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cool-cowboy · 5 months

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Summary:

A continuation of my work Stress Reliever, in which you do something maybe a little stupid, which pisses off your easily annoyed partner, who then releases the stress you caused by saying mean things, along with doing you on the floor of the catacombs you fled into following your daring plan. He's mean, but it's all an act, a way to let out some long pent-up aggression, and you thoroughly enjoy it, anyways. It isn't necessary to read the first part, it's got enough context to catch you up if necessary. Anyways, enjoy!

Tags:

Dominant Leon S. Kennedy, Hate sex, angry sex, rough body play, rough sex, dirty talk, floor sex, wall sex, name calling, praise kink, overstimulation, face-fucking, crying, held down, creampie

Blurb:

“I got us out, okay? Now get the fuck-!”

“You almost got yourself killed! What, that tired of me you’re gonna kill yourself?”

“Didn’t look like you had a plan! Quit acting like you give a shit, you would’ve been fine either way!”

“You think I don’t give a shit?! Fine, I’ll stop saving your ass then, fuckin’ bitch!... Keep tellin’ myself you’re good for more than a fuck, but you keep proving me wrong every goddamn time.”

Text:

“Hey, get your ass back here!” I’m being petty, but he deserves it, thought it’d be a good idea to scream in my face over something mostly insignificant, a plan gone haywire, something we’re both well acquainted with, only this was a much closer call than usual. “Quit fuckin’ walking away from me!” He's yelling, hand gripping tight to my arm, wrestling my knife away from me and shoving me against a dirty wall, forearm pressing a little too harshly on my throat, my most evil glare returned by my not so happy partner.

“I got us out, okay? Now get the fuck-!”

“You almost got yourself killed! What, that tired of me you’re gonna kill yourself?” He cocks his head at me, pissed, his body pressed tight to mine, my hands held above my head by rough fingers, not giving me any opportunity to squirm my way out of his hold.

“Didn’t look like you had a plan! Quit acting like you give a shit, you would’ve been fine either way!” We’ve been fighting a lot the past few weeks, being more violent with each other than usual, the mission we’re currently on entirely too drawn out, an almost impossible task leaving us tense and at each other’s throats, for him literally. He narrows his eyes, and he would be terrifying if I hadn’t known him so damn long, if I wasn’t used to the way he treats me by now.

“You think I don’t give a shit?! Fine, I’ll stop saving your ass then, fuckin’ bitch!” I scoff, and he doesn’t like it, letting out a displeased noise and pressing his arm harder against my throat when I try to get away, make myself less vulnerable to him, put some space between us so this doesn’t escalate any further. “Keep tellin’ myself you’re good for more than a fuck, but you keep proving me wrong every goddamn time.” That one hurt, and he knows it, was trying to hurt my feelings, not that it’s true, even if our relationship is complicated, we’re the only people we’ve got, stuck with each other until we really do end up dead.

“Well at least I’m good for that, can’t say the same about you.” He doesn’t give me the satisfaction of surprise, instead his lips pull up into what would be a menacing smile, if his dramatics really did have an effect on me. He brings his face closer, huffing a bemused laugh when I turn my head to the side, refusing him the eye contact he likes so much, his lips instead moving to rasp low, rough words against my ear, his fingers squeezing tight around my wrists.

“Yeah? Sure, we both know you’re a dirty slut for it, love my dick so much you’d probably let me fuck you right now…” I squirm, trying and failing to escape him, knowing he won’t do anything I truly don’t want, but not wanting to succumb to his trick, give him the satisfaction of giving in. “I know you too damn well, you can’t hide shit from me, you fuckin’ love it when I get like this, squeeze me so tight when I fuck you rough.” He pulls back, letting his arm against my throat drift so he can grip my jaw, forcing my face toward him, my eyes cast down, ignoring what we both know is the truth. “What? Can’t look at me now that your slutty little secret’s in the open? Why don’t you let me calm the both of us down, let me fuck you so good we’ll both forget how fuckin’ stupid you are.” He’s pressing his knee between my thighs, pushing against the crotch of my pants, a little smirk on his face when my eyes pull up, still mad, but willing to put that to the side, at least for now.

“I’m not stupid, get off-!” He’s holding on too tight, hurting my jaw and my wrists, my cheeks squished under his fingers, my struggling not at all aiding me in my escape, his low laugh earning him a glare, but he doesn’t mind, returns it, pressing his lips to mine, a little too harsh, groaning when I kiss him back, never the one to deny myself pleasure, and neither is he, god knows neither of us get nearly enough.

“That’s what I thought… I’ll give you what you need… If I don’t wring your pretty neck first…” He’s kissing down over my neck, nipping and sucking hard enough to know it hurts, his hands holding me almost perfectly still, his grip painful, bruising and hot on my skin. “Why can’t you just… Be a good girl and listen… Always doing some stupid shit…” He cares a little too much, never expresses it, too scared to lose someone else, lay his feelings out just to get his heart torn to shreds, his anger stemming from fear, a helpless sadness he's never been very good at handling. He releases my jaw, the pain still there where his fingers were pressed to my skin, his freed up hand running down to knead at my breast through my shirt, his thigh moving against the crotch of my pants making me gasp, his smile pressed to the base of my throat. He’s so big, looming over me and pressing into me, making me shaky and all too willing to let him use me however he pleases, embarrassing as that is.

“Leon-”

“Shut the fuck up, don’t wanna hear any excuses, shut your big mouth or I’ll shove my dick so far down your throat you’ll lose your damn voice.” That was creative, I have to give him credit, even if he is being horribly dramatic, not even letting me speak, though I guess he expects me to egg him on, which is fair, because I probably would have if he gave me the chance. He’s being rough, shoving his thigh up into me a little too hard, teeth pulling at the skin of my throat, his hand shoving its way up my shirt to toy with a nipple, pinching and rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, his dry laugh coming in response to my back arching to try and escape the rough treatment. “Don’t try ‘n run away… You love this shit, probably soaking your slutty fuckin’ panties over it, yeah?” It's easier, pretending to hate each other, keeping a safe distance from the truth, both of us all too aware whatever sick "Stress Relief" bull is going on between us is just an excuse to be close in a way we probably shouldn't. I turn my head away, avoiding his accusing eyes peering up at me, his hand pressing mine harder into the wall before releasing them, expecting me to keep them overhead, which I do, not wanting to incur more of his wrath than I already have. “There you go, now if you’d just sit this pretty and listen all the time I’d have no reason to get so rough…” His hand trails down, working my pants while the other plays with my nipple, hurting me, only a little, his lips softer on my skin, offering a sweet contrast he knows I’m a fan of.

“Le- Here?” I’m not supposed to speak, but this isn’t exactly a great location, some dusty, dirt-floored catacombs under the city we’re meant to be ridding of B.O.W’s. He pulls back, tilting his head to get a look at my face, my head turned away from him, eyes meeting his from the side, his look a little amused, still pissed, the tension of my near mishap keeping his body tight, all his worry for me, mine for him, protection all we're really able to offer each other in the way of affection, other than sex, which is never very loving, always under the guise of hate, annoyance, some made up shit that's lost its validity over time.

“You’re tellin’ me you don’t want it? Yeah right, that look you’re givin’ me is sure making it seem like you do, your slutty ass would do it anywhere, never pass up the chance to get some dick.” He grips my jaw, making me look at him, my head tilted up, his quick breaths puffing hot air into my face, all movement pausing for a few seconds as he looks at me, angry, but pensive, making sure I’m into this before sinking back into the aggression he’s usually so careful to hide. “Go ahead, tell me, wanna hear you fuckin’ say it, tell me you need my dick just as bad as I need your perfect fuckin’ pussy.” I planned not to indulge him this time, I really did, but I truly can’t deny him, we’re the same, and there’ve been plenty of times I’ve gone off the rails, and he’s never minded, just gave me what I needed to calm back down, usually in the form of a few orgasms.

“Okay, yeah.” He doesn’t find that satisfactory, just looks at me some more, eyes narrowed, shoulders hunched with uncomfortable tension, his anger at my actions mostly unwarranted, but also a little endearing, one of the things that lets me know he cares a lot more than he lets on. He doesn’t move, just watches me, waiting on a better response, his free hand up under my shirt, pinching my nipple, prompting me to respond a little quicker. “Shit-! I want you, okay? Just, stop-!” He lets go, smoothing his thumb over the sensitive flesh before pushing my shirt higher, up over my breasts, leaving it bunched up, the cool air underground making me shiver.

“Like I said, slutty.” He kisses me, grinding his hard dick into me as he shoves at my pants, letting them pool at my feet, not giving me any room to get them off, length of his body pressed to mine, his hands on my hip and the side of my neck, mine still held above my head, my arms hurting a little from being in this position so long. “Such a… Dirty bitch… Letting me fuck you like this…” He’s a little breathless, huffing into my mouth between kisses, his hips grinding into me making me feverish, his lips rough and covered in spit. “You’d probably love it if I shoved your face into the dirt… made you look just as dirty as you act… Probably cum so hard you’d start crying for me…” He groans, hooking his hands around the backs of my thighs and lifting, all the way up until he can rest my legs over his shoulders, my pants fallen to the ground in the process. “That can wait, wanna get a taste of your sweet pussy first, make you feel so good you’ll listen to me from now on.” He presses his nose and lips into me, inhaling, his eyes falling closed, my hands rested on the top of my head, arms burning too bad to keep them held up. “Fuck, you’re hot, too bad you’re so goddamn annoying…” He keeps his eyes closed, mouthing at me through my underwear, sucking and groaning and squeezing his hands on my hips, offering a little pain when his nails dig in.

“Should probably take those off, yeah?” He pulls back, lifting his head to look up at me, frowning, pulling back from the wall a little too suddenly, holding me up when my upper body falls back from the loss of support.

“Put your hands behind your back.” I look at him, waiting a few seconds before following his command, eager to get him to make me feel good, even if it means not using my hands, which are unnecessary, he can get me off perfectly fine on his own. “There… Now shut your pretty fuckin’ mouth until I’m ready to stick my dick in it, keep running your trap and you won’t cum at all, I’ll edge you until I get bored and leave you soaked and unsatisfied.” I don’t say anything, just shake my head, my unamused look drawing a rough laugh out of him before he presses me back to the wall, the rock digging uncomfortably into my bare arms, his face pressing into my panties a helpful distraction from the roughness scraping at my skin. “You taste so damn good… Such a good girl when you wanna be, wish you’d stay like this, listen this well all the damn time…” He sneaks his hand around, pulling my panties to the side, his eyes cast down at my surely soaked privates, his tongue swiping over his lips at the sight. “Want you to sit still and take it, none of that squirming shit you like to pull, got it?” I nod, letting my head lean back, his tongue against me wet and warm, trailing slick up to my clit before lapping at it, his eyes peering up at me, one of his thumbs rubbing tentatively at my hole.

The rock is hurting me, but I don’t say anything, afraid he’ll make good on his promise to leave me needy, his tongue against me too good to risk losing. I let out a low sigh when he presses his forefinger inside, easing me open, his lips closing over my clit and sucking harshly, a little painful when his teeth graze my sensitive flesh, my thighs trembling lightly from the harshness of it all. He pulls his face back when I really start to shake, looking up at me and easing another finger inside, being more gentle than usual, watching my face as he works them into me, a shaky breath pulling from his lips when I meet his eyes.

“There you go, making me wait so damn long… Keep those eyes on me, yeah? Wanna see the look on your face when I make you cum…” He’s speeding his fingers up, being a little rougher, squelching sounds a little too loud in the quiet of the catacombs, thumb of his working hand pressed hard to my clit, unmoving, just applying deliciously painful pressure to my overly sensitive nerves, making me squirm, needy and hot and shaky from the intensity of his touch. “Lucky I even give a shit if you’re ready, you’d probably love it if I shoved inside without stretching you out first, always ready for some dick, huh?” I let out a low whine, embarrassment settling in my gut making me feel almost sickly, his fingers fucking into me roughly, pressing hard to my g-spot, my legs twitching around him, hips held still from seeking friction against his thumb to send myself over the edge.

“Le- Please-” He stops, completely, goes still and stares at me, holding down his smile when I squirm, nails digging harshly into my hip making me grimace.

“Dirty bitch, can’t even wait for it, huh? Being nice and making your stupid ass cum, and you can’t even follow a couple directions.” He breathes a long sigh, hot air fanning over me making me flinch, his eyes cast up toward me, judging, looking down on me, even if he is below me. “You want it?” I nod, unsure if speaking would be a wise choice, since it nearly just got my orgasm privileges revoked, his lips quirking up making me wary, unsure about what he’s planning. He moves quickly, dropping my legs from his shoulders and letting me fall down onto my feet, the rock ripping the skin of my arms forcing a pained noise out of me, his expression going softer, my legs swept out from under me before I’m laid out on the floor, on my back, looking up at him looming over me. “I’ll clean you all up when we’re done, okay?” I nod, not minding the stinging of the cuts along the backs of my arms, more than used to the feeling of broken skin, not willing to give up on getting some relief to get the wounds taken care of. “Didn’t think, you c’n dig those nails into my back, make us match…” He sinks to his knees, slotting his legs underneath mine, looking at my face as he presses his fingers back inside, his free hand reaching for mine, holding them down on my stomach, humming in approval when his fingers make me moan, my hips shifting uncomfortably from how rough he’s being, his thumb finally moving against my clit, offering light pleasure to offset the tension he’s caused, my body wound tight, shaking and struggling against him, whining a little too loud when I feel my orgasm coming, the sound cut off by his hand closing over my mouth, shoving my head to the side and smearing my cheek into the dirt. “Shut the fuck up, being so damn loud the fuckers above ground’ll hear, so fuckin’ needy, so easy, nasty fuckin’ slut, go ahead, give me what I want, cum for me, squeeze my fuckin’ fingers and- shit, there you go, be fuckin’ quiet, stupid bitch, you look so good, open your eyes, yeah, keep ‘em on me…” He works me back down, pulling his fingers out and rubbing my clit until I come down, then a little after, making me whine, any attempts to escape stopped by rough hands.

“Le, please-” He doesn’t stop, just holds me still and works his finger against me, watching me, enjoying himself. “Hey, please- just- let me suck your-Nnh- dick-!” It hurts, my legs shaking, whole body tight with pleasure, not getting a break between orgasms making me terribly sensitive, and he knows it, pressing too hard, making it hurt a little more than it has to.

“In a minute, you’re not done yet, not fucked out enough, want you crying by the time I’m done, sobbing on my dick.” I groan, letting him continue, not that I have much of a choice, his strong hands holding me down, forcing me toward another orgasm less than a minute after my first, nearly there, my body feeling hazy, warm with the pleasure he’s giving me, only a little too much, the perfect amount of painful. “You can take it, yeah? Course you can, you’re fuckin’ loving it, ready to cum again, such a good girl…” He presses my face to the dirt when I moan, twisting my neck a little further than what’s comfortable, smearing my face with soft soil, my eyes clamped shut, insides closed tight around his fingers, my orgasm a duller pleasure, his words spoken from lips close to my ear as he leans over me. “See? I know you need it, wanna be so fucked out you can’t think, I’ll give you a break, make sure my dick’s the only thing on your mind.” He pulls his hand away, running it up my stomach to turn my head back forward, his head pulling back to look into my face, messy and wet with sweat and maybe a little drool. “So pretty, you look good all messy for me… Still wanna suck my dick?” I moan, letting him pull me up onto my knees, brain hazy as I come down from my orgasm, confusion settling when he walks around behind me, gathering my hands, soreness on my wrists making me groan, something tied tight around them holding them there.

“Hey, what’re you-”

“Let’s not pretend you don’t like this shit, shut your slutty ass up and let me take care of you.” He comes back around, looking huge above me, a hand caressing my jaw, softness unexpected after the roughness I’ve endured the past few minutes, his expression almost loving, gazing down at me as he takes care of his pants, kicking them and his underwear off to the side, gripping his dick and staring at me.

“Are you gonna-”

“Shit- Fucking stop talking, jesus.” He’s acting exasperated, as if my voice is insanely grating or something, which I know isn’t true, he’s told me on multiple occasions I have a pretty voice, even if I apparently am terribly annoying. He presses his dick to my cheek, heaving a sigh and looking at me, eyes low, enjoying the sight. “Can’t fucking believe how well you take this… ‘s almost the size of your fuckin’ face, but I guess you do have a big ass mouth…” He pulls back, pressing the head to my lips, sliding himself inside when I part them, holding me still by my hair so he can fuck into my mouth, something I thoroughly enjoy, even if it does keep me from breathing. “Gonna let me fuck your pretty face? Yeah? I’ll bet, you look so fucked, so ready for it… Gonna move you, work this slutty throat on my dick…” He drags me away by my hair, hurting me a little with his grip, stinging my scalp, his hips moving, sinking him almost fully into my mouth, gagging me, the ‘gup gup gup’ of him pushing into my throat making him groan, head tilted back and all, his hands on either side of my head pulling me into his thrusts. “Goddamn… So good at this, so-God- tight for me, look so fuckin’ good with your hands behind your back, so slutty for me, right baby?” I moan around him, eyes hazy with tears, wetness streaming down my face as I let him thrust into my mouth, choking me, not giving me a second to breath, his noises getting a little whinier as he goes. “Love when you suck my dick, ‘s the only-Nnh- fuckin’ time you’re quiet, only time I don’t wanna-hah- wanna- Fuck-!” He groans, loud, shoving himself completely inside, staying there, keeping me from breath I’m desperate for, whiny, choked moans vibrating against him making him twitch before he pulls out, all the way, his dick soaked in spit connected to my lips, my head held up by his hands as I heave in some oxygen, gasping and panting, a hand smoothing over my hair as I calm down. “Ready to cum again? You know I’m not getting off unless it’s with your perfect fuckin’ pussy milking me.”

“Yeah…Yes…” I let out a dazed moan, not minding when he presses my face down into the dirt, cheek cool against the floor, my ass up in the air, presented for him, back arched a little harder than I like, hands uncomfortable behind my back, cut up and in an odd position.

“Fuck you look good, so fuckin’ hot, gonna fuck you so damn good…” He pushes inside, all the way, holding onto my bound hands to keep me from pulling away, one of his feet planted beside my knee, the opposite knee out of my sight, just behind me, giving him the stability to thrust into me, setting a quick pace, already worked up, ready to get me off and empty inside. “You feel so good, being so good for me, gonna let me cum inside, fill you to the fuckin’ brim, hope to god we don’t- fuck-!” He’s struggling, pressing his thumb to my clit to hurry my orgasm along, my mind filled with fuzzy pleasure, low moans and whines leaving me as he fucks into me, bouncing me on his dick, hitting my cervix and hurting me, but I don’t mind, as long as he keeps going, letting me feel full, keeps me distracted a little longer. “Shut-Ah- be fuckin’ quiet-! Being so damn loud, sound so-Nnh- pretty, sobbing for it, want my cum that bad? Fuckin’ shit…” He’s slamming into me, pulling me into him by my bound hands, whatever he’s tied me up with painful on my bruised wrists, the sounds of skin to skin filling the empty corridor, echoing obscenely, both of us too loud, too turned on to worry about consequences for the time being. “Can’t take much more, hurry up and-hah- squeeze this pretty pussy on me, be a good slut and cum for-Ah- me-!” I’m nearly there, his thumb working relentlessly against me, my legs shaky and unstable, the pain of his grip on my wrists pulling me up out of the dirt, giving him a better angle to press inside, his pace insanely quick, deep, sure to make me sore tomorrow, a low groan leaving my lips when he pulls me into him by my wrists, my upper body suspended in the air, tearful eyes staring down into the dirt my face was just pressed into.

“Le- shit-! Leon, hurts-Nnh- You’re-ah-!” I can’t talk, just give up and let him do what he wants, my orgasm nearly there, my body almost too overstimulated to register it, legs shaking so hard he’s holding me up with a hand on my lower stomach.

“You like it, just-nngh- take it, like it so fuckin’ much you’re crying for it, whiny bitch, so-ah- fuckin’ annoying, complaining even when I-Shit- give you exactly what you- you want. Shit, you’re fuckin’ cumming, good girl, so good, shut the fuck-ah- up-! So-hnn- stupid, lucky I love you-Nnh- so goddamn much-!” I’m nearly unresponsive, just taking what he gives, my orgasm hazy and warm, but his confession brings me back, draws a needy moan out of me, which prompts him to press fully inside, twitching and filling me with warmth, the feeling euphoric, filling some primitive desire in my head. “Shit-! Such a good-Nnh-! You make me cum so fucking hard, filling this sweet pussy so good…” He pulls me upright, sat backward in his lap, his dick grinding into me, cum dripping out of me as he comes down, speaking and kissing at the dirty side of my face and neck. “Fuck… such a good partner… my pretty girl… taking it so well… Cumming so much it’s making a goddamn mess…” He groans, letting his head slump down onto my shoulder, keeping himself seated inside, one hand moving to release my bound wrists, rubbing the tension out of them, caring, soft in a way he usually doesn’t let anyone see, kept quiet and buried beneath his carefree, unbothered persona. “Should probably take care of these now…” He runs his fingers over the torn skin of my arms, stinging the wounds, but I let him, turning to peer at him over my shoulder, waiting a beat, speaking only once his eyes meet mine.

“You love me?”

#re smut #leon kennedy smut #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #older leon kennedy #idiots in love #hate sex #angry smut

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karikarasuno · 9 months

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sonder ch. iv

Pairing: Erwin Smith x Fem!Reader x Levi Ackerman

Rating: Mature

Warnings/Tags: Angst, Alcohol Consumption, Recreational Drug Use, Pregnancy Scare, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms

Word Count: 6.4k

song(s) for the chapter: strange by celeste, another life by kiah victoria, small things by jojo, in the kitchen by renee rapp

a/n: going back to writing this post my own irl break-up has been an...experience. hope you enjoy the v real heartbreak lol

chapter iii | chapter iv | chapter v

You called out of work the next morning on account of a migraine. Which was mostly true. The source of the migraine though was sobbing for hours into your pillow until you exhausted yourself and fell asleep. It was noon by the time you officially opened your eyes. Your vision was still uncomfortably blurry and you were still wearing your jeans and t-shirt from the day before. When you found enough energy to drag your ass out of bed, the person you saw in your bathroom mirror was pathetic. Your hair was a mess and your eyes were swollen and bloodshot. Your whole face looked like it retained enough water in your cheekbones to fill a kiddie pool and you were in desperate need of a shower and change of clothes.

There was no effort put into the outfit you changed into post shower. Your sweater was baggy and old, and your shorts were short enough to disappear under the hem of your sweatshirt. What awaited you in the kitchen was something that you had completely forgotten about. The red splatter stains across your wall looked similar to a murder scene. The little dots were high enough to meet the top of the refrigerator and you concluded that the wall was ruined. The only way to fix it would be with a fresh coat of paint.

Maybe a change of decor would begin the process of erasing your weekend with Onyankopon from tainting every corner of your goddamn home. It was the last thing you ever expected. He was never supposed to show up at your doorstep and ask for answers. You were supposed to have a messy run-in back home. Maybe when you went back to your parents’ for the holidays. But definitely not here. Cities away and in a place you were just starting to call your home.

You slipped on sneakers and left with your hair wrapped in a scarf to the hardware store. You needed paint. And you needed it today because you couldn’t keep looking at your wall. You also couldn’t stay curled up in your bed for the whole day in self pity. You needed to be productive. In some way or another.

Your phone was left unchecked for nearly the whole day until you hopped on the train and put on your headphones. You fully intended on ignoring any messages and just playing some music but there were texts from Erwin, Levi, and Pixis. Your curiosity was too intense to ignore them, though.

Erwin: Hey, seems like you’re staying in today. Text me if you need anything

Levi: Dinner?

With three different recipes attached.

Pixis: Feel better soon. See you tmw.

The guilt that rattled around your chest was audible despite the music in your ears and the roar of the train on the tracks. But you’d respond later. You just needed for this pain to pass and everything would be back to normal. It wouldn’t take long, you reasoned, just a few distractions and it would be as if this horrid weekend never happened. You arrived at the hardware store with really no plan, heading straight to the paint aisle and becoming instantly overwhelmed with the mass amount of paint swatches aligning an entire wall.

It would be smart for you to choose something that matched your already existing furniture. Maybe an eggshell or something. But you decided if the color was too close to what you had without an exact match you’d end up having to paint the entire living room. And that would be too much.

So you chose a wine red. A burgundy that would cover the wine splatters with ease and serve as an accent wall. You didn’t give yourself enough time to muddle over your choice because you’d end up convincing yourself not to. You’ve already spent too much time thinking and you were over it. You needed to just do something. For the sake of your sanity.

The elderly woman at the paint counter took her time making the paint. And while you weren’t in any real hurry, you found your foot incessantly tapping the floor while you fidgeted with the hair tie secured around your wrist. Anxiety was a companion of yours for some time now. Before Onyankopon and before this job. So you were well aware that this was just one of your ticks. Which only meant that sooner or later you’d be hit with a wave of paranoid anxiety that you wouldn’t be able to control. But that was a future you problem. For now, you just needed to keep busy.

Which should be easy enough, given the project you recently gave yourself. When the lady was finished with your paint you thanked her over your shoulder as you turned down the opposite aisle to grab supplies. By the time you reached the register with a cart full of things you realized there was no way in hell you’d be able to drag this onto the train and back to your home. So you ordered an Uber. The man who arrived sized you up warily, clearly noting your still puffy eyes and your lack of presentable clothing for your outing. But he popped the trunk and helped load all of your things into it. He even offered to help you unload when you arrived home. You declined. Your mother gave you enough lectures about stranger danger to last you a lifetime and a half.

You carefully placed everything on your doorstep as you unlocked your door and dragged everything inside. The hard part was next. The couch was heavy but you needed to shift it forward and cover it with plastic so as not to accidentally ruin it with paint. Rolling the paint over the wall was therapeutic. Mindless back and forth that you were losing yourself in. Exactly what you needed.

The splatters were gone. One trace of Onyankopon already disappeared beneath one coat of paint. If only everything else revolving around him was that easy to forget. But the lingering feelings of regret and anguish were set aside in favor of pouring more paint into the container. In favor of mistakenly smudging paint on the ceiling and belatedly realizing you forgot to use painter’s tape for clean lines. And then remembering that you did not have a step ladder. There was one you could borrow right next door, but the thought of facing Levi or Erwin in your current state sent a wave of unwarranted shame down your spine.

Not that they would judge you. It was just odd to think about including them in a version of you that they knew nothing about. Someone you knew they wouldn’t recognize because you could hardly recognize her. The version of you that was their friend, but a woman who was so deeply broken and fragile, you were almost embarrassed of her.

So, you decided against the ladder. Resulting in a sloppy paint job and many amateur mistakes, but it was done. You threw off your sweatshirt somewhere along the way. And your living room was currently a disaster, but cleaning up was the easiest part. Your thoughts falling to the wayside, while your hands and feet did everything you needed. You threw away the plastic that enclosed your sofa, the paint slowly drying as you poured whatever paint was left in the small container into the paint can and hammered the lid down.

There was a small towel closet at the end of your hallway that you stored everything in, disposing of the head of the paint roller because you had no intention of soaking it and squeezing off the paint that was drenching it. You also pushed the couch back into place, but careful not to press it against the wall. And despite the mistakes you made, the end result was something you were happy with. One that you could take some pride in because you worked hard for it. Circumstances aside.

Your next challenge was one you hadn’t foreseen. Your bed was a mess when you were ready to finally crawl into it. But as you stared from the foot of your mattress all you could think about was him. And his smell. And how he managed to work your body over and over until you were so satisfied you fell deeply into sleep. Then, the crushing guilt brought you back to how it ended. So many mistakes and now you couldn’t even sleep in your bed without being reminded of him. It was pitiful, really.

You snatched a pillow from your side–the one he hadn’t slept on– and an extra blanket from your closet before dragging yourself to the living room. It still smelled like paint, the chemicals roaming around the open space but you preferred that to the warm scent of vanilla and musk trapped between the threads of your sheets. Maybe the scent of drying paint could burn the memories from your brain with each inhale.

Maybe you could suffocate the thought of Onyankopon from your mind. Drown the feelings in your heart with layers of thick paint. To be left to dry out slowly and be forgotten. Eventually.

There was a certain skill that came along with avoiding those important in your life. A certain je ne sais quoi when it came to carefully crafting excuse after excuse for weeks on end. The nightly dinners you had come to rely on with Erwin and Levi came to an abrupt stop. The lunches with Moblit ended swiftly when you began to take on so many projects at a time that it should be impossible for anyone to complete. But when you arrived at work at 7am and left well past 7pm, the projects didn’t seem like enough.

They were worried about you. That much was clear. And that worry seemed to have trickled down to Marco. Who was standing awkwardly in your doorway with a manuscript you had asked him to read over for you. You almost felt bad for how much work you were throwing at him. Forcing him to read some of the worst writing you’ve ever laid your eyes on, but accepting the novel either way. Purely to keep busy.

But now you truly felt the consequences of that when you glanced at the stack of papers in his tightly clenched hands and only found rows of red ink. That couldn’t be good.

“That bad?’ You leaned back in your chair, papers and sticky notes covered every inch of your desk and if you didn’t have a method for your organized mess you would’ve gone crazy. Not that you already haven’t.

“Worse,” he replied, shoulders still tense and his feet still rooted just outside your door. He was nervous and you knew that was your own fault. You had isolated yourself so dramatically that he probably saw you as a different person completely. You dragged a hand down your cheek and took a steadying breath. Your exhale was loud and it was sad that you couldn’t even remember which project you handed over to him. Amidst the hundreds you were taking on.

“Which one is that?” You opened a folder on your desktop that held all of the manuscripts. It was obnoxiously long so you clicked into the search bar as you waited for him to read out the title to you. You printed it when you found the document because you always concentrated better when you had the hard copy in your hands instead of scrolling through it on your computer. Pen to paper was best, even if you were aware that it was the more wasteful option.

“Wanna go over it with me?’ You offered, hopeful that this tiny olive branch could be the start of mending your distant relationship. He simply nodded, taking that step into your office and sitting across from you.

“Sorry in advance,” he said with a small smile, eyes lighting up with familiar amusement.

“For?”

“What you’re about to experience.” And for what feels like the first time in forever you laughed. The sound bubbled up your chest and burst unexpectedly from your lips. His smile broadened and he situated himself more comfortably in his seat as he started reading it aloud.

And he was right. It was worse than you initially imagined.

The pier was the next stop over and you were tempted to ride it until you got there. Tempted to relive that day, but the wind was howling and the chill that fell down on the city was enough to have you steering clear of the waterfront. It was mid-September when the weather decided to fully commit to autumn. The days were still long, the sun setting after seven on most days, but the cold that it started to bring was a pleasant reminder that summer didn’t last forever. When the heat started to become too much, you could always remember that the shift in temperature was just around the corner. You just had to be patient.

You also needed to sleep. Your body was quickly starting to feel the consequences of lying awake for hours until your alarm blared to signal it was time for you to get up and dressed for work. The dispensary wasn’t too far from work, so once your day ended you hopped on the train and made it your first stop. There was an urgency crawling beneath your skin, a sinking desperation in your gut because all you wanted was rest. The tossing and turning was getting infuriating. Especially since you still didn’t have the strength to sleep in your bed. The couch was comfortable enough, but you were positive that if you slept in the bed that you shared with Onyankopon your sleep would be that much worse.

Which said a lot, since you averaged maybe an hour or two a night.

A few blocks later and you were at the storefront, a man standing outside to check your ID before he opened the door to let you in. It was a little strange at first how casual it all was. Not used to seeing so many people of all ages in a place to buy weed. And you did eye the older couple a little longer than you should have as they asked the employee so many questions it made your head spin. But the young woman took it all in stride. She grinned at the couple with fond enthusiasm as she walked them through the different strains.

You ended up leaving with a pack of pre-rolled joints. Because you surely didn’t have the time nor energy to roll them yourself. It’s been a while since you smoked, probably over a year now since you only really did it with Onyankopon on nights the two of you wanted to enjoy a good meal or watch some stupid movie.

But you remembered the sleepiness after smoking. The way your body would just relax into itself and the black out sleep that always followed. It was dreamless most of the time. Not that you minded. It was actually what you had been craving. Because when you did sleep, it was filled with dreams that wouldn’t really constitute nightmares, but they were awful nonetheless.

Your home was dark once you arrived, night fell around the city earlier than it usually did. Another sign of the turn of the season. You managed to stumble around your home without turning on any of the lights, only flicking on the lamp once you changed into your house clothes and shuffled into the kitchen. The lighter you kept in the junk drawer was thankfully still there, buried beneath a pair of scissors and some command strips.

Usually Onyankopon always lit it first for you, holding the lighter to the end while you propped the joint between your lips to prepare for an inhale. But you were alone this time around, in the dim light of your kitchen, preparing for an inhale with shaky hands. The end burned cherry red and fire orange. The smell hit you first and instinctively you breathed in deeply. Too deeply while the tiny flame still burned the tip. You choked on the bitter smoke, your lungs heaved as the heated air burnt your throat. You were out of practice, that much was clear, but you already felt some of that blessed lightheadedness you were so desperately seeking. You grabbed a tiny ceramic ramekin to stand in as your ashtray, inhaling with unsteady breaths each time the smoke fully expelled from your chest.

Simple minutes passed, but anyone could have convinced you that hours had been drained away. The only thing left, besides your aching heart, was the craving for food. You were starving, only having absentmindedly stuffed a granola bar from the break room a little after lunch time. Marco had offered to bring you something on his way back from the sandwich shop he was heading to, but you declined. Realizing now that you regretted that decision immensely. There was nothing in your fridge besides molding strawberries that you kept forgetting to toss, a bottle of half finished red wine, and some sparsely used condiments. You turned to the pantry next, finding a jar of peanut butter and nutella. And in a very generous turn of events, a loaf of bread that thankfully lacked any traces of mold. It was strange. Going from carefully crafted homemade meals, cooked in the presence of friendship and comforting company, to nearly burning two pieces of bread smushed together by melted gooeyness. But you ate it anyway through a familiar haze that you welcomed but not in the same ways as you used to. Not out of a matter of want, but of a matter of need.

You nestled into the cushions of your couch once you finished eating. After a few nights of sleeping on the sofa and concluding that you weren’t going to your bed any time soon, you decided to drag over a few pillows and a blanket. It made it much more comfortable, even though you knew you should just toughen up and go to your bed. But you were far too stubborn and heartbroken for that.

Luckily, sleep found you quicker than it had in weeks. It was a dark, blank affair. You didn’t remember when you fell asleep or how, and you still woke up before your alarm, but far more rested then you had in far too long. The sun trickled into the living room between your slatted blinds, your curtains swaying gently from the breeze of the air conditioning.

Fatigue still made your limbs heavy, but your mind wasn’t racing and neither was your heart. You had become accustomed to the palpitations always residing in your chest. But those seemed to ease. Yet there was still this unsettling feeling that washed over you. That coated your vision in sepia and dulled all of your senses.

You hardly remembered the ride to work. Or the mug of still hot coffee settled in front of you as you stared at your computer screen. Something was off, but you couldn’t pinpoint what it was. Your stomach kept churning, and bile was sitting just below your rib cage. Waiting, threatening to come right up your esophagus. Your mind had been a mess these last few weeks, but today it felt like your entire body was fighting against you.

You made it to lunch somehow. With a mild headache and what felt like indigestion. And when you ate the protein bar you kept stashed in your work bag, that seemed like the final straw. The bathroom was a short walk from your office, each step forcing what was spinning in your stomach to rise just a bit higher. You rounded the corner of the stall and once your eyes made contact with the toilet everything came up all at once. Your eyes watered and your throat burned. You struggled to keep your knees from buckling beneath you as your breaths came out in pained, heaving wheezes.

When you were finished, you simply stood there with a hand clutching your stomach while the other wiped snot and tears from your face with toilet paper. You were weak and sweaty. Like the beginnings of a cold. But the sickening feeling that rattled you around all day was starting to twist into a very frightening realization.

Your period was late.

You snatched your phone from your back pocket and immediately opened the calendar app. You counted backwards by each week. Landing scarily on the seventh week. The week that Onyankopon arrived unannounced. The last time you had sex. Unprotected.

The nausea worsened as your head reeled and your heart thumped in your chest and throat. Loud enough to drum in your ears and blur your vision. You couldn’t be. That was the last thing you wanted, especially now. When you were the biggest mess you had ever been.

Your world was actively crumbling around you. You couldn’t seem to find your footing or your place or even your head most days.

How would you even bring this up to Onyankopon?

But instead of allowing yourself to recklessly overthink for longer than you should, you went straight back to your office to grab your wallet and headed out to the nearest pharmacy. It was only a few blocks, but each step was more painstakingly stressful than the last. The thumping in your ears refused to stop and the bustling city around you faded so drastically, it was as if you were truly the only person alive.

Once you purchased two tests, you went to the empty office space a few floors below yours. The previous tenants left suddenly. Something about the CFO committing fraud and causing the entire company to go bankrupt. And since then the building owners have had a hard time renting it out again.

Today you were grateful for that. Because if it weren’t for white collar crimes, you’d be hyperventilating in your own work’s bathroom at risk of any of your coworkers walking in. And the mere idea of that sent another wave of tears to your eyes that you refused to let spill over.

You chugged the bottle of water you purchased, pacing the empty bathroom to the beat of your footsteps echoing against tile and your breaths releasing in shallow puffs of air. When you finally did pee, you couldn’t keep your hand from shaking. Luckily, you were able to get enough on the stick for the three lines to show up as it analyzed the sample.

Your hands were sweaty, and you hadn’t realized it until you grabbed your phone again to set a timer and the case came back moist against your palm. Three minutes. In just three minutes you’d find out if your life would be turned upside down and spun around until you could no longer stand or see straight.

And as the seconds ticked by, anxiety etched its way into your chest and you couldn’t breathe. A panic started to build that was far more intense than what you’d been feeling sitting in your gut for weeks. This feeling felt like reality.

Like if you didn’t get your shit together now, surely you’d fall into a state of numbness that you may never recover from. The reality of just coasting through life solely off of apathy became so unrealistic because you needed to love again. Needed to care and indulge. Needed to learn to be a person without all the sticky complications of compromise that came along with a relationship.

Just as your panic began to worsen your phone rang in your hand. For a second you thought it had already been three minutes, but instead it was Erwin. You weren’t going to answer. You shouldn’t have answered, but before you could think twice about it, your thumb slid across the bottom of the screen.

You didn’t respond. Mostly because your breathing was uneven and words were stuck in a track of honey down your throat.

“Hello?” He asked, a slight urgency to his voice. And when he said your name there was a crack in the syllables that made it up. Worry coated everything that followed until you were able to croak out an, “I’m fine.”

“You’re not and you haven’t been,” he sighed, absolute exhaustion sounding through the receiver and you knew the sound all too well. “What’s going on?”

“I think I’m pregnant.” That was the first time you said those words aloud. The first you even allowed yourself to fully say or think the word pregnant without sheer panic wracking through your entire body. But saying them to Erwin felt like the right thing to do. Like you had to in order for the pressure in your chest to ease, even if it was only a little.

“What?” He stammered, clear disbelief in his tone. “How?”

And that made you chuckle, the tears pricking at your eyes finally spilling over your bottom lashes and smearing across your cheeks. “I think you know how, Erwin.”

He chuckled alongside you and the sound warmed your heart because things were slotting into place again. The thoughts that ran through your head recklessly were beginning to slow and it was because confiding in your friend was something you needed to do. Rather than continuously running away.

“Well, I know how. It’s just unexpected, is all.”

“I’m waiting for the test results. I locked myself in one of the empty office bathrooms,” you admitted, fear building again once you realized you still had a minute and a half left.

“I’ll wait with you. If that’s what you need.” A sob caught in your throat at his sincerity. You refused to accept anything from anyone for so long. Isolated yourself so deeply that the wounds never began to heal even when you tried to convince yourself they were scarring over.

“Ok,” you whispered, dropping your head into your hand and heaving out a breath that allowed even more tears to fall freely. There was mutual, tense silence on both ends of the call. You could tell Erwin wanted to say something more. Something reassuring. But words couldn’t offer much comfort when your whole life could change in less than a minute.

The timer went off. Erwin sucked in a breath, but still refrained from saying what was clearly on the tip of his tongue. You refused to look at the test. Because you genuinely didn’t want to know the result. Either answer breaking your heart in some way or another.

What if you wanted this? Needed this? The opportunity to care and love unconditionally for someone else. Even if right now you didn’t have enough of that love for yourself.

“Well?” Erwin asked hesitantly, urgently asking for an answer that you were too afraid to give him.

“I’m scared.” You admitted. Chest hurting and eyes stinging in preparation for a fresh wave of tears.

“I get it, but you have to look at that test. You need to know.” You stared at where the test rested on the counter, the screen no longer adorned with three blinking lines. Instead, there were letters composing two words. And for some reason the ache in your chest blossomed into something more horrifying. More heartbreaking.

You wanted it to say this because it only made sense. It only made sense for you to not be pregnant. But that didn’t stop the sob from crawling up your throat and your knees to give out beneath you.

Erwin was calling your name, but it sounded distant. Albeit, concerned. It was hard for you to register much outside of your rapid breathing and disordered thoughts. You needed a moment, just a second to let it all out before you could admit to it out loud. Admit that some part of you wanted that test to be positive for your own selfish reasons. Even though you knew how ridiculous it all sounded.

“I’m not pregnant,” you said, voice hoarse and thick from the congestion sitting in your sinuses. “Which should be a relief, so I don’t know why I’m feeling this way.”

“You should go home,” he offered, obviously unsure of what to say or if anything would really help in this situation.

“I have a lot of work to do,” you argued, even if saying the words aloud just felt like another excuse to bury yourself in distractions.

“It’s Friday. How much work are you really going to get done in the afternoon that you can’t just do on Monday?” You rolled your eyes at him knowing he had a point, you just didn’t want to admit he was right. “Go home, and I’ll stop by after work.”

The company sounded nice. Especially since you’ve been so lonely these last few weeks. And being alone with just yourself has become rather frustrating and pathetic, but you still responded with, “you don’t have to. I’ll be fine.”

“Sure, you will,” he said, and you could hear the small smile in his voice as it tickled with amusement. “We just miss you, is all.”

The conversation didn’t last much longer than that. You agreed to dinner tonight, although it felt a bit intimidating after you ditched them so many times. But the haze was lifting a bit. The fog of heartbreak was clearing enough for you to be able to envision more than just how to get through the work day. An ease started to settle. It was uncomfortable since it had been so long since you felt even a morsel of ease. And the pregnancy scare did nothing to alleviate that. But you finally remembered that you weren’t alone. That you had somehow, even in this new city, found people who cared.

And you refused to give that up, now that you could grasp it again.

The dinner Erwin promised wasn’t exactly what you had in mind. Somehow, ‘dinner’ was Levi meeting you on the steps to your home (because Erwin didn’t want you to be alone) and then walking 10 blocks to a bar once he got out of work. Dinner was also Levi and Erwin introducing you to Hange for the first time, which then included an awkward run in with an angry Moblit.

“You avoid me for weeks only to turn up at my bar with these two! What’s that about?” He asked, both hands parked on his hips with a towel slung over the clothes he still wore from work. You offered him a shy smile and a shrug, hoping that would suffice.

“Not your bar,” Levi replied, walking around you into the dimly lit space and through a door that was marked ‘employees only.”

“He’s not wrong, Mobs. Technically this is Hange’s bar, maybe if either of you proposed already it could finally be yours,” Erwin teased while shrugging off his jacket and draping it over a worn in barstool. As the two retained their playful back and forth, you took that moment to finally look around. There were booths lining the wall with a large u-shaped one pressed into a corner near the windows. The leather was brown and in need of some TLC, but it somehow made the space cozy and inviting. The lights were low hanging lamps from the ceiling, singular as they dangled over each table and bathed it in golden.

There was also a small stage towards the back wall that held a single mic stand, and a booth that you presumed had to do with the karaoke machine attached to it on the ground. But opposite that was an old pool table. The green fabric needed to be upholstered and the head of one of the sticks was missing the cue tip. But there was so much charm surrounding the atmosphere. There was a sort of reckless care that came with the decor. Effortless yet intentional.

Which after your short conversation with Hange, it seemed like that was their whole vibe. Hair tossed in a claw clip perfectly messy while running around in a comfortable pair of dark wash jeans and an oversized flannel with the buttons undone.

“Can I get you something?” A deep, unfamiliar voice said from behind you. If you weren’t so hyper aware of the space you were in, it would’ve startled you, especially after turning around and being confronted with the tallest, broadest man you had ever seen.

“Uh,” you stuttered, eyes stuck on his chest where the fabric of his black t-shirt seemed to be a touch too tight. And when you finally met his eyes–dirty blonde hair messily resting over his forehead– he was smiling at you. Amused. “I’ll take a long island.”

He whistled, “first drink of the night?” He grabbed a tall glass and started gathering the ingredients to mix it.

“Yeah,” you stuffed your hands in your jacket pockets, cheeks warming at the call out. Instead of settling on the stool, you stood and kept taking in your surroundings. Moblit handed Erwin a beer as he polished some glasses, while Levi came striding out the back room with an excitable Hange following. His scowl was ever present, if not deeper set than usual. That brought a small smile to your face. At least one thing remained consistent after all this time.

The tall bartender slid your long island across the bartop and you stared at it for a second longer than normal because he was prompted to scoot it closer to you with his index finger. “Still want it? Unless you’re no longer drinking to forget something.”

You slipped the cold glass against your palm with a breathy chuckle. “Yes, I still want it and what makes you think I have anything to forget?”

He scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest, “no one starts a night of drinking off with a long island. Trust me, I’ve been doing this long enough.”

“Ah yes, the bartender to therapist pipeline,” you teased, sipping the drink and pleasantly surprised by the lack of alcohol you tasted. You saw his point now, if he was making drinks like this it was easy to have one too many.

“I’m Mike, by the way,” he laughed, wiping down the counter as he watched you drink. You offered your name in return after another suspiciously long sip.

“And if you keep mixing drinks like this make sure you cut me off after two.”

“Sure thing,” he grinned before Moblit called him to the opposite side of the bar to help with something. And you were left alone with the best long island you’ve ever had, watching the chaos of this friend group spiral out in a room full of strangers.

“He really was so handsome,” you giggled drunkenly, hanging off of Erwin’s elbow as he led you in the direction of your neighborhood.

“He is also taken,” Levi said, tugging the edge of your sleeve to steer you around a bent traffic cone Erwin hadn’t noticed since he also had one too many beers tonight. “And how did I get stuck babysitting you two?”

“Boooo,” you complained, ignoring Levi’s question, “all the hot, nice men are taken nowadays. I mean look at you two escorting my drunk ass home and tucking me into bed when any other woman in my situation would be getting dicked down tonight.”

“That’s the last thing you need after your day,” Levi grumbled, cheeks turning distinctively pink and you weren’t too sure if to blame it on the wind or not.

“Try months,” you pouted, the words not as heavy as they would’ve felt if not for the alcohol and the way your night turned your day around. You should’ve confided in them weeks ago. After Onyankopon left, maybe it would’ve made this transition that much easier. Hindsight was a tricky bitch if you were honest. Always giving you clarity when you need it least.

“You wouldn’t wanna be with Mike, anyway,” Erwin slurred, his blush definitely due to the alcohol. “He’s a bit intimidating, if you know what I mean.”

“Erwin, please,” Levi scolded, “don’t be so crass.”

You and Erwin shared a look before you fell into a fit of laughter, your breathless giggles following you all the way up the steps to your front door and stumbling over the threshold. As you stripped out of your clothes and laid on the couch in nothing but your underwear, you smiled to yourself. Your chest was full. The yearning ache that had been nestled there was lessened, your breaths coming easier for the first time in forever. Before falling asleep though, you checked your email after plugging in your charger for the night.

The usual was there, drafts from work and websites advertising their current sales. But there was one with Onyankopon’s record label as the sender. When you clicked on it all that was there was an audio file, the subject reading: thought you should hear this.

This should wait until the morning, when you were hungover but at least sober. The nerves were back. And you tried to take the steady breaths you taught yourself to calm down. But nothing was working, and your thumb just hovered over the big play symbol. Until you clicked it.

It was poppier than his usual songs, but it was a raw cut. Only his voice and a piano. This must be the first demo. Which somehow made the song hurt more because you knew it wasn’t intended for him, yet he was recording his own version. His voice was raspy around the edges and hoarse as it carried along certain notes. You should have stopped listening after the first verse. But it was addicting. Listening to his voice as he sang about how you broke his heart. A fresh cut. A new wound you had to lick.

Nothing about this separation has been predictable or remotely familiar. And you’ve never felt more like a stranger within your own body, but to know after all these years you were slowly becoming strangers to each other. Just ghosts of past versions of yourselves continuing to haunt one another. Until either of you were able to find your way out of this purgatory you managed to create.

To heaven or hell, you still didn’t know where this would land you. And time was humbling, if you’ve learned anything at all.

#eruri x reader #eruri fanfic #snk fanfiction #aot fanfiction

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banannabethchase · 1 year

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Oops.

After declaring war on each other in a Revolution Texas Death Match, Mox approaches Hangman in the locker room and offers an idea: whoever wins gets to pick a tattoo for the other. The problem? The ring isn't where their interest in each other begins or ends.

Title from Can I Have A Kiss? by Kelly Clarkson. This fic came about from a damned text post on Tumblr. And it became this. How did I reach this point in my life where a text post can inspire over 8k worth of wrestling fic?

Mini Playlist: Can I Have a Kiss? - Kelly Clarkson Do Me - Kim Petras Young God - Halsey I Want It - Two Feet

Tagging @adampage as requested :)

“Fuck off.”

“I didn’t say anything!” Mox raises his hands in front of himself. He chances another step into the room, and he doesn’t get punched for it, so he considers it a win.

“I didn’t tell you to shut up,” Hangman corrects, glaring. “I told you to fuck off. Leave.”

“Come on, Cowboy, you can’t be pissed off about the death match. You know you wouldn’t be satisfied without one more try.” Mox tries for a grin, but it feels funny on his lips.

“I am not pissed about the death match,” Adam says, punching his gear to shove it into his bag and then throwing the bag against the locker.

Mox raises an eyebrow. “You sure? Because it looks like –”

“You think I’ll be happy with a tie?!” Hangman kicks at the air in front of him, and it reminds Mox of a kid he knew in kindergarten. Or himself. Whatever. “You think being 2-2 is enough for me?” He looks up at Mox with more than just rage in his eyes, something that Mox is…more interested in than he probably should be.

“It would put us even.”

Hangman scoffs at that, yanking his shirt off over his head. Mox gets it. Sometimes shirts are too much. But that doesn’t mean he can keep himself from looking. “Fuck, okay? I don’t want to be even.” He strides up to Mox, forehead to forehead, and it strikes Mox that, maybe, this is how the two of them are supposed to meet, in every universe. “I want to win.”

Mox doesn’t know why he says it. “Let’s add a stipulation, then.”

Hangman pulls back, stares at Mox like he’s trying to read whatever’s on his face. “What, more than Texas Death Match?”

Mox shrugs, and he can’t fight the grin on his lips. “Tattoo.”

“Come again?”

Always so goddamn polite. “A tattoo stipulation,” Mox clarifies. “Just between the two of us. Whoever wins the Texas Death Match gets to choose a tattoo that the other one will get.”

Hangman stares at him, studies him, in a way that makes him feel a little too seen. “I don’t have any tattoos,” he says slowly.

“I know,” Mox says, and he risks a grin. “I figure it would give you more motivation to win. Since, uh,” he steps a little bit closer, “since you’re gonna be in my territory, and all.”

Hangman pauses halfway through putting on his shirt again, eyes the only thing really visible on his face. He shakes his head a little, then pulls the shirt all the way on. Mox considers it a bit of a pity. “In your territory.”

Mox nods. “Yeah, king of the death match or whatever. Figured you’d do best if you had a little extra motivation.”

“I don’t need,” Hangman’s lips curl around the last words, “extra motivation.”

“Well, you haven’t been –” Mox can’t finish his sentence, because Adam’s grabbed a handful of his shirt and thrown him into the wall. Mox’s head cracks, a little harder than he wants it to, and he sees stars.

“You think beating your ass into the ground with a chair isn’t motivation enough?” Hangman growls. He’s got his forehead up against Mox’s again. “You think its not enough for me to be desperate for a win?” He steps back and shoves Mox, once more, into the wall. “Don’t underestimate me, Moxley. It’ll be your worst mistake.” He stares at Mox for a minute, studying, planning. “But, yeah, sure. I’ll give you another tattoo. You’re on.”

Mox watches him leave, and has to roll his shoulders a dozen time to calm himself down. Part of him wonders if this is a way for him to mark Hangman, if this dumb idea has a little more behind it.

He shakes his head once more, trying to get the distraction out from behind his eyes, and wonders if he has made an extremely stupid idea.

The Death Match goes as expected. Well, as expected as a Texas goddamned Death Match can go.

Up until the end, that is.

Up until Hangman manages to beat him, he’s lying on the floor listening to Bryce yell, “Ten!”, and he still hasn’t stood up.

The bell rings, and Hangman’s music hits, and Mox is still on the floor.

He blinks, the world a little sticky through the blood all over his face, to see Hangman reaching a hand down to him. He stares at it, for just a moment.

“Take my hand, you stubborn prick,” Hangman says, but there’s the tiniest bit of a laugh behind it.

Mox wants to hesitate, wants to slap it away, but the unsteadiness pooling in his legs is making him unsure he could stand without help. He takes Hangman’s hand, and finally stands.

They’re holding hands now. Just standing there, hand in unlovable hand or however that song Bryan likes goes. Mox’ll be damned if he lets go first.

Like he expected, Hangman folds first, giving him a little shake before letting go. Mox watches the way his fingers flex, wonders if Hangman’s feeling the same sort of question crawl up his spine begging to be answered. It settles along Mox’s shoulders, weighs itself there.

“Gimme a mic,” Hangman says. Bryce, confused, relents, grabbing the mic from the ring crew, and hands it to Hangman.

This wasn’t planned. They weren’t supposed to do a promo. Were they? Fuck.

“I just gotta say,” Hangman says, a little smile playing at the edges of his lips, “you’re the toughest son of a bitch I’ve been in the ring with. Now that we’ve bled together, I’m hoping we can put this to bed.”

Mox could swear Hangman just winked.

He reaches out hesitantly, taking the mic from Hangman. “Bled together, that’s an understatement.” He kicks at the scraps at the ground. “That shirt of yours used to be white.” He lets the crowd laugh at it, and gets a little warm at the smile he’s managed to draw from Hangman. “But, sure. I’ll stop trying to kill you.”

“Deal.”

They shake hands again, and when they lock eyes, Mox thinks he sees the same thing behind Hangman’s that has been lurking in the corners of his mind since October of 2022.

“What are you –”

“Oh, calm down,” Hangman says, shoving Mox into the tiny room. He closes the door behind the two of them.

“Oh, we playing seven minutes in heaven?” Mox asks, grinning. He feels…strange, somehow. Not the same relaxation as he usually gets after a match. There’s still a bit of anticipation blanketing his shoulders, that feeling in his spine like he’s getting ready to snap.

“Nah, we only got, like, three before somebody looks for us,” Hangman says offhandedly, and Mox is about to say he could do a lot in three minutes when Hangman adds, “dude, can you just call me by my actual name?”

Mox blinks at him. It’s hard to tell in the shitty custodial closet light, but Hangman looks sincere. Under all the blood coating his face, that is. “What?”

“You never use my name,” Hang – Adam says. “I’m either Cowboy or the Hangman. I have a name.”

“Right,” Mox says. “Um. Adam.”

“Christ, thank you,” he rolls his eyes. “I thought you forgot I had a real name.”

Mox can’t help but grin. “Is that, like, a thing for you?”

This time, the blood is under his skin, a flush that paints his cheeks pretty. “Okay, look, we’re gonna be friends or allies or not killing each other anymore. I just – I wanted to make sure you, like, knew my actual name.” He relaxes, his smile a little meaner. “Since, you know, you sometimes forget things.”

“I missed my cue on a promo once,” Mox says, glaring. “Once!”

H-Adam shrugs. “On that note, I’ve decided on the tattoo.”

“Tattoo?”

“Get a sheet of note paper on your arm,” Adam says. Like it makes sense. “Like a to-do list.”

Mox raises an eyebrow, feeling it sting as it jostles the cut above his eye until it hits him. “As – as a tattoo?”

Adam pulls up a photo on his phone, shoves it in Mox’s face. “See? This way you quit forgetting shit. I’ve had, like, students and friends and whatever with memory issues, usually ADHD, and I know it’s not on purpose or anything.” His smile falls from mocking to something a little more genuine. “I figure if I’m gonna make you get a tattoo, I may as well pick something that helps you.”

Mox stares. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“What?” Adam looks genuinely confused, which is a weird look through a halo of bloodied hair. It’s a good look on him. “I figure you put it on your wrist, it’s easy to see.” He shrugs, growing defensive. “Whatever. I mean, if you’re not cool with it, you can just. Not.” He steps back, hand going for the closet door.

Mox groans. “Oh, now you get to choose where it goes on my body? That wasn’t part of the stipulation.” He smiles, though, trying to make it light again. He doesn’t want Adam to open the door. Not yet.

“Okay, well, it was your idea. I’m not gonna make you get the tattoo if you don’t want to, obviously.” He meets Mox’s eyes, and looks way too genuine. “Seriously. I won’t hold you to it.”

“You beat the shit out of me, make me bleed from four different places, damn near snap my neck with a Buckshot and two Dead Eyes, and your tattoo choice is something nice?!” Mox rolls his eyes. “Jesus Christ. The cowboy thing isn’t just an act, is it.”

Adam blinks, tilting his head. “What? I – no, I literally live on a farm.”

Mox groans and launches at Adam, grabbing him around the waist and pulling him in to kiss some sort of sense into the man. It’s a split second before Adam responds, a second where Mox is sure he’s done something truly horrible that Megha might kill him for, but then Adam kisses back. Mox shivers at the way Adam’s stubble scrapes against his skin, the way his hair feels as Mox threads his fingers through it, and it’s unexpected. But it’s inevitable.

Adam pulls back, eyes a little wild like they get in the ring. “What the fuck?”

“What?” Mox says. “I mean, uh. I didn’t plan on that.”

Adam lets a little smile play on his lips, and Mox wants to chase after it, keep it in his pocket. “Yeah? Not surprising, you impulsive dumbass.”

“I – fuck off.”

Shrugging, Adam gets a little closer, steps into Mox’s space again. “You text me when you get your tattoo.” Mox doesn’t miss the way his eyes flicker down to Mox’s lips. “Uh. If you’re cool with my idea?”

“Of the to-do list paper?” Mox asks. “Yeah. Maybe I’ll put you at the top of it,” and he pauses, for emphasis, “Adam.”

Adam licks his lips and steps back, smile a little knowing, a little devious. Mox wants to get to know it better. “Yeah.” His smile just keeps growing. “Yeah, you do that.” He stares at Mox. “You – after you get cleaned up, I mean – you wanna watch the rest of Revolution together? I mean, Uno might give you some shit about killing him the other week, but you’re welcome to join us.” Mox isn’t sure what that crease between Adam’s eyebrows is saying, only that it’s different than what the smile suggests. “Wait, you’re probably gonna hang with the other Blackpool guys.” He waves it off, like he’s having a conversation with himself, like Mox is only secondary to this discussion. He walks backward, collides with the door. “I’m gonna – go. I’m gonna get cleaned up. The blood.” He touches his hair, winces as it sticks to his hand. “Uh. Yeah.”

Mox is left even more confused than when he first kissed Adam, and is wondering what the hell comes next.

A tattoo appointment. That’s what comes next.

“Mox, this is the dumbest idea you’ve ever had,” Yuta says, upside down on the couch. He’s scrolling through his phone, probably on Twitter.

“Is not,” Mox says. He feels the familiar adrenaline spike of the tattoo gun buzzing, and steels himself before it touches the skin of his wrist. “It makes sense. It’s funny. And it’s what Page chose, so.”

“That’s what I mean.” Yuta actually puts the damn phone away and looks at Mox. It’s weird, since it’s upside down, but it’s his best attempt at a stern look, so Mox takes it. “Why are you getting a tattoo somebody else told you to get?”

“Stipulation,” Mox answers.

Yuta sighs. Sometimes he gets the same look on his face as Mox’s therapist. Mox doesn’t love it. “Wasn’t the Texas Death bit enough?”

“No,” Mox says. “It wasn’t. He wanted to win – ow, fuck – more than just to a tie. He wanted it to be definitive.”

“Wouldn’t that mean,” Yuta looks so earnest Mox wants to hit him, “you know. A fifth match?”

Mox shrugs. “I mean. Sure? But the tattoo,” he pauses, hissing as the tattoo drags over thin skin, “is, like. I don’t know. More permanent.”

Yuta’s doing therapist face again. “Is this your marking thing coming up again?”

That’s enough to get the tattoo artist to pause, look up with a raised eyebrow.

“I can guarantee you’ve heard weirder with someone in the chair,” Mox says to Carlisle.

He shrugs, adjusts his grip, and goes back to work. “Nah, dude, I get you. My girlfriend designed the tattoos that go around my top surgery scars. I’m just a little confused why a piece of paper is what you came up with.”

“He came up with it,” Mox corrects.

“Your boyfriend?”

Yuta barks out a laugh so loud Mox almost jumps.

“So,” Carlisle says, face carefully neutral, “not your boyfriend.”

Mox glares at Yuta until he stops laughing, the dick, and says, “No, it’s – it’s a wrestling thing.”

“I would ask, but I know better,” Carlisle says, laughing a little. “Alright. Tell me what you think. I can make some of the lines a little thicker on the outside, add some shading, if you want it to look like a real piece of paper or something.”

Mox examines it. Plain lined notebook paper, sized down to fit a rectangular space on his forearm. “Nah, it’s good. Reminds me of high school.”

“That can’t be a good thing,” Yuta says, wrinkling his nose. “Wait. Didn’t Hangman teach –”

“It’s great, Carlisle, thanks,” Mox says, debating pulling off his shoe and chucking it directly at Yuta’s face.

Yuta seems to sense the impending violence and shuts up, starts smiling at his phone like a dweeb. Mox makes him take a photo of the ink, before Carlisle puts the medical tape over the new ink and gives Mox the rundown on tattoo care.

“Yeah, I know. No sweating, no direct water pressure, don’t scratch it.” But he says it nice. He thinks. “Thanks, Carlisle. It looks great.”

“Anytime.” He nods over at Yuta. “You want any tattoos while I’m set up here?” He grins. “You’d look even better with a little ink.”

Yuta’s eyes go wide, the way they do when somebody hits on him, and he shakes his head. “Uh, no, thank you. I’m not really a tattoo guy.”

Carlisle shrugs, unbothered. “You could pull one off.” He pulls out a card and walks around to press it into Yuta’s hand. “If you change your mind.”

Yuta is silent for a little bit as Mox does his best to chill the mood by chatting with Carlisle and helping him get his mobile tattoo station together.

“He said he has a girlfriend,” Yuta says, once they’re alone in the room. “Why would he – he was just talking about the tattoo, right?”

“Oh, young Yoots,” Mox says, clapping him on the shoulder. “One day you will listen to me when I tell you about the ways of the world.”

Yuta pushes his arm off, frowning up at him. “Stop being weird. You’re not my dad.”

“And you’re glad I’m not.” Mox winks at him. “Come on. I can’t spar or anything, but I can, like, arm wrestle. I gotta get rid of this adrenaline.”

“Go find your boyfriend then,” Yuta shoots back.

Mox puts him in a noogie, and they both forget about Hangman Adam Page. For a little while.

“Fuck.” Mox sits up in bed at a speed that makes him dizzy. “Fuck!”

He reaches for his phone, and it tumbles a bit from his hands as he’s trying to type. got the tattoo he sends to the number labeled Dumb Fucking Cowboy. He stole it from Yuta, and god knew where he got it from originally.

Um. Who is this again?

Polite even to an unknown number. its Mox wanna see the ink or no

There’s a little bit of a pause, long enough for him to wonder if there’s somebody else in Yuta’s phone he would have named HP, and then his phone dings. Did you get a tattoo at four in the morning?

no dumbass

So you forgot to text me when you got it? Something about irony.

Mox glares at his phone screen. “This is why you’re the dumb fucking cowboy,” he grumbles, and presses call. “You don’t get to be a bitch when you answered the message.”

“Good evening to you, too.” His voice is gravelly, sleepy. That strange weight settles along Mox’s spine again. He’s suddenly very, very awake. “What’s it look like?”

“Huh?”

“The tattoo.” There’s some rustling. “What’s it look like?”

“Kinda like your picture. Here, give me a sec.” Mox sends the photo he’d had Carlisle take right before putting the medical tape on. “See? Tattoo. You officially win.”

“I still can’t believe you went through with it,” Adam says. “Looks good.”

And Mox speaks before he can stop himself. “Decided against tattooing your name at the top of the list.”

A silence, heavy, settles over the line. Mox thinks he can hear breathing, but just barely. “That would have been incredibly stupid,” Adam says.

“Yeah, well, I’m not exactly known to be a brain trust, so.” He rolls his shoulders. He’s not sure he can quite get this feeling to go away. It sticks like taffy. “It’d be funny.”

“That you’d put me at the top of your to-do list?” Adam laughs. It sounds different than usual. “Yeah. Hah.” His tone shifts, just a little. “Funny.”

That weight is insistent. Makes him a little bold. “You’re not laughing, though.”

“No,” Adam says, after a brief pause. “Not really.”

Mox is stupid, and impulsive. “What’s not funny about it?”

Adam lets out a little exhale that’s half laugh, half sigh. Mox wonders what caused the sigh, wants to taste it as it escapes Adam’s lips. “You’re the one that kissed me in that closet, Moxley. You already know.” There’s that sigh again.

“Adam,” Mox breathes, “what are you doing right now?”

The laugh is breathy, almost a gasp. “Take a wild guess.”

And Mox’s dick is officially in the game. He slides his hand into the front of his boxers, wrapping his hand around himself. If he closes his eyes, he can pretend it’s Adam. “Yeah?”

��Don’t act surprised,” Adam murmurs into the phone. “Again, you’re the one who kissed me.”

“Well – you kissed back.” Mox winces. It sounded better in his head.

“I did,” Adam replies. “Come on. Tell me what you wanted to do in that closet.”

Mox exhales. He licks up his hand for a little better glide, and wraps his hand around his cock. His head falls back against the pillows, finally allowing himself to let go. “Wanted – wanted my cock in your mouth,” he says, the words coming freely. Something about an hour this early lets his brain lose a filter, lets him talk like he thinks. “Let you blow me.”

“Let me blow you?” Adam asks. “You should be so lucky, you prick.” He hums, something quiet. Mox notices his drawl’s a little thicker, a little more pronounced.

“What’d you want?” Mox asks, a little desperate to hear that voice again.

“Maybe you get me against the wall,” Adam says, “fuck me so hard my head spins.”

Mox feels the weight on his spine fill his head with images. Adam, panting all pretty, legs spread and pushing back on Mox’s cock. The way his cock would feel, smooth and heavy in Mox’s hand as he stroked him. He lets out a moan, something a little too close to the name on the other end of the line.

“Yeah?” Adam asks. “Sound good to me, too. What – uh – what about next time we see each other? Meet up?”

“Yeah,” Mox says, wishing he had someone’s mouth to claim right now. Wishing he could taste the words pouring out of the phone. They sound so pretty. “Get you under me, make you feel me.”

“Sounds good,” Adam groans. “Fuck – I, Mox, put me at the top of that list.”

“I will,” Mox says, laughing, and the two of them seem to race toward the inevitable at the same time. Mox is pretty sure he hears his name choked out on the end of a moan from Adam’s end of the phone, and it’s enough to drive him over the edge. He mutters something that sounds suspiciously like Hangman, which is a surprise to himself.

“You forget my name again?” Adam asks, after a few moments of strange silence.

“Shut the fuck up, Adam,” Mox growls.

“I’ll take that to mean you’re going back to sleep. Night, Mox. I, uh,” his tone immediately shifts, back to something a little hesitant, and more than a little anxious, “I won’t hold you to your promises earlier. If you don’t want to.”

“You fuckin’ kidding me?” Mox blurts out. “I mean, if it was all talk, that’s cool, but I, uh. I was kind of looking forward to that at Dynamite on Wednesday.”

“Cool,” Adam says. “Yeah. I, uh. Yeah. Text me?”

Mox can practically hear Adam wince through the phone. “Yeah,” he says, and he decides to test something out, “yeah, baby, I’ll text you.”

Adam sighs. “Okay. Night.”

“Night.”

Mox hangs up the phone and reaches for a tissue. He is fucked.

Mox is fucked, and he’s antsy.

He’s backstage at the Dynamite after Revolution, after his phone call in the earlier hours of Tuesday morning, and there’s a strange sort of anticipation. It’s replaced that weight in his shoulder, but insists on itself somehow more. He wants to see Adam. No, he needs to see Adam.

He’s somehow both in luck and in a horrible place, since they’re both scheduled to show up tonight. Adam, with a victory speech. Mox, ringside for Claudio and Yuta for a tag team match against Silver and Reynolds, a quick burning grudge match Mox isn’t exactly proud to have created. He secretly hopes Adam comes out. He’s not so secretly scared of what he’ll do when he sees him.

Adam’s a ray of gold across the screen when he cuts his promo. He looks better than he has any right to as he grins through a declaration of violence, as he asks for anyone brave enough to step up to him. Mox does snort when Adam calls himself the king of the death match, because no, but he can’t take his eyes off the screen. He knows what that voice sounds like when it comes. He wants to know how that face changes as it lets go, too.

Mox flexes his hands, desperate to release at least a little bit of the tension coiled in his body. It doesn’t work. He tries to come up with an idea of how to run into Adam somewhere in this venue. It’s big, but he’s got a decent amount of directionality according to himself, so.

He is wrong.

Mox is only able to get himself out of what he can only assume is a storage hallway by listening for the clattering of people. He gets the clattering of silverware instead and considers it a win.

He reaches the door to catering, and nearly melts with relief. Until he sees Adam, and the weight settles itself around his shoulders and down his spine again. He doesn’t have to worry, though. Adam lights up, rays of gold spreading across the room, when he sees Mox step into the room.

Mox is stupid, and strides up to him.

“I was looking for you– ”

“I was hoping we could – ”

Mox stops. He’s blushing. Why the hell is he blushing? “Sorry. You talk.”

Adam exhales. “I was hoping we could, uh, talk?” He runs a shaky hand through his hair, and Mox is weirdly comforted that he’s not the only one feeling some sort of nerves. “Alone.” His eyes skate across the area. Mox forgot they’re in front of half the company and follows the way Adam traces the area with his eyes.

“Right, yeah. I, uh. I can kick the rest of the BCC out of our locker room, if you want.”

Adam grins. It’s not his handsome cowboy smile. There’s something interesting behind it. Something Mox wants to feel. “Probably a good idea.”

He texts Hangman the directions and the room number, and sets off to BCC headquarters, as Claudio gets weird about saying.

Without fanfare, he pushes open the door. “Out.”

Yuta’s upside down on a bench, balancing on the top of his head. Scrolling on his goddamn phone again. “Huh?”

“Everybody out,” Mox says, with a little more authority. “I need the room.”

Claudio stares from where he’s stretching. “For what?”

“None of your business,” Mox says, cutting a grin at him.

“We have to be out to gorilla in less than half an hour,” Yuta says, narrowing his eyes. “This better be fast.”

“Come on,” Mox says, and it would be a whine if Jon Moxley were a whiner, “I let you two have the room last week when you had your whatever it was.”

Claudio looks away while Yuta just gets this self-satisfied little grin that Mox would really not like more details on. “He’s got a point, Yoots.” He stands, patting Yuta on the shoulder. “Off we go.”

“Catering might have that roasted sweet potato again,” Yuta says thoughtfully, taking Claudio’s hand as they walk out the door. It’s like Mox isn’t even here, like they’re in their own world.

The door closes, and Mox sends the text. ur good

You text like my high schoolers.

weird thing to say

There’s no response except a knock on the door a couple minutes later. Mox bounces a little, shakes out the tension in his spine and shoulders that has spread and grown. “Come in.”

Adam walks in, and it’s strange to see a man so good at beating people into the ground try to make himself seem small. He peeks his head around with a cautious smile. “Hi.”

“Hey.” Mox feels itchy. “I, uh. Come in.”

Adam steps all the way in, looking around the room like he’s expecting something to jump out. Or something.

“They’re gone,” Mox says. “It’s just us.”

Adam relaxes. “I, uh. I was kinda worried you’d set this up to jump me or something. Retaliation for the Death Match.”

Mox frowns. “The fuck would I do that for?”

“I don’t know,” and it’s punctuated with a shrug. “Why’d we have phone sex the other night? I got lots of questions.”

“Jumping right into it,” Mox says. The weight presses firmly, insistent. “Um. What’d ya think of it?”

“The phone sex?” Adam presses his lips together, but Mox can see the faint blush creep its way across his cheeks. “It was good.”

“Cool,” Mox says. He could kick himself. “Um. I mean. Good. Glad to hear it.” He would laugh at himself if he were watching this. “I, uh. Do you – ”

“What are we doing?” Adam blurts out. He looks mildly horrified at the words coming from his mouth. But then he doubles down. “Seriously. We nearly kill each other, like, three times. I go after you with barbed wire more times than I’ve dealt with it on my farm, you make my friend bleed, I make you bleed. And then we make out in a janitor’s closet and fuck over the phone?” He’s a bit hysterical, that lovely wildness in his eyes again. “What the fuck are we doing?”

Against what could be considered rational judgement, Mox takes a step toward Adam. “I don’t know.”

Adam steps toward him. “What,” he says, eyes flickering to Mox’s lips, back up to his eyes, “are we doing?”

Mox leans in, lips against Adam’s. “I don’t fuckin’ know.” He waits. He waits for Adam to press. It’s agony. It’s ages. It’s anticipation.

Mox practically falls into it when Adam, finally, breaks that final barrier, and kisses him so sweetly he could be back in high school again. His hands come up to cradle the same jaw he’d rattled to kingdom come months before, gentle this time. The hand Adam had weeks before used to crush his forehead with barbed wire rests on the back of his neck. The weight on Mox’s shoulders swirls around them, builds somewhere in his heart, and settles there, laying its claim on Mox’s soul.

Adam makes the softest little sigh in the back of his mouth, something Mox almost more tastes than hears, and Mox hauls him in closer, desperate to feel Adam’s warmth surround him.

The world melts away for a while, lost in the Adam of the moment, until there’s a strange sound poking at his ears. It takes longer than it should for him to realize it’s his cell phone.

“You should,” Adam takes a shaky breath, “you should get that.”

Mox nods, gets his phone from his pocket. “Yeah, right. Phone.” He stills has to shake his head a little bit. “Hello?”

“Where the hell are you?” Yuta hisses. “We’re in gorilla and you, shockingly, are not.”

Mox checks his phone. It’s been twenty minutes. “Holy shit. Be there in two.” He drops the phone. “I, uh.”

“Right!” Adam says. “Yeah. We can – we can figure this out later.”

Mox darts toward the door, and then, in a fit of 90s movie ridden panic, turns around, presses a quick, rough kiss to Adam’s lips, and goes back. “I will see you tonight,” he says, and it sounds a little too much like a threat.

Adam smiles, though. “Yeah. Tonight.”

He forgets everything during the match with Claudio and Yuta. Adam doesn’t come out, though. Mox isn’t able to figure out why.

He doesn’t go after Uno, and he doesn’t try to interfere. Something about it feels unfair, without Adam out here to come after him about it. Either way, he doesn’t have to get in the way – his boys win easily, and he has other things to worry about.

He mildly panics through the rest of the tapings, desperate to get back to Adam, and he is –

“Son of a bitch,” he mutters. “I have a crush on the fuckin’ Cowboy.”

Adam texts him at 11:45pm, far after Rampage is done taping, when Mox has done almost a hundred crunches and almost as many burpees to get this stress off his back.

Leaving the venue. Okay if I stop by?

yah rm num 234

Literally you text like a sixteen year old.

fuck off. Mox actually laughs at a phone screen, and he is not exactly pleased with the way that he really is acting a bit like a sixteen year old.

Then he suddenly realizes he’s drenched in sweat and probably smells bad. He’s never given a shit what any of the other wrestlers thought of him. And here he is, diving into the shower and scrubbing himself clean with hotel soap.

He’s only managed to get a pair of sweatpants on when the door rings, and swings it open to see a surprisingly put together Adam Page.

“I’m underdressed,” Mox says. He attempted to make it sound cool. He fails.

“Oh.” Adam frowns, looks down at himself. “Oh, I just – I wanted to – ” He cuts himself off, and there’s that blush again.

“No, you look good,” Mox says, and why is this freaking him out? “Come in.” He steps aside, and Adam, with that giant wallet directing all attention to the curve of his ass, steps into his hotel room. The anticipation settles across Mox’s body again. He desperately wants.

Adam looks at him. “What’s going on with us?” he asks, and his eyes are full of a familiar desperation. “What is this?”

Mox takes a deep breath, rubbing his hand across his head. “Look, I don’t fuckin’ know, okay?” He sits on the bed. “All – all I know is that hearing you come over the phone has really gotten in my head.”

Adam blinks. “Oh.”

Mox grins up again. “You expect something other than that?”

Adam pushes around the trashcan with the toe of his boot. “I don’t know,” he says. “I kind of thought this may have been a trick you’re playing or something. Or at least you’d be more…” He trails off. “Evasive, I guess.”

“Evasive’s for people who got time,” Mox says, rolling his neck, desperate to get some of the stress out of his shoulders. “All I know is I can’t stop thinking about you and I keep feeling wrong unless you’re around me. So.” He looks up at Adam, stretches his arms over his head while he keeps looking directly in those blue-green eyes. “Up to you Cowboy.”

“Adam.”

Mox blinks. “What?”

“You might,” Adam steps closer. With a touch so gentle it’s almost funny, he picks up Mox’s left hand an looks a the tattoo. “You might want to remember to use my name if we’re gonna do this.” He keeps his eyes locked on Mox’s as he presses his lips, ever so gently, to the top line of the tattoo. It’s sensitive, but it’s mostly healed, so nothing hurts. “Remember that my name,” he kisses that top line again, “goes right here.”

When he lowers Mox’s hand, he closes the last bit of space, and presses his lips to Mox’s. The moment, the world, feels settled around him, like he’s finally gotten to a place in the universe where everything isn’t spinning quite so much. He pulls Adam down on top of him, unable to pretend like this isn’t everything he’s been imagining for weeks, and the weight on top of him feels like falling into heaven.

Adam braces himself on his elbows, curls falling into his face, and Mox feels the urge to reach up and brush them away. Adam grins, something shy, none of the bite behind it that Mox is used to seeing.

“How did we end up here?” Adam asks, dropping his head to press gentle, so gentle, kisses down the neck of Mox’s jaw. “I mean, just last Sunday I was trying to kill you.”

“Yeah, but you never really wanted to kill me,” Mox says, tilting his head to give Adam better access. “You can go harder, if you want.”

“Not yet,” Adam murmurs against his skin. “I just – I want to,” and he pulls back, eyes on Mox’s again. It feels almost too intense, almost too much to hold. “I want to be here. With you.” He frowns, like the words aren’t where they’re supposed to be. “I want this to be here. Not the ring.”

It takes a second, but Mox gets it. God, does he get it. Maybe, in this moment, he and Adam can just be two guys who have complicated emotions, finally doing something about it. Maybe, right now, it doesn’t have to be about violence.

“Yeah,” he says, feeling a strange tightness in his throat. “Yeah. Just us.” He sits up enough to catch Adam’s lips again, and the desperation there tastes sweeter than honey, something just for him that’s been waiting for him to claim it. He slides a hand into Adam’s hair, careful not to get too rough, just enough to angle Adam’s head where he wants him. His mouth slowly slides against Adam’s, and he doesn’t push, doesn’t demand. Adam’s careful, gentle, and so sweet it hurts.

Mox’s hands find themselves at the hem of his shirt. “Can I…?” he looks for permission in Adam’s eyes.

“Please,” Adam says, soft. The desperation, though, has settled itself into his eyes, and Mox knows. He knows.

He slides his hands up the warm skin under the tee shirt, watching Adam’s eyes flutter closed as he feels the muscles in his stomach tense under his touch. He pushes the shirt up and Adam wiggles a little to get it all the way over his head. He looks a bit like some long forgotten Greek god, one who did good but didn’t hurt enough people to be remembered. Mox wants to be the one to remember him.

They fall against each other and the bed, lips roving and hands following suit. Mox has never touched Adam like this, never knew the way he could sigh at Mox’s fingertips, the way his mouth would open, just a little, every time Mox pressed a kiss to his shoulder.

Adam’s fingertips dance along the hemline of Mox’s sweatpants, almost anxious in the way they stray from the one motion Mox wants him to make.

“You can get me naked,” Mox says, wishing he had the wherewithal to sound a little more suave, “we can, uh.” He stops, and prays briefly for the sweet release of Adam taking the hint without him having to speak any further.

“Yeah,” Adam breathes, flush high on his cheeks. “Yeah, okay.” He finally slides his fingers under the waistband and pulls. Mox feels a rush of cold air over his body, and would feel embarrassed about how hard he already is, except Adam’s wrapped a hand around him and he’s not able to have a single though, let alone a feeling as mundane as embarrassment.

Mox drops his head back on the bed, groaning. “Yeah, baby,” he mumbles, before he realizes what he’s saying.

“Want you to – oh my god.” Adam’s voice is hardly clearer than Mox’s, a little desperate, a little demanding. “Fuck me. Please?”

Mox’s eyes fly open, meeting eager wanting in Adam’s. “Cowboy, you don’t have to ask twice.” He hauls Adam to him, and they collide a little harder than they have outside of the ring. Mox goes for Adam’s jeans, fumbling before he manages to take care of the button and the zipper, while Adam laughs.

“What’s so funny about my hand in your pants?” Mox asks, shoving jeans down Adam’s hips.

“You’re awful at remembering to call me Adam,” he says, kicking the jeans off and pulling the boxers down himself. Mox has to remind himself to listen to words and not just focus on seeing. There’s a lot to see. “Hold on.”

To Mox’s absolute misery, Adam steps off the bed to grab his jeans. “Was hoping I wouldn’t have to use this, but I guess you need more of a reminder.” He pulls out a sharpie, grabs Mox’s hand, and pulls it toward him. “Now,” he says, writing rapidly across Mox’s skin, careful to avoid the inked lines, “you can’t forget my name.”

Adam it says, at the top of the notebook paper, on his wrist. It feels like he’s been claimed. It feels like he’s Adam’s.

“Get your ass over here,” Mox practically growls, and Adam steps into him without an moment’s hesitation. They fall over each other, warm bodies melting together in heat and desire, until Adam’s hands are fumbling for the bedside table, and Mox gets the hint.

“Jesus, you’re pushy,” he laughs, slapping Adam’s hand away and pulling open the drawer. “You, uh.” He holds up a condom. “This – ”

“Clean bill of health on my part,” Adam says, eyes hungry. “You?”

“All good with me,” Mox says. “So, um. Do you need a…?”

“Not unless you want to.” Adam’s grin gets a little dirty. “I mean,” he leans in, teeth nipping at Mox’s earlobe, “unless you don’t want to come in me.”

Mox’s laugh is, unfortunately, high pitched. “God, I definitely do.”

“Cool.”

Mox drops the condom back into the drawer and grabs the lube, flicking open the cap. The next few moments are a whirlwind, Adam’s lips on his with a frantic neediness that can’t be satisfied without a little bit of focus.

“Baby,” he murmurs, pulling his head away, “I can’t bury my dick in you unless I open you up first.”

Adam laughs. “Fuck.”

“Yeah, so.” Mox gestures to the bed. “Lay down, sweetheart, and let me take care of you.”

Adam nods, some of the excess energy rolling off of him in waves, but Mox coaxes his thighs open. And, god, does Adam open so beautifully for him. Pushing down on his finger like he can’t get enough of it, like he’s been craving this feeling and it’ll never be enough.

“So fuckin’ pretty,” Mox finds himself murmuring, pressing kisses across Adam’s chest, careful to catch a nipple in his teeth every so often. “Adam, so good.”

“Now you remember my damned name,” Adam laughs, but it breaks off into a cry as Mox slides a second finger in next to the first. “Come on. Want you.”

“Not yet, babe,” Mox says, pressing a kiss to the inside of Adam’s thigh. “So fuckin’ impatient.”

Adam laughs again, and it’s beautiful, and it’s all Mox wanted, and he has the sudden realization that he’s in fucking love with Hangman Adam Page.

He decides to pocket that for later, and gently adds a third finger, watching as Adam squirms and rolls against his fingers.

“You ready?”

“Been ready, goddamnit,” Adam says, but there’s no bite to it. “Come on. I want you.”

“You want – how do you want to be?” Mox is so far gone, he can’t imagine this without being able to see Adam’s face. Without this being stupid and romantic and meaningful.

“Like this,” Adam says, and, with the way he wraps a leg around the back of Mox’s thigh and pulls him in, Mox isn’t going to argue.

It’s like holding back a bullet with the way Mox gently pushes in. All he wants to do is sink into the beautiful, slick, heat of Adam, find himself buried there for the rest of his life, but he’s going slow. So fucking slow. Slow enough that Adam nudges at him with his heel, demanding without a single word.

“Working on it,” he says. He presses his tongue through his lips, focused on being careful, on being gentle. On not causing any further harm to the man he accidentally loves.

When he’s buried deep, when Adam’s taken the whole of him and his heart, he freezes, head spinning.

“That’s – oh, god,” Adam whimpers. His arms reach up, grab at Mox’s biceps with less than half of the power Mox knows he holds in them.

“You okay?” Mox asks, barely under his own control.

“I will be if you start moving.” Adam’s voice is strained, controlled. “Please, come on.”

And, well. Apparently, Mox’s undoing is hearing Adam Page ask for anything nicely.

The moments feel like a dream, the way it feels to be in sync with someone in the ring, but more precious, closer to his heart than to his fists. Adam makes gorgeous little noises, combinations of Mox’s name and please and wordless vowels that Mox wants to memorize and paint on a canvas.

To be fair, though, Mox is vaguely aware that he’s not exactly got it under control, either. He doesn’t say the L word, doesn’t get to that level of out of his mind, but Adam’s name lingers on his tongue alongside praise and please and something a little like love that he’s not willing to let fall into the air.

Adam flips them at one point, and the way he rides Mox is a thing of dreams. Mox is hardly able to do much more than grab at Adam’s hips and hold on. Adam leans down and kisses him, a new little angle, and Mox thinks he might be in heaven.

But Mox is an idiot, heaven or not, and he can’t resist saying, “Save a horse, ride a cowboy.”

“That’s – oh, god – that’s a little opposite of now,” Adam says, palms braced on Mox’s chest. “But I appreciate the attempt.”

“Oh, shut up,” Mox laughs, but they both do, and it’s great.

It shows in Adam’s eyes, when he’s close, the way they roll back a little, the way they get the same kind of wild they do in the ring, and Mox reaches between them to curl his hands around Adam’s cock. Mox turns them over again, getting a better angle when he can anchor himself on his knees. He presses his forehead to Adam’s, and it feels like this is how they’re meant to be. Connected in more than one place.

Only a few strokes and Adam’s coming between them, Mox’s name caught on the edges of his teeth. The way he tenses, flexes, releases, is the physical form of poetry. Mox manages a few more thrusts before he’s coming too, deep inside Adam with his hands on Adam’s hips, holding him to him. Their breathing practically echoes around the hotel room, and Adam, slowly, moves his way down next to Mox.

There’s tension in the air, like one or both of them is hesitating to say something. Mox is willing to bet it’s both of them.

“You okay?” Mox asks. He chances resting his hand on Adam’s bicep. He doesn’t want him to be panicking. He doesn’t want to be wrong about all of this.

“I just,” Adam says, and Mox feels his entire body tense in anticipation of whatever happens next, “I didn’t expect for – for that to mean something.” He turns to Mox, and there’s the barest hint of wetness in his eyes. “Fuck.”

Mox smiles at him, something he hopes gives comfort, gives meaning, gives Adam the knowledge that he feels the same sort of something. “Me either,” he says, gently running his fingers up and down Adam’s arm. “But it did.”

Adam buries his face into Mox’ chest, curls fanning out across Mox’s skin. Mox pulls him in close, and their arms tangle together until their fingers find their place side by side. Adam makes this tiny little hum, something comfortable, and Mox pulls him in, a kiss to his forehead. “I know I’ve said it, like, fifty times,” Adam says, voice muffled by Mox’s chest, “but how the fuck did we get here.”

“Maybe it’s inevitable, when you fight the way we do,” Mox says, fingers brushing through Adam’s hair. He’s beginning to think about a future, in the nebulous way he always does after sex. A dream of this over and over again, where they share a home, maybe a name. Maybe a kid or two. “Maybe we were always meant to fall in –” He stops himself. “In – in bed.”

Adam props himself up on an elbow, eyes boring into Mox’s. “Maybe we were,” he says, leaning in for a gentle kiss. “And – and maybe it’s more than just that?”

It’s an opening, isn’t it. “It is to me.” Mox holds his breath.

And Adam sighs, looking like whatever weight had been curled around his shoulders and spine has finally released its grasp. “Me too,” he nearly whispers, eyes a little wet again.

“We boyfriends now?” Mox jokes, reaching up to move a frizzed-out curl away from Adam’s eyes. “Do I get to tell people we’re going steady?”

“We could go with ‘partner,’” Adam says, with a grin. “Since you like the cowboy angle so much.”

“I like the you angle of it,” Mox corrects.

They laugh about it, for just a moment. Adam sighs again. “We can workshop it.”

“Yeah,” Mox says, pulling Adam down for another kiss. Hopefully one of a million more. “We can.”

#HangMox #Oops #in which Sara writes #wtf i like wrestling now???#I just #8k about a stupid text post prompt #Then again I did 10k over a text post prompt for Intrigue #Maybe responding to random text posts is like my wheelhouse #Why brain #Why

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silversatoru · 3 years

Text

soapy titty pics (sexting w/ inumaki)

a/n: here u go shawty i hope you enjoy ur toge smut @brandmeyelena <3.

toge inumaki x f!reader

tags/warnings: sexting, mild edging, male masturbation

w/c: 1.2k

it’s 2:00 am and toge’s still awake again.

staying up late and thinking of you — your hair, your eyes, the small curve at the base of your back. then his mind starts to wonder to other aspects of your beautiful body — your thighs, your tits, the way your perfect lips would look wrapped around his cock.

it’s been almost a month since he’s seen you and it’s been the most excruciating month of his life. he was tired and bitter that he had to be in another country fighting curses while you were back home without him. he missed pulling pranks on the other students and hearing your laugh ring out through the dorms — but he also missed the feeling of his dick in your pretty pussy. toge’s mind was bouncing from one extreme to the other but it was fitting, because he missed every aspect of you.

as thoughts of you continued to cloud his mind, his hand crept down to the growing bulge in his silky pajama pants. he pressed a firm hand over his budding erection, slowly palming it up and down.

fuck — the things he would do to have your head bobbing between his thighs right now.

his phone emitted a bright light in his dark room, a soft vibration buzzing from the device. he almost didn’t check it, because there was no way anyone of importance was contacting him at this hour. it was probably just an email, or a new follower on twitter, and he was kind of fucking busy living in his sexual fantasies of you.

but then it buzzed again, and then a third time, and a fourth time too. curiosity getting the best of him, he decided his aching member could wait another minute while he checked the notifications.

his cock twitched underneath the loose fabric, his mouth practically salivating as he stared as his phone. they were pictures from you, dimly lit snapshots of your round, perky tits covered in suds of soap. the pictures were accompanied by a single message, which read:

‘some soapy titty pics for u love,, wish u were here with me rn’

how ironic that both of you were up at this obscene hour just thinking of each other. you really were his soulmate — but he could focus on the sappy shit later, for now all he cared to focus on was how fucking hot you were.

‘yeah i’d titty fuck the hell out of those

how’d you know i was thinking about you right now?’

he quickly typed out his responses before his hand trailed back down to his throbbing erection. but this time he gently pushed the waistband of his pants down his thighs and let his cock spring free from its previous containment. he sucked a sharp breath through his teeth as he brushed his fingers over the sensitive skin.

he pumped a few lazy strokes up his length while he scrolled through the pictures you sent, pinching his phone so he could zoom in on your soapy, glistening breasts. your timing was truly impeccable — you have no idea how much he needed these.

‘lucky guess? you’re always thinking about me

and i’d let you do more than just titty fuck me

i can think of a couple other things that’d be even better’

your messages vibrate through his phone and send another rush of blood straight to his dick. he lifted his hand and collected some saliva in his mouth before spitting it into his palm. he massaged the sticky substance into his cock, his head falling back onto his pillow while he texted you back with his other hand.

‘obviously,, ur tits are just the warm-up

and then we’d move on to your mouth, right? with your hands tied behind your back just how you like them?’

he could practically imagine you down there, strands of spit hanging from the corners of your swollen lips while your tongue flicked over the head of his member. you’d be staring up at him with biggest eyes too, and they’d be glistening with a hint of mischief as you continued to tease him.

toge desperately fucked himself into his hand until the point where he was about to come, and then let his cock fall helplessly from his fingers. he was going to drag this out for as long as he could, edging himself in between each of your messages. but he could barely contain himself when the next thread came rolling through:

‘of course babe

i’d cover your thighs in love marks and then lather your dick with my tongue

hot, sticky saliva dripping from my chin while you shove it down my throat as hard as you want’

you were ruining this poor boy, a couple small beads of sweat forming above his brow. he was fiercely bucking his hips into his hand now, but it still wasn’t what he needed — it’s still wasn’t you.

but it was good enough, and he pushed himself right to the edge again before quickly letting go. his fingers twitched and trembled while they flurried across the screen:

‘fuck

then you can relax and i’ll do the work

slide my dick inside your wet pussy and bend you over the edge of the bed

i need you so bad it’s been so long’

toge’s hand wrapped around his shaft again, pumping faster and more frantic than he’d been before. his eyes were squeezed shut and he could practically feel the walls of your cunt around his cock. he’s picturing you riding you him, hearing the soft slapping noise of your ass hitting his thighs with every bounce. your hair is falling around your face, messy stands in front of your eyes as they roll back into your head. you look so pretty, so perfect on his cock, so-

‘two more weeks toge

two more weeks until i’m moaning and whimpering in your ears

gasping for air and clawing at the sheets while you take me from behind

i want you to wreck me when you finally get home’

he could almost hear the illusion of your delicate moans, the way they roll off your tongue and right into his yearning ears. and he could almost see your face contorting in overwhelming pleasure while he grinds his hips into yours.

clusters of the quietest whimpers slipped through his lips while he squirmed and stretched out his legs. he was intoxicated with thoughts of your body on his, your name glued to his lips while strings of white flew onto his bare chest. he milked out every last drop of his seed, the sticky white substance covering his torso and dripping down his hand.

he dropped his phone to the bed, the only sound in the silent room being his heavy, breathless pants. it was satisfying, doing this while he texted you, but it still didn’t amount to the real thing. what he really fucking needed was for this goddamn mission to end early so he could come home to you.

#jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #inumaki x reader #inumaki smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #inumaki x you #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jjk imagines #inumaki imagines #inumaki to/ge x reader #inumaki to/ge imagines

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avintagekiss24 · 3 years

Text

leave out all the rest | c. beck

→ pairing: chris beck x black!reader

→ word count: 5387

→ warnings: 18+ ONLY, smidge of angst, smut, sex, breeding kink, oral sex (female receiving), vaginal fingering, hand job, explicit language

→ square filled: @badthingshappenbingo

flashbacks

→ request: chris beck + breeding kink + "babe, I’m never gonna finish this work if you keep doing that" + "I know for a fact that you can be a hell of a lot louder than that"

→ author note: dr. space daddy is finally here! this is also the first of my 5k celebration fics! all fics will be tagged #5k...holy god. thanks so much for the request @thedarkplume! title from linkin park leave out all the rest (i loveeee this song); line divider by @firefly-graphics; flashbacks are in italics. i also formatted this with the beta text post editor on desktop... so hopefully nothing looks weird and the italics/bold actually work... it is tumblr after all.

oh, hey, there’s a bit of a marvel crossover in this too!

Nervous doesn’t even begin to describe how you feel in this moment. Your stomach hasn’t been settled since you got the call two days ago. It’s been flipping and twisting ever since. Sleep hasn’t come easy either, but you’re used to that. Ever since Chris left, you haven’t slept well. It’s been almost seven hundred and thirty days— well, just three days short.

You follow the two tall military men, decked out in their dress blues, through the secure facility, your black leather combat boots thudding against the tile floors. Everything is white— the walls, the floors, the coats of all the scientists and doctors milling about— except for you and your flowery, thigh length sundress. Dark eyes wide, teeth nibbling on a sore, often bloody bottom lip from all the nibbling, small purse bouncing off one hip as a duffel bag bounces off the other.

Winding through corridor after corridor, pausing as the men lift their badges to keypads to get door after door to click open. An eerie quiet looms throughout the entire building, nothing but random beeps, your breathing, and footsteps.

Nervous doesn’t begin to describe it.

The walk gives you too much time to think about the last seven hundred and twenty seven days. All of the crying. All of the anger— the screaming. Chris trying to calm you down, assure you that they were okay— that he had to do this.

"It’s so easy for you, isn’t it?" You sobbed into the phone, staring up into the stars, knowing that he couldn’t but secretly hoping that he could see you.

"This is not easy for me," he choked back tears, his tongue heavy, "Leaving you is never easy but I have to do this, baby. We have to go back for Mark. We have to."

You didn’t answer his calls for over a week. And when you did, your words were quick and harsh.

"I can’t do this anymore. I’m moving in with my sister."

Chris was silent on the other end of the phone— too silent. He sighed after a while and just said, "Ok. I understand."

That was day four hundred and sixty three.

So you moved in with your sister. Got a job at the local bar, picked up every shift you could, sometimes working sixty, seventy hours a week— just so you didn’t have to think about him. It didn’t work. You’d still stare out the window at night, up into the big black sky and through the twinkling little stars, wondering where he was, what he was doing. If he was thinking about you.

Unbeknownst to you, Chris continued to call your sister. Just to check on you.

Day seven hundred was when two Air Force officers walked into the bar as you were cutting up lemons and oranges. Your stomach, in a perpetual state of tight and sour, dropped to your feet. It’s never good when the military comes knocking on your door.

“He’s dead,” you spit out, eyes watering, chest starting to heave, “He’s dead, isn’t he? They’re all dead.”

When they removed their hats, your hands flew to your face, covering your mouth to muffle the sobs. You just knew they were all dead. Humans can’t stay in space for this long. It’s not natural.

“No ma’am,” the taller, brown skinned man answered, a small smile breaking onto his face, showing off the distinctive gap between his two front teeth, “They’re back in our orbit. They’ll be landing within the next seventy two hours.”

It was a flurry after that. Phone calls, you moving back onto the base, protocol gatherings, interviews with local and national media. None of it mattered. You just wanted to see him— you needed to see him.

Not before his mandatory three week quarantine that is.

Day seven hundred and twenty five is when they called to let you know that he was ready to move onto the second phase of his integration back on earth. Two weeks cohabitating with another person of his choice, just to make sure that his body and cells can still tolerate, you know, earth— and that he doesn’t give off anything that could make earthlings sick.

They called to let you know that Chris chose you— if you wanted to, of course. If not, he could call his sister.

You were packing your bag before the call even ended.

After two days of getting tested for everything known to man, it’s now day seven hundred and twenty seven and here you are, passing through the last set of doors and stepping into a large observatory room. One of the General’s starts talking, but you don’t hear a word. You just blink slow, lips falling open as you stare back at Chris as he stands at the little square window of his living quarters. He smiles soft, running his hand through his short, dark hair before waving and placing his palm on the window.

Tears cloud your vision. Your chin trembles as a sad smile spreads on your face. A sob chokes in your throat and a warm tear streaks down your cheeks. Despite the talking man, you step up to the window and press your much smaller hand on the glass, spreading your fingers to match his. Chris rests his forehead to it and you do the same as you really start to bawl— shoulders shaking, face breaking, breath rushing fast and hard.

"Baby, don’t cry. Come on pretty, don’t— don’t cry."

Chris’ voice is muffled by the thick glass, but just hearing it— so close, so familiar— after so longs it’s just… it’s almost too much. It is too much.

“Ma’am, we can’t let you in there like this. We need you to calm down.”

Dense thuds shake the glass as Chris pounds on it, "Open the door, Sam!"

Sam grabs your bicep, gently, guiding you towards the door— Chris following you both, still talking to you through the glass.

"It’s okay baby, I’m right here. I’m right here."

“We need you to calm down,” Sam starts again, “He hasn’t been around—”

"Sam! Goddamn it, leave her alone! Open the door!"

“Beck! You cool it in there!”

"Don’t be an asshole! Open the door! She’s scared!"

You hear a scoff, “Step back from the window, Dr. Beck.”

"I swear to God—"

“Step back from the window, Dr. Beck.” Sam is stern now, pointing his finger towards Chris.

Sam pauses for a few long seconds, blinking slow but keeping his hand around your bicep— and thank God, because you honestly need it, “I’m going to badge you into the hallway, okay? You take this keycard,” he presses it into your palm, “And put it up to the keypad at the second door after I close this door behind you. It’s only good for one passthrough— once you’re in, you’re in until the medical staff clears you both. Understand?”

The second half of his speech is softer, his thumb rubbing the back of your arm. You like Chief Master Sergeant Sam Wilson. You nod quick, rubbing at your face with the back of your hand, sniffling hard and focusing a shaky breath out through your teeth as you step in front of the door. There’s a loud click and the metal pops, Sam reaching past you to push it open.

Your body, on autopilot, takes three steps to the second door, eyes staring at the keypad on the wall beside it. Chris is still talking to you through the windows, one hand pressed to the glass, the other on the door handle.

"Just a few more seconds baby. You’re doing so good."

There’s another click— Sam closing the door behind you. Water fills your eyes again, emotion choking up in your throat at the gravity of it all. All of the screaming. All of the crying. All of the hating him and loving him and missing him for seven hundred and twenty seven days all culminating right here, right now, while he’s just three feet away from you. The sky used to be the thing keeping you apart— now it’s just a wall. A door— that you can’t walk through.

"Baby, Chris says gently, "Come on baby. Open the door, honey."

You’re frozen. Eyes locked on the keypad, fingers gripping the keycard so hard they start to burn. Open the door, honey takes you back. Takes you back to the day that he told you he was going up— that he’d be gone for a year.

“Open the door, honey. Talk to me.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.” You sniffle, staring at your reflection in the mirror in your small bathroom.

“You knew this was coming. I don’t know why you’re so mad.”

“A year? A year, Chris? I’m just supposed to put my life on hold for you for an entire year?”

He sighs through the door, “I’ve worked my ass off for this, you know that.” You do know that, you’re just being selfish. Needy and selfish, “I know we’ve got plans baby, but it’s just a year. One year and then I’m all yours—”

“Yeah, until the next time you decide to go up there. This is what Melissa warned me about. You get addicted to it.”

“I won’t.”

“You will,” you retort, “I know you.”

That makes him laugh, and then you’re laughing because he’s laughing, “Open the door, please.” Chris sighs again.

As soon as you turn the knob, he’s pushing through it, lifting you up off your feet and twirling you around— to make you laugh again.

You were standing on a precipice that night and neither one of you knew it. Your lives, both individual and combined, would change forever and that was the night that set it all in motion.

The keycard digs into your fingers and palm, bringing you back into the present. Back into the hallway, back in front of Chris. You blink, linking eyes with him again, finding them soft and down turned, his head tilted as he presses his fingers to the glass.

"Let me hold you," he says soft. So soft that the glass between you gobbles it up. But you just know that’s what he said. You just know.

The door clicks in your ear, a breeze is in your face as Chris throws it open, and then you’re consumed. Arms wrapped around you, hard chest against yours as you’re lifted right off of your feet. He’s so warm— he’s always been so damn warm.

“Oh my god,” he whispers, leaning back a little as you push your face into his neck, “This moment was the only thing keeping me going.”

“I’m sorry,” you sob, pushing your face into his shoulder, your tears wetting his NASA sweatshirt, “I’m so sorry, I was so selfish,” the words are clipped and broken, heavy on your tongue, “Chris, I—”

“Don’t. Don’t do that, it doesn’t matter.” He sits you back on your feet, rubbing your back with both of his large hands, “I’m the one that should be sorry.”

You cry openly into his chest, wrapping your arms around him and pushing your hands up into his sweatshirt, under the thin t-shirt underneath— just to feel his skin, “I missed you so much.”

One, two, three, four pecks of his warm lips on the top of your head before he rests his cheek there, holding you tight as he takes a deep breath, “All that’s over now, hmm?” you can feel the smile on his face, “We don’t have to miss each other anymore.”

A yawn pushes out of your mouth as you stretch out tight, sore muscles screaming. Eyes flutter as you shift, another deep breath pushing out your nose as you nuzzle your face into the pillows, body cocooned in warmth. You’re drifting again, quick, when an abrupt panic races through your veins without warning. Your stomach drops, skin instantly flushing with heat as you spring up, eyes as wide as saucers as your breath rushes.

That’s when you hear it, an all too familiar sound. A pencil, tapping slowly, methodically, against something. It calms you instantly. It’s real, you’re real, Chris is real, and you’re here. He’s here.

You swing your legs over the edge of the small bed, tucked in the corner behind a small partition. There’s a soft light glowing underneath it and a single red blinking dot emanating from the corner of the room— a camera. You push your hair out of your face but keep your fingers on your cheeks, closing your eyes as you focus on your breathing. In, out, in, out, in, out. There’s a murmur, Chris mumbling to himself and you can’t help but smile.

You stand and start moving towards the noises, padding soft and slow as his mess of brown hair and hunched back comes into view. He stands, switching out an X-Ray on the viewer before he plops back down into the swivel chair, staring at it for a second before he starts flipping through the large, open text book just to his left. There’s a little white board off to the right, leaning against the wall, the days he’s been “gone”, seven hundred and twenty seven, scribbled in his messiest of messy handwriting.

The little slice of time watching him sends you right back to your college years, waking up in his dorm room, finding the bed empty and him huddled over a too small desk, furiously flipping through a thousand page text book. You’d sneak up on him, just as you are now, barely dressed and sleepy eyed. Dig your fingers into his hair, scratch his scalp slow. Giggle as his shoulders slump and his head falls back a little, him moaning all the while.

“God, that feels good.”

“You let me fall asleep.”

“You cried yourself to sleep. Didn’t have the heart to wake you… you look like you haven’t slept in a year.”

“Hmm, more like two. What are you doing?” you ask, pushing around his side and crawling into his lap, nuzzling into his shoulder.

“Looking at our X-Rays from earlier today. I’m working on another paper for the Institute.”

“Trying to see if you guys are still earthlings?”

He laughs, the sound rumbling through you, making you smile, “Kinda, yeah. Our body masses have changed dramatically— our bones are longer, I’m not shitting you.” You giggle again at the enthusiasm in his voice, “It’s just a few centimeters, but still. Our brain waves are a little different, metabolism has sped up… it’s incredible.”

You keep the small smile on your face as your fingertips drift over his chest, rubbing slow as you feel his eyes fall to you, “You should get back in bed,” he says, squeezing your knee gently, “You look so tired, baby.”

“Not without you.”

He laughs again, “My circadian rhythm’s all fucked up, I can’t sleep.”

“Then it looks like you're stuck with me,” you kiss his chin and then cuddle back into him, “Don’t mind me.”

Mind you, he doesn't. He just goes about flipping pages and scribbling down random thoughts, marking up his pile of x-rays and fumbling through his and the rest of the crew's medical charts. You push your hand up into the arm of his navy blue NASA sweatshirt, raking your nails up and down his forearm absentmindedly as you breathe him in. Your other hand wanders too, tracing the band of his dark sweatpants before skipping up into his sweatshirt, brushing over his stomach and up to his chest.

The pads of your fingers outline the muscles that are still there, his pecs, down and across his soft abs, before back up and over a cheeky nipple. He jumps slightly, crinkling his nose as he smiles big and hard, “Babe, I’m never gonna finish this work if you keep doing that.”

“Maybe that’s the point.”

“Oh, is that so?”

You bat two big eyes up at him, the weight of going almost two years without catching up with you right at this moment. A hum vibrates in your throat as you stand, taking a few steps away from him before you toss your eyes over your shoulder, licking your bottom lip before sinking your teeth into it. You hold out your hand, wiggling your fingers after a few moments, watching him drag his big eyes down your bare legs and then back up over your powder pink satin shorts and matching camisole.

“Come to bed, Dr. Beck.”

He’s up and on his feet before the words are out of your mouth. Warm fingers interlace with yours as the two of you move back towards the bed, falling onto the soft twin size mattress. His weight dips into the bed as he sinks his knees into it, pulling his sweatshirt over his head as you crawl towards the headboard. You draw your legs up, swaying them gently back and forth, palms flat on your thighs as you inhale deep, watching as he tosses his shirt to the floor.

The smile on your face grows larger as he crawls over you, pushing your legs open with his soft hands before he settles right between them. Chris takes his time looking at you, smiling soft as his eyes drift over your face, his index finger dragging down the bridge of your nose, over two full lips, and down your chin and neck. You let out a quick breath when the pad of that sneaky finger dips just inside your tank top— right into your cleavage.

He cups your face, his thumb resting on your lips, brushing gently, “I’m never leaving you again,” he whispers, blue eyes filling with earnest as they bounce between yours, “I mean it.”

You turn your head into his palm, pressing your lips into the soft, warm skin, planting kisses, “You promise?”

The delivery is breathless. Quiet. Small. Almost begging him to mean it. He takes a deep breath, pushes it out slow before leaning in, closing his eyes as he rubs the tip of his nose against yours. That’s when he kisses you— slow. Deep. Tongue pushing through your lips and into your mouth. Massaging the roof of your mouth before sliding along your tongue. He even moans a little, lets his body— muscles, bones, brain— relax. Lets himself melt into you because it’s just been so damn long.

It ends slow, the kiss. Chris grabbing your lip with his teeth and pulling gently before he rests his forehead to yours. Eyes closed, his big, skilled hands and fingers flirting with your calves—pushing over your knees and then down your thighs to come to rest on your sides and hips.

“I promise.” You slide your hands up and down his sides, letting your eyelids flutter as he continues, punctuating his words with more gentle kisses, “We can start that life you’re so crazy about,” he laughs when you laugh and wrap your arms around his neck, “Buy you a house.”

“On the base?”

“I thought you didn’t like the base?”

“I don’t… but I kinda... do.”

“Then yeah, on the base if that’s what you want.”

Your eyes are still closed as hot lips press against your face— the crook of your nose, underneath one eye, cheeks, and then chin. You push your fingers up into his hair as he forges a path with his lips and tongue— down your neck, over two collarbones, down your arm— all the while his hands move upward. Up into your silk top, nimble fingers playing with two tight nipples before he rucks the silk top up to your chin.

“Wait,”

“What?”

“What about them?”

“Them, who?”

Pointing with your foot towards the blinking red light in the corner, “Them.”

He laughs and you laugh, covering your face with your hands until Chris pries them away, “They’re nerds, babe. We’ve already made them so nervous they’ve left the control room.”

You honestly can’t remember the last time you laughed this hard. Not since he left you suppose. It’s a nice sound, for both you and him, filling up the small space, making it alive and lived in instead of clinical and dry, “That’s not nice, Chris!”

He shimmies the thin material up over your head, casting it to the floor, “It’s the truth! I should know. Remember the first time I saw you naked? I couldn’t look anybody in the eye for a week.”

The memory makes you laugh, soft and dreamy-like, “That was so long ago.”

Chris catches the tone. It makes him halt, for just a second, his eyes shifting away from you. Guilt. For holding you at an arm’s length for so long. For making you number two. For making you wait for him for so damn long.

You tilt your head, eyes searching his. Gentle hands claim his face, pulling him back into your strong gaze, “Stay with me,” you whisper, eyes bouncing between his, “You’re buying me a house.”

“Ah, yes,” with one fell swoop, your shorts are pulled down your legs, right over the tips of your manicured toes and thrown to the floor, “One story? Two?” He asks, back up on his knees.

“Umm, maybe just one,” You answer, sitting up, slipping your hands into the dark sweats still covering his bottom half, “A two story house is too much to keep clean.”

You pull, but not all the way. Just enough to see his hips and that little tuft of dark hair underneath his belly button. You can’t help yourself and lean forward, kissing his stomach, giggling when he jumps a little. When you do it again, kiss him, and then a third time, and a forth, he gives in. Sweeps your locs over your shoulders and pulls them into a ponytail in his hand. That’s when you hook your thumbs back underneath the thick band of his sweats and pull a little harder, pushing the material right over his hard cock, making it bounce.

Chris kicks out of the sweats, grabs your face in his hands and tilts it upward. Leans down and kisses you again— soft. Sweet. All while rubbing small circles into your cheeks with his thumbs. He stays there, forehead to forehead, eyelashes spread over his buttery, quickly blushing red cheeks as you palm him, dragging your hand from the base right to the tip.

It doesn’t take much— never has. After a few strokes, he’s wet and red all over. Chest, neck, cheeks. Mouth agape, pulling in ragged breaths as his eyelids flutter. He swallows hard, and then hums quick, deep and throaty before inhaling through his open mouth. You push upward, kissing him as you continue slow strokes, sweeping a thumb over his wet tip.

Fingertips brush along the inside of your thigh, down low, first by your knee. Then, slowly, they skirt upward, not groping or kneading, just brushing— flirting with your skin until they reach their destination. You gasp, mouth falling open as adept fingers— not only just in general, but with your body specifically— push through wet folds.

“One story it is then,” he breathes, hot, unhurried, “A dog and a,” he slams his eyes shut, hissing and grunting when you squeeze him, “Fuck baby,” he swallows again, lips trembling as he nuzzles in, rubbing the tips of your noses together, “A dog and a cat.”

Your free hand wraps around his neck, fingertips pushing into his hair as your head tips back, hips start to shove forward, eager for his touch— wanting those fingers inside. When Chris obliges, sinks his index and middle finger into your cunt— touch starved and needy— you mewl. Making a real sound for the first time in seven hundred and twenty seven days. It enlivens you both.

Chris pushes you back, lays you back onto the small mattress, spreads you out. Keeps his fingers inside, pumping slow, curling, massaging. Thumb pressed against your clit, rubbing. He lays between your legs, coming face to face with your most intimate and blows gently. Warm air sticking to balmy flesh. Big blue eyes flick up to yours, then back to your sweet, licking his lips as a squelch fills the room.

His tongue darts out, slips along the inside of your thigh. Your hips react instantly, jutting upward as a sharp breath fills your chest. A long arm pushes up your body, fingers prodding your breast, tweaking a nipple before he palms the skin, but not for long. Within seconds, his fingertips are pushing into a willing mouth. Your tongue, swirling around thick digits as you grab onto his hand, holding it there.

Warm air tickles damp skin again as he blows on you, “Have some babies,” he offers quick, the words muffled by your flesh as he finally laps at you, tongue slipping through sticky folds, flattening against your slit as he massages the delicate, “How many you want, baby?”

Nothing but a bitten-off groan answers him. It comes for many reasons. His fingers somehow delving deeper, lips brushing over your cunt— the thought of babies. Little brown skinned, curly headed babies running in the backyard with that dog and cat. Wide smiles, complete with missing teeth, loud laughter, declarations of love as they jump into mommy and daddy’s arms.

“Oh yeah,” heavy words breathed into your ear, a hunk of man now laying on top of you, cock pressing at your opening, “My pretty girl wants babies,” the wetness makes it easy for him to slide in— all the way in— bury deep, “I’m gonna give them to you. You’ve been so good.”

He’s moving, hips pushing and pulling as he cups your face in his hands, presses his forehead to yours, “I’m gonna fill you up,” he mutters, swollen lips brushing against yours, “Stuff you— full of— my, fuck,” a deep moan, another quick hiss as he bites his bottom lip, overcome by the warmth, the wet— the tight, “Fuck, you feel good.”

Feverish lips are on yours again, teeth nibbling as his hips shove into you. Soft and swift. A palm covering your breast, fingers pressing, kneading and working sensitive, responsive skin. Nipples hardening, heat blooming across an ardent canvas of skin, pulsing hips eager to meet his.

Chris cups your chin, pushes upward so you're forced to keep slitted eyes on him and him only, “You want my babies? Hmm? Tell me baby,” you can only whimper in response, digging your nails into his sides, drawing your legs up and around him as he plunges deep, “Come on honey, use those words. Tell me how much you want my babies.”

He fucks into you hard, jamming his hips just once— the sound of skin on skin slapping out loud and off the walls. It arches your back, the sudden, quick thrust. Sends you right up into his chest. Chris pulls you into his lap as he falls back on his ass, extending his legs, heels digging into the mattress as he wraps his arms around you, holding you close and tight, fingers spreading out on your back.

Hips roll into one another. Fingers grip his calf as you lean back, hot, sloppy lips on your chest, over and between bouncing tits. A taut nipple pulled right into his wet mouth. Slippery tongue swirling and flicking, teeth nibbling before he sucks on the tight nub, teasing it further.

Then he’s holding your hips, forcing you down onto his cock. More rushed, sticky words falling from swollen, red lips, “You want me to fill you up? Hmm? Tell me.”

Tears slip down your cheeks, overcome by it all. The emotion of it, the physicality of you and him tangled together— the words, how many years you’ve waited to hear those words.

“That’s right, sweet girl,” he purrs, thrusting harder, faster, “You want me to come in you, don’t you? You’d love it if I came in you, huh? Knocked you up? Gave you a baby?”

You kiss him hard. Cupping his face, moaning sweet into his wet mouth, “I want it,” it’s breathy— desperate, “I want it, Chris. I want it.”

“Then I’ll give it to you. I’ll give it all to you.”

It’s feverish after that. Pushing and pulling. Grunting, smacking— lips on lips, skin on skin. Large hands gripping, fingers pressing into the meat of thighs and calves and ass and tits. His fingers grip the meat of your thighs, your ass, slide up your back— around your neck as your head falls back. Those fingers find your mouth, push just inside as he wraps his other arm around your waist, pulling your hips closer, helping them rock.

His fingers are out of your mouth, cupping your cheek now. Smoothing hair out of your face as it strains. You try not to get loud, slam your eyes closed, purse your lips as your toes curl and stomach tightens… heart flutters.

“Oh no,” he murmurs, brushing his thumbs over your closed eyes before prodding at your lips, “Don’t do that, honey. I know for a fact that you can be a hell of a lot louder than that. Come on, let me hear you.”

“No, I—“

“Don’t be modest,” his tone shifts, going stern and deep, and that’s all it really takes for the noise to flow, “I wanna hear you.”

But he knew that.

It’s a sweet little hum, and then a gasp before it’s clipped by an obscenity— a shaky, desperate, filthy word that dissolves away into a loud groan and then… it’s all downhill from there.

You couldn’t hold it in if you tried. It’s been too long. A pent up aggression, a nervous need all finally working its way out of you. You pull him close— crush your chest against his, wrap two liquid arms around his neck, press your face right against his. Chris loops an arm around your waist, squeezing your opposite hip, pressing his fingers right into the soft skin until it hurts.

But it’s good, the pain of the squeeze. It helps you right over the edge, makes you finally cum after seven hundred and twenty seven days. Slow at first. A warmth just taking its time as it spreads. The feeling sort of foreign because it’s been so long— your brain hasn’t caught up just yet.

When it does catch up, brain and body finding each other, dormant synapses kicking on with a jolt, it’s not just a warmth. It’s molten now, searing and stirring, passing through veins and muscles and skin and bone— it’s that deep. Toes curling so hard they go numb, fingertips digging into his shoulders as you throw your head back.

You’re sure the scientists and military guards can hear you three floors down.

Chris leans in, hot, wet, shiny lips pressing against your chest, over your tits with sloppy kisses, hips still churning into yours until they just can’t. Wet walls closing in, clamping down as they spasm, that molten enveloping him. His hips freeze quick with the first spurt, but find a haphazard rhythm as he comes. Fills you up just like he promised.

He pushes those warm blooms of silk deep with now pointed, long strokes. Not a drop escaping— it’s all for you, after all. Supply and demand and all that.

The mattress is a dream beneath you. Inviting and soft as he lays you into it, still rooted deep as he rolls you onto your side. An arm snakes around your hip, a palm and long fingers anchoring in the center of your chest. A hot, flushed cheek presses against yours as lazy wet lips drag along the back of your neck. Languid thrusts at random intervals keeps you gasping as he tucks his knees and thighs into the backs of yours.

“Say it again,” you whisper after a few quiet minutes, breath still heavy, chest still heaving.

Chris plunges into you again, soft and sweet and deep, “Say what, honey?”

“That you won’t,” the words break off, a moan replacing them as he kisses a trail down your arm, fucks into you once, twice, three times, “That you won’t leave me again.”

“I’m not leaving you again.”

When you wake up the next morning, that little whiteboard with the days scribbled on it is erased. All it says now?

Day one.

#bad things happen bingo #5k...holy god #chris beck #chris beck x reader #chris beck x black!reader #chris beck x you #you x chris beck #reader x chris beck #the martian #chris beck fanfiction

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purrgara · 2 years

Text

AO3: HERE

Pairing: Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej; implied Ryan/Shane/Sara/Mari

Rating: G

Tags: sad schmoop, fluff, angst, Ryan’s Disney bachelors party

There in your eyes

“You sure you can’t stay for the last two days?” Shane tilted his head just enough to see the sad frown on Ryan’s face. Shifting his bag on his shoulder he moved toward the wall, out of the way of early morning travelers. “It’s a shame you were only here for a couple days.”

Setting his bag down Shane brought his hands up to cup the sides of Ryan’s neck. “You know we were lucky enough that I was able to be here for the time that I was.” He murmured, voice low to keep the conversation to themselves, though they both could feel Jake’s burning gaze on them. “I can’t just change flights, Ry.”

He ran a thumb over Ryan’s pulse and smiled sadly. “You’re gonna have a great rest of your trip, and you’re gonna text me insistently, I know you will. Then you’ll be back in LA in a couple days and you can tell me all about it all over again.”

“Not gonna be the same.” Ryan grumbled, bringing his own hands up the rest on Shane’s forearms. “I wanted this to be special. Magical. And you weren’t even here for all of it.”

Sighing, Shane pulled Ryan forward, dropping one hand from his neck to wrap around his waist as the other slid into his hair. “It was magical, baby.” He pressed his cheek against the crown of his head and breathed in the sweet smell of the Lodge shampoo. “Everywhere with you is magical, and the short time we had here was nothing short of perfect. Sara and Mari are gonna be so jealous when we tell them about it.”

Ryan nodded slightly, his hands curling in the front of Shane’s button down. Closing his eyes he pressed his forehead to his collarbone and sucked in a ragged breath. “I’m gonna be a goddamn mess on the way back to the lodge.” He warbled out, voice already thick with tears.

“Hey now. We said no tears. That was the deal when I managed to get out here in the first place.” Shane chastised quietly, voice low and soothing, if not a little wet itself. “No tears or I won’t wanna let go.” His grip tightened slightly as he pulled back to force Ryan to look him in the eye.

Reluctantly he did, lip trembling and tears gathering in his lashes. “I need you to go have fun, okay?” Shane said, pressing their foreheads together. “This is your trip, you can’t be sad on your trip.” Ryan nodded then let himself be pulled in so their mouths could press together.

Soft and chaste. “Text me when you take off, okay? And call when you land. I don’t care what time it is, wanna hear from you the second you get cell service.” Ryan griped as Shane trailed soft kisses across his cheek and up his temple.

“I promise. Now, I can feel your brother’s eyes burning into me so I think it’s time to go.”

“Shush. He knows about us and everything already, he can deal with it.” Ryan let his voice raise toward the end and shot a glare toward Jake. The younger Bergara grinned back before tapping at his watch. Ryan deflated at that. “Though you are both unfortunately right. Everyone will be getting up soon to get ready for the parks.”

“Tequila tasting, right?” Shane bounced his eyebrows and Ryan wheezed out a watery laugh. “Honestly glad I’m missing that one. We don’t need to show a family friendly park what I’m like on Tequila.”

Smiling fondly Ryan stood on his tiptoes to press another kiss to the corner of Shane’s mouth. Then another to the center. “Send my love along to Sara, make sure she gets her ears! I expect cute ass photos of you two by tomorrow.”

“I will. I will. We’ll even put the little haunted mansion bow ties on Obi, just for you.”

“Good.”

“Alright.”

Neither moved for another few minutes before Shane reluctantly pulled away and reshouldered his book bag. He brushed one hand over Ryan’s cheek, thumb rubbing a tear away from under his eye before letting it drop.

Ryan sighed and tucked his hands into his hoodie pocket, “It’s stupid but I miss you already.I love you, Big Guy.”

“It’s not stupid at all.” Shane said easily, his face belaying none of his adoration for the smaller man. “I love you too, Little Guy.”

“I love you both, but I’d really love some breakfast more.” Jake interjected over Ryan’s shoulder. They both broke out in wheezing laughter as Shane shook his head and moved toward the terminal gate.

“Go eat, ya gremlins! I’ll talk to you later.” Jake waved with a beaming smile, Ryan following suit slower and with a more subdued smile. The moment Shane was out of sight he deflated once again.

Wrapping an arm around his brother’s shoulders Jake said, voice softer and less teasing now that Shane was gone, “C’mon. We have a whole day planned to keep that noggin of yours busy. Or maybe I can get a giraffe to come eat you.”

Ryan scoffed and rolled his eyes, the dark cloud settling over him momentarily broken. “Giraffe’s don’t eat meat you bumbass. Plus you wouldn’t dare, I’m paying for your shit.”

“Disney is paying for my shit Ryan. You’re just the excuse.”

#shyan #skeptic believer #my writing #how could I not with all the bachelor party content

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get-shiggy-with-it · 3 years

Text

Ch. 4

18 + Minors DNI Please Check Rules Before You Follow

Pairing: Tomura Shigaraki x fem!Reader (brief reference to Dabi x Hawks)

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: smut, allusion to nausea (once), brief sacrilegious language (dabi), mentions of alcohol (dabi), mentions of smoking (dabi), dabi is just a whole warning of his own, gender neutral pronouns for reader, fem cause they're called a woman as an insult, Shiggy is an asshole, grinding, degradation,

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6

Summary: In which a project is completed and a new one begins

AO3 Mirror

Taglist: @dillybuggg (shoot me an ask if you want to be tagged)

Your project was almost complete.

In some ways, it sort of felt like the end of an era. To Tomura, who was a creature of habit by nature, it was doubly strange to imagine no longer spending hours a few days each week locked away in your little study room with you bugging him to teach you simple html and him not-so-discreetly sniffing your hair.

He still hadn’t asked you out or whatever he’d been trying to do, much to Dabi’s chagrin. And because of this, Tomura was consistently plagued with the feeling of time running out.

You were supposed to meet today for probably the last time seeing as the presentation was coming up at the end of the week. He knew it was now or never at this point. If he didn’t fucking say something now, he never would and then he’d have to live with the same his roommate wouldn’t let him live down.

So instead of heading directly to the library after class, Tomura took the old route back to his apartment and shot you a quick text—praying to the fucking boner gods, as Dabi called them, that you’d take the bait.

would you mind putting the finish touches on shit at my place?—

there’s some parts i gotta do from my desktop—

That wasn’t completely a lie. It was nicer working from his pc setup, but before he wouldn’t have let you come anywhere fucking near there. Not until he’d finally accepted that you’d wormed your way into his brain somehow and he couldn’t live another day not knowing what your tongue tasted like.

bitch (endearing):

—no problem

—what’s your address?

Tomura’s heart fucking pounded mercilessly against the bony prison of his ribs. It wasn’t like he was a stranger to some good old fashioned anxiety, but he’d never felt a strange stirring in his stomach quite like this. Like he might puke, but in a good way.

He quickly sent back his street and apartment number, and waited on the corner until you texted back that you’d be there in an hour before he rushed inside.

“What the hell are you doing, creep?!” Dabi snapped at him when he burst through the door and yeeted his backpack onto the kitchen table.

Tomura didn’t answer, just made a beeline for the bathroom and slammed the door. He doused himself in record time, unbothered by the hot water causing red, patchy flare ups to bloom over his skin. He was almost disgusted with himself for putting in this much effort for someone like you. Someone being definitely kind of a slut if the way you dressed was a good indicator. But he just kept thinking about the way your hair or skin smelled so goddamn good when you leaned in close and he wanted you to be obsessed with him in the same way. Wanted you to want to bury your face in his neck and breath him in.

When he stumbled out into the hall moments later, towel drying his hair roughly, Dabi was taking a shot over the sink.

He looked at Tomura like hell had frozen over.

“Two showers in like a month?” he mused, sucking his teeth as the alcohol slid down his throat. “What’s the occasion? The fucking, second coming of Christ?”

“Well the bitch is coming over so…”

“Oh, that is a fucking miracle,” Dabi whistled and knocked back a second shot.

Tomura glared, stepping into his room and tossing his towel aside to tug on his nicest pair of black joggers and t-shirt that gapped a bit at the front, showing off a large expanse of his chest. It made him a bit nervous even just looking at his reflection but you definitely stared the few times he’d taken off his hoodie while you were working, so the risk seemed worth the reward.

“Yeah, well you’re gonna have to piss off for the night,” Tomura shouted into the kitchen as Dabi sauntered over to lean against his doorframe.

“You know, I conveniently do have a dick appointment with my own bitch, but now I don’t want to go.”

His tone was teasing, eyes hooded and clearly enjoying how flustered Tomura was already before you’d even gotten here. Tomura moved to snatch another pillow and do battle but Dabi raised his hands up quickly in defeat.

“Oh no, no, I just fucking did my hair for this Keigo asshole you are not gonna ruin it with that petty shit,” he shot back and disappeared somewhere into his own room. “I’ll be out of your greasy ass hair don’t worry.”

Tomura seethed and bit back of reply of his hair for once not being greasy as hell, but the multiple cum stains—both his and his nasty fucking roommates—marring the comforter caught his eye.

“Ugh,” he mumbled and balled the whole thing up, shoving it under the bed and spreading out one of his merch blankets from that manga you both liked.

Hopefully you wouldn’t think that was too cringey, but he had definitely seen your room plastered with merch in the background of your social media profiles which he totally did not stalk at all and maybe jerk off to on occasion.

The rest of his room was quickly cleared by a combination of shoving random crap into his closet and filling up their recycling bin to the brim with empty energy drink cans. He tackled the kitchen next which wasn’t as hard as he’d expected. Neither he nor Dabi cooked all that frequently, so the dishes weren’t an issue and the vague, lingering smell of whatever the fuck Dabi had been smoking early was cleared out a bit by leaving the balcony door ajar.

He checked the time on his phone obsessively, about ready to pound on Dabi’s door and throw him out on the step when the man in question emerged on his own—black platform boots donned with his ass hugging ripped jeans and a loose tank top.

He had on fucking eyeliner.

God and he thought Tomura was being desperate.

“What? Wishing you’d locked this down first?” Dabi sneered, grabbing his jacket from the rack and shoulder checking Tomura on his way to the door.

“I—” he stammered for a second, bristling as Dabi towered over him a bit in those fucking boots. “No, asshole, just leave before they get here.”

But at the exact moment that Dabi rolled his eyes and flung open the door, Tomura’s phone buzzed in his pocket. Looking up in mingled horror and embarrassment, he watched the door hit the wall and reveal you, a little more casually dressed than usual looking stunned as Dabi grinned down at you with pierced lips.

“Hi, I’m-” you started but Tomura’s live-in nightmare cut you off.

“Oh I know who you are, dollface,” Dabi wiggled his fucking eyebrows at you, clearly playing up the dramatics as much as possible to a degree even Tomura didn’t think he could pull off. “Name’s Dabi—”

“Uh, yeah and he was just leaving,” Tomura hissed and placed his shoulder firmly in the center of his roommate’s back, launching him onto the welcome mat as you side-stepped through the door.

“Yeah, see ya later creep,” he fucking winked as the door slammed shut in his face.

Tomura’s cheeks burned in the following silence which was only broken by your quiet chuckle. He noticed you did that a lot. Laughed at things without even thinking about whether it would sound weird.

“He seems like a lot,” you mumbled and glanced around at the living room/kitchen/foyer of his tiny apartment.

“Yeah…”

He thought he might feel the same sort of disturbance he usually did when Dabi brought his dates home but you seemed to fit easily into the space, unobtrusive but bright against the dingy walls.

“So, should we get to it?” you asked with a wry smile, spinning to face him and silhouetted by the sun set filtering in past the balcony.

He may not have felt the usual discomfort of intruders in his space, but his hands shook where he clutched at his thighs nonetheless. And just like always, if you noticed the bunched up fabric and the not so slight tremor in his bony arms, you didn’t say a thing about it.

You looked so good propped up on his bed, back against the wall and legs dangling off the sides as the now strangely comforting sound of your furious typing filled his room. It had been a few hours now, and Dabi had been true to his word, seemingly gone until tomorrow morning. The room was illuminated only by your screens and his small desk lamp that lit up your legs like a stage spot light.

His mind fogged over more than once with the fantasy of laying in between them.

“I just shared the final bit of script,” you said, breaking the comfortable silence.

The notification pinged at the top of his screen and he hummed in acknowledgement, plugging in your last pieces of text and saving the program.

And just like that.

It was over.

“I think we’re done,” Tomura whispered.

He didn’t really mean to say it so softly, but it felt strange to talk at full volume so he rasped out the words, knowing you wouldn’t care how shitty his voice sounded.

There was a creak and soft footsteps behind him as you shuffled off the bed and over to his desk. Your hands rested way too close to his shoulders than necessary while you leaned over his chair to look at the finished product.

It was still a little rough around the edges but Tomura found himself feeling a swell of satisfaction now that it was complete. All things considered, you’d come up with a pretty damn good concept and he liked knowing he played a role in helping it come to fruition.

The piece you picked was weird as shit. Some political satire about eating babies, lots of juxtaposition about the private life versus the public self and some bullshit rants on the nature of humanity blah blah blah.

It actually reminded him of you a little bit, now that he thought about it as he took advantage of you position to stare intently at your eyes scanning the screen. Not the eating babies thing, but the whole private self stuff.

In the half semester he’d spent locked away with you in quiet rooms and noisy, dimly lit basements, he could see such a stark contrast between the you he’d known from class all those weeks ago and the you currently sighing in relief over his shoulder.

Softer, more real—not so Stacy, bimbo, pick me slut like he’d always imagined you to be.

“Damn, we did it my guy,” you nodded, clearly impressed with yourself and him as well, which had Tomura’s chest puffing out just a bit under the attention. “I could fucking kiss you, I thought we’d never get it done.”

You turned to him, eyes closed in a half laugh but Tomura was so far from laughing. Cause you were really, really fucking close and he could smell you again and you’d been chewing that fucking gum cause it was hot on your breath. He knew, he really did, that you were kidding, that this was just a thing people said when they were relieved but he couldn’t help the weird, deer in the headlights stare that his face froze in.

Blinking, you raised your eyebrows at him questioningly when he didn’t make some crude comment about your chest brushing against his arm or shrug you off like he might have before.

And then you got this knowing, little mischievous look that reminds him far too much of Dabi for a split second before you pressed your face just an inch closer.

His eyes flicked down instinctively to your lips and his face burned when realized there was no way you didn’t see how he looked at you. Shockingly, despite the churning in his gut and the shaking in his legs, Tomura leaned forward just a bit too, working up enough scant courage to maybe close the gap. But then you started laughing?

It bubbled up quietly in your chest, more of a giggle than anything else.

You were laughing and shaking your head and his stomach fucking dropped to the ground and his face was on fire cause you were laughing and that meant he’d been fucking played like a goddamn fiddle but—

But then you gave him this faint smile and you weren't laughing anymore, because you were kissing him.

You were fucking kissing him.

Which, while yes he had set out to have this be the end goal of the night, he hadn’t actually believed it would ever happen. He’d never felt it in his bones like he thought he was supposed to.

And holy shit your lips were so soft??

So soft and smooth with no cool, sharp metal poking or pulling at the splits on his. It was like fucking crack, or what he imagined crack might be like with the way your mouth just glided against his. It was so easy to follow you, which was good cause he didn’t have a goddamn clue what he was doing for the most part. But you made it feel simple, and you even ran your tongue over the little scar that bisected his lips in this painfully adorable way that had Tomura pitching a tent in his pants like lightning.

God and when you pulled back and just enough to look at him again:

It was like every one of those cutesy, shojo manga suddenly made sense. The panels where the main characters look at each other and flowers bloom off the fucking page while they stare with those dark, hungry eyes—

Yeah.

Yeah he got it now.

And he was gonna ride that wave while he had it. So Tomura steeled himself and surged forward, grabbing both your arms and smashing his face much less gracefully against yours. He stood and you straightened with him, that same half giggle slipping out in the gaps where your lips parted on his as he clacked your teeth together and pulled back at the jarring sting.

“Eager are we?” you had that stupid smile on your face again but he honestly didn’t care anymore if it was an act or if your face really just looked like that with no fucking ulterior motive.

“Shut up,” he muttered, trying to catch your lips again and you mercifully let him.

Tomura nearly fucking came in his pants when you licked into his mouth and oh fucking god he really could taste the gum and that loud ass shit you were always drinking. Dabi was right, this was a fucking miracle.

Did other people always taste this good or was it just you?

He responded enthusiastically to say the least, sucking your tongue into his mouth and letting out a choked little noise when you prodded the back of his teeth. The movement of your legs, pulling him back towards the bed went mostly unnoticed until he felt himself tipping forward, landing with a thump on top of you as you both tumbled onto his mattress.

Tomura’s lips wondered boldly down your throat, smelling the soap or lotion or whatever the hell made you so fucking baby smooth compared to him and he actually growled into your nape when you laughed again.

“God, what the fuck is so funny?” he sounded muffled from where he was tonguing at the fleshy joining of your neck and shoulder.

“Sorry, sorry,” you pressed your lips against the peeling crown of his head and that alone made up for the interruption, “I’m just basking in the glory of being right.”

“About?” Tomura nipped at your skin once before lifting his chin to rest on your sternum.

“I just always thought you were sorta into me, but it was hard to tell cause you’re so quiet about that kinda thing.”

“....oh,” he didn’t really have an argument for that so he didn’t try to fight you.

“Did you think I didn’t notice all the convenient excuses to touch me or like the fact that you’re mean as shit to everyone else but me?" you asked not unkindly as you stroked a hand through his hair, frizzy from being left to air dry. “I also got the vibes you thought I was a slut anyway and it wasn’t super clear if that was a turn on or not.”

He cringed a bit at the blatant way you acknowledged all ruder inner monologues about your character.

“Well, I did a bit initially,” Tomura glanced off to the side, suddenly finding the chipping paint much more fascinating. God he really wanted to get back to the good stuff. “But I don’t now…”

“Oh no,” you cupped his face, running a thumb against the cracked skin on his cheeks and didn’t cringe when the drying skin flaked onto your shirt, “that was a pretty astute assumption.”

“Uh, what?”

He felt his draw drop and you dipped your thumb past his front row of teeth, toying with the pooling saliva.

“All the better for you though,” you continued dragging his chest against yours so he could feel your nipples through his shirt, “cause that just means I know how to show you a good time, and I get the feeling you’ve never had that happen before.”

You punctuated your words with roll of your hips against the fucking iron rod in his pants. The noise that left Tomura was inhuman.

He thought back to the day you got partnered with him. How he thought it would be a fucking nightmare and Tomura wanted to let the record show that he officially retracted that statement. This was in no uncertain terms, actually a wet dream come true and he was sure Dabi would never fucking believe him unless he walked through the door right now.

“That works,” he stuttered around the finger in his mouth and you reared up to wrap your legs around his waist.

Your lips found his again and he hummed in approval only cut off as you rolled so he was laying back and looking up. When you pulled back, he shivered at the way you raked your nails over his chest.

“So, you gonna tell me how much of a disgusting whore you think I am?”

#tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki x reader #tomura imagine #tomura x reader #tomura shigaraki x you #dabi #bnha fanfiction #bee.writes

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kai-uh-arcadian · 3 years

Note

hi love!

can u write a hitch imagine where she and f!reader get high and go to a party and the reader and hitch separate, like the reader goes to play beer pong with connie sasha and jean while hitch goes to historia and annie to dance and reader watches her dance and pulls hitch with her to the bathroom and they fuck?

Hi my darling!!! I hope this encapsulated what you’re imagining!!

Full Disclosure: I do not know how to write smut nor have I ever attempted SOOOOO if anyone would like to expand on this with smut PLEASE GO AHEAD!!! The ending is open ended for smut but if you’re not into that it still makes perfect sense as is,

I apologize I couldn’t execute the entire ask but I hope you still enjoy! (:

DRUNK CONFESSIONS Hitch x Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

CW: Mentions of drug use (weed, alcohol), being drunk/high, minor cussing

——————————————————————

- “I’m here” you texted Hitch as you pulled into her driveway

- Your phone lit up and read “sorry I CANNOT come anymore, my fish is really sad rn😪😪😪”

- Two things:

- One: Hitch is already outside waiting for you with her backpack (filled with her overnight stuff)

- Two: she doesn’t even fucking have a fish?😾😾😾😾

- She gets into your car to which you greet her with “ah hi Bitch… I mean Hitch! DaMN I thought your fish was in distress?

- “Well be glad “Bitch” is here because she’s the one giving you free weed dumbass” she remarks while (sort of gently) punching your arm

- “Ooo, do I get the hot girl discount?” You smirk at her

- “Shut the fuck up!” She says sarcastically and starts to blush “just drive already” she shifts her knees toward the passenger door

- You got babygirl flustered😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩

- You begin your car ride to Sasha’s house

- The Blouse’s were on a 3-day vacation to who-knows-where, all we knew is that Sasha was having a lowkey get together

- The guest list consisted of Eren, Armin, Jean, Marco, Historia, Marlo, Ymir, Annie, Mikasa, Connie, Mina, Reiner, and Bertholt

- You arrived in the Blouse driveway and Hitch begins to pull out grape swisher pack container a blunt

- “Ahhhh~ look at this pearl I rolled!!” She holds it up in awe then shortly begins to light it

- You’re lucky your cars interiors is all leather and you have until tomorrow to air it out

- (You never smoke in your car nor let anyone smoke in your car but Hitch is the only exception cause she’s cute)

- You both share the blunt that is apparently “this amazing strain called Sour Diesel she got from her dealer for free because she made out with him”

- After about what seems like 2 hours (it was actually about 15 minutes) you both are pretty fckn stoned and decide to head in

- You let the group chat know you and trouble arrive and head for the door

- “Mikasa!” You exclaim and hug her as she opens the door

- “What did you say? It’s too loud in here…” she deadpans

- 🦗🦗🦗🦗

- “Huh? There’s no music playing tho…..😅” you reply

- Mikasa sees the gears working in you and Hitch’s head as you’re trying to process the “joke” she just said

- To give you a hint, she sniffs the air

- 👃🏼👃🏼👃🏼

- “OHHHHHHHH!!!!” You and Hitch say in unison after realizing she was insinuating you REEKED of weed

- “Dumb and dumber arrived!!” Mikasa announces to the gang

- You and Hitch head to the guest bedroom upstairs to drop of your overnight bags

- You both return to the basement only for you to be pulled to one half to play pong and Hitch to the other to go take shots with Annie

- Before the game starts Connie tells “YOOO let’s see who can shotgun the fastest!!”

- Why would you ever turn that down????😩 free beer

- You, Jean, Connie, and Sasha all puncture your cans and begin to go

- Ofc you win🥸🥸🥸 You’re a natural

- “That’s not fair!! I started later, I didn’t know we were supposed to go on “1”!!??” Sasha exclaims, declaring a rematch to which you all oblige

- “3, 2, 1” Mikasa counts down for you guys

- One rematch turned into 2 more 😵‍💫😵‍💫

- Now you’re 4 beers in and the night is barely starting

- the night continues on and pong has turned into a game of “Whichever team loses has to shotgun”

- Lemme tell you, Jean is DEAD WEIGHT

- bitch got no aim???👿

- Sasha and Connie are absolutely obliterating You and Jean so at this point it’s safe to say you’re about 9, Natty Ice’s in and about 3 shots that Hitch kept handing you in

- Speaking of Hitch….

- Where the fuck is she??

- Your dizzy eyes begin to scan the basement— she can only be in so many places down here

- as you’re getting distracted, Sasha and Connie decide to leave the pong table to do God knows what and Jean runs after them

- You decide it’s best to ignore whatever the fuck kind of trouble they’re getting themselves into

- That’s when you see it

- Historia, Mikasa (?!?!?!!), Annie (?!?!?!?), and Hitch making a Tik Tok

- For reference it’s this dance

- You can Ymir practically drooling over Historia and then yelling at Reiner for doing the same

- Marlo is drooling at Hitch

- The sight of Marlo alone ignited a fire of pure rage inside of you

- everyone, including Hitch, knows that he blatantly pines over her… some people even think they’d look cute together but who knows what Hitch thinks??? Does she like him back?

- ahhh~ your head is crowded with so many thoughts right now and decide to silence them with a disgusting shot of Pink Whitney left by your side from Hitch

- is this JEALOUSY????

- your throat and the pit of your stomach burns as the shot goes down but not as hot as the left side of your chest at the sight you’re seeing right now

- You find Historia, Mikasa and Annie VERY attractive bUT you cannot take your eyes off of Hitch

- It’s rude to stare but goddamn, she’s in a white tennis skirt that when she moves JUST enough you can see part of her bare ass

- (Go touch grass later)

- 1 of the 4 girls take turns (unintentionally) messing up causing them to retake the Tik Tok

- You are NOT complaining tho👀👀👀

- They FINALLY get the dance down

- Hitch comes over and stands in between your legs that are dangling off the table you’re sitting on and wraps her arms around your waist

- Marlo shoots you a look and you were about to say something to him but Hitch guides your chin back with her finger so you were looking at her again👿👿👿

- “Soooo~ what’d you think?” She slurs getting closer to your face with a mischievous look in her eyes

- If looks could kill, Marlo would have your head right about now

- MISS GIRL I COULD GET DRUNK IF YOUR BREATH😷😷😷

- “Huh? About what” you play dumb hoping she didn’t notice you blatantly staring

- “Sweetie you would’ve caught flies if you kept your mouth open any longer” she says right in your ear causing you to get goosebumps

- So she definitely noticed you staring

- And played into it😐😐😐

- You took the bait and she won this round

- She nuzzles her head into your chest and oh my god her scent intoxicates you

- A mix of vodka, a bit of sweat (naturally,,,, bitch just got done dancing her life away), strawberry herbal essence shampoo, and a shit ton of Victoria’s Secret bombshell perfume(or Tease, I can’t decide)

- “I have to pee~~ can you come with” she says grabbing your hand without waiting for your answer

- What’s up with drunk girls and tag team bathroom breaks

- (On a real note, I’ve been to a handful of parties and my friends always ask me to help them in the bathroom like what am I gonna do? Wipe their ass for them? Cheer them on like YES GIRL GO PISS!!!🥳🥳🥳🥳)

- Anyways

- She pulls you into the bathroom, does her business as you face the wall, washes her hands and youre ABOUT to open the door when pins you against the door slamming it shut

- “You’re an idiot???” she looks up at you with tears brimming at her eyes

- You’re just as drunk/high as she is (if not more??) she CANNOT blame you for not picking up the subtle hints

- You gave her this abhorrently shocked and confused face

- “Hitch wait what why are you crying I’m so sorry what did I do” you begin to ramble in panic

- “What did I do uhh I’m so sorry how can I fix thi—“

- She cuts you off by smashing her lips against yours

- This has to be a dream or just drunk Hitch actions because she is a flirty drunk so you don’t want to get your hopes up

- “That’s how you can fix it~” she hiccups as a tear goes down her face

- “I’ve liked you for a while and I didn’t want to ruin anything so I kept it in for so long but I just can’t anymore” now SHES rambling

- “Just *hic* seeing you everyday, being so close to you and not *hic* being able to do anything about it hurts so bad but I just had to get this out so I’ll leave you alone afte—“

- Now you cut off her rambling with a slightly less aggressive and more passionate kiss

- The smile on her face is the cutest mixture of shocked and pure happiness🥺🥺🥺

- “I want the exact opposite of you leaving me alone, I’ve liked you for so long Hitch” you kiss her forehead and she just happily sobs/giggles like a child into your chest

“Don’t tell Hitch this, but she’s everything I wanted and more” you give her a small chuckle, looking away as your cheeks turn pink

“I won’t say a word idiot” she says kissing the top of your nose

Anyone, Feel free to delete any part of the ending if you’d like to add the smut part of this request!! Hope you enjoyed

- K ( :

#hitch x reader #hitch dreyse #hitch headcanons #hitch aot #send me requests please #hitch dreyse head canons #attack on titan

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moonlit-imagines · 4 years

Text

Headcanons for being Peter Parker’s Younger Sibling

Peter Parker x sibling!reader

warnings: bullying mention, blood mention

a/n: a fuckin reach, its been a WHILE since ive seen tasm

prompt: y/n is peter’s sibling

peter and you were playful kids

you were just a year and some months younger than him, so you had a harder time remembering your parents than him

but he always told you stories about them that made you miss them a little more

peter was a genius, we all know it

he was the one helping you with your homework most nights

“peter i cant do it!”

“that’s okay, y/n. look, start with two times four, that’s eight, then four times six, twenty-four, right?”

“can i say a cuss word?”

“sure”

“math is shit”

you would cry during homework a lot

you’d also pass out on his floor after talking for hours

and you’d either wake up facedown on the floor or in your room since uncle ben would pick you up and put you to bed

peter took it upon himself to take you back to your room, but he usually dragged you by the arm, sooooo

you’d play action figures together

he was batman, you were robin always

“can i be batman?”

“oldest gets to be batman so im batman”

“but i wanna be batman!”

peter walked you to your school before taking off on his skateboard

and he’d pick you up on his way home

on half-days your brother taught you how to skate

you fell a lot

aunt may had to patch you up

“how many times do i have to tell you those skateboards are dangerous?!”

peter got you your own skateboard so that you could practice without him

you would text him after you did a trick and he’d always say hell yes! show me when i get home!

being his photography assistant

really you were his assistant constantly

science fair was the most boring day of the year

“y/n, stand right here, i need to get something from my locker”

*judges walk up while youre left unattended and in a state of PANIC*

you were bullied in middle school, same as peter, he’d always stick up for you and get beat up instead

it made you very mad but it was scary, too

“how’d you get into this fight, peter?”

“oh, you know, just happened”

“peter was sticking up for me, uncle ben”

“was he now? you’re a good brother, peter”

lonely when he moved onto high school :/

but you got there soon enough

you guys were kind of loners, just ate lunch together, lugged around your skateboards, you were an artist, he was a photographer

just spectating the chaos of high school, rolling your eyes at the drama

“i have two bucks, do you want anything from the vending machine?”

“uhh, a coke?”

you saw peter get bullied by flash and lost your shitttt

you actually started a food fight after throwing mashed potatoes in his eyes

“what the hell, parker?!”

“sit down and eat your goddamn food, flash, or next time it wont be potatoes”

peter was half-proud, half-embarrassed

trying to see how long you could skate through the halls before any authority figures stopped you

sometimes......you guys got sent to the office together :)

*phone ringing* “hello, is this ben parker?”

“which one of them is it this time?”

the principal’s office was a trip sometimes

you and peter exchange your glances and wait to get scolded

“ah, the parkers, come in, lets have a chat...why do you two always feel the need to get in trouble together?”

“we just happen to get along really well for siblings”

no you fuckin dont lmaoooo

it was always something with you two

like always

*banging on peter’s door* “I KNOW YOU HAVE MY BROWNIES, PETER, GIVE THEM BACK”

*peter through a mouthful of brownies* “I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOURE TALKING ABOUT, YOURE CRAZY”

“is that my jacket?” -peter

“you mean my jacket?”

“y/n, i swear to god if you steal any more of my clothes it’s over for you”

“well, aunt may keeps giving me your clothes, so take it up with her”

and then there was just the little annoying things

“peter, can you stop clicking your pen?”

*clicks pen faster*

“you’re the worst”

and my personal favorite

“peter, open the door”

“why?”

“emergency”

*opens bedroom door* “what?”

“aunt may is making meatloaf”

“shit, uh...get your board, we’ll skate to mcdonalds and tell her we already ate”

peter and you RARELY ever brought your parents up until he found your dad’s briefcase, you didn’t have much to say

soon he was flooding his room with conspiracies and pulling you in to explain them

he began acting REALLY weird, but he was pretty open with you, he told you he went to oscorp

“YOU SNUCK IN??”

“your standards for me are way too high, y/n”

soon you started to feel not-so-good and weird things started to happen

“peter??”

“yeah? whats up?”

“this is gonna sound really weird...my hand is stuck to the door”

“it happened to you, too??”

“happening, pete. wait—this happened to you?? what is this???????”

yall done fucked up and got bit by spiders peter had so carelessly brought back into the house

it was an adjustment to say the least

and this adjustment got a whole lot harder that one night...you can remember peter just...so upset

you tried to chase him out to make sure he was okay, but uncle ben told you to stay with your aunt

maybe if you’d have been there...it would’ve been different, but when the cops got to your house you were at a loss for words

peter was covered in his blood still

“hey, hey, just breathe, okay? it’s not your fault, peter. just hop in the shower, yeah? i’ll take care of your clothes”

when peter took your advice and you were left alone, you just cried, you cried until he finally found you curled up in a ball in your room

then he cried, you just hugged each other sobbing your eyes out

peter got distant for a while, which was rough since the two of your were mourning for your uncle and dealing with these newfound powers

sooner or later he came around and helped you out, designing webshooters and a suit for you

“we match?”

*sigh* “yeah...yeah, we match”

ah yes, spider-team

you really tripped out new york at first, they thought spider-man was a teleporter

peter was still talking about your dad, but you really didn’t care, uncle ben was always going to be who raised you

you and peter would be covered in bruises after going out

“uh—peter punched me”

“y/n???!!!”

“I PANICKED”

just being dumb scared teens that cant function to save their lives until they get a little bit lucky

seriously like, every big villain you guys fought was just the worst

peter didn’t help all the time, he was good at provoking them sometimes

“hey, spider-man, you mind shutting up for a minute? for my sake?”

“sorry, sorry, just couldn’t help myself!”

he gushed to you about gwen stacy, he actually dragged you to her apartment to be patched up by her SEVERAL TIMES

yadda yadda yadda peter graduated high school! how cool is that? but he was late (what a surprise) even though you put off spidering today just for this

but he made it and you clapped the loudest for him

“thats my brotherrrr!!!”

cute family picture! (aunt may printed a bunch of them and gave them to you two and peter pinned them to his wall)

you and peter actually have a lot of pictures of the two of you just goofing off

he has one of you stuck in a trash can that cracks him up every time

seeing harry osborn again after YEARS

“wow, y/n, last time i saw you i just thought you were peter’s annoying little sibling”

“aww, it’s good to see you, too”

electrooooo

this guy really worried you bc like, bzzzz shock

you and peter weren’t equipped for that

it took a while, but you were finally able to deal with that

and several other problems

including peter’s breakup, which was a whole ordeal of its own

*peter laying upside down on your bed* “i dont know, y/n, you know? i wanna be with her so bad, i love her...but her dad is haunting me”

*you, drawing on your notepad with your legs propped up on his* “yeah, makes sense”

you actually had to tap out during the end of electro, you were hurt pretty bad

“y/n, hey? yeah, you’re okay. stay here, just stay right there, i’m gonna be back for you”

*thumbs up to show youre still alive*

but when peter came back for you there was bad news, he’d lost gwen

he ripped his mask off and fell to his knees, you could barely move but you powered through it, giving him a hug while he cried

“we...we better get home before aunt may starts to worry”

she was at work, so you two had the place to yourselves to clean up and mourn before the official news was revealed

“i should have listened to her dad, y/n, this is all my fault”

he was a mess, you couldn’t bare seeing him like this. it’s been so long since you’d seen him like this

the funeral was rough, peter was grasping onto your shoulder the whole time

he insisted that he was going to stick behind and stay with gwen for a while

“okay, i’ll see you at home...love you”

“love you too”

you gave him a hug and left him to his business, the next few months you were the only spider-person operating in new york...until rhino popped up

“im coming with you”

“you’re sure?”

“yeah, im sure”

(these are kinda ass but anyways im tagging my marvel ppl even tho ik this isnt mcu so just ignore this post if you dont care, sorry!!)

taglist: @alwaysananglophile // @rorybutnotgilmore // @locke-writes // @sweetheartliz07 // @queen-destenie // @natasha-danvers // @allthecreativeonesaretaken // @frostedgiant // @praellee // @emygirl // @lotsoffandomrecs //

#peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #peter parker #spiderman #spiderman imagine #spiderman x reader #marvel #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #andrew garfield #amazing spider man #amazing spider man x reader #amazing spider man imagine #parker!reader #peter parker x sibling!reader #peter parker x sister!reader

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tearsofgrace · 4 years

Text

The Truth Hurts But Lies Hurt More

i know I KNOW that the next ep the difference of opinion is whether or not jack can be sacrificed (thanks mae and clara). BUT. DEAN WOULD NEVER FUCKING SACRIFICE JACK

so here. it’s a fix-it that is ALL OVER THE PLACE and very badly written i apologize in advance

wc: 1.3k, tags: almost love confessions, dean is a good dad, dean/cas are planning something idk

also on ao3

“Hey,” Caitlin said, her tone suddenly shifting. “That thing,” she paused, turning to face him. “Were you scared?”

Dean shook his head and smiled a little. At least this one he could answer honestly now. “Always am.” It wasn’t for him though. He was never scared for him. He was scared someone around him would get hurt. They would get hurt and it would be all his fault because he wasn’t good enough to protect them, to save them.

A smile slowly filled her face and she nodded before saying, “You have changed.” Dean stared back into her eyes, a question on his face. So she went on. “The old you never would have admitted that.”

“Well, I’m not sure that’s a good thing,” he said, mainly because he didn’t know how to respond. Yeah, he’d changed. After the sixth or seventh apocalypse it was kind of expected.

“I think so,” she said softly. “What do they say about getting older? You tell the truth more because you know that lies… they don’t make anything better.”

Dean gulped at that and looked at the floor. She wasn’t right. Lies made a helluva lot better. He pulled her into a hug, his mind spinning. There were so many lies in his life. And there were some he could come clean about, some he had to come clean about… but there were some he’d been waiting years to come out with. So maybe he could start there.

He didn’t know if when he got in the car, he could tell Sam the truth. Tell him that Jack had to die for this plan. And that was the worst part… even if he told Sam, he would just have to pile on more lies. Because this plan with Cas, the only way for it to work was if no one knew.

Lying to Billie, that had been easy. Maybe too easy. Because there was a small part of him, a part he hated more than anything, that hated Chuck just enough to make this seem okay. But that’s all it was. Just a small part for him to cling to when he lied to everyone around him except Cas. Because after everything, there was no way in hell that he was okay with Jack giving himself up. Or any of his family, for that matter. But especially Jack.

Jack was his son now. That was final. He wasn’t letting his kid sacrifice himself to save the world. And he knew it would be hard to convince Sam he was okay with it. To keep him in the dark. And yeah, he knew his brother would be pissed. But Cas had said it was for the best. And Cas didn’t like secrets… not after he’d lied to them for a whole year. So if Cas thought this was best then it was best.

He and Cas had made the plan quickly. Too quickly to talk about anything else. Which Dean was grateful for, because he’d been just about ready that night. Just about ready to bite the goddamn bullet already.

The phone wasn’t ideal. Hell, the fact this was about 8 years too late wasn’t ideal. But he had to. He was a grown ass adult, he could talk about his feelings.

Still, his mouth got a bit drier with every ring. This could ruin everything. Everything. And here he was about to confess when there wasn’t even something pushing him. When there was a world-ending crisis looming. This wasn’t the time.

He had decided to hang up when there was a beep and he heard a voice on the other side of the phone.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Cas,” he breathed. Because with those two words, everything seemed a bit more okay. This other way, this plan, it would work. Jack would be okay.

“Is everything okay? You never answered my text.”

“I know,” Dean said quietly.

“You have to tell him something. Or he’ll figure it out. You have to tell him, Dean.”

“I will, Cas,” he said forcefully, his heart pounding in his throat. He could do this. He’d just killed an ancient witch for fuck’s sake. He could do this.

There was silence on the other end. He could hear Cas’ breaths, could almost see his brow furrowing in concern. When Cas spoke again, his tone had softened and his voice was lower. “Why did you call me?”

His mind froze. He couldn’t do this. “One sec, I have to walk outside.” As the words left his mouth he rolled his eyes. He was really terrible at stalling when it counted.

“Okay?” Cas said.

Dean pushed through the glass doors of the lobby, his hands sweaty and shaky. When he got outside, he waved to Sam and gestured to the phone. Then he walked around behind the building and leaned heavily against the cool brick.

This was stupid. There was no way he could do this now. This wasn’t something that could just happen. He needed a big moment. He needed a push.

Lies… they don’t make anything better.

But this wasn’t a lie. Sam, Cas, Jack, no one had ever asked him, not outright anyway, about how he felt about Cas. None of them had ever asked him if he was just into chicks. So it wasn’t lying. But it still wasn’t making anything better. And if there was a chance that Cas-

No. He couldn’t let himself think that far ahead. That was hope. And hope leads to devastation every goddamn time.

“Are you still there?” Cas asked, the sound of a car door shutting ringing through the tiny speaker on his phone.

“Yeah, I- Do you need to go? You can go…” It would be so much easier if Cas just hung up. Because if he stayed on… Dean was going to do it.

“Why did you call me?” Cas sounded slightly more impatient now, but Dean sensed the underlying message. Cas knew him better than anyone. He knew he was deflecting. Knew he had a real reason for calling. And it didn’t matter what the angel was doing, for whatever reason he would stop and he would listen to Dean.

“I-” Dean took a deep breath and pushed himself against the brick wall. It was cold outside, but not unbearably. Still, a coldness was seeping through his limbs even as he started sweating more than before. “I want to tell you what I was going to tell you in Purgatory.”

“I heard your prayer,” Cas said quickly.

“No, I know that. But it wasn’t just that.” He might have imagined it, but he thought he heard Cas’ breathing pick up on the other end of the line. Maybe he’d already guessed what was coming next. It didn’t matter though. “I needed to tell you that I’m-”

The line went dead with a long beep. The kind that rings through a hospital room as a soul leaves the Earth.

“Cas?” he whispered. There was nothing on the other end, just silence.

His phone buzzed and he pulled it away from his ear. There was a new text from Cas.

There’s something you don’t know. We need to talk. In person.

“I’m in love with you,” Dean finished to himself. Then he slipped his phone back into his pocket.

Cas was lying to him again. And he’d known. He’d known what Dean was going to say and he didn’t want to hear it. Dean bit his lip and let his head fall against the brick wall.

Then he walked back to the car, trying to gather himself. Because he had to tell another lie. And he wasn’t ready for Sam to be pissed. Wasn’t ready for his brother to think that he wanted to sacrifice his son, when that wasn’t true. Couldn’t be true. And now Cas didn’t know either.

Even as he set out to come clean, his web of lies was just growing in strength, wrapping around him until he suffocated. Lies were for other people. They made it better for them. They had to.

But for him? Lies were stopping him from being with the love of his life. They were stopping him from being honest with his brother. They were setting him on the path to ruin relationships with every member of his family.

Lies didn’t make anything better.

tag list below :) ask to be added or removed!

@fandomstuff67 @menjiiii @witchyanaels @starlightcastiel @chaoticdean @larryforeveralways @samhainsam @flowersforcas @tlakhtwritesdestiel @wanderingcas @prayedtoyou @spooky-things-do-happen-dean @jayus-fandom-writer @cas-you-assbutt-dean-needs-you @gmotheemo @starrynightdeancas @radiantdean @piemaker-from-gallifrey @on-a-bender @eshaninjer @trasherasswood @dreadful-delight @feraladoration @trenchcas @contemplativepancakes @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @thefourthheadofcerberus @seffersonjtarship

#spn spoilers #spn fix it #spn 15.16 #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfic #spn fan fiction #destiel fanfic #deancas fic #destiel fic #destiel ficlet #my writing

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soulwillower · 4 years

Text

if you’re too shy • richie tozier

(richie tozier x cam girl!reader smut)

[based off the song if you’re too shy (let me know) by the 1975.]

requested: i can't find it lol BUT 🤍anon (i think) requested a fic based off of the 1975′s new song, if you’re too shy let me know !!

warnings: swearing, alcohol use, switch!richie kinda, smut, unprotected sex, a tiny bit of cumplay i guess, mentions of phone sex, oral sex (female receiving), face sitting, a bit of dirty talking, UNEDITED as always

also i wrote this in a different style than usual and idk if i like it much but u can let me know what u guys think,, if its weird i can go in and change the povs since its 3rd person richie

[losers + reader are 21+ in this.]

7.4k words lol

♡

i see her online all the time i'm trying not to stare down there while she talks about her tough time

"h-hey, man, who's that?" the voice from right next to richie makes him damn near leap out of his seat. it makes beverly chuckle a bit as she takes a bite of her apple, shaking her head. "it’s nobody." richie says quickly as he tilts his phone towards his chest and shoots a toothy grin to bill. his friend raises his full eyebrows, "wh-what, so n-nobody was sending you n-nudes?"

"something like that." richie mutters, stomach fluttering as the image flashes in his mind’s eye - the curves, the dark red lace, the plush skin painting a perfect scene in richie’s vivid imagination.

richie looks back down at the photo. his his thumbs hover over the profile picture; he'd found her originally on his instagram explore page, the photos teasing and immediately he had to know more. y/n.

and then a few days later, he'd subscribed to her only fans, which he never quite thought he'd do with anyone, but he couldn't help it. she was so enticing, so perfect and so alluring. it was the playfulness that pulled him in; and he swears he's never lusted after somebody like he has with her. it was kind of starting to freak him out.

"is that o-onlyfans?" bill says and richie shoves bill's nosy face off his shoulder with a panicked grunt. "fuck off, mushmouth."

bill laughs and stan and bev perk up from across the table, staring at the two, interests suddenly piqued. "did you subscribe to a girl's onlyfans, rich?" stan says with a grin, setting his pen down on his notebook.

richie just smirks and wiggles his brows a bit, enough to confirm his question. bill chuckles from next to richie.

"let me see." bev says, wiggling her manicured nails in a "gimme" motion. richie hands his phone over with red cheeks. normally he wouldn't care about his friends discovering he's paid money just to see a hot chick's bod, but this was different. for some reason, he felt connected to her. god, that thought made him want to slam his head against a brick wall. she doesn't even know him, for all he knows she could live in the middle of.... montana, or like, ohio.

bev whistles and stan nods, "if i looked like that," bev mumbles as she tosses richie's phone back towards him, "i'd do that too. mad props."

noises of agreement fill the table but richie's just looking at the small smirk that peeks from the corner of one of the photos and he can't help but wonder what her eyes are like in real life. he wishes he could meet her.

girl of your dreams, you know what i mean there's something 'bout her stare that makes you nervous and you say things that you don't mean

it's a cold day when bill and richie find themselves stumbling in to the coffee shop for a drink. bill's muttering about some girl in his creative writing class that gave him head when richie's eyes catch a figure so familiar yet foreign that he stops dead in his tracks. bill turns to him, face confused. "r-richie, what's wrong w-with you?"

richie shakes his head, stammering in disbelief, "that-that's her, bill. the girl, from onlyfans. y/n." he whispers, gesturing with his eyes towards the girl working the register.

bill’s jaw goes slack, green eyes raking over her form and igniting richie’s stomach with boiling rage. as if bill’s doing something that only richie is allowed to do – as if they're not both being total creeps.

“h-holy sh-shit. she’s b-beautiful.” bill mumbles. richie elbows him in the ribs, shooting him a glare that prompts an eye-roll from his auburn haired friend.

richie swallows and watches, his throat feeling like sandpaper as she laughs at something the customer in front of them said. bill nudges richie, "i-i'm gonna get a s-seat. t-talk to her."

he winks and grins as he walks away, leaving richie with his reckless self. he thinks he's sweating through his sweater as he walks up, finding himself face-to-face with her. "hi, how can i help you?" she asks, giving him a smile

holyshitholyshitholyshit.

he might've just came right then and there. okay, he's gotta say something cool, something smooth. don't be a dumbass, tozier.

"howdy, sugar. i'll have my coffee like i like my women." his mouth blurts as his brain sirens go off, PUT ON THE BRAKES, RICH – "a hot shock to the lap.”

she glares at him, cheeks light pink and eyebrows pulled together in annoyance and yep, richie's probably going to get hard because of that look but he's also probably going to toss his body off a bridge because what the fuck, tozier?

he can hear bill laughing quietly from a ways away and he quickly shakes his head, muttering quietly, "jail. jail, richard."

"funny." she deadpans, clearly not amused. because of course she isn't.

"sorry, i'll have a black coffee, y/n." he mutters, eyes widening to himself when he realizes she was not wearing a goddamn name tag and he just said her name.

this is a disaster. she gives him a bewildered, slightly creeped out look and if richie wasn't panicking, he'd gape at how she still managed to be effortlessly gorgeous even now.

he sighs, shaking his head, the door of the cafe opening and blowing a gust of frigid air through the warm room. fitting - douche chill.

"look, toots, i don't want this to be weird. i- um, i recognize you." he says, cheeks aflame. she raises a brow, face straight for a few moments, unsure what he means.

it's not long after when recognition flashes over her own face - must have ruled out coffee shop, university and her local gym - and she nods with a tight, almost uncomfortable smile.

he tries not to think of the livestream he watched last night where she showed all her new gifts and modeled lingerie, and how he’d spent his time to himself with his left hand immediately after watching. his cheeks are red with shame.

"okay." is all she says, writing down a scribbled order on the coffee cup. her eyes shoot back up and give richie a once-over that really makes his fingers itch - god, why did he have to be this way?

he almost runs his fingers through his curls but decides against it, eyes opting to focus on her own gorgeous eyes as they meet him. "i'm impressed i have a fan who looks like you, i must say. even if you are a complete jack ass." she purrs and his jaw nearly smacks the floor at its velocity as it flies open.

"what's that supposed to mean?" he asks then with a small grin, flattered at the tiniest of compliments that just barely, in his mind, eclipsed the insult that he so very much deserved.

"i'm saying you're kind of a dick. it's too bad, because you're real cute." she says casually, handing him his change. his stomach flips and butterflies release in his chest, a feeling that he's not felt in almost five years.

but damn, of course he messed up - he got the chance to talk to the hottest girl on earth and he started it by saying an awful joke that wasn't funny at all. of course she though he was a dick, he is one.

he's shocked, though, as he waits for his coffee with bill, who is still snickering into his hand every few moments, to find his coffee cup with extra sharpie scribbled on the white paper. a name.

y/n. and below it is a phone number with a small heart scribbled, and richie can't tell if it's a seven or a one but he figures he'd try every phone number in the damn state if it meant he could fucking text her. holy fuck.

"maybe i would like you better if you took off your clothes i'm not playing with you, baby i think that you should give it a go" she said, "maybe i would like you better if you took off your clothes i wanna see, and stop thinking if you're too shy, then let me too shy, then let me know"

he didn't text her for two days and three hours. yes, he counted it. no, he won't think about why he was obsessing over the numbers - but since the time he'd finally had found the courage to text her today, things have escalated proficiently.

she'd just mentioned how hot it was in her apartment since her heater had gone haywire - even though the winter winds were cold, she'd claimed she was burning up in what she was wearing.

and the mere mention of her clothing had sent richie into somewhat of a spiral, spending at least seven minutes glued to his phone and scrolling through the saved album he had of those photos of her that she'd posted; his sweatpants getting increasingly tight and his palm suddenly aching to slip through the fabric and find some release.

but, in true trashmouth fashion, he apparently needed that sweet, sweet rejection from a hot cam girl he'd somehow weaseled into getting the number of in order to wank off properly, so he types out a text and hits send immediately.

what are you wearing?

and then he almost vomits in embarrassment – what was she going to think? did he just royally fuck up? oh god, he’s going to have to shave his head and move to canada.

his phone buzzes and he nearly passes out when he lays his eyes upon the image attached – there her body is again, curvy and full and beautiful, her skin glowing in the fading light of what he assumes is her bedroom. and with it:

this. what are you wearing, rich?

and then he pulls his gaze from his phone and stands, breathing heavily because holy shit.

he's gotten nudes before, but.... none from someone like her. holy shit.

he walks to his bathroom, splashing water on his beet-red cheeks. he swallows, staring at himself in the mirror. fuck.

he slaps his cheek once, then winking at himself in attempt to muster any sliver of confidence. and then he snaps a picture, only in his boxers.

and then he has to physically refrain from making a joke about wearing the same lingerie set as her, instead sending a flirty text that he knows any other woman would blush at. he just doesn’t know with y/n, and maybe that’s why he loves it so much. she's keeping him on his toes.

you like what you see?

he sends that one afterwards, shaking his head because oh my god, she's going to respond with "no" and then bill him $40 for the nude she sent him. not that he wouldn't pay, but...

his phone dings and he nearly breaks an ankle running to his desk.

yeah, i do. but maybe i'd like you better without any clothes on.

he almost yells out loud at this, but he has a feeling that waking up stan in the middle of the night would not be optimal after their 'roommate agreement' they'd made that explicitly states richie cannot scream between 1am - 9am. so instead he smirks to himself, face turning red.

he's getting harder by the moment, and as he stares at that picture she'd sent earlier, he lets out a breathy groan. the lace....

we could face time yk

or we don't have to.

he reads her words in live time, watching the thought bubble appear again and watching it like a hawk. he can just imagine her sitting there with a small smirk as another text comes in and he almost groans as his dick twitches.

like, if you're too shy or something ;)

he stares at the screen for two seconds at that sinful photo she'd sent just before those texts and then sighs, shaking his head and pressing the green face-time call button.

i've been wearing nothing every time i call you and i'm starting to feel weird about it sometimes it's better if you think about it this time, i think i'm gonna drink through it

three days later, richie was undeniably and unequivocally drunk. but, as he's just explained about three times to mike, he knows that it is just easier to not think right, especially about her, right now - and the best way to do that is by getting so piss drunk that even if he tried to "hit her line," as he so eloquently put it, his dick would be too whiskey'd out to make a full appearance.

it's for the best. mike had fake gagged at richie’s cadence with a laugh, but richie was dead serious because he was starting to think he had a real issue.

it was obviously just a fun thing to do between two near-strangers, but he'd found that he was starting to almost pavlov-style condition himself into getting turned on every time the name y/n came across his recent texts or face times, and it was getting to be too much.

especially when her post notification popped up and he cracked a fatty in the middle of his econ lecture. christ, the point of elasticity of markers in the u.s. was not something he pictured when he usually had to quell a pitch in his tent. so yeah, it's too much.

because yes, he loves her fucking body and wants nothing more than her, but in truth he longs for the feeling of her skin against his; to touch her, to kiss her, to make her his. all the time.

but yet, it was just a good way to get off without all the strings and ribbons and yarn and whatever the fuck her soft-looking knit bra is made from attached.

so much for not thinking about her.

but i see her online (and don't think that i should be calling) all the time (i just wanted a happy ending) and i'm pretending i don't care about her stare while she's giving me a tough time

it’s noon the next day and he's laying in (for some reason) stan's bed instead of his own with a blinding, mind-splitting headache and an insatiable craving for a cheeseburger, eyes squinting in lust and something akin to shame as he watches the livestream y/n had just started. she’s in a slip – a very thin, silk and see through slip and it makes him more frustrated than he’s willing to admit.

as he stares at her smooth skin and wonders how it'd be to touch it all, her eyes catch something in the chat and she smiles coyly. "hi, rich." she purrs and richie almost chokes - holy shit, she saw him join.

"do you like my gift i just got?" she asks coyly, snapping the straps of her bra with a small smile and he stiffens almost instantly, thinking of how many times he'd seen her skin in videos and photos that were just for him.

how she'd moaned his name two nights ago on face time, her fingers buried inside herself slightly off-camera. and oh, how he wishes he could see all of her, but they'd not crossed that line yet - anything they'd done hadn't been yet proven visually, only from facial expressions, noises, and the brutal honestly of being together through face time.

he wants her so fucking bad, he needs her like he needs water to drink and air to breathe and it's murdering him as he watches her react to the chat of her livestream, playing with the hem of her black lace panties.

god, he needs a cold shower or something if he's going to get anything done today.

and then he's calling her an a few hours after her stream ends because he just can't wait - he feels his stomach twist with shame as he realizes he should not be doing such a certainly a terrible idea. but she answers after three rings. "richie." her siren voice purrs and he literally feels himself fall deeper into the pit.

"hi there, toots. got any coffee in the pot for me?" he asks, sounding surprisingly eloquent compared to how she normally makes him feel.

she hums in fake thought, and it makes richie grin. she's fucking adorable. "come to the shop, i have my break in ten." and then she hangs up. he sighs, rubbing his face with his hand as he shakes his head. he's utterly fucked.

he's there in record time, a smirk plastered on his face as he walks in and sees her sitting at a table, lookin' all pretty. just for him.

"what made you think of calling?" she says in loo of a greeting. he sits across from her and wills his eyes to meet hers. "nothin' toots." he says with a half shrug, taking a sip of the coffee placed in front of him that has the the name 'dick' written on it in her handwriting. he rolls his eyes affectionately.

"oh, so it wasn't anything to do with my livestream this morning?" she asks with a look, eyeing him. her eyes are swimmable, they hold so many stories and secrets and maybe richie's just hungover, but he's feeling very flustered.

"we-w, uh, no. what... what are you talking about?" he rolls his eyes at himself inwardly, cursing stuttering bill and his contagious speech patterns. "-i don't know what you're talking about, sugar." he recovers fairly smoothly, if he may toot his own horn. and honestly, he can pretend not to care as long as he doesn't look into that goddamn stare of hers.

he chuckles awkwardly, cheeks aflame as she stares at him with a bored look and a small hum. she still looks perfect and he's even more nervous now, because oh god, oh fuck, he's gonna get slapped in the face by y/n.

it was pretty unspoken since they'd started doing... stuff... that richie probably still watched her content online, but she'd never fully addressed it until today during the livestream in front of a thousand others.

he's choking on his spit in shame but then a smile splits her face and richie's sure he's suffocated on his own saliva and gone to a sinner's heaven. or maybe hell.

"oh, richie, i'm just teasing you. look at your face!" she says with an airy laugh, pinching his cheeks and making him want to shrivel up as he turns even redder. what the fuck? "-so cute. alright, i've got to get back to work. i'll see you around, rich." she says with a wink, taking her coffee and tossing it into the trash bin as she stalks towards the employee back room.

he gapes as he watches her leave and then gets up and makes his way to the exit, clutching the coffee like it was trying to jump out of his grasp and make a run for it. god, she's too much.

"maybe i would like you better if you took off your clothes i'm not playing with you, baby i think that you should give it a go" she said, "maybe i would like you better if you took off your clothes i wanna see, and stop thinking If you're too shy, then let me too shy, then let me know"

"-babe, you'll have to try harder than that." richie says with a chuckle, watching his phone screen as the beautiful girl on face time gives him a sly, challenging look. she's in a green lace bra, one richie's not seen yet and he can feel himself stiffen as she absently trails her fingers over her chest.

they'd been much closer over the last week since he last saw her in person, enough so that in the three-is weeks of knowing her, he's positive he's head over ass for her in a way that he shouldn't be. and yet, she still comes back every time, still texts him and answers those face time calls. he's baffled, honestly.

"i know you hate me because i'm right." he adds, not even totally remembering what point he's trying to prove as y/n shifts back a bit and more of her body is revealed, her hair glowing dimly in the soft lighting of her room. his eyes run over her curves, her full thighs and stomach and hips that fill over her panties and he almost groans.

"whatever, maybe i'd like you better if you took off your clothes." she says coyly. and richie's half flattered, as usual, but the more he thinks of it the more deflated he feels. he kind of thought they were growing something more than just getting each other off over face time like horny fifteen year olds. he grins nonetheless.

"you say that a lot, you know." richie says breathlessly as he stares at her. she tilts her head ever so slightly and grins, biting her lip as her eyes move around her screen with a conflicted look. "-why?" he adds.

she hums again.

"well. okay, so there's the visual world - like, the internet, onlyfans, instagram- it tells us that everything is amazing. and we should want everything. and it makes us yearn for everything that we don’t have and everything that’s unobtainable. you know, love, a relationship beyond physical. and even physical, it's different when it's online."

her words confuse him much more than they aid him. "you think... that because of the internet, love is unattainable?" he asks with furrowed brows, unsure how somebody so perfect and, quite frankly, lovable, would think that.

"it is for me." she says it with a small sense of forlorning but mostly it's whispered. enough that richie's heart skips a beat and he's, for the first time, not having a hard time keeping his eyes on her face instead of her body.

"what?" he asks dumbly. she just laughs, shaking her head and he stares at her on his tiny phone screen in the dark.

"that’s something that, you know. in real life, person to person, it has a lot of connotations of... trust and vulnerability and connection. doing what i do- and what we're doing… on the internet - it has the opposite of those connotations. like, before you, i didn't- i didn't really do this, i just was selling stuff. because guys don't want to fuck the girl who sells her body online. and you know now, i want to..." she trails off and richie doesn't dare interrupt her because he thinks she's about to say something he's wanted to tell her for a while now.

"i don't know, i guess. exploring someone's body in physical presence isn't seen at all as voyeuristic, or anything apart from...like, an intimate exchange." she says it casually, brushing hair from her face and shit, richie's swooning. he's in fucking love, he knows it, because y/n is so smart and intelligent and he's so fucking trashed for her. as she speaks, her hands move and distract him slightly from her body, doused in blue light from the screen and splayed out for him and only him on her phone camera.

the soft lace on her hips and chest make his body stiffen and it causes him to suppress a groan as she sighs, but richie knows he can’t screenshot this heavenly sight because she’ll definitely notice and she can probably already tell he’s having a hard time not staring at her alluring figure as she talks.

"-whereas, you know. as soon as it happens on the internet, it becomes kinky and cam-girly. and, you know, that's fine. i love doing it. it's just, i'm not sure where the authentic communication even is now. or if i get to have a happy ending." she says and he finally sees her blush for the first time.

he wishes he was there with her, he wishes that he could touch the redness on her cheeks and caress her curvy body and taste her skin on his tongue. he wants to feel himself inside her, he wants to be with her and kiss her lips and yet he can't, so he sighs and shifts in his position, moving to turn up the brightness of his phone so he can see better.

"shouldn't you get to be the one to decide that, doll?" is all he adds. because he feels kind of lost and just as confused as y/n is with this.

he's starting to feel weird about it, because... is this authentic? what makes things like hookups or whatever the hell they've been doing authentic? shouldn't this be easy? it's just phone sex, phone sex with a really hot girl.

a girl who is complex and alive and full of sincerity and richie is definitely falling harder than he should.

she just sighs but makes no other comment. and then they just stare at each other, richie's face illuminated in his dark room by the phone's reflection.

well, i found a motel it looked like the bins i think there'd been a murder so we couldn't get in i need to get back i've gotta see the girl on the screen

"come over and watch a movie with me." he says into the phone, biting his lip. the silence from the other end of the line is deafening as she makes her decision, because they both know she's not about to come over just to watch the shining or psycho.

they've never done that before, and richie knows if she does come over, then whatever they have will crash down in a fiery mess. and he hates how excited that makes him as he waits in silence for her to drop the ball. so to speak.

"okay." she says, sounding shocked herself, and richie can't contain the excited grin from eclipsing his face. "yeah?" he asks breathlessly, and she's quiet for a little longer. "yeah. text me your address."

she hangs up after that, and richie's thumbs shake as he types his address and sprints out to where stan, mike, ben, and bill are playing video games in he and stan's living room, wheezing at all of them to get out because someone fucking unbelievable is about to walk through that door.

she's there about an hour later, cheeks flushed when richie opens his door, looking just as nervous and flustered. "hi, chee." she says breathlessly, staring up at him with those goddamn eyes, the eyes that pulled him in the first time. his stomach flips in affection at her nickname and he offers her a drink as she takes in his shitty apartment. he wonders briefly if stan ended up buying that rosé that he'd given him shit for considering, and then prays that stan will stay the night elsewhere.

she's already pouring out glasses of wine when he snaps back to reality, and he grins at her, mumbling in thanks as she passes him a glass that's certainly poured almost to the brim.

"what are we watching, then?" she asks coyly, lifting a brow at him. his cheeks are red, but he tugs her arm down the hall towards his room with a grin, their wine sloshing from their glasses as they move erratically.

"we're watching psycho, y/n/n." he says as he pulls her into his room, glancing back to see she's already swallowed down almost half her glass, a lipstick stain on the side of it. faintly he knows stan will be frustrated if richie doesn't clean that off, but he's more distracted by her lips.

"i like psycho." she says with a nod and a cheeky grin, "the whole 'voyeuristic gaze' thing with hitchcock." she mumbles, and richie recalls faintly learning about that in one of his film classes freshman year and he grins as he takes a hefty gulp of his rosé, figuring he's already given himself away and if she's going to do that, he can too.

he hums, setting down his glass and grabbing hers to set it besides his on the bedside table. he turns around, intending on grabbing his laptop so they could watch the film, but she's so much closer that he'd expected and her hands fall onto his shoulders and he almost shits himself.

unpleasant, but honest. just richie's style.

"can i try something?" she asks with a grin, and richie nods, knowing that she could do anything to him and he'd gladly let it happen and most likely pay out of pocket for the damages afterwards.

and then she's pulling him from her grip on his shoulders, her lips sliding against his and making him grip her hips. his mind almost explodes at with y/n-sensory-overload because he feels her everywhere - on his lips, against his hands, on his shoulders, and pressing against his front.

her lips taste like chamomile and rosé.

she thinks his lips taste like vanilla and cigarette smoke, just as she'd always imagined. he feels so real, pressed against her lips and his body against hers, and she sighs as her tongue slips into his mouth because god, she's needed him for so long. and now she has him.

his hands move, touching every inch of her as their tongues fight for dominance. she pulls back, smirking as she gently pushes him onto his mattress, sliding onto his lap smoothly afterwards, grinding her hips against his slowly.

the moan he emits is heavenly and she could cry because she finally gets to hear it in person and not through the crackling static frequency of the phone.

so she grinds down on him again, eager to feel all of him. he's hardening against her core and she whimpers into his mouth in need as his fingers slip under her top, rubbing circles on her bare skin and making her shiver. she's noticed to this gentleness; it was rare when she did get to enjoy the comfort of another body with her own, and when she did they were hardly half as loving or caring as him.

she's desperate now, she needs to feel him inside her after all these weeks of teasing and waiting, so her hand snakes down to palm him through his sweats. he lets out a small groan into her mouth, biting her lip as he pulls back slightly. their eyes meet and his are hooded with lust, lips parted as she pumps him slowly from outside his sweats. his hips buck up lightly into her palm and she smiles gently, kissing him slowly.

"let me make you feel good, y/n." he mutters, eyes pleading as he stares up at her. her stomach flutters with butterflies and she nods, shocked that he wants to pleasure her.

he gently pulls her off his lap until she's laying on his mattress and he stares down at her, biting his lip as he takes her in. he can't fucking believe she's really here. she slowly pulls off her top, leaving her in her bra and jeans as she stares up at him with a wry, seductive smile. then she unzips her jeans and slides them off, leaving her in his favorite set of hers - black, lacy, and revealing. she looks utterly stunning and he groans, his hands falling to run over the skin, tracing the lace on her breasts. her cheeks are red as she gazes up at him.

"touch me, richie." she orders and he almost groans as he drags his lips over the valley of her breasts, sucking on the soft flesh and admiring the splashes of budding purple and pink that he's created. her heartbeat is quick under his fingertips and he moves to unclip her bra, kissing her skin as the fabric falls away.

she's slightly cold in his room, and goosebumps appear over her flesh as richie leans to catch a nipple in her mouth, flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud. she lets out a quiet whine that has richie rutting into the mattress next to her, his fingers trailing down to dance at the waistline of her underwear.

and then he's pulling aside her panties, his fingers running up and down her slick folds and making her jump in lust. he can't wait, just like her, and he's rubbing her clit teasingly as she pleads, "chee, please." her eyes are eyes closed in bliss as his finger slips inside her, crooking slightly as he moves it. he presses his lips to the skin of her breast, pumping his finger and then soon adding another, crooking them both in a way that makes her let out guttural moans of pleasure. he marks her breasts with littered pink and red marks, smiling to himself at her figure.

she can't help but swoon as she watches him, his hair in his face slightly until she brushes it back, his fingers curling inside her and making her gasp, pleasure coursing through her body. his thumb softly comes up to rub her neglected clit and she grabs his shoulders to steady herself, the pleasure almost too much.

she's honestly slightly shocked - knowing richie as little as she really does outside of the literal booty calls at two in the morning and the accumulative forty five minutes they'd spent in person, she'd expected him to be... well, good. just good. because there's no way someone so funny, caring, and smart could also be that good in the sheets.

but right now, he's making her see goddamn stars.

"i've been wanting to touch you for so long, sugar." he mutters, eyes raking over her figure as her breath comes in stuttering gasps. she watches him with blown-wide eyes as his demeanor changes right before her, making her fall apart at his fingertips.

"that feel good, honey?" he asks, smirking as she whimpers, clenching around his fingers. "yes, god you feel so good." she utters, making him groan in approval from where he's sat back, watching her face contort in pleasure. she lets out another moan and richie stares at her body, watching his fingers as they fuck into her. he can't take it, then.

"will you sit on my face, doll?" he blurts, and she nearly yelps out as his fingers leave her. it's abrupt, but she's started to notice that this is how he operates - impulsivity is his second nature. and she loves it.

her face burns as she nods, the thought of richie under her making her whimper with anticipation. "yes, richie, please." she moans out again and he's grinning, laying back on the mattress with a wink. "c'mere, need to taste that pretty little pussy." he mutters and she feels herself clench around nothing, desperate for him as she swings a leg around to straddle his head.

immediately, his hands wrap around her thighs, thumbs smoothing over her stretch marks as he stares up at her, eyes glinting with desire. slowly, his finger pulls the seat of her lace panties to the side and his breath hits her bare, throbbing pussy, making her breath hitch. she cards her fingers through his hair and lowers herself slightly, gasping in shock as his tongue darts out to lick a bold stripe up from her entrance to her clit.

"chee," she moans out, tightening her grip in his hair and sending a groan through his body that reverberates and makes her shiver. his lips attach to her clit and fiery pleasure snakes through her body making her legs shake, a moan escaping her lips immediately. he sucks lightly before releasing to swirl his tongue, her moans making richie impossibly harder through his sweats.

"so good, rich." she mutters and he groans, tongue spreading her wet folds and slowly prodding at her entrance, dipping in slowly before pulling out, teasing her.

she can't help but grind down slightly, making richie grip her tightly, tongue sliding into her again and making her yelp. "you taste so good, baby." he mutters lowly before slowly reattaching himself to her heat, her eyes rolling slightly at the sensation as he fucks his tongue into her. one of his hands snakes up to her ass, gripping it tightly and then slapping it, the stinging pleasure making her buck her hips against him, emitting a hiss from her.

"rich, i-" she cuts herself off with a sharp gasp, the pleasure from richie's mouth making it increasingly harder to speak. her toes curl and her head tilts back as his tongue flicks over her clit, teeth grazing it slightly and making her buck.

she's embarrassingly close already, and judging by the way richie's smirking under her, he can tell. "please, please." she mutters, hips rocking on him as his tongue swirls, nipping softly at her clit and making her cry out. "please, make me cum, 'chee." she mutters and his tongue moves quicker, hand slapping her ass again.

and then she's clenching her thighs on either side of him and grinding down as she hits her peak, moaning quietly as she shakes in pleasure on top of him. he rides through her high, lapping at her and pulling away with a grin as she moans his name dejectedly. she's worn out from the best orgasm she's ever had and he gently nudges her so he slides in between her thighs, her back now on the mattress. he kisses her cheek and she keens quietly.

"fuck me, richie." she mutters, eyes still closed. his eyes snap to hers, surprised at the dominance in her voice after how she was two seconds ago.

he moans quietly, kissing her deeply as he ruts against her and relishes in the feeling. he's pulling off his sweats and boxers in record time and then he's pumping himself as he grips her hips, turning her so she's on her stomach, ass propped up slightly. his hand runs over the smooth skin of her ass, snapping the elastic of her panties and making her moan quietly.

then he's lining up her hips with his, pulling aside the lacy seat of her underwear to press against her entrance. he waits a moment as he leans to press a soft kiss to her spine, slowly easing into her. she moans loudly as he eases in, her face pressing against the pillows. she smiles as she smells the scent she'd just recently come to know as his, his cock stretching her and filling her up fully as he buries himself to the hilt inside her.

"so tight, sugar." he mutters and she whimpers, getting antsy as she adjusts to his size. "richie, please, need it so bad." she mutters, bucking her hips back against him in need.

"say that again." he mutters, sounding strangled, and she grins into the sheets. "please fuck me, richie. need it so bad, need to feel you ruin me." she whimpers, chest fluttering in anticipation. his hands grip her hips as he pulls out of her slowly, almost as slowly as he entered, before stopping almost all the way out. she moans loudly in pleasure as he pushes back in, snapping his hips against hers and filling her completely.

she briefly thanks god that his roommate seemed to be out for the night as she moans his name loud enough for the neighbors to hear.

he sets a brutal pace, his cock thick as it fills her up and makes her toes curl. he pushes her hair away from her neck and presses kisses to it as he hits a spot inside her that makes her scream his name. his fingers move to pinch her nipples, rolling them as he fucks into her.

she's completely blissed out at the feeling of him inside her, so glad that he invited her over and that they finally get to touch each other. "rich, oh my god." she emits, eyes squinted shut in complete pleasure.

"fuck, toots, takin' me so well, aren't you?" he asks, hands kneading her ass before slapping her right ass cheek harshly, making her arch her back. at the new angle they both let out a groan and richie knows he'll fucking cum too soon if they stay like this, so without warning he pulls out completely.

y/n whines, breathing heavily as his hands come to flip her around. now on her back, they make eye contact and she bites her lip, pulling him in for a searing kiss that knocks the wind out of both of them. images of richie in his room alone, snaps and late-night face times play through her mind as he grips her and slides her hips down towards him on the mattress and lines himself to her again, pulling her legs up so they're against his chest before pushing in.

he gives no time to adjust to this angle and it makes her moan loudly as he hits a spot deep inside her that pulls her closer and closer to her second orgasm.

his name leaves her cherry lips like a mantra and he can't stop staring at her as he fucks her into the mattress - the way her tits bounce with his brutal pace, the way her face is twisted in pleasure, the way she clenches and spasms around his cock.

one hand grips her breast, rubbing her nipple with his thumb and forefinger as he kisses her again, addicted to her taste as he feels himself coming closer and closer to the edge.

"chee, fuck, right there." she moans out and he groans in pleasure, the feeling of her walls clenching around him making his hips stutter. he keeps his thrusts up, though, as her fingernails rake down his back leaving small trails of burning pleasure in their wake.

her skin is covered with a sheen line of sweat as she looks up at him, hair wild and lips kiss-bruised. "god, don't stop, 'm gonna cum." she mutters and he snaps his hips harder, eager to make her cum so hard all she can think of is his name.

he moves a hand down to rub at her clit and he moans into her neck as she clenches hard around him, her hips bucking spastically. he can tell she's about to cum, and after a hard thrust, she does for the second time, spasming around him and sending waves of pleasure up his body. she's moaning his name, pulling him closer in bliss as she becomes sensitive and god damn it, she's so fucking beautiful.

"please cum, richie." she whispers against his lips, "please." and then at her will, he's spilling into her, hips stuttering as he pushes as deep into her as he can, loving how she clenches in sensitivity around him. he stays inside her for a moment as they breathe, coming down from their highs and eyes closed as they take in what just happened.

"holy shit." he says because yeah, that's like all he can say right now because he just got to fuck y/n and she's kissing his fucking collarbones right now and its making him blush and his heart flutter.

"that was...incredible." she whispers against his skin and he can feel her smile against his skin. it makes him feel all soft inside as he pulls out of her and flops next to her, kissing her forehead.

his fingers flutter over her sensitive core, smiling as he sees how wrecked she is, some cum dripping down her leg. he then soothes over the lace panties, patting her lightly and kissing her red cheek.

"rich?" she asks, making him look up at her. he hums in question, pushing some of her hair back. "can we still watch the movie?"

his heart swells and he grins, kissing her softly. "of course, doll. you're too cute." he says with a wink, making her roll her eyes. he hands her his shirt and then pulls sweats on himself, mumbling "stay here" and padding out to the kitchen to get her water and snacks, then returning minutes later to see her holding his phone in her clutch with a smirk.

"what're you doing?" he asks with a smile, but she shakes her head, making grabby hands for him and the snacks. so he laughs, cuddling up with the girl of his dreams and watching a flick, falling sleep with tangled limbs and a lipstick-stained neck.

and after she leaves the next morning with a kiss and a wink, he checks his phone and smirks to himself as he notices the lock screen she'd apparently made last night while he was making snacks.

a photo of her in his bed, wearing his shirt, a soft smirk on her face, neck littered in budding hickeys and a hand between her thighs next to her black lace panties.

god, she's going to be the absolute death of him.

//tag list: @gabiatthedisco @blisshemmings @simplesammyx @dickology64 @clownsloveyou @emnotm @moon-shine-baby @toziershmozier @daughter-of-the-stars11 @lets-vibe-bro @trashedfortozier @oceandog13 @beauregard-s@finnskindofwoman @kait-tozier @upamongthestarss \\

#richie tozier x reader #richie tozier smut #richie has adhd #losers x reader #losers club x reader

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verai-marcel · 4 years

Text

Do What I Dare (RDR2 Fanfic, Biker AU, Arthur x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: You've been dating Arthur for about four months now, and if you hadn't seen that photo of his biker gang, you wouldn't have guessed that he was once an outlaw. He's so gentle, polite, and kind to you that you didn't believe he had a wild side. A picnic out in the hills proves you wrong.

Author’s Notes: Many thanks to @reddeaddufus for this amazing idea! So timeline-wise, this is happening during that six months when Journalist!Reader is still living in her apartment but she and Charles are already together. Cosplay!Reader & Javier got together a couple of weeks before this. And of course, the title is an obscure lyric; try and guess the song!

Tags: outdoor sex, mild exhibitionism, rough sex, dirty talk, some name calling, medium honor Arthur

Find the AO3 link here, sweetheart.

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Arthur had stopped by as he did every morning before opening, and after hearing that you were opening alone, immediately began helping you set up chairs and tables. He really was a great guy.

Usually Charles was here earlier than you, but this morning his lady friend was feeling ill, so he had texted you to ask if you could open up without him. You hoped everything was okay. At this point, you had met both Charles’ and Javier’s girlfriends and they were both nice people, though their personalities couldn’t be farther apart. One was bold and unafraid while the other was shy and had a bit of social anxiety. They were both fun to hang out with whenever the boys got together to talk about marketing.

While Arthur was handing you the mugs and glasses from the dishwasher so you could put them away, he spoke.

“You free on Sunday?”

“Yup! What’re you planning?” you asked.

“Well, the weather’s s’pposed to be nice, so I thought maybe we’d go on a bike ride up the ridgeway.”

“That sounds awesome! Should we make it a picnic?”

“Sure.” He paused before looking at you a bit shyly. “Can ya make some of those cucumber sandwiches?” he asked quietly.

“Of course,” you said happily.

“Thank you.”

You smiled. Arthur had never stopped being polite to you, even after dating him for the past four months. Together, the two of you finished getting everything ready just in time.

“Lookin’ forward to Sunday,” Arthur said as he grabbed his jacket. He gave you a quick kiss on the cheek as you wrapped your arms around him for a quick hug before he left for work. Watching him go, you smiled as you opened the cafe to the public.

***

The Ridgeway was a scenic road that went north and south through the state, with the most beautiful part being, in your humble opinion, the section nearby that weaved past the lake and through some of the forest east of town. There were several viewpoints along the path for tourists to stop and gawk at the view, but the locals knew that the best part was going off the Ridgeway onto random roads to find secluded dead ends that then led to even better views, untainted by signs and trash.

You were clinging onto Arthur as he wove his way on his Indian Scout motorcycle. Remembering the first time he had shown you his bike, you smiled. At that time, you had been dating for a month and had never seen him drive anything; he had always met you somewhere or you came to his place. When he had asked if you wanted to go on a bike ride, you assumed he had meant a bicycle. Boy, were you wrong. When he had rolled up to your apartment on his matte black motorcycle and handed you a helmet, you had been shocked to your core. And also turned on as all hell; he had been wearing a leather jacket and dark blue jeans, motorcycle boots, and fingerless gloves.

It was the same outfit he was wearing now as the two of you rode up the road, the sound of the motor muffled by the helmet over your head. After a few more twists and turns along the Ridgeway, he finally turned onto an unmarked road that led to a small picnic area. It was originally made by a historical preservation society decades ago, but fell into disuse after a rock slide made the road unusable by car.

A motorcycle, however, could easily wind around the rocks and get past.

Through the trees and the debris the two of you went, until you reached the small clearing at the top of the hill. A small picnic bench with one forgotten trash can and two parking spots were here, along with a gorgeous view of the hills and valleys. You popped your helmet off and practically leapt off the bike, running to the picnic table and clambering on top of it like a kid. Surveying the scenery, you eventually pulled out your phone and took a panoramic photo.

“This is so cool, I didn’t even know about this place!” you squealed with delight.

Arthur chuckled. “Glad you like it, darlin’.”

Hopping down from the table, you took the picnic case from Arthur’s hands and started to help him set up. Tossing the picnic blanket over the table, the two of you laid out your feast: cucumber sandwiches, two beers, summer sausage, a bit of bison jerky, and some grapes.

The two of you ate and chatted, the comfortable air between you two allowing for the occasional pause, the silence filled with contentment. Soon your line of questioning started to veer towards his past, something that he rarely mentioned.

“So, is this the same bike you had in that photo on your wall?”

“Yup.”

After a few moments without him adding anything else, you tried to get some more out of him. “Wow. Would you ever trade it in?”

“Never.”

You tilted your head at him; he was only giving you one word answers and not elaborating. “Should I not ask about your past?”

Arthur sighed. “There were some good times, but in the end, things fell apart and we chose to get out. I still feel… guilty, I guess. We weren’t good people.”

You reached for his hand and held it with both of yours. “But you’re a good man on the inside,” you said quietly. “And you’re doing good now.”

He gave you a crooked grin. “I must be, if you’re stickin’ around.”

You laughed. “I don’t know, maybe I have a thing for bad boys.”

Arthur’s eyebrow raised. “Oh?”

“Yeah, maybe I secretly want a guy who’ll fuck me out in the open, get all raw and wild.” You waggled your eyebrows.

Laughing, Arthur stood up. “You’re crazy.”

“Crazy for you,” you said with a wink. You stood up as well and helped him clean up. Once everything was back in the picnic case, you took it from him and set it aside. Climbing across the table, you knelt before him and took his head between your hands. “Kiss me.”

Arthur smiled and pulled you off the table and into his lap, your legs straddling his as he tangled his fingers in your hair and pushed your head closer to him. He nibbled your lips lightly at first, delicately playing with you as his other hand reached under your shirt to caress the bare skin of your back. His kisses grew deeper as his touch became more insistent; the grip in your hair tightened as he pulled you closer to him, pressing you against his hard chest.

He pulled away and gave you a naughty look before he took hold of the hem of your shirt. "Can I?"

You obediently lifted your arms and let him pull the shirt over your head. He laid it down behind you before gently pushing you down on the table. Bending over to lay kisses along your collarbone, he pulled the cups of your bra down to expose your breasts to the cool air, your nipples hardening. Attracted to the sight, Arthur enveloped one in his mouth while he pinched and pulled gently on the other, making you moan and writhe underneath him.

"Arthur," you sighed as he shifted, making sure both your nipples had equal attention from his talented tongue. Wrapping your legs around him, you pulled him closer to feel his cock straining in his jeans.

He suddenly wrapped his arms around you and picked you up. "I got an idea, sweetheart."

Carrying you to his bike, he set you on your feet and turned you around. You understood what he wanted and felt a flush of heat as he started to undo the fly of your pants. He slowly slid them down your hips, just past the curve of your backside.

"Bend over, darlin'," he crooned. You gladly did so, your tits hanging out over the side of his motorcycle seat. Sticking your ass out for him, you turned your head towards him and gave him a smirk.

“What would you do if I didn’t?” you taunted.

His dark smile made shivers go down your spine as anticipation and lust swirled into your body. Stepping forward, he grabbed your butt with both hands, his fingers digging into your flesh before slapping your ass.

“I’d teach you how to be a good girl,” he rumbled. He slapped the other cheek. “Make sure you learn how to listen.”

“Oh, yes, teach me Arthur,” you purred, wiggling your body. With one hand he pressed you down on the motorbike seat to keep you still as he undid his button fly. Out of the corner of your vision, you saw him standing behind you, pulling out his hard cock and stroking himself as he stepped closer. You could feel him nudging your slit, sliding it back and forth, coating himself in your wetness.

“Goddamn sweetheart,” he murmured. “All this honey fer me?”

You moaned as he pressed forward, the head of his cock stretching you slowly. Grabbing your hips, he kept on entering you until he filled you to the hilt, letting out a soft, low moan of satisfaction. He leaned over and kissed the shell of your ear.

“Just think, someone might come out here and find you, bent over my bike, getting filled with my cock.”

Your pussy tightened around him as you felt a rush of adrenaline.

“Oh yeah, gettin’ excited by that, ain’tcha?”

“Fuck me Arthur,” you half-growled, trying to move your hips towards him.

He chuckled, his hold on you as strong as steel. “I’m in control here, darlin’.” His hips pulled back and snapped forward, his bike shifting ever so slightly from his movement. He reached for your hair, pulling your head back so your back arched beautifully for his pleasure. Moving slowly at first, he built up a steady rhythm, fucking you with just enough control to prevent toppling his bike with the strength of his thrusts.

“Yer a dirty girl, gettin’ so hot from being fucked in the open,” he crooned.

You were surprised at how aroused you were from this. The risk of being caught like this shot adrenaline through your body, giving you an incredible high. The thought of someone catching you in such a compromising position while you were getting railed like a whore over the seat of a motorcycle by a real biker outlaw was sexy, like a porn fantasy come to life. Your tits were bouncing and your juices were dripping down your thighs as your cries of pleasure echoed in the forest. His hands wandered, grabbing your neck, gripping your hips and fondling your breasts. And through it all, his cock kept hammering into you, a steady reminder that you were completely at his mercy and you loved it.

Suddenly Arthur brought his hand down against your ass again, making you yelp.

“Fuck, I love it when you squeeze my cock whenever I spank ya.”

You turned towards him. “Now you’re just doing that for fun.”

“Have to keep you in line somehow.”

You grinned and pushed your ass back at him, causing him to stop moving.

“Arthur!” you whined.

“Fuck yerself on me if you want it so bad,” he said with a mocking grin.

You growled but did as he said, undulating your hips, grinding down on his shaft and slowing your pace, letting him feel every inch of your tight channel as you slid forward and back on him. You felt a thrill of victory when he finally grabbed your hips and thrust inside of you, taking control of the speed again.

“Yer drivin’ me crazy,” he grunted as he leaned forward, crushing you against the bike seat. He reached around, rubbing your clit with an expert touch. He had gotten intimately familiar with your body in the past few months and knew exactly how to push you to your peak. Each stroke made your heart race, made your breath come out in labored gasps as he made you feel a blinding pleasure with each stroke of his fingers.

“Come fer me, darlin’,” he murmured into your ear. “I’m goin’ to fill you when you do.”

“Oh fuck,” you gasped as you felt your climax hit you like a gust of wind, taking you higher and higher as you cried out, only to have Arthur wrap a hand around your mouth to stifle your screams. You kept moaning, your sounds muffled as he continued to fuck you, faster and faster, until your body was shaking from being kept on the brink for so long.

Arthur let out a low moan as he came inside of you, filling you as he promised. He let his weight crush you against the leather seat as he caught his breath, for he knew you enjoyed the heaviness of his body every once in a while.

After a few moments, he stood up, his cum spilling out as he pulled himself out of you. “Darlin’, you alright?”

“I’m good. Better than good. That was so hot.”

He laughed. “Better keep that inside of ya,” he said, pulling a bandana from his jacket and wiping your mixed juices from your inner thigh. “Don’t wanna get my bike dirty,” he said with a wink.

You slapped his arm as you laughed and pulled your clothes back on. “That’s what you’re worried about?”

He could only laugh with you as he pulled you into his arms and kissed you gently. “It’s all I could think of. Forgive me if I ain’t able to think properly right now.”

“I forgive you," you said, tapping his nose playfully. "Now should we go back? We probably should take a shower.”

“And then round two?” he asked with a hopeful look.

You giggled. “If you’re feeling… up to it.”

“With you? Always.”

The two of you rode back down the Ridgeway, content and happy. You snuggled into his warm back, your arms wrapped around his waist, and blissfully enjoyed the view.

When the two of you returned to your apartment, while he was helping you put away the picnic gear, he chuckled softly.

“What is it?” you asked, curious.

“Was jus’ thinkin’ we should go ridin’ more often, since it gets you all hot and bothered like this.”

You just laughed as you stripped off your clothes to give him round two.

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End Notes: The fic title is a lyric from I Feel Like A Woman by Shania Twain! The scenery was very much inspired by my visit to Asheville, North Carolina a long time ago. The Blue Mountain Ridgeway was absolutely gorgeous, definitely worth a visit. Hope you enjoyed this hot little story! With this part, this series is over. Thank you for your support!

#arthur x fem!reader #arthur morgan #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #biker au #writing #fanfic #lemon fanfic #nsft #modern au

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scarletttext · 2 years

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This is a long ass rant, read at your own risk (or don't, I don't control ya)

You know when you feel like you just don't belong somewhere? I felt that today, again, and it sucked. Gosh darnit man, I'm tired of this shit, tired of feeling like I'm never enough, like I never belong. I wrote a text yesterday for a wip, but it really ended up being me projecting, I saved it, but it will be basically useless to my wip, and I brought myself to tears, again, writing it. I'll copy it here, but really, if you're not in the right place of mind, I recommend not reading it. Because as much as I try to be positive, to overcome stuff, there's somethings that are just... those are wounds too deep, that I don't even know how to heal or where to even start. And whenever I get into another downslide, they resurface and bring their ugly heads up again, and it's not pretty for me, lemme tell ya. I'm functioning today on barely 3 hours of sleep, so keeping the bad thoughts at bay is hard, I'll probably put a lot of things on the ''reasons to stay alive tag''. Anyways, lemme stop rambling and copy paste the dang text here.

""You're exaggerating"

The moment those words left his mouth, something in me snapped, and I was on him in a flash, pushing him into the wall with a loud bang, cracking the plaster and shaking the house.

" You try to tell me that I don't know what I feel? Do you know what it's like to spend all your life alone? Do you know what it's like to grow up watching everyone around you smiling, having fun, being together, while you do your best to be part of it, just to be shunned?" I screamed at his face " Tell me, do you know what it's like to never have anyone around to tell you you're doing good, hell even tell you you're doing terribly? Have you ever looked around you, looked for anyone to lean on to, anyone to offer you even a smidge of comfort, and found no one? Have you ever had to beg, to humiliate yourself, just so you could feel some kind of human touch?" I was crying by now.

"Because I had to. And the worst of it is that I was always surrounded by people... But I was always just a shadow, or better yet, their Erysed Mirror, they only looked at me and saw what they wanted, never who I am. And no natter what I said, what I asked, they did what they wanted to me. I tried to be louder, noisier, I tried to be the best I could be, but it was never enough, I was never enough to be considered a fucking person. I was made to regret every time I trusted a person, I was shunned every time I tried to get close to someone, and you say that I'm exaggerating when I tell you that I don't feel like a person? Well, I never got the chance to BE a person, I loved and that's all I have that makes me feel like I am still human, but I was never LOVED, I never felt the love that I needed, and sorry if you're too uncomfortable to hear that, but it's the truth! I had no one to run to when I needed comfort, I never felt the human touch of someone who loved me offering the comfort I needed, I was GODDAMNED ALONE. I'm afraid I don't even know how to have a connection at this point, so excuse me if I don't trust you, but I was raised as an object to be looked at instead of loved, and who's to tell me you won't do the same?"

#meus #I'm def not okay. better than a lot of times in the past but not okay #oh hell I've been through it before and I'll go through it again #if things get too hard I'll tattoo a little reminder on my wrist (impulsive as it seems)#like... having something to look at whenever the nervous habit of rubbing my scars surfaces again #is very good. because then I can focus on how much I survived already #in the past all I had to look at were the scars and the shame and pain they brought me #now I have one huge tattoo in each arm to look at #and if this fucking shitty mood persists I'll very soon have another one

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goldenraeofsun · 4 years

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just say yes

The latest installment of this verse... or 5 times Dean tries to propose to Cas.

Dean bites his lip as he scans the menu. What the hell is branzino, and where the fuck are the prices? He flips the flimsy piece of cream-colored paper over, but no dice.

Thank god there’s a steak listed among the five lone entrees. It’s probably five times his normal dinner price tag, but Dean already made peace with putting off buying that 30 year anniversary Rush album. It’ll still be there after his next pay check.

Cas eyes him over the top of his own menu. “What are you thinking?”

Marry me.

Dean doesn’t say that, though. He has plans. Keep his trap shut until dessert. Tell Cas he’s going to hit the head. Pull a waiter aside and ask for two glasses of champagne. Return to Cas. Hopefully not shit his pants as he proposes. Drink champagne. Go home and have fantastic engaged sex.

Dean has high hopes for the last part of the plan.

“Dean?”

Belatedly, he says, “The steak.”

Cas hums. “That does look good.” He ducks back behind his menu. “I was thinking of getting that too. But maybe not.”

Dean takes a hasty sip of water. “Get the steak if you want it, man. We don’t go to places like this often.”

“I think I’ll get the honey glazed salmon.”

“Sounds good,” Dean says lamely. He drinks more water. At this rate, he won’t have to fake the bathroom run.

Aren’t they supposed to have alcohol by this point? They’ve been sitting at their fancy-ass table in this fancy-ass restaurant for nearly fifteen minutes.

Maybe he shouldn’t have picked the newest five-star restaurant to propose to Cas. He’s already on edge from the pressure, and the pristine white tablecloth isn’t helping. He can already see five ways he’s gonna stain it. There are several forks in front of him. For fuck’s sake, this place has an actual chandelier. Dean hadn’t honestly thought they existed outside of billionaire mansions and Disney movies.

The live music is nice, though. A sedate piano tinkles in the background, barely audible over the buzz of polite dinner conversation.

Dean catches a glimpse of himself reflected in the dark windows to the street. He looks a little sweaty, but not as nervous as he feels, thank god.

This is stupid. He shouldn’t even be nervous.

They’ve talked about marriage before. They’re adults in an adult relationship, so popping the question out of the blue would go down like the time Dean swept Cas away for a surprise camping trip. Turns out, Cas did not like camping. Which Dean would have known if he had asked anytime in the past four years.

But… that marriage conversation was two years ago. Dean wasn’t ready then; they both weren’t. Cas was still in a bad place with Jimmy and Claire, and Bobby had just died, so they weren’t about to roadtrip to Vegas anytime soon.

Now, Claire can have a civil dinner with her parents, and the hole Bobby left in Dean’s life can go unnoticed some days.

The deal is, Dean can’t chicken out tonight. He already told Claire to make herself scarce. She can sleep at her parents’ or at Krissy’s, Dean doesn’t care, as long as she is not crashing on their sofa when they get back from dinner.

Dean would rather read a hundred plagarized student essays on The Very Hungry Caterpillar than admit to Claire he failed to ask Cas to marry him.

So, proposal time.

The waiter comes by with their drinks and takes their orders. Conversation is a little stilted, but hopefully Cas chalks it up to Dean being outside his comfort zone in this fancy-ass place. There’s no steady thunk of darts hitting a board or clack of pool balls in the background to put him at ease. Just that lame piano.

Cas makes porn noises over his salmon at first bite, which Dean totally doesn’t get. It’s fish.

“How’s your steak?” Cas asks as he surfaces and dabs his mouth with his cloth napkin.

Dean belatedly slices off a piece of his meal and pops it in his mouth. A generically bland compliment dies on his tongue. Jesus Christ - that’s some good cow. It practically disintegrates before he can chew. “Great,” he tells Cas honestly.

Cas hums in contentment.

“And since you’re practically at third base with that salmon,” Dean starts, “I take it-”

“Oh my god!” a woman’s voice squeals behind them.

Dean reflexively turns his head in the direction of the commotion. A few tables over, near the center of the restaurant, a man is down on one knee, and - son of a bitch.

Dean watches, his mouth hanging open, as the woman shouts, “Yes, of course, yes!” Waiters walk past their table with a whole fucking bottle of champagne. People at nearby tables fucking clap.

Dean resolutely turns back around to face Cas, at a loss for words that aren’t extremely loud swears.

“Isn’t that nice?” Cas says mildly.

“Yeah, very nice for them,” Dean says through gritted teeth.

Of all the goddamn nights. Of all the goddamn restaurants. What are the goddamn chances?

Dean slices into his steak with extreme prejudice. If he could murder the happy couple, he would. With zero regrets.

Fuck it all, Claire’s gonna be insufferable.

A CHARMING B&B IN VERMONT

Dean wakes up delightfully cozy with Cas spooning him from behind. No memory foam, but the bed is delightfully springy anyway. It was definitely what they needed after a full school day and a nine-hour road trip. Luckily, the owner of the bed and breakfast, a charming older woman actually named Mrs. Butters, was happy to wait up for their late check-in last night. She even had hot cocoa waiting.

Dean had held out a slight hope they could christen their room before they turned in for the night, but Cas passed right out before Dean turned on the lights. Poor guy had to deal with three sets of angry parents, and it was only the second week of school. Something about how their supposed-genius kids should be in AP Latin instead of the Fun Latin class - aka the one for dumbass seniors.

The mid-morning sunlight filtering in from behind the plaid curtains casts everything in a warm glow. The room itself is beyond charming. There’s a legit fireplace next to the bed, and they’re currently nestled under a patchwork quilt. The wood panelled walls give a distinctly rustic feel to the place, despite the reasonably sized television screen mounted on the far wall.

Dean turns over in bed so he’s facing Cas instead of the door. He resists the urge to poke him awake, and instead prods with a gentle, “Cas.”

Cas grumbles wordlessly. Fucker doesn’t even open his eyes, although Dean can tell from how his breathing changes that he’s awake.

“Cas.”

Cas wrinkles his nose and shoves his face into the pillow. “What, Dean?”

Dean can barely make out the words, but he gets the gist from the million times Cas has done the exact same thing. “I smell bacon.”

Cas’s eyes slit open. “So?”

“Don’t you want bacon?”

Cas huffs, and Dean can tell the exact moment he resigns to waking up. “Then go get the bacon. Nobody’s stopping you, Meat Man.”

Dean wiggles in bed, jostling the whole mattress. “Come on, babe.”

“I was sleeping.” Cas raises his head to look squint out the window. “It has to be before ten am. Since when are you a morning person?”

Since today is the day Dean is going to propose.

Instead, Dean reminds him pointedly, “Bacon.”

“Ugh,” Cas groans as he sits up. “I expect at least a blow job after breakfast if we’re leaving bed this early.”

Dean slaps his ass and jumps out of bed before Cas can retaliate. “Up and at ‘em!”

“I hate you.”

“Love you too, Cas.”

* * *

Claire 11:02 Did you ask him yet? If he said no I’ve got chunky monkey waiting

Claire 11:31 That was a joke Uncle Cas will say yes Theres no way he wont

Claire 11:40 If you’re not answering because of sex don’t tell me

Dean sighs as his phone lights up with Claire’s latest text. In the bathroom, Cas hurls again.

Dean 11:41 No proposal

The bubbles showing Claire’s typing start almost immediately.

Claire 11:41 Are you serious? He’s not goin to turn you down!!!

Dean 11:41 Food poisoning

Claire 11:42 HAHAHAHA

Dean scowls at his phone.

Dean 11:44 Not now, Claire.

Claire 11:44 Wait Seriously?

Dean 11:44 We think it was something he ate at breakfast

Claire 11:44 Oh fuck I’m sorry for laughing

Dean rereads her text. He hasn’t ever received a straight-up apology from Claire before. Unsure of how to respond, he sets down his phone and gently pushes open the bathroom door. “How’re you doing, babe?”

Cas, slumped over the toilet and looking like death warmed over, raises his head an inch. “It seems to be easing up.”

“Really?”

Cas vomits into the toilet again. He groans.

“Shit,” Dean mutters as he crouches next to Cas. He rubs his back with one hand. “Do you think you can get some water down?”

Cas nods, so Dean straightens and fills a glass next to the sink.

As Cas drinks, Dean runs a hand through Cas’s sweaty hair. His forehead has a sickly sheen to it, and the back of his neck feels hot.

“Dean -” Cas breaks off to cough the water right back up into the toilet. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, no,” Dean says quickly as he refills the glass. “Don’t be sorry. This isn’t your fault.”

“But you had all these plans,” Cas moans as he takes the water to try again.

“We’ll do ‘em some other time.” He wets a washcloth and wipes down Cas’s forehead.

“Before Thanksgiving,” Cas rasps, “we’ll come back. I don’t want to miss the leaves changing.”

“Of course,” Dean says soothingly. He moves the washcloth to the nape of Cas’s neck. “On the bright side, you’ve been puking for, like, an hour. There can’t be much left.”

Cas, the dramatic bastard, nearly brains himself on the toilet seat with the force of his next hurl.

HOMEMADE DINNER

After the disastrous fancy restaurant and B&B, a homemade dinner has to be the way to go. They’ll be in their own goddamn house - that has to cut down on the number of things that can go wrong.

Dean spends a whole week deliberating on what to make. He could do his usual burgers and fries routine, Cas’s favorite, but it should be special.

He settles on beef wellington. Pie for beef!

It’s a bitch to make - both because puff pastry from scratch is no joke, and hiding his first experiments from Cas means inventing increasingly convoluted reasons to get him out of the house. And, sure, every Youtube chef and Great British Bake off contestant has said store-bought puff pastry is fine, but Dean doesn’t want fine, he needs perfect.

Dean picks a day when Cas has Model UN afterschool. It’s in the middle of the week, but at least Cas is guaranteed out of the house until six at night.

By 5:58, Dean is ready. The Wellington is cooling on the counter; the red wine has been breathing (whatever the hell that does) for the better part of an hour; and he’s showered and made himself presentable.

His phone pings at six pm on the dot.

Heart sinking with foreboding, Dean taps the screen.

Cas 6:00 I’m going to be late for dinner. There was an accident with chemistry club a few minutes ago. The building had to be evacuated.

Dean 6:00 Are you OK?

Dean takes a moment to hammer the heel of his hand against his forehead. One fucking break. That’s all he’s asking for. One goddamn evening to go right.

Cas 6:00 Yes, and the kids are too. They’re airing out the halls now, but we won’t be let in for another half hour.

Dean picks up the wine with the hand not holding his phone.

Dean 6:01 What time do you think you’ll be home?

Cas 6:01 7:30 maybe? I’ll keep you updated.

Dean swigs back a gulp straight from the bottle before he can answer. Fuck this.

Dean 6:02 Great! I’ll order pizza when you’re on your way back

Cas 6:02 Meatlovers?

Dean 6:02 Unless you’d like something else

Cas 6:02 No thank you :)

Dean flips on a recorded Jeopardy! episode as he cleans up the kitchen and texts Charlie. He has a free dinner waiting for her if she can hightail it to his place in the next hour and never speak of it again.

HOMEMADE DINNER #2

If Dean is anything, he’s stubborn. John Winchester raised no quitter. Try, try, and try again. And try a fourth time, when the first three go sideways.

Burgers, this time. They don’t need a days’ worth of prep. And they’ll go over well.

“Dig in,” Dean says as he sets the plate down in front of Cas.

“This looks delicious, Dean,” Cas says sincerely as he picks up his burger.

Dean waits, and he can see the moment Cas tastes the molten cheese stuffed in the middle of the patty. His eyes go wide with surprise.

“Like it?”

Cas nods vigorously and inhales the rest of his burger in record time.

“There’s enough for us to have thirds,” Dean says smugly.

Cas smears ketchup all over patty number two, and beams at him. “These make me very happy.”

Dean laughs. “That’s the goal-”

Cas’s phone rings.

Dean falters.

Cas stares at him expectantly, waiting for Dean to continue.

“You should get that,” Dean says, his shoulders slumping as he sets his burger down. It’s probably a bad sign he was already half-expecting things to go south. “It’s probably important, or whoever it is would’ve texted.”

“We’re in the middle of dinner,” Cas protests even as he reaches in his pocket to pull his phone out. “It’s Claire,” he says, baffled, before he picks up. “Hello?”

Cas sets down his half-eaten burger. He listens, his brows slamming down forbiddingly as Claire’s voice gets louder and louder, but still not loud enough for Dean to make out actual words. Silently, Cas takes his napkin off his lap and pushes his half-empty beer in Dean’s direction. Finally Cas says, “Yes, of course, Claire.”

Dean frowns as Cas lifts his gaze up to meet his. “Jimmy and Amelia?” he mouths.

Cas shakes his head, speaking into his phone, “Does Kaia need a pick up from the hospital?”

Dean goes cold. Kaia was actually one of his favorite students. While she was in his class, she won a Scholastic Gold Key and honorable mention for two of her horror novellas and always did the reading. But Dean and Cas haven’t seen her since she broke up with Claire the summer before college.

“Is she okay?” Dean asks quietly.

Cas’s mouth thins. He gives a short nod.

Dean sighs and picks up the plate uneaten burgers. He can probably reheat the patties. The fries won’t keep, though, so he leaves the plate in front of Cas. He shoves a few in his mouth and gets to his feet.

He’s halfway through cleaning the frying pan when Cas gets off the phone with Claire.

“Are you heading out?” Dean asks gruffly while he gives the iron a particularly hard scrub.

“Yes,” Cas rumbles as he wraps an arm around Dean’s waist. “I’m sorry to cut dinner short.”

“Hey, it’s Kaia. ’Course we gotta help.” Dean forces an understanding smile on his face. “I’ll make up the couch while you pick her up?”

Cas squeezes him gently before moving away. “Thank you.”

“You got time for the cliff notes on what happened? Why’d you get the call?”

Cas leans against the counter next to the sink. “Kaia was in a car accident. She’s a little banged up, but mostly fine. A few bruised ribs and a possible concussion.” He shakes his head, disbelieving. “You know Kaia was never especially close with her foster family, so Claire got the emergency call.”

“Huh.” Dean grabs a plate to clean. “It’s been two years since the split.”

Cas shrugs. “I’m not sure what their situation is. I know Claire was surprised. She’s already in her car, and she should be here by midnight. Hopefully she recognizes Kaia’s injuries,” he frowns, “and they won’t try any… any ‘hanky panky’ tonight.”

Dean laughs, and if it’s slightly higher than normal, Cas doesn’t seem to pick up on it. He grabs Cas and kisses him square on the mouth. “You are ridiculous. Nobody says hanky panky. What the hell is wrong with you?”

Cas scowls. “They have to be well past kissing at this point.”

Dean snorts a laugh. “Yeah, that ship has long sailed, dude.”

Cas throws his hands in the air. “We don’t have enough sleeping surfaces to separate them.”

Dean sets the dirty plate down to face Cas fully. “Do you really think they’ll get back together? Kaia broke Claire’s heart not too long ago.”

Cas throws him a look like he wonders where the hell Dean’s logical brain has flown to. “Are you asking if I think couples can get back together after a harrowing break up?”

“… no.”

Cas shakes his head ruefully. “You’re more like Claire than I ever was, and you took me back.”

“Huh,” Dean wipes his hands off on a dishtowel, “you might have something there.”

“You do call me the smart one,” Cas says as he pushes off the counter and heads to the doorway. “It has been known to happen.”

“Smartass,” Dean corrects loudly as Cas grabs his coat and keys.

“Semantics.” Cas doubles back to kiss Dean a proper goodbye, and it’s just as electric as it was when they were seventeen. Cas tastes like Dean’s cooking, and he’s been letting his stubble grow out, the short hairs rasping against Dean’s palm as he cups Cas’s cheek.

“I love you, Dean,” Cas says as he draws away.

Dean grins. “I know.”

Cas huffs an almost-laugh as he heads back towards the door. “Now who’s the smartass?”

IN BED

Cas, the son of a bitch, falls asleep before Dean can wring out a second orgasm out of him. Such a godamn shame. Just goes to show, they really aren’t teenagers anymore. At least Dean got to use the new vibrator he bought for the occasion and the edible panties.

Dean flops back in bed. Maybe he should put the proposals on pause. Clearly, marriage isn’t in the cards. He can be a bit dense when it comes to Cas and him, but there’s dense and there’s denial.

It’s been two and a half months. Five proposal attempts. They’re nearly halfway through October, and he’s no closer to getting a ring on Cas’s finger than he was in late August, sweating bullets in that stupid fancy restaurant.

He can’t keep planning and failing to propose to Cas every other week. One, he can’t handle the stress and constant brainstorming. And B, he’s way behind in writing college recommendations and grading his freshman’s essays on Animal Farm.

Cas isn’t going anywhere. Dean isn’t going anywhere. So Dean can cool the proposals for now and start fresh in January.

SCHOOL ASSEMBLY

“I hate these,” Dean mutters to Benny. He frowns across the top rows of the bleachers where the seniors are supposed to sit. There are a few notable faces missing, but nobody that belongs to Dean’s homeroom, so he couldn’t give less of a shit. Below them, sit most of the juniors, and pretty much all of the sophomores and freshmen.

“It’s thirty minutes, brother,” Benny says, patting his arm. “You’ll live.”

“Shows what you know,” Dean grumbles back as Jody strides to the middle of the gym, microphone in hand. He asks Benny, “Do you know what this one’s about? Bullying? Cliques? Hugs not drugs?”

Benny shakes his head.

Jody sighs loudly into the mike. Clearly, she wants to be here just as much as he does. “Thank you all for coming,” she starts like any of them had a real choice. “First things first, Halloween is in two days, and while costumes are allowed and encouraged, don’t be racist.” She grimaces. “God help me, I don’t know why I still have to say that. If you are unsure if your costume is racist, it probably is. Wear something else. Secondly…”

Dean tunes her out. Instead, he scans the bleachers again, this time looking for Cas. He should be with the other sophomore homeroom teachers, but there’s no sign of him. Dean frowns. He can’t remember the last time Cas played hooky. And never without Dean. Dick move, Cas.

Movement at the edge of the gym catches Dean’s eye, and he watches, puzzled, as two students roll out one of the old projectors. The overhead lights turn off.

Is Jody seriously going to make him sit through a slide show? They’re wasting a prefectly good Friday morning on a goddamn PowerPoint?

The projector flips on, and the first photo is… of Dean.

What the fuck? His mouth drops open in horror. In the picture, he’s in his junior year of high school - he can tell from the hair - with a bunch of people he hasn’t seen in fifteen years. Plus Cas, who’s at the next table over in the cafeteria, head bowed over a book and slightly out of focus.

There’s a click, and text scrawls along the bottom of the screen, Destiel Met in Edlund High School Fifteen Years Ago!

The projector flips to the next photo, this time showing Dean’s senior yearbook picture.

More than a handful of students peer excitedly in his direction, undoubtedly hoping for a reaction.

Scowling, Dean cranes his neck to search the crowd for Charlie’s flaming red hair. She’s the only one who refers to the two of them as “Destiel”. Everyone else uses their names like sane people.

But the projector clicks to a photo of Cas, and Dean can’t help getting distracted. In the picture, Cas is alone at a table in the library. God, he was cute back then. His cheeks were a little fuller, and his hair was curlier. He still had the same intense blue-eyed stare, though. Patented Cas.

It all started with a tutoring session. Young Mr. W needed help in Latin, and our future Latin teacher, Mr. N, was up to the task!

Dean is going to kill Charlie. He tries to get to his feet - maybe she’s hiding behind Jo or something. But Benny’s hand grips his upper arm, holding him in place. “Don’t,” Benny says softly.

“What?” Dean demands as he tries to shake Benny off and fails. “Do you know what the hell is going on?”

“Stay.” The corners of Benny’s mouth twitch like he’s fighting a smile. “Watch.”

Dean huffs a breath and turns back around. If it was anyone else, Jo or Charlie, he wouldn’t trust a word out of their mouths. Benny, though, he’s not the type to make Dean sit through this without a good reason.

But that’s all ancient history. Destiel really got started five years ago, in this very gym.

The projector shows a picture of their class reunion, when Dean met Cas after ten years of no contact. They’re standing pretty close together (but that doesn’t mean much with Castiel What-Is-Personal-Space Novak), and they appear deep in conversation.

Since then, they have been inseparable.

Dean and Cas at a softball game. Dean and Cas at homecoming. Dean and Cas at GSA’s pride party.

Here’s to fifteen more years of Destiel!

The students clap and cheer with more than a few laughs.

Musical Interlude! flashes in front of a picture of Dean playing guitar to a group of pajama-clad students at last year’s Senior Lock-In.

The lights flip back on, and Dean blinks as his eyes adjust. By the time the spots have cleared from his vision, the projector has been wheeled away, leaving the main floor of the gym empty.

A staticky crackle echoes around the gym. And - is that Def Leppard playing on the speakers?

As the intro to Rock of Ages plays, the cheerleading team troops out from the locker rooms.

They start a routine Dean’s never seen before. To Rock of fucking Ages.

The cheerleaders sings along with Joe Elliot, “What do you want?”

Dean’s mouth falls open as the entire high school chants back, “I want rock and roll. Long live rock and roll!”

By the time they get to the “Rock of Ages” chant, all the students are on their feet, clapping along with the beat and cheering.

The song dies down soon after, and Dean, a broad smile on his face, turns to Benny. “I don’t know what the hell is going on, but I dig it.”

Benny laughs. “Good. He’ll be pleased.”

Dean’s just about to ask who he is (he’s 99% he knows), when Cas walks out from behind the bleachers.

Cas takes the microphone from Jody. He coughs nervously, waiting for the students to settle back down. “Thank you,” he says to the cheerleading team. “That was... awesome.” He glances up at the assembled students and teachers. “Dean-” he pauses as the cheers and clapping start up in earnest “-can you please come down here?”

But Dean’s frozen to the spot.

Benny gives him a not-so-light jab with his elbow. “Go on.”

Dean shakily gets to his feet and makes his way to the gym floor, and he swears his legs are about to give out from under him.

“Alright, you got my attention,” Dean says with forced bravado. “What’s up, Cas?”

The students hoot and holler.

Cas reddens as they die down again. Clutching the microphone in a death grip, he says, “Dean, we have been together for a number of years.”

Dean grins, a wonderful, all-consuming giddiness filling him the longer he stands in front of Cas. “I know, dude. I was there.”

The students laugh and someone, probably Jo, wolf whistles.

Cas swallows. “I wanted to do this here, where we first met, where you first asked me out on a date, where we had our first kiss.”

“Don’t tell ‘em about all our firsts on school property,” Dean says in a stage-whisper, “or Jody’s gonna have an aneurysm.”

Over a fresh round of student laughter, Jody puts her head in her hands. Donna, the school guidance counselor, pats her a few times on the back.

“Dean Winchester,” Cas says, and, shit, his hands are shaking. “I have loved you for more than half my life, and I look forward to far more than fifteen years by your side. Will you marry me?’

Dean’s not stupid. He had a strong hunch, ever since Rock of Ages played - aka the cassette he put in the Impala the first time he took Cas for a drive fifteen years and a lifetime ago - that this was what Cas was leading up to.

He’s mostly surprised Cas had the guts to pop the question this way. There was a reason Dean tried to keep his proposal plans mostly to the two of them. One of them is practically a social hermit, and it’s sure as shit not Dean.

“Just say yes, jerk!”

Dean spins around, nearly tripping over his own feet in surprise. Fuck, that’s Sam. His giant of a brother is hovering right outside the gym’s double doors, beaming at the pair of them. Claire gives a little wave from where she’s half-hiding behind him.

Dean turns back to Cas. He can’t think about Sam right now. Or Claire. Or the five hundred students with their eyes on them.

Only Cas.

“Cas,” he says, and it feels like the whole room is holding their collective breath, none more so than Cas, who looks like he’s about to pass out. “Man, I’ve loved you since I was seventeen. Of course I’ll marry you.”

Cas lets out a shaky exhale of relief, and Dean laughs. He takes the microphone from Cas’s now slack grip, steps all the way into Cas’s personal space, and kisses him.

The cheers from the assembled students are nearly deafening.

#destiel fanfic #fanfic #destiel #teacher dean #teachers au #teacher castiel #profoundnet #established relationship #fluff #the story of us verse #5+1 fic #rae writes fic

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