#this makes it sound like i hate there but i say all of this out of love and affection | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

poisonlove · 3 days

Text

You² | w.a

Pairing: Wednesday Addams X reader

Wednesday hated Thornhill.

After that encounter in the library, she had done everything to avoid Y/N. Yet, fate seemed to take pleasure in her misfortune: a group activity paired her with the one person who made her feel the most out of place at Nevermore, making her realize just how unlucky she truly was.

After all, she was an Addams; she knew very well that luck was not on their side.

The activity involved collecting the Nightshade Bloom, better known as the Dreamshade Flower. It was an extremely rare plant found only in the Crackstone Forest. She had no idea where in the forest it grew, but she knew it preferred humid spots: probably near the waterfalls or in the Misty Glade.

"Are you sure it's this way?" Y/N asked, looking around with awe.

Wednesday stopped and turned to her partner, an eyebrow raised in disapproval. The question irritated her but when she saw the terror on the girl’s face, she decided to let it go.

"Of course, I'm sure," Wednesday replied in her characteristic monotone voice. She blinked and observed Y/N using her hand like a flashlight to navigate the darkness.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude," Y/N justified, her Y/C eyes scanning the surroundings before turning back to Wednesday.

A strange flutter gripped Wednesday's stomach, forcing her to break eye contact. She didn’t like this feeling at all. Experimenting with new emotions, especially ones she didn’t understand, was not her style.

Without saying a word, Wednesday resumed walking, her right hand holding the makeshift torch while her left brushed aside branches that slowed their progress. An unsettling silence enveloped the woods, and Wednesday was oddly grateful for it.

But, of course, Y/N had to break it.

"So... I haven't seen you in the library lately," Y/N began, trying to spark a conversation, a way to distract herself and learn more about the gothic Addams. She had done some research about Wednesday, but her name didn’t appear on any social media, which honestly disappointed her.

Wednesday made a strange sound in her throat.

"I was busy," she replied coldly. It wasn't a lie. She had indeed been occupied writing her story and avoiding the person standing in front of her. She had nothing against Y/N; rather, it was the absence of disdain that bothered her.

"I understand... Enid told me you write a lot... and that you're not exactly a social person" Y/N confessed with a hint of sadness.

Wednesday stopped, noticing how Y/N hesitated to push aside a branch, suddenly halting. Enid? Why were they talking about me? Y/N looked at Wednesday, confusion evident on her face.

"Why were you talking about me?" Wednesday asked, her voice sharp.

Y/N's cheeks flushed.

"Um... I'm participating in the Poe Cup and she mentioned you... the only member I don't know," she admitted, embarrassment creeping into her tone. The flames in her hand illuminated her Y/C eyes, and Wednesday couldn’t help but think how strikingly attractive she looked in that light.

Quickly, Wednesday averted her gaze and turned away.

Y/N let out a sigh she didn't realize she'd been holding, falling back into step behind Wednesday. Addams pondered Y/N's words, especially the fact that she would be competing in the Poe Cup with them. Honestly, she didn’t want to participate in the tournament again, but the prospect of competing alongside Y/N intrigued her.

"Have you finished reading the book?" Wednesday asked coldly.

She enjoyed the interaction they were having, and a part of her desperately wanted to keep talking to Y/N. Yes, Wednesday Addams, the most antisocial girl at Nevermore, found herself wanting to engage with Y/N.

A huge smile spread across Y/N's face.

"Yes, it was really interesting and helpful for my research," she confessed excitedly, glancing at Wednesday, who observed her from the corner of her eye. The moonlight highlighted Addams' pale skin, and her perfectly arranged braids gave her an air of authority and glamour.

Y/N had developed a small crush on Addams.

"Good," Wednesday murmured in a sharp tone, diverting her gaze from Y/N.

A strange flush crept onto her cheeks, and her heartbeat quickened at the sight of Y/N’s radiant smile. Something was definitely off within her.

She unconsciously rubbed her cheeks.

"Have we arrived?" Y/N asked nervously, her fear growing. She had heard a couple of howls during their trek that made her skin crawl, but seeing Wednesday's calm demeanor made her decide—no, force herself—that everything was under control.

"Yes." Wednesday pressed her lips together, trying to suppress a smile.

It was the third time that night that her lips had inexplicably wanted to stretch into a smile, and each time she held back. She had to maintain her reputation as the gothic weirdo of Nevermore.

The fog enveloped their path, and Wednesday felt relieved to finally reach the Misty Glade. If they were lucky, they might find the damn flower in this area; otherwise, she would have to cross to the other side of Crackstone Forest toward the waterfalls.

Wednesday took off her backpack and pulled a small basket from inside.

"Can you recognize the Nightshade Bloom?" she asked, looking at Y/N. The latter nodded decisively.

Y/N walked opposite Wednesday, scanning the ground for any signs of light, hoping to spot the flower.

Meanwhile, Wednesday delved deeper into the mist, focusing on finding the blooms.

(...)

Wednesday crouched down and carefully picked the flower, trying not to damage its luminescent petals. She placed it in the basket alongside the others and walked toward another damp area. Half an hour had passed since the search began, and Wednesday felt increasingly uncomfortable in the oppressive silence.

Where on earth were you?

"Y/N?" she called loudly.

All she received in response was a howl. What if you were in danger? Wednesday gripped the basket tightly and scanned the surroundings, determined to spot you, abandoning her task of collecting more flowers.

Her feet moved westward as she squinted, trying to extend her field of vision, but the damned fog was too thick. A strange sensation settled in her chest, something that edged on fear. But she wasn't scared; she was... uncomfortable due to your silence?

"Y/N, if this is a joke, it’s not funny!" Wednesday exclaimed loudly, looking around with heightened vigilance. Her heartbeat quickened.

The worst scenarios flashed in her mind, prompting her to quicken her pace.

"Ahhhhh!" you screamed.

Wednesday's eyes widened, and she raced toward the sound of your cry. Something had gone wrong. The brunette increased her running speed, breathing heavily, a strange light contrasting with the darkness of the forest.

"What happened?" she asked breathlessly upon arrival.

Y/N was sitting on the ground, an enormous smile plastered across her face as she held the Nightshade Bloom in her hands. Her Y/C eyes met Wednesday's, shining with pure happiness.

"I found my first flower!" she exclaimed, beaming.

Wednesday let out an exasperated sigh, and at that moment, she wanted to strangle Y/N with her bare hands. Had she run for nothing? Was it merely a scream of joy? Her expression softened as she watched you approach, curiosity written all over your face, your eyes sparkling as they scanned her basket.

"What? You’ve already found six?!" Y/N exclaimed in surprise.

Wednesday couldn't help but smile, a spontaneous and genuine smile that made Y/N's heart skip a beat. The dimples were evident as her lips curved, making Y/N wonder how something so beautiful could be so rarely seen.

Just like the Nightshade Bloom.

Wednesday felt relieved to see Y/N safe, and despite a part of her wanting to kill her for making her think the worst, another part couldn’t shake the memory of the enthusiasm radiating from her for finding the flower.

She would let this incident slide, simply because it was you.

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x fem!reader #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday x you #wednesday addams x you #wednesday fanfic #wednesday imagine #wednesday addams #wednesday x reader #wednesday x y/n #wednesday #fluffy

263 notes · View notes

lost-in-fandoms · 3 days

Text

"Tell me again."

Max hums, moving his hand in slow circles along Daniel's back, feeling his chest move against his side, his face hidden in the folds of Max's t-shirt.

He bows his head, pressing a kiss against Daniel's hair, shifting against the hotel's pillows until he's comfortable again.

"It's going to be sunny," he says, voice low, letting Daniel's curls tickle his lips and nose. "It's going to be sunset, orange, the trees all golden in the way you like."

Daniel's back shifts under his hand, his fingers twisting in Max's shirt.

"We'll be sitting in chairs, because you have old man knees, and would complain about sitting on the floor."

He twists away from the halfhearted poke in his side, then settles back.

"They will be those garden ones, the ones with the straw?"

"Wicker," Daniel corrects him softly, voice scratchy.

"Yes, wicker." He tugs Daniel even closer, not knowing how it is even possible. "With pillows, so you can curl in them like a little cat."

He smooths his hand down Daniel's back, like he does with Sassy, when she stretches out beside him on the bed, similar to how Daniel is now. Does it again when he feels Daniel's shoulders uncurl slightly.

"We will be drinking your weird beers, the expensive ones that taste worse than all the others."

"Craft beer isn't weird," Daniel argues, just like Max was expecting him to. He sounds like there's something stuck in the back of his throat, and Max kisses his hair again.

"It is weird, Daniel. Beer does not need to be that expensive."

He gives him space to reply once more, but Daniel doesn't.

"We will drink your weird beer, and we will talk about that time we ate pasta in your hotel room."

It wasn't just one time, but Max knows he doesn't need to specify. They're both thinking about the same one, illegal spaghetti ordered from room service, hidden from their trainers, sauce on the corner of Max's mouth, cleaned by Daniel's thumb first, Daniel's mouth later. And even if they aren't thinking about the same, it doesn't matter. Every plate of pasta shared, in every hotel room, would matter just as much, stepping stones in their story, just as important as that first kiss.

"And it will be rainy," Max continues, voice even lower. His t-shirt is damp, stretched by Daniel's tense fingers. Daniel's back is shuddering, even when he holds him closer and closer and closer.

"It will rain, and you will have a blanket, because you always get cold, even more when it is humid."

The thing that was in Daniel's throat is in his too now.

"We will talk about how stupid everyone was. We will say it was all unfair. But we will not be angry anymore, because it will not matter anymore."

Daniel's hair smell like Max's shampoo, even if he usually doesn't use it, because he hates how dry it makes it feel. Max can taste salt on the back of his throat as he shifts his head slightly, trying to at least keep his ears dry, now that his cheeks are a lost cause.

Daniel's breathing is a stuttered rhythm against his ribs.

"We will cook eggs," Max pushes on, pressing every word against Daniel's skin, hoping every one feels like the i love you that it is. "Because we will have chickens on your farm, like a real farm, so we will be good at cooking eggs. And you will drink your wine, and sing your songs."

His voice breaks, sudden betrayal, just as Daniel trembles in a sob, but Max pushes through. They've both always known how to push through.

"And I will ask are you happy and you will say yes," he says, making it sound like a promise, because it is a promise. "And we will not regret any of it."

He knows they won't. Not the angry moments, not the painful moments, not the annoying little moments they will never even remember. They will take all of them and throw them into the jar of their lives, little pebbles, and colorful marbles, and shards of glass smoothed out with time and love and distance, all mixed together.

"We will sit on your chairs, and they will have nothing, and we will have us."

He holds Daniel closecloseclose, because he's never learned how to let go of the things he cares about, has always clung to things with his teeth and desire bared, and he has no intention of starting now. He has no intention of starting ever.

Even if this is not the way he wanted things to happen, he doesn't believe in letting go, especially when it comes to Daniel.

He swallows, clears his throat to try and dislodge the tight knot of feelings there, raises a hand to swipe his thumb along Daniel's wet jaw.

"We will have chickens, and a garage full of dirt bikes, and I will ask Grace to teach me how to make the pasta sauce you spilled all over the carpet when you were five."

Daniel nods against his chest, fingers relaxing. His breathing is still uneven, Max's t-shirt is still damp, but he can feel him going lax against him, relaxing bit by bit.

"We will," Daniel murmurs, voice shaky enough it sounds closer to a question.

"We will," Max tells him, firm. Would be happy to tell him again and again, until Daniel's voice doesn't shake on it anymore. "We will eat so much food, and we will become fat, and we will be happy. We will."

Daniel nods again, then shifts, wiggling in Max's hold until he can properly climb on top of him, pointy elbows planted on the bed, above Max's shoulders, trembling fingers tracing the wet lines on his cheeks, red-rimmed eyes soft.

When Daniel kisses him, they both taste like salt, exhaustion and the future.

#i made myself cry and i don't even know if most of this makes sense #but yesterday i was crying because (among other things) i was scared i would not have been able to write again #and today i am writing again even if it's just a little thing #so hey one step at a time #maxiel #my writing #if there are typos blame the tears not me #i only wrote a single i love you in this but i hope you could read it in every line and i hope you know every i love you is for you too #and i hope you know we all will be happy too and we will not regret it and we will sit in the metaphorical tumblr porch #and the higher ups and media will have nothing but we will have them and we will have us #im gonna go be emotional somewhere else now

240 notes · View notes

bpmiranda · 2 days

Text

Tangled (Hugh Jackman)

A/N: fluffy, purely fictional, young!hugh(35s), 18+ f!reader, dog being man’s best friend

It wasn’t a secret that Hugh Jackman had begun to see someone. The paparazzi were always humming around in wait, waiting to catch the slip of a cap that revealed your face, a telling shot of your hair or your eyes. The media had speculations, that was all, and you knew they would be disappointed when they finally came to find out that you were no one special. No one of interest, really. You were his dog walker in New York. Someone he only occasionally spoke to when he was in the States, someone he grew close to from pure necessity. Your shared chats started off completely professional, setting dates and agreements on payment. Then you had begun to update him on the things his dog would do, it was innocent enough, and he appreciated how loving and dedicated you were to caring for his best friend. And then the conversation would shift away from dogs and professionalism to personal questions, nothing more intimate than how long you had lived in the city or what your favorite coffee shop was for a quick afternoon pick me up. Sure, he could’ve googled most of his queries about food or transportation in the city, but why do that if he could have the personal opinion of a local?

“Take 5th, then? Not 6th?” He asked you on the phone, already at the location he had been searching for, but simply not ready to end the call with you.

“Not unless you’d like to be harassed into buying subpar tourist souvenirs by street vendors.” You laughed and he couldn’t help the grin that spread on his face. “Did you find it?” You ask him, returning his attention which had drifted into the other sounds you make that often captivate him.

“Uh, yes, found it.” Hugh looked around at the little French bakery he was sitting in and nodded to himself. “Quite lovely. Won’t you join me?” He asked, throwing caution to the wind.

You bite your lip as you muse over the proposition. “What about the paparazzi?” You ask as you nervously wring your hands on the leash handle tethering you to his dog.

Hugh can’t help, but tease. “No, I don’t want to have lunch with them. I want to have lunch with you.”

Another laugh echoes through the phone line and his heart swells at the melody of it. Lord, he is in the deep end about you. “I think I should just drop him off at your place. I’d hate to get you caught on some TMZ tabloid over dating your dog sitter.”

Hugh chuckles softly, aware of your trepidations and unbelievably taken with the sense of privacy you think he’s got now. “We’re not that far apart in age, darling. It wouldn’t be the scandal you think and I assure you, I’ve got no problem getting a few pictures taken, especially of us together.” He says and you feel your cheeks heat up.

“I would say a decade is about as large as is socially acceptable.” You quip, trying to mask the fact that you’re incredibly flustered with him.

But his laughs tells you he knows you’re more anxious of him than of the cameras. “Tell you what. Let me grab you a coffee from here and I’ll meet up with you in the park? It’ll seem as if I’m simply picking him up, no possible misconceptions. Yes?”

You couldn’t very well say no to that. It would seem innocent enough, so you agreed. It was incredibly difficult to keep things casual in public when all you wanted was to kiss him, touch him, hold onto him as you made out on some park bench. But it would have to wait until you were no longer in the public eye. “Thanks again for taking him to the vet.” Hugh says as the two of you stroll around the park. “You know you don’t have to keep doing this. I’m happy to hire someone else. It could free us up to do other things.”

You give him a warning look and he simply grins at you, that ever so charming grin. “Then what would my excuse be for hanging around with you?”

“You don’t need an excuse, darling.” Hugh’s eyes scan over you, noting the way your leggings cling to your thighs and ass, your sports jacket snug against your breasts and your waistline. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep my hands off you.”

“Hugh,” You whisper as he suddenly stands in front of you. His deep green eyes look down lovingly at you as he tries to take the leash from your hand, he dips his head down, and you feel his lips brush the apple of your cheek. “The cameras.” You urge, aware of the few men following you at a respectable, but obvious distance since you met up.

“It’s not like they don’t already suspect us.” He reasons, his other hand coming up to your waist and you still cling to the leash he is taking from you. “Let me kiss you.” He more orders than asks and you look up at him warily. “I love to spend time with you. I can’t keep sneaking around.”

Before you can answer, his dog barks loudly and tries to make a run for what you believe was a squirrel or some other dog. His leash tangles around yours and Hugh’s legs and you’re forced into his embrace as he catches you while you fall into him. The two of you laugh as you untangle yourselves from the leash and you playfully scold his dog before Hugh suddenly wraps an arm around you and brings you into a kiss. Your body melts against his as you return the gesture and you find yourself smiling as you hear the incessant shuttering of cameras in the distance. “Guess it’s out there now.” You whisper as you pull away, breathless while you look up at him dreamily.

“Guess it is.” He grins almost triumphantly as he refuses to let you go and leans down to kiss you again. More sweetly and slowly and you think you might faint from the romance of it all. Before you continue your stroll, Hugh bends down and caresses his dog’s head. “Good boy.”

This was based on a request! I love bf!hugh🥹💕

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

#hugh jackman #hugh jackman fluff #hugh jackman x reader #hugh jackman fanfic #hugh jackman fic #deadpool and wolverine

303 notes · View notes

corazondebeskar-reads · 2 days

Text

get some on my love

QZ!Joel Miller x f!reader

my masterlist | joel fic recs

This is for @justagalwhowrites' Birthday Celebration for Joel. I picked the prompts for QZ!Joel and breeding kink. It, uh. It got away with me. Title from "Gasoline" by Seether because that's what made this get so feral. Please read the warnings.

dedicated to @covetyou bcus it's your tumblrversary bb! and also because of SWAT, the ultimate slutty qz joel fic that lives in my head and pays rent

words: 1.6k

summary: You visit Joel Miller to get what you need.

warnings: dub-con, dubcon due to sex in exchange for drugs, and he kind of springs the breeding kink on her (but there's not a risk), abuse of prescription medications, QZ!Joel Miller, dealer!Joel Miller, smuggler!Joel Miller, filthy!Joel Miller, breeding kink, creampie, menstrual sex, inappropriate uses of period blood, spitting, pussy pronouns (she/her), vulgar language, god i don't even know it's just nasty and they like it, kind of hate fucking, no y/n, no betas no proofreading no nothing lol

dividers by @saradika-graphics

also on ao3

“Well, well. Look who’s come crawlin’ back,” Joel drawls when he opens the door.

You scowl. “You gonna let me in or not?”

He leans against the frame, a lazy smirk curling. “Gee, I don’t know. You had some mighty strong things to say ‘bout me last time.” He does step back, though, ushering you in.

“Pretty sure you said you were never gonna look at my ugly mug again,” he adds as he shuts the door behind you.

“Yeah, well,” you mutter.

He tips your chin up with two fingers. “Yeah, well,” he mocks. “Well, what? No one else want that sloppy pussy as payment?”

“You like my pussy, jackass,” you snap, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Yeah, I do,” he says, cornering you against the door, your back hitting it with a thump. He leers, leaning in. “You know why it’s so sloppy? ‘Cause I fuckin’ ruined it, and you loved it.”

You scowl again, turning your head sharply to the side so you don’t have to look at his smug smirk. The worst part is how right he is.

“Look,” you mutter, heat rising to your cheeks, “I-I can’t pay today. But I need them, bad. I’ll… I’ll make it up to you.”

It nearly kills you to say. The only thing worse than dealing with Joel Miller is owing Joel Miller.

“Whaddya mean you can’t pay today? Cunt closed for construction or somethin’?”

You shove him away roughly, ducking out of his grasp to stalk into the living room. “No, dumbass, I’m… bleedin’, you know.”

His responding grin is feral and full of teeth. “I don’t give a shit. Go bend over the bathroom sink.”

“Are you fuckin' serious?”

“You want the fuckin’ pills or not?”

You could scream. Of course you do. There’s not a part of your body that doesn’t hurt. It’s settled into every joint and crevice, an ache you can’t stretch out or shake loose.

You’d know. You’ve tried. But you’re losing sleep, and the pain makes you too nauseous to eat. His drugs will only take the edge off for so long, but god, you’d do nearly anything for a few hours’ respite.

“Fine,” you whisper finally, and make your way to the apartment’s tiny three-piece.

He follows, watching you with amusement. “Strip,” he says.

You glare, and he shrugs.

“Or don’t. But I ain’t responsible for what happens to your clothes.”

Oh, fuck him. Fuck him. But you strip—all the way, even though you could have left your top on, but because mother nature has you on her shit list, your usual pain is compounded when you’re menstruating. And when you’re ovulating. Really, so many women don’t even have a fucking cycle anymore from all the stress and malnutrition, but noooo, you were cursed with a fertile fucking uterus.

The point was that your titties were sore and aching, and the thought of his warm hands groping and pawing at them sounded nice, so off goes your shirt.

He chuckles when he enters the bathroom. “Well, look at that. Eager?”

“Hurry up,” you snap. “It’s cold, and there’s gonna be a mess.”

“Gonna be a mess either way,” he taunts, his hands rough against your hips.

And ain’t that the kicker? There’s gonna be a mess. Your cunt is already sore, and he’s gonna leave a trail of destruction in his wake.

“Don’t look so grossed out, sugar,” he says, cupping your breasts and looking at you in the mirror. “It’s all natural. Plus, I gotta say, it’s been a long time since I got to do this.”

You’re busy meeting his eyes in the mirror and pulling a face, not catching his last words. He rolls and pinches at your tender nipples, but it’s the kind of pain that sits on the right side of pleasure. As expected, his meaty hands grope unmercifully at your breasts, and you moan in relief at the free massage.

“That’s it. That’s what I like to hear. You ready for me, huh? That greedy pussy o’ yours ready?”

“Uh-huh,” you say distractedly. “Wait—”

“I didn’t forget,” he murmurs in your ear. “Open.”

You open your mouth obediently, sticking your tongue out. He sets a round, white pill on it and turns your head with a firm grip on your chin, his spit landing right on the pill.

You swallow and avert your eyes as he watches your reflection.

“Get on with it,” you rasp.

One hand wanders down between your thighs and strokes through the folds, working you open with two thick fingers scissoring side to side. He doesn’t spend long there, dragging them up to rub at your clit for a moment.

“Make some fuckin’ noise; I can’t tell if you’re wet or not with all this goin’ on,” he grumbles, withdrawing his hand and showing you the slick blood coating it.

You wince, and he laughs. “Y’ain’t scared of your own period, are ya?”

“Fuck off, ‘course I’m not. Doesn’t mean I wanna look at it.”

He grins. The expression is always unnatural on him and usually heralds something vulgar.

You’re not wrong. He brings his hand up to cup your breast, leaving a smear of blood on your tit.

“Somethin’ kinda hot about it, don’tcha think?” he muses.

“If you say so,” you mutter, but you can’t look away. It’s striking, blood against your skin that isn’t borne of violence.

The thick tip of his cock interrupts your thoughts as he pushes down on your shoulder. You bend, gripping the sides of the vanity as he buries himself inside with one slow thrust.

He groans, gripping hard on your shoulder. “S’better than lube.”

“You’re so gross,” you say, shaking your head.

“Yeah? Then why’re you clenchin’ around me like a goddamn vice, huh?”

“You always talk this much when you fuck, or am I special?”

“Oh, sugar, don’t flatter yourself,” he says with a slap on your ass. “Y’ain’t special.”

“You—ahh—you hate-fuck all your customers?”

He snorts. “You ain’t even special enough to hate, honey. And you can hate me all you like, but we both know you’re gonna keep comin’ back.”

As you scowl up at him in the mirror, you almost wish looks could kill. But he’s right. He’d be no good to you dead because no other dealer in this godforsaken QZ will dose you in exchange for sex.

As it is, he only lets you once a week. You need more than that? Gotta pay like everyone else. Even when you can afford it, you find yourself back here or on your knees or however he wants you every fuckin’ Friday, because a free pill is a free pill. It’s 3-4 hours you can nap without nearly killin’ yourself to afford it.

Today’s pill hasn’t begun to set in yet, but that’s the other thing about Joel. He’s good at making you forget.

Real good.

His hands are on your body, roughly gentle. He’s not careful with his touch, but not careless, either. He wants you to come, wants you to shake and fall apart on his dick, so he can flash you that little self-satisfied smirk borne of bravado he’s rightly earned.

And you do. You come for him, with his hands on your breasts and your clit. You tremble and moan and your pussy tries to stake a claim on his cock, clenching and hoping to never let go. But it will, and you will. In the end, you always let go.

He’s a different kind of beast tonight. Panting and grunting in your ear, teeth on your neck, sweat dripping and blending with yours. After he’s rung pleasure from you, he settles one hand on your hip and another on your shoulder and ruts into you like a jackhammer. Like he can’t get deep enough, can’t stop until he’s carved a spot for him within you.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he mutters, pushing you down further. “Fuuuck, darlin’, you want this, huh? You want me to fill you up?”

“Wh-what?” you gasp, air knocked from you with each punch of his cock against your cervix.

“Gonna fill you up good, gonna—nnng— gonna make it stick.”

You reach back and smack him. “The fuck are you—”

But he doesn’t let you finish. He holds on tight and grinds his dick deep. “That greedy pussy, sugar, she fuckin’ wants it. Oh fuck, I-I’m gonna fuck this pretty little pussy ‘till she’s full o’ me. And you’re gonna take it, right?”

You whimper, holding tight to the sink while he loses his fucking mind or whatever is happening. You don’t know. It feels too good to question.

“Thas’ it,” he rambles. “Gonna look so good, stuffed up, and ev’ryone—everyone—will know you let me fuckin’ breed you.”

Oh god. It shouldn’t be hot. Those words should be stopping your heart, you should be pushing him away, but your dumb cunt has a mind of its own and holds tight to him, each thrust of his cock squelching as you come around him again.

“Jesus, baby, it’s been too long, too long since I got to fill up a cunt like yours,” he groans, hips stuttering, “oh shit, take it—fuckin’ take it.”

His cock pulses inside you, and you think maybe you die and go to heaven for a little bit—just a little, because when you open your eyes, you’re still in Joel’s grimy bathroom—but there’s a sweet moment where you think he’s right. It’s been too long. Far too long since a man’s come undone inside you, let you feel that hot burst and twitching, it’s divine, it’s—well, it’s making you come again.

When he pulls out, you stumble right to the toilet, glaring at him as you try to clean up the mess before it happens. “Gross,” you grumble.

When you look up, the way he’s looking at you makes somethin’ awful churn inside, and it’s not just the apparent buckets of cum he filled you with.

The silence between you is thick. Finally, he jerks his head to the shower. “Get cleaned up ‘n get out,” is all he says, and the door clicks shut in his wake.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #qz!joel miller #dead dove fic #the last of us smut #the last of us fic #tlou fic

176 notes · View notes

kurogane2512 · 3 days

Text

Eirene Birthday 2024

Yeah I couldn't hold back after this message so here it is (tho I'm late)

18+ CONTENT

Game: Path to Nowhere

Characters: Eirene x gn!reader with a dick (Chief)

Type: Smut with plot, long fic

"Ms Eirene, there is a guest for you- the Chief of MBCC." One of Eirene's servants informed her while she was seated in her dressing room, getting ready for her birthday banquet.

Eirene hummed and noted the time to be 6pm then told the servant to bring you in, feeling slightly surprised at your unexpected arrival. She then sat upon her vanity and started applying her eyeliner when she spotted you appear through the door in the mirror's reflection. Eirene smirked to herself eyeing you in the mirror and let out an amused sound.

"What a pleasant surprise, Chief. Here to wish me for my birthday?~"

"Actually, yes."

Eirene's eyes remained fixated on you hearing your words, wondering if you were saying the truth. She kept down her eyeliner then stood up and took a few steps towards you. You smiled while glancing at her from head to toe then extended out the packet in your hands.

"You look beautiful. Happy birthday, Eirene."

Eirene looked at the packet and could tell there was a gift inside. She accepted the packet and kept it on one of the side tables before coming back to stand in front of you, crossing her arms over her chest and lips curled up from one corner.

"Thank you, Chief. Is this your way of making up for declining my invitation for tonight's banquet?~"

You looked at her in surprise, "....I would have wished you regardless of the invitation. It's your birthday."

Eirene let out a soft chuckle, "Well, would you come to the banquet with me if I made it as a personal request?~"

You pursed your lips out of hesitation, "Sorry to disappoint you, Eirene. I'd be quite of place at such a gathering, and I do have a lot of work to do. I was barely able to take out time to come right now."

That was only half the truth, you didn't reveal one other reason which was perhaps the most important one. Eirene's expression didn't shift and she simply nodded, "It's a shame, I'd have liked your company. But, thank you for your blessings, my dear partner in crime. I think victory in 'war' at tonight's banquet is certain~"

You squinted your eyes at her strange words, "What do you mean?"

"Hm? Isn't it obvious? Every interaction, every meeting, every gathering, is like a battlefield for me. Today's banquet is no exception."

"But.... it's your birthday, you are supposed to celebrate and enjoy. Can't people give you a break even on your birthday?!"

You sounded rather assertive in the end, making Eirene slightly surprised. Her heterochromatic eyes looked into yours as if she was staring right into the depths of your soul.

"You are a strange one, Chief. You should be aware by now I'm always ready for battle, be it with words or actions. This world is too cruel to have a moment of respite for someone like me."

Your fists clenched involuntarily as you remained silent, unable to refute her words. You then heard her heels tap as she walked closer to you and kept her palm on your chest, leisurely sliding it up and down before cupping your face.

"The only battle I'd hate to have is with you, but if that day ever came then I expect nothing less than a satisfying fight from you~"

Eirene leaned in and pressed a kiss against the corner of your lips, leaving a mark of her deep red lipstick.

"Let's meet later tonight, shall we?~" She then leaned near your ear to whisper, "I'll be going all out against you and I trust you'll make it a thoroughly enjoyable experience for me~"

Your face turned red at her words, "Will you even get the time? Won't the banquet go on till late night?"

"Hmm, that depends on me and my victory~"

You let out a sigh and accepted her deal. Eirene still wished you'd have come to the banquet, your presence would have eased some pressure and thrown people away from her but in truth she simply wanted to be with you than the pretentious bunch hogging her. The war tonight was fought with tactics, seductions, boasting etc— everything Eirene had been prepared for. It really didn't feel like a birthday banquet for her, she was only waiting for the moment for it all to end.

It was 10 pm now as you were finishing the last stack of papers in your office. You'd have finished much earlier had your mind not been occupied with thoughts of Eirene and the words she spoke, you wondered what she wanted to do with you and your mind always wandered to particular fantasies which you'd have to bring yourself out of and focus on work. You looked at the clock and questioned if she was really coming, you knew her victory was guaranteed but you were concerned for her wellbeing. Parties of the rich were exhausting, after all.

Some moments later, a knock resounded on your door and your hopes skyrocketed thinking Eirene had arrived. But you were met with slight disappointment as it was simply your Adjutant reminding you to sleep on time and not overwork yourself. You shook your head and let out a sigh before resting back on the chair, gazing up at the ceiling. You wondered what Eirene was doing, how the party went, if she enjoyed or it really was a battle as she called it. Suddenly, another knock came followed by the door opening and your eyes widened.

"Still awake, Chief? I see you waited for me~"

It was Eirene. She was still wearing the dress you saw her in earlier, her face slightly flushed as if she was tipsy.

"E-Eirene! I didn't think you would...."

"Hm? Why wouldn't I? I made a promise to you, I'd never break your trust."

You quickly stood up and walked up to her, allowing her inside by gently holding her arm. Her body leaned into you and pressed you against the wall, her head resting on your chest.

"Are you okay? You shouldn't have forced yourself, you must be tired after the party."

"Mmm.... I'm fine, Chief. It was indeed quite draining but I saved enough energy to be with you~"

You felt guilty for refusing her invitation, had you known she wanted you around so much then you would have swallowed your hesitations and came for her. Eirene leaned away from you and stood up straight, looking at you with a smile that seemed to hold some expectations.

"So... how was it? What all did you do?" you asked her.

"The usual. Throwing off guests trying to flatter me and have a share in my fortune, having a battle of wits with enemies trying to make me slip up and spill my secrets, and avoiding weasels who slink up to me in hopes of grazing my body."

Eirene stated nonchalantly, showing just how common such things were for her.

"....Did you eat something? Or even drink?" you asked, worried.

"Certainly; the dining table is another battlefield, after all~"

You let out a sigh while she chuckled softly.

"So, what do you want to do now? I'd really want you to rest up."

"Don't forget your end of the deal, Chief. I'm still ready for another battle tonight~"

"Hah~ Fine, come with me then."

You grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the office, leading her to the cafeteria. The place was empty now as all Sinners had retracted to their cells, the staff was essentially up just for you and your late-night requirements. You went to the bar area first and sat down with her, ordering a few drinks for both of you.

"Drink as you want, Eirene. Nobody is here to trap you in your words and reveal your secrets."

Eirene chuckled and picked up the glass in front of her then clinked it with yours while announcing 'cheers'. You both took one sip while gazing at each other then she languidly leaned against the bar table, letting her hair flow free from the bun and fanning her face. She then began ranting about the kind of people she met and what conversations she had, letting all her frustrations out as alcohol slowly climbed in her system. She wouldn't do this anywhere else or with anyone other than you, the trust between you and her was one of a kind.

"You know, Chief, all this would be more tolerable had you been there. Now that we are revealing all our thoughts, why don't you say the real reason for declining the invitation?"

You looked at her with hesitance and pursed your lips, "It's nothing serious, I didn't lie about the work and feeling out of place...."

Eirene chuckled and kept her palm on your thigh, slowly rubbing it in circles as if to rile you up.

"That's unfair, Chief. I thought there were no secrets between us~"

You knew nothing would escape Eirene, she saw through your half-truth easily. You looked down and gritted your teeth then finally let go.

"W-Well, I thought you'd be judged quite harshly for inviting me. You know, why would the Quinn CEO have any relation with the Chief of MBCC bla bla..."

An amused smirk crept up Eirene's face, she had already made guesses about the reason and this one was the most likely in her eyes.

"Hehe~ How easy you are to read, Chief. I know you are the straightforward type, but don't wear your heart on your sleeve so much. Try to make your behaviour more.... unpredictable~"

"You are the one who's too good at interpreting people! I was being very cautious this time....!"

Eirene let out a hearty laugh, perhaps the first time she laughed so openly today. You pouted as you felt ridiculed but soon eased out looking at her carefree state, you were glad to see her enjoy even if a little. She stopped laughing then looked at you with a smile and interlaced her hand with yours.

"Let's play some games, Chief~"

You were caught off-guard by her proposal, "Games? Like board games or something?"

"Mhm, you have some in the recreational area, don't you?~"

"A-Anything but chess, please...."

"Haha~ Don't think I cannot beat you in other games, Chief. Well, I'll let you pick a game~"

You sighed then made your way over to the recreational area together, you looked around to decide upon a game where you'd have a decent chance of winning then finally settled on one.

"How about Pool?" you suggested.

"Interesting choice.... do you think I won't be able to beat you in this?~"

"Not really, but I feel I can put up a better challenge than in others~"

"A good challenge, that's what I wanted. Don't disappoint me now, Chief~"

You walked up to a Pool table and arranged the balls then took your respective positions with cue sticks in hand. Eirene let you have the opening move to give you a head start and the match continued from there. The goal was the usual- score the most pockets without fouling. The match turned quite heated as you teased each other for failed moves or missed chances, the alcohol riled you up from Eirene's provocations and you became quite serious about winning while Eirene appeared as calm as ever.

"Why don't you show your true nature, Chief. I know you are hiding some kind of secret move~" Eirene taunted.

The match was going head-to-head for the most part until you finally took the lead for a while but Eirene recovered soon after. It reached the point where only 1 ball remained, the deciding play for victory. You took your position and angled the cue stick with focus and precision then hit the ball but missed the pocket due to applying too much power. The ball rebound from the edge and ended up on your side again.

You clicked your tongue and stepped away to give Eirene space and have her turn. You were pinned up to the wall as the space between the table and wall was rather small this side, you should have stepped to the other side instead. Eirene eyed you deviously as she walked in front of you before bending upon the table and angling the cue stick. Somehow, she was perfectly positioned right in front of you which made her butt stick out and rub against your crotch.

You shivered from the unexpected stimulation and gazed at Eirene's figure. You suddenly felt hot all over looking at her exposed back as it was arched up from her position and the way her curvy behind snuggled against your crotch. You looked at her face and she was focused on the play, not at all bothered by what was happening behind her. You wondered if she did this intentionally, you wouldn't be surprised if she did. She then moved in circles for a bit as she adjusted her position to find the perfect angle.

You lost all focus on the game and were only looking at her now, your hands trembling with the urge to hold her. Your pants felt tighter and you hoped she wouldn't notice but you knew that would be in vain. She then suddenly stepped back a little, completely pressing her butt into you and squeezing you against the wall. You held back a groan and tried to shift out of the way but it was difficult, you were trapped by her. You tried to look up at the game and saw her hit the ball finally, and to your dismay, it went in the pocket making her the winner.

Eirene stood back up and you breathed a sigh of relief while she turned around to face you with a big smile on her face, "See, I told you, Chief!~"

You were practically sweating now and did your best to hide your semi-erection, "Y-Yeah, congratulations! I guess we should call it a night now! I'll drop you off—"

You turned away from her and were about to walk away while wiping your sweat when Eirene held your hand and pulled you towards her before pinning you on the wall. The next moment, her lips were quickly pressed on yours while her hands cupped your face possessively. Your eyes widened but you couldn't hold back your urges anymore, wrapping your arms around her waist and pulling her even closer. The whole game had riled you up due to her taunts and provocations, and the last 'interaction' was the breaking point.

"Don't act so innocent, Chief. I want my prize for winning now~"

She whispered between the kiss, her knee grinding against your erection.

"You did that intentionally.... mmh... d-didn't you?"

"Don't say you didn't like it. Look at your state now~"

"Is this what you wanted all along? You shouldn't have wasted time with the game then~"

"Mmm, it was fun. I liked being able to enjoy without any worries. Now, I expect you to give me a real gift. You have to thoroughly please me~"

"Yes ma'am~"

Eirene smirked before smashing her lips to yours again, engaging in a passionate kiss. Your tongues mingled together, your hands groping each other to pull off any piece of clothing. Eirene discarded your coat and unbuttoned some of your shirt before sliding her hands down to unbuckle your belt. Your hands found the knot of the strings of her dress and hurriedly loosened it, letting it fall down her upper body and exposing her breasts.

"W-Wait! We should move elsewhere—!" you protested.

"I don't mind it, Chief. Nobody will come here at this hour, and you can delete all the footage from the cameras later~"

Eirene husked before going down to kiss your neck and chest, leaving prints of her red lipstick on your skin. An idea occurred to you all of a sudden, you pressed the button on your ear piece and eyed the camera in the corner.

"N-Nightingale, turn off the cameras in the recreational area for tonight. Also, nobody is allowed to come here until I say so...."

There was silence for a moment before a reply finally came, "....As you say, Chief."

You removed the ear piece after her reply and threw it across the Pool table. Eirene had already opened your pants button and unzipped your flyer, palming your erection through your underwear.

"Good thinking, Chief. See, I knew you are worthy to be my partner in crime~"

She was about to take out your cock when you pushed her back making her lean against the Pool table and grasped her leg up to your thigh, pressing your bulge to her clothed core. She let out a sultry gasp, lacing her hands in your hair and clenching your back with her nails.

"Ahh.... calm down, Chief. I'm not going anywhere tonight~"

Eirene whispered while rocking back n forth on your erection. You dived in near her neck and inhaled her intoxicating scent while pressing kisses to her skin, pleasured sighs leaving her mouth and flowing in your ears. She nipped your shoulder before biting down at a spot, making you hiss before grabbing her breasts and kneading them.

"S-Sorry that I didn't come, I didn't think you wanted me there so much. I was just worried for your—"

"Shh, say no more, Chief. I'm used to doing these things alone, but knowing that there is someone out there genuinely supporting me gives me lot of encouragement. It's just that.... the party would have certainly been more enjoyable with you, and you already gave me an enjoyable time now. It's rare to have a chance to be alone with you like this, why don't you please me as you promised?~"

You nodded with a smile then dropped to your knees, spreading apart her legs to expose her soaked core. You caressed her legs up to her thighs then slid of her panties that were already wet with arousal, followed by rubbing you finger over her folds. Eirene softly sighed in pleasure and rested her legs on your shoulders, essentially pulling your face closer to her core. You looked up at her and saw her smirk before intertwining her fingers in your hair, tugging you forward.

You raised up her thighs then lapped up her folds once, sending a shiver in her body which made her arch up. You followed this with more licks to her clit, flicking your tongue on the bud in quick motions. Eirene hummed as your tongue went deeper, eventually plunging it inside her and sucking. Your thumb circled her clit while you ate her out, your tongue grazing her sensitive spots and sucking on them. Her grip in your hair tightened and she pulled you deeper, wrapping her legs around your head and squeezing you in.

"Y-Yes, Chief.... aaah.... right there.... Oh! You are good at this— hngh~!"

She leaned back on the table more, her body heaving as her orgasm approached. Her free hand went to pinch and twirl her nipple, she gazed at you with ragged breaths and adored your focused state pleasuring her so well. She loved having you worship her this way, treating her no less than a queen. She doesn’t care what others would think of her being with you, they don’t know you like she does and.... when have they ever known her true self even? She ran her hand through her luscious hair, tilting her head back and moaning your name, moaning for you to go deeper and harder.

That’s exactly what you did as your mouth latched onto her clit and sucked the bundle of nerves while fingering her walls, finally making her release. Eirene sat heaving as you cleaned her up before standing up, she immediately pulled you in by your neck into a passionate kiss while she felt your throbbing erection rub against her abdomen. She was impatient now, too pent up to go slow and sensual. Her palm slipped past your underwear and directly grabbed your shaft, wasting no time to finally free it from the confines.

“L-Let me get a condom....” you stated and were about to walk away when Eirene gripped your shaft tighter and essentially pulled you closer by it.

“Leave it now, Chief. It’s too late for it~”

“But—”

“Oh, just be quiet now~” Eirene abruptly kissed you while trying to align your length to her core. “It’s fine today, I need it this way~” She whispered against your lips and you let go of all worries too as you gripped your cock and rubbed the tip across her vulva, mixing your pre-cum and her slick.

“Mmm.... don’t be so gentlemanly now, Chief. I’m expecting you to fuck me~”

Her words caught you off-guard as she rarely used such crude language. You then shoved forward and plunged inside her in a single thrust, entering her half way then sliding to the hilt. You groaned together at the penetration, feeling overwhelmed by her warm walls enveloping you tightly and your girthy length filling her up completely. Eirene arched back and wrapped her legs around you while gripping your shoulders, a nod from her was all you need before starting to thrust in and out.

You started slow at first just to ease her, you were tempted to slam in as she wanted but that wasn't your style and you knew Eirene loved it your way more. Her hooded eyes gazed into yours, conveying an insatiable lust and need, the look making you lose control and increase your pace. She bit her lower lip as you became faster and deeper, pulling out till the tip remained then quickly shoving in all the way. She felt all her sensitive spots being touched at the same time, your cock was inside her so well.

"C-Come on, Chief.... We are not lovers— aaah.... y-you don't need to be so careful~"

You gritted your teeth then suddenly lunged forward and laid her flat on the table while plunging down into her at a harsh pace. Eirene moaned incoherently, surprised by the change but loving it nonetheless.

"I'll still fuck you like a lover— guh!~" you announced as you slammed into her, your thighs slapping against hers as you kept up the pace. Eirene smirked in victory and pulled you in for a hug, wrapping her arms around you while sweetly moaning in your ear.

"Show me then! Show me how you do it like I'm yours!~"

You buried your face in the crook of her neck and thrusted in and out at an animalistic pace, fucking her just the way she wanted. Her hands slid down your back making scratches from her nails, marking you up as her property. Eirene knew she wouldn't feel this pleasure from anyone else, all those people trying to flatter her to get inside her were worthless. It was ridiculous at some point, how could she feel this from you? But here she was, letting you ram into her like a beast and thoroughly enjoying it.

She was eventually turned over and bent against the Pool table now as you entered her from behind, impressed by your stamina as you hadn't cum yet. There was no way she was cumming before you, but she was finding it difficult to hold on with how your cock drilled at all her sweet spots just the way she liked. Your hands grasped her butt and spread her cheeks apart further, taking in the sight of your cock piercing her. It was irresisitible to have the Quinn CEO this way, little did you know you were the only one she'd bend over for.

"Aaahn! Yes! Yes! Mmmm~! F-Fuck me, Chief! Fuck me harder! Let it all out!~"

You grunted and pressed her lower back down, putting her in a beautiful arch with her head tilted to the back and eyes rolling to her skull. You then leaned forward and pressed your front to her back while your arms wrapped around her waist, sneaking down to touch her clit. Your thighs slapped against her ass and produced erotic sounds, your finger rubbing her clit eagerly to make her release.

"Eirene.... you are so tight d-damn.... Why don't we do this more? When was the last time we did this— ngh!~"

"F-Forgotten already, Chief? I don't blame you.... aaah.... i-it was almost 8 months ago... mmh!~"

"How did I live without being inside you for so long.... s-shit...."

"Y-You tell me, hehe.... Don't you have other people for this?~"

"No... I have been so busy, I didn't do with anyone else— fuck!~"

"Oh my, you have been pent-up for so long? Hehe, I'm glad to b-break your streak then— aaahn!~"

Eirene practically screamed as you suddenly made a harsh thrust, hitting her deepest spot then continuing to hammer at it the same way. It wasn't as fast as before but it was so much deeper and harder, she could feel every part of your cock graze her walls. You raised up her right leg and and put it over your shoulder then grabbed her waist and ploughed in and out brutually, the table creaking as her body bounced against it.

"I-I'm going to cum— fuck! Let me pull out!~"

"N-No, give it to me inside! You said you'll fuck me like a lover!~"

You took a deep breath then turned her over completely and pulled her up in your arms, carrying her as she bounced on your cock while you leaned against the wall. You hilted all the way as you finally released, gushing her walls with your thick stream of cum. She came at the same time and held your length in a deathly grip, practically milking you of every drop you had. She felt so full as your cum poured inside before you pulled out your cock, letting some drip down her thighs. You breathed out together and she leaned in to kiss you, you were worthy of her in every way and she hoped you'd understand that.

#path to nowhere #ptn x reader #path to nowhere smut #path to nowhere x reader #happy birthday eirene #eirene x reader #ptn eirene #eirene smut

126 notes · View notes

lostalioth · 1 day

Text

𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬

→ premise: there existed no such cricumstances in which dean doesnt want your lips against his. bloodied, bruised, even with broken bones, a kiss from his girl makes it all better.

→ pairing: dean winchester x fem!reader

→ warnings: tw: blood, fluff, but some sort of instense making out, established relationship, descriptions of blood and injuries, blood in mouth, nicknames [baby, sweetheart, my girl], reader is described a bit to have anxiety

→ a/n: as always i hope dean isn’t too out of character as i have never written for him! enjoy my loves :) and sorry its short.

A hunt had gone south they got the monster and it was done but Dean was injured, they were headed back to the bunker. That was all Sam spit out over the phone, normally you appreciated his ability to get straight to the point. Currently you were cursing it as he hung up shortly after cause he was the one driving back. You had a million and one questions running through your head and more than half of them weren’t good.

This was the part of the boys going off hunting and you staying back that you hated the most. When one of them got hurt or something went wrong and all you could do was sit there, a chill running down your spine as your blood boiled in your veins, anxiously pacing the living room, trying to not let yourself jump to the worst conclusions which you regularly failed to do.

You used to go on hunts with them and instead of you currently being the one riddle with anxiety, it was Dean. Once the two of you pulled your heads out of your asses (as Sam would say) and realized you’ve had feelings for each other for years, you got together. Being officially together seemed to make Dean's protective nature increase tenfold. He was even more terrified to lose you now than before. He began fussing over you whenever you'd get even the slightest scarpe or bump on a hunt. He would glue himself to your side the whole duration. Forcing you to normally stay back in the motel room when the hunt turned into a more dangerous situation than dean cared to put you in.

You loved Dean but it began to get a bit too tedious to deal with and even Sam made a comment on how overprotective he was being. In an attempt to make hunts go easier and ease your boyfriend's anxiety, once you all situated yourselfs in the bunker you suggested to him that you go out on hunts less, especially when they could now take Cas. Dean jumped at the suggestion but you couldn't blame him.

“I think that's a great idea baby” he said with a kiss to your forehead.

You still helped out, researching things when Sam needed the help, going through old books and files in the library, patching them up when they’d come back with cuts and bruises. You hadn't realized just how jittery you'd be however stuck in the bunker when he was out and especially when they went on far away hunts.

They'd go to the hospital when things were really bad, so you knew if the boys were on their way back then it couldn’t be too bad. The reminder did nothing to sooth your racing thoughts, your heart thumping so hard you could practically hear it pounding in your ears. You didn't know just how long you've been pacing back and forth, too afraid to look up at the clock and realize it's only been a few minutes since Sam called.

You don't hear the sound of baby pulling into the garage, your head is too clouded as you were damn near about to wear a grove down into the old floors. The sound of a door shutting loudly and two sets of heavy footsteps are heard down the hallway. Spinning so quickly on your feet you nearly lose your balance you turn to face the noise. Watching as the brothers emerge from the dark hall, Dean's arm rests on Sam's shoulder almost using him like a human crutch. You let out a small gasp making them stop and both of their eyes snap up to yours, whether you gasped in surprise at the state of your boyfriend or in relief you can’t tell.

“Hi sweetheart, We’re home” Dean tilts his head, his voice laced with his usual sarcasm and deep tone. He pushes off of Sam, clearly able to at least stand on his own, slowly making his way over to you a small limp in his step.

In the blink of an eye you’re rushing into his arms, your soft hands grabbing ahold of his beaten up face and crashing your lips against his. He grunts out a “fuck” in surprise or pain the word dying in his throat turning into a noise as his eyes fall shut and he grabs ahold of your hips. With a sharp tug he pulls your body as close as he can to his, his hands sliding up your sides. His bloodied lips against your plush ones, kissing you like a man starved, a kiss you’ve come accustomed to when he comes home from longer hunts. “Missed you” he hums in a hushed tone into the kiss for only you to hear, making your racing heart only speed up. His blood flows into your opened mouth as the kiss goes on, the metallic taste on your tongue foreign but you were far too relieved he was back in one piece to care about the blood coating your tongue.

Any pain Dean felt after the whole ordeal and from the bumpy ride back to the bunker seemed to fade from his body. He could care less about his brother's presence still in the room or the blood still dripping from his face and that covered his clothes or his split lip. It felt as if all the bruises that were forming on his body were already being kissed away as your soft lips slid against his. The taste of your mouth overcoming the taste of the blood in his, your scent calming his body, reminding him he's finally home again. Your body grounding him.

A rough deep cough stops the moment making the two of you reluctantly pull away, lips swollen and parted as you catch your breath.

“Before this gets any more R-rated maybe we should patch him up and you know clean him up” Sam suggested with a small light hearted chuckle as he walks off to the bathroom to get the first aid kit. You were grateful you remembered just yesterday that it had needed to be restocked. “Sorry Sammy” Dean calls after him, you turn your head away and follow up with a “Sorry not sorry” down the hall after him making a small smirk grow on your boyfriend's face.

Once he's out of eye sight, Dean grabs ahold of your face by lightly squeezing your cheeks and turns your head back to face him. Leaning down to begin softly kissing you again, groaning against your lips when the pain in his body begins to return.

“Who needs a first aid kit, all i need is my girl's kisses” He mumbled softly against your mouth, making you break out into a smile. A small tear slips down your cheek, your breath returning to your lungs and the chill in your spine fading as relief finally settled over your body knowing he's okay.

→ a/n: if you enjoyed please reblog or send me some dean requests id love to write more for him!

120 notes · View notes

seungkwanniee · 2 days

Text

pairings : nonidol!seveteen x gn!reader

genere : fluff , angst ( minghao one )

warnings : little made fun of (jun) , panic attack but not at all (wonwoo)

synopsis : seventeen as love trope imo !

an : don't know when this is coming out but, -3 for bald Jeonghan. They are so fucking long that maybe i shouldve writed a whole series and not this but anyway

〔masterlist〕

SCOUPS 』

age gap , age ain't nothing but a number

He loves having someone on his knees no matter what, and we know younger people are more easy to manipulate but i mean it in a good way. Seungcheol would love have you wrapped around his fingers, have you doing all that just for him make him istantly happy, it fills his chest with love. But he would prefer way more to spoil you with gift, love and money. You need money? he is already putting them in your bra. You wanted that cloth? it's already yours. He likes have you wrapped around his arms that are way bigger than your whole body. Loves the height gap, so he can lay his chin on top of your head and wrap your neck with his arm. He could care less when someone points out the age gap, he loves you no matter what.

JEONGHAN 』

unreachable love interest , talking to you means a lot to me

Jeonghan is that one popular guy that everyone is in love with, so it feels like he is unreachable. He looks like an angel and seems also so sweet and caring but at the same time interesting to be around. You was only one of those people that is blinded by his beauty, why he would even notice you and your odd interest? He never showed love interest on anyone and never dated someone, he was a little bit cold, you were being just delulu right? It was so surprining for everyone when one day his steps weren't the same as he does everyday to walk into his class: he was getting closer to you, he was going trowards you. Your heart was beating so fast that you thought everyone could hear that, while your face was already red just by looking closely to his face. This unreachable angel was talking to you?

JOSHUA 』

slow burn , a lot can happen in 6 months but didn't expected this

At frist, when your friend introduced you two, you didn't minded about him too much. Sure, he was looking pretty and his behavior during the whole hangout was so gentle with everyone, but slowly he became part of your daily routine. He got involved in your group of friends more, so you automatically spent more time with him and became good friends. He was always caring, helping you to go down or upstairs, sometimes playing your food, fixing you hair etc... be he was like that with everyone, there was no purpose below. But when your heart starts flutter when he meet your eyes, you know something was changing. You no longer see his action innocently, you everytime internally begged him to make one more move, more closer to you, more intimate. Your skin pratically craving for his touch was everything you needed. Who thought that this could happen in six months?

JUN 』

the quiet ( and smart ) boy , I was quiet but not blind

Jun was the quiet, and maybe weird, guy everyone got in their class. He never talked to anyone, and no one ever spoke to him. Jun was smart enough to know that that class was a herd of kids who followed the crowd and he didn't want to be one of them, his few friends were already enough for him. As I mentioned, Jun was a smart ass boy, he noticed one girl in particular. He didn't liked her in that way, she just was the one he hated the less. His classmates didn't mind when he could hear the non-pleasant things they were saying about him, every single one said something except her. Rather, he had heard her complaining with her friends their behavior, sometimes he could ever hear the sound of a little slap, maybe in the head, after their words. During class, often you eyes land on him, his head almost always lowered to the desk writing something with his relaxed form but today something was different. His legs shaking up and down while his hand was playing with the pen that was supposted to write down the paper. when a "you are too smart to be friend with them" paper landed on you desk at the end of the class, you got everything, as if your vision was no longer blurred thanks to a stupid note.

HOSHI 』

childhood friends , it's always been you

Soonyoung was laying between your arms, while his eyes were red and puffed because of previous tears. You always warned him about the girl he was dating until few hours ago: she never liked you and you never liked her. You never knew why she didn't liked you, just because you were Soonyoung bestfriend was a stupid reason. Btw, you had a strong reason to not like her, a red flag swinging right in front of you bestfriend face that the decided to completely ignore. You always knew she was going to cheat, she did before nothing was stopping her just because he was Soonyoung. You stayed beside him the whole time, he needed to heal from this harsh breakup, but this made things change with the time. You noticed how he was more caring now, he always been but you felt something was off for sure. At one point it seemed like you was the one that needed to be healed, not him anymore. But he considered you like her sister until few months ago, what happened now?

WONWOO 』

fake dating , I like you more than I planned

When you told about this to him, all he could do was be shocked, and you kinda understand him. When your friends comes to you and tell you to pretend to be a coupla at a wedding it was pretty weird, no? Plus, Wonwoo is so shy and reserved, but it was the best choice you could come with. You hated all the invadent questions they ask, the last time they almost made you have a panick attack so you wasn't planning to go throught that hell once again. When you were standing beside him, he had his arms wrapped around your waist. Occasionally, he would also wrap you shoulder, adjust your hair or wipe your mouth from the crumbles. You would notice how his ears go bright red when his hands lays on your body, or how his hands were slightly trembling. You wanted to make fun of him, but you were exactly like him if not worst. He almost choke when one of your aunts ask you two a kiss, you would pat his back trying to keep him alive while with trembling voice explained how shy you are to do pda in public.

WOOZI 』

enemies to lovers , are you flirting or starting a fight?

when you hear that your partner project is Lee Jihoon, you just want to let out hundred curses. This was an important work project, almost depending your future and they paired you with the person for which you have hatred. At the start, you two only warned the eachother how important the project was and reiterated your mutual hatred, for what is still unknown and we'll never know because you two actually started to get along very well. It was the most unexpected thing for your coworkes see you talking like normal human being, working like you never hated eachother, how you two seemed almost like the realest bestfriends. From now on, you two enjoyed the each other comfort company and used the extra hour to stay toghether. Everyone already knew how you two will be lovers one day.

DOKYEOM 』

grumpy x sunshine , I loved you so hard that I softned

You don't know if adopt the cat you have now it was the best decision ever. It didn't fall in love with you, but with your neighborhood and you two aren't even friends. Your cat would sneak out in the most weird possibile way even figuring out how to open the balcony window and jump on the near balcony. You were so embarassed to knock at his door and explain that the cat that jumped on his apartment was yours. Maybe it was annoying him, maybe he was that kinda of grumpy neighborhood (spoiler: you were) and will yell at you. But when the door opens, you find the exactly opposite in front of your eyes. He was tall but his face looked so bright, you don't even know how to explain it but it was like that. Your little black cat was laying so comfortable in his way more bigger hands that it almost didn't wanted to come with you again. You regretted how cold you were with him, but you never saw him and it will continue like that, you tought. Never been so wrong: apparently your cat loved soo much Seokmin that now it almost live at his instead of yours. You were grateful that he wasn't annoyed by that, he was a little sunshine, but instead it was bothering you. You never liked having convo with new people, and your cat was pratically forcing you to do that. You even tought to give it to him forever just to avoid his attempt of conversation, or his invites you to come into his apartment and eat something together. But at the end, you will be always grateful to your cat that letted you met your now boyfriend.

MINGYU 』

soulmates , I meet another me inside of you

It was so shocking when you met him and discovered that you two have almost the same tatoo, it was like you two were made for eachother. It was a silly one, with no meaning behind it at all and this made the thing seem even more on propuse. The thing you two didn't knew it was that you were meant to meet and never leaving eachother side ever. The stage of being friends it never actually exsisted in your relationship, catching feelings was so fast and never been so easly that you almost thought that everything was just a fever dream, it wasn't actually real, so unreal in your head but it was like that. You have you boyfriend by your side everytime you need to, he loves you with all his heart and actually got another matching tatoo.

MINGHAO 』

forbidden love , in another life

when Minghao's family dicovered that his girlfriend wasn't chinese as him, they were disappointed from the start. They were a traditional family, and Mingaho knew that, but his heart choosed her and he can't help it. She doesn't even looked like a foreigner, at some point you spoke chinese better than him. He knew that they wouldn't like her at the start, thats why he went slow with them, but he never thought they would overreact so badly. His own mother didn't even talked to him for the frist weeks, letting him guess how disappointed and upset he was. His face was full of surprise when suddently they asked for a dinner togheter, they wanted to get to know her but all of the sudden looked a little bit of on his eyes. He putted aside his thoughts, he was so happy and excited when he got that his family was starting to soften about his relationship with a foreigner. He never regretted a decision more, they made you come for what? to embarass you, bring you down and made you feel not enough for him. He got so upset for you, he was blaming himself and apologize in his knees, you didn't deserved that and decide that you two should go in separate path.

SEUNGKWAN 』

insicure / unexpected love , & then I met you

Seungkwan always been the insicure guy: he thought no one would ever love him romatically, he was more like the class clown and only seem like a friend to the girls. He wasn't handsome, he wasn't the popular guy becayse of his look, he was only popular for his funny personality, sometimes he would even embarass himself in front of everyone just to make his classroom laugh. He never shows how this topic upset him, gotta always fake a smile and pretend nothing, but deep down himself he is almost sure no one will ever love him but also he will never be capable to love someone. He is scared and unexperienced: he can surely make someone laugh, but he can love? he can give the attention his future lover needs? he can make the person feel loved as he deresved? He was sure he was impeded in love, until you came in his life. You was the unexpected love of his life, and learned how he was really good at loving, giving attention and those things. When you frist you went to him, he thought it was a joke, someone better reveal the cameras and stop it because it wasn't funny, he would be so upset for his whole life for be made fun of. But you was dead serious, you didn't seen him like the weird funny and class clown, you saw deep down in his soul and it was so pretty, unique and majestic.

VERNON 』

innocent crush , I wonder how I look from my crush's pov

He may be the cold and dead serious guy, the one that never show interest on nothing, much less for a girl. But when he revealed his crush on you to his friends, even them were shocked. And now, forget everything about the cold guy you always knew, he become so awkward around you from now on. He always tries to get your attention, but in the end he just looks goofy and silly. Seungkwan and Dino not helping him at all too as they just look way goofier than him or just make him in weird situation. Like that one time where they made fall his whole lunch in front of you, but that just got an interaction between you two so a win is a win. But I feel like this would just be a school crush, and you two will never ending up toghter.

DINO 』

second chance love , I will always choose you

When you met those familiar eyes one again, after almost a year you two lost contact, you got it wasn't never with that boy you hardly fell in love. It was so crowded down the streets, when you stopped for few seconds because of the shock, you already lost the sight of your friends. You quickly flutter your eyes when he moves slight trowards you, not because he wanted to, but because one his friend just bumped into him. He looks at him dumbfounded because hell, there wasn't almost space to even breath why he was just staning in the middle of nothing looking straight like an idiot but he quickly relized when he looks straight too. Dino never shutted up about you, not even when you two broke up because of his dumbness, and his friends needed to hear him yap about you for so long. They even tried to pair him someone else, thinking he was just stuck and needed a push to go out of this never ending situation but every single dated ended up by the girl being bored about him yapping about the same thing or better, a person. They always thought he was overreacting but well, they got everything just by looking on his eyes.

109 notes · View notes

suhkusa · 2 days

Text

It’s dark outside when you wake up from your nap. You feel uncomfortable and weird in your day time clothes, so you slide out of your bed and quickly change. The time spent on your bed is short when you finally check your phone.

Your eyes widen when you read Osamu’s texts. You quickly type out a response on the lines of “sure,” before you’re sliding on your slippers and heading outside. As you close your door, you can hear the neighbor’s door swing open.

You can see his figure in the darkness, and you know he can see you as well. The two of you meet on the sidewalk that connects the walkways of your guys’ house.

“Hey, Y/N,” he sounds a bit tense, but it’s the same old Osamu if you had to guess.

“Hey,�� you follow him in taking a seat on the curb. A good amount of distance between the two of you, but just enough where you could still make out his facial features in the dead of the night.

“How have you been?” Osamu starts the conversation. He’s staring off into the distance.

“I’ve been good, just finished up finals. You?”

“Same here, I suppose. And your friends?”

Your head tilts in thought, “They’re good as well,”

There’s a moment of silence before a question that has been poking at your mind finally works its way out.

“How come you’re back home? Isn’t there practice for the new season?”

You can see his eyebrows raise from your peripheral vision. Did you say something wrong?

“Oh, well,” his legs bend so he can hold his knees a bit closer, “I quit the team a while ago,”

Your eyes finally widen, “Oh shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“Nono, it’s all good. A lot of people are shocked when I tell them, too,”

“How did Atsumu react?”

The man beside you laughs a bit to himself, “As bad as you’d expect. It was around the time that… you know, happened so he had a lot of emotions pent up already,”

“I see,” is all you’re able to manage.

You know. None of you ever seem to know what to call that situation. A few moments pass by as the two of you bask in quietness.

“Do you hate me?” his question catches you extremely off guard.

“What? No- I could never, ‘Samu,” your eyes are full of worry when you finally look his way. “I’m sorry if I ever made it seem like that. I care so much for you, even ‘Tsumu. I know I used to scold and fight with you a lot, but it’s because I really cared. You were my bestest friend at one point and it hurt to see you sabotaging your heart like that,”

“I-” Osamu runs a hand through his hair, “I’m sorry, too. For everything. I was childish and I didn’t know how to deal with my feelings for you. Atsumu came up with the idea. The truce, I mean. I just went with it, because on the off chance that you chose him, it meant he wouldn’t be able to have you,” but it happened anyways, you know he wants to say.

“I guess since it’s already out in the open, I can just say it. But I’ve liked you. I still like you. I’m sorry it’s stupid-”

You swiftly cut him off before he can continue, “It’s not stupid, like, at all. I liked you in our third year. I.. I was going to tell you but then you suddenly became distant, so the timing felt bad,”

Osamu sighs before tucking his face into his hands. “Fuck,” you hear him mutter under his breath.

“Is it really too late?”

If you were caught off guard earlier, you didn’t know what to call this gut-wrenching feeling now. You already know the answer, but you’re scared. You feel like you’ve already screwed up so much, that any little thing you do next will just end in pieces.

“It’s not,”

You see him peek up at you from where he was looking down, urging you to continue.

“I just… Just give me time, alright?”

All he does is nod in response.

And for once in your life, it feels the universe is finally reassuring you that it’ll be okay.

BOTH AIN’T SH!T ( OSAMU VER.) — TIME

PREV | MASTERLIST | NEXT

NOTES.

osamu was falling asleep when y/n texted back but he jumped up when he heard the notif

his phone’s volume button is broken from throwing it after he texted

atsumu cried when he was fighting with osamu because too much was happening at the time (part of him felt guilty too)

#haikyuu x reader #osamu x reader #haikyuu smau #hq smau #hq angst #osamu smau #osamu miya x reader #raeworks

97 notes · View notes

skibasyndrome · 2 days

Note

Wilmon + "please I need you inside me"

cw: this is... definitely nsfw, a lil bit angsty... messy exes reunited at a party?

ALSO: the word count on this bad boy got... completely out of hand

"Please, I need you inside me." Simon's whispered confession hits Wille like a freight train. It's not what he expected him to say, not after everything, not after all this time, not after what he said last time. Not as his first full sentence towards Wille, after an awkward "hey" in front of Felice and Sara who are the only reason they even came to Maddie's party in the first place. Not after asking if Wille "has a minute" one and a half hours later.

It's all wrong and Wille is confused, so fucking confused and a little bit too tipsy to really connect the dots (have there been hints all evening? have there been signs he misread?). Instead of asking any of the millions of questions floating around his mind (Why do you want me now? Did you change your mind? What happened to the new guy? Why here?) he just stutters, unsure what to say, unsure what to do about the goosebumps mottling the skin of his neck, even moments after Simon has already pulled away again. "Simon, I don't..." (Why didn't you text? Why didn't you call?) Simon's expression twists painfully and Wille knows, oh god he knows what this sounds like and he needs to fix this. "I...," and the words still don't make their way out, so he reaches out, fingers grazing the inside of Simon's wrist, so soft and so smooth and so reminiscent of the times this was what they did. (Why did you push me away when this is what you want?) "We can't," Wille tries instead, desperate, breathless, feels his chest contract angrily, feels his resolve crumble with every passing second that he's skin to skin with Simon. Fingertips on the wrist are enough to set his skin on fire. Enough to bring him back to two years ago. (Why didn't you want me to fight harder?) "Is it because you don't want to?" Simon asks, voice gentle and careful and so painfully small - Wille hates when Simon feels like he needs to make his voice smaller - that the pang goes right to Wille's heart. (Why would you ever think I don't want you?) He shakes his head fervently, like he can shake off the hurt and the confusion and the incessantly rising heat of want that crawls up the inside of his throat. "No. God, no," he tries, feels and hears his voice break on the first no. (Did I not prove to you that you're all I ever want?) Simon's eyes meet his again, finally. Glistening even in the dim light of this hallway, and Wille wishes he could read him better, wishes there weren't two years of distance lodged in between them. Simon moves his arm and just as Wille is about to gasp at the prospect of losing him again he feels Simon's grip on his upper arm instead, firm and warm even through the thin fabric of his shirt. The breath gets stuck somewhere deep inside of Wille's rib cage. He doesn't dare make a single move while Simon tugs on his arm, places it around himself, takes another step towards Simon. (Why did I ever let you go?) The look in Simon's eyes is dangerous, is gnawing away at every bit of distance, at every wall that Wille has desperately tried to build up over these past years. Simon squeezes Wille's bicep, signaling him he can touch him back and- Fuck. And Wille does. Wille's hand still perfectly fits on top of Simon's hipbone. "If you still in any way want me..." (What the fuck did I do to make you think there'd ever be an 'if'?) "if this is still," and Simon is standing so close to him now that Wille thinks he must be feeling him. Must be feeling that Wille, despite himself and all that work he put into getting over Simon, very much fucking wants him. Now, always, probably for fucking ever. "If this is something you might want..." Simon presses against him now, hips against hips, and Wille wants to moan and cry and wrap him tightly in his arms because he can feel Simon again, too, here, close. Simon leans forward, lips moving towards Wille's ear. "Let me have this, Wille. If you still want this, let me have you."

Wille's moan is barely stifled when he feels the subtle movement of Simon against him, of Simon pressing into him, onto him, of Simon searching for contact and friction and more of Wille. "Not here," Wille tries, but he's already losing the battle and grinding his erection against Simon's, that quietly flickering flame he never quite managed to put out now stoked into a raging fire. "We don't have- and we're just-" And while he stammers away, while he digs his fingertips into Simon's side and relishes in the heady feeling of having him here again, he feels Simon slip something into his palm, a small bottle, familiar enough to make Wille's mind spin. (How did you-?) "I knew you'd be here," Simon confesses, unprompted. "I knew I'd see you." His lips leave burns in their wake as they brush down the side of Wille's jaw. Wille barely has control over his own hands, just barely registers that must be pulling Simon closer. And it seems like this breaks a dam inside of Simon. "Been thinking about you," he gasps out and Wille can feel his hands under his shirt now, digging nails into Wille's skin that remembers. "Been missing you," Simon admits, much more quietly, but before Wille has any chance - But why did you-? - Simon pushes on. "Missed feeling you... missed having you like this." And god, god, Wille is a broken man. He's never had a sense for when to stop, when to turn away from Simon before things become detrimental, and he's not about to now start acting like he has any control over his feelings towards this man. This man that ruined Wille for everyone forever. So of course Wille finds himself perched behind Simon in one of the seemingly countless storage rooms in Maddie's house, of course he's got Simon holding on to a shelf in front of him, with his pants bunched up around his knees, and of course he's back to opening Simon up for him, nice and slow and grabbing one of his ass cheeks, holding him open for a better view while he does it, because simply feeling him is not enough right now. Of course Simon is back to letting out those sounds that Wille has never stood a chance against, quiet hiccup-y moans that he draws out for a moment longer whenever Wille pulls out and gently eases his fingers back in, teasing. Simon feels just like Wille remembers, he moves just like Wille remembers, he lets out that same broken sound when Wille drops to his knees and asks if he can, please, if Simon is okay with it. He arches his back and pushes back against Wille's mouth, moans at every flick of his tongue, just like he's always done. The filthy string of profanities and desperate pleas falling from his mouth is just as enticing and encouraging as it's always been. The way Wille needs to hold Simon's hips in place, thumbs on his ass cheeks to help hold his open, the way Simon tastes, the way he grinds back and lets Wille fuck his tongue into him... It all hasn't changed one bit. Wille feels delirious, feels like he's stuck in one of those dreams that kept haunting him for weeks, months, after. He feels like he could risk waking up to his empty bed again if he pulls away to catch his breath. It still feels like a dream when he lines himself up with Simon's back, when he presses closer, not pushing in, just feeling the heat of Simon's body through his shirt, just relishing in the slick, hot tightness of being between Simon's thighs. It's so much, so fucking much that Wille needs a moment, that he needs to prepare for what he's sure will ruin him, that he needs to wait before entering him again.

"Are you okay?" Simon asks, breathing heavily and grinding back desperately, and it's almost like it used to be, almost as sweet and caring and devastatingly gentle as they used to be. Almost, because there's an edge of fear, of worry, of uncertainty. Wille nods, pressing his forehead against the soft wispy hairs at the back of Simon's neck. He's so okay. He's so much more than okay, feels so much better than he has months and that alone is absolutely fucking breaking him apart. "So okay," Wille gasps out, pulling back slightly to line himself up. He ignores the slight tremor in his hands, that anticipatory shiver of pleasure that courses through him. "So fucking okay," he moans when he slowly pushes in, sinks against Simon, slips back into that old, familiar, breathtaking sensation of connection and closeness, of soft, warm bliss. And Simon does it, too, moans, throws his head back, angles himself so that Wille can slide home, can claim this feeling for the two of them, finally again. Simon's affirmative hum travels through Wille's chest like the heavy bass on the dance floor did earlier, Simon's sweetly assertive command for "more, Wille" pierces him like a knife. But he can, he absolutely wants to give Simon more. He pulls back slightly, only to thrust into him again, giving more and deeper and harder, making Simon's breathing stutter, making the shelf that's bearing more of less all the force groan under the impact. Every bit of desperation, every yearning thought Wille has tried to neatly file away breaks lose in him, every single time he dreamt of this imagined just one more chance at this hits him at once. By the time he pulls back, words of warning on his lips, mumbled apologies for being so gone so quickly, for not making this last any longer falling into the sweat-heavy air around them, his eyes are burning, his throat closing up. It can't be over already, not again, not now, not ever. Simon's arm shoots behind him, grabbing onto Wille's ass, pulling him closer again, urging him back inside to the hilt. Wille's hips stutter and he gasps out another pleading warning, sure that he's going to fall any minute now, but Simon only digs his blunt fingernails into Wille's skin. "Stay," Simon presses out, so quietly that Wille barely hears it. But it's enough to make Wille press his eyes shut, go rigid against Simon's back. "Inside me, please," he adds, words so drawn out and voice so breathy that Wille can't help but moan in response. Simon needs him, is all Wille can think of when Simon grinds back against him, Simon needs to feel him again, he thinks, as he listens to Simon's staccato breaths and the sound of his slickened hand jerking himself off. It's all the way it used to be, it's like he was never gone, it's like they picked up where they left off, like it's them, together, against all odds again. It takes no more than a couple thrusts before Wille is coming, gasping into the sweaty hair in the back of Simon's neck, pressing closer, wrapping his arms tightly around Simon's chest and stomach, like that will keep him from ever leaving again. Wille is still panting, still shaking, when he feels Simon's come hit his arm, feels Simon go pliant in his arms. He doesn't ask why now, why after all this time, when Simon, hands still holding Wille against him, like he, too, is scared Wille will leave, pants out a quiet "thank you". Wille doesn't ask what this means, either. Doesn't ask what Simon now thinks of him, what Simon now wants to do. He doesn't, can't, get out a single question while he holds onto Simon and Simon holds onto him.

OOOF. I......... I guess that was the vibe when I sat down to write this today. Thank you so so much for sending in that prompt, dear anon! I hope you enjoyed it! 💜💜💜

Send me "Wilmon" + a sentence and I will write you 2k apparently another 5(+) sentences

#wilmon #wilmon ficlet #ficlet ask #anon #tbf.......... ficlet almost feels like too little sdkhaklfjgdf #answered

105 notes · View notes

omgsecretsecret · 16 hours

Text

I don't want to go !

Pairing : Lee Minho x gn!reader

Genre : fluff ; crack ; a liiiiiittle bit siggestive if you squint

Word count : about 650

Warning : mention of needles (for vaccines) ; making out

Author's note : I know this isn't great but I had fun writing it ಥ⁠‿⁠ಥ ; the pics on top are not mine credits to the owners ; lots of love to my sweet @nmn-yty for helping me <3

Prompts : from the list made by @quokkareactions

54. "Get in"

"No"

"Get in"

"No"

"Now"

"Make m..."

"Trust me, love. That's a sentence you don't want to finish."

47. "Why am I on the ground?"

◍｡⁠•⁠ ⁠ᵕ⁠ ⁠•⁠｡◍

You hate needles. You have always hated needles, these pointy little things made for injecting some products in your body. No, thank you. So when you checked your health booklet and saw that you need to get three vaccines done, you were not happy. Hopefully (or not), your lovely boyfriend is here to make (force) you to go to the doctor.

Right now you are in front of the car, he is trying to get you in the car but you keep refusing stubbornly. You are not going there.

"Are you serious right now ? You're like a kid ! he groans, getting frustrated.

— And ? I don't want to go ! you protest, crossing your arms indeed like a sulking child.

— But you have to ! he replies before sighing. Come on, just get in.

— No.

— Get in.

— No.

— Now.

— Make m...

— Trust me, love. That's a sentence you don't want to finish."

You raise a brow. You are in a provocative mood right now, and this definitely made you curious about what he would do. So yes, you are going to try it.

"Bet ? Make. Me. you look at him with a smug look and he isn't even surprised.

— Alright, babe." it's all he says before gently pinning you against the car, trapping you between his strong body and the door.

His eyes travel between your lips and your eyes as he inches closer to you. You're confused, but you'd never refuse a kiss to the hottest man on earth which happens to be your boyfriend. If what he plans on doing to make you regret your sentence is kissing you, you're not complaining. He gently cups your jaw, stroking your cheek with his thumb, yet he doesn't move closer to connect your lips yet. No, he stays like this, purposely making you wait. He smirks as you start pulling him towards you and finally kisses you.

It's slow at first, just to make you want more as he barely moves his lips. But as you get more and more impatient, he finally starts kissing you as you want. He gently pins you against the car, and you let out a surprised whimper. He kisses you more passionately, knowing how much he affects you. He pushes one of his thick thighs between yours as you close your eyes and grip his shoulder. Everything feels hot as he parts his lips as a request to deepen the kiss. You eagerly open your mouth, letting your tongues meet as he grabs your waist with one hand, the other one holding your wrist. It's all so good, but of course Minho is Minho and it can't last long.

You feel him pulling on your arm and tip you over his shoulder, and the next thing you know you're laying on the floor as he looks down at you with a smirk. You're not hurt though, it just made your butt a little bit sore. He carefully made sure to not just throw you down. But still. What the fuck ?

"Why am I on the ground ? you ask with a mix of confusion and annoyance. We were making out !

— I know, I was there. he replies in an almost mocking voice. I warned you. Now get in the car now."

You pout, not very happy, but choose to behave and get in. He sits next to you in the driver seat, watching you while you refuse to look at him. He chuckles at your sulking, you really are just a cute baby.

"But if you're good while we're with the doctor, maybe I'll let you kiss me as much as you want. Sounds good ? he offers as he turns on the car, making you look at him cautiously.

— Yeah... Okay. you mumble and he laughs again. Don't laugh ! I'm gonna kiss you so much you'll regret offering that. you protest, making him raise a brow.

— Sure."

You may be a little annoying sometimes, but he loves you and you'll always be his baby.

◍｡⁠•⁠ ⁠ᵕ⁠ ⁠•⁠｡◍

Many bisous to @giddyfatherchris

do not repost, translate or rewrite without my written authorisation

97 notes · View notes

soggyriceee · 3 days

Text

pt 1

when your period was supposed to come and it didn’t, you knew it was because you had a married man’s baby growing inside of you. you felt ridiculous. sleeping with a married man is one thing, but allowing him to cum inside you and give you a baby? that was another. and you felt even more stupid for allowing him to do you like your first baby daddy did.

you didn’t bother to take a test. within the following weeks food disgusted you, even your favorites. water was hard to keep down, and your back hurt more and more each time you thought about it. but you kept a strong, brave face for your son. now allowing him to see mommy fall.

“so, i set the appointment for the 10th.” you had said into the phone, walking past your sons room for the final time tonight to make sure he was sound asleep. “i feel so stupid Marie. how can i be so stupid.”

“well, i cant say you aren’t stupid. you thought you were in love. what’s important is your not making the same.. choice, as you did with your first born.” your friend replied over the phone.

you didn’t have Konigs phone number. heck, you didn’t even know his age. he never opened up to you about his life. all you knew was his wife was terrible to him, and he used the club and you as release. as a breathe of fresh air. you hadn’t bothered to go back to the club either. you let your manager know your situation, and he was nothing but understanding and compassionate.

you began to head up towards your room, when you suddenly got a knock on the door. acknowledging the fact it was 11 at night, you slowly walked to the door, making sure your friend was still on the line. the peep hole was blocked, only adding to the suspense. your neighborhood was known for nightly break ins, apart of the reason as you why having another baby right now was no good choice.

but when you got a second knock, following a familiar voice, you couldn’t help but wrap your hand around the knob and pull the door slowly, slightly, enough for your nose to peek out the crack.

“open the door Scarlet..” the voice would say. for a moment, you were filled with happiness. he wasn’t gone he hadn’t ghosted you, he had come back for you. but then, you immediately felt anger. because while he did come back, he still left.

“i’ll call you tomorrow girl.” you said, opening the door wider and pressing the red button on the screen. in front of you, Konig presented himself, eye bags darker than his skin tone, eyes hooded. he smelled of booze and cigarettes, his oversized hoodie covering his eyebrows as small strands of his black hair peeled through. you couldn’t ignore the bags that he held on his hand, some obviously for you, some obviously for your son.

“i hate you.” was all you could mutter.

“i had a feeling that he would enjoy some ninja turtles pajamas.. you had mentioned how it was his latest hyper fixation.” Konig said, watching as your smile not once left your lips. “he’s gonna love it.”

you placed the pajama back in their bag, placing it beside the other bags he had brought in. the 15 minuets of happiness and gift opening was over, and he knew he had some explaining to do.

“i.. i know i disappeared. but it wasn’t because.. because of what we did.” he began, resting back on his arm. “i had to figure some stuff out. home stuff.. life stuff. i missed you every second. you.. you pushed me through these last two weeks Scarlet.”

you almost didn’t wanna hear what he had to say, still traumatized from your first relationship and how that had gone. “and i know that i was fucked up for doing that to you after what you told me..” his hand grabbed yours, forcing your avoidant eyes to now look at him. “what i said that night.. all of it every last word i meant. i.. i’m in love with you. im so in love with you, i’m willing to take you and your son and.. and our baby to a better place than this.”

you flinched at “our baby”, forgetting that you had another human growing inside of you. “i’m getting an abortion.. on the 10th.. it’s already scheduled.” you blurted.

the air quickly became tight, the only noises that could be heard was the crackheads and drunks outside the apartment. and it stayed like this until he sat up. “you were gonna kill.. our baby?” he asked, trying to make sense of the absurdity that came from you.

you cocked your head to the side, a small chuckle coming from you as you straightened your posture. “i’m sorry.. are we forgetting how you ghosted me for two weeks? the last thing you saying to me was your gonna take care of me and then you disappear? we haven’t seen each other since and you really expected me to go through what i went through the first time again?”

you stood from your bed, stepping over the gifts and walking to your bedroom door. as you began to open it, ready to tell him to fuck off, he grabbed your arm, pulling you to the bed. swiftly, you were beneath him, one hand enough to pin both of yours above your head. “get off me you think i’m in the mood right now? you-you left and i didn’t know if i was even gonna hear from you again.”

you weren’t even surprised that you began to cry, all of the emotions, anger hurt sadness from over the last few weeks coming up at once. you continued to curse him out as quiet as you could, reminding yourself you can’t fully freak out for the sake of your son. but you were hurt, so hurt you felt it in your chest.

but Konig didn’t say anything. he simply listened, his still drunken eyes locked onto yours. he was hurt to. he was hurt that he had hurt you. hurt that you were hurting. but he did it for you. for your, -no- both yours and his son …for your new family.

when you had finished cursing him out, tears still streaming down your face, all he did was kiss you. he pressed his lips to yours, sliding his tongue on easily. his other hand, grabbed your hip gently, pulling it up to meet his. and of course, you kissed him back.

as soon as he got your response, he kissed you harder. his grip on your hip tightened, a low growl coming from him. “i.. i hate you.” you said in between kisses, warning a soft chuckle from him.

he slowly pulled away from you, pulling your bottom lip with him. “yea? you hate me?” he asked, taking his hand from your hip, down to your thigh. grasping it, he pushed it into a butterfly pose, releasing your wrists with his other hand and hooking his pointer finger around your panties.

he had pretended to notice the lack of pants you’ve worn the whole night, nothing but a loose long sleeve on your body. he noticed the french tip toenails too, his favorite. if he hadn’t fucked up by, in your words, ghosting you, he would’ve already been working a third orgasm out of you.

his thumb grazed your cunt, before running his thumb through your lips. you let out a soft moan, your hips jerking back slightly as you remembered this was the first time you were gonna cum since he touched you. period. you were so hurt and confused, an orgasm was the last thing you wanted, remembering how much better it felt when it was Konig making you cum.

“doesn’t feel like you hate me, prinzessin” he would whisper, circling his thumb around your pulsing hole. he would moan softly, a smirk on his lips as he slowly dragged his thumb back up to your clit, massaging small circles against it as a gentle pace. he didn’t want you to cum just yet, but he could tell you wanted to.

your legs, quick to shake, parted more for him, your hips thrusting up. the pit of your stomach turned, your finger nails digging into Konigs poor muscles. but he didn’t care, not one bit. he loved how he’s only just started touching you, and you’re already almost on the edge.

his eyes wandered down to your breasts, noticing how pointy your nipples looked. and, he wanted them.

as his thumb kept massaging your thumping clit, he leaned down to the end of your shirt, gabbing the hem of it and pulling it up with his teeth slowly, taking in every inch of your body up until your breasts. that’s when he locks eyes with you.

“o-oh God..” you whimpered, grinding yourself onto him more, needing more.

he let your shirt go, licking his lips as he looks at your bare breasts. “play with them.. you wanna cum play with those pretty nipples.” he said, moving his thumb away from

almost immediately your hands went from his arms to your nipples, rolling the sensitive buds in your fingers. he moaned softly, placing his thumb right back on your clit. your eyes rolled back, the amount of stimulation your body was getting becoming almost too much.

meanwhile in konigs pants, he was sure he had potentially creamed his pants as soon as your eyes rolled to the back of your head, but he wanted to believe he wasn’t a loser and it was only pre cum. a lot of pre cum.

“open for me baby come here.. open that mouth.” he grabbed your chin with his free hand, hooking his thumb around your bottom row teeth, forcing your mouth open. almost simultaneously, he slid his noticeably empty ring finger inside your cunt, earning a surprised moan from you.

“oh this pussy is so tight baby it’s been waiting for me huh?” he moaned, his eyebrows furrowing as your wetness coated his finger within two pumps. “nobody else has touched it right? you’ve been a good girl and waited for me hm?” he asked, sliding in a second finger as you gave him a loud yes.

your stomach was doing turns, your orgasm coming quickly and you had no intention of loosing it. the way konigs thumb continues to rub on your pulsing clit as his fingers worked their way in and out of you, it was too much truthfully.

konig felt you clenching around him, you whimpers turning into long whines. more “pre cum” filled his boxers, surely leaving a large wet spot right around his red tip.

konigs hand pressed against your mouth, leaning down to your ear. “ cum prinzessin… you deserve it, you deserve it..” he praised, keeping that same pace as you shook beneath him, Konig desperately dry humping be bed between your legs, making himself cum, yes cum, in his pants yet again.

your eyes fluttered shut, konigs hand coming off of your mouth. his head rested in your chest as he kept his fingers inside of you, slowly pumping them as he too shut his eyes closed.

he was drunk. so drunk that he believed that he indeed had the energy to make you both cum again.

he slid his fingers out your still throbbing cunt, smiling at the small whine you make. he pulls himself off the bed, looking down at your lifeless body. it made him hard yet again, the feeling of the cold, sticky substance in his pants making him even more hard.

he pulled his pants down, taking note of the amount of his own cum covering up to the middle of his cock, his tip angry red. tossing them on the ground, he made work of your panties, tossing them somewhere in the same direction oh his.

crawling on top of you, your eyes slowly peeled open, looking down to his horse third leg cock only inches away from your hole, his tip kissing your sticky lips.

“koni i..” you swallowed, your mouth dry, “i cant.” you said, shaking your head. he laughed, grabbing his cock as he dragged his tip in between your lips. “off my fingers alone i’ve fucked you too well? you must’ve really missed me liebling.” he chuckled, pressing his tip to your hole.

it wasn’t at all that you were worn out. or maybe you were, he should give you a break! it’s been so long since you’ve had an orgasm at all. it was the fact you could never take him fully sitting up!

when you and Konig first had sex, you asked him if you could strictly be on top, and he understood 100 percent. “if i ever get you on your back, would you stop me?” he would ask, his hands on your hips as you bounced up and down on him, just enough for him to just barely be hitting your gspot.

you cant remember what you said to that truthfully, both you and konig so drunk, you were surely over your paid time.

slowly, be pushed his tip in, gasping as his tip plugged right into your hole. he pulled his hips back, and then forward again, just enough to be fucking his tip in and out of you alone. the mix of his cum and yours was enough to get an orgasm out of him, but he refused. he wanted to feel what all of you felt like.

he slid back out, repositioning himself as he grabbed the backs of your thighs, pulling you closer. your eyes watched as his cock rested on your lower stomach, his tip reaching the top of your bellybutton. “k-koni please just do it how we usually do.” you asked, pleaded really, taking note of how he was dragging his tongue across his lips, smirking at how far he was gonna fuck into you.

“it’s okay my love… m’gonna train this pussy to take all of me.” he said, taking your hand in his as he smiled down at your panicked face.

with his free hand he grabbed his cock, again pushing himself into you up until his tip. “you’re so wet.. it won’t even hurt.” he said, not even looking at you and instead where your bodies connected.

slowly, inch by inch, he pushed into you, stopping every time you winced out. it was going good until he he began to get greedy. he was impatient and truthfully, just wanted to absolutely use you like a flimsy little pocket pussy he bought off a sketchy website. the liquor in his body also had something to do with it.

his hand pressed your face to the side, his other hand holding your hip to the bed as his hips began moving back and forth, almost with no time to spare. his eyes crossed, feeling your warm, wet gummy walls sucking his cock back in, his tip never leaving your pussy. he was in heaven, his mouth hanging open, tongue slightly hanging out as drool collected at the tip of his tongue, slowly drooling down from him.

you, on the other hand, were fighting for your life. it felt good, way too good. of course, his tip hitting at your cervix felt like hell. but it felt so good at the same time. “k-koni it h..it hurts.” you panted, your hands gripping his wrist to move his hand off your head.

and he did. to instead wrap it right around your throat. he pulled you up by your neck, connecting your lips together. drool sept from both you guys’ lips, the both of you moaning into each others mouths as his cock abused your hole.

“i-i’m all the way inside you.. fuck i’m gonna c-cum so deep… so deep inside this pussy.” he moaned out, his eyes hooded as he kept his grip on your throat.

his other hand remained on your hip, making sure you weren’t moving at all as his hips rutted into you. “i-it hurts.. please slow-“ but konig pressed the hand that was on your throat back onto your mouth, pressing your head into the mattress. “shut the fuck up.” he would mutter, pushing your legs up to your chest.

immediately, his hips would slam onto your ass, his balls making contact with your skin. he was gonna cum without even having time to react, the feeling of your wet, warmth was too much for him. it was something he hadn’t felt in ages.

he had never told you, but him and his wife’s marriage truly was done years ago. but for the sake of kids and work. he stayed. the first time you both had sex, was the first time in 10 years he had sex. his wife didn’t touch him. and slowly over the last two years, stopped sleeping in the same room as him.

“l-liebling… oh i’m gonna cum in you i’m gonna cum.” he whimpered, looking down at your face. your eyes were squeezed shut, your legs shaking violently as your second orgasm made its way through your body. “w-wait for me my love wait for me.” he panted, quickly wrapping your legs around his waist, his hands on your hips.

“i c- i cant.” you cried out, your fingers rushing to your clit. but he slapped your hand away, earning a cry from you. “i know i know i know.. i’m so close my love i’m s-so… oh fuck.”

his body hovered over you, pressing your hips further to the bed as his jaw fell open. “come liebling come right now come… oh-oh yes~” his hips gave you one final thrust, his tip hitting right at your cervix as his come poured deep into you. your legs shook around him, your back arching up and off the bed as you came and pulsed around his own pulsing sex, your fingers digging into his back and dragging down as you both came over the high.

slowly he rocked his hips, giving small whines at his cock kept pulsing more come from him. “o…oh i cant breathe.” he mumbled, collapsing on top of you.

you both stayed like this, the sound of rain slowly starting to come down. you had begun to fall asleep until Konig spoke into your neck. “marry me.” was all he would say.

that’s when you remembered his empty ring finger. “i already have a ring at our new home. we can’t have it yet i’m still.. still in the process of things..but i promise you by the end of this year.. i’ll sign any papers i’ll take your son in as my own i’ll raise him like my own and. and well even have a new baby too.”

he say up, now looking at you. when you open your mouth to respond, all you could do was cry. and he didn’t even need you to say any words for him to know you meant yes.

would you guys believe me is i said i wrote this whole smoking a joint AGAHAHAG

#cod #call of duty fan fiction #call of duty x reader #cod x reader #konig #konig fanfiction #konig smut #konig cod

100 notes · View notes

pretentious-blonde · 21 hours

Text

meet the parents

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: steve didn't expect things to go smoothly when he introduced you to his parents, but nothing could have prepared him for the rage he felt when they turned their comments towards you

warnings: family drama, alcohol, steve feeling inadequate, steve's father sucks here

a/n: idk if i like how this turned out, but I tried my best

You tugged at the hem of your dress, giving your outfit a once over in the mirror for the last time. You had spent ages rummaging through your wardrobe before you found this one, it’s simple but elegant—enough to make a good impression on Steve’s parents. Whom you were meeting for the first time, tonight.

They had been nagging him since they returned from their trip, one of many, wanting to meet the girl who he had been seeing in their absence. They insisted on inviting you over for dinner, and based on Steve’s reaction, you knew how much this meant to him. You wanted to look your best.

The knock on your front door pulls you away from your thoughts. You quickly grab your jacket and scurry down the stairs, slipping your feet into a pair of shoes as you go to greet him.

He is standing on your front porch, hands buried deep in his pockets as he rocks back on his heels. He reverts his attention to the sound of the door opening. His breath catches in his throat as he drinks in the sight of you, his previous nerves are momentarily replaced with awe at your appearance. God, you looked angelic.

The world seems to still as he unapologetically stares. The gentle curve of a nervous smile on your lips, the dress hugging your figure just right—it takes a great deal of strength on his behalf not to call the whole thing off. To whisk you away for the evening all to himself, leaving his parents to dine alone. He swallows hard as he composes himself, running a hand through his hair as a lopsided grin graces his features.

“Honey, you…wow.” He begins, any words that entered his mind seemed unable to articulate how beautiful you looked tonight. “You look amazing.”

A blush creeps up your neck at the compliment, it’s endearing how he still gets tongue-tied around you. “Thanks. Thought I should put in a little effort.”

His fingers twitch at his sides as he faces another dilemma. Wanting to reach out and pull you close, push you back inside and be selfish, but he shoves them deeper into his pockets instead. The anxiety he was feeling about the night ahead was overwhelming, he was dreading it—dreading the way his father would most likely find something to dig at, something to put him down.

But looking at you now, all dolled up for his sake, he hates it even more.

He hates that you put effort in for this, when it could have gone to something so much more worthwhile. It was the story of his life, trying so hard time and time again to get their approval, only to be shot down over and over again. He didn’t want to subject you to that.

The drive there is strangely quiet, except for the faint hum of the radio station that fills the car. His grip on the steering wheel is tighter than it usually was, his eyes trained on the road ahead. His thoughts, however, were miles away. Questions filled his mind about what could happen. What they could say to you. If they made you uncomfortable. Each one was worse than the last, the stress made his chest tighten.

He brushes them off. How could they not love you like he did? When you’re sitting all pretty beside him, looking so damn perfect. In every way that he is not.

“You seem quiet,” you say, trying to break the silence. “So, are your parents like, super strict or something?”

He chuckles, but it’s nervous. He has told you bits and pieces about what his family is like. Constant business trips that his mother insisted on tagging along to, holidays without him, calling a few times throughout the week. He had failed to mention how much of a dick his dad could be, especially after a couple drinks.

“Nah, I mean, they’re not…strict.” His fingers tap anxiously on the steering wheel. “They’re old-fashioned. Like, ‘everything has to be perfect’ kind of way, you know?”

You nod along slowly, mood still playful, not quite picking up on the nerves flowing through the boy next to you. “Damn, I should have brought something, or even baked, huh?”

He laughs now, but the tension still remains in his shoulders. “Honestly, you might be their favourite person after tonight if you did that. I’m pretty sure they like you more than me.”

Your expression falters slightly at that, smile dropping as you reach over to squeeze his hand. “Steve, come on. There is no way that’s true.”

He doesn’t respond, keeping his eyes forward.

She has no idea.

“Well, if they don’t like me, I’ll get them with my dazzling personality. You fell for it, right?”

That earns you a genuine smile. Yes, he fell for it. He fell damn hard and welcomed it fully. That is why he loathed the idea of bringing you home. Of subjecting you to this dinner.

“Yeah, you got me good, angel.” He squeezes your hand back. “Hook, line, and sinker.”

His raw honesty renders you silent for a few moments, turning your face to the view outside to hide the flush in your cheeks. He always knew how to do that. Say something so nonchalant that made your knees weak.

“Just a heads up,” he glances over to you briefly, hand still resting in his as you pull into the driveway of his home. “Just if they say anything…weird, don’t take it seriously.”

“Steve,” you pull your hand away to cup his face, big, brown eyes staring back at you as you reassure him. “I’m sure it will be fine.”

He wants to believe you. He wants to believe you so badly, but the feeling in his stomach only tightens more. In truth, he has no idea how this evening will go. And that terrifies him.

Steve rounds the car to open your door, holding onto your waist as you head up the stairs to the entrance. He opened the door quietly, stepping aside to let you in. He pauses to take a look at you one last time, almost melting at how the entryway light falls over your face, illuminating your tender smile. He quickly moves to help you with your coat, sliding it off your figure with gentle movements and hanging it on the rack.

“Shoes too,” he whispers, almost apologetic, his hand gently guiding your gaze toward the carpeted floor.

He had never asked you that before. You raise a brow, amused but willing to comply. “I didn’t realize there was a dress code,” you tease lightly, holding his shoulder and slipping out of your shoes.

He chuckles nervously. “Yeah, just… don’t want you getting into trouble.”

You scrunch your nose at him and smile, but there is something else brewing behind those eyes of his—worry perhaps? You just chalk it up to innocent nerves. I mean, who wouldn’t be slightly anxious to introduce their partner to their parents?

Leading you down the hall, you are greeted with the smell of roast chicken wafting from the kitchen. It’s surprisingly homey, comforting. Tonight might not be so bad after all.

You step into the dining room, just opposite the open plan kitchen, first locking eyes with Steve’s mother. She gives you a warm smile, which you return. She looks just like him, same eyes, same smile, same kind expression that he always gives you. Her hands are busy on the stove but still when you enter.

“Oh, you must be Steve’s girlfriend!” She says, her voice cheerful as she wipes her hands on a rogue teatowel. “It’s so lovely to finally meet you.”

“Thank you so much for having me,” beaming as you step forward, leaving Steve’s side for a second. “Everything smells amazing.”

Steve’s dad makes himself known, giving you a curt nod. He sits at the head of the table, relaxed with a beer in his hand which Steve spots immediately. “Glad you could make it,” he tells you, his voice low, but not unkind—for now at least.

Steve returns to your side once more, a hand on the small of your back, gently guiding you to a seat at the table. This is good, he thinks, allowing a small flicker of hope to spark in his chest. You’re being your usual polite self, and so far, his parents seem…normal. He feels relaxed as his mother places the perfectly roast chicken at the centre of the table, letting out a small breath as he sits down.

“Oh my gosh,” you exclaim, your face lighting up at the spread. “I love a roast! It’s been so long since I’ve had one.”

His mother blushes, clearly pleased by your praise. “Well, I’m glad to hear it! There is plenty here so please, help yourself.”

You nod as you pick up the plate of potatoes, Steve picking up the greens, locking eyes as you swap them over. You are pleasantly surprised to see his expression, no longer sour with anxiety.

“Bet it’s nice to have a home-cooked meal, huh?” Steve’s father takes a swig from his drink before gesturing to the boy at your side. “Kid barely knows how to boil water.”

He lets out a large laugh at his joke, oblivious to the way Steve pauses as he sets down the plate. He forces out a laugh as well, trying to shake it off, but he can’t deny how the joke stings. Especially when it was made in front of you.

“I mean, I can handle the basics,” he chimes in, trying to defend himself as much as he can without insulting his father. “Eggs, pasta…” He trails off.

You allow your gaze to wander over to him, your smile faltering as you catch the hurt look in his eyes. His father doesn’t seem to notice—or care at all, really.

He can cook, he thinks as his eyes are trained on his father. He has cooked for you so many times, and you always said how good it was. The first moment you complimented his food he made it his mission to do it more often. It was something he took pride in. He had to teach himself after all, it’s not like they were ever around to do it, and he couldn’t just live off takeaway pizzas every night.

He never was in the kitchen when they returned home, his mother always took the reigns there. His jaw tightens as he recalls the countless dinners made alone in his house, too used to the silence that always followed his parents’ absence.

You set the fork down to the side of your place and turn to him, giving him a look of reassurance that does little to help him. You don’t speak up, but the mix of emotions in your expression makes Steve’s heart lurch. He should have said something, warned you more. Or better yet, come up with an excuse as to why you couldn’t make it tonight.

His mother was equally as oblivious to the exchange as she carved off another piece of chicken. He doesn’t really care about what his family says about him, he has dealt with much much worse. But it still stings. It stings because it is in front of you.

The conversation flows well as you all settle into the meal. The chicken was undeniably delicious, the familiar setting of the Harrington house helped soothe you as you chatted politely with is mother.

“So, what is it you do?” She asks you, tone genuinely curious.

You finish chewing, wiping your mouth with a napkin before you respond. “I just finished college actually. And I recently got an editing job at the local newspaper. It’s helped me get my first apartment too, so it’s a pretty exciting time.”

Steve can’t help but sit up a little straighter as you speak, his chest filling with a sense of pride that this is the woman he is introducing his folks to.

That’s my girl, my smart girl.

“Well, isn’t that wonderful!” His mother says, clearly impressed. “You must be so proud of yourself.”

Steve smiled at the knowledge that they approved of you. They might not have approved of him, they made that clearly known whenever they had the chance, but seeing how impressed they were with you—that was enough. He reached across the table, taking your hand in his own and admiring how they looked intertwined in the glow of the dining room. His thumb strokes your knuckles, feeling a smug satisfaction rise up inside of him. You’re smart, capable independent. Everything Steve’s parents valued in a person. He might not be what they wanted him to be but he somehow had you to show for it. He was damn lucky to have you here with him.

A voice cuts through the warmth he was feeling, a sharp edge bringing him down from his high. “Well, good for you,” his father said, his eyes drifting to your hands. His gaze was cold, calculating. “You know, I’ve always said people with drive go far. Funny how some manage to make it whilst others…don’t.” He gasts a glance at Steve, his voice laced with bitter sarcasm, the same voice that had followed him his whole life. “Guess you lucked out, huh, son? Dating someone with actual ambition.”

The comment hit Steve harder than he cared to admit, the jovial tone from his father did little to soften the blow. His chest tightens as he feels the sting of disappointment, but he can’t help but take the words on board. You are ambitious, you have the whole world at your fingertips. You could do anything you set your mind to and he knew that. He just hoped that when that time came, he would be lucky enough to be cheering you on from the sidelines.

“Yeah, well,” he begins with a crooked grin. “Guess I’ve got the charm at least.”

The shift in his mood is noticeable to you, you can read him like the back of your hand, the way his smile remains on his face for just a second too long. His father's words were not just a joke, not to Steve. He always doubted himself and his abilities, worried about where he would go in his life. But at the end of the day you were there to support him, whatever decisions he made were his and his alone.

He tells himself that it’s fine, that he can handle it. Just as long as they don’t go after you, he can take it. He has no problem being the martyr, he has been the punching bag for years and has no problem taking a few more hits.

The way he looks down at his plate makes your chest ache, the way that he acts like this isn’t a big deal. It’s obvious how much it bothers him, no matter how hard he tries to hide it. It hurts you to see him like this—reduced to a quiet, tense version of himself, happy to just keep the peace.

The clink of silverware continued against the plates as the conversation flowed, finishing up the remainder of dinner, the beer in Steve’s father's glass also gone. He leaned back in his chair, the same look in his eyes that Steve was familiar with, inhibitions mellowed and ready to bite. His eyes narrowed as he observed the both of you, amusement dancing in his gaze like he found the perfect moment to strike.

“Let me guess,” he began, wiping the edge of his mouth with a napkin before tossing it carelessly onto the table in front. “You’re with Steve because you think you can change him, right? Girls like you always think they can fix a guy like him.”

Steve stiffened beside you, his stomach twisting into a tight knot. He opened his mouth to say something—anything—but the words caught in his throat. For a moment, he felt like a kid again, being told off for something he had no control over. Something he couldn’t change.

Before he even had time to fully process the insult, you were there. Your tone fast, steady, unfazed. There was no way you would sit there and let that comment go. Not when it was the furthest thing from the truth.

“I’m not here to change Steve,” you said, your tone calm but resolute. “I’m with him because I love who he already is.”

His heart fluttered in his chest at your words—the way you spoke them. With such unwavering conviction that there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that you meant them.

His father raised a brow, leaning forward in his chair, sizing you up and clearly enjoying the discomfort he was causing. The act revolted you. You were done with playing nice, you were not going to let him insult you or the one you love. It didn’t matter if they were family.

“Love, huh?” He scoffed. “That’s cute. But, sweetheart, love doesn’t pay the bills. Steve is not exactly rolling in success here, is he?”

You don’t flinch, not even a little. “I don’t need him to be rolling in anything. He works hard and is more successful than you give him credit for.”

His father barked out a humourous laugh, nowhere near close to finished. “Kind? I’ll give you that. But I’m just saying, girls like you—smart, career-driven, their own place—usually go for someone with a little more ambition.”

You narrowed your eyes at the older man, keeping your voice collected. “Ambition isn’t about titles or money. Steve has plenty of it. He has been through things you couldn’t even understand.”

The tension that settled over the room was tense as you locked eyes. Steve’s mother stared at her husband, you wonder if she wished to say something, or if she also was too scared to challenge the older gentleman. You felt no fear, not when it came to conflict over those you care for. You wouldn’t back down. The more you spoke, the more Steve felt that old, crushing weight of his father’s judgement start to lift from his shoulders.

“Look,” his father said, not enjoying the pushback. “I’m just telling you what I know. Guys like Steve—they’re nice, sure—but they don’t get you very far. Eventually, you’ll want more, and you’ll leave him just like the last one.’

That one hit hard. Too hard. Steve’s hand clenched under the table, unwanted memories of his past relationship springing to the surface, reopening old wounds. He wanted to make a joke. Wanted to say anything that would get away from this topic. His father noticed how withdrawn he got after Nancy, and now he was throwing it back in his face. He didn’t like weakness, and Steve had never felt more inadequate when that happened.

“Actually, I’m more than happy with Steve,” you say effortlessly, voice low and confident. “He is one of the most incredible people I’ve ever met. I don’t need to ‘want more’ when I already have everything I could ask for.”

His father’s eyes flickered with something—surprise perhaps? He certainly wasn’t used to being challenged like this, feeling at a loss that his tactics weren’t working. He took it as a sign to cut deeper, harsher. He needed to get the upper hand once more.

His lips curled into a smirk, one that Steve had seen a thousand times before, the one that always made him feel like he was on the losing end of an argument before it even began.

“Are you really gonna let your woman talk to me like this?” His voice heavy and patronising as he stared Steve down. “That’s what you’re doing now? Letting a girl fight your battles?”

Absolutely not. No fucking way.

Everything was still, you could hear a pin drop in the room. Steve’s anxiety turned to full-on rage, seeping through every vein in his body as he looked at his father. He didn’t care what he said to him, but the vile way he spoke of you was unacceptable. Something in him snapped at that moment.

“No,” he said, voice holding unwavering clarity. His father looked shocked, not expecting such a firm response from his son.

“No?” His father echoed, leaning forward slightly, trying to intimidate him. “Finally found your voice huh? Took you long enough.”

“No,” Steve repeated with finality. You glanced over and saw the muscles in his jaw tightening as he met his father’s gaze. “What I’m not gonna do is let you disrespect her like that.”

“Disrespect?” His father scoffed, shaking his head, acting as though he knew better. Like he was better. “I’m just telling it like it is. Someone has to, or you’ll go on thinking you’ve actually done something with your life.”

“I don’t need you to tell me how much of a fuckup I am, okay?” Steve shot back, heart pounding in his chest. “I got the message.”

He looks in your direction, eyes softening slightly as he takes in your expression. It held something his father had never directed at him. Pride. You looked proud of him. And that thought alone stirred him on.

“What I’m not gonna do is allow you to talk to her like that,” He returns his attention to his father, his finger pointing in your direction. “Not when you don’t know a damn thing about her.”

His father bristled at the insubordination, the condescension in his voice was thick. “I know enough,” he said matter-of-factly. “I know she’s playing house with a guy who peaked in high school. How long till she figures that one out, hm?”

Steve’s blood spiked, now more willing than ever to fight back against his father. He had been pushed around for years, if there was any time to rebel, it would be now. “You don’t know anything about us! You’re hardly here!”

His father leaned back, smug. “I know enough about you, Steve. I know you’ve been coasting. First, it was basketball, then this lousy job at the video store—hell—you’re lucky someone even gave you the time of day. A girl like her? She’s going to wake up and realise you’ve got nothing to offer.”

Steve swallowed hard at that moment, his father’s words were getting to him, digging into his skin and refusing to let go. It was beginning to break him, like so many times previously. He was ready to back down, let him say his piece and be done with it.

That was until he felt a gentle hand on his leg. One that softly ran its fingers against the denim of his jeans. He stared at it. As its presence. He felt the warmth within your touch, reigniting the fire he never thought lit.

“You’re wrong,” he said quietly, voice cracking slightly but he pushed on. “She is not like that. You say she’s smart? You have no idea. I trust there is a reason she is with me. She sees who I am, something you have never been able to do.”

His father’s eyes flickered with something that resembled surprise, but he quickly masked it with a cold look. “So, what? You think this tantrum is going to change anything? These are facts. You’ve always been weak, Steve. That’s why you’ll never—”

“No,” Steve cut him off, using the same word he had been repeating for this conversation, filled with a conviction that startled even himself. “I’m not weak. I’m done letting you make me feel like I am.”

The room went still, the sharpness in Steve’s voice hanging in the air that nobody was accustomed to. His father opened his mouth to respond, but Steve didn’t give him the chance.

“I’m not you. If I was she never would have looked at me twice, and I’m damn proud of that.”

Your exit was swift. Steve grabbed your hand and dragged you to the front door, leaving both of his parents in a state of shock. You just about managed to slip your feet into your shoes as he grabbed your coat to the side of your head. Slamming the door loudly as you left.

The night air was cold, helping in soothing his raging anger, letting a breath out before he turned to you, stare softening with affection. He turned to face you, touching your cheek with such tenderness as he searched your eyes, trying to figure out how you were feeling.

“Are you alright?” He asked softly, running his thumb along your cheekbone.

“I’m alright,” you assured him, leaning into his touch. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I—wow,” he was still jittery, letting out a shaky laugh and running a hand through his hair. “I can’t believe I said all that.”

“I can,” you said as you gave him a reassuring smile. “I’m really proud of you.”

His expression was gentle, grateful to actually hear the words that had been denied for so many years. There was another emotion within him as well, a sense of awe. The way you handled yourself with grace, not bending under pressure. He swore he was already head over heels for you, but after tonight? He fell for you a just little bit harder. He shakes his head at your previous compliment.

“You were amazing in there, sweetheart,” a crooked smile forming. “God, you’re something you know that?”

You smiled as you allowed him to lead you to his car, arm resting on your back as he opened the door for you. He slipped into the driver's seat and started the ignition, fingers drumming on the steerwheel as he tried to gather his thoughts. “I don’t think I can go back there. Like, ever.”

“Yeah, I kind of got that,” you say as you nudge him playfully. “Guess I’m gonna have to move you in, huh?”

He glanced at you as he pulled away from his childhood home, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. “Is that so?”

You laughed and rolled your eyes, pleased that he was making jokes instead of spiralling. The comfortable silence that filled the car was peaceful, but his expression shifted, something tentative, serious settled over him.

“We could, you know.”

You blinked at his proposition. “What?”

He cleared his throat and immediately regretted saying anything. His nerves now spiking at his confession. It was too late to back out now, the words that spilt from his mouth flowed without thought.

“I mean,” he started, knuckles turning white as his grip tightened. “I may work retail, but I definitely make enough to rent an apartment. I could contribute, really. I could…”

He trailed off, watching your reaction carefully. There was a sincerity in his words that made your heart melt.

“I mean, I’m not gonna be mad about halving the rent,” you said with a blush forming on your face at the thought of living with him. Of waking up with him, coming home to him. For all of your belongings being mingled together. For everywhere you look his presence is there with you.

His face broke out into the softest, most boyish smile you had ever seen on him. “You mean it?” He uttered, voice quiet, as if he may have misheard you.

“Yes, Steve,” you brush a hand through his hair, so in love with the sweet boy next to you. “I mean it.”

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x you #stranger things x reader #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things imagine

98 notes · View notes

pparacxosm · 3 days

Text

wounded in

(blue-eyed son part 2: electric boogaloo !!!! ; (hate to be that gal but you may have to read the first bit for context); homeless era!patrick zweig x jaded businesswoman!reader; nonlinear narrative; tw office job; tw coworkers; tw mcdonald’s; the sound of music stuff is for myself; i fucking love sound of music; and i fucking love cats (the animal not the musical, though that's lovely too) so there’s that; pushing a patrick zweig can’t spell agenda; tw new england maybe; i gave new rochelle a better rap this time; kiss scene kindaaaa ??..? ; tashi coaching patrick after new rochelle is canon to me; tw descriptions of emojis; what if i told you there’s a part 3; then what)

You hold in a bout of laughter when Patrick brings the drinks to the table.

His hair is longer than the last time you saw him, which wasn’t that long ago, in scale. In bones, in feels like a while.

Dear old New Rochelle. Far enough out that the city is a twinkle on the horizon like a cluster of stars, far enough that there are some actual stars above you, now. It’s odd to see him in New England. It’s odd to see him in jeans. But then it’s September.

There are new lines on his face already. He’s aging quicker now, as if to make a point.

Drinks are on me,

Is the first thing Patrick told you, when you walked in in a juniper parka. Scanned the room, picked out his booth.

Is this the part where you tell me you’ve opened a savings account? you said, trying to seem completely blasé about it. It would have been childish to be thrilled by such meagre chivalry at twentyeight. I feel like I should pay, you’re in my city.

Yeah, but you’ve hosted me enough for now.

That’s what you are, half the time. A host to him.

A museum. Thumbing through a rolodex of all the different shades of blue his eyes could go in one humid night.

You pass on more nights out than you accede to. You got a cat. You’re getting LASIK soon. But what it really looks like is that you’re wearing glasses to show that time has passed.

“What’re you smiling about?” Patrick asks, placing the foamy mug of beer in front of you.

You wipe discreetly under your eyes, spreading the mascara smudge. “Just thinking about how my aweinspiring generosity has rescued you from the misery of total squalor.”

Patrick chuckles. “Well, they say to pay it forward.” He sounds pleased as he lifts his own mug with a wink.

You look out the window. There’s a film of dust on it. There’s dust on the faux-chintz curtains too.

You start to wonder if that’s what he really thinks. That this is him going forward.

Patrick picks up the plastic menu. “We ordering sidedishes or do we want a full dinner? What’s good in Wellesley?”

You try to laugh, though the noise has the distinct tender hue of a sob. But you’re sure you feel mostly fine. “What are you doing here?”

“Hm?”

“What are you doing in Wellesley?”

Patrick looks up at you with bright, twinkling eyes. “Challenger in Boston. Thought it’d be a waste not to come see you.”

You clench your jaw to prevent more runny mascara. It’s stupid. You don’t much like waste either. But you’re not going to weep in front of Patrick like a child.

“You hungry?”

You nod, picking up your own menu, hiding your face behind it.

His hand reaches suddenly across the table, trying to touch yours. You pull away, but make it look like you didn’t.

“Bet you had a hard time leaving Tobes for the night,” he says, trying to lift the mood.

“Um yeah. A little. I like to imagine what she gets up to when I’m away.”

“My sister had a cat, when we were young. My sister was, like, seventeen, and I was eight, so pretty big gap.”

Because he has to clarify those sorts of things. Because you don’t know he has a sister. You don’t know anything.

You find it hard to picture him pinned down in any humane way. It’s always his beautiful leg (now sheathed in denim) writhing in a bear trap. Always his papery wings unfurled and pinned against a picture frame like a butterfly. Something metamorphosed. Something capable of a great change, and that must be tortured for it.

“She found the cat in an alleyway. She called it Patrick.”

You lift your eyes. You feel it bubbling in you like magma, the urge to coo. You feel all soft these days. And maybe that’s just open heart season, and the passage of time. But you see a vivid meridian in your life, and it falls right along the night you met this guy. And this back half is all soft, so you sort of want to blame him.

You swallow.

“Well, that’s sweet.”

Patrick lowers the menu. “Nope,” he shakes his head, that huge smirk on his face, like his name is on every ticket of the raffle, like he’s cheating at something. “Let me tell you what she used to do. She used to put the fucker in, like, a blanket, right? And she’d lift it up like a sack, with him inside, and he’d obviously start clawing and making all of these noises—“

He makes the noises. Just starts whipping his head around and making kitten growls, imitating this cat with his name. You get the sense that this is one of those anecdotes that explains a lot about a person.

“—And she’d come into my room, in, like, the middle of the night—this is real psycho shit—and she’d lift my covers and drop the cat. And the shit would fucking claw at me and bite me, just—“

He’s doing the noises again. And now he’s clawing at the air with his hands.

He stops, and the way he closes his mouth around his grin makes his teeth look like they’re trying to escape past his lips. But it looks sort of lovely.

“When the fuck died, Saskia texted me. She was like, oh, he loved you so much, you should’ve said goodbye.” He pauses, widens his eyes, looks at you with the pointed intimacy of sharing in this ludicrousness.

You roll your eyes. But you catch yourself smiling. You like the idea of him being mauled like that, skin deep. You get the sense that life has done to him a lot of that—those growls and scratches. And that sounds a little fucked. But what you like about it is how he seems so unmoved now, by this psycho shit. This flailing animal, this torture device. Pinning him down. He's laughing.

You try to imagine him as a child, but the proportions are all comically bizarre, in your mind’s eye.

“Pork chops,” you say, throwing the menu aside. “I feel like stuffing my face.”

Patrick gets three sausage egg McMuffins on the way to the New Rochelle Country Club—and fries, and a hash, and a soda—and he’s eating the second by the time you pull out of the drivethru.

There is a compelling sense of chaos to how he drives. Like, he’s so bad at driving. Three different people honk at him in a dozenminute window. And you feel content knowing that whatever had had your heart thumping last night has not shrivelled and died with the morningtime. Though now it’s maybe a partial distress for your safety. But you get the sense that, maybe, this is actually the person you are now. The woman who sleeps beside a rugged stranger and buys him breakfast and doesn’t care how he speaks with his mouth open while he’s eating the fries. Doesn’t care about the writhing mire of half chewed potato on his tongue. The way his lips gleam pink with salt.

“I need to listen to really specific music to, like, get in the zone? If you don’t mind?”

He sounds so uncharacteristically shy, for brief a moment. You have to lean forward and look to see he isn’t joking. He isn't.

“Uh— yeah, of course. It’s your car.”

He slides a Sound of Music soundtrack disc into the mouth of the dashboard.

You laugh so hard you fold over.

He’s got one hand on the wheel, and shifts is his seat, peeling the unfamiliarly clean skin of his thighs off the leather before sitting back down. He’s tearing into his third breakfast sandwich with a reckless abandon reserved for death row. He laughs around the bite, glancing, bemused, between you and the road, and, ultimately, spending more time looking at you.

“What?” he laughs around a halfmasticated mouthful. “What?”

There are tears sluicing down your face. You can’t breathe. You think you can, and then you start laughing again, and you can’t.

“How do you solve a problem like Maria?” Patrick hums cheerily as he noshes. It’s a gross and wonderful noise, the food moving between his teeth, circumventing Hammerstein.

You think the large coke is probably no performance enhancer, not only because he all but tumbles out of the car when it’s hardly halfway parked (poorly, you’ll add).

“Fuck, need to piss,” he says frenetically.

When you know the notes to sing…, carols Julie Andrews.

You’re still laughing. Crying. Your tummy fluttering painfully.

Patrick makes you order dessert too, since you’re celebrating.

Celebrating what? you had to ask, though, at the time, you were wearing an impish, knowing, frankly celebratory sort of smile.

Patrick feigned great offense. He said, I’m fucking here, aren’t I?

He wants you to have sundaes together. You spill some ice cream on your skirt. He finds that funny. He’s always got this weasel smile, like he’s constantly ready for amusement. He’s shaved, at some point between now and then. The hairs on his face are sparser. The skin on his face looks milky and organic like a crinite litchifruit.

The frumpy diner was his idea too.

He’s spent some time on the veritable extremes of the economic spectrum—that’s what life tends to be for him; veritable extremes, scratching him meanly—and now he just wants to play at being the average wage earner.

“You really are welcome to stay with me, if you’d like.”

Patrick looks at you like he’d rather shoot himself.

You sort of marvel at his sense of pride, as if it were a rare stone, swallowing light and spewing it out at all angles. The Sociology course you took in uni had a whole two modules on personal pride. It is one of the few emotions that are unique to humans.

Patrick—for his weasel smile and beastly hunger and feline anti—is remarkably proficient in being human. In the real, visceral parts of it. In wielding his emotions like kaleidoscope hues. Dancing freely in confinement.

“When are you leaving?”

“Don’t worry about that. If you have time for breakfast tomorrow, we can—”

“Mm, not tomorrow, I don’t think. But I have no plans this weekend.”

You say it with this weird, bright intonation, like you’re jesting. Which—a lot of things feel like a bit of a joke these days. But he seems to understand you well enough. Delivers a curt, unspurned nod, and even a smile. Not the weasley, chronicling one. The wolfish one that makes his eyes crinkle up.

“Come here then,” he says.

Patrick leans in for a hug. You can’t avoid it. He enfolds you in a fascinatingly soft, burning embrace. He still smells sort of musky and acrid. Like even though he can shower regularly now, he maybe doesn’t as often as he should. But you find a gross comfort that. This pleasantly fetid, human man. His cologne smells like a wine cellar.

He says, “It’s nice to see you again.”

Something churns in your belly. Maybe the pork chops. Maybe the ice cream. This whole fucking day. You accidentally deleted some files and IT spent five hours trying to help you unsheathe them from oblivion. You felt like a failure. And now you’re here and,

“Fuck, you’re still so cool.”

You push away from him with a forceful laugh.

You used to be able to tell your sister all kinds of things. But, lately, you haven’t been able to talk to anyone about anything.

Working so many years for a soulless corporate hive mind has turned you into an expert at short, polite, and meaningless feedback that only varies with inflection.

“Right”, “Sure”, “Got it”, “Whatever you think is best”, “Already on it”.

Half the time you sound illiterate. The other half, you sound like you could have written Prozac Nation.

When your sister asks, how was New Rochelle? she expects you to say something annoyingly vague and ominous in your cool, collected adjunct’s voice, like: Everything is under control.

But, instead, you say, “Do you and Mark still go to mass? I really want to start giving more of myself away.” And you’re wearing this smile that’s utterly sincere.

That’s what spooks your sister.

Of course, you want to tell her more. Because your sister married a Herman Melville character; one of those grizzly, stinky, sacerdotal men who don’t want to work but don’t want to lose either. You know your tale of Linklateresque, serendipitous connection would render her mesmerised and marginally jealous.

But, soft and charitable as you may now be, you keep it all to yourself.

Patrick is still in Massachusetts a fortnight later. You say you’d have loved to come and see him play, but you’re really busy, and he says not to sweat it. Insists really. Maybe even begs. Do not sweat it.

You text him, presumably a day or two afterwards, and ask how it went.

Smahsed it!, he texts, and garlands the (misspelled) notion with eight sunglassfaced emojis. You counted. Dibner? he texts.

Then, a moment later,

*dinner?

You get to see your first New Rochelle sunrise.

You slink out of bed with toothfairy softness, even though Patrick is sleeping the sleep of death—with a deep, miserable snore like a resounding dirge to prove it—beside you. Your pillow wall, in the night, had collapsed like Berlin in 89.

You step outside. You check your phone, first, but you do go outside. You do believe in fresh air in the mornings, even if you don’t have the fortitude for mindfulness and journaling.

The parking lot is a vast open soul. Regretfully resigned and stunningly silent.

The sky looks like a bleeding mouth, but the hard grey edges around it don’t seem to care. The concrete enterprises and litter splay do not want anything to do with this bruise. A tart, sort of sewery smell makes your eyes water.

Cars drive by too fast.

You think, in some faraway capacity, you can hear the soft, rhythmic thunk of tennis balls hitting asphalt. But it’s only your heart.

You hear things. You see things.

You don’t want to sound like some haunted Victorian heiress with a mystical past, but you do.

In the break room, mostly.

So you hadn’t noticed before. Your coworker, Sam, goes fucking wild for tennis. Sam’s slobbering lewd and voracious over tennis. It’s hard to witness. In fact, you feel dirty witnessing this. You should call HR. Sam’s in the break room doing an onanistic oneman scene play about tennis.

Or maybe he just kind of likes it.

And you hadn’t noticed it before.

There’s a lot, for your part, that you were content not noticing around the office.

But now every errant tenniscentric commentary makes your hands feel sore and weightless without the presence of a gun.

“No, you don’t get it, Deirdre, this is like if LeBron played a game at some random Y, and got dunked on by this fuckin’ nobody, and then just… quit the game.” He sounds tumid with bewilderment. “Just fuckin’ dipped!” Sam’s incredulous. “Forever!”

“LeBron…?”

“Fuck, Deirdre, you’re killing me.”

You slot the mouth of your bottle beneath the spout of the water cooler. You close your eyes—zombieleaden, uneven on the tiles; it’s only 10—and listen to the halting trickle, trickle… stream. The plastic goes cold against your palm as the water rises.

“All because of some… fuckin’,” Sam snaps his fingers, “Fuck, I forget the name.”

Peter Zeppelin, your mind supplies dryly.

It is then that Sam chooses to notice you. Points his finger. Wide smile. “Oh-ho, here’s trouble!” says Sam.

Sam and you have had enough one on one conversations for you to list on your one free hand, and you wouldn’t be spoiled for digits. But, all the same,

“Here’s trouble!” Sam announces, “Big shot boss babe, huh? Back from kickin’ rear in New Rochelle. I know you’re glad to be back.”

You don’t say anything. You feign responsiveness, flash a stilted smile. But you don’t say anything. Because what would you say?

Outside the men’s bathroom of the New Rochelle Country Club, you fidget awkwardly, standing against a wall and trying to look inconspicuous. Patrick’s duffel sits at your heels like a staunch hound.

Your gaze meanders around the venue with an idle sense of inquiry.

You’d expected a certain echelon of grandiosity, anyway. And the country club is nice—you feel silly casting any judgement at all—if a little outdated. All glossy wood-panelling and pea green outdoor carpet.

You can see yourself, warped and bleary, upon the polished floor. The bar flourishes a glassy sheen and cloistered amber rows of lavish whiskeys.

Through glass windows, golf splays unfurl, ceaseless viridescence, beset on all sides by sharpcornered hedges.

People mill about with the air of the lookedafter, and polo shirts as white as the maw of God.

Which is nice—it’s all nice—and all, but your chest seems to enwreathe a stark state of dread. You feel the sort of nausea that would rack you as a child. Floating in the curtains at your dance recitals, like an anxious little poltergeist.

When Patrick emerges from the loo, he is whistling. Fluting finely the swooping tune of ‘Sixteen Going on Seventeen’.

“You certainly seem unburdened,” you murmur, gaze shadowing him as he draws near. You know you sound unconvinced. For his part, he looks undeterred.

Slings his bag over his shoulder like it is floatable, even as you know it bears the poundage of half a man’s life.

He grins, flashing a canine.

To you, he has just eaten his weight in greasy, leaden carbcloth, and proceeded to piss for twelve minutes straight.

But Patrick seems imbued by morningshine.

He throws a heavy arm around you, squeezes your shoulder. Says, “Look alive!” Says, “I’ve had a good night’s sleep, a hot shower, the breakfast of champions, and I’m about to get paid!”

You wince a bit at his volume, and also because he seems to be emanating a bit of that morningshine. Not to speak of the heat. Searing from his very bones.

If nothing else you admire his buoyancy. In that way, the warmth—even as the sun blooms above you—is a fascinating comfort.

Like something to be shared.

You say yes to dinner.

You keep having dinner. He keeps taking you out for dinner, and to decent places, too, places you haven’t even been to around here.

You’re sitting across from him. You’re eating, as one does. He’s regarding you with something like awe. Though you wouldn’t know it, because he regards, too, his plate, when the waiter rests it before him, with a sort of comical reverence. Even though you’re pretty sure he’s not starving, anymore.

But hunger’s not always about those sorts of things, you suppose. Maybe he's just still hungry.

He’s winning a lot. Must be, if he’s taking you out all the time, and—hey—maybe you can get him to sign something for Sam. That’d be nice of you.

Patrick watches you eat.

You try not to stare back at him. As long as you keep chewing, you won’t have to ask why he’s still here.

“That’s a nice shirt,” he says after a long silence.

You smile. “Thank you.”

He doesn’t text you for months, many months, after New Rochelle. You’d given him your number, because you wanted to put the ball in his court, and—fuck—here’s hoping you didn’t say that.

But you can’t recall.

It’s been months.

So, when you do get the text, you’re pleased to see it’s aptly contrite.

ypu probably think I’msn idiot, it reads, and it’s late at night and you’re already in bed, stewing over NYT Connections.

You eye the ID. Maybe: Patrick Zweig, but that’s implied—so many implicit little shards—because not a lot of people are so tortured by the prospect of your opinion on them so as to text you at 1 AM. So.

Define idiot, you text back.

dictionary defenition is Patrick Rupert Zweih. There’s prpbably even a lil picture of me next to it.

A few moments.

A bad one.

Ten or eleven emojis of abject terror.

You consider this—not a bad picture of him (though he doesn’t quite strike you as wildly photogenic anyway), just... This Whole Wound—and tap the side of your phonecase in tentative thought.

Your full name is Patrick Rupert Zweig? Tough.

Like ypu didnt already look me up.

You blink. Whoa—okay.

Not a humble idiot, I see, you type.

You don’t know where you get the balls. There’s a sweeping litany of long, gorgeous miles between your bed and New Rochelle, but maybe he can smell you thinking as much because,

Im in MA next week

In the registration room, a man with a binder asks his name, and Patrick sheathes his canine in a way that makes him look conspiratorial and bemused. You suppose it’s become an inside joke.

The ATP official seems to gleam with recognition when Patrick does give his name—his real name—and he says, “Oh wow, that is you!”

You can’t see his face from this angle, but you can envisage the way his moue has settled in confusion.

Apparently, the ATP official was a line judge at the Junior US Open back in 06.

You try to think back to what you were doing in 2006. Probably populating your microcosm in The Sims. Trapping little imitations of those who had scorned you in swimming pools to drown.

“You were really something back then, huh?” says the ATP official.

Your eyes flicker to Patrick’s profile. He doesn’t quite know how to respond to that.

The official hands Patrick a packet. There’s a little map of the facility in there, in case he gets lost. His first match is against one Gonzalez, on court seven.

Patrick says, marginally halting, “Hey, so, is there any chance of an advance payment on the prize money.”

The official blinks.

“Because I know I’m guaranteed a minimum of four hundred dollars even if I get knocked out today—“

You frown a bit at that. The official frowns a lot at that.

“Well,” he says, “Generally we don’t give out winnings until a player makes his way through the tournament…”

A beat.

Then,

“You could always just lose today. Then we’d have to cut you a check this evening.”

Patrick hardens to bone. You hope he has another lifeaffirming piss in him. He doesn’t meet your eyes when he turns to leave, but flicks you a glance that seems to ask that you spare him the judgement.

You leave New Rochelle today. Good as the night’s sleep may have been, he knows better than anyone that life’s loveliest things are fleeting.

So—fine—you don’t begrudge him. Instead,

“He seems hopeful,” you say wryly.

“Must’ve been thrown off by my pretty caddie,” he says dismissively. Maybe a little bristled.

The warmup courts, deep blue plane, shimmer in the sunheat.

Patrick takes the asphalt, flicks his racket around by its handgrip as though refamiliarising himself with the palmfeel for the first time in a while. Which—well—doesn’t give you confidence, at risk of contesting Julie Andrews.

He practices his serve. Starts to work the ball up and down the court. Hits a few forehands, a few backhands.

Then,

“He was lying,” he yells to the bleachers.

The bleachers are mostly empty. A few errant loiterers. Bored spectators who have finished their lunch earlier than their friends. What have you.

He’s looking at you, though. With a staggering precision from so far away.

“What?”

“That guy. He was lying. Or… bigging it up. Or whatever. I wasn’t really something, I was just decent.”

He strikes a ball over the net. You can see, from here, the vibration ricochet through the racketstrings with a shudder that has you expecting music to flutter out.

You lean back in your seat, sort of sliding down against the glossy plastic, a tremor of induced electric tickling your bum through your jeans. You cross your arms.

“That’s kind of bullshit,” you call out.

He spares you a glance, sort of doubletakes, and you can see the corner of his mouth tremble with intrigue.

He takes another ball from the basket. Tosses it up. You watch the neon starsphere spin fleetingly in the air before being walloped to oblivion. And what do you know of tennis? But you do think his serve is a thing of beauty. Beauty measured in power and precision, sure (he hits the ball straight and hard and fast and low, just barely clearing the net), but you can also see the way his muscles work beneath his skin. Which—you know.

Patrick walks to the fence that partitions the courts from the stands. He leans over, rests his arms on the palisade, and looks at you.

“This was the whole problem,” he tells you, “Everyone was always telling me how good I was. And it got to my head. And now I’m here.”

It’s a shabby imitation of humility. What it really is, is an attempt to scale down the apogee, so the fall seems less mythic. So the years seem less unkind.

“I didn’t come here to watch you sulk just because some guy was nice to you.”

Patrick grins. His cheeks are flushed with heat, and there are little spots of sweat on the hollows where his skin and bones meet. But he seems to know not to exert himself fully right now.

“You think I’m sulking?”

“I think you seem pretty torn up for a guy who’s going to play a thirty minute match, and walk away a few hundred dollars richer.”

He makes a noise like you’ve wounded him, but he seems elated.

“A few hundred dollars?” he says, raising his brows. “So you’ve lost your faith in me.”

“I have some,” you allow, and you’re not surprised to find that you really do. “Just don’t choke.”

Patrick wears the smile of a newly crowned Miss Universe. He looks touched that you’re being so frank.

“I won’t,” he says, with a sense of finality and what you feel is an incongruous tenderness. “I’m pretty good at dealing with pressure. My parents always used to take me to work with them and tell employees to come to me at random intervals with madeup highstakes scenarios. Like, pretending to have a breakdown, and saying they needed me to help them out and make the final decision. Some of them could cry on command.”

You try and fail to hide a look on your face that divulges how demented you think that anecdote is. But you try to find something neutral to say.

“Well, maybe you’re lucky,” you tell him. “I was horrifically nervous as a child.”

“Not anymore?” he asks, swinging his racket idly, and you get the sense he’s actually very interested in how you will answer.

So it’s hard not to answer him honestly.

“I don’t know,” you say finally, and you look away from his eyes, and instead at the sky. You’re alarmed to find they are precisely the same tincture of aegean. “Mostly not. But if I have to give a presentation or speak up in a meeting, I have to take one of those beta blockers, you know? Propranolol?”

You are stricken, at odd moments, in New Rochelle, in Massachusetts.

You get the sense that he’s trying to be cavalier. But, at the same time, there’s this unmistakable fragility about him. Like it wouldn’t take much to knock him down.

You are stricken by how he’s managed to maintain this cocksure swagger for so long. With such a brittle, aching core.

How easily it all might’ve been shaken by the wrong person, and the wrong word.

You love the smell of your dear kitty’s head right after a bath. The fluff of dandelions and baby bird. You love toweling her, taking her little paws in your hand and prying the toes open.

Toby pretends not to like being fussed over, but she doesn’t put up much of a fight. In fact, most nights, she falls asleep in your arms.

When he pays you the visit, Ms Tobes is breathing evenly in your arms, your thumb caressing the organtender slope of her silky head.

You open the door, and great weeping gales have been jostling your windows all evening. But he is in shorts.

Patrick’s been in New England for nearly a month.

There’s an odd sort of look on his face, and an unlit cigarette behind his ear.

Hands in his pockets, he leans against the door frame, staring down at you. You feel a remarkable heat radiating from the downy flesh of his bare legs.

He doesn’t seem confident, nor does he seem unperturbed. He seems… pensive and maybe even penitent, but he wears it with a fascinating poise. There’s still something wounded and vulnerable about the way of his shoulders, the slant of his mouth. It's the softness that kills you, anyway, you think incoherently.

You peer up at him, dubious, through the briar of your lashes. He looks down at Toby, at the sweep of your finger over her head. You do not know if it is he or Toby who purrs.

When he speaks, he is whispering very softly, though there’s a frayed, low seep of his voice in his throat. It feels revoltingly intimate.

“When Patrick died,” he says, “The cat. I felt so shitty. I had this weird feeling of—like—I don’t know. Shittiness. Because of how Sassy said what she said. You should’ve said goodbye. What am I supposed to do with that, y’know?”

You swallow. The hallway is so vacant and noiseless you can hear the plush shuffle of his running shoes against the carpet. Dutifully beyond the boundary of your home, even though he’s been here quite a few times now.

“Patr—“ you croak.

“I’m not in Massachusetts for a game,” he tells you, shrugging hopelessly and almost smiling. But failing to. Which you register. “There’s no challenger in Boston. There’s just you. In Wellesley. All these… fucking ponds everywhere. Private schools. Bunch of rich little assholes who need a tennis coach, I bet. All these res—fuck. You know,” he shifts, taking the cigarette from his ear and gesturing with it between the two of you, “We’ve been out, like, twenty times, since I’ve been here, and there’s still, like, fifty restaurants we haven’t been to.”

You stare up at him. Your palms, where they cradle Toby, grow damp. The throbbing organ of your heart takes up residence in your throat. There’s a sad sort of clanging from the clock in the hall.

You lift one trembling finger to your lips.

Please, don’t say anything else, you beg with your eyes. Please, not in front of Toby.

Patrick’s eyes glint ruefully. Almost ominously. He seems insulted by your gesture, but he understands. He always understands. He never holds anything against anyone.

“No need for that,” he says very quietly. “I come in peace.”

He moves closer, breaking the enclave where the carpet of the hall meets the vinyl of your floor, until he is inches away.

A head taller, yet shrinking, as if you were seeing him from across a room.

He smells very good today. He smells like spice and bergamot and the laundered fabric of his navy blue halfzip. You sort of miss the musk. Of course you think of New Rochelle. You think of Bob Dylan and Hello Kitty and thermostats. Fucking Sally.

You lift your chin.

“I’m not asking you to—“

Patrick leans forward, his nose touching your nose.

“I’m gonna do the tennis,” he speaks the words into your mouth, voice like gravel melting in the sun.

You part your lips. A part of you hates him, hates how he’s insinuated himself in your life without warning. Another part, however, is asleep and betrays you.

He shushes you, though you’re sure you haven’t said anything. It’s just that you’re crying now. Completely still and silent. Weeping like the dead, because the dead weep, too.

He shakes his head, his nose brushing over yours, says shhh like you’re a cat, and, even then, Toby only stirs between your fingers.

“It’ll be good,” he says, and you’ve heard him sound convincing. You know that right now he sounds… something else. And he’s still shaking his head as he whispers, “It’ll be good, I’ll be good. I have a coach, I’m not done, I love the tennis.”

You look up at him. Lick your lips, which, when you’re so close, also means sort of licking his. Sort of licking into him. You want to say, fuck your tennis and fuck you too, but you also want to fuck him and you want to fuck his tennis, too.

You think of New Rochelle.

Patrick’s hand meanders upward toward Toby, and, if his cigarette was lit, you’d see sweeping coils of smoke floating heavenward.

It isn’t lit, but still.

You catch him quickly. You hold him by the wrist.

His skin is nauseatingly warm.

“You love it?” You sound unimpressed now. Your mouth moves over and around and against his as you speak.

“I do.”

“You love it, you love the tennis?” You’re sort of spitting it at him, and he tastes it.

And he thinks of Patrick the cat, how he lay there and was mauled. Pinned down. He thinks he’d let you draw blood, now, if you really wanted to.

“Tennis doesn’t love you.”

“Do you?”

There is time enough for you to answer. But when a sound is finally made it is only Toby, who mewls.

Patrick smiles. You feel the seam of his lips touch your lower teeth. “Didn’t think so.”

He straightens, his lips swiping your nose on his way up. He gently removes his arm from your grasp, your nails scraping is skin.

You exhale sharply. You feel stung.

Poor Toby, caught between your beating hearts. Patrick steps away. He places the cigarette between his lips, and then you do not stop him from touching Tobes. He strokes her gently.

“You got a lighter?” he asks around the cig.

There are three aflame candles in your home right now. He can smell the vanilla. You shake your head. He smiles again. Toby purrs. Patrick’s fingers touch yours between the heather fur.

You feel a strange ignition in your bones.

The game begins.

Everything is quick and violent.

You don’t know if tennis is actually quick and violent, or if that’s just him.

You are astounded by just how much a man can sweat. You are spellbound by the visceral implication of being drenched in one’s own exertion.

Gonzalez is younger. A little bit more thrilled to be here. And he’s got the kind of easy, quick thoroughness that means he probably practices with a ball machine at home, but not a lot of real experience.

Patrick makes brutal work of him.

There is a certain way his muscles tense through his forearm and the pulse travels up his bicep when he strikes the ball. His shirt rises as he twists to send it flying over the net. There is so much laboured breath and dripping skin.

He has you sit exactly where you sat during warmups.

Between sets, he extends his arm, taut and sweatsoused, and points to you with the scratched edge of his racket, one eye closed like he’s mapping trajectory. And he does sort of have this bloodhungry precision in his gaze, like a marksman.

You feel it in your neck, the ache of your focus, how your eyes water for lack of blinking as you swivel your head side to side. You do not close your mouth once.

He hits the ball again, and then again. Each with an almost startling accuracy. Each with a deep and fleshsatisfying thwack that makes your very ear canals thrum with the sort of pain that has you expecting the warmth of dripping crimson on your shoulders.

But it’s not just the force that strikes you. It’s that precision. That bulletgleam precision.

He seems to know, with a profound, animalic certainty, exactly where to place each shot.

At times, they will land exactly where the last landed.

And by the time his adversary cottons on, he has set his hungry eyes upon another target.

It’s beautiful.

You start to wonder if you have ever—ever—looked so fucking beautiful doing any single thing in your life. This strange and beautiful violence. Refined and delicate violence. He is violent and graceful.

Patrick groans when he hits the ball. Makes a guttural sound, a pained sort of sound, like he loses something of himself with each forceful departure.

The sun beams down, and you see his beautiful legs flex aglow with the beautiful gleam of his abject labour.

You think, fuck—

New Rochelle is beautiful.

“You know, I could have gone pro.”

Sam leans back in his Herman Miller chair. Takes a deep quaff of his coffee before pointing to Deirdre with his mug.

“You played for two years in middle school,” Deirdre deadpans, her gaze unmoving from her monitor as she populates a spreadsheet with who the fuck knows.

“This is huge, D,” says Sam, unhurt, “This is like if Jamal Mashburn started coaching the fuckin’ nobody that demolished LeBron at the Y.”

Deirdre seems to have forgotten this analogy, which, for her part, Sam first made months ago now.

“But also if Mashburn was married to Lebron,” adds Sam.

Your computer screen casts depressing polygons across your glasses. You slide your AirPods in. You don’t want to know where Bob Dylan will appear on your Spotify Wrapped.

I met one man who was wounded in love. I met another man who was wounded in hatred. And it’s a hard, it’s a hard— It’s a hard, it’s a hard—

It’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall.

80 notes · View notes

lupinqs · 9 hours

Text

CHAPTER FIVE ━━ Happy Halloween

☆ ━ pairing: hopkins!paige x oc (dani callan)

☆ ━ word count: 6.8K

☆ ━ warnings: beau being a dick, vaping, dani’s still depressed as shit, like idk

☆ ━ links: my masterlist, take me to church masterlist

☆ ━ author’s note: i’m sorry this chapter is so messy and all over the place it’s lowkey my least favorite so far, but good things are coming i promise!!!!

HIS MOUTH presses against hers with an intensity that makes Dani stiffen. Beau kisses her with a hunger that she doesn’t feel, his hands cupping her face, fingers in her hair, deepening it. His lips are rough, insistent, like he’s trying to draw something out of her that she doesn’t want to give.

Dani kisses him back because she knows she should. She tries to match his urgency, his need. But it feels all wrong, like she’s wearing someone else’s skin. Her heart isn’t in the kiss, isn’t with Beau at all. It drifts to other places—another person—and she can’t shake the growing discomfort building in her chest.

Beau’s hands roam lower, sliding from her face to her waist, gripping her hips firmly as he presses closer. The position is uncomfortable in the small confines of his car, and she shifts slightly. She thinks he takes that as an invitation, because he moves closer, his mouth trailing from her lips to her neck, kissing a path down to her collarbone, closer to her chest. The top she’s wearing leaves little to the imagination there, and he seems to like that. Dani’s breath hitches, body tensing. She isn’t here. She doesn’t want this.

But Beau doesn’t pay attention to the way her body recoils. He doesn’t notice how she stiffens under his touch. He’s too focused on his own need, his mouth feverish against her skin as he starts fumbling with the button of her jeans, eager to go further.

“Beau, stop,” Dani says softly, voice barely above a whisper.

He doesn’t stop. His hands are moving too fast, his breath hot and uneven against her neck as he presses harder to her.

“Beau, stop,” she repeats, more forceful this time, her hands pushing at his chest.

He ignores her, his hand still tugging at her jeans, more urgent now. “You can’t just keep doing this. We haven’t—” He pulls back just enough to look at her, frustration written all over his face. “You barely even let me kiss you anymore. What’s the point of us if you’re just gonna shut down every time I try to get close?”

She slaps at his hand now, and he finally retracts it. “I said stop,” she mumbles, breath quickening.

Beau sits back in his seat, his face darkening slightly. He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “Jesus Christ, Dani. What the hell is your problem? We haven’t fucked in weeks. You won’t even touch me, and now this? What, do you not even want me anymore?” His voice grows louder, harsher with each word.

Dani stares at him, her chest tight, her hands trembling in her lap. She doesn’t have the words to explain it to him, can’t tell him how disgusted she feels with herself every time they’re together. How she feels like she’s living a lie, forcing herself into a relationship she doesn’t want, creating a life that isn’t meant to be hers. But all she can manage is a weak, “I just… I don’t feel like it, okay? Can’t you respect that?”

“Respect that?” Beau’s eyes narrow, and he scoffs, shaking his head. “How the hell am I supposed to respect that when you don’t give me anything to work with? I’ve been patient, Dani. I’ve tried to give you space. But I’m not one of your fucking Catholic saints. I have needs, too.”

Dani winces at his words, feeling the sting of guilt and shame twist in her stomach. She hates this, hates the way he makes it sound like she’s failing him by not being able to give him what he wanted. But at the same time, she hates herself more for letting it get this far—for pretending she can be someone she’s not.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, her voice cracking. “I’m sorry, okay? I just—”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it,” Beau snaps, cutting her off. “I’ve been dealing with your bullshit for weeks now, Dani. You’re distant, you’re cold, you won’t even look me in the eyes half the time. If this is how it’s gonna be, then maybe we shouldn’t go to the Halloween party together tomorrow. Hell, maybe you shouldn’t come at all.”

Dani’s throat tightens, and she feels the hot prickle of tears burning behind her eyes. “Beau, I—”

“No.” His voice is sharp, final. “You need to figure your shit out. Because I can’t keep doing this.” He unlocks the car doors, staring at her expectantly. “Get out.”

Dani blinks, stunned, thinking she may have misheard. “What?”

“Get out of the car.” His eyes are hard, cold. “If you’re gonna be like this, then just… go. Walk home. Maybe that’ll give you time to think about what you really want.”

“Are you serious?” Dani’s snaps, looking at him in disbelief. They’re parked in some random lot, miles away from her house. It’s dark, and she has no way of getting home except by walking. She can’t even call someone to come pick her up, because her phone died a little bit ago.

“I said get out,” Beau repeats, his voice like ice.

Dani swallows hard, before scoffing, opening the passenger door. She steps out into the chilly night air, and, immediately, she wishes she brought a jacket, the small cropped shirt she’s got on not doing anything to shield the cold.

Before she can say anything else, Beau reaches over and slams the door shut from the inside. He speeds off, leaving her standing alone in the dark parking lot, the distant sound of his car’s engine fading into the night.

The silence around her is deafening. Dani stands frozen for a moment, her arms wrapped around herself as the cold wind bites at her skin. She blinks back the tears that blur her vision, the ones she desperately tried to keep in so that he couldn’t see them, her mind racing with thoughts of everything that led her to this moment.

She wants to scream. To sob. To fall apart. But there’s no one here to see it, no one to hear her.

With a deep, shuddering breath, she starts walking.

PAIGE’S HANDS lazily hold the steering wheel as she drives down the empty, dim lit street, the hum of her car’s engine and the quiet voice of Drake the only sounds to keep her company. She’s just left Thaliah’s house after a low-key night spent playing Fortnite, and she’s thankful now that she finally has her license—no more relying on her friends or her dad for rides. The freedom is nice, the kind of feeling she’s been craving for a while.

As she continues driving along the road, something flickers at the edge of her vision, pulling her from her thoughts. A figure. A lone person walking down the sidewalk. Paige furrows her brows as she drives past, the figure just barely visible under the faint glow of the streetlamp. She turns her head a little, squinting as she stares at her side mirrors. All she really sees from that view is long hair blowing in the wind. A girl. It’s late—after midnight—and what girl would be stupid enough to be walking alone at this time?

Paige’s mind runs through the possibilities, but something gnaws at her. The silhouette looked familiar, like someone she knows. Someone with a very specific walk, a hunched posture, a familiar dip of the head, long hair…

No way. No fucking way.

She’s driven past already, but the doubt lingers in her mind, tugging at her. Paige’s hands hover over the wheel, her foot still on the gas as she debates with herself. But her gut is screaming—if it had vocal chords, they would be shredded by now. Because if it’s who she thinks it is, she can’t just leave it alone. She can’t ignore it.

With a frustrated groan, Paige quickly makes a sharp U-turn to go back the way she came. The street is dead silent, save for the crunch of her tires on the pavement. As she nears the figure again, her heart rate speeds up. Please don’t let it be her. Please don’t let it be Dani.

But as she slows down, pulling up alongside the sidewalk, her breath catches in her throat. She should’ve known all along, shouldn’t have even questioned herself. Because consciously, subconsciously, in any way possible—Paige always knows Dani. She can pick her out in any crowd, so doing it on a deserted street isn’t so hard. And she’s very right, because this is Dani. Walking alone. And it’s cold as hell out, too. She’s wearing nothing but ripped jeans and a cropped t-shirt. What the fuck is she doing?

Paige slows to a stop, rolling down the passenger window. Dani immediately stiffens, her head whipping toward the car, eyes wide. Paige leans over, her voice cutting through the silence.

“Dani, what’re you doing?” she asks, her voice sharp with concern and an edge of accusation.

Dani stares at her in disbelief, her brows knitting together in surprise. “Fuck, I thought you were some old man about to kidnap me,” she mutters, wrapping her arms around herself as a gust of wind whips through the air.

Paige rolls her eyes, the tension easing from her chest just a bit. “No, I’m not gonna kidnap you,” she says flatly. “But someone else fucking might. Get in the car.”

Dani hesitates, her gaze flicking between Paige and the road ahead. Her lips press into a thin line, and for a moment, Paige thinks she might refuse. There’s a tension in Dani’s stance, a stubbornness that Paige knows all too well.

“Dani, seriously,” Paige presses, her tone firm, leaving no room for argument. “It’s freezing out. I’m not leaving you out here alone.”

Dani sighs, a puff of visible breath in the chilly air, before muttering, “Fine.” She reaches for the door handle, and with a click, the door swings open, and Dani slides into the passenger seat.

Paige immediately turns the heat up, casting a quick glance at Dani. Her arms are crossed, her shoulders hunched, and Paige can see her shivering, despite the attempt to seem unbothered. Paige’s chest tightens with concern as she wonders what the hell could’ve happened to land Dani in this situation.

For a few moments, the car is filled with an awkward silence, broken only by the sound of the heater kicking in. Paige tries to focus on the road, but her mind races with a million questions on why Dani’s out here in the first place, why she was walking all alone in the dark as a teenager girl that most certainly could not defend herself should a kidnapper find her.

“What were you doing out there?” Paige finally asks, her voice more gentle this time, though still laced with concern. “Why are you out this late by yourself?”

Dani shakes her head, her eyes fixed on the dashboard in front of her. “It’s nothing,” she mumbles, her voice flat, detached.

Paige frowns, tightening her grip on the wheel. “It’s not nothing. It’s past midnight, and you’re walking around in the cold like it’s the middle of the day. What happened?” she presses, sending a glance at her ex-best friend.

Dani stays silent for a moment, then scoffs lightly, turning to look at Paige. “When’d you get your license? I thought you couldn’t drive?”

Paige rolls her eyes, biting back her frustration. “Don’t change the subject, Dani.”

Dani shifts in her seat, clearly uncomfortable, her arms tightening around her body like she’s trying to make herself smaller. “Just… drop it, Paige,” she replies, dismissive.

Paige exhales sharply, shifting her eyes over at her again. Dani’s walls are up, higher than ever. It isn’t like her to be this closed off with Paige. Or, at least, it hadn’t been like this before… before everything went sideways between them. No matter how much she hates it, Paige supposes she should get used to it—this is their new normal, after all.

“I’m not dropping it,” Paige shoots back, keeping her voice steady. “Not when I find you walking around alone at night looking like…” She trails off, unsure how to finish that sentence without pushing too far.

Dani’s jaw clenches. “Like what?” she snaps, her eyes flashing with an edge of anger.

“Like you’re not okay,” Paige says, softer now, her eyes darting between Dani and the road. “Just tell me what’s going on.”

Dani lets out a harsh breath, her fingers digging into her arms as she stares out the window. “I’m fine, Paige. Seriously.”

Paige doesn’t buy it for a second. Not with the way Dani’s sitting there, tense and cold and distant and—no matter how much she tries to hide it—vulnerable.

“Fine? Really? Because it sure doesn’t look like it,” Paige mutters. She knows she’s walking a fine line—at this point, Paige is probably the last person Dani wants to open up to right now, and pushing her too hard could make her shut down even more. But Paige can’t just sit there and pretend like everything is okay when it clearly isn’t.

Dani shakes her head again, more forcefully this time. “I’m fine. I just—” She cuts herself off, biting her lip, like she doesn’t even believe her own words.

Paige isn’t sure what it is, but something about Dani’s demeanor—the way she’s hunched over, trying to make herself disappear—makes her feel sick. Dani’s so different from the girl Paige used to know. Something’s wrong. Something’s been wrong for months now.

“Did Beau do something?” Paige asks quietly. It’s probably not the long term issue, the reason for the girl’s whole switch up, but Paige thinks it damn well could be the reason Dani’s in this situation tonight—and the thought makes the blonde’s stomach sick.

Dani stiffens immediately at the name. That reaction tells Paige everything she needs to know.

Nonetheless, Dani’s laugh is bitter, a sharp sound that cuts through the quiet car. “You really don’t know when to stop, do you?”

Paige’s heart drops, her pulse quickening. “Dani…”

But Dani turns her head away, staring out the window like she can’t bear to look at Paige anymore. “Just drive me home, okay?”

Paige hesitates, her throat tight, but eventually, she nods, pressing her foot down on the gas. The tension in the car is palpable, and Paige hates it—hates the silence, hates the distance between them. But she feels like she’s exhausted all she can do to try and repair it between them, so she leaves it be, and turns up the music just slightly.

The road stretches out ahead, leading them back toward their neighborhood, toward the familiarity of home. But as the houses grow closer, Paige can’t shake the feeling that something is just deeply wrong. And this isn’t just about tonight. It isn’t just about Dani walking alone in the dark.

This is about everything that’s happened between them—everything that’s changed since Dani was sent to that camp over the summer. Since Dani had come back different. Closed off. Dani hasn’t been the same since she returned, and even though Paige doesn’t know the full story—well, doesn’t even know an ounce of if, actually—she can still feel the weight of it.

Paige glances over at Dani once more, but Dani’s back to staring out the window, her arms still wrapped tightly around herself. In spite of everything, Dani’s still shivering, and Paige knows it’s not from the cold—the heat has surrounded her car by now. It’s about everything else.

They turn down their street, the familiar houses coming into view, bathed in the soft glow of porch lights. Paige can see her house up ahead, just a few doors down from Dani’s. Normally, this is where they’d share a goodbye, a see-you-later. But nothing is normal anymore.

Paige slows as they near Dani’s house, and for a moment, she considers just pulling into her own driveway, since their houses are right next to each other. But something stops her. Even if they live right next door, this still feels different. Dani needs more from her than just a quick drop-off. Paige needs to make sure Dani knows she’s not alone, even if she can’t fix whatever’s going on.

So, she pulls into Dani’s driveway instead, parking right next to Dani’s car. Paige’s car idles for a second, the engine’s soft hum the only sound between them. Paige shifts in her seat, looking over at Dani, who still hadn’t moved.

“You’re home,” Paige says quietly, breaking the silence.

Dani finally tears her eyes away from the window and sets her eyes on Paige, her expression guarded, tired. For a second, Paige thinks Dani’s just going to get out without a word, like every other time they’ve had one of these stilted, painful interactions. But then, Dani surprises her.

Dani shifts in her seat, turning slightly so she can look at Paige more directly. Her eyes soften, just for a moment, as she holds the blonde’s gaze. “Thank you,” she says quietly, her voice low but sincere. “For picking me up.”

Paige blinks, caught off guard by the sudden change in Dani’s tone. There’s no anger, no sarcasm, no bitterness in her voice. It’s raw, earnest. And for the first time in what feels like forever, Paige sees a glimpse of the old Dani—the one who didn’t have walls up between them. The one who trusted her.

Paige nods, unable to find her voice for a second. “Yeah. Of course,” she manages to say, her heart aching at how much she misses that side of Dani. The side that isn’t buried under layers of pain and fear.

Dani lingers for a moment, her eyes searching Paige’s face, like there’s something she wants to say but can’t find the words. Then, without another word, she reaches for the door handle and steps out of the car. Paige watches as Dani walks toward her front door, her shoulders hunched against the cold, but there’s something softer in her movements now. Something less defensive.

Paige stays in the car, watching as Dani unlocks her door and steps inside, the porch light flickering off as the door clicks shut behind her. The house swallows her up, and Paige is left sitting there in the quiet, her mind racing with everything that’s just happened.

It isn’t much. A simple thank you. But it’s the first real crack in the wall Dani’s built between them, and Paige can’t help but hold on to that. Maybe it’s a start.

She sighs softly, leaning back in her seat for a moment before putting the car in reverse and pulling out of the driveway. As she makes her way back to her own house, just a few yards away, Paige can’t shake the feeling that things are far from okay between them. But for the first time in a long time, she feels like maybe there’s hope.

And for now, that’s enough.

PAIGE SITS cross-legged on Thaliah’s bed, absentmindedly picking at the hem of her shirt, while Jalen lounges next to her, scrolling through his phone. Both of them are already dressed in their costumes, though neither put in much effort. Paige went the simple route—she’s wearing an old basketball jersey with some fake blood smeared across her face, playing the part of some sort of dead or zombie hooper—she doesn’t even really know herself, if she’s honest. Jalen wears a black hoodie and he’s got a plastic scythe, calling himself the Grim Reaper. Basic, but effective.

Thaliah, on the other hand, is still in front of her vanity, meticulously applying the finishing touches to her makeup. She’s going all out, dressed as a witch, complete with dramatic eye shadow, dark lipstick, and glitter cascading along her cheekbones. Her hair is done up in some complicated updo, and Paige is sure Thaliah will be the best dressed person at the party. As usual.

Paige leans back, resting on her hands, eyes distant as she vents, her voice low but agitated. “I just don’t get it. Like, why the hell would Dani even doing out there last night? Alone? She was walking by herself literally at twelve-thirty, J. She could’ve gotten kidnapped or murdered or—or something!” Her voice wavered with frustration and disbelief, and she glances at Jalen, hoping he’ll give some sort of input.

Jalen shrugs a little, tossing his phone aside and turning toward her. His brows are furrowed in the way they are only when he’s concerned. “Yeah, it’s fuckin’ weird, P. Did you ask her what happened?”

Paige lets out a sigh, her frustration evident. “Of course I did. She just brushed it off, said it was ‘nothing’—like that’s supposed to make me feel better about it.” She throws her hands up in the air, expressing the confusion she’s feeling. “And I swear, she looked like she hadn’t slept in days. She was, like, literally freezing and she looked so sad and I’m just like—what the hell happened?”

Thaliah, still working on her eyeliner, chimes in from the vanity, not looking up but clearly listening. “Dani’s been distant for months, Paige. It’s been off ever since she got back from camp. I don’t think it’s just about last night. Something’s been wrong for a while now.”

Paige nods, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her jersey. “I know. But last night just made it so much more real. I feel like—I don’t know—I feel like something happened. Maybe it was Beau. Maybe he did something to her.”

At that, Jalen’s eyes narrow slightly. He’s always quick to jump to conclusions when it comes to Beau Hudson, a guy that he’s had problems with for years now. “You think he hurt her? I mean, he is the type.”

Paige bites her lip, her mind racing with the possibilities. “I don’t know. Maybe? It’s not like Dani would tell me, though. She doesn’t talk to me anymore.”

There’s a long pause as all three of them sit in the heavy silence, the weight of the situation pressing down on them. They’s all thinking the same thing—what the hell happened to Dani? The girl they all knew so well has practically disappeared, replaced by someone colder, someone more distant, someone more shallow.

Thaliah finally puts down her eyeliner, spinning around in her chair to face them. “Something’s definitely up with her. But I don’t think it’s Beau that’s the main problem. I mean, she started acting like this before she and that bitch boy got together. Paige, I know you weren’t here when it happened, but she started dating Beau after she cut J and I off,” Thaliah points out, staring at the pair of her friend son the bed expectantly. But then she sighs, shaking her head, adding, “But if she’s not talking, what are we supposed to do? Just keep watching her spiral and probably ruin her life? Like, I don’t even know.”

Paige clenches her jaw, her mind racing with the memory of Dani walking along that dark sidewalk, looking so alone, so vulnerable. “I don’t want to just sit back and do nothing.” But she knows Thaliah is right—there’s really not much they can do if Dani won’t give them the light of day.

Thaliah shakes her head a little before standing up and moving toward her bed, where Paige and Jalen sit. She grabs her vape off the nightstand and takes a long drag, blowing the smoke out in a cloud that lingers in the air before dissipating. “Look, Dani’s been different for a while, but we can’t fix it tonight. We can’t fix her tonight.”

Paige frowns, her stomach sinking at those words. Fix her. It isn’t like Dani’s broken, but she isn’t herself either. Still, she understands what Thaliah is saying. She just doesn’t like it.

Thaliah hands the vape to Paige, raising her eyebrows when Paige hesitates before taking it. “C’mon, you need to relax. It’s Halloween. We’re supposed to be having fun, not stressing out over all this. Dani’s a tomorrow problem.”

Paige rolls her eyes but accepts the vape anyway, taking a small hit and handing it back. The familiar burn fills her lungs for a moment before she exhales, watching the smoke curl up toward the ceiling. “I just hate that we don’t know what’s going on with her.”

Jalen sits up straighter, crossing his arms over his chest. “We’ll figure it out, P. We just have to give her time. Maybe tonight, she’ll show up at the party, and we can talk to her then.”

Thaliah shakes her head, leaning back against her vanity. “Doubt it. She’s been avoiding us for weeks. Even if she shows, it’ll be with Hudson and that prissy Serena girl, and it’ll end in shit like it did last time.”

Paige knows Thaliah’s probably right. They’ve gone to the same parties a couple times since school started, and each time, Dani stays closed to Beau Hudson and Serena Corren’s sides, not bothering to give any attention to Paige. The odds of her suddenly showing up and deciding to speak to them at tonight’s Halloween thing seems slim. Still, Paige can’t help but hope that maybe, just maybe, Dani will surprise her.

Thaliah takes another drag from the vape before offering it back to Paige, who takes another hit, letting the smoke relax her nerves just a bit. “But seriously,” Thaliah says as she exhales, “tonight’s about us. Let’s just have fun, forget about all the drama, and worry about Dani tomorrow. It’s Halloween! We deserve a good night.”

Paige smiles faintly, nodding. Thaliah’s right. Tonight is supposed to be fun. Maybe she can take a break from worrying for one night. Maybe.

And, she thinks maybe she really actually can, because the party does turn out to be fun. It’s a lot different from the last party she went to, the one where she drank herself stupid and fought Beau Hudson. She doesn’t regret the second part… just thinks she could’ve found a better way to do it. But tonight, she’s the designated driver, meaning she’s sticking to her Sprite, laying off the alcohol. But it doesn’t really matter. She doesn’t need to drink to have fun with her friends—especially on Halloween.

The house is decked out for Halloween—fake spider webs hanging from the ceiling, carved pumpkins in every corner, and purple lights casting shadows along the walls. Most people are dressed in costumes, though a lot are half-assed like Paige and Jalen’s. Paige gets a laugh out of a guy dressed in a banana costume, dancing on a table, though.

Eventually, Paige, Jalen, and Thaliah settle in the living room, perching on the couches and standing with some of their other friends from school and basketball and such. It’s easy, it’s fun, the atmosphere is lively but not chaotic. Paige enjoys it.

That is, until out of the corner of her eye, she spots them.

Beau Hudson, Serena Corren, and the rest of that group Dani’s been hanging around with lately are clustered near the kitchen, laughing and talking amongst themselves. Paige’s stomach tightens, her eyes scanning the group for one specific person. Dani. But as she searches, she realizes with a sinking feeling that Dani isn’t here.

Paige narrows her eyes slightly, confused. Dani’s always with them—whenever Beau and his friends show up to a party, the girl’s practically glued to his side. But tonight, she’s nowhere around.

Paige glances over at Thaliah, who’s too busy chatting with some girls to notice her. So, the blonde taps Jalen on the shoulder, nodding toward Beau and his friends. “Hudson’s here,” she acknowledges.

Jalen follows her gaze, rolling his eyes. “Dick,” he mutters, his disdain for the quarterback evident. He stares at the group for a second longer before Paige watches a familiar flicker of confusion cross along his face. “Dani’s not with ‘em?”

Paige shakes her head, mind racing. It’s so weird. Ever since Dani started dating Beau, they‘be been almost inseparable, especially at parties like this. But now, Dani just… gone. And it doesn’t sit right with Paige. Especially not after what happened last night.

However, before she can dwell on it too long, nature calls. She needs to pee. Paige stands up, muttering something to Jalen about finding the bathroom. As she makes her way through the crowded house, her mind stays locked on the thought of the Callan girl. Maybe Paige is just being dramatic. Maybe Dani is here and she just hasn’t seen her and she’s worrying for no reason.

When she finally finds the hallway leading to the bathroom, she groans. There’s a line.

And the person standing at the back of the line? None other than Beau Hudson himself.

Paige’s eyes narrow as she approaches, trying to play it casual. She leans against the wall, taking Thaliah’s vape out of her pocket and bringing it to her lips. She inhales, letting the vapor fill her lungs as she stares at the back of Beau’s head. He hasn’t noticed her yet, so she waits a beat before speaking.

“Dani here?” she asks, her tone nonchalant.

Beau turns slightly, glancing over his shoulder at her. His expression is somewhere between annoyed and smug, like he can’t be bothered with her question. “Nope,” he replies shortly, turning back to face the bathroom door as if that’s the end of the conversation.

But Paige isn’t done. She presses, “How come?”

Beau scoffs, a low, bitter sound that grates on Paige’s nerves. “You’re fuckin’ nosy, Bueckers,” he mutters, barely looking at her.

Paige raises an eyebrow, not backing down. “Well, when it comes to Dani, yeah. I am.” Her voice is sharp, but controlled. She isn’t about to let him dismiss her like that.

Beau finally turns to face her fully, his expression twisted with irritation. “Why do you care, anyway? You’re not even friends anymore.”

Paige clenches her jaw, holding his gaze. “Doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

For a moment, there’s a tense silence between them, the music and chatter from the party seeming distant in comparison to the charged atmosphere in the hallway. Paige can feel her heart racing, could feel the anger bubbling under the surface.

Beau breaks the silence first, rolling his eyes as if he can’t be bothered with her anymore. “She’s probably rotting in her bedroom right now. I told her not to come.”

Paige blinks, caught off guard by the harshness in his voice. “What? Why?”

Beau shrugs, leaning casually against the wall as if what he’s saying is no big deal. Which, to him, it probably isn’t. “She’s been a bitch lately. Told her to stay home.”

Paige’s grip on the vape tightens as a rush of anger surges through her. She hates him. She hates how he talks about Dani like that, like she’s just some inconvenience instead of his girlfriend. The same girlfriend he’s never deserved.

The same girlfriend that Paige picked up in the middle of the night last night.

Her gaze slides to Beau, and before she can stop herself, the words are out of her mouth. “Did you do something to Dani last night?”

Beau’s head snaps toward her, his eyes narrowing. “What the fuck are you talking about?” His tone is defensive, a little too defensive for someone who’s supposedly innocent.

Paige doesn’t back down, her pulse quickening as the frustration bubbles to the surface. “Last night,” she repeats, her voice steady. “I found her walking home alone in the middle of the night. She wouldn’t even tell me what was going on. So I’m asking you, Beau—did you leave her out there?”

Beau’s expression shifts, his jaw tightening as he stands up straighter, his arms dropping to his sides. “Are you seriously accusing me of something?” he snaps, his voice low and threatening. “I didn’t leave her anywhere.”

Paige scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest as she stares him down. “Then why was she out there, alone? She looked like she’d been crying.”

Beau rolls his eyes, but there’s something uneasy in the way he shifts on his feet, something that makes Paige’s stomach twist. “I don’t know, Paige. Maybe she was crying because she’s a fucking mess lately.”

Paige’s eyes flash with anger. “She’s a mess? You’re her boyfriend. Aren’t you supposed to, I don’t know, give a shit?”

Beau’s lips curl into a sneer. “You don’t know anything about our relationship, so maybe you should keep your nose out of it.”

Paige takes a step closer, her voice lowering as she looks down on him ever so slightly—having those couple inches on him. “I know enough to know something’s wrong with her. She’s not herself, and you’re just standing here acting like you don’t care.”

Beau’s face hardens, and for a second, Paige thinks he might actually shove her away. They’ve had a physical fight before—what’s another one? But instead, he takes a step back, exhaling sharply as he glares at her. “You think this is my fault? You think I’m the one who’s making her act like this? You have no idea what she’s like, Bueckers. You only ever saw the good parts of her.”

Paige’s heart skips a beat, but she doesn’t flinch. “And what’s that supposed to mean?” she reports.

Beau huffs out a humorless laugh, his gaze flicking to the bathroom door as it remains stubbornly closed. “It means that she’s been a bitch lately, okay? Just like I said before. Moody as hell. I’m not her fuckin’ babysitter, like, Jesus Christ.”

Paige feels her hands clench into fists at her sides. “So you’re just going to leave her to deal with whatever’s going on by herself? Real classy, Hudson.”

Before Beau can respond, the bathroom door swings open, and a couple stumbles out, laughing drunkenly and clinging to each other. Paige shoots them a disgusted look—God only knows what they had been doing in there. Beau takes advantage of the distraction, slipping past her and heading straight for the open bathroom.

Before he disappears inside, he shoots Paige one last glance, his expression dark and full of resentment. “Stay out of it, Paige.”

The door slams shut behind him, leaving Paige standing in the hallway, her heart racing with anger and confusion. She leans against the wall, lifting Thaliah’s vape to her lips and taking another long drag, the vapor filling her lungs as she tries to calm herself down.

Stay out of it? He’s fucking stupid if he thinks that’ll stop her from doing anything.

She exhales slowly, her mind still spinning with everything that just happened. Beau’s words leave a bitter taste in her mouth, but more than that, they leave her with an even deeper sense of worry for Dani. There’s something wrong, and Beau either doesn’t know how to handle it or simply doesn’t care enough to try.

Paige closes her eyes for a moment, leaning her head back against the wall as the sound of the party buzzes around her. Halloween is Dani’s favorite holiday. Dani’s always, always loved it, always got excited about dressing up, about watching horror movies and going to parties with their friends. She and Paige have done coordinating costumes every year since forever. But this year? Dani’s sitting at home, probably miserable by the sound of things, and Paige wants to help. To do anything to help.

She takes another drag, and thinks.

DANI LAYS on her bed, staring up at the ceiling, feeling the weight of the silence in the room pressing down on her. Halloween has always been her favorite day of the year, the one she looks forward to the most. But tonight, it feels hollow. She glances around her bedroom—dimly lit, the shadows from her string lights casting a soft glow on the walls. It’s quiet, too quiet, and that’s the problem. Her friends are all probably at a party somewhere, dressed up in ridiculous costumes, laughing, drinking, having the time of their lives.

But she isn’t there. Not with Beau and Serena and everyone else she was meant to go out with tonight.

And certainly not with Paige and Thaliah and Jalen, who she’s spent every Halloween with for years.

The thought stings like an open wound. Halloween’s always been something she and Paige share—whether it was sneaking candy at sleepovers when they were younger or staying up late to watch horror movies that terrified them both, or—more recently—attending the dumbest parties and getting shit-faced. But this year, Dani’s alone, cut off from everything and everyone that once made her feel like herself.

She lets out a long sigh, sitting up in bed. She decides to be masochistic, and pulls one of her old scrapbooks from her the drawer in her bedside table. This is so stupid, she thought, thumbing through the pages. She hasn’t added to it in months, not since before everything changed. Not since her dad sent her to that place. She flips through the pages, her eyes scanning the scrawled handwriting, the cut photos, the scattered tape, reliving bits and pieces of her old life—laughing with Thaliah, playing (and losing) basketball with Jalen, sneaking out with Paige, pretending nothing could ever come between them.

Before camp. Before everything got fucked up.

Her heart clenches as she turns to an old picture tucked between the pages. It’s the two of them—her and Paige. Taken last Halloween, in matching costumes they’d thrown together at the last minute. Dani smiles faintly at the memory, the way Paige had made her laugh so hard that night she thought she’d never catch her breath. It had been one of the best nights of her life, but now it feels like a lifetime ago, like it belongs to a different version of her—a version of Dani that no longer exists.

Dani’s throat tightens as the memories overwhelmed her. She drops the scrapbook on the bed and covers her face with her hands, her shoulders trembling. I still love her. The realization hits her like a ton of bricks, the words echoing in her mind over and over. She loves Paige. She always has. But it feels so impossible now, so wrong, so tainted. After everything that’s happened, after the months apart, after the cold distance between them, after everything that’s been cemented into Dani’s head, how can they ever get back to what they used to be?

Tears blur Dani’s vision as she buries her face in her hands, her body shaking with quiet sobs. She wants to be the girl she used to be—the carefree, happy, whole version of herself that hadn’t been shattered by her father’s cruelty, by the camp, by the guilt that now consumes her every waking thought. She wants to go back to the way things were before her mind became warped and twisted by everything she‘a been forced to believe.

But she can’t. She doesn’t know how.

She cries until her chest aches, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. She feels like she’s drowning, and there’s no one there to pull her out of the deep end. She’s lost so much—her friends, her sense of self, her relationship with Paige. Who is she now? She doesn’t even know anymore.

Suddenly, the sound of the doorbell echoes through the empty house, pulling Dani out of her thoughts. She wipes at her tear-streaked face, frowning as she glances at the clock on her nightstand. It’s way too late for trick-or-treaters, and no one else os home. Her dad is out for the night, and the house has been dead quiet for hours.

Confused, Dani gets up from her bed, pulling on her hoodie as she makes her way downstairs. The doorbell rings again just as she reaches the bottom of the staircase, and she hesitates for a moment before opening the door.

The porch is empty.

Dani blinks, her heart racing as she stepped outside and glances around. There was no one in sight—just the dark, empty street in front of her house. She thinks maybe it’s just some stupid Halloween prank until she looks down. There’s a small basket sitting on the porch, filled with Twix and Sour Patch Kids and Snickers—all of her favorite candies. Her breath catches in her throat as she crouches down, her fingers trembling as she picks it up.

Sitting on top of the candy is a folded note.

Dani’s heart pounds in her chest as she opens the note, her eyes scanning the familiar handwriting:

Dan,

Please know that if you ever need to talk to anyone, I am always here for you. I hope this basket makes your Halloween a little better.

P <3

Dani’s vision blurs with tears again, but this time, they aren’t necessarily tears of sadness. They’re something else—something warmer, softer. Paige left this for her. Paige went out of her way to make sure Dani wasn’t completely alone tonight.

She clutches the note to her chest, her heart aching in a way that feels both painful and comforting all at once. Paige has always been there for her, even now, even when everything is so broken, so different. Dani stands on the porch for a long moment, the cool night air brushing against her skin as she stares down at the basket.

She lets herself be a little optimistic. She thinks that maybe not everything is lost.

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers fic #uconn wbb #uconn #wbb #paige bueckers x reader #uconn huskies #wcbb #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x oc #hopkins p fic #take me to church #wlw

115 notes · View notes

hard-core-super-star · 16 hours

Note

Can i ask one for Kate Bishop. One where kate and reader's are best friends .they sleep together after being drunk. R is hopelessly in love with her. Everybody including kate knows this but it's like an un spoken thing.katie says doesn't see r like that because obviously she's afraid of losing the friendship if the relationship fails. Tells r that night was a one tym thing . After sometimes start seeing somebody so r will get the idea. So much angst ,heart breaks ,Kate being an idiot ,r being lovesick puppy .and a Happy ending .☺️ Its okay if you can't .Thank you ♥

an inch away from more than just friends [K.Bishop]

pairing: kate bishop x reader

summary: falling in love with your best friend is supposed to be easy. unfortunately, neither you nor kate are particularly good at talking about your feelings.

warnings: a complete mess of fluff, smut, angst, and idiots in love; kate is HORRIBLE at acknowledging her feelings; drunken hookup in a storage closet {lots of grinding + teasing; r is a brat and kate is annoyed but turned on; small bits of dirty talk}

wordcount: 4k

a/n: I'M ALIVE! sorry for not posting much on here, i've been spending a lot of this past month working on my vampire!kate story so inspiration has been quite limited. i'm thinking about posting more short drabbles but idk how to format them 😅 anyway, i hope you're all doing well and i hope you enjoy <3

* * * * * * *

You weren't sure how you had ended up here. You hated parties. Especially ones thrown by rich people who had nothing better to do than spend a ridiculous amount of money on expensive booze and shitty food.

Not to mention, this particular party was being hosted in some skyscraper in downtown New York, which meant no matter how badly you wanted to escape the bustling atmosphere, there was nowhere else to go. Even the balconies that littered the outside were subject to the nonstop sounds of traffic.

At least it was better than being inside and having to sit through endless small talk about things you didn't understand.

A familiar voice pulls you out of your thoughts as you lean against the railing, silently watching the cars drive by on the street below you. "There you are."

You turn your head and give Kate a small smile. "Hey."

The archer approaches you, a certain bounce in her step that isn't coming from her normal bubbly personality.

While you weren't the biggest fan of these types of parties, Kate somehow thrived in them. Sure, she could be awkward most times, and she had a terrible habit of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, but she was charming. And as much as she hated the rich men who she had to rub elbows with all night, she understood them.

She'd grown up in this life while you...well, you were an outsider. Someone who didn't fit in, no matter how many expensive outfits the young CEO bought you or how many people she argued with.

The only thing you two could agree on was that the best part of these events was the free alcohol.

"How long have you been out here?" Kate asks as she joins you, her side pressing against yours and giving away how tipsy she already is.

"Like twenty minutes," you reply. "It was getting too stuffy in there."

She laughs and you allow yourself to admire her jawline and the way the city lights bounce across her skin. "Tell me about it. I swear I've had the same conversation with everyone."

"I don't know why you still bother coming to these things."

"It's good for the company, I guess," she says with a shrug. "And it gives me an excuse to get dressed up with you."

You roll your eyes at her, hating the way your heart instantly skips a beat at her words. She always gets extra flirty when she drinks. If you were more of an optimist, you might even believe her words had some sort of truth to them.

"You're an idiot."

She makes a face at you, her features a mixture of annoyance and amusement. "You always say that."

"Because it's true," you say.

"Whatever," she huffs.

The two of you stand there for a few minutes, basking in the closeness of your bodies. It's a small thing, but it's moments like these that remind you just how deep your feelings for the archer run.

The buzz from the alcohol in your system leads you to rest your head on her shoulder without a second thought. Her arm wraps around you in an instant and it's not until that moment that you realize how cold you are.

"Can we leave yet?" You ask in a soft voice. It's a little embarrassing how desperate you are to be away from the bustling party.

"Almost," she replies. "I think you owe me a dance."

You groan, already dreading the looks you'll definitely get. "Do we have to?"

"Yes, we do." She gives your side an affectionate squeeze before pulling away from you. "Just one dance, and then we can leave."

You know better than to trust her words, but you can't pretend dancing with her doesn't sound nice. Clearly, Kate isn't the only one with lowered inhibitions right now.

"Fine," you roll your eyes but reach out for her hand.

Her fingers interlock with yours, and she leads the way to the makeshift dance floor. Thankfully, most people seem too busy in their own conversations to pay attention to the dancing couples...and you and Kate.

It fills you with more bitterness than you'd like, but you try not to dwell on it. It's easier said than done...until her hands land on your waist and pull you close to her.

"You can come closer, sweetheart, I don't bite."

A nervous laugh escapes you. Mainly because you've listened to enough of her superhero stories to know for a fact she does bite, but also because getting closer to her is the last thing you should do right now.

She makes it far too easy to do, though, so you give in and wrap your arms around her neck.

The two of you start swaying to the soft music being played by the small group of musicians at the front of the room. It's hard not to spend the entire time admiring her features from this distance and as much as you try to ignore it, it's impossible to deny the way your heart flutters in your chest every time you make eye contact with her.

Your silence seems to surprise her, considering the way her eyebrows furrow together. "You okay?"

You nod and try to ignore how close your faces are. "Yeah, just...thinking."

That seems to get her attention and her concerned look turns into a slightly mischievous smile. "Oh yeah? About what?"

"Wouldn't you love to know?" You reply, hoping your attempt at teasing her will help distract her.

It doesn't work and instead of moving on, she wordlessly pulls you closer, her smile turning into a smirk when your eyes widen from the sudden proximity. "Come on, sweetheart, don't get shy on me now."

"You're annoying."

"Is that why you've been staring at my lips this whole time?"

Her words catch you off-guard, but they're not exactly far-fetched. The alcohol in your system mixed with having her so close only equals a long list of bad ideas. You can't deny how enticing those ideas sound, though.

You somehow manage to find your voice long enough to throw her observation back at her. "I think you're projecting, Katie."

"So you don't want to kiss me?"

She's toying with you, you know she is because you've seen her do it countless times, but you can't find it in yourself to really care. You know you shouldn't do it. You try to remind yourself that you're both drunk and simply trying to rile each other up for fun.

That no matter what happens, it won't mean anything. At least, not to her.

The longer you think about it, though, the less the potential consequences matter to you.

"I do," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. "But only because it's the only way to shut you up."

You expect her to laugh at you and change the topic, but, of course, she doesn't. Because the only thing Kate loves more than annoying you is taking you by surprise.

In an instant, she closes the distance between your faces, her lips meeting yours in a borderline hesitant kiss. You're certain you've never seen her so nervous before. It's strange but endearing.

More than that, it helps distract you from how nervous you are.

She pulls away from you with a smile so bright that it makes your mind swim. "I guess you were right, kissing me does shut me up."

"Is that your way of trying to convince me to kiss you again?" You ask, doing your best to act nonchalant.

You're not sure that it works very well, but thankfully, she makes no teasing comments about it. She simply steals all your thoughts away by kissing you again.

The fact that you're one step away from fully making out in the middle of the dance floor isn't lost on you. Kate seems to come to the same realization as you at that moment and she reluctantly pulls away from you just to grab your hand and lead you away from everyone's gaze.

You don't know where exactly she's taking you, you just know it's definitely not toward the exit. You'd love to call her out on it and act upset and yet...you don't. How can you when your curiosity is practically eating you alive?

She drags you into the first storage closet she finds, closing the door behind you and pushing you against it. The action steals your breath away, along with the rest of your coherent thoughts.

You weren't going to act like you'd never fantasized about doing this with Kate but you'd always imagined it would happen under different circumstances. Although, if you're completely honest, you can't say you're actually mad about it.

"Hi," you whisper, your eyes drifting down to her lips once more.

"Hey." Her hands find their way back to your waist as she steps forward, effectively trapping you against the door. "Are you...still okay with this? 'Cause we can just leave and act like nothing happened."

You appreciate her thoughtful words even though the fire she started within you is burning far too bright to be put out now.

"Yeah, I'm okay," you assure her. "I don't think stopping is an option now."

Your words seem to make her hesitation disappear and her smirk instantly makes a comeback. "And why is that, darling?"

"You know why."

Kate leans in closer, one of her hands drifting down to grip your leg and lift it up until it's wrapped around her waist. "Maybe...but I want to hear you say it."

"In your dreams, sweetheart."

You feel incredibly proud of yourself until the archer pushes herself against you, creating the most wonderful friction against your center. The movement catches you off-guard and you let out an embarrassingly desperate moan at the feeling.

The brunette takes advantage of the moment and ducks down to attach her lips to your neck. "I would love to put you in your place but you are far too adorable like this."

Your head tilts back to give her more access to your skin as you struggle to put yourself together long enough to reply to her words. "I wouldn't describe this as adorable."

She chuckles against your skin, the feeling of her warm breath sending ripples of pleasure down your spine. You almost can't believe this is actually happening. For a second, you briefly wonder if you're simply dreaming.

There's no way the pressure of her body against yours isn't real, though. No way for the pleasure you're experiencing to be completely made up by you.

The hand still on your waist gives you a soft squeeze before she guides you against her. There's something slightly humiliating about grinding against her in some random, badly lit, storage closet that only adds to the intensity of the moment.

Kate seems to read your mind considering the way she moves against you, drawing out another barely supressed moan. "You're holding back, y/n/n."

Her teasing words only make you want to tease her right back. Just because you've wanted her like this for a long time doesn't mean you want to make things easy for her. Riling her up is always more fun anyway.

"Maybe you're just not as good as you think you are," you reply, hoping she won't call you out for grinding against her so desperately.

She has no plan to make things easy on you, though, and as annoying as it is, it's also incredibly attractive. "That's not what your body is saying."

"How can you be such a dork at a time like this?"

"It's my talent."

"Keep telling yourself that."

She groans, out of annoyance rather than pleasure, but you know your slight defiance is a turn on for her. It's almost funny how someone so bratty gets such a rush out of putting other brats in their place. "I hope you know your attitude is going to cost you later."

"Don't threaten me with a good time, Katie."

Her hand finally makes its way up your thigh, and she cups your heated core in one quick move. "How am I the annoying one?"

You let out a sharp gasp, your hips rocking against her hand with zero shame or hesitation. You're already so close to falling apart, the coil in your stomach embarrassingly close to snapping already. In your defense, it's been a long time since your last hookup.

"Not so mouthy now, are you, sweetheart?" Her amusement is more than clear and, even though you'd love nothing more than to wipe the smirk off her face, you're a little preoccupied with the mounting pleasure.

"Kate..." You whimper, attempting to pull her impossibly closer to you. "Fuck."

Her teasing energy is quickly replaced by satisfaction. Satisfaction that motivates her to speed up her movements, effectively replacing all your thoughts with the feeling of her hands on you.

"You gonna cum for me, baby?" She asks, her lips trailing a path from your neck to your jaw.

"Yeah," you reply, your voice a breathless, needy, whisper. "...please."

"Such a good girl. Go on, let me hear you fall apart for me."

Her words are exactly what you need to let go. It's a little embarrassing, and the lack of full contact makes it a little less satisfying than you'd like, but your orgasm crashes into you almost instantly. Your hands grip onto her shoulders as you ride out the waves, her soft whispers guiding you through the overwhelming sensations.

You're shaking and panting and absolutely spent after such a rush of emotions and Kate is right there, holding you close through it all. Somehow, the affection and care she's showing you feels even better than the orgasm you just had.

"You okay, baby?" She asks as she leans back just enough so your eyes can meet again.

You nod, still too shaken to find your voice.

"You're too cute."

Despite your breathlessness, she gives you a quick kiss, pouring far too many feelings neither of you want to think about right now into it. The alcohol must be draining from your system because you're already starting to freak out about this.

About how difficult it'll be to act like nothing happened. Like you're not completely in love with your best friend.

There's no way for you to deny it now. Hell, Kate herself can't deny it anymore either.

And yet you both try.

"Do you want to go back to my apartment?" She asks once you're able to pull away from each other.

The intention is behind her words is more than clear and it somehow manages to bring your confidence back. "Only if you let me repay the favor."

"I think we can definitely work something out," she replies with a genuine smile.

That's all you need to take her hand and drag her out of the storage closet. Her laugh rings out in your ears as you make your way to the exit.

True to your word, you spend the rest of the night returning the favor and drawing orgasm after orgasm out of Kate. It's not enough to make you believe you'll be together the way you want to and yet it's more than enough for ythe moment.

It's more than you ever thought you'd get from her.

Unfortunately, morning comes too quickly and it brings the realization that you severely underestimated how much things would change. How quick Kate would be to sweep everything under the rug and deny it even happened.

It hurts but it's not a complete surprise considering the way the archer reacts to most things.

You manage to work through it, silencing your desires in favor of making her comfortable and keeping her in your life. It's not the healthiest thing in the world but you manage.

Your friendship only suffers for a few days before you're back to normal. No one would even notice anything if it weren't for the major heart eyes you throw her way all the time.

Everyone knows, though. Everyone cares except Kate.

Instead of talking about it like a normal person, she decides to make things worse by getting a girlfriend. You don't even know who she is and the archer doesn't give you any real details, she just mumbles something about a coffee shop and a cute dog.

You've never known Kate to be particularly reserved but she is this time. Not just that, she actively ignores you. Dodging your questions expertly and pretending there's nothing weird about how little time she spends with you.

You had always assumed it would be your feelings that ruined your friendship but Kate managed to ruin everything on her own. It's almost a skill.

Somehow, even as your heart breaks and endless questions swim around your mind, you manage to keep going. More than that, you match Kate's energy and pretend you don't even notice the change in her attitude. You're not sure who's more hurt by that but you don't even care.

You treasure the brief moments you get with her and mentally shout at her every time she cancels another movie night. Her excuses are endless. One day, she tells you she's too busy with Avengers work, the next she's too caught up with Bishop Securities.

The only thing that brings you some sense of comfort is the fact you're not the only one being lied to. Her so-called "girlfriend" gets the same excuses as you, at least that's what Yelena tells you. The Russian has no reason to lie, though, so you believe her and ignore the rising thought of making Kate jealous.

That's the only thing you're able to do: ignore Kate and the feelings you still have for her.

It works for a while...until the archer finds her way back to you.

It's the middle of the night when you hear frantic knocking on your door. You suppress your fear long enough to make it to the door, baseball bat in hand.

You open the door and come face to face with those same blue eyes you've tried not to think about for over a month. "Kate?"

"Hey," she mumbles, nervousness instantly creeping into her voice. "I, um...can I come in?"

You're tempted to say no and slam the door in her face. You're honestly half-way to doing it when you notice the way she's swaying and clutching her side."You're not drunk, are you?" You question.

Your attempt to lighten the mood falls flat but she smiles anyway. "No, I'm unfortunately sober."

You hum in response before stepping aside and letting her come in. There's a voice in the back of your head that warns you not to get caught up in the past. To keep your distance until she, at the very least, apologizes for being such a jerk to you.

Kate manages to make it to your couch without tripping while you lock your door and put the baseball bat back in its usual place. You brace yourself for the uncomfortable conversation that's bound to follow as you follow after her.

"So...what happened to you?"

Her only response for a few moments is a groan and you do your best to stifle your laughter. For someone who's the human embodiment of a golden retriever, she looks a lot like a grumpy cat right now.

"Stupid mission," she grumbles while attempting to stretch her sore muscles. "I don't know where someone can get the money for that many henchmen."

"Says the rich girl," you reply with a smirk.Kate rolls her eyes but some of the tension in her shoulders disappears.

"Oh, shut up."

Your cross your arms over your chest before raising an eyebrow at her. "I don't think you're in any position to talk to me like that."

A barely noticeable blush spreads across her features. "Sorry," she mumbles. "I just...I've missed talking to you like this."

You wish it didn't but your heart skips a beat at her words. It's stupid considering the fact she's the one who put you guys in this situation yet there's nothing you can do about it. Your heart still belongs to her.

"Is that why you've been ignoring me lately?" You ask, unable to keep the bitterness out of your tone. "Why are you even here, anyway? I'm sure your girlfriend's worried about you."

Your words cause the smallest of changes in Kate's body language. She hunches down almost as if she's trying to sink into herself and disappear. You've seen her like this far too many times to not know how she's feeling.

"She would be if she didn't hate my guts right about now," she replies with a sigh. "Can't say I blame her, breaking up with her and leaving on a mission isn't the most mature thing to do."

"Wow, you're finally self-aware," you tease her, more out of habit that anything else. "A lot can change in a month, huh?"

The lack of annoyance in your tone allows her to relax again. As much as you might like to be petty, she seems genuinely sorry and upset. "Okay, I deserve that. I've been an asshole to you."

"Yes, you have, but it looks like karma finally caught up with you."

There's an edge of concern to your words that you can't quite hide. She doesn't seem to be in excruciating pain which hopefully means she's not badly hurt but with how stubborn she is, you wouldn't be surprised if she was blatantly hiding a gunshot wound.

Kate chuckles as she leans back against your couch, the movement allows you to search her suit for bloodstains and, thankfully, you find nothing except a couple of tears in the fabric. "Karma's a bitch..but I probably deserved it."

"Probably?" You ask.

"Okay, fine," she grumbles. "I definitely deserved it. It just...seemed like the right thing to do."

You can't hold back the scoff that leaves your lips. "On what Earth was ignoring me after hooking up with me "the right thing to do"?"

She grimaces, the words hitting her a little too hard. You feel a little bad for her even though these are simply the consequences of her own actions. "I was afraid of ruining our friendship. I didn't...I don't want to lose you, y/n. You mean too much to me."

A part of you wants to keep being petty about the whole thing but you've missed her far too much to push her away now. Even though she probably deserves it for being such an idiot.

"You have a very weird way of showing it." You finally allow yourself to close the distance between you two, walking over and taking a seat next to her.

Kate's hand instantly finds its way into yours, her head turning to look at you. There's a thin layer of tears in her eyes that tugs at your heartstrings. "I know...and I really am sorry."

"I know," you reply, giving her hand a soft squeeze. "You're my best friend, Kate, I've always known you're an idiot."

She rolls her eyes but doesn't say anything more, allowing a comfortable silence to fill the room.

There's a lot more you both still want to say and yet neither of you makes any attempt at breaking the moment. It's almost comforting how quickly you fall back together like two slightly damaged magnets.

Finally, after minutes go by, Kate allows herself to tell you the truth.

"It's you," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's always been you and I'm so sorry I tried to pretend it wasn't true."

Her words bring a wave of relief, and a slight bit of annoyance that you do your best to supress. "Can you just shut up and kiss me before I kick you out?"

She laughs, a real one this time, before leaning forward and stealing your breath with a kiss.

It's not enough to fix all the damage but it's a start. And you're more than happy to flip the page with her.

#kate bishop x reader #kate bishop x female reader #kate bishop x y/n #kate bishop x you #kate bishop #kate bishop fanfiction #hawkeye #hailee steinfed #marvel fanfiction #mcu imagine #wlw #wlw fic #writing

59 notes · View notes