#rip to your notifs though

[castielsprostate]

only 30k notes until i impregnate jackles

AW HELL YEAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! IM!!!!!PREG!!!!!!NATE!!!!!!! THAT!!!!!!! ACTOR!!!!!!!! MAN!!!!!!!!!!

[noxtivagus]

once again i implore you to listen to ffxiv ost 🙏

[alexiroflife]

"i missed you"

MDNI, so much suggestive everything, a little fluff but in the sukuna kind of way

ryomen sukuna x reader

Synopsis: sukuna will never say i miss you, but he will surely show you how much he does when you come home

to sum it up: just a late night thought

WC: 1,816

Warning(s): smut, literally just porn, sukuna has a dirty mouth, a whisper of overstimulation

Sukuna would take out a whole city before he openly admits that he misses you, which unfortunately isn't something you would entirely put past him.

You don't expect him to tell you when he wants to see your face, but you do, however, grow rather accustomed to the way he blows up your phone while you're away with family. When you're given a second to check your notifications, text after text after text lines up from your boyfriend, demanding to know where you are and what you're doing every second of the damn day.

And when he's not making inquiries about every little detail of your life from the moment you wake up to when you go to sleep, he's demanding you return home with empty threats that you know will never be carried out.

-> come home before the next sunrise or you will no longer be welcome within the estate.

-> i've changed my mind. come home tonight, or i am moving your stuff out of our room tomorrow morning.

-> are you seeing my texts? i know you can read. uraume taught me about what this device calls read receipts. answer me now. you are returning home, yes?

-> dammit, woman, just bring your ass back here. what more do you want?

You snort at the texts, your chest warming with endearment at his funny way of expressing his longing for you. He will pull every card, every bluff, every trick besides physically saying that he misses you, and you expect nothing less. After all, if he didn’t, he wouldn't be the Ryomen Sukuna you fell in love with. Somehow, this is more entertaining... just more Sukuna.

When you finally do return home, though, you're in for it. You're hardly even rolling your suitcases to the doors before Sukuna is swinging them open with an aggravated face upon seeing you. You grin widely.

"Kuna! I'm back!"

"Get the fuck in here."

He grabs you by the waist and lifts you up, abandoning your luggage and calling for Uraume to take care of it later. You giggle to yourself as Ryomen carries you with one arm to his chambers, kicking the door closed behind him and tossing you onto the large king bed that the two of you share.

"Well, don't act too excited," you tease.

"Quiet," he demands, voice menacingly low. Sharp hunger swirls in his crimson eyes as he approaches you, the shadow of his burly figure enveloping your frame as he towers over you at the edge of the bed. Your eyes go wide and your heart suddenly pounds in anticipation.

"Wait," you start, reaching a hand out. "Hold on-"

You yelp, the king of curses dragging you harshly by your ankle to the edge. He leans over you, his nose brushing against yours as his blood-red irises seer into your own. He studies you like a predator analyzing its prey before pouncing, devouring. You gulp, innocent lashes batting up at him as heat consumes your body. You know exactly what’s coming to you.

Just then, in his closeness, you remember how much you've missed him while you were away. His scent enrobes you, his eyes undressing you sinfully before he can even rip your clothes from your body. You rub your thighs together in a poor attempt to ease the sudden ache between your legs, and his gaze grows darker.

"You're never leaving this room ever again without my say so," he seethes, a declaration so firm that you almost believe he is being serious, and perhaps in his mind he is.

Your lips quirk up slightly. "Did you miss me that much?"

"Silence," he growls, hooking his fingers into your shorts and tugging them down harshly. You gasp and he tosses them over his head, caging you beneath his mass. "We're not going anywhere until I feel like I've successfully made up for all the time we’ve lost while you were away."

This is your favorite part of returning home from trips, though you don't go away without Sukuna often unless it's to see your family. You hate being away from the king of curses, even if it's for longer than a day. He's got you trained by his hand, somehow, yearning for his touch as though you'll crumble to pieces without it.

But the second you reunite, he has your thighs pressed up with your knees to your ears, hunched over your quivering bare frame, your stomach and legs already coated with three layers of your own fluid. He works his dick into you like it's the last time he ever will, slamming into the warmth of your sloppy pussy as you clench around him helplessly.

You’re whining, begging for more though you've already been given so much, your pretty eyes a fucked out daze as you stare up at him behind low lids, pretty lips parted and slick with his spit. He missed this. He missed seeing you ruined for him, seeing you lay back and struggle to take his fat cook as he bullies it into you with no remorse, feral for impossibly deeper access. And hell, he’d never say it, but he missed you. Your pretty face, your sounds, the smell of your sweet sweat and juices invading Sukuna's senses that are absolutely mouthwatering.

"You keep tryin' to keep this filthy cunt away from me, huh?" he pants, watching as your body rocks back and forth wildly against the mattress. "Fucking shameful. You know you can never take her from me, so I'm not sure why you continue to try..."

"M-n-not," you gasp, your words hardly audible as they melt into the plethora of pathetic moans that string from your swollen lips.

Sukuna presses himself down against you, bare chest to your tits as he fucks you into pace, his lips turning to your ear. "No?" he grunts, pulling back to blow harshly into you, his thick length ramming against your walls and nudging that sweet spot inside you over and over. You cry, clinging to his back and digging your nails into his tatted skin. "Then why the fuck didn't you come home when your king demanded?"

"Pl-hah-pleaseee, k-kuna- nghhh- was with my-my parents," you babble.

"You were with your parents," he repeats mockingly. "Do you think I care for something so unimportant? I called for you. Not your parents."

His hips thrust harshly with the gruff groan of his voice, and he feels your puffy, greedy walls tighten around him.

"Oh? This pussy loves being punished, doesn't it?" he smirks against you. "You're such a fucking whore for my cock, aren't you?"

"Mmmm!"

Sukuna rips himself back, reaching down to clench his thick fingers around your throat. Your jaw hangs open, eyes threatening to roll into the back of your head while his other hand claws at the plush of your damp thigh. "Answer me properly, brat," he hisses. "Use your fucking mouth."

"Y-Yesss!"

"Yes what?"

"M'a whore for your cock, Kuna! Only for you, all for you," you whimper, tears streaming down your pretty face.

"Fuck, I fucking know you are." He spears his dick into, rough, deep, heavy thrusts as the sound of your arousal squelches around him. He looks down, watching with a twisted grin as you coat him in a creamy white ring. "How the hell could you think to hold out on me like this, peach? She'so fuckin' loud."

"S'all yours," you whimper, and Sukuna squeezes harder at your throat, leaning in to brush his lips over your gaping mouth.

"I know that, I don't need you fuckin' telling me," he growls. "All mine. You're mine. You belong to me. You’re not going anywhere else without me. Don’t you even think about it.”

And you're nodding dumbly, eyes barely open.

"You better look at me, girl," he demands, and you snap your eyes back open to peer into his consuming, lust-filled stare. He smiles deviously. "Yeahhh. Keep looking at me while I fuck you stupid."

"Goddd, it's so good..! So good, feel'so good," you slur. Sukuna hums, eying every detail of your face as you curl your brows and moan beautifully into his mouth.

"Fucking gorgeous slut," he grunts. "You better not fucking leave me again, brat, you better fucking not. You've got a lot of nerve, thinking you can take this pussy away from me. You do it again, and I will break you."

"Y'already breaking me- ah fuck!" you cry, screwing your eyes shut the moment his tip brushes your cervix. His hand around your throat moves to grip your cheeks. He pulls you up to his face, smearing a hot kiss against your squished lips, then grabs your hips harshly, plowing into you impossibly faster. "Kuna! Can't! I can't, m'gonna cum again!"

"Yeah? Good. When you do, you're gonna take mine too while I fuck my cum into you. Maybe then that'll make you fucking remember to come to me when I call for you."

The noises coming from your room are obscene. The bed is rocking dangerously against the floor and the wall as Sukuna practically splits you in half, throwing your legs over his shoulders as he traps you beneath him again, sinking his fangs into any patch of skin he can find as you scream out, scratching angry red lines down his well-toned back.

"Mmm, that's right. Keep screaming' for me. Take it like a good fucking slut."

He's filthy, balls smacking against your ass as he seeks your release, and he can feel you clenching tighter and tighter. He groans, pushing in deeper, pressing into you harder.

"Oh shit, please- m'cumming, m'cumming, please let me cum!" you beg, trembling beneath him.

"Fucking do it. Cum all over this cock, peach."

You curl into him, face falling into a mute moan as your eyes disappear into your skull and you rub up into Sukuna. His hand flies to your arched back, holding you against him as he pumps you full, riding out your high until his hot load shoots into your dripping heat soon after, painting you white.

There's so much of it, too. It seems to never end as it drips from where you're connected and runs down your legs. Sukuna growls out animalistic sounds, biting hard into your neck and burrowing his nose in your shoulder as he continues his pace, slowly, then back to a normal space.

You jerk against him, trying to push away. "Oh fuck! N-no, Sukuna, ple- hah! Please, I can't! Too much!"

"Shut the fuck up," he demands, lifting up to slap a hand over your mouth. Your dizzy eyes stare at him widely as he works his cum back into you with his hefty strokes. He exhales harshly, brows angling. "I told you I wasn't letting you leave. You left me, now I expect you to make up for it." 

Yeah… he sure did miss you alright.

[writersdrug]

Just thinking bout how bartender!simon would react to to someone leaving their number with a tip for the reader. Just imagine he’s going through the tips at the end of the night and sees a ripped piece of paper with a lil note and number scrawled on it clearly meant for her👀

You must not have seen it - otherwise, you would have pranced over to the bar and gloated about yet another phone number. This one catches him off guard since you hadn't announced it.

It's alright, though. You and Ghost had worked out a system for cock-sure customers like this one. It acted as a coping mechanism for Simon, letting his frustration towards your universal attractiveness out - you thought it was just a fun way to cock block them, and assumed Simon thought the same.

At the end of your shift, you sit at the bar, Simon leaning over it and his phone between the two of you. He texts the number with a general "hi, it's me from the bar :)". He lets you send a few lines to the guy - you atart off simple, slowly sending more and more off-the-rails comments, like "What kind of car do you have? I had to sell mine so the police wouldn't trace me back to the crime." Or "I'm actually under a contract here. I owe the bartender a favor for getting rid of my ex-husband. I can't quit until I'm sixty."

After you've had your fun, and the bar begins to wind down for the night, you head home and leave the rest of the conversation in his hands. He scrolls through what you've said so far, chuckling at the strangeness in your creativity. He then sends his own series of texts. "If you treat me nice, I can show you where I hide the bodies." "Oh, I can't eat at Sevvy's anymore - I got banned after the incident." "Did you know that it's relatively easy to kill someone by breaking their nose? Well, that one guy was easy. Maybe everyone's different."

It's not too long after that when his messages stop going out, and a notification generates on his screen, saying "this number has blocked you." Simon considers it a success.

In the office upstairs, all of the receipts with mobile numbers scribbled on them are pinned to the corkboard by the monitors. Price gives it a disapproving look every time he sees it, but he only becomes impressed with how quickly they begin to take up space on the board. Every Saturday afternoon, before the pub opens, you and Soap go up there and choose a victim at random. He enters the number into several spam websites, like job recruiters or the farmers almanac. Goes on something like "Roommate Finder" and replies to a bunch of postings with the number.

When Price decides to comment on it, Soap gives him a shrug. "Should ne'er have left 'is contact information in a public area."

[bkgml]

MORE EX BF BAKUGO STUFFS PLSSSSSS

actually my fav trope it’s an illness 🙈

*incoming call from kirishima*

is the notification lighting up your screen.

it’s 3am, is what the clock is telling you as you crack an eye open while groaning.

“fuck.” you whine as you grab your phone, sliding your thumb to the answer button.

“hello?” you croak, still tired from sleep.

you hear an uneasy sigh from the other line.

“uhm. hey yn. it’s kirishima.” he says.

you can hear the urgency in his voice even though he’s desperately trying to hide it.

“hi kirishima. why are you calling me?” you say as politely as you can for it being 3 in the morning.

“i know it’s late, i’m sorry. bakugou got in an accident, it’s bad.” he says and your heart drops.

“that sucks, i’m sorry. we’re broken up though. so uh… what does this have to with me?” you ask timidly.

“is that her? let me fucking talk to her!” you hear the voice of your ex boyfriend in the background.

“i don’t want to talk to him.” you say calmly.

you hear a sigh from the other end followed by a ‘hang on’.

“i know. the situation is complicated though, can you let me explain?” he asks and you can hear the pleads in his tone.

you pause before speaking.

“…alright fine.” you breathe.

“thanks. bakugou man im going in the bathroom for a second!” he calls to katsuki.

you hear rustling and shouting before the click of a doorknob.

“okay. he needs you.” he says slowly, cautiously.

“kirishima-“ you frown.

“i know.” he cuts in.

“we got attacked by villains today and he got hit with a memory loss quirk.”

“so… what does he remember?” you whisper.

“pretty much everything important. except…”

you stay silent while you wait in anticipation for his response.

“the breakup.”

your breath hitches.

“kirishima, open the fucking door! i need to talk to her!”

you can hear the pounding.

the pounding on the door.

along with the pounding of your heart in your ears.

“yn. he needs you. i know this is awful to ask of you. we don’t know how long this will last and in his mind, the love of his life is refusing to see him after he’s been injured. please come. please.”

the pounding continues.

“yn! baby, can you hear me? what did i do?? just let me talk to you. kirishima let me talk to her!”

he’s pleading through the door. like he was on your last night together.

“fuck. fine. i’ll be there in ten but i want all of you to delete my number after this.” you say as you rip the covers off your body in annoyance.

you walk up the stairs of your ex boyfriends apartment building, where you left your heart six months ago.

you knock on the door and kirishima half opens it, restricting you from bakugou.

“hey. thank you for this.” he says, quietly.

you switch your weight on your feet and glance at you hands.

“yeah… what do i need to do exactly?” you sigh.

kirishima clears his throat awkwardly.

“well. knowing him he will probably kick me out so it’ll just be the two of you. since he has no memory he’ll probably act however he would after a fight with you.” he replies.

“so he’s going to kiss and hug me?” you frown, raking a hand through your hair.

kirishima sighs before the two of you hear loud footsteps, barreling towards you.

“baby?! hey, what did i do? hm? come inside.” bakugou mumbles out, reaching for your arms.

you smile weakly before you’re being pulled into the apartment by your wrist.

he brings the two of you to sit on the couch and you look at kirishima.

“act natural!” he mouths to you.

“hey, suki.” you softly say, nickname foreign on your tongue.

“did we get in a fight?” he asks.

you gulp, playing with your fingers.

“yeah. kind of.” you reply.

he huffs to himself.

“i cant fucking remember. i still cant. damn quirk should’ve worn off by now.” he glares at his coffee table, arms crossed.

you hesitate but eventually place your hand on his back, rubbing comforting circles into his skin.

he looks at you softly.

“can we fight tomorrow when i remember? just wanna sleep with you.” he whispers, frown present on his face.

you sigh, taking a moment to think to yourself.

“okay, katsuki.” you smile wearily.

he leans forward to press soft kisses to your lips.

you exhale into the kiss, bringing your hand up to cup his face.

he shift to kiss down your neck before nuzzling into it.

“okay guys, i’m still here.” kirishima says awkwardly.

you laugh lightly and katsuki frowns at him.

“are you stayin over?” katsuki asks. he’s familiar with kirishima needing to stay the night after dangerous missions. his own home seeming too empty and dark.

kirishima nods and katsuki stands from the couch, pulling you with him.

“night.” the boys say to each other as kirishima settles on the couch and katsuki pulls you to his room.

you look behind you and kirishima sends you a comforting smile.

as soon as the door shut behind the two of you, you felt katsukis hands under your arms until he tosses you on his bed.

you laugh lightly, your mind feeding you bittersweet memories of moments just like this one.

katsuki crawls up the bed until he reaches your stomach, flopping down onto you and burying his face into your shirt.

“hi.” you say sweetly.

soon your shirt is lifted and he’s pressing open mouthed kisses into your skin.

“hi. ‘m sorry we fought. love you.” he mumbles, lifting himself on his forearms and crawling higher up on your body.

you nod. failing to reciprocate his love.

he frowns and sucks the skin under your collarbone.

“love you.” he repeats again, frown on his face.

“kats-.” you whine, voice breaking.

“what’s going on? was our fight bad?” he soothes, rubbing circles into your cheek with his thumb.

you feel your tears bubble over as you nod.

going to wipe your tears before he could see them. he beat you to it, kissing them away then pressing a warm kiss to your temple.

“it’s over now, yeah?” he asks.

you whimper and tuck your face into his neck.

“i want it to be but when your memory comes back you’re gonna leave me again.” you cry, fisting his shirt while tripping over your words.

he shushes you, bringing a hand to the back of your head and scratching your back.

“it’s okay, sweet thing. we’re okay.” he whispers against your neck.

“just go to sleep, yeah?”

you nod hesitantly and katsuki rolls onto his back with you clinging on.

you cuddle up sweetly on his chest and he scratches your back until you drift off.

“are we broken up?” katsuki asks shakily.

kirishima turns to see katsuki standing in the doorway.

“uhhhh. i don’t think you and me were ever together.” kirishima laughs uncomfortably.

“you know what i fucking mean.”

kirishima groans, dragging a hand down his face.

“i’m trying to stay out of this.” he frowns.

bakugou clenches his fists.

“i deserve to know.”

“katsuki?” you call from the bedroom.

“you’re telling me tomorrow.” he frowns at kirishima.

kirishima nods in reply and katsuki walks back into the bedroom.

“hi sweets.” he smiles, climbing into bed with you and kissing your neck.

you scratch at the base of his hairline in appreciation.

“why’d you go?” you ask softly.

he knows you’re trying not to sound scared.

even though you both know you were a little tense.

“my memory’s still gone.” he smiles, giving you soft kisses.

“just needed some water.” he says against your lips.

“mmm.” you hum into the kiss, relief washing over you.

“let’s lay down, yeah?”

“let’s lay down, yeah?”

“i cant.” you sputter, gasping through sobs.

his hands are on your face, wiping your tears with his thumbs.

you shake your head while stepping back, using your hands to push at his chest.

“baby.” he reasons.

“you can’t call me that.” you whine.

“i love you so much, just sleep here with me.” he pleads.

you wrap your hands around his wrists and tug his hand from your face harshly.

“is that you talking? or the commission?” you say coldly.

his face turns solemn, allowing his arms to drop.

“i just want you to be safe.” he whispers.

you fist his shirt.

“you keep me safe.” you cry, tears flowing freely.

he wraps his arms around you, tightly.

“the commission doesn’t think so, sweets.” he replies, his own eyes filling with tears.

you watch as the love of your life’s memory comes back.

and he watches while yours fill with tears.

you grab onto his shirt with the tightest grip you can muster.

“please don’t go, katsu.” you whimper.

his face morphs into the familiar face that plagues your dreams.

“no.” you plead.

“no. no. no.”

he drops his head so his face is in your neck.

“i need you safe. you’re not safe when you’re with me.” you feel tears on your neck.

“i don’t wanna be safe. i want you.”

he brings his head up to look at you.

“i want you too.” you smile through your tears at his words.

he kisses your cheeks softly.

“but we can’t be together, baby. at least not for now.” he says, pressing his forehead to yours.

the two of your cry together, entangled in each others embraces.

until you fall asleep, dried tears on your faces and his lips on your forehead.

part 2

[peeweekey]

super graphic ultra-modern girl like me!

pairing: haley x reader

wc: 2k

tags: mature (NOT explicit) , closeted lesbian haley , both of you are drunk , making out

synopsis: where sharing lipstick with your best friend haley makes you feel… things.

a/n: reader: oh ho ho, i sure hope kissing my bff doesnt awaken anything in me! (it did)

i wrote this listening to super graphic ultra modern girl by chappel roan! haley fits so many of her songs its insane

your head is aching, spinning like you were sent to another dimension that consists of disco flashing lights and the nauseating smell of spilt vodka—all thanks to the sheer amount of alcohol you consumed in the past 5 hours. it’s pushing 3 AM—the strappy 4 inch heels are chafing your feet, the skimpy skirt clinging to your hips ride up in a way that would scandalize the small village mothers, and body glitter covering every inch of your skin. 

you feel light, weightless as you flutter and float through the rhythmic bass engulfing the club. you nod your head to the beat of the music, swaying your hips that loosen with every sip of the sweet alcoholic drink in your hand. 

you’re bouncing up and down to party rock anthem when your phone buzzes. fishing it out of your pocket, you squint your eyes to make out the notification. you bow your head, trying to make out the message over the flashing lights.

an amused laugh bubbles out of you. haley.

—> go 2 thr bathroon rn

—> hurry or else

you turn and wobble out of the middle of the dance floor, swaying to the beat while maneuvering the sea of sweaty bodies. the bathroom is in an isolated corner by the entrance of the club. you push the door open, stumbling slightly when it takes a little less effort than you expect.

you enter the club bathroom, shutting the ornate door behind you. it slams with a resounding slam, dampening the loud candy pop songs blaring through the party outside. 

your heels click against cool marble as you saunter to the long, seemingly endless, stretch of mirrors and faucets. twisting the knob, a rush of tap water flows freely; it contrasts satisfyingly with the heated skin of your hands. you wet your fingers, dabbing your cheeks and neck with cool water. you sigh, shivering with the instant relief it brings.

as you cool yourself off, you think—you do wonder what haley’s predicament is, she texted you with much urgency. 

perhaps she fell into the toilet—or maybe she’s drunk herself to the point of spewing her guts out in one of these very cubicles. the latter though makes you giggle. a notification buzzes from your phone, as if the sound of your laughter summoned it.

—> idiot

—> i can hear u laughing from here

you snort.

suddenly, without warning, you feel a warm hand pull you into a stall. it’s a sudden jerking motion, and you almost lose your balance to fall flat on your face. a gasp rips out of you as you clutch on to the very warm, very soft thing that keeps you from falling and twisting your ankle. before you even register the situation, you’re being dragged in to sit on the closed lid of the toilet. 

you’re frazzled, knocked off balance by a rude and very disrespectful stranger who obviously has no morals. you feel your blood boil, ruthless insults ready at the tip of your tongue—

—then you look up, and that feeling dissipates. instead, a cheshire grin splits your face, “haley.”

she’s the living breathing stereotype of a wild party girl like this; blonde hair in waves down her back that smells sweetly of strawberries, nails buffed and painted a pretty baby blue, and make-up done up to the absolute nines. her sequin skirt sparkles and winks as she shifts. pretty, you’ll ask if you could borrow it next time—

manicured fingers snap and you’re pushed out of your own thoughts. haley crosses her arms, standing in between your thighs, looking down at you with a displeased expression. “took you long enough.”

you offer a sheepish smile. “i was busy.”

“yeah,” she sneers, locking the stall door behind her. “busy shaking your ass to trashy zuzu club songs.” 

you ignore the sharp jab with a roll of your eyes. “what’s up?” you ask, your words slur slightly, almost tapering off into incomprehensible gibberish. “didya you puke or something?”

“ew. no,”the loud is just making my head hurt,” she replies, massaging her temples. “stick your legs together, i’m gonna sit on your lap.”

she knocks your thighs together with her knee. haley maneuvers you to her liking, your bare thighs pressing together when she spins and sits perpendicular to your lap.

“hm.” you feel the weight of her settle on top of your thighs. the warmth of her skin meeting yours under the cut of her skirt. you barely repress a shiver at the heat radiating off her skin. “woah! okay now you really have to tell me what’s going on.”

you're met with a faceful of strawberry-scented blonde hair when she shifts away—ignoring you. good news for her, your drink-addled brain doesn’t seem to care. in fact, your drunk brain figures it is a perfect time to shamelessly flirt. your tongue is loose enough, and your brain has completely thrown away its filter. as friends, of course; building camaraderie as people say.

“you smell nice, did you use that strawberry shampoo i gave?” you murmur, brushing the locks away from your face. you feel haley squirm in your lap. you know she used it, the pride bubbles up in you at the thought. 

it’s overly warm, that plus the buttloads of alcohol brewing in your gut makes your skin feel on fire. 

haley growls. “stop talking, dumbass.”

you roll your eyes, pinching her thigh. she yelps, high and breathy, swatting your hand away. she meets your eyes, her blonde brows furrowed.

“geez…” a lazy smile playing on your lips. “just take the compliment, hales.”

a ghost of a smirk appears on her cherry colored lips. glossy and pink. you wonder if they taste as sweet and tart as real cherries do—

you wince internally. thinking like that is not a good idea. damn your alcohol foggy brain, making you think of the inane idea of lusting after your best friend. 

you knock your forehead into her shoulder. “so are we just going to sit here all day?”

“i just need to touch up my lipstick,” she says. facing you with an expectant look. “then we can go back.”

“and that’s why you called me,” you raise a brow. your gaze trails to the cherry coat on her lips—it looks perfectly fine to you. in fact, she looks absolutely darling like this. 

“you need some?”

“…are you offering?”

“why not? we share all my shit anyway,” you shrug. “i think it’s somewhere in my purse—”

“where’s your purse?”

“i left it with the others, i think it’s with abby, i'll text her.” you say. fumbling for your phone, you reach in the hidden pocket of your skirt. the walls enclosing the cubicle restrict your movements; you bump your elbow against the flimsy wood as you dig deeper into the flimsy pocket. your skirt is skin-tight against your hips, you feel the woman above becoming increasingly agitated as your attempts to fish out your phone come out fruitless.

haley huffs above you, shifting; making your wary gaze snap back to her. she looks down at you with a pout—you’re damn sure she’s just as hammered as you.

“too far,” she whines, taking a firm grip of your jaw. your cheeks puff with the force of her squishing them, you feel the pointed tips of her nails digging into the fat there. she swings a leg over you, her hips bracketing your waist as she sits atop you. 

this position feels strangely intimate; like all your senses are overwhelmed with only haley. the heady scent of her skin, the short sounds of her breathing in your ears, the burning feeling wherever she touches—it’s all her, her, her.

which shouldn’t make you feel the way it’s making you feel; like you're buzzing with adrenaline. you feel the blood coursing through your veins at race car speeds—spreading all throughout your body. your cheeks feel hot, you feel dizzy with all your senses stimulated by your best friend.

the reverberating bass from the music outside shakes the walls; like some sort of finality as it thumps, thumps, thumps.

“hales,” you start, your mouth dry. “what—”

she stares at you, her crystalline eyes shining in the dim light of the bathroom. a pretty pink flush paints her cheeks til the tips of her pearl-adorned ears. you feel her breaths against your cheek—short and warm. “stay still, the gloss you have on your lips will do.”

your ears have to be fucking with you… your eyes widen and you swear you feel your heart jump up into your throat. “huh—”

“what?” she says in response to your wide-eyed expression. her tone drops to something akin to a purr. “your lipstick is such a pretty shade.”

helping is what friends are for, right? maybe this is merely the alcohol talking; because she doesn’t like you like that, totally—and the disappointment you feel is not because of that either. 

you swallow the heavy lump in your throat; your voice is strangled and stuttery when you speak. “f—fine.”

“perfect,” she grins. “hold still.”

this is the least you were expecting when you walked into the club bathroom; who knew you’d end up with haley in your lap and hovering over for what is technically a kiss. you will your eyes not to close, burning the view of her leaning over you into your brain. you shudder; this is not a sight that will leave you for months to come.

you squeeze her hip as her face hovers closer, palm lingering at her scratchy sequin miniskirt. you crane your neck, anticipating the brush of her lips against yours. your other hand travels to her upper back, stroking her locks of golden hair; under your ministrations, you feel her tremor slightly.

it feels like eternity when you finally connect. 

sparks fly the moment you feel the plush softness of her mouth against yours, moving in a salacious rhythm that you doubt is for only sharing lipstick. 

her lips are sticky with what remains of that cherry lip gloss; it smears all over your own lips, spreading your deep red lipstick everywhere; at the corner of your lips, at your chin. your eyes flutter shut, a contented sigh escapes your mouth and haley uses that as an opportunity to deepen the kiss. she drags her hand up and up, curling her fingers into the base of your neck.

you jolt, the pleasure fogs your mind; your thoughts are muddy, the only coherent thing is of haley. 

your tongue swipes at her bottom lip, chasing the fruity flavor of cherry cola on her lips. it’s sweet, she’s sweet. you feel lightheaded with the overwhelming sensations of it. sure, you’ve kissed once or twice—but it never felt like this; soft and desperate and hot and tingly, affecting you all throughout your body. 

your breaths are labored when she pulls away and you feel it's too soon. a clicking wet sound when her mouth disconnects from yours that makes you shiver. you feel dizzy with warmth; heat is pooling low in your belly, a low buzzing sensation overwhelms everywhere haley touches. 

her lips as wine-red as yours. the same color lipstick smeared messily on her lips. haley wipes the corner of your cupid’s bow, where some of the color had smudged, her breathing heavy and pupils dilated as you stare. her hands feel delightfully warm and soft against your skin. golden strands of hair brush against your cheeks, making you squirm in your seat.

you can barely restrain your delighted giggle, in awe of the absurdity of the situation. haley laughs too, a light sound like a tinkling bell. you slump against the cold tile wall behind you, boneless and in disbelief— did you really just make out with your best friend? and at a grimy club bathroom no less.

time seems suspended here, cramped in a stall with only the sound of heavy breathing. there will be a lot more questions when you leave, lingering glances at your pleasure-pulled hair and smeared lipstick. 

this is what friends do, what you and haley do. your eyes track her every move, unabashedly staring as she readjusts her top. haley catches your eye, smiling like the cat that got all the cream. 

she cranes her face to your ear, whispering. “thanks for the touch up, babe.”

[angels-fantasy]

Top-Secret Fiction Ch. 1

Date Scored

Katsuki Bakugou x Reader

Description: After meeting the one and only pro hero Dynamight on a dating app, you two begin to see each other. Because of the dangers that come with his hero work, you both promise to be completely honest with each other from the beginning; though you can't help but keep one big secret from him.

You write fan fiction, mostly about him.

Chapter Details: This story is honestly mostly fluff, some crack fic elements lol, lowkey fast pacing but IM IMPATIENT LOL sorry

Word Count: 1.2k

It was a Tuesday night when you were on your computer, logged into HeroFiction.com and typing away at a new fan fiction you promised your readers.

You had been writing fan fiction as a hobby for about three years now and over time quickly began gaining followers. Now, you had almost four thousand readers that loved your work.

At first you wrote for a variety of heroes, until Dynamight started becoming really popular. You didn't see the hype in the beginning. He was so rude and destructive, why would you write about him?

Your mind didn't change for a while until you saw a video of him getting interviewed after taking down a villain. He was as rude as ever of course, but his face was covered in soot and his hero costume was ripped, showing his chest and arms. Watching that video made you realize how hot he actually was.

That was the moment you decided to start writing for him.

He quickly became a favorite among your readers, so you kept writing for him. It seemed as the more you wrote for him, the more you liked him. He was suddenly your favorite pro hero.

Now, you focused every piece of writing on him. It worked out perfectly for you. You and your readers loved it, it was a win-win.

So now as you were thinking of what to write next, your phone buzzed next to your thigh, breaking you out of your thoughts.

You grabbed your phone and looked at your new notification, seeing it was from the dating app you recently downloaded.

Now curious, you opened up the app to see what the notification was. It appeared to be a message from a recent match.

Hey sexy. Meet up 2night 👀?

Face curling up in disgust, you blocked the person and deleted the message. It seemed as if everyone on that app was just looking for a hookup, and not something long term.

Maybe it was foolish for you to think you'd find something serious on the app, but it didn't hurt to try right?

You closed your laptop, making sure to save your work, and began swiping through profiles on the app.

You continued swiping left for who knows how long, until you came across a profile claiming to be Dynamight.

Sitting up in bed quickly, you looked at the profile closely and read through it.

Katsuki Bakugou, 30

Pro hero. No, I'm not hooking up with you. Yes, I'm fucking real.

It was short and not so sweet, but it didn't seem fake. You swiped through his pictures. The first one was of him and other pro heroes dressed in their hero costumes. The second was a picture of him, flexing in the mirror, and the third was a selfie of him and a german shepherd outside.

Maybe you were being way too optimistic, but you really believed that this could be him. If it was, then you hoped that somehow he'd match with you. If it wasn't real, then it wouldn't be an issue, but you would be disappointed.

Feeling brave, you decided to swipe right.

It's a Match!

You never gasped so loud in your life. If it was already a match, then that meant he had to have swiped right on you before right? You bit your nails as your heart raced in excitement, wondering what you should even say to him now that you were matched.

But what if he wasn't even real? You'd just be embarrassing yourself by believing that Dynamight of all people, would be on a dating app and actually matching with you. This could be some horrible person messing with people, trying to humiliate them.

Now discouraged by your own thoughts, you just shook your head and closed the app.

Buzz.

Katsuki Bakugou: Hey

Your eyes widened and your eyebrows raised so high up they could probably touch your hairline.

"Oh my word!" You cried while gripping your phone. You opened the app once again and tapped on the new message, typing your own.

Me: Hello!

Me: I'm sorry but I just have to ask. Are you actually Dynamight?

You chewed on your fingers nervously as you watched the text bubble pop up, a message eventually following it.

Katsuki Bakugou: Yes I'm real. I can prove it to ya if you need me to. Idk how but I will.

You hummed out loud, thinking of what he could do to prove he's real.

Me: Uhh could you send a pic of yourself with a spoon on your nose?

Katsuki Bakugou: That's what you came up with?

Me: That's the only specific thing I could think of!

Katsuki Bakugou: Yeah yeah

Katsuki Bakugou: [image attachment]

Opening the picture, you saw exactly what you asked for. It was Dynamight with a damn spoon on his nose.

You threw your phone across your bedroom and shoved your face in your pillow, screaming in excitement.

"Holy shit." You said in disbelief, "I'm actually talking to Dynamight."

You got up out of bed and picked your phone up off the floor.

Me: Oh my word you're actually real

Me: Thanks for the pic lol sorry you had to do that

Katsuki Bakugou: It's fine. I get why you'd think otherwise so that's why I agreed to it.

Me: Well thanks again

Me: Anyways, can I ask why you're on here? Most people I've come across so far are only looking for one thing. If that's you then no judgement here.

Katsuki Bakugou: Someone I know recommended it to me. And nah that's not me. Being a pro hero and one night stands do not mix well.

Me: Understandable. I'm no pro hero, but I'm on here for something more serious you know? Even just finding friends would be nice.

You cringed at how pathetic you sounded and sent another text.

Me: Sorry, didn't mean to get sappy there lol.

Katsuki Bakugou: You're good. But I feel the same about wanting something more serious. Sucks that almost everyone on here is just a horny bastard.

Damn, who knew Dynamight was so relatable?

Right when you were typing a new message, another one from Dynamight came in.

Katsuki Bakugou: But anyways, when are you free? I wanna take you out.

Katsuki Bakugou: If you want me to, obviously.

You squealed at the message, kicking your feet in excitement. It was kind of surprising that he asked you out so early, but just from what you know about him and his personality, it wasn't out of character. Fast and straight to the point.

You bit your bottom lip as you typed up your response.

Me: Of course, I'd love to! I'm free this weekend.

Katsuki Bakugou: Alright, I'll pick you up Saturday at 5:30 pm.

Me: What do I wear?? Pls tell me where we're going.

Katsuki Bakugou: Can't. It's a surprise. I'll tell you what to wear the day of.

Me: Okay...

Katsuki Bakugou: Don't back out now.

You grinned and held your phone against your chest. You couldn't believe you scored a date with your favorite hero.

Suddenly, your cat jumped up onto your bed and in your lap. You gasped and picked him up, carrying him in front of your face.

"Hey Cheerios." You cooed, "I'm going on a date with Dynamight!"

"Meow"

...

next chapter

authors note

i hope you enjoyed the first chapter of Top Secret Fiction lol. this is my first multi-chapter fic so i'm a little nervous, but i think it's okay so far! pls let me know what you think 😊

also, if you noticed that bakugou seems to be a bit more mellow here, its bc he's older in this fic and i just imagine him as being a bit more calm as an adult.

btw sorry if the fast pace isn't something you like. i'm impatient lol

love ya!

taglist: @doumadono @lovra974 @54fangirl @andysdrafts @dagger-dragger @l4rsun1vrrse @emmab3mma @littlkittenfan @tatiquichi @cloudxluv @seonne @shonen-brainrot @the2ndl

those in pink cannot be tagged for some reason!

[absurdthirst]

Fucking Fungus {Joel Miller x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: SEX POLLEN, dub con, post apocalyptic world, scavenging, guilt, shame, desire, Joel having a bad attitude, mentions of periods, rough sex, neediness, unprotected sex, cream pie

Comments: Coming across Wymore, NE, you hoped to find some much needed supplies for the coming winter but you find that the fungus has mutated in dangerous and frightening ways. Needing to insure that there are more hosts to infect in a very basic kind of way.

🎊🎉🎊🎉🎊🎉Happy Birthday @storiesofthefandomlovers!!!! I love you and hope you have the best damn day! In thotty tradition, here is a sex pollen to celebrate another year around the sun!🎊🎉🎊🎉🎊���

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Joel Miller MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

The world has changed in the past twenty years. None of it for the betterment of humanity. The crunch of the dried leaves grinds under your boots and your head rotates left and then right as you watch, listen. Waiting for any sign of life or more importantly, danger. The weight of your rifle is heavy in your hands, although you hold it down, unassuming but ready to be lifted at a second’s notice. 

“I don’t know why you don’t just hook it over your shoulder.” Ellie snorts, her backpack bouncing slightly on her back from the steps that seem so unencumbered by worry. Why should she worry when there are two fully armed adults on either side of her. Her own personal guard in a manner of speaking. “There hasn’t been anything out here for daaaaaays.” She drags the word out like it's the most horrible thing in the world that it’s been peaceful. 

Joel snorts, rolling his eyes as you glance over at him and then look back out at the surrounding terrain. “Yeah, that’s why we are on guard.” He grunts, even though his own rifle is on his shoulder. His hand gripped the shoulder sling loosely but he had only just put it up there half an hour ago after you had taken your turn relaxing as much as you can. “it’s too fucking quiet.” 

He’s right. After the disasters that had been Kansas City, you had tried to avoid major cities, but even in the small towns, you had come across plenty of cordyceps and clickers. You hate the clickers with a passion.

The isolation can account for a lot of the silence. Miles stretching between remnants of civilization. The crumbling buildings and overgrown roads give the entire midwest a sense of peace. It’s unnerving. 

Your grip adjusts, head rolling around your shoulders slightly to try to loosen the knot that builds up in your shoulders after so long. The weight of your pack isn’t as heavy as it should be, the rations not exactly filling since you had to escape that one clicker in Du Bois, Nebraska. Your pack had been ripped and most of the food you had been carrying was lost. 

You glance over at Joel, noticing the way his shoulders seem to hang, almost a reflection of the way you feel. “We need to risk a larger town.” You murmur quietly, knowing that his first instinct will be to argue with you. You stumble slightly over a rock and hiss when you feel the hole in the sole of your boots. 

“Too dangerous.” Joel snorts, shaking his head even as he watches you regain your footing. “I’ve got some duct tape in my bag.” He reminds you, knowing that you should probably reinforce that shoe before you lose the sole all together. 

“It’s not just shoes.” You protest, trying to ignore the way that Ellie groans obnoxiously loud and stomps her foot. 

“Come on, man!” She throws her own arguments into the ring. “I need tampons! We could find them if there was jack shit out here, but there’s not. Do you want me to attract wild animals?” She presses, glaring at Joel who looks equal parts horrified and unconvinced. She cracks an evil grin. “Circling us in the wild as I just leave behind a trail of blood? Aaaaand tears.” She adds, lifting her brows. “Periods are really emotional things.” 

Biting your lip to keep from snorting, you watch as Joel; normally stoic, no bullshit Joel, can’t seem to string together the words to respond. His eyes slide over to you, almost pleading with you to say something. 

Your brows lift in question and he twitches slightly, his dark eyes unhappy with you not immediately jumping in to save him. “We could use the food if we can find any.” You rationalize, smirking when his brows pinch together and he looks like he had just been betrayed. 

“Clean underwear!” Ellie adds. “Or….cleaner. And a heavier fucking coat.” She shivers slightly and you can see that is the moment when Joel caves. He acts like a prick most of the time, but he’s got a soft spot for the kid. He won’t admit, maybe not even to himself, but he looks over at the faded and nearly rusted out sign. 

You continue walking, not pressing any more and you can hear the grumbling thoughts that are rolling through Joel’s mind. The now half hearted protests about why this is such a bad idea but you wait for the sigh. 

Almost even with the sign is when it comes, heavy and it sounds almost pained. Like he is going against everything he believes in. “Stop.” He huffs, shuffling to pull his bag off his back and kneeling down with a groan and the small pops of fifty plus year old knees. Unzipping the pocket where he keeps the Atlas and flips the worn pages to Nebraska. Glancing back at the road behind you and then at the sign before looking at the map. Tracing the route that you had already traveled before looking ahead at the towns that were on highway 77. 

Ellie doesn’t say a word but she practically bounces on her toes as she waits for his decision. You know that he’s going to agree, it’s just a matter of which town he chooses. He knows the truth of the situation. Winter is going to come quicker than any of you want, your food supply is low, you could probably all use a new set of boots, and all of you would kill for a halfway decent musty mattress to sleep on. Four walls and a hopefully non-leaking roof over your heads would be the icing on the cake. 

“Wymore is coming up in fifty-eight miles.” He taps the map and looks up at you to see what you think. 

Ellie shuffles slightly and instead of grinning, you crane your neck to look at the map yourself. “It looks like it’s bigger than the last few towns, but at least it’s not like we are running into Lincoln.” You hum before you nod. “I say we try.”

“Yessssss!” The teenager pumps her fist in excitement and she grins when Joel rolls his eyes. You’ve noticed that like any normal teenager, her favorite activity is annoying any kind of parental unit and pushing boundaries. This applies to Joel whether or not he likes it. “I want to find another joke book too.” 

Joel groans but you just turn around, grinning yourself as Joel mumbles under his breath, stuffing the map back in his pack and zipping it up. Joel and Ellie are alike in a lot of ways, especially their penchant for mumbling. 

You resist the urge to offer him a hand up, knowing he will be even more pissy if you do. For someone who complains about being older, he gets downright grouchy when he’s reminded of that same fact. “Well then, the quicker we get there, the quicker we don’t have to hear ‘are we there yet?’.” You snort, making Ellie grin shamelessly as she shrugs, knowing she will do exactly that. 

“So let’s get going.” She doesn’t wait for anyone, just setting off down the road and leaving the two of you to catch up with her. 

****

It takes you nearly three days to get to Wymore. All of you are tired, but Joel is the one who barely sleeps, even when you force him to lay down. It’s as if he cannot stop trying to protect Ellie, and also you, long enough for him to rest. He gets upset when he has to sleep, staying up until he is nodding off. The coffee supply has been exhausted and it’s probably a good thing. He would drink it all day to the point where his hands would shake from too much caffeine. Still he just wouldn’t trust you to make sure that no one snuck up on you for a few hours until he was past the point of being useless. 

The first signs of the town are a welcomed relief but it’s also an added source of tension. Each mile that you had traveled had added to the fear that this might be the time that you fail. That something goes wrong and someone else dies. The road here has not been easy and the losses have weighed heavily on all of you. Joel still won’t even mention Tess and you hate it when you wake up in the early morning hours to find him staring down at the broken face of his watch with a look that breaks your heart. 

Every approach into a new area can mean danger, either from the clickers or from humans and honestly you don’t know which one you fear more. Your gun is back in your hand, the weight of it familiar and comforting as you pass the first gas station, the windows busted out and dried fungus clinging to the building. 

“Fuck.” You hiss, uneasy at the presence of the fungal vines, even if they look like they aren’t active.

“I wonder why it looks pink.” Ellie frowns as she squints at the building. “It’s usually an ugly brown color, right?” She looks towards Joel for confirmation, but he’s busy frowning at the building himself. 

“Maybe this isn’t a good idea.” If the cordyceps have spread this far out of town then there’s a possibility there are still active branches closer to the supplies that you are looking for. 

“Come on man.” Ellie groans, kicking a dirt clod. “There’s nothing for miles. It’s probably all dead.” 

You know that Ellie is probably right, but it’s a risk. You bite your lip, looking over at Joel. “Why don’t we sweep the town and we can see?” You ask, knowing that if everything is dead, you could desperately use the rest. Cordyceps rarely return en masse when the vines have withered and died. It could be a safe place to recharge and for Joel to sleep for more than ten minutes at a time. 

You’ve stopped walking as you talk, Joel looking around as he contemplates your alternatives. To be honest, there aren’t many and both of you know it. Not without a lot of backtracking which none of you want to do. 

Joel sighs and you know that he’s going to agree. He turns to Ellie. “Don’t fucking touch anything until we say it’s alright.” He points at her for good measure, as if his finger would impress the importance of his words. “Got it?” 

“Got it.” She huffs. “Jesus, you act like we haven’t done this before.” You roll your eyes and look away, knowing you shouldn’t encourage her right now. 

It takes hours to make your way into the center of town. Not because you are blocked by clickers or avoiding humans, it’s because you are stocking up. It’s like the fungus took over this town and just let it rot. Nothing inside the first few blocks of town is disturbed. No looting has been done here, plenty of supplies to be had. 

Both you and Joel have been cautious but slowly optimistic as you’ve found boots and heavy jackets, gloves and hats. A new pair of clothes have been rolled into everyone’s bags and you’ve even grabbed another pack to fill with the mylar sealed packs of camping food from the sporting goods store. It was a miracle that nothing had been ransacked, but it makes you wonder exactly what the fuck happened here. Did the army sweep through and round up all the residents right away? It would make sense, but then why were there dead spores of the fungus here? You haven’t seen one body so far and it makes you nervous. 

“This place is a fucking gold mine.” Ellie grins like a kid in a candy store, perhaps because you’ve actually found candy and she has been sucking on the jolly ranchers until the top of her mouth is raw. “Now we just need to find a place to sleep. I want my own room.” 

Glancing over at Joel, you expect him to immediately tell her no, but he doesn’t say a word. Continuing to look around like he is expecting a clicker to pop out from the doorway of the local McDonald’s, now completely covered in that strange pink fungus. It’s like he doesn’t even hear her as he frowns at the building. 

She takes that as approval and immediately starts talking about how she’s going to spread out. Making you snort when she talks about sitting in her underwear for an hour. There hasn’t been a lot of privacy out here on the road, so you can understand that desire. 

“Joel.” You murmur his name softly, knowing that the best thing you can do is to find the motel and get settled down for the night before the sun sets. Even if this town is as safe as it appears on the surface, you would rather not be fumbling around in the dark . He doesn’t look over at you, still staring at the overgrown building as if it’s holding the secret. Maybe it reminds him of the Boston Museum, ominously covered with the tentacles of the fungus and the horrors that you had found inside it. “Joel!”

“What?” His head whips around, body tense as he’s ripped out of his thoughts. Relaxing when he finds you and Ellie staring at him. “We need to find the motel.” You remind him, nodding towards the sun getting lower in the sky. “I think we could all use a good night’s sleep.” 

He stares at you for a moment, his eyes searing your face, looking for some hidden meaning beneath your words before he glances over at an eager Ellie. “Yeah, sure.” He agrees, adjusting his rifle to sling it onto his shoulder and adjusts his now much heavier pack on his back. “Probably on the other side of the main drag.” 

His new boots thump against the cracked pavement. The roads leading deeper into the town is the guide towards what will hopefully be a comfortable bed and at least eight hours of sleep. 

Your own new boots feel pretty good, but maybe a day or so here, going through supplies and really making sure that you can take on the coming winter would be a good thing. Allowing you to break in the shoes without blisters. You’ll have to talk about it with Joel after Ellie sequesters herself for the night. 

It’s about another fifteen minutes before you get to the small motel that looks like it will be a good place to spend the night. Half the building is covered in another large cluster of the fungus, the pink hue looking particularly bright in the fading sun. 

“We’ll get some keys.” It will be better than breaking down doors, especially since the motel wasn’t equipped with the keycards that the high end hotels had started switching to before society came crashing down. 

The bad news is that the motel doesn’t have any adjoining rooms, so Joel and Ellie get into a small spat about her having her own room, Ellie eventually winning after promising that she will block the door with a dresser and he’s allowed to sweep the room before she locks herself in. Half the building is so overtaken by the vivid pink fungus that you swear looks like a big splat of bubblegum thrown over the walls. 

She doesn’t even want to have dinner with you and Joel, making the man go through the room and then telling you both goodnight and shutting the door in your face. Making you laugh as Joel frowns at the door, rethinking this entire situation. 

“Well, you can have a room to yourself too.” You offer, smirking as he cuts his eyes towards you. You know that Joel would rather everyone sleep where he can keep his eyes on them, so you getting privacy is off the table. 

“Shut up.” Joel grunts, walking down towards the next room and kicking it open, watchful even though you’ve both already been in the room and deposited your bags. It’s a nice room, two double beds so each one of you can stretch out and relax. 

You laugh quietly and decide to walk down the railing towards the portion of the building that has been overtaken by the fungus. Your curiosity about this variant is finally getting the best of you and you want to get a better look at it. 

It’s thick. The tendril that is draped over the metal railing of the second floor, wrapping around it and up the support column. You bite your lip, tilting your head when you see the withered remnants of some kind of flower. What kind of fungus sprouts flowers?

You jump when something touches your back, whirling around to find Joel behind you, holding his hands up. He smirks at you, his eyes crinkling in amusement. “Fuck you.” You hiss, narrowing your eyes and he huffs. “What are you doing?” He asks. 

Turning back towards the fungus, you sigh. “This is different from any other kind I’ve ever seen.” You comment, stepping closer to it only to feel Joel reach for your arm to pull you back. “It’s dried out.” You remind him, jerking your head towards the husk of the cordyceps. “Have you ever seen anything like this?” You know that he spent a lot of time sneaking out of the Boston QZ, it’s possible he had seen it before. 

He grunts, relaxing his hold on you and he shuffles slightly closer, looking at the flower buds that extend from the tendrils. His own suspicions about anything fungus related is deep, but it’s dried. “I haven’t.” He admits after a moment, narrowing his eyes slightly and trying to think if there is any reason why this pink coloring has the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. 

“So it’s something new.” You bite your lip and lean in, feeling the disapproval radiate off of Joel in hot waves but you ignore him. Tilting your head and reaching out to touch one of the dried flowers. 

“Don’t-”

The second your finger touches the wilted bloom, it bursts open, spurting you and Joel behind you in a cloud of pink dust. You gasp, holding your breath but there’s no hope for not inhaling the pollen. 

“Fuck!” Joel coughs, shaking his head and backing up so quickly he hits the side of the building and reaches out to drag you away from the lingering cloud of dust and starts to practically beat it off the two of you. “We need- we need-” He leans over and starts coughing, obviously having inhaled just as much of it as you had. 

“We’re okay.” You gasp, shaking your head and brushing the dust off your clothes. “We- it’s dead. Right?” You hate that you are asking that, but you hadn’t expected that from a dried out fungus.

“It- we should clean up.” Joel blinks, the pollen making his eyes itch and that has to be the cause of the rush of heat that slides over him. It’s just adrenaline. Fear. Anything that would scare both of you would make the slight nip in the air disappear and make you feel like your skin is superheated.

The water is gravity fed. The large cisterns on the roof are still full and while it’s not warm, perhaps a cold shower might be better right now. Joel drags you both to the room and locks the door, although he doesn’t push a dresser in front of it in case Ellie needs you in the night. 

In the bathroom, you are shaking as you start to strip down, worrying about how stupid you just were and if you completely fucked yourself. The anxious fear covering the way your skin seems to burn and feel so sensitive to everything. Shuddering when your hand brushes over your thigh as you push your jeans down and kick them off before you pull your shirt over your head and remove your bra. 

Clean up. Get the pollen off your skin and cool down. Your body seems to be working on overdrive. Your nipple hard under the cold water and instead of gasping in shock, you moan softly. Enjoying the sensation and reaching for the bar of soap that is still wrapped in plastic. 

Hurry up, hurry up. Joel paces around the room, his hands curled into fists. Practically sweating even though the air is cool as the sun sets. His body feels like it’s on fire, like he is battling a sickness. 

Over and over again, he goes through the symptoms of the infection of the cordyceps, there’s no veining, he’s stopped and checked his eyes and reflection in the peeling mirror about twenty times in the five minutes you’ve been in the bathroom. And he doesn’t fucking think the fungus makes his cock harder than a fucking rock in his jeans. 

He’s not thought about sex in months. Nothing beyond fleeting moments of attraction to you that he swiftly buries under guilt and responsibility. Normally, it is when you’re bent over and your ass is presented to him in such a way that he thinks about sinking into you from behind, or when your shirt pulls tight over your breasts and he imagines cupping them in his hands as you sit on his cock. Immediately dismissed and ignored as he reminds himself of how he had failed Tess, he doesn’t deserve to find warmth and comfort in your arms. 

Now, it’s all he can think about. The urge to palm his cock makes his fingers twitch and he almost moves his hand over his crotch before he flinches back to reality and tries to examine his face in the mirror again, wondering if his eyes are bloodshot from lack of sleep or if he is infected. 

Scrubbing your body is nearly painful, wanting to stop and touch yourself, but you can’t. You need to get this done and get out so Joel can shower. Still, despite the cold water, you feel like you are on fire when you shut off the water and realize that you didn’t bring your bag into the bathroom. You will have to go out there in nothing because you can’t put those clothes back on. Not until they have been washed. 

Moderately dry, you hear Joel bang on the door. “Hurry up.” He growls, making you clench your thighs together at the raspy tone and hating how it spears through you. You know Joel isn’t interested in you, hasn’t ever looked at you like that and the crush that you had on the man had been buried deep. 

“I’m done.” You don’t have a chance to be embarrassed as you open the door and Joel practically shoves past you into the bathroom and slams it behind him. “Fuck.” Your annoyance cools the heat for a moment, but it’s only temporary. 

The water is icy, but still, Joel curls his hands into fists against the shower wall. He’s fucking hard. Harder than he had probably ever been in his entire life, even when he was a horny teenager and would have fucked anyone who let him between their thighs. He’s not felt like this ever. The need to touch himself builds to the point where his hips are rocking into thin air against the spray of the water. Want clawing up his throat and pooling in his stomach in a heavy knot. 

You don’t dress, you can’t. Crawling under the covers of one of the beds, you listen to Joel groan in the bathroom, it’s muted over the sound of the shower but it’s sexy. All of his sounds are sexy, from the low grunts he gives when he’s stiff and sore, to the huffs and groans of annoyance. It’s all sexy to you. The rasp of his voice when he’s not spoken for a few hours. 

Closing your eyes, it’s easy to give in, to let your hands drift over your skin. He’s not here, you can take care of this frantic need that is swirling inside you. You just need to slide your hand between your thighs and ease it. It wouldn’t take much more than a few swipes of your fingers against your pulsing and aching clit. 

Trying to fight it, you concentrate on your breathing, in and out. Inhaling slowly and holding it so you can exhale when the burn in your lungs tells you that you’ve reached your limit. It helps, but not much. Not when you’re imagining Joel in his shower. Touching him. Being free to touch him and having his hands on your body in return. 

Your hands slip over your breasts, squeezing them hard enough to moan softly and your legs shift to press together. Clenching around nothing and wishing that you were full while your hands start to move down over your stomach. 

The first touch is almost a relief, your entire core quivering as your fingers press against your clit. It’s overwhelming and not enough. You need more, fingertips pressing and rubbing around the puffed up bundle of nerves. You’re already soaked and can feel it dripping down your slit. 

Spurred on by that insatiable need, you slide your fingers around your entrance and start to press them inside. Biting your lip to keep yourself from moaning. Imagining that it’s more, that it’s a cock that is starting to break you open and fill that void that is aching. 

You are so caught up in the bliss of that first stretch of your fingers that you don’t hear the shower turn off. The quiet curses coming from the bathroom are muffled by the rush of blood in your ears, the feeling of relief coursing through your nerves and taking over. You don’t hear the click of the lock and the turn of the handle. The door opening doesn't even register as you plant your heels on the bed and push your hips up, needing to get your fingers deeper, not quite reaching the spot inside you that craves fullness. 

You don’t hear him until he chokes out a sound that is pained and low, like he’s injured. Your eyes pop open as you lurch up off the bed, your fingers ripping themselves out of your cunt hard enough to make you whimper. Fixed on Joel’s towel draped body, tented over his waist. 

“Joel, I-” “Fuuuuuck.” He growls, his eyes closing and his hands bunches into fists, one holding his towel and the other by his side. “I’ve tried to not think about you, about touching you.” His words are rasped out, strained against his vocal cords. “I’ve goddamn beat into my brain that you aren’t to be thought about this way and now, I can’t stop.” His stomach clenches and his body twitches as he struggles to keep still. 

Your chest heaves and you see his eyes drop down to your uncovered tits. His jaw clenching and his Adam’s Apple bobbing as he swallows. “I - I need to touch myself.” You admit breathlessly. “I - it hurts so bad and I need something inside me.” 

Joel groans again, shuddering so violently that you can see him shake from where you are. “I’ve jerked off in the shower twice and it's still hard.” He drops the towel, revealing his hard and leaking cock, making you whimper at the sight and clench around nothing. “I think that- that we- that the flower-” “I don’t care.” You moan, shaking your head and crawling to your knees and shuffling forward. Showing him all of you and so goddamn desperate to touch him that you think you are about to explode. “Touch me, Joel. Fuck, touch me, please.” You beg, your hands on your own body. “We-” He shakes his head and his face changes, morphs into pain.

“Fuck me.” You hiss, watching as his resolve breaks. His cock bounces as he lunges for you, hard and swift, driving you back to the bed with a bounce. Almost as if he is attacking you. 

He’s not gentle. His mouth finding yours in a harsh kiss, your permission unleashing the coils of restraint that he had tried to put on himself. His grip bruises as he hauls you up the bed and settles between your thighs. 

You’ve always attributed Joel with rough gentleness. The type of man who would make you ache and then hold you close. Groaning in pleasure when you find out that is exactly what Joel Miller is like. His hands spreading your thighs with a desperation that proves he is just as afflicted by this fungal pollen as you are. His cock hard and pressing against your folds as he rocks his hips forward to line up. Almost unable to find the hole with his eagerness to sink into you. 

“Joel, hurry.” Your hands shake, holding onto him and urging him closer to you, frantic with need now that you know that you are going to have him inside you. 

“Goddamn, I’m trying.” He hisses, hating to let you go so he can take his cock in hand. Rocking into his own grip as he shuttles his hips forward. “I’m fuckin’ trying, sweetheart.” 

You whimper when you finally feel him pressing against your entrance, choking out a sound of need that is animalistic. Only to cry out in bliss as he pushes inside you without another delay. 

He groans, eyes cinched shut as he slides inside you to the hilt, burying himself in your heat and feeling that coil in his stomach tighten even more now that your walls are around him. Immediately starting to move just as soon as he fills you, driving by that need and burning in his very veins. 

It’s exquisite, the pain and pleasure blending and fusing in your stomach, nerves alight and responding to every small movement. You can’t get enough of him, you need more. Wrapping  your legs around his hips, you rise to meet his harsh thrusts. Clenching down around him every time he hits that spot deep inside you that you couldn’t reach with your fingers. 

He shouldn’t be inside you, he shouldn’t be touching you, but now that he is, he can’t stop. Turning his head, he presses his lips to yours and slides his tongue into your mouth. Needing more. Kissing you like he had imagined a thousand times before. Giving into every urge he has had since the day he met you and repressed before right now. Snapping his hips forward sharply and pulling every groan out of your mouth to swallow down. 

Every thrust makes it better, eases that burning in your core, your cunt slick and squelching every time he drives into you. He absorbs every sound you make, almost greedy for them. His hips jarring as they slam into you. Rocking you both up the bed. 

“Oh god,” breaking away from the kiss, you moan into his ear. Closing your eyes as he pants and puffs while he fucks you. “So deep, so deep, Joel.” Your nails drag down his back, making him hiss in pleasure and pain. 

“Shit.” He groans your name, lost in the rhythm of his thrusts and the building pressure. “You needed this?” He growls, making you clench down around him hard and whimper his name. “Yessss.” You agree, nodding against the pillow. “Needed it so bad.” 

“Fuck, you’re so fucking tight.” He huffs, burying his face against your neck. Continuing to pound into you, and not letting up even though his back is screaming in pain. His body won’t let him do anything but rock his hips. Driven by a need that overrides everything else. 

His words make you burn, making you even more desperate for him. Your hips rock up and legs tightening around his waist even more. Loving how his cock stretches you out and scrubs against every nerve in your cunt. Lighting up your body until you are gasping on the edge of that much needed orgasm. 

Every plunge into your body brings him closer to cumming, desperate to feel that emptiness, that wrung out filling once he has filled you. He shouldn’t cum inside you, he knows that, but he’s not going to be able to stop himself. He can barely pull back enough to rock his hips back into you. 

His arms have banded around you, holding you into place as he fucks you. Deep and primal, as if he is trying to fuse the two of you into one. His cock punches into the depths of your body that you never imagined anyone reaching, but he touches it with ease. Your body pulsing with that need to come apart. 

“So close, I’m so close, baby.” You whine, body starting to tremble underneath him. “So close.” Your nails dig into his shoulder, grounding yourself to him in desperation. “Joel.” 

“I gotcha.” He groans, eyes closed and his breath fanning against your skin. “I’mma take good care of you, sweetheart.” He promises. “You’re gonna cum all over my cock, ain’t cha? Just like you wanted.” 

His words throw you over the edge, that need built up so tight inside you that it busts on the next thrust. Lights careen and collide behind your eyes, bright and beautiful as your whole body ignites into pleasure like you’ve never experienced before. Crying out loudly and soaking  him in a wave of your juices. Cumming harder than you ever have before. 

Joel growls your name, his hips stuttering as you come apart around you. Unable to hold back any longer. He buries himself deep into your hot passage and paints your walls with sticks ropes of his seed. Panting against your lips as he empties himself body and perhaps his very soul into you. 

Both of you pant, relieved and exhausted from the pure exertion of need as you had taken from each other. Joel presses into you, trying to catch his breath, but the fire is still burning low in his belly, his cock still not softening as it twitches inside you. 

“Oh fuck.” You feel that same desire still curling in your stomach, not satisfied by the intensity of the orgasm that you are still coming down from. “Joel-” 

He huffs and shakes his head. “Don’t-” he presses his lips to your again, body screaming as he starts to move again. “Shhhhhh.” 

The need still burns and both of you are still locked in its fiery grip, not yet free from the desire that washed over you from a burst of pollen. 

****

“What the fuck man, open the door!” The thudding on the door finally penetrates the bone deep sleep you had finally fallen into. You don’t know how many time Joel fucked you, or how many times he had spend himself inside you as you blearily open your eyes. 

Joel grunts, slowly opening his own eyes and unwinding himself from the tangled together position that you had passed out in. The knocking on the door keeps on. “Joel!” Your name is also shouted, Ellie starting to sound somewhat panicked when neither one of you is immediately opening the door. 

“Fuck! I’m coming.” He drags the top blanket off the bed and wraps it around his waist before flinging the door opened to blink into the harshness of the sun. “What?” He growls roughly, making Ellie’s eyes blow wide with shock.

“Holy shit, what happened to you?” She demands, pushing into the room and stopping short when she sees you sitting up in the only bed that has been disturbed, the sheet anchored beneath your armpits. “Oh shit, you fucked.” She gasps, turning and shooting Joel an impressed grin. “Way to go, old man, you made a move.” Her grin quickly turns into an expression of mild disgust when she realizes that she’s congratulating you two on having sex. “Uh, I’m gonna go now.” She huffs, wrinkling her nose and pinching it. “It smells in here.” Waving her hand in front of her face, she darts back out the door and Joel just stands there for a moment before he rolls his eyes and goes to shut the door before he thinks better of it. Sticking his head out of the room, he shouts after Ellie. “Stay away from the fucking fungus!” 

You snort, grinning to yourself as your body starts to ache. Fucking fungus indeed. 

[deanstead]

Low Effort

Pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader

Requested: no

Summary: Y/N gets a surprise visit, which triggers some unpleasant symptoms

Word Count: 1k+

Tags/Warnings: mentions of stomach cramps, slight allusion to anxiety, negative emotions

A/N: Long time no see! This is a thing I needed to get off my chest and needed to get the emotions out, so it’s just some Jay comfort/fluff. Also, a warning that I haven’t written in so long, this kind of feels a bit meh, so I hope I haven’t lost too much of my writing touch LOL

JAY HALSTEAD MASTERLIST

You closed your laptop shut, just as your phone lit up with a notification about a new message from Jay.

Sorry, got held up. 10 minutes. Tops.

You smiled, typing a quick response of acknowledgment to tell him not to hurry before you got up, grabbing your bag. You were too fried to continue anything else so you figured you would just go and wait for him. Fresh air was better than whatever was coming through the office vents.

As the glass doors of the main entrance on the first floor slid open and you felt the chill of the Chicago winds hit your face, you sighed. Fresh air was definitely better.

“Y/N.”

You glanced up, your eyebrows naturally bunching together at the sound of a woman’s voice.

As your eyes met hers, you froze for a moment, your brain still processing the fact that she was here.

“Amy?” Her name slipped past your lips before you could stop yourself, even though the only emotion you were feeling at this moment was surprise. There was nothing positive or negative about it.

Amy could feel it in your voice as well. “Can we talk? I’ve missed you.”

You frowned as a cramp shot through your lower abdomen.

“I thought we were better friends than this. Low-maintenance, remember?” Amy said, and you could hear the tone in her voice, the one she used when she was upset or disappointed.

The feeling of indignation shot through you once again.

“Yeah, low maintenance, not low effort.”

Your voice was low but you didn’t let the emotion sway it. You spent years telling yourself that it was just a low-maintenance friendship, that you were both just busy, but you couldn’t ignore the way she’d reappear in front of you only when she needed your support, or when the guy she was seeing was out of town.

You glanced up at the street but hadn’t seen Jay’s car yet.

You exhaled. “Look, Amy. You have your priorities, I get it. Just don’t expect me to drop mine when you blow back into town or when your boyfriend doesn’t have time for you. It doesn’t work that way.”

You felt the cramps intensify and knew what it was. You called it “emotional cramps” with Jay, joking that as long as he kept you happy you’d be fine. Yet, here they were again. Maybe it was because you hadn’t had them in a while, you felt them more intensely now.

You put a hand on your stomach as you looked up at Amy. As expected, she had an indignant look on her face.

“How could you say that, Y/N? I know the fact that I was seeing Trevor was a sore spot with you because you weren’t seeing anyone so I didn’t want to make things harder for you. But now…”

You couldn't even respond as the pain ripped through you once again and you bent forward slightly, your knees buckling a little. You braced yourself for the impact of your knees hitting the concrete sidewalk when you felt his arms around you.

“Babe, what’s wrong?”

Jay.

Amy seemed stunned for a moment before she spoke again, “It must be her…”

“Why’s it acting up?” Jay asked, his entire focus on you as you glanced up at him and quietly shook your head.

Jay glanced up at Amy. They didn’t know each other since you’d met Jay sometime after contact between you and Amy had dwindled to almost nothing. By the time you and Jay had started dating, you’d made up your mind to let go of Amy and this friendship, and it had merely nagged at you a little at the back of your mind from time to time so you hadn’t brought her up.

“Come on, we’re going to Med,” Jay said quietly, pulling you upright.

You glanced at him. “Don’t you dare carry me,” You warned.

Despite the worried look in his eyes, Jay smiled. “We’re going to Will.” He repeated, almost like he was daring you to argue.

You didn’t argue. Partly because all you wanted to do was get out of there but partly because you knew it was useless. Besides, the pain was more intense than you remembered.

Without a second glance back, Jay helped you into the car and drove off, both of you leaving Amy still standing on the sidewalk.

You knew what had triggered the attack, so after getting medication for the pain and cramping, you’d been feeling much better.

“You know I’d be feeling even better if you would stop hovering, Detective.” You said, directing the comment at your boyfriend.

Will smiled as he tapped on the iPad in his hand and glanced at his brother. “She’s fine. Her tests are normal, and it was probably just a one-off stress-related attack.”

You nodded. “I’ll follow up with my therapist, I promise.”

Will ruffled your hair affectionately and you growled because he knew you hated it.

“I’ll get the discharge started.”

Jay was quiet as he leaned over you, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “You sure you’re okay?”

You nodded, before you glanced back down.

“Amy’s an old friend.” You said, after a while. "At least, she was."

Jay didn’t say anything, so you continued, telling him about how Amy was when she started dating anyone, and it only progressively got worse. “And it’s not about seeing her often, you know? It’s just…”

Jay nodded. “You didn’t feel like she cared.”

You sighed quietly. “I just… it got to a point where I realized she didn’t care. I was a friend when she needed me, and when she didn’t, I just… didn’t exist. And apparently, to her, that’s me being sore.”

Jay just took your hand in his, gently stroking your fingers.

“But I just realized it was better to have no one than to be treated that way, so I just…”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me,” Jay said quietly. “Listen, someone who gives you low effort doesn’t deserve you. I don’t care who they are. Anyone who makes you feel this way doesn’t deserve even one percent of you.”

You looked up at him and smiled, a little sadness hidden behind it.

“I guess seeing her today just brought it all back, you know? And then it triggered all those emotions and then my stomach cramps decided to join the party.” You made a face.

Jay smiled quietly back at you. “But you know what? You’re not alone. At least not anymore.”

You smiled and leaned forward for a hug. Jay perched by the edge of the bed, pulling you gently into his arms and you buried your face into his shoulders, feeling his arms encircle your entire body.

“I know.” You whispered.

Jay kissed the top of your head. “Good.”

THANK YOU FOR READING!! PLEASE TELL ME WHAT YOU THOUGHT OF THIS!!

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[pricegouge]

Get Her a Dog (She'll be Happier For It)

Part Three | master list | MDNI

Soap x reader, Price x reader, eventual PriceSoap x reader

series cw: cheating. dubcon. angst. cuckholding. pet play.

chapter cw: angst, extremely vague/brief mentions of injury. talk of wanting a baby

reader is fem and fat

It takes the bouquet a full two weeks to become so withered it's no use trimming the stems or mixing up that special sugar solution which keeps them in bloom longer anymore. Johnny doesn't call. You tell yourself that's standard for middle-of-the-night type missions and keep the twenty four hour news feed on at all times even though all it does is irritate you. You were never much good at reading between the lines of these things anyway, at picking out which bits of the endless scroll of World Gone Wrong News are actually just state fabricated lies to cover the pieces deemed too big and scary for the general public to know the intricacies of. You shut it off after the fourth mass shooting comes and goes with no update.

The flowers were a nice touch. At least more than you expected to get after being woken in the middle of the night to murmured apologies and promises of a big day out when he got back. If he got back. You know it's not a helpful thought, feel terribly selfish that you'd only thought it given the circumstances, but it crosses your mind nonetheless. Digs its fingers between the slots of your ribs.

It takes the bouquet a full two weeks to become so withered it's no use trimming the stems or mixing up that special sugar solution which keeps them in bloom longer anymore. Johnny doesn't call. You tell yourself that's standard for middle-of-the-night type missions and keep the twenty four hour news feed on at all times even though all it does is irritate you. You were never much good at reading between the lines of these things anyway, at picking out which bits of the endless scroll of World Gone Wrong News are actually just state fabricated lies to cover the pieces deemed too big and scary for the general public to know the intricacies of. You shut it off after the fourth mass shooting comes and goes with no update.

After eighteen days away, you finally get a call from an unknown number and nearly drive through a red light when the notification pops up on your car's display. In theory, it could be anyone. But you know.

John's voice is too formal, too stiff. He calls you Mrs. MacTavish and guilt twines itself so thoroughly with your general sense of dread as to become inseparable. The cable cord holding up your life. Your stomach cramps hard enough you think you might be sick. They're at the A&E, John says, and while he may go on to explain there's no reason to panic, you're too busy racing through the streets of York to listen at all. 

Kyle waits for you outside the entrance, escorting you through the labyrinthine halls and (somehow) multiple elevators to a quiet corner of the surgical waiting room. You've been here before, think vaguely that the vinyl seating should be familiar by now. You'd think after so many instances that you'd get used to moments like this, that Johnny's apparent constant death wish would stop weighing so heavily on you. There's part of you that's come to believe your husband is indestructible, a bedtime story you tell yourself when his side of the mattress lays empty and cold: it doesn't matter what befalls him in the dead of night while you lay your head on down pillows he bought, because nothing can ever break Johnny. It always crumbles apart when your phone rings like an alarm clock, John's steady, terribly formal voice there to rip you away from your fantasies. It's another reason you hate him; why you know you couldn't do this without him. When he comes back, clipboard in hand, John explains it was supposed to be a low stakes mission and how quickly it turned for the worst. You let it wash all over you with all the other intricacies of your husband's line of work because if you look at it for too long you start to understand those mums who poison their kids just to keep them home and under control. He returns his clipboard when he's done and Kyle picks up where he left off, voice much more soothing and sympathetic as he details Johnny's wound. Stray bullet, low in the belly where Johnny's vest didn't cover. He'll be right as rain in a few weeks, but they'd needed to re-open it up to get in there and make sure everything will heal up okay. 

They sit with you through the long hours as much as they are able, John occasionally pulled away by a cell phone which will not stop ringing. It bothers you more than it should, but you don't want to analyze that just yet. Best left be until you're holed up in bed alone again. Kyle remains steadfast, a constant supply of bad hospital coffee at hand. You don't know when or how he memorized the way you take it, but you're too distracted to ask now.

You feel like you're being strangled, or maybe hanged, that cord of guilt and dread your noose. It pulls tighter with each minute that passes and you spiral deeper into your memories of the last few days, how you moped around in misery, wallowing in self pity while your husband risked his life trying to make the world a better place. Selfishness eats at you like a physical thing, worse so when Gaz asks if you want to go for a walk and you snap at him about wanting to be alone. He holds his hands up at you in mock surrender, a crease forming between his brows. You trip over yourself in apology, but the long days must have weighed on him just as heavily because he only mutters his quiet acceptance and strolls out the door, fishing a cigarette out as he goes. 

John does not follow. You feel his eyes on you, that same steady gaze as always. Usually, it pins you in place just as much as it makes you want to squirm, but today it makes you seethe, temper flaring back red hot now that you have a real target in sight. John's the reason you're here, the reason you give yourself up to self pity every time you think about the shortcomings of your marriage. Because the truth is, Johnny's good when he's home - and that's a farside better than most women in your position get. 

"What?" you snap as you wheel on your companion. 

Though his face crumbles for maybe half a second, John's quick to recover, one bushy brow cocking as if in challenge - though you both know he would let you unload on him without so much as a word of protest. For some reason, the realization only makes you angrier and you stand in a huff, marching off in the general direction of the nearest coffee maker. A rustle of fabric tells you John is following, the distinct texture of your jacket telling you he's collected your things. Your jaw clenches so tight you think you might crack a molar, but you don't stop until he makes you, grabbing you by the elbow the second he finds a relatively inactive corner. You're already spitting when he wheels you around, pushing against his chest for all the good it does you as you rail on about everything being his fault. You think you start somewhere with his stupid taskforce and barrel right on through to his general form of leadership, delighting in the quick look of panic it brings as he drags you through a door, snicking it closed behind you. It's not until you have to take a breath somewhere around Johnny's general inadequacy that you realize he's locked you both in a bathroom, his hand covering your mouth while you pant for breath through the seams of his fingers. 

He still smells like gunpowder, that same metallic quality that clings to your husband, too. You can't tell if your face is hot with anger, embarrassment, or tears.

"You done?"

You'd shake your head no, but he's not actually giving you an option, grip firmly holding you in place as he leans close enough to make your eyes cross. 

"If I take my hand away, you gonna keep yelling about classified information in public?"

It's funny how you barely even register the guilt his words bring; a drop in the bucket. This time he lets you shake your head.

His palm is heavy when it shifts, grip changing so he can cradle your jaw delicately. The soft look from before is back, much as he tries to obscure it behind his stern facade. He's never been as good at maintaining it around you as he has his men. He calls you sweetheart, lets his voice trail off as he thinks of how best to address your laundry list of complaints. It makes you ache, for some reason. Perhaps the contrast to Johnny's quick, impulsive temper. Your husband's never been cruel with you, of course, but the two of you can be like oil and water when you're both worked up, and while you can see John's frustrations in the twitch of his mustache and the set of his brow, he takes his time to consider his words, trying to ensure proper communication. It's more than you deserve.

You'll tell yourself in retrospect that it's not you who leans in, that John's hand on your cheek was more insistent, his face tilted slightly closer. It's a lie, but John accepts the blame so gracefully everywhere else, surely he can shoulder this, too?

Knock, knock.

The speed at which you back away from the man before you nearly makes you stumble. John barks that the room is occupied, face clouded with an anger that doesn't reflect in the way he catches you, ensures you're sturdy on your feet before letting you slip from his grasp. For once, it's him who can't look at you and the thought makes your chest ache, propels you out the door before you have to hear him apologize for another person's shortcomings one more time.

Gaz is not yet back in the waiting room and you don't trust yourself to be alone with John again so you take the suggested walk around the hospital, letting yourself get lost in the long circuitous routes of wards that set you ill at ease. You do not linger, feet just as busy as your mind - just as directionless. You retrace the events of your morning like a skipping record, an endless revolution, getting lost in the panic of the phone call and the relief you'd felt in John's firm grasp before tracing the roots of your guilt deeper, the old growth spreading back years. These paths are worn, the familiarity almost comforting insofar as you've tread them enough times to know they do not end with you pressed against your husband's captain in a hospital bathroom while he gets his intestines sewn up mere yards away. Except, they do now, if you follow them long enough, and you spend some time trying to find the source of it, the tributary from which it branched. You worry maybe it was the day you met him, the day he waltzed into your life and you mistook his job title to mean he was a man who could help you wrangle the force of nature that was John MacTavish. Probably, it was earlier, when you'd decided to tie yourself to a man you thought needed wrangling. 

You don't pay much thought to where your feet take you until you're staring uncomprehendingly into the face of a rather stern, if concerned staff member. When she cocks her brow at you expectantly, you shake yourself out of your reverie and ask her to repeat herself. 

"I asked who you're here to see."

Blinking, your eyes slide past her, take in your surroundings properly for the first time. A glass panel backdrops her, separating you from a well-lit room, sparsely decorated with pastel tones. You think you spot the head of a baby giraffe mural over her shoulder and feel your face heat at being caught out, although logistically you know she's probably more concerned about the random distraught woman hovering around the newborns. 

"S-sorry. I'm not -. I guess I just didn't realize where I was," you admit. 

The woman - registered nurse Rita, by the ID clipped to her hip pocket - eyes you suspiciously for a beat longer, but whatever she sees in you softens her edges, brings her guard down. "Can't be here," she tells you, voice unyielding but far less harsh than it had been mere moments before. 

"Right," you agree, glancing around as if looking for the way you came. "Uh…"

"Do you know what room your… loved one is in?" She sounds slightly patronizing, but you can't force your eyes to focus on her for long enough to confirm. You think maybe all the coffee is catching up with you, know it's more likely the combined effects of your embarrassment and guilt making it hard to maintain eye contact.

"My husband's in surgery," you blurt. "Gunshot wound."

Nurse Rita balks, takes a minute to look around herself. "C'mere," she mutters, fingers surprisingly strong when she wraps them around the soft flesh of your arm and steers you toward a proper waiting area. You stumble after her, trying to avoid the gazes of the anxious pack of new parents she leaves in your wake. 

You're babbling when she comes to a stop. "It's okay, he's a soldier. He'll be fine. They just had to re-open it because they needed to tie up some loose ends."

There's a pause. Somewhere, a monitor sounds off. "Was that a joke?"

"Well, not a good one."

But despite your assertions, Rita does laugh. It's a good one, too, sets her heavy chest jiggling. She's got a nice smile, infectious. You're glad she works in the natal ward. You ease down with her, the deep breaths she pulls to catch her breath serving to calm you both. "Is it bad I like the repeat customers best?" She asks, conspiratorial. 

You grin, thinking you know what she means. You can't spend so much time around soldiers without developing an appreciation for gallows humor, after all. "Gotten about as good at dealing with it as can be expected, I guess."

Rita hums, her eyes darting down the hall. You imagine she's busy but you're too greedy to assure her you'll be okay without her company so you don't. "Except this time, it seems."

"There's been… a complication."

"Oh, honey," Rita coos.

"Not with my husband," you clarify, "Sorry. Poor choice of words. Um. I mean - his captain's here and I don't want to… I can't sit next to him any longer without going insane. You know?"

You can almost see Rita mapping the points of information she has, assess the mire between them. "And what brings you here?"

It's hard not to blubber, though you're unsure why exactly. "I think I want a baby," you whisper instead, the secret pulled from you easy pie once someone actually asks despite the shame you feel about it, the words catching like barbs in your throat.

"And Mr. Tin Soldier doesn't?"

You offer her a forced smile. "Johnny. And I don't know. He used to. I think his captain wants one more," you confess, gaze slipping away from her again. You feel her rock back away from you momentarily, her breath puffing out in one great gust. "I haven't -. We've never…"

"Okay," she asserts. You don't think she believes you, but if the roles were reversed you suppose you wouldn't either. "But you'd like to?"

The yawning chasm of loneliness in your chest tells you one thing, but your pride can only muster a 'sometimes.'

"So not limited to when your husband is under the knife?"

"Christ," you hiss, crumpling in on yourself. "I'm a monster."

To your surprise, you feel Rita's warm palm on your back, rubbing soothing circles into your skin. Her voice is strained when she speaks, like she's not sure she believes what she's saying, but her caregiving instincts must win out because she speaks anyway. "I don't think so. Think you're probably just lonely, honey."

You know why she says it, know only someone desperate te be understood would reach out to her so eagerly like this. Still, it hurts to be seen. Maybe worse than not being seen at all. But it's the good ache, the kind you get from John. You have a brief, wild notion of kissing Rita, and have to suppress a bitter huff of laughter. "Johnny's not… here, even when he's here, you know?" You snivel, knowing full well how unsympathetic you probably sound.

"And the captain is?" Rita prompts. You think it's probably meant to clarify, but it sounds more like a challenge.

"Believe it or not, yes. John's very attentive. And nurturing. And he's always around more often than Johnny."

Rita's hand stops. "Wait, they're both named John?"

"I don't wanna talk about it," you gripe goodnaturedly, but Rita's not giving in.

"Well at least you don't have to worry about calling out the wrong name."

The snort you emit is terribly embarrassing, snot breaking loose after all your moping. Rita procures a tissue from some scrub pocket, makes a comment about tools of the trade. You sit silently for a moment as you dab your nose, for the first time taking note of the area she's sequestered you in. You're surprised to find the street outside getting darker, lamps glowing in the rain-slick parking lot. Inside, the hospital has begun to adopt a low, gentle glow - so far removed from the sterile, cold cold lighting you're used to seeing on hospital procedurals. The recesses and corners lie dim and dormant, the one you've been tucked into only kept lively by your company's presence. Without her, you fear you'd slink back into the darkness as well, become just another shadow on the wall. For a moment, you think you want that, and then your phone rings, the same unknown number from before illuminating your screen.

John doesn't wait for you to answer properly before asking where you are, but his voice is much softer than you'd expected, a pleasant drawl you're not sure is meant to lure you in but does all the same.

You sniffle, suppress a laugh. You don't see much use in lying to him. "The natal ward."

Silence stretches from the other end, the sound of a passing gurney all that your phone transmits. "Soap's out." 

"I'll be right down." 

"I can come -." 

"I'll be right down, John." Next to you, Rita arcs a sparse, shapeless brow. You decide you love her, even if she has every reason to believe you're a bad person.

"Right. They're bringing him to room two seventy eight." 

"Thanks. Bye." 

Your departure from Rita is brief. She wishes you good luck and you tell her to swaddle some babies tight for you. You stand awkwardly for a moment, willing further conversation to come, but there's ultimately not much more to say to someone after baring your deepest shame to them basically unprompted, especially when they've so easily seen through you. So you wave in parting and beat a hasty retreat, trying not to think about how you'll forever be the cheating wife in her eyes, probably.

For as long as your meandering journey upstairs had taken, you find your way back quick enough. Still, it's Gaz who sits beside your husband's bed, Gaz who tells you the captain had to head back to base. "Just missed him," he sympathizes, nodding at a vase of familiar-looking flowers. "Left that for the happy couple, though."

You bypass them entirely, a sense of dread filling you when you spot the note tucked in among the buds. Instead, you fold yourself over Johnny's sleeping body, press kisses to his forehead. There's no faking the genuine relief you feel seeing him so you let it carry you through the motions, fuss about with his blankets and squeeze his hand. You fall asleep in the recliner next to him, waking some hours later to find your company gone, though an orderly tells you your handsome guest said he'd return in the morning. You suppress the urge to ask which one. 

***

The flowers eventually make it home with you, the vase carried in Johnny's big fist. You wait until he's been tucked into bed before getting around to pruning them, the majority of the heads having wilted after too many days in stagnant water and poor quality hospital lighting. You toss the note away with them, unread, though you can't help telling Johnny they remind you of the flowers he sent. 

"What flowers, hen?" He grumbles, still sleepy from the pain meds. 

"Nevermind, baby," you assure him, chest too tight to trust your voice anymore than a whisper. "Go back to bed." 

***

When he's feeling better, you tell Johnny you want a baby.

Next>>

[hoe4sports]

“All this time I’ve wasted”

Alexia Putellas x reader

A/N: This is the third part of the series based off of Myles Smith’s song “Stargazing”. Triggers involves swearing and depressive thoughts. And some head smacking. P1 can be found here

«And with that, it sums up the terms and conditions of this contract. Any questions, concerns or requests?” That were the final words of Brann’s sports manager. You smiled politely as your manager was asking questions regarding loans, termination and renewal of contracts. It was tiring, the situation with Alexia made every cell in your body tense up. It filled your heart with rage and hatred. Yet, you couldn’t help but love her. After your argument, you hadn’t spoken to her again. Always finding another partner during practice, always sitting with someone else at lunch and pretending to fall asleep on flights and on buses. All to avoid your bestfriend, Alexia. You see, she meant the world to you and she had done that for over 20 years. Somehow the bricks of your house had gotten torn apart violently similar to how a tornado tears apart states. That was why you had talked to your manager about being interested in a transfer, and on the world of football; money talks. A transfer meant more money for him. The process of discussing the contract was excruciating. It made your feel at conflict, like you had a big gaping hole in your heart that you couldn’t close up even though your blood was pouring out on the floor. The team didn’t know that the contract was in discussion, they didn’t know how you had practically begged the Barcelona sports manager to terminate your contract or to sell you. The feeling of betrayal was eating you alive, and it was about to get a whole lot worse.

The following Monday, you woke up to a million notifications on your phone. It felt like it was about to blow up next to your bed causing you to violently be ripped out of the comfort of your dreams. The contract discussed had leaked. You threw yourself backwards and covered your face with a pillow. This was not how you wanted things to play out. Your first feeling was anger, followed by anxiety and then relief. Anger because someone had leaked your secrets. Anxiety because the team were going to be furious with you. And relieved because you didn’t have to tell the team yourself, you didn’t even have to bring up the subject because if you really knew your team, you knew that someone would take it upon themselves to bring it up.

You sat outside the grand arena debating whether to walk in or not. Barcelona was your legacy and it wrecked every part of you to leave it all behind. It wasn’t like you were going on a loan or to a club in Spain; you were going to Norway. More specifically, to Brann. The club that you played a few months prior in championship league. You had originally had offers from Germany, but Germany felt overwhelming. That’s why when your manager told you about a possible deal with Brann, you wanted to feel ecstatic. It would be close to multiple of your friends; Aurora Mikalsen whom you knew from before, Frido that grew up in Sweden, Ingrid and Caro that grew up in Norway. You didn’t really have anything against Norway, and perhaps Norway was what you needed. However, the feeling of ecstasy never came around, and it made you feel like you were walking around in an empty shell. The shell of what once were your passionate, joyful, sunshine self had now been replaced with guilt, sadness and despair.

08:45, 15 minutes was all you had to mentally pull yourself together enough to not fall apart inside practice. You traced the roughness of the leather on your steering wheel with your fingertips. Another thing that needed to be added onto your to do list before a potential move to Norway. The heart in your chest felt like it was about to burst out of you. It still felt like your heart was about to drown, like it needed cpr for you to make it through the day. It felt like Alexia had lured you into a dark alley and pushed you into a deep hole in the concrete making you fall into the never ending darkness.

08:48.Your brain was so caught up within its own whirlwind of chaotic thoughts that you didn’t notice Ingrid standing outside of your car, patiently waiting for you in the pouring rain. Ingrid tapped the window and you opened the door. “Hey, are you coming in?” the Norwegian said with her usual cheery voice and her perfect smile. Her smile was so perfect it hurt, she was so perfect. God, if you were like Ingrid then maybe Alexia would like you. Ingrid was so kind, so bright and so compassionate. She was one of your closest friends, yet you couldn’t bare to load all your heavy rocks into her backpack. “Just go ahead, I’m coming soon” you mumbled hoping to get Ingrid to move along with any fuss. Ingrid took notice of your frown and raised an eyebrow. “Are you okay?” Your tears immediately came pressing into the premises of your eyes making your eyes burn as if they had been infested with chili. The pressing caused you to rub your eyes intensely, not noticing that Ingrid had walked around and hopped into the passenger seat of your car until her hand touched your thigh. You looked at her while tears were streaming down your face. “Are you really leaving?” You nodded. “Brann». Ingrid’s eyes widened. “Norway? But, why Norway?” She asked with furrowed brows. Norway wasn’t really a country where female football was at its most popular. You didn’t really know why, it was the only team that had decided to take the offer for you. None of the bigger leagues had teams that wanted you. Perhaps that was all you were. Unwanted. Your mother had disowned you after your father had passed away in a horrible accident as she took to the bottle to avoid her emotions. Alexia and her family had been your family. That was also about to be ripped away from you. You had no siblings, your parents didn’t have siblings and all your grandparents had passed. You felt like you were all alone in this big world where you had no purpose but to chase after a ball. Your eyes met Ingrid’s blue eyes. Her eyes were so intense, so bright. She was skilful, a natural, a force of nature. But you were just there. Always on the bench until some new exciting player came along and then you’d be benched from the bench for months on end. Never making any rosters. Never given the chance. Never noticed. The chain of thoughts were broken by Ingrid leaning forward to shake you gently. “Yes, Norway. I guess I’ve always wanted to see the mountains.” That was a lie. “Norway is so pretty, and I would love to learn another language.” Another like. “I really think this could be a good opportunity for me”. Third and last lie.

08.50: Ingrid reluctantly seemed to accept the lies as she nodded and summed up something about meeting you inside afterwards. You had just given her a hum in respons concealing your spinning thoughts. Your thoughts were spinning in a way that they hadn’t before and the voice in your head wouldn’t shut up. It felt like the world was wrapping you in a weighted blanket only to try to strangle you. It felt like you couldn’t catch your breath. Like someone had put your car into a never ending rollercoaster. A tiny drop of sweat onto the tip of your nose snapped you out of it. You rubbed your eyes hard. Just hard enough to have fuzzy vision and to see starts. You wiped your hands onto your shorts. The teardrops on the windows were rolling down and the thunder was not many seconds behind. The atmosphere was dark as the clouds covered the usually blue sky. The weather felt like a metaphor for your fucked up emotions. The things you would do to

08:58. Two minutes was all that was left before practice. Before another day of facing the love of your life that didn’t feel the same towards you. The love of your life huh. Football or the woman you now could stare into the eyes of without feeling the crumbs of what once was the silver lining of your soul? You closed your eyes for the last time as you took yet a deep breath in desperation of its effect. Your hand grabbed the hinge of the door and you hopped out as you slowly walked towards the arena and your warderobe.

09.03: You ran out to the field with the fabric of your cleats clinging to your grilling socks. The other girls stood outside listening to the coach all dressed in their raincoats. You didn’t bother with the jacket, and ran out in just shorts and your half zip sweater instantly feeling the familiarity of coldness as the rain poured down around you. The other girls stared at you as you slumped next to the group, and at the corner of your eye; if you just looked far enough, there was Alexia. Focused as always, always sharp, always prepared, always perfect.

14.47: The day had just ended, and you had spent hours in overdrive trying to keep Alexia at distance while still pretending to be nice. It was all becoming too much. The gush of the reality showered over you like a semi truck while you plopped down on the bench after the other girls had finished showering and left for the day. You were shivering from the rain and the cold. It was the kind of cold that you felt deep inside your bones. The kind of cold that leaves you shaking uncontrollably for hours upon hours on end. The back of your head was leaning on the locker as you shut your eyes. The thoughts were so loud. They were occupying every inch of your brain. The infectious sadness and conflict rained upon you like there was no tomorrow. God, you hated this. The position you had gotten yourself in. The position that you had forced yourself in based off of an imaginary thought that you could have what you had wanted all your life. What had always been within reach, but yet so far away that you were longing for it. You smacked the back of your head in your locker as your phone started buzzing. Upon closer inspection, it was your agent. He expected a decision from you. A all clear. A positive feedback. It was exhausting trying to make a decision. Your phone felt like it weighed 3000 pounds. Your hand grabbed your phone as your agent’s name lit up your screen. You took a deep breath before answering.

“Hello”

“Hello Miss Y/L/N. How are you?”

“I’m fine, how are you?”

“I’m well! Now, I would’ve been even better if I heard your decision. Have you made up your mind?”

“…”

“Y/N?”

“Oh, yea yea. Bad service. I.. I uhh..”

“Well?”

Your heart rate skyrocketed. You could heart your heartbeats in your ears. Like all the blood was rushing straight through your ear canals. You swallowed nervously. This could change everything. It could give you a new start. A new shot a professional life. But it could ruin everything you ever had. Or didn’t have.

“..Yes. I’ll sign”

“That’s amazing! I’ll let Brann know. Expect a call from me later so we can talk arrangements. Congratulations Y/N, take care!”

*Call ended*

You looked down at your phone. Your head was spinning. You felt dizzy.

“So, it’s true Y/N/N, you are really leaving?”

You looked up with glossy eyes. It was Alexia. Alexia with a sad grin. Tired eyes. Eyes with tears in them. God, you thought to yourself. What have you done.

[leclercstars]

ROCKSTAR. [pt.4]

Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: Lando invites you to his hotel room after your text exchange. Warnings: 18+ SMUTTYY!! Cursing, unprotected sex, dom!Lando, daddy kink etc.

hope y’all loved this series 🙈

“Ughhhh,” you groaned as the light shone through the curtains in your hotel room. Somehow even after your late-night shower, your mascara did not come off. You looked like the poster child of “partied too hard last night,” with your hair looking more like a lion’s mane and clothes half on. In your hungover daze, you rolled over and saw the slew of text message notifications on your phone. Two stood out, “Attachment: 1 image” and “thanks!” from a number that appeared to be Lando’s. You typed in your passcode and clicked on the texts.

“Holy fuck!” you exclaimed, hurling your phone across the bed. You stared with wide eyes at the phone- hands covering your mouth in shock. You tentatively reached for the phone again as if it was a cobra that was about to bite you or something. Yep, confirmed. Those are Lando’s abs splattered with cum. You were laughing, mostly because this whole situation still felt so unreal to you.

“Well good morning to you too!” you responded. It didn’t take long for those three dots to pop-up on your screen.

“Just come over tonight.” 

Well that’s fucking bold, you thought. But like- there was not a chance you would decline his invite. This is like having one-night stands with the annoying frat guys at school but 10x more justifiable. You were going to play it cool though, even though your skin was tingling with excitement.

“Time?” you replied. 

“10 works.”

Early as hell for a booty call, when is his bedtime? You laughed to yourself.

At 9:00 p.m., he texted you the address of the hotel he was staying at, and you slipped into the only Victoria’s Secret lingerie set you owned. Thank goodness you had impulse bought that for the man you were sleeping with last month who didn’t care if you were alive or dead.

There you were. Outside Lando Norris’ hotel room door.

“What the fuck am I doing,” you muttered to yourself before knocking.

He answered quickly, “Come in,” his voice already sounding sultry and thick. You had the feeling that as soon as you walked in, no time would be wasted. 

Boy, were you correct. He backed you up against the wall, and pinned your hands above your head. “Stuff like this okay?” his tone softened for just a moment. 

“More than,” you replied before planting kisses and bites all along his jawline. You didn’t even make it to his lips before his hand joined the dainty gold jewelry around your neck, pushing you back against the wall. His surprisingly soft lips slammed into yours, his tongue quickly finding its way down your throat. He stripped you down with such an ease that you could tell this was far from his first time around the track. He ripped the lingerie you were wearing off your body.

“Oh come on! That was hot but that was so expensive.” you laughed between the kisses.

“I’ll send you money for 4 new sets, don’t worry about it.” 

Oh that’s right- he’s like rich and is probably used to fucking ultra rich girls too. 

He picked you up and tossed you back down onto the bed- much nicer than yours over at the Hilton. Your neck looked like a vampire had gotten to it- covered in bites and bruises. Him signing your tits should have clued you in on his affinity for marking up his territory.

His fingers slipped into your pussy, and you tightened around him with a loud moan.

“Fuck I don’t think anyone has ever been this wet for me. Glad you like how daddy has been treating you.” Lando growled as he pumped in and out of you, making you more and more obedient with each curl of his index finger against your g-spot. 

He didn’t take himself out of you as his mouth made its way to your boobs.

“This is what I have been waiting for,” he said as he started circling your nipples with his tongue. Fuck- he is so good at teasing you. You squirmed desperately as he cupped your other boob in his hand. 

“Fuck Lando, come on just put your mouth on them.”

“Yeah, I’m not gonna do that without you asking for it,” his eyes glimmering with specks of lust as he looked up at you with his face smushed between your tits. 

Wow, he looked so cute just right there, but you couldn’t wait much longer. 

“Please daddy, suck on my tits. I want it- you so bad.” you whined, giving him the “fuck me” eyes that you had perfected after plenty of experiences just like this one. Those other guys had not been quite so dominant, but it was actually kind of fun being able to let go of all control. His warm mouth meeting your excruciatingly hard nipples was a pleasure like no other. He closed his eyes as he switched between them, biting and sucking. All that dominance really seemed to leave his body as he moaned into your boobs- almost whimpering. You were thrilled that your tits had that affect on him. It felt like you were taming him as you ran your hand through his curls and he fully relaxed himself into your chest. Did it always feel this good when guys did this? You loudly moaned and that seemed to snap him out of whatever boob-induced trance he was in. Thank goodness it did, because you were about to orgasm from his nipple play alone.

He grabbed you by the neck again, and that alone made you whine as his strong fingers pressed on the back of your head.

“You ready to be a good girl for me?” he was staring down at you, his eyes dark and hazy. You could tell he was thinking about what he was going to do to you, how he was gonna treat you like this.

“Yes, daddy.” Before you could even punctuate your words with a whimper- he had thrusted his entire length inside you. You gasped and sat up as his massive cock hit the back of your tight walls. He wasted no time as he started to pound into you. He pressed his entire naked body onto yours- as you buried your head into the crook between his neck and shoulder that looked like it had been sculpted by Davinci. Your nails dug into his back- and he cried out pleasurably- you knew you had to be leaving marks.

You had never been fucked so hard in your life, and certainly not by someone who looked like this. His perfectly tanned skin glistened as he made your pussy his, every single muscle in his arms on display as he held himself up. 

He took one hand and started flicking and pinching your nipple- and that was enough to bring you right to the edge.

“Lan-Lando,” you were barely even able to speak- he had really created such a mess out of you with his attitude, the big dick might have helped too. 

An orgasm shot through your body as he twisted your nipple- white sparks appearing in the corners of your eyes as you gave yourself to the ecstasy of it all,

“I’m gonna cum in your mouth,” Lando groaned as he pulled out of you.

You stuck your tongue out as he slapped his cock on it. You gripped the base and he shoved himself into the back of your throat- making you gag. That was what did it for him- as his hot cum filled up your mouth. His orgasm face was unlike anything you had ever seen before. Contorted so perfectly with pleasure, it was an image you never wanted to forget.

He flopped down onto the bed- no longer the dom-daddy that was fucking you five minutes ago. He grinned up at you, still naked. You couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of his ass, still a little woozy from his cock.

“STOP LOOKING AT IT!” he yelled with mock rage. You spiraled into peals of laughter as he grabbed the sheets to cover himself up. He was laughing too, looking like such a fool with his makeshift toga. He sat back up on the pillows and gestured for you to join him. He pulled the covers up and you rested your head gently on his chest. 

“So should we like watch a movie or something? I think this TV has HBO on it.” He was smiling down at you.

You could stay in this spot for a while.

part 1 part 2 part 3

taglist: @eviethetheatrefreak @thewritingofspencerrose @formulaa-1 @supremebaddietrash @moonayu @aexitizen-ln4 @notturlover @maxv33rstappen @coco-bitch

[sapphire-writes]

Money Shot

Part 4 of The Campaign

modern!Aemond x Reader

summary: Tensions rise between you and Aemond at the arrival of Floris Baratheon.

word count: 6.3k

rating: explicit/18+/MDNI

warnings: kissing, fingering, oral (f receiving), degradation, slight praise, semi-public, finger sucking, gagging, hair pulling, begging, infidelity, reader serving cunt (listen, our reader is not a girl's girl and you know what we're just rolling with it for this one rip), angst, alcohol consumption, smoking, language

note: oh hey there! it's my monthly series update whatcha know! how's everyone doing? surviving? thriving? slay! thanks for reading lovelies I hope you enjoy it!

dividers & headers by me (i know, we've come so far)

if you'd like to be notified when I post please follow and turn on notifications for @sapphire-writes-updates in lieu of a taglist!

like this story? check out more of my work HERE 🖤

Floris Baratheon is annoyingly pretty.

Even more so now that she’s this close; seated across from you at brunch. Floris and her sisters went to school with you when you were younger; you’d been in the same grade as her older sister Maris. You were never close. When it became clear her family was supporting Aegon over Rhaenyra, you made it your mission to find out everything worth knowing about them. 

Floris motherfucking Baratheon. 

She bats her lashes at Aemond as he holds his brother’s attention in polite quiet conversation. Easily the prettiest of her sisters so it is wasn’t surprising that Aemond had chosen her as his prize. Though to be frank, you’d never thought of Aemond as shallow. He hardly dated at all. 

Aegon had arrived late the previous night, setting off the alarms of Summerhall as he fell into the swimming pool. A fabulous start to the day. 

Floris had arrived the evening after you and Aemond’s most recent rendezvous. She’d squealed like an excited teenager, throwing her arms around Aemond, her heels lifting off of the ground as she peppered light kisses across his face. Her presence had been a thorn in your side ever since. 

A family outing had been Alicent’s idea. The restaurant was Rhaenyra’s choosing; an intimate little rooftop brunch spot. You’d all gotten there early to avoid the sweltering midday sun. 

You glance over your shoulder at the table behind you where Rhaenyra is seated, flanked by Daemon and Joffrey. Alicent and her father sit across from them, both tight lipped. Daemon is lost in his menu, the corner of his mouth curling into a sneer as he murmurs something to Rhaenyra. The table appears quiet, with no polite conversation. Though Joffrey is seated beside his mother, it feels very much as though you’d been seated at the kid’s table. 

“Weren’t you supposed to bring someone?” Helaena asks, glancing at Aegon out of the corner of her eye as she pours over the menu. “I thought you were seeing that Lannister girl.”

You turn away from the grown-ups' table, reaching for your wine. You declined the complimentary mimosas, as did Aegon. He swirls his glass of scotch in his hand, the ice cube clinking against the sides. Nothing like hard liquor at 11 am. 

“She’s not coming,” Aegon answers.

“Not coming?” 

Aegon merely shrugs, tapping his finger against the glass, “We had a fight.”

Helaena quirks a brow at that, pursing her lips as she sets her menu on the table.

“A fight?”

“Yes. A disagreement.”

“About what?”

Aegon groans, leaning back in his chair as a waitress walks by. His eyes rake over her figure so quickly you almost miss it. Aegon’s been perving for years and he’s mastered his technique. Your stomach sours and you roll your eyes. Jace reaches over to you, placing his hand on top of yours giving it a comforting squeeze. 

“Loyalties. I kissed someone else and she wasn’t happy.” Aegon tells his sister. His playful frown suggests he’s unbothered by her reaction to his infidelity.  

Of all the Targaryens, you think you hate Aegon the most.You glance at Aemond and find him already looking at you.

Well, maybe not the most. 

“How dreadful. You’ll cause a scandal, I’m sure,” Helaena muses. 

“No one’s paying much attention to me. Nothing to worry about,” Aegon says, plucking a piece of bread from the basket in front of him, “Everyone’s more concerned about Maegor With Tits.” He holds the bread against his chest for crude emphasis. 

“Hush,” Helaena snaps, always the quickest of her siblings to defend her half-sister. 

Helaena and Aegon quarrel like lovers. It’s unsettling. 

Aemond is still watching you, even though you’ve looked away. You’re trying to control the small smirk that plays on your lips. You know why he’s staring. 

It wasn’t as though you were trying to get him to look at you, but you had opted for a more revealing dress than you usually would for a family outing. Jace’s eyes had widened considerably as you’d smoothed the small scrap of silk into place that morning.

“You look incredible,” he’d said, hand on your hip, eyes following the fabric that stopped just below the curve of your ass, leaving no amount of leg to the imagination.

You glance at Aemond, meeting his hungry gaze. He’s awfully fun to play with. It’s been so boring the past few days ever since Floris’ arrival. She’d been stuck to Aemond’s side like a pretty little leech the entire time. 

“So, Floris,” you say, placing your wine glass on the table, “We’ve been living in the same house for three days now and I feel like I don’t know anything about you. Tell me about yourself.” It’s a command more than a request.

Aemond keeps his eye focused on you, the heat of his glare burning into your face. Helaena raises a brow as Jace and Aegon begin talking to one another, oblivious. Helaena has always been the most observant. Floris smiles kindly, not sensing the tension that rolls off your shoulders. It’s the first time you’ve attempted to speak to her. 

“Oh ... .well…,” she glances at Aemond though he says nothing, “What would you like to know?”

A smile dances across your lips. This should be fun.

“I can’t remember for the life of me where you studied. Which university did you graduate from again?” you ask, cocking your head to the side, “Was it Harvard or Yale? I always confuse the East Coast ivies.” You laugh breathlessly, shaking your head. 

Floris’ eyelashes flutter; a nervous tell. She smiles with a sigh, clearly not used to the spotlight directed at her. 

“Oh well I think you’re thinking of my sister Maris,” she answers, cheeks turning a rosy hue of pink. You knew that, obviously. If Aemond wanted intellectually stimulating conversation, he’d have chosen her as his arm candy. “But I’m planning on going back and getting my degree at some point. I’m really interested in botany—”

“Botany! Ha! That was my minor in university,” Helaena chimes in. Floris’ eyes light up, thankful Helaena has joined the conversation. “That’s rather—”

“Flowers?” you interrupt and Floris’ smile falters ever so slightly as her blue eyes return to you.

Unlucky for her, you’ve never been one to give up easily. You reach for your glass, holding it lazily between your fingers. Smiling tightly and tilting your head to the side, you continue your advances. 

“Yeah,” Floris shakily answers, “I mean…I don’t know. I haven’t really made up my mi—”

“Have you read any good books recently?” you ask, taking a sip of wine. You watch Aemond begin to tap his fingers against the table out of the corner of your eye.

“Oh um, not really,” Floris answers, “I’m not much of a reader.”

You flick an eyebrow up at that, glancing at Aemond. His pale blue eye holds your gaze, nostrils flaring. Interesting. Aegon and Jace have paused their side conversation.

“Oh?”

The table is silent. It’s like watching a cat play with a mouse. Aemond’s knuckles blanche as he curls his fingers in toward his palm. A waitress walks by, absentmindedly refilling the sweating glasses of water that line the table. Aemond says nothing; he doesn’t jump to his girlfriend’s defense.

Doesn’t look away from you. 

Floris wets her lips, smiling politely up at the waitress as she refills her cup. She pauses for a moment, nervously sipping her water. She’s about three mimosas in; you’re sure the alcohol is working in your favor. A layer of nervous sweat covers her brow. 

“I mean, I haven’t really—”

“What about current events?” you continue to steamroll her, “Aemond loves staying up to date he must be driving you crazy with all that. Especially with what's been going on recently in the Riverlands.”

“Oh, well I’m not really sure—”

“Oh you aren’t?” you ask in mock confusion, over dramatically pouting, “Hmph. I assumed you’d be interested in his work. I mean as Aemond’s girlfriend and all—”

“Oh well, that’s actually a great segway,” Floris interrupts, her voice shriller than before, as if she’s trying to regain control of the conversation.

You take another sip from your glass, allowing her interruption. You’re enjoying her distressed state. A smile curves at the edge of your lips and you attempt to hide it behind your glass. 

“We’ve just been having the loveliest time together, haven’t we?” Floris says, pressing her hand against Aemond’s shoulder.

He makes a soft noise of approval and you fight the urge to roll your eyes. You catch his gaze again, the conversation fading into white noise. 

Does Floris know she’s been sleeping on the bed he ruined you on? Your cheeks grow hot. Just a few nights ago you’d been tied to the rails of their headboard. Guilt stabs you in the gut but you choose to ignore the uncomfortable feeling. Floris Baratheon means nothing to you. She’d do the same to you in a heartbeat. There’s no playing fair in these circles. 

“—you see we decided to get engaged!”

You choke on your wine, sputtering, and coughing. Droplets of wine stain the white tablecloth like little pink raindrops. Jace rubs a comforting hand on your back. 

“Are you alright?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed with concern.

“Sloppy girl you got there, Jacey,” Aegon snickers. 

“I’m fine,” you manage in a hoarse voice, “Just went down the wrong way, that’s all.” You can feel droplets of wine running down your chin, onto your neck, and down between your breasts.

Aegon raises his eyebrows, an amused smile on his face as his eyes shamelessly follow the river flowing down your chest. You wipe your chin as you stand from your chair, the legs scraping harshly against the wooden floor.

“I’ll just go freshen up,” you tell everyone. Your throat tightens uncomfortably. 

“D’you want me to come with you?” Jace asks, rising halfway from his chair, his brown eyes wide.

“No, I’m fine,” you insist, pressing your hand against his shoulder until he sits back down, “I’ll be right back.”

You don’t look at Aemond, nor anyone else as you hurry past Rhaenyra’s table and between other patrons towards the restroom. Hurrying down the hallway and slamming the door shut behind you, you take a deep breath gazing at yourself in the mirror. Your eyes are wide and bloodshot from your coughing fit, and your chest is shiny and sticky from the wine. 

“Seven fucking hells,” you grumble, grabbing one of the provided towels and wetting it in the sink. Cleaning yourself up, you try to stop your hands from shaking. 

Engaged. 

You shake your head, fixing your hair, trying to rid yourself of the thought.

He’s fucking engaged.

Sleeping with Aemond Targaryen when he has a “girlfriend” is one thing. But fiancee? The thought makes your stomach tighten. Well, it shouldn’t mean anything. You didn’t care then. You shouldn’t care now. You meet your eyes in the mirror, your stomach flipping unpleasantly. You shouldn’t care. Your lower lip trembles, nails digging into the soft flesh of your palms.

Seven hells.

“What are you doing?” you whisper.

What have you been doing? You have a boyfriend. He has a fiancee. You press your hand against your forehead, breathing deeply as your heart thrums against your ribs. A wife practically. Gods if this got out. You don’t even want to think about it. Rhaenyra’s campaign would be jeopardized. Everything you’ve worked for. You’ve been so incredibly reckless. 

This has to end. 

The door opens and you’re torn from your thoughts as Aemond enters the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. Of course, he followed you. You glare at him through the mirror.

“Out.”

“Let me explain—”

“Get out Aemond,” you demand, drying your hands, not turning to face him.

“I meant what I said,” he continues, taking a step forward, “It’s an arrangement that’s all, a publicity stunt—”

“A publicity stunt? You’re getting married,” you hiss, throwing the towel against the counter, meeting his eyes through the mirror once more. It feels hauntingly familiar, looking at him like this; the last time he was buried to the hilt inside of you. “Get. Out.”

“It doesn’t change anything,” he insists.

You laugh bitterly, finally turning to face him. He’s standing inches away from you, so close you can smell the intoxicating scent of his cologne. It makes your head spin. Shit. Stay focused.

“Doesn’t change anything?” you repeat, “She’s going to be your wife.”

“Don’t be such a child,” he snaps, causing you to flinch, “You know how this works. People are paired off together all the time.” He takes a step forward and you back up, your ass nudging against the edge of the sink. “What did you think was going to happen, hm?” He steps even closer, his body completely caging you against the counter.

Aemond places his hands on either side of you. He’s not wrong. You know how this world works. Families align with each other all the time through relationships and marriages. It’s as if they’re frozen in time using betrothals for political gain. 

Just look at Rhaenyra and Laenor Velaryon. Their marriage was anything but a loving one. Her children are proof of that, clearly fathered by someone else. You remembered watching them arrive when you were in grade school; exiting the black limousine and not realizing who they were. Their father was rumored to be the head of the Secret Service at the time, Harwin Strong, though this was never confirmed. 

“It’s not like Jace is going to let you go,” he murmurs, hands inching closer to your waist, “Or have you not thought that far ahead?”

His hands come to rest on your hips and he chuckles softly at the sound this elicits from you.

“You’re in too deep,” he says, nose brushing against your cheek. His minty breath wafts over your face. One hand remains on your waist, the other trailing up the side of your ribs. Goosebumps bloom on your arms as he reaches your face.

“It’s for the election,” you whisper.

“The water’s over your head,” he murmurs, his hand caressing your cheek, “If you think it’ll end there, you’re not as smart as I thought you were. You’re drowning.”

You swallow, lips parting to give him another snide remark, but he doesn’t let you; the hand that cradles the side of your face pulls you forward and presses your lips to his. You push against his firm chest, disconnecting your lips with a wet pop. Your hand reaches toward your face, your fingertips pressing against your tingling lips.

“You’re getting married—”

“And you’re fucking jealous,” he snarls, bringing his face inches away from yours. You suck in a surprised breath, cheeks warming as his lips curl into that familiar smug smirk, “Worried Floris is getting what you’ve been missing?”

Humiliation makes your skin prickle; the hair on the back of your neck stands on end. Your fingers fall from your lips.

“Fuck you,” you hiss from between clenched teeth, “I don’t care.”

You try to push by him but his hands plant themselves on your middle, holding you firmly in front of him. His hands slide down your waist, cupping the globes of your ass. A disapproving whine leaves your lips as he squeezes the soft flesh harshly, lifting you onto the counter. Your fists beat against his chest and he grabs your wrists.

“You care,” he insists, pressing a kiss against the side of your neck as you twist an arm from his grip to shove him, “Otherwise you wouldn’t be behaving like a spoiled brat in front of everyone.” His lips press against your throat with every word he speaks. 

One of his large hands moves up your back winding in your hair and tugging your head backwards. Your forearm presses against his shoulder attempting to push him away. Aemond hums appreciatively against your throat, pressing another soft kiss against it. Your breathing hitches as he continues to kiss your neck, warm desire pooling in your belly. You stop pushing, curling your hand into the fabric of his shirt instead, pulling him closer. 

“It’s been three days,” he murmurs, continuing his exploration up your neck with his lips, nipping and sucking at the smooth skin, “Three days without this cock is driving you crazy, huh?”

“Aemond,” you try to snap at him but it’s dangerously close to a moan, “They’ll be waiting for us—” You’re silenced by his fingers thrusting through your parted lips, pressing down against your tongue. 

“Shhh,” he hushes in a condescending tone, “I think that pretty mouth has said enough, don’t you agree?” You watch him with wide eyes as he presses further down your throat until the tips of his fingers reach the rough surface of the back of your tongue causing you to gag. He moves his fingers back.

“C’mon, you can do better than that,” he scolds, tapping your cheek with his other hand. His eyes narrow as he presses his fingers further down your throat once more. Your throat constricts and you claw at his bicep, fighting the urge to gag again. You hollow your cheeks, sucking his three fingers in your mouth. “There she is. That’s much better— there’s a good girl, that’s it.”

He removes his soaked fingers, a line of saliva still connected to your lips. Gasping for breath you feel him part your legs, his hand sneaking under your dress. You can feel his cool, wet fingers against your inner thighs. 

��Aem—”

“What did I say?” His words are clipped and irritated. His fingers graze against your clothed center, pressing lightly against your soaked center. You can feel how much you want him. How right he was about the jealousy that burns in your belly. You’re sure he can feel it too.

A muffled whine leaves your lips as his fingers pull your panties to the side, parting your silky wet folds. You’re embarrassingly wet already. Aemond chuckles darkly, fingers dipping against your entrance and gathering some of your arousal before circling your clit.

“You’re begging to get fucked, you know that?” he asks, his voice husky and strained, “Walking around here looking like this.” The hand in your hair tightens and pinpricks of pleasure sting your scalp. “Needy. Little. Slut.” His fingers pinch your clit on the last word and you cry out.

Aemond slams his lips against yours to silence your cry and you hook a leg around his slim waist, heel digging into his lower back pulling him closer. He kisses you feverishly like he means to devour you. It’s sloppy and his teeth scrape against your lip but you don’t care. It’s been days without him speaking to you, let alone touching you. You’ve felt like you were going crazy.

Not that you were about to admit that to him.

Your breathing is turning to pants as he continues to kiss you, fingers circling your bud with determined precision. Your eyebrows scrunch together as the current of pleasure in your abdomen winds tighter, and your toes begin to curl. You whine against his mouth and he shushes you once more.

“Shut the fuck up,” he growls through an open-mouthed kiss, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth. 

You accept it greedily and your limbs turn to jelly when he licks at the roof of your mouth. One hand clings to his bicep, nails digging into the hardened muscle while the other winds around his neck and tangles in his hair. His hand dips lower, two fingers stretching inside of your warm waiting pussy. 

“That’s it,” he murmurs as you shudder at the stretch, “Fucking c’mon then—” his fingers crook upwards pressing against the spongy section of your walls that has your back arching, and black spots dancing across your vision.

“Gods—” you whine, clenching around his digits as his thumb presses against your clit. His fingers are longer and thicker than your own; you’d indulged yourself several times the past few days but masturbation was nothing compared to the pleasure Aemond is able to give you. 

“This is all you needed, huh?” he asks, steadily beginning to finger you, focusing all his attention on caressing your sweet spot. “Oh yeah. You’re so much happier with my fingers buried inside this tight little cunt, huh?” Your face flushes as he speaks to you. Every stroke of his fingers sends waves of pleasure washing over you. Your jaw slacks, eyes squeezing shut. Every nerve ending in your body is singing as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge. 

“You want my mouth on this sweet little pussy?” he asks gruffly, his face pressed against yours, “Tell me how badly you want it. C’mon. Tell me.” The squelching sound of his fingers is borderline pornographic in the small space.

“Yes!” you wail.

“Beg me,” his voice is rough, the commanding tone causing your walls to spasm around his lengthy digits. 

“Please,” you whine, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. He knows your body so well. Too damn well. Every curl of his fingers incessantly bullies against your sweet spot. You can feel your walls pulsating around his fingers, squeezing him tighter and tighter and tighter. 

“Please what, baby?”

Your teeth are clenched together, and a whimper gets caught in your throat. Your eyes roll back in your skull as he slows his pace stroking just right. Your head tilts back gently tapping against the mirror, mouth hanging open in bliss as you try to find the words. 

“Please—please I need your mouth—”

“Yeah?” he says, an amused, open-mouthed grin slashed across his face, “Where?”

Seven hells he’s relentless. You bite your lip hard enough to draw blood, your heel presses against his buttock, your back arching off the counter desperately grinding against his hand for more friction. Gods you’re practically fucking yourself on his hand your hips rutting against his palm.

“Please! Please on my pus—” Your sentence dies as Aemond kneels in front of you. “Aemond—oh god,” you moan as he presses his face against you, one hand holding your panties to the side, as his tongue slides over your aching clit.

“Since you begged,” he murmurs, suckling your clit between his lips and sucking; tongue lavishing the sensitive button with even strokes.

His tongue is deliciously warm and firm, tracing little circles around your clit and making your mind go blank, the last few moments forgotten. His fingers stroke the rough patch at the front of your sensitive walls and he presses against it with brutal determination. 

Your thighs shake around his head, fingers tangling in his hair as the pressure in your belly builds, winding tighter and tighter until at last white-hot pleasure bursts through you; your muscles go taut and you cry out, slamming the back of your hand against your mouth to stifle the noise as you release barrels through you. 

He fucks you through it, a low rumble of appreciation bursting through his chest as the wet, sucking sound of his fingers grows louder with your release. The pleasure is almost too much; it ignites you completely. 

A rush of air enters the small space and your head snaps up. Aemond is quick to stand, mouth falling away from you and your release fizzles out. 

Daemon leans against the doorframe, a knowing smirk on his face as he purses his lips. His eyes follow the length of Aemond’s arm down to where it disappears still beneath your dress. Aemond’s fingers slip out of your pussy, the soaked digits dragging a wet path down against your inner thighs leaving you despairingly empty.

“Carry on,” Daemon murmurs, letting the door close behind him as he exits.

Blood rushes in your ears and the room begins to spin. It’s like Daemon took all the air in the room with him. Black spots appear in your vision. 

“Fuck,” you’re nearly panting, “Oh gods—” Your mind is beginning to spiral, the high of pleasure leaving your limbs. “Shit,” you breathe, fixing your panties, hopping off of the counter, “—fuck.”

Aemond reaches for the sink, and he turns it on calmly, beginning to wash his hands. 

“Relax.”

“Relax?”

He shuts off the faucet, drying his hands as he faces you.

“He’s not going to say—”

“Aemond,” you stop him, holding your hand up, “Just don’t.”

Fixing yourself quickly, Aemond stands in stony silence as you open the door and flee the bathroom. You return to the table, not looking at anyone. Sitting beside Jace you reach for your wine, downing the rest of it, trying to ignore the ache between your legs. 

Aemond rejoins a moment later, reclaiming his seat next to Floris. She holds out the menu, pointing at something trying to show him. It takes him a moment to get back into character. You watch him blink before slinging an arm over the back of her chair and leaning into her, seemingly very interested in what she’s showing him. 

You place your glass on the table, your leg bouncing uncontrollably. Helaena watches you, lilac eyes narrowed. Turning away from her scrutinizing gaze you subtly glance at Rhaenyra’s table.

Daemon meets your eyes, raising his glass to salute you.

Fuck.

You forgo dinner later that day, claiming the sun has gone to your head. Hiding beneath the silk sheets of you and Jace’s bed seems like a much better way to spend the evening. You try to busy yourself on your phone but your thoughts keep going back to Daemon. The smirk he wore, the look in his eyes.

Caught you.

Your stomach turns and suddenly the blue light is making you feel nauseous and you throw your phone across the room. The sun bleeds orange tendrils of light across the floor as it lowers over the horizon, the hours ticking by as you lay in silence. 

The door creaks open when the room is shrouded in darkness. The mattress dips as Jace sits, placing a comforting hand on your back.

“Hey,” he says softly, rubbing slow circles over the covers, “How’re you feeling?”

“Miserable,” you answer truthfully.

“I’m sorry baby,” he murmurs, “Do you want me to stay?”

“No,” you tell him, “I’m sure there’s something planned, you should join them.”

“It’s just a movie,” he tells you, “Joffrey picked it. Some crazy action film.”

“Charming,” you grumble as he places a kiss on the top of your head.

“Can I bring you something later?” he asks, and you don’t answer, “Get some rest.”

He gently closes the door as he leaves and the nausea comes back. You don’t deserve him. Jace knows, you’re sure of it. He knows there’s someone else. He’s just too nice to say anything. 

Whether he knows it’s Aemond you’ve been sleeping with is a different story.

It should make you feel worse than it does. 

You sit up, throwing off the covers suddenly very hot. You can’t sit in this room anymore, can’t lie down and sulk. It’s driving you up a wall, making you want to crawl out of your skin. You need fresh air. Rising from the bed, you throw on a pair of shorts and a simple t-shirt along with some flip-flops. 

The hallway is quiet when you enter; everyone must still be in the theater room or have gone to bed. You quickly pad down the stairs, the sound of your flip-flops echoing through the grand entryway as they slap against the marble staircase. Heading through the spacious kitchen you open the sliding glass doors and head out the back towards the pool. 

You see him as soon as you step onto the patio. He’s standing at the far end of the pool, a lit cigarette dangling from his perfect mouth. He glances at you, the cherry red tip pointed in your direction. He’s taken his hair down, the silver waves ripple over his shoulders. 

The pool is filled with lights dancing on the blue surface; little lotus flowers holding candles. A basket of beach towels sits next to the door and you grab one. Aemond watches your movements as you walk along the side of the pool coming closer to him.

“What are you doing?” you ask, watching him crush the cigarette under his shoe.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Didn’t know you smoked.”

“Only during times of stress.”

You nod, clicking your tongue against the roof of your mouth. You don’t ask him to follow you, but he does all the same as you continue to walk the edge of the pool until you reach the beginning of the yard. You walk on the grass until you reach the dimly lit cobblestone path you’d seen during the tour of Summerhall house Alicent had given the day you’d arrived. Fairy lights have been strung along the railing that leads down to a small private beach giving the path a feeling of perpetual summer. Aemond’s footsteps echo behind you sounding heavier than your own. 

As you arrive at the end of the steps you remove your shoes. Your feet sink into the sand, cooler now with the blazing summer sun not hanging overhead. 

“You shouldn’t swim at night,” Aemond comments.

“I’m not going to swim,” you tell him, placing your shoes on the last step, “Are you coming?”

Aemond hums, hesitating for a moment as he holds your gaze. He truly looks ethereal with the moonlight casting shadows along the angles of his face. That chiseled jaw, those striking cheekbones. His prominent long nose. He could have gone into modeling if not politics, that you’re sure of. 

You walk side by side further down the beach before you spread the towel and sit on top of it. You pat the spot beside you and he accepts the silent invitation to sit. For a moment neither of you speak, staring out at the waves that gently lap against the shore. The lights of the city are visible from here, just shiny little stars sparkling against the horizon. 

You can feel his gaze shift as he looks at you. What was it he said to you a few days ago?

You can’t fool me.

“I can speak to Daemon,” Aemond says softly, “Make sure he doesn’t…”

“Don’t bother,” you cut him off, “You and I are a ticking time bomb. It could have been anyone walking in on us.”

At least it was Daemon. If he releases it, he’ll spin it to make Aemond look like the sleaze; cheating on poor, doe-eyed Floris Baratheon. You don’t even want to think about the possibility of Otto or Alicent walking in on you. 

It’s always easier to scandalize women. 

If Daemon spoke to Rhaenyra, she’d make him leave your name out of it. Nameless, faceless. Just some girl. Curiosity gnaws at you. 

“Why wouldn’t you say something?” you ask him suddenly, “You could get on top of this before Daemon goes to the press. He’ll ruin you with this.”

“I’m not worried,” Aemond responds coolly, “I’m not scared of a little scandal.”

You think back to the stories you’d heard about him. The dutiful son with his sprinkle of bad decisions. Aemond cleans up his messes, unlike his elder. 

“I suppose your family is very protective of your reputation,” you agree, tucking your knees against your chest.

“You don’t have that sort of protection,” he says softly.

It’s true. The Targaryen and Hightower names are like royalty compared to everyone else. Sucking your lower lip between your teeth, you slowly shake your head. 

“No,” you agree, “I don’t.”

“I’m not going to say anything,” he clarifies, “I expect Aegon to win this campaign without the additional nonsense.”

You snort out a laugh. Even now he can’t help but try and push your buttons. It’s inevitable, the two of you. Always trying to one-up one another. 

“Yeah okay. Well, we’ll see about that. Besides, Rhaenyra’s numbers have increased steadily since the debate,” you tell him, bumping your shoulder against his. The small contact leaves a burning feeling where your skin meets his. 

“Don’t count your eggs before they hatch,” he softly teases.

“I know my chickens.”

Aemond frowns, giving you a quizzical look. “That’s not a saying.”

“Says who?” you ask, arching a brow at him. 

This is easy, this is good. Just banter. Just Aemond versus you. It’s much more simple when you’re on opposite sides of the playing field. 

“Surely someone,” he says leaning back against his hands.

The waves crash loudly against the rocks and seafoam sizzles against the sand. The moonlight reflects off of the top of the surf sending a silver trail down the middle of the water, splitting it neatly in two. 

“Why?” you softly ask, tapping your fingers against your calves.

“Why what?” Aemond asks.

“Why aren’t you going to say anything?”

Aemond stares at you, his gaze burning into the side of your face until you can’t stand it. Turning your head, you meet his heated gaze. 

“You know why.”

Your head tilts to the side, eyes not leaving his. “That’s a problem.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Aemond insists, “If we’re careful.” Aemond wets his lips, “What do you want?”

Your heart is beating so fast against your ribs it's almost painful. You place your palms against the towel, pushing against it trying to ground yourself. 

“This…” you struggle to find the words, opting for another shake of your head, “This will never work. You and I; we hate each other.”

“Yes,” Aemond agrees, his hand moving on top of yours.

“And you’re engaged,” you continue as his fingers lace through yours. Oh gods. There it is. That ache deep inside of you; a bottomless pit of want that threatens to swallow you whole. 

“I’m engaged,” he agrees, reaching over to stroke your cheek, “And you’re with Jace.”

His thumb strokes your cheekbone, hand cradling your jaw. The action is affectionate and caring. It’s so tender, so endearing you almost burst into tears. 

“I’m with Jace,” it’s barely a whisper, “I’m with—” You don’t get a chance to finish. His mouth is on yours before Jace’s name leaves your lips. There’s only Aemond.

You fall into the familiar rhythm quickly as he climbs on top of you, kissing you all the while. The sounds of the waves are deafening, matching the beating of your heart, of blood rushing in your ears. It’s too much and not enough at the same time. You want to lose yourself in the sound, in the feeling of him on top of you, pressing against you. He’s everything. He’s all-consuming. 

It’s too late for anything else. 

You’ve already been devoured. 

The heat of the morning sun wakes you, a light sheen of sweat covering you. The side of your face itches and you bring a hand to it, brushing away some sand. Sand sticks to your legs and arms. Aemond lays beside you on his back, an arm thrown over his eye to block the sun. 

“We fell asleep,” you tell him, squinting at the rising sunlight.

Whirl. Click!

A noise startles you. Must be the birds. Pushing yourself into a seated position, you brush some sand from your arm. Aemond turns onto his side, throwing an arm lazily over your outstretched legs. His hand curls against the meat of your thigh causing you to chuckle.

“Someone’s needy,” you tease, combing some hair from his face. 

He growls his eye remaining shut, but the corner of his mouth quirks in a smile.

Whirl. Click! Whirl.

Craning your neck, you raise your arms above your head, yawning as you stretch. A sliver of flesh is exposed as you do so, and Aemond reaches his hand to grasp your waist, tugging you closer. You definitely shouldn’t have fallen asleep. Jace is probably worried sick. You pat your shorts. Shit. You’d left your phone as well.

“They’ll be looking for us,” you tell him, attempting to escape his grasp.

“Let them look,” he says, voice rough with sleep, as he pulls you close, pressing a sloppy kiss to your lips.

Click!

You turn. There’s that noise again. As your ears adjust, you’re less sure that it’s simply the sounds of the birds rustling in their nests. The waves crash against the rocks, and you look over the dunes as the sea breeze rustles through them.

There it is. 

A photographer, laying on his belly in the dunes, camera held at the ready. Whirl. Click! Your heart drops into your stomach. You’re going to be sick, for real this time. 

You should have known.

Pushing away from Aemond, you pull your shirt down, dusting off the remaining sand.

“You’re a real fucking asshole,” you hiss, pulling the towel out from under him. 

Aemond frowns at the sudden change, watching as you shake the towel out before chucking it in his direction. He catches it, leaning back slightly, surprised at the force of your throw.

“What?” Aemond says, face a mask of confusion.

“Shame I wasn’t in some skimpy suit, bet the press would have a field day putting those photos side by side with you and Floris,” you tell him scoffing, “I should’ve fucking known better.”

He calls your name. You don’t turn back, shielding your face as you hear the click of the camera once more attempting to save whatever dignity you have left. You can hear Aemond struggle to sand as you move toward the stairs, slipping on your shoes. His hand wraps around your forearm as you begin to climb them, halting your steps. 

“This was not me,” he insists, “Look, Storm’s End yes, I did that but I had nothing to do with this—”

“I am such a fucking idiot,” you snap, ignoring him.

“I swear it-” You tug your arm away from his grasp, his expression crestfallen.

“I don’t even know why I’m surprised,” you tell him, laughing bitterly, “Like I didn’t know who I was dealing with.”

Aemond’s lips part, but he says nothing. You open your mouth to speak again.

Click! Whirl. Click!

“Fucking hells,” you mumble, turning away and running up the steps back towards the main house. 

Tears stream down your face, hot and wet as you continue to climb. They’ve already got their money shot. You won’t give them one of you crying as well.

[corrodedcorpses]

Boys on Film. Part iv

Pairing: PS!Steve x PS!Eddie x Virgin!reader

Summary: It's been a year since you last saw Eddie and Steve. The last place you expected to see them again for the first time was at a club while you were out with your new boyfriend. The night does not go how you imagined it at all.

Warnings: Smut (18+ MDNI), public sex (ish), fingering, angst, cheating (sorry)

Word count: 6.8K

a/n: I hope this kind of makes up for the ending of the last chapter but also I'm sorry in advance. (also as always a massive thank yous to my babies @andvys @wroteclassicaly @usedtobecooler @bimbobaggins69 for all of your help I love you all so much)

Taglist is closed but if you want an update on when I post the next chapter you can follow my fic account @corrodedcorpsesfics and turn on notifications🖤

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4.5

Steve and Eddie stare at your closed door that had just been slammed in their face moments ago. It had all gone so wrong, so fast. Neither of them had meant for it to go that way or to fight like that with you. All of their (and your own) long harboured emotions coming out during the fight, all of the love turning into hate in order to protect your hearts from - what you all assumed - would no doubt be rejection. 

Eddie is the first to break eye contact with your door. Scoffing and walking toward his van as Steve leans his head on the door, closing his eyes trying to will you to open it again. He’s almost sure he can hear tiny sobs coming from the other side and it feels like his heart is breaking all over again. 

He can hear Eddie behind him, pacing and grumbling out “shit”, “fuck” and mumbling “that was so stupid” over and over again. Steve is frozen in place, he knows as soon as he breaks away from your door that it’s all over, that he’ll have to face the reality of what just happened. He doesn’t know if he can do that yet. 

A loud smack, that was obviously Eddie’s palm hitting his car, finally jolts Steve out of his self pity. He finally turns to him, watching as Eddie continues to pace and mumble expletives under his breath, his ringed fingers running through his hair with so much force Steve thinks he’s about to rip it all out. 

“Eddie,” he tries, too quietly as the other man doesn’t stop. 

He glances at your door one more time before sighing and walking up to Eddie. 

“Eddie,” he says more firmly, standing next to where he continues to pace, “come on man-”

“Don't you ‘come on man’ me,” Eddie interrupts, whipping around to finally look at Steve,  “what the fuck was that, Harrington.” 

Steve flinches at the use of his last name, something Eddie only uses to tease or hurt him. 

“What the fuck was what, Munson?” Steve throws his own surname back at him with just as much venom, Eddie squinting his eyes into a glare. 

“All that,” Eddie explains, wildly gesturing to your house, “bullshit you pulled in there. ‘At least you wouldn’t have been a virgin in your twenties’,” he mocks what Steve had said to you. 

“The bullshit I pulled?” Steve almost shouts back, “What about you, huh?” He asks, a finger poking into Eddie’s chest to reiterate his point. “You didn’t break that shit to her gently at all! No wonder she went straight into ‘defence mode’.”

 Eddie just rolls his eyes at him, even though he knows Steve's right. 

The action only angers Steve more. “I wasn’t even in that stupid argument until you dragged me in with your bullshit about hanging out with King Steve.” 

Eddie visibly cringes at the memory of using Steve’s old title, one he knew Steve loathed and has done years of work to be anything but. But, Eddie couldn’t let Steve ‘win’ the argument. If he did he would have to admit that all of this was his fault. 

“Whatever,” Eddie scoffs, “the argument only turned nasty as soon as you put your 2 cents in! The shit you said was just—” Eddie pauses, remembering how Steve had teased him for not ‘making a move’ on you sooner, saying everyone thought you were Eddie’s ‘property’ during high school, outing him for scaring away anyone that dared to get close to you because he knew that weren’t good enough for you, “mean.”

Eddie whispers the last word. The only word he could come up with to express how he felt, how that whole argument transported him right back to his teenage years, something he truly thought he had gotten over from the help of you and Steve. Something he obviously was far from getting over. 

Steve’s demeanour changes, he can see the hurt in Eddie’s eyes, the sliver of vulnerability that he’s been hiding behind his rage. He understands the weight that one word holds.

“I didn’t intend for it to be mean, I just, I don’t know, it just–-” he’s taken aback, stuttering through some sort of an explanation, but there isn’t one. He was mean. 

“It’s like you wanted to hurt her,” Eddie continues, but he doesn’t mean just you, “hurt me.” He whispers so softly, he’s sure Steve wouldn’t even hear him. But Steve does.

“What? Why would I want to hurt someone I love!” Steve says too quickly in response, eyes widening when he realises what he just said, what he just confessed to Eddie. But when he looks at Eddie he only sees hurt in his eyes. 

Eddie still doesn’t think Steve heard him say ‘hurt me’, so he takes Steve’s confession as a confession of love for you, not you and him. 

Eddie just laughs with no humour, shaking his head. “I was fucking right, I fucking knew you hadn’t changed – you’re such an asshole, man.” 

The cogs in Eddie’s head turn, thinking back to how Steve had said all those things against him, no doubt finally seeing his opportunity to put a wedge between you both, so Steve could finally have you all to himself.

Steve just stares at him in shock as whatever fragments of his heart that were left break even further. He didn’t think Eddie loved him back but there was some part of him that had hoped, that had at least thought Eddie would be nice about it, gentle with his heart even if he didn’t want to keep it.  

He didn’t think Eddie would laugh in his face and call him an asshole. 

“Wow,” Steve says to himself in disbelief, “okay.” He feels the tears well up in his eyes as his chest physically aches from all of the heartbreak tonight. He doesn’t want Eddie to see him break down, he'd no doubt laugh at his misery. 

He starts to walk away from Eddie, it’s the only thing he can think to do. It’s only a couple of miles to his house, the air isn’t too cold and it’s not too late — he can easily just walk home, he thinks. 

“Steve?” Eddie questions as the other boy starts to hurry away from him, “Steve!” He tries again, an air of worry in his voice as he calls out, “Seriously? You’re just gonna walk away from me too huh?” Eddie yells. 

“Whatever man,” Steve yells back, already at the end of your driveway, stopping only when his shoes hit the road to look back at Eddie, “you basically just rejected me so, I don’t need this shit anymore.” Steve spits, mentally cursing the way his voice wobbles as he says it. He continues down the road, needing to get as much distance between him and Eddie before he can finally break down. 

“What?” Eddie says too quietly, he realises when Steve doesn’t respond, “rejected you?” he shouts this time. But still Steve doesn’t stop. 

“Steve! Would you — shit,” Eddie curses. He’s so confused about what Steve meant, he’s so confused about this whole evening but he needs to know. The tiny sliver of his heart that is holding onto hope needs to know what Steve meant. 

Eddie runs around to the drivers side and launches himself into his van. Cursing when the engine turns over way too many times before it finally roars to life. He swings out of the driveway like a madman, thanking the universe that you live on a quiet street. 

He catches up with Steve quickly, slowing the van down until he’s driving right beside him. He’s happy he never listened to you and Steve about needing to roll his windows up. 

“Steve, would you just stop,” Eddie pleads. 

“No,” is all Steve replies.  

“Steve,” Eddie pleads exasperatedly, “what did you mean?”

But Steve doesn’t answer and he doesn't stop walking. He hopes if he ignores Eddie long enough that he will just leave him alone.

And he thinks his plan worked when Eddie suddenly drives forwards down the road. But, those hopes are shattered when Eddie parks a little bit ahead of Steve and hops out. 

Steve finally stops walking as he sees Eddie running towards him. He should just turn around and walk away, circle back around at the other end of your street, it’s a longer way to walk but at least he wouldn’t have to see Eddie. But he doesn’t, his feet won’t let him move. He sees Eddie rushing towards him and his whole body aches for Eddie to just hold him as he breaks down and melts into his arms.  

When Eddie finally gets to Steve he’s quick to invade his space, cupping his face tenderly in both of his hands. Eddie searches Steve’s eyes, he can see the unshed tears threatening to spill, the hurt and the tiny bit of hope Steve also holds. It’s enough for Eddie to ask again, even if it could mean more heartache. 

“Steve,” he whispers so tenderly, it makes Steve’s knees almost buckle, makes it even harder to not just fall at Eddie’s feet and beg him to love him back, “what did you mean?”

Steve swallows, hard. He looks into Eddie’s big, brown, pleading eyes. He knows he’s about to get his heart smashed, completely obliterated when he explains himself, but he can’t stop his mouth from moving. God, he would do anything Eddie asked while he cradled his face so delicately and looked at him like that. 

“I basically just told you I wanted you,” he whispers, eye’s never leaving Eddie’s “a-and you just told me to, to get fucked.” He closes his eyes trying to will his tears to stay at bay, the last sentence coming out all wobbly as he tries to stop his bottom lip from trembling. 

“Steve…” Eddie says in a way that has Steve opening his eyes again. He’s met with confusion and yearning swimming in Eddie’s beautiful brown orbs. “You want me?” Eddie asks in disbelief, “I - I thought you were talking about her!” It comes out like a question, like a plea. 

“I was,” Steve says, and he can see Eddie’s eyes start to fall, feel his hands on his cheeks loosen, Steve is quick to grab Eddie’s wrists, keeping his hands on his cheeks before quickly continuing, “I was talking about both of you, idiot.” He says the last word fondly, with a hint of a smile dancing on his still trembling lips.

Eddie can’t help but return a small smile of his own. Steve wants him too. He leans forward to capture Steve’s lips with his own. It’s the only thing he can think to do in the moment, the only thing his body will let him do. Steve returns the kiss immediately. It’s soft, so soft that it sears their lips, all of the passion and pent up feelings and anger from the last hour coming out in the way their lips and tongue dance together so slowly. 

Eddie finally pulls back after they’ve run out of air, resting his forehead against Steve’s. “I like you too,” he whispers, just in case it wasn’t obvious, revelling in the way it makes Steve smile, “I like you both too.”

Steve pulls back to look at Eddie properly, he can see the mix of happiness and regret all over Eddie’s face. 

“Oh.” Steve says. It’s all he can say, he sees the whole argument differently now, sees how stupid they both had been. He realises why Eddie said and did what he did and regrets the things he said to him. Knowing how much more they would have hurt now. 

“Yeah, ‘oh’,” Eddie replies. 

“We're idiots.” Steve sighs. 

“Yep.” Eddie agrees. 

“Should we… go back inside?” Steve asks.

Eddie shakes his head knowingly, “give her some time, trust me.” 

He thinks back to all the times you showed up at his trailer door, sheepishly asking if you could spend the day or the night or the weekend when you were upset. Always claiming to need space from your family after you fought. Eddie never realising what you needed wasn’t space, what you needed was him. 

But you never told him that. 

So, they do give you time. They give you a day to cool off, to sit with your thoughts before they call, but are only met with silence in return. They try again a day later — and again another day after that. They try to go over to your house a week later but you’re either not there or are pretending not to be. 

They try again and again and again until trying every day turns into every two days, which turns into trying every week, which turns into trying every now and then over the next couple of months. The last time they tried was months later when they had had a particularly rough day and just needed you. 

All of this was met with silence. 

You weren’t sure what you expected when you kicked them out, but you hadn’t expected them to just leave. You had expected them to at least come back later that night or the next day. 

Not call you late the next night like that would make up for anything and you didn’t expect it to take them a full week of calling before coming over to try and see you. 

All of this just seemed to cement the idea in your head that they didn’t care about you as much as you'd been stupid enough to believe they did. 

You didn’t realise how upset and borderline distraught this had also made them. You didn’t realise how upset they were after every failed attempt. How they had both sat on the kitchen floor in their new apartment months later and cried, surrounded by half unpacked boxes after that final time they tried, and failed, to call. Because none of this felt right without you.  

And they didn’t realise how you’d done the exact same thing on the floor in your kitchen that night, cursing yourself for not just picking up the damn phone this time.  

******* 

You hold the two dresses up against your body, one at a time. Trying to decide between the black — tight, revealing and super uncomfortable or the dusty pink — a stark contrast, more modest, cute and comfortable. 

You’d spent the last hour getting ready for your date with your boyfriend of about 6 months, Bradley. He was… nice… and fun… and, well, a good distraction. It was nice to feel needed. But, you know deep down that it ultimately won’t go anywhere.  

There’s just something… missing. A spark? Passion? Familiarity? The fact that he’s not Eddie or Steve?

You groan at yourself for even having that thought, dropping the dresses back on your bed as your eyes land on the picture on your dresser next to your mirror. It’s a cute photo of you, Eddie and Steve, faces squished together and giant smiles plastered on your faces. A photo you still can’t bring yourself to get rid of. 

You sigh and flip it over as you seem to before every date, the picture somehow making you feel guilty. As if the two people in the photo hadn’t completely broken your heart. But you know you’ll just put it back to its original position as soon as you get home again. 

You shake yourself out of your thoughts, before you make the mistake of going down that black hole of missing them once again. You decide to just go for the revealing, uncomfortable dress — knowing Bradley would probably like it more, praise you for showing off the curves you mostly hid from him. 

You’ll hopefully be too drunk to feel the discomfort anyway. 

*****

The club is loud and packed when you arrive with Bradley, the bass and the stench of spilled sugary drinks overwhelming. You clutch the strap of the purse that’s across your chest nervously, there’s a split second where you want to turn around, hightail it out of there and cuddle up at home by yourself instead. You from a year ago would��ve, but you’re not that same person anymore. 

“Drinks?” He yells at you over the music. He’s at least courteous enough to keep a tight arm around your waist, hugging you in close to shield you slightly from the rowdy party goers who already had one too many to drink. 

“Please,” you yell back before you both make your way to the bar. Winding through the growing crowd of rowdy people, his hand heavy on your skin, feeling out of place. 

You rest your forearms against the bar, wincing at the sticky feeling underneath. You watch as the bartenders flit around, making the various overpriced, overly sweet drinks for the other patrons who arrived long before you. 

Your eyes wander as you wait, taking in the neon signs behind the bar, the shelves of alcohol with countless cheap labels, smiling as you see two girls overly excited to see each other, the guys next to you obviously getting rejected by the girls standing in front of them, the couple that can't seem to keep their hands off each other at the very end of the bar –- wait. 

Wait.

You stare at the couple for longer than you should. Your brain taking a second to catch up with your eyes. You can only see the back of the guy as you take in his dark clothes, the chain bracelet on his wrist, the tattoos littered along his pale skin, the bats adorning his forearm, the long mop of curly brown hair- No. No no no no no. 

Eddie?

Your head starts to spin, and not just from the overwhelming atmosphere of the club. Why is he here? Why now? Why is he with a girl? You curse yourself for even thinking that last part and for the pang of jealousy in your chest. You’re here with your boyfriend, you can’t be getting jealous of the guy who broke your heart being here with some other girl. 

Even if he was your best friend for all of highschool, the only person who got you through that hell hole, one of the only people you’ve ever truly trusted, truly loved, who you definitely still love more than your own boyfriend as much as you try to pretend you don't, whose back is doing more things for you than your boyfriend has the whole time you’ve been dating, who kisses so much better than him, who looks really good right now kissing… Steve?!   

It’s only then that Eddie turns slightly, giving you a glimpse of the ‘mystery girl’. You feel like you’re gonna be sick. What are they doing? Here? Together? God they look so good. 

All thoughts fail you as you’re mesmerised watching them. The way their bodies press against each other, how Eddie has both hands lazily in Steve's back pockets as Steve's hands fist the front of Eddie’s shirt. Your cunt aches at the way their lips move together as though they’ve done this a thousand times. 

They probably have done this a thousand times, you realise. They way they are standing, so relaxed with each other, like there's no hurry to the makeout session, like they have all night.  

You're confused and hurt as you watch them. You can’t help but wonder if they’re together, they make a hot couple afterall. But you can’t help the awful feelings that that realisation arises. All of your fears from a year ago come flooding back, you were right. They never wanted you.  

Before you can fully spiral you see Bradley’s hand wave in front of your face, it’s then that you realise he’s been talking to you and you see a stressed bartender give you a forced yet polite smile, as they wait for you to tell them what you want. 

“Hello? y/n?” He asks, concerned. 

“Huh?” You reply, dumb, unable to take your eyes off of them — it’s all your brain can come up with as a response, too absorbed in the scene taking place just feet from you.

“What would you like?” He asks, like he’s already asked you multiple times. You rip your eyes away from them, focusing on Bradley’s face that’s still soft and full of admiration, as if you hadn’t been actively ignoring him. As if time hadn’t just stood still, as you watched on in what could only be described as devastation.

“Oh-- ah-- just my usual,” you say finally, glancing back at Eddie and Steve. Watching as Steve’s hand curls into Eddie's hair, it’s longer now, you realise. I wonder if it would still be as soft or if - you shake that image out of your head. “Maybe some shots? Patreon or tequila, you like both right?” You add quickly.

Bradley seems surprised but compiles, ordering one of his own. You take the small glass in your hand, bringing it up to your lips, the strong smell already paralysing, before downing it as fast as you can. You make the mistake of glancing at Eddie and Steve again as you do, finding yourself making eye contact with Steve, realising they’re both looking at you now. You almost choke on the drink in your mouth, wincing at how the liquid burns more than usual as it slides down your throat. 

You grab your drink and Bradley's hand, quickly leading him to the dancefloor. Needing to get as much space between you and the boys as possible. 

Eddie and Steve watch you take the other guy's hand with dark eyes. You spare a glance back seeing Steve’s angry eyes as Eddie whispers something in his ear. 

Angry? What does he have to be angry about? 

You weave in and out of the crowd as they stumble and bump into you, the alcohol making them stagger on their feet and spill their drinks haphazardly on the floor. The further you get lost into the sea of people the more you try to shake Steve and Eddie out of your head, determined to still have a good time despite the anxiety that has wrapped its way around your chest. 

Once you’re almost in the centre of the dancefloor, safely concealed by the thrawl of dancers, you turn to your boyfriend. You pull him in close, rocking your hips to the sound of the music and giving him a forced smile. 

You dance with him for a while, getting lost in the music as you feel the alcohol seep through your body. Although it does nothing to settle the ugly feeling deep in your stomach. As much as you try you can’t help but spare little glances around the club, not being able to stop yourself from aching for just one more glance at them. 

You finally see them, startled by the fact that they’re only a couple of people away from you. Steve is the only one actually dancing but Eddie is happily swaying with him, more than content with and touching Steve and placing gentle kisses all over his neck. Your chest tightens further at the need to tease Eddie about finally dancing, the realisation that you can’t joke with him like that anymore and the jealousy that he would come out to the dancefloor with Steve, even though he never would for you. 

As these ugly emotions swirl around your stomach you realise they’re both watching you, stealing glances the same way you are, but a lot less subtly. Your blood boils at the looks they're giving you, they seem hurt and angry and almost… sad? They have no right to. 

You turn your attention back to Bradley, you make out and grind against him, every now and then looking at them both and winking when you see them clench their jaws. 

You’re confused as you continue your show. What do they have to be angry about? Why do they even care that you’re dancing with someone that isnt them? There was a time when they could’ve had you, a time when you would’ve done anything for them but they were the ones who threw you away. They have no right to be angry now. 

Bradley leans down to whisper in your ear, you’re hopeful that he’s going to say something hot, a compliment or something, instead he lets you know he’s going to get more drinks, leaving you alone in the crowd before you can say anything else. You try to not look anxious about being alone in such a dense crowd of strangers, knowing Bradley is going to take a long time with how packed it is. 

You find some comfort knowing that Steve and Eddie are close by, although you’re not sure why. You decide to continue dancing, doing the most to look as hot and unbothered as possible, but when you spare another glance at Steve and Eddie you’re surprised to find they’ve also gone. It’s weird how their absence has made you feel more alone than Bradley’s. 

You start to leave, deciding to head outside for some fresh air before going to find Bradley where he’s no doubt still waiting at the bar. That is, until you feel hands lightly on your waist. You start to panic, until you hear the stranger whisper in your ear. 

“Hey there, little one.”

Eddie. 

Your body shudders at hearing his voice again. You have to fight every nerve in your body to not melt back into him, turn around and wrap your arms around him and cry into his chest. But you don’t, you're frozen in place instead. 

“We liked that little show you put on for us, sweetheart,” he continues as you feel his hands massage small circles in your hips as he presses himself closer to you, you can feel the outline of his semi against your ass and it takes everything in you not to moan at the feeling. 

He starts to rock you both to the music before pressing gentle kisses along your neck. So feather light you’re not sure if you’re actually imagining them, just some mean trick your mind is playing on you. You start to melt back against him, your body betraying you as it’s automatically drawn into the safety of Eddie’s chest and arms. 

You let yourself get caught up in the feeling before reality comes crashing down. You have a boyfriend, he has a boyfriend, you can’t be doing this. You snap out of the weird trance you’ve been in, pulling away from Eddie and finally turning to face him, fully preparing yourself to tell him off before you see the look on his face. 

It causes your breath to hitch as you see the pure lust written all over his face, his blown and glassy pupils staring into your soul and the possessiveness buried deep inside them that makes your thighs clench. 

You go to take a step back, needing space between you both but your back collides with another chest instead. Another set of lips brushing your ear as they whisper lowly to you.  

“Don't be like that, honey.” 

Steve. 

Your head swims at the proximity of both of them. The familiar smells and feel of them crumbling whatever stubborn exterior you were trying to portray. 

You feel Steve's hands run along the sides of your waist and down your thighs before tracing light patterns back up again, your dress pulling up at the sides as he does. He pushes against you as Eddie had, although he is a lot more worked up from your little show than Eddie was — a testament to how he always was more of the jealous type. 

“Can you feel what your little show did to us baby?” He asks like you’ve wounded them. Eddie pushing against you at the same time. “You’re so fucking naughty, getting us all worked up like that.”

“Anything to say for yourself, miss?” Eddie asks when you don’t respond right away. How could you? Your head feels like it's about to spin off your shoulders, your cunt feels like it’s about to start dripping down your thighs, they’ve thoroughly wrecked you with no more than some gentle touches, barely any grinding and a couple of words whispered seductively in your ears. 

You only manage a small moan in response, one that you’re thankful only they can hear over the loud music. 

They both chuckle at your response, knowing they have you right where they want you. Loving how fucking easy you are for them. 

Steve’s fingers continue to dance along your thighs as Eddie’s hand comes to rest on your waist again, both of them pressing into you and swaying you to the music, causing their hardening cocks to grind against you.  

Steve's fingers slide to the front of your dress, tracing up the inside of your thighs as you let out a little whimper. Steve smirks against your skin as he starts to kiss up your throat as Eddie had just before. Your eyes start to flutter shut as Steve’s fingers inch higher, so close to where you desperately need him. 

“That feel nice, pretty girl?” Steve asks, although he already knows the answer, “want me to keep going?” 

Eddie keeps his eyes trained on your blissed out face, sucking on his bottom lip as he anxiously waits for your answer. 

You nod your head slowly, words failing you as you melt back into Steve. 

“Ah, ah,” Eddie tuts, “you know the rules princess, use your words.” 

“P-please.” You barely breathe out, and Eddie’s sure he would’ve missed it if his eyes weren't glued to your lips. 

He nods at Steve, who groans as his fingers finally make contact with your dripping cunt, feeling the slick that’s soaked through your panties. 

Eddie holds your waist tighter, half keeping you upright as your legs start to shake, half shielding you from any onlookers as he continues to sway his hips, making it look like you three were just dancing.

Steve dips his fingers into your underwear, moaning in your ear as he gathers your slick on his thick fingers before rubbing your clit.

“Fuck, you’re dripping,” he teases, “this is all for us huh?”

You can only nod and whine in response, too far gone to be embarrassed by how close they were getting you already. No one except for Steve and Eddie have been able to get you this close this fast. 

You feel the coil in your stomach tighten further as Steve's thick digits breach your aching cunt, finding a steady pace immediately, his palm dragging deliciously over your slick clit. Eddie’s grip on your waist becomes so tight you’re sure he’s gonna leave bruises that you’re going to have to try and explain to Bradley later, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You’re happy that he’s at least holding you somewhat upright as your knees start to get weak. 

Eddie presses further into you still to keep you upright, so far that Steve can feel Eddie’s hard cock pulsing against his hand even through his jeans. Making Steve’s cock ache for some sort of release as he starts to rock gently into your ass. Craving some relief. 

You feel the familiar feeling of your orgasm approaching as you teeter on the edge. Only able to get out small sputters of “I’m, I’m—” before you’re burying your face in the crook of Eddie’s neck as your orgasm comes crashing into you. 

Your ears ring and your vision goes white as you ride out your orgasm around Steve’s fingers, rutting against his hand while clinging to Eddie. 

When you finally start to come down from your high you’re barely aware of the music still blaring around you, focusing only on Steve’s hands rubbing soothing circles in your thighs, Eddie’s hand in your hair and their praises gently flowing through your ears. 

Suddenly, reality hits you like a truck. Completely cracking the walls of whatever weird dream you’ve been trapped in with Eddie and Steve. Suddenly everything seems too much, their touch is suffocating and grating against your skin, the music of the club is blaring too loud, rocking your skull and their sweet whispers might as well be screams in your ear. 

You need to get away. 

You finally look at Eddie, his eyes meeting yours. He knows that look. 

“y/n-,” he tries as you start to squirm out of their grip. 

“Let me go”, you suddenly hiss at him, finally breaking free and rushing through the crowd and out the door. You hear them yell after you, but you keep going, their voices being drowned out by the music the further you get away from them. 

By the time you finally make it outside you feel as if you can hardly breathe. Your chest is so tight and you struggle to take shallow breaths, you can feel the unshed tears prick your eyes as you try and will them to keep at bay. Although you’re not sure why, you’re almost certain your makeup must be a mess now, most of it left on Eddie’s collar, you doubt a couple of tears would really make much of a difference. 

You shakily reach into the clutch still thankfully secured across your chest, fishing out a smoke. You put one between your lips as you try, but fail to find your lighter. You sigh in frustration, of course you’ve lost your lighter. 

“Here, let me.” You hear someone whisper, before you see the flicker of a lighter in front of your lips. You don’t have to look up from your clutch to know that it’s Eddie. Your eyes meet his timid ones as you lean forward, using the flame to light the end of your cigarette. 

“Thanks,” you mumble before looking beside Eddie, realising Steve also followed you out here. 

You all stand in awkward silence, Eddie busying himself by lighting his own cigarette. 

“I– ah,” Steve finally breaks the silence. There’s so much he wants to say, so much he needs you to hear, but the words won't form, instead he opts for, “didn’t know you smoked.” 

You snort half a laugh, shaking your head. You weren’t sure what you were expecting him to say but it definitely wasn't that. Sorry would have been a good start… but at least you’re talking, you guess. 

“There’s a lot you both don’t know about me anymore,” you reply, deadpan. You see them both visibly flinch at the implication of your words. It's been over a year since they last saw you, you've had a whole year's worth of experiences without them, would they even recognise the person you'd become? 

You bring your smoke back up to your lips, thankful for the distraction it provides and for how it's almost calming most of your nerves. 

It doesn't, however, distract you enough to not feel their hungry eyes on you. You're surprised your dress doesn't have holes burnt into the fabric with how hot and heavy their gazes are. You adjust your dress with your free hand trying to pull the fabric down, cursing yourself now for wearing the revealing dress. 

You don’t want them to see you squirm, you need to keep up this teasing, nonchalant act you were trying to portray, you couldn't let them know how much seeing them again was hurting you. 

“See something you like?” You slur seductively at them, not shying away from their eyes. Even as your palms sweat and your heart rattles in your chest. 

They both chuckle and shake their heads, not in disagreement but at the absurdity of your question. Of course they did. You looked stunning, confident. In a dress you usually would be too shy to wear. It was nice to see you like this, but it was also weird. 

Not weird in a bad way, it just hurt. It hurt them to see that you finally seemed to be growing into yourself and hopefully finally seeing how beautiful you were. Except it was without them. 

“You seem… different,” Eddie finally managed. He couldn't think of a better way to put it. Not better, not worse, just different. But that's what heartbreak will do to a person. 

“I am different.” You say back, no hidden meaning behind it, like it’s that simple. 

They were different. You were different. You’d just grown away from each other. You’d all changed and grown in the year that had passed, in the year that you had all ached for each other. Now here you were, and it felt like you were talking to strangers. 

You had a picture of them on your dresser that you saw everyday, and yet it felt like those two men were different from the ones that stood in front of you now. 

It makes your whole body ache. 

You want to fill the silence, distract yourself from the heavy feeling. You want to mess with them, annoy them, make them even more jealous and angry and hurt than they’ve already seemed to have been tonight. 

“Trust me,” you say finally, “I’ve had lots of experience since you last saw me.” You wiggle your eyebrows suggestively, trying to joke around with them as if it’s no big deal. 

You see their jaws clench. Eddie fights the urge to scoff at you, to roll his eyes, to scream in your face. Steve is a little better at hiding his distaste at what you’re insinuating. Both knowing they have no right to feel as hurt and betrayed as they do right now. 

You’re not theirs. 

“Well, they must be some lucky guys then.” Eddie tries to speak sincerely. It comes out like venom. 

“Hmm,” you hum, revelling in their reactions. Trying to think of what else you can say to rile them up like this. “And girls,” you say with a wink. 

Lies, it’s all lies. 

You had drunkenly kissed one girl out the back of a club after too many drinks. She was nice and soft and tasted like vodka and raspberries. But that was it… just a kiss. 

The furthest you’d gotten with your current boyfriend was some grinding and heavy touches. Always stopping before it got too far. He was always respectful of that, something you appreciated. 

They look at you stunned. You could see their brains working a mile a minute. You could tell they were imagining something much more lewd than reality. Victory. 

Desperate for this conversation to be over before they pried and realised you were talking all of your experiences up to be something much more, you stomp out your cigarette. Giving them a small smile that said ‘are we done here?’ as you started to walk away. 

Before you can get too far you feel a hand desperately grasp your arm. You know it’s Steve before you even turn around. 

You see his mouth open as he struggles to find the right words to say but you don’t want to hear it. You can’t. 

“Don’t,” you interrupt, before he can even say a single word. His mouth closes as his hand reluctantly lets go of your arm, brushing the skin of your forearm as he drops his hand. You curse your body for the goosebumps that appear along the trail of his fingertips. 

You’re about to turn around again when you decide to ask them just one thing. Something that’s been weighing heavy on you since you first saw them at the bar. 

“So, um,” you start tentatively, rubbing your hand over the arm that Steve had just touched, unsure if you’re trying to warm yourself up or wipe away the memory of his fingertips, “how long have you been dating?” 

They share a look before Eddie slowly mumbles, “a little over a year.” 

A little over a year. 

The same amount of time since your fight. The guilty looks on their faces let you know it was very shortly after they broke your heart. So while you were alone, completely breaking and having to put yourself back together again all by yourself, they were just having the time of their lives? Starting a new and exciting relationship? Typical. 

“Of course you have been,” you scoff. Turning abruptly and stalking away from them as fast as your stupidly uncomfortable heels would let you. 

“Y/n wait! It’s not like tha–“ Steve calls after you, desperately trying to catch you before you run off once again. Like he’s worried this time you’ll be gone for good.

“Just leave me alone!” You practically yell. You feel bad for raising your voice and how it makes them flinch but finally, they let you go. 

*****

Taglist: @pxrxcxa @eddiemunsonfuxks @translatemunson @bandofoxxking @munsonsbaby @corrodedhawkins @chainsawmunson @divinelyruled @parkermunson @bimbobaggins69 @eddiemunsonspantschain @hammity-hammer

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[flowercrowngods]

@steddie-week

part 1 (bc this is one big 7 part story)

day 02: bittersweet & angst

1 new message

eddie The Problem munson: engagement party on saturday babyyyy 🥳🥸🕺

Steve’s been staring at the message for two days now. It's sitting in his notifications, staring at him like a painful reminder of what happened exactly seven days ago. A week. It's only been a week, and Steve somehow it feels like it was both only one day or seven months ago.

It's an almost liminal experience, walking through life without texting Eddie every second of the day – because texting him would mean opening his message. It would make this real.

And that's the last thing Steve wants.

"I'm not going," Robin declares as they're cuddling on the couch, wallowing in their misery as Mayday Parade's Oh Well, Oh Well is playing for the eighth time on repeat. "Tell me you're not going, Stevie."

"Robbie," he sighs, squeezing her tighter as she tries to wriggle out of his arms to glare at him.

"Steve."

"I can't not go."

"Yes you can." She pokes him in the ribs, but he doesn't budge. She pokes him again. "Not going to things is literally the easiest thing in the world. It's a hundred times easier than going to things. You should try it sometime, trust me. You go to too many things, and–"

"Bee," he hums to get her out of the rambling spiral before she can get lost in it.

"What I'm saying," he interrupts herself dramatically, "is that you can't do this to yourself. They're engaged. They're getting married. We're going to keep our distance until our brains and hearts and the traitorous little chemicals in our bodies catch up to reality, and then we get over them, and then we can go back and see them ever again. That's the logical thing to do, Steve. But you can't... You can't just go and get your heart broken and talk yourself into thinking it's the right thing to do. It's not."

Steve sighs into her hair and buries his face in her neck. He knows that. Technically, logically, he does.

But not going feels wrong. Wronger than anything else that's been hollowing out his chest and leaving nothing but emptiness and the ghosts of every smile, every touch, every baby, love, sweetheart, sunshine. Every imaginary future, every scenario where Eddie meant it. Meant those words, meant those smiles, meant it when he took Steve's hand to hold it.

But Eddie did mean it. Every time, he meant it; because he calls Argyle and Jeff and Gareth baby and sunshine and sweetheart, too. He takes their hands, too, leans in to kiss their cheeks and just holds them when he needs to. That's just the kind of person Eddie is. Always has been.

To go and assume he never meant it would be unfair.

To go and hope it could ever mean more when Chrissy has always been right there would just be stupid.

Well, good thing Steve has that kind of reputation with a few people anyway, so it's not even a statistical outlier, that one. It's not even worth a side note.

"I know," he rasps, his eyes beginning to sting as the next lyrics are carved into the empty space of where his heart used to be.

Oh well, oh well I can't live with myself As I'm climbing in your window to get to your bed.

And I'll be what you need, You can call me anything. Just as long as we're still friends.

Tears prickle in his eyes and he doesn't bother to hold them back. Not now, not with Robin. They've both been crying on and off all week, even though Robin took it better than him.

"I know," he sobs, wrapping his arms around her even tighter as she lets herself be held because she knows that's what he needs. "I know, I know, I know. But I have to. I can't just... I can't just stop, Bee."

"I know," she sighs, climbing out of his hold eventually to wrap her arms around him in return as he cries into her shoulder.

The world (read: his Spotify playlist) makes it worse by playing Sum 41's With Me next, ripping out even the newly carved words.

Robin holds him for the rest of the night, even as he finally opens Eddie's message and types out a reply.

—I'll come!

And especially when there's a new message immediately.

—hot 🥵❤️

He leaves Eddie on read after that.

~*~

Saturday rolls around in a haze, and suddenly Steve finds himself looking at the front door of the little house Chrissy inherited after her mother passed a few years ago. It's a nice little house. Quaint. Perfect. Everything Steve could ever dream of, actually. And she deserves it. All of this and more.

There's noise coming from the garden, where people are laughing and having a great time. A happy time, celebrating their friends and all the good things in life that come with a love well placed.

God, what is he doing here? He can't do this. There is no way.

He's just about to pull out his phone and call Robin, tell her he's coming home, or ask her to tell him everything's gonna be alright, when–

"Steve!" Chrissy hurries towards him, throwing her arms around him in a tight, warm, perfect hug. God, he loves her so much. He melts right into the embrace, wrapping his arms around her middle to spin her around with a grin.

She giggles in delight and tells him to let her down again, which only makes him spin for another round, his grin turning into a genuine laugh.

"No, I hate you!" she laughs, but still doesn't step away from him when he puts her down again. Instead, she leans up and brushes a kiss to his cheek. "Hi, asshole."

"Hi."

He grins and takes her hands in his, just smiling at her for another moment before his eyes trail down to a ring he's never seen her wear before. Ah. Right.

"Oh shit! That it?"

"That's it," Chrissy says, looking down at her hand to look at the ring with a fond, happy little smile, her cheeks flushing red. It breaks Steve a little, but it also fixes something inside him to see her so truly, genuinely happy. "Pretty huh?"

"Very," Steve breathes, hiding the lump in his throat with a sound of awe.

Chrissy hugs him again for good measure and then takes his hand to drag him into the backyard the same way she just came out front, through a little gate off to the side instead of through the house.

Steve loves their backyard because it's always covered in sheerly endless colourful strings of light that are wrapped around decorative arches or poles, framing the back doors and the canopy swing set on the lawn, and just give it the most homey and comfortable atmosphere.

"Stevie!" Eddie exclaims immediately and jumps off from his chair, interrupting a conversation he's apparently been having with Argyle and Nancy to run up to him with such a giddy expression that Steve wants to cry. His heart leaps in his chest, coming back to life and saying one last goodbye at the same time.

"Hi," he says, hugging Eddie close before he can so much as think about what he's doing. But no matter how hurt he is, there will never be a world in which he won't want to hug Eddie Munson. "Sorry I'm late."

"No sorries, it's fine," Eddie murmurs into his neck, staying in the embrace endlessly, and Steve takes the chance to breathe him in. He smells so good. So, so good. It clogs his lungs and renders him unable to speak.

But who needs to speak when they have Eddie in their arms? Who needs to speak when all they have to do is never let go?

Eddie squeezes him a little tighter, and Steve wants to cry. He slowly, gently pushes away from the hug and turns towards the other guests, greeting them with a grin, a hug, or a handshake if they're not familiar.

When he gets to Wayne, the man eyes him with a look that Steve doesn't want to read too much, and his embrace is just a little longer, just a little stronger than usual.

“You look tired, son,” he says by way of greeting, and Steve can’t help but snort and shake his head a little.

“Good to see you again, too, old man.”

Wayne eyes him for one moment longer, then breaks into a small smile and pats Steve’s shoulder before stepping around him to go grab another drink.

After that, the night passes in a blur of talking to his friends, trying to understand what the hell it is that has Nancy and Argyle arguing so profusely, but with smiles on their faces. He fails. But it’s good to see them again, so he just basks in it for a while.

Or, he tries, because every second that he’s not talking or listening to someone, his eyes flick back to Eddie. Eddie, who’s lifting Chrissy from behind and smacking a loud, wet kiss to her neck, her jaw and her cheek, accompanied by her delighted squeals and laughter.

Eddie, who’s looking larger than life, a happy grin permanently plastered on his face as he reminds their guests that Chrissy was his bisexual awakening.

“I swear, she just swept me off my feet after years of thinking I was only into dudes. Knew I had to marry her, but man, I don’t know why she said yes.”

“I’m settling, honey,” Chrissy calls from the other end of the table they’re sitting around. “Only in it for that rockstar money and all.”

The whole table laughs at that.

“Hear, hear,” Eddie snorts, lifting his glass in a toast. Steve and the others lift theirs, too, even though Steve’s hand and arm and whole body feels numb and he’s not entirely sure he’s breathing.

A while later, he grabs a drink and retreats to the canopy swing, illuminated in the soft pink flow of the fairy lights wrapped around it. Eddie’s eyes land on him for a second and Steve thinks that he’ll come over and join him — but then one of Chrissy’s friends says something that distracts him and seemingly makes him fall into a monologue of sorts.

Steve watches, feeling only loss and longing as he does. Eddie is a force of nature. A spectacle. Something beautiful, something powerful, something secret that only a select few get to witness. To know. To appreciate.

Staring as he is, blind to the rest of the world, he startles a little when the swing jostles with another weight settling on it. He didn’t see Wayne coming to join him, and he’s not quite sure whether he should be grateful for the company or apprehensive of what the man who’s like a father to him might have to say.

“How are you doing, son?”

He frowns. “I’m alright.”

Wayne only hums, and Steve’s frown deepens. There’s a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that tells him Wayne knows something. That he knows.

“Y’know,” he continues after a while, not looking at Steve but rather at his nephew and his fiancée. “I always figured it would be you.”

Steve crumbles. Yeah, me too, he wants to say, but that would be a lie. Watching the way Chrissy sits on Eddie’s lap with his arms around her, his chin on her shoulder as he tells her something that makes her laugh that cute, pretty, adorable laugh that Eddie then can’t help but join — that’s just something Steve would never compare to. Nothing he’d ever want to come in between.

Eddie and Chrissy are perfect. They’re happy. They fit, they match, they work. They worked so hard and treat each other so right.

They look giddy and serene at the same time, and it makes Steve’s eyes sting. Because he can never make Eddie look like that. He can never make Eddie look at him like that.

I always figured it would be you.

But he couldn’t. That bubbly kind of love, the sunshine kind of love. He knows that’s not for him. Steve’s too much for that. He would never be enough for Eddie — even if without Eddie, there’s nothing left of him.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Wayne continues, unaware of Steve’s thought spiral. “I love that girl, I do. Always will. I think she’s too good for Eddie. Don’t tell him I said that,” he adds hastily, and Steve smiles through the tears that threaten to fall again.

“They’re perfect,” he rasps, laughing wetly as Chrissy starts chasing Eddie, who’s hiding behind a very distressed Argyle, who just wants his brochachos to chill!

Maybe it’s a laugh, maybe it’s a sob. He doesn’t have it in him to find out or care.

“They are. Doesn’t mean they’re right, son.”

Steve sighs and tears his eyes away from Eddie. “Wayne.”

“I know, I know.” He lifts his hands in defence. “Shutting up.” After a long pause of holding Steve’s eyes, he asks, “Will you be okay?”

No, he thinks immediately, the lump in his throat too big to say anything. So he just shrugs and swallows. “Sure.”

Maybe. Hardly. Probably not. Definitely not.

"No matter what happens, you'll always be a son to me. You’ll always have a home with an open door with me, you hear me?"

"I’m not going anywhere, wayne," Steve says, though for the first time ever he doesn't really believe that. Maybe he needs to leave. To leave Eddie behind. Get over him. Cut out his heart and leave it here, run away to heal somewhere else, come back as a new person, or just stay away forever.

The thought makes a tear spill as an empty kind of desperation spreads it’s ugly wings inside his chest, and he's too frozen to wipe it away.

"You hear me?" Wayne repeats, gentler this time, but no less urgent for it.

"Yeah," steve rasps. "Thanks."

Another tear falls as Eddie gently pulls Chrissy closer to him and kisses her in the soft glow of the fairy lights above and around them. Their friends cheer. Steve wants to cry his heart out again.

“I—“ he swallows, wiping at his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. I can’t do this, he wants to say. For the first time, that’s what he wants to say. “I think I’m gonna head home soon.”

“You bring your car?”

He shakes his head, feeling foggy and dazed and empty and endlessly, endlessly sad. “Was gonna, uh—“

“Let me drive you.” There’s no room for debate or argument there, and Steve wants to crumble again, but still he shakes his head.

“Wayne, no—“

“I’m taking you, son. Make sure you get home safe, or I won’t be able to sleep tonight. Don’t wanna keep your old man up all night, do ya?”

Steve concedes with a fond eye roll and a grateful smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“That’s what I thought.”

They sit like that for another ten minutes — and if Steve leans into Wayne’s side a little, then that’s nobody’s business but theirs.

The car ride is quiet, but it feels weighted even as Wayne pretends not to see the way Steve keeps wiping at his cheeks as the silent tears keep falling, leaving him powerless to stop them.

I can’t do this, he keeps thinking over and over again.

“Just a little warning,” Wayne speaks up again as he pulls up to Steve’s building. “I think he’s going to ask you to be his best man, Stevie. Don’t do anything you’re not ready for, okay?”

I can’t do this.

He nods, numb again.

“I’ll do anything for him,” he breathes.

“That’s what I’m afraid of, yeah.”

He gets out of the car before he can find out what exactly Wayne means by that. The car stays where it is until the front door closes behind him, until he’s up in his bedroom and finds Robin already asleep.

Ten minutes later, he cuddles close to her and tries hard not to cry, but tonight’s memories have burned themselves into his mind. And he shouldn’t have gone. He knows. He knows.

I’ll do anything. I can’t do this. I’ll do anything. I can’t do this.

He can’t breathe, and Robin holds him through it, whispering sleepily to him as he cries himself to sleep, wishing for a world where he’s not absolutely and utterly in love with Eddie Munson, but failing to imagine one.

I’ll do anything. Anything but this.

tagging: @sexymothmanincarnate @mcneen come back tomorrow for idk which prompt | read part 3 here

[chimielie]

cw f!reader , iwaizumi’s pectorals , this post was sponsored by Big Adobo

you do it in front of the whole gang.

other people, too, but he never pays attention to anyone but his team at the gym.

mattsun is spotting hajime while oikawa heckles him (hyping him up, he’d say, but the music slamming in hajime’s ears makes the claim unverifiable). makki’s squatting beside him, sweat trickling down his temple, but he manages a smile and, when he rises again and puts down his weights, a wave.

hajime doesn’t notice, eyes trained intensely on the middle distance ahead of him, until you appear in his line of vision.

you look pissed, eyebrows scrunched together and hands on your hips.

he drops his weights. they land heavy, clanging against the catches loud enough that he can hear it even before he rips his earbuds out.

“what’d you say?” he furrows his brow.

“shirt off,” you say, pointing at him and flicking your finger in the air. “thanks.”

around you, his friends react with varying degrees of shock and laughter. you stay stone-faced, staring at him, folding your arms across your chest. you’re wearing a sports bra, like you’d just finished your own workout. sometimes you and he go to the gym together, but team activities are team activities, and oikawa likes to accuse you of trying to edge in on the boy’s team’s secrets, as though your own team isn’t reaching new heights of success under your captaincy. hajime feels his pupils expanding the longer he looks at you.

he complies, quirking a brow as he hooks his fingers in the back of his tank’s collar and yanks it over his head. you nod, looking satisfied, then hold out a hand.

“can i see your instagram real quick?” he bares his teeth in a smile at you, guessing where this is going, even if he’s not sure why. as much as you’ve danced around each other the last three years, neither of you have made a move.

something about the way he feels about you just doesn’t feel… urgent. like he’s just waiting for the universe to throw you together, for the right moment where everything clicks. he’s always wanted to take his time with you.

he guesses this is that moment.

he hands it to you, unlocked. you hand it back.

“your other profile.”

ah. it had started as a progress tracker, just a way to remember his exercises and maybe connect with others who were into that kind of thing. to his surprise, he had accumulated followers quickly.

a lot of followers quickly. oikawa called it his thirst trap account. hajime argued that he was just jealous because his beach volleyball videos hadn’t taken off yet.

he taps into his second profile, sliding open the camera function for you and giving you the phone back.

“good?”

“good,” you say, stepping into his space, over the forgotten bar, and for a second there’s nothing but light shared between the two of you, looking into each other’s eyes with pure fondness. then your lips curl into a coy smile and you put the hand not holding the phone on his chest and squeeze.

his pecs jump in surprise. you take the photo.

“thanks,” you say, letting go of him, but not stepping back. his skin burns where you touched him. he’s sure he’s gone deaf from the ringing in his ears. oikawa could be dead from shock behind him and he wouldn’t know. “my mom said you should come over for dinner later. she’s making adobo. see you then?”

“yeah,” he manages, “but tell her we’re going out for dinner friday. reservation’s at seven.”

“is it?” you eye him appraisingly. he pauses, glancing away from you to hit post on the photo. your phone lights up with a notification.

“it will be,” he promises, and reaches out to catch your chin in his hand, tilting your face back to him. “see you then.”