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wooahaes · 10 months

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svt - pick-up lines

pairing: non-idol!svt x gn!reader

prompt: reader hitting on their partner with pick-up lines. for funsies.

genre: fluff. comedy? this is so silly.

warnings: bad pick-up lines. goofy silly hours teehee!! established relationship in all of these.

daisy’s notes: ive had these plans for a while. this is just me enjoying pick-up lines. theyre so silly goofy sometimes.

choi seungcheol

“cheollie,” you called out from your end of the couch. he looked up from his phone with a hum, and you kept a straight face. “do you believe in love at first sight?”

to your surprise, he mused over the question for a minute. “what? i don’t know, i think--”

you spoke up over him, trying to quell your urge to laugh: “do you believe in love at first sight, or should i walk by again?”

and he stared at you, brows furrowing together before it clicked. ah. you must have found pick-up lines online or something. “honey. we’ve been dating for two years. you don’t need to hit on me like this--”

“answer the question, cheollie!”

“no!” he laughed, “if you’re going to hit on me, then do one that makes sense!”

yoon jeonghan

jeonghan hummed as he focused on cooking dinner... yet he heard the telltale sound of you making your way over, and glanced up. “hi, honey,” he said, before going back to his work. “it’ll only be a little longer--”

“hey. jeonghan.” he could hear the way you’re trying not to crack up over whatever you were about to say. “i hope you know CPR... because you’re taking my breath away.”

he looked up, half-expecting to see you holding your camera up, but instead you’re just smiling like an idiot. at least you’re his idiot, if anything. he gave you the tiniest once-over, before going back to his work. “your hand looks heavy... can i hold it for you?”

and immediately you cringed--something he caught out of the corner of his eye--causing him to laugh.

“you won’t win!” he said, looking at you. “i memorized some the moment i saw you googling them last night!”

“you cheater!” you said through your giggles, making your way over to steal a kiss from him. “ugh, you’re so mean!”

he chuckled against your lips instead. “and you’re still laughing.”

joshua hong

joshua had been doing the dishes when you sidled up to him with this goofy smile on your face. he glanced up for a moment, about to ask why you were smiling so hard all of a sudden, only for you to speak up.

“are you from tennessee--”

“babe. i’m literally from california,” he chuckled.

“no, shh,” you reached up to cover his mouth, “you’re ruining it--”

he chuckled, pulling your hand away, “i know.” and he abandoned his work, turning to you as he laned in. “and i’m gonna keep ruining it--”

“what? no!” you whined, “you’re so mean--just let me finish the line--”

he kissed you anyway, giggling when he felt you smile against his lips. when you started to try to finish the line when he pulled away, he merely kissed you again.

(you weren’t going to finish the line... but you didn’t mind it so much when every attempt was met with a kiss).

wen junhui

jun had been curled up on the couch, a book in his hands when he heard you call out to him.

“jun. junnie.” he looked up to see you approaching, phone in hand. “if i were a cat...” you looked up, smiling hard, “i’d spend all nine lives with you.”

oh no. oh NO. you were CUTE. maybe the pickup line was silly as hell, but you were adorable and it made him start to giggle. he buried his face in his book. “i thought we were past this stage!”

“are you a cat?” you pulled the book down as you crawled over, “because you’re purrrrfect--”

again, he started to giggle over your silly pickup lines. of course you’d pick cat ones. this man had a weakness sometimes and it was cats. the fact that you looked incredibly pleased with yourself only made this worse (or better? jun couldn’t tell which: your joy was great, but how was he supposed to live after this?).

counter attack time. he dived forward, quickly kissing you before breaking into more giggles. “are you happy now?”

with a giggle, you leaned forward, about to kiss him again. “very.”

kwon soonyoung

“soonyoung!”

your boyfriend looked up from where he was getting a drink from the fridge, suddenly caught off guard. did he do something? or... maybe you asked him for something and he was about to forget it? soonyoung could be a little forgetful, and usually you approaching him like this either meant he forgot something, or he did something. slowly, he pushed the fridge close, still staring you down..

“if you were a song,” you said, “you’d be the best single on the album.”

the fridge shut, and he could hear that hiss of it being sealed back as he continued to stare at you. wait. single? “are you breaking up with me?”

“what? no, soonie, i’m hitting on you.”

what the fuck were you talking about...? “honey... we’re already dating.”

“soonyoung--”

“ohh, right,” he twisted the tap of his water bottle. he lifted it to take a sip, pausing long enough to finish the thought, “you’re still bad at flirting.”

“soonyoung!”

he set the bottle aside as he made his way to you, “it’s okay,” he giggled. he reached out, pulling you into his arms. “i still love you and your bad pick-up lines.”

jeon wonwoo

wonwoo had been standing in the middle of the bookstore when you suddenly approached him, giggling. he could see from the twinkle in your eyes that you had something planned, and you reached out, patting his arm with a “hey, hey, wonwoo,” that told him immediately you’d been distracted while looking up the book you were looking for.

“yes?”

“on a scale from one to ten,” you said, “you’re a nine, and i’m the one you need--”

wonwoo blinked at you. “you’re not a one, though.”

immediately, your head shot up as you stared at him, suddenly embarrassed. as you swat at his arm, with a pouty “wonwoooo,” wonwoo giggled at you.

“you’re so cute,” he said. “did you find the book we’re looking for?”

he could see the light bulb over your head as you went wide-eyed, suddenly reminded your mission. “oh, right!”

lee jihoon

“jihoonie?” you called out, immediately getting your boyfriend’s attention as he was comparing two boxes of cereal. “if you were words on a page... you’d be fine print.”

... what the hell? he just stared at you, saying nothing as he tried to figure out what you were doing. was soonyoung around the corner? had you run into him and he pitched this idea...? or maybe it had been vernon. or mingyu. or... honestly, he had a lot of friends who teased him because his face went bright red whenever you teased him.

“if you were a vegetable,” you continued to read off of your phone, “you’d be a cute-cumber.”

this was even more confusing. he could see you were smiling. were you planning something? this had to be a prank. his face kept growing warmer by the second: of course you’d find cute pick-up lines to use on him. you didn’t even do this when the two of you started dating.

“if you were a fruit--”

“why are you hitting on me? we’re already dating.”

you had smiled to yourself again, that twinkle in your eye telling him that you were about to tease him again. yet when you looked up, you saw how red his face was getting. no point in letting this go to waste. “you’d be a fine-apple,” you finished.

and that immediately netted you jihoon whining at you with a quiet “stop, i’m going to die and then you won’t have a boyfriend anymore. do you want me to die?”

(... and of course, that meant you’d hit him with an angel-themed pick-up line minutes later after you found a suitable one.)

lee seokmin

"hey. are you a chicken?”

seokmin looked up from where he was sprawled out on the couch, scrolling through his social media on this lazy afternoon. he furrowed his brow, thinking over your words again. you knew as well as anyone else that seokmin wasn’t the greatest with stuff like horror movies. he clung to you the entire time you went to a haunted house with him, after all. “i--”

“because you’re im-peck-able.”

he snorted after a moment, already smiling. “ah--really? you’re hitting on me like this?” he paused after a moment. “... aren’t you tired?”

you giggled, “nope! i still have more--”

“because you’ve been running through my mind all day.”

immediately, you yelled before diving forward, burying your face in his shirt. “that’s not fair!”

he laughed, bringing you into his arms as he sat up. “joshua told me that one once,” he giggled, “and i thought i missed my chance to use it on you.”

oh, of course he wanted to use it on you. what a dork. at least he was your dork.

kim mingyu

mingyu had been in the middle of cooking dinner when he heard you come in. he called out to you, asking how your day had gone. you’d made conversation easily enough as you slipped out of your shoes and into your house slippers, making your way into the kitchen. you leaned against the counter, watching him drop long noodles into boiling water.

“gyu.” yet when he merely hummed in response, you called his name again until he looked at you. “are you parents bakers?”

he furrowed his brows. “what? you know what my parents do, we’ve--”

“because you’re a cutie pie.”

he stared at you for a moment, words sinking in before he threw his head back and laughed. the pick-up line wasn’t so funny as much as it was his love for you that made him laugh. mingyu was utterly and entirely endeared to you in every way, and that included laughing at your silly little jokes. before you could even try to say another one, he made his way over to you, pulling you into his arms and kissing you.

“you’re so cute,” he giggled.

“it wasn’t that funny, you know,” you wrapped your arms around him. you’d save the other pick-up lines for later.

he squeezed you tight. “it was. because it was yours,” he said, giggling again. “really... i love you. you’re so cute.” he let go of you, stepping back to watch dinner. “dinner should be ready soon, by the way.”

you smiled, leaning against the counter once more. “i almost said something about your cake, you know--”

(which only earned you him yelling, laughing a little as he did so. god, he loved you.)

xu minghao

minghao had called out for you to come in once he heard you knock on the door of his art studio, and he’d nodded to you politely as you came in. without thinking twice, he continued his work, now acutely aware of the audience he had. he didn’t mind working in front of you--he trusted you to know that art was a process and the vision truly came together toward the end.

“hao?” you asked, sounding genuinely confused. “did you do something to my eyes?”

he furrowed his brows, looking over to where you were standing. “no? is something wrong--”

“because i can’t take them off of you.”

immediately, all concern for you evaporated because he saw the way you were smiling, the way you barely concealed your giggles now that he was looking at you. “are you done?”

your smile faltered. “oh. sorry, are you busy? i didn’t mean to--”

he giggled a moment later, so soft and airy. you’d always told him he had a cute laugh. “you don’t have to flirt with me,” he said, beckoning you over. he leaned in, pressing a kiss against your cheek. “i’m already yours.”

boo seungkwan

seungkwan had been sitting across from you, coffee sitting in front of him, as he scrolled through one of his social media accounts. he’d been looking for a specific post to show you, listening to you ramble on about your day as he searched.

“hey. do you have a name?” you asked all of a sudden, immediately earning a confused look from seungkwan. “or can i just call you mine?”

his nose wrinkled as he gave you this look of disgust. “what? we’re already dating. what are you talking about?” he paused, looking around. “is someone recording this?”

you just giggled, watching him. “did the sun come out? or did you just smile at me?”

seungkwan, who was very much not smiling at you, actually cracked one at that one. “really? should i wait for you to be done?”

“yes.” you glanced back down at your phone, “do you play soccer? because you look like a keeper--”

seungkwan grabbed his coffee, getting up to leave you there. he heard your “hey!” as he walked away, smiling to himself. all too soon, you’d chased after him, taking your hand in his.

“i’m done,” you giggled. “but you are, y’know. a keeper.”

“i know,” he smiled, squeezing your hand. “and i’m yours, too.”

he’d have to find a pick-up line to use on you later, just to give you a taste of your own medicine... you’ll just never see it coming.

chwe vernon

vernon knew you were up to... something. you’d been skulking around, this devious smile on your face as you wandered to and fro, giggling to yourself. at first, he thought this had to be some kind of ‘look at this costume i bought our child’ (your cat) deal, since that had happened before (which was why you owned a sonic the heggehog onesie for said cat). yet you had leaned over the couch, watching him for a moment.

“hey.”

he raised a brow. “hey?”

“if you and i were socks, we’d make a great pair.”

he rolled his eyes, settling back into the couch. “i think we’d have like. a sick pattern, too, actually.”

you pouted slightly, apparently not satisfied with his reaction. “if you were a triangle,” you said, recovering well enough, “you’d be acute one.”

he looked up at you again. “babe, i don’t remember geometry.”

“oh my god.” you buried your face in your hands for a moment. again, you recovered. “hey. what’s it like to be the most gorgeous person in the room?”

“i dunno,” he leans up, “what’s it like?”

you shoved your face into your hands again, letting out a groan as he laughed. this was what you got for leaving your phone open to a page of pick-up lines with a boyfriend who was more than ready to beat you at your own game. he’d only hoped you’d try to hit him with something like that last one.

“vernonnnn,” you drew out his name in a whine. “i hate you.”

he giggled, leaning up to pull one of your hands away from your face, and pressed a kiss against your cheek. “love you too,” he giggled.

lee chan

chan had been standing by the produce when you came back to him with the bread, setting it into your cart. he stood right where you had hoped he would be, looking over sweet potatoes since they were on your grocery list.

“hey. channie.”

he merely hummed in response, setting another sweet potato into the bag.

“if you were a potato,” you nod toward the one in his hand, “you’d be a sweet potato.”

he looked up, a little confused. “okay? thank you?”

“if i could rearrange the alphabet--”

“oh no.”

“--i’d put U and I together.”

chan let out a sigh, a smile breaking out as he hung his head for a minute. he looked at you again, still smiling. “are there more? i’ll wait if there are.”

you just wrapped your arm around his, pressing your side against his. “nope,” you said. “just wanted to see your face.”

he chuckled, shifting just enough that he could comfortably continue gathering sweet potatoes. “you didn’t put these on the list so you could use that line, right?”

“nope,” you hummed. “just seized the opportunity.”

he chuckled. “good to know,” he planted a quick peck on your cheek, still smiling to himself. at least he found you cute.

taglist: @twancingyunhao @synthetickitsune @wonuziex @gyulbabie

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themotherofhorses · 1 year

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you can pretend it's not meant to be (but you can't stay away from me)

summary: to you, he is fictional. but to him, you are everything and more. he can't live without you. and, really, there is no use in trying to run away, he'll always find you.

pairing: (somewhat) dark!aemond targaryen x fem!reader

warnings: explicit language. noncon to dubcon. abduction. massive obsessive tendencies on aemond's part. breeding kink. slight spitting kink. pregnancy.

note: hey this is me practicing writing smut because ive never ever done it before and i don't know jackshit like wtf is a dick hahaha im dreading posting this hahahasendhelpplshaha

masterlist | series masterlist

part two | part three | part four | part five

How did you end up here?

That was all you could ask yourself, over and over again.

It had only been hours ago, maybe, that you were sitting at home, rewatching the first season of House of the Dragon for what seemed to be the thousandth time. Perhaps you dozed off on the couch too, but that was it. You have heard of shifting techniques before- ways to visit your favorite fictional worlds- but you never sought to try them out yourself.

College left you too busy with assignments and textbook readings, as well as the constant and unwavering pressure to maintain both your scholarships and high GPA.

Ever the dutiful and driven daughter, hungry for academic validation and success.

Oh, fuck, your scholarships!

Your GPA!

All those assignments and discussions and exams!

And what about your family? Your mother and father? And your best friend?

Aemond Targaryen seems not to understand your words, and why you tell, beg, and plead for him to let you go. “Please, I need to go home,” you cry loudly, while yanking at the thick knots that bound you to his bedframe, “please! My family, my friends. They will be worrying when they don’t hear from me, and all my hard work and accomplishments, it will be for nothing! Please, I beg you, let me go home.”

But he just chuckles and kisses your forehead and says, “Oh, my sweet girl, I’m your family now. Or what is of it.” His lips feel so soft and wonderful, and how desperately you wish to enjoy the feeling. But not like this. You cannot think properly nor muster any sort of response, too distracted and stressed and focused on calming your breathing.

“Although,” he then adds with a smirk, “it truly is not considered a family until you have a babe of your own…or two.”

At his words, you tremble and whimper and try your best to break free, though it is all in stupid and foolish vain. There is no going anywhere, the knots are too tight and Aemond can easily overpower you. All you can do is stare up at the man you once considered your favorite character in the series, ever since the eighth episode aired and he stole your heart and soul and burrowed himself deep within your most inner thoughts and fixation.

“Do not worry,” he says, and you can see a twinkle in the violet of his eye. He rests a hand on your collarbone, gently drawing little shapes across the skin. “Good things will come out of this night, my love, I promise you that.”

Look on the bright side, you tell yourself, in some dumb attempt to steel your nerves, better Aemond Targaryen to lose your virginity to.

“You need to be quieter, my darling-” Aemond murmurs close to your ear “-we do not need curious ears listening in, do we?” He has you riding him, both hands clutching your hips as you do your best to bounce on his cock and match his thrusts. You’re sloppy and inexperienced, and a bit confused on what exactly to do, but it is so endearing that his lips curl into a grin.

Oh, you were made for me, he thinks, watching the way your glazed-over eyes try to hold his gaze. He will have you believe that by the end of the night, dawning if necessary.

There is much rush now that he found you, now that he has the chance to claim you.

You still moan, loud and high-pitched, and he slaps a hand flat over your mouth to shut you up. It makes your pretty and teary eyes widen more as you grab at his wrist, holding onto it while he tuts. “I’ll move my hand when you learn to listen to your husband and stay quiet. No one is allowed to hear my wife in her pleasure. No one but I.” At that, you bat your eyelashes at him, breasts heaving as he leans you down, so close your lips nearly touch, and Aemond can feel your heavy pants against his mouth.

“They will take you away from me, and ship you far across the world where I can’t find you,” he hisses, pinching your swollen nipple between his fingers, “I can’t have that. No, no, do you hear me? I will not survive being torn from you.”

The mere thought of losing you, either at the hands of his mother and grandsire or you returning to your homeland, fills him with sheer dread.

He does not know how to tell you that you are the girl of his dreams, everything he has desired and more. He has seen you in his nighttime slumbers and in the gleam of the summer sunlight and up among the black midnight stars.

But the words fall apart on his tongue, and all he can do is lay beneath you and marvel at your beauty: cheekbones and pretty puffy lips and the curve of your nose, the way your eyebrows furrow in pure pleasure, and how you look utterly delicious and ruined.

“You were made for me,” he breathes in awe, palming at both your breasts. You have to believe him, this sweet and pretty girl of his, how could you not? The gods above created you for him, he will make you see it. “You are taking me so fucking well,” and Aemond flattens a palm against your belly, where he can feel the slight bulge of his cock. “Look at you, you’re my dream come true.” He thrusts his hips up, fucking into you harder and deeper. It makes you squeal and go cross-eyed.

“Is this too much? I know you can handle it, my darling. My love, my sweet girl,” he purrs.

Aemond swipes at the drool pooling at your lips before stuffing two fingers in. “Fuck,” he whines, breathing hard, slipping his other hand in between your thighs, and with his thumb, rubbing at your clit. Your face twists in a gasp as you tremble, your entire body tightening until you cream over his cock, your loud moan muffled by the fingers in your mouth.

“Good girl,” he hums, slowing his thrusts, “Such a good fucking girl. Look at that, did that feel good, my love?” he asks you.

You nod, rocking your hips back and forth. Your thighs shaking and your face scrunching in complete bliss as you start again, taking his cock deep in your stomach with tiny bounces. “Please- please- please-” you babble against his palm. “I-I want- I need-”

“Want what, my sweet girl? Need what, my darling wife?”

You don’t answer, too overtaken by the pleasure. Aemond chuckles and leans upwards, to bury his face between your breasts. You are absolutely stunning, gorgeous, a living goddess; how he went this long without you is baffling. “You wish for my seed. Is that what you want?” he mutters against your nipple, “of course you do, this belly is too empty, isn’t it? My son should be sleeping inside.” His fingers pinch your clit, and you gasp again. “You’ll be the prettiest mother. You were made to carry my children. You were made for me,” and he pulls your face back to his, with a rough grip on your chin.

“Tell me,” he demands through a pant, “tell me how fucking badly you need my seed. Tell me…tell me right now.”

“I- I need it-“ you choke out, but then you shake your head. “No- No I can’t! I- I need to go- go home!”

Aemond laughs, so hard he flings his head back. The sight takes you by surprise before he shoves you off, causing you to land next to him on the bed. You stare up at him, wide eyed and puzzled and swollen and covered in countless bites and bruises. In one swing, he forces your face into the pillow as he mounts you from behind, fucking you hard. His fingers return to your clit, squeezing and tweaking and not caring one bit about your muffled yelps and whines

“You’ll learn, my sweet girl, but perhaps not tonight. I am your home now, do you understand? I’m your family, your husband, and the father to your children.”

He grabs a fistful of damp hair and yanks your face back, never once slowing his thrusts. Your mouth is open with many moans spilling out, eyes clouded with tears, and cheeks flushed. With his lips next to your ear, he whispers, “You are going nowhere.” Then propping himself on one arm, he trails small kisses up your back to your shoulder blade until his mouth slams down on yours in a heavy and wet kiss.

And when he pulls away, his fingertips squeeze your cheeks together as he demands for you to open your mouth. "You are mine," he grunts, "you belong to me," before spitting into it. "Good, now swallow."

And when you do, he smiles.

"There, see?" he coos, leaning to kiss your forehead as he feels you tighten around his cock. He was going to seed you again, deep inside your womb. Come the morning, he knows his son will be in there, and he can hardly wait.

"My wife, my darling girl, the only woman deserving of me and all of me. Only me." He watches you sob at that, pink lips pressing in a tight line as fat tears streak down both cheeks. "Oh, do not worry, my love. You're too lovely to be crying," and he uses his thumb to brush away the tears, "I'm here to give you the life you deserve," he vows, so lovingly, "you will want for nothing."

With a loud huff, you plop yourself on the couch.

The saying “home sweet home” never felt more sincere until now. It took much time and planning and effort and sneaking around on your part, but you managed to find a way to escape from Aemond Targaryen, though not without consequences. Your belly was growing only larger with every new moon, and your babe was starting to shift around more. At most times, you could feel the fluttering sensation across the bottom of your tummy, and every now and then, the tiniest kick.

It was adorable, you admitted, and you tried your best to find enjoyment throughout the pregnancy, sometimes wondering at night about who your child would resemble.

Would their looks favor yours? Or would they favor their father, with his Valyrian features- that iconic silver hair and violet eyes. The latter worried you the most. How could you even begin to explain why your child looked as if they belonged in the Game of Thrones series, specifically in House Targaryen?

Speaking of such, you had not touched House of the Dragon since you arrived back home all those months ago, too unwilling to turn on the tv and see the man whose child you were mysteriously carrying in your womb. It just did not make any sense, it felt more like a weird dream than reality.

But you were dying of boredom. The dragonling (you had taken to nicknaming the baby that, it sounded both cute and appropriate) was stealing away most of your time and energy, and your mother refused to allow you to do anything that could cause harm or add more unnecessary stress.

So you bit your tongue and swallowed down your grumbles and settled comfortably on the couch before opening Fire and Blood.

“Fucking crazy to think that this is a book of your family’s history,” you mumbled to your baby bump, “fictional my ass.”

So you read, to yourself and to your babe. Read about Aegon’s Conquest and the Year of the Three Brides and King Jaehaerys and his Alysanne and their triumphs and tragedies and legacy, and you read until you reached The Dying of the Dragons, the Blacks and the Greens, where you just sighed.

“And when Alicent sent for her second son to fly to Storm’s End, with the purpose of securing Borros Baratheon’s loyalty to Aegon II by winning the hand of one of his daughters, the Four Storms, the truth was finally known. One-eyed Prince Aemond, twenty and one, had taken a wife of his own in secret, a young maiden not of Westeros (according to Mushroom). Yet Prince Aemond lost her a month into their marriage, although by that time he had become so besotted with his bride, to such an extent that he could not bear the thought of living without her or taking another woman as his new wife.

With Prince Aemond refusing his mother’s orders, Queen Alicent had little choice but to send her youngest, Prince Daeron, in his place to Storm’s End. And by the seventh month, Prince Daeron wedded Floris Baratheon, and Prince Aemond One-Eye had reunited with his wife, who was heavy with child by the time he found her.”

You suddenly glance up from the book pages, feeling your heart hammering so hard in your chest that it seems at the end of your throat. On the wall, to your right, hung the calendar which you had taken to use as a means of tracking your pregnancy.

In two weeks, you’ll be at your seventh-month mark.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x modern!reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond smut #dark aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #hotd fanfic #hotd aemond #vic writes 🧸

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healmyhrt · 3 months

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could you do Matt x reader smut where reader wears something showy to her friends birthday party and Matt gets like turned on and you can take over the rest!

⌗ crush, m. sturniolo

matt x fem!reader

summary: matt has had a crush on you for the longest, and you’ve had strong feelings toward him too. after a summer fling with him, things turn awkward, and you both have a feeling of relief thinking that you’ll never see each other again… until your best friends birthday party.

disclaimers!: flirting, heavy making out, thigh riding, alcohol consumption, cursing, and use of y/n

a/n: guys question, is it technically “aftercare” if u don’t fuck??? like if you just js did oral shi or something idk 😣 anywho enjoy babes

i slowly creep into the dark entry way, removing my jacket as quietly as possible. i feel a hand tap my shoulder and i grip the fingers, trying to recognize who it could be.

“y/n?” a voice whispers. it was nick.

i reach in and hug him, squeezing tightly. i can feel him smiling against me. “hey, how are you?” i whisper back.

“good, you?” he replies, holding my hand and leading me through the dark hallway. “eh, so-so. is she here yet?”

a few friends and i were throwing a surprise party for my best friend, mia, she’s turning 21.

“she’ll be here in a few, but come on, everyone’s in here.”

i enter the dining room, seeing a crowd of some familiar and unfamiliar faces, candles lit in front of them.

i scan the group, looking at everyone, when my eyes come to an abrupt stop. there he was, matthew.

his blue eyes glistened behind the candlelight, and he stared right through it, straight at me. fuck.

i tap nick as he swivels around, handing me a candle.

“what the hell is he doing here?” i question. nick looks over at matt, then back at me. “um, he knows mia?”

i roll my eyes. nicks face changes and he raises an eyebrow. “have you two still not talked since the summertime?” i shuffle in place, looking at the floor.

“no…”

nick groans. “jesus. just—sort things out tonight, okay? you two can not ruin this night for mia. got it?” he says.

i nod, and glance over at matt, who was still staring.

chris sprints into the dining room, and catching his breath before speaking. “guys, they’re here!”

we all become quiet as the front door creaks open. i look up at nick who’s looking at me, trying not to smile.

mia slowly enters the dining room, a white blindfold tied gently over her freshly curled hair. she begins to untie it, and nick looks at everyone, holding up three fingers.

“3…”

“2…”

“1…”

“SURPRISE!” we all shout, seeing mia’s face. she immediately smiles, and holds her hands to her face.

“you guys!” she beams.

everyone rushes over, hugging her uncontrollably. i step back into the hallway, freeing myself from the crowd.

i sigh, looking over and seeing matt. he gives me a small smile, and i look the other way, turning toward the stairs.

it had been about 2 hours since we surprised mia, and now the entire house was packed. the small gathering had turned into a big party.

i had stayed holed up in mia’s room, drinking, as friends came and went, bringing me more and more.

now, i wasn’t drunk. they only brought me cans of sprite with a little bit of vodka in it. thats it.

and ive only had like 3 or 4 of them.

but i knew after a while id have to pee, and eventually leave mia’s room, placing myself back into the craziness that was downstairs.

i patt my hands dry on my favorite cardigan, shutting the bathroom door behind me. stepping down the steps into the chaos, i pass by multiple people making out on the steps.

i see mia at the bottom of the steps, and it gives me a sense of direction. she sees me and smiles immediately, running into my arms. “y/n!” she beams. i grin back.

“god, i feel like i haven’t seen you all night!” she grabs my forearm, dragging me into the living room. we stumble across a couple making out on the couch.

“can we sit here?” mia questions, with a smile.

they move over, and continue. “mia, im not sitting next to a horny ass couple.” i groan. she pulls me down next to her, and displays her legs across mine. “sooooo…”

i raise an eyebrow. “so, what?” she giggles, biting her bottom lip. “did you see him?” i cross my arms.

“you invited him? god—mia!” i scoff.

she laughs. “y/n, you two need to sort things out. tonight. okay? i can’t have two of my closest friends not being able to stay in the same room as one another.”

“you sound like nick.” i reply. she smirks. “well, yeah. it was our plan all along.” i playfully push her away with a little smile.

“look, please just talk to him.” she says, giving me a look.

i sit in silence fidgeting with my fingers. she places a hand on my fingers, and i look up at her. “okay.”

she claps enthusiastically, standing. “yay, y/n!”

i laugh. “im gonna go find myself another drink. want anything?” i shake my head. she blows me a kiss, and walks off, her dress swaying gracefully with each step.

i sigh, standing up. i look over at the couple next to me.

“you guys can—y’know—do your thing.” i gesture to the sofa. they give me a thumbs up, and immediately lay down, continuing. gross.

i make my way outside, onto the front porch.

i sit, flinching at the cold pavement against the back of my thighs. my skirt was very short, and i didn’t have any tights.

the door opens and shuts behind me, and i turn around to meet a very familiar face. “matthew.” i say. “y/n.”

he walks past me, and unlocks his car. i watch him stop, and turn around. “wanna—come with?” i give him a confused expression.

“we need more ice. im just gonna run to a gas station.”

i shrug, and stand, walking over to his car. matt opens the door for me, and i give him a small smile, stepping in.

after waiting in the car for a while, matt finally exits the gas station, carrying the last bag of ice. about time.

he gets in the car, wiping his now wet hands against his jeans. “took you long enough.” i tease. matt chuckles.

“i know, usually doesn’t take me that long to get my hands this wet.” he smirks. i shake my head, looking out the window, attempting to hold my laugh in.

“let’s just go.”

the drive back was silent. (minus the ice tumbling around in the backseat.) we caught almost every red light, and matt and i would just shift in our seats, trying not to make eye contact with one another.

as we pull in the driveway. i unbuckle my seatbelt, trying to get out of this situation as quickly as possible.

“so, we aren’t gonna talk about it? at all?”

i knew it.

i turn around, and sigh. “fine. let’s talk, matt.” i say with a long stare. he clenches his jaw, and rests his hands on the steering wheel.

“we had sex. big deal.” i throw my hands up in the air dramatically. matt scoffs and looks at me, almost as if he was about to cry. “it was a big deal to me.” he stares.

i purse my lips together. “well, it doesn’t seem like it, seeing as you lack common communication skills.”

“i wanted to text you, or call you—just hear your voice at all after that night, but i was too afraid.” matt looks out the window beside him, and gently taps the steering wheel with his fingertips.

my face softens, and i slowly reach out to the place a hand on his. but before i even reach him, i pull away.

“why were you afraid, matt?” i question. i was genuinely curious to hear his answer, too. matt had gone full no contact with me after that night, all because he was afraid? it just didn’t make sense.

“because i like you.”

my eyes widened as the words left his mouth. i didn’t know what to say—how to even respond. it was insanity.

did i like matt? i mean, i guess.

no—sure—yes.

yes, i do like matt. i just get my feelings mixed up and lost in my mind. i mean, could we really work?

“y-you do?” i stutter out. matt turns around, and im left to drown in his eyes. he softly nods, and i form a smile.

i look down at my hands and begin to fidget with my rings, swallowing before i speak. “i like you too.”

i look up to see a smiling matt, and i grin back.

i sigh, looking out the window. “look at us, using the word ‘like’ to describe our feelings. what’re we, five?” i laugh, making him chuckle.

i turn back toward him, and matt immediately smashes his lips onto mine. i lean in, him caressing my cheeks.

matt swings an arm around my waist, fully pulling me onto his lap. i smile against his lips, reaching down and unbuckling his seatbelt beneath me.

matt bucks his hips up at the feeling of my fingers on him. i feel his bulge rub against my bare thigh, and he pulls away.

“s-sorry. is that weird?”

i shake my head. “not at all. it just shows that you really do like me.” i say with a smile, placing a hand on his jaw, and pulling him into me again.

matt takes off my cardigan, tossing it in the passengers seat. he places his hands on the seam of my miniskirt, and stops, pulling away. “can i?”

pushing my lips back onto his, i mumble “yes”, and matt pulls away again. i sigh irritably, and he gives me a look.

“use your words if you want this.”

i bite my bottom lip, matt’s eyes on them. i bite the inside of my cheek, and look out the window. matt places a soft hand on my jaw, turning me to look at him.

“hey, if you don’t want to do this, we can just head back inside. i’ll just be glad that we’re good again.” he smiles.

i nod, and he raises an eyebrow. “i want to do this.”

matt’s smile turns into a smirk, and he pulls my skirt up to my waist, places both hands on my ass. i smash my lips back onto his, smiling against him.

matt tightens the grip on my hips, leading them. i slowly begin to grind against his clothed bulge. matt pulls away, breathing heavily against the side of my face.

i continue, matt now kissing down my neck, struggling to contain himself. he’s practically digging his fingers into my skin, guiding my hips.

i pierce my lip with my teeth, trying to stop the moans that threatened to escape my mouth. “matt…”

“almost…” he pushes himself against me, making the sensation even more intense. my panties are probably a leaking mess on him as my eyes begin to water from the stimulation.

matt slows to a stop, and he catches his breath. i breathe heavily into his neck, my mascara smudging on his skin.

he pulls me off of him to take a look at my face.

“are you okay? was it too much?” he questions, genuine worry taking over his expression. i wipe the smudged mascara off of my face, smiling at him. “i’m okay, matt.”

he pulls me in, hugging me tightly. “i’m so glad we’re good now. i’ve missed you so much, y/n.” i grin widely.

i pull away, sniffling. we just stare at eachother, and i look down, my skirt still at my waist. “we should probably fix ourselves before we go back inside.” i say through a breathy chuckle.

“yeah.” matt replies. i climb off of his lap, pulling down my skirt in the passenger seat. matt looks down at his jeans, a wet spot on his crotch. i stifle my laughter, matt turning to look at me.

“i can’t go inside like this.” he says through a laugh.

“at least they’re dark wash denim.” i shrug, still laughing. he scoffs, and attempts to wipe it off.

“matt, it’s not going anywhere. it’ll be fine, it’s pretty dark inside anyway.” i reassure. he looks up at me, a small smile on his lips.

we climb out of the car, matt grabbing the slightly melted ice. “probably could’ve chosen a better time to do that.” he jokes.

we enter the foyer of the house, mia meeting us at the door. “soooo, are you two good now?” she asks eagerly.

i look at matt, and he gives me a smile.

“yeah, we’re good.”

#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo smut #matt x reader #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo

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undercovercameron · 8 months

Text

stamina

summary: you have a tiny bit of an issue that can only be resolved through intercourse. no, really.

notes: hello everybody i have returned after a month and a half and this one just simply popped into my head today! i would say i have no idea why but ive been watching clips of the other zoey on tiktok and they’ve corrupted me… cabin in the woods with drew starkey? till the walls crumble. features: choking kink, explicit language, degradation, oral sex (f receiving), masturbation, and generally rough sex. enjoy my darlings

tags: rafe cameron x fem!reader

word count: 2859

You don’t know exactly when it started, but your little problem had become a real nuisance.

You just know the first time it happened, however long ago, made Rafe Cameron finally fall in love with you. Hey, it took months of him fighting with himself about you and struggling with a multitude of other family issues, but the day did finally come. It was glorious, you remember that. But this long repeated issue was kind of impeding your sex life. Well, it was affecting your sex life that actually had been affecting your sleep and caffeine and food patterns. It was a big ole circle. You even had been feeling faint due to the excessive cardio.

The issue wasn’t as much an issue as it was one of Rafe’s favorite things about you, turns out. And he wasn’t afraid to show it. Well, make you show it.

You two had dozed on the couch for a little more than an hour, your head pressed to his shoulder and your body curled around the side of his. He had an arm caging you to him, fingers splayed across the curve of your abdomen. Turns out, some documentary his younger sister recommended wasn’t as interesting as you two thought.

The TV makes a loud beeping noise, and Rafe jerks awake at the intrusion. His hand not pressed to your (now exposed) stomach rubs at his eyes, blinking rapidly. Christ. It’s late.

The fire beneath your TV crackles, and he can feel the slight warmth from it on his cheeks.

This was his Aunt Meredith’s house, and she was letting the two of you stay in it for a little while as a makeshift fall break. You’d slept three nights so far in this big wooden mansion, but you could hardly say you felt rested. You always were taking futile catch-up naps throughout the day in front of this lovely fireplace.

Rafe’s movement makes you phase into consciousness, eyes coming into focus as your ears adjust too.

“Hey, baby,” he murmurs, stretching both his hands up above his head. The hem of his shirt lifts, just a little taste. You blink at him. “What?” His face splits into a grin and his eyes close as his muscles flex and relax.

“You know what.” Your lips twitch and you look teasingly up at him.

“Mm, I don’t think I know what you mean.” His hand brushes the hair from the side of your face not facing him, and he pulls away slightly to thumb at your chin. “Could you explain?”

“No,” you sigh, pulling yourself up slightly with a hand pressed to the seat cushions. Your leg curls once again around one of his as you turn towards him. You relax against the back cushions, eyes on his face. “No.” Your eyebrows raise, challenging.

“I don’t think you want me to have to make you explain,” he mutters, sliding down to a little above your eye level. His eyes stay on yours.

“I don’t think you could if you wanted to.” Your eyes snap back to the TV, pulling your legs away from his. “I’m trying to watch this.” You grab the remote from the ottoman and turn it up. Rafe just watches you earnestly.

You're about sixty long seconds into “watching the documentary” with your feet up until you feel Rafe’s breath on you. His lips meet your forehead, ghosting a kiss to your skin, before sliding down to your temple. You try your best to remain focused. But his opposite hand from you (always his hand) slides up your waist to settle near your collarbone, fingers lightly pressing into your shoulder. His lips migrate to your jaw, and then your neck. You fight a shiver.

You feel yourself tilting your head around to satisfy this position, eyes falling closed briefly before snapping back open. You grip his wrist.

“Rafe,” you say, but what you thought was confident just sounds weak.

He hums, mouth pressing to your neck and getting into dangerous hickey territory, and your eyes just close. It feels so good, this man leaving you breathless and pliant. It makes you so weak.

“You know you want to,” Rafe murmurs, eyes moving up to your face, and he relishes in your intake of breath.

Your fingers find his jaw and cheek and you pull his mouth up to yours, finally kissing him like you need. He makes a noise into your mouth, triumphant, and his hands grip your hips tightly. He moves you, sliding you onto the long part of the L sofa, and follows you with his forehead pressed to yours and his lips so close but so far. You pant up into him.

He slides further between your legs, parting them with a hand behind your knee, and you let out a content sigh when you feel the weight of him. The weight of that.

His hand finds your throat and then he’s leaning over you, hips pressed to yours and kissing away your sounds softly. His hips rock forward into where the seam of your sweatpants is, and your moan is swallowed. You grip tight on the hand on your neck, squeezing your eyes tight. It shouldn’t feel this good, this quick.

You cant your hips up into his, sloppily matching his rhythm, and your cheeks flush when your heart beats heavily in your throat. His mouth parts from yours and slides wetly down to your upper chest, the neck of your slightly cropped sweatshirt pushed away. You just gasp above him, hips picking up. The slide of his pants is so perfect on your clit, and you feel your blood pumps at the place he squeezes you around your middle.

You recognize what he’s doing, now. His fingers press into your abdomen, pushing it up and down and up and down, and you push your hand on top of your mouth to muffle the embarrassing cries you’re letting out.

His head raises from your collarbone, lips wet and pink, and he tugs your wrist down.

“I need to hear you, baby.” And then he’s pulling back to shove your sweatpants off of you and to the floor between the couch and the ottoman. He dips back down, mouth and hand insistent upon you, and he digs a hand into the crotch of your underwear. Your hands flail for a moment, useless, and settle on gripping his shoulder and the arm that pins you to the cushions.

“Rafe,” you sputter, head pushing hard back against the cushions. Your hair is messy and probably tangled with this friction, but you don’t have even half a thought to care. “Please, Rafe, don’t stop.” Your back arches, trying to push your body tight against his. He tries not to grin above you, watching your face contort at his touch. His fingers slide in your slickness, an embarrassing amount, and your throat catches a breath. The tension in your abdomen twists.

“I thought you wanted to watch the show, sweetheart.” Two of his fingertips push past your slit easily and curl. He bites his lip above you, loving the look on your face. You squeeze your eyes even harder, fist clenching in his shirt. Your heart beats louder and louder until—

“And we’re going to practice your stamina, too.” His voice is raspy when he pulls away.

There it is. The issue. Your not-so-issue-but-sorta-an-issue issue. Yes. You had been having trouble—well, stopping. Your libido was extremely high, you had a very sexy man at your disposal who liked to please you, you were confident in your body, so why not?

Why not is because your body was sore constantly. Between your legs was the perfect amount of sore, but still sore. You had trouble sleeping and drank more coffee and energy drinks. Rafe, ever the giver, obliged you always. He liked to fuck. He really liked to fuck you. So it was a terrible, terrible cycle. You were really starting to wonder about your self control. So it makes sense that maybe you should consider working on it.

But Rafe deciding that right now? The second he finally fingers you? It makes your head spin.

Literally, as when you sit up your vision is flooded with spots.

“What the fuck?” You croak, sounding miserable, and your eyes look up at him, almost teary. (Hey— you really like what he does to you.)

“You’re fine, baby, you’re fine. I just want what’s best for you.” He pulls away from your neck, instead smoothing a hand from your sternum to your hips.

“What are you, a fucking counselor?” You grump, eyebrows furrowed, and he just rolls his eyes.

“Better start being grateful, Y/N. You know how I get.”

He settles onto his stomach, keeping your legs loose around him as he bends to kiss you. You kiss back, still annoyed but also still wildly turned on, and you can’t help but curl a hand around his neck and up into his hair. His lips part from yours and start their trek downwards.

His hands push your sweatshirt up when he gets to right above your belly button, and his touch is light on your sensitive skin. You close your eyes in the nice feeling.

His fingers curl around where your thigh meets your ass, pressing tight into the muscle, and you reflexively lift them up and settle them down onto his shoulders. Sneaky. His mouth finds your inner thighs then, biting into the flesh, and you successfully fight a shiver. His breath is hot on the crotch of your panties.

His fingers find the hem of the fabric, eyes settling briefly on yours before tugging your panties to the side and getting his mouth on you.

You immediately moan— figures. You push your head up slightly, wanting to see, and his head shakes between your legs, hair tickling your thighs as you whine. So hot it should be illegal.

One of Rafe’s hands crawls up your flesh to your chest, fingers finding the underside of your tit and cupping it. He squeezes right as his tongue curls into your seam and he shakes his head again. You nearly shriek but slap.a hand over your mouth, no punishment in your future with his hand on your tit and the other gripping your outer thigh.

Well, you were wrong for the second time tonight. First, thinking your loving boyfriend would give you an orgasm when you wanted one, and second when you assume the same very boyfriend wouldn’t do things simply to piss you off or edge you. Rafe reaches up with the hand previously on your thigh and grabs your wrist. He snags the other one and presses them tight against your lower abdomen, eyes fiery. Your blood surges hot in your veins and the tension in your abdomen resurfaces.

You just flex your legs and bring them further up, wanting your seemingly increasingly distant misery to end.

He hums in approval at that, the feeling making your pelvis vibrate; and you try desperately to suck in a breath. It feels so good, you don’t know how to last longer. Your head slowly tilts to the side, a little tired, and your glazed eyes meet the TV screen again.

Your third folly. Thinking Rafe Cameron would let you live any mistake down.

“Oh, you wanna watch it now?” He pulls away, spitting at your pussy, and an eyebrow quirks. You just still, not sure of the direction here. “Okay. Watch it.” He licks you once, twice, and pulls away slowly. You turn your head, wanting to gauge his reaction, but he pushes your head back towards the TV with his hand. You see in your peripheral him pushing down the waistband of his pants. Your eyes flinch ever so slightly towards him, and he smacks lightly at your outer thigh.

“Watch it, since you wanted to so bad.” He pulls his dick out from his underwear and spits into his hand. His gaze is locked on your pink face, waiting for you to react. He moves his hand tantalizingly slowly, knowing you can see the movement. You pant, catching your breath, and he just watches your chest heave.

His heart rate catches when he gets the full sight of you, open and wide in front of him with dirty panties and your sweatshirt rucked up to expose your bare chest. It makes him even harder.

“What are they talking about right now?” His eyes bore into the side of your face, hand moving steadily still.

“Uh-h, whales.” Your voice cracks and you swallow. He doesn’t laugh like you think he will, he just bends down and kisses the corner of your mouth.

“Doing so good.” It’s so quiet you think you miss it. He kisses you full on when you tilt up to him, neck straining at the angle.

He finally, finally pushes his weight onto you, dick pressed tight against your pelvis. You meet his mouth again and groan at the feeling, moving your body in a way you hope feels good. His jaw clenches, which is a good sign.

“You do it, you want it so bad,” he murmurs, lips hovering over your cheek bone. “Since you can’t ever have enough, baby.”

You exhale through your nose, concentrating, and push your hand down. You fumble for a second but eventually get your hips angled in a way to where he can sink into you. He does, pushing against your hips, and slides easily all the way to the hilt.

He groans openly, eyes closed for a moment, and you choke on a moan. So deep, so fast that it steals the breath from your throat.

On second thought, Rafe’s hand finds its place on your throat as the other braces against your hip.

“So wet,” he says through his apparent awe, bottom lip drooping slightly. You revel in the look on his face. He’s all pink and dewy, it makes you sweat. He pushes forward, a bruising strength in his hips, and you feel yourself be pushed up an inch on the couch.

He follows you and lowers himself slightly, keeping you in place as he jerks sloppily into you, overwhelmed by sensation. You curl your leg around his waist, fingers interwoven in his hair as he dips to kiss you. He pants into your mouth, hot and demanding. You just arch your back, feeling him squeeze hard at the flesh of your waist as you clench around him.

You do it again, loving the reaction, and bite your lip as he chokes slightly in surprise. His hips slow, the sounds of your hurried panting slowing as well, but he goes twice as hard. With the intent to bruise, you think. Probably. He would love that.

His eyebrow arches slightly before he’s burying his face in your neck and really giving you his all. You feel the muscles flex on his back where you press your hands, mouth open and wide and silent. Your eyes roll back into your head as he lets go of your neck and fixes his grasp on your hip.

“Rafe,” you gasp, barely getting a comprehensible sound out. “Yes, shit, baby.” Your man, finally treating you so well.

“Let me hear you,” he says, hot in your ear, and reaches down to rub that one spot he’s memorized the location of. He’s a little too familiar, as we know.

You inhale and exhale shakily, and then you’re silent and your head is pushing back into the cushions. Your body floods with feeling, from the tip of your toes to the top of your head. Your toes curl. You feel like you’re floating.

It’s on the come down that you moan shakily and it turns into a bashful laugh.

“Fuck,” you whine, and his thrust turns into his last as he buries himself up to the hilt and groans in a staccato. You feel him catch your shoulder slightly as he bites the cushion, muscles slowing.

“Fuck.” He desperately tries to catch his breath. He peels himself slightly from you, sitting up.

His vision comes back into focus, and it’s then that he notices the marks on your neck. He thumbs an especially red one, eyes scanning your face.

“Oops.”

“You’re an idiot.” But you smile.

“Hey, we traded,” he says, pulling away completely from you and standing up with a stumble. He winces as he pushes his shoulder blades to meet.

“How’s that?” You ask, thinking you’re humoring him. You sit up, bringing your now cold and damp panties back to where they should lie and pulling your shirt down. You’re just realizing how cold it is in here.

“My back hurts like a bitch, and you have hickeys. Plus I didn’t let you cum so we practiced that. Boom.” He gestures wildly and lets his hands smack back down to his sides. You just stare at him.

“You are the weirdest motivational coach I’ve ever met, young man.”

“Don’t call me a young man.” He turns towards the primary bedroom you’d been sleeping in and disappears into the darkness. “I fuck like I’m 35.”

#obx #obx x reader #obx x you #obx x y/n #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron oneshot #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron imagine

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roxygen22 · 1 month

Note

Timothee gets overheated on the set of Dune and feels sick and reader who’s visiting him while they film in the desert takes care of him back at their rented apartment

C/W: hospital setting

Overheated

Thanks to the flexibility of your job to work literally from anywhere, you were able to accompany Timothée to Jordan when he was filming Dune 2. One day, you were strolling through the market while he was busy on set when you got a call from his assistant.

"Hello?"

"[Y/N], it's Lizz. He's alright, but..."

Your heart stopped. That was never a good start to a conversation.

"...we had to take Timothée to the hospital. He and Z were shooting a scene in the stillsuits, and he started fumbling over his lines. He got lightheaded and nearly fainted. He's hooked up to IV fluids and resting now."

"I- I'll be there as quick as I can. Can you stay with him until I get there? H-he hates hospitals," you stumbled over yourself due to rising panic.

"Of course."

Lizz let the staff know to expect you so they wouldn't stop you at the door. They quickly escorted you back to his bed. You pulled back the curtain, but her description did not adequately prepare you for what you saw.

Timothée's normally voluminous curls were plastered to his head by sweat. He was pale and shivering from the cold saline they were pumping into his bloodstream and the ice packs on his body. He opened his eyes as you touched his cold, clammy forehead. You could feel the grit from the sand on his skin.

"Hey," he rasped.

"Oh, Timmy," was all you could muster before you choked on tears. You brought his hand to your cheek and kissed his palm. You felt his thumb wipe a tear across your cheekbone.

"I'm alright, babe." He tried to reassure you.

"No, you're not." Your voice raised slightly as narrowed your eyes at him. "You are dehydrated. You are pushing yourself too hard. I kept telling you that your body would make you slow down if you didn't do so voluntarily."

"I know. B-"

"No buts. I am going to ask Lizz to clear your schedule for the rest of the week."

"They can't film without me," he argued weakly.

"Exactly! If you don't take care of yourself, you won't be able to film. Just think how many jobs will be lost if they lose their star. They cannot do this movie without you."

Timothée's eyes dropped, and he sighed heavily. "You're right."

"Damn right, I'm right," you said with a wink and a smirk. "I love you, Timothée. I just don't want to see you hurt like this again."

You took him straight to your shared apartment (a short-term lease) once he was discharged. He was still weak and shaky, so you supported his weight from the car up the stairs to the door. He practically collapsed on the bed, his lanky legs dangling from the edge. You took his shoes off and guided his legs under the covers.

Timothée fell asleep quickly, overextended just from the short journey. In the brief moments when he was awake, you encouraged him to sip on electrolyte mix. A few hours later, he attempted to get up. He was so weak that it didn't take much energy on your part to push him back down by the shoulder.

"I don't think so, mister. The doctor said you needed to rest."

"[Y/N], I don't think getting up to go to a different room counts as physical activity," he retorted. It was good to see he had the energy to argue.

"Whatever you need, I can get it for you."

Timothée smirked and raised an eyebrow. "And what if I need to go pee?"

You spluttered, then laughed, knowing he got you on that one. "Well, I would say that is a good sign and one of the few things you can get up for."

"Thanks. I can maintain at least a shred of my dignity. Do you know how embarrassing it was to nearly fall out on set?"

You tucked a loose curl behind his ear. "There's nothing to be embarrassed about, Timmy. They see how hard you work. The cast and crew care about you. Your phone has been blowing up ever since we got home. Z already sent over some of your favorite snacks."

"That was nice of her."

"They all want you to take the time you need to recover. Completely," you emphasized, "and not a moment sooner."

He let his head fall back on the pillow. "You were right that I needed to slow down. I went straight from Bones and All to Wonka to Dune. I promise, even though I may grumble about it, I will be a good patient until I am cleared to go back."

"Good. Besides, it'll be nice to sleep in, cuddle, and make some progress on our watch list," you replied.

Timothée squeezed your hand. "I'm glad you're here; otherwise, the downtime would be unbearable."

You pouted your lip at the sweetness. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be. I love you."

"I love you, too. But, babe, I really do need to go pee." You both laughed as you helped him stand.

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#timothée chalamet #timothee chalamet #timothee chalamet x reader #timothée chalamet x reader #timothee chalamet x you #timothée chalamet x you #timothee x you #Timothée x you #timothée x reader #timothee x reader #dune part 2 #dune2 #dune movie #dune #paul atreides #sick fic #sickfic #hurt/comfort #reader insert

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semisolidmind · 9 months

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I’m sorry if this was already asked but is MK in the twice as bad au? Since Peaches is immortal, she would probably find MK first or she finds him while her husbands are looking for her outside the palace. They find her outside playing with a little boy. Wukong didn’t think twice about adopting him, especially when he saw MK lift his staff, and Macaque loves telling him stories.

(it was, but ive been thinking about TAB mk lately so ill talk a lil more about him

so I think the last time i talked about mk in the context of this au, it was in the version where reader is killed while she and the boys are on the journey, and the boys go into a violent depression slump for the next thousand years. in that timeline, wukong finds mk as a toddler and raises him like his son (with macaque standing by for uncle duty). mk becomes an unstoppable force of nature under the monkey bros tutelage; enough so that any of the foes that posed a problem for him in the show are child's play in this au.

reader being present for mk's upbringing is one of the better timelines for him mentally. he gets to have a mom, for one. and instead of having just the brutal philosophy of the monkey warlords taught to him, he's also taught to have empathy and compassion. instead of just killing his enemies, he tries to show them mercy. it's a better outcome for everyone involved, honestly.

there's a few posts of mine that explain this modern iteration and reader's place in it, but let's talk about your scenario.)

reader goes on a morning walk. a rare occurrence, given her husband's love of sleeping in and their usual refusal to let her out of the pillow nest. but, they had an early appointment today, so reader took the opportunity to shirk her queenly duties and go visit some of the scenic mountain locals. whilst on her walk—

she finds a little monkey demon boy. just wandering the jungle, seemingly in awe at everything around him. reader isn't sure what to make of him. she takes notice of his unkempt state.

reader doesn't want to believe any of the monkeys would willingly neglect or abandon one of their children, but the boy is covered in dirt, his fur somewhat matted, and he has no clothes to speak of. perhaps he's just lost? he is very little. maybe his parents just lost track of him...regardless, reader feels the need to take him back to the cave to ask around and see if anyone can identify him.

when she calls out to him, he looks over at her, but doesn't respond. when she approaches him, he just...looks up at her, following her movements when she kneels to be closer to his height. reader asks for his name, and the boy doesn't respond. but he does step closer, his little tail twitching curiously.

reader cautiously reaches out to brush some of the matted dirt from his fur, moving the overgrown mess away from his face. he has amber-gold eyes, not dissimilar to what wukong said his looked like before the furnace. while reader ponders the similarities, the boy suddenly climbs into her arms. she instantly embraces him back, surprised but knowing that baby monkeys like to be held nigh constantly. poor lil guy, she thinks. probably missing his mama. the way his tiny hands grip her robes breaks her heart a little.

reader decides that she'll take care of him for now; he needs a bath, some food, and proper clothes, at least. reader takes off her overcoat and wraps it around the lil guy before hefting him up into her arms; he's pretty heavy for someone so small.

reader turns and heads back to water curtain cave. the little boy settles against her, tiny hands curled against her chest and his head in the crook of her neck. reader holds him close. she reassures him that they'll find his family.

after politely waving away a few embarrassing questions from some well-meaning monkeys along the way (no, he isn't her baby, she didn't leave for an hour or two just to have a baby, please stop saying that—on that note, do you know who his parents are), reader makes her way back to the cave.

she supposes she can see why they'd think that the child in her arms might be related to her; the boys' fur is a similar shade to her hair, though slightly darker (and the likelihood of her children being demons like their fathers is very high, should they ever have any).

as they get further into the cave, and closer to the palace, reader is stopped by a group of servants wondering about the child. reader explains as the monkeys (a small group comprised of aunties) look the child over, mulling over who's baby he could be. maybe this family? no, none of them have that fur color, and the face shape is different. perhaps he's from this village, on the east side of the mountain? no, none of them have had any babies yet this season, and the children they do have are all older than this one. they go back and forth like this for a while.

while reader talks, the boy suddenly perks up. he sits up and his eyes focus on something in the distance. reader turns to glance at what's gotten his attention.

ah, she sees.

her husbands have just finished their meeting, and one of them is now headed this way.

that's the king, she tells the boy. the boy says nothing, and stares at the approaching monarch.

reader understands why. the king is wearing his armor today, the gold plating glinting off refracted light coming from the waterfall. his cape and vestaments flow behind him as he makes his way toward them. he's the very picture of a noble ruler.

riiiiiight up until he notices that reader is carrying a child that looks suspiciously like her. his entire expression morphs into surprise, then gentle curiosity.

the king stops short in front of them. reader can almost see the gears turning in his head. he sees the gold eyes, the fur color...perhaps he's having a similar thought as his many subjects about the child's origins.

wukong steps into reader's space, a hand on her arm. his eyes are searching, a question on his face. where did this child come from? reader explains how she found him, and how she has yet to find any of his family or anybody who recognizes him. wukong assures her that if he has someone looking for him, they'll eventually turn up at the palace.

in the meantime, he may stay here, the king decrees. he can see that reader's gotten attached, and doesn't think separating the child from her would be a good idea. the little boy clings to reader like she really is his blood.

reader takes the child inside, getting him a bath and clean clothes, then takes him to kitchens to get him something to eat. wukong joins them, and attempts to get the boy to speak. reader feels her heart soften just a tad every time she sees her husband interact with the mountains' children.

---

no one ever claims the boy.

so, wukong and reader formally adopt the child, and give him the name xiaotian. he is soon accepted as first prince of flower fruit mountain.

wukong begins to train xiaotian to become a warrior as soon as he sees the boy lift his staff with suspicious ease. once he's old enough, he takes xioatian with him to the dragon palace. wukong won't give up his signature weapon, but he will steal another pillar for his son to weild. he trains the child to be as much of a threat as he is. despite his rigorous training regime, wukong is a very caring and playful father.

macaque becomes another guiding figure, and finds that the child loves to listen to stories. every night before xioatian settles next to reader's side to sleep, the darker-furred demon regales him with tales of his and wukong's exploits. reader chimes in occasionally, calling him out whenever he embellishes.

reader remains a comforting figure for xiaotian. he goes to her when he feels lost or upset, knowing that she could give him a gentler perspective on his problems. she's his rock whenever he's unsure. he knows that if he gets caught up in the politics of demon-dom, she'll be there to be a calming presence. he's very cuddly with her when he's small, and goes to her for hugs once he's bigger. he's very glad to have her around to help him.

xiaotian becomes a very cautious person as he grows, the ideals of his adopted sires pushing him to believe that most immortals, demons, and mortals are not to be trusted. however, reader teaches him that not every problem needs to be solved with violence.

his life is very different than what it could have been.

#bad end wukong #twice as bad au #bad end mk

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nebbyy · 2 months

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King Baldwin IV x reader - I’ll be waiting for you

A/N: Well, how could I not make another fic for King Baldwin when the other one I made is my most liked post yet, so I decided to write this little pieceee. Sooo I guess I should warn y'all that this one will be a little less historically accurate (not that the first one was that great of a historical piece but you get the idea). Oh and as usual, this fic came into my mind the moment I saw the painting just below (which is "the Reconciliation of the Montagues and Capulets Over the Dead Bodies of Romeo andJuliet" by sir Frederic Leighton)Now enough chatting, more King Baldwin brainrot.

Summary: in a desperate attempt to protect his kingdom after having punished Reynald de Chatillon, the king is exhausted and the long ride has increasingly worsened his already wary condition. Once he’s escorted back to the palace, his loving wife wastes no time to reunite with her beloved husband.

Warnings: kinda angsty (no happy ending tbh), vague descriptions of Baldwin’s illness related wounds. Also, reader specifically described as female.

Word count: 3209

You sat on your throne, high and proud like the royalty you were. But under the facade of your noble confidence, you felt small. Smaller than ever, actually, as the yelling of all the men in front of you filled the air and rose up to the open sky. With a simple, reckless act, Reynald de Chatillon and Guy de Lusignan had just screwed years of efforts that King Baldwin had spent trying to maintain that delicate peace that required so many lives and time to build. All washed away from the raging river that were Reynald and Guy.

While the two men tried to defend their senseless attack, backed by a substantial group of men, another opposing group shouted at them, berating them for the offense they had given not only to Saladin but also to Jerusalem itself.

You sigh, fighting the urge to cover your ears, and curl into your own body; you opt to just turn your head and look at your beloved husband. He looked to be in a similar state as you were: although his face was now fully covered -a means of hiding the decaying state of his leprosy-ridden body- his head was bent with weary alertness, like a hawk watching its prey from a distance. You watched his body, languidly seated on his much larger throne, the only sitting position that brought him no discomfort, though it looked almost more like he was about to lie down.

It broke your heart to see how that disease had ravaged Baldwin's body, in recent years more and more. To see him there, on the same throne on which he once sat tall and proud, while now he barely had the strength to stay upright. And you knew he was thinking the very same thing.

You were about to open your mouth, whisper something to him, anything, in order to shake him out of his thoughts and that chaotic situation, but you were interrupted in your actions by an official, who rushed to the king's side, handing him a scroll. His bandaged hands clumsily opened the scroll, and you found salvation from the noise of the room by concentrating on watching Baldwin read carefully. You watched his eyes, blue as the sky and like the waves of the sea that brought you to the Holy Land, now covered with a pale glassy glaze.

You frowned when you heard Baldwin freeze in place, even his sitting became more erect, as if a cube of ice had slid down his back. With his gaze still fixed on the words written in that letter, he merely raised his hand slightly, a clear sign of his will.

"SILENCE!" his guard's shout resounded through the hall, overpowering the furious shouts of the men who had been barking at each other for hours now. They all turned to look at the king; their faces, a few moments ago darkened and wrinkled with anger, were now smooth and relaxed, their eyebrows raised in astonishment at their king's order. Funny, you thought, how these men because of your husband's condition sometimes simply forget how much power he possessed over them. Before it was as if he wasn't even in the room, and they were all playing at being great leaders, now there they were, staring at him, motionless as statues, submissive as ants. You curled your nose discreetly, your face a mixture of disgust and contempt. Pathetic, you thought.

After what seemed like an eternity, Baldwin finally looked up at the crowd in front of him, finally revealing what it was that had shocked him so much. "Saladin has crossed the Jordan with 200000 men," silence fell, and you felt your body going numb. Your ears seemed muffled, you could barely perceive what was happening around you. At that moment you felt so much fear for your kingdom, and concern for Baldwin and what this impending attack would cost him.

And anger, against those two fools who out of sheer vanity had endangered the lives of all the inhabitants of Jerusalem. They had put Jerusalem itself at risk; they had put Baldwin at risk.

I was brought to attention by Baldwin, who was struggling to pull himself up from his throne, walking toward his most trusted man. "We must meet him before he reaches Kerak. I will lead the army," your husband's voice was hushed and soft, so that only the man in front of him could hear. But it did not escape your ears, the implication those words had: Baldwin wants to stop Saladin, and he wants to do it himself. But this could cost him his life.

You couldn't stop yourself; you jumped up from your seat, eyes wide in an expression somewhere between fear and surprise. Baldwin turned to look at you, the woman who always took his breath away at the mere sight of how beautiful she was. You did not fail to have that effect on him again this time, but not because of your beauty: in your eyes he saw your terror, that this was the last time you would see him alive. They hypnotized him, and begged him in a silent prayer not to leave, to give up this plan, have an ambassador sent, anyone else. Hell, let him send Guy himself to intercept the Saracen, let him be beheaded and his murder settle the account that he himself opened. But the storm of emotion in your eyes contrasted with the gentle stream of emotion flowing from your eyes

But the storm of emotions in your eyes contrasted with the gentle stream of emotions flowing from Baldwin's eyes, barely visible because of the cover concealing his tortured face. He too, through them, was silently pleading with you: but he was asking you to trust, to let go and follow his plan, to try to forget for at least a moment all the warnings the Physicians had given him over the years.

Eventually, you relented, turning your gaze away and opting to stare at a random spot in the corner of the room. Baldwin gave a silent sigh and closed his eyes for a moment, a sign of gratitude, although you could not see it. He turned to the men of his court, and with the little strength his body afforded him, he spoke in a loud, determined voice: "Assemble the army and protect the city."

All this reminded you of the last time Baldwin fought Saladin: he had barely completed his seventeenth year, and young and still full of life, he was ready to ride against the invincible Saracen king. But on that day God had been more merciful. He had granted you, if nothing else, one last night to spend with your husband, had given you the gift of a minimum of time to ensure that you bid Baldwin a proper farewell before he met what could well have been his end. Instead this time, you barely had time to briefly remove the thick veil from his face to give him a fleeting kiss and exchange a handful of words. You fought back the tears as you looked at him, opting instead to bring your hand to his cheek, the flesh of his lip having receded and decayed to such an extent that it had receded down to his cheek, eventually turning into a long scar that protruded down to his cheekbone.

"Let me go with you, I will wait for you at the castle of Reynald de Chatillon-" "No. It is too dangerous. If things go wrong with the negotiations, I don't want you or my sisters anywhere near that man." It was not often that Baldwin interrupted you while you were speaking. He respected you too much to not allow you to finish your sentences, so the fact that he did just now spoke of how important this was to him.

"Then promise me you’ll come back to me. Safe and sound." He snorted softly, giving a hint of smile before copping his face with his hardened hands, "You know I can’t promise it." You know that, but that blatant honesty of his, which you always loved so much, was not what you wanted at the time. No, you wanted reassurance, no matter how truthful, no matter how worthless his promises may be at the end of the day, You need that fleeting distraction that mitigates the fear that’s been eating you from the inside since Baldwin put on his armor. May you risked never seeing him again.

"Please just say it." Your voice came out much softer than you meant, almost less than a whisper, perhaps because of the knot in your throat, which threatened to break free carrying a river of tears. For a moment he remained silent, turning suddenly his face towards the voice of a nobleman who called him from the entrance of his room, but did not even dignify him with an answer. After all, his attention was completely turned to his world. To you. Before I answered you, I drew your head to his with my hands, so that I could place his forehead against yours. Finally, he spoke softly, in that loving tone that he reserved only for you: "Then I promise you that I will return to you in no more than three days, and when I return I will be victorious, and I will be riding."

After that, that moment between the two of you, which so much looked like a heartbreaking farewell, lasted just before Baldwin had to go to his horse to guide his men to the enemy.

And it wasn’t long before the harsh reality became clear to you: he had lied to you. Not maliciously, of course, you were the one who begged him to say those words after all. But the fact is that three days became four, that news of the army of Jerusalem had not come any more, that the last thing you heard of your husband was that only the ride had already tried his weakened body.

Another day passed, then another, and at the dawn of the fourth day since his absence you felt your heart sink. Had something happened to him? Had the negotiations failed? What if his illness had suddenly got the better of him? Or worse, Saladin and his men had shot him, stabbed him, or yet again captured and publicly executed,…

Your mind began to spiral into an ocean of possible reasons behind this delay, and you swore that your breathing had finally stopped once and for all when a messenger on horseback arrived at the palace, frantically dismounting from his steed to rush into the throne room and bring you the message: "The negotiations were successful, but the king is in critical condition! He is returning to Jerusalem on a canopy," you dismissed the man with a slight wave of your hand, so weak that you almost looked numbed; Baldwin's advisors began to chatter, but the background murmur of their murmurs did not seem to reach your ears. No, your attention was elsewhere; it was entirely on your husband.

You took your leave of the court, hurrying to your rooms. There, like a hawk waiting impatiently for prey to feed on, you perched on the balcony overlooking the city below you, on the walls from which not many days ago Baldwin had emerged leading the army.

It was there that you began to think again, this time with a clearer mind as you knew that at least Baldwin was alive and on his way home. On his way to you. Still, this whole situation reminded you of when you were only sixteen years old, and you stood on that balcony as you do now, waiting to see Baldwin return on his horse. And on that day, when he was visible to the naked eye, and your eyes met, you saw all the life and strength of one who had just defeated the greatest enemy of his time. At that moment, he seemed almost immortal to you: he looked like a god riding proudly, leading the thousands of men behind him towards their home.

How unfair fate is, to cut short his life so early. His physicians gave him no more than thirty years, but that time seemed to you to be shortened even more when you finally caught sight of his canopy. There he lay, sprawled and motionless like a dead body, surrounded by the soft cushions and riders on either side of his transport.

Just two years ago such a journey would not have fatigued him in the least; now he was risking his life just by riding a horse. Your eyes threatened to fill with tears thinking about how much he had loved riding a horse, and now he found himself bedridden, unable in his passions. You wasted no time running through the palace corridors, eager to reach your beloved as soon as possible.

One turn to the right, then another, then down the steps, and finally straight to the palace doors, where the finely decorated canopy led the love of your life.

You rushed to his side, gently taking his mutilated hand in yours while the other stroked his masked face. He breathed faintly, his eyes closed as he tried to regain his strength after his disease had dealt him this last bludgeon. Feeling your gentle touch, Baldwin's eyes fluttered open, his glassy eyes the color of heaven meeting yours.

"You've been reckless, my love. Putting your life at risk just to do the job of a messenger!" you scolded him, but Baldwin only smiled fondly at your words. "I promised you I would've come back. And that I did, alive too." Although his voice was so weak that it sounded more like a huff of air rather than a sentence, its tone was still laced with playfulness.

It made you unable to resist the smile that was threatening to form on your lips; you did not grace him with an answer yet, opting instead to move your hand to remove the silver mask from his face. You could see his surprised and relieved expression, as he was now finally able to breathe more freely and to look at you properly. He breathed in the sight of you, almost as if trying to take in as much of you as he could. "I can't tell if it's the travel or the sight of you that takes my breath away."

You just smiled bitterly and shook your head at his silly declarations, "It must be the ride, it has tired you so much that it's making you speak nonsense." he giggled weakly, much more tiredly this time, almost as if he was about to doze off. But he fought the tiredness nonetheless, opting to just shake his head and admire you with a lovestruck look. "Maybe I am hallucinating, I think I'm seeing heaven above me."

It was supposed to be a compliment that would've made you giggle and blush, like the ones that he showered you with daily. But instead, it made your heart clench at the bare idea of it. The idea that this would be his last moments before the energies spent for this expedition would be too much for him to handle, and God will reclaim his most virtuous man. It made your throat tighten, and your lower lip tremble.

You tried to hide your troubled state, moving your hand quickly to the curve of his neck. There, you placed a soft, butterfly-like kiss on the little places of skin that haven't been mutilated and bloodied by the leprosy. You kissed him one more time, then another, and another again..

In the end, you lost count of how many kisses you had given him, in a desperate attempt to mend your premature grief, to ground yourself in the feeling that Baldwin is there. He is alive. Yet the feeling of his skin against yours, of his chest rising up and down and his arms weakly holding your soft body, it wasn't enough to stop the tears to start flowing down your cheeks.

And that didn't go unnoticed to Baldwin, who mustered all his strength left to hold you just a little tighter. "Have my words upset you?" you sniffled, trying to recollect yourself before lifting your head to look into his eyes. "No, my dear, you could never. I just-" you stopped for a second, trying to swallow down the lump that had formed in your throat, "promise me this is the last time. Please, tell me that you will stop this nonsense. Let your trusted men handle these matters, command your man like a king not a general!" your hands had moved to his arms, a gesture to both ground yourself and to accentuate just how desperate you were in that moment, only wanting him to just listen.

"I beg of you, my love, stay here. Where you can rest. We both know that you don't have much more time left to live, so stop doing everything in your power to shorten it anymore." A sob slipped from your mouth at the last part. It truly astonished you how careless he seemed about his own condition, almost as if he forgot that any move could be the death of him.

He frowned and sighed at your words, squeezing your forearms softly before he spoke softly. This time though his tone was clearer, less weakened by the outcomes of the past days. "I already spoke to the physician about this: I have no choice, my angel. I'll be bound to my bed until a miracle will better my condition, or until death will take me."

You shut your eyes in relief, resting your forehead against his and sighing shakily, trying to recompose yourself. "I can't live in a world without you.."

"God will give us more time. I promise I won't leave you as long as I breathe on this earth. And. when my time will be over and there will be no future for us in this life, I'll be waiting for you in heaven, if I'll be granted the blessing of a place next to you there."

Not too long after, the physicians that Saladin had promised him arrived at the palace, and you were assisted as they tended to Baldwin's many wounds caused by his sickness. More than the sight of the gruesome pieces of open flesh, what appalled you was just how numb his body had become, so much so that he did not even feel their hands and tools working into his skin. It made you wonder wether or not he even felt your kisses from before.

And you make yourself that same question months later, when you place one last kiss into his forehead as he slept soundly before going to bed yourself, only to wake up to a cold body beside you. You wonder if he ever got to feel that last gesture of love before God had finally claimed him.

You only found solace in the thought that Baldwin would be resting in the realms of heaven above your head, contrary to what the Saracens believe.

A/N: Wowww this gets more fun by the day!! King Baldwin will probably always be my favorite character to write for. He’s my muse. As always ill be waiting for your feedbacks!!!

Oh and also, be prepared in the future for more fics waiting to be posted, I’ve got about ten that are just waiting for the right time to come to light, and many more will come in the future since I’m really finding it therapeutic to write.

#writers on tumblr #angst #fluff #my fic #king baldwin x reader #kingdom of heaven #king baldwin iv #reynald de chatillon #guy de lusignan #reader insert #f!reader #historical fiction #fanfic #x yn #x reader

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steddieas-shegoes · 1 year

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Read Supportive Uncle Wayne Series Part 1 first :)

————————————————————————

Eddie and Steve slept for hours, while Wayne sat waiting. He kept a few crossword puzzles by his designated chair for the times he sat with Eddie, but this time, he couldn’t focus on anything but the way Steve and Eddie kept moving closer to each other in small ways in their sleep.

He’d considered waking Steve up a few times just so he didn’t have to watch his back and neck bend at such an impossible angle.

But god, he was resting.

Wayne wasn’t interrupting any sleep that boy got.

But he watched them both curl into each other incrementally, barely moving, yet always closer together every time Wayne looked at them.

Steve’s face was almost completely buried against Eddie’s “good” hip. If you asked Wayne, he didn’t have a good hip, he just had less stitches on one side.

Eddie’s right hand was placed in Steve’s on the bed, and his left hand was holding onto Steve’s hair for dear life. Like if he let go, Steve would disappear entirely.

From what Wayne knew of Steve so far, he wouldn’t be going anywhere unless he was physically forced.

Eddie’s body was relaxed, the drugs constantly flowing through the IV probably keeping him from experiencing any major pain. He had more stitches in his body than a sweater, and Wayne had no idea how he would heal physically or mentally from any of what happened.

But Wayne was honestly more worried for Steve.

Steve, the boy who had been exhausted since he was a small child, the boy who had refused medical care to make sure Eddie wasn’t alone or scared, the boy always secretly ready to let someone down.

He knew Richard Harrington. He knew how much of a showboat he was, how he never did anything unless it benefitted him personally or led to financial gain. Wayne even remembered shortly after Steve was born, he took an ad in the newspaper for a nanny who was willing to work ‘most days of the week and some nights, minimum wage, cooking and cleaning expected.’ Within a week, Richard and his wife Anne, were gone more than they were home.

Wayne wasn’t much for socializing or he probably would have caught Steve out and about with the nanny often. God knows Richard and Anne weren’t going to run errands.

But looking at the young adult in front of him, he had to think maybe it was a good thing Richard didn’t dig his claws in too deep. He knew if he had, Eddie would have been sitting alone right now, and Steve would be at some Ivy League college becoming something he didn’t even realize he didn’t want until it was too late.

Eddie visibly tensed, his body suddenly going rigid.

Steve was awake and fretting over Eddie before Wayne could even stand up from his chair.

“What hurts? Is it your side? I was hurting you wasn’t I? I’m sorry, Eds, really. I didn’t…”

“Steve. Please shut up. I wanted you there.”

Wayne noticed when Eddie spoke, his voice was raspy from disuse. He was still tense, but he was forcing a smile for Steve’s sake.

Wayne wasn’t having that. No matter how much Steve cared about Eddie, and Eddie cared about Steve, he wasn’t about to let either of them lie about their health.

“I’ll go get the nurse.”

Steve and Eddie both turned to look at Wayne when he spoke, cheeks red with embarrassment.

“Oh, didn’t know you were here.”

Eddie was still forcing a smile, but now it was pointed at Wayne like he wouldn’t see how fake it was.

Like he didn’t know all of Eddie’s tells since he was 13 and trying to hide how scared he was about living with him.

Wayne didn’t respond, just left the room to grab Janet, who sat alone at the nurse’s station during calmer periods in the chaos.

He hurried back in while she got the doctor on staff to see that Steve was helping Eddie adjust himself a bit in bed.

“Damn bats, Jesus Christ!”

Eddie let out a loud yelp and Steve froze.

“What was that?”

“What wasn’t it at this point?”

Eddie was breathing heavily, and his heart monitor started beeping more frantically.

“Son, you need to sit still until the doctor gets in here.”

Wayne wasn’t about to watch him hurt himself more and it didn’t seem like Steve knew how to make it better or stop him on his own.

“My side hurts like this.”

“I think your side will hurt any which way you try to be.”

Steve placed a hand on Eddie’s cheek, gently turning his face so he was looking at only Steve.

“You can be still for a minute, right? For me?”

Wayne’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline.

“Yeah.”

Wayne’s jaw was practically on the floor.

He’d been in charge of Eddie for 7 years and had never once been able to get him to listen the first time. Not a single time.

Before he could say anything, the doctor came in, followed by a handful of nurses, including Janet.

Janet sent him a smile, but hurried over to stand next to the doctor at Eddie’s bed.

“Well, Mr. Munson. You sure are lucky.”

“I’ll feel a lot luckier when I’m not in pain.”

“Where does it hurt?”

Eddie glared at the doctor. Steve glared at Eddie.

“Mostly my side. My chest hurts a little and my left hip and leg are sore.”

“Your left side is in pretty rough shape. You’ve got about 298 stitches holding you together.” The doctor checked his pupils and his heart rate before continuing. “Go ahead and start another morphine drip, same dose as before.”

The doctor turned to Wayne.

“He’s probably going to sleep the next dose off over the next 24 hours, so you can head home. We’ll call if he wakes up earlier.”

The doctor turned to Steve, deep frown on his face.

“You, too. He needs rest.”

Steve was refusing to make eye contact with anyone at this point and Wayne was almost certain he knew why.

Steve’s father wasn’t known for being a particularly kind or loving man. One wouldn’t have to think too hard to come to the conclusion that he was harder on his son than anyone else. The doctor was speaking to him in a way that would have made Wayne’s hackles rise for Eddie, and they did for Steve too.

“I think Steve should stay.”

Wayne wasn’t going to let either of his boys go without each other if it meant they’d get some sleep.

“We do recommend that Eddie have very limited visitors.”

“If I may,” Janet spoke up. “Steve’s been here the entire time and it hasn’t affected Eddie’s sleeping. We can’t be everywhere all the time so it would be nice for someone to stay with him and come get us if he wakes up again.”

The doctor gritted his teeth together but gave a single nod before exiting the room. Most of the nurses followed behind while Janet made herself busy playing with the buttons on Eddie’s IV pole.

“Thanks Janet. What’s that doctor’s problem?” Wayne asked as he made his way to the bed.

“He came in while you were downstairs and saw the um, sleeping arrangement. He wasn’t too fond of you seeming so close.”

“We can be more careful,” Eddie mumbled, body slowly relaxing into the bed.

“Or he can just deal with it,” Janet shrugged.

She sent a wink to Steve, then turned to Wayne.

“He should be feeling a lot better now. Right Eddie?”

“This is way better than the stuff I have.”

Wayne shook his head, but couldn’t help but smile at his nephew’s antics.

“I won’t ask questions I don’t want the answer to,” Janet said as she walked out of the room. She turned to wave and then closed the door to give them all some privacy.

Wayne looked down at Eddie.

He was so pale. He’d lost so much weight in the last week, and he barely had any to give to begin with. His hair was dirty and greasy, and despite Steve and Janet giving his face and arms a wipe down, he still had dirt under his nails.

Wayne didn’t know the details of what happened. They said it was earthquake related, but he knew better. He knew if this was just an earthquake, Steve wouldn’t have stood guard by his bed for days on end.

He was just glad Eddie was alive and awake.

He placed a hand on his right shoulder.

“I’m glad to hear your voice, kiddo.”

Eddie’s eyes were glassy and his smile was much brighter than before when he responded.

“Glad you hear my voice, too. Have you met Steve? He’s my boyfriend. Or maybe not? I want him to be though. Do you think he likes me?”

Wayne looked over at a bright red Steve, then smiled down at Eddie.

“I think he likes you a lot, kid. You get some rest. Steve will still be here when you wake up, alright?”

“You too?”

“Sure.”

So Wayne stayed, and Steve stayed. Wayne watched them both as Eddie slept.

Steve didn’t fall back asleep. He looked like he needed to, but any time his eyes started to slip shut, he shook his head and widened his eyes trying to fight it.

“Steve?”

“Yes, sir?”

Wayne watched as Steve’s body curled in on itself defensively.

“None of that. You can call me Wayne.” When Steve nodded, Wayne continued. “Whoever you are to Eddie, I hope you know you’ve got me, okay? I know Eddie must like ya a whole lot for him to say any of what he did regardless of the drugs in his system. And you must like him a whole lot to not leave his side this long. But you gotta get some rest, son.”

“I take naps in the chair sometimes.”

“A nap ain’t rest. Especially not if you’ve been through war.”

“I…”

“You don’t have to tell me. I’m sure I shouldn’t know. But I been there. And I’m not lettin’ ya suffer the way I did when I came home.”

Steve’s eyes were watering and Wayne knew if he watched this boy cry, he’d be done for.

So when Steve’s first tear fell, Wayne got up and joined Steve on the other side of the bed, pulling him out of the chair and into his arms.

Steve was injured, and hadn’t had proper medical attention or pain medication, but he ignored it to fall apart in Wayne’s arms.

“That’s alright now. Let it out, son. Let it out.”

Wayne felt a tear fall down his own cheek. He couldn’t have possibly predicted this moment, but he knew he was meant to be in it.

He was meant to be here with Steve, providing something the boy needed for a long, long time.

He was meant to be someone for Steve the same way he was meant to be someone for Eddie.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #wayne munson #stranger things #ao3fic #headcanon #tumblr drabbles #part two #Wayne is a good uncle #and he’s officially adopted Steve

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yelenasdog · 1 year

Text

vibrant, saccharine, his ☼ (fwb!mat barzal x fwb!fem reader)

genre: filthy smut, fluff, angst with happy ending

summary: pretending is getting harder, for both of them. and after a hard roadie, mat’s not sure if he wants to pretend anymore.

words: 8.7k (WOAH)

warnings: cursing, excessive use of parentheses, friends with benefits arrangement, smut, unprotected piv, oral (f and m receiving), fingering, blood (reader bit lip too hard oops!), pet names (baby, sweetheart, pretty boy), reader is described as having sisters and a dog, food mention, idiots to lovers, misunderstood situation, reader uses she/her pronouns, and i think that’s it.

a/n: when i started this, i originally was just writing a blurb and then it turned into a full ass fic with a plot?? and fwb??? idk man, im nervy to post this since ive never published for nhlers before but oh whale! and ty to @eminems-skittles for reading this for me and checking it over 🤍 love u

“You played so good, baby.” She breathed, welcoming him home with open arms.

“Not good enough, apparently.” He responded, letting her fingers card through his raven locks. Soft, freshly cut. She loved when he grew it out, but yet again it was him, so anything worked.

She sighed, letting her thumb fall to his cheekbone, knowing what he was referring to. It had been the last stop of the road trip, he’d had a hatty and despite making it to OT, it wasn’t enough in the shootout.

He’d had to wait an entire flight and car ride afterwards to see her, only giving her a brief text when he got off the ice (“We lost. Had a hatty. Fucking Toronto.”) (like she hadn’t stayed up to watch the game) and another when he landed.

And after so long of whatever the two of them had going on, she’d known better than to try to send him some long and winded attempt at a pick me up message. She settled for just responding “I’ll be here.” She didn’t need to say it though, he knew she’d be there.

She always was.

To anyone else it would’ve been sad, how she waited up for him, late nights spent lonely with just her and her dog, as he jetted around North America. In her mind, he was no doubt giving himself away to whatever random puck bunny threw herself his way.

Despite this, she was loyal, even though she had her suspicions about what he did when they were apart. And frankly, it wasn’t a part of the “deal” that they had to be exclusive, and it was none of her business. But truthfully, after so long, she couldn’t count on some washed up juniors player to give her even a fraction of the satisfaction he had.

So, she did this whole routine, whatever this was. She stayed up late watching his games, sitting on her couch in his sweatshirt he left. She wouldn’t admit it out loud, but whenever she wore it, she liked to pretend.

Pretend that she was an obedient girlfriend wearing her loving boyfriends sweater. That as she sat curled up waiting on the corner of the beat up black sofa, 3 coffees in at approximately 1:37 am, she would be rewarded for her efforts come morning time.

That her and said loving boyfriend would lounge around together in bed (after he woke her up in the best way he knew how, showing her how grateful he was. Like I said, she loved when his hair was long enough to tug on, and even though she endlessly made fun of his patchy stubble, she couldn’t deny how delicious it felt burning between her thighs. Especially after they’d spent so long apart.) Then they’d go and grab late brunch, holding hands under the table as they sipped mimosas, which were Mat’s guilty pleasure only her and the waiter knew about, before heading home.

Maybe then they’d FaceTime his mom back in Coquitlam, an early riser with the 3 hour time difference. Mat had felt bad interrupting her morning routine, but she’d never pass up an opportunity to talk to her boy and the girl who she hoped was her future daughter in law.

After they got off the phone, she’d tell him how much she loved his mom, how her cheeks hurt from smiling so much. He’d tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, watching as she leaned into his touch.

“Missed you, Mat.” She’d say, closing her eyes.

“I missed you more.” He’d respond, his voice nearly a whisper. Her eyes would flutter open, and he’d recognize the look in them immediately. He felt his blood rush, and suddenly their proximity, which he’d never get used to, was very obvious.

“Oh yeah?” She asked. “I doubt that.”

He swallowed, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. Her eyes hungrily swept over them, wanting nothing more than to lean forward and capture them with her own.

But patience is a virtue, she supposed.

“Want me to prove it, pretty boy?”

Words failed him, and all he could do was nod. He relaxed into the sofa, watching as she dropped to her knees in front of him. Her hands were on either thigh as he fought the urge to lay his tired head back onto the beat up pleather behind him. It had been too long, he thought. And he’d be damned if he was going to miss out on seeing her do what he’d only imagined in the shower, or over the phone for the past 16 days.

She reached her hands up from the muscle of his thigh up to his tummy, her cold hands shocking him as she reached under his sweatshirt- the same one she’d been wearing before.

Her hands drifted, down, down, down, to the waistband of those damn Lululemon shorts she’d got him for Christmas. He held his breath, watching as they danced around where he needed her most and then-

The doorknob turns, and she’s brought back to reality. Sleep had almost claimed her, iced coffee left abandoned on the coffee table, a ring of condensation already drying on the glass. She attempts to smooth out her hair, hoping that her brief almost-nap hadn’t left her too disheveled.

Not that he’d care.

She stood to greet him as he opened the door, hockey bag, and garment bag, and duffle bag, and backpack, and- God, did he really need all that- and suitcase, dropped unceremoniously as he entered the threshold. He kicked the huge bag to the side, and it landed right under where her keys and her leash for her old mutt, Warrior, hung from the wall.

Above the leash hung a picture of her and her sisters, with her running shoes on the floor beneath it for easy access. They were nearly squished by the gear, and if it had been anyone else’s shit crushing her 160 dollar sneakers, she’d be angry. But the sight of his bag near her shoes was so weirdly domestic, she could’ve cried.

She, yet again, was snapped out of her fantasy by the closing of the heavy door, watching as the man in front of her shuffled forward, immediately allowing himself to be held by her. His head fell to her shoulder, and rather than the usual clash of teeth and shoving to get to her room, (they never went to never his place after a roadie. He needed to be away from the constant reminders of it all for awhile, just to be surrounded by her) she simply dropped a chaste kiss to his temple, letting her arm drop from his hair to his broad shoulders, squeezing once, twice, three times, on either one.

He stood up, and she led him to her room, though he knew the way well enough. Her hand in his felt nice, comforting, even, and he wasn’t going to complain. In the beginning of the arrangement the two of them had, touches like that had been normal. But as time went on, the barely there brushes and gentle caresses stopped all together.

He wanted to say something, wanted to ask her what was wrong, if it was something he did. But when he was off the ice, Mathew Barzal was not a man who liked to push his luck. So he didn’t. He let the touches slip away, and took what he could get from her.

Which right now, was toeing off his shoes, and crawling onto the plush comforter of her bed. It smelled like that sparkly ”fairy dust” shit from Lush he saw sitting on her bathroom counter once, cotton candy and bubblegum infiltrating his senses. That, and her favorite floral perfume he was all too familiar with on her pillow. A combination of scents he usually would find too much, sickly-sweet. But it was her, and that alone made it the most soothing aroma he’d ever known.

Initially when he’d gotten off the ice, the adrenaline had been pumping, and his anger had been rampant. All he’d wanted was to get home to her, have his way with her. To have an outcome he could control.

He’d kept himself relatively calm in the locker room, not having any outbursts towards Ilya, or anyone for that matter. If any of the guys had noticed he was uncharacteristically quiet, they didn’t say anything.

That is, until the bus ride to the airport.

He had been typing out his text to her, (Hatty, lost in OT, Toronto, you know the one), when he had felt a pair of peering eyes. Sitting in the back of the bus, he’d thought he’d done well to avoid such glances, but apparently not.

“Y’know, you shouldn’t be sulking so much.” A certain French-Canadian spoke, the brunette man’s tired eyes lingering over Mat’s hunched over form.

If there was one thing he didn’t need right now, it was more pep talks from Tito. He’d had more than his fill in the locker room. And though he loved the guy, he didn’t need to be told again how he “did everything right” and had a ”killer game”.

Because he knows, and that’s partly why he’s so mad.

Partly. As the other part is the fact that he wants more than anything to come back to NY to her arms. He was exhausted at this point, and rather than having his way with her, he now just wanted to be welcomed home into those ridiculously cozy sheets. He wanted her to light up all those overpriced candles she loved so much from Bath and Bodyworks, and for Warrior to snuggle up by him, stinky dog breath be damned. He wanted her to turn on ”Miracle” in the back as white noise, and laugh as she repeated all the lines from memory. (He may be Canadian, but he can appreciate a heart warming story told by Kurt Russell when he sees one.)

More than anything, though, he wanted her. And not just for an hour or two before he inevitably dragged himself out of those silky sheets that felt heavenly on his back, leaving her sleeping beside him. She looked peaceful in those moments, and he often wondered what she dreamt of. If she was dreaming of him as he did of her.

Bottom line was, Mathew was the victim of a series of unfortunate events. And the man to his left could recognize that it wasn’t just the hockey that was bothering him. (Though, that whole situation did suck pretty bad, he’d admit.)

So when Anthony told him he shouldn’t be sulking, he flashed him a tight lipped smile and a nod, before looking out the window at the Toronto sunset. The oranges and pinks were stunning, and more than anything their vibrancy reminded him of her. The smile she’d give him in her post-orgasm glow, or of the orange blossom on the bottle of perfume on her vanity. Beauvillier’s gaze never faltered, though, recognizing the deep train of thought his close friend was experiencing.

The screen of his phone had begun to darken, the draft of his message just barely visible. Tito’s eyes quickly shifted from the screen and back up to Barzy, opening his mouth and pausing momentarily.

“Who’re you texting?”

Mat quickly turned off the device, the “click” sounding out in the quiet bus cabin, most of the Islanders players catching some shut eye or watching that new Game of Thrones spin off.

Personally, Mat didn’t get the appeal.

“Nobody, just… a friend I’m visiting tonight when we get back.”

Anthony’s eyebrows went up, making a face of understanding as he slowly nodded three times.

“A friend, huh?”

Mathew nods, taking his bottom lip between his teeth and letting it go. “Yup.” He adds softly for good measure, popping the p.

“You visiting a friend after a game like that, this late, hm?” Another pause. ”Must be an important friend.”

“Yeah.” His voice is soft again, compassion coming across his features and he thinks of her again.

“Well“, Anthony starts, popping in his earbuds and opening his phone to his Music app. “I’d say whatever’s going on with this friend seems worth talking to her about.”

Mat‘s head snaps up, and he scoffs, shaking his head.

“I didn’t say that it was a she-“

“You didn’t have to, buddy.” Tito winks in the most annoyingly-Tito way, and chuckles to himself. He then lays his head back onto the navy material behind him. Mat “hmph”s to himself, doing the same. He turns his phone back on again, going to the chat between the two of them. The still blinking cursor seems like it’s mocking him as he runs a hand over his face, hitting send.

If there’s gonna be any deep, emotional shit, it can wait until he’s not 2500 miles away.

7 hours later when he finally crashes through her front door, he swears the relief he feels mixed with the sense of dread it all might be over in an hour, gives him whiplash. But nonetheless, she welcomes him in, and she feels like home.

Warrior watches from the couch, his tail lazily wagging as he observes his owner greeting the man who occasionally slips him bacon from his Starbucks sandwich. His old man (old dog?) body doesn’t find the arrival of the hockey player worthy of leaving his nest on the sofa, as to him that’s all Mathew Barzal is. The bringer of bacon.

To Warrior’s owner, though, he was so much more.

The trek to the bedroom felt like it took an eternity, and as he laid on her bed, he couldn’t help but wonder if it would be a bad idea to push his luck for once. Risk ending it all to gain everything.

She laid down next to him, and he shifted, going from laying with his arms crossed under his head, to one next to her head, the other keeping him stable from his position on top of her.

Her hand crept up to push an unruly lock out of his eyes, and she leaned forward, and he met her halfway. They paused briefly, taking each other in after so long, before finally closing to distance.

He tasted warm, like cinnamon and something she couldn’t place, and she wondered if at the airport he’d gotten one of those pretzels she knew he liked so much. To compliment his psychopath reminiscent black coffee, of course.

His hand went from where it had been cradling her face down to rest on her hip. The soft touch elicited a whimper, and at that he pulled away, resting his forehead against hers.

She recognized that something was off, swimming around in that pretty little head of his. A small frown etched its way onto her face, and she lifted his chin up so he had no choice but to look at her.

“What’s wrong, Mat?”

He took in a shaky breath, looking over to his left, where the TV was on some random wallpaper, a sunset, he realizes. He scoffs, looking back at her.

“Can you just- can we- can I- fuck.” He mutters, slowly falling down so his body weight is nearly on top of her.

“Can you just… hold me?”

She swears she’s never heard him sound so broken.

“Yeah, baby, ’course. C’mere.” She replies softly, allowing him to fully rest on her. It was a miracle that he didn’t fully break down right there, at the feeling of her fingertips dancing over his skin, under his pushed up shirt. His nose was cold against her neck as he dragged it up against her to come to her cheek, pressing a kiss there. His eyes never opened, afraid that if they did, it would all just be another elaborate fantasy he’d created to pass the time.

“Is this a good idea?” Came her voice, cutting through the silence.

He sniffles. “What do you mean?”

“This. Us.” She says, not able to meet his gaze where he’s lifted his head.

“We’re going to get hurt. More than we already have.”

Oh. Oh, fuck this was happening right now. Mat sat up, feeling like a scared teenage boy. Damn you and the way you read people, Beauvillier. Maybe this would’ve been easier from 2500 miles away.

“We don’t have to.”

“What other option do we have?” She said, sounding defeated, like she already knows her answer and she doesn’t like it. “I-I can’t keep doing this no strings attached shit. Not when you do this. Not when you come here all beat up like some sad puppy.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. And he was.

“Don’t be. I should’ve known this would happen.” Her voice was soft, her eyes distant.

“That what would happen?” He questioned. She looked at him like he had two heads.

“That you’d leave, Mat. That this whole pretending bullshit wouldn’t be enough for me.”

He leaned forward again, catching her off guard.

“I’m not leaving you. I’d never leave you.”

She looked away briefly, mentally cursing herself for being so emotional as tears began to well up in her eyes. He fell to her side, forcing her to meet his gaze.

“Do you really want this?” She asked, the tears rolling down her face illuminated a hue of pink from the salt lamp on the bedside table. Mathew reached out a hand, dragging his thumb over the droplet. He hated that she was crying, but fuck, she sure looked pretty while doing it.

His answer came without thought, he’d done enough of that on his way over.

“Yes. I want you in every way, if you’ll have me.”

A small smile came onto the corners of her face, and she nodded, shortly at first, but more exaggerated as they started laughing, a small “yeah?” escaping from Mathew. She responded with the same, and he took that as his sign to reach forward, closing the distance between them.

And like all the times before, they fell into their routine, her hands going down to his hips, lifting the gray material of his shirt over his head. He returned the favor, the two of them moving in sync as she lifted her hips and he gently slid off her shorts. He ran his palms along her bare thighs and she shivered at the feeling, a reaction that didn’t go unnoticed by Mathew.

“I missed you, y/n.” He admitted, running a hand through his, now, unruly hair.

Another vibrant smile came across her face, easing whatever nerves Mat had left over from his confession.

“I missed you more, Mathew.”

He shook his head, dipping down to leave sloppy kisses on her neck. Taken aback, she let a shaky breath escape. He pulled back, satisfied with the response he’d pulled from her.

“Not possible.”

In a moment of boldness (and a slight hope to allow a fantasy to come to life) she challenged him.

“Prove it, then.”

His eyes darkened, then, and he surged forward. Her remaining clothes, which was just his sweatshirt and a flimsy cami, were gone in an instant. She was left in just a pair of black undies, Mat nearly cumming on the spot at the sight, like he’s some horny teenager. His apparel soon joined the growing pile on the floor, as she made a remark about how it wasn’t fair he was still so covered.

She shamelessly raked over his naked form, save for the black boxers, with his firm muscles, sore from the roadie, prominent as ever. She might’ve been drooling, she wasn’t sure. He smirked, the effect he had on her not lost to him.

The two began to kiss again, and there was no other way to describe it other than that it just felt right.

Mathew wasted no time, allowing his hand to trail down and cup her clothed heat, his thumb passing over her clit and past her entrance with a feather light touch. She shivered, her hips lifting up to chase the brief sensation. He pulled her panties to the side, teasing her entrance with his middle finger.

It was immediately covered in her slick, as was the black fabric he’d moved aside. It made him groan just from the sensation alone, making her chuckle at his behavior. Her laugh soon was cut off as he sunk the finger in, giving her no time to adjust, not that she needed it with how ready she was for it, before adding another.

His palm just barely grazed her begging clit as he pumped in and out slowly. And as she continued to lift her hips trying to feel him deeper, push his hand closer to her clit, she fully expected him to push her down and put her in her place.

But this whole thing was about showing him how much he missed her, how much he appreciated her. To show her that he was staying. And him staying meant that he’d have plenty of chances in the future to be an insufferable tease, but right now wasn’t one of those times.

“Matty, please-“ it was more of a breathy whine, not intelligible to an untrained ear. But thankfully for her, that wasn’t Mat.

“You want more, baby?” He questioned, knowing the answer. She nodded, hair splayed around her like a halo on the pillow. She was still illuminated from the TV screen and the salt lamp, making her look like an angel of sorts, not of this world.

“Look at me then, sweetheart. Wanna see that I’m makin’ you feel good.”

Her eyes that met his were glazed over and doe like, and it melted Mat’s insides at just one look. He did his best to push down the mushy feeling that arose, before realizing he didn’t have to anymore. He could feel as sickeningly in love as he wanted, no consequences.

“You’re so beautiful, baby. So needy, fuckin’ perfect girl.” He remarked, adding in a third finger. She let out a borderline pornographic cry, and Mat picked up his pace. His gaze only faltered from her face, contorting in pleasure, back to where he was pumping in and out of her, unable to resist the urge to watch in amazement.

Though her legs were flailing, going from propped up to sliding down and spread, rustling the comforter, she somehow had enough mind to reach a hand down. She attempted to run tight circles around her clit, but not before her hand was pinned to her side by the center above her,

“No, baby. Lemme.”

His range of motion was wider and his thrusts harder as he curled his fingers to perfectly hit that spot inside her that made her see stars, fully trailing his hand over her sex. He repeated the action again, and again, and again- and fuck, she didn’t know how long she’d go on like this but she never wanted the feeling to stop.

He felt her tighten around him, and he picked up his pace, knowing she was almost there.

“Mat!” she managed to get out between strangled moans and panting breaths. He leaned down, kissing below her ear on the one spot he knew drives her crazy. She was halfway thinking, well, less than halfway with her state at the moment, that he would cruelly pull his hand away as she reached her peak. So she clamped her thighs together in an attempt to trap him, subconsciously more than not.

It didn’t stop him from grinding his palm against her like he had been, leaning down to capture her lips with his in a searing kiss.

Everything at once was just so much, the obscene sounds coming from both their mouths and her wet heat, the feeling of Mathew’s bare skin on top of her, the feeling of warmth radiating from his body, and oh my God, after so long it’s fucking finally happening-

He felt as her chest seized and she pulled away from the kiss, her head slamming back before falling to the side. She cried out, her orgasm hitting her like nothing had before.

He found her lips in the chaos beneath him, his hand parting her thighs as she went lax, lazily pumping in and out as she rode out her high. Her slick coated the inside of her thighs, and Mat pulled away momentarily and she whined, like the little brat she was allowing herself to be.

He only smirked, leaning down to kiss on her collarbone, letting his tongue sweep over the seemingly shimmering expanse of skin before him. He moved further down, savoring the taste of her, how it felt to be so close to her. No guards up, no shields, no screening involved.

She moved her ring clad hands to run fingers through his locks, that fucking smile coming across her face. He looked up from where his hands were holding either side of her waist, his fingers digging into the soft flesh just enough to not make it hurt, but to say “I’m here. I’m not leaving.” His chin rested above her bellybutton, and he felt suddenly seen, bashful almost. He continued his trail down in a half assed attempt to hide his face, her breath hitching when he made it to her mound.

Her breath barely returned to her as he skipped over where she thought he was headed, instead opting to take her right leg over his shoulder, moving down the expanse of it to her ankle. He brought his eyes to meet hers, and a tender hand ran up and down the distance of it. He kissed the inside of her ankle, making his way up to the skin where her thigh met her already aching sex.

He lightly nudged his nose against the area, before attaching his lips. He started sucking on the skin there, licking her clean. Satisfied, he moved to the other side, beginning his good work.

“Mat,” she broke her silence, her voice splintered and low, “don’t tease. Please.”

He raised his eyebrows, seemingly in jest.

“I think we’re a little far gone from teasing, eh?” He asked, and truthfully, one mind blowing orgasm later, they were.

She chuckled, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever hotshot.”

“New nickname?” He questioned. “I like it.” He huffed, returning to his place between her legs. “But I fucking love this pussy, baby.”

And with that, he dove in. He immediately groaned at what he had found. (Which, obviously, caused her to tug at that perfect head of hair, eliciting another groan.)

If possible, she had become even wetter with the mix of his spit and her nectarine juices. It dripped down his chin, and he wanted to stay there forever. He’d found solace there, he thought. No Maple Leafs, no Tito, no hatty that meant jackshit in the end.

Just her and her consummate being. Vibrant, saccharine. His.

He wasn’t sure how long he spent drawing her closer and closer to the edge, but somewhere between repeated chants of praises and whatnot, he’d slipped.

“Fucking love this cunt, fucking love you-“

He hadn’t realized what he said, and if he had, he didn’t seem to care. But his words alone were enough to rip an unassuming orgasm from her. She didn’t allow herself long enough to think about if he meant to say it or not, or even to ride out the aftershocks rolling through her nerves. She grabbed him by the shoulders, forcing him away from her glistening cunt and up to where she connected their lips.

A small sound of surprise, not reluctance, escaped from where they were joined. Her hands came to cradle either side of his face, and Mat thinks that he might’ve cried from the tender action. He wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t going to ask. Hey, it’d been a long day.

“You mean it?”

He realized what he had said, then, eyes wide and somehow his face even more flushed than before. He considered lying, like when Tito had asked who he was texting and he’d said a friend.

But where would that leave him, he wondered?

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, I did.” He added after a beat of silence.

And in those few moments nothing had seemed scarier.

Not when he was 18, getting skipped over by teams in the draft, and that voice in the back of his head had told him that, somehow, everyone had collectively decided to skip Mathew Barzal. Not when he was 19 playing in his first game for the Isles, having to follow up Auston Matthews first NHL game where he had four goals. Four. Fuck.

No, all that was topped by this. By the same fear he’d had earlier when he’d been on the bus, or when he’d arrived at her apartment.

But all of that fear was dissolved in a second after her laugh sounded out in the small bedroom, her eyes crinkling at the edges. She pulled him down towards her, and the sound of her laughter pulled a radiant smile from the hockey player that he felt like hadn’t seen the light of day in a long time.

She rolled over on top of his chest, leaning forward and throwing her arms around his neck. His chain was glinting, now, in the light she had previously been bathed in, and it caught her eye as it rested against his milky complexion.

“You looooove me.” She regarded in a sing-song voice, and Mat rolled his eyes despite the smile growing on his face. She leaned down, and Mathew’s grip on her bare hips tightened, all too aware of the wet spot left on his stomach from her leaking sex.

She mirrored his previous movements down his chiseled body, a regular Adonis in his own right. She left open mouthed kisses, the wet patches from them adding to the thin sheen that covered his body. She made her way down to his boxers, the obvious tent making her stifle a laugh. He caught it though, of course, and rolled his eyes for what seemed like the millionth time.

“Laugh it up, babe. Laugh at my misery.” He commented, to which she only shook her head.

“Patience is a virtue, Mathew.”

“You’re one to talk.”

Well, he had a point there.

So rather than talk, she decided she’d put her mouth to good use. She pulled down his boxers at a painstakingly slow rate, watching as his cock slapped up against his stomach. Her mouth watered at the sight, the tip red and weeping, begging to be attended to. He kicked off the boxers, paying no mind to how they slipped onto the floor, forgotten. She didn’t either, as she was sure he had to have some extra in one of his gazillion bags sitting in her entry way.

Her nails scratched down his stomach, angry red lines puffing up and decorating around the expanse of his skin. They were accompanied by freckles and marks and scars that she could have mapped together with her eyes closed. She knew Mathew like the back of her hand. And with that, came knowing how to make him come undone in her hands.

She started leaving small kisses at the base of his shaft, before swiping the bead of precum from his head down to the rest of him. She pumped her hand a few times, and Mathew let out a strangled moan. She thought he couldn’t get any louder, feeling bad for her neighbors at whatever hour in the night it was, but she was quickly proven wrong.

She licked a long stripe from the bottom to his tip, before taking as much of him into her mouth as she could. She bobbed her head a few times, jacking off whatever she couldn’t fit with her hands. She hollowed her cheeks, and the rise and fall of Mathew’s chest quickened. The sound he let out was animalistic, and it sent another wave of arousal through her body. She moaned involuntarily, and the feeling caused Mathew to buck his hips.

“You’re doing so good, baby. ‘M not gonna last with you going at me- shit- like that.”

He brought a large hand down to the side of her face, lightly stroking her cheek. It was a moment of wholesomeness that reminded them what they were now, what he had said.

Mat could tell she was tired, her pace decreasing. The look in her eyes never changed, though. And as he went to speak to tell her it was okay, and she didn’t have to (and because since it had been so long, he was scared he’d bust his load if she wasn’t careful), she pulled off.

A string of saliva followed, and the sight looked like a thumbnail of a shitty porno. Her eyes were droopy and glazed over, and Mat’s hypothesis was proven correct.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. You don’t have to finish. Let me take care of you.” He repeated his sentiment from earlier. She only shook her head, continuing to jack him off with her hand. Oh. He thought. That’s not what I was expecting.

“S’okay, Matty. Wanna make you feel good.”

She ran her thumb over his tip again, her glassy and swollen bottom lip hanging ajar as she concentrated. The moans he was letting slip free could only be described as pathetic, the 190 pound hockey player putty in her hands.

“I’m gonna cum if you don’t, God, baby, shit! I-If you don’t stop.”

And then she pulled her hand off, and he let out a quick breath at the momentary relief, if that was even the right word. But it was short lived, and she managed to hoist herself up, dragging her folds along his cock, before stabilizing herself with hands on his chest. He slid inside of her, and the sounds they both let out echoed off her walls.

She started moving, and then it was “You’re fuckin’ amazing, you know that? So fuckin’ amazing. My girl, my perfect girl.” He rambled, the events of just that day alone scrambling his mind trying to keep up. Similarly to how she felt earlier, everything was just too much for the poor man. She felt like Heaven around him, and he watched in awe from below her as she moved, enamored by the woman he loves.

As she became more and more tired, her movement slowed, reduced to her grinding herself down on his cock. Mat was barely hanging on, trying to make it last as long as possible. He could tell she was close too, as she squeezed him like a vice, and put her energy into picking up her pace.

“Fuck, Matty. Feels s’good. Love you- shit! I love you so much, baby.” She told him, her eyes closed and her face screwed up as she chased her high. But something snapped in Mathew at her confession, and with a quick “fuck” under his breath, he flipped the two of them without ever leaving her.

He was relentless.

He slammed in and out, and at the sudden change in position and pace, she was blindsided. She thrashed around him, her hands everywhere at once. Her hair, his hair, grasping at his shoulders, scratching down his back. She settled for his biceps, as his hands were planted. One on the right side of her head, the other gripping her hip bone so hard, she was sure it’d bruise.

“It’s only ever been you, baby. I promise you.”

“Shit, Mat!” She cried, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. She loosely draped her legs around his middle, allowing him to reach new depths within her. He was fucking her senseless, and they fucking loved it.

“It’ll only ever be you. I love you. Fuck, I love you so much, Y/n.” His hair hung in his eyes as he fought to keep them open. He shook it out of his eyes, wanting to see her as she came in all her glory.

“Love you, Mat. So much, baby. You have no idea.”

His pelvis snapped harder against her, just barely reaching up and grazing her clit in the most exquisite way. The rope in her stomach began to tighten for the third time that night, so close to breaking she could almost taste it.

Actually, she could taste it, she realized. She had been biting down so hard on her bottom lip she could taste the metallic tang on her tongue, and fuck, it was all the more delectable.

“Mat!” It was another exclamation, followed by more babbles. “‘S too much, Matty, can’t do it.” Her voice was small, and despite the nature of the statement, Mat felt his heart flutter.

He shook his head. “Yes, you can, baby. I know you’re tired, but you can do it, Y/n. You’ve got another one in you sweetheart, pull through for me. I’ve got you.”

And never one to disappoint, especially not her Mathew, she did.

She came, and she came hard. But it wasn’t dramatic the way you’d think it’d be, at least not outwardly. Her breathing stopped, her toes curled, and her nails dug into the skin on Barzy’s arms. It wasn’t accompanied by a loud scream, or a drawn out, high pitched moan. It was a breath of relief that left her when she came, her head falling to the side and her eyes closing. A quiet moan of Mat’s name, and she was clamping down on him.

The sweet way his name fell off her tongue, mixed with how she was so damn tight around him as she came, and he was done for. It triggered his own orgasm, and he felt the same feeling of peace wash over him that she had as he spilled into her. He fucked her through it, soft thrusts calming whatever aftershocks they both were experiencing. She had gone limp under him, her eyes opening as she gave him the sweetest smile he’d ever seen.

He stayed in her, lowering himself onto his side, then maneuvering them so she was laying on him. They were a cliché and they knew it, but they couldn’t seem to care. A few moments passed in comfortable silence, before it was broken by Mathew’s scratchy post-sex voice. Swoon.

“So,” he started. She raised a brow, wondering where he was going with this.

“You looooove me, too, then?” He mimicked her tone from earlier, and they broke out in a fit of laughter as she slapped his arm and rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. I guess you’re alright.” She feigned annoyance, propping herself up on her right arm as she faced the man she loved. Mat scoffed, blowing a strand of hair from his forehead. “Just alright? You’re crazy, lady.”

“But you love me.”

Not a beat passed before “I do.”

She smiled softly, lifting up a hand to run a finger along his jaw. He caught it with his own, never breaking eye contact as he kissed her palm. Again, swoon.

“I know.” She responded, wanting to stay in that moment forever. But, she knew that if she stayed where she was too long, she’d more than likely fall asleep in record time. So, she pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth, which he turned to catch before she could go, pulling her back for a “real” kiss at his protest.

A petulant child, that’s what he is.

She pressed one more to his lips for good measure, before pulling himself off of him. They both let out disgruntled sounds at the sudden losses, and it took all her energy to sit up on the edge of her bed. She felt a strong jaw on her shoulder, and she leaned into it.

“Where you goin’? Leaving me all alone isn’t very nice.” She could hear the frown in his voice, and even though she knew he was joking, it tugged on her heartstrings that little bit.

“Gotta pee.” She said, standing up and walking towards the connecting bathroom. “Sorry baby, no UTIs for me.”

The frown stayed cemented on his face.

“You should be grateful,” she threw over her shoulder, shutting the door. “No UTIs, more fucking, yeah?”

He chuckled at her bluntness, deciding to go and get her some water and maybe a snack. Shit, he didn’t know. What was he supposed to do? Usually when they fucked before, her or Mat would be out the door as soon as possible, still trying to ward off those pesky feelings. But now, he was allowed to feel said pesky feelings, and he’d be damned if he fucked it up.

So, snack. And water? Yeah, water, for sure. He was hungry and thirsty, why wouldn’t she be. He had no idea the way around her kitchen, nor how to, er, actually make anything, so this would be rough. But, first, a pit stop.

He would have walked butt-ass naked into her kitchen, really, but then he remembered Warrior was out there and he didn’t have a need to traumatize that dog any further than he already was.

(It was one time, okay? He didn’t know she had a dog, he’d been asleep on his bed by the TV when they’d gotten to her place. And at the time, Mat was too preoccupied to notice.)

He looked around on the floor for the offending clothing item, slightly grossed out when he did finally find them. It was only for a minute, tops, is what he told himself, as he pulled on the boxers from earlier in the night.

He tiptoed, for literally no apparent reason, through the dark apartment until he found the bag he was looking for. He grabbed what he needed from it, struggling with the zipper while trying to close it, before giving up. On his way back to her room, he gave Warrior a nod and smile, and he swore the mutt gave one back. Okay, actually, on second thought, he remembered the clock on her microwave saying it was 3:18 AM, so, maybe he didn’t.

It was late and he just had the best sex of his life with the woman he loves. Give him a break. So what if he’s delusional and thinks he can communicate with dogs? At least he’s pretty.

When he gets to her room, he pulls on the newer, clean, pair of boxers, setting the other pair he grabbed from his bag on the bed for her when she got out of the bathroom, along with an Islanders shirt that he’d secretly always wanted to see her in. Too soon? Maybe. But after so long yearning for everything domestic and wholesome and good that he was convinced he didn’t deserve with her, he was indulging a little bit. So sue him.

His next stop, snacks. And water, can’t forget the water.

The water was easy enough, he got lucky. He grabbed her “emotional support cup” as she’d called it before when she thought he wasn’t listening, and went over to the fridge. He got a few ice cubes and put them in, and then went over to her Brita. He stood there, pressing down on the little lever, watching the steady stream of water into the cup. It was almost laughable, how he stood there in the dead silence, concentrating so hard. He was determined not to somehow do something wrong, even though it was just pouring a cup of water. Cute.

He checked the pantry once the cup was full, with the lid safely screwed on top. The rustling about caught the attention of Warrior, who hopped down from where he’d been on the couch, moseying on over.

Mat, who still was slightly wary of Warrior, despite the fact the dog would cause him no harm, shook his head at the mutt.

“Sorry, buddy. I don’t have anything for you.”

He turned his head and gave him puppy dog eyes, pulling out all the stops. Mat sighed, looking back to the pantry. He saw a box of Milkbones, and looked back to Warrior, who was egging him on. (They’re telepathically connected, remember?)

He reached in the box, pulling one out, and tossing it down. Warrior gratefully accepted, taking his treat and waltzing off to his bed to chow down. Mat looked in the pantry, going to close the box, when he sees it, his saving grace.

White bread, hallelujah.

He can do toast. Mathew Barzal is a totally capable 25 year old man who can make toast. So, he takes the bag, going over to the toaster. And-

One look at all those fancy buttons, and he’s tapped out.

Okay, it’s okay, he can remember seeing a vending machine on his way into her apartment. Yeah, he remembers her telling him about having to sign off on some HOA form for it, even though she was just renting. Apparently, her landlord hadn’t signed, which made it her job. Whatever, that’s irrelevant.

He figured that there wouldn’t be anybody out in her hallway at 3:23 AM, so he grabbed his coat with his wallet, shrugging it on over his bare back. His slides were somewhere in his hockey bag and the last thing he wanted to do was stink up her whole place by opening that Pandora’s box. So, barefoot it is.

He does his best to sneak out the apartment, leaving the door ajar as he makes the short walk to the vending machine, grateful his search was over. He let out a long sigh as he stood, wondering what to get her.

For himself he decided on a bag of cool ranch Doritos, and a bag of those tiny cookies. For her, he racked every corner of his brain for potential options, before realizing how long he’s taking, and how long he’d been gone. So, not wanting to waste any more time, he elected for one of everything.

He punched in the numbers and paid, attempting to grab them from the machine. Trying to pick up the few that had fallen, he leaned down. His attention was called elsewhere by the ”click!” of a door a few units down. His head snapped to the source of the sound.

“You’ve got to be shitting me.” He muttered under his breath upon what he saw.

A man probably not much older than himself, suitcase and backpack in tow, donned in, you guessed it, a New York Islanders hoodie a lá number 13.

The man had yet to notice the star player down the hall from him, and Mat was considering just making a run for Y/n’s place. But either way, he would have to go past the man, or the man would have to go past Mat to get to the elevator. Maybe he’d take the stairs? He hoped. Shit, who was he kidding, he’s not taking the stairs.

Starting his walk over, the unnamed Islanders fan lifted his head, stopping in his tracks. His jaw dropped, and if it wasn’t purely because of being in the presence of Mat Barzal, he had a hunch what it was.

Said hunch, was that it was due to the fact Mat Barzal was standing in front of him, in an apartment complex definitely not boujee enough for him to be living in, at 3:25 in the morning, naked, except for boxers and some fancy trench coat, holding several bags of snacks.

Mat would’ve laughed at the guys face, but he thought he wasn’t quite in the position to do so.

“Hey, man. How’s it going?” And a stupid bro nod, was all Mathew could manage.

While he was facing that debacle, Y/n was having one of her own.

After she’d gone to the bathroom, she decided to try to do her nighttime routine, too. She put on her robe from where it had been hanging in her bathroom, beginning her little routine.

When she emerged 10 minutes later, Mat was nowhere to be seen.

His bags were still by the door, albeit one of them hastily thrown open. Was he leaving and had gotten some clothes and an Uber? Did he have last minute regrets? The door to her place was left open, and an overwhelming sadness began to take over her system. As the tears began to well up, she looked over to Warrior, only to notice him chewing on… a milkbone? How the hell did he get a milkbone?

She sniffled, wiping her sleeve under her nose. She sat down on her couch, looking at where her iced coffee from earlier was still sitting, ¾ of the way empty. The tears started to flow freely again after that, and she stood up, deciding that she should at least shut the door. She didn’t need to deal with a robbery, too.

As she stood and turned, she was met with a very discombobulated and very underdressed Mat trying to shove his way through the door.

“Have a good flight, man. Enjoy Miami!” Mat called over his shoulder to what sounded like her neighbor Gian, based off of the “Thanks bro, good luck this season!” she heard back.

She slapped a hand over her mouth, trying to not bust out laughing at the sight in front of her. Hearing her snickering, he looked up gesturing to the bags in his arms.

“Hungry?” He asked, the smile on his face falling when he saw the red around her eyes. He dropped all the snacks on the couch to his right, making his way over to where she stood.

“Hey, hey, why’re you crying? What’s wrong sweetheart?” He questioned, and his sincerity made her smile widely.

“Nah, I’m all good, don’t worry about it. Just thought you’d left, that’s all…” A pause. “But I see now that you just had a case of munchies, apparently.”

He wrapped his arms around her shoulders pulling her towards his chest. His chin rested on her head, and she closed her eyes, inhaling his scent.

“No, baby. God, no, I’m not leaving. I just wanted to do this whole thing right, and I thought you might be hungry, and I tried to make toast- your toaster is really complex by the way,”

She pulled away from him as he rambled, her smile reaching her eyes.

“And I filled your water and set out clothes for you and I really did try, baby. I didn’t mean to fuck anything up, really.”

She giggled again, taking hold of the shoulders of his jacket, shrugging it off. She folded it over the back of a barstool, then turned back towards Mat.

“And Gian?”

“Oh yeah, he’s cool. Ran into him in the hallway and introduced myself. Going to visit some family in Miami.”

She raised an eyebrow, nodding her head in understanding. She stepped closer, wrapping her arms around his middle.

“So, am I gonna have to compete with him for your attention now whenever you come over?”

He reciprocated the action, one hand coming up to rest on her chin.

“I mean, he’s gonna be gone for two weeks, but after that…” he shrugged, trailing off. She hummed, and he smiled at her, leaning forward. He searched her eyes for any remaining upset, unable to find any, before he pressed his lips to hers. It was sweet and gentle, with not a hint of rush or fervor.

When they pulled apart, she was smiling again. Her hands found their way back to his neck.

“And baby, you’re amazing. You didn’t fuck up anything at all, I promise.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” She whispered, leaning in again to connect their lips. She let her tongue sweep over his bottom lip, biting down just barely before pulling away. She pushed down the sleeves of her robe just a bit, exposing her shoulders. Y/n took his hand, and started walking backwards, letting it slowly slip out of hers as she did.

“Come on, hotshot. Come to bed. Snacks will still be there in the morning.”

She smiled again briefly, before walking towards her room, the robe slipping down as she went. Mat stood watching her in total awe, glued in place, until he was knocked out of his trance.

“Hurry up! And lock the door, too, please!”

He had never obliged to anything quicker in his life.

(And as for the snacks, they were not still there in the morning, thanks to a certain mutt who managed to rip open all the packets on the couch. The next morning was spent at the vet, who had told them Warrior would be fine, just fat. The vet had only said this, though, after Mat had consoled a crying Y/n, who was under the impression he was going to be poisoned.

The rest of the day after that? Making up for lost time.)

FIN.

YO idk if that was good or not i kind of feel like i imagined writing the entire thing and it was a fever dream. but. anyway! if you liked it, be sure to reblog <3 thank u i love u! go eat some protein and drink some water.

xx, hj

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