankie’s face to get him to shut up for half a second, his fingers circling around your wrist as he pulls you forward and you giggle into his shoulder.

“Stay. Let me close up and we can walk through the back.” You tell him and he nods quietly, though his grin never fades, his thumb brushing over his bottom lip idly while he watches you work around the clutter and reorganize, cleaning everything down before you’re flicking off the lights and nodding at him to follow.

If it were anyone else, you’d have given them a stiff kick to the balls and sent them on their way, but the moment Frankie noses at your neck your hard resolve melts and you shrug him away at how much it tickles your skin, feeling his hand wrap around the bicep on your left arm. He’s never been so touchy but you can’t say you don’t enjoy it. In fact, you’re eating it up at this point.

“Frankie,” You warn him playfully, working and failing to lock the door as uses his other hand to squeeze at your side, “come on—I can’t lock up with you doing that.”

“Try,” He teases, challenges, and you can’t help but like the bolder, less restrained side of himself he’s offering up to you.

The gentle nuzzling quickly turns to kisses, wet and open mouthed as he practically drapes himself over you, one hand pressed into the brick wall beside the backdoor and you sigh softly, leaning into his chest as you finally get the door locked and shrug him away.

“Am I going to see you next week?” He asks hopefully, knowing that with August looming in the distance that your job at the bar was close to being nullified.

You shake your head with a bittersweet smile, “Tomorrow is my last day, actually. For now, anyway.”

Frankie’s brow furrows at that and he shakes his head slightly before he’s invading your space, hands cupping your face as he lifts your chin up to meet your lips and kisses you gently, your fingers coming up to curls around his forearms and you feel his lips part just as you pull away.

“What—what are you doing?” You ask him, feeling like an echo as he comes back to the surface with a delayed response, trying to kiss you again but you're pressing your fingertips over his lips until he realizes that you actually want an answer.

“I’ve wanted you all summer,” He admits and it makes your blood run hot, that distinct tingle of pleasure shooting down your spine and it is nothing you were expecting him to say, but tonight was full of surprises apparently, “do I need to prove it to you?”

He presses his forehead against your own and you shake your head in response. You believed him, you didn’t doubt him for a second—but it feels surreal. Those quick, fleeting summer flings you only hear about in passing, never expecting to experience it yourself.

You may never see him again, you had to strike the match while it was still in reach.

“Are there cameras back here?” Frankie asks hastily.

You snort, “No—we’re five minutes away from college dorms in the poorest part of town. People come here for cheap booze, not security.”

Frankie nods at that, “You’re right,” He responds but the end is muffled as he kisses you again, with less care and a lot more tongue as you open your mouth to him and find the words on your tongue are muffled by his.

And thank god the street lights were shit in the back alley, barely working amongst the occasional flicker, you eventually find your way in the darkened corner of the back alley with Frankie’s hand working at the button on your jeans, almost tripping over an overturned crate on the way there that causes you both to burst into a fit of giggles, laughing through the sloppy kisses Frankie can’t help but smother you with, sighing when his fingers dip past the denim and thin fabric underwear to cup your pussy with his entire hand, the warmth of his palm like an answered prayer.

His hat is frustrating though, constantly bumping and prodding at your head before you finally get fed up, plucking it off his head and tossing it to the ground with an annoyed sigh that forces a choked laugh from Frankie’s throat, dipping a finger down the center of your core before pressing inside of you, gasping at the sudden but welcomed intrusion. You release a shaky sigh and open your eyes to look at him, finding he’s plenty amused but still buzzed in his own way.

Half beer, half pleasure—but he looks like he wants to devour you.

Lucky for you, he was starving.

Your mouth hangs open slightly, breathing picking up as he angles his fingers and slips another inside, curling them toward you from within and you pull at the curls at the nape of his neck.

He smirks in amusement, “Wish you could see how needy you look,” Frankie comments, “all it took was a couple fingers, huh?”

You roll your eyes playfully, “Too bad it took you all summer,” You pester him as he picks up the intensity, using his other hand to push your jeans lower down your hips, “and some stupid fuckin’ drink to make you finally want to have sex with.”

“Sex?” Frankie jokes through a throaty chuckle, “Who said anything about—”

Your hand cups the front of his jeans firmly, a little harsher than necessary but you can tell he doesn’t mind, almost challenging you to tease him a little more but the moment you both hit a solid wall you’re tripping over each other’s feet and it pulls you back to the surface and despite your clothes being half-stripped away and Frankie’s hand still shoved down the front of your jeans, it brings back a surprising amount levity to assess the situation at hand.

“I mean, do you want to?” You ask him curiously, tucking a curl behind his ear as he blinks, considering how this would affect his relationship with you, as brief and fleeting as it was.

“You’re really asking me that?” He responds, “Of course.”

“Well, I mean you did just say—”

Frankie places his palm over your mouth, muffling the end of your sentence.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He deflects, hoping you’ll play along.

You work at his belt without hesitation, far over the small talk and tired of wasting time. Frankie pulls his hand away much to your disappoint, pouting slightly as he drag his hand up your stomach, under your shirt until he’s got it tucked under your chin and mouthing of your bra greedily, the fingers of his other hand peeking around the fabric to pull it down, taking the soft, pebbled nipple into his mouth and sucking with a satisfied groan as you dip your hand beyond his waistband and over his boxers, pulled tight against his thighs and groin. You could picture the sight of him in your mind for hours if you wanted, but you had him here, right here.

Why not give yourself a peek at the real thing?

Frankie is lost, deep within the exploration of your body that he doesn’t even hear your voice when you plead with him, his voice grazing over the delicate skin of your breasts as he pulls away, already ready to descend and yank your jeans the rest of the way down, press his face between your legs and feast on you like it was the best thing he’s tried all night.

But, there’s the pout again—so subtle he would miss it had he not finally given you his full, undivided attention and he was right. You are needy.

His thumb rubs at the small sliver of your lip that’s poking out, rocking his hips gently into the hand still tucked away into his jeans—there was such a distinct charm to him, melting under his gaze the second his eyes made contact with your own. Every time.

“I don’t wanna keep you,” You whine emphatically and Frankie almost immediately begins to shake his head—

No. No, of course not. You wouldn’t be keeping him at all. Not a chance, not a fuckin—his inner monologue is going wild but he finds you perking up at the slowly growing panic on his face.

“But,” You breath, the thumb that was resting at your bottom lip trailing down the valley of your breasts before he cups one gently in his hand, “I couldn’t forgive myself if I didn’t give you at least something to remember this.”

“Couldn’t forget about you if I tried, actually,” He begins, but you shake your head, shushing him and pushing his hand away before you sink to your knees despite the immediate protest in your knees at the hard gravel—but god was it fucking worth it when you look up, half-lidded eyes staring back as you shake his jeans down his hips, just far enough that you can watch as he does the work with his boxers, cock bobbing free as he settles the band underneath his balls and if has to look away by that point, overwhelmed in the way your eyes roam but you don’t speak, clearly admiring and seering this to memory as you smile cheekily, taking his cock in your hand and jerk him slowly, thumb running along the vein that follows to the head of his cock.

“Get off the floor,” He begs pathetically, “gonna tear your knees up doing that.”

You laugh quietly to yourself and slide your tongue along the head of his cock, dipping down the slit of his head and to his shaft, pulling back at the skin and taking him into your mouth fully. He’s uncircumcised, thick and perfect—he fills your mouth out so beautifully in all his girth that you wonder just how much better it can feel between your legs, filling you out in the best way.

“Oh, jesus—baby, that’s,” You hum, bobbing your head in constant rhythm as your work your free hand around his balls, cupping them and allowing your other hand to cover the rest of what your mouth couldn’t take of his length and Frankie looks like he might actually pass out, looking around desperately for something, anything to lean on before he just settles for the wall behind you, resting both of his palms against the brick as he towers over you.

Frankie sighs shakily, dropping a hand to tuck against the back of your head, and your stomach swirls with anticipation as he allows himself to break his restrain a little, guiding his cock into your mouth with little aide given how eager you were as you took him as far as you could go, brush your nose against the trimmed patch of hair at the base and feel his hand flex in your hair, gripping it tight and attempting to pull you off to no avail, repeating the process until he’s begging for you to slow down, give him just a few seconds to breathe, ultimately finding that you don’t stop until he finally finds his voice again, stuttering out a desperate, “Stop, stop, stop–”

You pull away suddenly, worrying crossing your face but quickly dissipating as Frankie laughs, pulling you to your feet without much fight on your part and he does notice the few scraps on your knees, collecting with blood and he really wishes you would have listened but you brush him off, his body pressing you up against the brick wall behind you, pants still hanging at his thighs and his dick pressed against your stomach, shirt still sloppily bunched up over your tits.

“Can I fuck you?” He asks, so vulgar it makes you pulse around absolutely nothing, his eyes roving over your face curiously, his thumb tracing over your lips, with a soft mumble, “God, I need you so bad.”

“My car,” You respond, tongue pressing against the pad of his fingertip as you nod behind him, “Condoms, they’re—in the car.”

Frankie makes a face, sort of amused but a little confused.

“Shut up,” You null his question before it slips out—”It’s precaution, okay? Guys love to pull the whole—”

“No, I—I get it,” Frankie answers, a small laugh rounding out his tone, “I just figured, you know—we’d…go back to your place? Or mine?”

Your hand fists into his shirt slowly, pulling him impossibly closer like he wasn’t already pressed against every surface of your body.

“What if I can’t wait?” Your eyes soften, looking up at him and catching the swipe of his tongue over his bottom lip, wanting to taste that tinge of sugar that lingers with him, “Would you fuck me right now?”

Frankie nods eagerly and you don’t hesitate, grabbing for his hat, placing it against his chest and gripping his hand in your own before you shove him away gently and lead him to your car, mostly covered in darkness aside from the obnoxiously orange streetlight that glowed overhead. Your clothes haphazardly pulled back up as you clamber into the driver's seat to reach over the console and into the glovebox, aware of the hand that slides between your leg as you search in the poor lighting, squealing when he squeezes at the flesh under his grip and shoving the foil wrapper into Frankie’s chest when you finally get your hand on the box.

“Off,” He tells you, pulling at the zipper of your jeans, “all the way.”

There was so much going on in your mind, nothing you could pluck out and focus on but it buzzed with excitement, anticipation, the kind of adrenaline that only comes in situations when your judgment is hasty and not fully-thought out. You’re barely kicking your shoes off and pulling your jeans past your ankle before Frankie is manhandling you into the backseat, and pressing his face between your thighs as he licks into you, a surprised gasp tearing from your throat as you grip the seats wherever you can.

Your pussy throbs under the care of his tongue, and he carries on obnoxiously, making a mess between your legs as his fingertips grip at the flesh of your ass and force you to open yourself wider to him, “Frankie—” You interject weakly, but he silences you with his mouth, sucking at your clit like it was his new obsession and you whine so pathetically that you find you covering your mouth in shame, biting gently at your bicep to muffle the flurry of sounds that came out after.

He pulls away some time later—minutes, hours, days, you can’t even place it. But, you hear him shift, the rip of the wrapper and the jingling of his belt as he shifts his jeans further down and slides into the backseat more comfortably, hovering over you. His hands squeezing at your hips, a comforting gesture as he speaks from behind you.

“Are you sure?”

It’s sweet, you can admit that. But, you don’t need that.

“Frankie.”

He wasn’t budging. Because, if by some sudden change of heart you didn’t want this, he wanted to know.

“Yes. Yes,” You say, turning slightly to look over your shoulder, his face only an inch or so away as you tuck your arm back and push your fingers into his hair, pulling his face next to yours as he pushes inside of you slowly, yanking gently at the strands between your fingers as he settles, a soft sigh falling from your lips.

“Let me hear you,” He begs, “It’s just us.”

He hears you all the time, voice carrying across the bar but never like this—for him, only for him.

He pulls back gently, snapping his hips firmly and you hum softly, slightly giddy over the entire situation. He continues that way, so gentle and cautious that it makes you wonder why you both avoided this for so long, “More?” Frankie asks. You nod and his pace quickens slightly, a little harsher, and your hand grips onto the passenger seat beside your head for leverage as he chest rumbles with a deep sigh, “Fuck this is—baby, you have no idea.”

“Tell me,” You plead, the quiet creak of the car drowned out by your loud, pathetic moans as Frankie’s fingers curl around your throat and hold, no pressing or squeezing, just another place for them to find a home.

“Thought about this—so many times,” He admits, “came here for months—fuck, months. And then you show up and I was nervous—couldn’t, couldn’t even think of what to say to you. I knew I’d embarrass myself in front of them.” He squeezes then, a gentle pressure on your throat that has your eyes rolling back in your head.

“I had to see you alone,” His throat is tight, his breath a little quicker as he speaks, his hips snapping into you at a steady pace that clouds your mind effortlessly, “wanted you for myself—and, I would’ve fucked you that first night if you’d let me.”

You cunt squeezes him tight at his words and he curses, “So greedy, baby. She’s drooling all over me—such a fucking mess,” And you need to see him, face the man who’s finally found just the right amount of confidence to make you speechless. You lean up suddenly and force a hand into his chest and he only looks slightly confused before you’re pulling him inside and forcing him to sit into the cramped back seat, uncaring of the open car door as the car rocks with the weight of your bodies and you seat yourself on his lap, gripping his dick in your hand and sinking back down onto him without a word, curling yourself over him as you push away the hair clinging to his forehead, damp from sweat and his eyes are blown wide, staring up at you like he was under hypnosis, gaze locked on your own.

“Tell me now,” You challenge him—nowhere to hide behind his words.

“Would you—have let me fuck you that one night I walked you to your car?” He asks.

You smile guiltily, remembering the heat of his hand on your back, never really an accident.

“I’d have let you fuck me over the pool table if you asked, Frankie.” You admit, “In front of your friends too, if that’s what you really wanted.”

Frankie laughs weakly, giving you the lead as you lift your hips with a sudden eagerness.

“Is that what you want?” You tease him, “You guys are all about claim, right? Army boys love to show off—I mean, they’d probably be into it. Santi, for sure—”

Frankie covers your mouth with his hand and you giggle, biting playfully at the flesh of his palm.

He squeezes at your hip with his free hand, forcing you into a hurried pace as he begins to move his hips to meet your own, lifting off the seat slightly with every snap of his hips. Your cry is muffled by his hand but Frankie sees it in your eyes, the flutter of your eyelashes that tells him.

“Touch yourself, babygirl,” He tells you, “Let’s see how bad you want it.”

You lean back between the open space of the driver and passenger seat, one hand gripping the upholstery of the seat while the other works between your legs, fingers drifting over your clit and into the mess of yourself that was leaking over Frankie’s cock from where it was buried inside of you and he wasn’t lying—you’ve never been so turned on in your life. Half-assed hook-ups and guys that didn’t give a shit about your own pleasure, Frankie was a goddamn dream and a hell of a good fuck.

You know your body well enough that it doesn’t take long, but the show is for Frankie’s benefit alone, head thrown back over your shoulders as your middle and ring finger circle your clit, occasionally wrapping your hand around what of his shaft was available as you tried weakly to move your hips, squeezing to pull a soft little gasp from his chest. It was such a damn shame you didn’t have him fully naked, splayed out on the mattress in your shitty apartment. You wanted to dig your nails into his skin, leave half crescent marks and a reminder of you for days, weeks even.

“Fuck, I’m right there, baby—” He warns, unexpectedly joining your own fingers and forcing you over the edge just before he pulls you in, a brutal snap of his hips before he’s muffling the deep groans of his orgasm into your skin, teeth sinking gently into your shoulder.

The next few minutes is spent in a blissful silence, moving off of him carefully as he discards the condom but never letting you drift to far, still curled up and half naked on his lap as he pushes a strand of hair away from your face, pulling you in for a kiss that takes your breath away, literally pulls from your chest and makes your heart stop.

Oh…this was not good.

You breathe shakily and pull away with a smile that masks that sudden ache in your chest and kiss again at the inside of his palm. He leans his head against the backseat, eyes closed as he catches his breath and groans slightly when you move off of him, oblivious and exhausted as you redress hastily beside him, pulling your jeans back up your legs and over your hips, slipping your shoes on and readjusting your shirt, shaking him gently when you fear he might have passed out right there in the back of your car.

“Frankie,” You call out, saying his name a few more times before you call out, one last time, “Francisco, hey.”

His eyebrows raise in question, a subtle smile on his lips as he peeks an eye open to look at you.

“I really need to get home,” You tell him, laughing half-heartedly at his drunken stupor, “you’ve gotta go.”

Frankie seems to realize then that he can’t drag this out any longer, redressing himself slowly as he climbs out of the car, watching you fiddle with your shirt and your appearance, trying to not look like you just got fucked in the backseat of your car.

He seems to notice the slight dismay on your face, knowing that your lives were diverting down different paths, but this was still the present. Now. And he was still here.

He presses you into the driver’s side door and kisses you then, hands crawling up the side of your neck and caressing the curve of it, dipping his tongue past your lips and really stealing your breath away, moaning into your mouth like you were the greatest thing he’s ever tasted.

You pull away regrettably when you feel him start to ramp up again, “Good luck on your test, by the way.” You tell him honestly, “You can text me the good news when you pass.”

Frankie chuckles, “I will.” There’s a long pause and then he’s speaking again, the few words you weren’t sure you wanted to hear, “Can I see you again?”

The hesitance is obvious on your face and it kicks Frankie down a peg, but he gets it. He wasn’t a boyfriend, barely even a friend. But, he was still hopeful.

“Maybe.” You offer, “I mean—you still have my number. I’m just a text or call away, you know.”

Frankie couldn’t admit that you were the only thing getting him through this summer without relapsing or making another misstep, that wasn’t your burden. But, the weight on his heart is heavy and his own to bear, welcoming the hug you offer him immediately and squeezing you so tight you might break, but of course, you don’t.

And he thinks that if he showed up broken, in pieces, that you would know exactly how to piece him back together, but he hoped that never happened. That maybe you might manage to escape him and he wouldn’t drag you down with him.

“Goodbye, Frankie.”

He smiles and nods, settling his hat back on his head as he steps away.

You leave soon after, not sure why this sudden dark cloud is looming over you.

Frankie never texts you about his test and the texts you send in the aftermath are never responded to—and eventually you give up, feeling like an idiot for being hopeful in the first place.

↝ beta: @chaotic-mystery

↝ divider credit: yours truly.

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x y/n #francisco morales smut #frankie morales smut #francisco morales #frankie morales fic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fic #triple froniter #my writing

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captain039 · 1 month

Text

Daddy’s Little Girl

Logan x reader

Warnings: Age gap (early twenties reader) , swearing, first times, virgin reader, plus size reader, tension, oral f receiving, smut, daddy kink, dom!logan, Abuse, verbal and mental (Not from Logan), anxiety, depression, mention of self harm scars, reader has muscle issues and body pain

Kinda hitting home with personal:specific details for reader, but alas I need this man, I need this man bad 😂

Wolverine in the mountains as a Lumberjack is a wet dream

Set when Logan was in the mountains but modern day times

You awake to a loud knock and a grumbled hurry up making you sigh. You check your phone finding no overly important messages. You’re expecting a call from your sister this week sometime though. You miss her, she was Lucky enough to get out of this hell hole while she could. You dress quickly knowing your father will get pissed if he doesn’t see you in the truck in five minutes. You get your jeans on and a shirt before grabbing your boots and phone. You go down the stairs slowly, ignoring the way your hips protests. You grab a banana and shove your boots on before heading to the truck. Your dad waits, smoking in the drivers seat making you sigh silently inside as you jump into the passenger seat. Everyday he drags you out to the lumber mill, everyday he doesn’t give a damn if you need to see a doctor or therapist. Doesn’t care that he’s seen scars on your arms or that you cry most nights. You pretty much run this lumber mill even if your dads the boss, you keep track of the finances, locations, next sights, shipments whatever needs done that he can’t be bothered to do, all he does is swing an axe and let his anger out. Only good thing is Logan. Logan the man you crush on since he first started couple years ago. His perfect hair and smile, those jeans and leather jacket, the way he carry’s himself. His kindness towards you, the stupid hair ruffle he gives even though he knows you hate it, the making sure you’ve eaten during the day or asking if you need help. He’s too perfect, a goddamn dream and you’re a nightmare.

You head into the small trailer office and sit down rubbing the sleep from your eyes as your father greets his team. He smiles shakes hands and laughs making you loath him. You want to punch him, show them how pissed he gets and how fucking useless he is. You sag against the chair waiting for Logan to show up in his two seater low truck with that handsome face. You hate yourself, lusting after man twice your age, probably married or has plenty suitors. Ones that aren’t broken like you. You clench your jaw and unlock the computer cursing the slow wifi as you go through emails. It’s the same old and you’re bored of it, hell you don’t even get paid to be here your father says his house and his food are payment enough, not like you’re his kid or anything. You watch your dad and his team leave silently thanking god. Though a little upset you missed Logan. A knock comes at the door and you frown a bit.

“Come in” you call watching the door open. Logan steps in a smile on his face as he closes the door.

“Morning Bub” he says and you smile.

“Morning” you reply as he sighs and sits down on the small couch.

“Why aren’t you with the team?” You ask with a frown.

“We need supplies, your father told me to head into town” he said and you sigh, of course he did, too lazy to go himself.

“Wanna come?” Logan asks and you falter.

“Oh, yeah sure hang on” you quickly finish writing the email before logging off and shutting the computer down. You follow him out the trailer and to his car he smiles playfully as he holds open the door for you which you just laugh at and ignore the butterflies in your stomach.

You try not to glance at him every five seconds as he drives. How someone can be attractive while driving you’ll never know. It’s about an hours drive into town, the silence comfortable. You look out the window letting the wind blow in your face. Your phone buzzes and you frown taking it out seeing a message from your father.

We need more courier trucks this time, don’t forget

You huff softly, how could you forget he’s yelled it to you for the last couple of days.

“Everything alright?” Logan asks jolting you from your mind and you force a smile and nod.

“Just dad” you shrug switching off your phone and putting it back in your pocket. You finally arrive at the store following Logan inside.

“What we need?” You ask as Logan pulls a list from his pocket.

“Rope, saw blade replacers, chain, sharpener stones, beer” Logan smiles at the last part and you try to smile back. Beer always equals your father coming home shit faced and blaming it on you like you’re the one who got him drunk. You grab a trolly each and head down each aisle to get what you need before heading to the register. You scan the items watching the numbers go up and know you’ll probably get blamed for the prices too. Once you’re done Logan grabs his wallet and pulls out the company card before tapping and paying. You enjoy his closeness smell the cologne he’s got on this close too. You wait for the receipt before heading back to the Ute. You make one more stop to the liquor store before heading home.

You’re not even half way home when your phone rings. With your dad’s name flashing, you wince a little and answer.

“Hello” you say.

“Why aren’t you answering the phone at the trailer?” He says annoyed.

“I went with Logan to get the supplies you needed” you answer.

“Jesus Christ I give you one goddamn job and you can’t even do that right! You know not to leave that goddamn trailer during work hours!” His voice is scolding and pissed and you tense and try to ignore your stomach churning.

“We’re heading back now” you muttered not getting an answer back instead your father hangs up and you feel like crying.

“You alright?” Logan asks and you force a smile and nod at him.

Back at the trailer you notice your hips beginning to ache helping carrying things from the ute back to the trailer. You wince and silently curse knowing it’ll probably either be a flare up and another reason for your dad to yell or hopefully just some daily pain that Panadol can fix. It’s always the fucking first one. You sit down behind your desk and ring back anybody who tried to contact the office while Logan works outside. You glance to him every so often seeing him push his sleeves up, wipe sweat off his brow, a whole damn strip tease. You wish you had confidence or were thinner and older maybe then he’d give you a glance. You sag into the chair wincing when your hips decided to twinge in pain.

It’s just after five when the team return, you’ve hopefully done everything today and you’re feeling it. Logan hasn’t left either only to stop on break for lunch or smoke the cigars he has. You tried to tell him they’re bad for him but he just smiled and continued. Your dad looks annoyed and you can feel the home ride scolding already.

“All done?” Logan says suddenly making you jump not realising he was in the trailer. You jolt the wrong way and let out a pain of noise that has the man instantly concerned and walking over.

“Fine, I’m fine sorry I didn’t mean to make that noise” you brush off cursing when you can’t even stand up properly.

“You don’t look fine Bub” he says quietly.

“Ready?” Your dad interrupts and you nod forcing yourself up right. You walk a little funny out the trailer and down the steps.

“Bye Logan” your dad says.

“See ya boss” he says before saying a goodbye to you with a small worried frown. You smile and wave getting into your dad’s truck awkwardly.

“What the hell did I say with leaving without my permission? I had two damn phone calls while I was out!” Your dad scolds hitting the steering wheel in annoyance making you jump. You keep your head down and on your lap making sure not to move.

“Well?!” He snaps.

“Sorry, I figured Logan would need some help with supplies” you say and your father scoffs.

“Logan needs help my ass, you’re just trying to slut yourself out to the man!” He growls and the words sting. You’ve never had a boyfriend, never spoken to another man in that way.

“Like you did with Jason” he adds. Jason was the newest addition to the team a little older than you.

“Sorry father” you mutter.

“God sakes” he grumbles. He doesn’t say anything else and when you get home you know he’ll scold you for dinner before ordering pizza and beer. You head upstairs silently feeling tears prick your eyes before you force them down.

“Can I have a shower dad?” You call.

“Five minutes! Anymore I’m breaking the goddamn water line” he yells and you wince and hurry. You set a timer knowing he won’t be joking. You wash as quickly as you can before stepping out and drying yourself. You sigh not even feeling clean or refreshed. You barely have time to shave when you shower, barely have time to wash your hair too. You dress hearing your dad talking to the pizza man no doubt before he slams the door. You say into your bed, only reason you have your furniture and room nice is because your mother was still alive at one point. You hear your phone vibrate and see Logan’s name on the screen. You had all the team’s numbers in your phone for emergencies or anything company related. Your father shamed you for that too saying you’d send each man nudes or sex texts.

Hey kid, you alright?

Fine, thank you, nothing to worry about

you type back quickly and get dressed into some pyjamas. You’re tired but no sleep won’t come well and you’ll have to eat when your dad’s either passed out or asleep. You wait a while scrolling on your phone. When your mum was alive she got you a bank account open, you had to secretly apply for a government payment grant so you could at least get a phone and credit. If your dad ever found out about the money though he’d probably close the account or take what you had. Your phone buzzes continuously and you frown seeing Logan’s name. You answer a little confused he never calls unless it’s for work.

“Hey? Did you need something?” You ask voice hushed even though the TVs turned up loudly.

“Just checking on you, you sure you’re alright kid?” You a sigh a little, that stupid nickname.

“I’m fine thank you Logan” you say a little curtly without meaning too.

“Did you need something, did I miss something at work?” You add after some silence.

“No, works fine” he sighs a little and you frown. You hear footsteps and begin to panic.

“Sorry Logan I have to go” you hear him about to speak but quickly hang up as your father’s footsteps walk past and into his room and you sigh in relief.

You lay there awake till it’s about 8, hearing loud snores before you creep down stairs to get a sandwich and water before going back up. You sigh eating on the small couch in your room glancing to your phone seeing another text from Logan.

Night kid, sleep well

Your heart jumps a little.

Next part ->

#x reader #logan x reader #logan howlett #wolverine #wolverine x reader #hugh Jackman #origins:Wolverine #daddy

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azullumi · 5 months

Text

“lyra” ; dazai osamu

summary — the many times you felt loved by him and the one where a confession happened.

pairing — dazai osamu (w/ gender-neutral reader)

tags — fluff (kind of), utilization of the friends to lovers trope, slightly proofread, 2.1k words ; one-shot

tagging — @toorurs

note — i literally haven’t written for him for years now and i swear i lost my mind and pulled my hair,, i could have done this better !?

Dazai is unpredictable.

In more ways than one, he is erratic, able to conceal his intentions beneath that long trench coat of his, tucked in the loose parts of his bandages, hidden somewhere only he can see. He is the definition of an enigma, he is more than a puzzle, not just a paradox that continues to exist despite death being the only companion and comforting thing to him—a man of mystery that is better left unknown.

“My, you always look as ethereal and beautiful as a lotus blossom.” The dark-haired man says as he holds your hand in his, his finger delicately tracing the lines of your palm, and his eyes looked softer than usual, his gaze holding something that lies between the line of affection and seduction. Sparkles and flowers seem to bloom behind him, the background of the cafe fading and turning into a plain pink one with hearts that float around his figure.

(Flirty.)

He’s fluent in the language of amorous words laced with playfulness accompanied with gentle touches and slow caresses on your skin. He doesn’t hesitate in getting close, invading your space and going over the line, and maybe he’ll show that he is into you but only a fool would think of his words as genuine affection meant for you and only you.

“My eternal light to the darkness, would you be willing to—” However, he’s unable to finish his sentence as you take your hand back from him, offering him a smile instead as you subtly set a distance between the both of you—as if you were telling him to never cross the line, to stay at an arms’ distance.

“Good morning, Dazai. What brings you here to the cafe?”

Fortunately, you weren’t a fool.

“Ah, rejection again, I see.” The pink background that blooms behind me seemingly shifts into a dark one as the man’s expression contorts into a mix of sadness and disappointment, all displayed in an overly dramatic way; his form is slumped, faux tears brimming in the corners of his eyes, and his lips are in a pout. The sound of a short (mirth) laughter is heard from you—you’ve gotten used to this sight of him, of his dramatic expressions, and flirty approaches just to ask you something ridiculous.

“I’m here for you.” He says.

(And persistent.)

You have witnessed evidence of his persistence expressed in his words and actions every time he’s free from any of his work and he comes to the cafe you work at (his definition of free is escaping from his responsibilities and choosing to slack off). He’ll always take the opportunity to hold your hand, whisper such affectionate words only one would say to their lover, and he’ll kiss your skin so gently as if it was made from glass.

That was what happened in the first meeting between you and him—first day on your work in this cafe and just as you were serving the order of this loud group that the owner is acquainted with, you caught the eye of the man covered in bandages and dressed in a somewhat messy yet orderly way. Then you know how it went and from then on, Dazai doesn’t let the chance to bother you slip from his grasp.

But you don’t fall for it, never would you. You’re not supposed to and you’re not going to. He has said such similar things to other people who he deems beautiful or attractive, he has touched others and tainted them with his caresses the same way he did with yours, his lips have felt the softness of others’ skin, not only yours. You’d be stupid enough to think that there’s something more lingering in the depths of his voice, something different that tugs at his tone and threatens it to break.

The two of you are just friends, maybe even less than that.

“Where’s Kunikida?” You ask him, eyes roaming around to look for a single strand of golden but there was nothing. You failed to notice the falter in the expression of the man before you, tension seeping into his features for a moment before it eases at the mention of another man’s name. You continue, “Are you slac—” only to be interrupted by the sound of the door chime ringing followed by a set of heavy footfalls.

A loud shout of Dazai’s name is heard, echoing off the brick-patterned walls of the place, as Kunikida enters. There was a furious look on his face, nose fuming as he spotted the one he was looking for and as soon as he did, Kunikida smacked the back of Dazai’s head. There goes it, you know how this would unfold, how everything would happen—you’re used to it, having already seen this scene enough times to tell how it would end: Kunikida will scold Dazai, calls him with a new nickname (it’s President of Wasted Bandages this time), drags him outside but before that, he’ll apologize on behalf of his co-worker’s behavior, and you’ll wave at them as they leave.

“Why do you always come to ruin good moments, Kunikida? Do you not wish to see me happy?”

“Happy?! Maybe if you stop slacking off, you'll be happy.”

You could hear their distant argument and you heave out a sigh when they disappear from your sight, the smile fading from your lips as the loneliness looms over your figure. Silence rests heavily on your shoulders and you ignore the ache in your chest.

The cafe is located on the first floor where the detective agency is and you work alongside a waitress and a kind owner. Members of the agency are often seen frequenting the place, thus you’ve become familiar with their faces, memorized their names, and even learned some things about themselves. Honestly, it’s all simple for you; you have a nice and peaceful job (ignoring the chaos around you and the occasional disturbance from Dazai), and you’re being paid well. What else could you ever wish for? It was all serene for you.

Not this time though.

It seems like luck has run out for you seeing that you’re bound on the ground right at this moment, becoming a hostage to a small criminal group. Everything that happened prior feels like a blur, you remember men suddenly entering the cafe with guns and threatening everyone, you remember them hurting the owner, and you remember being taken away. They want to use you as bait, a guarantee for the detective agency so that they will bite and get lured into the criminals’ trap, or whatever they were telling you earlier. You weren’t listening—maybe you were but their words just passed from one ear to another—, hands curled into a fist as it trembled, the cold floor felt like spikes stabbing into your skin, and as the rope dug into your skin.

Afraid? Perhaps you were. It’s not everyday you get a gun pointed at you and a man threatening your life. Is this how you’re going to die?

You try to distract and ease yourself by thinking of other things, your mind drifting to somewhere else instead of staying at where you are—the cat that you occasionally see across the street, the passing cars you’ll see outside the window, the music playing from the vinyl in the cafe, the ringing of the chime as the door opens, and the dark-haired man and eyes that reflect the earth. Dazai with his never-ending tab, with his continuous ridiculous offers, his dramatic expressions, his stupid whims, the way he would always annoy you as if it was a daily requirement, his messy bangs that frames his face, his words that poke and probe at your being, and his—

You are snapped out of your thoughts, a familiar voice calling your name, coming into the stream of your senses, and pulling you out of the daze that you are in.

“Dazai?” Something is drowning in the pools of his eyes, lurking in the depths, and the way he looks at you is different. The usual calm in his expression is disturbed by a mixture of emotions—like rain droplets on a surface of still water—, anger, worry, care merging into the gentle lines of his features. Your hands that were once bound were free, though your wrists are left with marks from the rope bindings and you could still feel the way it burns on your skin.

“What happened? Why are you here? Are you hurt? Did you come alone? How did you find me?” Many questions came pouring out of your mouth but your voice trembles as you speak, tone unstable as the words fall and shatter on the ground. Dazai only lets you, your form crumbling and he holds your pieces in his hand, and he assures you: “Everything is alright.”

He continues, taking off his coat to wrap it around your form, “Were you scared?” And you meekly nod, knowing that your voice will only betray you. Dazai doesn’t say anything and only pulls you close to him, embracing you in his arms (“I’m sorry I took so long.”). There was the scent of his perfume accompanied with a trace of gunpowder when you buried your face on his chest—you feel a sense of relief, comfort and warmth that makes its way through your thoughts and the feeling of suffocation slowly leaves you.

He draws small circles on your back as he tries to soothe you, “You’re safe now.” He whispers as he kisses the top of your head, his lips lingering for a few seconds as he inhales the smell of your hair. (You’ve never had him this close before, this soft, this warm. It feels like the man you have known him as before were all fabrications from your illusive mind and the one before you is a different person.)

He brings your hand towards his lips and he presses a kiss on your pulse, right where the marks of your wrists are, ever so gently, ever so sweetly, “Nobody will hurt you ever again.”

You descend down the flight of stairs leading to a basement—a bar tucked away and hidden in plain sight. You’ve only known of it all thanks to a certain blabbermouth, he said it’s his favorite place to go. When you arrive, the interior shifts to a dimly-lit one with warm lights illuminating the whole place in contrast to the dark and foggy street outside. There’s the sound of jazz softly playing in the background, setting the tranquil ambience the whole bar carries.

And there he is, the man of the hour, basking underneath the golden glow. Sitting on the stool by the end of the counter, he has a glass of whiskey settled in front of him.

“I didn’t expect for you to actually come.” Dazai speaks, his voice molding into the gentleness of the song playing.

“I was curious. Though I didn’t know you'd be here at the same time.”

“Come sit.” He pats the spot beside him and you follow. You order something to drink as you sit and a glass is served in front of you after a few minutes. Silence crept up to the both of you as you didn’t say anything—and you wish you could read his mind at this moment, to know the thoughts that plagues his mind—and the stillness was an unbearable kind;

You begin, “Do you always come here?”

Dazai takes a sip from his glass before he answers, “Just often.”

“I see.” And before the silence could last even longer, you spoke once more: “You haven’t been coming to the cafe lately.”

“Why? Did you miss me? Are you finally going to take up my—“

“No.” He muttered a small “aw” at your firm rejection. “You still have an unpaid tab.” And he groans at that while you chuckle, finding amusement in the way his expression crumpled.

The sound of your laughter dies down after a few moments, trailing off to a gentle mutter of an: “Thank you.”

“For?” He asks, even if he already knows what you’re talking about.

“For back then.” For giving you his coat as he noticed you shivering, for assuring you that everything is okay and you’re not going to be harmed anymore, for blocking your sight of the men’s bodies that laid like lifeless corpses on the ground, for protecting you.

It has been weeks since it occurred but you could still feel the warmth of his body against yours and maybe his scent will linger no matter how much you try to wash it, and maybe you’ll have to forever carry the thought, the wishful thinking that maybe there’s something more. And maybe it’s the alcohol making him light-headed but three words are whispered to the air that settles in the space between you and him.

“I like you.”

#— STARCROSSED 2024 !!#bsd x reader #bsd dazai #bsd #bsd x you #bsd x gender neutral reader #dazai x reader #dazai osamu #bungou stray dogs dazai #dazai x you #bsd dazai x reader #bsd dazai osamu #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs #bungou sd #dazai fluff #dazai imagines #azul.writes

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piperlivingdeliberately · 1 year

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Blushing, Crushing, and Totally F*cked! Part II

This is the second part to my first fic! Here's the link to that: :)

Summary: Hazel and the reader grow much closer as friends through the club, and after the emotional bonding meeting, they think they might be ready to grow closer in other ways.

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: fem reader (she/her pronouns used), swearing, sexual content (no explicit smut), making out, discussions of divorce, mental health, emotional topics, a bit of hurt/comfort, angsty because I got carried away, etc. Hazel is much less of a loser in this one, but she's just as cute. 18+

Your younger popular self never would have imagined that you would be sitting in a circle with a bunch of losers who you punched in the face every day. Yet here you were, surrounded by violent losers, your favorite loser with a goofy smile on her face sitting to your left. Hazel looked over at you, making you remember how much you never would have expected that smile to make you so weak in the knees.

You still got butterflies thinking about the first time Hazel talked to you; a simple two-word compliment after your first spar made your heart flutter with giddy nerves. The interaction spurred you on enough to allow you to feel comfortable giving her friendly smiles. These quick greetings turned to light touches, then to bolder flirtatious statements, and eventually deep conversations that were cut off by school bells. You wondered when you'd finally gather the courage to discuss what you really wanted to tell her: you had been crushing on Hazel since the first day of eleventh grade. If only your classes were longer than 15 minutes.

"So, we know that the club has been a good way for us to feel empowered physically, but we also thought it could be a way for us to feel empowered emotionally," Josie kicked off the meeting on yet another unexpected note. You were grateful for the interruption in your spiraling thoughts.

The trauma-dumping session began, everyone adding their own little secrets and worries. You felt comforted by the supportive listening ears and voices around you. You had grown so close to these girls, so close that you ached hearing the tales of their pain. You felt your heart clench even more when Hazel timidly spoke up about her tense relationship with her mother.

"It's just been really good for me to get to know people who actually want to know me," she finished, eyes locking with yours before quickly fixing on her shoes.

"I just want to go back to Brittany for a second--" PJ began, but you didn't listen. You rested your hand on Hazel's knee, an offering of support, of friendship, or maybe something else. You completely tuned out the rest of the meeting when her own hand rested on yours. Her thumb stroked your wrist. Your whole body went stiff, but your hand felt like rippling water being held in hers.

"I think that's a good place to wrap up," PJ closed out the meeting, thanking everyone for their attendance as the rest of your friends filed out. You and Hazel didn't move, though. Your hand stayed on her knee, her thumb stayed gently gliding against the back of yours. Her sharp inhale was the only thing that got you to look up from the spot where you touched.

"Thank you," was all she said. You didn't have to ask why she was thankful, and she knew she didn't have to tell you. Something unspoken was always settled between your eyes as you stared.

"You're welcome." You removed your hand, not knowing if it had been there for too long or not long enough. "If you... If you ever want to keep talking about your mom or anything else that bothers you, I'm always here to listen." Hazel's gaze softened even more, which you didn't think was possible.

"Do you want to come over and talk more?" She said it so fast that even she seemed surprised by the question. "I mean-- only if you want to. We could watch a movie or I don't know. If it's stupid, I'm--"

"Yes," you assured her. "Let's go."

Her eyes widened like a cartoon character, so you began rising off of the gym floor to urge her on. "Oh-- okay. Great. Let's go."

...

The ride to Hazel's house was realistically no longer than 15 minutes. It felt like hours, though, with you using all of your energy to avoid staring at her ringed hands on the steering wheel. Your cheeks grew hot at the thought of what they would feel like on your bare skin. Your cheeks grew even hotter when you finally realized that Hazel had already parked the car and was watching you ogle her fingers.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked innocently.

"Nothing, sorry." You pushed the door open, waiting for her to lead you into her house.

One step in, you stifled a gasp. Hazel's home was almost as bright and beautiful as she was.

"Do you want to go up to my room? I can grab some snacks," she offered.

"Sure, sure." You followed her like a puppy as she led you through the breathtaking halls of her house. She gathered various food and DVDs before finally plopping down on her bed when you reached her room. You hovered in the doorway for a moment, unsure of where you were allowed to sit.

"Come here, you freak," she joked, patting the sheets next to her. You laughed as you tentatively sat at the edge of her bed. "I've had enough trauma-dumping for the day, so I'm thinking we should watch some Disney for a palette cleanser." You grinned like a little kid at the assortment of movies she had laid out before you. "Well?" she asked.

"Well, what?" you replied.

"Pick one." She looked up at you through her dark lashes. "The princess gets to pick the princess movie."

"Fuck off," you scoffed, shoving her playfully to prevent her from seeing how red your cheeks had gotten at the nickname. She simply raised her eyebrows, still waiting for your choice. "Fine." You pointed at the purple and yellow Tangled DVD case.

"Classic." She hopped off the bed and inserted the disc. When she rejoined you, you could have sworn she sat closer than she had originally. Don't think about it, you told yourself. You were just two friends who shared lingering glances and hand touches watching the most romantic princess movie known to man. That's all it was.

The movie was as wonderful as ever, if not more wonderful what with Hazel's poor renditions of all of the songs to entertain you. For the most part, you were able to sit comfortably beside each other. You were completely content to watch the screen, that is when you were able to ignore that you could feel her looking at you instead of the TV at times. It became impossible to ignore when the credits began rolling and you had no choice but to meet her eyes.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" you asked quietly.

She hesitated. "I didn't expect you to be so..."

"...not bitchy?" you finished her sentence.

She laughed, "Well, not exactly. I guess I just never would have guessed that you were so kind and supportive."

"Yeah, most people don't expect the popular cheerleader to be anything but a ditsy fucktoy for football players, I guess." You had meant it as a joke, but Hazel shot up in defense.

"That's not what I meant." She shook her head. "I think what I'm trying to say is that I never would have guessed that someone as cool and-- and beautiful as you would hang out with any one of us in the club."

"Honestly," you sighed. "I never would have guessed it either." You shared a laugh with Hazel, marveling at how sweet she sounded when she was happy.

"I'm really glad you joined the club," Hazel told you, suddenly seeming more shy. Her soft gaze melted your heart, yet somehow made you feel braver than ever before.

"You're the reason I love the club so much." You almost whispered it, so afraid of the reaction it would elicit. Hazel continued to look at you for so long that you considered changing the subject as a diversion from your confession. You were unable to speak, though, because Hazel quickly pressed her lips to yours.

The speed of the kiss shocked you at first, Hazel moving quickly as if she were afraid that you would run away. Your hands found her hair and she instantly relaxed, your lips melting together.

You didn't know that kissing could feel this good, this easy, this right. Despite never wanting to stop, you tugged on Hazel's hair to look at her gasping face.

"Are you okay?" she asked you, hands framing your face in concern.

"God, yes," you laughed. "I'm so good."

Your giggles were once again cut off by her lips. They chased yours with more urgency, so you slipped your tongue against hers. She moaned softly against your teeth, spurring on your ministrations until she detached herself from your mouth.

You almost protested at the lack of contact until you felt her wet lips trailing down your jaw and neck. You whined as she sucked and softly bit a sweet spot, reveling in the sound of her moaning at your own noises. Her hands snaked around your waist, slowly climbing up toward your breasts.

"Is this okay?" she breathed against your collarbone.

"Fuck, please." She let out a low chuckle at your begging, her laughter soon muffled against your skin as she slipped her head under your oversized shirt. You felt her breath dance across your tits, aching for her already. After one delicate kiss to your left nipple, moans filled your ears. Hazel emerged from beneath your clothes when you both realized that the sounds were coming from neither of you.

"Shit!" Hazel exclaimed. "I hate it when she does this." She collapsed onto the bed, breathless.

"Is... Is that your mom?"

"Yes," Hazel groaned from behind her hands. "She's very vocal."

"God, I'm sorry you have to hear that." The pair of you couldn't help but laugh at the obscene sounds from down the hall, clutching each other's arms in disbelief as they grew louder.

"I'm just sorry that we were interrupted," Hazel whispered against your hand before kissing your palm.

"I am, too," you agreed. "It's getting late, though. I should go." You nearly got teary-eyed when you saw the sadness on Hazel's face.

"Right," she said. "Let me take you home."

You found yourself wishing that you lived farther from Hazel when she pulled into your driveway after just a few minutes. You planted a quick kiss on her forehead before thanking her and walking to your front door.

"Wait!" you heard Hazel call your name through the rolled-down window. You bounced back over to her. "My mom's not going to be home this weekend. So, if you wanted to come over again, we could... you know..."

"...watch The Princess and the Frog next?" you joked.

Her infectious giggle sounded like Heaven. "You got it, princess." With one more soft kiss, she pulled away from your house.

The weekend couldn't come any sooner.

...

AHHHHH sorry I got so carried away with this but there will DEFINITELY be a smutty part three for all of you sluts. Let me know if you liked this one!

#hazel callahan smut #hazel callahan x reader #hazel bottoms #bottoms 2023 #bottoms movie #hazel callahan

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a-edgar-allan-hoe · 2 years

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Wild Horses

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Female Doctor!Reader, Soap x Reader Part 2

Part 1 , Part 3 , Part 4

A/N: Y’all have asked and y’all have received. Enjoy! Let me know what you guys think, I always love to hear your thoughts! Reblogs are much appreciated! 😊💜

Summary: Imagine being the new physician assigned to the team and a certain masked individual takes a new keen concealed interest in you. The two of you are too awkward to function.

Warnings: language, fluff, angst. This one might be a little sad and Ghost is a bit of an ass-jerk so be prepared.

As mentioned before, Ghost completely stays clear of your vicinity after stepping out of your office. It’s not that he hates you. He’s just slightly irritated. With himself? Or is it you and that pretty face of yours and your comforting voice and your goddamn politeness and your accent. To be honest, the whole team adores your accent. He can’t tell. Remind you, this is a man who has probably never been shown any affection or tenderness so don't expect him to fall for you on the spot. This man needs therapy, like a lot of therapy. All he knows is that he doesn’t want to go through whatever it is he is feeling, finding the whole thing to be an inconvenience really. And because he doesn't know how to understand or face whatever these emotions are, he just buries it. It's easier for him that way.

Poor dude couldn’t even sleep last night, staring at the ceiling of his room and haunted by the idea that he accidentally offended you. This man may have a cold exterior but your scalpels are colder and sharper than the devil's jawline. He almost couldn’t blame you if you decided to inject some foreign substance into his bloodstream and make the whole thing look like it was a stroke. Wait, could you do that? Bloody fucking hell. This man spends too much time with his thoughts I swear.

The man spends the whole night trying to assess his feelings, or rather his attraction towards you, convinces himself you're just another pretty face. The man may be touch-starved but he knows there are other methods to handle his needs, even though it's been a long time since he's slept with a woman, like a really long time. But even then, that situation was different. There was never any intimacy involved, like a quick business transaction that finished just as quickly as it started. It only left him feeling as empty as he was before. Not to mention, he doesn't do well with human interaction and that one and only moment he had with a woman daunted him more than it needed to, and so he has remained abstinent ever since. And if he were being honest with himself, you're just a distraction. And how do you handle distractions? You steer clear of them.

So what does this man do? He does what he intended to do. He avoids you at all costs. Oh, is that you walking towards their small, makeshift kitchen to fix yourself a bagel in the morning? Guess what, he’s doing a full 180 and lurking behind a wall like Michael Myers and his stupid hedge, waiting until you’re finished so he can make himself his morning tea.

Not only that but he makes sure to take extra good care of himself, Vitamin C supplements or multivitamins, whatever it takes to keep himself in best health. He even looks up on Google for extra tips to prevent himself from having to send himself in. He had heard of the saying “an apple a day keeps the doctor away” and goes out of his way to buy an apple during his morning runs. But the poor chap has it all mixed up because when you walk into your office the next morning, you're surprised to see an apple just sitting there on your desk.

Ghost doesn't know that it's supposed to be the other way around and that the apple is actually supposed to be for himself. He doesn't bother to search up the meaning, nor does anyone bother to tell him because they don't even know that he's doing it in the first place. So every morning he goes on his run, he goes out and buys an apple, and so every morning you find one placed on your desk.

The first time you saw the fruit sitting there on the table where you worked, surrounded by your scattered paperwork, you were confused no doubt. You picked it up curiously in your hand, inspecting the bright red fruit before giving a shrug and biting into it, after you wash it of course. You think it's just a small little token of thanks from one of the men. Possibly Soap considering how flirty he was yesterday. Alejandro doesn't seem like the type to give fruits. He's more of a red rose and a bottle of wine kind of man.

But as days go by, each day you find an apple sitting on your desk. And as thoughtful as this gesture is, at this point, considering the amount of apples you've eaten, you're either going to have serious digestive issues or die of cyanide poisoning, as if you don't already have IBS. So what do you do? You start to collect the apples each morning, deciding to throw in your own twist to this gesture until one evening, the men come back from one of their missions to find a freshly baked apple pie and a stack of paper plates and some utensils sitting out on a table for them, including a small little card with the handwritten words "bone apple tea". What in the hell.

"What in the fucks is bone apple tea." Gaz scrunches his nose at the writing on the little card.

They're all standing around at the table staring at the pie with confusion written across their faces. All except Ghost of course, the way his eyes slightly widen once he sees it. His gut is telling him you're behind it. Hm I wonder what gave it away.

"What’s this?" Alejandro asks, tilting his head at the thing.

"Looks like apple pie." Gaz answers.

"Yes I know that." Alejandro remarks. “But what is it doing here?"

"Doubt it's from any one of you muppets." Price speaks up. He knows damn well none of these men know how to bake. There’s only one person here whose hands are skilled or nimble enough to make the braided trim on that crust. Not to mention the detailing in the center, like the way you carefully placed little leaf designs made from the crust on top of the braided design. Yup this was definitely you, unless someone else here had a secret talent they had been hiding.

Literally why are these men acting like the pie has poison it. As if Graves sent it or something. Just shut up and eat the pie before it gets cold you himbos.

"So who made it?" Soap asks, looking towards the others for answers.

"This," Alejandro chuckles after finally realizing, "this was made by the hands of a woman."

"Who, y/n?" Gaz quirks a brow, you're the only woman here.

How in the hell did you get the means to bake a complete fucking apple pie in a place like this? They always heard doctors have skilled and steady hands but what the actual fuck.

"Well don't mind me." Soap literally cuts a big ass slice for himself before going off to devour the thing.

The boys watch Soap basically almost moan once he takes a bite of your pie as he goes off yelling out something along the lines of "well tidy scran", before helping themselves to a slice.

Ghost is the last one to cut himself a slice. He was hesitant at first before finally giving in, plus he also got back from a mission and he's hungry. So when he digs in his fork and has his first taste, it's kinda like that scene from Ratatouille where the food critic Anton Ego finally takes a bite of Remy's food and is reminded of his childhood, except Ghost doesn't have a childhood.

Let me tell you these men are obsessed with your pie and are practically fighting over the last slice like a pair of siblings so don't be surprised when you wake up the next morning to the see that the plate that your pie was in is completely empty without a single crumb in sight. Jesus. Did they lick the table down too?

Also I think you may have just given Ghost a newfound sweet tooth. When he went back to his room that night, he's debating on whether he should keep his daily routine of giving you apples, so far it’s kept you away. What he doesn’t get is that you made a whole damn pie out of the apples he gave you when they were actually supposed to be for you, or him, if you look at it from his distorted perception. But wait. What if you know it's him, and that's why you made the pie in the first place? A way to a man’s heart is not only between the forth and fifth ribs, but it’s also through his stomach. And as much as he wants to deny it, he also kind of secretly wants you to bake another one. It's almost as if he's completely forgotten why he placed those apples on your desk in the first place.

So what do you see when you wake up the next morning? An empty plate and yet another apple sitting on your desk. Okay what the fuck. You've let it slide all those times but now you have got to know who's pulling this shit. It’s not that you hate apples, but the conception that you have no clue who’s behind this is making you start to view the poor defenseless fruit as an object of taunting and torment. And to be honest at this point, you're beginning to think this is some kind of joke. So with the apple in your hand, you head towards the common area where the others are currently settled.

“Okay who did it?” You call out once you enter the area.

Crickets chirping.

All heads snap towards you to see you standing there with an apple held in your hand. They're almost stunned to see you wandering about. They rarely ever see you since you're usually locked up in your office or your room.

The men have done a lot of shit so just what is it that are you asking. They stare at you with not a single thought behind their eyes, that is until their blood runs cold at what happened last night. Was the pie not meant for them? Shit.

“Did what?” Gaz gulps, trying to play it off as nothing happened.

"Who keeps leaving apples on my desk like I'm about to host a county fair?"

"Come again?" Price asks, not that he didn't hear you, but it's probably the most anyone has heard you speak that isn't related to your work. Not only that, but they’re so used to hearing your “doctor” voice that your normal voice is a whole pitch lower and almost sounds foreign and alien to their ears. Not that they’re complaining because they honestly love hearing it.

"Someone has been leaving apples on my desk every single day." You repeat yourself more slowly. "And I'd like to know who."

So you're not mad about the pie.

Ghost immediately snaps his head away from your direction and nearly chokes on his tea. It's almost a miracle he doesn’t get whiplash from how fast he turns away.

The others are still staring at you, a tad bit scared of the expression that sat on your face. They couldn't make out if you were upset or not.

"Well?" You ask, leaning against the doorframe with your hand stuffed in your coat pocket while your other hand tossed the apple about in the air.

"Couldn't be me." Soap answers.

The others shake their heads as you squint your eyes at each and every one of them, trying to decipher the culprit. "Whoever it is, I will find out." You take a bite out of the apple before tossing it to the nearest person, who happened to be Alejandro, before starting to leave the area.

Alejandro catches the apple between his hands, staring down at the fruit with a chuckle to see where you had bit into it before taking a bite of his own.

Soap can't help but clench his jaw at Alejandro's cockiness. Ghost just turns away unbothered, it’s none of his concern. Or at least that’s what he tells himself.

"Wait you're not mad about the pie?" Gaz calls out after you.

"What pie?" You turn back.

Wot

"The pie....from last night."

"I have no clue what you're talking about." You put on your best innocent expression before walking away.

The men snap their heads towards each other. Have they been poisoned? The longer they stare at each other, the more panicked they get.

Alejandro glances down at the apple you had thrown in his hands and is so close to spitting out the bite he had taken.

"I'm kidding." Your voice nearly makes them jump out of their skin as they turn to see your head popped through the doorway. "The pie was from me." You walk away again before turning back around. "Oh, I almost forgot. I have your blood results so if you're free, come see me when you get the chance."

Shit. Ghost thinks to himself after hearing you mention the blood results. He is hoping his blood sample got demolished in some shape or form, but the way you didn't even try to pull him aside to break the "unfortunate" news tells him otherwise. He's just not going to show.

The men watch you walk away in silence after your little moment of humor. They almost don't know how to react. The way the warmth of your voice blended with the obscurity of your words threw them in for a loop.

All except Ghost have no clue who has been sending you apples, but whoever it is that is sending you the fruit, they think that person is trying to win you over. So what started out as some misunderstanding on Ghost's end has now turned into this whole peacocking ordeal. Now it's a competition of who gets you better gifts in order to gain your affection, mainly Soap and Alejandro and even Gaz, but mostly Soap. Price still shows you appreciation for your work and what you do in his own way.

Poor Ghost was just trying to manifest "an apple a day keeps the doctor away". So who’s gonna tell him?

Anyways, when you return to your office to work on your paperwork, the boys go out to get you a little something before meeting up with you to go over their bloodwork results. Despite Soap and Gaz's efforts, Alejandro is the first to leave and the first to return. And just as Soap returns with his little gift for you, Alejandro beats him to it, a smirk playing on his lips as he enters your office with a red rose in hand. Poor Gaz wasn't able to find you anything special so he gets you a cool looking rock he saw instead.

Soap is practically fuming. If you squint hard enough, you might see smoke coming out his ears.

You hear a knock on your door and look up from where you sat at your desk to see Alejandro stepping into your office, a sly smirk on his lips as he holds out a rose.

"Alejandro." You quirk a brow. "What's this?"

"For you, hermosa."

"Oh?" You cock your head back in surprise as you take the rose from his hands. "What for?"

"Oh just a little way of showing appreciation." Alejandro leans against your desk.

"Why thank you Alejandro" You blink, trying your best to push down the blush that tries to creep itself onto your cheeks.

"My pleasure."

You decide to place the flower inside the empty vase you had already set out from before when you moved your things in. "I had been meaning to get some flowers to brighten up the area."

"There's no need" Alejandro smirks. "I'm afraid the rose doesn't compare to you. You do that all on your own."

Little do you know Soap is listening in on the whole thing with a frown. If he pressed his ear any closer he'd fall right through the door. Sure the Scots have their special charm but Alejandro is different and has the most rizz out of all of them, and Soap is fully aware and has always heard they make better lovers and that only adds to his panic.

Now you're definitely not able to hide the heat that spread through your face. You can't tell if it's the state of being flustered or just social anxiety. Well they weren't wrong about Alejandro having a way with words. "Geez, thank you Alejandro. But there really is no need for flattery."

"For you, anything hermosa."

Omfg this dude.

You look away from his strong gaze, managing to shove your flustered state away and stopping yourself from releasing the sharp wit you inherited from your father. Clearing your throat, you open up his file. "Well that really is kind of you Alejandro. And since you are already here, I have the results from your blood work."

"Oh? Everything should be good yes?"

"Well yes, for the most part but-"

"But what?" Alejandro looks confused. What's wrong with his blood?

"Your cholesterol levels are pretty high." You open up his file and read over his results.

"They are?"

"I'm afraid so, but not at a dangerous level. You should probably cut out some of that fried food and red meat and watch your butter intake. Nothing too serious though. Add some greens into your diet, as well as some nuts and whole grains and definitely more fruits and veggies and you're good to go." You hand him a copy of his results before giving a look of grimace. "But watch out on the fiber though. Too much of it can lead to increased bowel movements."

"Increased what?"

"You know, a case of the shits."

The way Soap pulls his ear away from the door and slaps his palm on mouth to keep himself from letting out the most offensive laugh known to mankind. If only you could have seen it. Is he going to bring this up in Alejandro's presence? Maybe.

Alejandro looks over the papers you gave him. "Wait really?"

"Yeeaaah." You give the poor fellow a sympathetic smile. "But hey, everything you need to know is right on those papers, so as long as you cut out the foods mentioned and get a higher intake of the others listed, you'll be back to normal in no time."

"Oh uh. Thank you y/n. I appreciate it."

"Anytime Alejandro." You smile. "You know where to find me."

The way Soap nearly trips over himself as he backs away from the door after hearing footsteps, as if he wasn't eavesdropping on every thing.

Alejandro opens the door and walks out of your office, eyes glued to the papers while Soap is just standing there trying not to be noticed.

The moment Alejandro is out of sight, Soap goes over and knocks on your door.

"Come in." You look up and smile to see Soap. Over the course of the few days since you first arrived here, you were to quick to warm up to the young Scotsman, finding comfort and humor in his personality. You enjoyed hearing him talk about just about anything, and his accent always helped to make whatever he had to say all the more interesting. It really is a good thing he does most of the talking since you make a better listener and love to hear what others have to say.

Soap knows you don't talk much and how you prefer to listen and hear stories, so he always makes sure to keep you entertained. This man is 100% golden retriever energy. Also he calls you lass and lassie and you just eat that shit up, he loves how you blush and that small restrained smile appears on your face whenever he says it. Don't worry, so would I. "Soap! You can have a seat if you want, this will be brief."

"Oh uh, I've actually got you something." Soap hands you a small box.

"Oh?" You quirk a brow as you take the box from his hands? What is it with everyone giving you gifts? Are they in on something you're not? "What is it?" You ask as you open the small box to see a bunch of what looks to be biscuits.

"Scottish shortbread." Soap smiles, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck. "I brought them along with me from back home but I thought you'd like them with your morning coffee."

"Wait, are you sure you don't want them for yourself? I feel bad."

"Nah. I can always get more.......if-when I go back home. You keep em. It's for ya. Think of it as a welcoming gift.....for all ya done, and the pie ya made for us."

"Soap, I don't know what to say." You give the man a heartfelt smile. "Thank you.....really, it's very thoughtful of you. It'll give me a variety from my bagels."

"Don' mention it." Soap places his hands behind his back before noticing a small framed picture you had set up on your desk that definitely wasn't there before. "Is that you?"

"Hm?" You raise you brow to see what he is referring to and seeing him gesture to the photo.

"Oh. Yeah, that's me as a little girl." You glance at the photo as a soft smile appears on your face. It was a picture of you when you were a little girl around the age of 5, when your dad took you on a camping trip to Zion. The two of you were sitting near the tent he had set up overlooking the mountain range with you sitting in his arms while he played his guitar, wearing that same old baseball cap of his that you had grown accustomed to seeing as you grew up. The longer you looked at the picture and relived that core memory, glancing at the crooked grin that sat on your little face and the way your father beamed, the more your face began to match the fond look that radiated off your father's eyes as he looked down at your giggling state.

"That's quite the smile you got there." Soap teases, chuckling at the expression you held in the photo.

"Oh please." You roll your eyes, knowing exactly what he was joking about. "I know I looked goofy. My baby teeth were falling out."

"And that's yer dad?"

"Yup. That's my old man."

"Ya have yer father's eyes." Soap smiles at you, knowing now where you inherited that certain warmth held in your eyes that was able to put the coldest man at ease by just one look.

You let out a soft chuckle, glancing down at the ground to blink away the tears that have yet to form before looking back up at the soldier. "I've been told."

"Where was this taken? The scenery is absolutely braw."

"That was taken at Zion National Park in Utah. My dad had taken me there on a camping trip."

"It's absolutely gorgeous."

"Maybe I'll take you one day."

"Ya mean it?" Soap turns towards you, a grin forming on his face.

"Why not? It's been a while since I went, not since the photo."

"I think you've just made my day lass." Soap smirks before turning to the other photo. "And I'm guessing that's you as well." Soap gestures to the other photo of you around your middle school years that your dad had taken of you, wearing a wet suit as you sat on your surfboard, a grin on your face and your hair matted with salt water while one of your hands formed the shaka sign. "I dinnae ken you surfed."

"Oh yeah, surfing was my life. This was back when I had caught my first wave in Hawaii. My dad was so proud. Took me out for shaved ice right after and couldn't stop bragging to everyone there about how effortlessly I had tube ridden that thing."

"Your dad sounds like a great man."

"The best."

Soap notices the way your smile ever so slightly dropped at one of the corners, as if some sadness had managed to overcome whatever memories that lied in your head so he clears his throat, deciding not to press on the subject any better. "So how does my blood look?"

"Good actually." You blink, his statement reminding you of what you were going to do since he stepped into your office in the first place. "Your levels are all pretty balanced." You hand him a copy of his results. "As for the muscle cramps you mentioned, try to get a higher intake of electrolytes like potassium, magnesium, and calcium. And most importantly, don't forget to stay hydrated and drink lots of water."

"Aye ma'am. I'll make sure of it."

"Thank you Soap."

"No, thank you." Soap gives you one last smile before heading out. "I'll see you around."

"Bye."

It was not long after Soap left that Gaz entered next followed by Price, hearing you go over their results with intent ears. You actually really loved the little rock Gaz had given you, he had even drawn a smiley face on for you. You thought it was really cute despite his embarrassment in not finding you something better. And after the two left, there was only one person left that had yet to show up at your door. Simon 'Ghost' Riley.

Not wanting to pressure the man who looks like he'd stab you for looking at him the wrong way, you decided to stay at your desk, working over some paperwork of your own until the time comes when he decides to show up whenever he sees comfortable.

Picking up your mug, you decide to get some more coffee, leaving your office and heading to the kitchen area to brew yourself a new cup. Looking up from your feet, you see Ghost walking walking in your direction in front of you.

"Ghost!" You call out to him, or as much as you can call out. You never were one for raising your voice, despite the many times your previous teachers had urged you to speak up, displeased with the way you preferred to keep to yourself as opposed to your more extroverted peers. But even when carrying out their commands to speak louder, you always hated doing so, thinking it drew too much attention towards you. It's a wonder you got through med school and became a doctor in the first place.

Ghost had heard you calling out his name and immediately his muscles tense. The last thing he wanted was for you to see him because that only meant one thing, being dragged into your office to go over his blood results until something else insulting slips from his lips. I promise he doesn't hate your guts! So in order to evade you, this man does the first thing that comes to mind, he walks straight into the nearest room, which just so happens to be the shared showers. Simon you dumb fuck. Let’s hope Price isn’t butt ass naked in there for Simon’s sake.

You blink, standing there with your mug that your friend from college thought would be funny to gift you when you started med school, the one that had the words "I have a PHD" in bold colorful letters with the finer print "pretty huge dick" right below it (of course you never used that mug back at the hospital or else you'd hear about it).

So with your mug in hand, you watch the masked man walk straight into the room where the shared showers were. Huh. Well that's weird. You try to give the man the benefit of the doubt, thinking he just did not hear you. Maybe he'll stop by later. So shrugging off what just happened, you head into the kitchen to make yourself a fresh cup of coffee. God an iced coffee sounds good right now.

Once you had headed back to your office, finishing up your work and taking little breaks in between to read your book or snack on something, an hour turned into two, and so forth. Until you looked at your clock and it was already past the time of sunset. Jesus. Where did this dude go? Getting up from your chair, you step out of your office, holding the door open and seeing not a single soul headed in your direction. What in the-

With furrowed brows, you step back into your office, staring down at Ghost's results that just sat there waiting to be picked up.

"Goddamn it." You hiss between your teeth. You have no idea what his issue is or why he avoids you as if you spit in his fruit loops or tea or whatever. But if he keeps this up, it could interfere with your own job. Looking around at your desk, an idea pops into your head as you grab two things that lied there, a sticky note and a two dum-dum lollipops, a sugar cookie flavor and a butterscotch one.

Heading out of your office, you head towards where the men's rooms are located before stopping at a certain particular one, surveying the area around you to make sure no one sees you before staring straight at the door in front of you. Taking out your pen, you write on the note "please stop by my office when you get a chance", making sure to add your initials in the corner before taping it to his door along with the two lollipops, hoping the candy will be some sort of bribe.

"God I hope this works and he doesn't shoot me in the head." You mutter out before heading back to your own quarters that was separate from the men's due to standard protocol. Throwing off your coat and your clothes, you threw on an oversized t-shirt and some sweats, eating a microwaveable dinner in your own room before getting ready to go to bed. There was nothing you craved more than to collapse onto the mattress and bury yourself under the covers. And as you finished brushing your teeth, turning off the lights and getting into a comfortable position under your blanket, all you could do was stare at the ceiling above you.

Little did you know, that same night, in that same moment, there was another who could not sleep, staring at the ceiling as you did now. He had saw the note that you had left him on his door, as well as the two lollipops. It almost annoyed him, whatever it was you were showing towards him. And it did not help that the note had smelled of you, of that perfume that oh so enriched his senses. The man literally has your note laying on top of his bedside table along with the lollipops. He'll throw it out first thing tomorrow he tells himself.

"Oh come the fuck on." You moaned as you turned over onto your side but to no avail. No matter how hard you tried to shut your eyes and shut out any thoughts that attempted at keeping you awake, you just could not fall asleep until you finally give up. "Jesus fuck shit fuck." You hiss to yourself as you throw the blanket off you, sitting up on your bed and throwing on your sweatpants before getting up. Usually on nights like this where you couldn't sleep, you'd find a way to calm your nerves, whether it be reading or drawing or listening to a comforting audiobook.

So, grabbing your pillow and blanket, you open up your closet and grab your father's acoustic guitar, going back over to your bed and staring at the framed photo of your dad that sat on the bedside table before taking that with you as well. Leaving your room, you make sure to be as quiet as possible, looking both ways before heading up towards the roof of the building.

When you were little and had trouble sleeping, your dad used to take you outside to where the two of you had built a little fort, where the two of you would lay under the stars, brushed over by the cool night breeze as he played his guitar, singing old folk and slow classic rock songs until you finally fell asleep. And as you stepped onto the roof, craning your neck to stare up at the stars above you, you were reminded of those moments and the peace it gave you. Setting your bedding down, you prop the picture of your dad up next to you before sitting down with the guitar in hand.

"Hey dad." Your voice is a whisper as you look down at the photo of your father beside you. The photo was taken not even a month after you were born. He had taken you to the fire station he was stationed at, excited to introduce his team to his new precious baby girl, his first child. You could almost say it was your favorite photo of him, sitting on the front bumper of the firetruck in his uniform with you bundled up in a pink blanket in his arms.

"I know it's been a bit of a while since we've last talked." You sigh, forming your fingers into a chord on the fretboard of the guitar. "So to make up for it, I'm going to sing you one of the songs I always used to sing. You know the one, it's one of my favorites, and yours too."

Despite his efforts to fall asleep, Simon had ended up stepping out of his room, walking about the grounds to somewhat ease his mind. This was obviously nothing new to him, he always had trouble sleeping. And during those nights he had trouble sleeping, he'd take a walk to help clear his head. He found comfort in the silence of the night, when everything and everyone was asleep. He would usually go to his favorite spot on the rooftop, where he would seek refuge under the obsidian skies and the silver stars.

As he goes up the stairs that lead up to the roof, he stops at the sound that comes from beyond the door, what sounds to be someone singing and strumming the guitar. Curious to know who the hell had taken his spot and had the radio playing, he goes up further to investigate. So imagine his surprise when he finds you there instead, wrapped up in your blanket and strumming against your guitar, singing The Sundays cover of Wild Horses.

"Childhood living is easy to do The things that you wanted, I bought them for you Graceless lady, you know who I am You know I can't let you slide through my hands" Your voice is ethereal as you sing out the lyrics, your face molded into these deep emotions you can't quite explain.

"Wild horses couldn't drag me away Wild horses couldn't drag me away

I watched you suffer a dull, aching pain And now you've decided to show me the same No sweeping exits or offstage lines Could make me feel bitter or treat you unkind

Wild horses couldn't drag me away Wild, wild horses couldn't drag me away

Faith has been broken and tears must be cried Let's do some living after we die

Wild horses couldn't drag me away Wild, wild horses couldn't drag me away

Wild, wild horses, we'll ride them someday Wild, wild horses, we'll ride them someday."

During the entirety of the song, Simon stands there in the distance behind you, hidden in the shadows, entranced, and can't seem to explain the tingles he feels washing over his body. He thinks he has intruded upon you and wants to leave you to your solitude in what seems to be an intimate moment for you, and yet he can't seem to be able to get his feet to move. Instead he's watching you with this newfound interest. He had never expected you to play the guitar as you did, nor have the voice that you did. So as you finish your song, he almost trips over his own feet trying to back away, scared that you might somehow notice that he had been there this whole time.

"God I miss you dad." You wipe away at the tears that start to spill down your cheeks despite your attempts to wipe them away with the back of your sleeve, scanning your eyes over the stars that scattered across the sky, imagining he was up there amongst them. "I miss you so much."

Regaining his footing, Ghost is careful to open the door leading back into the building, that is until he hears you let out what sounds to be a choked sob. He turns his head back towards you, seeing you bring your knees up to your chest as you cry out, mumbling something he can't quite understand. With his hand still holding the door open, he looks down at the set of stairs, turning his head back towards you for one more time before going down the steps, being careful to shut the door without any noise possible.

Part 3

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