#I swear I wasn’t in a bad mood when I wrote it

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Hey, are you okay? I just read the Legend thing you posted and....hun, you good? Those are...

I of all people know it's easy to express your own feelings through a character (Legend) when you're going through and and I just want to make sure; is that you talking there? Are you okay? Is that your heart talking or are you just really, really good at capturing the thoughts of others?

Well this is embarrassing 😂😅

I’m uh… really good at capturing the thoughts of others. Yeah. 👍🏻

[leonfucker3000]

under the mistletoe

married!Leon S Kennedy x engaged!fem!reader

Warnings: 16+, cheating, sex with feelings, vaginal sex, oral sex (f receiving),bathroom sex, mirror sex, modern au but not really because I know their dumbasses don’t have enough friends for a Christmas party, reader has morals until she doesn’t

wc: 2.5k

Yap: I wrote this last year for smutmas LMFAO, posting it here so I’m not forgotten, IM WORKING ON STUFF I SWEAR !! The ending is rushed and bad, and Leon says some corny fucking shit

not proofread, sorry chat

Arm-in-arm with Chris, you make your way up the snowy steps of the brown-bricked house. From the front patio, you could hear the faint sounds of Christmas music and bottles popping.

“I thought you said this was gonna be small.” a faint murmur comes from your lips, disappointment clear in your face from the lie your fiancé told you to get you here. You told him before you weren’t interested in anything noisy or busy or crowded , even told him to visit his friends alone and that you’d be fine waiting for him to get back.

“That’s what they told me too, we can head back—”

“It’s fine. Not gonna keep you from your friends.” Just don’t expect me to be social, you want to add on, but don’t due to the small smile on his face. He’s sweet. Ignorant, but sweet. In his own way, you suppose. 

You’re hit with overpowering peppermint and alcohol scent when you walk through the door, christmas spirit aside, the inside looks nice. Warm, inviting, homey, where you should be with Chris but he’s – he presses a kiss to your forehead, muttering a small I’ll be back as he goes to find his buddies – gone. 

A price to pay for future happiness.

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You try to distract yourself, pleasantries to mutual friends and others you definitely (do not) remember. If you had more sleep the night before, maybe you’d be up for drinks and dancing and actual conversation rather than this. Whatever this is. “Don’t look too happy to be here either.” A gruff voice from behind you snaps you out of your trance. 

“Weren’t you the one that invited us, Leon?” You click your tongue as you turn around to face him, he looks tired but prettily so. Fucker.  

He huffs out a laugh and shakes his head, “Not one for these, thought you knew me better. Just thought that I’d enjoy it more with people…” he looks you up and down for a fleeting moment, “...like me.”

“Like you in what sense? Alcoholic or asshole?” 

“Both, either, neither. Just wanted to see some friends, that’s all.”

You hum and motion with your head, “Chris is over there. Not here.”

“I know.”

The both of you are silent, no matter what you say, you’re sure Leon has a counter. A quip, a joke, something that’s definitely going to get the both of you in trouble. “Guess we’re going with Alcoholic You, then. Drinks?”

“And you say we’re not friends. Let’s go.” He says with a hand sliding to the small of your back, resting right above your ass – too close, too risky for a married man and an engaged woman, too stupid. You bite your tongue and let him lead you to the host’s makeshift bar, saying anything is a reaction and a reaction is what he wants, at least you assume so.

“We’re not. You know this, I know this, maybe even God if we dig deep enough.”

“Okay, well, it’s not that deep so let’s just have a nice night as friends, yeah?”

A sigh leaves you for the nth time that night, “Sure.”

Moving through the seemingly never-ending crowd of drunk couples, you’re soon to realize your mistake of keeping quiet when he stops and looks up, then back at you. Eyebrows furrowed and mood shifted, you follow his eyes up and – “Absolutely not.” a fucking mistletoe. You saw other people under the mistletoe who were most definitely in committed relationships kiss others but that’s not you . You thought it wasn’t him either from the way he looked at Ada. Another terrible assumption.

Leon scoffs and rolls his eyes, “It’s tradition. ‘S just a kiss, doesn’t need to mean anything.”

“It wouldn’t mean anything if we were both single, but we’re very much fucking not, so–”

“No one’s looking, just us. Chris won’t mind, Ada…won’t either.” A weak excuse, both the mistletoe and his pathetic they don’t need to know . “Friends kiss.”

“Right, you mean unmarried ones. On the cheek. Platonically.”

“Will you just–” He groans as he cups your face in his hands and pulls you to meet his lips, sloppily and messily kissing you and licking the seam of your lips. You stumble and he pushes you against the kitchen archway, guests too unbothered to realize what’s going on in front of them. For a moment, you kiss back, hands tugging on his hair – girlfriend, fiancée, wife – you pull away with a sharp gasp, heavy worry and guilt.  

Now you really need that fucking drink.

You blink up at him, “Wish I could’ve done more.” He speaks, fighting himself for being weak but also not regretting a thing because it’s you and he definitely wants you. “Looking real pretty tonight and Chris is an idiot for leaving his soon-to-be-wife alone. So really, this is his fault.”

“You’re fucking crazy.” 

“For you.”

You hate him for going against your wishes, hate him for making a joke about it, hate the fact that despite everything, you liked it . Whore, Slut, Hoe, all of the above and definitely not the loyal fiancée you promised you’d be. “This can’t–can’t happen again.”

“Right.” He whispers, soft and hushed, had you not known any better, you might’ve thought he was sorry.

You turn to leave and avoid him for the rest of the night, suddenly feeling confident enough to be social after all to get your mind off what the fuck just happened. But nothing works. Not drinks or jokes or even Chris himself. Ironically, he points out the mistletoe and drags you under it to kiss you. 

It’s firm, possessive and used to make you feel giddy but all you feel right now is unadulterated shame. All that’s swirling through your mind isn’t the loops of red and green christmas streamers and tinsel – it’s Leon. You two didn’t even talk much, don’t know how you caught his eye or why he’d want you when he has a pretty wife of 2 years with him.

You pull away and Chris gives you another quick peck, “Know you don’t like stuff like this, I appreciate it, really.” he whispers, and you feel like a bitch again. He’s so – he’s too good for you. “When we get back, ‘ll make sure to make it up to you.” 

You smile, all weary and shy, too bad while he’s fucking you, you’ll be imagining someone else. “Can’t wait.” Before you can even be pulled away by Chris again, a hand slides up your back and another on Chris’ shoulder. 

Fuck fuck fuck. Someone saw you and is going to tell Chris. Say goodbye to stability and long-lasted love and–  

“Get a room, will you?” Leon says as he pats Chris’ shoulder, a little more forceful than needed, but if Chris noticed, he didn’t let it show. “Had Ada rolling her eyes at the two of you more than usual. A new record.”

You force a tight smile while Chris is at ease, “Of course you two have the most shit to say.” he chuckles.

“Mhm, yeah, so, mind if I borrow you for a minute?” Leon’s hand falls from Chris’ shoulder as he looks at you.

“Um.” Chris was a patient man, really was, but if you’re uncomfortable, he’s uncomfortable, and right now–

“Sure, just make it quick.” You mutter, glancing at Chris with a nervous smile, “I’ll be back.” 

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How you ended up in a half-bathroom with Leon, perched up onto the sink counter with your legs wrapped around his waist will always be beyond you. He kissed you like he did before, almost holding no rhythm as he did it like it’d be the last time. “Fucking–” he groaned, “beautiful.” He pulled away briefly to press wet, open-mouthed kisses down your neck and shoulder. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

“Shouldn’t be admitting that, it's– oh –not okay.” It’s definitely not okay that you’re here with him, and it’s definitely not okay that him biting you is enough to make you shudder. How the fuck are you going to explain this to Chris? Leon bit me to test out my skin durability? 

“I know, just can’t help it when it’s you. Sweet girl, always on my mind.” He tried, really did. Tried being happy when Chris introduced you, tried ignoring how sweet you looked, tried ignoring you and the image of eating you out that kept him warm on many lonely nights. Couldn’t even do it with Ada without your face popping up in his head when he came. “Would ask if you thought of me, too, but I guess we both know the answer to that.” 

He knew, knew that as much as he wanted you, up until now it was Chris. The hopeful part of him convinces himself you just buried it deep down like him and that’s why he can finally be between your pretty legs, pressed up against your pretty body and soon enough, pretty pussy. You make him feel dizzy.

“Leon–” 

“Yeah, just keep sayin’ my name and that’ll make it better.” He kisses you for good measure, thinks that if you say anything other than his name or oh god, he’ll lose it. You tug on his hair again and he groans, “Let me eat you out, needa give that pretty pussy just as much kisses.”

He doesn’t give you time to retaliate or even think about what he said before pushing your dress up and dropping to his knees, kissing up your thighs and removing your panties. He makes sure to put your legs over his shoulders, tongue delving right onto your pussy. Your fingers latch onto his hair and he gives you a muffled groan.

Your plush thighs push against his face and, fuck, it’s better than anything he’s ever had, he won’t need alcohol after this because you’re just as addicting, if not more, as he drinks in your pussy like he’s parched. “ Fuckk ,” he groans into you, all muffled and slurred “ tastes so fucking good.” 

Your legs are shaking and thank-fucking-god you’re sitting on the sink counter, music blasts from outside as you pant and moan while his tongue flicks with fucking talent. His mouth makes you feel dizzy, even more so when he plunges two fingers inside your cunt, his eyebrows furrow when you pull particularly hard – heaven is what he thinks.

He concentrates his lips and tongue on your clit as you rock against his face, “ Leon,” you gasp, nearly crying out above him and yes, his imagination didn’t do you any justice because his name falling from your lips is a wet dream. 

He taps your thigh, voice all hoarse and strained, “Gotta keep quiet, can’t have them seeing you like this – this is for me .” He’s so hard it hurts but he’ll endure anything just so you’ll come on his fingers and tongue.

You whine, biting your lip to keep in your sounds and he feels your body trembling , the pressure of his tongue was insistent and your body twitched when his fingers aligned with the rhythm of his tongue, “oh fuck, oh fuckfuckfuck,’ you cover your mouth as you let out a muffled cry, legs wrapping around his head so tight he can barely breathe but holy shit does he not care.

You come, blissed out and shaking – he thinks you’re pretty. He’s an idiot for this, he really doesn’t care. 

He presses a small kiss to your thigh, getting up off his knees as his thumb rubs small circles on your skin, “You okay?” he whispers, mouth sore and dick straining against his pants makes his voice low. 

“Mmhmm,” you reply dumbly and slurred, “never better.”

He feels pride swell up in his chest when you say that, he made you feel good – better than Chris keeps replaying in his mind. “Not done with you yet, can you stand?”

“Maybe in 5 minutes.” He doesn’t have 5 minutes, you don't have 5 minutes – he needs it now. He helps you off the counter and pushes you forward, bending you over the sink. You faintly hear the sound of fabric and metal before feeling him slide between your folds and nudge against your entrance. “Leon–”

“Need it, honey. Gonna give it to me, yeah?”

Fuck it, you’ve made it this far. “Yeah.” you say breathlessly. 

You can’t mutter out another word when he doesn’t wait a second more to slide into you, his nails dimpling spots on your hips when he grips tighter. You cry out when he pulls out and shoves himself to the hilt, his left hand covering your mouth, “ Quiet.” he hisses, groaning when he snaps his hips again, not stopping until his rhythm is relentless. 

Whines and moans are faded against his hand, he’s panting and groaning against your ear, “Feels –fuckk – so much fucking better than I imagined.” he pulls his hand and your head back a little so you’re looking in the mirror. Fuck explaining a bite mark to Chris – you’re a mess. Sweat dripping from your forehead and eyes glossy as you look blissed out and absolutely fucked . “See that?” he shudders, “That’s us, you don’t take your fucking eyes off it.” 

You nod quickly against his hand as the room fills with the sound of skin against skin and choked back moans and panting. Your eyelids feel heavy as you look in the mirror, Leon’s face is flushed and his hair is wet with sweat as he fucks you like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. 

He watches your face as you take all of him, all pretty and teary-eyed, you’ve ruined him for everyone else. “I'm gonna come again,” your voice is faint against his hand, barely able to even get out any words because he has you teetering on the edge as his balls slap against your clit. You feel yourself tightening around his cock and his hips stutter.

“Shit–that right?” You nod eagerly as you keep your eyes on him, “atta girl, ‘m gonna get at least 3 out of you.”

“I c’nt–” 

“Yes you can,” he slurs, “for me, you fucking can.”

Your walls clamp down on him hard, spasming from your second orgasm, and he moans. He bites his lip as he pulls out, warm come spurting on your ass as he holds onto the counter in front of you for balance, chest pressed against your back. ‘ Fuck. ” he moans.

Your eyelids flutter when he licks his lips and presses a small kiss onto your shoulder. “Jesus Christ, leon. I dunno if I can…do another.” you pant.

“Don’t have a choice, honey, just need you ontop of me.”

You open your mouth to speak but a sharp knock hits against the bathroom door, “Can you hurry the fuck up? I gotta piss n – oh okay.” footsteps retreat and you look at Leon, huffing out a small laugh.

“Gonna have to wait.”

“A real shame.’

You straighten yourself on shaky legs and look in the mirror, “oh my fucking–”

“I’ll get you an Uber and tell Chris you started feeling sick.” he offers. Right. Chris. Fiancé, love of your life Chris. Shit. “It was worth it.” he breaks your train of thought, “Good thing we didn’t break tradition.”

You swallow. “Right.”

He kisses you, slower this time.

Happy-fucking-holidays to you.

[dimicul]

jealous smug ex bf ghost 🫡

this is not edited and i wrote this at 4am 😭

thinking about the silent smouldering confidence radiating off of ghost when he knows he’s better in every way compared to your new boyfriend.

he doesn’t understand you the same way. sure, maybe your relationship with him wasn’t the most perfect, but it’s gotta be better than this arsewipe you picked up from the streets. he just doesn’t get you; your little tics, what makes you smile, laugh, cry, snort — cum.

you see it in every subtle jerk of Ghost’s body, every glance he passes you. pure smugness when your new boy toy drops the weighted gun several times, snaps at you when you try to help him; you can’t even point it out or go berserk if Ghost breathes in your direction, because nobody else sees it - just you. he reckons that’s why you’re perfect for him. nah, he knows it.

you suppose it’s a curse of some sort - it’s not like your boyfriend is a complete dickhead, but he messes up once and you find yourself wondering if Ghost would have done the same. if he’d allow it all.

“You’re pointin’ south.”

Ghost rolls his shoulders back, head cocked to the side as he watches your boyfriend turn in LT’s direction, lips pressed in a thin line. You keep reminding him it’s the other fucking way, that he had to practice the day before, because he knew how important this was to you—

“Yeah, got it L.T.” He says through clenched teeth. Ghost says nothing, but the mask shifts a little and you want nothing more than to wipe the smirk off of his face.

It doesn’t help when he releases the trigger and misses.

“Just keep trying.” You urge your boyfriend through clenched teeth, offering a smile. Ghost watches it all, how quickly your mood plummeted, how you’re sparing him worried glances. he’s not gonna pity your sod of a boyfriend, but since you’re so worried, he’d consider it. well, he tries to, when that boyfriend of yours moves harshly out of your way and readjusts his pose. It’s humiliating and it doesn’t go by unnoticed.

“There you go,” Your boyfriend simmers to himself when the bullet pierces straight into the makeshift dummy opposite him.

“Good job.” You sigh out, weights rolling off of your shoulders.

“Didn’t need a compass either.” Ghost remarks, void of any emotion as he turns to saunter off.

Despite your mental efforts, you can’t deny the sex is… awful.

You feel terrible as you roll onto your side, a layer of sweat on your skin, looking all tossed up. You should feel… good, right? Yet it doesn’t. It wasn’t the same; no familiar ache between your legs, the immediate sleep after, the same large hands that knew every inch of your body.

“Fuck sake,” You shove your face into the small cushion next to you, voice muffled. Here you were, laying beside your boyfriend, thinking about how much you’d rather be sleeping on the cheap issue of Ghost’s mattress.

You were royally fucked up.

Everyone notices your bad mood the day after; you’re slamming doors, sighing irritably, cricking your neck to the side, knees jittery. Ghost drinks it in, God he fucking revels it. Poor girl.

“Needed this, didn’t ya?” He’s rasping in your ear later that night, your head buried into the pillow deep somewhere in the barracks, ass up in the air for him. Ghost hisses, hips snapping against you. He can tell you needed this — course that pretty boy’s not been takin’ care of you, he doesn’t know you. Doesn’t care to.

“Fussy thing,” Ghost grunts, large hand moving to fist your hair, earning a whimper in response. You’re clawing at the sheets beneath you, breathless, unable to conjure up some lame jab because he’s so deep in you you swear you’re seeing stars.

“Greedy too. Yeah, you fuckin’ like that,” Thrust after thrust, you clench around him, taking him so well, because after all; you’re his. His girl. You moan into the pillow, earning a chuckle from the man as he stills, gloved hands on your hips. God, you know he’s making you late to training but you can’t seem to care.

“Doesn’t fuck you right, does he, love?”

“Si —” You’re panting, lolling against the pillow, jaw slack when large hands spread your legs wider, tattooed skin against soft flesh.

“You got a fussy little pussy,” He groans, base of his cock stilling again, right at that spot you love. “Need’a be fucked proper.”

[jasmines-library]

Hello!! I was hoping I could request for a Winchester sister reader that's taking care of the brothers when they're sick? Maybe making chicken noodle soup for them and stuff! Just something cute, I just need some comfort 🥹 Thank you if you take my request! 🫶

Noodle Soup

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Note: Sorry its a little short, I wanted to get some spn out for you all tonight because its been a hot minute since I wrote for spn and I’m ashamed

Word Count: 1k

⛧ SPN MASTERLIST ⛧

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You never thought you would ever say this, but the infamous Dean Winchester was sick. Honestly, he wasn’t sure if he would ever say it. Not out loud at least, but this morning, he could hardly drag himself out of bed and he was hit with a migraine and blocked sinuses that completely threw him off balance.

 It put him in a bad mood as he tried to make his way to the kitchen, grumbling something about how he was fine. He was betrayed by the dry cough that left him heaving and leaning heavily on the side of the counter. You considered getting up many times as you watched him from the kitchen table as you scanned the papers for any possible hunts, but you knew his foul mood would more than likely end in an argument that you didn’t want to be involved in. What finally made you push your chair out from the table to put a stop to Dean’s antics was when he was fumbling around with a pan and dropped it on the floor with a clatter. 

“Alright. That’s it. ” You linked an arm around him, pulling him away from the counter. 

“Get the hell off me, Y/N.” Dean tried to push you away. “I’m fine.”

“Dean.” You gave him a look, narrowing your eyes at him stubbornly. “You can barely stand straight.”

He tried to turn back to the kitchen. “Piss off.”

You took his arm and dragged him back to the sofa. He sank back into it with a cough. 

“Stay put.”

Your brother rolled his eyes and grumbled, but made no attempt to stand. 

Sighing in content, you made your way back to the kitchen to make a start on breakfast when you heard another set of lumbering footsteps echoing through the bunker. 

“I swear to god, Dean-” You started, making your way out of the kitchen only to come face to face with a very gruff-looking Sam. His hair was tousled and his eyes had dark shadows beneath them. 

“Sammy?” You frowned. 

“Hey y/n/n” He greeted. His voice was hoarse and scratchy, as if someone had replaced it with sandpaper. Perhaps it was not just one set of coughs and sneezes that kept you up last night. 

“You too, huh?” You asked as he plonked himself on a stool in the kitchen. 

Although less stubborn than his older brother, Sam still hesitated for a moment before sighing. 

“Yep. I think we must have picked it up at the bar on the last hunt.”

It made sense. The two of them had gone out to the bar the other nights while you scouted out the local town. You weren’t sick, so it seemed to add up.

Sam groaned, rubbing his temples to try and ease the pressure. 

“Why don’t you go and join Dean? I’ll bring some food out in a bit.”

Nodding, Sammy took his leave, stumbling back to his brother. 

~

“Alrighty…” You balanced two bowls of steaming soup in your hands and you pushed open the door with your foot. 

Your brothers didn’t seem to have improved much since this morning. Stubbornly as ever they both sat bundled up in blankets on the couch, wallowing in their own self pity and watching whatever they could find on the TV to keep themselves entertained. In the meantime, you were making sure that they were well cared for: making sure their temperatures didn’t get too high, or handing them painkillers to help with the headache. It was only fair, they had spent countless hours looking after you in the past when you were ill. 

That was why you found yourself in the kitchen nursing a bowl of chicken noodle soup. It was your mother’s recipe; something that John had stashed away at the back of his journal. You could see why: it was the perfect remedy for a day like this. 

Handing a bowl to both of your brothers, you watched as they sipped the steaming liquid and twisted the noodles around on a fork. Glad to see that they could stomach food, you went back into the kitchen to grab your own bowl. Your two brothers had sprawled themselves out across the length of the sofa, so you took a seat on the floor with your head leaning against Sam’s legs. 

“Thank you.” Dean said as you took your seat.

“It’s not a problem.” You told him.

“We should be the ones taking care of you.” Dean continued.

You frowned, deepening the creases on your forehead. “Says who?”

Dean faltered. “Us.”

“Let me take care of you for once.”

The three of you stayed there for the rest of the day, talking and watching films through half lidded eyes and checking that your brothers were feeling okay. But, a few hours and a mountain of tissues later, they had finally drifted off to sleep.

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SPN TAGS:

@defonotashleyr @aestheticdaisies @xxrougefangxx

@hell-o-kittys @inlovewhithafairytale @harleycao

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[cyberels]

IT WILL COME BACK

PLEASE GOD LISTEN TO IT WILL COME BACK BY HOZIER IT MAKES THE FIC BETTER GOD BLESS

(my requests are on btw plsss send fic ideas pleaseee)

PART TWO HERE CUZ MY DUMBASS FORGOT TO ADD IT my bad

summary: ellie hates one night stands, while you couldn’t care less. she barely manages to catch your name before you’re pulled away from her. she makes it her goal to find you again.

warnings: NSFW, MDNI!!!, drinking, language

(i am a whore for subby!ellie so that’s all i wrote in this fic, it’s all e!receiving)

wc: 2.4k

a/n: okay i so lied about the other fic it’s not done yet so take this one instead lol it’s my first time writing smut in years so… please be patient if it’s not good i will improve eventually 🙏 (i didn’t proofread this, sorry if it sucks LOL)

my masterlist

divider credit to benkeibear :)

The music's overwhelming, and you're certain your hearing's screwed, if it wasn’t already. The lights flash, illuminating the room and all the people in it. You'd been told this was just a small get together, so why are there so many people here? who goes all out for a fucking get together?

you stick to the corner of the room, sipping your drink occasionally while you pretend to scroll through your phone to look casual. originally, your plan was to stay home and study for finals, but you agreed to go because your friend had promised she'd be with you the whole time.

“come onnnnn, don’t be lame. just fuck someone and have a good time, you’ve been studying for like yearsssss.” your friend pleaded. somehow she was already drunk.

“i’m not really in the mood for a hookup—“

“liar, your ass was swiping through tinder not even 30 minutes ago.” she grins at you, “look, let’s just go to the party, yeah? have a good time and shit, get fucked up… maybe get fucked, you feel me?”

“you’re stupid and i hate you.”

“you love me.”

…unfortunately for you, your friend's plan to stick with you only lasted about 15 minutes before she saw her old fling and disappeared up the stairs with them, so you're on your own now. great.

screw it. might as well have some fun, too. you push yourself off the wall, discarding your empty cup on some random shelf, and immediately going to grab another drink to replace it. you look around, maybe a hookup wouldn’t be so bad?

you never believed in divine timing, but you lock eyes with a girl that’s sitting on the couch across from you right when you decide to find someone to fuck. you can’t bring yourself to look away; you’re too dumbfounded that there’s a girl here that’s literally the human embodiment of your type.

the girl smiles back at you, also not breaking eye contact. she beckoned for you to sit down on the couch next to her.

ellie was never the type for one night stands, if she was gonna fuck someone, she’d want them back for more later. but there was just something about the way your outfit hugged your body that made her not care at the moment.

ellies previous situationship had gotten a girlfriend without warning, so needless to say she was in the market for someone else to take her spot. when she saw you and the way you were looking at her like she was the only girl at this stupid party, she figured you were just as desperate for sex as she was right now.

you carry your shot of don julio back as you flop onto the seat across from the girl. you quickly take the shot, being unable to stop the cringe on your face as the alcohol burns your throat. real smooth, she’s definitely gonna wanna fuck you now—

“can’t handle your tequila?” she teased, leaning closer to you so she was able to be heard over the music.

“shut up, i can’t help that it tastes like fucking nail polish remover.”

ellie laughs at your response, and you swear you’ve never heard something so fucking cute before in your life. you try to play it cool, but the way she’s looking at you is making you practically drool. you tense as you unintentionally conjure up a mental image of her hands up your shirt, her lips on your skin, her fingers in your—

“at least it gets the job done.”

you blink a few times, her voice ripping you from your fantasy, “yeah, it does. ‘specially don julio, that shits like a hundred bucks a bottle.”

“and it’s worth every fucking penny, dude.”

you hadn’t expected to be fantasizing about some random girl fucking you, but… here you were. maybe it’s the tequila, or the few drinks you had beforehand, but you decided you absolutely needed this girl despite only speaking two goddamn sentences to her.

your eyes fall to the hallway, moving towards an empty bedroom door, and then back to the girl. you never were a fan of small talk, anyways.

ellie’s breath catches when she follows your gaze to the bedroom. she had been hoping for a distraction from the party, and she was just as eager for you as you were for her.

“wanna go talk in there?” you smiled, nodding towards the room. “it’s quieter.”

the girl grins back, not bothering to answer, just getting up and grabbing your hand, leading you into the bedroom.

usually you’d try to learn her name first, or at least learn more about her, but not tonight, not with her. you needed her as quickly as possible.

you barely let her lock the door before you push her roughly onto the bed, a mischievous smile spreading across your face as you move your body to straddle hers. “you sure you wanna do this?”

“yeah, i’m sure.”

“perfect. gonna be good and let me take control?”

ellie's eyes widened. she’s not normally the submissive type, but… tonight was a different game, and you were hot, so she simply nodded in response as you moved to press kisses into her neck.

you shake your head, pulling away from her for a moment, “nuh uh, not a good enough answer. use your words.”

“mmh— i’ll be good, i’ll let you take care of me.” ellie chokes out, heat pooling between her legs already, and all she wants is to grab your hand and shove it down her pants.

“perfect, good girl.” you coo, rolling your hips and dragging your crotch over hers, your jeans colliding with her sweatpants. your movements are slow and deliberate, you know exactly what you’re doing.

you brush your lips over hers, but you don’t kiss her, instead you move to the side of her face, leaving a trail of kisses across her jawline.

ellie whimpers, “teasin’ me.”

you laugh in response, “maybe i am, pretty girl. you’re gonna have to prove you deserve it before i give you more.”

the noises she made in response go directly to your clit, and if you weren’t having so much fun teasing the girl, you’d be touching yourself right about now.

the other girl grabbed the hem of your shirt, forcing your lips against hers. you moan into the kiss, tangling your hands in her hair and pulling slightly.

ellies so enamored that she doesn’t even realize your knee slipped between her thighs, and she instinctively pulls away as you press your knee further into her, “fuck, ah— s’good, baby.”

you grin, moving your knee up and down slowly, “you like that?”

“yeah, i fucking— shit, baby, fuck—“

you barely give ellie the opportunity to speak before you replace your knee with your hand.

you trail your kisses down to the hem of her pants, smiling up at her, “this alright?”

“fuck yeah it is.”

you giggle, continuing to move your hand slowly against the other girls clothed slit as you place more kisses onto her thigh.

after a moment, you pull back and tug on her pants, “need these off of you.”

you know you sound desperate, but you don’t care.

ellies cunt aches at the absence of your touch, so she quickly obliges, leaving just her boxers on, “take yours off too, babe, please. wanna see you.”

you want to deny her and play your game a little longer, but there's something about the way she’s looking at you, eyes watery and half-lidded, that makes it impossible to say no, “only ‘cause you asked so nicely.”

soon enough, both of you were left in just your underwear and bra, and you thank god you wore a cute set tonight. the only regret you have is not bringing your strap, because god do you want to get this girl pregnant.

“so fucking hot.” you say, moving back so you could see her whole body. you move your hand to trace along her tattoo, and you smile at her, “you’re so fucking pretty.”

ellie whimpers again, and she moves your hand back to her throbbing clit, “more.”

“m’not done admiring you.” you say, “you can wait a little while longer.”

you lean closer to her again, pushing her bra back slightly and sucking on the skin, leaving small red marks across her chest.

at this point, ellie is certain she cannot wait any longer, her legs squeezing together to try and get some friction. “mmh, can’t wait baby, need you now. please— fuck, oh my god— please, baby.”

you push her legs back open, giggling, “you’re so cute when you’re needy. stop moving, m’gonna take care of you eventually.”

your move so your head is in between the other girls thighs, and you place gentle kisses on the girls legs, leaving more red marks every now and again.

“fuck, please touch me, you’re killing me— you can’t do this to me. fuck.”

you grin, you hand hovering over the girls crotch now, just barely touching her, “you’re such a little slut for me, aren’t you? you don’t even know my name and you’re still begging me for more.”

ellie presses your hand down further into herself, she’s getting tired of waiting, “god, babe— please, i need it. please baby, i’m bein’ good, please.”

you bite your lip to stifle a moan, “so fucking hot when you beg.”

your hand moves to her clit, and you rub small circles into her. you’re moving painfully slow, but you can’t let her win just yet, you like hearing her whimper. “so wet already, pretty girl. you’re turning into my bitch, huh?”

you’d be lying if you said you weren’t wet too, and the sounds of ellies moans aren’t helping your case, but ellie doesn’t need to know that right now.

ellie goes to say something in response, but you don’t give her the chance, you speed up your movements, and she whines pathetically into the pillow she has pressed up against her face.

“not— not fair.” she whimpers, “fuck, faster— m’ gonna—“

“not yet.” you say, stopping what you were doing and tugging off her boxers. you’re certain you know the answer, but you ask again, “this alright?”

“mhm.” ellie replies, biting her lip, she can’t bring herself to say anything more. she wants this so bad.

you discard her boxers on the floor, and then bring your head in between her thighs again, “want you to cum in my mouth.”

ellie nods eagerly, and once again moves to press your face into her cunt. she forgets she’s in public for a second, unable to hold back her moans. she’s lucky the music's loud, because god she felt like she was going crazy with how good it felt.

you lick a stripe into her already sopping wet slit, and after a minute, you get to work. the second you stop teasing her, it only takes a few seconds for her to cum all over your face.

the noises she makes as she finishes make it hard for you to focus on anything else, your own clit begging for her touch, but before you do anything else, there’s a bang on the door.

you can’t hear exactly what the person outside is saying, but you’re able to hear one word, cops.

well, fuck, at least the other girl got to finish. you’d definitely be taking care of yourself once you got home.

“shit, i’m sorry.“ the girl starts, grabbing your clothes and throwing them towards you before putting hers on, “usually i wouldn’t just—“

“it’s fine.” you insist, “i’m just glad i got to make you feel good.”

ellie could die, right there on the spot. you look so fucking hot, and right now she was yearning to return the favor and make you feel good, too. “what’s your name?”

you smile and tell her, and then start to ask for hers, but you’re interrupted by the banging starting again. you grab her hand once you both are clothed, and run out of the house.

it didn’t take long before your friend spotted you, pulling you away from the girl and into the uber she called.

“dude, who the fuck would call the cops? it wasn’t that loud of a party— uh, dude, your shirts on backwards.”

“my wh—“ you look down, and sure enough, it is on backwards. that's…. embarrassing. “oh, well, um—“

“—no way! you— with who?! i thought you said you weren’t in the mood for that? you’re such a liar!”

“i don’t know her name.” you admit, brushing your hands through your hair, “wish i did. the cops got called before i could… y’know.”

you didn’t want to say anything further, deciding to spare the poor uber driver of knowing the details of your sex life.

“maybe you’ll find her again, it’s not that big of a town.”

“maybe. but it’s no big deal if i don’t. i don’t normally keep track of my hookups.”

“yeah, but usually you get to finish, too.” she counters.

“it’s whatever, i don’t mind.” you shrugged, and it was the truth. you had toys at home that would satisfy you enough, you’d just use them.

and that’s exactly what you did when you got home.

you turned on the shower and cleaned yourself up when you were done. usually your hookups don’t stick with you like this, but this girl was just so damn hot, and the way she begged— god. you figure you should probably think of something else, because you’re gonna make a mess of yourself again if you keep going like this.

when you hopped into bed, you still couldn’t get the image of her out of your head. this… wasn’t normal for you.

you even fucking dreamt of her that night, and you cursed at yourself once you woke up, because now you were aching for her touch once more.

stupid, you think, i’m so stupid. can’t get attached, don’t even know her name.

luckily enough for you, you don’t have to worry about that much longer. when you open your phone, there’s a dm waiting for you.

…how the fuck?

[anthonys237thfreckle]

I've been NEEDING some Javi & Scott angst, like the first night when Javi and Kate didn't set up the panel? (feel free to do romantic or platonic 🙏🙏)

I WROTE THIS BUT I DIDNT SAVE THE DRAFT

anyways here it is! i dont really write for scott but after a lot of research, i finally did! i rly hope this is okay lmao. Not the best at character x character, but theres a first time for everything!

i’m pretty inspired so i’ll write some javi x reader angst after this lol (i have sm free time until august 12th guys KEEP EM COMING)

please read the plot modification below, enjoy!

I love you, it’s ruining my life - Javier ‘Javi’ Rivera x Scott

prompt: Javi and Scott get into a heated argument

plot modification: Javi and Scott are still dating here!

TW: argument, mention of PTSD, getting shamed for PSTD, an explicit hand gesture, swearing

On the way to meeting Marshall Riggs, Javi and Scott’s investor, the tension in the car was thicker than the humid air in Oklahoma this summer. Neither said a word, Javi had his jaw clenched as he gripped the steering wheel, tight as a vice, his veins on his forearms showing. Scott looked out the window, chewing on his bottom lip, fiddling with the sunglasses in his hand, trying not to snap them out of pure impulse.

Scott’s mood was as sour as the unripe blueberries he’d grow to resent at the supermarket, chiding Javi for not being able to pick out produce; it was these little things that made him toxic - Javi was growing irritated.

Though, he was no saint either. Often biting back in arguments on how Scott grew to despise homosexual couples who lived perfect, happy lives with accepting parents in an accepting environment, how he can ‘never truly be happy for people who deserve it’.

Their relationship was hanging by a thread, and it was being teased by a razor.

Kate Carter.

“I still think we should head to El Reno” Javi said, shattering the silence “You know, Kate and I were talking-”

“Oh my god, do you ever shut up about her?” Scott snapped, turning his head sharply to meet his even sharper gaze. Javi looked at him with bewilderment, and Scott rolled his eyes

“You really trust her word after she lost that picture perfect storm, Javi?” Scott said bitterly

“It wasn’t her fault” Javi said firmly, turning to meet Scotts gaze with his own equally sharp one.

“She got super overwhelmed, that storm brought out some bad memories for her” Javi explained for what felt like the hundredth time for him. He was tired of having to defend his best friend from his boyfriend, and Scott had been getting on his nerves more than he cared to admit. Just as he thought Scott was done being a prick, he only proved he wasn’t.

“Well, someone should keep their emotions in check” He scoffed, rolling his eyes. Javi looked at him, a storm in his eyes.

“Okay, Scott, what the fuck.” Javi said, having enough of him. The anger and hurt was coursing through his veins, slipping into his tone.

“She has no goddamn ‘instincts’” Scott said with air quotes “She used a god damned dandelion to track our first storm.” He said, Kate’s more traditional ways clearly being judged by his more scientific ones.

“She grew up here, she knows what she’s doing” Javi defended “You know, Scott, you’re being a dick to her” Javi said, unimpressed. he turned his attention back to the road.

“We were real close in college. I know Kate, she has a god awful lot of potential” Javi said in a low tone, his message almost a threat.

“You should just date her at this point” Scott replied coldly. Javi was hot with rage. “Why is it whenever some straight, pretty girl comes along in my life you get so goddamn jealous?!” Javi snapped “She’s my best friend for god’s sake. We’ve been through some serious shit together” “So you think she’s pretty?!” Scott said, equally mad now.

“You know what?” Javi yelled, in a dangerous fury “Fuck you, Scott. I’m done. With you, with Storm Par, with exploiting innocent lives and being unethical.” He slammed on the breaks, unbuckled his seatbelt and left the car, not sparing a glance at Scott, who was surprised, but didn’t fight it. The relationship wasn’t worth fighting anymore.

It was ruining their lives

“Yeah, go run off to your girlfriend!” Scott yelled back at Javi, who winced. He wanted to say that his relationship with Kate was purely platonic, but he didn’t want to give Scott the satisfaction of pissing him off with his remark. But then again, by yelling back, he’d get the satisfaction of making Javi defensive.

So without looking back, Javi raised his fist, lifted his middle finger, and held it out for Scott, walking away on the dirt road in the opposite direction. He didn’t know where, he didn’t know for how long, he just knew he needed the air.

[alovesongshewrote]

Baby Girl | The Lost Boys x Reader HCs

Plot:  ya call the boys baby girl. just to see what happens. [The Lost Boys x GN!Reader]

Word count:  1420 (nice)

Warnings:  implied horniness???? it's not that bad, it's just paul being a dingus

A/N: again, holy fuck i can't believe i wrote this. even more holy fuck, somehow, this isn't the stupidest thing i've ever written, and the most holy fuck, i think i might do one of these for every fandom i write for. wish me fuckin luck babes.

Marko

Marko finds it hilarious 

You saunter up to him on the boardwalk

Full of confidence and mischief 

You throw an arm around his shoulders 

Lean your weight on him

And you say

“Ok, where are we going, baby girl?”

Yeah, you don’t end up going anywhere, because he starts wheezing 

He just wasn’t expecting it, it caught him off guard

And then you have to stand there for five minutes while he laughs so hard he fails at standing

Boy is on his KNEES losing it at “baby girl”

And you’re just standing over him for a few minutes, ginning like a madman until you kneel down next to him

And holding back your own laughter

You say

“What’s wrong, baby girl?”

And he just falls over

And at that point you also fall over 

And both of you are just cackling at this dumb shit

It’s attracting attention, but neither of you care

Eventually the rest of the boys come back to find you and marko just

On the ground

Dying

And david straight up turns around and walks the other way

It’s great, it’s fantastic

You and marko call each other “baby girl” for at least a week

And you both die laughing every single time

Everyone else hates you but it’s so fucking worth it

Paul

He also finds it hilarious, but like

Slightly to the left

The two of you are also on the boardwalk 

Vibing

Waiting for everyone else to show up

And you’re sitting on one of the rails while he stands like, kind of in front of you?

And he gets distracted by something

As he does with startling frequency 

And you watch him for a few minutes

Admiring him

But eventually, you get bored with that, so you kinda 

Kick him

A little bit

Not hard 

It’s not enough to hurt him

(if you can even do that)

But it’s enough to get his attention 

He looks at you

And his eyes get really big and sad, like he’s silently asking, “Why did you kick me?”

Or alternatively, “YOU KICK PAUL?  YOU KICK HIS BODY LIKE THE FOOTBALL?  JAIL FOR Y/N, JAIL FOR ONE THOUSAND YEARS”

Either way, you power through it

And you go

“Whatcha lookin at, baby girl?”

And this boy just

Lights Up

The sad puppy eyes are Dropped 

And They Are Replaced With The Horny Eyes.

He just

Leans into you

As he looks at you, scanning you up and down

His gaze is piercing and uhhh

It looks like he wants to Eat You.

And goes

“baby girl, huh?”

And you’re like

“Yeah, baby girl.  And you didn’t answer my question.”

Which like

You say it

And you are Aware that you are Playing With Fire

But fuck, the fire is fun to play with

And you won’t complain about getting burned 

So

When he takes another step towards you and like

Smacks a hand down on your leg

You just lean in further and go

“Are you gonna answer me, baby girl?”

Yeah, you get bit

On the neck

You fucked around and found out

You leaned in too far and you got bit

These boys, i swear, they’re animals 

Just fuckin biting

It’s a gentle bite tho

Soft

Teasing 

And when he pulls back he goes

“Doesn’t matter, baby.  All I can see now is you.”

And it’s so fuckin cute that you almost fall off the rail you’re sitting on

Anyway, yeah, you and paul also call each other “baby girl” for a week, but the context is Different 

Dwayne

Dwayne has a relatively simple reaction

The two of you are vibin in the cave

It’s dark outside 

So everyone else is out

And the two of you are alone

And he’s minding his own business

Lounging around a bit 

Reading a book 

And you

You are Bored

And you’re in the mood to cause problems on purpose, so

You slide in

Lean over him

And you watch him for a second

Tilting your head every now and then like a confused puppy

He ignores you

And after a few minutes of standing there, a plot comes to your wicked little mind

You lean in even closer

And you go

“Hey baby girl, whatcha reading?”

And he just

Looks at you 

For a second

Maybe he blinks once or twice

And you don’t budge, you’re just sitting there grinning at him

In silence

And then suddenly 

In the blink of an eye

He pulls you down onto him and into his arms

You quickly find yourself resting on top of him 

Using his chest as a pillow 

And this man

Does Not Wear A Shirt

So that’s fun for you

Anyway, he takes the book and just

Holds it above the two of you 

So that you can both read it

And he says

“Look for yourself, baby girl”

Which if you ask me, is the fuckin Height Of Romance, but you didn’t ask me, and that’s okay

Anyway, yeah, it’s cute

Fuckin

Adorable shit

David

Anyway, time for david

David is

Confused

By his baby girlification 

Like

He’s not mad, he doesn’t expect it

(Kinda like marko, but he doesn't laugh, he just sorta sits there)

It takes him a second to process, because the second the word “baby girl” leaves your mouth and floats his way, he blue screens

Like

David.exe is not working

The first time you do it, you’re in the cave with everyone else

And he’s sitting in his wheelchair, staring off into the distance like the brooding vampire man that he is

And you lean over him and go

“Whatcha thinkin about, baby girl?”

And he just goes

“What?”

And like

I don’t think you can actually say that he says what

It’s more like he breathes it out while his eyebrows furrow together and he shoots you the most confused look you have ever seen on his face

In part, he’s unsure that you’re talking to him

And in another part, you usually use more

Idk

Standard?  Pet Names? 

Darling, maybe sweetheart 

And he wouldn’t necessarily be opposed to weird pet names, it’s just that one time on the boardwalk you heard him call a potential meal “kitten” and you didn’t stop meowing at him for three months

So yeah, he didn’t see that one coming

It doesn’t help that the rest of the boys are there at the time, and you, marko, and paul just start chanting the word “baby girl” over and over again

Side note, i think the boys may have a thing for chants

Anyway

The next time you call him baby girl, he you catch him off guard with your sheer boldness 

It’s not the “baby girl” itself, it’s the words that accompany it

See, he’s drinking something 

Water, blood, whatever

He’s drinking it

And you look over at him and you just go

“Damn, you’re pretty thirsty tonight, huh baby girl?  We’ll just have to do something about that.”

And your tone is like, half joking, but that doesn’t matter, he still chokes on his drink

He coughs for like

A Good Few Minutes

And in those minutes you go from laughing at him, to panicking and patting him on the back

Congrats to you btw, you almost killed known horror icon david lost boys

Good for you

Anyway, he survives, which is good

Bc idk how forgiving the other boys would be of you committing manslaughter (vampire slaughter?) against david

(tbh, they’d probably be pretty forgiving given the sheer hilarity of the situation)

BUT HE LIVES, AND I DIGRESS 

The next time you call him baby girl is in front of max

And like

This is peak 0 brain cell behaviour for you, because you straight up aren’t even thinking about it

You see david in the video store

You walk into the video store

You don’t realize he is in the Middle Of Talking To His Dad

“Dad”

And you go

“Hey baby girl”

And then you wander off to the horror section 

Just

No thots given 

You don’t even notice david and max staring after you

You’re too busy looking at a copy of texas chainsaw massacre 2

And when they turn back to face each other it is literally that one meme

“David, why does (Y/N) call you baby girl?”

“Maybe we should stop talking for a while”

Overall 

David doesn’t mind it, it just fucking surprises him every gd time

You’d think he’d get used to it but nope

It always gets him

[shadowisles-writes]

High Society 🎩 Elucien Week Day 4

A/N: I struggled hard with finding ideas for today’s prompt and eventually settled for focusing on Lucien’s heritage as a future High Lord. I've been reading angst lately so you’ll have to forgive me for incorporating that in my writing today! I swear it gets happy… eventually. (Apologies for typos I wrote this one in a rush <3) And thank you @damedechance for your help on this one!!

Word count: 2955

@elucienweekofficial

The scandal was contained The bullet had just grazed At all costs, keep your good name You don’t get to tell me you feel bad. - Who’s Afraid Of Little Old Me, Taylor Swift

Heir to the Day Court. That was who he was, not Beron’s failure of a seventh son, nor the Spring Court courtier who had abandoned his post and turned over to the court that should have been his enemy. Lucien huffed a laugh that was almost a sob and lifted the bottle of liquor to his lips.

The ceiling of his childhood bedroom hadn’t changed, it was still the same sage green he had picked so many years ago. A soothing color, his mother had smiled at his choice at the time, but it only seemed to mock him now. There was nothing soothing about the Autumn Court and the smell of damp leaves, or the forest green curtains he used to hide behind when Beron was in one of his moods.

Beron was dead, but the entire place still had Lucien on edge since he had stepped foot in it. Only the steady stream of alcohol infusing into his blood with every gulp relaxed him enough to lay back on the old carpet and stare at the ceiling as he tried and failed to process everything that had happened.

A knock came on the door, followed by the still familiar squeak of the hinges. “Lucien,” his mother said his name with a softness he hadn’t heard in years.

“Get out,” he gritted out, pushing up on his elbow just enough to be able to take two heavy gulps of the liquor. The bottle was getting too close to empty, but he’d fix that when he found the energy to care about something other than making himself numb.

“I’m sorry,” she walked in anyway, the black of her skirts visible from the corner of his eye when she took a seat at the foot of his bed.

Mourning clothes. Lucien almost barked a laugh. Was anyone in this court truly mourning that monster? Or were they all still putting on a show for no one’s benefit? He kept himself silent, though, knowing better than to snap at his mother after she took the brunt of Beron’s wrath for his sons more times than any of them would ever know. Except Lucien wasn’t Beron’s son, he was a bastard who had never belonged to this court in the first place.

His mother shifted and cleared her throat, “Lucien, you have to understand—”

“Get out!” He interrupted before she could explain anything.

Lucien didn’t care for explanations, not when he had lived his whole life as a lie, not when the entire room was spinning around him. His mother said nothing more, but he heard her sharp breath in response to his anger before she got up and left him alone to wallow. Being alone was what he was used to, anyway. Everyone around him had some sort of family, some sort of unbreakable friendship, but Lucien was alone.

His own mate didn’t want him. His human friends were happier when they were left alone to fuck all over their little house. Tamlin would never forgive him. Feyre might never forgive him either, after all that had happened to her, and the rest of her court only tolerated him because she handed out the invitations.

A wave of self-disgust washed over him and made his stomach churn. It took one spasm of his body for Lucien to surge up and into the bathroom, where he fell to his knees and emptied his guts into the toilet bowl.

“A little pathetic for a future High Lord, don’t you think?” Eris said from somewhere behind him.

He must have been more inebriated than he thought if he hadn’t heard him come in, but Eris had always been skilled at sneaking up on people. It was something all the Vanserras were good at, after being raised in a house where they were constantly walking on eggshells. Except Lucien wasn’t a Vanserra, of course.

“Fuck you,” Lucien managed before the rest of the alcohol had to make its way out of his stomach.

Eris made a disgusted noise and Lucien would have cursed at him again if he could. When he was done, his chest shuddered with a couple of breaths before he deemed it safe to sit with his back against the edge of the tub.

“What do you want?” He asked Eris as he wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve.

“You don’t think you’re being a little dramatic?” His half brother leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms over his chest like he had any power to scold him.

Eris might have just become High Lord, but he was the asshole Lucien grew up around before anything else.

“I wish I’d thrown up on your shoes,” he said. His head was still spinning, and he could barely keep his eyes focused on anything. Closing them made the spinning worse, which forced Lucien to sort of squint as he waited for the feeling to pass.

“Classy,” Eris rolled his eyes. “And a great way to speak to the High Lord you’ll have to ally with someday,”

“Helion’s nowhere near death,” Lucien reached for the edge of the toilet bowl in anticipation of another wave of nausea, “Or are you planning on killing every father figure in my life?”

“Like anyone in this damn house wanted to see Beron alive for another minute.” Eris cursed and gagged quietly as Lucien threw up again, mostly dry heaving over the toilet bowl because as sick as he felt, there was nothing left in his stomach. “Get your shit together,”

“Get my—” Lucien’s words got cut off by another fit of nausea. “Fuck you,” was all he managed to croak as he settled against the bathtub again.

“All I’m saying is—”

“Fuck you,” Lucien interrupted again and watched the tips of Eris’ ears turn red with anger. Nothing like a little brother—half-brother—to get on his nerves. “It’s only been hours why can’t you just let me—” fall apart, would probably have been the rest of his sentence if something hadn’t clicked in his brain at that moment.

The room briefly stopped spinning, and Lucien pushed himself to sit up straight. “You weren’t even surprised.” Anger bubbled inside of him, heightened by the alcohol still coursing through him.

“Lucien,” Eris said his name like a warning, and it was all he needed to confirm what he had already guessed.

“You knew,” he accused. “How long?”

“It’s not that simple,”

Lucien was yelling now, “How fucking long?”

His broken voice rang in his ears, making his head hurt as his question was only met by silence. Since he was born, then. Lucien wished he could be sick again so he wouldn’t have to keep looking at Eris.

“So you, and mother.” Lucien croaked. “Who else?”

“No one else,” Eris answered quickly, this time. “Beron pretended not to know, it would have been a public embarrassment.”

“And what’s your excuse?”

Eris had the decency to look uncomfortable for a passing moment before he crouched in front of Lucien and handed him a damp towel. “Do you think he would have let her live, if anyone else knew?”

“Helion could have made himself useful,”

“You’re an idealistic fool if you believe there was anything he could have done for her. There are laws—”

“What about me?” Lucien seethed. “What about telling me that there was somewhere I could have gone that wouldn’t have to be fucking exile,”

“Tamlin was your friend,”

“Tamlin has the same anger issues Beron does, you’re the fool if you believe depending on him was a good thing.” Eris quieted at that, and something almost like pity shone in his eyes. It was enough to enrage Lucien once again. “And fuck you,” he grasped the first thing near him to throw at Eris.

His aim was shit when he was drunk, but he was close to his target and the bar of soap made a dull thud against Eris’ head.

“You little—”

“Get out!” Lucien yelled with enough anger that Eris simply stood up straight, kicked the soap out of his path and strode out of the room without another word.

Finally alone. Lucien’s eyes fluttered shut, then opened once again to squint when the spinning in his head became too much. It was uncomfortable enough to make him groan, but anything was better than being sober and having to deal with all of his feelings. Hopefully with enough silence, he’d find just enough strength to winnow out of this nightmare of a court before the sun rose again.

Choosing where to go was more of a dilemma when Lucien could stand again. He had washed the scent of alcohol from his skin, but he still felt like he’d gotten run over by several horses when he stepped out of the wards of the house and winnowed away from Autumn.

For the first time since he had started working for the Night Court, he abused his privilege and ability to get through the shields of Feyre’s home without warning. He barged into the living room in the middle of their afternoon, finding her and her mate sitting on the floor with their child. The last time he had been here, Nyx was crawling all over the floor, now, he was taking small steps in between his parents.

“Lucien!” Feyre exclaimed as she scooped her son up in her arms and stood. “We didn’t expect you today, what brings you here? You look—”

“Like shit,” Rhysand finished for his wife before she could find a nicer way to phrase it.

“Rhys!” She hissed as she covered the child’s ears, but it was already too late.

“Shit!” Nyx exclaimed with a laugh. When Rhys couldn’t contain his own chuckle, he did it again. “Shit!”

“Oh gods,” Feyre glared at her husband and adjusted the wriggling child on her hip.

“I need to know how long you’ve known,” Lucien interrupted their little family scene with more venom than necessary.

Rhys picked up on his anger and seamlessly threw a shield around his child and wife. “Known about what?” He asked Lucien calmly and took a small step to set himself in front of his family.

“About Helion being my father.”

The thud of a brutish Illyrian landing just outside the window had become familiar enough to Lucien that he didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. “Really?” He rolled his eyes at Feyre. “I come here for a conversation and this is what you do?”

“Sorry,” she cringed.

“No we’re not,” Rhys crossed his arms over his chest.

“Hey there little Vanserra,” Cassian grinned as he walked into the scene, knowingly using the name Lucien hated without realizing how big of a slip it was that day.

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to stop using that one,” Lucien didn’t bother greeting him back. “Apparently, it’s Spell-Cleaver now.”

“What?” Cassian looked over at Rhys, and a few beats passed as they conversed silently.

Lucien threw his hands up and began to pace the length of the room. “At least one person was as surprised as me by this whole mess.”

“I guessed it,” Feyre admitted. “It was during the war and we had so much going on, I didn’t know how to tell you.”

That stopped him in his tracks with a sarcastic laugh. “It’s wonderful how many excuses everyone has been able to make up about this in the past few days.”

“What do you want us to say?” Rhys asked, still calm as ever.

“Feyre, what in the world is—” Elain stopped in her tracks halfway down the stairs. “Lucien,” she greeted with a nod as her cheeks turned bright red.

She seemed to hesitate between running back up or walking the rest of the way down for several seconds before she settled on joining everyone in the living room.

“My lady,” Lucien murmured and pulled himself together enough to bow.

“Well it’s a party now,” Cassian coughed out, though a glare from Feyre was enough to shut him up. If anything, he should be the one to empathize with a male struggling to get attention from his mate.

“Well,” Feyre said. “Why don’t we all sit down for some tea?”

Lucien—who had shown up for answers but with absolutely no plan of what to do next—couldn’t refuse even if there was nothing he wanted less. He stood there, as Cassian sprawled himself in one of the chairs while Feyre left the room and Rhys busied himself with his son.

“Are you alright?” A small hand rested on his arm, and Lucien froze. “You look…”

“I’m sorry,” he tried to tuck strands of hair that fell in his face back to look pulled together, but he was still a mess. “I am alright, thank you for asking.”

“Come,” she gave his sleeve a slight tug and disappeared into the corridor without anyone else noticing.

Either Rhys was now ignoring him, or he was done considering him a threat, because he didn’t even glance up as Lucien slipped away after his mate until they were in the sunlight between the rose bushes of her garden. Feeling the warmth of it on his skin soothed him enough for him to take a deep breath, but something was tight in his chest as he remained aware of his mate watching his every move.

“Better than having to sit in there for tea, isn’t it?” Elain brushed her fingers over one of the roses.

“Yes, thank you,” Lucien had always loved nature, he felt at his best when he was outside, and he should have known that winnowing from house to house couldn’t do him any good.

“You don’t look alright,” she eventually looked up from her flowers to let her gaze run over him.

Lucien did the same, starting at his feet to take in the wrinkles in his usually immaculate clothes. He didn’t need a mirror to know his face was hardly any better with the hangover headache still pounding at his temples.

“I just found out that the High Lord of the Day Court and my mother had an affair, and that my existence is the result of it,” he dropped the news without ceremony and watched Elain’s eyes widen as she stilled. “You didn’t know,” he could tell her surprise was genuine and she shook her head.

“Of course not, how would I have known that?”

 Lucien tried for a smile, but it felt more like a grimace. “Apparently, your sister and her mate found out long before I did.”

“And they said nothing?�� Elain’s question was soon answered by his silence. “I’m sorry, that must be… do you know what you’re going to do now?”

“Not a single idea,” he shrugged and meant for it to be casual, but it only made her look more worried.

“Does Helion know?”

“I don’t know that either,”

Elain nodded and smoothed her hands down her dress. “That could be a good place to start, if you’re ready to find out.”

Lucien picked a leaf off a bush and sighed, “I can’t just waltz into his court and—”

“Your court,” Elain corrected.

“What?”

“It’s your court.” She repeated. “I’ve watched you bounce from one place to another for months… what if this is where you’re supposed to go?”

And there it was, the one fear that had brought Lucien to the Night Court instead of Day.  “But what if it’s not?”

“I may not know you very well,” Elain started hesitantly, “But I know what it’s like to feel like you don’t belong anywhere. The Day Court could be worth a try, what’s the worst that could happen?”

“Start a diplomatic incident between the court I’m emissary for and the one I should supposedly belong to?” Lucien guessed.

A soft laugh escaped her lips, and that sound alone might have been enough to put his heart back together. “Feyre and Rhysand are good friends with Helion, I doubt he’d cause any trouble regarding that.”

“You sound like you know him too,”

“I’ve been to his court,” Elain admitted. “He’s very nice, and it’s a beautiful place.”

“You’re right, I should go,” Lucien sighed. “But what if he did know?”

She walked a few steps ahead of him, deeper into the garden and around the house, where a wooden bench waited for her to sit on. “I doubt it, I know a feeling is not much to work from but… I don’t know, I really don’t think he does.”

“Elain,” Lucien looked amused as he took the spot next to her. “You’re a Seer, I’d trust your feelings.”

“I, ah, I’m still not sure what that’s supposed to mean,” Elain shrugged and adjusted the fabric of her dress on her lap. “I tried to find out more, in the library, but it hasn’t been that helpful.”

“Have you tried the Day Court? It is known for its scholars and collection of knowledge, I’m sure someone could help you there,”

At that, she actually laughed. “I thought I was trying to convince you to go.”

“Maybe we should both go,” Lucien said before he could stop himself, and Elain quickly looked away from him to stare in the distance instead.

“Lucien…”

Her gaze had fallen to her lap, and he immediately regretted his lack of filter. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“You should go, find out what you need to, and maybe… if you stay, maybe I could come visit, in a little while,” Elain met his eyes again, something like hope shining on her face.

It was subtle, but it was there, and for the first time in weeks Lucien genuinely smiled. “I would like that, wherever I am.”

[peterman-spideyparker]

Caught (Matt Murdock x fem!Reader, Foggy Nelson x friend!fem!Reader)

Author’s Note: Hey everyone! I've been feeling very unmotivated and uninspired the last month, which lead to no motivation to post and even less motivation to write. But, with my period making me very mood swing-y, I went down a rabbit hole of very personal emotions and wrote this. It's more of a Reader x Foggy Nelson fic, but, I like it. I hope you all enjoy! :)

Summary: When Foggy catches you and Matt in the office during the workday, it leads to you letting Foggy in on a well-kept secret.

Warnings: Smut (p in v unprotected sex, semi-public), one lil swear, angst (talk of infertility, heavy feelings attached to topics of infertility, negative self-image/low self-esteem) fluffy/hopeful ending

Other Characters: Foggy Nelson, Marci Stahl (mentioned)

Word Count: 2,007

You press a kiss to Matt’s lips as he continues to rut into you, his large hands a firm and tender reminder for what you’re doing and why you’re doing it in his office. 

“Matt,” you breathe, your breath hitching at the end of his name.

“You’re doing so good, angel,” he murmurs into your neck, pressing a soft kiss on your pulse point. “Just a little more f’me, okay?”

You whimper and nod, leaning forward and kissing him again as you hold onto his shoulders for support. He keens into your touch, your foreheads resting together as his nose nuzzles against yours. 

“Matty, I’m gonna cum,” you moan softly.

“Good girl. Hold on a little more, sweetheart. Just a little—.”

“Hey, Matt—Oh for fuck’s sake!” Foggy says as he enters the office, immediately turning around and leaving. You practically fall off of the desk when he enters, Matt losing his grip on your body as well, slipping out of you as your impending orgasms slip from your grasps. You both call after him, but when you hear the door to the main lobby close, you both know he’s getting out of the building as fast as possible. 

“I gotta go after him,” Matt pants, fumbling around.

“No, I’ll do it,” you tell him, grabbing your panties and sliding them up your legs, giving Matt a quick kiss as you adjust the skirt of your dress and rush to follow Foggy. 

“Wait!” you call as you burst onto the sidewalk and catch his blond hair shining in the summer sun. “Foggy, wait!”

“(Y/N), you didn’t need to follow me. I’m flattered cuz it feels like I’m in a rom com, but totally unnecessary.”

“Foggy, please,” you ask softly.

“No, you don’t need to explain—you’re married. But in the office? There’s—.”

“Matt and I have been trying to get pregnant,” you explain.

Foggy demeanor immediately changes. “Oh my God, that’s fantastic! Go back up there! I’ll give you both another half hour.”

“I don’t know that ‘fantastic’ is the right word,” you breathe. “It’s not . . . We’ve been trying for two years and nothing has happened.” You watch as Foggy’s posture drops. “Can we sit and talk about this? Maybe at the park a few blocks over?”

Foggy nods, looping his arm in yours as you walk in silence until he finds an empty park bench. 

“What’s going on?” Foggy asks softly. 

“We didn’t expect to get pregnant right away,” you start. “I mean, I guess I might have expected it to take six months or a year. In all honesty, I half expected to get pregnant before Matt and I were married, but that’s beside the point. I mentioned to my doctor a bit back that Matt and I were trying and that it hadn’t happened . . . She suggested we both do some fertility tests. Matt’s results were fine, but mine . . .”

Foggy wraps his arm around your shoulders as you wipe away some tears. “(Y/N), I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“I know my worth isn’t tied to having kids,” you sniffle. “But I’ve wanted to be a mom so bad, Foggy. Especially since I met Matt. And then I see him with Sammy and I just know that he’d be such a wonderful father, even if he is scared by the idea of it. And it’s because of me that he’s not.”

“Matt . . . He’s never mentioned any of this. I mean, I wasn’t expecting him to, but, we’re like brothers. We tell each other everyth—.” He stops talking as if something clicks as he’s speaking. “I told him right away after Marci told me she was pregnant with Sammy.”

“I know. I was with him and he had the call on speaker. After he hung up, I got another negative pregnancy test. I think I cried harder than I ever had before that night.” Foggy deserves to know the whole story behind it, but you feel ashamed continuing. “I love you and Marci and your sweet little baby boy, but . . . You guys weren’t even trying and it happened by accident. You guys didn’t even know if you wanted to keep him when you found out, and I mean . . . People seem to get pregnant all the time, and I can’t. It’s like there’s something wrong with me.”

“(Y/N), it’s not your fault.”

“Everyone tells me that, and it’s getting harder and harder to believe. If it’s not my fault, then why haven’t I gotten pregnant?”

“It’s . . . Timing. It sounds lame, but it is. I was excited when I found out, but panic and fear outweighed everything. I didn't think Marci and I were ready. I told my mom, and she sat me down and looked me straight in the eye and said: ‘Franklin, you can handle this. Kids come into your life when you need them most, not because they’re planned.’ I was scared shitless beyond belief, but . . . My mom was right. It might not be great advice, but, none of it is your fault. It will happen. It’s like . . . It’s almost like my relationship with Marci. We couldn’t make it work on all of the other times we were together, and then one day, something just clicked for us. We were in the right spot for a good, healthy relationship. Of course I wanted it to all stick the first, second, fifth time we got back together, and it sucked that it took as long as it did, but, it finally happened. And I’m so grateful that it did.”

You turn into Foggy, not strong enough to keep the tears in. He instantly wraps you in a big hug, letting you cry into his shoulder. He doesn’t say a single thing, just letting you cry until you get it all out of your system.

“It’ll happen,” he reassures softly as you lean back and wipe away stray tears. 

“I just . . .” you start, but stop. 

“This is a safe space, (Y/N). If you want to, you can tell me.”

“I can’t shake the fact that Matt is only doing this for me. He’s told me he never thought of having kids, and when we first brought it up when we were dating, he didn’t sound too sure that he wanted them. But he knew I did. And I can’t shake the feeling that he is only sticking to this absurd diet and schedule and treatments for me, and that’s not what I want, you know? I love him, and it makes me feel so loved that he’s willing to do this, but . . . I can tell it’s taking a toll on him. H-He probably knows before I take the tests that I’m not pregnant, but he just keeps going along with it and pushing through the heartbreak because he knows that I want a baby.”

“Have you told him any of this?”

“No,” you admit. “I just don’t know how to tell him. And I’m afraid I’ll hurt him if I do.”

“You can’t carry that burden alone, (Y/N).”

“And Matt doesn’t need another burden.”

“You’re not a burden, (Y/N), and neither are your worries.” He places his hand over yours. “Matt would give you the breath from his lungs if it meant that you were happy and okay. And you know just as well as I do that no one can force Matt Murdock to do anything. He wants a family with you.” Foggy takes your face in his hands and wipes the tears off of your cheeks. “Do you know what he told me after your first date?” You just blink and look at him. “He told me that he just had a date with the most wonderful woman ever, and that one day, he’d marry you. A year later before he proposed to you, he spent forever imagining what your kids would be like. How many you would have, how many would be boys or girls, whose personality they’d be closer to . . . Someone who doesn’t want kids doesn't talk for three hours about what his future family would be like. He wants kids just as badly as you do. Knowing Matt, he’s bottling everything up because he knows how much harder it is on you to be going through this over and over. Neither of you are alone in this, okay?”

You nod, pulling Foggy in for another tight hug. 

“I love you both so much,” he breathes. “I’m so sorry about this. But whatever you need, I'm here for you.”

“Thank you, Foggy,” you breathe. “I love you, too.”

“Wanna go back? Or do you need a few more minutes?”

You let out a breath and straighten up. “We should probably go back. I don’t want Matt worrying. Well, anymore then he probably already is.”

Foggy nods before you both stand. He loops his arm in yours like he did earlier as you slowly walk back down a few blocks and up the stairs to the lobby of Nelson and Murdock. 

“Matt?” Foggy calls out. “Matt, we’re back.”

Matt walks out of his office, looking more put together than he did when you left him. You move from Foggy’s side, reaching your hands up to fix his hair. “There you go,” you hum. “All better.”

“Foggy, it’s not what—,” Matt starts, but Foggy puts up a hand to stop him before he starts speaking. 

“You don’t need to explain,” Foggy says softly. “(Y/N) filled me in on some things.”

“She . . . She did?”

“Yeah, she did. It’s okay. Whatever you need, I’m here for you guys.”

You can tell that behind his red glasses, Matt is misty eyed as he goes in to embrace his best friend in a tight hug. 

“How about you take the rest of the day off?” Foggy suggests. “I’ve got things here.”

“Fog—.”

“I mean it. Spend some time with your wife.” You give Foggy one more tight hug, and he gladly hugs you back with the same enthusiasm, kissing the crown of your head. “Now, go, you crazy kids!”

You and Matt laugh before Matt goes to grab his briefcase as you grab his cane and coat. As your husband makes his way back toward you, he gives Foggy one more final hug before slipping his hand into yours as you walk down to the street. 

“You told him?” he asks softly.

“I did,” you nod. “It . . . It shouldn’t be something we’re hiding from the people we love. I mean, I wish it wasn’t taking so long to happen, but . . . it shouldn’t be something we carry alone. We have good, supportive friends.”

“We sure do.” Matt leans over and kisses your temple. “Do you want to go back home? I can tell you’re still ovulating.”

“Maybe we grab lunch instead?” you say with a squeeze to his hand. “We don’t have to sit and eat out, but we could at least grab some takeout and talk at home?”

“Talk?”

“I can only imagine this is as hard on you as it is me. I want to know how we can make it a little easier on the both of us.”

“Our children—no matter when we have them, if we adopt—our children . . . you will be the best mother. And I am so fortunate that I’m your husband, and that you're my friend.”

You take his face in your hands, pulling him in for a long kiss, holding him close. “I have the things at home for lasagna. It was going to be dinner tonight, but, I could put it together for a late lunch?”

 “That sounds absolutely delicious.”

“I’m glad you think so,” you hum as you both start walking again. “And, you know, I’ll probably still be ovulating after we eat. Besides, wine makes everything so much more fun.”

You know Matt is grinning like a cheshire cat as he snakes his hand around your waist and moves to kiss your neck, his scruff making you giggle uncontrollably as you make your way into the lobby of your building.

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[tennessoui]

hi kit i swear to god someone sent in 35 from the prompt list for 'one of them is trying to get the other off of drugs' but someone must have deleted the ask from your ask box.

oh no! who could have done such a thing. after i already wrote 3k for this prompt and everything!

(but in seriousness i KNOW someone sent me that prompt i just can't find it rn!!! but i enjoyed writing this so much it really literally could be the first chapter of a multi-chapter fic......we'll see)

(also this is what i wrote for the same prompt from a few years ago)

35. one of them is trying to get the other off of drugs

(3k) (warning: non con drugging/attempted date rape drugs used -not by main characters)

Obi-Wan’s got a heavy mind most days. Heavy heart too, but it’s been a while since he checked in with that part of himself. Mind’s easier.

Right now, he’s mostly annoyed at the cantina crowd, but that’s a most days thing too. After all, the cantina’s in the middle of the spaceport, best watering hole around. Only watering hole around, really, and it gets him all sorts of people walking through his doors.

Some days, he really wishes Linell’s hadn’t closed, mostly so he could send the roughest looking folk that way instead. He doesn’t care much if smugglers decide to get wasted at a bar before hopping in the cockpit of their ships, but he doesn’t necessarily want it to happen at his cantina.

Mostly because when smugglers get drunk, they get rowdy. They get dangerous. They get handsy.

And Obi-Wan’s not under any sort of illusion here, he knows what sort of cantina he runs, knows the crowd it attracts, knows no one’s ever gonna bring their youngling past the doors—knows that no Jedi is ever going to stop in for a drink. 

But that doesn’t mean he’s going to allow for that sort of ruckus. The Temple raised him better than that, for whatever that’s worth. They instilled a pretty solid understanding of morality in him at a young age; then the AgriCorps gave him an appreciation of organization and tidiness that even after two decades away from it all, he hasn’t managed to shake.

It makes for bad business anyway, to allow the rougher-looking crowd to linger in the back corner, swat at the passing serving girl, call out harassments to other customers. And perhaps this wasn’t the life Obi-Wan thought he’d have, but it’s the life he does have. And he’s in no mood for his cantina to go under as well because of morons like Chak Tuuel getting too drunk and causing a scene.

It was easier four years ago, Obi-Wan has to admit. It was easier to keep a tight hold on his cantina when he could openly use the Force to pull patrons off of each other, push one back to his chair and spirit the other to the far side of the room. It was easier when all it took to convince a pirate that he’d be better switching to water was a well-placed Force command.

But the rise of the Empire saw the criminalization of Force users, even ones who can’t be called Jedi, like Obi-Wan.

It’s been bad for business, the Empire has. That’s the only thing Obi-Wan cares about, the only reason he has to hold such hatred in his heart for the emperor. It has nothing to do with the massacre of the Jedi, the fall of the Temple. It’s because it’s bad for business. That’s all.

Now he has to be ten times more discerning about who he lets into his cantina because he has to actually reason with them now. On more than one occasion in the past four years, since the Fall of the Temple, he’s chopped off a patron’s hand. Arm. Whatever. 

That’s also bad for business in general, though it’s not as if he can actually get into much trouble for it, considering he owns this cantina. And it’s the Outer Rim. Anything goes.

His eyes survey the cantina as his hands busy themselves making a drink for a rather quiet patron at the bar. Most likely a businessman of some sort, given how often Obi-Wan’s seen him come in and out.

It’s rather late in the night, as much as there is a night at the spaceport. The cantina’s full of the usual sorts, and the place is loud. There’s a group of five men in the back, dressed like smugglers. Obi-Wan has been watering down their drinks for the last two rounds, but they’ve yet to notice. Their eyes are ravenous as they look around them. Most of them are big, all are human. There’s one small one amongst the pack, and it’s him that Obi-Wan’s eyes stick to.

There’s something about him. Maybe it’s the way he holds himself, tense and with his shoulder hunched. Maybe it’s because of how smaller he is than the companions he’s chosen. Maybe it’s because he’s so pretty.

Even from all the way across the cantina, Obi-Wan knows the boy is pretty, can see his pale pink lips and dark golden curly hair. He doesn’t look like the sort of person who tends towards the crowds of pirates and smugglers that populate the back corners of Obi-Wan’s cantina. He looks out of place, misplaced. 

Sith’s hells, Obi-Wan probably looks more like a smuggler than this boy. Even the scar across his face, through his eyebrow and trailing down his cheek does little to make the boy look dangerous. Even his outfit—a black cloak on top of other, darker clothes—cannot make him look as dangerous as the men around him.

But they had come in as a pack, the boy in the middle of them. It had been the boy who had talked with the serving girl, Challa, who sat them. It had been him who’d ordered the first round of drinks.

The Force is screaming, a loud reverberation of a warning filling up his head and making the beginnings of his headache twenty times worse.

If someone dies tonight in Obi-Wan’s cantina, Obi-Wan is going to make Challa fill out the flimsiwork. It would be what she deserves for allowing this crowd in.

A moment before Obi-Wan looks away, the boy looks up from his drink and catches him staring. His face freezes as it is, held tight as he looks at Obi-Wan looking at him. For a strange moment, it looks like his eyes flash gold before they fall away, attention grabbed by the kid next to him.

Obi-Wan’s own attention is claimed a moment later.

“Whatcha looking at, boss?” the second bartender on shift asks, resting their arms on the counter beside him. “You look mighty disgruntled.”

“So you thought adding yourself to the situation would help,” he says automatically, caustically as he turns away from the group to stare at his employee. “Naturally.” “Naturally,” Saak agrees with a pointy smile. “I’m a saint.”

“Hm,” Obi-Wan says, even though he quite likes working with the twi’lek. These days, Obi-Wan keeps much close to his chest—especially his affection.

“That’s not an answer to my question,” Saak points out, looking back out at the cantina. “Who’s caught your eye? Because me and the crew in the back have a bet going about if you’re ever going to take someone home.” “I don’t mix business and pleasure,” Obi-Wan says, eyes staying resolutely away from the boy’s table.

“See, that’s part of the bet,” Saak says, easy as anything. “We don’t think you have pleasure.”

Obi-Wan frowns and turns to look at them fully. “What.”

Saak shrugs. “I don’t think I’ve seen you smile once, and I’ve worked here for three years. You don’t come out with us after work, you throw out every comm sequence customers leave you-–and trust me, I know there’s been a lot, you never mention anyone at home. In your personal life.”

“I enjoy a healthy amount of privacy,” Obi-Wan snaps, clenching his fists tight on the towel between his hands before he carefully tosses his irritation into the Force.

He understands almost immediately that his anger isn’t even at Saak for prying or at his employees for gossiping.

It’s because he knows Saak is right. Not about—well, not about abstaining from sex, as Obi-Wan gets a rather sizable amount of sex at any given time. But about the distance. The lack of pleasure. Even the sex doesn’t light him up the way it did when he was seventeen, fresh from leaving the Agricorps and setting out across the stars. A consequence of age probably.

“Hey,” Saak’s tone changes, turning from cajoling employee into something much more concerned. “That table in the back, look—I don’t think that guy is doing alright.”

Obi-Wan snaps out of his thoughts instantly and looks at where Saak’s gesturing.

He knows before he even sees them that it’s that Force forsaken table in the back.

And Saak’s right, shit.

The boy Obi-Wan had been staring at looks—looks rough suddenly. His head is reclining back onto the body of the man beside him, eyes half-lidded. He’s flushed a flattering red, lips parted and stained an even darker color.

He could just be feeling the effects of the alcohol he’s been consuming for the past hour now, but it’s the way his companions look at him that has Obi-Wan rounding the bar and crossing the cantina. They look hungry. Eager. Anticipatory.

In the Force, the boy’s muted presence has become fuzzy. Muted.

Of course the moment Obi-Wan turns his gaze away from the group, they drug the boy. It suddenly seems so inevitable that it’s almost funny. Of course this was going to happen. 

“What did you give him,” he demands as he reaches the table. The anger licking at his chest is new. Useful. Righteous. 

One of the smugglers, the one next to the boy, tosses him a sleazy grin, wrapping his arm around the boy’s shoulder. “No need to kick us out, mister,” he says. “We were just leaving.”

“Yes, you were,” Obi-Wan nods sharply. “Without him.”

The smuggler’s grin slides off his face. “He came with us.”

“You drugged him!” 

The boy in question looks up at Obi-Wan as much as he can with his eyes half-way to shut. “Oh,” he says. “That’s what it is.”

His voice is slow and deep. A byproduct of the drug?

He blinks at him in syrupy slowness, and his eyes are tawny. Why had Obi-Wan thought they were blue from across the cantina? They shine golden now.

Something about his eyes, his face, the way he’s looking at Obi-Wan makes his thin sense of control snap. “You will leave now,” he commands, Force reverberating through the words, so strong that the smugglers stand to attention immediately, repeating the order mindlessly. 

Even the boy struggles to obey, pushing up on his feet in drunken surety. 

“Not you,” Obi-Wan snaps. The boy sits back down like his strings have been cut, a sigh of relief at the release.

It’s entirely too orgasmic to be appropriate. 

And the way the boy looks up at him is entirely too trusting for someone who’s just been drugged by his companions. 

“I hope you have another form of transportation off here,” Obi-Wan says with a sigh. “I imagine you will not want to travel with them tomorrow.” “I’ll kill ‘em,” the boy mumbles, letting his head fall back.

“Sure, kid,” Obi-Wan tells him. He looks like he couldn’t hurt a fly, let alone kill a man, but he’s also not entirely sure the boy would appreciate him pointing that out. He looks like a kid who’s decided to try and play outlaw.

This is what happens to kids who try to play outlaw, he thinks dispassionately.

“Not a kid,” the kid says.

“Sure, kid.” He’ll need water. Obi-Wan grabs at his chin and forces his eyes up. His pupils are so dilated it’s hard to even see what color his irises are. Paired with the flushed cheeks, the poor coordination, and the slurred but cohesive speech, Obi-Wan’s pretty sure he knows what sort of spice they used on the poor kid. 

And the comedown is legendary for how rough it is.

Obi-Wan barely resists the urge to sigh. It’s even harder to resist the urge to scream.

He hates the men who laced the boy’s drink. He hates Challa for letting the group of men into his cantina, thereby making this his problem. He hates Vynny for crashing his speeder and forcing Obi-Wan to cover his shift while he recuperates from the loss of both legs.

And he hates the fucking ghost of the Jedi Order for instilling in him the importance of doing the right thing.

“You’re coming home with me,” he says, unable to stop himself from sighing.

The boy blinks at him. “If you touch me, I’ll kill you too,” he warns, but his eyes are still much too trusting. “Slowly.” “Noted,” Obi-Wan snaps, reaching down to fish the boy out of the booth. “And when you’re sober again, you’re going to be paying for the entire tab you and your lot racked up.”

The boy pouts, even as he allows Obi-Wan to drag him to his feet. “What if I let you touch me instead?” “I don’t want to touch you,” Obi-Wan says. “I want the credits.” The boy giggles and presses his face against his neck. Obi-Wan waves to Saak behind the bar, gesturing to the boy and then to the doors, trying to convey I’m going home to take care of this absolute youngling because I am a better person than you and you need to take care of my cantina and lock up behind you and no, this does not count as taking a customer home with me.

Saak gives him two thumbs up, so Obi-Wan is hoping that means the message has been received. It had better be received.

“What’s your name, kid?” he asks as he navigates out of the cantina. Thank the Force, his own cruiser is close. The boy is heavier and bigger than he’d looked amongst the rest of his group. Firmer and more weighted with muscle. And Obi-Wan is no waif, but he doesn’t care to lug around a man who is actually, well. Taller than him.

“Vader,” the boy mumbles, nuzzling into Obi-Wan’s touch. “Why do you feel so good?”

“It’s the spice they gave you,” Obi-Wan mutters. “Makes touch feel good, makes you…want.”

“Oh,” Vader says, rubbing his face against Obi-Wan’s neck like a cat. “I don’t want it.” “Me neither, kid,” he assures him, propping him up against the side of his ship so he can unlock it and key in the code to have the ramp descend.

“Good,” Vader says. “Keep touching me.”

Obi-Wan bites his lip so he doesn’t tell the kid that he doesn’t take commands, not even from imperious little boys who sound as if they’re very used to being obeyed.

It adds more evidence to his theory that Vader is some spoiled rich kid looking to rebel.

“What were you even doing with them?” He mutters as he drops Vader into the seldom-used co-pilot seat of his ship. “Not the sort you’d want to hang around with, are they?” “Bellion,” Vader replies loosely, waving a weak hand. “As’ —assign—assignm’nt.”

It takes through takeoff for Obi-Wan to realize what he’s said. “The Rebellion? You were on an assignment for the rebellion?” Vader makes a noise and turns his head to look at him, eyes almost shut. “Bellion,” he agrees, before promptly passing out.

“Huh,” Obi-Wan says.

Of course he knew that there was a rebellion against the empire, that they were building in both power and numbers as the years grew. He’d even flirted with the notion of joining it himself, but he’d always stepped back. The rebellion was too close to the Jedi. And the Jedi had made it clear that they did not want him.

Why would the rebellion be any different?

When he’s entered hyperspace, he looks over at the boy who has turned his head away from him, exposing the long lines of his neck.

He really is quite beautiful, for better or for worse.

The boy shifts, restless. He pushes himself further into the seat, leaning back and spreading his legs. Obi-Wan would wonder what he’s dreaming about, but before he can, the boy’s cloak shifts.

And there, on his hip. The handle of a lightsaber.

Obi-Wan is moving before he can help it, stepping over to Vader’s side of the ship quietly, eyes glued to the ‘saber.

It’s been so long since he’s seen one. He never got to hold his own. Never made one himself.

But here is one now, on Vader’s hip. Vader is a Jedi. A Jedi! 

It is part greed, part agony, and part disbelief that makes Obi-Wan reach his hand out and carefully detach the blade from Vader’s belt.

The boy does not even notice, except to push his hip up further at the ghost of Obi-Wan’s touch.

It’s a heavy weight in Obi-Wan’s hand, and he takes a moment to just—look at it. It’s darker than he would have crafted his own, sturdier and longer too, as if Vader wields it with two hands. He probably does—Obi-Wan still remembers his forms, remembers each stance down to the footwork. Vader has the body to be a formidable Djem’So user. Or Atari. Obi-Wan had favored the latter when he was an Initiate. 

Vader is a Jedi. Perhaps—perhaps in the morning, after the spice is out of his system, he can tell Obi-Wan about the Temple in its final days. Surely he was not there, Obi-Wan doesn’t know how anyone could have survived the massacre, but he must know. He does not truly look so young that he would have been an Initiate. He must have been a Knight.

Perhaps Obi-Wan will tell him about being raised there. He can share in his pain, if only a little bit. After all, Obi-Wan spent thirteen years of his life at the Temple. The Jedi will always hold a part of his heart. He has never before wanted to admit that, but now—Vader is a Jedi. He would understand. 

Obi-Wan’s mouth is dry as he drops his gaze back to the saber.

He wants suddenly, terribly, to flick it on. To hear the buzz of the ions of the blade. To see the color of Vader’s kyber crystal. He wants to take pleasure from the sight of it, the enduring symbol of it, of the Order.

He knows he should not. He knows he has no right to it. If he were meant to hold a lightsaber, his life would have worked out in thirteen thousand different ways. 

But—Vader is asleep.

And no one would have to know.

If just for a second, Obi-Wan allowed himself to give into his want.

He flicks it on and then almost drops it from the sheer surprise he feels as it powers to life in his hands.  Because the blade is not green. It isn’t blue. It isn’t even purple, like he remembers Master Windu’s being.

It is a sickly looking red.

It is not a blade of a Jedi.

Obi-Wan flicks it off and tucks it back onto Vader's belt. Then he sits down in the pilot's chair once more, head spinning and heart racing.

And he directs the ship to drop out of hyperspace to his homeplanet anyway because---well. What else can he do? He'd promised to take the boy home and see him off the spice.

The fact that the boy is---is a Sith does not change anything. It cannot.

[wonjnz]

some zb1 members as confessions i’ve received

₊˚⊹ genre: fluff | wc: —

₊˚⊹ warning(s): swearing | inspo: —

₊˚⊹ a/n: i found my notes rating these and i got this.. i changed like a detail or two to fit the scenario and member (+ no WAYY im writing it exactly how it happened 😭😭😭) this only includes yujin and gunwook for now!

not fully proofread yet!

you promised yourself that you’ll listen to class this time, but it seemed yujin had other plans instead.

“what?” you say exasperatedly as yujin keeps poking your arm with his pencil for the nth time, you don’t notice yujin’s slight smile as you’re too busy answering the textbook activity your teacher assigned. “shouldn’t you be answering too?”

“yeah, but i’m bored.” you roll your eyes at his response, “and you’re gonna be begging for the answers at what, two in the morning?” yujin chuckles at your prediction, to be fair he wasn’t in the mood in answering some math exercises at all, especially when you’re around.

but you don’t seem to budge right now to his frustration, he wanted your attention to be on him for the whole period, not on some dumb math questions. you could do that later, anyway. and that’s when he thinks of the perfect idea:

“hey,” he starts off.

“you wanna know who’s my crush?” yujin says, you perked up at the thought of finding out about such top information. and finally you have something to tease yujin about that’s not about him sleeping in class. yujin tries his best to hide his grin, perfect.

you put down your pencil, “who?” to which yujin hovers his hand over your own textbook, writing ‘you.’ with his god-awful handwriting. it took you at least twenty seconds as if it was some code that needed to be deciphered, when you finally understood you looked up at him surprised.

“really?” yujin nods and grins at you in response, you failed to notice his lightly red tinted cheeks while doing so. “you wanna guess mine too?”

taking your own pencil, you also wrote ‘you!!’ on the edge of his page. yujin’s grin grew even wider especially when you tried erasing it, trying to suppress a giggle as if you just did the most amazing thing ever.

and needless to say, your class was spent trying to hush up each other’s giggling and yujin finally got to bask in your attention for now and the days to come.

“you want ammo?” you hear gunwook’s extreme ass of a mic over your pubg game, you’ve been playing battle royale with him the whole night considering it’s a weekend the next day.

“i’m good,” you say after ransacking another house for loot, you could hear gunwook hum a bit before you start hearing his blasting fan over his mic. “someone’s here by the way, i’ll look for him.” he says, eventually getting a kill.

soon enough, you both won, with gunwook proudly flexing on you about having more than ten kills and saving you from enemies. “you’re lucky i even revived you after getting sniped that bad, if it was gyuvin i’d leave him there.”

“sure man, whatever you say.” you say jokingly, you’re not sure if gunwook got the memo since it became scarily quiet right after. even gunwook’s fan wasn’t heard and his mic could pick up any minuscule sound known.

“you’re cute.”

“..which fucking demon possessed you this time?”

it took a few seconds of silence before gunwook laughs breathlessly, almost as if he’s been holding that for the whole game. “i’m being serious. i didn’t wanna say that a while ago especially when you got sniped that—”

“oh shut up, i could’ve called you cute but i guess nevermind..” you tease, though you regret it right away when gunwook’s mic suddenly exploded with him saying sorry on repeat. you swore your ears rang the whole night ever since.

[her-power]

Last Chance to Dance (Rockstar! e.m. x fem reader)

🚨🛑🔞18+++ MINORS DNI - YOU WILL BLOCKED🚨🛑🔞 TRIGGER/CONTENT WARNING (For entire series): Rockstar! Addict! Sweet! Mean! Eddie, smut, unprotected p+v, fluff, fingering (f receiving), masturbation, oral (m+f receiving), heavy drug use, descriptions of IV drug use, swearing, talks of anxiety, panic disorder, mental illness, talks of suicide

Summary: Modern Eddie + reader are early 30s. Eddie is the famous lead singer/guitarist of Corroded Coffin, who has gotten himself into legal trouble due to his antics and drug use. Eddie broke your heart many years ago and he receives a letter from you asking to meet to talk about what happened between you two so long ago. Secrets are talked about, mental walls are built and broken down. Most of this series will be in Eddie's POV. (I will also be putting song inspirations on each part 🤍)

Word Count: 5k

A/N: There will be a LOT of mentions of heavy drug use in this series. This series DOES NOT glorify the use of drugs. It is not cool, it is not fun, it is something that destroys people and everyone around them. I have loved and lost people I know to drug and alcohol use, a lot of what you read here is my own personal experience from what I have seen with my own eyes. I hope this series will spread awareness and will give anyone and everyone who reads this hope. If you or anyone you know is struggling with addiction, please know you are not alone, there is help out there.

The silence is almost deafening as I sit there in my dimly lit office, tapping my finger against the arm of the chair; the metal of my ring clinking as I stare at my therapist, Dr. Catherine Ryan, in front of me. She had a kind smile, but I wasn’t in the mood to talk today. 

“What’s bothering you?” She asks gently. 

I gaze at her, gnawing on the inside of my cheek. A stupid habit I formed when I stopped using six months ago. 

Let’s see, I’m tired of the noise inside my head that is constantly reminding me what a piece of shit I am. I’m lucky that my bandmates don’t hate my guts for the shit I put them through on tour when I was needle deep in a heroin fog and couldn’t remember the lyrics to a fucking song I wrote. My music career is only surviving because the world thinks we’re on a hiatus to write our next album when I actually did a stint in rehab and have court ordered mandatory therapy once a week. The only way I can have therapy is if she comes to my escape cabin in upstate New York and escorted in and out by a security guard. 

Oh, I also can’t stop thinking of you, the one whose heart I broke fifteen years ago back in Hawkins, Indiana because I was too scared to love or be loved. The same you who mailed me a letter that I received at my P.O. Box in Boston three days ago, that I haven’t opened yet and sits in my back pocket folded up, because I’m too much of a pussy to see what you have to say.  

“I don’t want to talk about it.” I tell her, taking a cigarette out of my pocket. I let the smoke fill my lungs and exhale the smoke away from her. 

“What do you want to talk about?” She asks, crossing her legs. I stare at her long legs, and my eyes scan up her body. She was curvy and thick, with a perfect set of tits and stunning green eyes. I almost laugh, if a beautiful woman like her was in my house six months ago, it wouldn’t take long before I’d have her bent over the back of my couch, fucking her until she couldn’t take it anymore. But I couldn’t do that anymore. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes, or whatever the fuck the saying is. 

“Eddie, this is mandatory therapy. I can’t help you if you’re not willing to talk. We’ve had four sessions so far, and the only thing we have talked about is your drug habit.” She seemed annoyed, and I couldn’t blame her.

“I’m only here because of my drug habit.” 

“Is that all?” 

She was testing me, and I smile at her, leaning my elbows against my knees. “You know, I bet you are really good at helping people and are able to get your patients to sit here and cry about their shitty lives or whatever it is people tell you. But I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, you’re not gonna get it from me.” 

“You keep up a guard. Defense mechanism, it’s common in people who have been hurt before.” She says, scribbling a note down. 

I narrow my eyes. “I sense judgment in your tone, and I’m not sure I care for it.” 

“It’s not judgement, Eddie. It’s an observation. I’m observing you.” 

I sit back against my chair and scoff, lighting up another cigarette with the ember of the one I just had. I inhale deeply. “I think our session should be cut early today.” 

She closes her notebook and gives you a kind smile. “If that’s what you want.” 

“I do.” I tell her. 

I get up from my seat as she stands, walking her to the door where the security guard waited outside. I may be an asshole, but I know how to be a gentleman. Chivalry isn’t dead when your name is Eddie Munson. She nods at me as she leaves, handing me her card for the time of the next session for next week and I close the door behind her. I stub out the cigarette in the ashtray and let out a deep sigh. I plop myself on the couch, hearing the crinkle of the letter in my back pocket and I lift my hips to pull it out. I look at the neat print on the front; seeing your handwriting brought back so many memories that I had forgotten about. 

Why would you send me a letter? Is it just to tell me how happy you’ve been these last fifteen years since I’ve been gone, that you’re married with children, thriving in your thirties? 

“Well, the only way to know is if you open the letter, dipshit.” I mutter to myself. I groan, shaking my head as I rip the letter open and unfold it. It was only two pages, but you had written a lot. 

 Hey, You’re a tough guy to find, being famous and all. I didn’t think this P.O. Box was real at first, but I ended up tracking down Gareth and he told me it was real. I can’t believe he still has the phone number he’s had since high school.  I don’t know why I’m writing you a letter, I guess I could’ve just texted you, he did give me your number, but I wanted this to feel more personal. Like when I’d write you those stupid folded notes in class.  I know it’s been a long time, and you’re probably thinking I’m absolutely insane, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you lately. There are so many things that I wanna say to you. There are so many things that were left unsaid, and I guess lately it’s been bothering me. You’re probably not even going to get this, so I don’t even know why I’m continuing to write.  I don’t want you to think that I hated you or have hated you this whole time. It would be easier to hate you, believe me, I’ve tried but I physically cannot have that kind of power over me. I’m proud of you, Eddie. You worked so hard to get to where you are, and you made your dreams come true. I knew you could.  I want to tell you I’m proud of you in person; to let you know that what happened in the past stays there and we can both move forward in a way. I mean, I just told you now. I know you’re really busy and I feel stupid now. But I will be in Boston in December, the week of the 18th while my aunt is down in Florida for the week, house sitting. Gareth had mentioned you and the band were taking a hiatus to focus on the writing and doing some self reflecting. I would love to see you, especially with the holiday season. 

It’s not every day you get to see the boy you’ve known since diapers be on the cover of Rolling Stone magazine, selling out stadiums. 

Please don’t feel obligated, though. 

I suddenly forgot how to swallow, and I almost choke on my own saliva. You had written your phone number on the bottom of the last page. I swing my legs onto the floor, taking my phone off the coffee table. I scroll to my contact list, and add your name, along with your phone number. 

I pause, my hands begin to shake, and I inhale deeply. 

“No no no, not now, not now.” Grimacing, I sit back on couch, closing my eyes as my stomach turns to knots and my chest feels like it was going to explode. I can feel the sweat bead at the back of my neck as the panic attack feels like it’s choking me out and I groan. I go into the drawer of the coffee table, pulling out the lorazepam pill bottle, taking a minute to open the cap because my hands were so sweaty. I throw the pill in my mouth, swallowing it dry and breathe in through my nose. 

This happens more often now, especially since being off dope, I had to learn how to deal with them like a normal thirty-four-year-old man. It took a lot of convincing for my doctors to give me the lorazepam, but apparently threatening to go and take a hot shot of heroin to kill myself was convincing enough for them to give me the lowest dose of the stupid pill. 

I close my eyes. Thinking back to how I got here; how I could’ve lost everything because of my own stupidity, because of my inability to slow down, because I took sex, drugs, rock and roll too literally. All because I refuse to let love into my soul and hold on tight. 

One year earlier

The dressing room walls echo with the moans of myself and...I don’t even remember her name. Sarah? Shelly? It doesn’t even matter. I only see the back of her head anyway; she was very blonde. I hold onto her hips tightly, slamming my cock in and out of her. She was screaming like a porn star, and I’m pretty sure she was putting on a show. 

“Oooooh, just like that baby. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me. Oh goddd, you’re so fucking good.” She moans and I roll my eyes, slamming into her harder just to get her to shut up. I reach over to the coffee table to grab my tiny vile of cocaine, I pop open the cap, and pull out of her for a moment. She was still rolling her hips as I sprinkle the drugs onto her ass.

“Stop fucking moving.” I tell her, grabbing the plastic straw and snorting back the drugs into my airways. She moans again when she hears me snort another line off her, and I slam myself back into her. My head falls back in pleasure, the effects of the cocaine causing every single part of my body to pulsate, and I can feel my orgasm approaching. 

“Fuuuuck.” I moan, my rhythm getting sloppy, and she groans. 

“Cum inside me baby, cum inside me.” She moans and I immediately feel myself go soft. Fuck this. I stop moving and slide myself out of her, she turns to look at me, her mouth opened in a gasp. “Why did you stop?”

I take a cigarette out of my pack and light it. “Get out.” 

“What?” She snaps. 

“Get your shit and get the fuck out of my dressing room. Telling me to cum inside you, I know what you’re doing.” I take her dress off the floor and throw it at her. Her eyes narrow and she gets up from the couch, throwing the dress over her head. 

“You weren’t even that good, fucking junkie!” She yells at me, and I can’t help the laugh that escapes my lungs. She looked like a cartoon character. Her eyes wild, her hair a wild mess, her fake tits bouncing as she storms out of the room. I lean back on the couch, a little mad that I didn’t cum, but whatever, that’s what my hand is for. I don’t know why I invite these women back to my dressing room after every show. Most of the time, these women don’t even know the words to our songs, they just want to be able to tell their friends they fucked a rockstar.  I sigh, opening the vile and do another bump. I’m one hundred percent in love with heroin, but I’m an addict. Cocaine just takes the edge off when I need it to. I tie my hair back in a low bun, blowing my bangs out of my face. I stand, catching a glimpse of myself in the fluorescent lit vanity mirror. The lighting made me look terrible; I was thinner than normal. The ram skull tattoo across my abdomen looked discolored, but I know it was just the way the light was hitting it. I was losing muscle mass in both of my arms, but since tattoo sleeves covered both my arms, no one could notice. No one knew how bad it was getting with the dope; I honestly preferred to suffer in silence about it, but I knew they noticed. I would feel Gareth’s eyes burn into the back of my skull whenever I would escape to go into a bathroom, or immediately go into my hotel room to get started on my new supply. I felt terrible keeping it from him, he was my brother, my bandmate, but he didn’t need to worry. I was fine, at least that’s what I told myself. 

We had awhile before we hit the next city of the tour. The tour bus felt too crowded, too stuffy. We all decided it would make sense to hide out in a hotel for a few days before we got to Atlanta.  I requested my own room of course, the supply I just bought felt like it was burning a hole in my pocket. Isn’t that what they say about money? 

Money meant nothing to me; if I lost it all tomorrow, I wouldn’t care. That’s the beauty of this drug, you don’t have a care in the world once that shot courses through your veins. 

I lock the door to my room after saying goodnight and head into the bathroom. I pull my shirt over my head and undo the belt from my jeans. I set everything up on the table: fresh needle, the drugs, and water bottle cap.  It doesn’t take long for me to pull the dope into the syringe, at this point it’s like riding a bike for me. I sit on the floor against the bathtub, I wrap the belt around my left arm, pulling it tight with my teeth and clench my fist. I see the most perfect vein pop up in the bend of my arm; I have to be careful though, I can’t go to the same spot twice or else I’ll blow up my veins and then more people will notice.  I’ve always hated needles, isn’t that ironic? I’m thinking that as the tip of it pinches my skin and my thumb is on the trigger, slowly pushing it down.

“A spoon full of sugar makes the medicine go down…” I sing softly, feeling the sweet burn of the heroin flow like a tsunami in my veins. My eyes flutter close as the most beautiful feeling overcomes me; my head lulls back against the porcelain and I feel a smile grace my lips. 

A loud knock at my door startles me out of my high, and I’m pissed. 

“Hang on a second.” I mutter and awkwardly pull myself up, undoing the belt from my arm. I place the cap on the needle and toss it behind the doors under the sink. 

Knock knock knock knock knock

I toss my sweatshirt over my head, putting a cigarette to my lips. “Yeah, I hear you! Fuck, I’m coming.” 

I open the door to find Gareth standing there with his arms crossed, I light the cigarette and wave my hand, tilting my head at him. “Yeah?” 

“What are you doing?” He asks me. 

“What do you mean what am I doing? I’m not doing anything.” I inhale on the cigarette, and he continues to stare at me. If there was a God, I thank him for giving me brown eyes, because at least he wouldn’t be able to see how my pupils look like pinholes. “Do you wanna come in?” 

I move to the side, and he walks by me, I shut the door, locking it. 

“Do you want a beer or anything?” I ask him, going into the mini fridge, pulling out two, I could feel myself about to nod, but I quickly stand up, clearing my throat so I can at least look like I’m not fucked up. 

“No, I’m fine.” His eyes scan every inch of my room, the floor where my clothes were, Sweetheart laying on the foot of my bed. My necklace I always wore with the red guitar pick laid on the nightstand by the bed. I always take it off before I shoot up, I don’t know why, I think something is going to happen to it if I don’t, it means a lot to me. His eyes fix on my belt on the bathroom floor, he doesn’t say anything, but I know what he’s thinking. 

“Gareth, if you got something to say, man, just say it.” I tell him, leaning against the small table, I ash my cigarette into a coca cola can. 

He turns to me; he was still blessed with a baby face that I remember from school. “How bad is it getting?” He almost whispers.

“How bad is what getting?” 

“The drugs, man. Come on dude, I know you’re not stupid.” He sits across from me on the foot of the bed, gently moving Sweetheart over. 

I sigh. “Gareth, I’m fine. It’s not getting bad.”

He puts his head down, shaking his head. “Don’t fucking bull shit me, Eddie. I’ve known you for almost two decades. Have you even looked at yourself lately?”

I close my eyes, feeling a wave of anxiety hit my lower gut, and I force it to go away by not caring. “Don’t worry about me, man. I’m serious.”

“Of course, I’m gonna fucking worry!” He stands up, his face full of rage. “If you fuck up this tour, our entire music career is in the gutter! How many times have I had to bail you out when you’ve been coming down from a cocaine binge and are late to rehearsal? How many goddamn times have I had to convince cops not to arrest you when you’re inebriated beyond belief. It’s getting fucking old, man.” He towers over my 6-foot frame and again, I start laughing. 

His eyes widen. “Are you seriously laughing right now? 

“Yeah.” I chuckle. “I am, because it’s funny how you think I’m gonna be the one who’s gonna fuck up this tour. I built this band from the ground up, nothing and no one is gonna fuck that up.”

“Oh fuck you, dude!” He yells at me. “You built this? What happened to you saying this entire band was built on friendship, loyalty and fucking friends who play nerdy games? What happened to that Eddie?” 

“Dead.” I give him a sideways smile. “Dead dead dead.” 

He looks at me incredulous. “Wow. You’re an actual nightmare.” 

“You’re the one who decided to knock on my door.” I place the cigarette in the can, hearing it sizzle out. I cross my arms over my chest, already itching for another shot. “Anything else?” 

He scoffs, walking towards the door and stepping out. “No. Have a good night, Eddie.” 

“Yeah, you too!” I scream at his back as I shut the door, locking all the locks and kicking the bottom of it. Suddenly, the chair near the table gets a boot from me, followed by the lamp, the paintings on the walls. I smash the beer bottles against the windows, and when I’m finally spent, I collapse on the bathroom floor, digging out the needle. I’ll leave the hotel a couple hundred dollars to pay for whatever I damaged; I’ll hopefully remember to clean up tomorrow.

I’m pretty sure I put too much in it this time, because I’m riding something wild right now. My eyes are half lidded, my breathing is slow but it’s such a peaceful feeling.

“Makes the medicine go down…medicine go down…”

The beginning of that year was when shit started going downhill fast for me. Once I had gotten my panic attack under control, and I felt calmer, I sent you a text message, realizing that tomorrow was the 18th. I typed up, deleted, typed up, deleted, about six different times before finally sending you: Hey stranger, it’s Eddie. Pretty wild to hear from you. I’m currently up in my cabin in upstate NY, but if you are gonna be in Boston. I can make the trip. It would actually be awesome to see you. Hope you are well. 

I forgot how nervous you made me, even back then. You were such a kind, beautiful soul, who loved me and took care of me when I didn’t deserve it. I was so nervous all the time because I really loved you too, but I couldn’t…wouldn’t let myself feel it. You were the only woman in my life that knew me, and actually saw me. You were my best friend, always my partner in group activities in elementary school. It was us against the world the minute I kissed you for the first time when we were eighteen, and then it ended with me, burying my head in the sand, because I’m a fucking idiot. 

My phone dings and I see your name pop up.  Hey!!! Wow, your own cabin huh? Are you a mountain man or something this winter season? I’m sorry if my letter was all over the place, I really should’ve just texted you but, whatever. Here we are now. Yes! Let’s meet, I can give you a spot to meet for coffee? Unless you just want my aunt’s address, I don’t know how Boston is when it comes to famous people. 

I type up a message: Boston is one of those cities that is wild to play on stage in front of, but the people don’t give a fuck if you’re famous. Which is why I bought a condo there, I can live out some downtime in peace. Coffee sounds great. Just let me know a time when you are settled. 

You quickly respond: Ha! Boston is pretty rad. I’m already here, I got here a day early. I know you got a pretty long drive so we can meet the day after tomorrow if you’d like? Say around 10?

I type up that that time and date worked for me and begin packing a small suitcase to take with me on the trip. 

I honestly felt like I was dreaming all this; I get sober, you, a woman that was literally the one that got away because of my own fucking deep-rooted issues, comes back into my life and wants to see me? I feel like I’m living the Notebook. Except, the rated R version where Ryan Gosling is an ex-junkie, who doesn’t build houses, or used to blow cocaine off a woman’s asshole. 

I groan, I already know I’m gonna fuck this up again. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The coffee shop you chose was a place I’ve never been before, it seemed newer, and no one batted an eye when I walked in. I take off my sunglasses and scan the place. It was quaint, quiet, with rustic undertones but mostly modern. 

“Eddie?”

My eyes immediately fix on you, sitting in the back booth by a small window, and I feel my heart flutter down to my stomach. God, you were stunning. Your eyes still shone that sparkle in them, your smile was just as adorable as I remembered, especially the dimples in your cheeks. I whisper your name and find myself quickly walking towards you. You wrap your arms around my shoulders, and I let out a deep sigh, almost lifting you off your feet, as I hug the curves of your waist, burying my face into your shoulder. We stay like that for a while, you giggle into my chest, telling me you couldn’t believe it was me and that I was here. I didn’t want to let go, but I knew I had to. We pull away and you are still smiling, looking into my eyes, you lift your hand to gently curl your fingers into my hair and I smile at you. 

“I love that you still kept this hair.” You say, shaking your head, looking like you’re still trying to process that I’m standing in front of you. 

I gently cup your face, swallowing hard, studying you. You turn your cheek into my hand, and I slowly remove it. You nod for me to sit, and I scoot over into the booth, peeling off my leather jacket. I still stare at your face; I couldn’t believe you were real. The server comes over to take our coffee order, I get mine hot with triple espresso and a shot of caramel, and you get an iced coffee with a shot of vanilla and almond milk. I smile, you’ve kept the same order since you started drinking coffee. 

Your eyes fix on mine, and I smile at you, sipping my coffee. “You haven’t changed.” I tell you softly. 

“My back will have to disagree with you.” You laugh, spinning the straw with your finger. “You haven’t either, aside from more tattoos.” 

I smile; remembering that you were there for most of my smaller ones. I had convinced you back then to get a large tattoo that started from under your breast, all the way down to the top of your hip; that was always my favorite part of you to taste. I cross my legs, feeling a tingle in my lower belly. Fucking pervert. 

I notice a few finger tattoos on your right hand, and I nod to them. 

“I told you they were addicting.” I laugh. “How many do you have now?” 

You laugh, a sound so beautiful to my ears, I want to cry. “Sixteen? Seventeen?”

My eyes widen and I laugh. “No way! Let me see.” 

You meet my eyes, your face turning crimson. Of course, there were hidden ones, I immediately feel like I overstepped and go to apologize when you speak. “It’s a lot of random ones, all over. I added some stuff to the rib piece.” That one you show me, you lift up your sweater, and I feel my dick twitch. 

Pervert. Dirty pervert. It’s been fifteen years, put your dick away. 

The cluster of wildflowers that started from your ribs to your hip had added roses to different spots they ended up entwining into a beautiful ivy vine, before falling off towards your back. I notice the bottom of a small piece on your sternum, and you pull your sweater back down. 

“That’s beautiful.” I tell her, smiling. “What have you been doing these last fifteen years?” 

“Well, I moved out of Hawkins.” I smile at that, she always wanted to leave that place. “I moved to Maine, I bought myself my own little cabin in the woods. I’m a nurse at the local hospital there.” 

My heart practically bursts with pride, and I laugh. “See? You don’t have to be famous to have your own cabin. That’s wonderful, I know that was always a dream of yours, becoming a nurse.”

“Yeah, it’s fulfilling. Heartbreaking 99% of the time but fulfilling.” Your eyes fix on mine again, and we just share comfortable silence as we stare at one another. 

“Your eyes are sad.” You say suddenly. 

“What?” I snap myself back down to my reality; it was easy to get lost in your eyes. 

“You look like you’ve been through hell and back again. Sorry for being blunt, I’m just sorry for whatever is bothering you.” Your eyes show me that same familiar kindness, and I smile awkwardly at you.  

“I’m okay.” I tell you, only half lying. 

You place your hand over my ringed fingers, gently entwining them. I stare at our hands, and gaze back into your eyes. “What am I doing here?” I whisper to you. I can feel my heart do another back flip, and my brain screams at me to get up and run because I can still feel your love. 

Your fingers gently move over the bumps on my rings, and your eyes dart to mine. You spot the small silver chain around my neck, half tucked in my shirt, and you lift your hand to gently pull out the red guitar pick. You finger the plastic and smile. “Wow. You kept this all these years.” 

“Of course, I did. I never take it off.” Except when I used to shoot dope, but that’s beside the point. I swallow the lump in my throat. “Sweetheart, why am I here?” 

You sigh, giving me a sad smile. “Would it be weird if I said that I really fucking miss you? And for the last fifteen years, I haven’tstopped thinking about you.” 

Heart exploding. 

My breath hitches and my eyes widen slightly. “But…I hurt you…and I left—"

“I know, I know you did, but” you take my hand again. “Eddie, we were best friends. Since before we could even say those words. You were so important to me. You’re still important to me. How could we throw that away?” 

I stare at you, reading your face, gazing at the shape of your mouth, the way your hair falls in waves, the curves of your breasts. I squeeze my eyes shut, pulling my hand away from yours. “You wouldn’t think that anymore once you know what I’ve done, who I’ve become.” 

“Then tell me.” You say softly, your eyes dart from my lips, to my eyes. I stare at your lips, remembering how perfectly they fit against mine, how soft they were. How eager you would be when your tongue would slip into my mouth, deepening the kiss, your soft moans vibrating against my mouth as I carefully push myself inside you. 

I meet your eyes; you’re waiting for me to say something. I shake my head, running my hands over my hair. I sigh. “How long you got?” 

You look at your wrist at a fake watch. “About a week.” I laugh and lean back in my seat, sipping my coffee. 

Yeah, I missed you too. 

*~*~*~*~*~*

Special shout out to: @trixyvixx @originalstar1 @iggyizalien @themorticians-world

& so many of you who supported my last series.

I wouldn’t continue writing if it weren’t for you guys giving me the motivation to do it. Love you all!

[poopwons]

~~Had a Bad Day~~ Ft. Jean Kirstein

Synopsis: your boyfriend doesn't take credit for any of the sweet things he does for you when you have a bad day at work.

Content: fluff, comfort, Jeanie is a dreamboat

a/n: just a lil comfort. no slander to anyone named Jessica, I just needed a name and picked one. wrote this for the lovely @jeanboyjean I hope it's everything you wanted💜💜💜💜

Today started out great. You woke up early, got ready, and left for work. When you stopped for coffee, the barista offered you a second drink, saying they made one wrong, which you gladly accepted. However, the mood was rapidly killed when you walked into work.You get a little chat on your screen from Teams, your boss calling you in for something. Your stomach drops automatically. After receiving an absolute reaming for something that wasn’t your fault, you go back to your desk completely deflated. Of course the newbie on your team screwed something up. Fucking Jessica. She didn’t pay enough attention to anything she did, regardless of how many times you’ve tried to correct that behavior and you just got in trouble for it since, technically, “you’re in charge of her since she’s on your team.” 

The day goes from bad to worse. When you go out for lunch, they didn’t have the ONE thing you’d been craving all day, someone almost rear ended you on your way back to the office, and when you finally do get back there’s a mountain of work waiting for you. You pull out your phone, smiling at the text that was already there. 

9:38AM

Hope my beautiful baby has the best day today. Miss you already❤️

God, this man. You swear he always knows what to do even when he has no idea what’s going on. You smile to yourself, the day already looking a little bit brighter.

1:02PM

My day’s actually not going too great, got yelled at first thing, then lunch was disappointing, oh and guess who didn’t do her work properly AGAIN? But your morning text helped. I miss you too ):

You put your phone away to avoid getting scolded and start working on your pile of work. Thankfully the rest of the day goes by pretty fast, thanks to your complete inability to even look up from your computer screen. You think about calling Jean on your way home, but it’s only a twenty minute drive, and you’ll see him soon enough, so you don’t bother. 

Walking through the door in a huff you put your things down and toe off your shoes, ready to shower and wash this awful day away and spend time with Jean. you walk into the kitchen and a smile curls on your lips. Sitting on the counter was a beautiful vase of flowers, that certainly hadn’t been there when you left this morning. Jean comes around the corner wrapping you in a big hug, lifting you up off the ground and squeezing. 

“Hi, Pretty,” He says with a grin as he sets you down, tilting your chin towards his to capture your lips in a sweet kiss. He doesn’t even let you get a word in before he’s gently steering you towards the bathroom. “Now, you shower, relax, I put out your comfy clothes for you when you’re done. Let me worry about dinner, ‘kay?” He presses another kiss to your head. 

“You’re the best,” you smile at him, “Thank you for my flowers, by the way, they’re lovely.”

“I didn’t buy those for you.” He lies with a grin, before leaving you in the bathroom to shower. 

You wash off the day, spending a little extra time massaging shampoo into your scalp as the warm water cascades over you, music turned all the way up so you can hear it over the spray. It’s so loud in fact, that you don’t even hear when Jean sneaks back in, leaving a fresh-from-the-dryer towel out for you, before going back out. You turn the water off and get out, pleasantly surprised to wrap a warm towel around you.

After changing, you come back out into the kitchen where there are take out containers from your favorite place, favorite meal in them. Along with a little basket sitting on the counter that was filled with face masks, a new nail polish color, a book you’d mentioned really wanting to read weeks ago, and some chocolates. Jean’s in the living room, turning on your favorite movie before coming up and kissing you again. 

“Good shower?” 

“Very good. My towel even warmed itself up, isn’t that cool?” You grin at him, as he takes the food over to the sofa, while you follow.

“Well, I did buy the self-heating ones. I might have forgotten to mention that.”

“Did the food order itself too? And that cute little gift basket on the counter must have assembled itself.” 

“Yeah, what a wild time to be alive.” He smiles at you again, pressing a little kiss to your forehead before settling down to eat with you. 

Sitting in the comfort of your living room, favorite movie on, with a gorgeous boyfriend who’s willing to do such sweet things for you all the time? Maybe your day hasn’t been so bad after all.

[lcvernat]

Smile for Me | Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Request: hello! it’s my first time requesting on your blog.. is it okay if I ask for nat with reader who hides their smile because their insecure of how it looks.

feel free to take your time writing this, I don’t mind waiting :)))

thank you, have a great day!! <3

Word Count: 1.4k

Content Warnings: fluff, talks of being insecure, like two swear words, probably bad writing cause i am a bit rusty

A/N: thank you for requesting anon! i am so, so sorry this took so long but i hope you like it <3 this might not be my best work because i am very rusty and haven't wrote anything in a bit but i hope you enjoy it either way

Smiling was natural, everyone done it, and usually no one really thought about it whilst they were doing it. You just lived in the moment, smiling at something that had brought you joy. It was whimsical, in a way. But it wasn't like that to you, though. No, it was actually the one thing you tried to avoid the most. Even in situations when you were at your most happiest, ranging from getting top grades in your exams to the day Natasha had asked you out on a date, a smile was rarely exchanged in those moments, or it was hidden behind your hand.

It was hard when something so simple was the root of your insecurities. Every time you caught yourself smiling, you covered your smile with your hand. It was an instinct at this point. Either that, or you would just avoid smiling altogether. It wasn’t as if you were trying to keep up some mysterious persona - you just really, really hated your smile. A lot.

Tiny remarks in middle school had started it. Words said by children that shouldn’t be that serious because you were all kids instead stuck with you for your entire life. Sticks and stones do break your bones, but words will still hurt. They still cause bleeding wounds, but because you can’t see them, society deems them unimportant. Which is why you’ve not told anyone about your insecurity, you just let them poke fun, because the logical part of you knows that it’s a stupid thing to be insecure about, but you can’t help it.

Natasha, of course, had noticed. But she’s never pried, thankfully. She understands having secrets that you keep under lock and key. She has them too. It’s a bit hard not to notice when someone hardly smiles, but somehow she notices that there’s something more to it. Having a spy as a girlfriend, one who is the best spy in the world no doubt, means that any of your secrets aren’t really secrets. You simultaneously love and hate it.

“Why do you never smile?”

“Why do you always pry into people’s business? And I do smile.”

Tony shrugs halfheartedly at your jab, a tiny smirk on his face as he takes a sip of his drink. You were thrown off guard by his unprompted question, not expecting it to happen when you were just sat eating dinner with the rest of the team. The rest of the team who had, unfortunately, went silent after the words left Tony’s mouth.

You took an awkward bite of your food, trying to focus on the taste instead of the eyes boring into your soul.

“Leave them alone,” Natasha snaps, but there’s no actual bite behind it yet.

“Hey now,” Tony raises a hand placatingly, “I’m not trying to be nosey, not at all. Well, actually, I kind of am, but for good reason. They rarely smile! Have you not noticed? And if they do, I always catch them covering their mouth! Have they ever fully smiled around you, Romanoff?” - The only response he gets is a glare - “No? Christ, they’re dating you! Don’t you think it’s a bit odd? I-”

You cut him off, “Just finish your food, Stark.”

Tony, seemingly unable to realize when you’re seriously not in the mood continues on undeterred, “Listen, I get if you’re trying to be all tough and that. But you can still smile! You’re still pretty intimidating anyway. To the newbies, obviously. Not me.”

“I just don’t smile that often, Stark. Got a problem with that?” You get out through gritted teeth, setting your knife and fork down on your half-eaten plate. You aren’t very hungry anymore. The ravaging appetite you felt before dinner had quickly dissipated, and it wasn’t because you were full.

Natasha sends you a concerned glance but you ignore it. You ignore everyone’s glances. For superheroes, they were horrifically bad at pretending they weren't staring at you.

“Oh, come on,” Tony leans back in his chair, clearly exasperated, “unless you look incredibly hideous, your teeth are falling out or you have a shit ton of cavities, which I doubt, I don’t get why you hardly smile! Just smile for us this once, and don't cover it!" He urged you on, and it was your final straw.

You abruptly stood up from the table, your chair making a harsh sound across the floor as it was pushed back. Once again ignoring Natasha's glance, you walk as fast as you can out of the room and making a beeline towards your shared room with Nat. You know she'll probably follow you soon after, but you'd take a minute alone if you could.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, you ran your hands across your face and let out a groan. You were being so stupid. Tony was right. It's not a big deal at all, you're the one making it a big deal. All over a couple comments a few kids carelessly threw your way years ago in middle school. Insecurities were so stupid, why couldn't you just stop being insecure? You were an Avenger, for Christ's sake, and the one thing that defeats you is your own goddamn smile.

After a couple of minutes had passed, there was a knock on the door. Unsurprisingly, Nat's voice filtered through, "Y/N? Can I come in?" Somehow, she managed to hear your barely coherent mumble of a response, and the door gently opened seconds later.

"Don't listen to Tony," the redhead spoke softly, "he doesn't know when to stop."

You let out a mirthless chuckle, "Yeah, I know."

Natasha didn't reply, instead slowly walking over to you and kneeling in front of you. You catch her eye before quickly glancing away.

"Look at me,"

You do, and she reaches out to take ahold of your hands that were previously lying limp in your lap, "Why do you always cover your beautiful smile?" It was a gentle question, the redhead treading lightly on what she knows is a sensitive topic for you.

"Because it's not beautiful," your voice is small. It's the first time you've ever actually spoken about your insecurity out loud.

"I bet it is. What makes you think it isn't?"

"People were saying shit 'bout it in middle school. Words hurt, you know." It sounded pathetic, you knew it did. You half expected Natasha to laugh at you, and anyone else probably would, because you were a grown adult, but of course Natasha didn't laugh. She never would.

"Well," she lets go of one of your hands to reach out and cup your cheek, her thumb brushing over your bottom lip, "those people can go fuck themselves."

A surprised giggle leaves you at the bluntness of her tone. She smirks before continuing, "My angel is gorgeous, and I know their smile is just as beautiful. Come on, you wanna let me see it? Smile for me."

Despite her words, a small part of you still didn't want to smile in front of her. Years of covering it and hiding it was obviously engrained into you, no matter how hard you wanted to try and stop it. So, you shake your head.

"Well," Natasha sighs, "I guess I'll just have to subject you to a month of Steve's cooking. Hopefully you won't die, but if you do, I'll make sure to make your funeral the best funeral ever."

That made you laugh then, and a smile made its way onto your face. The hand that Natasha wasn't holding instinctively raised to cover it, but the spy grabbed ahold of it before you could.

"See?" Natasha smiles then too, "beautiful."

That makes you smile more, and you don't move to cover it this time. You fight the insecurities that worm its way into your thoughts, you were done being insecure about your smile. You were fed up of hiding it. Natasha plants a soft kiss on your cheek then, before whispering into your ear, "If you gave me the names of those people..."

You let out a shocked laugh, hitting her arm playfully. "No. Murder is bad."

"I never said I would murder them!" She gasps, "Just a nice little talk. That's all."

Shaking your head in amusement, you pull Natasha into a hug, "I love you."

"I love you too."

God, what you would do for this woman. You would always smile for her from this day forward. No more hiding it, especially not from Natasha.

tags: @sheneonromanoff @olicity-boo @r4nd0mgir1 @tigerlillyruiz @dj-bynum3718 @lovelyy-moonlight

dm me, send me an ask or reply to be added to my taglist!

[kuroosdarling]

DRUNK TEXTS

⊹ ‎♡‧₊˚ ꒰ FEATURING ꒱ : coworker!kuroo

⊹ ‎♡‧₊˚ ꒰ CONTENTS ꒱ : swearing, reader is hungover and kuroo is a little shit

a/n: this is dumb lil blurb but i wrote this awhile back and it’s time to unleash it lmao !! don’t perceive me too much

“are you hungover?” kuroo asked, poking his head in your office. you had barely been here for 20 minutes, hell, you hadn’t even seen kuroo yet. so how the fuck did he know ?

“what?” you gasp out, clutching your warm coffee mug between your hands as if it would defend you from whatever lashing he was about to dish. would you be graced with a joke? or punished with a lecture?

“you’re totally hungover.” he chuckled, stepping into your office and shutting the door, sitting in the spare chair you had laying around.

“am not.” you huff, sipping your coffee and narrowing your eyes. it brought you a small sense of comfort, but the bitterness that lingered on your tongue had you scowling. you had forgotten sugar.

“are too.” the smug smirk that sat on his face boiled your blood. normally you’d find it charming, but right now you weren’t in the mood for him to be right.

“am not.” your defense was weak, failing to find anything clever to back you up. it was pitiful.

“wanna know how i know?” he didn’t even bother carrying on the little game you had started, diving right into the deep end for the good stuff.

“fine.” you bite, pivoting your chair so you’re facing him instead of the piled up emails sitting on your computer.

“you willingly talked to Fumiyaku in the break room for over 5 minutes.”

that’s true, you had spoken to them while you made your coffee. there wasn’t anything bad about Fumiyaku, but they were annoying and usually you avoided them before you got sucked into a conversation with them. and you were quite good at it. unless you were sick — or as he guessed it, hungover.

“how’d you even know—?”

“and i know you’re not sick because a sick person wouldn’t of sent me this.” ignoring your question, he holds up his phone.

the message was clearly from you, sent around 2 in the morning when you should’ve been fast asleep. heat rose to your cheeks as you read the message, trying to ignore the look of triumph that kuroo wore like a crown.

you blink at the text a few times to make sure you were really the one that sent that. your nickname was proudly up at the top, mocking you as you reread the texts again.

"so, you really think my hair looks sexy pushed back?" yeah, he was never going to let you live that down.

[hoedamn-eron]

baby, please - part 9

After your disastrous call with your parents, you decide to take yourself baby shopping. You invite Santi.

Warnings: A long chapter. Mentions of being sick, so emetophobia warning. Brief mention of unsupportive family members. Some swearing. Had to find a shopping mall in Florida and navigate through it so please excuse the inaccuracies on which stores are actually in there. Like mega fluffy towards the end. Barely proofread. Word count: 4,974 F!Reader, no use of Y/N.

This isn't my favourite chapter, it didn't go the way I had planned it, and even after a few rewrites it's still doesn't feel right. Also, I wrote so much of this before my One Drive decided to crash and it didn't save anything, despite me having my autosave on, so I lost like 5 hours worth of work. And I happened to have been written during a bad week at work so it's probably not my best.

Part 8 ● Series Masterlist ● Part 10

The following weeks after your disastrous call with your parents and sisters were a blur of work and preparations of pregnancy and birth. Your company’s new clients, who were ‘happy with the updates to their social media, and a few print outs every now and then’, were taking up most of your time, but that wasn’t an awful lot of time. So when you were at home, you were reading all the baby books you could find, trying to absorb as much information as possible.

Regarding your birth, you had been looking into a birth plan. You wanted to go as naturally as you possibly could. You were interested in a home birth, with a birthing pool. You read up about the benefits of being in a familiar environment and an unhurried birth, but you were carrying twins. It would be more difficult than a single baby birth, and what if something went wrong? What if you had to be rushed to the hospital? If there was an emergency, you didn’t want to wait for an ambulance and travel. And also, you would need a bigger place for that, which may not have happened for you yet. So, you were leaning towards a birth at the hospital. Sure, it won’t be as relaxed as you would have liked but if you wait as long as possible to go, then you wouldn’t be there for long. Your insurance did only cover a three day stay at the hospital.

 You’d talk it through with Santi, but you’re not going to see him until your next appointment.

Your bad mood hadn’t gone unnoticed. Emily had been hovering over you for the past few days, doing odd jobs for you and just generally keeping an eye on you. You’d be flattered if she wasn’t so…concerned all the time.

“Is everything okay?” Emily asked you for the eightieth time that week.

You don’t even react anymore. “I’m fine, Emily,” you answer robotically, almost a habit to you now.

“You just seem really down,” Emily said, pouting as she leaned forward in her chair, looking at you with sad eyes.

“I had a fight with my family, that’s all,” you replied. “It’s nothing new.”

She stared at you for a moment before nodding. “Okay. Just let me know if you need anything. A snack or a coffee.”

You glance at her as she turned back to her computer. You were convinced she knew about the pregnancy. She hadn’t outright said it, or indicated otherwise, and yeah, Emily was nice, but not this nice. You wondered if Santi had said anything, but when you had asked about it in the past, he didn’t sound like he’d told Emily.

You shake your head at yourself and return to your computer. You’re just being paranoid. And a Negative Nancy.

Although your bump was starting to show a little bit, even as early was you were, and it wouldn’t be long until you had to come out to work that you were expecting. You had already drafted an email up to Harriet to send whenever you were ready, you just needed to get to that point. But you were enjoying your own little pregnancy bubble for now, you had time to tell her, and the rest of the office.

You sigh as you lean back in your chair, staring at the email trail you had going with a potential new client. You needed some new clothes. Your pants were getting tighter each week and you were uncomfortable most days. When you were at home, you lived in a pair of sweatpants that belongs to a long-lost ex-boyfriend, in times gone by. You never bothered to get in touch to return them after your break-up, because, honestly, they were too comfy to go back. Maybe you could treat yourself to some retail therapy that weekend; you hadn’t started buying baby things yet, don’t people already have at least a few items at this point? Maybe you should get started.

You could invite Santiago and give yourself the opportunity to talk about the birth plan.

You bite your lip as you stood from your desk. “I’ll be right back,” you say to Emily, already turning and pulling your phone out of your pocket. You barely heard her acknowledgement before you make your way out of your office and to reception.

You scroll for his number before calling him. It doesn’t take long until Santi’s answering, “Hey, cariño, everything okay?”

You pause, suddenly think that you’re being too forward; too hasty. You could have waited to call until after work when you were at home. Hell, you didn’t even need to call, you could have just texted him. All because you wanted to know if he wanted to go baby shopping with you this weekend. This wasn’t an urgent thing, you could have made the same arrangements tomorrow. You shake your head at yourself, muttering about what an idiot you were, about to tell him ‘goodbye’, you ‘hadn’t mean to call him’ –

“Hey,” he called your name down the phone at your sudden silence. “Are you all right? Is something wrong?”

“N-no, sorry,” you say, feeling your face warm and suddenly feeling shy. “I didn’t mean to call. Well, I did, but I should have called after work, I’m sorry. Did I take you away from something important?”

“No, not at all,” Santi replied.

You both fall into silence. It wasn’t awkward but it wasn’t comfortable either. You faltered for a moment before you blurted out, “Do you want to come shopping with me? This weekend? On Saturday, I mean. For the babies?”

You were met with quiet, and you had thought he had hung up on you, but he eventually answered, “Sure. Anything in particular you were looking for?”

“No, not really,” you say. “I just…wanted to have a look around, you know? Get some clothes or something.”

“Yeah, yeah, sounds good,” Santi replied. “There’s some baby store that Frankie recommended, we could go there.”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” you say. “I can…meet you there or we could together, if you wanted?”

“Yeah,” Santi says, before he blurts out, “I can pick you up. If you want.”

You bite your lip. You’d made the point since you found out you were pregnant to keep things as separate as you could, more for Santi’s sake really (and because you didn’t want to rely on anyone). But, your chest warms, for some reason, at the thought of going together to the store.

You give a small smile. “Okay. It’s 11am okay or is that too early?”

“That’s fine, cariño,” says Santi. “I’ll see you on Saturday.”

“I’ll see you then,” you say before saying your goodbyes and hanging up.

You wait outside your apartment building for Santiago. You’d been thinking about your shopping trip all week and you were feeling oddly nervous. You weren’t sure why, you’d seen Santiago many times before, but not this…casually. Not regarding the pregnancy, anyway. The only time you had really spent together was for prenatal appointments.

Throughout the week, you were toying with the idea of texting him, cancelling the whole shopping trip and just going by yourself, or even with your friends. But you hesitated, since Santiago said he wanted to be involved, and it would be a good bonding experience for you both. You were in each other’s lives now for the next nineteen years, after all. You wanted your children to grow up in happy, healthy households, where their parents could communicate openly.

You were pulled out of your thoughts when Santi pulled up in front of you in his truck. You desperately wanted to ask him if he was thinking about getting a car, just something that would be able to fit two car seats. But you’d already changed so much of his life already, and you didn’t want to push his boundaries. You climbed into his truck, sending him a ‘hi’ as you close the door behind you.

You buckle yourself in as you ask, “So where is this place anyway?”

“Florida Mall,” Santi replied as he set off. “It’s called The Children’s Place. Frankie says it’s mostly clothing but there’s a Dillard’s and a Macy’s for other stuff if we wanted to look.”

You nod. “Yeah, okay, that’s fine. I was looking at Ikea for the big furniture anyway,” you say. “And I need a bigger place for that, so it can wait for now.”

Santi nodded. “I can help you out with that too, if you need,” Santi offered, glancing at you for a moment before turning his eyes back to the road. “Don’t want you lugging around heavy furniture when you’re pregnant.”

You push down the warm feeling you felt in your chest as you nod at him. “I’ll let you know when I have it.”

There was an awkward pause before Santi broke it. “I’ve been meaning to bring this up to you, and I get that it might be a little early but…what’s the situation going to be when they’re here?”

Your brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

“Do I need to get furniture too?” Santi asked, giving you another glance. “Because it’s not a problem if I do. I have a spare room and it’s big enough for two cribs. Maybe. I’ll have to clear it out, I’m using it as storage for the moment.”

You stare at him for a moment, that warm feeling coming back to your chest tenfold. He wanted to have the baby furniture at his place? He wanted to have the chaos and the mess that two babies would bring? You vaguely think of if he brought women home back to his place, how they’ll question if he had kids or where the kids were, would it ruin his game? What if he decided to get with someone seriously and they didn’t want the baggage of children from a previous relationship (using the term very loosely). Like you mentioned before, you didn’t want to be telling him what to do. You’d encroached on his life enough already.

“Hey, I know those cogs are working overtime, don’t overthink it,” said Santiago at your silence. “I’ve told you, I’m in this with you. I don’t mind if my life changes a little bit.”

You take a deep breath before letting it go. “Okay.” You nod. “You should get some furniture. I want them to have a relationship with you so it would be nice if they could spend some time with you at your place.”

Santiago nodded before turning to you and giving you a closed smile. “Okay then.”

You chat idly for the rest of the journey about what you had both been up to since the last time you saw each other, and you brought up how your friends were doing and how your family now know that you were pregnant.

“And? How did it go?” he asked, an eyebrow raised in question. “With your family?”

You go quiet before answering, “Not as pleased as my friends were.”

You leave it at that. He doesn’t pry, just gives a nod, and says he’s sorry to hear that they weren’t as supportive. You shrug, looking away from him because you refused to cry about it anymore than you already have, telling him that you’ll get over it and you had him and your friends. It would be your parents and sisters missing out, not your babies.

You pull into the mall and Santiago parks as close as he could to the entrance, claiming that you shouldn’t be walking as far.

You laugh at him as you unbuckle your seatbelt. “I’m pregnant, not elderly.”

He shakes his head. “I’ve heard you complain enough to Jennifer about your joint aches to know you’re gonna want to sit down in about an hour.” He starts climbing out his truck.

Your mouth falls open in mock offence as you climb out the truck also. “That’s so rude, Santi!” you close the door behind you.

“Rude, but true. Come on,” he nods towards the mall entrance before you join him, walking together into the busy mall.

You take a look at the mall map, finding the store Frankie recommended. “It’s towards the back. It’s next to a Build-a-Bear.”

“We can look in those too, if you want,” Santi says.

You grin. “I always wanted a Build-a-Bear when I was a kid,” you said. “My mom would never let me get one.” Your face falls at the mention of your mother.

Santiago, ever the observant, quickly changes the subject. “We can get one each for them. We’ll both pick an outfit for them.” He grins at you.

You take a moment before plastering a smile on your face. “Sure. Oh! Can we stop at a candy store first?”

“We can,” Santi replied, how brow furrowed slightly. “Why?”

“I’ve ran out of watermelon Sourpatch Kids,” you reply, already walking through the mall for the closest candy shop. “I’m constantly craving them. It’s all I want to eat. Think I might be funding them alone.”

Santiago gave a small chuckle, shaking his head at you. “We can get all the Sourpatch Kids you want.”

“As long as it’s watermelon,” you said, giving him a pointed look.

He sighs in amusement, putting his hand on your back and leading you through into the mall as he nods. “As long as it’s watermelon.”

It doesn’t take you long to find the candy shop, Santi making the joke that your pregnancy gave you the nose of a bloodhound. You snorted a laugh before buying four packs of watermelon Sourpatch Kids. Santi’s eyes widened as you stuffed them in your bag before opening one as you both walk out of the store. “That many?” he asked.

You gave him a look before he raised his hands slightly in defence. “They’re so good,” you mutter, before chewing on a sweet slowly, giving a light moan as the taste.

“Cravings hit you this week?” Santi asked.

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” you say, already eating another sweet. “They’re all I think about. These and Diet Coke.” You shake the open bag of candy for emphasis. You hesitate before asking if he wanted one, and to your relief, he said no.

“Not a candy kind of guy,” Santi said as you both meander through the mall.

“Good, ‘cause I only offered to be polite,” you said, taking another from the bag.

Santi huffed a laugh through his nose before nodding around the stores. “So, where do we start?”

“Let’s go to the place Frankie recommended,” you say. “I’m curious.”

You both made your way to the store, grabbing a basket as you walk in. The place was full of colours, with character shirts and holiday specific clothing. Santiago stuck close by, taking a look around and asking for your opinions on some things. Between the two of you, you ended up grabbing a copious amount of baby vests and baby grows, mostly white, and some tiny socks which you had internally freaked out over at the size (so tiny!).

You also excitedly grabbed a few holiday themed outfits for the next year.

“That’s hideous,” Santi said as you look at an obnoxious Christmas jumper for a nine-month-old.

You smirked, obviously agreeing with him, but deciding to mess with him a bit. “But it’s so cute, and small. Can you imagine how cute a little baby would be in this?”

“Please don’t get it,” laughed Santiago.

“I’m gonna get it,” you say, putting it in your basket before grinning. “To spite you.”

You pretended a few moments later that you hadn’t seen him discreetly pick up the jumper and put it back on the rack. And you both didn’t say anything about the ‘missing jumper’ when you went to pay either.

With Santi carrying your bags that he offered with some dispute from you, you make your way to any other baby shops you could find. You got a little teary (damn hormones!) as you looked at the shoes and more socks, and some of the costume you found, like the little Mickey and Minnie set you found, or a Beauty and the Beast dress, which happened to be your favourite movie when you were a kid.

When you made your way into Cotton On Kids, you found yourself some maternity pants and jeans, and that’s where you realised that Santiago was a browser. He briefly mentioned that he wasn’t much of a shopper for himself, never mind other people. Especially kids. But you saw him eyeing up a pair of white sneakers and a couple of Metallica t-shirts. You encouraged him to buy them if he liked them; they could stay at his place and the babies could wear them when they were staying over.

He hesitated before grabbing two pairs of each, looking down at the shirts and thumbing at the material before smirking up at you. “My favourite band,” he said.

You smiled and shook your head as you went to make your purchases.

After a while, you did in fact need to sit down, just like Santi predicted. You both decided it was probably a good stopping point to have some lunch anyway, since you had nearly worked your way through two of the four bags of candy you had bought earlier. You took a seat as Santi went to Five Guys, getting some burgers and fries, and the biggest Diet Coke they offered.

“How’s your morning sickness?” Santi asked as he sat down opposite you.

You shrug. “Better but still not great. I’ve taken to drinking ginger tea instead of coffee nowadays to ease it.”

“And does it?” Santi asked, unwrapping his burger.

You pulled a face but nodded anyway, unwrapping your own burger. “It did a bit but it tastes disgusting. I’m going to give mint tea a try, since Gabrielle told me try that with lemonade. It helped her, apparently.”

You talk about stuff happening at work, your new clients, your suspicion that Emily might know you’re pregnant, something that Santiago laughed at.

“She had to take in a book for me,” he replied. “‘The Expectant Dad's Survival Guide’ that Frankie’s kindly let me borrow.”

You give him a swat on the arm. “You’re the reason she thinks something’s up,” you laugh. You make a mental note to get your own books.

You eat your food and talk some more about your upcoming appointment next week and you mentioned to Santi that you were thinking about a birth plan; since you were having twins, you were likely to go into early labour, so you wanted to be as prepared as possible.

“And what are you going to do?”

You sigh. “I think I’ll just go for a standard hospital birth, as natural as possible. I’d like a home birth but I’m paranoid something is going to go wrong.”

“You can talk to Jennifer about it,” said Santi. “She’ll know more about it than we will.”

You finish your food, feeling more relaxed than you did before as Santiago grabbed the bags. You make a quick detour to the bathroom to puke your guts up. You might have to give up cheese at this point, since it always seems to trigger your morning sickness. You come out of the bathroom, Santi handing you a bottle of water that he very nicely got for you. Your heart swells as you take a sip before you both make your way round the rest of the mall.

You do, in fact, take a look in Build-a-Bear, but decide on getting them another day. You made sure Santi promised to come with you.

After a few more stops (and a few more bags of toys and clothing for the babies and you), you make your way into H&M. Gabrielle had mentioned they were good for kids clothing, but you did notice everything was looking a little sad and beige, but you gave Gabrielle the benefit of the doubt. Santi had wandered off since he mentioned he needed to look at some jeans for himself, so you moseyed through the clothing, spotting a few bits of clothing you liked.

You don’t pay much attention to wear you’re walking, and you give a small ‘oomf!’ as you lightly bump into someone, quickly apologising before you take a good look at him, your eyes widening. “Craig!”

He looks at you with confusion before a spark of recognition takes over his face. “Oh, hey,” he says, recalling your name. “How are you?”

You hadn’t heard from this guy since you cancelled your date when you found out you were pregnant. “Uh, yeah, I’m good. How’re you?”

“Not so bad,” Craig replies. He clears his throat and nods to your pile of baby clothes. “For you, or…”

You blink in confusion for a moment before looking down at the clothes. You give a laugh. “Yeah, uh…for me.” You show him your bump for a few seconds. “Just coming out of my first trimester.”

“Right,” Craig said.

“You?” you asked, nodding to the clothes in his hand.

“Nephew’s birthday.”

“Oh.” You both fall into an awkward silence.

You open your mouth to tell him goodbye, but he quickly cuts you off, “I’m sorry that I never got back to you. About our date.”

You make a noise of nonchalance. “You don’t need to be sorry for anything, I cancelled on you.”

“I know, but I was being a little bitter about it and I’m sorry, but now I see that…” he nods to your clothes bundle. “You had some…stuff going on.”

You sigh. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t feeling great, and I found out I was pregnant that night and it was…very unexpected, so…”

Craig’s eyes widened. “Oh shit, I didn’t know you cancelled from that.”

He was as good looking as you remember him, from his pictures. He was handsome, in a Clark Kent kind of way. Tall, dark hair, piercing blue eyes, he was a genuine heartthrob. It was what attracted you to him in the first place. That, and the fact he made you laugh, and he was charming, and was good fun. You wondered very briefly what would have happened if you had gone out on that date with him, if you had just put off testing for one or two days.

“Yeah, it was…a lot,” you say. “It's, uh, settled down, finally. How about you? What have you been up to?”

“Oh, you know, the usual work stuff.” He shrugged. “Work’s busy. Trying to find some free time for hobbies.” He gave a small chuckle.

“Ugh, tell me about it,” you say. “All my time at the moment is prenatal appointments and work. I’m working on setting more boundaries for myself.”

“Good for you,” said Craig. “It’s hard balancing work and life, never mind being pregnant.”

“With twins,” you say.

“With twins, no way!” Craig said. “Congrats!”

“Thank you,” you say, giving him a smile.

“Hey, hermosa,” Santi greeted, suddenly appearing at your side. “I gotta get these!” he grins excitedly, holding the small jerseys of a team you weren’t familiar with in his hands before he finally looks between you and Craig. “Sorry, am I interrupting something?”

There was something to his tone that made you think he knew he was interrupting something. “This is, erm…Craig.” You gesture to Craig. “Craig, this is Santiago,” you introduce him. “He’s the babies’ father.”

Santiago gave Craig a tight-lipped smile before holding his hand out to him. “Nice to meet you.”

Craig smiled before shaking his hand. “You too.”

“How do you know Craig?” Santiago asked you, giving you a too nonchalant look as he places his free hand on the base of your back. You mentally note it was the second time that day he’d done it that day.

You look between them before clearing your throat. “Craig and I were going to go on a date.”

“She cancelled on me,” Craig joked.

You look at him with an amused look on your face, gasping in mock upset. “Because I found out I was pregnant.”

“Oh,” Santiago said, looking between you both before he smirked. “She went on a date with me too and look what happened.” He motioned to your bump.

“Okay,” you say, grabbing Santiago’s arm, feeling your cheeks growing hot with sudden embarrassment. “Good to see you, Craig.” You call, already turning to walk away.

“You too,” Craig said. “Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

You waved your hand in acknowledgement as you walk to the other side of the store.

You take a quick glance at Santi as you stop in the girl’s section and mindlessly start looking through dresses, just for something to do. Santi, the smug bastard, was smirking at you. “He seemed nice.”

“He was. He is,” you say, still looking through the clothes, a little more aggressively.

“You should ask him out,” Santi said. “Again.”

You pause for a moment before looking at him, an unamused look on your face. “No.”

“You’re single, you should,” Santiago said. “He didn’t seem to mind you were pregnant.”

“That’s not…look, it’s complicated,” you say. “No-one wants a pregnant woman as their date.”

“Are you looking to date?” Santiago asked.

You give him a look. “Why are you being weird?”

“I’m not being weird,” Santiago said, blinking at you almost innocently.

“You are,” you say. “Why are we talking about my dating life? I haven’t even thought about dating since I found out I was carrying your spawn.”

Santiago snorted a laugh. “Charming.”

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore, Santi,” you say, turning away from him and back to the clothes, still not really looking at them. “I just wanted this to be a nice day, with you, about us and the babies.”

Santiago looked at you with an unreadable look on his face for a few moments. You didn’t know what to say, you didn’t know why you felt so embarrassed that you had ran into Craig. It had never been an issue for you before, running into an ex, but maybe it was because you were pregnant. Maybe it was because you were with Santi. Maybe it was because you just wanted to still be in your pregnancy bubble, with Santi, where everything wasn’t so fucked up, where you could pretend to be in a loving, stable relationship for the time being.

After a moment you sigh, averting your gaze. “Sorry. That was unfair to you, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, you’re right,” said Santi, slowly nodding. “I was a bit of an asshole, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to come across as possessive, I was just messing with you.”

You bite your lip at him as he looks down at the jerseys in his hands, and you know it’s so he doesn’t have to look at you, to keep his hands busy. You frown at him, feeling bad before you lightly clear your throat. “I’m sorry. Really. I know it’s no excuse, but my hormones are all over the place and I was really nervous about today – “

“Why?” Santiago asked, suddenly looking up at you.

“What?” you asked, blinking at him as if you missed his question.

“Why were you nervous about today?”

“Because…” you pause, sucking in your lips as you looked down at your shoes in further embarrassment before deciding just to suck it up. “Because this is the first time we’ve spent together outside of my appointments…and our date.”

Santi just looked at you in confusion. “So?”

“So,” you emphasise. “I just…wanted today to be a good day. I wanted to just feel a little bit normal about this whole thing and not just the couple who aren’t actually a couple who got pregnant after a one-night stand.”

He goes silent again as he stares at you, and you feel your cheeks burning again. God, you just can’t seem to keep your mouth shut today. Your brain obviously isn’t working and it’s probably best if you just stick to being casual with Santi and not try to force anything, like you said before.

You open your mouth to tell him that you should probably go, but he beat you to it.

“This is still new to both of us,” he said. “And I know you have your way of doing things and you want to be the best you can at this, and I don’t doubt you will,” Santi raises his eyebrows pointedly at you at you give him a look. “But you have to remember that it’s not just you. Okay? I feel like I’m walking on eggshells because you’re so Goddamn independent that I’m worried I’m going to say the wrong thing and upset you. Like before.”

You sigh, throwing your head back. “I’m sorry.”

“And stop apologising when you haven’t done anything wrong,” Santiago said. “Stop worrying you’re going to upset me.”

You give another sigh before you look at him. “We need to learn to communicate better.”

Santi faltered before nodding. “We do.”

“We should talk more, outside of,” you motion to your bump. “This.”

“We should,” he gave another nod.

“I’m…” you were about to apologise again but stopped yourself, deciding to go in a different direction. “I’m glad you wanted to come with me today.”

“Are you kidding? And miss out on embarrassing you in front of an almost date?” Santiago grinned as you swatted him arm.

“Asshole,” you muttered before motioning for him to follow you. “Come on, let’s go and buy these football jerseys,” you say, smiling at the small shirts still in his hands.

“It’s a baseball team,” Santiago replies, smirking and falling into step with you.

“Shut up,” you say, giving him a good-natured shove as he laughs at your blunder.

Tagged - @khonsulockley, @bluenredndeath