#HIT POST ALREADY STOP STALLING!!!!!

[vingtetunmars]

A New Heartbeat

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Joel Miller never thought he'd get another chance at building a family—especially not at his age, especially not after everything.

Tags: Fluff, pregnancy fic, domestic fluff, birthday surprise, emotional feels, warm, age gap (reader is early 30s, Joel is 58-59), set between season 1 and 2, jackson!Joel Miller, soft joel miller. No physical description of reader. No use of Y/N.

A/N: Thank you @dedicatedfangirl2001 for inspiring me! So this is technically a continuation of this fic, but it can also be read as a stand alone. If you have any requests, suggestions, or thoughts, feel free to send me a message. Reblogs are appreciated. Please do not steal or cross-post it on another platform without asking. Thank you.

Word Count: 3.3k

masterlist

You didn’t think much of it at first.

Between the early mornings at the stables and the evenings spent passed out on the couch beside Joel, days had started to blur into each other. Your body always felt tired this time of year—mud season clinging to your boots, cold air snapping at your fingertips even under gloves. You’d chalked the nausea up to bad stew from the dining hall. But when your headache lingered past the usual, when the scent of hay and leather turned sour in your nose, it hit you.

You hadn’t had your period.

You stood in the feed room, half-empty bucket of oats dangling from your hand, the realization sitting heavy in your stomach. The math rolled around in your head, tumbling over itself. It had been… what? Over a month? Maybe more. You weren’t exactly counting days when every morning looked the same—Joel sipping black coffee, Ellie stealing bits of toast, and you rubbing sleep out of your eyes as you layered up for work.

But now, standing there, the silence of the stable around you, something clicked. You set the bucket down on the ground a little too quickly, pressing your palm to your stomach. No pain. No bloat. Just… a quiet sort of stillness.

The horses shuffled in their stalls. One of the younger colts let out a soft snort. You leaned your back against the wall, heart hammering in your chest.

You weren’t sure. But something deep in your bones told you—you already knew.

You didn’t tell anyone where you were going that morning.

Said you had errands to run—needed new gloves, maybe stop by the library. Joel didn’t press. He’d kissed your cheek, grumbled something about checking in with Tommy about a busted water heater, and told you he’d see you for dinner.

You walked to the clinic with your hands jammed deep into your jacket pockets. The cold bit at your cheeks, and every step felt heavier than the last. Not from dread exactly, but from the weight of maybe.

The clinic wasn’t much to look at. Two rooms, patched-together equipment, and a nurse named Carla who used to be a vet before the world ended. She was kind, though, and knew how to keep her mouth shut. You told her you wanted to rule something out. She just nodded, handed you a cup, and pointed toward the bathroom.

You stared at the strip of plastic on the counter like it held your whole future.

Five minutes. That’s all it took.

Carla didn’t say anything right away. She just looked down at the test in her hand, then back up at you, her expression soft.

“Well,” she said, “you’re pregnant.”

The room didn’t spin. It didn’t crash down on you, either. Instead, everything went still—like the moment before a horse takes off into a gallop. Heart pounding, lungs full of something sharp and sweet.

You were going to have a baby.

Joel’s baby.

Carla asked if you were okay. You nodded before you really even felt it, voice rough when you said, “Yeah. Yeah, I think I am.”

The walk back home was slower. Like you were afraid to jostle the news loose, or maybe afraid it still wasn’t real. But your hand drifted down to your stomach more than once, resting there in quiet awe.

Now, all that was left was telling him.

And with his birthday just a few days away, you couldn’t help but wonder how in the world you were going to tell him.

Joel didn’t like birthdays.

He never made a big deal out of them before the world ended, and now… well, now they just felt like reminders. Reminders of what he’d lost. Of how much older he was getting. Of how goddamn long he’d been carrying around all this weight.

He’d never forget waking up on that birthday—the one that split his life into a before and after. Many years later, the world had changed, but the ache hadn’t. Not really.

Still, this morning started like any other. The early light crept in through the crack in the curtains, soft and gray-blue. Beside him, you were curled under the blanket, one arm slung across his stomach, your face tucked against his shoulder. Warm. Familiar. Home.

He didn’t move at first. Just lay there, eyes on the ceiling, listening to the quiet. The muffled sound of someone in the street. A rooster off in the distance. You breathing slow and steady beside him.

You made it better—this day, this life. You had a way of pulling him back from the edge without even trying. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve that, to deserve you, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to take it for granted.

Your fingers twitched slightly against his chest. You were starting to stir.

He turned his head just enough to watch you, that soft haze of sleep still in your features. He found himself smiling, just a little. The lines in his face stayed, though. The ones that came from time and sorrow and holding it all in for too long.

You blinked up at him.

“Mornin’,” he murmured, voice low and rough.

“Happy birthday,” you whispered back, eyes warm and knowing.

He groaned, turning his face away slightly. “Don’t remind me.”

You gave a quiet laugh, but didn’t tease him for it. You never did. You just leaned up to press a kiss to his jaw, fingers brushing along his ribs, gentle and grounding.

“I’m makin’ you pancakes,” you added softly. “Don’t fight me on it.”

He huffed, but it wasn’t real. “‘Course you are.”

He didn’t need gifts. Didn’t want anyone making a fuss. But if the day started like this—your warmth, your voice, your lips on his skin—then maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

Even if he still carried the ghosts, this morning... it felt different. Like maybe something was waiting on the horizon, and he wasn’t sure what—but he trusted you’d tell him when the time was right.

You flipped the last pancake onto the plate, steam rising as you added a handful of thawed berries—ones you’d carefully saved from the last supply run. They weren’t exactly fresh, but they were sweet enough, and they made the stack look a little more festive.

Birthday pancakes.

Joel would pretend to grumble about it, but you knew he appreciated it. The small gestures. The quiet kind of love. You’d learned early on not to make a big deal of his birthday. Not out loud, anyway. But that didn’t mean you’d let it pass by like any other morning.

“Damn, something smells good,” Ellie mumbled as she shuffled into the kitchen, hair sticking up in five different directions, sleeves too long for her arms. She plopped down at the table, blinking slowly. “Is it somebody’s birthday or somethin’?”

You smirked as you slid a plate in front of her. “Could be.”

Joel followed behind her a second later, moving slower, like his body hadn’t quite forgiven him for being nearly sixty.

He rubbed at the back of his neck as he sat down across from her, eyes drifting to the plate you set in front of him.

Pancakes. Berries. A little dab of honey. No candles, no singing—just the kind of breakfast you didn’t make unless the day meant something.

He glanced at you, brow raised.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” he said.

“I wanted to,” you replied, brushing your hand over his shoulder as you passed. “Don’t argue with me on your birthday, Miller.”

Ellie shoveled a bite into her mouth. “Holy shit,” she mumbled. “Are these the blueberries?”

Joel chuckled under his breath, fork already in hand. His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer before he took his first bite. You saw the tension ease in his shoulders, just a little. Maybe the day still carried shadows for him, but right now? With a warm plate in front of him and people who loved him on either side?

He was okay.

You sat down beside him, resting your hand on your lap, feeling the thrum of nerves underneath your skin.

A knock on the door broke through the calm.

Joel looked up, chewing his last bite with a quiet grunt. You stood up to answer it, already guessing who it was. Sure enough, when you opened the door, Tommy stood there with a crooked grin and two hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets.

“Mornin’, birthday boy,” he called past you, stepping inside without waiting for an invite. “You look real good for a hundred.”

Joel let out a groan, dragging a hand over his face. “You had to come by, didn’t you?”

“You think I’m missin’ the one day a year I get to remind you I’m younger and prettier?” Tommy grinned, clapping his brother on the back as he passed by.

“Debatable,” Ellie chimed in, still chewing. “And you missed the berries.”

Tommy’s eyes lit up. “Berries?”

“Yup,” you said with an apologetic shrug, walking back to the stove. “Saved 'em for Joel. There’s still pancakes, though.”

Tommy sniffed the air like a bloodhound. “You spoil this man.”

“Someone has to,” you quipped, already grabbing another plate.

You served him a healthy stack—no berries this time, just a bit of honey and some leftover butter—and slid into your seat again. Joel was watching you, his eyes soft beneath the usual weight. He hadn’t said much, but you could feel it in the way his hand drifted to your knee under the table. Just a gentle touch. A quiet thanks.

Tommy shoveled in a bite and made a loud, satisfied sound. “Hot damn. You better marry her before someone else do.”

Joel raised an eyebrow. “You wanna lose a tooth today?”

You laughed, elbow resting on the table, chin in your hand. The teasing, the warmth, the way Ellie rolled her eyes and asked if she could have seconds—it all made the house feel full in a way you never took for granted.

Still, under it all, the secret sat in your chest like a fluttering heartbeat.

You’d give it a moment. Let them finish breakfast. Let Joel have this calm before you turned his world upside down.

In a good way, you hoped.

The house felt quieter once the door shut behind Ellie and Tommy. The laughter lingered in the walls for a moment, then faded, replaced by the gentle creak of wood and the soft clink of dishes as you rinsed them off.

Joel was still finishing the last of his coffee, sitting back in his chair, watching you. He looked more relaxed now—shoulders looser, lines around his mouth softened. Birthdays were hard for him, but this one… it hadn’t been bad.

You dried your hands on a dish towel, heart thudding steady but loud. You knew you couldn’t wait any longer.

“Hey,” you said softly, stepping toward him. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

His brow knit slightly, but he nodded, setting the mug down. “Somethin’ wrong?”

“No,” you breathed, sitting down across from him, your hands resting in your lap. “Not wrong. Just… big.”

Joel leaned forward, elbows on the table. You reached for his hand without thinking, grounding yourself in the warmth of his calloused fingers.

“I didn’t know how to bring this up earlier. Didn’t wanna spring it on you in front of everyone,” you started, voice quiet. “But I’ve been feelin’… off. The past few weeks.”

His expression shifted—concern flickering behind his eyes, guarded like always. “You sick?”

You shook your head, a nervous smile tugging at your lips. “No. I went to the clinic yesterday. Ran a test.” You swallowed, heart climbing to your throat. “Joel… I’m pregnant.”

The words hung in the air like dust caught in sunlight.

Joel blinked. Once. Twice. He didn’t say anything—just stared at you, eyes wide, unreadable. Then slowly, without a word, he stood up from the table and took a step back, hand resting on the edge of the counter like he needed something to hold onto.

“You’re… you’re sure sure?” he asked, voice hoarse. “I mean—are they sure?”

You gave a soft laugh, heart aching with affection. “Yeah. They’re sure. I’m late, the test was positive, and… I feel it. I know it.”

Joel let out a breath like he’d been holding it for years. His shoulders dropped as he sat back down, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

“I just—I didn’t think—I mean, hell, at my age?” he muttered, almost to himself, eyes wide and almost dazed. “I didn’t think that was even possible anymore.”

You reached for his hand again, thumb brushing the top of his knuckles. “Well… apparently it is.”

He looked at you then—really looked at you. And something shifted in his face. Like the ground underneath him had tilted, but he was choosing to stay standing anyway.

“You’re… you’re okay with this?” he asked quietly.

You nodded. “I wouldn’t have told you today if I wasn’t. I know it’s gonna be a lot, but… yeah. I’m okay with it. More than okay.”

Joel’s eyes started to glisten, and he cleared his throat hard, blinking fast as he turned his face away for a second. When he looked back at you, his voice was thick.

“Thank you,” he said.

It broke something open in you.

“For what?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“For this. For you. For givin’ me a reason to think there’s still more life out there for me than just survivin’.”

He reached out, cupped your cheek with a rough hand, his thumb brushing just under your eye.

“I didn’t think I’d get a second chance,” he murmured. “Not with someone like you. Not like this.”

You leaned into his palm, smiling through the tears that started to slip down your cheeks.

“Well… surprise,” you whispered.

Joel gave a breath of a laugh, then leaned in and kissed you—slow, steady, reverent. The kind of kiss that said everything his words couldn’t. The kind of kiss that promised he would be here for all of it.

For you.

For the baby.

For the life you were building together, one quiet moment at a time.

Sunday dinner was loud in the best way.

Tommy and Joel had spent the afternoon repairing one of the water lines near the edge of town, and both were still rubbing their lower backs like old men. Maria was bouncing little Benji on her knee, spoon-feeding him mashed carrots between exaggerated airplane noises, while Ellie recounted an incident involving a runaway chicken and a pitchfork.

You’d always loved these nights—long tables, shared food, laughter that made the walls feel smaller in the best way. But tonight, your hands kept drifting to your lap, nerves curling in your stomach even though you’d done this a dozen times in your head.

Joel’s knee brushed yours beneath the table.

He glanced at you, gave a small nod.

It was time.

You reached for your glass and gently tapped your spoon against it. “Uh… can I say something real quick?”

The table quieted. Benji let out a soft squeak and tried to grab a carrot off Maria’s plate.

Joel cleared his throat. “We’ve got some news.”

Maria looked up first, brows raised. Ellie paused mid-chew.

You smiled nervously, heart thumping. “I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, no one said a word. Then—

“What?” Ellie blurted, voice cracking halfway through the word.

Joel chuckled low under his breath, his hand slipping onto your thigh, grounding. Ellie set her fork down slowly, blinking like she hadn’t quite heard you right.

“You mean like… an actual baby?” she asked, eyes wide. “Your baby?”

You nodded, leaning closer to Joel's side. “Yeah. Our baby.”

Ellie opened her mouth, closed it, then reached for her water like her brain needed a reboot. “Holy shit.”

“Language,” Joel murmured.

“I’m gonna be a big sister?” she asked softly, blinking hard. And then her face cracked into a smile—wide and kind of watery. “I’m gonna be a big sister.”

Tommy leaned back in his chair and let out a low whistle, grinning ear to ear. “Joel, buddy. You still got swimmers at your age?”

Joel groaned loudly. “Tommy, I swear—”

“I mean, damn! You’re nearly sixty and still makin’ babies? What’s in the water over at your place?”

You laughed, covering your mouth with your hand. Joel muttered something under his breath, but he was smiling, too, shaking his head as Tommy clapped him on the back.

Maria just laughed and leaned her cheek against Benji’s soft hair. “Honestly, I had a feeling.”

Joel looked at her sideways. “You did?”

“You turned down a glass of wine at dinner last week,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “You. You never turn down wine.”

You shrugged with a grin. “Was trying to be subtle.”

“Well, I’m glad you told us now,” she said, smiling warmly. “Benji’s gonna need a little buddy to boss around.”

Benji cooed like he somehow approved.

Then Maria stood and crossed the space to pull you into a hug, tight and full of warmth. Ellie joined a second later, throwing her arms around both of you, mumbling something like “I’m not crying” even though she very much was.

Tommy wrapped an arm around Joel with a playful shake and muttered, “Old man,” while Joel just rolled his eyes and let it happen.

In the middle of it all—arms tangled, laughter echoing, and that familiar scent of home-cooked food still hanging in the air—you felt it.

Family.

Not perfect. Not always easy. But real. Rooted. Growing.

And you were bringing another piece into it.

Dinner had long passed. The dishes were done, the laughter faded into memory, and Ellie had gone back to her room with a final hug that lingered just a little longer than usual.

Now, the two of you were tucked beneath the soft quilt, the chill of Jackson’s night air kept at bay by Joel’s familiar warmth beside you. The house creaked gently, like it was settling in for the night too.

You lay on your side, facing him, his arm already around you. The bedside lamp was off, but the moonlight spilling through the window was enough to catch the faint lines on his face—the quiet, thoughtful ones that only ever appeared when he let his guard down.

He hadn’t said much since the others left. Not out of hesitation, but the way he always got when something mattered so much it felt sacred.

His fingers brushed your stomach lightly under your shirt. Slow. Careful.

There wasn’t much of a bump yet—just the slightest swell, barely there—but his touch was reverent, like he was afraid to miss even a second of it.

“That’s really ours in there,” he said quietly, more to himself than to you. “Whole little person. Just... growin’.”

Your hand covered his. “Yeah. They’re in there.”

He shifted closer, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, then just above your temple.

“I keep thinkin’ I’ll wake up,” he murmured. “That this is some dream I’m gonna lose. But then I touch you, and it’s real.”

You turned your face to kiss the underside of his jaw, voice soft. “It’s real, Joel. You’re here. I’m here. We’re here.”

He nodded, throat tight. His palm stayed resting on your belly, like it anchored him.

“I ever tell you how much I love you?” he asked, voice thick with quiet emotion.

You smiled. “You show me every day.”

“Gonna say it anyway,” he whispered, kissing you again. “I love you, darlin’. More than I got words for.”

The two of you fell asleep like that—his hand over the life you were building together, your fingers laced with his, hearts beating steady in the dark.

And for the first time in a long, long while, Joel Miller didn’t feel haunted by his past.

He felt ready for the future.

[midnite-c6]

OKAY SO I THOUGHT ABT IT AND IM GONNA SRS NEED A THANOS AND PLAYER 333 SMUT LIKE IN THE BATHROOMS AND SHIT?? HELLO??

-🍰

SO REAL THEYRE BOTH SO HOT.. WHY ARENT THERE MORE MYUNG-GI FICS? SMUT SPECIFICALLY? LIKE THE BREEDING KINK IS CRAAAZY

thanos (player 230) & myung-gi (player 333) x reader imagine!!! 💜 warnings: 18+, ((myung-gi is your baby daddy)), dubcon (read at ur own riskk<3)

it was clear you were myung-gi's bitch, everyone saw how he would immediately run over to you whenever a game's finished or how he'd always give you an extra portion of his lunch. he knows he'd already gotten you pregnant, it's only been a few couple weeks, but he still wanted to take a close eye in case you get hurt. unfortunately, to both of your demise, you've gotten into the games with apparently one of his biggest opps, and he just can't stop bothering the two of you!

as usual, myung-gi & thanos were already fighting inside the mens bathrooms, thanos just couldn't stop bothering about that crypto scheme your boyfriend had posted about.. being such a jerk.. "MG coin, you better watch out, i can see that bitch you keep runnin' around with." "fucking leave her out of this!" thanos tilted his head with a wide grin, guess the topic of you makes myung-gi more fired up. "don't worry 'bout that, dude. if she got with a person like you, no doubt i'd make her mine easily." he'd lean in to whisper into your boyfriend's ear. "i'll make your bitch, my bitch, and she will love it." he pushes thanos, "fuck off, shithead!" thanos just laughs, "...and word got around you knocked her up, jeez, pussy so good you forgot to pull out?" thanos gets hit with a punch in the face in response. so now your boyfriend always come back from the bathrooms with a bruised face, you feel soo bad for him :((, but there's really only one way you could think of to make him feel better.. prolly why you got preggy in the first place,.. and maybe there's an extra tag-along this time!!

nsfw below!! -> 🫶🏻

now in the late nights inside a tight-spaced stall in the mens bathrooms... your thighs were getting so tired, bouncing up and down on myung-gi's dick, both only your pants on the ground. his lips muffling your moans, he truly loves you, sososo much, though you both immediately stop when you hear the bathroom door being opened. "w-who would be awake at this time..??" you whispered, looking into his eyes with alot of fear despite your shameless act inside a place like this, he quickly covers your mouth with his hand. not gonna lie, when he saw that fearful look of yours, he almost nutted inside you (..again.)

you hear the footsteps getting closer to your stall, the two of you were shaking, (you'd both think it'd be a guard or something) but..nope! it was that fucking purple-haired, blue-eyed jerk. his eyes widened, before he'd smile widely showing his teeth. "hell yeah!" myung-gi wraps his arm tightly around you, as if to protect you. "you've got some fucking nerve, boy!" thanos stepped in closer, grabbing you by the hair, making you look up at him. "stop whoring around from this, scum. i'll treat you soo much better." and before myung-gi could jump at him for an attack, he felt you clench tighter around his dick, making him moan out loud. thanos just smiled from that, "woah, dude, i didn't mean you." "shutthefuckup!" he laughs. "c'mon, i'll stop bothering you if you offer her." you whimpered, like you were saying "please, myung-gi, no.." but your cunt was gushing all over him, he dick was suffocating! your pussies saying something definitely different.. "go." he'd order you. thanos' already pulling his dick out from his pants, "just jerk him off, you'd like that, won't you?" you whined, no way... you will never confess that you do like it! but myung-gi knows you the best! so now your hairs getting pulled, and your hands were hastily trying to make thanos cum, his low groans were sexy though, you admit. all while myung-gi sloppily fucks into you from underneath.

it felt insane, fucking your lover and also fucking your lovers number one enemy. 10/10 experience. all three of you would be breathing heavily, tired out.

thanos can't get enough though.. "c'mon, man, let me hit that! fuuck." myung-gi would absolutely not let allow another man inside your perfect cunt. thanos just can't stop begging..! "pleaseeeee." you'd only watch as you try to catch your breath from the absolutely wildest experience you've ever had. "pluusss, what if i fuck her hard enough, the baby's gonna end up lookin' like me?"

expect more posts 2 come dis weeek i have so many drafts. i love all requests mwmamawamwa <3333

[nvrngl]

˚ · .˚ ༘ 𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒆

synopsis. you're dating taehyung but no one really knows. backstage tension turns explosive when tae corners you in the only place private enough at an award show.

pairing. bts ﹢ kim taehyung x popstar!reader ﹢ smut

wordcount. 991

warnings. NSFW ! mdni ! semi-public sex (bathroom), secret relationship, rough sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk, dom!tae, mild choking (consensual), strong language.

You didn’t plan on sneaking into the disabled bathroom—it just sort of… happens.

There’s a throb in your chest that has nothing to do with the post-performance adrenaline and everything to do with the man watching you from across the hall, half-shadowed beneath a greenroom sign, collar popped, gaze molten.

Kim Taehyung. Black hair falling into his eyes, that sinful mouth curling in amusement when your eyes catch.

You look away too fast. He’s going to make a meal out of that.

And sure enough—ten seconds later, his footsteps fall in behind you like a predator stalking prey. You catch the sound of a quiet tsk just before a hand grazes your hip, low and secret and lethal.

“Running, baby?” he whispers, hot breath against your ear. “Didn’t take you for a coward.”

You whirl around, shoving open the nearest door that doesn’t lead to a hallway full of makeup artists or stagehands or nosy backup dancers. It’s a single-stall bathroom—larger than necessary, bright, sterile, and mercifully empty.

Click. Lock. And suddenly you’re caged.

Taehyung moves like a storm, sweeping you back until your spine meets cold tile. His hands find your face like he’s been waiting hours to touch you. Then his mouth crashes into yours, and you dissolve.

Your limbs forget how to work. You melt under him like sugar on hot skin, all gloss and glitter and need.

He tastes like breath mints and victory. His tongue swipes across your bottom lip, hungry and bold. You groan into him, legs already threatening to give out.

“Fuck, baby,” he huffs, dragging the zipper of your dress down way too slowly. “Do you even know what you do to me?”

You whimper. “Tae, we don’t have time—”

“Oh, we’re making time,” he growls, pulling the neckline down until your tits bounce free. “You’re out there singing like a fucking temptress, staring at me with those fuck-me eyes, and you think I’m not gonna wreck you?”

Your panties are soaked. The lace clings to you like a second skin, doing nothing to hide how ready you are.

He dips two fingers between your thighs, swiping through your folds without warning.

You arch, gasping.

“Dripping,” he murmurs, more to himself than you. “So fucking wet and I haven’t even put my mouth on you yet.”

You nearly sob. Your head falls back, hitting the wall. You should stop this. You should.

But Taehyung is palming your ass, pulling you closer, kissing down your chest like he’s tasting his favorite meal. His voice is low and teasing as he sucks a bruise into the curve of your breast.

“You wanna know what I was thinking about while you were on stage?” he asks, lips brushing your skin. “I was thinking about this pussy. Wondering if you were bare under that little slit dress. Imagining dragging you under the stage and fucking you with the mic still in your hand.”

You let out a broken moan, clinging to his shoulders.

“Turn around,” he commands, voice wrecked. “Now.”

You obey like your life depends on it.

The mirror in front of you catches every sinful angle: your flushed face, mussed hair, dress hitched up over your ass, Taehyung behind you looking like sin incarnate.

He nudges your legs apart with his knee, pulls your panties to the side, and runs the tip of his cock along your slit with a groan.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good you’ll be trembling at your encore.”

And then he slides into you—slow, thick, devastating. You cry out, clutching the edge of the sink as your body adjusts. He bottoms out with a hiss, hands anchoring you in place.

“Goddamn,” he breathes. “You take me like you belong to me.”

Your eyes flutter shut. “I do,” you whisper. “I do.”

He loses it.

His thrusts start hard and fast, dragging obscene sounds out of both your mouths. The stall walls shake with every movement, the slap of skin on skin echoing. His hands grip your hips tight enough to bruise.

“You feel what you do to me?” he rasps, snapping his hips up into you. “I’m supposed to be cool, baby. Collected. Instead, I’m railing you in a bathroom like a fucking animal.”

“F-fuck, Tae—” you cry, back arching.

He yanks you up against his chest, one hand on your throat, the other slipping down to your clit.

“Gonna make you come like this,” he growls. “All messy and cock-drunk with my cum leaking out of you.”

Your orgasm hits like fire. You shudder in his arms, walls clenching around him so tight he chokes on a curse and fucks into you harder.

He doesn’t last much longer.

A few more desperate thrusts and he’s coming deep inside you with a moan, face buried in your neck.

For a long, long moment, the only sounds are your panting breaths and the faraway thump of bass from the stage.

He pulls out slowly, his cum trickling down your thigh. You hiss at the sensitivity and clench your legs together.

Taehyung chuckles—low and smug—and helps you straighten up.

“You’re lucky I didn’t bend you over the greenroom couch,” he mutters, kissing your shoulder. “But I like this. Messy. Secret.”

You look at yourself in the mirror: completely fucked-out, lipstick gone, chest flushed. “You’re gonna get us caught.”

He grins, refastening his pants. “And? Worth it.”

You swat his chest, trying not to laugh. “I have an interview in ten minutes.”

He hums, licking your lip gloss from the corner of his mouth. “You’re glowing. They’ll think it’s highlighter.”

You roll your eyes but you can’t help smiling.

Before you leave, he stops you with a hand on your wrist. His expression shifts—less cocky, more earnest.

“I meant it, earlier,” he says quietly. “You do belong to me.”

Your heart lurches.

You lean up and kiss him, soft and sweet. “Then prove it. Later.”

He smirks. “Hotel key?”

“Back pocket.”

“Good girl.”

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ navigation : all works ; guidelines ; let's be friends .ᐟ

[sourszt]

[ 𝟏:𝟐𝟏 𝐩𝐦 | 𝐫𝐞𝐱 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐧 ]

𝐟𝐭. rex “splode” sloan x fem!reader

𝐜𝐰. nsfw, shower sex, quickie, pet names ‘sweet thing’ and ‘pretty girl,’ oral (m!receiving), facial, praise, (in)correct use of powers (blood manipulation), exhibitionism if you squint, rex being soft but also not ?

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬. this came to me in a vision. i power wrote this last night, knocked out and i’m posting it now. more invincible smuts to come im obsessed w rex and that show. not proofread.

right after a mission, each member of the guardians of the globe had their own way of recollecting themselves.

most of them, decently battered and beaten, would make a brief stop somewhere in the city to give themselves a breather before gathering back at headquarters. the rest would grab a quick shower at headquarters and then head to the lounge area or kitchen to wait for the rest of their team.

you were typically among the former. after taking a decent beating a couple of times a week, you would fly home just to make sure your family was okay. and to reassure them that you were, too. it would only be about half an hour before you’d return to headquarters, which was around the same time as your other teammates.

half an hour of near radio silence within that tower.

near radio silence.

up in the training floor, one shower was still running long after the rest had been abandoned. steam had already condensed onto each bathroom wall and mirror. the sound of rushing water pelting the floor hardly muffled the harmony of stifled cries and grunted curses from that small yet open stall.

somehow, rex sloan had ended up with you in the stall, slinking in when you were all alone to kindly offer to inspect for wounds. you agreed to his oh-so-kind offer, well aware of his malicious intentions, but on the condition that he be quick.

so that was how you wound up pressed to the cold tile wall, back arched and legs spread while rex took you from behind. he was no stranger to your body, knowing exactly where your most sacred spots were and abusing them relentlessly. it nearly brought you to your knees, rex’s hand keeping you upright while the other groped your tit.

“no one’s gonna hear you, sweet thing.” rex husked into your ear, voice strained as he pounded into you. “‘ts just you and me in here.”

you continued to bite at the back of your hand to keep your volume as low as possible when rex’s grip on your hip tightened and he pulled you back into a particularly rough thrust. it caught you off balance for a moment, a surge of pain rocketing through your body, and a pitchy moan tore from your mouth. “fucking christ, rex!”

the man grinned at your whining. “that’s it, keep ‘em comin’,” rex’s other hand snaked around your torso to cup your throat. he yanked you back nearly flush with his chest, groaning at the way your walls clamped around his thick cock. “fu-ckin’ hell. you feel so fuckin’ good around me.”

the new angle let him hit one of those sensitive spots inside of you, and this time you couldn’t quite cover your mouth in time. you weakly grabbed at the hand splayed across your throat but by then you didn’t care about how your cries echoed off of the bathroom walls.

he knew you were reaching your breaking point when he felt that familiar tremble in your thighs underneath his palm. you were already taking him so well, spasming cunt practically swallowing his dick so greedily, but still he persisted.

“do the thing.” he whispered with a smirk playing on his lips.

his rhythm began to die down, telling you that he wouldn’t take no for an answer. as if you’d even tell him no.

you took one of your shaky palms off of the cool tile and reached around to rest it on rex’s waist. it took you a moment to focus as you began concentrating his blood flow down to his cock, gently restricting it at the base. you expanded his blood volume by the slightest percentage, minding the few injuries he sustained during the mission earlier.

rex felt it right away, cock instinctively twitching inside of you. his forehead pressed between your shoulder blades, his wet hair clinging to your skin; his fingers dug into your plush thigh. you could feel him stopping himself from rutting into you. he hardly had any restraint as he whispered your name so desperately.

“easy.” you instructed. “i need to — fuck — need to focus.”

you were doing anything but that, truthfully. which would’ve been lethal if you didn’t know what you were doing. but alas, this wasn’t the first time.

rex hissed at the same time you did when you felt his cock gently swell inside of you. not enough to be painful, but definitely enough to feel it. the moment you dropped your hand, rex took it as his cue to move.

“fuck,” his voice broke into a soft whine, “so goddamn tight.” he reached between your legs and nudged your thighs apart a little more. “c’mon, sweet thing.”

he moved his hand from your throat to between your shoulders, pushing you down as he pulled out to his swollen tip only to slam his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt inside of you.

a cry of his name came from you, only egging the arrogant man on. “god, you’re so fuckin’ good for me. aren’t ya?”

you could barely last much longer; that tight, hot coil in your abdomen was steadily unwinding with each of rex’s deep thrusts. you held on to the wall for dear life, your palms sliding against the slick tiles. the weight of rex’s chest against your back made you peer over in time to see his hand envelop yours against the wall, his strong fingers lacing through yours. he kept you upright while he fucked you through your orgasm, mumbling encouragement into your skin.

“that’s it, pretty girl. takin’ me so damn good — fuck!” rex’s grip on your waist began to falter, as did his rhythm, when he realized he wasn’t too far behind you. it didn’t help that your cunt was spasming uncontrollably around him. “come on, i’ve got you.”

the groan in his voice was enough to send you over, head falling forward with a cry of his name. your thighs trembled in his hold and threatened to give out. you hardly managed to keep yourself upright as he continued to pound into you. the stimulation almost became too much to bear, a few tears mixing with the sweat and shower water trailing down your face.

you finally gave out once rex pulled out, body going limp against the wall. rex caught you at the waist and closed the brief gap between you. he buried his face into your neck and pressed soft kisses to your skin. “god, i’ll never get used to that. so fuckin’ perfect.” he mumbled as he turned you around to face him. “do you… mind?” his green eyes shamelessly raked down your body, his still-hard cock twitching in his hand at the sight.

both of your legs were sore beyond belief, and they were sure to get worse after the nap you were bound to take later, but it didn’t stop you from sliding down onto your knees and replacing rex’s hand with your own. your own abilities amazed you; you could hardly wrap both of your hands around his swollen cock, let alone fit it in your mouth.

“fuck” rex groaned, long and low as he braced himself on the wall behind you. it shielded some of the water from splashing into your face, but ran down his body and allowed your hands to pump him with ease. “ju-just like that, christ.” a few stray drops of water running down rex’s red locks fell onto your face as you stared up at him. you made sure not to break eye contact when you took the tip of his cock onto your flattened tongue, easing it past your lips.

one of his hands went to your hair, brushing it out of your face as best as he could before resting his palm at the back of your head. it didn’t guide you nor did it force you to take him further. it encouraged you. you knew that he was already close. it only took you a few skillful bobs of your head and twists of your hands before he started whining. your favorite tell of his that he was about to come.

you inched back enough to take your lips off of his cock and stuck your tongue out, his cum painting it not seconds later. you took it all, gracefully swallowing it before getting back to your feet with his help. he was on you the moment you were, gently pressing you against the wall as he captured you into a deep kiss. not an ounce of concern crossed you, considering you were definitely supposed to be in the lounge by now.

“don’t think that counted as quick, rex.” you said with a smile when he finally pulled away.

“ask me if i give a shit. i hope those a-holes heard us.” rex sassed as he reached for your shampoo bottle. “another wash can’t hurt, right? turn around.”

i love him so much.

[sunseed-fandump]

The Tarot from the new trailer has me FLIPPING OUT (Sorry for the shitty screenshot) I was already making an analysis on the previous cards we got, but THIS has really got me doing backflips in my head because of the implications.

Let me explain.

First off, have you noticed that one of these cards is not like the others?

The first card, Strawberry Cookie, is in reverse. She is on the major arcana card XII - The Hanged Man. When the Hanged Man is in Reverse, it represents Delays, resistance, stalling, indecision, stagnation.

"The upright Hanged Man encourages you to pause for a moment and see things from a different perspective. Reversed, this card can show that you know you need to hit the pause button, but you are resisting it. Instead, you fill your days with tasks and projects, keeping busy and distracting yourself from the actual issue that needs your attention. Your spirit and body are asking you to slow down, but your mind keeps racing. Stop and rest before it’s too late. The Universe will only dial up the volume if you ignore it, and as a result, you may end up crashing. So, as soon as you hear the call, clear your schedule and make the space so you can tune in and listen."

Next we move on to Gingerbrave's card: 0 - The Fool.

In the Upright Position, the Fool represents new beginnings, innocence, spontaneity, a free spirit, and adventure.

"To see the The Fool generally means a beginning of a new journey, one where you will be filled with optimism and freedom from the usual constraints in life. When we meet him, he approaches each day as an adventure, in an almost childish way. He believes that anything can happen in life and there are many opportunities that are lying out there, in the world, waiting to be explored and developed. He leads a simple life, having no worries, and does not seem troubled by the fact that he cannot tell what he will encounter ahead."

Finally we have Wizard Cookie's card: I - The Magician.

In the Upright position, the Magician symbolizes logic, desire, resourcefulness, willpower, intelligence, skill, and manifestation.

"When you get the Magician in your reading, it might mean that it's time to tap into your full potential without hesitation. As a master manifestor, The Magician brings you the tools, resources and energy you need to make your dreams come true. Now is the perfect time to move forward on an idea that you recently conceived. The seed of potential has sprouted, and you are being called to take action and bring your intention to fruition. The skills, knowledge and capabilities you have gathered along your life path have led you to where you are now, and whether or not you know it, you are ready to turn your ideas into reality."

So what do these 3 cards mean together? Well, we have someone who is stagnating, who is stuck and unable to move forward. But they go through a rebirth - an epiphany - and start on the path of a new journey. And on that new path they unlock their full potential.

This is Pure Vanilla Cookie's story in the next update in a nutshell!

Sorry for the sorta long post, i just wanted to geek out about this since I love love love it when Tarot is used as a narrative device :)

[demie90s]

UConn x ꜰᴇᴍ!tattooed!reader

Bleed Blue… Literally

MASTERLIST | MORE

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Everyone knew #17 was fine. What they didn’t know—at first—was that she’s covered in ink under that uniform. And just when the team thought they’d seen it all… she shows up on game day with a fresh tramp stamp.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ:Tattoos, minor swearing, implied obsession, mild thirsting from teammates, tramp stamp behavior

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: ~0.5k

ᴠɪʙᴇ: Baddie with ball-handling and back tats. “Huskies” tramp stamp reveal mid-stretch. “You got our team name tattooed on your ass?!”

Everyone already knew I was fine. That wasn’t news. But the tattoos? That always caught people off guard. The first time the team found out, it shut practice down. I’d taken my hoodie off mid-drill and Azzi straight-up choked on her water. Full sleeve down my right arm—black and gray with roses, script, thorns curling around my wrist like they belonged there. KK literally walked into a cone. Paige? She just stared. Mouth parted. Didn’t even try to hide it.

“You’ve had that?” she blinked. “The whole time?”

“It’s winter,” I said, nonchalant. “Y’all don’t see me outta layers.”

Then came the leg. I had my shorts rolled up for taping in the training room and boom—full thigh to ankle piece. Saints and sinners. Skulls. Angels. Vines. The whole damn Sistine Chapel wrapped around my quad. One of the trainers dropped the roll of tape. I didn’t say anything. Just let them look. Geno walked by, glanced down, squinted, and went, “You ever think about playing basketball instead of starring in a graphic novel?” I just smiled.

So yeah—they were used to me causing scenes.

But today? I outdid myself.

UConn vs. Tennessee. Championship energy. Whole building packed and hot. I showed up with my warmup hoodie tied low around my waist, stretching before the game when Paige caught a flash of new ink peeking out the top of my waistband. She froze. Blinking like her brain stalled. “Pause,” she mumbled. “Is that…?”

Azzi leaned in. KK was already squinting. And then it hit.

Big, bold, clean-lined blue script. Cursive. Perfect placement.

HUSKIES. Right above my ass.

Tramp stamp.

KK yelled. Like screamed out loud. “NOOOO.”

Paige started laughing so hard she fell off the bench. Azzi looked personally offended and impressed. “Why does the font look like a lingerie ad?” she asked. I just kept stretching.

“You got our team name tatted like that?” KK gasped.

���I love us,” I said. “What better place to put it?”

Even Nika walked over, stared, shook her head, and muttered, “You’re sick. I like it.”

Geno walked in right then, took one look at the group huddled around my lower back, sighed like he’d aged five years, and said, “Don’t tell me. Just… win.”

So I did. Played my heart out. Hit everything. Stripped their point guard three times. Ran the floor like it was mine. But I knew people were watching me for other reasons. I could feel the cameras zooming, the sideline whispers. I even caught one of Tennessee’s players staring across the court during free throws, eyes locked on my waistline like it owed her answers.

But the real moment came after.

Post-game. Conference room. Cameras everywhere. We’d just won, everyone was still glowing and high off adrenaline when a reporter leaned forward, real cautious-like.

“Hey, number seventeen—question for you. During the second half, it looked like your team kind of… reacted to you a certain way. Any idea what that was about?”

I blinked. Tilted my head.

“Oh?” I said, lifting my warmup hoodie a little with a lazy smile. “This?”

The room gasped. Not exaggerated—actual gasps.

I turned just enough to show the very top of it. The “H” in Huskies peeking out above my waistband. Subtle. Clean. Just enough.

“We’re national champs now,” I said, eyes gleaming. “Thought I’d make it permanent.”

Cameras clicked like crazy. KK buried her face in her hands. Paige couldn’t stop smiling. And Geno? He rubbed his eyes and whispered something like, “She did it again.”

I shrugged and sat back.

I mean… they should’ve expected it by now.

————————————————————————————————

@draculara-vonvamp

[wonallofme]

pinching!

tw and tags: bully!heeseung x plus size!fem!reader, descriptions of bullying, a lot of physical contact, noncon then heavy dubcon, oral sex (f receiving). word count: 2.3k note: originally written with a different idol in mind, this fic was already posted in my old blog. while talking to one of my best friends in the app we decided to re-post old fics for fun and idk why but while checking some of them I felt this one fitted Hee. I changed it a lot tho. anyway, hope someone here likes the concept. i’m a big fan of plus size/chubby reader but haven’t had the opportunity to talk about it here in the blog yet so, if you like it too, please don’t hesitate to hit my (empty) inbox! special thanks to fairy for being my first-ever beta reader ❤️

You have a couple of memories from that place, like how good it felt to hug your grandmother before bed, how there was a little stall in front of your school that always had tasty sweets, and how there was a little boy you used to walk home with after classes finished.

There wasn’t much objection once your mother said you would go back and live together in your grandmother's place not to leave the house empty. You had a couple of friends, but it was nothing special, so you said goodbye to them and moved with your mother without problem.

You had to admit you were kind of happy to move. Yeah, you wouldn’t be able to hug your grandmother, but at least you would feel her presence with the old floors and flower decorations that surrounded every room. Perhaps you could eat those sweets again, and there was the chance of making new friends too. Good things could come, you thought.

If you’re honest, you just hoped you could see him again.

You should've known at that point in your life that having expectations only leaves the sour aftertaste of disappointments.

The stall wasn’t there anymore, the entire house had changed because of your mother's decision, leaving no trace of your grandmother behind, and the sweet boy that used to follow you with a smile now followed you to make fun of you.

It was easy to recognize him. He had the same eyes and shiny smile, and you were elated to see a good, old friend all grow up into a real man. Sadly, he wasn’t as happy as you to see you again, showing you a disgusted face once you told him who you were.

‘’Don’t fucking talk to me,’’ he said, and you didn’t understand what you had done wrong. Perhaps you were too confident, your perfume wasn’t to his liking, or your hand was sweating too much when you touched him. You honestly had no idea why he reacted like that, but you understood that, just like his appearance, he had changed too. 

After all, that sweet boy you used to know would’ve never talked to you that way.

That interaction alone was enough to make you never want to approach him again. You didn’t want to hear that tone or see that expression again, so you did your best. You avoided him in the hallway, you stayed in your seat not to cross his way during breaks, and you didn’t look his way when you recognized his voice. 

It was all useless though.

You had become his new favourite thing.

At first, he was all words and no bite. He’d throw comments every now and then about your physical appearance, like comparing you to a pig when you ate your lunch in the cafeteria or mocking your uniform for being bigger than normal because of your size. 

His friends only laughed at these comments, and those who weren’t his friends stayed silent. They were different groups but shared one same trait– None dared to approach you, afraid of receiving the same treatment from him.

Then, he started to touch you.

He pinched your arm, telling you to give him your homework to copy it. Later, it was your cheeks, telling you to stop eating if you didn’t want to gain weight. Finally, one day, when everyone had left for the PE class while you were searching for your towel in your seat, approaching you silently from behind, he pinched your waist.

Scared, you turned to him. It had hurt a lot more than when he did it to your cheeks. You knew that, more than to bother you or call your attention, like on the other occasions, he had done it with all the intention of hurting you.

When you looked at his face, you noticed that his typical grin wasn’t there, replaced by a surprised expression and curious eyes instead. Somehow, you felt that something bad was about to happen, so you pushed him out of the way and walked out of there as soon as you could without caring that you were leaving with empty hands.

‘’Where’s your towel?’’ your teacher asked you.

‘’I forgot it,’’ you answered, not wanting to return to the classroom.

Later, Heeseung arrived with your towel in his hand, and you got punished for not bringing all the obligatory material.

He got worse.

if he crossed you in the hallways, he would shamelessly pinch your waist until you hissed, and when he found you in the library, between shelves, he would pinch your ass, grinning from ear to ear at the picture of you biting your lips not to make a sound so you wouldn’t get in trouble again.

As if everything he did was an innocent game, he smiled at you after nipping different parts of your body, like the side of your ribcage when you decided to walk away from his teasing, the back of your hand when you tried to push him away, or your thighs when he sat beside you in the cafeteria or the study room.

‘’Why are you doing this?’’ you whispered, pushing his hand away from prying under your skirt and pinching your upper leg.

‘’Look at all that skin,’’ he answered, grabbing your round hand with force to stop you from getting away. ‘’Your body is begging for it.’’

When you tried to do it again, to get away from his hands, he pinched the space of your chest that your bra didn’t cover.

Making you whimper in pain, he laughed at your hurt expression.

‘’It really hurts!’’ you tried to reason with him, but he was a lost cause. It didn’t matter that you were full of little purple and green spots, flinching at the mere sight of him lurking around, he wanted more.

This is going to end at one point, you tried to tell yourself.

He’d get tired and leave you alone when he found a new toy. It was impossible he only focused on you the entire time, and even if it was like that, it was your last year. After that, you prayed, you’d never see him again.

Everything comes to an end.

Your house was the only safe space you had. Even if it wasn’t anything like the warm memory you had about it, it was a place that had never been tainted by Heeseung, unlike your school, or the streets you walked to arrive there.

Sometimes, he would follow you while murmuring insults, pretending to be a good friend walking you home. Nonetheless, once you opened your entrance door and saw that he stayed feet away, you would exhale, relieved that he didn’t try to follow you inside, too.

‘’Your friend is waiting for you in your room,’’ your mother smiled. ‘’I’ll go and buy something for you to eat later’’ 

She, unlike you, was excited to have him there, and you, trying to breathe properly not to show how the panic was consuming you, nodded.

‘’He’s become such a handsome man,’’ she murmured before leaving.

There was nothing you could do to run away, it was your house, and opening your room door, you saw him calmly looking at your stuff.

Your pillow wasn’t where you left it, so it was impossible to deny he had been roaming around for a while, invading your space and doing whatever he wanted, like he always did.

Standing in front of your bookshelf, one of your diaries open in his hands, he sensed your presence.

‘’Didn’t know you took so many walks, thought you would never come,’’ he said, passing the page and inspecting its content as if there was something in particular he was looking for. ‘’It doesn’t explain why you still look like that though.’’

‘’Heeseung, I’ve done nothing to you,’’ you sounded as if you were begging at that point. ‘’Why– I just don’t get why.’’

‘’I have my reasons,’’ he answered, closing the book and leaving it where it previously was.

You flinched when he showed the intention of getting close to you. Your hands became fists behind you, fully alert, one of them gripping the knob, ready to run into another room in case he tried to hurt you again.

‘’We were friends,’’ you said, lower lip slightly trembling. ‘’Please, stop. It hurts, Heeseung. It hurts a lot.’’

He saw you like that, broken, vulnerable, and he beamed.

Walking towards you, you thought your body would listen to you and escape, but it didn’t.

As you remained frozen in your place, caging you with his body, he finished closing the door behind you. Too late, you only reacted after hearing the loud click the secure did.

You started trembling as you realised he had blocked the only way of running away you had.

‘’But if I don’t touch you, who else will?’’ he whispered, taking your shaking hand in his. 

Not pinching it this time, he interlocked his fingers with yours and pulled you closer to him. Your torso compacting his made you more conscious of how you were completely alone in your room, and, therefore, of how unrestrained he was allowed to act.

‘’If you’re good, I’ll stop being so hard on you. What do you think about that?’’ he offered.

You didn’t understand him. Being good with what? 

Looking up at him, you couldn’t move your chest from pressing his because his other hand, forcing you to stay in your place, went to rest over the small of your back, the generous curve from your ass to your waist that was the object of so many of his jokes.

You could see where his actions were going. 

You felt yourself get nauseous with his body temperature and his aroma suffocating you due to the inexistent distance between your bodies.

‘’My mom will come back in any second…’’ you didn’t know what other excuse to use.

‘’I’ll be quick,’’ he smiled, wetting his lips, unconsciously sending a signal to your brain that screamed for you to just be good and get it over with.

‘’Will it hurt?’’ Your face betrayed you, plainly showing all the fears you had, giving him, once again, the upper hand.

‘’Not anymore,’’ he assured you. His hand that used to bring you so much pain suddenly became gentle and trailed up, caressing your arm with multiple marks created by him before finding your chest, and groping it with obvious satisfaction a few times, he felt them until he decided he wanted to touch more of you.

His hands continued their way until he found his new goal.

He cupped your face with a tenderness you had never met from him before, and not wanting to provoke him in any way, you muted yourself. 

To his unpleasant care, thumbs caressing your cheeks, you didn’t make a single noise, not the hiss you always let out when he pinched you, nor the cry when he painfully rubbed your soft skin.

‘’Well done,’’ he praised you, proud of what he recognised as your acceptance.

He expected you to continue being so obedient when he obliged your thighs to open with his knee.

Quickly, he found his place.

You didn’t know what to expect, but you never imagined the situation would end with him ditching your pants somewhere in your room and desperately dropping to his knees so he could accommodate between your trembling legs, slurping all the involuntary wetness your body made you drip not to suffer when the moment of taking him arrived.

Not being able to call his name properly, you whined when his palms gripped your meaty thighs a bit too hard and his tongue found your entrance, penetrating it with sloppy stabs.

The sensation of the tip of his nose bumping against your clit and his fingers separating your plump folds made you bite your lips to stop what felt like a moan.

He was eating you out like a starved man.

Your hands went to his hair, and you have no idea what flooded you, but you felt free to hurt him too. 

You wanted him to suffer too.

Full of unknown courage, you pulled his hair and moved your hips to crush his face, using him instead of the other way around.

Then, it felt good– To hurt him felt way too good. 

You thought, maybe this is why he does it, because you had never felt so powerful and in control before, especially, with him.

Looking down, you two made eye contact even with your chubby stomach prodding out. 

His eyes had nothing of the mockery they always showed. Instead, they were completely lost, drunk and unfocused. You couldn’t contain your moans anymore when his eyes batted and he seemed pleased to have your attention on him.

Not much after he started fucking you harder with his tongue, the knot in your stomach started to feel so tight you knew it would snap in any second.

Without intention, or maybe with all the intention, you closed your large legs around his head, not caring that you were crushing his face as you strongly came over his mouth and nose. 

He mewled, hugging your legs as you asphyxiated him for many seconds before your orgasm finished and you inevitably relaxed. 

Just after giving him everything you had, you finally allowed him to breathe. 

You freed him from your hold, but he didn’t move away immediately.

Gulping your remaining juices, he hardly inhaled once through his nose before he started licking the drops of your orgasm inside your thighs, leaving a trail of kisses along the way until he found his new favourite thing.

With both hands on the back of your thighs, he blinked multiple times before his tongue found its way between your folds, searching for your clit to leave a last loving lick.

As if he was proud you had abused him, only separating forcedly because of your hands pushing his head away from your sensitive clit, he took open-mouthed deep breaths with a still dazed expression.

Regaining some of his senses, he talked with the lower half of his face glistening.

‘’See? This didn’t hurt, right?’’ he smiled.

[beelzecxi]

“I be twitching when I nut, oh my god, am I streamer!?”

sevika x afab reader Nsfw! Mdni! Dom! Sevika, light degradation, strap sex

First story I’m posting here

“Oh, sweetheart,” she gasps in your ear, “You cling to me so well— I wish you could see how much your pussy creams for me.” She says, her thrusts speeding up.

“Sevii~” you whine, your cunt clenching around her strap. “Sevi please! Gimme more!” You choke out, clawing at the bed sheets. “More?” She questions, a smirk appearing on her lips.

“I’m giving you so much already and you still want more?”Sevika asks, her thrusts slowing, “How greedy.” She says, coming to a complete stop. “Do you want me to stop altogether? Leave you here quivering and begging?” She mocks, laughing at the panicked look that crosses your face. “No! Please don’t, Sevi please!!” You whimper, pushing your cunt harder against her strap.

“No?” She mocks, laughter still evident in her voice. “You’re right, I couldn’t possibly leave. That’d be impossibly cruel of me” sevika says, finally moving her hips again, albeit shallowly. “I couldn’t possibly leave her not with how hungry she is” She teases, her fingers coming to play with your clit.

“SEVI!” You screetch, pushing back against her fingers. “Sevi! Please! Please! PLEASE!” You sob, frantically runting against her. Crying out when she starts rubbing your clit faster, “Is this what you want sweetheart? Or do you want something else?” Sevika mocks, harshly thrusting into you before stalling her thrusts, grinning when you start shaking your head no.

“No? Then what do you want?” She asks, tilting her head. “Oh, no no no.” She says, grabbing your chin when you start shaking your head again. “Use. Your. Words.” Sevika spits out harshly, roughly pulling on your jaw. “Come on sweetheart, I know I haven’t fucked you that stupid yet.” She says, increasing the force of her grip.

“Fuck me harder, please sevi! I need you to fuck me harder!” You whimper, wrapping your legs around her waist. “Please sevi, I need it sooo bad!!” You whine, pouting as you look into her eyes.

“That’s it sweetheart” She says, speeding up her thrusts, “Beg for it” Sevika says, releasing your jaw.

“It’s okay sweetheart, I’ll give you what you need.” She says, grabbing your waist.

“Sevi, Sevi please-“ you choke, crying out when she hits your g-spot.

“Hey, be a doll and rub your clit for me” sevika orders, removing her hand from your clit and placing it on your waist.

“Did you hear what I said?” She questions, before grabbing your hand and placing it on your clit. “Rub.”

“Sevi-” you whimper, before you’re cut off, “Rub.” She demands, keeping a hold on your hand until you start rubbing your clit. “Mhm, that’s it doll, keep it up” she praises, putting her hand back on her waist.

“God, I love the way your pretty pussy creams” she groans, slamming into your cunt harder. “Do you think I can do deeper?” She questions, sliding her hands down to your thighs “mhm? Answer me” She demands digging her nails into your thighs.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” You scream, pushing back to meet her thrusts, “I think so too.” She says, leaning forward, “move your hand.” She says, swatting your hand away from your clit.

“Hold on tight.” She jests, placing her hand on the headboard.

“I’m gonna give you what you crave, don’t worry sweetheart.” Sevika says, pulling out to the tip before slamming back in.

“Ah! S-Sevi wait!” You yelp, feeling the tip of her strap brush against your cervic. “Too deep, Sevi, you’re too deep” you whimper, pushing back against her.

“Am I?” She questions, not slowing in her thrusts in the slightest, “You seem to be enjoying it so why does it matter?” She adds, leaning down to nip at your neck.

“Your pussy’s still clenching, so why are you complaining?” She mocks, roughly biting the crook of your neck.

“Just shut up and take it” She commands, looking into your eyes as she speeds up her thrusts.

“Sevi, Sevi I’m gonna cum!!” You whine, arching your back into her thrusts, “Can I cum? Please, please let me cum!” You beg, digging your nails into her ribs. “PLEASE!!”

“Of course sweetheart, you know I love the look on your face when you cum.” She teases, sucking on your neck.

“THANK YOU-” You choke out, crying as your orgasm crashes into you.

“There you go sweetheart” she says, slowing down her thrusts. Smiling as she watches you twitch from overstimulation, “Sevi” you whine out as she continues thrusting.

“Oh sweetie, I hope you don’t think I’m done.” She scolds.

“Oh no, I’m just getting started sweetheart.”

-

Happy new years!! I thought Sevi smut would be the best way to celebrate the new year! （＾∇＾）

[the-obnoxious-sibling]

naming rights

madney/bucktommy, post 8x15, 1k cleaned up on ao3 here

inspired by all the naming-kids-after-the-dead posting (and this post by @beanarie in particular, for one specific line). as someone named after a dead grandparent myself i think some of y’all are overestimating how heavily it weighs on the soul, but i acknowledge that this shit hits different in fiction.

.

The odd mood doesn’t really register for Buck at first. And even then, once he notices the tension in Maddie’s shoulders, how Chimney’s a beat late to cracking a joke Buck doesn’t get, he credits the mood to Tommy’s presence. This is, after all, the first time he’s brought Tommy to the Buckley-Han household since they agreed to start again, to take this seriously. It annoys him a little, but it’s not like he doesn’t get it. Maddie and Chimney saw him at his lowest, missing Tommy. If they want to hold a bit of a grudge, that’s their business.

And then Chimney blurts out, “Buck, if you want dibs, just say the word.”

Buck blinks, looking down at the plate of cheddar herb biscuits he’s been hovering over. There are five left. It’s not exactly a dibs-worthy scenario. “What?”

Maddie sets a hand on Chimney’s shoulder, letting out a strained little laugh at the defeated look on his face. “We were… talking about names, last week,” she says, “and it occurred to us that there might be a name you would like to… reserve. For future use.”

It hits like a punch to the solar plexus, heart-stopping, the way reminders of Bobby always do. Buck makes himself breathe slow and even, and then the implications of the offer are a follow-up punch to the gut. He gasps, helpless. “Wha—Chim, he died for y—” Chimney winces, and Buck wants to smack himself. Stupid, thoughtless—like he needs that reminder! “W-what I mean is, I can’t ask you to do that for me.”

“Yeah, well, I’m asking if you want me to anyway.” Chim shrugs, a sad little smile on his face. “Not to brag, but I’ve lost a lot of loved ones in my time, Buck. Plenty of people I could memorialize in a name.” He leans into Maddie’s side, looking fondly at her. “Then again, Jee-Yun’s already named for my mom. Maybe it’s time we honor someone Maddie lost.”

It takes Buck a second. Daniel. Oh, jeez.

For a moment, he thinks about it.

But just for a moment.

Buck shakes his head. “Mom and Dad—”

“—can deal with it,” Maddie insists.

Buck smiles—he’d love to see her say that to their faces—but doubles down. “Do you really want to risk it, though? Another kid they can’t help but treat differently?” He sure doesn’t want to have to see that. Even though they’d be able to tell his nephew why Grandma wants to run away and cry when she says his name, he knows from experience how little difference having an explanation makes.

Maddie winces, and he knows she gets it.

“No,” Buck says, firmer now, “if you guys want to name your kid after Bobby, you should do it. You have my blessing, or whatever.”

The tension drops out of the room so abruptly Buck feels stupid for failing to notice it sooner. Maddie smiles, relieved, and Chimney says a solemn, quiet word of thanks, and he feels like such a heel for considering any other answer for even a second.

“Besides,” Buck jokes, fiddling with a biscuit, “it’s not like I even—I-I mean, who knows if I’ll… if I’ll ever.” He stops, the unfairness of it all strangling his voice, making his heart stall out in his chest.

Because even if he does, someday. Whoever, however, it doesn’t matter—a name is the most substantial thing he can give them of Bobby. And that’s nothing, it’s just a word, a pair of sounds. Two syllables. Compared to everything he should be able to give—!

Tommy gently extracting the crushed biscuit from Buck’s hand snaps him back to reality. “Hey,” he says, just as gently, wrapping his hands around Buck’s.

“Hey. Sorry about—” Buck cuts himself off at the familiar look this gets him. He sighs. “I have nothing to apologize for, I know.”

“Good,” Tommy says. He glances between Maddie and Chimney, stricken, and Buck, surprised by his grief yet again. “Not that anyone asked, but my two cents? I don’t see why anyone needs to declare dibs here.” He squeezes Buck’s hand, a move Buck has come to recognize as a sign of an incoming anecdote that means more to Tommy than he’ll let on.

Buck gives Tommy his full attention.

Tommy averts his eyes.

“Like, my cousin’s wife? Her family is huge, but you can tell which is the firstborn kid in each household because they all have basically the same name. Marianne, Marion, Marvin (middle name Andrew), Marybeth (middle name Ann)… all after their shared grandma, who died twenty years before any of them were born.” Tommy shrugs. “Sure, it gets a little confusing when they’re all in the same place and you’re trying to get one’s attention, but… I don’t know, I think it’s kind of beautiful? That woman was so loved, you can see her impact on a whole generation.”

He meets Buck’s eyes at last, and it’s almost unbearable how earnest Tommy looks as he asks, “Why shouldn’t Bobby get as many namesakes as he has people who love him?”

Buck blinks. Looks at Maddie and Chimney, who barely share half a glance before they’re nodding at him.

Buck smiles, kisses Tommy, wipes tears from the corners of both their eyes with his free hand, and turns back to Maddie and Chimney. “So what were you thinking, Robert Daniel?”

Maddie shakes her head. “I thought about it, but I don’t want Jee-Yun feeling like the odd one out. So I went looking, and there are a couple Korean names that start with Bo…”

As she goes on, listing names and their pros and cons, her husband watching with hearts in his eyes, Buck leans closer to Tommy. “So what name are you considering, then?” he murmurs. “You have something already picked out that goes nicely with Robert?”

Buck doesn’t take his eyes off Maddie, doesn’t let go of either of Tommy’s hands. They’re taking this seriously, now, or at least that’s what they said. If Tommy meant it, if he means it, he can answer this question without flinching.

All the same, Buck’s readied himself for a neutral-at-best reaction.

He’s entirely unprepared for Tommy to immediately respond, “Nah. It’s kinda old-fashioned, but I’ve always liked the name Roberta.” And he hums, a little off-key, the first line of a song that Buck’s heard a dozen times or more, in the background of quiet, comfortable dinners at Tommy’s place.

Buck grins, his heart starting to race.

[solarmorrigan]

I'm late, I'm sorry, but here's the full fic from this WIP post yesterday!

[CW: bullying, references to canon racism and violence, mentions of recreational drug use]

-

Steve makes it to the bathroom down the hall from the shop classroom—the one that’s far from the cafeteria and always empty during lunch, where people really only come to smoke, anyway—before he completely loses his shit.

“Son of a bitch!” He’s almost screaming as he hauls off and punches the wall of one of the bathroom stalls, putting every ounce of anger and frustration and humiliation into it, hitting it so hard that the whole construction rattles.

“Motherfucker,” he hisses, shaking his hand out, because it had hurt, and then he winds up to do it again, to make it hurt more, because at least he’s in control of that much, at least it’s anything but what he’s feeling right now.

“That’s a good way to break your hand, y’know,” a voice comes from the doorway, startling Steve into pivoting and aiming his fist at whoever is coming after him now.

He stops short when he sees nobody but Eddie goddamn Munson standing there, cringing into a startled flinch to protect his head as Steve nearly swings at him.

“Jesus shit,” Steve barks, dropping his fist and stepping back, shaky with adrenaline. “You walk like a fucking ghost, Munson.”

Munson peeks out of his defensive crouch before straightening up and sending a meaningful glance at the stall wall. “Somehow, I don’t think you would’ve heard me even if I was making all the noise in the world.”

Steve shrugs, his shoulders staying up near his ears in a defensive slouch. He can feel something dropping out of his hair and down the side of his face, and he feels the humiliation all over again as he tries to swipe it away.

“What do you want?” he asks, beyond caring if he sounds rude; he thinks he’s entitled, considering.

This time, Munson shrugs, a rolling, casual thing that belies the sharp look in his eyes. “Came to see if you were okay, I guess.”

Steve snorts. Is he okay?

Like, in the grand scheme of things, the answer is a really shaky “maybe.” But lately? It’s more of a resounding “no, not fucking really.”

Aside from everything else – aside from the nightmares, aside from the headaches, aside from the fact he’d had to drop basketball after his concussion, aside from having no real friends or allies at school now that he and Nancy aren’t together – aside from all that, there’s Billy fucking Hargrove.

Hargrove, who had taken all of a month to start pushing Steve’s buttons again. Who had taken less than a few days after that to realize that Steve wasn’t going to push back.

And then he’d started looking for the boundary line, pushing and pushing, shoulder-checking Steve in the hall, tripping him in the single class they share, knocking shit out of his hands, shoving him when his back is turned, all the while spitting names and insults, until it had culminated into today’s fiasco: dumping a carton of chocolate milk over the top of Steve’s head in the middle of the cafeteria with a deeply unconvincing “oops.”

It had gone dead silent, every eye in the room on Steve’s red face and Hargrove’s triumphant grin, while Steve had only been able to stand there, shaking with startled rage as milk had sluiced out of his hair and seeped into his collar and down the back of his shirt, knowing that he couldn’t retaliate.

He couldn’t.

He’d marched out of the cafeteria, shame and anger growing as voices had bloomed up behind him, already gossiping and speculating.

So, no, actually, he’s not really okay.

But instead of saying any of this to Munson, he just scoffs and turns away, looking towards the sinks.

“Wouldn’t have expected you to care,” he says, injecting as much lazy indifference into his voice as he can, trying to armor up the way he used to. “The number of speeches you’ve given about how much me and my group suck, I’d have figured you’d be the first to say I deserved it.”

Munson doesn’t say anything for a moment, and Steve doesn’t look back to see if the barb landed. He doesn’t really care, he just wants the guy to go away so Steve can finish his meltdown and clean up in peace.

“Not your group anymore, though,” Munson finally says.

Steve shrugs, pulling a wad of paper towels from the dispenser; might as well move on to cleanup if Munson isn’t going to fuck off. He guesses his little breakdown can wait until he gets home.

“Hasn’t been for over a year, now, right?” Munson goes on. Steve says nothing, using a dry paper towel to try to blot up the mess. “And whatever you were like then, you’re… less like that now. Like, anyone paying attention can see you’re kinda trying something new this year.”

Steve ignores the way that makes something catch in his throat. “Thanks for the endorsement,” he drawls. “I’ll put it on my college apps: Not as much of an asshole as I used to be.”

“It’s a start,” Munson says, and Steve glances up in time to see him shrug in the mirror.

“I guess,” Steve mutters.

“And, uh – hey, I grabbed your stuff,” Munson says, holding up the binder and notebooks that Steve’s attention had glossed over until now. “Some of it’s kinda… milky, sorry.”

Steve blinks. “Uh. Thank you,” he says, stunned for a moment into sincerity.

Munson shrugs again, putting Steve’s stuff up on the narrow shelf on the wall that no one ever uses to hold things because it’s probably never been cleaned. Not like Steve’s stuff is clean now, anyway.

Steve turns back to the sink, wetting a few of the paper towels and waiting to see if Munson is going to leave now.

“What I can’t figure out–” nope, apparently he’s staying, “–is why you’re in here punching the wall, instead of out there, punching Hargrove.”

At least that makes more sense; he’s here out of curiosity, not concern.

“I mean, most people would’ve hit him for that,” Munson goes on. “I would’ve.”

But Steve’s already shaking his head before Munson’s finished speaking. “Not worth it,” he says firmly.

“What, afraid of a little suspension?” Munson asks, almost teasing. “Pretty sure the school would let their golden boy off with a slap on the wrist.”

“Not anybody’s golden boy anymore,” Steve snaps, scrubbing a wet paper towel through his hair in a vain attempt to get some of the rapidly-drying milk out. “I dropped basketball, remember? Didn’t even go in for swimming this year.”

“Oh, yeah,” Munson says, like he’d genuinely forgotten. “Sorry, not really into the whole… sports scene. Like, at all.”

Steve shrugs. “Whatever. Not important. I don’t give a shit about being suspended. I don’t even care if he hits me back. Not like I need another knock to the head at this point, but – whatever.” Steve shakes his head. “It’s just that he could– there are other things he could do.”

In the mirror, Munson’s eyebrows go up. “What, does he have blackmail on you or some shit?”

Steve raises his brows right back. “If he did, do you really think I’d tell you?”

Munson tips his head to the side. “Yeah, okay, fair enough.”

“Anyway, he doesn’t have blackmail, he has… leverage, I guess.” Steve lets out a harsh sigh and gives up on his hair for now, wetting a paper towel to try to get some of the milk off his face and neck, instead.

“…are you allowed to tell me what that is?” Munson asks after a moment.

And for a moment, Steve thinks about it. The only people in school who really know are Nancy and Jonathan, and he’s asked them to follow his lead in just – not talking about it. He hasn’t told anybody any version of what happened in the Byers’ house, or why Billy seems to have made him his personal stress ball. But who the hell would Munson tell? All his nerdy friends in his game club?

(No, no, that’s not fair. Steve doesn’t even know those people, and he’s trying not to be that guy anymore. He doesn’t have to be nice, but he shouldn’t be unkind.)

(The point stands, though – who would Munson even tell?)

“Do you know why Hargrove beat my face in back in November?” Steve finally asks, avoiding Munson’s eyes in the mirror by focusing very hard on getting the tacky milk off his hairline.

“Well, I’ve heard most of the rumors by now, I think. Heard Hargrove’s version of events, as has pretty much everyone, I’m sure. Haven’t heard yours, though,” Munson says, his voice tilting up in interest. “I just figured it was because he hated you.”

Steve lets out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, well, you’re not wrong. But also…” He pauses for a moment, collecting his thoughts. “There are these kids I babysit. Sort of.”

“Sort of?” Munson presses.

“Well, most of the time it feels like they’re just ordering me around like a bunch of entitled shitheads. But I make sure they get where they’re going without, like, disappearing, and that they don’t have so much unsupervised time that they manage to get themselves killed,” Steve admits.

“Uh huh,” Munson says; he sounds… a little confused, but not disbelieving. “And you ended up with this gig, how?”

“It’s Nancy’s little brother, and his little nerd friends,” Steve says (he’s allowed to call them nerds because he knows them, and it’s true. And besides, it’s affectionate).

“Aaand you’re still doing it now? Even though you and Wheeler aren’t…”

Steve shrugs. “They grew on me. But that’s– that’s not the point. One of the kids is, uh. Hargrove’s stepsister. And the night me and Hargrove got into it, I guess she wasn’t supposed to be out.”

“Ah,” Munson says.

“Yeah.” Steve sighs, giving up on the milk as a bad job; he probably should’ve run off to the gym showers instead of a shitty bathroom. He turns and leans back against the sink, crossing his arms over his chest and staring at the floor near Munson’s scuffed sneakers. “So he came looking for her.”

“So… Not that I’m advocating handing over children to pieces of shit like him, but – like, wouldn’t it have been the technically correct thing to do, to send her home with what is legally a family member?” Munson asks.

Steve passes a hand over his face. “She was terrified,” he says quietly, feeling a little like he’s betraying Max’s trust by saying it out loud, by saying it to a stranger. “She was terrified of what he would do if he found her there, where she wasn’t supposed to be. Terrified of what he would do to one of the other kids if he caught them together, since he’d specifically warned her to stay away from him.”

“What’s wrong with this other kid?” Munson asks, brows furrowed.

“Nothing,” Steve bites out. “He’s smart, and he’s brave, and he’s, like, slightly less of an asshole than some of the others, but what Hargrove cared about is that he’s black.”

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Munson snaps, and Steve’s hackles raise, ready to defend his kid all over again if he has to, but before he can get anything else out, Munson goes on. “We already knew he was a racist piece of shit, but – a fucking kid?”

Steve subsides. “Yeah. A fucking kid. So I told them all to stay inside and I went out to try to head him off. Or at least keep him out of the house. Which, obviously, I failed at.” He lets out a derisive little laugh, aimed solely at himself. “He knocked me on my ass, knocked the wind out of me, got past me– and by the time I was able to get up, he was already– he was inside, and he had that kid by the collar, up against the wall– one of my fucking kids–” Steve breaks off, the same rage and terror from that night choking up in his throat again. After the day he’s had, his emotions are all too close to the surface, too near to bubbling out, and he rubs at his nose, trying to stave off the angry, exhausted tears he can feel pricking at the corners of his eyes. “So I decked him.”

“Good!” Munson exclaims, and for a moment Steve actually manages a real smile.

“Yeah,” he says. “Then he hit me back, which, like, obviously. I was expecting him to, but– I mean, I might’ve actually won that fight if the fucker hadn’t hit me in the head with a plate.”

The expression that crosses Munson’s face is almost comically shocked. “What?”

“Yeah,” Steve says again, running a hand over his jaw, thumbing almost unconsciously at the still-fading scar where the porcelain had sliced him open. “I’m a little fuzzy on shit after that. Like, I remember being on the floor, and him kneeling over me, and hitting me, and hitting me, and then– I dunno, nothing.”

Distantly, Steve realizes that the expression on Munson’s face has turned from ‘comically shocked’ to ‘mildly horrified,’ but he’s a little too lost in the blurry memory of that night to do much about it.

“Holy shit, how are you not dead?” Munson blurts out.

He looks like he immediately regrets asking, but Steve finds he’s actually grateful for the question. He’s glad to move the conversation along.

“Max.” He smirks over at Eddie. “Hargrove’s stepsister. I guess she, uh– threatened him with a baseball bat? Saved my ass.”

That’s a deep over-simplification, but Steve can’t think of a way to explain the presence of heavy sedatives in the Byers’ house, and, anyway, she had threatened him with a baseball bat. The kids had all taken great joy in reenacting the way Max had nearly neutered Hargrove with the nailbat, actually; it’s almost like Steve had been there (and conscious).

“Holy shit,” Munson says, and whichever part he’s referring to, Steve is inclined to agree.

“Yep. So I was out fucking cold at the time, but the kids all insist that she got him to agree to leave her and her friends alone, but…” Steve shakes his head. “Hargrove is a fucking psychopath. I don’t trust him to keep that promise. So, at least if he’s focused on me, he might leave her alone. But if I hit back…”

“You think he’ll retaliate by going after one of your kids,” Munson says, only a hint of teasing in his words at the end.

“I know he will,” Steve says; Hargrove had implied as much more than once. He crosses his arms back over his chest. “And they are my kids.”

Munson throws his hands up, as if in surrender, but he’s definitely smiling now.

“I’m serious,” Steve insists, close to smiling himself. “They think I’m stuck with them, but they’re the ones stuck with me.”

“Lucky them,” Munson says, and– what?

“What?” Steve asks.

“Look, you’re either a better actor than, like, everyone in the drama club, or you at least seriously believe what you told me, which is more than I can say for Hargrove and whatever shit he came up with about the two of you getting into it over… what, his car was better than yours? He’s better at laundry ball? I don’t fucking remember, and it doesn’t really matter, because it was clearly and pathetically fabricated,” Munson says with an authoritative nod. “You, at the very least, really give a shit about those kids. So, yeah. Lucky them.”

“Well,” Steve scrambles for a moment, trying to cover the way he actually feels like he might start fucking blushing, “if I’d known all I had to do to change your mind about me was tell you about a fight I lost, I’d have done it ages ago.”

And now Munson’s back to smirking at him. “Seeking my esteem that badly, Harrington?”

“What? No. I mean – not– not specifically yours, it’s just… like, there’s not really an easy or fast way to make up for being kind of a dick for the last… while.” Steve runs his hand through his hair, stopping with a grimace when he remembers the drying milk. “You just have to keep not being a dick and hope people give you a chance. So, like, compared to that, convincing you was easy.”

“And all you had to do was get a severe concussion first,” Munson drawls.

Steve rolls his eyes. “I didn’t say it was severe.”

“You got hit with a plate,” Munson deadpans, and Steve can’t quite help the resulting flinch, at which Munson almost immediately softens. “Sorry.”

Steve shakes his head. “It’s fine.”

Mouth screwed to the side, Munson eyes Steve for a moment, glancing over his shirt and up to his face before gesturing at him. “You want some help with that?”

Steve blinks at him. “What?”

“Your whole… hair situation. You could bend ov– like, you could lean over the sink and I could, uh. Try to rinse it for you. Or whatever,” Munson offers, awkward but apparently sincere.

It sounds like a stupid as hell way to try to rinse his hair. The sinks are small, and not exactly high off the ground; Steve would have better luck just going to the locker room and showering it all out. His soap is there, too, and an extra shirt.

On the other hand, Steve really doesn’t feel like leaving the bathroom yet. He’s pretty sure lunch is going to end soon, and encountering everyone during passing period sounds like a nightmare. In here, with Munson, it’s quiet. It feels almost safe.

“Yeah, sure,” Steve finally says, and Munson looks nearly shocked that he’s accepted.

Credit to him, though: he doesn’t back out. He just slides his jacket off, tosses it up over the wall of one of the bathroom stalls, rolls up his sleeves, and gestures for Steve to lean over the sink.

“Hot or cold?” he asks, going for the taps.

“Hot,” Steve answers immediately; he doesn’t need any other cold liquid on his head today.

“Hm.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” Munson says airily, turning on the water. “You just kinda strike me as a cold shower guy. Like, up at dawn, go for a run, take a cold shower – all that weird jock shit.”

It isn’t intended to mock, Steve realizes as Munson tests the water temperature—the school pipes take forever to heat up—but to tease. It’s a joke, and Steve is invited in on it. And anyway, it’s… actually kind of close to the mark, so Steve doesn’t say anything at all for a moment as he puts his head as close to the faucet as he can get it and Munson places one cupped hand over the back of his neck and uses the other to scoop water over Steve’s hair.

“Cold water is better for your hair. Not that you’d know anything about that.” Steve finally says, hoping that his own teasing tone carries even with the way he has to raise his voice to be heard over the running water.

Luckily, Munson sounds amused when he answers. “Oh! Shots fucking fired. I see how it is!” Even as he’s pretending at being offended, his fingers stay gentle against Steve’s scalp as he tries to scrub out the dried mess, and Steve fights very, very hard not to shudder.

He can’t remember when the last time someone touched him with gentle intent was. Maybe he’d gotten a hug from Dustin last week?

Shit, that’s fucking pathetic.

He tries even harder not to lean into the touch, into the surprisingly kind hands on the back of his neck and on his scalp, tries hard not to act like some kind of touch-starved weirdo and make Munson regret offering to help.

The irony of the fact that Steve is trying not to act like a freak in front of Eddie Munson is not lost on him.

After another couple of minutes of Munson manipulating Steve’s head this way and that, doing his best to be thorough, he lets Steve go entirely and shuts the water off.

“That’s probably as good as I’m gonna be able to get it,” he says, pushing another handful of paper towels at Steve as he stands up.

“Better than I could’ve done here,” Steve says with a shrug, rubbing the paper towels over his hair and grimacing as he can feel it frizzing in about a hundred different directions.

When he finishes, he turns to look in the mirror, watching in real time as it droops over his forehead and tickles at his wet shirt collar. Munson stands next to him, watching without judgement, but with what feels like an inappropriate amount of fascination.

“Well, I’m not going to lie to you,” Munson says at last, “you look a little like a sad, wet dog.”

Steve’s eyes snap to Munson with a glare. “Gee, thanks.”

“Some people are into that!” Munson insists, holding his hands up placatingly. “That droopy aesthetic, with the big, brown puppy eyes. Someone might just wanna scoop you up and take you home to take care of you. It’s a thing.”

Do you want to? – the question comes immediately and unbidden to Steve’s head, and he quickly shakes it away. They might be on amiable terms right now, teasing each other a little, but he isn’t sure that wouldn’t be a bridge too far.

(He isn’t even sure it is teasing. For a moment, he’d had the genuine urge to ask.)

“Anyway, I think most of the mess is out of your hair, but I’m pretty sure your shirt is toast,” Munson goes on, gesturing to the brown stain around the collar, over one shoulder, and probably down the back.

If he’d been wearing a darker color today, it might’ve been alright, but of course today he’d chosen light blue. Steve sighs, plucking at the front of the shirt. If he can’t salvage it, he might as well ditch it; it’s getting uncomfortably stiff and tacky with the dried milk, and he’d honestly rather stick it out in his undershirt for as long as it takes him to get to the locker room than walk around with evidence of Hargrove’s little stunt all over him.

He untucks the shirt and yanks it over his head, no need to be careful of his hair, emerging from the depths of it to find Munson staring at him in a stunned sort of silence.

“What?” Steve asks. “If it’s wrecked, anyway, I might as well get rid of it. I’ve got a spare shirt in my gym locker I can go grab.”

Munson blinks at him, almost like he’s trying to clear his head. “Or!” he practically shouts – possibly louder than he meant to, since he continues more quietly, “Or, you could just ditch for the rest of the day. I mean, you have any particularly interesting classes after lunch you feel the need to attend?”

“Not really,” Steve admits with a huff of a laugh. “But leaving after that feels a little like– letting Hargrove win. Like I’m retreating or some shit.”

“Nah, don’t think of it like that.” Munson tosses an arm over Steve shoulders, waving his other in front of both of them, like he’s trying to show Steve a grand vision and they aren’t both just staring at the ugly tile on the bathroom wall. “Think of it as cutting class and getting free weed from Hawkins High’s most esteemed dealer.”

Steve turns to look at Munson, staring at him more closely than he’s ever had reason to, and realizing there are tiny freckles on his face. “What, seriously?”

“Sure.” Munson shrugs. “Lemme smoke you out, Harrington. Seems like a good way to let your stress go for a bit – though I am just a little biased.”

“Why?” Steve asks; he doesn’t understand the sudden turn this day has taken, the sudden and bizarre kindness offered that he doesn’t even know what he’s done to deserve.

Munson’s eyes slide away from Steve, though his arm notably stays draped over his shoulders. “Been where you are. It’s not great. And, I mean, if it had happened last year, then, admittedly, I probably wouldn’t have given as much of a shit. Jock on jock violence, whatever. But you,” he glances back at Steve, “you’re genuinely trying to be, like, a good person. And I don’t think you should be punished for that. I think, in fact, that you could probably use a friend.”

“I…” The words stick in Steve’s throat, because what the hell can he even say to that? On anyone else, Steve would have assumed an ulterior motive, but Munson had infused it with so much awkward sincerity that Steve can’t help but realize it’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s said or offered to do for him in… he’s not even sure how long.

His silence must stretch on a little too long, though, because the hopeful light in Munson’s eyes fades a bit, and he begins to slide his arm off of Steve’s shoulder. “Or, y’know, you can tell me to fuck off, because I’m, like, way overstepping some boundaries, and–”

“We should go to my place,” Steve blurts, while grabbing Munson’s wrist for some insane reason.

“What?” Munson blinks over at him, (understandably) startled.

“My place. We should go there to smoke. If you still want to.” Steve could cringe for how stilted the whole thing is coming out. “I want to be able to take a real shower.”

Munson stares at him for a moment longer before laying a hand over his heart with a gasp, suddenly leaning heavily into Steve’s side and forcing Steve to wrap an arm around his waist so they don’t both lose their balance.

“I see how it is!” Munson gasps dramatically. “My sink shower just wasn’t good enough!”

Steve holds in a laugh. “Your sink shower was… fine. But I’ve got milk dried in other uncomfortable places, so unless you want to wash my back for me, too, we should go back to mine.”

Munson’s gaze snaps back to Steve, something a little odd in it, and – oh. Oh, that hadn’t sounded quite like Steve had meant it. It had sounded a little like an offer of the kind you don’t go around making to just anybody.

Steve braces himself, waiting for the reaction (he doubts if Munson would get any kind of physical, but there will probably be an awkward pulling away and sudden remembering of something he has to do literally anywhere else that afternoon), but all Munson does is break into a sly smile and say, “I could, but I’d have to charge you extra.”

Steve can’t help it: he laughs, giving Munson a good-natured shove, who finally releases Steve but doesn’t stumble more than a couple of steps away.

“Meet you at my place?” Steve offers, balling up his shirt and dropping it on top of his notebooks as he grabs them from the shelf. “Half an hour?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” Munson gives him a corny little salute before grabbing his jacket from over the stall wall and preceding Steve to the bathroom door.

“Munson,” Steve finds himself calling out, just as the other boy’s hand closes around the door handle; Munson glances back and Steve fights the urge to look away. “Uh. Thanks. For, like… yeah. Thanks.”

Whatever meaning Munson takes out of Steve’s absolutely eloquent verbal vomit of gratitude, it makes him smile. “No need for thanks, man,” he says. “I’m honestly a little surprised to say it, but the pleasure was definitely mine.”

And then he disappears out the door, leaving Steve in the bathroom wondering how the hell his day had taken this turn, and just what destination it’s leading him to.

And thinking that he’s honestly a little excited to find out.

[brunchable]

Love Child | Steve Rogers × f!Reader.

Words: 7.1K Themes: ANGST, betrayal of trust, break-up. Twigger Warning: Panic attack. Summary: You find out that Steve has a child, and the problem was, you weren't the mother. A/N: Read it if you want to hurt. I woke up and chose emotional damage LMAO. Today I am brave enough to post a Steve angst with no happy ending, I have been stalling but eh. A/N: Also I need to organize who wants to get tagged for ALL of my Steve Rogers fic. I am in a mess here, so if I am not tagging you, that's the reason.

Tags: @mrsevans90 @haruvalentine4321

You stared at the letter in your hands, the words blurring as tears welled in your eyes. Your chest tightened, the walls of the room closing in on you. The world tilted and spun, a sharp pain cutting through your heart as if it had been pierced by a dagger you never saw coming.

The paper crumpled in your hand as the weight of the revelation crushed you. Steve has a child. And the mother was Sharon.

A ragged breath escaped you, your body trembling as you stumbled back, gripping the edge of the counter to keep yourself upright. How long? The question echoed in your mind, over and over again.

How long had Steve kept this from you? How long had he looked you in the eyes, told you he loved you, and hidden this secret?

The door creaked open, and you turned, your heart already in tatters, your hands gripping the countertop so hard your knuckles turned white. Steve walked in, his expression soft, unaware of the storm raging within you.

He froze when he saw your face—your red-rimmed eyes, your trembling body. His gaze dropped to the letter in your hand, and in an instant, you saw the recognition hit him hard.

“Y/N,” he began, his voice careful, cautious, like he knew he was stepping into dangerous territory.

“You—” Your voice cracked, but you forced the words out, the pain burning through your chest. “You have a child?”

Steve’s face paled. He opened his mouth, but you didn’t give him a chance to speak.

“No. You don’t get to talk right now,” you spat, your voice shaking with barely controlled fury. “How long were you planning to hide this from me, Steve?”

“Y/N, it’s not what you think—”

You laughed, the sound bitter. “Not what I think? Steve, you have a child with Sharon. A child. And you didn’t think I had the right to know?”

His jaw tightened, guilt flickering across his face, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing he could say now would ever be enough.

“How long?” you demanded, your voice rising. “How long have you known?”

He hesitated, and that hesitation was like another stab to your already bleeding heart.

“Three years,” he whispered, barely able to meet your eyes.

You froze. “Three years?”

It felt like the ground had been ripped out from under you, the air knocked from your lungs. You took a step back, trying to keep yourself from falling apart completely.

“Three years, Steve?” you repeated, your voice soft but trembling with every word. “You’ve known for three years, and you didn’t tell me? You didn’t think that I should know that the man I love has a child?”

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” Steve started, stepping forward, but you recoiled from him, shaking your head.

“That’s your excuse?” you said, incredulous. “You didn’t know how to tell me? So you just decided not to? Did you think I wouldn’t find out? Did you think this would never come up?”

Steve’s face twisted in pain, but you couldn’t stop. The dam had broken, and all the hurt, the betrayal, poured out of you like a flood.

“Do you have any idea what that feels like? To find out like this?” You threw the crumpled letter at his chest, your voice breaking as the tears spilled over. “I’ve stood by you through everything. I’ve defended you when everyone else doubted you. I’ve fought for us. I trusted you with everything—and you kept this from me?”

“Y/N, please,” Steve pleaded, his voice cracking. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“You didn’t want to hurt me?” you repeated, your voice trembling with disbelief. “Well, guess what, Steve? You did. You hurt me more than anyone ever has. You kept this secret from me, and now I don’t even know who you are.”

He took another step closer, desperation etched into every line of his face. “I didn’t love Sharon. It wasn’t—”

“I don’t care about Sharon!” you shouted with a bite, cutting him off. “I care about the fact that you didn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth. I care about the fact that you’ve looked me in the eyes, slept beside me, told me you loved me—all while hiding this.”

Steve’s lips parted, but no words came out. And in that silence, something inside you shattered.

“I loved you, Steve,” you whispered, the tears flowing freely now, no longer caring to hold them back. “I loved you more than anything. But now? Now all I feel is… hollow.”

He flinched as if the word struck him deeply, but it didn’t stop you. 

“You had a choice, Steve. You could have trusted me. You could have told me the truth. But instead, you chose to keep me in the dark. You chose to lie. And now?” Your voice broke again, the weight of your words settling in the air between you. “Now, I don’t even know if I can ever forgive you for that—”

“Oh my God! Will you let me explain?!” Steve exploded, his voice shaking the walls. He stepped forward, fists clenched, his entire body vibrating with anger. “You keep going on and on, like I wanted this to happen! You think I wanted to hide this from you? You don’t even know what it was like!”

Your head snapped back, and your voice matched his fury. “I don’t know what it was like? I’m the one who’s been fooled! For three years! You kept this massive secret from me, and now I’m the one who doesn’t understand?”

“Yeah, you don’t!” he shot back, stepping closer, the space between you charged, toxic. “You have no idea what it was like carrying that around. Every day, wondering if telling you would blow everything apart!”

“Well, guess what?” you yelled, voice rising as your hands trembled at your sides. “You didn’t have to wonder, Steve. Because it’s blown apart now!”

Steve’s jaw clenched so tightly it looked like it might shatter. “I didn’t lie, Y/N. I didn’t know about the kid until after we were already together!”

“You lied by not telling me when you found out!” you screamed, your chest heaving with the effort. “You made me believe there were no secrets between us, and all this time, you’ve been hiding something so huge! You have a child! A whole other life with Sharon!”

“It’s not a life!” Steve roared, his voice breaking under the weight of his anger. “It was a mistake! Something I never wanted in the first place!”

“Then why didn’t you tell me? Why did you hide it? Were you too much of a coward to be honest with me?” Your words hit like daggers, your chest burning from the emotional wreckage piling up between you.

Steve’s face twisted into something hard, something darker. “Coward? Coward? You want to talk about being a coward? How about the time you lied to me?”

Your breath hitched, your eyes narrowing in confusion and shock. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know,” he spat, his voice venomous. “You remember that night you said you were out with Nat, but really, you were meeting with Bucky behind my back. You lied to me about that. Don’t act like you’re innocent here.”

“That’s not the same thing!” you snapped, shaking your head as you stepped closer, your heart hammering in your chest. “I didn’t lie about having a whole ass child, Steve! There’s a pretty huge difference!”

Steve let out a bitter, angry laugh, running his hands through his hair. “No, it’s not the same, but you still lied. You lied because you didn’t want to deal with my reaction, just like I didn’t want to deal with this.”

“I lied about a mission! A mission. Not something that would change everything between us. Don’t you dare try to make this about me when you’re the one who’s been hiding a child for years!”

“You’re so self-righteous,” Steve snapped, his voice full of heat, his chest rising and falling with the force of his anger. “You act like you’re perfect, like you’ve never made a mistake. You’re so focused on my screw-ups, but you don’t even see your own.”

Your mouth dropped open, the words barely able to form as you stared at him in disbelief. “You’re trying to make this my fault? You’re actually blaming me for this?”

Steve’s eyes blazed as he stepped forward, his voice low, seething. “I’m saying you act like you’re the only one who’s hurt here. Like you’re the only one who has a right to be angry. But guess what, Y/N? I’m angry too. I’m angry that I had to carry this weight alone because I didn’t know how to tell you without you tearing me apart for it.”

“You chose that!” you shot back, your voice shaking with fury. “You chose to keep this from me, Steve. Don’t try to make it seem like I forced your hand. You had every chance to be honest, and you didn’t. That’s on you.”

“Of course, it’s on me!” Steve shouted, throwing his hands in the air. “But you act like I’m the only one who’s ever messed up, like your lies don’t count. Like your secrets are somehow better.”

You felt your chest tighten, the tears of rage building again behind your eyes. “You have no right to stand there and compare this to anything I’ve done. You hid a child from me, Steve. Do you even get how massive that is? You took away my right to know.”

“I know!” he yelled, his voice breaking. “I know I fucked up. I know I should’ve told you, but I was scared, okay? I was scared of what it would do to us.”

“And now look at us,” you whispered, the words filled with raw pain. “It’s worse. It’s so much worse because you waited. Because you lied.”

Steve took a deep breath, his voice softening but still tinged with anger. “I didn’t want to hurt you. That’s why I didn’t tell you.”

“But you did,” you said, your voice breaking. “You hurt me more than you can imagine. And the worst part is, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to look at you the same way again.”

Steve’s shoulders sagged, the fight draining out of him as the weight of your words settled between you. “Y/N…”

You shook your head, stepping back, the tears spilling over now, hot and fast. “You broke us, Steve.”

“I know,” he whispered, his voice small, broken. But it wasn’t enough. Nothing would ever be enough to fix this.

“I hope it was worth it,” you spat, turning your back on Steve as you stormed toward the stairs. The anger radiated off you, the floor trembling beneath your footsteps as you ascended.

“Y/N—where are you going? What are you doing?” Steve called after you, his voice still thick with frustration and desperation. You didn’t turn back, didn’t even acknowledge him as your heart pounded violently in your chest.

Your feet carried you faster, the distance between you and Steve becoming a chasm you knew neither of you could cross again. You reached the bedroom, flinging the closet doors open with a sharp tug. Your hands shook as you grabbed your suitcase, throwing it onto the bed with a loud thud.

“Y/N, stop!” Steve’s voice was closer now, frantic as he followed you up the stairs, his boots heavy on the hardwood floor. “What are you doing?”

But you kept your back to him, ignoring the pleading edge to his voice as you tore clothes from hangers, shoving them into the suitcase with reckless abandon.

“Y/N—talk to me!” Steve’s voice was sharp, almost panicked now, but you couldn’t stop. You wouldn’t stop.

The closet was a blur of motion as you threw more and more into your bag, your breath coming out in ragged gasps as you fought to keep from sobbing. You had to focus, had to keep moving, because if you stopped—if you stopped for even one second—you knew you’d break completely.

“Where are you going?” Steve demanded, his voice breaking as he grabbed your arm, forcing you to face him. “What are you doing, Y/N?”

Your eyes snapped up to his, blazing with fury. You ripped your arm out of his grasp, your voice dripping with venom. “I’m leaving, Steve. What does it look like I’m doing?”

He blinked, stunned by your words, his hands falling to his sides. “You’re not… You can’t just—”

“I can,” you cut him off, zipping up the half-packed suitcase with a sharp tug. “And I will.”

He stared at you, his chest rising and falling with heavy, uneven breaths. “You’re just going to walk away? After everything?”

You whirled on him, your eyes flashing. “What else do you want me to do, Steve? Stay? Pretend like everything’s fine? You betrayed me.” 

You shook your head, grabbing another handful of clothes and shoving them into the suitcase. “I can’t do that.”

Steve ran a hand through his hair, his voice filled with a desperate edge. “I made a mistake, Y/N! I know I did. But you can’t just throw everything away like this.”

“You threw it away,” you snapped, your voice rising again, your hands trembling as you yanked open the dresser. “The second you decided to lie to me, you threw us away.”

His hand slammed against the dresser, stopping your frantic movements, his voice breaking with emotion. 

“I didn’t want to lose you!”

You froze, your fingers gripping the edge of the drawer, your heart pounding in your ears. 

“Well, congratulations, Steve,” you whispered, your voice raw and ragged. “You lost me anyway.”

You pulled away from him, resuming your packing with a fury, trying to shove everything into the suitcase as quickly as possible. You couldn’t stay here any longer—not with him, not after everything.

“Y/N, please,” Steve’s voice cracked, and for the first time, you heard the fear beneath the anger. “Don’t do this. We can fix this.”

You snapped the suitcase shut, turning to face him one last time, your throat burning as you fought so hard not to break down in front of him. “We can’t fix this, Steve. You broke it. You broke us. And I don’t think I can ever forgive you for that.”

His face crumpled, the pain in his eyes matching the hollow ache in your chest. “I love you, Y/N.”

You swallowed hard, the words catching in your throat as you turned away from him, grabbing your suitcase and pulling it off the bed. 

“I wish that was enough,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him.

Steve took a step forward, his hand reaching out as if he could pull you back, but you were already gone. Already walking toward the door, the weight of everything crashing down around you.

You didn’t look back as you left, didn’t let yourself see the devastation on his face. Because if you did—if you saw the hurt in his eyes—you might have broken completely.

× × × × 

The rain hammered against the windshield, streaking in endless lines, distorting the world outside as you drove aimlessly through the storm. The wipers struggled to keep up, but it didn’t matter—you could barely see through the blur of tears clouding your vision.

Your hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white as your chest heaved with shallow, uneven breaths. The weight of everything was too much—the anger, the betrayal, the unbearable ache in your heart. It felt like your whole world had collapsed in a single moment, and now you were drowning in the wreckage.

You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think.

With a sharp jerk, you pulled the car to the side of the road, the tires skidding slightly on the wet pavement. The sound of the blinker clicked furiously in the sudden stillness, an incessant reminder of the chaos swirling inside you.

And then, the dam broke.

A sob ripped from your throat, deep and raw, shaking your entire body as you collapsed forward, your head falling against the steering wheel. The tears came in a rush, uncontrollable and violent, each breath harder to take than the last. You gasped, but no air came—just the suffocating weight of your own grief, crashing over you like a tidal wave.

Your chest ached, a sharp, stabbing pain that radiated through your ribs, like something inside you was breaking apart, splintering under the pressure. You tried to breathe, but the sobs came too fast, too strong, wrenching your body with each convulsion.

It felt like your heart was being crushed, squeezed until it couldn’t beat anymore. You pressed a hand to your chest, desperate, coughing between sobs as you tried to force the air back into your lungs. But it wouldn’t come.

You were drowning.

The sound of the blinker ticked steadily in the background, but all you could hear was your own ragged breathing, the gasps for air that never came, the broken cries that tore from your throat.

You couldn’t stop.

The tears burned as they fell, hot and endless, but you didn’t wipe them away. You couldn’t. Your body was shaking, your chest so tight it felt like you were being crushed from the inside. Every sob sent fresh waves of pain through you—pain so deep it felt like your heart was being ripped apart.

You heaved, gasping, your hand clutching your chest as though you could somehow hold yourself together. But you couldn’t. Everything inside you was breaking, crumbling under the weight of the agony that consumed you.

You coughed, your throat raw from the sobs, the pressure in your chest building until it felt like you might burst. You wanted it to stop—needed it to stop—but the pain only deepened, settling into every corner of your body, pressing down harder with every breath you couldn’t take.

You screamed then, the sound tearing through the car, harsh and guttural, a cry that came from somewhere deep inside—the part of you that had been shattered beyond repair. It filled the space, mingling with the sound of the rain and the steady tick of the blinker, a scream of pure, unfiltered anguish.

And still, the tears came.

It felt like hours before the sobs began to slow, before the heaving breaths turned into shallow gasps, your body trembling from the exertion. But the pain remained—a deep, aching wound that throbbed in your chest, a constant reminder that everything you had was gone.

Your hands shook as you wiped your eyes, though the tears wouldn’t stop completely. You leaned back in the seat, staring blankly out at the rain-soaked world, feeling empty. Hollow.

And as the blinker continued to tick, the world outside was nothing but a blur of rain and darkness, you realized you didn’t know how to pick up the pieces of what was left of you.

Your fingers trembled as you reached for your phone, the weight of it heavy in your palm, the screen blurred by the tears still streaming down your face. Every part of you ached—your chest tight, your breath shaky, the sobs still threatening to break free. You could barely see through the haze of grief, but you needed someone. Needed someone to pull you out of this spiral before it swallowed you whole.

With a shaking hand, you scrolled through your contacts, and your thumb hovered over her name—Nat. The one person who had always been there, who wouldn’t ask too many questions, who would understand with just a single word.

The ringing felt like it stretched on forever, each second punctuated by the relentless ticking of the blinker, the steady beat of rain against the windshield.

Finally, the call connected.

"Y/N?" Nat’s voice was soft. 

You tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. A choked sob escaped you instead, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. You clutched the phone tighter, your other hand pressing hard against your chest, as though you could hold yourself together long enough to speak.

"Y/N?" Nat’s voice sharpened, filled with worry now. "What’s going on? Are you okay?"

"I—I can’t—" The words came out broken, shattered between sobs. You coughed, gasping for breath, trying to force out the words that felt stuck in your throat. "I can’t… breathe."

"Hey, hey, breathe." Nat’s voice softened, grounding you, pulling you out of the suffocating darkness. "Take a breath. What’s going on?"

You sucked in a breath, but it was jagged, painful. The tears wouldn’t stop, your chest still heaving, but Nat’s voice kept you tethered, kept you from spiraling further.

“It’s Steve,” you whispered, voice barely audible through the sobs. “He—he lied to me, Nat. About… everything.”

Silence on the other end. Nat didn’t press. She didn’t need to. She knew there was more, something deeper, something that had torn you apart from the inside out. And she waited.

“I left,” you managed to choke out, your fingers trembling as you gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white. “I just… I couldn’t… I couldn’t stay.”

“Where are you?” Nat asked, her voice calm, steady—a lifeline in the chaos.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, blinking through the blur of tears as you glanced out at the rain-soaked road. You didn’t even know where you had driven to—just away. Away from him, away from the lies, away from everything that had broken you.

“Okay,” Nat’s voice was soothing now, a steady rhythm against the sound of your sobs. “It’s going to be okay, Y/N. Just breathe, alright? I’m coming to get you. Just tell me where you are.”

You coughed, the pain in your chest still sharp, still suffocating. You pressed your forehead against the steering wheel, forcing yourself to take a shallow, shaky breath. “I’m… by the old bridge, off the main road.”

“I know where that is,” Nat said, her voice quick, decisive. “Stay there. Don’t move, okay? I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

You nodded, though she couldn’t see you, your hands still trembling as you pulled them away from the steering wheel. The exhaustion hit you then, hard and heavy, the adrenaline leaving you drained, hollow.

“Nat?” your voice cracked, barely above a whisper.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t… I don’t know how to… how to deal with this,” you admitted, your chest tightening again as the sobs threatened to resurface. “I don’t know if I can.”

Nat’s voice was soft, but firm. “You can. And you don’t have to do it alone. I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

The phone went silent, and for the first time in hours, you let out a breath that didn’t feel like it was tearing you apart.

She was coming.

× × × × 

The rain pounded against the car’s roof, each drop falling harder than the last. It was as if the sky itself had opened up, matching the storm raging inside you. Your hands were white-knuckled on the steering wheel, your chest still heaving from the sobs that had wracked your body. The air inside the car felt suffocating. The sound of the blinker—tick, tick, tick—was the only steady thing amidst the chaos of your breath and the downpour outside.

You couldn’t stop shaking. 

When Nat’s car finally pulled up beside yours, you didn’t move. You couldn’t. The weight of your grief had pinned you to the seat, your body too exhausted to do anything but tremble. Her car door opened, and within seconds, she was there—ripping your passenger door open and sliding in without hesitation.

“Y/N.” Nat’s voice was soft, firm—grounding.

She didn’t ask questions. She didn’t need to. The look on her face said everything: she knew. She always knew when things were falling apart. Her hand gently rested on your shoulder, the touch comforting in its simplicity.

You tried to speak, but your throat burned, your chest too tight to form words. Another sob broke free instead, and Nat’s hand squeezed your shoulder gently, her presence steady even as your world seemed to collapse around you.

“You’re okay,” she whispered, her voice a soothing anchor. “We’ll get through this.”

But you weren’t okay. 

From the corner of your eye, you saw movement just outside the car—Bucky. He stood there in the rain, his hair dripping wet, eyes shadowed with concern as he watched from a distance. He hadn’t stepped closer, hadn’t spoken, but you could feel the weight of his gaze. Like he wanted to be there for you, but wasn’t sure if he should.

The door on Nat’s side clicked as she spoke again, her voice a little more urgent now. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

Slowly, with her guidance, you unclenched your grip from the steering wheel and wiped at your face with shaking hands. Your body was so worn out that you could hardly feel the motion of it as you finally opened the door and stepped out into the rain. Nat was at your side instantly, holding an umbrella over you as she guided you toward her car.

Bucky was there, too, close but not too close, watching every step you took as if he was waiting—waiting for something to fall apart that he could help catch.

Nat opened the back door and gently helped you inside, her presence so calm, so steady, it nearly broke you all over again. “You’re safe now,” she murmured, tucking you in as if you were something fragile. “Just breathe, Y/N.”

You nodded, though your chest still felt like it was caving in. And then, in the middle of the downpour, you heard Bucky’s voice—low, hesitant—from behind Nat.

“I’ll drive her car back to the compound.”

Nat glanced over at him, “Yeah. Thanks.”

You could hear the shuffle of Bucky’s footsteps through the rain as he climbed into your car, the engine rumbling to life. And in that moment, you felt a strange tug of comfort—knowing he was there, that he was watching out for you, even from afar.

Nat slid into the driver’s seat beside you, her hand resting lightly on the gear shift. She turned her head just slightly, her gaze soft. “You’re not alone, Y/N.”

But as she pulled away from the curb, the rain still lashing against the windows, you couldn’t help but feel like part of you had been left behind in the storm—shattered and scattered, waiting to be pieced back together.

And when you glanced out the window, you saw Bucky’s figure in the distance, his eyes never leaving you as you disappeared into the rain.

× × × ×

Nat’s room was a cocoon of warmth compared to the cold, stormy world outside. The soft glow of the bedside lamp illuminated the space, casting long shadows that felt strangely comforting. You sat on the edge of the bed, your arms wrapped around yourself, the weight of everything still heavy on your shoulders. Nat was beside you, her hand resting gently on your knee, her presence steady, unwavering.

“Y/N,” she said softly, her voice laced with concern, “you’re going to get through this. I know it feels like everything’s falling apart right now, but you’re stronger than you think.”

You let out a shaky breath, nodding even though you didn’t entirely believe her. The weight in your chest made it hard to breathe, and it felt like no matter how many words of comfort she offered, the broken pieces of your heart would never fully heal. But Nat was there, and her words were like a balm, even if they couldn’t fully take the pain away.

“I don’t want to be here anymore,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I just… I want to get away. Far away.”

Nat’s hand tightened slightly on your knee, her expression understanding. “Where do you want to go?”

From the far side of the room, Bucky shifted, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his face shadowed in the dim light. He hadn’t said much since they brought you back to the compound, but his presence was constant, like a silent protector.

“Where would you go?” Bucky asked quietly, his voice low but steady, cutting through the silence. His blue eyes met yours, calm, as if he’d follow you anywhere if it meant keeping you safe.

You hesitated for a moment, your heart still aching, but then—despite everything, despite the pain—a tiny smile tugged at the corner of your lips. “Switzerland.”

Nat’s eyebrows shot up, a small laugh escaping her lips despite the tension. “Switzerland?”

You shrugged, forcing a laugh of your own, though it was weak. “Yeah. I’ve always wanted to live there. You know… fresh air, the Alps, chocolate. All that good stuff.”

Bucky’s gaze softened, his arms dropping slightly as he watched you. His lips quirked into a faint smile, the kind that barely reached his eyes but still offered some kind of warmth. 

“Switzerland, huh?” he said, his voice lighter, though you could still hear the worry beneath it. “Sounds like a solid plan.”

You nodded, trying to hold on to the fleeting moment of levity. “Yeah, I’ll just… disappear into the mountains. Maybe open a chocolate shop. Be a hermit or something.”

Nat let out a small chuckle, squeezing your knee gently. “Well, if you’re moving to Switzerland, I expect free chocolate for life.”

For a moment, the heaviness in the room lifted, the faint laughter between you, Nat, and Bucky providing a small reprieve from the storm inside. But it didn’t last long. The ache in your chest was still there, gnawing at you from the inside out.

“I just… I don’t know if I can stay here,” you whispered, your voice cracking again.

Nat pulled you into a soft hug, her arms wrapped around you as she rested her chin on your shoulder. “You don’t have to make any decisions right now. Just know that whatever you decide, we’re here for you.”

“Let’s go. We’ve got the Quinjet.” Bucky said casually.

You blinked, taken aback, your mind struggling to process if he was serious. “Wait… isn’t that illegal?”

Bucky’s smirk grew a little wider, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Not if you say you’re living in the Alps. No one will know.”

Nat chuckled beside you, shaking her head in disbelief. “Seriously, Buck?”

He shrugged, still leaning casually against the wall. “I’m just saying. You want to go to Switzerland, we can be there in a few hours.”

Despite the exhaustion weighing you down, you couldn’t help but laugh softly, a real one this time. The thought of disappearing into the mountains with Bucky and Nat—away from everything, even just for a moment—felt like a breath of fresh air in the midst of the chaos inside you.

Nat gave you a playful nudge. “See? Even Bucky’s ready to smuggle you out of here if you need it.”

“But I have to handle something first,” he added, his voice dropping slightly, that protective edge returning. “When I’m done, we’ll go.”

× × × × 

The night was dark, the rain having slowed to a light drizzle. Bucky stalked through the compound grounds, his mind racing, heart pounding with a mix of anger and frustration. He’d seen Steve’s name pop up on his phone—a heads-up that the man was on his way here. To see you.

And Bucky couldn’t let that happen. Not after everything Steve did.

Steve’s figure appeared through the mist, walking toward the compound with his usual purposeful stride, but the moment he caught sight of Bucky, his steps slowed.

“Bucky?” Steve’s voice was wary, confused.

“You’re not going in there.” Bucky stepped into his path, his face hard. 

Steve frowned, his eyes narrowing. “What are you talking about? I need to see Y/N.”

“You’re not going near her.” Bucky’s jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists at his sides. 

 “She’s my girlfriend, Bucky. I have a right to talk to her.” Steve’s gaze darkened, his frustration mounting.

Bucky’s laugh was bitter, sharp. “Girlfriend? You lost that right the second you lied to her. The second you hurt her, you punk.”

Steve stepped forward, his voice low, angry. “This isn’t your place. I need to fix this. I need to talk to her.”

Bucky’s eyes flashed with fury, and for a moment, all the years of holding back, of stepping aside for Steve, bubbled to the surface. He moved closer, his voice low and dangerous. 

“You don’t get it, do you? I gave up on Y/N for you. I stood back—for you—because I thought you’d take care of her. And now? Now you’ve gone and fucked her over.”

Steve’s face twisted in confusion, anger flashing in his eyes. “What are you talking about? Gave up? She’s never been—”

“She was,” Bucky snapped, cutting him off. “Before you even realized what you had, Steve, I was there. But I didn’t do anything because I thought she’d be better off with you. You were the golden boy, the hero. And now you’ve ruined her.”

Steve’s eyes widened in shock, his chest rising and falling with barely controlled breaths. “You’ve been in love with her this whole time?”

Bucky didn’t flinch. His voice was steady, hard. “Doesn’t matter now, does it? What matters is you hurt her, Steve. You don’t get to fix this on your terms.” 

Steve’s fists clenched as he stepped forward, his face twisted with anger. “Move. This is between me and Y/N.”

“I’m not letting you through,” Bucky said, his eyes blazing, daring Steve to push him.

Steve’s frustration boiled over, and with a sharp movement, he shoved Bucky hard in the chest, trying to get past him. “Get out of my way, Bucky!”

Bucky stumbled barely, but he recovered almost immediately. The moment he regained his balance, he shoved Steve back with just as much force, his voice a low, angry growl. 

“You’re not going anywhere near her!”

Steve snarled and came at Bucky again, this time grabbing him by the collar and pushing him against the doorframe. “I need to talk to her! You don’t get to decide!”

Bucky’s hands flew up, gripping Steve’s jacket as he shoved him back again, harder this time, their faces inches apart. “She doesn’t want to see you right now!”

Steve’s eyes flashed with desperatiom, and before either of them realized it, they were nose-to-nose, fists clenched, chests heaving, the tension dangerous.

“You think you’re the only one who cares about her?” Steve snapped, his voice low and venomous. “I love her.”

“And you’ve proven exactly what that means to you,” Bucky bit back, his voice filled with icy fury. “You’re not fixing this by charging in like you always do. She’s done with you.”

Steve let out a frustrated growl and swung his arm out, pushing Bucky off him. “You think I’m just supposed to walk away?”

Bucky shoved Steve back again, his grip tightening on Steve’s shirt, their faces just inches apart now. His voice was a low, dangerous growl. “You think stepping in now, after everything you’ve done, makes it better? She’s broken because of you. You did that, Steve. And I’m not letting you make it worse.”

Steve’s nostrils flared, his eyes dark with a mixture of anger and something deeper—guilt, maybe. His grip tightened on Bucky’s jacket as he squared up, their bodies tense, on the edge of an all-out brawl. “And what, you’re just going to sweep in? Take care of her? You think that’s what she needs right now?”

“I’m trying to keep her from getting hurt any more than she already has,” Bucky hissed, his voice barely more than a whisper now, his eyes locked on Steve’s. “She trusted you. She loved you. And you broke her. So yeah, I’m going to do whatever it takes to keep you away from her until she’s ready to deal with you.”

Steve’s breath hitched, his voice sharp with frustration. “You think you’re better than me? You think you haven’t hurt her too?”

Bucky’s grip tightened as his eyes flashed dangerously. “I never lied to her. I never betrayed her.”

Steve let out a short, bitter laugh. “But you kept quiet, didn’t you? You stood there, watching, and said nothing. You let me take her, and now you’re pretending like you’re the hero. But the truth is, you were a coward then, and you’re still a coward now.”

Something snapped in Bucky at those words. His fist shot up, shoving Steve hard enough to slam him back into the doorframe with a loud thud, his chest heaving as he glared at his best friend with pure fury in his eyes. “You don’t get to talk to me about being a coward. I gave her up because I thought she’d be better off with you. But you ruined her, Steve.”

For a second, Steve’s eyes flashed with something close to regret, but the anger was still there, simmering beneath the surface. He stepped forward again, ready for whatever came next. “I didn’t know. I didn’t—”

“You never knew,” Bucky growled, pushing him back again, but this time it was more controlled, less of a full force shove and more of a warning. “You were too busy being the hero to see what was right in front of you.”

Steve took a deep breath, his hands still balled into fists, but something shifted between them—like they both realized, in that moment, that this fight wasn’t going to solve anything. Slowly, almost reluctantly, they both let go of each other, their chests still heaving with the remnants of the almost-fight that had just played out.

The tension between them lingered, thick and heavy in the air, but neither of them moved. They stood there, inches apart, breathing hard, their anger still simmering just beneath the surface.

“You don’t get to just walk in there and fix this,” Bucky said, his voice low but firm. 

Steve took a step back, his face still tense with frustration and guilt. He didn’t say anything.

“Go home Steve.” Bucky insisted, “You’ve done enough.”

× × × ×

6 months later.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee curled in the air as you stepped out of the café, clutching the two steaming cups in your hands. The world seemed quieter here, like the city didn’t press in on you quite as much, even though you had only been back for a few days. Six months. Six months of distance, of trying to build yourself back up after being shattered into pieces.

You inhaled deeply, letting the cool breeze rush over you, easing some of the tension coiled tight in your chest.

And then—everything stopped.

From across the street, you felt it. The weight of someone’s gaze locking onto you. Slowly, you looked up, your heart skipping a beat, your body freezing in place.

Steve.

He stood there, as if time itself had conspired to bring this moment crashing down upon you. His face was frozen in shock, his hand mid-motion as the small boy next to him tugged on his sleeve, trying to get his attention. But Steve’s focus was entirely on you.

He looked the same—yet older, somehow, like the months had worn him down in ways you hadn’t expected. His eyes—those familiar blue eyes—locked onto yours, and the rest of the world fell away.

Your heart thundered in your ears, drowning out the city’s noise. All that existed was the look on his face—surprise, yes, but there was something else too. Regret. Pain. Questions he couldn’t voice.

You felt rooted to the spot, torn between the urge to run and the overwhelming need to hold your ground. You could see it in his eyes—he wanted to come closer, to ask where you had been, why you left, why you never told him. His hand gripped the boy’s shoulder like he needed something to tether him to the moment.

And then, with a jarring snap, the moment broke.

A warm arm slid around your waist, pulling you into a comforting embrace towards his body. 

“Hey love,” Dane Whitman’s familiar British accent rumbled softly beside you, his lips brushing your temple as he pressed a gentle kiss there. “Got your ham and cheese croissant.”

The simple, easy intimacy of it would have been grounding—if not for the fact that you could feel Steve’s eyes still burning into you from across the street. You could sense him standing there, as if the world had collapsed around him. As if he was watching something slip away that he hadn’t even realized he was losing.

Dane’s brow furrowed as he noticed your tension, noticed the way you hadn’t responded, hadn’t even moved. 

“Y/N?” he asked softly, leaning down slightly to meet your eyes. His arm tightened around your waist, pulling you closer.

When you didn’t answer, Dane followed your line of sight.

He stiffened.

You didn’t need to see his expression to know what was happening. The air between the three of you felt charged, heavy with unspoken words, with everything that had been left behind. Dane’s fingers flexed against your waist, a silent claim—a reassurance, or maybe a question he didn’t dare ask.

Because he knew who Steve was. And he knew exactly what seeing him again meant.

You could feel the tension roll through Dane’s body as he lifted his gaze from Steve back to you, his eyes softening. He didn’t ask, didn’t press. But his arm around you was both a comfort and a shield.

“Let’s go,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. You didn’t dare look back at Steve again. You couldn’t.

Dane gave a subtle nod, but his hold on you never faltered. He gently guided you down the street, his body leaning protectively into yours as if he could shield you from the weight of the past you were leaving behind.

But as you walked away, the image of Steve lingered. You could feel his eyes on you, burning into your back, watching as you disappeared from his reach once again. And even though you didn’t turn around, you knew—you knew—what he had seen.

You. Walking away.

With someone else.

The distance between you and Steve had always been a wound, one you had tried to heal in the months you were gone. But this? This felt like salt poured into an open cut, the sting of it sharper than you’d anticipated.

Because despite everything, despite the way your heart still aches from the cracks he had left, a part of you wondered—what if?

But the life you had returned to wasn’t the one you left. And as Dane’s arm tightened around your waist, grounding you in the present, you knew that the past—no matter how deeply it was woven into your soul—was behind you.

Even if it wasn’t behind Steve.

[effetsecndaires]

࿐𝙝𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙢𝙚 𝙪𝙥 𝙖𝙜𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙨𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙡𝙡, 𝙜𝙞𝙫𝙚 𝙞𝙩 '𝙩𝙞𝙡 𝙄 𝙗𝙚𝙜, 𝙜𝙞𝙫𝙚 𝙢𝙚 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚; 𝙬𝙖𝙠𝙖𝙨𝙖 𝙞.⋆ 𐙚 ̊.

cw: shower sex, daddy kink (first time experiencing with this,,,, bear with me lmao)

an: repost because tumblr loves to flag my posts. idk how y'all do it but i always have to blur or distort the hell out of my panels for tumblr to let me post them. it looks silly as hell but oh well. anyways, here's some porn || wc 813

••• Your cheek is pressed against the wet tiles, cool against your flushed skin, but the contrast barely registers with how 𝐖𝐀𝐊𝐀𝐒𝐀 is fucking into you.

Each thrust sends you forward, your knees threatening to give out as your hands scramble against the slick wall, fingers pressing against the cold surface for something, anything to hold onto.

"Fuckkk... f—fuck, fuck, r—ight ...th-ere..." The words are choked, slurred, barely intelligible between the ragged gasps and moans spilling from your lips. Every sharp snap of his hips knocks the air from your lungs, leaves you dizzy, so much that a mere second of inattention would be enough for you to slip.

Still Wakasa doesn’t slow. If anything, your desperation fuels him, his grip on your hips tightening as he pulls you back onto his cock with every thrust, stretching you wide around his thick length.

"Shit, baby," he breathes, his voice hoarse, ragged. "You’re gripping me so fuckin’ tight—squeezin’ me like you need me."

The fat tip of his cock drags against your walls, hitting that one spot that makes you see stars, your mouth parting in a silent moan before a strangled whimper escapes. Your thighs shake, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing loudly inside the steamy shower stall, water cascading down both your bodies as he fucks into you harder, deeper.

"Fuck, daddy—" the word slips before you can stop it, your head spinning, utterly fucked out. "aaah— mph, jus' like that, fuuuckkk."

"Yeah?" His voice is thick with amusement, his chest pressing against your back as he leans in, nosing along the side of your throat. "Feelin’ good, baby? My cock fillin’ you up just right?"

You nod frantically, your eyes rolling back obscenely as you gasp for air, the pleasure bordering on overwhelming.

He rewards you with another kiss, right below your ear this time, tongue flicking briefly before he sucks a mark into your skin, even as his hips continue that brutal, perfect pace.

Then his fingers are there, slipping between your thighs, finding your swollen clit with maddening precision. Slow, steady circles that make your knees buckle, your body lurching back against his chest.

"Yes! yes, oh my god, fuck, don't stop!" you sob, your body arching against him, pleasure twisting like a coil ready to snap.

"Don't plan on it," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your wet shoulder, the contrast of his mouth's softness and the way he’s ruining you making your head spin. "You gonna come for me already, huh?"

The sound you're about to make catches in your throat, leaving you to nod quietly, desperately.

"Then come," he purrs, his fingers pressing harder, moving faster, his thrusts never faltering.

And just like that your body locks up, your mouth dropping open in a silent scream as your orgasm crashes over you in a white-hot flood. Your vision goes blurry, every muscle in your body spasming as your walls clench violently around his pistoning cock, sucking him deeper.

Wakasa swears, his rhythm stuttering as the intensity of your orgasm drags him closer to his own.

"Fuck—where do you want it, baby?" he grits out, his grip on your hips bruising, barely hanging on.

Still lost in your high, you barely register the words, whimpering out something unintelligible before managing a bunch of terribly articulated words. "Inside—inside me, daddy—please."

His breath catches, his hands squeezing your hips as he slams into you once, twice more before he buries himself to the hilt, a low groan spilling from his lips as he spills inside you, warmth flooding your core as his body tenses against yours, eyes rolling back while he keeps twitching and grinding, pushing his cum as deep as physically possible.

When he finally comes down, the only sounds left in the shower are the heavy pants of your mingled breaths, as well as the water still raining down while he presses soft, lazy kisses against the back of your neck. Eventually, Wakasa pulls out, his cock slipping out effortlessly, the thick, white ring around the base quickly washed away by the stream.

"You okay?" he murmurs, voice softer now, his hands smoothing over your trembling thighs, grounding you. You nod weakly, still slumped against the wall.

He chuckles, mouth still pressed to your shoulder. "Might need to carry you outta here, huh?"

You let out a breathy laugh, leaning into him. "Maybe."

"Good," he hums, slipping an arm around your waist. "Means I did my job right."

[untilwefind]

Here me out: Will and Mack agree to do a NNN bet and keep trying to get the other person to crack until they both fail miserably.

Can't Nut, Won't Nut

I am the worst employee ever today. I'm so distracted by all these hilarious prompts. I need to start turning off my notifications during the workday.

The blessing and curse of working from home...

Enjoy😉

Day 1

The smell of sweat and tape filled the Sharks locker room, a heady mix of effort and ego, and Tyler Toffoli was in full instigator mode.

“No Nut November starts today, boys,” he announced like he was delivering a sermon. “Who’s got the mental strength of a monk and who’s gonna crumble like a wet tissue?”

Delly immediately groaned. “Man, I lasted three days last year. It’s just not natural.”

Wenny laughed. “You lasted three? Jesus. I made it one and a half before Licia gave me a look and I folded like laundry.”

“Cowards,” Mack muttered from across the room, tying his skates with surgical precision. He didn’t even look up.

“Oh?” Delly turned with interest. “Big words for a babyface.”

“You guys are just fucking pathetic,” Mack continued, calm as ever. “You couldn’t go three days without getting off? If you had even a fraction of self-control—”

“You couldn’t do it,” Will cut in from the next stall, towel around his neck, damp curls sticking to his forehead, cocky smirk locked and loaded. “You’re the horniest guy I’ve ever met. You crash out when I wear joggers.”

Mack sat up, eyes narrowing. “I crash out? You fucking glitched yesterday when I licked a spoon.”

Toff grins, eyes ping-ponging between them. “Oho. Are we escalating? Please escalate.”

Will raised his eyebrows, now fully turned toward Mack, who was practically vibrating with offense. “You’re saying I couldn’t last longer than you?”

“I’m saying you’d cave before the week’s out,” Mack fired back. “One look at me post-shower and it’s game over.”

Ekky threw his hands up. “There’s no way they survive this month. Someone write this down.”

“No,” Will said, standing now, shirt long gone, confidence radiating off him like heat. “We’re doing this. Right here. Right now. Loser of the bet—”

“—has to wear the other one’s tarp to their next hometown game,” Mack finished, jaw set. “When you show up in Boston wearing a ‘CELEBRINI’ jersey, I’m getting photos framed.”

Will stepped in, eyes glinting. “And if you show up in Vancouver wearing my tarp, I’m making it your phone wallpaper for the rest of the year.”

“Toff, you getting this?” Ekky called out. “We need a neutral third party.”

Toff, already half-laughing, pulled out his phone. “I’m absolutely documenting this for science.”

Mack extended his hand. “Deal.”

Will shook it, firm grip, all smug. “Bet.”

The team groaned as one when, instead of releasing hands, Mack tugged Will forward by the fingers and kissed him. Short, sharp, deliberate.

Will kissed him back just as easily, like they did this every morning before coffee and every night before bed. Because they did.

A loud “Jesus Christ, we’re right here!” came from Thrunner.

“That’s a fine, fellas,” Toff snorted, phone still recording.

Mario, walking past, didn’t even blink. “At least wait until I’m out of frame.”

Will pulled away with a satisfied hum and looked around. “You were saying something about who’s folding first?”

Mack licked his lips and leaned in again, voice low. “You’re going down.”

Delly winced. “Word choice, bud.”

And still, amid the groans and chirps and exasperated muttering, the locker room had that look it always got when those two united. Resigned amusement, a little horror, and a touch of admiration. Because even if Will and Mack were currently entering psychological warfare over a month-long celibacy pact, they were still a unit. A slightly unhinged, deeply codependent, annoyingly inseparable unit.

Toff muttered it under his breath as he hit stop on his recording.

“This bet’s gonna kill us before it kills them.”

---

Day 2

Mack showed up to practice in Will’s joggers. The joggers. The grey ones that clung to him like they were auditioning for a boyfriend slot.

Will saw him across the ice and nearly missed a pass in warmup drills.

“Dude,” Ekky hissed, skating up beside him, “Don’t look now, but your boyfriend is packing a nuclear weapon in those sweatpants.”

Will snapped his gaze away and gritted his teeth. “I know what he’s doing.”

“Do you?”

Mack caught his eye from the other end and winked.

Will missed the next drill entirely.

---

Day 4

It was Will’s turn.

Mack walked into the showers post-practice, tired and sore, only to find Will already there, hair slicked back, water streaming down his chest like a cologne ad.

And he was humming.

Mack stopped dead.

“Need something?” Will asked, not turning around. His tone was casual. Weaponized.

“I—” Mack cleared his throat. “No.”

He made it four minutes before muttering “fuck you” under his breath and rinsing off at warp speed.

The second Mack left, Delly’s voice rang out from the next stall.

“Cold shower didn’t help, huh?”

“I hate him,” Mack said, voice tight.

“Toff owes me ten bucks. I said you’d crack first.”

“I haven’t cracked.”

“Yet,” Delly said cheerfully.

---

Day 6

Everyone sat in the conference room for a morning film review. Mack chose a seat near the back. Will strolled in late and sat beside him with a smug grin.

Halfway through, Will leaned in, lips near Mack’s ear.

“I had a dream last night.”

“Don’t.”

“We were in a hotel shower.”

Mack inhaled sharply through his nose and stared straight ahead like a soldier trying not to blink.

Will kept going. “You kept saying—”

“Shut up,” Mack hissed.

From the front of the room, Toff turned around, grinning wide. “Having fun back there, boys?”

“Yup,” Will chirped.

Mack looked like he was going to explode.

---

Day 9

The couch wasn’t safe anymore.

Will curled up on his end, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands, legs tangled in a blanket. Mack sat on the opposite side with a bowl of cereal, watching him like a man in a minefield.

“Are you cold?” Will asked.

“No.”

“You can come under the blanket if you want.”

“I don’t want.”

Will grinned. “You’re scared.”

“I’m strategic.”

Will reached for the remote, hoodie riding up just enough to reveal the curve of his hip.

Mack’s spoon paused midair.

“Eat your cereal,” Will said innocently.

Mack threw the remote across the room and left the couch.

---

Day 11

They were skating laps. Mack wore a compression top two sizes too small. Will watched him stretch boardside like he was studying film.

Wenny skated past him and laughed. “Bro. Your stick’s not the only thing flexing right now.”

“I’m fine,” Will said tightly.

“Mmhmm.”

Toff passed them both. “I got fifty on both of you imploding by Friday.”

“Asshole,” Mack called after him. “This is a matter of pride.”

“Pride’s gonna send you to the ER,” Ekky muttered. “From blue balls.”

---

Day 14

They were seated across the aisle from each other. Will had his headphones in and was texting. Mack was pretending to read but kept glancing over the top of his book.

Then Will casually adjusted himself.

Mack made a choked sound and turned back to the window.

“Stop texting me,” he said.

Will didn’t look up. “You don’t have to read them.”

“I'm going to read them. You know I have no self-control.”

Will smiled. “Exactly.”

From the front of the bus, Toff announced, “This is the best entertainment I’ve had in two seasons.”

---

Day 16

This time it was mutual destruction.

Will was on edge. Mack was vibrating with tension. The moment they were alone in the shower stalls, Will stepped into Mack’s and pressed him to the tile.

They didn’t kiss. Didn’t touch. Just stood too close, panting from nothing.

“Call it,” Will said.

“No.”

Will leaned in, lips ghosting over his neck. “Say mercy.”

“Not happening.”

From the bench room beyond the steam, Delly shouted, “If you guys come back in here with matching hickies I’m calling HR!”

They pulled apart like they’d been electrocuted.

“I hate this month,” Mack whispered.

Will exhaled. “Me too.”

---

Day 18

It was still early when Mack woke up, the bedroom pale and grey with morning light, the apartment quiet except for the faint hum of the fridge and the soft shuffle of movement down the hall. He reached out on instinct, hand brushing over cold sheets, and exhaled a grumbly sigh when he realized Will wasn’t beside him.

He didn’t bother getting dressed, just slipped out of bed wearing one of Will’s old college T-shirts and a pair of boxers and padded barefoot into the kitchen.

Will stood at the counter making coffee, chest bare, old basketball shorts hanging off his hips, hair a wild halo of sleep curls. He was humming faintly, back turned, pouring hot water into the French press with the kind of care Mack had always found inexplicably endearing.

“You’re up early,” Mack mumbled, voice rough.

Will turned, smile easy. “You were hogging the blankets.”

“I am the blanket,” Mack said, stepping in and wrapping himself around Will from behind like it was habit, which, honestly, it was.

Will chuckled, one hand settling lightly on Mack’s arm. “You’re clingy in the morning.”

“Only because you keep sneaking out of bed.”

Will laughed, soft and close. “You hungry?”

Mack nuzzled the back of his neck. “Not really.”

“Wanna sit while I finish this?”

"Just want you," Mack murmured from where he was pressed up against him, arms around his waist, mouth skimming the ridge of Will’s shoulder blade through the fabric. Will tensed, just slightly, and Mack felt it.

He didn’t mean to grind his hips forward. Not really. It was just... Will was warm and he smelled like home and Mack’s body moved before his brain did.

Will went still.

Mack did it again.

“Baby,” Will whispered.

Mack froze. Realized where his hands were. Realized that he was already half-hard and that Will definitely was too.

His breath hitched. “Fuck. Wait. I didn’t—shit—”

Will turned in his arms, eyes sleepy and glassy, voice warm. “You didn’t mean to, huh?”

Mack shook his head helplessly. “No. I swear. I was just—”

Will kissed him.

And that was it.

There wasn’t a decision. No moment of intention or premeditated sabotage. Just the slow, natural tilt of bodies moving closer, the way they’d done a hundred times before. Only this time, they forgot there were rules.

Will’s hands slid under Mack’s shirt, up the soft skin of his back, and Mack’s mouth parted on a moan, hips rolling forward again, needing.

They kissed like they didn’t know any better.

Like they hadn’t spent the past two weeks torturing themselves on purpose.

Mack lifted Will onto the counter without thinking, slotting between his thighs, and Will just tugged his shirt off like he’d been waiting for the excuse.

It wasn’t fast, or desperate, or dirty. It was sleepy. Familiar. Mack’s forehead pressed to Will’s. Will cupped his jaw with both hands like he couldn’t quite believe he was real. Mack kept murmuring “I didn’t mean to” between kisses until Will whispered, “I know, but I want you anyway.”

They were both still breathless, tangled together on the kitchen counter like a crime scene. Will’s shirt lay somewhere on the floor. Mack’s boxers were halfway down one thigh. There was a smear of coffee grounds on the edge of the counter, and Will’s hair clung damply to his forehead, flushed and sweaty.

Mack let out a slow, post-orgasmic breath and tilted his head up from Will’s shoulder, dazed. “Wait. Wait.”

Will’s eyes stayed closed. “Mm?”

“I think you technically lost.”

Will barked out a laugh, his chest shaking under Mack’s palm. “What?”

Mack leaned up on one elbow, lips parted, eyes suddenly sharp. “You came first.”

Will cracked an eye open. “Are you serious.”

“Dead serious,” Mack said, smugness blooming like a weed. “I was just going for comfort. I wanted to cuddle. You’re the one who got all handsy. I mean, I didn’t even finish until you already—”

Will pushed at his chest, scandalized. “You grinded on me first. Like. Full hips-in, half-moan, morning wood grind. That’s initiation.”

“Yeah, well, I was half asleep!”

“You were awake! You said you wanted me!”

“I meant emotionally!”

“That’s not how the bet works, Mack!”

“It’s No Nut November, Will. Not No Seduction November. You nutted first. That’s it. End of story.”

Will narrowed his eyes. “So we’re just ignoring the fact that you climbed into my T-shirt, got hard first, and started it?”

Mack frowned. “I was cuddling.”

“You were rutting.”

“It was affectionate.”

Will stared at him, slack-jawed. “You don’t get to grind on my ass at 8 a.m. and call it affectionate.”

“You make breakfast shirtless. That’s entrapment.”

Will groaned and slumped back against the cabinet. “Oh my god. You’re actually trying to argue a technicality.”

“I have a case,” Mack insisted.

“You don’t,” Will shot back. “This is about intent. And your intent was sinful, Macklin.”

Mack muttered, “My intent was coffee and a hug,” under his breath.

Will scoffed. “Your intent was morning sex, and it worked. I just happened to come first because I love you too much.”

Mack blinked, then flopped forward onto Will’s chest again.

“…Fine,” he muttered. “But we’re telling the guys it was mutual destruction.”

“Absolutely not,” Will said, wrapping his arms around him again. “I’m telling everyone I got you first.”

“I’ll sue.”

Will grinned and pressed a kiss into Mack’s hair. “Sue me in my jersey, baby.”

“God, I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“Also true.”

“Next,” he said. “We’re doing No Kissing December.”

“You’re out of your fucking mind,” Mack mumbled.

---

Day 20

“Alright,” Toff called as soon as Will walked in, “We’re more than halfway through the month and it’s time for updates. Mack, you look smug. Will, you look well-rested. What the fuck happened.”

Will beamed and walked straight to his stall.

“Gentlemen,” he said grandly, pulling off his hoodie with a flourish. “It is my honor and privilege to report—”

“No,” Mack groaned from the next stall over. “Don’t—”

“I fucking got him.”

There was a beat of silence. Then the locker room erupted.

“No way!” Delly shouted.

“Knew it!” Ekky cheered.

Thrunner looked betrayed. “But he looked so composed during skate yesterday.”

Will pointed triumphantly. “Exactly. That’s how far gone he was. He folded while wearing my shirt and hugging me from behind like a clingy little koala. Didn’t even realize he was cracking.”

Mack threw his towel at Will’s head. “I stand by it. It was romantic, not horny.”

“Romantically horny,” Will corrected. “Which, as we all agreed, counts.”

Toff cackled. “That’s it. You’re wearing Smith in Vancouver. Full tarp. Full walk-in. Front and center.”

Ekky added, “Can we vote on socks too? Because I feel like the pink ones Will wears would really tie the look together.”

Will smirked and leaned into Mack’s space. “You’re gonna look so good in my jersey.”

Mack narrowed his eyes. “I’m not making it easy for you.”

“Oh, I know.”

They stared at each other like they were back on the ice, locked in a faceoff with no puck. Just tension and history and heat.

Then Delly muttered from the other side of the room, “Jesus Christ. Get a room. But also, I need footage of Mack in that tarp. For the groupchat.”

Will just grinned wider.

“I’ll bring the ring light.”

---

Rogers Arena, Vancouver

The Sharks arrived at the arena in waves, bundled in coats and headphones, dragging gear bags behind them under the drizzle of a typical Vancouver afternoon.

Will was practically bouncing off the team bus.

“Today’s the day,” he whispered, fake solemn. “I feel so alive.”

Ekky slung his backpack over his shoulder, grinning. “We’re witnessing history.”

Toff checked his phone. “Aiden just texted me a skull emoji.”

Mack stepped off the bus last. Hood up, jaw tight, glaring at the ground like it had personally wronged him. His coat was zipped to his chin.

The rest of the team was already milling by the tunnel doors when Toff called out, “Alright, let’s see it, Celly!”

“Do it slow,” Delly added. “Like a strip tease.”

Mack paused. Took one steadying breath.

And then, with the resigned grace of someone walking toward his own public execution, he unzipped his coat.

The reactions were immediate.

“Oh my god,” Ekky choked. “Is that—”

“Team USA?!” Toff screamed.

The jersey was unmistakable. Smith, #43, stitched across the back in bold navy block letters. Red, white, and blue. Will’s World's jersey from May.

Which he'd won gold in.

With Mack watching from the stands.

After Canada was knocked out by Denmark.

“I hate you,” Mack muttered, tugging the coat open fully so it wouldn’t wrinkle the fabric. “I hate all of you.”

“I’m gonna cry,” Delly said, actually pulling his phone out to start recording. “This is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Will slung an arm around Mack’s shoulders and kissed his temple with exaggerated tenderness.

“You look so good in my colors,” he cooed. “A true patriot.”

“I hope you snap a skate blade in warmups.”

The chirping only got worse inside.

Every step through the bowels of the arena came with a fresh jab.

"Does it itch? Or is that just your Canadian pride dying?"

“Rick's gonna see you walk into Rogers Arena wearing the enemy's jersey. That man trained you in the show, Celly. For this?!”

And then, just as they stepped onto the main concourse, Rick, Robyn, Aiden, Charlie, and RJ came into view down the hall by the Family Lounge.

Aiden’s mouth fell open.

Charlie pulled out her phone instantly.

RJ stared like he’d just watched his hockey idol fall through a trapdoor.

Rick narrowed his eyes and Mack could feel the disappointment radiating off him like a microwave.

Will offered them all a cheerful wave. “Hi, Rick!”

Rick said nothing.

Robyn smiled tightly, clearly trying not to laugh. Charlie gave Mack a thumbs up. Aiden pressed a hand over his mouth to stifle a wheeze.

“Is it too late to fake food poisoning?” Mack muttered.

Will leaned in, grinning ear to ear. “You cracked first.”

Mack muttered, “I should’ve just cheated.”

“Too late now. Your family's watching.”

Later in the locker room the boys were still buzzing while they started suiting up.

Delly tossed a roll of tape to Mack. “So should we expect to see matching Smith jerseys in the Pro Shop next year or is this a limited-edition drop?”

“Do not encourage him.”

Will sauntered over, already in his undershirt and pads. “I think next bet's punishment should be a kiss cam appearance.”

Mack glared. “What happened to No Kissing December?”

“I’m pivoting.”

Toff snorted. “To Mutually Assured Horny December?”

“Exactly.”

[matts-girlfriend]

It’s You I Welcome Death With- Chris Sturniolo

TattooArtist!Chris and MakeupArtist!Reader

chapter 16

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20

warning this series will contain, substance abuse, angst, arguing,tension,swearing, mentions of absent family, blood, abuse (not from chris). smut, oral, this is a warning for all chapters

It’d been a week since she said it.

“I think we need to just be friends.”

And Chris had tried. God, he swore he tried.

He didn’t call the first two days. Let her breathe. Let her pretend like she wasn’t still burned into the inside of his brain, like he didn’t hear her voice every time he closed his eyes.

Day three? He caved. Sent a “you good?” text and threw his phone across the room the second it sent.

She didn’t answer.

Day five, he saw her post with Ava and liked it so fast his finger stung.

Nothing back.

But now it was day seven, and he couldn’t fucking take it anymore.

So he called.

And when she picked up and sighed, all tired and guarded, and said, “What do you want, Chris?” in that voice she used when she was holding back the whole damn ocean—

He didn’t hesitate.

“Let’s hang out. Just us. As friends. Please.”

A beat.

Then another.

“…Fine.”

⸻

The carnival was too bright. Too loud. Too much.

And he still made her feel like the only person there.

“So, what do you wanna do?” He said looking around confused.

Y/N gave a small shrug. “You’re the one who begged me to come. You decide.”

He didn’t reply. Just reached for her wrist and tugged her toward the Tilt-a-Whirl.

⸻

She screamed through the spins, clinging to the metal bar between them, knees bumping. Her laugh slipped out somewhere mid-ride, unguarded, and Chris turned to her mid-spin like it was the first time he’d ever heard it.

“You’ve got the best fucking laugh,” he said without thinking, cheeks pink.

She looked away fast. “You sound high.”

He grinned. “Just high on trauma and unprocessed feelings, baby.”

“Classic fuck boy shit.”

“You love it.”

“Yeah. That’s the problem.”

⸻

She somehow convinced chris to do the photo booth next. She shoved a handful of cotton candy into his mouth mid-pic. He retaliated by smearing blue sugar across her cheek.

Somehow, those photos became her new favorite thing.

The tension hung between them like static. Almost gentle. Like maybe they were close to being something again.

But of course, the universe didn’t let it last.

They were headed toward the Ferris wheel, her arm brushing his as they walked, and for a second, it felt easy.

Until it didn’t.

Some guy brushed past them and smacked her ass.

Hard.

Y/N’s whole body jerked.

Chris’s vision went red.

“What the—”

Before he could think, his fists were already moving.

“You wanna touch my girl?” he snapped, voice sharp and deadly. 

The guy stumbled back, caught off guard, but swung back fast, landing a hit to Chris’s jaw. It barely phased him. They went back and forth, a blur of fists and swearing.

“Chris—Chris, stop!” she yelled, grabbing at his hoodie, trying to pull him back.

“Yeahhh, stay still bitch i’m not done with you. Don’t ever touch my fucking girl again.” he snarled, eyes wild.

Y/N shoved her way between them, hands on his chest. “He’s not fucking worth it! Stop!”

It took everything in her to drag Chris away, both of them panting as she yanked him behind one of the food stalls.

The glow of the carnival lights bled through the slats in the wooden stand, casting them in sharp shadows.

She turned to face him, chest heaving.

“The fuck was that?”

Chris wiped blood from his lip, still breathing hard. “What the fuck do you mean?”

“Why would you do that?”

He stared at her. Really stared. And when he spoke, his voice was quiet. Honest.

“C’mon, Y/N. Just ‘cause you stamped the friend label on this shit doesn’t mean I’d ever let someone touch you like that.”

She blinked.

And for a second, her heart stopped beating.

Chris took a step closer. His voice was softer now. Warmer. Like it was just them and the world didn’t exist.

“You think this is just about liking you? It’s not.”

He shook his head, staring down at her like she was the only thing that mattered in the goddamn world.

She didn’t breathe.

“You’re it, Y/N. And maybe I didn’t know what to do with that at first. But I do now. Nothing—no one—is ever gonna touch you like that. Not while I’m breathing.”

Something inside her cracked open.

Because it wasn’t the words. It was the way he said them.

Like she was the only person who ever mattered.

She stepped forward, eyes on his.

“You’re so fucking dumb,” she whispered.

He grinned. “Yeah, but you like that, don’t you?”

Her hands curled into his hoodie. His breath hitched.

And then she kissed him.

Hard.

Like it meant everything. Like she’d been dying for this and didn’t even know it.

Chris kissed her back with a hunger that felt like apology, like promise, like everything he never got to say.

Her hands were in his hair. His were locked around her waist, like he was anchoring himself to her.

When they finally broke apart, foreheads pressed together, the world was quiet.

Silent.

Breathing hurt.

Chris was the first to speak, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Please let me make this right. Let me take you on a real date. Do it how I should’ve done it from the start.”

Y/N looked up at him.

Didn’t say anything.

Just nodded.

And he finally exhaled.

His arms wrapped around her as he kissed the top of her head, holding her like she was something fragile. Something important.

Because she was.

His. Dream. Girl.

And this time?

He wasn’t letting her go.

a/n: oh my shayla’s… FIRST REAL DATE. taglist:

@courta13 @m4gz-png @lezleeferguson-120

@h3arts4nat @izzylovesmatt @sturnioliolo @hsemeria @sturniqloo

@venusbabysblog @chrisslut04 @crazy4weeed @chriscokewhore @chrisswaffles @urfavvvnyasee @sturnzluv @freshluvr @mattthemunchh @poolover123 @pleasantdelusionbear @carpentersturns @emosexyvirgin @emillionaireee @shamelessmilkshakefest @xoxochrissgf @sturniolodollx @joyfulheartwhispers @cutseylady @oopsiedaisydeer @steph1106

@laylaluvsu2000 @lvrsturniolo @chloe444 @yamommmasman @55sturn @whenlovesaround @luvs-booksss @vampyyluv @snowysosturn @moth-feeet @mx7ka @amb-3-r @ncm9696 @alinagrace11 @cherryystemm @bblbilly @d3vwrlds @chrismybouncyhouse @mattslvrxo @iluvchr1s

[actual-changeling]

Season One meta posts in 2024? Yes, very much so. We need more of that.

Will this be slightly unhinged? Yeah, probably, so welcome back to Alex's unhinged meta corner.

Everyone has probably connected the kiss back to the wall-slam scene in Tadfield Manor by now, but while I was re-watching it for the nth time and combing through it frame by frame like a mentally sane person, I realised just how orchestrated it was from beginning to end.

I assume we can agree that Aziraphale called Crowley nice on purpose to get a hint of intimacy out of him, but I think this time it is very different from the other instances during which he reacts with anger to being called nice.

My first main observation is the way Aziraphale positions himself.

We pick up after Crowley's explanation about the non-lethal shooting happening outside, and they are facing each other at an angle, with Aziraphale having stopped a few steps behind him.

Now, until the slam itself, Crowley doesn't move, he remains where he is, waiting. (We'll come back to that in a bit)

However, instead of remaining at a safe distance or standing literally standing anywhere else, he walks a small curve to then stop right in front of Crowley. Not at his side or a little bit away or at a respectable distance—no, right in his face. You can judge his position by looking at the wooden door (?) in the background.

The following camera position makes it hard to see the amount of distance between their faces, but we know that he must be close enough so that Crowley can immediately grab his coat without problem.

Excuse my art skills, but just to make sure everyone is on the same page, have a little drawing showing their positions and movements.

Now, that manoeuvring takes Aziraphale a few seconds, and what does he do? He stalls. Look at what exactly he tells Crowley:

You know, Crowley, I've always said that, deep down, you are quite a nice—

There are a lot more words than necessary! He could have shortened that sentence but he didn't, and on top of that, if you listen to him say it, he makes two noticeable pauses, one after 'Crowley with a little look outside, one after 'that'. By then he has reached his final position, so no more stalling, he can try to finish his sentence now.

Alex, you might say now, of course Aziraphale did it on purpose, but Crowley only reacted to what he said.

And to that I respond, nope, he was 100% in on it.

I know because when Aziraphale stops in front of him, he waits. He does not move, he doesn't shut him up even though he has heard the same spiel hundreds of times—no, he is waiting and allowing Aziraphale to initiate their little game.

This face is not the face of someone who is already angry or confused about which words will tumble out of Aziraphale's mouth. He even arches his eyebrow in a motion that I personally interpret as 'go on'.

Crowley is listening and waiting for the signal, and the moment Aziraphale says 'nice', he grabs him and pushes him up against the opposite wall. It's an extraordinarily quick reaction, the kind you have when you know you're about to act and what you'll do.

Some further evidence that the entire moment was orchestrated by the two of them.

Aziraphale stretches out his arms behind him to brace himself against the wall, he was expecting to be moved that way and intentionally put himself into a position that would allow Crowley to do so.

Additionally, by grabbing his lapels the way he does, Crowley can make sure that the back of his head doesn't hit the wall. If you watch the clip by yourself and slow it down, you'll discover that Aziraphale gently rests it against the wall on his own while Crowley is talking.

Aziraphale is completely relaxed not only because he knows Crowley would never hurt him, but also because this entire thing is a game that they willingly participate in. It is dangerously under-negotiated, sure; luckily they more or less agree on the ground rules.

Obligatory close-up with the noise squish because I am a blorbo connoisseur and not a heathen. The little eye gaze at the lips, and if you ask me, and this is my post so you ARE asking me, Crowley is very much looking at Aziraphale's lips from behind his glasses.

But I have one more observation to make!

I could never quite put my finger on why exactly the scene felt off, but now I am convinced it's because despite the act, Crowley isn't actually upset. There ARE times when Aziraphale actively crosses a boundary and endangers him with his compliments, but this is not one of them. The growling, him baring his teeth, the fact that he is pressing their entire bodies together, him leaning in thar far, and also what the FUCK is he saying?

The excerpt from the script books:

First part okay, I can buy that, a bit basic but alright. But 'nice is a four letter word'? Where exactly was he going with that and how was that sentence going to end? It's close enough to the topic to pass as real for any outsider who might overhear them, but if you actually listen and try to comprehend it—yeah, no, he was about to go full gibberish.

The goal wasn't to yell at Aziraphale about calling him nice, it was all about prolonging the physical intimacy by holding a monologue.

If you still don't believe me, have a look at their faces when they get interrupted.

Crowley has a "whot?" expression on his face and not a single hint of anger or annoyance. Aziraphale has an expression I will lovingly call "perish you peasant and let my demon husband slam me against a wall in peace".

If someone gave you only this picture—no context, nothing—what would you assume they were doing before someone rudely interrupted them? Based on what the fuck is happening on their faces and the complete lack of distance between their bodies, you'd probably assume they were snogging each other senseless.

Which they were, in a way, just without the lip contact.

I rest my case.

[callingitquits]

Crumbs Of Your Thoughts

Summary: You came to a crowded community fair just to keep an eye on him. But when you find him telling a story to a circle of children, you realize it’s not really for them. 

[Word Count: 1,409 No Warnings]

Formatting is horrible and I am unwell. I rearranged this a hundred times and finally hit post out of spite. Hopefully it’s easier to read. If not, please pretend it is.

Also, heads up: this is written with a female reader in mind. Proceed accordingly.

Low murmurs drifted lazily through the thick, warm air, weaving together with the smoky tang of grilled bratwurst and the faint, sugary perfume of freshly baked pastries.

It was one of those modest community gatherings—pop-up stalls with sagging awnings, checkered tablecloths mottled with mustard spots, an abundance of wobbly folding chairs, and the hum of oldies music crackling from a battered speaker in the corner.

Golden slants of late afternoon light filtered through the tall windows of the community hall, casting long, honeyed shadows that stretched and softened the worn, scuffed floor beneath.

Children wove through the crowd like restless spirits, chasing half-deflated balloons or licking syrupy ice cream from their wrists.

You hovered near the snack table, a crumpled paper cup of orange juice clutched in your hand, feigning interest in a crooked sign advertising face painting.

The buzz of conversation rose like a swarm in your ears—sharp, incessant, impossible to tune out. The crinkle of napkins, the metallic screech of chairs being dragged across linoleum, the sudden slap of a tray hitting the floor… it all pressed in, noise without rhythm.

You shifted subtly from foot to foot, finding a quiet comfort in the motion.

Crowds made your skin crawl.

Too loud.

Too erratic.

Too… everything.

But Johan had expressed interest in the event—and you, against your better judgment, against your instincts—had followed.

You hadn’t meant to lose sight of him.

But now, you heard his voice—already mid-story.

You froze, like a deer caught in the snap of a wrong twig.

There he was—seated gracefully in a folding chair, as if the entire room bent itself around him.

A loose semicircle of children surrounded him, their wide eyes locked on his face. Laughter had stopped. Fidgeting had stopped. Even the squirmiest had gone still.

Johan’s voice curled through the air like thick incense—warm, slow, and hypnotic.

Gentle, yet edged with something precise. Like silk drawn over something with teeth.

He chose his place carefully. Never too central, never too far. Always where the eye would pass over him without stopping.

“…and so the girl kept the wolf in her pocket,” he said, fingers sketching a delicate square in the air. “It was no larger than a matchbox when she folded it away. She fed it crumbs of her darkest thoughts. It grew hungry often. Sometimes it bit her fingers when she tried to feed it. But she never let it out… not fully.“

The children leaned in, transfixed.

You couldn’t tell if it was a real story or something he’d made up on the spot. But it didn’t feel new. It felt… remembered.

The room around them seemed to hush, the world outside their circle blurred and faded.

His voice—always soft—shifted into something else. Not raw, not quite real. It sounded rehearsed. Velvet. A performance.

But disturbingly, not a lie.

Your fingers twitched against the cup’s edge—betraying your attempt to stay still.

Why did you even come here?

“She held it close,” Johan continued. “Even when it growled. Even when it begged. Even when it wanted her heart—and not her hand.”

A little girl in a pink jacket, cheeks smudged and sticky, raised her hand like she was back in class.

“Does the wolf love her?” she asked.

There was a beat. A long one.

Johan looked down at the girl. One finger tapped softly against his knee, once. His expression unreadable—still, like glass before a crack.

Then he smiled. Not wide. Not fake. Just a small, quiet thing that might almost pass for tenderness.

“Yes,” he said. “And she’s terrified.”

A shiver slipped down your arms, blooming into goosebumps along your skin.

Your knees felt loose, uncertain—as if they might give way. Then your chest tightened.

The words struck like a shard of ice, trailing slowly down your spine.

You hadn’t expected to feel much of anything at this silly event, with its squeaky balloons and innocence of a kindergarten play.

But now, your fingers curled tighter around the paper cup in your hand.

Your eyes drifted to the children—still, spellbound, caught in the lull his words left behind.

A little girl’s cheek hovered in your peripheral vision, but you barely saw her.

Their faces blurred like looking through a fogged window.

The chatter and clatter around you faded, growing distant and muffled.

Your breath slowed. Shoulders eased, just enough to keep you upright.

For a moment, you let yourself drift.

And when you finally looked up—

He was already watching you.

Across the heads of children, over the soft laughter of nearby parents.

His eyes—glacier blue, still, knowing—locked with yours, as if he’d known exactly where you were all along.

There was no flicker of apology in his expression.

Only the quiet echo of that story still lingering in his gaze.

Your stomach flipped.

You wanted to throw your juice at him.

Say something sharp. Anything.

Walk over and ask: What the hell kind of story was that?

But you didn’t.

You couldn’t.

Your face flushed hot.

You wanted to look away.

You should have.

Because he meant you.

He always meant you.

Maybe you did feed it.

A little at a time.

Maybe it only stayed small because you kept pretending it could be.

You didn’t move.

And neither did he.

You just looked at each other—for a long, charged second.

Until a little boy tugged gently on Johan’s sleeve and asked what happened next.

Johan finally broke the gaze, turning toward the child with a soft curve to his lips that never quite touched his eyes.

For just a second, something shifted.

Barely perceptible.

A pause in his smile, like he was remembering something he shouldn’t.

Your scalp tingled like static.

Something inside you threatened to slip loose.

Too much—all at once.

And still, you didn’t move.

The juice in your cup had gone lukewarm, thick and bitter on your tongue like something you weren’t meant to swallow.

Even the switch to bouncy 80s synthpop couldn’t cut through the fog—too far away, too thin.

Then, behind you, a balloon popped suddenly—a sharp, explosive crack that made your chest jump.

Your breath caught, then slipped out in a slow, unintentional sigh you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Just behind you, a small boy yelped in surprise and took off running, other children chasing after him with gleeful shrieks.

Their footsteps pounded loudly across the floor.

But the noise didn’t pull you back to the room.

Instead, it only made you feel more detached, like you were shrinking away from the crowd and the warmth around you.

You no longer felt like you were in a community center.

You felt a familiar feeling creeping in—the same emptiness and fear you usually managed to keep at bay.

Where Johan always lived.

And where, somehow, he always pulled you in.

You slipped out quietly, stepping into the warm evening air.

A brief refuge.

Just enough space to gather your thoughts and steady your breath.

You hadn’t left the event—not really—just escaped the crush of bodies, the hum of voices pressing in.

It hit different.

Not like you expected.

No comfort. No release.

The air was thick—weighted with sun-melted asphalt and the bitter sting of charcoal dust.

It glowed too warm, too slow, like a memory that didn’t want to be remembered.

After the riot inside, the silence out here felt hollow—waiting, coiled tight.

A refuge? Barely. Just enough to flatten your thoughts like a corpse on a slab.

You hadn’t escaped.

You’d only slipped from one kind of suffocation into another.

“Stupid.” you whispered, half to the concrete, half to yourself.

Kicking a stray pebble, you watched it skitter and disappear beneath a car’s tire.

His eyes seared into you like a brand you never asked for.

Heat pooled low, a quiet fire tangled with shame and something rotten you couldn’t name.

Behind you, Johan’s voice threaded through the gathering—soft, steady, inescapable.

The children remained still, wide-eyed and uncertain, caught between caution and curiosity.

One wriggled.

Another yawned.

“Did the wolf ever turn nice?”

Johan didn’t answer.

The silence stretched. His gaze wandered—not lost, just…. somewhere else.

When he looked back, he still didn’t speak.

Because the one who needed to understand already had.

The wolf stirred behind his eyes.

Maybe it had never fit in the matchbox at all.