cw: steve harrington x fem!readerノ 18+ MINORS DNI. no use of 'y/n'. all porn no plot. oral!fem receiving. steve being a munch. not set in any particular season of ST. barely edited; all mistakes are my own
God, those wide, doe-like eyes would be the death of you. You thought as you met Steve’s gaze from in between your legs. You just managed to open your eyes and focus on the warmth of his whiskey colored eyes through the haze of pleasure he was currently inducing.
Steve was suckling on your clit, lapping at it softly as two of his thick fingers ran through your soaked slit, gathering your slick before slowly filling you up and causing a soft, breathless moan to escape your spit-slicked lips.
What was once supposed to be an innocent movie night between you and Steve had devolved into you writhing on his couch as he ducked his head down between your legs to eat you out like a man starved. You had a hand buried in the thick strands of his hair, as your other hand had a firm grip on the armrest of the couch, just above your head.
Moans started to spill more frequently from your lips as Steve began to move his fingers, crooking his fingers just slightly to brush the spongy spot that you seemed to just be shy of when you tried to finger yourself in the comfort of your own room.
Your noises were music to Steve’s ears as he lapped up your arousal—letting the taste of you coat his tongue. The taste of you was nearly addictive to him, and he was content to spend all night between your legs if you had asked him to. Steve kept his lips wrapped around your clit like he was savouring a piece of hard candy, flicking his tongue around the bundle of nerves as his fingers thrust in and out of you.
You could feel your body bloom with heat as pleasure surged through your veins. “Fuck!” You moaned out breathily. “So, so good.”
“Yeah?” Steve barely managed to pull away long enough to respond. “Doing so good f’me.” He pressed a wet kiss to your inner thigh, nipping at it before diving back into your cunt, his fingers going at a slightly faster pace and hitting your g-spot with more precision.
“Ah, shit–Steve!” You yelped out as your grip on his hair got tighter, making him moan into you at the spark of pleasure that zipped down his spine at the feeling of his hair being tugged on.
You felt your body slowly unfurling at the seams with pleasure. You were close—you knew, and Steve definitely knew from how you were clenching around his fingers. He sealed his lips around your swollen clit and swirled his tongue around it before sucking it hard.
You came with an intensity you found that only Steve could wring out of you. Your back arched off the leather material of the couch as you used both of your hands to grab at Steve’s hair as he worked you through your orgasm, suckling softly at your clit as he worked his fingers gently inside of you before removing his slick fingers from you. Steve lapped at you slowly, cleaning up your slick from your folds before planting soft kisses to your inner thighs as you calmed down.
He looked up at you, an almost pussy-drunk smile on his face—Steve’s eyes had a gleam over them as he stared at your heaving chest as you greedily took in air.
Steve pressed another kiss to your inner thigh, closer to your pelvic bone. “Ready for another round?” He said before pressing soft kisses to your slit, obviously ready for seconds.
Your head lulled back against the couch, your eyes rolling back to your head as you felt Steve’s mouth on your again, barely letting you recover before diving back in once more.
Never mind, his mouth would probably be the death of you.
a/n: i haven't written smut in so long so forgive me if im rusty and hence why it's so short T-T but WOOHOO new blurb layout :)))
CW: smut [thigh riding, oral (m. receiving), handjob, dry humping, power play (if you squint), public setting, praises (both m and f giving and receiving)], swearing, mentions of alcohol
Part 2 here
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT (+18 only)
A/N: Hi everyone! Finally I'm able to share what I think it'll be the first part of a mini - series on the "cruise fic". Also, my first time writing (and publishing) smut. Hope it's not too bad. I hope you like it 💜
@runningincircl3s is working on a similar fic, so I wanted to leave to you the idea / wip here.
Disclaimer: These are fictionalized versions of the band members. Their actions and personalities in this story are entirely products of my imagination and are not intended to represent the real people in any way.
The stale smell of the port filled your nostrils making your stomach twist in disgust. You could hear the distinct screech of seagulls which were flying above the gigantic cruise ship docked at the pier.
“MSC Sinfonia” was painted in a navy blue color on its bow.
“What’s it called again?” you said to Chloe, pointing at the letters.
“It’s the name of the ship” she quipped “it’s italian for symphony. Isn’t that poetic?” a grin plastered on her face.
“Oh yeah, greeeat” you retorted dripping with sarcasm. Your forced smile morphing into a frown.
“Oh c’mon Y/N It’ll be amazing! We get two whole weeks for ourselves, to relax, to unwind and maybe, who knows? We get to pick your date for Sarah’s wedding” Emma winked at you.
“I’d like to point out that I had to get quite a hefty chunk of time off work and my boss wasn’t exactly pleased” you answered “Besides, we’re the ones who lower the average age of our “fellow passengers”, who am I supposed to bring to the wedding? My sugar daddy?”
Your three friends erupted into a loud laughter. Your statement wasn’t exactly false. Sarah booked your trip with a company far too expensive for your age-group and off-season.
So there you were, in line with a bunch of 75 year olds, compression socks and all, waiting for your check - in under the midday sun.
The four of you have been best friends since middle school. You’ve always been a tigh - unit that managed to survive the awkwardness of your teenage years, the very first heartbreaks, morphing into full adult women who now shared glasses of wine and discussed work drama. Thinking about Sarah getting married felt surreal. It was a stark reminder of how time slipped through your fingers without any intention of slowing down.
There was something so sweet being a silent witness to each other’s milestones. Although you weren’t that excited about being trapped on a floating boat with a gang of retirees, you couldn’t say no to her. Not for this.
Your heavy luggage hit your shins repeatedly while you were dragging it into the cabin. With a frustrated huff you took the cruise card out of your pocket to unlock your door. Sarah really did splurge on the cruise. Each of you got a separate room; “Just in case something risky happens” Sarah’s words echoed in your head. You couldn’t help it but chuckle to yourself thinking about the elderly crowd you were surrounded by.
Your cabin was nothing less than a hotel room. Though smaller, it had everything you needed: a big queen-size bed, your private bathroom, but especially, a fantastic ocean view.
Although still docked at the pier, you could see the gentle ripple of the ocean, little waves lapping against the hull. Hearing the water splashing, gave you a peaceful relief.
This might actually be fun, you thought to yourself.
A soft knock on the door pulled you out of your thoughts. You found Emma in front of you. “Hun, it’s time to hit the pool” she sang. She was wearing a sheer white cover - up, with her bikini already on.
“How do you manage to get ready this fast?” you asked, incredulous. “There will be time to sort your stuff out, now just bring out your bikini and come with me. Sarah’s orders”.
“Emma we’ve not even left the port, why do we need to get half naked where there’s not even a breath of air softening the heat” you answered frustrated.
“Sometimes I still marvel at how clueless you can actually become” she snickered “Look outside your window.” She pointed out and, lo and behold, the ship actually left the port now cutting through the waves.
The first thing you dug out was your lilac bikini with its matching sarong. You packed your sunscreen, your water and the book you were currently reading, ready to relax and enjoy the peace and quiet.
The gentle breeze shaking through your hair was a welcomed sensation against the scorching heat of the sun. You laid out your towel onto the lounge chair ready to spend the next few hours in a world where work and worries didn’t exist.
Sarah and Emma took a plunge into the fresh pool water, lost in their own little world, where the first one was keeping her friend up to date with wedding preparations and the trials and tribulations that were brought with it.
On the other hand, Chloe had managed to steer you away from your book, describing to you the latest fling she had with one of her coworkers. “Here, I need to show you his texts.”
You were so focused on your friend, that the both of you couldn’t hear the girls calling you out. You snapped out of it because a splash of water soaked your feet.
Emma had her arms crossed against the edge of the pool “Don’t look, but there is a group of guys, like four, no, no five of them, hot. And I mean the Y/N version of hot!” she yelled - whispered, wiggling her eyebrows.
“C’mon Em, I just want to finish with Chloe and go back to my book, I don’t have time for this,” you quipped, annoyed.
She rolled her eyes at you, moving swiftly out of the water, sitting on the lounge chair right in front of you. “They’re covered in ink, would that be interesting to you my darling?” she added suggestively.
For sure, that piqued your attention. As nonchalantly as you could, you tilted your head behind your shoulder, gauging the truth of your friend’s words.
As soon as you laid eyes on them, your body tensed instinctually. Your heart picked up a frantic pace.
They couldn’t be…
They surely weren’t…
On the other side of the pool, huddled up over a few of the lounge chairs, the Bad Omens band, and Davis, was chilling with a few beers in their hands.
You whipped your head back, fixing your gaze on the ocean in front of you as you mumbled something incoherent.
“Oh look” added Sarah, now fully facing them, Emma followed suit. “The tall one is looking over here.” That earned Chloe to look in that direction too, all three of them giggling. Promptly Sarah waved enthusiastically at them “we could go and grab drinks near them or directly with them” she proposed.
“We’ve been here for less than 24 hours and things just got more interesting” Chloe concluded, a sparkling look animated her face.
The three of them stood up ready to make their way. The guys were now all looking at the four of you, amused expressions on their faces.
“Where do you think you’re going?” you started, nervousness seeping through your tone. “They’re your type hun” added Emma “I can’t lie they’re all gorgeous, we’re playing your wingwomen; can we get, like, a cool name? Maybe Y/N’s angels”. The three of them were far into whatever was building in their imagination to notice how you definitely weren’t laughing.
Panic now fully settled. You needed to get out of there before you could embarrass yourself in front of one of your favourite bands.
As calmly as you could you scrambled “You go ahead, I have to pee real bad, I’ll catch up to you in a bit.”
Without waiting for a comeback, you hastily took your towel and you sarong, nearly tripping over your flip-flops, your eyes focused on the exit. Your feet hurried you along. Phone long forgotten on the lounge chair beside your sunscreen.
Once you felt safe, you released a long breath: let the hide and seek game begin!
You knew your friends had very good intentions towards you, and, specifically, they lacked the very fundamental information of who the boys were. As much as you tried to present your music taste to the girls, it never really caught on among the group.
They were just aware that tattoos were somewhat attractive to you and knowing all too well about your disastrous past experiences in love matters, they decided to take the matter into their own hands.
What started as a temporary cover up, turned into a full blown retreat from social life. You picked up your book from the pool and, without your phone, managed to finish it in one go.
A hard knock on the door startled you awake. When did you fall asleep? You could feel the corner of your mouth slightly damp with drool. You shot up on your bed, confused, having lost track of time. Artificial lighting filtered through the curtains.
Did I really sleep that much?
You didn’t even fully open the door that your ears were hit with a cacophony of voices. Three pairs of eyes landed on you: bikini still on, hair tangled from sleep, a light redness covering your skin from suntanning.
“YOU HAD US SCARED SHITLESS Y/N” Chloe shouted, colliding heavily with your shoulder getting into the room.
“Yeah, hun” continued Emma “what happened?” her voice was laced with worry.
Your head was still groggy from sleep attempting to scramble something coherent for them. You managed to croak out “Sorry girls, I know, I just… I don’t know what happened.”
“You know, at one point even Nick started to get preoccupied,” Sarah added. “We thought that something was wrong, but Jolly reassured us that, if that were the case, the loudspeakers would’ve been activated” she concluded.
You sat at the edge of your bed, loudly leaning back on the mattress, arms coming up to rest on the headboard. “I guess you met the group of men we saw this morning, then.” You tried to sound disinterested.
A knowing smirk circled through the girls giggling together. That sound brought you back when you were teenagers facing your first crushes. “Oh yes we have” Emma started “and I think it will be an interesting two weeks” she nodded frantically.
Instinctively you rolled your eyes at them “Are you already so captivated with them?”
“They’re fascinating, what can I say?” Chloe quipped, going through your closet, scattering clothes onto your bed.
“Wait, what happened to “the Y/N’s version of hot”? you retorted, giving a really bad impression of Emma’s voice.
“You are dirty minded, aren’t you?” Emma came into view, nudging you. Propping yourself to your elbows just to assess what was happening you heard Sarah say “WE” gesturing the three of them “WE wouldn’t fuck ‘em. They’re not our type. But you, on the other hand” she said suggestively “you’d be having fun babe.”
“They’re very interesting people, easy to talk to,” added Chloe. “They are musicians” Emma cut through a grin plastered on your face.
“Oh, I see” the color drained from your face.
“Yeah right? H O T” Emma and Sarah, now, turned their attention to Chloe, still focused on choosing your clothes for dinner.
Your surprised realization didn’t stem from finding out what they did for a living, obviously, rather from the sudden epiphany that the band didn’t scare the girls away. They welcomed them with open arms.
FOR FUCK’S SAKE.
Dinner passed through a haze of swirls of voices mixed together, the buzzing of the lights above your heads and the occasional clicking of glasses every time one of the girls wanted to toast about something.
Fortunately for you, the boys didn’t show up during dinner.
“Now, Y/N, there’s a surprise for youuu” Chloe sang while taking a sip of her wine. You chuckled, amused by the tipsy singsongy tone of your friend. “Aren’t we here to celebrate Sarah’s engagement?”
“Duh, but when life gives you lemons…” Sarah answered promptly.
“Anyways, because you were MIA, we got drinks with them whilst waiting for you. Turns out, they very kindly offered us four spots for a private boat excursion tomorrow.”
Your mouth dried up. Since when do you offer a trip to four strangers, like out of the blue?
A tight smile appeared on your face “Fantastic” you blurted out.
“Oh yeah, that’s what I’m talking about” Emma added “no retirees, no dentures and compression socks, just us the “inked - up crew”. You visibly cringed at their nickname.
Silence fell at the table, everyone was lost in their own thoughts when, all of a sudden, Chloe added “Just fyi Y/N, there’s your grumpy counterpart even in their group”
“I’m not grumpy” you retorted a bit too quickly, earning a laugh from your friends.
“He mostly keeps to himself, doesn’t really talk and I feel like he just resents everything and everyone” Emma spoke deep in thought.
That comment didn’t put you off in the slightest. On the contrary, it gave you a very good detail about their humanity; in a way that seemed to be grounding. They were there not as international rockstars but as five friends seeking some good time and relaxing.
The next morning you stood over the coffee station, humming in appreciation of the smell surrounding the small space. Your undereyes matched in colour with your black hoodie you put on for breakfast.
You didn’t get that many hours of sleep last night, nervous about how today was going to unfold. You must’ve bore a hole into the ceiling.
You felt so annoyed with yourself because of the way you were reacting. It wasn’t so much about the guys but what they created. Bad Omens has been a trusted witness to different difficult moments in your life, giving voice to the pain and suffering otherwise unspoken. What if meeting them meant losing the spark, the magic behind every listen of their music.
You hugged your mug tightly still basking in that delicious smell. You spotted your friends. They had carefully annexed a couple more tables to the one they were creating, basically, a VIP area in the lounge.
“Are we having breakfast or are we banqueting with the Queen?” you asked dryly.
“Good morning to you too sweetheart” answered Sarah, a bit too brightly considering the amount of alcohol she consumed last night.
Without even looking up from her breakfast sandwich, Chloe said “we’re waiting for the guys, silly, we talked about that last night.”
“Actually” Emma whispered, nudging you, “they were right behind you.”
Perfectly timed, you heard seats screeching across the floor. A sea of ink and black garments settled onto the chairs.
“Good morning ladies” Jolly opened the conversation. There was a collective nod from each of the boys then, quietly, everyone got on eating their breakfast.
That gave you the perfect excuse to look properly at them. Your friends were right, they were even more handsome than the photos led.
Yet, it wasn’t their beauty that caught your attention. It was their deeply human and raw features. Through the gentle light of the lounge room, you could make out their acne scars littering their faces. Folio’s face was shadowed by a light stubble. Ruffilo’s complexion had acquired a warm, suntanned tone, allowing his clear eyes to pop out more.
But what struck you the most was observing their postures. Now a bit slumped, relaxed, stripped of their rockstar presence. They didn’t have the magnetic lore of performing anymore. In that moment, you felt like the invisible barrier that you put on was crumbling piece by piece. You were convinced that, to an outsider, you could potentially be seen as a bunch of ordinary thirty-somethings year, old looking for a good time.
“So, I guess we’re finally introduced to the fugitive,” Ruffilo said, a warm smile on his face. “I’m Nick, these are Folio, Jolly, Davis” he continued pointing to his friends, each of them giving you a nod of acknowledgement.
“Sooner or later we’ll be joined by Noah” Davis cut through. “He’s probably still sleeping,” he chuckled.
You smiled politely, nursing your cup of coffee whilst listening to what day was ahead of you. But then, you heard it: heavy footsteps approaching your table. A very hard pull of the chair right across from you and a silent thud once he was seated.
Noah.
He didn’t even acknowledge you or your friends. He just gave a little nod to the boys, just to pick up his phone, scrolling mindlessly.
The air definitely changed once he came. From the corner of your eye, you could see Sarah straightening her posture, Chloe’s genuine smile, turned into something more forced. Emma just lowered her gaze, now fully focused on her fruit salad.
What happened to the approachable, kind, fascinating guys?
“So, y/n” Davis was the first one to break the tension “last night we heard all about you,” he smiled warmly, attempting to dissolve a bit of the tension.
“Yeah, we heard you are the brains of the group, a very clever woman,” Jolly added.
As if the rainy cloud of Noah’s attitude was lifted, Emma nodded frantically “Yes, she just finished her phd. Tell ‘em hun.”
Folio’s brows shot up “A phd? Damn, It’s my first time meeting a doctor” he quipped, sipping his coffee. “How would you prefer to be called from now on? Doc? Doctor? The cleverest of them all?” he laughed.
That earned a genuine reaction from everyone at the table, snorts and giggles followed. Everyone did, except Noah who stubbornly kept his slumped posture and his eyes on his screen.
“It’s in forensic anthropology” added Chloe, swirling around her glass of orange juice. “It’s so cool, basically she just digs up bones and analyzes them, right babe?”
A flush of heat crept up your neck and your cheeks. “Yeah, it’s basically it. It’s for legal investigations. Nothing too interesting. Mostly it’s just time in a lab and then a ton of paperwork for the legal part of it” you downplayed, not wanting to attract more attention to you.
“I guess you ladies chose the right trip” Noah chimed in out of the blue looking at you through his lashes. “Play your cards well, and you’ll get a couple of real - time field consultations before we hit the next stop” he mocked. Before anyone could reply, he just resumed whatever he was doing with his phone.
The table went dead silent.
Ruffilo glared a sharp look towards Noah, while your friends' movements stilled.
That little comment ignited something deep, furious inside you. He just devalued years of hard work and sacrifices just to get what? A cheap joke at the expense of the elderly you were sharing the cruise with?
The silence that followed was heavy, thick with tension. Everyone was ready to pick up the pieces once it was snapped. Their eyes darted between each other, worry flashing through their faces, waiting for your reaction.
Though surprised and hurt, you kept your cool, shoulders squared, you retorted in the calmest way you mustered: “I’ll keep that in mind. I do, in fact, analyze beings with no brain activity and social responsiveness. But they’re usually dead” a pitying look blooming on your face. “Looking across the table, it’s wonderful to see someone who meets all the criteria while still breathing. If you want to come by, I’d like to deepen my knowledge of your wonderful case” you finished, a smug look on your face.
You could feel the suppressed laughter from the boys, Folio choking on his breakfast sandwich, while Davis was suddenly interested in stirring his cup of tea.
For the first time, Noah put away his phone, locking his gaze with yours. The condescending look he had before twisted into something darker, defiant, challenging, as if a new pact had just formed between the two of you.
After what felt like eternity, you gently stood up “I’ll go get changed then, see you in twenty?” Your friends nodded dumbfounded as you left.
The tables had just turned. Now that you knew Noah wasn’t exactly keen on having you and your friends around, you just had the perfect excuse to keep your distance after this trip.
Just this trip Y/N, it will all be over before you know it and then, you can go back to the regular schedule: celebrating Sarah’s wedding.
Pressed between two elderly couples, you felt restless, your foot bounced up and down in anticipation. You were disembarking for the first stop of the cruise but, of course, you being late, lost the others ending up there.
Irritation began prickling your skin, now sticky because of all the sunscreen you had to put on. You didn’t know what to expect, and new situations experienced with strangers wasn’t your top activity imagined on this cruise. Doing them while sweating through your clothes added an extra layer of challenge that you definitely didn’t want.
Your thoughts were interrupted by the buzzing of your phone: Chloe was calling you
“Y/N where are you?” her voice popped through the speaker.
“I’m trying to get to the pier, but I’m surrounded by sloths” you growled, annoyance clear in your voice
“Please, hurry along because I think Noah’s getting frustrated” she said
“And what am I? Some sort of antidote to his frustration? I don’t need to calm him down, I’m not being intentionally late.” You could feel your stomach burning more and more with sheer anger.
Once freed from the sea of pastel colour shirts and straw hats, you rushed to the pier. The sight that greeted you, was hilarious: a bunch of tatted up dudes wearing exclusively black, the only pop of colour given by the art on their graphic shirts, talking animatedly with the girliest of girls you could imagine: pinks and lilacs bikinis with their matching scrunchies, raffia beach bag on one hand, sunglasses on the other.
Between these two worlds colliding, stood, propped on a wooden piling, Noah. Even if he had his sunglasses on, you could clearly see the frustration in his features: his jaw was clenched shut, arms tightly crossed on his chest, tapping his foot onto the wooden pier deck. He wasn’t involved in their conversation, you just assumed that he was brooding over whatever was on his mind.
Once you reached the group, a little out of breath, you puffed: “Sorry guys, didn’t mean to be this late”
“Don’t worry darling,” said Jolly warmly, “we’re on vacation! We can have some leniency on punctuality:” He pointed at the white small catamaran docked a few feet away.
“C’mon man, “leniency”? Have you started to use big words just to impress her?” joked Folio, slapping his mate on his shoulder.
A few chuckles broke within the group while you all made your way toward the boat.
“Don’t waste your time Jolly” Noah muttered sourly, placing his sunglasses over his head “she lacks the basic manners to know that being late isn’t a quirky personality trait but a very impolite thing” his voice dripping with disdain “we’ve been baking under the sun for twenty minutes because she just couldn’t get ready before breakfast?”
In a swift motion, he moved so that his tall frame was towering over yours, his eyes piercing through yours “Just a friendly reminder that you are not the main character here. So get your shit together” he concluded.
You were frozen on the spot. Heart racing so fast that you feared it could burst out of your chest. Your mouth dried up instantly, heat rising from your chest up to your cheeks.
With a triumphant smile, Noah moved towards the catamaran. His strut was suddenly stopped by a big hand planted on his chest, holding him back. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Nicholas said through gritted teeth. “What’s wrong with you man?” Jolly chimed in, frustrated.
Davis got closer to Noah, looking him straight in the eyes “You’re behaving like a spoiled brat ever since the very beginning of this trip. We can tolerate your hissy fits, but taking them out on them, on HER” the man pointed at you, now practically screaming on Noah’s face “that’s when I draw the line.”
“We’ve invited them to this trip” Folio added “WE” gesturing to the four boys “enjoy their company, so, if you don’t, you can get lost. Get the fuck away. We don’t need sulking shadows hunting the boat. Get fucked Noah, we’ll see you on the cruise ship at dinner.”
Noah’s frame flinched backwards imperceptibly as if he was taken aback by the harsh words his friends gave to him. For a fraction of a second, you could see that his face went through several emotions: surprise, hurt, but then hardened into something unreadable. He closed his fist on both sides and, without saying another word, started walking back, in long strides, towards the little coastal village.
Once Noah’s frame was out of sight, a collective sigh ran through the group. “Y/N are you okay?” Sarah waltzed closer to you, putting her hands on your shoulders. That touch made you realize that you were still frozen in the same position from a few minutes before, muscles beginning to ache from the strain. You timidly nodded, afraid that, if you spoke, all hell broke loose.
Ruffilo came into view, his eyes sporting a very worried expression. “We’re so sorry sweetheart. I don’t have any justifiable reason for the way he’s been treating you. I don’t know what got into him.”
You cleared your throat, trying to compose yourself. “That’s alright guys, you don’t have control over the behaviour of another person.” A small smile appeared although your eyes were swelling up with tears. “I can understand that we were not planned, in your trip itinerary, so I can see why he’s not that happy about it” a dry laugh left your mouth “my friends can be” you paused looking for the right words “a bit pushy, if you will”.
“Don’t you even say that” Jolly cut in “we really like you, we want to spend time with you all. It was a welcomed surprise when we realized we were not the only young people out of the hundreds of passengers.” He practically bear hugged you. Although very welcomed, you couldn’t help but be very aware of the light sheen of sweat covering both of you making the hug a bit sticky.
“Well” Folio quipped enthusiastically “I guess we should board, Noah’s tantrum made us even more late.”
The mood suddenly shifted, laughter and banter filled the air, as if the dark clouds disappeared and the sun came through once again.
Unfortunately for you, you couldn’t shake it off as easily as the others. Frankly, you weren’t already in the mood for the excursion before all the theatrics went down, now you just wanted to get into your bed and disappear for the rest of the trip just to be sure to never meet Noah ever again.
“You guys just go ahead, I think I’m going back to the cruise ship, I feel a headache coming on and direct sunlight is not the best way to fight it” you waved weakly to them.
Your friends just saw right through you. Sad expressions adorned their faces but they didn’t push it. Not even the boys.
“You have fun guys, I’m curious to know all about it tonight” a warmer, more genuine smile now on your face. You waited for them to set sail waving at them goodbye.
The walk back to the ship felt way longer than the hurried run you had to do on the way out.
The whole interaction was replaying frame by frame in your head. Thoughts and emotions were swirling around. You were confused and surprised about how the whole situation changed multiple times in a matter of a few hours.
Finding out you were sharing a cramped cruise ship with one of your favourite bands;
Them being very sweet and down to earth;
Noah being an asshole.
The irony hit you there and then: “Just a friendly reminder that you are not the main character here”. How rich coming from the fucking frontman of a band who performs in front of thousands of people every night. A bitter laugh came through.
Questions remained unanswered:
Was he always like this or was it a special treatment just for you?
Did you do anything wrong to upset him?
On one hand you could understand the irritation coming from him, he was always around people and the one time he could enjoy some peace and quiet, he was surrounded by a very loud, very chaotic group of girls. But then, he didn’t have any right to treat you all this way.
The hot midday sun was burning your skin, so, once the Sinfonia opened its door welcoming with the cold air of the AC, you couldn’t help but relax in relief.
The ship was eerily quiet. Everyone was out, enjoying and exploring the village. Even some parts of the ship were shut down, the staff seeming more laid back. The hallways swallowed the clacking of your flip flops.
Your phone buzzed in your hand
Coco: sent a photo
Coco: missing you hun. The sea is perfect! Sarah’s having a blast and Emma is talking Davis’ ear off about comics. We love you 💜
You: you all look soo good. Tonight in my room I WANT THE JUCY PARTS. Thank you very much. 😌
Coco: oh trust me, it is happening. Just don’t rip Noah’s face off until we’re back.
You: 🙄
You decided to get to the highest deck possible, and be there for a while. If you couldn’t be on the boat with your friends, you should be able to enjoy the ship you were on at least.
The room was a semi-open lounge, with big clear windows that offered a panoramic view of the ocean.
The view was breathtaking. From where you were, you could admire the whole coast line dotted with beaches. Stone pines gave the scenery a beautiful deep green colour that made a fantastic contrast with the golden shade of the sand and the deep blue of the water.
A light sea breeze picked up, combing through your hair. You closed your eyes, basking in that feeling, even tasting a faint hint of salt on your lips.
Once your breath evened out, you turned around in order to find a spot to curl up and dive into the story you were reading. Scanning through the room, your heart dropped to your stomach.
Slouched on an armchair, legs propped against a coffee table in front of him, stood Noah. This time he didn’t have his hood pulled up or his phone under his nose. He simply was staring outside the windows, jaw clenched, fingers rhythmically tapping against the armrest. He looked irritated, defeated, his usual delicate features seemed harsher, brows furrowed into a pained expression, lower lip caged between his teeth.
Your very first instinct was to bolt out. He didn’t even see you, you can flee, now. He looked angry, you didn’t want to fuel that.
Unfortunately pride, and a bit of desire to stir him up, to gauge his limits, took over. Running away meant declaring defeat, that he had absolute power over you. So you straightened up, gripping at your bag, you tried to relax your muscles just to give that nonchalant look.
With a blank expression on your face, you made your way towards his section of the lounge. Your frame missed his by mere millimeters.
You deliberately chose to sit on the armchair just across from him, both of your figures separated by that tiny coffee table with Noah’s feet on top. Not even sparing him a glance, you cuddled up, knees to your chest, beginning to read.
Noah didn’t move a muscle, he just followed you with his gaze. A teeny faint of amusement colored his face. He knew exactly what you were doing.
Neither of you said a word.
The silence that settled was suffocating, heavy with an unspoken, dragging friction. The lounge was completely deserted, making the low, rhythmic hum of the ship’s engines feel entirely too loud.
You were too aware of the energy radiating from Noah. Your plan of blending in with the background was failing miserably. From where you were sitting, you could feel his heavy breathing, his hand flexing against his thigh every few seconds. Your stomach flipped, an instinctual reaction that you couldn’t control. Your eyes were fixed on his hand, now rubbing small, agonizing, circles on the exposed skin from his shorts, too aware of the slight outlines of his veins popping out of his forearm when he flexed it.
Your mind betrayed you. It conjured up fantasies that had no business being there given what was said to you a few hours before on the pier. It was an involuntary, cruel reaction. Your body wasn’t innocent either. It set a trap for you, clearly not caring about what memories served you. Your hands gripped tightly the edges of the book, concentrating on evening out your breathing which, once again, was getting more uneven.
You hated him. You needed to hate him. Your pride was hurt. You’ve been humiliated.
Apparently, your body gave zero fucks about pride, because pressure was building between your thighs and it was growing fast.
Abruptly, his movements stopped, your breath hitched but you stood still, just refocusing your eyes onto the page, pretending to be deeply interested in the story.
From the corner of your eyes, you noticed Noah shifting his weight, lowering his legs from the coffee table, now leaning forward. His elbows rested against his knees. He was so close, that you could smell mint from the gum he was chewing. “Careful doc” he started. He stared at your face, gaze heavy and completely amused. “You’re gonna bore a hole through the page” his devaluating tone from before left space for dangerous mockery laced with something else that you couldn’t identify yet.
What a prick! You though
The air between the two of you was getting more and more charged. His words hung in that space mixed with a not so quiet smugness radiating from him.
He thought he had you cornered. Didn’t he? Oh Sebastian, how wrong you are! Two can play the same game.
Slowly, deliberately, you uncurled your legs beneath you, mimicking his current position. You snapped closed your book, placing it onto the table. The gap closed even more, bringing your faces just a couple of feet away from each other.
You didn’t look away. Instead, you took your sweet time to shamelessly take in his frame. From his tattooed hands, your gaze moved onto his wrists, where a few bracelets sat, to, then, lifted up to his throat and then his lips. You lingered there, your tongue absentmindedly wetting your own lips, before locking eyes with him.
An intensely sweet smile formed on your lips “I was just wondering: all that twitchy energy you have, is it because you’re about to snap…” you tilted your head now getting even closer to him, eyes darkening “or are you just in desperate need of a distraction?”
The smug expression on Noah’s face faded completely. He froze. His shoulders went completely rigid. You could see his knuckles under his chin, getting whiter.
You wanted to take control and you had it now. It made your head spin. Revelling in that sensation was intoxicating. The final confirmation was hearing his breath hitch.
Though, his eyes never left yours, now scanning your face just to assess even a hint of bluffing or hesitation. But you held your stance, your eyes focused, dark. Yet, your heart was hammering against your ribs, you couldn’t tell if it was from fear or from seeing him completely breathless.
No one dared to back down. You were observing, studying the other person. In real time, you watched Noah’s shocked gaze melting into something primal, almost predatory. He got even closer, you could now feel the warmth of his breath. “Beware, babygirl, if you play with fire long enough, you’ll get the burn you’re looking for.”
Before waiting for a reply, Noah crashed his lips into yours. It wasn’t sweet, it wasn’t delicate. It was desperate, raw, as if, in that kiss, Noah put all the pent up tension he had. His large hand found your clipped hair, flicking the clip open. He tangled his fingers in the loose strands, tugging just enough to tilt your head back . That earned a gasp from you. He took the chance to use his tongue deepening the kiss.
It was a power play, a battle over who was the first to submit. Your hands found the back of his neck and, with all the force you had, pressed his head against yours as if the closeness you were experiencing wasn't enough.
The kiss broke, both of you a bit out of breath. Your head was buzzing, the logical side of you completely switched off. You didn’t care about understanding what was happening, figuring out what this meant; you just wanted him, and that was all that mattered.
On the other hand, you could tell that Noah was a bit more grounded, his mind realising what he, well you both, had just done. “I didn’t mean to be this rash” a tinge of worry in his voice “I don’t know what came over me.” He was already moving away from you, when you stopped him, hand still on the back of his neck.
Tentatively he asked “do you want this?” looking at you square in the eyes. You nodded. “I need words baby” he said, still a bit out of breath.
“Yes, I want it Noah, I want you” you said firmly. “Do YOU want this?”
“C’mere” he rasped, pulling you onto his lap.
He snaked his arms around your naked back, feeling his warmth envelopping you. Your bikini and his shorts already gave away your excitement. Capturing his lips into your, you tentatively rolled your hips onto his already half hard cock earning a deep growl from him.
“Just like that babygirl, let me feel how eager you are” he purred into your ear. “Do you want me to fuck that pretty little pussy of yours?” you whined picking up the pace.
All too aware of the surroundings, you muffled your moans by nipping at his neck, a dance between teeth and tongue, with the sole goal of leaving visible marks on him.
The power shifted once again. Noah gripped your hips, his fingers digging into the plush skin as he ground them against him. Now, his movements were deliberate, heavy, his crotch meeting your clothed center.
“Ride my thigh” Noah moaned into your hair. The words didn’t register at first, too blissed out by the friction.
Suddenly, he halted all of his movements. Moving you like a ragdoll, he lifted you up. You whimpered at the loss of contact. “Already too gone to follow simple orders, kitten?” His voice dropped an octave. “Be a good girl and take your bottoms off.” You obliged. Goosebumps broke out across your skin.
It was dizzying, the friction of skin to skin, the way his tight muscles mirrored your every movement.
“Noah” your voice broke into a high pitched moan escaping your lips. He looked down at you, a smug smirk settling on his face “You’re making a mess angel. I can feel how wet you are.” The sheer arrogance in his tone did nothing to hide his hard on straining against the fabric of his shorts.
He looked completely focused on you, while keeping his desires under lock and key. His jaw clenched, his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, love bites starting to bloom on his tattooed skin.
He was a vision.
You shifted your attention, hands now sliding down to his toned chest, feeling the frantic thud of his heart against his ribs.
“Look at me” you commanded. His half-lidded eyes locked into yours, sporting that ever present smugness. Resuming your movements, dragging your skin against his, you began caressing his mid section getting lower and lower. You smiled, feeling his muscles contracting under your touch. “Let me feel you,” you drawled.
Your fingertips traced the soft hair on his happy trail, following the dark pattern that dipped lower, disappearing underneath the drawstring of his shorts.
The smugness faltered on his face. His smirk vanished, replaced by a sharp, ragged intake of breath as his muscles contracted under your hands.
You took your time exploring him still under the fabric. His cock felt heavy in your hand, you could tell he was thick, long. That sensation was enough to unravel the darkest fantasies you had.
The flickering of a light bulb was enough to activate the ticking clock in the back of your mind: you were too aware of your surroundings. The threat of someone walking in on you fueled the frantic desire coursing through your veins.
There was no time for gentleness. You hook your fingers under the drawstrings of his shorts, tugging them down. Noah let out a ragged groan as his cock sprung free, heavy, thick, pre-cum glistening his tip. He was magnificent, making your mouth water with anticipation.
Without breaking eye contact, you brought your hand to your lips, spitting directly into your palm, a thin strand of saliva still connecting it with your mouth.
The lewd, sloppy sound echoed through the room, making Noah’s pupils even darker, his breathing picking up.
Your wet fingers wrapped around his length, slowly begging to stroke, coating him from top to bottom. Noah let out a deep, defeated gasp, giving up any restraint that he had before.
He was completely at your mercy. And God, you absolutely loved it. The shift in power was intoxicating, being the one to coax those delicious sounds from him was the best reward. Your pleasure momentarily forgotten, you focused completely on him.
“Fuck Y/N” Noah moaned. His head dropped forward, nestling into the crook of your neck. You could feel his cheeks heating up, flushing up a deeper pink colour. His labored breathing hitched against your skin, shoulders beginning to tremble a little.
Pumping him, you could feel his cock starting to twitch and pulse in your hand. “Let me hear you sweet boy. How are you feeling?” A choked, desperate sound left his mouth. His hips involuntarily started to buck into your fist. A particular hard stroke had Noah almost scream out your name.
But your thirst for him wasn’t quenched yet, you needed to see him unravelling completely.
“Pretty boy” you purred, your voice laced with a cruel and sweet authority. “Eyes on me. I wanna see you cum.” Your hand shot up, gripping his jaw, forcing his head back.
His gaze devoid completely of the arrogance he had before, now glazed over raw desire and complete surrender.
“I’m gonna cum…Fuck…please Y/N” yelled Noah, already too far gone to keep his voice in check.
“Where do you want me, babe?”
“Your…your mouth” he huffed.
A slow, wicked smile spread across your face. “I’ll accommodate just this once” you murmured, sliding off his lap and dropping to your knees on the floor between his thighs. “Only because they could be back any second.”
You looked up at him from below your lashes, your hand never leaving his length. Noah’s chest rose and fell in heavy, ragged cycles, his eyes tracking your every movement with desperation. This fucked out look particularly suited him. Hair tousled, clinging to his forehead, lips slightly parted red and swollen, a pink hue dotted on his cheeks. “You’ve been such a good boy for me,” you whispered against the swollen head of his cock, letting your warm breath ghost over his skin until he whimpered.
Without making him wait another second, you wrapped your lips around him, taking him deep into your mouth. Above you, Noah choked out a sob, his fingers instantly flying to your hair, anchoring himself. It didn’t take long for you to feel his release, warm and thick, covering your throat. His orgasm hit him hard, head flying back, limbs shaking violently. You rode it out with him, swallowing every last drop.
Noah was slumped against the armchair, completely drained, his eyes closed. The frantic rhythm of your breaths slowing down was the only sound that filled the empty room and the lingering scent of heat and skin the only witness of what’d just happened.
You stayed there for a moment, still on your knees, your arousal aching between your own legs. You couldn’t tell why, but the thought of having given pleasure to Noah far outweighed the possibility of your own orgasm. So, you chose to ignore it, prioritizing the quiet shift in the air.
As repetitive as it sounded, he looked divine. The post sex glow really did look good on him. Hair stuck on his skin, his head was resting on the chair, exposing his neck. Chest still heaving, panting, trying to catch up on his breathing. You reached out, your thumb brushing over his damp forehead, pushing back a strand of dark hair. He leaned into your touch with a sigh. He opened his eyes, dark and glassy, looking at you with a softness that felt like miles away from the man you encountered the day before or even this morning. He looked unguarded, his arrogant persona completely deconstructed for a glimpse of just him. Noah. You couldn’t tell what that implied, but you felt like something shifted. Not just between you two, but, especially, in you. Softness warmed your chest.
He didn't say a word, just let his hand rest on the nape of your neck, pulling you just a fraction closer so your foreheads rested against each other. The closeness was overwhelming; you could feel the erratic beat of his heart slowing down against your hand gently spread across his chest.
"My turn next," he muttered, his voice a whisper, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. "I owe you. I'm going to make sure you…" he was cut off by an aggressive vibration that shattered the stillness. Your phone, tucked into your discarded bag, lit up. You didn't move at first, but the persistent ding of a facetime call, cut through the haze. You glanced over, an annoyed huff leaving your lips. The screen flashed a group name: your friends.
Just as quickly as it came on, the spell snapped. The little bubble of intimacy, of lingering gazes and hungry touches was on the verge of bursting. The outside world called, intruding in a space that, you both wished, was just yours a little bit longer. Noah’s hand dropped from your neck, his expression hardening into the one you were introduced to as reality rushed back in.
author's note: first of all, i'm obsessed with the pitt and i cannot stop thinking about it. second of all, i genuinely believe that jack abbot would be incredibly fastidious about his punctuation but he would never in his life capitalize anything unless he had to. don't ask me why, i have no logical reasoning. anyway, hope you love this bc i'll probably end up making like seventeen more
youruser
liked by vicjavadi, huckleberry, and others
youruser spent my well earned vacation days reconnecting with nature 🍃⛺️📍
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huckleberry did you try that biscuits and gravy recipe i sent you?? wasn't it amazing?
⤷ youruser it was ! we made them more than once, we liked them so much
⤷ huckleberry wait, we?
doctortrin bitch you need to tell me everything the second you get back
liked by youruser
miramohan looks like the best time! can't wait to hear all about it
liked by youruser
vicjavadi the hair looks so cute <3
liked by youruser
doctortrin
liked by huckleberry, youruser, and others
doctortrin she told us everything huckleberry
tagged: youruser, vicjavadi, miramohan, kimmytate
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youruser you can't tell him!!
vicjavadi my mind is still reeling omfg
miramohan i still have so many questions youruser please explain
youruser
liked by mateo.diaz, vicjavadi, and others
youruser enjoying this thing called life
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vicjavadi you are slowly becoming the master of the soft launch, and i love it
⤷ youruser you and teo taught me very well
⤷ mateodiaz we're requesting a double date as payment
miramohan you are literally the coolest woman i know
doctortrin please dear god leave that old ass man and get with me
⤷ youruser i'm telling ellis
⤷ doctortrin wait no
jackrabbot
liked by youruser, miramohan, and others
jackrabbot we filled out the paperwork. she made this "photo dump" for me. life is better with her in it.
tagged: youruser
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youruser love you jackie
huckleberry wait WHAT
⤷ doctortrin HA i told you i didn't tell him youruser
vicjavadi my ER parents fr
⤷ jackrabbot i do not know what this means.
⤷ youruser just smile and wave baby jackrabbot
author's note: this is me coming out as a mateo/javadi shipper AND a santos/ellis shipper....... but if you guys want to see any specific pairings i'd be happy to make them for you!!! ok i gotta go to bed now love you guys
a/n: don't ask me where or how or why, because quite honestly i do not have a fucking clue. but ive been thinking about law school apps and somehow my brain went here. it's insane because its been eons since ive written about someone non-fictional.
wc: 2.5k
synopsis: you're just a girl outside a bar, attempting to socialize.
You’re not sure why you’re still standing outside the bar.
Your makeup is as good as it’s going to get. Your hair is about as tame as possible. You even threw back a couple drinks at your apartment in a half-hearted attempt to get into the “going-out” mood.
But you’ve been living in Vancouver for three weeks. You have no plans, no social life, no friends.
Vancouver wasn’t your plan, but the law school acceptance—and the scholarship—had been too good to pass up. You’d told yourself it was practical, that you’d figure out the rest once you got there. How could you say no? seriously, you wished someone had given you an answer.
Now you’re here. You’ve moved in, unpacked, and settled. Classes don’t start for another two weeks, and you desperately need to meet someone before you talk yourself into dropping out of social existence entirely.
Thing is, you’re a social person. Really. It’s just the initial hump of making a new friend that always gets you.
It could be some bullshit unresolved trauma from when you were little and had a bully. Or it could be because you’d gotten used to your friends and your life from before you moved. Change could be good, but it was never easy.
So now you were standing outside of a bar. It’s got the lights, the bumping music, and according to Reddit and Google, was popular. Exactly where twenty-somethings go to make friends on Friday nights, that was universal, and if you could make a friend you’d be set. Just someone to ease you into Vancouver.
“You can do this,” you tell yourself softly. “you can totally do this.”
Unfortunately, your pep talk has become both necessary and audible. You start pacing a little, shaking your hands out and mumbling to yourself that you could totally go in and do this. And in the process of trying to mentally hype yourself up, you failed to realize you’d drawn in an audience.
...
Across the street, three guys lean casually against the brick wall outside another bar.
“What do you think she’s doing?” Beau asks, the trace of a grin curling through his accent.
“Who?” Quinn answers, taking a slow breath of the crisp night air.
“Her,” Beau nods toward you.
Quinn follows his gaze. You’re pacing, gesturing, lips moving to words he can’t hear. Pretty, he thinks absently—though that’s not what keeps his eyes there. It’s the endearing way you seem to argue with yourself under the glow of the sign.
“She looks wound up,” Petey says, earning a few nods.
Quinn watches another minute of your antics, “she looks anxious,” he adds. You were flexing your hands and shaking your fingers, Luke did the same thing when he was younger, still does, sometimes.
“Maybe someone should check if she’s okay,” Quinn says finally.
“Someone should,” Beau agrees—eyes locked on him.
Quinn blinks. “What? Me?”
“You suggested it, Cap,” Petey teases.
Quinn groans but pushes off the wall anyway. “Fine. I’ll make sure she’s fine,” he mutters, shoving his hands in his pockets as he crosses the street.
...
“-Can totally do this,” you repeat for the umpteenth time. though this time you falter. Your eyes catch on one of the bouncers, who looks like he can read every though you’re having, and then gives you a pitying smile. You turn around to avoid looking at him any longer, “maybe I can’t do this,” you decide.
“Can’t do what?”
The voice startles you, hard. You were so wrapped up in your thoughts you forgot you were totally exposed to anyone walking by.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” the voice continues, but you’re a little too embarrassed to look over so you keep your eyes on the street and shake your head.
“No, its fine. I probably should pay better attention to my surroundings,” you shake off.
You think that’s the end, but his presence lingers, you can barely make him out in your peripherals— dark hair, longer than you expected, jeans and a t-shirt that somehow work a little too well.
“So… what is it you cant do?” he repeats his question and you sigh.
“I’m attempting to socialize?” you tell him, though your voice lilts a bit on the end like a question.
“Socialize?” he repeats.
god, he probably thinks you’re insane.
“Yeah, you know, socialize. Go out, meet people, that sort of thing.”
“No, I get the theory of it,” he confirms and you swear theres a little amusement in his voice. “Usually, when socializing, there are people to… well-”
He trails as if unsure if he should continue the sentence, but you get where he went.
“Socialize with?” you offer, not in the slightest offended, he’s not wrong.
“Yeah…”
“Yeah,” you confirm.
“So?”
“Which is why you’re socializing alone.”
“It’s why I came out alone with the hopes of socializing,” you correct.
“Totally different,” he deadpans.
“Of course.”
A beat passes before he asks, “How is it different?”
You smile despite yourself, “Socializing alone sounds like you sit and talk to yourself. Going out alone with the hopes of socializing means you start alone—but make friends along the way.”
He tilts his head, conceding, “Okay, I see your point.”
“Thank you.”
“But…”
“What?”
“You were definitely standing here talking to yourself.”
Your face scrunches, “Touché. Well played.”
He laughs, quiet and genuine. You finally turn to look at him properly—and then freeze.
Oh.
Oh, shit.
No way. Your cousins aren’t going to believe this.
There’s a memory that niggles at the back of your brain, ‘Did you hear they’re giving the Norris to Hughes! He made Captain this year, and he’s getting the top defensive player award. His ice time is crazy, and I think he’s the first Canuck to ever get the award!’ it had been your cousin, catching you up on the awards announcements just a few seasons back. And now you were face to face with that particular topic of conversation.
“So what brought you over here?” you manage, praying your face doesn’t give you away as you clear your throat.
“Well,” he says, tone casual, “you were standing alone, seemed a little anxious, and you were talking to yourself. I guess I was a concerned citizen.”
You decide right then, that you wish he weren’t funny, because it’s not fair to be funny, handsome, and talented. It just wasn’t, and God was clearly playing favorites.
“So you thought, her, I wanna talk to the borderline crazy girl outside the bar?” you ask, tilting your head.
“Yeah, pretty much,” he replies easily.
“Bold move.”
He grins, the corners of his mouth twitching. “You said you just moved here?”
“Yeah.”
“Where from?”
“California.”
He nods, slow and thoughtful, like that explains something about you—the way you talk, maybe, or the sunshine still clinging to your voice.
“Work?” he asks.
“School.”
That earns you a longer look, a faint squint like he’s trying to place what kind of school you mean. You crack first, smiling. “Law school,” you clarify, watching him relax at that.
“So you’re not eighteen?” His tone teases.
You laugh. “No. I didn’t much care for eighteen when I was in it—with a global pandemic and all. Very happy to have left that behind.”
“So, twenty-three?”
“Twenty-four,” you correct, mock-prim. “But you know you’re not really supposed to ask a lady her age.”
He chuckles. “I apologize.”
“Accepted.”
You shake out your hands again, realizing too late that he’s watching, his gaze dropping to the small fidget before meeting your eyes again.
“So what was your plan for solo socializing, exactly?” he asks.
You breathe out a laugh. “Go out and make friends. Pretty simple.”
“But you’re still here.”
“Well, I got out of the apartment. And I got to the bar. But this is the tricky part.”
“Going in?”
“Going in,” you confirm. “Once I’m in, it’ll be fine.”
He raises a skeptical brow. “You sure?”
“Oh, yeah. It only takes a few minutes to become best friends with other drunk women your age.”
“Really?”
“For me, yes. For you, no.”
“Because I’m a man?”
“Because you’re a man,” you say matter-of-factly, the smile creeping back onto your face.
He huffs a quiet laugh, the kind that softens his whole expression. You think it’s unfair—how gentle he seems for someone who could flatten a guy twice his size on the ice.
“So how does it work for you?” he asks, playing along.
“Well, you find a group of girls, you say hello, ask to dance, and they envelop you in. Three songs or a shot later, you’re exchanging Instagrams and phone numbers, and by the first bathroom trip it’s life stories.”
He gives a low whistle. “You seem pretty confident in that.”
“I am.”
“But you can’t go in.”
“It’s not that I can’t.”
“No?”
“No. I just… haven’t built up to that yet.”
“Nerves?”
“A little, yeah.”
“I think I’d have nerves if I was socializing alone.”
You make a face at that, nose scrunching automatically, “I really don’t like how that sounds.”
He laughs, and the sound seems to warm the night air around you.
“So… law school,” he says after a beat. “You wanna be a lawyer?”
“Yep.”
“That’s quite the career path.”
“It’s definitely a path,” you muse.
The conversation settles again, comfortable in its quiet. You cross your arms, uncross them, then glance back at the club’s glowing sign.
“You know,” he says after a moment, “most people would return the question.”
“Sorry?” you ask, turning back to him.
“Most people would ask about the other person—career, life, something.”
Something in his voice is teasing, but his eyes are curious. You hesitate, guilt tugging at your mouth, and he seems to realize what you weren’t saying.
“You didn’t ask because you know,” he says softly.
You shrug, caught.
“You didn’t say anything,” he adds.
“You didn’t either.”
“But you know who I am.”
He winces slightly at his own phrasing, like he hates how it sounds.
“I come from a really big hockey family,” you admit, hoping that makes it better.
“From California?” he asks, incredulous.
“Hey! California has three separate NHL organizations,” you defend.
He laughs, “you’re right. My mistake.”
“You’re forgiven,” you say, smirking. “The Canadian citizenship must be infecting you.”
“Hey, I’m all American. I was born in Florida.”
You stop, “seriously?”
“Yes.”
“No wonder you skate the way you do. Florida’s got something weird in their water.”
He squints, fighting a grin, “what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.”
The smirk you give him is enough to make him laugh outright this time.
“How you feeling about your objective for tonight?” he asks, nodding toward the club.
“I’m working toward it.”
“Was there a specific goal, as far as socializing goes?”
“Make a friend,” you say simply. “Someone who’d maybe help me learn the city.”
“Solid plan. A local guide is helpful. I guess I lucked out when I moved—I had a whole team.”
“Now you’re just being mean, bragging about your super cool job and built-in friends to socialize with.”
“How dare I.”
“How dare indeed,” you echo, and the shared grin that follows feels startlingly easy.
“My cousins are going to lose it when I tell them I met the Quinn Hughes during my first month up here,” you say, shaking your head.
“What would they do if you told them he was your first friend?”
You tilt your head, pretending to think. “I’d be called a liar.”
“I don’t know,” he says lightly. “You came out to socialize and make a friend. I think you did that.”
“Did I?”
“Oh yeah,” he muses, smirk overtaking his features, “you reeled me in with the anxiety and talking to yourself.”
You snort. “Well, I have been told my anxiety can be stress-inducing. It’s got quite the pull.”
He laughs, startled, then blushes faintly when he catches the double meaning. He’s still smiling when he asks, “What if I said I could show you around the city?”
“I’d say you’re a big-time hockey star who definitely has better things to do.”
“Maybe,” he says, tilting his head, “but maybe it’s what I want to do.”
You blink, thrown off balance again. When you look back, he’s holding out his phone.
“You want my number?” you ask, incredulous.
“I do.”
“I don’t usually give my number out to men I’ve just met.”
“Fair. Probably smart. There’s a lot of weirdos out there.”
“There are,” you agree.
“Yeah—like people who talk to themselves outside of clubs.”
You shake your head, laughing, “Point taken.”
Still, you take his phone, type in your number, and hand it back.
“I don’t have a Canadian number yet,” you warn.
“It’s fine. My family’s all in America—my phone plan covers it.”
You press your lips together, hiding your grin. “Well. You cleared my hurdle, Mr. Hughes.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. And now…” You take a deep breath. “Now I’m going to go in, and make another friend.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Have a nice night—”
He stops mid-sentence, blinking like he’s realized something.
“Y/N,” you supply, amused.
His smile softens, “Have a nice night, Y/N.”
You start toward the door, adrenaline buzzing in your chest, but you glance back over your shoulder, “Hey, Quinn?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for socializing,” your voice just a little softer, sweeter.
His eyes crinkle, the corners of his mouth lifting, “My pleasure.”
You’re still smiling when you hand your ID to the bouncer. You’re just about to step through the doors when his voice carries after you.
“You never said if you’re a Canucks fan?”
You laugh, bright and teasing, over your shoulder, “I’m not!”
Then you disappear into the glow of the club.
...
The next morning, your phone lights up with three messages.
One from your brother: how’s Vancouver?
One from a girl named Claire—the one who’d pulled you into her friend group halfway through the night.
And one from a number you don’t have saved:
i guess when i’m playing tour guide i’m just going to have to convince you to go ‘nucks.
Or when Vox has taken a liking to his latest assistant
Written in second person (past tense)
TW - Yandere Vox, hypnotism
As his assistant —hired by Velvette herself to get him to ‘Chill the fuck out, you mangy dick’— you were tasked with making sure Vox wasn’t fighting with Val and didn't kill too many employees. And that he actually ate something. You thought you died again when you saw him eat a full meal for the first time. Nothing too bad, right?
Right.
One thing, he had you live in the tower to ‘make things easier’. You wouldn’t turn down free housing. The only thing was how many electronics there were. And cameras. But, thankfully, there weren’t any in your room. He made sure to hide them well.
That, and the rather showy uniform he had you wear, were pretty normal. It was Hell, nobody was perfect. He was just making sure you wouldn’t snitch or lie or steal or whatever.
He also liked seeing his initial on you, but that’s besides the point.
You wouldn’t even realize anything was wrong. If you had any suspicions in the beginning, he would easily sweet talk or even hypnotize you into listening. You were just a sweet little canary to admire.
Speaking of canaries, that was his little nickname for you. A bit strange, but he probably did it to everyone. And besides, you should just feel lucky to even work for him, so stop questioning things.
After a while of being his little piece of decoration, he starts to feel… something. He doesn’t know what, be he knows that his newest intern clearly doesn’t know boundaries and don’t worry, sweetheart, he’s there to save you. From what? From him! He was trying to steal hit on you and you didn’t want that, did you? Of course not.
That happened a lot. People trying to hit on you after you told them no. You did say no, right? Of course you did. Anyways, you always had him to save you from those annoying people. They were beneath you both anyways.
He had you sit in on meetings to ‘take notes’. He really just wanted to show off the little bird he caught. Aren’t they just amazing? And nobody would steal you because you were his little Canary. And if anybody tried, Val would have some fun during his little tantrums.
Speaking of Val, he was the whole reason for this. Vox had mostly ignored you up until Val got completely caught up with Angel Dust. With nobody for himself, he found you. His precious little Canary. You would be all for him. You wouldn’t leave him for some stuck up prick, right? Good.
You can’t remember when it started, but the lines started to blur between being a bird in a cage to being his Canary. But you loved it. You enjoyed the attention. It was all for you and it’ll all be worth it.
Maybe your head would hurt, but Vox would be there to help. He was always there. He’d always be there for you. It certainly helped that he monitored your every move. All those cameras coming in use. He couldn’t let his Canary get hurt.
What kind of boyfriend would he be if he did?
Boyfriend?
You never wanted to leave his side. Not when he was the only one to protect you. No, no, it was way too dangerous for you to leave. You might as well stay with him. All the time. Forever. Hell, you might as well move in with him at this point. And you do. It was your idea after all.
And he loves watching you do domestic chores. No more pretending to play nice. No more pretending to be okay with the bare minimum. There you were. All for him. And he would never let you go.
Just don’t wake up.
He doesn’t like that.
Daisy - Vox as Yandere is just so perfect. Literally writes itself. The original fic is here
summary: "You don't have to come tonight." He offered, voice laced with concern as he watches you take the pills.
"I'm fine. I promise Andy, it's just cramps."
rating: 16+
tags: fem!reader x hozier. hurt/comfort, periods, brief mention of vomiting, pain, established relationship
words: 5,238
note: very personal vulnerable little story that i wrote / have been working on for myself. only sharing in case it might help someone else, cause these kinds of fics always help me <3 very much not beta read
fic under the cut ❊
It's another Saturday night at one of those completely over the top celebrity events that you both share a hatred for. But it's part of the job, important for "making connections" and "good impressions" and you should never turn down an invitation from someone as prestigious as this blah blah… or something like that. His managers words ring in your ear. At least while he's still in New York, Andrew had promised to go to as many of these prestigious little parties as he possibly could before hoping to vanish off to Wicklow with you for a couple of months.
All these parties has meant lots of new dresses, all beautiful, all very expensive, all gifted from high end brands who would love for Hozier's newly public girlfriend to be spotted in one of their pieces. Not just dresses, but shoes and jewellery and bags.
The attention had been overwhelming at first, the thousands of people requesting to follow your Instagram, digging up old pictures of you, comments about your body from users hiding behind anonymous accounts. "Not who I was excepting for him." "He can do better than that." "Who even is she?" "Not as pretty as the last one."
Most of it had been positive, but the other comments stick with you more. Andrew had told you before you had gone public to stay offline. He tried to distract you with a surprise trip back home the day after you had decided to just rip the band aid off yourselves instead of hiding around all the time, living in a constant state of panic.
Being his public partner came with a lot of new experiences. For one, now you get to come to these kind of parties. A prospect that had excited him, an opportunity for these events to be far less boring with you by his side. He had admitted one evening, as you were swaying on a dance floor, how much he loved to show you off to everyone. To introduce you proudly to everyone, to gush about all your achievements. "I can point to the most gorgeous woman in this room, and I can tell everyone she's mine."
Tonight, one of Andrew's industry friends were hosting a little gala with a charity. It was a good cause, and these were genuinely good friends. For once, you had both been happy to say yes to going.
The day had started fine, you enjoyed a quiet slow morning together. Limbs tangled in sheets, coffee delivered to your hotel room. He let you help him with his curls, and he picked out your dress. Maroon, A-line, floor length, the smallest bit of boning in the waist and subtle lace floral detailing.
It had started while he was sat behind you in front of the mirror, curling the back of your hair, a task he had become very good at over the months, while you blended your eyeshadow. He was already dressed, aside from his jacket. All black, his hair down, as per your request. He picked your outfit, you picked his.
He was focusing on making each wave in your hair perfect, before pulling it back into a half up half down for you, fixing it in place with an intricate clip you had both spent half an hour earlier trying to work out. He was curling some loose pieces when he noticed your face scrunched up in that all too familiar look of pain.
"Darling?" He started gently, "are you okay?"
You nod, opening your eyes again, "I'm fine. In my handbag, there should be-"
He moved before you even had to finish, quickly returning to your side with a couple of pills and a glass of water.
"You don't have to come tonight." He offered, voice laced with concern, as he watched you take the pills.
You shake your head. "I'm fine. I promise Andy. Just cramps."
But you don't feel nearly as confident as you sound. And it takes another 5 minutes of convincing and proving to him you are fine before he goes back to your hair.
The cramps do subside, becoming a dull manageable ache for about an hour. Enough time for you to finish your makeup without your hands shaking from pain. Enough time for him to help you lace up the back of your dress without doubling over.
For as long as this has been a part of your life, you've become pretty good at dealing with it on your own. At pushing the pain down and moving on, life doesn't just stop because you have bad period cramps. You have learnt that the hard and painful way. You learnt that when you were sixteen, trying to concentrate in class as it felt like you were being stabbed repeatedly. You learnt that when you eighteen at your first real job, crying on your break because it just hurt so much, there were no words to describe to anyone how much it hurt. You learnt that when you were twenty, at a party, trapped in the bathroom, the door too far away, and no one you could call. You learnt at 24, that you would never have enough evidence for any doctor. You have been putting on a brave face, every month since you were fifteen years old. At the end of the day it's just period cramps.
It's just period cramps. Stop being so dramatic. It's just period cramps.
It's just period cramps, but you can't help but wince bending down to put your heels on. And he's instantly on his knees, putting them on for you while you breathe through the wave of pain. Pain spreading up your back, across to your hips. He takes your hand, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles, "you don't have to come."
"It'll pass. I already feel better," you lied, forcing a smile, hoping he doesn't notice. The truth is, you don't want to be in this hotel room alone tonight. You've spent too many nights in your life, laying in a bed alone, curled up in agony. Andrew is the greatest painkiller you've ever had. His presence alone, his hand in yours… it doesn't make the pain go away, but it makes it more manageable. It will be worse if you're alone here, but you can't find the words to tell him that. So instead you just promise again that you are fine, and you will be fine.
His hand finds yours in the car, squeezing it gently, and you hold onto him tightly, not wanting to ever let go.
──────────
The night starts well. You have a table in a corner which suits you both perfectly. You eat with his hand resting on your thigh. You mingle a little, and normally you pride yourself on being independent from him, trying to talk to people on your own, but tonight that just seems too hard. Your head feels heavy, your brain wanders off to no where. You hold onto his arm, and smile and nod through conversation, adding things and answering questions as best as you can, trying to appear as much of a functioning human as possible.
You eventually wind up back at your table, sitting alone, sipping on a glass of some sort of white wine. With all the formalities of the evening done, you watch as people dance to the live jazz band, and you tap your foot to the rhythm, trying to focus on the instruments instead of the growing pain.
Your eyes scan the room for him, finding him in a corner, laughing with a small group of people. He seems to be listening more than he is conversing, occasionally taking a sip of his whisky as he laughs. His back is slightly turned to you, and as you focus on all the instruments, you become memorised by the way his curls bounce as he moves.
You try, you try as best as you can.
You fixate on the music.
You try to memorise each curl.
But it's too much.
You throw back whatever champagne is left in your glass, and wish you had more. Anything that might make you feel a little more numb. Anything to get you through a couple more hours.
The pain rises. Moving up your back and down your thighs with a fierceness and determination. As if it has a simple goal of making you writhe in agony.
You need to be alone. Just while this passes. It comes in waves. It gets worse before it gets better. You can't be here right now. Your legs tremble as you stand, the pain goes from tight and binding to stabbing as you walk. Part of you wants to b-line straight to Andrew, fall into his arms, have him hold you close. But a bigger part of you just needs the silence for minute, just needs to be alone.
The florescent lights of the bathroom are blinding, headache inducing and the room spins. But the bathroom is quiet, empty. Your hands find the sink, clutching onto the banister for dear life as you hang your head, letting out a low groan.
It's a nice bathroom. Bit over the top. Very green, very pink. Ornate gold finishings everywhere. Paired with the bright overhead lighting, it's all a bit too much. Your head is pounding, your ears are ringing. The pain has become that consistent aching again, maybe the overstimulation of this bathroom snapped the worst of it away. Maybe it was done. You sigh, going to rest your head against your arm when it hits again.
It's almost like twisting. Like there is something in you twisting. You sink down onto the green tiles, your beautiful, expensive, gifted red dress sprawled out on this bathroom floor.
You arms cross over your stomach, you're not sure why, an instinctual feeling to cover yourself, maybe to protect yourself from anymore of the twisting and stabbing, maybe out of pure need for comfort.
Twisting and pulling and stabbing and you can't stop the tears. Stabbing and twisting and twisting and twisting and you can't stop the quiet yelps of pain that leave you.
You breathe. Breathe and try to picture his voice. Breathe through it. It will pass. Just a little longer. It will pass.
──────────
Andrew has been trying to make it back to the table for a moment of peace for what feels like an eternity now. Every time he thinks he has escaped a conversation, another person pulls him away for a quick "hello" "how are you?" which turns into a one sided conversation where the other person monologues their whole life story to him and he must simply nod, adding in a word or two here and there.
Knowing you weren't feeling the well, the guilt over the fact he has unintentionally abandoned you for half the night is eating away at him a little. He just wants to make sure you're alright.
He finishes off another whisky, he's not sure what he's up to at this point, and finally makes his way towards the table, walking as quickly as he can so not to be interrupted by anyone else.
When he finally reaches said table, he finds it empty. He turns, scanning his eyes across the dance floor for you. He starts to walk around, his gut telling him that something isn't quite right — and he's praying it's just that you need a little help getting out of an awkward conversation with an overly drunk celebrity who doesn't understand your job or why you are here.
"You look a little lost Andy," one of his friends calls out over the music, handing him another glass, "here's that drink I owe you."
"Oh you didn't have to do that. You don't owe me, you never do," he says, still scanning his eyes around the room.
"You looking for something?"
"Any chance you saw my girl near the bar? Red dress?"
"Nope. Sorry mate. I can keep an eye out for you though? If I see her I'll tell her you're looking for her."
"Thanks," Andrew replies, bringing his drink to his lips.
"We're all just sitting by the red couches if you want to come over," his friend offers.
He nods, thanking him again for the drink and insisting he really should find you first, and that he'll come over once he does.
The friend (who for the purpose of telling this story we will name Matt), has known Andrew since he was in his early twenties. He knows when something is seriously worrying him.
"Come on, I'll help you look for her," Matt offers.
After about another ten minutes of futile searching, and your phone going to voicemail for the fifth time, Andrew finds himself back at the table. He rings you again, only for your phone to light up with a picture of himself tying up his hair. Damn.
──────────
You get a minute, every now and then, when you think maybe it's over. It's always only ever a minute.
You feel like that fifteen year old girl trapped in the school bathrooms again.
But now you're in a gorgeous, gifted, expensive dress, that is making it too hard to breathe or move as you writhe in pain. Pain from fucking period cramps. A thought that leads you to the dawning realisation that you're likely bleeding onto this gorgeous, gifted, expensive dress, which only makes the tears sting your eyes more.
You reach to hold onto anything, you're not sure why. So now you have a hand pressed against the wall. It is doing nothing to help.
The knocking on the door grows louder. You know there's at least two other bathrooms. Why can't they just use those? You hear a voice, but their words make no sense to you. The room is spinning to much.
You're not sure how long you've been in here. Maybe ten minutes, maybe an hour.
Maybe if you could just get a hold of Andrew somehow. He could get you your bag with your medication and maybe that would make it better. Maybe. Shit. Your bag. Your phone. You left both on the table. No phone. No way to get a hold of him.
"Fuck," you swear, hitting your hand against the wall as the stabbing builds again. You have long abandoned silence, letting little whines of pain leave your lips as you curl in on yourself again. His name slipping out a couple of times too.
──────────
"You all remember Andrew right?" Matt booms over the music to the group sitting closely at a table a little too small for the number of people there are. "Or should we call you Hozier at these kind of things?"
"No please," Andrew shakes his head with a smile.
Matt nods, directing his attention back to the group. Andrew zones out of what Matt is saying, waiting for a good time to ask if anyone might have seen you, the only reason he is now stuck sitting at this table.
His eyes start scanning across another section of the room again. He just wants to know if you're okay. He just wants to see you, see that you're talking to someone or getting a drink or something. Just so this sinking feeling in his stomach will go away.
He watches two people leave a little corridor and head towards the table. Everyone starts to shift again to make room for them, as does Andrew. Now finding himself squished in the middle of a table.
"Oh, hello handsome," one of them (who we'll call Bec), says sitting down next to him.
Andrew shuffles a little further across, trying to make his uncomfortableness as clear as possible.
"Sorry we were so long," the other friend starts, "pretty sure someone's locked themselves in one of the bathrooms. So of course there was a massive queue," she finishes with an eye roll before focusing on the new person at the table. "You're that Hozier guy right?"
"Wait that's you?" Bec exclaims, "I knew you looked familiar."
"Someone's locked in one of the bathrooms?" He asks quickly.
"Yeah," Bec nods, "so what are you doing in New York? Aren't you Irish?"
"Work stuff," he says with a small smile, "sorry, what bathroom was it?"
Bec gives him an odd look, "um… the first one on the left. Why?"
"Excuse me," he stands up, awkwardly trying to shuffle out of the table. He's pretty sure he hears a couple people asking where he's going, but he doesn't respond, and worrying about coming off as rude is not really high on his list of his priorities right now. You are.
After knocking on the door for what feels like forever with no response, he spends another ten or fifteen minutes convincing multiple staff members to use a master key — because even if it's not his sick girlfriend in there, someone else could be very much in need of help being locked in there for as long as they have been… or he could be making a terrible mistake and be interrupting something he shouldn't.
But when the door is finally opened by one of the security people, it is your red dress he is met with. You look so still, scarily so, with your back faced towards the door. The clip he had fixed in your hair hours ago, shinning and glimmering in the fluorescent light.
He pushes past the man standing at the door, sinking to the floor by your side, ever so gently turning you towards him, laying your head in his lap.
Eyes flicker open to meet his, and you watch as his eyes scan over you.
"Hey," he breathes.
"Andy… how did you-"
He shakes his head, "shh, it's alright, I've got you now."
You watch as he faces back at the door, and his words become inaudible as the pain rushes through you again. He pulls you closer, hearing the sudden change in your breathing. His hand finds yours, squeezing it tightly, reminding you he's here, he's real, he's right here.
"How bad darling?"
"Bad," you manage through gritted teeth. "Nine."
He nods, "okay, okay thank you."
"Please don't go," you whine.
"I'm not going anywhere," he reassures you softly, gently pressing a kiss to your forehead, "I'm right here baby. I'm so sorry I wasn't here sooner."
You shake your head, going to say something, but all that comes out is a low groan of pain. Your hand squeezes his, harder than you probably should. But if it caused him any pain, you wouldn't know. When your eyes open you see his expression, full of nothing but worry, his hair falling around his face.
He fishes through his pocket, finally pulling out a little container of your pain medication.
You sigh, tears stinging your eyes.
He gets two into his palm, looking for a way to get you some water.
"Why do you have those?" You manage quietly.
"Because… just because I worry about you. And you weren't fooling me with that I'm fine shit you were doing at the hotel."
He pulls out a flask from inside his jacket, reaching up to tip the brown liquid out of it.
"Just know you're the only person in this world I would tip out my favourite whisky for."
"I can't believe you actually bought that with you."
"Shh," he helps you sit up a little, wincing when he can see how much pain it's causing you just to sit up. He passes you the flask, now full of water from the tap, and the bright blue pills, "just take these for me. Sorry if it tastes like whisky still."
It definitely does.
Your back is against the wall now, he brushes some hair out of your face. "You're so beautiful."
"…I think I'm going to be sick."
He gives you a puzzled look, before his eyes widen and he reaches for the nearby little bathroom trash can. You take it from him instantly, heaving into the trash can. He moves quickly, pulling your hair out from your face, rubbing your back gently, offering sweet soothing words.
Your breathing is heavy, you eventually fall back to him, your knees too weak to keep you up any longer than necessary. Mascara stings your eyes. The tears silently fall again. He holds you as close as he possibly can.
You are trembling against him. He watches as your shaking hands find his jacket and your fingers curl into it.
"Breathe," he says gently, "you need to breathe my love."
"I… hurts so much. …Everywhere."
He nods, "I know. I know. Just breathe with me okay? In and out, slow as you can baby."
You try to follow his breathing. You turn to the side, hoping it doesn't make the pain light up. You try to focus on anything, everything, else again. Just like before.
Everything else you can feel.
His hand running up and down your back gently, finding where he knows the cramps travel up. The relentless stabbing. The cool tiles against your skin. Twisting. His soft palm in yours. Pulling. Stabbing. Twisting. Aching. His hand on your back. His palm in yours. His hair brushing against your face when he kisses your cheek. His lips. Your eyes stinging. Stabbing. Twisting. Aching.
It's too much. You can't help but scream.
It's muffled into your own hand. The tears come down uncontrollably.
His chest hurts at the sound. It aches. He feels completely and utterly helpless. He feels horrible for not insisting you stay home.
"I'm so sorry," he offers, his eyes stinging, watching you breathe heavy, eyes squeezed shut, knuckles white from how tightly they are curled into his jacket. "I- I wish I could make it all go away."
"Andy," you choke out, and it hits you in that moment. That no one has ever really cared like this. No one has sat with you. Not when you're like this. These are moments you reserve for when you are completely alone. Alone screaming into your hand in the bathroom.
Yet, here he is. There is most certainly vomit in your hair. There is even more certainly blood on your dress. There is mascara all down your face. But yet, despite all of that, despite all you were too afraid to ever let anyone really see, is him, here, holding you close.
"I love you," you barely mumble out.
"Oh, my darling," he says, shaking his head, "I love you. I love you so much. My beautiful girl. I love you."
Your eyes squeeze shut from the pain, your hand finds your mouth again to muffle the sounds of agony. Yet his voice is all you can hear, everything else just fades away.
I love you. I love you. I love you so much. You are so strong. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. My darling, I love you. I love you, more than I will ever have words for. I love you. …Breathe for me baby. I love you. Just breathe through it. I'm right here. I love you.
──────────
Eventually you are on two feet. Two shaky feet, attached to shaky legs and a shaky aching body. His jacket is on your shoulders, he has a firm steady hand on your back, your left hand and arm using his other for support as you finally stumble out of the bathroom.
You move slow, stopping every now and then when the pain rises, and Andrew brushes off concerned party guests. Probably assuming you just can't handle your alcohol.
Andrew ushers you into a car. Guarding you the best he can from any flashing, with cameras eagerly waiting by the door for the drunk celebrities to come stumbling out as the evening goes on.
Your hand squeezes tightly into his on the way back to the hotel.
You are now sat in your hotel bed, an oversized black sweatshirt on, his name and face on the front. He is braiding your sweaty hair while you try your hardest to get some food down so you can have another dose of medication. He kisses your neck when he's done. Before sitting in front of you with a collection of pills in his hand.
And while the pills do work, giving you the most amount of pain relief you have had in hours, in a night that will certainly go down as one of the worst yet. The safety of his arms and the warmth of bed provide a different kind of reprieve. One that might take a while to get used to, to let yourself feel worthy of, but the exact kind of love you have spent so long dreaming of.
A/N : Fuck my sad little heart for writing this angsty little poem/drabble kinda thing. I don't even know what this is. Just something occurred to me mid-lecture and I typed down right on my tumblr draft.
You say you love me dearly,
Then why do I feel I'm not worthy
You know I'd run miles,
Just to see you smile
But you wouldn't bat an eye,
Even when I cry
The time that was filled with your stories,
Is now filled with your silence,
You told me I was your sky,
But you flew too high and forgot your sky
I remember the nights you'd hold me,
When about your dreams you told me
Now I swim in my tears, facing my worst fears,
Guess the nights weren't even real
Maybe it was my fault, but maybe it was yours,
Tell me when did I deserve to be treated even worse
I don't know if it was real or I just imagined you,
I thought we were golden but I was always blue
If I leave will you come to find me?
Or will you be happy that you're finally free?
Guess I'd have to do it to find out,
If there is still a chance, but I doubt
Maybe I am dreaming,
When I see my light dimming
When I wake up it will be fine
You will still be mine
Maybe I'd be worthy
And maybe you'd love me
But I know I'm worthy,
And you don't love me
Dividers by @/cursed-carmine
A/N : Don't come for me if you don't like it okay, I'm just in a shit mood.
Also on a totally unrelated note I'd like to dedicate this to my dearest @idkbeautiful
I want you to know I was thinking about you when I wrote this. I'm still working on your request but until then enjoy this stupid little thing I wrote.
I know there's no forgetting the hurt of the past. But I can always hope love finds you in all the amazing ways that you deserve ❤️
hiii🌚🌚 you should totally make a little thing where we’re running from danny during a trial and get stuck in a window while trying to vault and yk.. he fucks us from behind and it’s like a “help me step bro i’m stuck🥺” kinda position yk HEHEHE 😈😈😈
Sorry i fell off the face of the earth for a few days i had to like idk reset myself ☆(≧∀≦*)ﾉ
Never say step bro I'm stuck again I'm not even joking I'll block you, Stinky
Danny Johnson NSFW, raw, has no aftercare, and a little plot but mainly smut, he’s MEAN (cannon bc because he murders people), um actually he's also COCKY (cannon bc he kills people), and he calls you piggy ( cannon because he likes horror and that is a black Christmas reference) knife stuff
Fog whisps around you as you are forced into another trial. Another day another round. Is it day, or is it night? You may never find the answer.
The entity is cruel in your clothing, a skirt to your mid-thigh, and a button down. Nothing to keep in the warmth. Nothing to hide you from the reality that is the cold red forest.
You think your teammates must all be together- not including you, because a generator is done at lightning speed. Then you hear guttural screams, plural, also at lightning speed. Maybe you shouldn't get them, you'll too just die. Survival of the fittest. They won't remember the trial if you let them die, it's like they have a reset- or something.
You're crouching, lurking, and waiting. Not for long, as The Ghostface jumps out at you.
‘Boo’
He's snickering and taunting you. Mocking the screams of your now-fallen teammates.
A jungle gym is in sight, if you abuse the window and stun him, perhaps the hatch could be located. Maybe you're too tubby, or maybe because the entity is against you, but the window gets blocked from the top halfway through. You do not make it, you are stuck.
He’s snorting and making animal noises behind you.
‘What’s the entity feeding you that you can’t get through the windows?’
‘Oh, it’s blocked.’
He grabs your thighs and tries to pull you out. However, his pullout game must be weak as you do not budge.
He keeps his hands on your thighs as he whistles.
‘Can you not get out?’
‘No?’
‘Does this happen a lot?’
‘First time actually’
You're shivering, it's too much. He's too casual about it.
‘I could cut you in half and play magician, that would be rather amusing ’
‘Please don't’
‘Do you have something else in mind, piggy?’
Nothing. Actually, you're crying a little, but you don't say anything.
He starts to coo and awe at your noises, rubbing and kneading your ass.
He goes around to your other side and pulls out his camera. You’re a mess. Wiping away tears from your cheeks and eyes.
‘That's it. Perfect. That's the picture I'll keep of you.’
He’s taking a couple photo’s. More than needed. Maybe he likes it when you cry, the glossy kind of look.
‘Just me and you babe, whatever will we do?’
He snaps the band on your panties. You just realize nothing is left to his imagination from where he is now standing again.
‘Are you scared?’
‘A little’
There isn't any reason to tell the truth or lie to him. But you think he likes it when you're scared, something kinky.
The cold plastic of his mask is pressed into your ass. He's sniffing you..?
You can feel the squeeze of his hands on your thighs, groaning into them.
He takes off the mask, not that you can him. But the feel of his warm tongue is enough to assume he took it off.
But that's not the only thing to come off, as he slips off your panties as well.
Spreading open your folds, you can hear the shudder of the camera as he takes pictures of your pussy.
You know it's wet, it was dripping on your underwear. What lewd photos he now will have. Blackmail material?
He begins sucking on your clit, shoving his face into you.
Messy, unplanned, and purely out of want.
That's not how Danny usually went. Besides all the times he did things out of rage, like the laser tag incident..
After he's mixed his spit into your cunt, he's ready.
Pulling up his cloak and pulling down his pants, he stares at you.
You're pretty. And you have a nice ass.
Maybe you would make a good girlfriend, maybe.
But he just wants to fuck you right now, really hard
He pumps himself before sliding in.
He's thick, but also kinda lean?
You're shaking again, this is much too abrupt for you
Pinching your leg, he pulls out his blade.
‘A little blood never hurt anyone, right?’
He starts to cut into your thigh. His thrust growing more erotic
Putting the knife away, he smacks the place he just sliced up
Yelping, you start to cry, again.
‘I like that- you crying. Sob for me’
‘You're doing good, do you like merely laying there as you get violated? This could happen to anyone, whore or not. Does that scare you?’
A rhetorical question, he just wants you to cry while he scratches your bleeding leg.
He starts to rub your clit, whipping his knife out again.
‘Where do you want me to put my signature?’
‘It hurts- stop, please..’
Caving GF into your back is a blur to both of you, as he is still occasionally slapping your body around while thrusting considerably too hard
He pulls out and cums all over your wounds, covering them slightly in semen.
‘People would be shaking if they saw this. Are you shaking because of me?’
You didn't even realize you weren't stuck anymore. Only after you fell backward you realized.
‘I'm going to let you go back. But I want you to tell them what I did to you- scare them. Let them know they are not safe from me.’
‘Okay, I promise, I'll tell them’
He picks you up and walks around with you clinging to him.
When you are near the hatch, he puts you down.
‘A picture- for you, to keep’
He's sitting with you on the ground, keeping you in his lap. Putting his face right next to yours- actually, you don't remember when he put the mask back on. You didn't get to see his face.
The light hurts, but he gives you a little polaroid with the two of you face to face, cheek to cheek.
It would be cute if he didn't just cut up your legs
Tucking the photo into your bra, he drops you into the hatch. How kind of him.
He waves goodbye, you do not wave back.
It wasn't bad, it was just a lot. Rushed? Scary? Harmful?
Kinda hot, but you really hope he doesn't keep those photos. For blackmail reasons..
