#ANYWAY this wasn't even inspired by any of that shit

[chaotictomtom]

this is kinda all of my inspired playlists + the red bg one is the wips ones + playlists based on smth else than medias.

if someone wants to send some playlists names and ill give you random tracks if you want heehee

[dr3c0mix]

could you ever try writing a poly between 3 vampires and male reader? like, reader is a painter and the vampires ask him to paint them something while in their house, and is just.. evolves. sorry if it doesn't make sense

Love Bites

Poly!Vampires x Male!Painter!Reader

CW: implied kidnapping, murder, implied vampirism

holy shit this is like one of the chillest fics ive made so far :0 anyways enjoy the funny vampire men !!

🌙 You always had a knack for finding beauty in everything, from the calming dance of raindrops amongst the smell of petrichor or the lovely reds and oranges of the fall when the leaves withered.

🌙 It was very handy considering what you did for fun.

🌙 You loved to paint, anything and everything you saw was inspiration for you. After a long day of delivering bread and pastries to the people in your village from your bakery, you would run up to your room and continue on the latest masterpiece you were working on.

🌙 Everyone in the village loved your work, many of them paying you for a painting of their own.

🌙 Life was simple and calm, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

🌙 But life decided fuck that bullshit.

🌙 Rumors and whispers filled the streets of the town, it wasn't like the usual talk like someone's daughter getting married or the like, it was much more...unusual.

🌙 News spread from neighboring towns of coffins being found unearthed and opened, shadowy figures roaming around in the late hours of the night, and bodies being found in the morning, drained from their blood.

🌙 It was a terrifying thought, but you didn't dwell upon it, you weren't the type to believe such rumors so easily, and yet a feeling of uneasiness lingered within your soul.

🌙 Your town was no longer the vibrant, happy place it once was before. Windows that once had lovely flowers and laundry lines hung on them were shut day and night, the busy streets you once traversed were covered in a gloomy fog. It really was like an evil has brought itself to your home.

🌙 Or should I say evils?

🌙 In the midst of all the tension, 3 men came to your town. Eccentric was an understatement when describing them, it was like the horrors and whispers of death and murder didn't faze them a bit.

🌙 Even so, you were happy to see something other than terrified faces and panicked expressions.

🌙 You greeted them politely during a cloudy day and noticed how covered they were. One had a large hat on, the other draped in a black cloak and the last holding a parasol that shrouded him in darkness.

🌙 "Good afternoon to you too, me and my friends here are just visiting this quaint little village, how uhm...calm..it is here..hah.."

🌙 The cloaked one chuckled whilst looking to the empty streets.

🌙 "My, my! Aren't you that famous painter I've been hearing about! I'd love to get a painting done from you, but it seems everyone here is quite busy with other things.." says the one in the hat.

🌙 "Oh no! I'd love to paint for you! Come, let's talk more in my bakery. Painting is more of a secondary job for me." You guide the men to your home as you hear the cawing of crows overhead.

🌙 Days pass and you grow closer to the men. You learned that their names were Viktor, Garrick and Silas.

🌙 Viktor had long, silky hair the color of raven's feathers. His eyes shone like two rubies in the dim light of the lanterns you lit around the house. He wore a black cape which hid a wine-red vest.

🌙 He was a gentleman and had a love for poetry. He would recite his favorites to you as you painted next to him. One interesting thing you learned was that he's scared of mice. 'Dreadful things' he calls them, you found it quite adorable once when you two were talking and he suddenly squealed and pulled his feet up at the sight of a small mouse crawling passed your floors. His face, although still as pale as the moon, turned into a light red.

🌙 Garrick had messy, dark hair. His fingers were always adorned with golden rings, and he wore a somewhat stained white, ruffled shirt, you can't tell what it's stained with though. His eyes were a deep purple, one of them covered by his locks. He was unusually flirtatious with you. You joked how he should be courting women, not a baker's son such as yourself, but he whined and cooed how irresistible you were to him, why wouldn't he be interested in a boy like you!

🌙 Silas is a bit darker skinned than the others, who were unusually pale. he had round black glasses and silver hair under a dark hat. Over his shoulders draped a coat, you weren't able to decipher what he kept under it, only that they were vials of strange substances. His eyes were the color of amber, like the hues of leaves that fell in the autumn. Rather shy, he was, always looking away from your eyes whenever he talked with you. He had an interest in flowers, always handing you one whenever he visited for inspiration purposes of course...

🌙 You wouldn't notice it at first, but they've gotten quite a liking to you, protective even. They would always check up on you, if you've been eating, who you've talked to today, things like that.

🌙 It was only until they scared off a young lady for making small talk with you that you started to notice something was off about them.

🌙 When you heard the next day her body was found dead with bite marks on her neck and drained of her blood, you started to worry.

🌙 You started avoided them after that, making excuses to not invite them over to your bakery, walking the other way the moment you see them down the street. They noticed your strange behavior towards them and knew something was wrong with you.

🌙 They didn't buy your silly act at all...

🌙 "You just had to leave the body there, didn't you?!"

🌙 "What? It's fun seeing them all scared and panicky!"

🌙 "Hahah yes but uhm...there's no food out anymore..."

🌙 You heard their voices by your door during the late hours of the night. The feeling that your new friends were not what they seem festered in your mind, but your kind nature overrode your fear and you opened your door.

🌙 "Hey! It's dangerous out there! Do you want to be gutted or something?"

🌙 The 3 of them were walking along the moonlit streets when they heard your voice.

🌙 "A-Ah! Yes! Uhm...of course, excuse us, we just came back from uh..."

🌙 "A pub-"

🌙 "A pub! Yes! And we've somehow lost our way! Could you, by chance, let us stay the night? Our inn is particularly far you see.."

🌙 You unlocked your door and let the 3 gentlemen in, going to the kitchen to warm up some bread and tea for them.

🌙 "Make yourselves at home! Apologies for the mess, I been really busy lately..." you say sweetly. Viktor nods with a smile and they all sit down, whispering softly amongst one another.

🌙 As you wait for the tea to warm, you get a good look at the 3 men.

🌙 Pale skin, pointed ears, not to mention their eyes, they have to be. You had to stop yourself from gasping when Garrick laughed, revealing his sharp fangs. Fear bubbled in your stomach once more until you heard the whistle of your kettle.

🌙 After giving them their tea, you feigned a yawn and told them you were off to bed, giving directions to the spare quarters before going in your room and waiting by your door for any sounds, grabbing a broken paintbrush you accidentally snapped, a makeshift wooden stake..

🌙 You then hear the men climbing the stairs, a conversation being exchanged between them.

🌙 "Shame we must drink from him now, he was such a darling though.."

🌙 "Oh, but I believe I'm quite well off with those wonderful treats he offered us. It's a mystery how someone as wonderful as him isn' married yet..."

🌙 "Unfortunate as it is, I don't think it would be in our best interest if the boy lives.."

🌙 Your heart pounded faster as you heard them talk about you. Your hunch was true, these men are the demons that have ravaged your town. You scrambled to your bed as you hear them walk to your room.

🌙 Your door creaks open as you grip your blanket tight. Footsteps approach you as you feel a dip in the bed.

🌙 "I can hear your cute little heartbeat darling~ I know you're awake~" You hear Viktor purr, tears start to well up in your eyes as they open.

🌙 A hand caresses your cheek and brushes your hair away from your face. You brace yourself as you feel Viktor's cold breath near your neck. You dare not move lest the beast lying next to you devour you whole.

🌙 "Do we have to Viktor?" You hear Silas say in a sorrowful tone.

🌙 "I'm with Silas with this one, why can't we just..I don't know, bring him with us?"

🌙 Viktor pulls back as he pauses for a moment. You could hear the smirk on his face when he chuckles. "Actually, that's not a bad idea Garrick.."

🌙 The next morning, the townspeople saw that your front door was wide open, a window or two was broken and paintings that hung on every wall was gone. There was no sign of you. The only thing that remained was a stain of blood on your bed and claw marks on the walls of your bedroom...

oOOoOooooOo cliffhanger or whatever :00000 part 2 soon !! sorry this one took so long, i had a hard time with the story and such..

And as usual, gay men doodles <3

[boiohboii]

Protective girl (Charles Leclerc x reader)

Inspires by @charles-eclair16 's fic

When fans go too far, yn wants to protect the one treasure in her life

or

in which we finally get to see the roles reversed

N.B: this is been in my drafts for so long, omg! Let me know what you guys think!! WARNING: not proof read, some swear words, might have messed up a date, don't focus on any dates mentioned, this is all fictional anyways. Hope you guys like it

masterlist

Liked by Arthur_leclerc, carlossainz55, pierregasly and 1,379,064 others

itsmeyn: charles always goes above and beyond for every single fan of his, he tries to take as many pictures and sign as many autographs as possible, but what happened last night was a fucking joke. He doesn't like what I'm writing cause he says that it was just a mistake and that it was fine, but it really isn't, it's so disrespectful and disgusting! He always wants to meet his fans and make them happy only to receive this insanity, him falling AND HURTING HIMSELF because some of you can't fucking wait and be organized like a human being! Charles isn't an animal in a zoo where you race to pet him! He is a human being, he is a son, a brother and a boyfriend! This wasn't just an accident, i have seen these 6 girls multiple times in multiple places! it's so obsessive and so so sick of you to follow him everywhere.... Charles won't speak up because he is Charles and he lives seeing the good in people, but I will tear everything and everyone for his safety, so for you 6 girls you will be hearing from court soon so better prepare a good lawyer you assholes!

Comments on this post have been disabled.

Liked by leclercboy, ynistheitgurl, fuckferarri and 91,739 others

F1_updates_live: Charles Leclerc's girlfriend, YN LN, seen today arriving in front of the UK's courthouse in a red SF9 Ferarri. It had been quite a week for YN as she was seen hitting a fan after the said fan pushed Charles. YN took this fan and 5 others to court, no one knows on what bases but what has come out is that she has won the case which means that Charles and YN have restraining orders against the group.

username: OHH HEEEELLL YEAAAAAHH

username: yn doing God's work

username: yn serving justice

username: that's what we needed

username: hot girl shit

username: the car and suit combo is so fucking hot of her

username: I think this is too much, like these girls just wanted to see Charles

username: @.itsmeyn can we make them 7?

username: another one

Liked by Charles_leclerc, danielricciardo, pierregasly and 617,829 others

itsmeyn: don't blame me, love made me crazy

username: YN IS A FELLOW SWIFTIE?!?!?

username: if I had a nickel for everytime yn and I had something in common I'd have 2 nickels, which is not a lot but it's weird that it's happened twice

username: now I just want her to watch all the charles edits done with a taylor song

itsmeyn: who says i already don't 🌚

username: and I oop-

username: THIS IS THE SWEETEST AND CRINGIEST SHIT EVER!

Liked by wolfffam, maxverstappen1, lance_stroll and 817,629 others

itsmeyn: congratulations to my baby, the love of my life, you deserve it and so much more ♥️♥️

username: FINALLY!!

username: idk how to react, ferarri has let us down too many times that all I know is lose

username: I don't see how he deserves it tbh, all of his results are shit for quite a while , he's only where he is cause he's driving a ferarri 🤷‍♂️

itsmeyn: oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know you were the one in a formula one car, in a ferarri, that by the words of many professionals is at its worse era. I don't care about you and your opinion but don't state it as a fact, no one can do better with these strategies. I hate to keep saying this but when your own fucking team doesn't have the same dream as you it turns to shit. Even if charles is the only one in the car, it's still a team sport, not a one man sport. Fuck you and your tiny ass brain that can never survive one lap in a formula one car, it'll probably explode cause of all the bullshit in it before the first lap anyway. So next time you wanna talk shit maybe try to do fifth of who you're criticising is doing, I bet that'll shut you up real quick you dimwit.

Liked by leclercpascale, pilotesofmonaco, tswiftyn, and 52,719 others

F1_updates_live: YN LN, Charles' long time girlfriend, seen today fighting Xavi in Bahrain due to his mistake on the radio which resulted in Charles losing his podium position.

username: good for her

username: charles is so lucky

username: I love how she always stands up for him

username: honestly, whenever charles or carlos ignore the strategies they win... I really wanna see more of that.

username: this is just Monaco 2024 GP all over again, yn was so fucking furious (rightfully so) cause Xavi's mistake costed charles a p1 in his home race.

username: this shit was so heartbreaking man

username: I think this was the first time we ever saw yn angry at sabotaging charles, like the most we saw was her holding his hand when crossing the street, making sure he eats first, playing with his hair when nervous, but I've never seen yn make someone literally cry until 2024 with Xavi being her victim

username: pffft, victim, he 100% deserved it

username: oh yeah, definitely. All my homes hate Xavi, like can you not say the strategy properly 😒

[janaispunk]

still bejeweled

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

word count: ~4.4k

summary: after breaking up with your boyfriend, your self-esteem is crushed. your best friend takes you to your favorite bar to take your mind off of things. there's a band is playing there tonight and the singer immediately catches your eye. inspired by taylor swift's bejeweled – and when i meet the band, they ask, 'do you have a man?', i could still say, 'i don't remember'

tags/warnings: explicit smut, only 18+, no/pre-outbreak au, no sarah, musician!joel, small age gap (reader is in her late 20s, joel's in his mid 30s), alcohol consumption, joel pulls her hair, able-bodied reader, a bit of angst, fluff, making out, fingering, dirty talk (joel talks you through it, i just know it), praise kink, unprotected p in v (i just didn't feel like mentioning it, this is my fantasy world where pregnancies & sti's don't exist, but they very much exist in the real world, don't do this), joel has a big dick (it's canon), consent king joel, rough sex, ass-slapping, hair-pulling, please let me know if i missed anything!

a/n: this came to me while making breakfast and listening to taylor, and didn't want to leave my head again. pretty self indulgent, i'm fairly certain that a musician!joel in my life would fix me. also, to boyfriends everywhere: fuck you <3

• dividers by the lovely @saradika!

• find my full masterlist here!

You storm out of the apartment, fighting back the tears that are threatening to spill over. This is it for good, you tell yourself. It's not the first fight of the sort that you and your boyfriend Max – now ex-boyfriend, you guess – have gotten into, with you usually backing down eventually, to keep the peace between the two of you. You've been together for more than three years, and you had hoped that this might be the one – the guy that you can settle down with, the one that you've been waiting for.

But over the past few months, Max has gotten more distant, less involved in the relationship, less interested in you, making you feel like you're burdening him, like you're always asking for too much. Like you are too much. You had asked several times if something was bothering him, something that you could work through together. Everything's fine babe, I don't know why you're even asking. Stop getting on my nerves with this.

You scoff to yourself. Usually, this was the point where you would step back from the argument, not willing to invest energy in a fight that wouldn't lead to anything anyway. Maybe things weren't perfect with Max, but they were what you knew. Familiar, comfortable. Better than being alone. Maybe not the big love that books and movies told you about, but who knows if that sort of thing even exists.

But today, when he just wouldn't give a shit about anything you said, something inside of you had snapped. “I feel like you don't even love me anymore. Do you?!” you had demanded, and the look on his face had told you everything that you needed to know.

That's how you find yourself on the street in front of your best friend's place, the short walk having somewhat cleared your head. Who does Max even think he is? It's not too much to ask to care about your partner, to show interest in them, to support them, is it? And he hasn't done any of that in quite some time.

All things considered, he just wasn't that great of a boyfriend. Still, you can't help feeling sad about it. Another relationship failed, another guy that just didn't deem you as good enough to pay attention to you. Maybe you're just not that interesting, a voice in your head whispers. You sniffle and shake your head, willing the thought out of your mind.

Your best friend Amanda greets you at her door, immediately clocking your slumped shoulders and reddened eyes, and hugs you tightly while leading you into her living room. Her concern for you elicits another wave of tears and you shakily recap today's events to her. She listens patiently, thankfully not telling you that you're better off without him or something like that, because even though you know that yourself, you don't think you could bear someone else saying it.

“I just can't believe that I'm single again and need to start over once more and I just-,” you bite your lip, willing away the tears that are pooling in your eyes, “I just feel like I'm not enough, like I can't keep a guy or I'm too picky, I don't know. It's just so frustrating, I don't wanna end up alone.”

Amanda's expression softens and she pulls you into her arms again. “You're not gonna end up alone, I promise you. You're funny and smart and,” she looks you up and down, “fucking hot. But you can't settle for less just because you're scared of ending up alone, okay? You're gonna find the guy that's right for you and then it will all make sense. Promise.”

You sigh, not sure if you believe her but also not in the mood to argue. After more talking, during which she eventually slips a glass of wine into your hand, Amanda decides that the two of you should go out tonight. Blow off some steam, show the world and yourself that you've still got it, as she puts it. You're honestly not sure if you've ever had it to begin with, but you let her enthusiasm wash over you, playing along as she insists that you wear one of her skimpiest dresses and starts doing your make up. You feel a little self-conscious with the tiny black dress that she has put you in and the dramatic red lipstick that she's currently applying to your lips.

“Don't look at me like that. You look so good and you'd know that if that fucker hadn't made you feel like you didn't for the past few months. But you've been too good of a girl for far too long now, and we're gonna change that tonight. Deal?” She expectantly holds her hand out for you to shake and you feel the excitement starting to bubble up in you. Maybe she's right and you do need to let go of your insecurities tonight. You shake her hand and she laughs delightedly, causing you to giggle as well.

Amanda finally declares that you're good to go, digging a sparkly handbag that's covered in tiny silvery jewels out of her closet. That one's actually yours, but you had left it at her place a few weeks ago after Max had told you how it was just too much and how you looked ridiculous with it. You had let it slide, thinking that it wasn't worth it to ruin the evening by fighting over a stupid handbag. What was wrong with you, you think to yourself now.

You look at yourself in her full-length mirror and you have to agree, you do look good. The short dress leaves most of your thighs bare, hugging your curves in all the right ways and the lipstick looks amazing, drawing the focus to the shape of your mouth. You do polish up real nice.

Amanda's boyfriend Patricks whistles appreciatively when you both exit from the bedroom and wishes you loads of fun. That's what a boyfriend should be like, you think to yourself. Supportive, loving, and just... kind?

Amanda drags you to one of your favorite bars. You've been here countless times together; usually it's a good crowd and the drinks are cheap. It's live music night, you realize as you walk in and notice the small stage at the far end of the room, which also explains why it's more crowded than usual. You push through a few people and manage to find two seats at the bar, from where you can watch the stage and hear the music, but it isn't too loud to talk.

The bartender comes up to you and Amanda orders tequila shots before you can even open your mouth. “I would've stuck to wine,” you complain to her and she shrugs, a big grin on her our face.

“That wouldn't be half as fun. We're going all out tonight, remember?”

You roll your eyes and nod, but when you down the first shot and bite down on the lime, you can't help the laugh that bubbles up in your throat. “That's my girl!” Amanda giggles and promptly orders another round. After two more shots and feeling the tingling warmth that's spreading through your body, you let your eyes wander around the room until they find the stage.

It's mostly local bands that play here, some better than others, and tonight's isn't half bad. It's four guys, a little older than you, mid-thirties if you had to guess, and their music has an acoustic, country-ish vibe to it. Your eyes linger on the man in the front, who is softly singing into the microphone while strumming along on his guitar.

He's kinda hot, you muse to yourself, gaze trained on the way his muscles are softly flexing while he's plucking on the guitar strings with his large hands, the sleeves of his dark t-shirt straining against his arms. His deep voice is washing over you, reminding you of whiskey and honey, and you squint a little to take a closer look at his face. He has a strong jaw and pouty lips, and dark, expressive eyes that gaze into the room while he's singing. You can't explain it, but something about him just feels... warm. Like he's safe. Kind.

He has a scruffy beard and messy curls, giving him a sort of rugged look, that, combined with his incredibly broad shoulders, has you biting your lip subconsciously. How easily he could cage you in, how big and warm his hands would feel on your body...

Damn, he's really hot. And you really feel the tequila talking right now.

Amanda's fingers appear in your field of vision, snapping impatiently and you turn back to her, heat crawling up your cheeks. You might have been staring a bit too obviously. “Which one?” she grins.

“Huh?” you ask, rather poorly feigning innocence.

“Oh, come on! Okay, I'll guess,” she continues on, not giving you a chance to even try to deny anything, “it's the singer, right?”

“I-,” you start, but the look on her face tells you that it's already a lost cause, “yeah.”

She laughs delightedly and gestures to the bartender for another round of shots. “Oh, I don't think-,” you try to object, but she shushes you.

“I won't rest until you've made a move on that guy, good choice dare I say, and live a little. So drink up!” She toasts to you and you can't help laughing yourself before you tip your head back and swallow the burning alcohol in one go.

You steal another glance towards the stage – maybe a rather extended glance in all honesty – and catch the singer's eye. He holds your gaze for a few seconds, then he lets his eyes wander around the room, before returning to you, his lips curling into a knowing smirk when you're still looking at him.

You hastily tear yourself away, leaning into Amanda in an attempt of hiding how flustered you're suddenly feeling. “That was fucking hot,” she breathes into your ear.

“I know,” you whisper back urgently. Then the insecurity kicks back in. “Do you think he really meant me? I mean, we're all the way in the back here, I bet he can barely see-”

Amanda swats at your arm, shaking her head. “Please, he totally meant you. You're gonna talk to him later, you hear me?”

You groan, “Oh my god,” and lean into her further. “I'm not cut out for all this, I wouldn't even know what to say.” She tsks at you and orders another round of drinks, not taking No for an answer.

You loosen up a little over time, throwing a few more glances towards the stage and delight in the way he always seems to just wait for you to look at him. When you've made eye contact several times, he winks at you and you can't help but giggle, a kind of warmth spreading through you that has nothing to do with the alcohol. A wide grin stretches across his face as he announces the last song for the night. You give up all pretenses, your eyes basically glued to him until he strums his guitar one last time, then thanks the audience and joins his bandmates as they wander off the stage.

The bands usually pack up, then join the bar's patrons for a few beers. You try not to appear totally desperate and refrain from staring at the door that leads backstage, instead busying yourself with your drink and listening to Amanda, when you feel someone sliding to the bar counter behind you and a hand lands to rest on your shoulder. A very big, very warm hand, you come to notice, before a deep, honeyed voice floats into your ear, causing you to turn around.

“Hi. Can I buy you a drink?”

He seems even bigger up close, and even more handsome, and your lips part slightly, taking him in. You take a beat too long to answer, just sinking into his deep brown eyes, and a grin slowly spreads across his face. “I'm Joel, by the way.” He extends a hand for you to shake and you blink, shaking yourself out of your staring, quickly taking his hand and offering your own name.

His hand dwarfs yours, enveloping it in his warmth and you feel yourself blush. This is the moment, you tell yourself. “I'd love a drink,” you smile at him and he flags down the bartender to take your order. You steal a glance at Amanda, who's nodding enthusiastically.

“So...” Joel drawls when you have your drink, still standing so close to you that you're almost touching, with a smirk playing around the corner of his mouth, “do you have a man, or-?”

Your thoughts briefly flicker to Max, but you find that you can barely remember how devastated you felt mere hours ago, that you can hardly recall his face right now. “No... no, I don't.”

“She most certainly does not, she's all yours,” Amanda chimes in, leaning around you and beaming at Joel.

You can't help but giggle at the entire situation, pleasantly buzzing with both the alcohol in your system and the feeling of having Joel in your direct proximity, and finding him more attractive with every minute that you look at him.

“I really liked your performance,” you tell him and his grin widens.

“Yeah? I could tell, sweetheart.” You laugh; the pet name has your heart soaring in your chest, but you feel completely relaxed with him, not awkward, not desperate to please him or keep his interest. You just feel... good. Really, really good.

Talking to him is easy. He makes you laugh, makes you feel comfortable, and your cheeks almost hurt from smiling so much, but you can't stop. He's constantly touching you, his hand lingering on your shoulder, your arm, sliding down to your waist, and leaving goosebumps in its wake.

When he pulls at your hips to pull you off your bar stool, you quickly follow his lead, letting him sway you around to the music that's now playing from the juke box, giggling the entire time. You feel like a teenager, but you couldn't care less. You're tipsy, you're happy, the easily most attractive man that you've ever met seems to be more than interested in you – you feel amazing.

Joel's hand comes up to cup your face, his calloused fingertips brushing over your cheek and you lean into his touch. His eyes flick down to your lips and your breath stutters in your chest. Your arms wrap around his neck at the same time that he leans in until his mouth meets yours, your lips eagerly opening against his.

A pleased hum is rumbling up in his chest and both of his hands grab at your hips, pulling your body flush against him as his tongue licks into your mouth. Your hands burrow into the messy curls at his neck and you all but whimper against his lips. You feel his mouth curl into a smile before he pulls away, the look in his eyes a little dazed, mirroring your own.

“You you wanna come home with me?” he asks quietly, “I live right around the corner.”

There's no need to even think about it, you want this man desperately. You quickly check on Amanda, who waves you off with a shit-eating grin and some rather crude words of encouragement.

You swing your glittery purse over your shoulder and Joel whistles lowly. “That's fancy. I like it.”

Your eyes widen slightly. “You do?”

“Yeah. Suits you.” A wide smile is spreading across your face and, without a second thought, you grab his hand to pull him out of the bar.

He really lives close nearby and you're stumbling through a dark hallway barely five minutes later. Joel has his hands on your hips and his lips on your mouth, kissing you roughly as he leads you into what you presume is the direction of his bedroom. He kicks the bedroom door shut behind you and crowds you up against the wood, his hands grabbing at your sides, pulling at the dress, revealing more skin to his touch.

The room is dimly lit, yellow light from the street below filtering in through the windows, and his eyes roam over you. “Fuck, you're so hot,” he growls and captures your mouth in another searing kiss, his hand coming up to palm at your breasts, roughly squeezing the flesh and running his thumb over your nipple through the fabric. You mewl into his mouth and he pulls back breathlessly. “You're an eager little thing, aren't you?” he murmurs and you arch your back, trying to press yourself back into his touch.

“Please, Joel,” you whimper and he chuckles before diving back in, his tongue hot in your mouth and his fingers creeping under your dress, toying with the hem of your underwear.

He pulls it aside, his fingers grazing your already soaked folds and you buck your hips into his touch. He slides your dress up higher until his hand comes to rest on your bare hip and he searches your face.

“You're feeling good? You want this?”

You nod eagerly and he tuts softly. “Gotta let me hear it, sweetheart.”

You bite your lip, his respectfulness paired with the dark look in his eyes spurring your arousal on even further. “I want it, please.”

“Good girl, so polite too,” he murmurs and your legs almost buckle underneath you. His hand travels back between your legs, grabbing at your underwear and quickly pulling it off of you, before his fingers are back, sliding through your wetness and circling your clit slowly.

“Fuck, you're dripping. So good for me, all eager and ready, huh?”

The whine that comes out of you sounds faintly like a “yes” and he presses another kiss to your lips, before he thrusts two fingers into you, stretching you deliciously.

“Fucking tight,” he murmurs against your mouth, his voice sounding wrecked already. He sets a languid pace, pausing every so often to curl his fingers deep within you, hitting that spongy spot that has your legs shaking and your hands grabbing at his shoulders as high-pitched whines fall out of your mouth.

You can see the pleased smirk on his face as you're falling apart on just his fingers. His other hand travels up to the straps of your dress, pulling them down and revealing your breasts to him.

His lips suck on the newly exposed flesh and you hear him mutter, “so fucking pretty” against your skin. His mouth travels to your nipple, flicking his tongue over the hardened bud, while his fingers keep thrusting and curling inside of you.

Heat is boiling in your abdomen, licking at your spine and you can almost taste your orgasm already. “Joel, I'm gonna- please don't stop, please,” you manage to breathe out.

“You're gonna come on my fingers, pretty girl?” he asks, before sucking your nipple back into his mouth. “Go ahead, let me feel it.” His thumb starts to toy with your clit in quick, precise circles, and you gasp. The heat spreads through your entire body as your orgasm takes hold of you, your toes curling and your legs shaking while you pulse wildly around his fingers.

“Good girl, you look so pretty when you come,” Joel whispers, trailing kisses from your breasts up to your neck as you slowly come down from your high.

Joel maneuvers you to his bed, supporting your weight and gently setting you down until you're sprawled out on the covers. You can still feel the aftershocks from your orgasm, but your want for him is coursing through you like a wildfire and you eagerly stretch your arms out for him.

He chuckles, mumbling something about you being insatiable and quickly pulls his shirt over his head, revealing golden skin and a body that's obviously strong and muscular, but he still has a softness to him.

You sit back up and scoot closer, your hands flying to his beltbuckle as you press kisses against his belly, reveling in the way his breath hitches and his muscles are twitching under your mouth.

You tilt your head up, silently asking for permission as you tug on his pants and he nods, smiling down at you. You pull his pants and underwear down in one go, desperate to see all of him, and you can't help the soft gasp that escapes your mouth at the sight before you.

He's fucking big, and you should probably worry about fitting all of him inside of you, but instead the fire in your abdomen is flaring up again and you subconsciously press your thighs together.

Joel leans down to you, pulling your already bunched up dress over your head and leaving you just as bare as he is.

“Like what you see, sweetheart?” he smirks.

“I- yeah,” you nod, shyly smiling up at him and he pecks your lips.

“Me too.”

He crowds you in, his broad body looming over yours as you lay back down on the bed and his fingers find their way in between your legs again. He grazes your clit, then swirls a finger through your wetness, spreading it on your inner thighs, and your hips buck up into his touch, causing him to chuckle.

“Impatient little thing.”

You can barely form a coherent thought, you're desperate to feel his cock inside of you and you eagerly part your legs when he situates his body between them. He grabs at your thigh, spreading you open even wider, before landing a playful slap against the backside. An almost embarrassingly loud moan escapes you and Joel's smirk turns downright feral.

“You liked that, sweetheart? You like it when I'm a little rough with you?”

He's grinding his hips against you, sliding his cock through your wetness, the tip almost catching at your entrance. You're past the point of caring, nodding mindlessly, you just want him inside of you.

“Fuck, yes, please Joel, please.”

“Should've known,” he mumbles, “it's always the quiet ones. Actin' all shy, but you need it bad, don't you? Gonna fuck you so good, take such good care of you, don't you worry.”

You whimper, your breath catching in your throat when he lines his cock up with your center, his tip already parting your walls, but he stops himself again. “Tell me once more, sweetheart. You still good, still want this?”

“Yes Joel, fuck, I want it,” you whine. The words have barely left your mouth when he slams into you, filling you to the brim. You cry out at the sudden intrusion, your walls fluttering around his length, trying to accommodate him as he's splitting you open. The stretch is intense, bordering on painful, but you still feel yourself getting wetter around him, pain turning into pleasure as he stills inside of you for a few moments to let you adjust.

“Goddamn it, you're tight, you're taking me so good, such a good fuckin' girl.”

His mouth is close to your ear, muttering filth to you with his hot breath fanning against the sensitive skin on your neck. Another loud moan falls from your mouth at his words and you clench around his cock that's still buried deep inside of you, causing him to groan.

“Yeah you like that, wanna be a good girl for me, don't you?”

You nod breathlessly and he pulls out almost entirely before slamming back into you, setting a brutal rhythm that's forcing moans from your throat and has you wildly clenching around him. One of his hands is playing with your nipples again, pinching and pulling at your delicate flesh and sending delicious sparks of pleasure straight to your core while he's still fucking you deeply. It's incredible, already easily the best you've ever had, but you still want more, want him deeper.

“Oh my god, p-please Joel,” you stutter.

“Please what?”

“H-harder, please.” He growls at that, pulling himself out of you and flipping you around until you're on your knees, presenting your ass to him. He presses his cock back into you, knocking the air out of your lungs, and his hand connects with the skin on your ass cheek in a harsh slap.

“Knew you were a filthy little thing, fuck, just waitin' around for someone to give it to you hard, huh?” he growls. The way he's talking to you is going straight to your core and you feel a second high approaching rapidly.

His hand tangles in your hair, making a fist and pulling until you're arching your back, slightly changing the angle and letting him hit a spot inside of you that absolutely devastates you. There's stars dancing across your eyes, your thighs are quivering and your walls are pulsing rhythmically.

“Not someone, just- just for you,” you moan out, shuddering around him as another orgasm washes over you, your vision swimming and you're clamping down on him.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Joel mutters, his hands grabbing your hips roughly and holding onto you with strong hands as he stills his movements and spills himself deep inside of you.

You feel almost delirious as Joel hugs you tightly to his body, kissing you deeply before he gently lays you down on the bed. He cleans you up, gets you a glass of water and covers you with a thick blanket before he slides into bed beside you.

His arm wraps around your middle and he pulls you closer against his chest, engulfing you in his warmth and peppering your bare neck and shoulders with kisses. You nuzzle into him, your eyes falling shut as you relax under his soft touches. You can't remember the last time you felt this good. Protected, cared for, happy.

“Sweetheart?” Joel's voice sounds from behind you and you give a little hum. “I know this started out like a one night thing, but-” he pauses, almost sounding a little shy, “promise me that you won't just vanish in the morning, okay?” You smile and crane your head to press your lips against his once more.

“I promise.”

a/n #2: ...yeah, this would definitely fix me. shout out to the real life amanda for being an amazing friend and the best hype woman, thank you for yelling about pedro with me 24/7. also shout out to the real life patrick for being an amazing boyfriend and providing us with insights about the male sexual experience lol. thank you guys for being the best adoptive parents to my third-wheeling single ass. <3

thank you so much for reading! if you liked this, please consider reblogging or leaving a comment!

[citizen-sade]

Rain Check

Inspired by this text post:

-------

Eddie glanced from his guitar to the digital alarm clock on the side table next to his bed, where he'd been idly strumming for the past hour, not really trying commiting the tune to memory.

He realized the upbeat lyrics of Bruce Springsteen in Steve’s off-key tenor from the bathroom two doors down had trailed off long ago. He vaguely wondered if he’d dozed off again.

Eddie grinned wryly as he recalled learning the hard way about Steve’s singular habit of falling asleep in the shower.

***

He bounced his leg impatiently, eyes darting to the bathroom as the minutes ticked closer to 8:00. Steve had been in there awhile and it was almost time for the Miami Vice marathon.

7:00 turned into 7:15... then 7:30... 7:35... This was stupid. He didn't even like Miami Vice. It was Steve's idea. So, what the hell was taking him so long?

Eddie set the bowl of popcorn on the coffe table before heading down the hallway and rapped his knuckles on the bathroom door, "Dude, what are you doing in there? Did you get lost?"

No answer.

Clouds of steam wafted out the door as he opened it to the sound of running water.

“Goddamn. Hot enough in here for you, Harrington?” he asked as he used the sleeve of his t-shirt to wipe off an area of condensation from the mirror above the sink.

He stared at the reflection of the seafoam green shower curtain behind him, waiting for Steve to peek out and ask him what he wanted, but his stomach sank when that didn’t happen.

“Steve?”

Still nothing. He inhaled deeply to steady his nerves. Dramatic though it may be, he couldn't help but think back to the time he'd discovered a former bandmate in a similar manner, unconscious in a hotel bathtub from an overdose. He was lucky Eddie had found him when he did, the dipshit.

But Steve was different. Steve Harrington wasn't a junkie. Steve Harrington was smarter than that.

Although, it wasn't like he'd given Eddie a comprehensive list of any potential health issues. Not that he'd asked for one.

Eddie licked his lips nervously as he turned towards the bathtub. He sighed, scratching the back of his head.

“Very funny, Harrington."

Nothing.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other before reaching for the shower curtain, half-expecting Steve to jump out at him.

“Ha!" The exclamation hung in the air as Eddie yanked the curtain to the side, revealing the lean, naked form of his boyfriend on the floor of the ceramic tub, slumped against the side.

“Oh, fuck—ohfuck—okay—uh—Hey! Steve! You okay?”

Eddie reached in to shut off the water and sat on the edge of the bathtub to lean over Steve, shaking him gently by the shoulder.

“Shit... shitshitshit... Steve! Hey!" Eddie eyed him with mounting panic, mentally compiling a list of emergency phone numbers, "Wake up, damnit!”

“Mmm—” the jock stirred, his forehead creasing under his dripping hair in annoyance as he mumbled, “five more minutes.”

Eddie stood up and cocked his head in bewilderment, "What the fuck?”

“Wha—” Steve sniffed groggily, “what’s going on?”

Eddie raised his hands to his hips, “Are you kidding me?”

Steve cracked an eyelid to glance quizzically at him, “Oh, hey, Eds. Everything okay?”

The cold air against his wet skin suddenly reminded him of where he was and he looked up at the trickling showerhead, his face reddening as he scrambled to cover himself.

“Oh, damn,” he groaned, running a hand over his face, “did I fall asleep again?”

"Asleep??" Eddie blinked in surprise but sighed with relief, “Again?! Is this a thing you do regularly?”

“I—uh—“

“You scared the shit out of me!”

“Gee, man, I’m sorry—"

"Thought I was gonna have to drag your naked ass out of there myself."

"It’s just a thing I did—do—ever since I was a kid—”

Eddie scoffed playfully, “Well... don’t fuckin' do it again.”

The sheepish grin he received by way of an apology all but dissolved any trace of genuine exasperation. It was a dumb thing to be mad at him for, anyway.

Eddie rolled his eyes and grabbed the towel from where it hung on the wall to throw it at Steve, hitting him in the face.

“Dry yourself off before you get all pruny. The show's about the start!”

***

It wasn't until later, during a moment of intimacy on the sofa, Miami Vice muted in the background and Steve's eyes locked shyly on their intertwined fingers and the prominent veins that traveled up Eddie's forearm, that Steve had explained how he'd adopted the practice of locking himself in the bathroom as a kid. The running water was enough to partially drown out the sound of his parents arguing in the living room, and he would stay in there a little longer each time, allowing the steady rhythm and comfort of the warm water to lull him to sleep—until he would inevitably be startled awake by the sound of his father slamming the front door behind him in a rage, followed by a hurried knock on the bathroom door and his mother yelling from the other side that he was on his own for dinner. Again.

In Steve's defense, he didn't do it every time... and in Eddie's, he couldn't just not tease him mercilessly for it when he did.

Eddie laid his guitar aside. He was careful not to make too much noise as he snuck to the bathroom, expertly opening and closing the door behind him without a single creak. Once again, the only sound to meet his ears upon entering was the hiss of the water.

He slowly drew back the shower curtain to the familiar sight of Steve curled up beneath the steaming water, damp hair clinging to his flushed cheeks.

Eddie smiled fondly at the shallow rise and fall of his chest and heaved an exaggerated sigh, reluctant to disturb the serenity of the moment.

But they had a game to catch. Lucas would be taking inventory of the party from the basketball court, and God forbid he and Steve show up late to anything together. He could hear the obnoxious kissy noises and prying questions now.

Eddie leaned in to wrap his fingers around the cross-handle knob and, with a quick twist, turned it as far to the left as it would go without shutting off completely.

Steve shrieked, cursing incoherently and clambering to shut off the freezing water.

“SHIT!” he panted, eyes wide when he realized he wasn’t alone. In a daze, he grasped the shower curtain to pull it closed, but instead, managed to tear down the metal rod that it hung from. The curtain rod bounced off his head and clattered against the tile as it came to rest in Steve’s lap.

“Gah! Fuck!” he hissed.

Eddie snorted and clamped a hand over his own mouth to keep from laughing as Steve glared daggers at him behind a veil of wet hair, looking like a drowned rat.

A very pissed off drowned rat.

The vision of the so-called King of Hawkins High—usually so smooth; so collected—now fixing him with what was obviously supposed to be an intimidating scowl while sitting naked and waterlogged in his bathtub made Eddie cackle so hard that he had to brace himself against the bathroom sink.

“I’m glad my suffering is so amusing to you,” Steve mocked.

“You should have seen your face, Harrington!” Eddie wheezed as he doubled over at the waist.

Steve blinked and shook his head, tossing his wet hair out of his face.

Eddie's laughter trailed off, “I’m sorry, babe, but you've been in here forever!”

“Oh, shit, you’re right. What time is it?”

“Almost 5:30.”

Steve groaned as he shifted to get his feet under him but failed against the slippery tub floor.

"Damnit, you need to put something in here."

"You mean, like, those... adhesive rubber ducks?"

"Yeah," Steve sneered, "I mean, like, those adhesive rubber ducks."

Eddie watched with glee as Steve made a second attempt to stand and extended his arm, "Don't just stand there, Munson, help me!"

"Okay, okay! Jeez," he grasped Steve's wrist to help him up, only to be yanked off his own feet, falling over the side of the bathtub and into Steve’s lap as he reached up to turn the water back on.

“You dick!” Eddie screeched, "what the hell—" he froze as his words melted into Steve’s mouth.

He instantly relaxed into him, the lukewarm water beating down on them all but forgotten as the tip of Steve's tongue teasingly slid past his lips. Eddie purred against his mouth and Steve withdrew with a cocky smirk. Eddie started as if to protest, but exhaled a heavy breath and hung his head.

“Alright. We're even."

“Mm, let's get you out of these wet clothes,” Steve said, tugging on the hem of Eddie's soaked t-shirt.

“Woah, there, big guy,” Eddie splayed a hand on Steve's chest in a gentle halting motion, “did you forget we’re on a schedule?”

Steve paused, immediately dropping the Casanova act with a petulant huff, “Aw, man!”

Eddie chuckled and pecked him on the cheek as he rose, pulling Steve up with him. He wrung his damp, unruly hair out over the bathtub before twisting to grab a towel and unceremoniously throwing it at Steve’s face. He then grabbed one for himself.

Steve cautiously stepped out of the tub onto the worn plush mat, securing the towel around his waist.

Knowing they couldn’t afford to waste anymore time, Eddie resigned to getting ready in the bedroom so as to allow Steve and his Hair™ their allotted time alone—but not before planting a playful smack on Steve's ass. Steve yelped and grumbled under his breath as he turned to his reflection and the white aerosol can with the picture of Farrah Fawcett that smiled at him from the counter.

Suddenly the door opened again and Eddie peeked in, "Hey, Harrington."

Steve paused mid-spray and rolled his eyes at him in the mirror, "Yeah?"

Eddie clicked his tongue with a wink and the cringiest finger-gun gesture he could manage, “Rain check.”

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

No Pain, No Gain | Part 1 | PersonalTrainer!Aemond x fem!reader

Summary: The personal trainer your roommate Baela recommended to you is rude, condescending but also hot as hell. Series Masterlist.

A/N: shoutout to my personal trainer Alex for rotting my brain. This is my first modern!Aemond fic, so any feedback is genuinely appreciated, I hope you enjoy this, it was an absolute ball to write (and there will be more!)

Also I could not post this without tagging some absolute modern!Aemond QUEENS who inspired me to write this. @valeskafics @oneeyedvisenya @sapphire-writes​ you’re the real ones! Also massive hug to @ewanmitchellcrumbs​ for hyping me up and being a parent to this child she didn't choose to create.

warnings: EVENTUAL SMUT, 18+, sexual tension, binge eating, mentions of breakup, cursing, dickhead Aemond, reader is horny af, English slang (soz), warnings will be added when needed

To say you were broken-hearted would be a bit of an understatement.

You were angry, annoyed, frustrated, wound up tight and pissed off to the highest degree.

And it showed in how you acted these days as you polished off the salty family-size bag of crisps on your own in 10 minutes flat.

You look over at your phone and sigh when you see it’s already 6 o’clock in the afternoon. Another day sat on the sofa, wallowing in self-pity, eating yourself into oblivion and fairly soon pouring a glass of Baela’s finest white wine (now that it was officially almost evening anyway and it was justified).

Scrolling through instagram was like twisting the dagger that was already in your chest. All that stupid fucking app could show you was ‘ex in the bar with his new girlfriend’, ‘ex in the drive-thru with his new girlfriend’, ‘ex on the beach with his new girlfriend’.

It made you want to throw your phone directly at the wall. But you settled for squeezing the life out of it, imagining it was your ex’s stupid face instead.

The absolute waste of space had broken up with you over text on the night you were supposed to go out on a date. And as if that was not bad enough, not even two weeks had gone by before he’d managed to stick his dick into someone else with a pulse. At the time, you were so angry that you didn’t accuse him of anything, he’d already broken up with you. But you did suspect that this ‘sudden’ relationship he’d gotten into wasn’t as recent as first thought. 

It’s been a month since you found out about the other woman.

And clearly you were coping really well.

Indulging wasn’t something you usually did, but now you feel you deserved it. 

“Hello~” the soft, ringing voice of your roommate Baela was at the door. You half-considered hiding all the packets of various foods you’d managed to stuff down your gob, but Baela had seen worse of you. She’d seen you while you were throwing your guts up after freshers week at university. Nothing was worse than that and you shuddered at the memory.

She walks in, looking more put together than you by a long way, having been hanging out with her sister all day. That’s what you like about Baela, she’s not judgemental, and so when she sees you’ve barely moved an inch she just flashes her usual smile.

“Good day then?” she says with a smirk. You raise your eyebrows in return.

“Apart from seeing him plastered all over instagram I’m great” 

“Got any left?” she asks, extending a greedy hand for a crisp. You offer her the bag with a sigh as she slumps on the sofa next to you. She watches boredly whatever you have on the TV,

"Why don't you just block him?" She asks. And to be fair, she has a point.

But you huff and shove another crisp in your mouth, whining, "Cos I'm a nosy bitch with no boundaries"

Baela sighs, pulling out her own phone and scrolling through her notifications, "As much as I love you y/n, this is pathetic, even for you"

You'd be offended if she wasn't completely right. And you know she's only half joking so you just shrug.

"How was Rhaena?" You ask.

"Yeah fine, usual shit with Dad. Oh I didn't tell you-" she starts.

She has that glint in her eye which spells trouble. She's got gossip and you raise your eyebrows in anticipation.

"Hold that thought, wine first?"

"Obviously"

After giggling and waltzing over to the counter to pour two glasses of the finest box wine you could get for under seven English pounds, you hand her one and wait almost too excitedly for her to spill whatever sweet gossip she has.

She sips it, almost like she needs the liquid courage to begin, and she hisses at the sweet, acidic taste.

"God that's foul" 

"It was 2 for 1!" You retort with a laugh, but she is right, it does taste foul, "Stop stalling, tell me tell me tell me" 

She looks at you as if to say bitch, you are not fucking ready.

“Dad’s married Rhaenyra” 

The force of which your jaw drops open is almost comical. You’d guessed for a while that they were at least fucking, but to just elope?!

“I need money, cos I betted on this shit happening!” 

“Oh my gosh, Rhaena was fucking hysterical. Jace and Luke aren’t surprised at all, but Alicent is beside herself in the family group chat, it should honestly be a reality TV show” Baela says scrolling through said group chat. From what you can see without being too nosy, is that there’s a lot of long paragraphs and angry emojis.

“What about Viserys, surely he’s…” you ask, trailing off to sip the pissy wine in your hands.

“Oh no, he’s thrilled. Which pisses Alicent off even more if that’s possible”

“Baela I think your Uncle’s gone insane” you bite your lip to stifle a laugh.

“No fucking kidding”

You slump back onto the sofa, “Holy shit, I am a genius. I knew the whole time” you say, smirking in victory.

“And so humble too” Baela gives a sarcastic grin which you return.

“How do you feel about it?”

Baela shucks her phone onto the coffee table, sighing, “Not bothered, we’re all adults now, so it hardly makes a difference to me. Suppose it’ll get Dad to stop bringing back random women now” she says exasperated, “but Rhaenyra gets the impression we’re all really bothered so she’s invited us all to a retreat for a week. Think she just wants to butter us up for marrying our Dad”

“Oh? Anywhere nice?”

Baela looks over, giving you a wearied look.

“What?”

“Well that brings me to you”

“Oh god, what” you ask, dropping the tone to emphasise the seriousness of the talk all of a sudden.

Baela fiddles with the remote, in an attempt to appear cute, “Well~ There’s a spare ticket going and you’re my bestest friend. And I would hate to endure a week of watching my Dad eat Rhaenyra’s face off, so come with me please?” she begs.

You sigh, “Baela usually I would love to sponge off you like that but-”

“Pleasepleaseplease~” she begs, “Rhaena’s bringing her boyfriend and we’re basically together!” 

You fake a gagging sound.

“Oh come on, a week on a beach in bikinis,sweltering weather with as many cocktails as you can hold isn’t exactly torture”

You give her an incredulous look, opening your arms to emphasise all the bags of junk food around you, “Do I look beach body ready to you?!”

“Oh fuck off, you’re hot and have an ass that can keep the world fed” 

“I know I am hot, I just don’t feel hot” you stare blankly at the TV, trying to ignore her and stuff another crisp into your mouth.

Baela sighs, “I was just thinking it would be a nice distraction, that’s all” 

“I want to it’s just…” you start, trying to think of the right words, “...I don’t feel my best”

Baela gives you a playful slap on your arm, “Look, forget your ex, he’s dumb as fuck and it’s not solving anything by staying inside with the curtains drawn all day. If you want to feel better, might be worth taking care of yourself a bit, hm?” 

Fuck her, you think, rolling your eyes, she’s right.

You hate how often she’s right. Because she gets that look on her face when she is. Always has done.

“How about that gym membership you’ve not used since February?” she asks,

“Okay firstly, ouch. Secondly, I realised I don’t know the first thing about how to work out in a gym, besides the guys there were…weird”

You shudder at the thought. It was January and so all the new year’s resolution guys were at it in full swing, using the gym as a means to try and pick up girls. And since graduating you find that more often than not the guys who hit on you were students. Maybe it was different now?

Baela pokes her cheek with her tongue, racking her brain.

“One of my cousins is a personal trainer? I could text him to see if he’s happy to take you on. Mates rates” she smiles.

You side-eye her hard. You’ve heard briefly about her cousins. Some of the stories are a bit more…eccentric than others. And even though you’ve never met them, you’ve heard enough stories to satisfy your curiosity. 

“This isn’t the manwhore cousin, right? Because if it is then no” 

She scoffs, “No. Aegon hasn’t set food in a gym since graduating and he only went cos it was free. The personal trainer one is Aemond. He’s a bit…anti-social?” she pulls a face when she says it.

“He’s anti-social and he’s a personal trainer?” you ask, eyebrow raised, “makes so much sense”

Baela scrolls through her contacts, “Yeahhh. Don’t worry though, he’s just grumpy” she explains, “want me to text him?”

Your head falls to the edge of the sofa in a huff. You want to go and on top of that, it might be nice to finally have a break. That and you’d love to shove it in your exes face when he sees you’re on holiday looking your hottest. 

“How long ‘til the holiday?”

Baela grins victoriously, “A month and a bit. He does a month course for stuff like this, I can ask him about it”

What the fuck am I getting myself into, you think briefly.

Fuck it.

“Fine”

The force at which Baela’s nails tap against the screen is almost desperate.

Baela snorts a laugh at the message and turns her phone to show you the messages.

“He seems lovely” you roll your eyes sarcastically.

“Like I said, he’s just grumpy. He’ll be professional though” she says.

You sigh, crushing the empty bag of crisps in your hands.

“Can’t wait” 

After following him on instagram, you did a bit of shameless stalking. You’d heard a little bit about Aemond from Baela talking about her family, but he seemed the most mysterious out of all of them (save for the youngest whose name she struggled to even remember). 

He had very little photos of himself, mainly progress pictures of other clients he’s helped. And he seems to be pretty successful so far. A girl with a similar body to you managed to get toned on his one-month program and looked hot afterwards, so you had some high hopes that it was possible for you as well. But you did wonder what he looked like. There were only two photos where he was in frame, and he’d been tagged by another person, looking away from the camera.

From what you could see, he was very tall, lithe and slim but built, with silver hair that had been pulled up into a bun. Ah, so he’s a man-bun type of guy. Yikes. 

Unfortunately, the photo showed very little of his face, so you couldn’t be too nosy.

You sent a very brief message, introducing yourself, trying not to cringe at the idea that he might be doing the exact same stalking to your instagram right at this moment. A shiver went up your spine at the thought. 

It’s only when you’re in TKMaxx with Baela, shopping for gym gear the next day, that you finally get a reply from him. 

“What do you think of just wearing a sports bra?” Baela says, eyeing up a black shirt.

You’re too busy staring at the message, “Hm? Oh, I’d just go in gym leggings and a bra yeah. Just got a reply from your mysterious cousin”

Baela hops over, “What’s he said? Nothing bad I hope” she grins.

 You show her the screen.

Baela raises her eyebrows, “Very formal. Guess I shouldn’t be surprised” she says, seeming surprised that he’s at least cordial.

“It’s very ‘serial-killer-esque’ of him not to have a profile picture” you joke, locking your phone again.

Baela picks out a black gym set. Black leggings with a mesh pocket on the side for your phone and a black sports bra. You nod, “Yeah looks good to me”

“Oh please you’re gonna look hot in this” she smirks, leading you over to the counter to pay.

She rewards you for your efforts by driving you to McDonald's drive-thru. A send off to junk-food so to speak.

And when Monday rolls around, you nod in the mirror. She was right, it does look hot on you. At least in the safety of your flat where there’s nobody to look at you. In a gym, surrounded by other fit people and a personal trainer you’ve never met? It might feel slightly different.

There’s a faint swirl of anxiety in your gut but you pull your trainers on, grab a hair tie from your nightstand and drive to the gym you’ve agreed to meet at. Luckily it’s your local gym, large and packed to the brim with some good equipment at least. And you briefly wonder what kind of workouts you’ll be doing before pulling into the car park.

You see him as soon as you enter the gym. He’s very tall, slender but muscular and fucking gorgeous. What the fuck, is all you can think when you shamelessly scan him from head to toe. Like the pictures, he has his long silver hair in a bun, with a few pieces having come free and falling around his face. His legs are miles long in the black sweats he’s wearing, as well as the black top that sticks a bit too snugly to his front and shoulders, making your mouth water a bit.

And you can’t help but admire his side profile, how his jaw just so naturally and sharply juts into his chin. How his cheekbones sit so prominently and high on his face, framing his features. His sharp, defined nose. And you can’t see from here because he’s looking down at his phone, but his eyelashes are unnaturally long for a man. It’s just unfair, frankly.

Shaking yourself briefly from the trance you were in, you right yourself and approach him.

He looks up to see you before you even have a chance to open your mouth. Now that he's looking at you face on, you can see the shocking blue of his right eye and the paler, soft hue of the other. Not only that but the angry scar that ran down the side of his face, extending from his forehead to the mid part of his cheek, straight through the eye.

You look at it for a split second, surmising that perhaps he's partially sighted or blind in that eye. But you choose not to say anything and instead smile with an awkward wave.

"Hey, you must be Aemond"

He openly drags his eyes over you, from head to toe, just like you did a moment ago without his knowledge. But now that you're standing right in front of him, in the gym gear that you totally don't feel a bit self conscious in, it feels a bit weird.

He doesn't reply for a moment.

"I'm y/n" you say, forcing a smile to your nervous face.

"Hm" he responds lowly, "Baela's friend" 

You pull an awkward face and nod.

You feel so stupidly small against this absolute giraffe of a man and you daren't step forward any more, for fear of looking even smaller under his judgemental and indifferent gaze.

He sighs and gestures for you to follow him, seeming disinterested as he looks down at his phone. For a brief second you wonder how this guy keeps his clients if he's this rude, but you shake the thought away, not wanting to judge too quickly.

He leads you into one of the consultation rooms, separate from the rest of the gym. He sits on one of the seats, sighing as if he's had the hardest day in the world and taking a swig of water from his bottle.

Sat across from him, you feel a bit small under his gaze. He's quite intimidating, you now find.

"Have you ever worked out before" he asks flatly.

You shrug, "I've tried I guess, but never super seriously" you laugh awkwardly, but he doesn't return it.

He runs his eyes over you again, as if to say yeah I can see that.

"Stand up. Shoes off. We're going to take your weight and measurements" he orders, going to his bag to grab some things.

It's beyond awkward and quiet in the room with him as he idly takes down your weight, height and current eating habits, which you've had to be more honest about than you'd cared to admit.

Standing in the middle of the room, he twirls his measuring tape on his fingers. He measures your upper body first, which isn't too bad until he gets to your bust. You try and look anywhere else in the room while he measures across it, his fingers landing softly at either arm, taking a note of the measurement. You internally scold yourself, he is so much taller and surely must be able to see right down the sports bra. It only serves to make your face heat up with embarrassment.

If that wasn't enough, he gets to your lower body, measuring your hips and then thighs. He gets to his knees to do it and you resist the urge to pull your hands into fists at the proximity of him to your intimate area, separated only by a thin pair of gym leggings and underwear.

He doesn't seem to bother himself with the awkwardness. And every time you look at his face, he seems indifferent, bored even. Even then, his face is unnaturally beautiful, even with the scar.

He must really not like people.

Aemond sighs having taken all his notes.

"We'll do one training session and see how much weight we can do" he instructs. You nod.

"I expect you to be in the gym four times a week, three in the week and once at the weekend. We'll do one session together a week so I can check your progress" 

His tone is so flat, all you can do is nod. He looks at you,

"Got it?" 

Your cheeks heat up, "Um, yeah"

"Good"

He leads you outside to the actual gym floor which luckily isn't too busy, side-eyeing you massively when you pull your hair up into a ponytail to get it off your neck.

His large form leads you over to where the mats are kept, haphazardly throwing two to the floor.

He doesn't say anything past one or two word commands and it's incredibly difficult to not look in the mirror in front of you to watch him as he stretches. The way he stretches his arms over his head and it lifts the hem of his shirt a little, showing his happy trail, biceps rippling.

And when he does leg stretches, instructing you to do the same, you can't help but stare at how his thighs are basically bulging out from his sweats. It takes all of your strength and will to not look any higher than that towards his hips.

He watches your form as you try and copy him stretching. And your heart almost leaps into your chest when he uses his hand to move your ankle slightly, so that you put pressure on a certain muscle. But he focuses completely, professional.

Fuck, be professional.

All caution is thrown completely to the wind when he gets you on machines. He demonstrates some of them first, starting with the so-called 'easier' ones, like the inner and outer thigh machines that look way too…suggestive.

Of course, he's got it on a ridiculous weight to demonstrate which makes you scoff a bit. And when you get on the inner thigh machine, it locks into place with your legs spread. You thank every god there is that there's no mirror in front of you on this machine.

"You have to start with your legs spread as much as possible" he states simply, pushing the pads against your legs even further. It makes your eyes widen, sinful thoughts pop up in your head. But before they take root you shake them away.

It's ridiculously hard the first few times and he raises an eyebrow.

"Really?" He mocks a bit, the tiniest of smirks on his face "you're only on 14kg" 

"Fuck off" you mutter under your breath. He tuts and changes it to 9kg, bruising your ego a bit. But you finish the set nonetheless.

You think he's a bit of a psycho, because after that little remark he has you on every leg machine available. Making fun every time you have to be on the lowest weight.

After the session, you're aching in places you didn't even know existed and you haven't even rested yet. Knowing full well you'll be achy as fuck tomorrow and even wlrse than right now. The faintest sheen of sweet is visible on your pinkened chest.

"You're weaker than I thought" 

He runs his long fingers through his hair and you want to slap that stupid fucking self-indulgent look off his smug face seeing you all out of puff like this.

"Thanks, means a lot" you say sarcastically, drinking from a water bottle. He raises an eyebrow at the attitude.

"I'll send you your workout plan. If you have any issues do me a favour and don't bother me with them" he retorts.

"Charming" you mutter under your breath once he's gone past you. You watch as he walks away, briefly appreciating his broad shoulders, until the sour taste of his poor behaviour settles in. And you huff, texting Baela immediately.

You curse every god there is that you drive a manual car, because right now the thought of having your aching leg pressing on the clutch pedal might actually drive you to mass-murder.

This is going to be a long month.

Taglist: @mrsgrwy @lovelykhaleesiii

[qprstobin]

Stobin Different First Meeting AU where they go to prom together. This was meant to be an au post and turned into a mini fic oops (written completely within a tumblr post so sorry for the poor quality)

(edit: realized I should link the fic I was inspired by for those who don't follow me and so didn't see me reblog it earlier)

Steve doesn't necessarily want to go to prom, right? Like yeah, he'd been imagining it for a while, but now that he was very, very single it just didn't have the same shine that it used to. And he really wasn't ready to start dating yet. However, he didn't want to just, not go to prom, and also knew it would seem really weird (and pretty fucking sad) if he didn't go.

Which leaves him in a conundrum.

He thought for a while that maybe he would go with one of the junior cheerleaders. While he didn't have any close friends anymore, he was still friendly with plenty of people. There were girls that wouldn't be going to prom unless they had a senior boyfriend - some he had even gone on dates with in the past who wouldn't think a single prom date meant that he wanted a new girlfriend.

However, he is pretty sure most of those girls would have... other expectations for the night. And honestly? He isn't quite sure that he was ready to get back on that horse either.

... Not that he thought women were horses.

He's pretty sure men are normally the ones called horses in riding metaphors.

Anyway.

That left him stuck. He couldn't just not go to prom, but also didn't want to wind up trapped on an actual date with someone. So who could he ask?

His solution ended up coming from an odd place.

Robin Buckley was... quite honestly, kind of a weirdo.

She was cute, in an alternative sort of way. She never took any of his shit (he wasn't completely sure she even liked him) but also reluctantly laughed at the snarky shit he said under his breath during their Film History class. And not in the fake giggly way girls did when they were flirting, but didn't actually care about what he was saying, just the way he said it. She actually seemed to think he was funny. Even if that revelation seemed to piss her off.

The only reason he was even in Film History that semester - and therefore, knew who she was - was for the easy A. He got to watch movies in class, and watch movies for homework. He was willing to plow through a couple of shitty essays in exchange for a class that he didn't feel like a complete idiot in.

(Well, he was pretty sure Robin thought he was an idiot about movies, but just because he had trouble remembering the names and shit of characters, didn't mean he couldn't analyze the themes, fuck you very much, Buckley.)

They had gotten assigned a project together early on, and it hadn't been completely terrible. She had quickly taken over doing most of the writing portions, but hadn't thought all of his ideas were terrible. By the end of the project he thought they were even sort of having fun together.

He'd always been one to try his luck, take a little more than he was given. So, after that assignment was over, he started sitting next to her in class, not wanting that easy, if sharp, camaraderie to end. Robin rolled her eyes at him and asked him what he thought he was doing the first time he did it, but she never sent him away.

They ended up chatting more and more during down times, passing notes to each other and sharing sly comments under their breaths during the movies. Steve often had trouble paying attention at school, his mind easily wandering away, and it was almost as bad during most movies, but Robin helped keep him on track.

The class turned into one that was done for the easy grade, a last ditch effort to improve his already hopeless GPA, and became one he actually enjoyed.

The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea of going to prom with Robin. It made the night seem a little less unbearable.

He thought about making a big deal out of asking her, because he knows that's what girls (and even Nancy) had enjoyed for past dances. He quickly scrapped that idea, however, because not only did he not want to put pressure on her like that, but also she seemed to hate public spectacles like that.

Or at least when aimed at her, they both enjoyed watching drama unfold in the halls a bit too much to say she hated it completely.

So Steve waits until the end of the day, their film class being their last, to pull her into an empty classroom. She follows him without question in a show of trust he didn't realize she had in him. The notion warms him, and for some reason makes it more difficult to get the question out.

"Why do I feel like you're about to try to sell me drugs or something?" Robin asked, raising an eyebrow at him. He squints at her in offense.

"Why is that your first assumption?!"

"I don't know! Why else are you pulling me out of the hallway all secretive like, making sure no one followed us, into an abandoned classroom," she asks, throwing her arms into the air.

"The classroom isn't abandoned, it's the end of the day! Also, who does drug deals on campus, that's just stupid?" He asks rhetorically, before waving one hand through the air, as if trying to erase the current thread of conversation. "That doesn't matter, you're distracting me."

"Well then, get on with it! Some of us have practice we need to get to."

"It's like talking to the kids," he mutters to himself, "Whatever. I wanted to ask - will you go to prom with me?"

That stops Robin up short. There's panic in her eyes now, though Steve isn't sure what exactly put it there. Was his reputation that bad that even band geeks are terrified of getting asked out by him?

"You want to go on a date? With me?" she asks slowly, disbelief coloring her voice, though it doesn't hide her unease.

"No, I want to go to prom with you," he scoffs, "Not go on a date with you."

"That is a date, dingus! The person you go to prom with is literally called your date!"

"Okay, sure, maybe, but I don't actually want to date you," he said, rolling his eyes at her.

Like, okay, he understood his reputation for being... what did she call him last week? A 'huge effing rake'? But that didn't mean that he was trying to date any girl that looked in his direction. A lot of girls looked in his direction. That was too many women, even for him.

Robin relaxes a little at that.

"Then why are you asking me to prom instead of someone you actually want to date?"

"Because!" he says, resisting the urge to flail his hands back at her. "I don't want to date anyone right now. Most people I ask are going to expect all these things from me - they're going to want dinner, and at the very least a kiss at the end of the night if not more, or another date the very next day. Because Steve Harrington is supposed to want those things!" He takes a deep breath and runs a hand through his hair to calm himself. "But right now? I really don't."

"Well then, what does Steve the Hair Harrington actually want?" She had relaxed fully at this point, a smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

"I want to go to prom with someone I consider a friend, someone who makes me laugh," he says after a moment of silence. "I want to dance badly to really corny pop music and drink just enough spiked punch that I don't remember how much I hate wearing any sort of tie. Then I want to go get milkshakes or go see a really trashy midnight horror flick, just because I'm having so much fun I don't want the night to end."

That small smile has grown into a reluctant grin on Robin's face. It makes her eyes shine and her freckles pop. Steve thought that if he was in a better place, if they had met at a different time, he could have fallen in love with her.

But they had met now instead, in some shitty public school elective course, and she was the closest thing he had to a friend that wasn't a snotty middle schooler.

"That sounds... like a lot of fun, actually," she says, mischief sparking on her face. "Who would've known the hidden depths hidden behind all that hair."

"Hey!" he protests half-heartedly, unable to keep a grin of his own off his face. "So what do you say? Wanna go to prom with me?"

"I guess," she sighs, acting like it was such a trial to go to prom with him. Him! But her next words make up for it. "Since we're friends, and all. However, I still expect you to buy me dinner, though you can keep the kiss goodnight to yourself."

Steve can't help the giddy laugh from spilling out of him. For the first time in weeks, he is actually looking forward to prom.

[denaliwrites]

Road to Hell

Crowley x GN!Reader

Summary: Of all the subjects Crowley thought he might walk in on you researching in the bookshop, demonology was probably at the bottom of the list.

Requests: Open!

Warnings: Crowley is a dick (affectionate).

"What're you reading today?" Crowley asked, towering over you with a contemplative look. You lifted the book for him to see and in return he offered a shocked choking sound in the back of his throat. "Demonology, huh? What... inspired you to read that?"

He hadn't told you anything about him and Aziraphale being a demon and an angel, respectively. As far as he knew, Aziraphale hadn't broached the topic with you, either. To him, there was absolutely no reason for you to be reading about anything even remotely connected to his or Aziraphale's status as supernatural beings.

Yet here you were.

Reading a book on demonology.

You shrugged in response to his question, bringing the book back down to your lap to read comfortably. "I'd never checked out the occult section before, so I decided to read something from there and this was the most interesting looking book on the whole shelf."

"Ah, right." That did, to Crowley's immense relief, make sense. You'd read at least one book from nearly every section in the bookshop -- why wouldn't you, at some point, venture into the occult?

"Can't help but wonder how accurate it is, though," you mused aloud. "Pretty sure we've all collectively decided that demonic possessions are all just mentally ill people being misunderstood and abused by the church, right? Or I guess sometimes maybe people seeking attention? So how much of this is, like... considered true, I guess?"

"Do you... believe in demons?" Crowley asked carefully.

"Not really. I mean, I feel like if they were real, we'd have more evidence than just... the church saying so? Like, surely atheists and Satanists would've met a ton of demons by now, but I don't see any atheists or Satanists ever talking about meeting demons."

Crowley had to admit that was a fair cop. Maybe a little... small-minded, at least cosmically speaking, but you were but a human. That could be excused.

"What if they were real?" he asked, coming to sit on the arm of the chair you occupied. "What if you met a demon? Knew a demon, even?"

You made a sound at the back of your throat that sounded an awful lot like the one he made. "I'd have a lot of things I needed to reconsider, for starters."

"Oh? Like what?"

"Well," you started, closing the book and turning so that you were facing him. "If demons were real, then I think the next logical step would be that angels were real, and if angels were real then the next step from that point would be that God's real."

He rocked back slightly to better look at you, clicking his tongue curiously. "Is that so bad, really?"

You sighed dramatically. It was a sound he loved -- it usually came before something remarkably human. Something remarkably You. "Anthony Janthony Cranthony," you lamented, "I cannot ever, under any circumstances, let my parents know that I regret not going to church more."

Anthony Janthony Cranthony? Why had you called him that? Of all things, to go with Anthony Janthony Cranthony...

He supposed that wasn't really the point to what you were saying. Something about your parents and church, though, that was the point.

"Not sure why they'd have to know," he said casually with a shrug.

Your eyes widened in shocked realization. "Oh, fuck, you're right! They'd never have to know. You're brilliant," you said, to him -- you'd called him brilliant! He beamed at that. "Going to Hell anyway, if all that were real, may as well add 'disrespecting my parents' to my list of sins."

Oh.

"Why do you think you'd go to Hell, darling?"

"It's not like I've been living a pious life, y'know?" you said, blinking up at him. "I curse, I've fucked out of wedlock, I'm reading all about demons and witchcraft and shit. I don't believe in God? I'm pretty sure that's one of the big no-nos."

It was his turn to blink, but his was followed up with a laugh. "Oh, love, God does not care about any of those things. Trust me."

"Oh, God, are you a Christian? Have you been this whole time? I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to offend--"

"No, no, nothing like that. I..."

How did he tell you? Should he even tell you? He was sure Aziraphale might have something to say on the matter, but right now he couldn't be fucked, because you were here, looking up at him so innocently, so adoringly.

"What is it, Crowley?" And you sounded so concerned, so ready to take him into your arms and comfort him and apologize for a crime you hadn't even committed.

"I'm a demon."

The words tumbled forth from his lips before he could stop himself, and they hovered in the air for several silent and tense moments after, where all you did was stare at him.

And then you laughed -- and he wished he could laugh too. Hell, he wished he could hear even a trace of joy in your laugh. But it was all nerves and fear, like you weren't sure if this was some sick joke or if he was delusional.

When his expression didn't change, when he didn't yell out "sike!" or "gotcha!," your laugh died and then you just looked scared of him.

It nearly broke him, because if this was how you reacted before proof, how would you react when he showed you the truth?

But you didn't run away, so he carefully removed his glasses and blinked as his eyes adjusted to the light. Yours were locked onto the yellow irises, the slitted pupils that contracted and dilated at will.

He could tell you wanted to deny the reality of them -- that you wanted to write them off as contacts, but they wouldn't let you, because contacts couldn't dilate.

The only other things he could do -- well, within the confines of the bookshop, were show you his wings or turn into a snake. He wasn't huge on the latter option, at least not right now -- it definitely put him at a disadvantage, made him easier to discorporate.

So, instead, he moved to a stand. And his wings fanned out as you watched, and then, he figured, you'd run out the door screaming, never to be seen again. He hoped you lived well. He closed his eyes so that he didn't have to watch you walk away.

You got up -- he could hear the rustling of fabric, the relieved groan of the chair, the book falling onto the cushion. He expected the little bell above the door to signal your departure at any moment.

Instead, he felt your hands on his face, pulling him nearer to you. His eyes opened, stared into yours. The fear had gone, replaced by unabashed curiosity and deep, untamed love.

He expected many things to come out of that lovely mouth of yours. So God is real? Am I going to Hell? I don't want to go to Hell! What did I do to deserve going to Hell???

(You weren't going to Hell -- but after the initial question, people tended to panic and vomit the others out uncontrollably.)

He expected those questions. A handful of a select few others. He did not anticipate what you actually asked --

"Do you have a cool demon name?"

"A... Sorry, a what?"

"You know... Beelzebub, Asmodeus, Lucifer, Belial. What's your demon name?"

"O-oh... No... no 'cool' demon name, I'm afraid. Just... Just Crowley..."

He hadn't expected to be embarrassed and doubly hadn't expected to see a beaming smile on your face.

"I think Crowley's the coolest demon name, personally."

He could see in your eyes that you meant it -- and that made him smile.

"Isn't it just?" he asked with a relieved laugh.

"Now I gotta know what all you've done as a demon. I mean -- how old are you?"

"Old as the universe, darling."

He could see the moment your brain started trying to process that unfathomable information, and he could also see the moment it gave up. You moved on as if nothing happened, but Crowley took a moment to appreciate he wouldn't have to miracle your memories away before your brain went into nuclear meltdown.

"Why aren't you in Hell?"

"It's dreadfully boring."

"Why are you here?"

"I just think humans are neat... and your lot is very good at making booze."

"Have you done anything cool as a demon?"

"I met Shakespeare, I stopped some Nazi spies, I tempted Eve, I stopped Armageddon..."

"You what!?"

"Oh, yeah..." He made that sound in his throat. You copied it, seemingly from instinct. He wasn't even sure you noticed that you did it. "Long story, but Aziraphale and I convinced the Antichrist to just... not do the whole ending the world thing."

"Who's Aziraphale?"

"Oh. Right. Mr. Fell."

"... Mr. Fell? This Mr. Fell?" You motioned to the bookshop at large and Crowley nodded. "Is he a demon too?"

Crowley laughed -- an uproarious, barking laugh, that lasted much longer than was strictly necessary.

"Oh, you better not let him hear that," he said once he'd calmed down.

"... So he's not a demon?" you mumbled, and Crowley realized he'd accidentally made you feel bad.

He took one of your hands in his and guided it away from his face so that he could kiss the palm. "No, darling, he's not." He kissed your palm again. "He's an angel."

"I'm sorry -- he's a what?"

"An angel, of course. Really, like he could be anything else."

Nothing against him, of course, but he very much was what he was.

"So why are an ageless angel and demon wasting their time with me, a human who'll wither and die? Why go through that for me?"

"Well, it's not exactly our fault you weaseled your way into our lives," he said with an indignant hgk. "But now that you're here, we can't really imagine the place without you."

"I think that's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to me, and I can't believe it came from a demon."

"Don't let the angel know I let you get away with calling me sweet. He'd never let me live it down."

[serialunaliver]

My response to this post about the possibility of Michigan school shooter Ethan Crumbley's mom being charged with involuntary manslaughter I was tagged in (putting it in a separate post because I don't feel like starting shit with anyone):

The case here being used is unique to other shootings. Typically mental illness is not actually the primary deciding factor for violence. Media coverage of school shootings has caused more school shootings than mental illness. A large amount of school shooters were inspired by the ideology of other school shooters. If Columbine wasn't treated the way it was I have no doubt there would've been less shootings.

When it comes to negligence involving mental health I don't actually see a big increase in surveillance or institutionalization as some are claiming though. The fact is parents can already use mental health as an excuse to force their kids into abusive 'treatment' with no consequence. It happens in every psych ward. It's also already used in legal cases as well, that happened to me and it did in fact lead to being forced into harmful treatment, so really the precedent and incentive is already there for those who choose it in my opinion. Meanwhile there's the opposite case where parents would rather their kid cause destruction than admit any mental health issue exists regardless of consequence. Logic is thrown out the window for the most part.

Now the defense of Ethan's mom is claiming he is a manipulator and not mentally ill. While anyone who follows me knows I despise the mental health argument about school shootings, it's quite clear this kid's actions prior to the shooting were at the very least a cry for help. He didn't try to make this secretive and even drew pictures of it. If his parents didn't care about this, it's possible he's neglected in some way at home, which can actually lead to antisocial behavior and acts of violence or threats of them, because, well, one would assume your parents would finally give a fuck about your well-being in that case. I'm diagnosed with a cluster B personality disorder partially due to "manipulative behavior" in the past which seemed horrible and illogical but was literally the only way I thought anyone would know I was hurting. Obviously I don't know if this is what's actually going on in Ethan's case, but what everyone can agree on is the parents' response to all this was not normal or acceptable and doesn't exactly paint an image of a well-adjusted family. And I do wonder if the "manipulator" argument comes from the (most common) perception that anyone with this behavior was just born evil.

ANYWAY, here are some articles/resources on common causes of school shootings and how media coverage and environment impact them, both to spread awareness and to point out that you should not in fact paint anyone as born evil or a future shooter just for certain issues.

• Bullies, black trench coats: Columbine’s most dangerous myths

• Violence has grown since California's incel shooting

• Who is most likely to get bullied at school?

• School shootings and student mental health (Includes more detailed statistics but some are misleading - the one on bullying is based on public perception of shootings, not actual cases, and the one on violent video games has no real correlation. Let this be a reminder to research your own sources!)

[moodywyrm]

the thought of abby having 0 spacial awareness and having No personal space is so funny to me :)) she believes she’s just a little guy when in reality she’s this huge, almost over 6 ft golden retriever of a gf, which leads to her knocking Everything she comes into contact with over.

like, she’s more composed around others and understands how to move in crowds and everything but as soon as y’all are at home, she is right up in your personal bubble, gluing herself to you while you clean the apartment and in the process accidentally making more of a mess as you move from place to place. n the whole time she has her little :] bc she loves being near you

but oh lord, as soon as you notice the floor being cluttered with random shit that abby unintentionally knocked (with her huge arms mmmmm) over, you have to ban her to the couch for the time being. nd she just sits there like :( with her cute pout watching you move around without her, thinking you must be getting cold and lonely :(( and she misses you so much even though you’re 3 feet away :((((( she’s just “hun can i come join u? :[”

of course you finish about 10 minutes later (but that might as well have been months. years. decades. centuries. to abby) and she’s flopped over on the couch, sighing dramatically with her arms crossed and an angry pout on her face. nd you come over and lay next to her, slipping under her arms and snuggling up to her, kissing her frown away and she’s :]

i’m sorry i. love her so much.

okay we're putting this in the college basketball abby x chubby reader universe because I have Thoughts, although the chubby/plus size aspect isn't really mentioned here. also since this is the first time I've written for college basketball abby in a while, just a reminder to anyone new here that my college basketball abby is inspired by @elsweetheart, who pretty much kicked off the whole college basketball au!

Like, is Abby incredibly agile on the court? Yes. Is she hyper aware of how she takes us space on and off the court? Also yes. Does all of that awareness fly out the window when you're in her general vicinity? Absolutely.

She just can't help it! It's like your presence has rewired her brain to forget any and all conventions of personal space, all she knows is she has to be close to you. With anyone else she's incredibly aware of her surroundings, because she knows she's a big girl and if she's not careful with her strength she could hurt someone! And sometimes she slips up, hence the multiple times she's knocked over stacks of books in your apartment, or every time she accidentally slams her hip into the kitchen island, or when she accidentally shoulder checks someone on campus and then inadvertently starts beef </3 But with you? Any and all concerns fly out the window, because she also knows she'll never intentionally hurt you.

I've talked about this a bit before, but when y'all are cooking dinner she is Glued to you. As long as it's safe to do so, Abby is clinging to your back like a koala. If she could wrap herself around you and have you carry her around the apartment, she would. When you're cleaning, if you don't let her cling to you, she's hovering like two feet away from you.

Side note, when this happens, she's too focused on you to have any sort of awareness about her surroundings. Cue her slamming into corners, bumping shit off surfaces, and once even stepping on the tip of Haley's tail. If you're wondering, this last one did result in Abby sitting crosslegged on the floor crying and snuggling Haley, giving her treats and pets and apologizing for like an hour. You sat next to her, rubbing her back and holding Soot, trying not to giggle because Haley wasn't even upset. The sweet little pittie was just happy to be with her mom, wiggling her tail and leaving kisses all over Abby's face, which made her cry even harder.

Anyways! With all her girlfriend-induced clumsiness, she's producing more mess than you started with, so you take her by the shoulders and tell her to go sit down on the couch. She listens, because she is never gonna argue with something her girlfriend says like, whatever you say, gorgeous <3 But then you have her sitting on the couch like a pouty baby, watching you with those big puppy eyes as you flit around the room. You're literally in the same room as her, you're talking to her, and yet she's like my wife is off at war :(

By the time you're done tidying up living room she's shimmied to the part of the couch that's closest to you, sprawled over the arm of the couch to reach out for you.

"I miss you :[ I'm wasting away here."

"Abby it's been fifteen minutes and I was right here the whole time," You giggle, rolling your eyes even as you're climbing on the couch and being sucked into her arms. The second you're settled into her lap, she's all smiles, grinning like a fool and pressing kisses all over your face. Doesn't let you go for the rest of the night.

Oh my god also. Abby is 100% the type of gf to go to the bathroom with you. Doesn't matter what time of night it is, if you get up to go to the bathroom, even if you try your hardest to not wake her up, you best believe she is hot on your tail. And vice versa, whenever she wakes up at 3am needing to pee, she wakes you up and pulls you to the bathroom, holding your hand while you're both bleary eyed and sleepy.

I've also mentioned that I think Abby runs hot, body temperature wise, which makes cuddling in the summer hell. The summer before your last year of college, the city experience a terrible heatwave that busted the AC in the building. Did Abby give you any space at all when it came to sleeping at night? Absolutely not, baby was soaked in sweat but still clinging on to you. Nothing would stop her, not even when you moved to sleep on the couch to get some reprieve from the heat. You woke up the next morning with Abby wrapped around you, wearing nothing but sweaty boxers and sleeping like a baby.

I love her so much I missed writing for her <3 Abby my beautiful girl <3

[lorcandidlucienwill]

A rant from Eris if he finds out how Cassian treated Nesta

Eris: What the hell is wrong with you people? Rhysand: Excuse me? Eris: You have the chance to befriend a goddess in a Fae body, and you lock her in a house when she's depressed? Are you insane? Rhysand: Now see, she was wasting away- Eris: And, what, you thought locking her away was the SOLUTION? Rhysand: I had to do something! She was spending my money! Eris: Oh shut up Reece's Piece of shit. Don't complain about money like you don't have 5 fucking palaces you dickhead. If Nesta asked for my money, I'd have said, whatever you wish, queen!" Rhysand: That's because you didn't see her- Eris: I saw her when she was just made before you morons even knew what she was. And I'm not talking about her silver flames. She made all the High Lords listen. Even my father. A human just turned Fae. How dare you treat her like she's something to be ashamed of? That brute had her hike a MOUNTAIN? Those flawless feet should not have to do any manual labor. Rhysand: She revealed our secrets to Feyre. Eris: Yeah, the malignant pregnancy. Why the hell wasn't Feyre being informed anyway? Nesta was completely right to tell her. You're worse than my father, Rhysand. Rhysand: How dare you- Eris: Did I give you permission to speak, you Illyrian brute? At least my father would've tried to save his wife from the unborn child. He would've yeeted that mfer out as soon as he or she appeared. But you didn't do shit to try and protect the mother. No, you were more concerned about the goddamn egg. Rhysand: How dare you speak to me this way- Eris: You GASLIGHTED her into believing she's worthless, all while making her complete the tasks of a HIGH LADY by going after the Dread Trove. And when she was at her lowest, she inspired an entire library of traumatized priestesses to rise up and restore the Valkyries. And you dare treat her that way? You don't even realize the treasure you have. I would've made her my High Lady without hesitation. Matter of fact, I think I'll call the Blood Duel for her. Rhysand: You'd better not try anything, Eris, or I swear... Eris: You'll what? Kill me? Didn't Lucien tell you? Death threats are simply another Sunday evening while growing up with Beron as a father. Fucking try me, bitch. You should be grateful I spared your little Morrigan from her father after you forced him on her. Rhysand: What do you think you're d- Eris: I'll see you at the blood duel!

@thatlosernoonelikes This is Eris's part of the rant!

[swimmingismywholelife]

The Only Reason

Summary: Even though your relationship with Christian has been rocky, neither of you are willing to go down without a fight.

Warnings: 18+, arguments, panic attack, a lot of crying, angst but a fluffy (if you can call it that I guess) ending, SMUT, some dirty talk, soft dom!Chris, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it and make sure you're not allergic to your wrap!), fingering, oral (f receiving), creampie, the smut is sweet tbh

WC: 4.4K

A/N: It's my birthday but this is a present for all of you! Inspired by "The Only Reason" by 5 Seconds of Summer. My first attempt at smut which lowkey I wasn't supposed to add but it fit anyway. This is a step considering I'm openly horny on main now so you might see more in the future 👀. I literally changed it 1274045923845 times but I'm happy with the way it turned out so I hope you guys think it's good-

"Even though my dizzy head is numb

I swear my heart is never giving up.

You're the reason

The only reason."

~~~

The front door slammed shut, indicating Christian was finally home from training. You sighed, praying this would blow over quickly so you could enjoy your dinner.

The past few weeks had been incredibly frustrating for the both of you. Chelsea had been on a losing streak with hardly any goals and Christian hardly got any play time. He was in the middle of trying to negotiate some sort of deal with the club, either to transfer or give him more playing time. Although it wasn't the option he preferred, it was likely he'd be transferred somewhere else soon, and with that contract talks had to be opened. He loved Chelsea, but the club didn't seem to return that love to him. It heavily weighed on Christian's mind, slowly draining him of the love he had for the sport, sending him deeper into a depressive and angry spiral causing him lash out on everyone.

On top of that, your own stresses had started building up. Your workload had tripled due to you being short staffed. Every time you thought you were done with a project, a modification was added or a brand new one was added to your list of things to do. You were working overtime almost every single day and you were close to ripping your hair out.

Between your work and Christian's training, you'd hardly seen each other over the past few months. He'd been extra short with you recently, something that was pretty unusual for Christian. You were typically the one who struggled to keep your anger in check, but these days it seemed your boyfriend could give you a run for your money. Most days you spent sleeping away from each other as opposed to being cuddled in each others arms. During the very brief moments you did end up spending time together, more often than not it resulted in some kind of an argument.

You both agreed earlier that morning that you were in desperate need of some kind of date night to ease your minds and to spend time together. You decided that a simple dinner would be sufficient enough. It was something small, you wouldn't have to go anywhere, and it was always one of your favorite date ideas since you'd gotten together. You were excited to finally spend time with your boyfriend even if it wasn't anything fancy.

But you knew by the way Christian slammed the door that he thought otherwise. He angrily threw his training bag to the side, grumbling to himself.

"Chris, it doesn't do you any good to pace angrily around the house," you sighed. "At least come eat and try to take your mind off things."

It seemed you only made him angrier.

"God, what don't you get?!" he snapped back. "Fucking food isn't gonna help the situation. Our team is shit, this situation is shit, everything is shit!"

You stood up from your place at the table, upset with Christian for yelling at you when you just wanted to help.

"I understand you're frustrated with everything, but don't take it out on me!" you yelled back. "All I'm trying to do is help you. I'm not a fucking emotional punching bag for you to take your shit out on Christian!"

He slammed his hands on the table, the sound echoing throughout the entire house. It startled you. Christian wasn't one to express his anger through violence like this.

"Why do I even keep fucking trying with you?! All you do is nag and nag and nag! You keep 'trying to help' but you're not!" he screamed back. "All you do is get in my face of 'oh Christian do this,' 'oh Christian try and do that.' Get out of my face for once I'm fucking tired of it!"

You were stunned. Your heart with each word Christian spat out at you. You loved him, but you knew you didn't deserve what he'd been giving you for the past few months.

"Fine. I'll 'get out of your face,'" you said calmly.

"Actually you know what? I'll do it myself. Being in here suffocates me," he said venomously, grabbing his keys and storming out the house.

You moved into the bedroom the two of you shared. What once felt like home to you felt like a prison suffocating you the longer you stood in it. And you just fell to your knees and cried.

You couldn't pinpoint the exact moment where it all started going wrong. You and Christian weren't perfect of course, but you just worked. You understood each other like no one else. You'd experienced things together that you'd never had with other people. You hadn't grown up with Christian in the past, but that didn't matter. He was your present and was going to be your future.

But that was then. Somewhere along the way, things changed. Nowadays he barely made time for you. He was gone before you woke up and you were asleep before he came home. Date nights were nonexistent, special occasions stopped being special. You couldn't keep begging for his attention, wondering if this time would be enough to keep it.

You didn't want things to end. That was absolutely the last thing you wanted to do. You loved Christian with everything you had. But you were the only one trying and you both knew that. Somewhere Christian just fell out of love with you while you were desperately trying to grasp onto something. But it was no use. He was gone a long time ago.

Christian was in the middle of figuring out the trajectory of his career, unsure if he was to wait out his contract with Chelsea for the next season or leave for a club that truly appreciated him. And pretty soon, he would be flying back to the States for international break. The last thing you wanted to do was add onto the stress Christian was feeling.

But how long would you have to keep sacrificing your own happiness for the sake of his?

Christian didn't come home that night, nor the night after that, nor the night after that. Not that you really expected him to. He hadn't been home all that much anyway, and even while he was there physically, he wasn't there. So sleeping alone in your bed wasn't that much of a foreign feeling anymore anyway. And the longer he was away, the foggier your mind became. The answer was right there in front of you. This was Christian blatantly telling you how he felt about your relationship. Right?

It wasn't until about a week later that Christian had contacted you, letting you know he'd be coming back that night. You mentally prepared yourself for the worst.

The door opened, causing you to snap out of your thoughts. You could hear the clattering of the keys being placed on the table and footsteps heading up the stairs.

The lights flickered in your bedroom. Your eyes met his, startling him.

"Oh hey, I didn't realize you'd still be up," Christian said surprised, removing his jacket and placing it on a chair.

"We need to talk Christian," you said, trying to prevent your voice from wavering.

"We'll talk in the morning, Y/N. It's kind of late and I don't want another fight right now," he responded.

"I'm serious Christian," you answered, feeling your heart breaking already. "And I don't think this can wait until morning."

"Why do you keep using my full name?" Christian asked uncomfortably. "You only use it like this when something's really wrong."

You didn't answer. Instead you got up from your place on the bed and hugged his waist, completely breaking down. You felt like you couldn't breathe through all the tears and the pain you felt. Your body gave out as you fell to the ground, taking Christian with you.

For a second time that night, Christian was surprised. He immediately wrapped his arms around you, kissing your head.

"Hey, hey, baby what's wrong? What's going on?" he asked.

You couldn't get the words out. You only cried harder as he led you back to your bed. You took in this moment with him, not knowing if this was the last night you would sharing with him. You tried to memorize the scent of his favorite cologne, how perfectly you fit into his arms, the way his kisses felt. You wanted to remember how safe you felt with Christian and how your heart longed for him to come home to you.

"It's okay, baby, it's okay. I'm right here. I won't ever let anything hurt you," he said, trying to soothe you.

Little did he realize he was the reason you were hurting so much.

You held Christian close to you as the weight of your decision started to kick in. You wanted nothing more in this world than to be with Christian. He meant everything to you. You wanted it all with him. You wanted to marry him one day, carry his children, grow old together. You wanted to wear his last name to every game he played, to support him as he reached all his dreams. You could have nothing but Christian and you would be perfectly content.

Your mother had told you growing up that every scenario that came your way had three answers: yes, no, or wait. And you so desperately wanted to believe Christian was your sign that being patient was worth it. That waiting would be worth it. That one day it would bring you the happiness you craved and you deserved.

But how long were you supposed to wait? How long had you waited for him to fulfill his promises? How long had you been patient with him? How long had you stayed loyal every time he'd taken his anger out on you? How long had you been contemplating if you were worth saving? Was this just patience or were you holding onto something that you should've let go of a long time ago?

"I'm sorry for what I said earlier baby," he said, stroking your hair trying to soothe you. "I didn't mean it. I love you so much. I'm sorry. I'm so, so, so sorry."

You couldn't get words out. You needed just one last night to call yourself his before you could make your final decision.

"Just hold me please," you sobbed out, gripping his body as hard as you could.

"I'll do whatever you need baby. I'm right here. I'll always be right here."

Christian was scared. He didn't fully understand what was going on or why you were crying the way you were. But he knew something was off and something was wrong. So he just held you as you let out all the emotions you'd been feeling for weeks.

Christian knew it was more serious than he initially thought when you kept crying for over an hour. He didn't realize how absent he'd been from your life until then. How long had you been feeling such emotional turmoil? What else had he missed? Why were you crying this hard for so long?

Truthfully, he was afraid to find out. As shitty of a boyfriend he'd been over the past few weeks, Christian loved you with every fiber of his being. The last thing he wanted to do was lose you, the relationship you'd built up for years together.

But he knew the likelihood of a break up was probably looming in your mind. Was this it? Was this a sign that something was coming to an end? He didn't want to know. He knew you two needed to talk, especially after the way he walked out. But he was afraid of the outcome.

So he just held you close to him, praying this wouldn't be the last time he got to feel you like this. He took in your scent, trying to memorize the way you felt in his arms. He left kisses on your forehead, shoulders, and cheeks, wiping the tears away as he went.

You eventually calmed down, your grip on Christian never loosening.

"Christian I-" you gasped out.

"It's okay baby, take your time. You don't have to rush anything you don't want to," he whispered gently, kissing your forehead again.

"I'm sorry," you said quietly.

"Baby, you have nothing to be sorry about," he said. "If anything, I should be the one who's sorry. I've been such a horrible boyfriend. I shouldn't have said what I said, I shouldn't have done what I did."

"Christian…" you trailed.

"Shh, it's okay baby. It's okay. We don't have to talk about this right now. We can talk about this in the morning. Just let me hold you right now. Everything is going to be okay," he said softly.

"Chris I'm scared," you whispered.

His heart broke a little knowing you were scared of what morning would entail.

"I'm scared too baby. I'm so fucking scared," he admitted. "But we'll talk about this when it comes okay? Just be here with me now. Nothing else is going to hurt you tonight I promise."

The two of you were laying on your side facing each other. Your head was tucked into his chest, tears flowing every so often. Christian never once let go, not even when his arms started going numb. You were afraid to close your eyes, scared that Christian would be gone the moment you opened them.

Your body stopped shaking and you eventually stopped crying during the early morning hours. You were quiet. And if he didn't know you well, Christian would've believed you were asleep.

But he knew better. He knew that you couldn't sleep because neither could he. Just two souls barely hanging on by a thread not knowing how to fix it.

Did you want to fix things? Or were things so far gone there was nothing you could do anymore? Was this still worth it? Was a future still possible? Would love be enough to save this?

You were set on breaking up with him the night before. You were so sure that's what you wanted. But under the moonlight that peaked through your window, you didn't know what to do anymore. Your head was dizzy with thoughts and you couldn't think clearly anymore.

"Christian?" you called out quietly.

"Yeah?"

"What are we doing?"

His body tensed at the question. He was quiet at first, not wanting to say the wrong thing. He knew this was it. His answer would either make or break your relationship.

"I don't know baby," he answered honestly.

You nestled your head further into his chest.

"I don't want to keep doing this. Guessing if you still want us. You're either in or you're out Chris. I don't want to keep playing your games."

Christian had to stop himself from letting out a sob and took a deep breath. You didn't trust him or his words anymore. And realizing that absolutely broke his heart.

"Can you look at me Y/N?" he asked.

You hesitated for a moment before lifting your head. Christian cupped your cheek with his hand, gently rubbing his thumb back and forth. He rested his forehead on yours.

"You don't have to say anything okay? Just hear me out. I know I've been a shitty boyfriend. I know I haven't been there for you. I haven't treated you well. I've lashed out on you when you've done nothing but love and support me. Through all the shit the world's thrown at me this season, you've been everything I need and more. And I haven't appreciated that. And you deserve so much more than what I've been giving you."

Christian stopped for a moment, taking the opportunity to look at you. How could he have hurt you so bad? How could he let everything slip between his fingers?

"I'm sorry for everything I've put you through. I'm sorry that you've lost trust in my words. You always tell me that my words, my actions, and my intentions need to line up and they haven't been and I'm so sorry for that. I'm sorry I've broken so many promises. And most of all, I'm sorry that you're hurting and I'm the cause of it when I told you I'd never let anyone hurt you. I failed to see what was right in front of me and I've taken you for granted and I'm so sorry."

A tear fell from your eye, quickly caught by Christian's thumb.

"I don't deserve you. I really don't. You know that and I know that better than anyone."

He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead further into yours.

"But please don't give up on us. I know you can't trust my words right now, but I swear to you I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I can't let you go. Not now and not ever. No more games. No more confusion. No more trying to guess where my head and where my heart stand with you. Right here, right now, forever and always I'm with you. My head is with you. My heart is with you. All of me is with you. And I promise I'll prove it every day for as long as I live. So please. Give me one last chance to be with you."

You didn't know what to say. You didn't know what you wanted anymore. How could you trust him? He was saying all the right words, but did he really mean it? Were they more empty words?

Yes, no, or wait. Just like your mother said. But you'd waited so long that it seemed almost futile. Had you been wasting your time? Or was this what you were meant to do?

And though your head was fighting with itself, dizzy and numb from the constant questions running around, you knew where your heart lied. So you did the only thing you felt could portray how you felt enough to give him and answer.

You lifted your chin and kissed him deeply, wrapping your arms around his neck. His grip on your cheek was firm, bringing you as close as you could physically get. The tears wouldn't stop flowing from either of your faces, but none of that mattered. What mattered was here and now.

Yes, no, or wait. And you finally got your answer.

He kissed you like you were the oxygen he needed to breathe. And truthfully, he needed you to breathe.

You pulled back ever so slightly, just enough for you to be able to talk.

"You get one chance at this Chris. Only one," you said breathlessly. "Don't waste it."

His lips were back on yours in response, his teeth tugging on your bottom lip. You let out a soft moan as he pushed you onto your back, settling himself in between your legs. He pulled back keeping his forehead to yours breathing heavily.

"I love you Y/N. I love you so much you don't even know," he said. "I won't waste it. Not ever again."

You grabbed his shirt and pulled him back to your lips, needing to feel him closer. Your hands traveled underneath his shirt, nails scratching his skin lightly as they roamed his chest.

Christian pulled back from you for a moment to rip his shirt off before attaching his lips back to yours, giving you more access to him. You couldn't keep your hands off each other, your legs wrapping around his hips to bring you even closer to him.

"Chris," you whispered. "I need-"

"I know baby," he answered. "I know. Let me take care of you."

You whimpered beneath him as his lips moved to your neck, leaving a trail of marks as he gave you sloppy but gentle kisses. He bit down on the spot just below your ear, causing you to let out a loud moan.

"Does that feel good baby?" he whispered into your ear, sending shivers down your spine that resonated throughout your whole body.

"God yes Chris it feels so good please," you begged beneath him.

His hands grabbed the bottom of your shirt, bringing it over your head and pressing his chest against yours as he kissed your lips gently.

"So fucking beautiful. And all mine," he said to himself.

His lips returned to your neck, this time the trail leading to your breasts. You gasped as you felt his tongue along your nipple, pressing yourself further into his mouth. You only squirmed more as he moved to your other side, your fingers tangled in his hair tugging lightly. He kissed down your torso until he reached the band of your shorts.

"May I?" he asked softly.

You nodded your head frantically.

"Words baby." His fingers hooked into them, toying with the fabric. "You know the drill. I can't give you what you want unless you tell me."

"Yes please," you whined, wiggling your hips in the hopes of getting the clothing off you faster.

"Please what Y/N?"

"Please take them off Chris please. I wanna feel you on my pussy please, please, please."

"Good girl."

He slowly slid your shorts down, taking a little too long for your liking. He kissed down your stomach, loving how you were falling apart beneath him.

His fingers rubbed over the dark spot of your underwear. You gasped, hands grabbing the sheets tightly. He moved his fingers almost in a trance watching as the patch grew darker and larger.

"You're so fucking wet baby. You like it when I touch you like this?" he chuckled.

"Yes I love feeling you play with my pussy!" you moaned, grinding your hips against his fingers.

Christian pulled your underwear to the side. You shivered in anticipation as you felt Christian's breath on your lips.

"Can I taste you?" he asked, running his fingers through your folds.

"God yes! Please let me feel your tongue," you begged, lacing your fingers through his hair to bring him closer.

"As you wish princess."

Your back arched the moment his tongue made contact with you. He licked from the bottom all the way to your clit, lightly sucking on it. You moaned tugging at his curls. The louder you moaned, the faster he went alternating between licking and sucking. Your thighs closed around his head as you pushed him closer to you.

You were so lost in the pleasure that you were surprised when Christian inserted two of his fingers into your folds. You moaned even louder at the intrusion.

"God Christian more please. Please I need more!"

You were begging, but you didn't even know what you were begging for. You just wanted him to keep going.

Christian was enjoying every second of this. He loved watching you fall apart beneath him.

"You need more baby? So greedy. My tongue sucking on your clit and my fingers deep inside your pussy. What else could you want?" he teased, picking up the speed as he fucked you with his fingers.

You couldn't form any proper sentences anymore. Incoherent noises left your mouth as your body started shaking uncontrollably, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

"Damn baby you're shaking. Are you close already? I've barely even done anything," he mused, inserting a third finger and fucking you even faster.

"God I'm so fucking close please let me cum! Please please please I need to cum please Christian please!" you all but screamed.

"Shh, it's okay. You can cum baby. Let it go for me," he said softly.

Your vision went blank as you came, your hands grasping at Christian's curls to anchor you to reality. Your legs shook violently as Christian continued coaxing your climax out of you, only slowing down as your body started spasming with overstimulation.

"Christian I need more," you whined, gasping for air.

"I know baby, I know. I'll take good care of you," he said. "I'm right here okay?"

Christian kissed your lips gently, making your heart flutter. He softly caressed your face admiring how you glowed under the moonlight. You melted under his gaze holding him close to you.

"You okay?" he asked.

You nodded, giving him the go ahead. He moved back just enough to remove his bottoms before taking his place between your legs again. He placed both of his hands gently on your cheeks, resting his forehead against yours. He looked deep into your eyes as his thrusted his hips into yours. You gasped into his mouth as he picked up the speed, grinding slow but deep.

"I love you Christian," you moaned breathlessly.

"I love you Y/N," he responded. "I love you so much. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me and I'm sorry I made you feel otherwise. And I'll spend the rest of my life proving my worth to you."

The room was quiet except for the skin slapping against each other and the soft gasps you let out. You grabbed Christian's neck, bringing him as close as you possibly could. You needed him in every sense of the word, wanting to feel every inch of his skin on yours. He was yours and you were his. Your bodies intertwined in the same way your souls had all those years ago and that was all you really needed.

"Chris I need-" you were cut off with a particularly deep thrust making you moan, tugging at the curls on the nape of Christian's neck.

"I'm close too baby. Cum with me. Become one with me Y/N."

You had one of the strongest orgasms you'd ever had in your life. Your chest pressed into his as his cum filled you up, clenching your pussy around him. You held each other tightly, afraid to lose one another as space came between you.

The both of you laid there for a moment, basking in the afterglow of being so intimate. You gasped into each others mouths as your heartrates began to slow down ever so slightly.

"God you're so beautiful. The most beautiful woman I've ever seen," Christian said in awe of you.

You flushed beneath him becoming shy.

"Babe you just came all over my dick. You really shouldn't be that shy," he said cheekily. You scoffed and hit his chest slightly.

"You're actually ridiculous," you said lovingly, pressing your lips to his for a quick kiss.

He pecked you once more before pulling out of you. He got up, grabbing a towel and gently cleaning your body. He left kisses as he went, worshipping your body. Once he was done, he laid on his back bringing your head onto his chest. He kissed the top of your head as you tucked yourself beneath his arm.

"Are we okay Christian?" you asked meekly.

"Yeah baby. We're okay. We're gonna be okay."

Taglist: @pulisicsgirl @chelseagirl98 @thoseboysinblue @neverinadream @lizzypotter14 @masonsrem @masonspulisic @notsoattractivearenti @lovelynikol16 @bracedes @mortirolo @nyctophilic0vitnir

[scekrex]

Hello there gorgeous ✨

Prompt idea with reader being a part of a band that's heavily inspired by Babymetal, like the type of music is pop mixed with metal, the outfits, the whole vibe basically. Heaven's got a new band in town and it's reader's band (You can either create a name for them, go without mentioning any name or whatever else you choose to do with that! You can even ask me and we'll both think about the name c:). Adam at first was like "Tf? New band getting popular? Pfft, they probably suck, no one can out-do the first fucking man🙄" but then when Lute asked him to actually go and check it out with her since she got curious when one of the exterminators went there and told her that it was absolutely fucking awesome. They go and it's literally just a blast. The crowd work is astonishing with how the fans, even the shy ones, have no problems with being vocal with the lyrics or movement, the light effects are just top notch, sound quality is gorgeous and clear, the vibe on its own is just one of a kind and Adam is like "Yeah, shit, this is actually really cool, like wtf" but the biggest magic is when he first hears and then sees the reader alongside the two of his like "backup vocals" (I wouldn't really call Mo or Moa that, but I can't find a better word rn) absolutely rocking out, enchanting everyone as if he was some sort of magician, making Adam start questioning his sexuality, simply going "Am I fucking gay? What's actually happening right now?"

Recommendations for like ideal crowd work representation would be any song but my favourite is this one:

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=E8pcFhPZQYg&pp=ygUKSGVhZGJhbmdlcg%3D%3D

Light and visual effects I'd probably say this one:

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Hru3zh8l2kE&pp=ygUUQmFieW1ldGFsIGRpc3RvcnRpb24%3D

And the one that could work the best in my opinion to like WOW his snarky bitch ass would be this one:

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=ALznpaBWUTo&pp=ygUMbWV0YWxraW5nZG9t

Rock on my superstar! 🤟🎸❤️

Sup babes, I changed the vibe a lil, going in a more punk-like direction. I don't like describing outfits so the only thing that got a description is reader's vest bc low-key important. Anyway I hope you like it!! xoxo

Part 2

And I dream to be your fantasy

pairing: Adam x male!reader

warnings: language & sexual tension

note: not beta read bc fuck you I don't have beta readers

A new band was blowing up in heaven, their posters were everywhere and Adam was already pissed off by it. Who the fuck did they think they were? Playing in his area? Fuck no. He avoided them as best as he could - considering that their posters hung in every window it wasn't that easy to do.

Lute landed next to Adam, she was visibly excited about something so the first man stopped with a sigh and turned around to look at her, “Sir, have you heard about Divine Fuck-Ups?” Adam growled as he gave Lute a nod, “Bitch, their posters are everywhere, how could I fucking not?” Lute simply rolled her eyes at him, “Yeah well, the other exorcists won't shut up about how good they are so,” the exorcist pulled out two concert tickets. Adam looked down at her, his expression a mix between hatred and betrayal. Had Lute seriously bought two tickets to a different band's concert? Especially when that band was playing in his fucking area on his fucking main stage? Apparently she fucking did. “You bought fucking tickets,” Adam grumbled, pointing out the most obvious thing ever. “The concert is tonight, I'll pick you up so we won't be late.” And it was not like Adam could have disagreed with her, Lute was onto something and the brunette was pretty sure she'd move mountains to get his ass to that concert.

-

The concert was… different than what Adam had expected it to be, the crowd was loud and wild, there were multiple mosh pits and none of their fans stood still for even the finest moment, they were constantly moving, vibing, enjoying their music to the brim. The first man had to admit: he was impressed by that. The only thing that bothered him was, that Lute had picked him up so fucking late that they were basically behind the massive crowd, enjoying the concert from the distance which also meant even though Adam was tall, he wasn't seeing shit.

So he simply grabbed Lute's wrist and pulled her with him as he made his way through the crowd, careful not to hurt anyone. Because while he was all for rock ‘n’ roll, the most rock thing to do was to watch out for each other at concerts, a rule he had learned very early.

He had somehow managed to make it to the front row, Lute by his side as he finally laid eyes on you for the first time. Your hair was sticking to your forehead, it was soaked in sweat just like the rest of your body - that was probably the reason why you were shirtless, wearing nothing but a black jeans vest with golden spikes on its shoulders. Your arm was wrapped around the waist of your background singer and you and him shared a microphone as you growled the lyrics of Lute's favorite song.

The background singer that had been in your arm only moments ago, was now dropping to his knees in front of you, grabbing your hips and wiggling them, his face only a couple centimeters away from your crotch, before he quickly got up again. Holy fuck that was hot. Adam was visibly mesmerized by your performance, not just the singing, growling and shouting but the way you owned that stage. The way you made the people go wild, your harmony with your band mates was a once in a lifetime sorta bond and the first man loved everything about it.

The song ended and you breathed heavily into your microphone. “Make some noise for Cove,” you yelled only to lick the man's jaw, Cove - the background singer that had gone down on you during your performance - was enjoying it, a little too much to Adam's liking but who was he to judge? Well he was the first man, that's who he was. “Okay, whatcha say to one more fucking song?” The crowd screamed and cheered, demanding the offered song like it was their air to breathe, shit even Lute screamed at the top of her lungs. Her white hair was all messy, her clothes clung to her body due to her sweating so much and she looked like she had one hell of a time.

The guitarist played the first three cords and the people around Adam were cheering, clapping and whistling. Then the drummer joined in and so did the bassist. Then your voice echoed through the air and Adam felt like he was in trance, all he needed was your voice and your body.

He wasn't able to dance, to enjoy the music, all he was hearing was your angelic sounding voice, it was enchanting through and through. The way you were moving your body held him in a chokehold, the amount of control you must have had over every single muscle was pure bliss in his eyes. He didn't even realize that the last song had ended and that you had just spoken your goodbyes, that's how lost he had been in your voice.

He really didn't understand why but everything inside of him was screaming to get to you, to make you his, to have you. Where those thoughts came from he didn't know, he wasn't gay after all but fuck you had looked hot on stage, better than any woman could have.

-

Don't ask him how, but he had managed to get a backstage pass once the concert had ended, it definitely had its advantages to be the first man. So there he was, waiting for you to arrive and once the door opened his eyes were basically glued onto you. “Hey there babes,” a cocky, confident smirk was on his lips as he pulled his mask off his head. You gave him a quick glance out of the corner of your eye as you walked over to your dresser, “So you're the bitch who thought of him as important enough to get backstage even though my team told ya no, huh?” Adam tilted his chin upwards as if that was something to accomplish, something to be proud of, “The one fucking and only.” You just rolled your eyes at his answer as you turned around to face him properly, “Listen, if you wanna hook up, now's a bad time. I have to get ready for another gig in just a couple of hours on the other side of heaven, be a fucking babe and leave, okay?” Oh but the brunette wasn't planning to, not now, not when he had the person he desired right in front of him. He walked over to you, his hand was quick to grab you by your hip and pull you in, the first man leaned down a little and murmured, “Oh babes, no need to act like you're fucking hard to get, I know you want me just as much as I want you.”

And that actually caused you to chuckle, because the confidence was so fucking wrong. You had just told him no and yet he acted like he was the man of your dreams. “Cutie,” your finger slid down his chest and stopped at his sternum, tapping him there harshly as your voice dropped an octave and your expression shifted to seriousness, “I do men, not boys. Come back when you decide to act like one.” And fuck, that did things to Adam, things he would never be able to admit to, not fully at least. Because you were acting like hot shit and for the first time he wasn't annoyed by it. Because you were hot shit, fuck probably the hottest shit he had ever laid eyes onto. “Now move your pretty ass out of my dressing room, babes,” you gave the first man one last sweet smile, your finger traced along his jaw and he leaned into every bit of touch he got from you. His eyes were clouded and for the first time in very fucking long it wasn't just lust that fogged up his mind, but interest and maybe even love.

[historia-vitae-magistras]

41. “Sleep.  I’ll keep you safe.”

This one hurts so good

Unedited fic is unedited. Set in 1918, at the end of the war when Matt is trying to limp his way through the absolute slog of shit that was the proto-blitzkrieg of the last months of the war. Alfred is trying to pretend he's not avoiding trench duty at the Meuse–Argonne because of the trauma of the American Civil War. I was inspired by my Canadian great-grandfather coming home with American buttons on his coat instead of British or Canadian maple leaves that I inherited and made into earrings, lol.

October, 1918

“Give me a hand, Mattie, fuck.” Alfred cursed all the way up as the tailgate of the troop truck dropped. He was stuck on the single cobblestone that managed to give any traction under the three inches of mud. But it may as well have been concrete, for all he could leverage himself out. In the silvery light of the following truck waiting for its turn to round the corner of the checkpoint, Matt was only a hunched-over figure and a pair of gloved hands that grasped him by the wrists and managed to swing him free. His pack landed with a thud ten seconds before he did, and he was pulled roughly to his feet, and his ass finally found a bench. Almost instantly, the cold wood bit through his layers. Matt had disappeared down the benches and into the dark shelter of the canvas cover.

A‌ soldier, looking beat to shit, offered him a light, and he handed out cigarettes, bribing his way into goodwill. They were all lightly dusted in snow, and sleet battered collars turned up even as it got dryer.

“You’re under Lieutenant Williams, yeah? Where’d he get too?”

Weary soldiers nodded up under the cover.

“Mattie!” Alfred handed his cigarette to another man and cupped two hands over his mouth to shout over the engines. “What’re you avoiding me for? Get your sorry ass down here before I‌ start telling embarrassing stories about you.”‌

No response, no movement. Soldiers looked confused.

“Well, kiddo, guess I’m just going to have to start telling folks about—”

“Just what the fuck is so important—”‌ Matt appeared, just like that, steadying himself on the shoulder of one of his men. They glanced up, a little protective, a little annoyed. Alfred didn’t register it. Matt was a trembling pillar, his face a bright, sharp point above his uniform like a flame over a candle dyed dark with soot.

“You look like shit.”‌ Alfred raised a hand to grab Mattie’s shoulder and he slapped the hand away with a dark expression. The message was clear. He was a leader here, an officer of the ‌British army, not Alfred’s baby brother. Another word and Alfred would be tossed off the back of the truck to enforce the silence.

"Don't use me as a distraction to get out of combat." Matt snapped and disappeared back under the canvas, and Alfred let him. At least it was warmer there. He wasn't avoiding anything.

Soldiers stared at him, and he felt sweaty despite the fall air. He wasn't avoiding anything. Just because he'd had six planes shot out from under him in as many weeks and the thought of another stint in a trench made him want to die didn't mean he didn't care. He offered up cigarettes with a smile, bribing his own Americans up with him.

“Headed up to the line anyways,” He made small talk with the soldiers around him, as popular for his cigarette supply as he was for the chocolate constantly in his coat pockets. Some of them were Americans, volunteering before the US joined the war. Boys from New York, Wisconsin, and other places had easily slid across the border without needing real paperwork. The convoy slid north on the icy roads, following the advance to leapfrog ahead of the infantry currently on the front line and pushing forward to relieve the men presently fighting their way back into Belgium. He dozed between them, one of them. He didn't much like his own under a British flag, but it felt... Solid somehow, that it was with Matt. At least it wasn't the sour old fart. He was thinking about Christmas when he was startled awake.

He awoke to coughing. Everyone had a bit of one, the rough soldier’s coughs that everyone had at some point. But this was horrible, and it was constant, drawing into someone’s lungs. And he recognized it. Alfred was instantly on his feet, weaving through the legs of sleepy men. He flung open a canvas flap and took the lantern swinging on the canvas, support in hand.

Matt was sitting, barely supported between two soldiers, his helmet off, the pale of before replaced with a violent flush, mouth open to breathe, trying to suck in air. His chin was tucked into his chest, and the coughing had not stopped.

“You don’t look so good, sir.” One of the sergeants said. Matt looked up.

“Just cold.” He said, trying to smile. “Everyone’s just cold. We’ll get moving and warm up, eh?”

The laugh he forced just turned into more coughing. Alfred stood there, lantern in hand. The soldiers around Matt looked protective, staring at him like he was an enemy they needed to hide their vulnerable commander from. Then, one sidled up to him. A boy from Wisconsin with a crop of ruddy curls. He pat Alfred on the arm and knew instantly he was a mechanic’s son from Green Bay, nestled right against Canada’s belly on the Great Lakes.

“We took the edge of a gas shell last week, and he’s been coughing like that since. Won’t listen to anyone and get a rest because there’s a shortage of officers.”

“Christ’s sake,” Alfred muttered. He sidled between bodies and inserted himself between his brother and one sergeant. He popped Matt’s helmet on and got close. The professional kind of close, resisting the urge to cradle Matt like he had their entire lives.

“There’s a casualty clearing half a mile up the road. Get fed, get dry, get some sober sack time, and I’ll make sure I get you in a goddamn staff car and back up the line before they’re assaulting anything, all right?‌ Hand to God, I‌ will get you back up here if you get some fucking rest.”

Matt was still, sweating now and fading to pale. He was shaking. And then he nodded.

“Hallelujah, you stupid bastard.” Alfred muttered.

He got Matt down the end of the truck as it jolted along, hands under his brother’s arms. His coat flapped open, and Alfred batted it away from him, annoyed.

“Button your fucking coat before you get pneumonia.”‌

A deep, curdled-chest cough was his response.

“Can’t.” Matt gasped. “Got caught on a bit of wire while we were digging funk holes, tugged right off.”

Alfred sighed.

“Okay, you poor dumb fuck. Give it here.”

Matt looked confused, and Alfred resisted the urge to feel his forehead. Instead, he shrugged his great coat off.

“Swap me.” He said. Matt just stared. Alfred huffed.

“You’re freezing.”

“I’m used to it.” He said and crossed his arms over his unfastened coat. “I‌ was fucking born cold, I’ll die cold, and there’s not fuck all anyone can do about it in between.”

“Except give you a decent fucking coat you melodramatic shit.” Alfred was this close to smacking upside the head. He felt guilty for even having the thought as Matt exploded into coughing again. He dipped forward, collapsing into the bench at the far end of the truck bed, and Alfred gripped him by the waist, suddenly frightened he’d vomit or tumble over the tailgate and into the mud-churned roads. He pulled him back and took the opportunity to pull his coat off and wrap him in the better American one. Matt glared the entire time, but words were constricted by the endless wheezing when he went to speak. Alfred shoved his arms into the coat sleeves and buttoned it up, the American eagles shining in the lantern light. Matt glared daggers for a split second before he dragged in an inhale so violent he gagged. Every other soldier in the truck looked away. Alfred's chest hurt just listening.

At the next crossroads, American Red Cross nurses half-staffed the Casualty Clearing Station, and Alfred gave their commander his best, crooked, beaming smile and a wink. They gave him one of the visitor’s huts with a stove, a corrugated roof and two cots with clean sheets. Matt could barely stay on his feet. The mud sucked at his boots, and Alfred hauled him along. He considered picking Matt up entirely but wasn’t fully convinced the brass knuckles he’d mailed Matt years back had been lost somewhere along the way and wouldn’t end up embedded in his kidneys. At least not the way Matt was glaring.

He deposited Matt on a bed, dumped water from the pitcher and wash basin into a tin pot resting on the stove and cranked the stove as high as he could. It’d been almost 200 years since he’d needed someone to boil water and strange herbal plants and shove him and all the steam it could produce under a blanket.

Matt immediately listed to the side like a poorly loaded plane.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Alfred hadn’t even sat down yet. “Don’t be stubborn. Just breathe some fucking steam until you don’t sound like you’re about to die.”

“Sorry,” Came a very faint croak.

He frowned and peeked under the wool blanket. Matt had collapsed onto his side, and his eyes were squeezed shut, breathing too shallow to make him cough, but it still didn’t sound like he was getting enough of it.

“Hey.” Alfred pushed what was left of Matt’s damp curls off his forehead. He looked so strange with hair this short. It’d been shorn when Francis gave him up, and the look on him still made him look just as abandoned, even fully grown and in British green. The thought was as gone as quickly as it came.

“You are burning.” Alfred pressed a hand to his forehead. Matt’s eyes hadn’t opened. He made a gentle sound of acknowledgment but didn’t speak, like it didn’t surprise him.

“Have you had the flu yet?”‌

“No.”

“Is this—?”‌

“No.” He said. “This just… happens sometimes. I‌ didn’t take the pills because I just— wanted some sleep.”

Still wearing Matt’s coat, Alfred stuck his hand in the pocket. Unmarked bottles of pills. He only recognized the contents of one of the bottles as aspirin.

“Do I‌ want to know what’s in these?”

“No.”

“Can I ask where you got them?”

“Zee, Uncle Alasdair, Dad.”

“Let me guess, none of them knew who else was giving you what. God I am going to ban everything when we get home. Temperance is just the begin—”

Alfred was feeling uncharacteristically like a responsible older brother, ready to give Matt a whole hellfire and brimstone Baptist lecture for a moment before Matt spoke.

“I’m just glad you’re here.” He found his brother looking up at him, gratitude as evident on his face as misery.

The heavy eyes and distinctly sick flush belied an expression Alfred didn't see often. It came fast on the heels of father's anger or Matt's fear dissolving. Grateful, instantly secure and safe usually snuggled up in Alfred's side, burrowed there against his own madness or the household's hostility. He blinked and Alfred felt horrible as he teared up and then exhaled, pushing away the emotion.

But there was still something small to him. “I miss you more when I’m this pathetic. I feel better.”

"I know." Alfred pushed sweaty hair off his feverish face and gave him a tap on the chin. "Get some sleep kiddo, you know I'll keep you safe."

[obaewankenope]

Hey @writer-in-theory your answer to this ask inspired me! Rip my life and brain because wow I haven't written in ages!!

@kedreeva enjoy some Steddie lol

[Ao3]

.

Steve Harrington isn't gay. That's one thing Eddie Munson knows for a fact. It's like a the earth is round, the sun is the centre of the solar system, kind of fact.

At least, Eddie thought it had been one of those kinds of facts.

Steve Harrington asking him, Eddie, freak, outcast, exonerated-by-Hopper-suspected-serial-killer, Munson to the movies on fucking Valentines Day blows that entire Fact Of Existence out of the fucking water.

"You mean as friends?" Eddie asks, maybe a little desperately to change what he's thinking Steve might actually mean. A lot desperately. Because surely, surely Steve Harrington isn't gay and into Eddie.

Eddie is not that lucky.

"If you want," Harrington replies with such a casual fucking shrug of his shoulders that Eddie wants to scream. He's seen that move from Harrington before. Harrington is humouring Eddie in that too-nice-to-be-selfish way Steve has that Eddie didn't realise he did have until recently.

It's the way Harrington doesn't push any of their party about things even if Harrington really wants to.

It's the way Steve offers his home to all of them, no matter the time of day, if they need a safe space and quiet.

It's the way Eddie has watched Harrington never push or ask for anything for himself beyond the initial, vague comment that no one else seems to realise is Steve Harrington's cry for attention.

And here it is now, with Eddie, offering him a way out of something Steve wants because Steve Harrington won't be selfish and will let Eddie reject him if it makes Eddie more comfortable.

Fucking fuck. 

Eddie suddenly understands how really smart scientists in history felt when they realised one of their Facts Of Existence turned out wrong. And, like those scientists, Eddie isn't going to let himself keep on going with a wrong fact.

He's not a coward anymore. Eddie Munson isn't going to run away from something ever again. 

"No, we can go together," Eddie says, watching Harri- Steve's face. He sees the moment Steve understands that Eddie doesn't mean go together as friends. He sees it when Steve actually realises Eddie understands what Steve wants and is agreeing to it. 

That smile Steve supported from the beginning of their conversation changes then-and-there. "Cool. I'll pick you up at 7:30, yeah?"

"Yeah, Steve." Eddie nods and watches Steve realise he's late for work, Robin is gonna be opening alone and is going to murder him for it, and that this really is happening. "It's a date," he calls out to Steve's rapidly retreating back as Steve rushes to his car.

Steve freezes mid-step and turns to stare at Eddie. There's that shocked sort of delight on his face that Eddie's only seen the kids bring out when they surprised Steve on his birthday with some truly awful singing.

Eddie gives him a smirk. "Right, Harrington?"

"Right, Munson," Steve says after a moment, face turning bright with a grin that Eddie has never seen on his face. Not directed at Eddie, anyway.

Wheeler got it several times when they dated in high school. Now it's Eddie's to receive.

"Robin's gonna kill you for being late," Eddie comments and Steve snorts.

"Not when I tell her you actually said yes to me," Steve replies, "she's been at me to ask you out for months."

Eddie blinks. "Months?"

Steve blushes. "Yeah, uh, I wasn't sure how you'd react do I kept putting it off," he admits. "Didn't want to put it off any longer though. You're too good to let someone else ask you first."

Eddie snorts, thinking Steve is being snarky before he realises, Harrington actually believes that. Steve Harrington thinks he had competition for Eddie's hand. Holy shit.

"Good thing you did then," Eddie shoots back, entire being amazed at this revelation that Steve Harrington wants him enough to not let someone else ask Eddie out for Valentine's. Jesus Christ, Steve likes Eddie, the freak, Munson. 

"7:30 Harrington," Eddie reminds him, putting this earth-shattering revelation to the side for the moment.

Steve nods. "7:30, yeah."

They stare at each other, a distance between them that means nothing now Eddie sees Steve properly for the first time. He understands the expression on Steve's face for what it is: longing and affection and desire. Eddie isn't too sure his own face isn't reflecting the same right back for Steve to see.

"You're gonna be so late," Eddie says eventually and the moment breaks. Steve blinks, curses, and dives at his car. "Good luck, Harrington."

Steve groans as he starts his car. "Pray for me," he shouts at Eddie as he reverses away.

Eddie laughs and gives Steve's car a salute. "No promises," he shouts back as Steve drives off, leaving Eddie at his trailer with his whole world tilted on a new axis of reality.

Because Eddie Munson knows now, Steve Harrington isn't straight, is the real fact. And after their date, he discovers another to go with this new Fact Of Existence:

Steve Harrington loves Eddie, the freak, Munson.

Of course, that one has its own Fact Of Existence accompanying it that Steve Harrington gets to discover too:

Eddie Munson loves Steve, the hair, Harrington.

[drop a tip, like, reblog, message, whatever, at me if you liked this and maybe want more fic from me in the future]

[storiesofleftoverghosts]

I Remember Everything || Leon Kennedy

pairings: Leon Kennedy x GN!Reader

warnings: hurt/no comfort, breaking up, alcoholism, semi-toxic relationship, Leon hates himself, reader has alcoholic father, no y/n is used.

word count: 2182

requested: nope!

a/n: i'm a yapper so this is gonna be long LMFAO. honestly i didn't have any specific leon in mind when i wrote this so... anyway i recently gave y'all fluff but i think it's time for angst. this is very heavily inspired by "I Remember Everything" by Zach Bryan and Kacey Musgraves. even if you don't like country, i'd recommend listening to it while reading this.

Sitting in a dive bar on a Wednesday night had become Leon's sense of normal over the years. It didn’t matter the day actually. If he wasn't on some life threatening mission for the government who didn't care about his well-being, he was at the bar. It was pathetic. He knew that better than anybody. Men his age were married and drinking with their friends. Some had at least two kids by now. He couldn't help but think of how he could have had that with you.

If only he didn't ruin everything he fucking touched. Maybe you both would be happy right now if he hadn't crossed paths with you.

Nursing his whiskey glass, he sipped on the caramel colored liquid. Rot gut whiskey usually helped ease his mind on nights like this. He didn’t enjoy how awful it tasted, but it was his choice of poison. It’s what he deserved, right? The cheap liquor burnt going down, and the aftertaste made him want to gag. Reality had seemed to be the thing he had trouble swallowing the most in the moment.

Memories of you had begun to trickle back into his mind as he continued to drink. Was it too much to ask the universe to cut him some slack for one god damn night? He thought about you enough as it is when he was sober. 

He was specifically thinking about one of the first dates you both had gone on. Driving home in your old pick up truck from the beach with the windows down. Sitting in the passenger seat gave him the best view. The summer breeze danced with your hair as the sun seemed to highlight all of his favorite features on you. Your smile somehow was brighter than the sun as you sang along to some cheesy pop song on the radio. Beautiful wasn’t even a word that could cover how he thought of you in the moment. Emotions he thought he would never feel again overwhelmed him, and before he knew it, warm tears had begun to form in the corner of his eyes.

“Are you crying babe?” You had asked while turning down the radio. Concern was written all over your features. Sometimes you gave him a run for his money with how observant you were. His piercing blue eyes were glossed over before he turned his attention to whatever was passing outside the window. Quickly he cleared his throat as heat creeped up the back of his neck. 

“Yeah. You still got sand in your hair and it blew into my eyes.” Both of you knew it was an excuse, but you didn’t pry any deeper into the subject. You had learned your lesson about trying to make Leon communicate his emotions with you. Besides, he had the mentality that grown men don’t cry. How could he explain that he was crying out of joy and in awe of your beauty? Thinking of explaining that had made him cringe at the time. 

God he used to give you so much shit about that truck. It was on the older side, and he had offered multiple times to get you a new one. But you were too stubborn and would shoot the offer down. That truck was your pride and joy. Now he would give anything to drive around with you in that pick up truck one more time. 

Another memory seemed to taunt him and rub salt into his open wound. Late night talks sitting on your beatdown basement couch together, your head in his lap as he played with your hair. You’d tell him stories about your family, like when your mother had run off from your father and pawned her wedding ring. Something about how she couldn’t take your fathers drinking anymore. His soothing fingers running through your hair would comfort you, and he swore to you that he’d never turn out like that. 

It tore him up to think how he wouldn’t be the man that he always swore to you he would be.

Glass clinking snapped him out of his pity party. Another whiskey glass was in front of him. The bartender gave him a small nod before focusing his attention on another patron. Leon bit the inside of his lip once he realized the man hadn't even had to ask Leon if he wanted another one. He had grown used to Leon's company in that same damn barstool he sat in every time. Knowing that only made Leon sink deeper into his self hatred. His eyes flicked down to the drink before lifting it to his lips, and took another drink. 

The bitter taste of the alcohol paired with a cheesy pop song in the background, the same one you blasted all the time, brought one final bitter memory to him. When he broke up with you, or more like when you broke up with him. Funny enough, it happened right here at the same bar, at the same barstool. He might have been wasted when it happened, but he remembered everything about that night.

You had come into the bar looking for him one night. The bar was almost closed so when he heard the door open, it had caught his attention. The moment his eyes laid eyes on you, he knew he was in deep shit. You were constantly telling him how you refused to step foot in a bar. Going as far to say you’d rather eat glass than be around the smell of alcohol and alcoholics. Normally he’d remind you that not everyone who went to a bar was an alcoholic, but here he was, proving your point. There was practically a trailblaze of fire behind you as you stomped your way toward him. Steam was leaving your ears and he began to mentally prepare himself for what was about to happen.

“What the hell Leon?!” Glaring at him, you crossed your arms. Anger was practically dripping off your tone. Empty glasses were sitting around him. He couldn’t meet your gaze which only pissed you off more. You hadn’t heard from him in days. Three fucking days to be exact. You knew he hadn’t been sent off to do a mission. He would always give you a kiss goodbye and promise he’d make it back to you. Now you were questioning if his promises meant anything.

“Don’t do this here. Just let me finish this drink, and we can go do this.. somewhere else.” His disinterested voice slurred as he traced the rim of his glass. You felt your blood begin to boil. A teensy tiny part of you felt bad for him. Leon had seen horrific things, not that he would give you the full picture of things. It didn’t take a genius to know that Leon was a broken man. But you didn't care about that. 

For the past couple of months, he had been acting cold towards you. Less and less would he tell you how much he loved you. His fuse was shorter with you, and most of the time you guys were arguing about stupid things. It felt like you were constantly walking on eggshells around him. No matter how much you tried to talk to him about the issues in your relationship, he ignored you. Ignorance was bliss was his mindset about things like this. Not to mention, you had noticed he had been drinking more heavily. Stumbling to your place late at night, too drunk to even stand correctly had become something that happened at least three times a week. You couldn’t stand alcohol and he knew it. Not answering you for three days was the final straw for you.

“No, fuck that! We’re gonna do this here,” You slammed your hands down on the bar. For a moment that seemed to have gotten his attention before he returned back to his unbothered facade. Your hands were stinging from how hard you had slammed down.

“You’re drinking everything in sight to ease your mind, but just when the hell are you gonna help ease mine? Do you know how fucking worried I’ve been?!” You yelled at him, clenching your jaw.. Leon rolled his eyes and shook his head. Luckily there was only one person at the bar, the bartender. The bartender took it as a sign to go get more stock.

“Did ya think that maybe you’re the reason I’m drinkin’? All you do is bitch at me all the time. It’s…It’s like nails on a chalkboard every time I hear you talk.” He waved a finger at you. His pupils were dilated, and you could smell the alcohol coming off of him. His drunken words stung, and there was a flash of hurt written on your face. Even when you two were arguing, he never talked to you like this. Guess strange words come out of a grown man’s mouth when his mind’s broken.

“Are you being serious right now?” Your voice broke towards the end of your sentence. He didn’t respond, and only stared at you like you were an idiot. The audacity he had to say that astounded you. Drunk words were a sober man’s thoughts or however the saying went. You were reminded of the way your father would talk to your mom, and a feeling of disgust washed over you. The man you loved was starting to become like the man you hated. Your anger dissipated as tranquility took its place. You knew what you had to do.

“You know what? I’m done.” You had sounded so unbothered as you removed your hands from the bar. Like if you were talking about the state of the weather and not ending your relationship. Leon raised an eyebrow. Did he hear you right? Were you doing what he thought you were doing?

“I love you and I understand you have your issues. But I have enough self respect for myself to realize I deserve better than being treated like garbage.” Hearing your words seemed to sober him up. He quickly got off the barstool, stumbling a little as he did. You watched him with a strange look in your eyes. Looking back at it now, he realized that it was a look of pity.

“Baby. You don’t mean that.” He chuckled before searching your face for any signs that you were joking. Much to his dismay, your lips were pressed in a thin line. He reached out to try and grab your hands but you had pulled them away. Your eyes were devoid of that warmth you usually had whenever he looked into them. That’s when it hit him that he had fucked up for the last time.

“Do me a favor and call yourself a cab. Seems like the bars’ closing soon.” A disappointed sigh managed to escape from you as you turned away. Part of you wanted to personally drive him home but that would only hurt you in the long run. These were the consequences of his actions. That’s what you had to tell yourself as he began to plead you to stay.

“Please don’t do this. Can’t you just stay? Please love, don’t leave me.” He called out to you. He would have begged you to stay till the sun rose, you knew that. You’ve never heard someone sounding so desperate, let alone Leon sounding so desperate. Maybe it was how much alcohol he had consumed. Maybe it was the fact that he knew he was losing you. It made you hesitate for a moment but you continued to walk.

Deep down you knew if you stayed, you wouldn’t be able to leave. It would be a never ending restless cycle of Leon getting drunk and saying hurtful shit, you wanting to leave, him begging you not to, etc. You weren’t going to be like your mother. Desperate pleas fell on deaf ears as you finally stepped out of the bar, disappearing into the night and his life.

“Time to go home. Bar’s closed.” The bartender told him which snapped him out of his thoughts once last time. It didn’t feel like that much time had passed since he was given another drink, but the time on his watch proved him wrong. When it came to you he always lost track of time. Every time he sat down on this barstool he thought about you. Why he had kept coming back here, he didn’t know. Mostly it was a way of punishing himself. For letting you walk away and being too much of a coward to not change for you.

He paid his tab and left a tip for the bartender. Mumbling a good night, he made his way out the door. The cool night air felt nice against his flushed skin, yet it only made him miss you more. Cursing out his brain for the painful reminder, he called a cab before waiting for it to come. 

God he wished he didn’t but he did remember every moment (the good and the bad) on those summer nights with you.