#so... This is the first time he's spoken... But he's been lingering for a good two weeks

[saltofmercury]

"A cycle"

Pairing: Jason Todd x f!reader

A/N: Originally was going to make it back to spring but I lost the energy. Also excuse the indent I lost my page break and could NOT insert it due to lack of patience!!!

Words: 2k

Summary: You meet Jason again... but he's a little off. Brief mention of AK! Jason.

It’s been roughly 10 years. 

—Almost 11 since you lost him. You remember his last words spoken, 

“I’ll see you… unless death comes first.”

Gloom had surrounded the city, it was supposed to be another normal day. But you started to get worried when he never called. Days trailed on and you assumed he stood you up. 

Your life is at a standstill, you missing your other half, your best friend. It isn’t until you get the news and the invitation to a funeral.

Death came first.

Days turn into months, years. 

The numbness never goes away, it just settles into your stomach, carefully simmering until it boils throughout your body, releasing—erupting emotion of him on the anniversary of his death.

Some days are harder than others and when you finally think you can go a day without thinking of 

“Unless death comes first—“

the universe throws you another curveball.

He arrives on a spring day, almost re-birthed and renewed. 

He stands at his gravesite. Taller and broader. Your stomach twists and bile rises up your throat. But you tell your brain it's not real, you manage to count the petals on the daisies you’re leaving.

You stare up at him again, the wind knocked out of you. He’s breathless and pale, staring back at you. He’s got scars all over his face—including the shape of a J under his eye. His t-shirt hangs low on his collarbones and you can see scarring there too. His hair is longer, almost touching his eyebrows. 

“I’ll see you in the morning.” He says stone faced.  His eyebrows are knit together. Hoping you remembered what he promised.

You’re frozen, almost sick to your stomach. Bile is prominent on your tongue and this hallucination has taken over.

He can tell you don't believe him and he grabs your hand and places it on his face.

“It’s me, I'm here. I’m still here.”

He’s so much taller than you remember. 

His face aged and his eyes have turned green. There’s a new white streak in his hair that is so prominent. 

And he scowls now. It's like his lips have permanently stayed down.

You never know what to say to him. Where to pick up where you left off. He follows you home, like a stray dog. Loyal to his core. Loyal to you at least.

He never tells you what he’s up to these days.

You do have a clue. 

It’s not rocket science to place him and the Arkham knight together. It’s almost impossible to walk at night without becoming a victim outside. You’ve caught a glimpse of the man that strikes fear all over the city.

It’s not Robin in that suit.

You never bring it up. Assumptions linger.

He tries to fall back into routine with you. He still sleeps on his side of the bed. He still makes your coffee in the morning. Rubs your back at night, and settles into the crook of your neck. But it never turns into anything more.

When you bring up what you guys are, he shrugs it off, plays dumb. 

Did he come back worse? Or are you just sensitive?

There’s a time you remember when all he wanted was to be called your boyfriend. Say it loud, hold hands in public. But even then there were rules. It was kept a secret just between you two.

Now there’s a protectiveness to him, he’s sealed off from you. Tells you —

“We’re good at this. We’re good friends.” But even he doesn’t mean it.

Jason doesn’t want you to know what happened to him. He despises pity. He should’ve told you where he was going that night. He should’ve left a tracker with you.

It’s been years and the minute he was revived from the pit his brain told him Bruce but his heart told him to come back to you.

The pit also intensified his anger. He’s angry at the world. Angry that he’s been placed in this piece of shit city where the same criminals and sociopaths linger around every corner. Shit, he died a couple years, came back, and these same criminals are still here.

Nothing changes in this city. So maybe it’s time he changes it himself.

There's broken walls and broken dishes every time you come home. You think about leaving but he switches up. It's a sick game of hot and cold.

The days are longer and warmer now. There’s a humidity that surrounds the city and sunsets take your breath away. You come home exhausted from work. Your phone pings nonstop, your head pounding, cars and people outside your window are blaring.

He can sense your anxiousness. Your body language is limp. He can watch you chew your lip until it’s bright pink. He walks towards you grabbing your body with both arms towering over you.

“How about we sneak off, just you and me?”

He says with such intensity in his eyes that you feel the heat boil thick inside your stomach. 

He cowards you in until your back hits the wall. The coolness of it gives you goosebumps. He grabs your chin and then runs his hand down your hair, twisting at the ends.

“What do you say?” He says again, a little more agitated that he needs to convince you. 11 years ago you would’ve just said yes.

And maybe this time you’ll say yes…

“Where would we go?” 

“Anywhere that’s not here.”

He’s so certain you’ll say yes. He’s already thinking of setting this entire city on fire and restarting a life with you. A life where you don’t beat around the bush and you come home with a smile for him.

But you don’t. It’s not enough for you. There’s so much tension in the room. You say you need a bath and a nap.

He lets you go instantly, walking towards the balcony and slamming the sliding door.

You don’t even know him anymore. You dance around each other.

On the balcony he takes 3 deep breaths, then another 2, then another 4 until he realizes he’s on the verge of tears and he wishes he could just tell you the shit that’s in his head.

He sees how you eye him, nervous and on edge. He barely takes his shirt off around you because the thought of his autopsy scar disgusts him and he can’t have you be disgusted with him.

There’s so much hate in his heart. There’s so much violence that he beats the shit out of his henchmen and resorts to putting bullets on anyone he can’t trust.

He hears the water running when he enters the living room again. There are sobs coming from the bathroom and now he feels even worse.

He came back a monster.

Splashes of orange and red surround the skyline. Temperatures drop and the leaves crunch beneath you. You’re both home tonight. You’re so happy. The luxury of being in his presence at this hour. He tells you he can take a day off for his girl.

His girl. 

The nickname raises goosebumps on your arm to your shoulders. He’s changed a bit. He stays home more. Doesn’t leave you hanging as much.

After some take-out, you sit on the couch deciding to pick a movie. One of his hands curls up your spine to the nape of your neck, as the other scrolls down the movie list. His fingers play with the loose hair that won’t fit into your bun.

He knows you hate it. Especially when he starts to call it a little rat tail.

You peer over at him, slightly nervous. He knows what you’re going to say, but before you even open your mouth he cuts you off—

"What? I like it." 

His head inches closer to your neck, placing small kisses down your earlobe to your collarbone. The prickles of your skin now rise over your chest. 

“And I know you like it too.” He taunts into your ear. He’s pushing you back towards the couch, peeling your legs open with one of his. Both arms are above you, enclosing you.

His lips graze yours, you can smell the sweetness of the strawberry drink he had.

You inch closer, closing your eyes, but before you know what his lips taste like— he's up again, pulling a jacket and mask over himself and slamming the front door shut.

Tears cloud your vision. It’s always one step forward, two steps back.

The tv plays an interview with some citizens gushing over the new Robin. 

You know who’s under the Arkham knight. Telling him to either come clean or leave you alone.

The replacement hurts more than he thought. He was abandoned, forgotten, then replaced. There was no mourning. Jason thought he would at least be mourned.

It rains one night and your car won’t start. The tow truck service won’t be here for another two hours and there’s a flash flood warning for your side of the city. You stare at your phone, your finger hovering over his name. 

“This is only strictly for emergencies” his voice clouds your memory.

You dial.

“Sweetheart?” He picks up, tense on the other side.

“I-I.. hi. I know you said this was only for emergencies but my car won’t start and there’s a lot of downpour. Can you come get me?” You feel yourself flushed, embarrassed, and tired. Maybe you shouldn’t have called him.

“I'll give you a ride, don't worry. I’ll be there in 10.” 

You don’t even question how he knows your location but sure enough in 8 minutes there’s a motorcycle revving down the street from where you are. It stops in front of your car. 

He gets off the bike, knocking on the passenger side of your car. You unlock it and he climbs in. His side of the car bounces and sends waves throughout your car.

He pulls the red hoodie down. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are a new shade of green. 

“You ready?” He asks gleefully 

“I’m not getting on that thing Jason.” Your head nods towards the bike in front of you.

He laughs. It’s one of the best sounds you’ll ever hear. The crinkles set around his eyes and how wide and toothy his grin gets.

“Why not?” He asks, the smile lingering on his lips.

“You know why.” You respond curtly. 

“You want to get home don’t you?” He leans in toward you, eyebrow raised.

He gets so close to you that you can feel the warmth he radiates. He’s nicer these days, less moody. He’s a lot more rested too.

“Come on, there’s nowhere safer than the back of my bike.” 

And you know it’s true. 

The safest place would be with Jason.

It still doesn’t comfort you knowing it’s pouring and he zooms in and out of traffic with no care.

“No, it’s raining outside and that thing only has two wheels!”

He laughs a little harder now. He shakes his head.

“Fine. We’ll stay until the tow truck shows up.” His hand finds yours as he reclines in your passenger seat. You recline too, watching the sunroof get hit with water droplets. His fingers rub circles around your wrist.

These days you’re not as tense around him. You shuffle in your seat to get a better look at him. 

His eyes are closed. The scar under his eye is fading, and the white streak in his hair is more prominent. 

“You’re staring” he says, opening one eye to look.

“I can’t help it.” You shrug. 

He turns towards you. Wrist still his hand, he pulls you over on top of him. You settle yourself, nestling your nose in the crook of his neck. He finds your neck and places kisses down your collarbone.

He stops. Pulls your face close to him. Hands encasing your face and he stares deeply into your eyes. It’s almost so unsettling you try to count the eyebrow hairs on his right brow.

“I’m sorry for...” He says quietly, trying to find an answer in your eyes.

“Hey, look at me.” He pulls your chin in between his fingers and kisses it softly.

“I’m trying to be better, and I know I can be… difficult. But I’m going to try harder.”

It’s the most he’s said to you all these months. He sounds like he means it. You peer down at his lip, caught underneath his top lip.

“Okay?”

You nod. 

A light halos above you. Jason gets out to talk to the man. He turns back to you — the helmet is snug on your head. Your stomach does somersaults as the rain and wind blow past you.

You hope that these changes come soon.

[scuddle-bubble101]

Me: -done with shower and making breakfast- ?: -new voice suddenly appears and proceeds to judge the brand of cereal I am eating.- Me: Me: You just got here and you will deal with what I e a t.

[pellucid-constellations]

Trial and Error (3)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Based on the request: "Azriel with single mom reader? I feel like being a single mom in ACOTAR would be tricky as hell… reader comes from autumn court and flees to night court because she got pregnant out of marriage? 😯 the shame"

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Very small mention of blood

a/n: I am lovinggg writing this and I can't stop so don't ask me to 🏃‍♀️

Read part one | part two | part four

Main Masterlist ♡

~~

Azriel had been by the apothecary four times since his first visit. That wasn’t an unusual number by any means, but it was alarming that he was supposedly going through his headache tonic so quickly. You would give him a week’s worth and he would return for more within three days. 

Melanie had begun to expect him and had taken to examining his wings each time he walked through the door. She would run and stand atop the counter—much to your dismay—and Azriel would unfurl them from his back just a hair so she could get a better look. Her comfortability with him scared you. You’d spoken to your daughter about stranger danger and had emphasized it a million times, but with Azriel, she held no reproach. 

Azriel didn’t seem to mind. You had apologized countless times for Melanie’s staring and her invasive questions, but Azriel would only wave you off with a glint in his eye. He always chalked it up to being an uncle, but you’d had an uncle and he was nothing like Azriel. 

None of your family was like anyone you’d met in Velaris. 

Still, there was a lingering pit in your stomach each time Azriel would ask you a question about yourself or smile at your daughter. It didn’t feel safe to make too many friends, and Azriel was a particularly unsafe friend to have. 

The Shadowsinger. 

You’d learned of his position within the Night Court’s inner circle after Melanie had asked yet another question about Azriel and his shadows. 

“I’m a Shadowsinger,” he had explained, your daughter spinning in circles around him, tugging his shadows along with her. A small smile graced his face as he spoke. “My shadows tell me secrets so I can ensure everything is going okay in Velaris.” 

A cold sweat broke out along your skin as he spoke the words, but you only continued to smile and focused on keeping your breath even. 

He would be the one to find you out—there was no doubt about it. 

But something told you the closeness could be a good thing. Perhaps, if he knew you, he would take pity on you when he found out. Perhaps, if he knew you, he wouldn’t feel the need to dig into your history and ask questions. 

At least, that’s what you were hoping for because Azriel didn’t show any sign of staying away from you or Melanie—a truth made even more apparent at Melanie’s open house. 

“Melanie does so wonderfully in all her subjects,” her teacher gushed, a clipboard held tightly at her chest. “She especially loved our cooking unit. She loved the burners and heating things up.” 

You raised your brows and grinned. “I’m so happy to hear that. She talks about school so often. I’m glad her enthusiasm is reflected in her work.” 

An obvious avoidance—an attempt to curtail the subject away from your daughter’s affinity for flames. 

Her teacher did not seem put off. “It is! I know she began in the middle of the school year, but she has caught on so quickly. I can tell she has a lot of support at home. Big family?” 

Perhaps her teacher wasn’t as oblivious as you had hoped. You fought the twitch in your eye, dreading that this woman would know more about you. Five years of careful isolation and suddenly you were thrust into the public eye. 

“No, just the two of us. But my work is quite flexible so she’s never alone. I always have time to help her with school.” 

“That’s so great to hear. I have to ask, just for the sake of my student, her father—”

“Hello, Ms. Fern.”

Azriel’s voice startled you out of the panic rising in your chest. You turned to find him rooted in his spot behind you, arms crossed over his chest. His gaze flicked down to you for a brief moment before settling back on the teacher. 

“Azriel!” Ms. Fern delighted. “I didn’t expect you today. I saw the High Lord and Lady earlier so I assumed it would just be the parents.” 

Azriel hummed. “I wanted to come by and see Nyx’s art. You mentioned he painted the family.” 

“You didn’t need to do that! I know you’re so busy. What a wonderful—“ 

Azriel slowly edged in front of you, hiding you from Ms. Fern’s watchful eye. You felt a slight push against your hip and held in a laugh as Azriel reached behind him and ushered you off without ever looking away from the teacher. You quickly scampered away and made yourself busy examining the art around the room. Upon closer inspection, Nyx had painted a troll—not his family. 

It took about 10 minutes of lingering before Azriel joined you, his shadows giving him away. They slinked around your wrists and traveled up to caress your neck. 

“Apologies for their familiarity,” Azriel said in place of a greeting. “They seem to have grown comfortable with you.” 

“And Melanie,” you added. You rounded a table and meandered out to the hall. Azriel followed. “They love to chase her around the apothecary. Sometimes I wonder if you keep coming by because they’re making you.” 

Azriel bit back a smile but it still formed into a bashful expression. “Perhaps that’s why.” 

In the hall, you found yourself alone with Azriel—utterly and completely alone. Melanie was with one of your neighbors as the teacher made it clear no students were allowed at the open house, and no one else occupied the space. You leaned your back against the wall and looked up at Azriel, a shyness overtaking you. 

You were never really alone with him—Melanie was always right around the corner. 

“That was some maneuver earlier,” you commented, fidgeting with your fingers at your waist. 

“She was prying,” Azriel replied. You watched the way he carefully trailed his gaze down to your fingers. “I certainly wasn’t going to let her know more about you than I do. Not when I’ve put in far more effort.” 

“I thought your shadows were the reason you came,” you teased. 

“Right, my shadows.” 

You pressed your mouth into a line, feeling small under Azriel’s never-ending gaze. His eyes never left yours as silence blanketed the hall. It was as if he saw through you, understood you in a way that didn’t make sense. 

Maybe you could tell him. 

No, that was ridiculous. 

Was it? 

“Where’s Mel?” Azriel asked, startling you out of your internal strife. 

The words didn’t comprehend, the jumbled mess of your mind intensifying as the Shadowsinger knocked his head to the side and asked you questions. 

“What?” 

“Melanie,” he clarified, brows bunching. “I was going to offer to watch her for this but I didn’t want to impose. I know I’m still mostly a stranger, but I don’t know if you have family in the area and I just…” 

He trailed off. You never mentioned any family because that was one of the topics you strayed from each time it was broached. Family, your origins, Melanie’s father; he never brought any of it up directly, but he’d hint at it. And you always changed the subject. 

“I—I don’t,” you revealed. You broke his gaze and stared down at your fingers, picking at the skin around your nails. “Have family here, I mean. But I have neighbors that Melanie likes. They’re watching her.” 

“Do you trust them?” Azriel asked, an edge to his tone. 

“Of course I do. I wouldn’t leave her with anyone I didn’t.” 

“Good,” he grunted out. 

“And I would never ask you to watch Mel. That—I know you’re probably busy and she's kind of a handful..” 

Azriel started speaking before the last word left your mouth. “She’s not. And I would never be too busy for that.”

Another silence fell. You picked harder at your nails.

“Azriel, I—“ 

“I want you to feel safe with me. To trust me.” 

His admittance shocked you into silence. You weren’t actually sure what you were going to say to him, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Everything you had ever thought exited your brain. 

You opened your mouth to speak but no sound escaped. 

“I mean—I just mean that I want to be a person you can trust Melanie with. That you can trust to… to share more with. I don’t know what you’ve been though, or how you ended up here in Velaris, but I want to be something safe for you.”

It felt as if something was pressing against your chest. When Melanie was around, he never looked at you with such intensity—he never said these things with so much devotion to back his words. 

A sharp, hot feeling pricked your fingers. Azriel’s hand immediately covered both of your own, his warm touch pulling your fingers away from each other. You’d drawn blood—a terrible nervous habit. 

With all of the shock you missed the fact that this was the first time Azriel had touched you with such intentionality. 

“It’s like you’re living in survival mode—you and Melanie. I want you both to feel like there’s someone looking out for you.” 

“Why?” you whispered, the word still sounding entirely too loud. “Why us? Why me?” 

Azriel hadn’t removed his hands from yours. He offered a small squeeze to your fingers. “Why not you?” 

Something broke in you. Something pulled. 

You wanted nothing more than to open your mouth and let everything out. You wanted to trust him—to be able to trust anyone—but there was so much danger to that.

You could be forced back home. You could be forced to marry that man. You could lose Melanie. 

But Azriel was looking at you as if he’d place his life before any of those possibilities. His gaze was beseeching, almost desperate, and something was urging you to trust him. Something intrinsic. Something that felt right.

Your lips parted. 

“Rhys, I told you, Azriel isn’t here.” 

“I saw him leave just after us, darling. He came.” 

“He came to Nyx’s open house? What could he possibly have to gain?” 

The conversation down the hall startled you. You yanked your hands from Azriel’s grip and whipped your head to the side in anticipation. 

Rhys, Azriel, Nyx; you knew who was about to enter the hall, and reality came crashing down on you as soon as you made the connection. 

“I have to go,” you rushed out, eyes widening. “I—Thank you, Azriel, but this isn’t—this isn’t safe for Melanie. Not… all of this. I have to—” 

You left, and Azriel stayed. 

You heard your name as you went, heard it echo down the hall, but you still left. 

And Azriel still stayed. 

part four

[pepperyduck]

cheater, pt.2 - satoru gojo

word count: 1.2k

warnings: heartbroken gojo, jealousy, spiteful cheating, descriptions of suguru geto x reader, marriage problems, pathetic gojo. (18+ mdni!)

notes: gosh thank u for all the love on the last part!!! please read pt. 1 before this one, or don't, it's rly up to u.

you can find part one here

masterlist

multitudes of shopping bags rustle when you enter your home, a home that’s been silent for months now since satoru left you for his girlfriend. he didn’t actually leave, traces of him still lingered around the house from time to time when he wasn’t out with her, but those encounters remained faint traces, you had barely spoken to him unless it was to discuss something important.

you had mostly talked to satoru about a possible divorce – he brought the subject up after weeks of his girlfriend begging him to be with her for good now.

“your parents will disown you, satoru,” you had said, physically ignoring the man that sat across the kitchen from you, “and mine will hate you. plus, you don’t make that much money now, anyway.” you passively insulted the man. satoru agreed, however, his parents adored you since birth, and divorce was one of the things they wouldn’t put up with. the marriage started for convenience, and it would stay that way until one of you mustered up the courage to make a divorce final.

the current situation wasn’t all bad, though, it was an agreement without words that you and satoru lived married while he had his fun. and with the more fun he had, the less you began to care. it was the first time in your life you were genuinely able to focus on yourself without a husband to worry about. you concocted many hobbies, you learned how to cook healthier – no longer having to adjust your tastes to satoru’s liking – and decided to hit the gym a few days a week. progress started slowly, but you could see the tone in your body begin to show after a few months.

now, you had time to think about your appearance more, you tried new things with your hair and makeup, you bought a new wardrobe to fit your liking better. your old clothes stayed pushed to the side, growing wrinkly as you filled your closet up with better designer brands, you no longer worried about what satoru thought of you. satoru had moved his things into a different room, leaving you the space of the master bedroom to fill up with décor you fancied. your confidence grew more than ever, beginning to feel beautiful after a while.

you were always beautiful, of course, but it’s a much better feeling when you can see it in the mirror.

deciding to give your husband a taste of his own medicine, you start to date around and dip your toes into the wonderful world of hookups and first dates. you think it’s insane how easily men are on their knees, begging for you to go on a date with them, just one date, please! you got better treatment over the course of a month than you ever had with satoru; men would vow their loyalty to you, something satoru never did, obviously.

after satoru’s refusal to divorce you, his girlfriend left him, but the fact was unknown to you. sure, you noticed him moping around the house more often, but you figured he finally got tired of her and needed space. but his time at home forced him to see you come home with all kinds of guys, ones that were taller, handsomer, and stronger than him.

satoru saw the change in you, and god, he had never felt so in love with you since you found your new confidence and style. you were simply ravishing, and now satoru feels a pang of guilt for failing to realize what he had in front of him for so long.

the envy that boiled in his chest was a new feeling for him. he never thought he would be jealous of you giving him the same treatment he had been giving you. yet, there he was, watching from the kitchen as you giggle wrapped in someone else’s arms, furiously making out in the entryway without paying any mind to satoru. it bothered him.

and, oh boy, when you walk through the door with his ex-best friend from college, suguru, satoru swears he could go crazy.

satoru’s eyes focus their attention from some tv dinner to the door when you and suguru stumble though, laughing and carried away in one another’s presence. he had never seen you feel so alive, not even when you didn’t know he was cheating, you never acted that way with him. satoru has a look in his eyes the instant he sees you, the same look he had when he was about to kill someone, a crazed, insane look.

suguru flips you around and pins you to the wall, so he’s facing right at satoru, and he looks him in the eyes as he fiercely makes out with you.

if satoru had a gun, he’d point it right at the both of you.

yet he doesn’t have a gun, or anything really, just a fit of jealously growing stronger and stronger the more you make out with someone that hurt him so badly.

so this is what it feels like, huh?

satoru stands up and slams his chair back under the table, only growing angry when it doesn’t seem to phase you at all. he goes upstairs and slams the door to his room shut when he enters. he doesn’t…he can’t do anything. he can’t stop you from having free will, and he definitely can’t call you out for doing the same thing to him that he did to you. he sits down on the bed, a bed he should’ve been sharing with you, and he tangles his fingers in his hair, insecure thoughts clouding his mind.

for once in his life, the smug bastard known as satoru gojo was pitiful.

the screams of suguru’s name keep satoru up until the early hours of the morning.

the next day, you’re cooking breakfast later in the morning after suguru leaves. it feels like a very successful night. satoru walks into the kitchen, having had a sleepless night, and plops down at the table while he stares at you.

you’re so perfect, you always have been, why did he have to be so stupid about ruining his marriage with the perfect woman?

“so, suguru, huh?” satoru questions, crossing his arms.

“hmm?” you hum, viciously smiling inside because the bothered tone satoru had was so deliciously obvious.

“listen,” satoru starts, hesitating for a moment because he might pity himself for the way he’s about to speak to you. “i’m…sorry,” he mutters, almost inaudible, sighing afterwards.

you glance over your shoulder, seeing your husband look so tired and…hurt?

“don’t apologize, satoru. you and i both know it’s much too late for that now,” you aptly reply, “you should’ve thought about that long ago.”

your words are a knife in satoru’s chest, and it only feels as if you’re stabbing him over and over the more you speak, looking away from him again to focus on the stovetop.

“don’t apologize to me because you feel bad now. you’re only saying sorry because your feelings are the ones getting hurt this time,” your words send waves of guilt, sadness, and downright pain through your husbands body, “and quite frankly, i don’t care.”

satoru wants to retort, he wants to reply with something smug but his mind draws a blank as he only stares at you, ultimately betrayed by his own actions — his once kind, sweet wife has left him behind in a mess of himself.

his apologies no longer mean anything to you. you’ve grown too strong for satoru. he’ll continue to be a pathetic mess, until one day, hopefully, you choose to forgive him for what he’s done.

maybe you will, maybe you won’t. it’s up for you to decide.

taglist: @kalopsia-flaneur @painted-hills @kundere20000000

let me know if u wanna be added!

[woahjo]

katsuki rarely drinks. it's not something he enjoys. but one one night, he shows up at your once-shared apartment, smelling like liquor. something sweet and fruity, liked he'd tried to wash a bitter taste from his mouth. to someone who doesn't know him the way you do, a tired sobriety may be assumed. he's that sort when he drinks.

he smiles when he sees you, a bashful kind of smile, despite not having spoken with you for months and you realize that maybe he's forgotten. maybe he's forgotten the last few months when he moved his stuff out of your place, the period of time after the break up where no one would bring up your names in front of the other.

"katsuki? it's the middle of the night," you say to him through the half open door. "what are you doing here?"

katsuki looks at you, clearly tired, and he swallows thick before opening his mouth and closing it again. you wait for him to find his words.

"i wanted to see you," he says.

"you don't live here anymore," you remind him gently, though you're not sure why you assume that he believes he does.

katsuki glances at the ground and then uses the doorframe to steady himself. you can tell that he's trying not to scare you, trying not to use the sheer size of his body. there's something cautious and equally careless about his motions and you tilt your head.

"katsuki?"

"why don't we talk anymore?" he asks you, swallowing again. you wonder where his friends have gotten off to and at what point int he evening they'd noticed that he wandered off.

the question tugs at your heartstrings as you stare at the man in the doorway. it's a pathetic sort of feeling, a weak longing in your chest. you're not sure how to answer. after the break up, things just sort of... fell off. there was nothing to say anymore.

"I want to talk to you," he admits.

this is a side of katsuki that only you are privy to. a quieter, gentler side of him. one where he can openly admit his wants and faults. an exposed bleeding wound that katsuki has never really been able to sew shut.

you shake your head a little.

"talking's hard," you tell him. you're being honest. talking to him is hard. there is so much history there.

"we used to be friends," he reasons, almost as if he's reminding himself.

"yeah," you nod, "we did."

"and now we're not," he adds. "and that fucking sucks."

you nod again.

"it's late, katsuki," you say to him. "you should get home and sleep this off."

katsuki nods, but he lingers. his eyes wander past you into the inside of your apartment, almost as if he can picture himself wandering in. you keep the door half shut.

"we'll talk soon?" he asks, something hopeful in his voice. this vulnerability makes you ache.

"yeah," you respond. "we'll talk soon. fix things."

katsuki nods and then, as if something sobering has come over him, he straightens his back. you furrow your brows as he looks at you, a pink tinge over his cheeks, and wait for what he has to say next.

"sorry to- sorry to bother you so late," he says, a little less gently. he's let a mask slip carefully over his features.

"it's fine," you shake your head. "get home safe, okay? do you need me to call someone for you?"

katsuki shakes his head insistently. "no, no," he says firmly— soberly. "i'm good. i'll see you around."

"okay."

he turns from your step and you watch his back for a moment before quietly shutting the door to your apartment. it feels too quiet now, and you briefly miss the light from the street as you turn back to the empty, darkened rooms.

you wonder if he'll remember coming to your door tomorrow and kick himself for it. you wonder if he'll wake up in the morning, his head pounding, with the mortifying memory of having shown up on your doorstep, telling you that he misses you in a set of different words. or, you wonder if he'll forget. will he wake tomorrow with no memory at all of the first conversation you've shared in months?

it's probably best if he doesn't remember it. then, there'll be nothing to follow up on and nothing to apologize for in the sobering light of day. you won't have to talk to him and be reminded of just how painful every aspect of this is. you have no intention of keeping your promise to talk soon, as much as you might like to fix things. it's best, for the both of you, if you let him fade into the background. then, you can meet him again as strangers—friends of friends—and pretend that the history between you both never happened in the first place.

[msmk11]

Hiii!! I love your work so much and was wondering if you could do a poly marauders (and lily) x hufflepuff coded fem reader comfort fic 💛 maybe they are just having a bad day, being insecure and everyone tries there best to comfort her? thankyou (even if you decide not to)

Omg hi lovely! Thank you so much for the request. This is actually my first ever and I’m so excited and happy to write it for you! I hope it lives up to your standards - MK <3

Just Hold Me For Awhile

——————————————————————————

Poly!Marauders + Lily x fem!reader

Word count: 1.3k

Cw: low self-esteem, hurt/comfort, sad/anxious reader

A/n: Baby’s first request! Ngl I rewrote this like three times, but now it finally feels genuine and I’m very happy with it. I hope you all enjoy :)

There is no evidence to confirm your fears besides the incessant voice inside your head.

You’re not good enough.

You’re not smart enough.

You’re not funny enough.

You’re not pretty enough.

Eventually, they’re all going to leave you.

You are going to end up alone.

Deep down, you know none of these things are true. But reason is no match for your anxiety and the extraordinariness of each of your partners.

James- best Gryffindor chaser the team has had

in years.

Lily- number one in your class.

Remus- Casanova of Gryffindor tower.

Sirius- absolutely fearless in the face of adversity.

You- the ordinary Hufflepuff who just got lucky.

It consistently amazes you that you ended up in a relationship with these four bold, well-known, and well-liked Gryffindors. They all love you so much and you feel grateful that you get to love and be loved by them everyday.

But no matter how much love and care they give you, it cannot entirely soothe the deep-rooted feeling of inadequacy lurking within. You can’t help but sometimes feel out of place in your own relationship- not because your partners exclude you, but rather because your obvious ordinariness situates you outside their circular of extraordinariness.

It’s a feeling that’s lingered since the four first showed interest in you, but recently it’s been possessing you tenfold.

All these thoughts are racing around in your head as you sit at the foot of Sirius’ bed in the boys’ dormitory. Peter is off on a date, leaving you five with some much needed alone time. The moment is serene, with Sirius painting your nails a soft green, Lily braiding Sirius’ hair out of his face, Remus dangling over the edge talking to you three, and James on top of him, massaging his back.

The four are talking about some recent Hogwarts drama, so you’ve sort of zoned out of the conversation, only adding in commentary here or there.

“I mean, I’m so glad Pandora hexed him,” Lily says, “he totally deserved it.”

“I just never would’ve pinned her as the type of person to hex someone, with the way she’s so soft spoken and all,” Sirius replies.

“She does hang out with your brother and Junior though,” Remus reminds him.

“And Evan is her brother,” James adds with a laugh, “it’s in her blood. I just wish I could’ve seen Mulciber’s face.”

“It probably looked as dumb and stupid as always, if not more so,” Sirius jokes.

Everyone busts out laughing and you faintly chuckle through your anxiety-induced brain fog.

Someone taps the side of your cheek.

“Doll, you there?”

You jolt out of your trance and look at Sirius, “hmm? Sorry, what?”

“I asked if you wanted anything else done to your nails.”

You briefly glance down at your perfectly manicured nails, “oh, uh, yeah. Perfect as always, my star.”

Remus reaches down and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, “are you okay, dove? I feel like you’ve been awfully quiet today.”

You smile a little and wave him off, “oh yeah, fine. Just tired, Moons.”

“Wanna come take a nap, angel?” James asks sweetly, opening his arms.

Though you’re not actually that tired, it’s mainly just an excuse, you can’t pass up the offer from your cuddliest of boyfriends. You peck Sirius’ cheek as a thank you for doing your nails and then crawl onto James’ lap. You situate your head on his chest and curl up as he wraps his arms around you. His musky cologne eases the knots in your stomach a little and you try to focus on the steady beat of his heart.

“Better?” he mumbles into your hair.

You quietly hum in confirmation.

You keep your eyes closed all cuddled up with James as you listen to your partners quietly chat. Within minutes of your getting settled you sense movement on the bed. Remus shifts upwards to lay next to you and James- you can tell from the sudden increase in body heat- and you feel Sirius and Lily lay down at your feet.

Suddenly, you feel a pair of rough lips- Remus’ lips- against your forehead. Though he thinks you’re asleep, you hear him whisper, “get some rest, my sweet girl.”

Someone’s head falls on your knee and then you hear Lily’s voice, “she’s so pretty when she sleeps, isn’t she? All soft and peaceful.”

You recognize Sirius’ habitual stroking of your leg with his thumb as he adds, “I didn’t think she could get any softer or sweeter, but here we are.”

“Our angel,” James coos.

Though you suppose most would feel pretty lucky to hear these things about themselves, they only make you feel worse.

You hate yourself.

You hate yourself for having four wonderful, caring, and loving partners, and you can’t even appreciate them because of your own self-loathing. You despise this nasty habit of self-sabotage, but you’re not sure how to break it.

As you lay there and listen to them say such nice things about you, you feel a lump grow in your throat and hot tears spring to your eyes. The tightness in your chest is near painful, and you need some relief.

You try to shift just the slightest- as if you’re just moving around in your sleep- to bury your head in James’ chest, out of everyone’s eyesight.

But once you let one tear drop, a whole rainstorm comes. You try and keep your sobs and sniffling quiet, but your hot, wet tears give you away to James.

“Angel?” James asks worriedly. He pulls you away from his chest to look at your face and sees the snotty, tear-stained mess you’ve become.

“Dove,” Remus pleads worriedly, “what’s wrong? What’s happened.”

Your sobs are too strong for you to respond and you can only shrug your shoulders. Your eyes are blinded by tears and you can’t see their faces, but you know they’re filled with concern and worry. To make them worry like this only causes you to cry harder.

You’re not really aware of what’s happening around you. All you know is one minute your in James’ arms, and the next in Sirius’. Sirius strokes your hair away from your face and holds you in his lap like a baby. He rocks you back and forth quietly, not saying anything at all.

It’s nice, not having to say anything and just crying. Even if you had the ability to speak through your tears, you don’t know that you could. There’s no easy way to describe your feelings of inadequacy, and no amount of ‘talking it out’ could ever just solve the problem either. So you just cry. Cry because you’re angry that you feel this way. Cry because you’re sad. Cry because you’re tired. Tired of not feeling like you’re ever enough. And you cry just because you can. Because you know that your partners will be there for you for as long as you need to cry.

And when the sobs finally quiet to a hiccup here or there, you appreciate that they give you silence to breathe and just process everything.

Lily stands and wanders off, coming back with a glass of water that she presses into your hands. You sip it gently before James takes it from you and sets it on the nightstand. Remus goes and grabs a hot washcloth, wiping your face oh so gently with a soft look in his brown eyes. Sirius hands you back to James- your most tactile partner- and settles again at your feet.

Then, with the most quiet and tender voice, Sirius asks you only one thing, “What do you need from us?”

“Just hold me for awhile.”

And so, like many days before, and hopefully every day after, you five pile into bed, reveling in each other’s warmth and security.

As you lay surrounded by your lovers, you know that even though those same lousy feelings continue to reside inside of you, you will figure it out. And when you’re ready to talk, or rant, or cry some more, your partners will be there.

[ifancyharry]

Close As Strangers

what it is: Harry has been away for six months and YN wants to move on - based on Close As Strangers by 5 seconds of summer!!

word count: 4k+

Harry hurried down the hallway all the way to his room, sliding the key card against the key-reader, unlocking the door and pushing it open with his palms pressed against it.

He quickly removed his shoes, tossing them near the door, before plopping down on the hotel bed, his back against the headboard.

He fished out of his skinny jeans his phone, grimacing at the screen that read 3 missed calls from ‘Angel <3’.

He sighed as he unlocked it, typing hurriedly the number he knew by heart on the keyboard, and putting it on speaker, too tired to hold the phone to his shoulder for the call.

He waited for her to pick up as he listened to the incessant ringing of the line.

“Pick up, pick up” he whispered, biting at the skin of his thumb to suppress his sighs.

He knew he was late. And he felt like he could only imagine the disappointment YN felt when he didn’t answer her call.

He and YN had picked out a specific time throughout the day where the both of them had to be available. No matter what the other was doing, at 7 o’clock they had to answer the phone, which was a pretty understandable rule, and Harry had found it easy to comply to it at first, excusing himself to take a call or getting covered by his band mates if he couldn’t make up an excuse quickly enough. But with time, his schedule had gotten really busy.

And he sometimes missed her calls.

He wasn’t the fresh out of XFactor sixteen year old he’d been when they first started dating. He was Harry from One Direction now, and despite him feeling as the same shy guy that worked in a bakery, life around him had changed, and with it, his relationship.

He knew how she was; he knew she wasn’t answering because she was upset. And Harry really didn’t blame her, but he just didn’t find it reasonable to be upset (“stubborn little thing! — he’d say, once she had calmed down and answered the phone — It doesn’t benefit neither of us if you don’t pick up ‘cause you’re mad!”).

He rolled his eyes once the line went dead, and opened the text app instead, typing quickly with his fingers.

Baby pick up I wanna talk to you

After a couple of minutes, he wrote again: please

I miss you

And after that, he tried the line once again. This time, she picked up after five rings with a small “hello?”, her voice sounded croaky distorted from the phone.

“Hello angel. I’m sorry I didn’t answer.”

“It’s okay”, and Harry felt her sigh through the phone, “i was thinking we should push back the calls until you’re back…”

“What?”

“I know you’re pretty busy,” she said, sternly, “and I don’t want to bother you.”

“What?” Harry repeated, and once he realised he already asked that, he cleared his voice and said: “you could never be a bother”.

YN couldn’t see him but she knew he was shaking his head. She tried not to picture the frown in his brows and the pout on his lips, otherwise she couldn’t possibly keep going.

“Things are different now—”

“No.” He cut her off, “don’t say that, angel. Nothing’s changed. It’s still us.”

“Harry” she softened her tone to make sure he really understood her, “it’s still us. — she nodded firmly to herself — I think it’s best if we stick to texting for now. It’s okay.”

“Okay… okay, if that’s - if that’s what you want. Okay.”

“It’s better this way” she sighed once again and Harry felt her breathing through the phone, her shaky breath loud in his ears as if it were his own.

“But we’re good, right? Tell me we’re good.”

“Yes, of course we’re good.”

Harry nodded, staying quiet as the words she’d just spoken lingered in the air between them. Despite being so far away he could almost feel her right next to him as she kept talking, unaware of the heavy weight he felt on his chest making it a little harder to breathe, the sudden realisation that maybe they weren’t good after all.

-

Harry:

Good luck on your exam baby xx

Harry typed the message quickly before locking his phone in his hands.

“1 minute, guys!” Paul reminded them, and for the first time in three years, Harry didn’t want to perform.

YN had a really big exam, the most important of her course, and his heart ached at the thought of not being there with her. He didn’t want to go on stage, and if he was a bad person, he wouldn’t. He would call his driver and go straight to the airport. But Harry wasn’t like that. No.

Since the beginning of his career, he always felt like he owed something to someone, because as he often said to YN, things like this don’t happen to people like him. What he meant with ‘people like him’ no one truly knows, because YN is sure Harry would be successful even if he wasn’t in the band, even if he never went to XFactor, he would have found a way to do what he loves. People would’ve known him either way, because he’s Harry Styles.

And if he didn’t… was it that bad? Wasn’t a life with her not enough to him? She often wonders that, but then she feels extremely guilty and she stops. She knows it’s wrong to think in such a way, because Harry says many times that that XFactor audition was the best thing he ever did in his life, but sometimes you can’t really control your heart as much as your thoughts.

“Harry, stop texting and let’s go!” Paul shouted, from his position on the doorframe.

Sometimes it’s though, for Harry. He tries really hard not to snap at the crew members because he knows they’re just doing their job, but he would often like to say: handle me a little bit softer, please! Because he is still human, and despite enjoying his job, he still needs to be handled gently. He’s only 19.

He obviously never says anything because as stated before, he’s had this strange feeling of owing his career to someone (no one in particular… his fans? Simon Cowell? He doesn’t know, he just knows the feeling in his gut), and he doesn’t want to disappoint anyone.

Harry throws a quick glance at him and nodds, sighing heavily as he hears his phone ding with a message.

Angel <3:

Can I call you, please? I don’t feel good

“Harry, I said let’s go.” He said once again, walking towards him and taking his shirt in his grip, tugging on the sleeve a bit.

Harry grimaced a little at the thought of not answering YN’s text, but he hadn’t opened it, so he guessed she’d probably think he was already on stage.

“Yes, yes, I’m coming!” He shrugged, tossing his phone on the couch and turning towards the door.

Paul nods and “c’mon, rockstar” he said, ruffling Harry’s hair playfully.

“Hey!” He pouted, chuckling as he bumps his arm against his.

Harry tried not to think too much about YN and her message, but he couldn’t help the pang in his chest as he walked out of the changing rooms and heard his phone ringing, the personalised ringer he set YN when he first bought the phone hitting him right in the heart.

He rolled his lips in his mouth as he walked towards the stage, the image of YN all alone at home with her phone to her ear hunting his thoughts.

-

Harry:

Hey, baby, how are you? What are you doing?

seen, 10.27am

Answer meeeee

seen, 11.47am

Are you mad at me? Why aren’t you answering?

seen, 12.01am

Angel <3:

Hary.. sprry i was ouy

Harry:

Are you drunk?

Angel <3:

Jst a litle bit hahahaahah

Harry:

Are you safe?

Angel <3:

yea, wit Emma xx txt tommrw

Harry sighed heavily as he rubbed his temples, tossing his phone on the bed beside him. He closed his eyes as he tried to soothe the impending headache as best as he could. He knew he shouldn’t think like this, but he sometimes can’t help but get angry with her; they never get time to talk, and the only time he can call her, she’s out drinking with her friends. It’s wrong and he’s being unfair, of course he knows. He’s just… he feels defeated. And left out. She feels so far away, and he’s sad he can’t be there with her. Why is she drinking? Is she celebrating something? Did she pass her exam? He doesn’t even know. He didn’t even ask, really. Because he was on The Late Late Show in the morning and was already performing with the band by the evening.

So he’s aware it’s his fault, but at the moment, he just feels like being angry at her. He’ll feel guilty in the morning, and he’ll try not to think about her like that ever again, but tonight… he allows himself the feeling.

He feels sick to his stomach when he realises he doesn’t even know who Emma is. He’s been away so long she made new friends he never got to meet.

-

Harry:

I wish you were here.

Harry knows this relationship isn’t going to work. He knows it deep in his heart, the feeling has been growing deep in his belly ever since he auditioned on xfactor, and if he was a better person he would end it.

He would take his brand new (very expensive) phone, digit the number he knows by heart and just… end it.

Dump her, to say it as straight as it is.

But he can’t.

He knows it’s what’s best for the both of them, he can tell she wants to move on, enjoy life with her friends, be loved by someone who could show his love by being present, but he is too selfish to do that.

The mere thought of her with someone else kills him, makes him sick to his stomach. So what does he do instead? He looks for her in every face in the crowd, in every person he meets (and there’s a lot).

Incoming: FaceTime call.

From: Angel <3

“Hi, H” YN whispers softly as soon as he answers the call.

“Hi angel.”

“I missed you, feel like I haven’t seen y’re face in ages”

“I know”, he clears his throat awkwardly, unsure on what to tell her, “still the same pretty face” he jokes.

“No, you look…” Harry can see her furrow her brows down to the middle, “you look different… older”.

What she really wants to say is he looks… glowier? Like someone who slept for twelve hours or someone who just came back from a ten days vacation at an all inclusive resort.

It’s weird, seeing him like this, he sort of lost his edgier and childlike state.

He looks more mature, yes, but also more polished. His once fluffy and untamed hair look shiny and… styled? He certainly has hairdressers, because YN saw it from an instagram post, but she thought it was like a one time thing… not a recurring one.

She feels kind of out of place, in front of this boy - guy, more like - she hasn’t seen in six weeks.

She finds it hard to remember it’s still her Harry.

She wonders how many things he saw in these six weeks, how many things he did without her, how many new places he discovered without sharing it with her, without making her a part of it.

The awkward energy isn’t lost on both parts, and if YN isn’t afraid to show it, Harry tries all he can to keep the conversation normal. He won’t give up.

“You look beautiful as ever” he says with a grin, but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

She only partially breaks in a smile, because she doesn’t want him to feel bad.

It’s not him, entirely, it’s them… it’s them as a whole.

“Everyday gets harder to stay away from you” he reiterates, “but I’ll see you soon, okay? At your birthday?”

“Yeah… okay” she gulps, her hands playing nervously with a stray thread coming off of her cream sweater.

“Soon. I promise.”

She nods and pretends she believes him.

The conversation only lasts for a couple of minutes, their hours long calls are just a memory by now, and she asks a couple of questions to pretend everything is fine and not alarm him.

But she knows he can feel something shifted between them, because nothing is as once was.

-

“I think we should head inside, love” Anne kindly said, placing a gentle and comforting hand on her shoulder. “I don’t think he’s coming.”

“No” YN shook her head firmly, in her stomach a nauseous feeling was tingling her insides; she tried to defend him with everything she could: “he can’t. He promised he’d be here. He’s coming. I know he is”

“Okay” Anne murmured, as she threw a wary look in Gemma’s direction, “let’s just wait a little bit more.”

“Yes!” Gemma agreed, “maybe his flight is late…?” She suggested, albeit with little conviction.

YN nodded her head absentmindedly, her gaze lost in the pinkness of the sky extending before her.

She had wanted to wait for his arrival to cut the cake, refusing Gemma’s offer (more like plea) to at least light up the candles to sing her happy birthday, so everyone was starving and YN had the strange feeling they were all upset. With her or with Harry she didn’t really know.

It’s not like she blamed them, the scene presented in front of them (YN waiting all day for Harry who didn’t even call to tell her he wasn’t coming; YN refusing to invite her friends because she wanted it to be just close family and she wanted to spend as much time as she could with her boyfriend) was pathetic as it was already.

She really didn’t think Harry had it in him to miss her birthday.

Everything YN could really think of was how thankful she was it was just her, Anne and Gemma. What would have happened if she had invited more people? She would have ended up looking like the fool who gets stood up at her own birthday by her own boyfriend.

They had been waiting since lunch time and it was already sunset, the now orange sky a dreadful reminder of how much time was passing and how late it was getting.

In her heart, buried deep under her hope, she knew he wasn’t coming. She knew his flight wasn’t late because he never boarded it in the first place, breaking the promise he’d made her that he’d be there for her birthday.

She tried to think about a birthday she passed without Harry, but nothing came to mind. Ever since they started dating, he’d always be there celebrating with her and making her happy on what is supposed to be a day all about her.

She tried to think how much she was willing to wait, she didn’t want to encounter in the possibility of having to wait until late night, but she knew that if she didn’t give herself an ultimatum she never would have stopped waiting for him.

“YN…” Anne interrupted her train of thoughts, once it started to get a bit chilly in the garden and the humidity was starting to get uncomfortable.

“I know.” YN interrupted her briefly, trying not to pay too much attention to the way her eyes were starting to tingle a bit, the humiliation being so bad it was starting to grow inside her like a balloon waiting to pop, “it’s okay.” She nodded, reassuring Anne, but maybe herself too - a little bit.

She shifted her gaze to Gemma, who frowned at the look on her face, “it’s okay.” She repeated, “I knew he wasn’t coming, after all, I knew.”

She could feel their eyes on her as she brought a hand up to her chest, hoping that maybe the warmth could soothe her aching heart; but nothing about her was warm.

She actually felt really cold, her hand on her chest only accentuated her panic and humiliation as she could hear her heart beat fast against her chest cage.

“I am so sorry” Anne said, squeezing her shoulder reassuringly,

“We’re certainly not leaving him any cake” Gemma joked, but her humour fell on deaf ears, because neither YN nor Anne laughed. In Anne’s opinion, there wasn’t anything to laugh about, and in YN’s… well, she wasn’t really paying any attention to her surroundings.

“Let’s go inside, love” Anne repeated once again, but this time YN nodded and got up from her chair.

She inhaled a little before heading towards the door.

Once she was inside, she felt the warm air hit her cheeks, and the sweet smell of the cake cooling off in the oven invaded her nostrils.

The cozy ambience was becoming kind of overwhelming, and she wished she could just close her eyes and be out of that damn house. The house where she spent all her best days with her boyfriend. Was he even her boyfriend anymore?

She felt sick to her stomach thinking those kinds of thoughts, but how couldn’t she? There weren’t many things she cared about like she cared about birthdays, and Harry knew it all too well.

“I think I’ll just head home…” she sighed, a heavy weight on her chest was making it harder and harder to breathe.

“Don’t you want to stay? We could eat some cake and…”

“No” she shook her head forcefully, “I just need to go home, I have to wake up early tomorrow”.

“Okay, love. I’m…” Anne began saying, but she stopped herself. There weren’t many words to say to excuse her son’s behaviour.

“Just… drive safe, okay?”

-

YN felt very alone as she laid in her bed that night; it wasn’t later than 9pm, way too early for her bedtime, but she really didn’t care, at that point she’d do whatever worked to make the day end sooner.

What was worse (if there even was something worse) was that her phone hadn’t rang one time since she’d arrived home, and that meant not only Harry hadn’t shown up to her birthday lunch, but he didn’t even feel guilty about it.

That was everything she needed to know.

She’d always been convinced chasing dreams couldn’t be harmful in anyway, and maybe for Harry it hadn’t been… but for her? What about her? Was she selfish for getting in the way of his dream of a life time?

All these questions ran through her head, a sharp pain growing behind her eyes from keeping in the tears for too long. They spiked against her eyes but she refused to let them fall, she had cried too long for him. This was really all she could do, but without even realising, she had started crying long before even getting in bed.

“Stop it” she condemned herself, pressing the tips of her fingers on her eyelids to dry the tears. “Just stop” she sobbed against her hands.

She doesn’t know for how long she laid there, and at some point she thinks she eventually stopped crying, too exhausted to let anything else out.

Before succumbing to a what she knew would be a troubled sleep, she grabbed her phone and typed a message quickly.

It read: we’re over.

-

When YN sent that text, she knew they weren’t over. They never could be, not without talking it out at first, and Harry… well he’s very stubborn, and at first, it was a quality she liked about him, but when he started calling her back to back until she answered, she reevaluated that.

Text from: Harry

I won’t stop calling until you answer the phone

I’m not joking, YN

Answer

We’re not over

Are we?

We can’t be

You can’t leave me like that

Answer the phone please

I can explain

It took her two days to call him. Two days of uninterrupted messages, two days of tears and an ache in her chest she tried to get rid of by eating tons of ice cream.

Her finger had lingered a while on the green call button before pressing it, but it only took him two rings to answer.

“YN…” he started, and he sort of sounded relieved, she has to admit that.

Like a weight had been lifted off his chest.

“Stop pestering me with all those messages.” She said firmly, “I don’t want to talk to you”.

“YN” he sighed once again, “please let me explain.”

“There’s nothing to explain, Harry! You missed my birthday” she said, and she tried really hard to keep her voice from breaking, but it didn’t really work.

“I know.” He said firmly, “my phone broke, I couldn’t… I didn’t know how to reach you… and by the time I got a new one, I had a concert and I couldn’t… you don’t know how these things work YN, I can’t just drop everything and run to you”.

She felt his words like a bullet piercing through her chest, “you’re right, I don’t know how these things work, but I still deserve to be treated with respect”

“I know. I know you do”.

Sometimes YN wishes Harry had never auditioned for xfactor in the first place. She knows it’s selfish but she doesn’t care. If that makes her a bad person, so be it.

If he’d never auditioned they wouldn’t be here, and she wouldn’t have to beg him for the respect he’d always showed her in the past.

“We really tried to make this work, Harry” she said in a soft voice, at this point all she could feel was defeat.

The whole situation was simply too hurtful to keep going.

“No. Stop. Don’t talk like that.” He’s quick to reply, and she could hear him get up from the bed she supposed he was sitting on.

“You missed my birthday! What am I supposed to say?”

“Enough with this birthday! I explained how things went already. You can’t just leave me like that for a single mistake”.

“But it’s not just the birthday! it’s… everything” she snapped, tired of him dragging a situation that’s been difficult long before he missed her birthday.

“Everything? You’re being unfair, YN. I tried with all I could to be present”

“But you didn’t! You never call, you’re always busy doing god knows what! -

“I’m working, YN, what do you think!” He interrupted her, but she started again with a scoff.

“I feel like I don’t know you anymore, H… buying fancy cars, hanging out with models… what? am I not enough for you anymore? Is that it? If you want out, why don’t you tell me? Why don’t you leave me?”

At that point she was certain she was crying, she could feel the warm tears streaming down her cheeks, but, in the confines of her home, she didn’t really care. Plus, it’s not like Harry hadn’t really seen her cry before.

She cried when she got her first A in maths Harry helped her study for (she had studied really hard), she cried in his arms all night when her childhood dog died (he had died an happy death at 16 years old, but still, it didn’t dull the pain), she cried to him when a mean guy called her four eyes in middle school and Harry had threatened to beat the shit out of him (she realised she loved him then), and she cried with him when he received the call he’d been selected to audition on xfactor.

All these times she’d cried, he had always been there to console her, comfort her, rubbing her back, holding her close to his chest, caressing her face with his soft hands. Where was he now, then? Why, after she threatened to end their relationship, he didn’t drop everything and hop on the first flight home? Why was she crying alone in her room?

A beat passed before he answered, and she wondered if he’s mustering up the courage to leave her. To finally do it. She hoped he would, quick and painless.

“I don’t want to leave you, even if it hurts, okay? You think it doesn’t pain me hearing you cry and not being there? It does. But I won’t give up on us. Even if it hurts, I’m not giving up. Are you?”

“I don’t know” she started, uncertain on what to say.

“No, you know, you know you love me. You do love me, right?”

“Of course I do” she reiterated, sniffling with her nose.

“That’s all that matters. We’ll get through this, I swear.”

It took a little bit more of convincing until YN finally gave in. She didn’t know how long this would go on for, how long they could make it last before going off like a grenade and destroying everything around them.

All she knew is this time, he didn’t even promise he’d come back to her soon. What did it mean? Is something not said as important as what was actually said?

-

After six months he’s been away, YN realises she should have left him that night. She would have saved herself so many missed calls, broken lines, fights and once again, tears.

Her desire to keep watering a dead plant ruined everything in the end.

She wanted out the very first moment he started missing her calls, she wanted to end it, and had she done it, by now she’d be somewhat partially healed, hanging out with her friends, checking his profile maybe once a week when she was really drunk.

But no.

These six months without him only alienated her and hurt her, and she’s finally mustered up the courage to leave him like she intended to.

It’s not a threat this time, as she tries to find the best words to leave him with.

She’s typing her message when her phone screen turns black for a fraction of a second and then his picture invades the screen.

Call from: Harry

“YN” he breathes out, not even letting her say hi to him, “I’m coming home. They told us today, I’m coming home.” he repeats, so many times he doesn’t even let her process this new information.

She doesn’t say anything, the words she has longed to hear for a long time now seem dull, like a cruel joke she doesn’t understand.

“You’re coming home?” She gulps, trying to steady her racing heart.

“Yes!” He exclaims, and then he proceeds to explain the logistics of his trip back home, how all the guys had begged for some time off and how the label finally agreed on two weeks of rest.

All YN can think about is how this is all too overwhelming to understand.

It’s been six months since she’s seen him.

How will it feel? Seeing him again after so long? Touching him? She feels like she doesn’t really know him anymore. So many things he did without her, so many people he met she doesn’t know and she will never be introduced to, so many new songs written, some that aren’t even about her.

She really wants to be happy, trust me she does, but all she can think about is how it feels like, by now, they’re as close as strangers.

[shanastoryteller]

Happy Pride ! PJO or Time Travel drarry if you please ? Thank you !!

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5

Poseidon hadn’t known what to expect, when he’d found Sally near hysterical and their son’s empty room, when he’d gone to the armory and found a sword missing from the armory with comical IOU scratched in it’s place. He had thought Sally’s mortal mind simply did not have an appreciation for scale, that a teenage demigod was far enough from a seven year old one as to appear closer to a god than a mortal.

He'd underestimated Sally. Not the first time. Hopefully the last.

Percy, nearly fully grown, tips his head back and meets his gaze evenly. He understands why Sally mistook them at first glance.

He doesn’t know if he’s ever had a demigod child take after him quite this starkly before.

“Your mother is beside herself.”

Percy winces, pulling a knee to his chest. “Yeah. The Mist is taking care of the mortal stuff, right? No one’s blaming her for anything.”

Poseidon’s lips thin. “No. Your lack of presence is simply being – ignored.”

Demigod children die young all the time. It wouldn’t do for mortal law enforcement to look into it to closely.

“That’s good,” Percy says. “I should call her. I just don’t know what to say.”

“Why did you call me?” he asks, instead of any of the other questions he’s burning to know the answers to. Just meeting him has been enough to answer some of them.

Persephone’s influence lingers around him so powerfully that if he didn’t know better, he’d be questioning if Percy was his son rather than hers.

He resists the urge to ask after the child version of his son. Sally has already said that Percy doesn’t know, and besides, the difference is not as jarring for him as it was for Sally. He has very little to compare him to.

Percy shrugs. It’s insolent and leaves Poseidon wondering what type of relationship they have in the future that Percy is both this easy in his presence and that Poseidon allowed his son to do something this monumentally stupid in the first place.

Then again, with Persephone’s hand in this, it’s likely he had very little say in it.

“You and Mom are the only ones who know who I am,” he says. Percy couldn’t have known that he’d spoken to his mother before calling him, but he supposes that’s irrelevant. He knows his blood. Barring that, he knows his own eyes. “I guess I just – will you look out for them? If something happens to me?”

Poseidon looks over at the cliff’s edge, at the three sleeping children huddled around a dying flame. Athena, his enemy. Hermes, who he’s never called a friend. Zeus, who’s child shouldn’t even exist, although he acknowledges the irony there. “Is she the child of prophecy, then? Is that what all this is about?”

“She’s a child,” Percy says, voice suddenly hard. “They all are. Isn’t that enough?”

Ah. There’s Sally in him.

“Are you not also a child?” he asks gently.

He snorts. “No. Technically, barely, but not really. This isn’t about me.”

Poseidon thinks it is. He doesn’t see how Percy can be this impossible and this powerful and have this not be about him.

He thinks he knows exactly why Percy has traveled to the past. He doubts it was Persephone’s intention, because she knows better than to believe this is a plan that could work, but maybe it doesn’t have to. She’s clever enough to account for Percy’s choices.

Instead of saying any of that, he rests his hand on Percy’s shoulder. He’s gratified when he leans into it. He must not have been too terrible a father. “You are my child.”

“Dad,” he sighs.

Poseidon squeezes before letting go. “Alright. If something happens to you, I’ll look out for your strays.”

“They’re my friends,” he corrects, but Poseidon is already leaving.

Athena’s child is stirring. It would be just like her get to see something she shouldn’t and wreck his son’s plans, foolish as they may be.

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Bestiary (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Your husband and you do not speak the same language. During your wedding night, you find out that High Valyrian and the Common Tongue pale when compared to the way your bodies allow you to communicate.

Warnings: Heavy smut, not much dialogue. P in V sex. First time.

A/N: Who would have thought the most enthusiastic consent I have ever written with Daemon would be in a fic with nearly no dialogue?

Being coached through your wedding vows is not a good omen for your marriage. At least, that is what your husband must think, by the thunderous look on his face. You fight the urge to scream at him that you have practiced for this moment and that you do not need to be coached through the vows. It would be no use. The two of you do not understand each other.

Everything is strange to you in Westeros, from the language to the wedding ceremony. They make you cut your lips and hand, in a procedure you do not enjoy. Your husband does the same. Your blood flows into a goblet, from which you will have to drink later on.

It's barbaric. You suppose it must symbolize the joining of bloodlines in the crudest way.

At least Daemon kisses you at the end, a cold brush of his lips against yours that tells you he is still mad. He had probably felt betrayed, being forced into this arrangement you entered willingly.

If you had known he was that petty, you would have not shown your hand so fast. Your father had wanted dragons, which meant becoming part of House Targaryen. Daemon was the only one available for you to ensnare in your web.

As any good hunter, you had watched your prey first, taking notes of his behavior. Only an afternoon was needed to understand you started the race with a disadvantage. His eyes followed Princess Rhaenyra, Princess Rhaenys and her little daughter, but never lingered on other women.

While you might have lacked the silver hair, you did not lack the wits and charms necessary to be taken in consideration.

You had needed a few days to ready your song, but you had approached him not even a week later. He had been sitting in the library, so you had knocked on the table twice to draw his attention.

Daemon had lifted his eyes from the scroll he was reading, annoyed. He had a handsome face, decorated with age lines that only served to make him look more regal. He looked more the part of the King than his brother, a decaying corpse that you had heard had also acquired his own nubile bride.

Such was the fate of the daughters of powerful men. Sold to other powerful men, old enough to be their fathers, birthing them their own litter of sons and daughters. Sons that would grow up to become powerful men in their own right, daughters that would become pawns to establish dynasties. On and on it went.

Daemon had spoken then. His words were much harsher than those of the language you were used to, lacking the airy song of the languages similar to the one from the Rhoynar. You had not understood. You did not speak a lick of the Common Tongue.

No silver hair, no words, but plenty of resources. You had placed the book you had brought with you on the table, and looked at him.

His eyes had lit up with curiosity. He recognized the title. He spoke again, intrigued.

Despite his tone sounding much more auspicious, you had no other option than to shake your head and speak, with a tremulous voice.

“Bodmagho.” It's the only word you know, one that you have prepared especially for this. But just in case your pronunciation is not perfect, you open the book and mimic the gesture of passing the pages.

Daemon looks stunned. He says something else, still in the Common Tongue. You were able to tell from the intonation he was asking a question, but you didn't know what it was about.

“Bodmagho.” You repeated, stubbornly. You placed your book down and pointed to it.

Daemon sighed. He pointed to the chair. You sat, happy as a clam.

“Prince Daemon.” He pointed at himself. Then, to you. “Lady…?”

You told him your name. He nodded.

“Daor.” He shook his head. “No.”

You stared. He shook his head again. You understood that no, daor and shaking head meant the same.

“Daor. No.” You shook your head. Daemon squeezed your shoulder, a proud smile on his face.

Your father told you that afternoon that you were to be married to him. Just as you had made efforts to catch Daemon, your father had been setting his trap.

Daemon did not oppose, nor encourage the match, but he was angry at you. Angry that you knew before him and tried to charm him into doing your bidding.

Men like him, you learn, like to be the ones pulling the strings. They hate being treated like hounds, even if that is what they are.

You get no further lessons.

This is how you manage to get to your wedding feast only knowing two words. Teach and no. It makes you the most riveting company, and so, it's no wonder you are soon ushered into a chamber with your new husband.

You had not noticed before, but it is the first time you are alone with him since the morning at the library. To you, it had been a matter of no consequence. You had to marry a powerful man, one day. Your father decided it should be him because he wanted dragons. It was as simple as that.

As a rich man, your father had known rich men only get richer at times of unrest. And unrest was coming for the Seven Kingdoms. He could smell it in the air, hear it in the whispers of the common folk. Princess Rhaenyra wasn’t going to inherit without issue.

Your family moved here for that reason. An opportunity to get richer could not be dismissed. Your father had taken one look at the dragons and decided that they were the key to turning his legacy into an empire.

Giant war machines that could level castles in one afternoon. Raze a city to the ground in mere hours. Fire so hot it could melt stone. They could not be bought, you had to be a Targaryen to have them. It was only natural to turn into one, then.

Your children would get dragons. You would provide funds and as many children as you could, and House Targaryen the magic in their veins. Simple business transaction. But apparently, Daemon disagreed.

His face is thunderous. You can tell he is about to berate you. He starts talking, brows pinched together and an accusing finger pointed towards you.

Has he forgotten you do not speak his language? You step closer and poke his arm, hard.

It was the wrong choice. Daemon's face turns even more murderous. His lips twist into a snarl, teeth bared. His posture turns aggressive. He puffs up his chest, he advances on you. The Prince tries to intimidate you through his body language alone.

You are not a small woman. But you are young, and you do not train as much as he does. His looming over you feels menacing, and it reminds you once again of the fate his late wife was rumored to have suffered.

This was a bad idea. A terrible idea. Daemon is forcing you to walk backwards, pushing your forehead and nose with his. You either move, or get a broken nose and a concussion.

Daemon is terrifying. You will not cross him again, you think to yourself. Only a fool goes around poking dragons with a stick. You feel your palms starting to sweat, a knot forming in your throat. You fight the urge to cry.

The back of your knees hits the mattress, and you fall into the furs with a small noise of surprise. Your husband does not lose any time. He gets right into your face, trying to intimidate you even more.

But if you hope to survive this marriage, to make it work as your father has requested, you can't bend. Daemon will never respect you if you do. He will see you as no more than a frightened girl, who will not disagree with him and serve for little beyond warming his bed. You are not that. You will build an empire, a dynasty out of his dragons and your wealth. The only thing you can do is persevere or break trying.

Daemon scowls at you. He notices the change in your eyes, the fight coming back to you.

“Daor.” You say, staring him down with all your might. It doesn't matter if you are lying down, and he is hovering over you, pinning you under him. You will triumph.

Daemon doesn't heed the warning. He starts tugging at the buttons of your bodice, tiny pearls sent flying all over the room. The gesture is as brutal as it is calculated. It is meant to remind you of your place, always under him from now on. Daemon has a right to your body, and he intends to exercise it as he sees fit. You are no more than an object, and if you cry or scream, it is not relevant.

Despite knowing why he is doing it, you can't avoid grimacing. He looks more beast than a man, snarling over you, ripping your clothes. It's a sight that would scare any woman, no matter how cold.

You look up at him. You give him your own little snarl. Daemon pauses. It's not the reaction he was expecting. He wanted you to cry. You would never give him the satisfaction.

It's a balancing act. You will have to bring him to heel, but soothe his pride in the next act, less he turns on you. Push away a man too much, and he will think you are disrespecting him. He will call you names, thinking you are the problem. Daemon feels entitled to you. You need to show him he is not, but that you are giving yourself to him. He needs to value you. The treasure to his dragon.

“Daor!” You say, firmly. You push him away. Whatever he anticipated, you giving him a fight wasn't something he was prepared for. It shows in the way he folds, stunned by your behavior. You give him hard little slaps to the chest, until you manage to get him off you.

Daemon's scowl turns more confused than angry. He looks at you as if you are a particularly challenging riddle to crack. He rightens his clothes and starts to retreat.

“Daor.” You repeat, grabbing at his shirt to keep him in place. You do not want him to leave.

Daemon wretches free from your grip on his arm. He mutters something, angered.

“Daor.” You use his trick against him, stepping right into his path and forcing him to back off. You use your body to make him advance backwards, toward the bed.

He sits on the edge of it, still scowling. You giggle, making Daemon madder still. You look at him with what you hope is a seductive expression and pull your bodice down.

“Bodmagho?” You ask him, as your dress pools around your feet, leaving you in a sheer shift. Daemon's eyes darken. His expression changes into an amused smile, and he gestures for you to come to him.

You do. You step closer and get on his lap. His hands envelop your waist, warm and calloused.

Then, the unexpected. Daemon grabs your hair and pulls, forcing your head back. You moan, pain and arousal mixing into an unknown emotion that makes the place between your legs slick.

You can feel his breath against your neck, making you shiver. His face comes closer, and closer. Daemon stares into your eyes, lips slightly parted. You mirror his expression, feeling as if you are being consumed by your lust.

He arches an eyebrow. Never been one to shy away from a challenge, you brush his lower lip with his thumb. Daemon parts his lips and sucks it in his mouth.

The shock must have shown on your face because he laughs, giving your thumb a playful bite. You squirm, instinct overpowering modesty, and roll your hips against his.

The two of you stare at each other. Closer, and closer, until his features blur, until two purple eyes turn into one. A dragon turned cyclops by the mere force of lust. There is hunger and want, and confusion. Both of you are so close that you are sharing the same air, the same breath. And Daemon pulls, and you are kissing, and you shake in his arms, feeling like how you think the gods must have felt when the cyclopes formed the lighting.

His hands go to greedily knead at your thighs, slipping under your shift. His palms feel rough against your skin, impatient. The shift rides up, up, up. You mewl against his mouth, desperately reaching for something unknown to you but that you know Daemon will help you reach.

You are restless as he pets you, biting at your mouth, hands sinking in his hair. You tug him towards your neck, knowing his kisses, scorching hot, would burn even sweeter along your nape and ears.

Daemon, though, has other plans. He pulls away and pecks you on the lips. “Vūjigon ” He says. He touches his mouth. “Vūjigon”

You kiss him, softly. “Vūjigon”

He pets your hair.

“Vūjigon.” And he points to his collarbones. You frown in confusion, thinking perhaps the word doesn't mean what you think it does. He sighs and leans in, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the space between your collarbones.

“Vūjigon.” You perk up, and start kissing his shoulders. Your hands pull his shirt more open, letting you bite and lick more of his flesh. The urge to consume and be consumed is overpowering, making you desperate to touch him.

Daemon laughs. He pulls you upwards. Can't he see you are starving?

“Daor.” He says, when you try to go back to it. You give him your fiercest pout. Daemon tuts at you.

He squeezes one of your breasts, making you moan, before cruelly twisting the bud. You gasp, your nails digging on his naked shoulders.

“Shhh.” Daemon soothes you, his hand going to squeeze your breast tenderly once more. “Daor?”

You don't know how to tell him what you want, so you grab his hand and make him pinch the tender bud again. Daemon smiles. He kisses you, muttering something fervently on your lips.

He lays you down on the bed, despite your attempts to sit up. Daemon pins you down with a growl, hand on your chest.

You can't help it. No matter the warning, you squirm as if you were in pain. It certainly feels like it. There is some sort of hunger in your belly, making you want to rub your core against him. You can feel your shift starting to become wet right above your tailbone. Daemon has you so bothered you are dripping into the shift and the bed.

Daemon gives you another growl and leans down to bite your breast over the fabric of your shift. It's meant to be punishment, but you arch into it, gasping.

He laughs. He takes as much of it as it can fit in his mouth, sucking greedily. The noises are obscene. The sight must be, too. Your mouth, open, moaning yourself into a frenzy. Daemon, nipping, biting, sucking, like a man starved. Your shift with two giant wet spots, one at the chest and the other by your arse.

You moan, surprised at the feeling. You had never thought bodies could be used in such a way before. Nor had you hoped for him to please you so eagerly.

His lips close around your bud. His tongue twirls around it, lavishing it with attention. You grab at his hair, his nape, desperately trying to hold onto something. Daemon just sucks harder on your breast. You moan, and moan, and moan some more. Desperate little sounds, gathering in the air around a desperate girl.

He switches to your other breast. Your shift feels sticky on your skin, so you start trying to take it off. The task distracts you enough for his hand to find its way to your core, and you squeak at the first sensation of his fingers against it.

Daemon smiles against your skin. He presses a finger inside you, and you squeal some more. He lets go of your breast to better gaze into your overwhelmed face, seemingly getting an enjoyment out of it.

Another finger joins the first. You cry out. It stings a bit. Daemon shushes you, kissing your cheek. He rubs at something above your opening that makes you squirm in delight.

His other hand comes into your sight. Daemon makes a gesture, two fingers together, separating. You stare. He nuzzles you, his cheek against yours, before repeating it.

You nod with a pout.

He starts prying you open slowly, this time. Despite enjoying causing pain, it appears your cooperation has granted you privileges with Daemon. He understood the distress on your face, and read you correctly enough to know it was not going to go well if he kept going as he was.

Daemon rubs at your shoulders, soothingly. You understand you need to relax, and force your body to do so. He kisses you in reward, slow and sweet, coaxing you to him.

You nod again. Daemon moves back, settling himself by your side. He takes your shift away, pressing soft little kisses to each new inch of skin revealed.

The sudden removal of your last layer makes you shiver a little. Your skin is wet from his previous ministrations and rapidly cooling. You plaster yourself to him, seeking warmth.

He chuckles, grabbing your arse to move you slightly out of the way. You scowl, not sure why Daemon is doing so, until you realize he is taking off his breeches.

“Daemon.” You whisper, softly. There is a part of you that is already cringing at the promise of pain the loss of your maidenhead will bring.

“Daor?” He asks you, one of his hands petting your cunt. It makes you shiver.

“Bodmagho.” You grasp at his shoulders, steadying yourself. Daemon lines the two of you. You feel his member at your entrance, holding you open and threatening to spear you apart. It feels scorching against your skin.

He helps you impale yourself on his member. It's not pleasant at first. Property dictates that you should not let him see your discomfort. You should just bear it like a good wife and allow him to chase his pleasure unbothered.

But you know Daemon enjoys causing pain. He thrives on it. So you let your eyes fill with tears, and your face goes slack and overwhelmed.

He smiles. He licks your tears away, and mumbles something. You squeal, and it only excites him more.

“Bodamagho.” Daemon pinches the flesh on your hip, clearly calling you to focus. His hands move your pelvis back and forth, back and forth, until you are hissing in pleasure, your hands on his chest, doing the movement yourself.

“Vūjigon.” You demand, moving your hips just like he taught you. Daemon is too focused on aiding you bounce by thrusting upwards to pay attention to you. When he doesn't obey, you give a tug to his hair.

He snarls at you. You snarl back. So he grabs your wrists and pushes sideways, and suddenly, you are under him and Daemon is still thrusting into you.

You are desperate for closeness. You scrunch up your face and wrap your legs around his back. Daemon looks down at you, and bites your shoulder. He is not pleased with your perceived attempt to take control.

Realizing your mistake, you shake your head.

“Daor.” You rub at his back with your foot, gently. You hold him close, and nuzzle his neck, delighting in his scent. Never you had thought before you would enjoy the smell of sweat and some sort of aromatic oil, yet here you are. “Vūjigon.”

Daemon's expressions softens. He leans in and gives you a kiss. You make pleased, chirping noises, trying to show him that was precisely what you wanted.

He complies, releasing your hands. You enthusiastically hug him. It helps you anchor yourself against the unrelenting waves of pleasure.

His hands, now freed from yours, are everywhere. Twisting your buds, rubbing at your pearl, squeezing your waist. Daemon whispers nonsense in your ears, takes the lobe between his teeth. He aids you, tilting your hips with his hands, reaching deeper.

You heard a story once, about Westeros. A white hart was said to come to the greatest Kings alive. A magnificent beast, tall as a man, with skin made of the purest snow and antlers as long and imposing as the branches of an ancient tree. If a King encountered it, it was a good omen for his rule. It would be just and prosperous, blessed by the Gods.

What did they do with the hart? Keep it in Kingswood, perhaps? You had made the mistake of asking, once. You had been told that they used the best spear they had. That men held the hart down, and they gutted it from head to belly.

The perfect, regal beast, fur as pale as snow. The pristine white sheets under you. Blood tainting the white. What a way to go.

You understood then why they called it a small death. You were sweating, squealing like a beast being gutted, thighs trembling under Daemon's hands. It was too much and too little, and you felt yourself reaching it, yearning for it.

You did not care if you burned, moth to a flame, maiden to a dragon. Daemon seemed to realize it because his hand went to rub at your pearl, and he leaned in.

“….” He was talking, but it was in that strange language of his, and your ears were ringing, you felt about to explode. Your body responded to his tone, though. Gentle, loving, coaxing you over the edge with a scream so fierce you might as well have been one of those weeping women that appeared far north.

Daemon grinned at you. A fierce, proud expression, eyes crinkling in the corners. You pulled him into a kiss, and raked your nails down his back, feeling the skin yield like butter under your fingers. It spurred him on, and with a gasp and a bite to your shoulder, Daemon was shattering inside you.

He collapsed on top of you with a laugh. You smiled. Daemon pulled you to rest, back flush against his chest, and you understood each other better than those who spoke the same, common tongue, did.

[gamblersdoll]

an: this one may not be suitable for all readers

sometimes you were a nasty bitch. like, really, really a nasty bitch.

so nasty to where you tended to like being called a slut, some cockdrunk whore from down the street who loves big men.

so nasty to where you loved being spat on, a man so mean to you and pulling at your hair like handlebars. even when your black tears of mascara dripped down your face.

so nasty to where you had fantasies about your boss bending you over his desk and fucking into you for such a raise, it became a one time thing.

so nasty that youre fucking your best friends father. and not only that, your friends father knew you for so, so long.

you had came back from college, coming home for summer break and seeing all of your old friends from highschool. of course, you had to see your best friend, megumi.

megumi and you were tight, staying together as best friends since you were practically kids was the longest relationship youve ever even had. of course, there was ups and downs, but its reality.

you had came home only last week, settling in at megumis house because yours was full of people your sibling had over. you, knowing that megumi’s house was your second home, went there second.

and to your disappointment, megumi was staying at yuuji’s house for a bit. no biggie, you knew his father well enough. toji was more the quiet and speak when spoken to type. ever so rarely would he speak first, but when he did it was sometimes either sarcastic or serious.

“you can stay in megumi’s room, you know where its at.” he pointed, not facing you and only finding his shoes to go off to his gym for that couple of hours.

that was a mere day ago when that was said.

sometimes toji did want to just ramble, so every now and again, hed just start a conversation with you when both are in the kitchen.

“yeah, megumi’s mother and i had divorced a couple of years ago. it was stressful, to say. but sometimes that just happens.” he vented, not seeming too fazed by it. he was somewhat right, marriages did come with divorce too, but its all about the persons.

“im sorry to hear.” you mumble, fingers tapping on the mason jar. “on a brighter note! how have you been this week?” you try to change subject, usually being great at this.

“ive been good.” he blankly says back, washing whatever dishes could be in the sink and occasionally looking at you. god, youve grown up so much— and fast too. he remembers when you were just barely moving here and you befriending megumi.

was it wrong that he was looking at his sons friend like this? maybe. and was it wrong you were somewhat looking at his print too? definitely.

that was almost four days ago when that was said.

you both were more open to conversations, both bored and of course megumi was coming over any time soon. so what harm was in having a conversation with his father?

“im glad you passed, youve always been great with color guard.” he praises, a small smile until he involuntarily licks at his scar.

things like that could make a girl hot and bothered. no, thats wrong. thats nasty.

but you could feel his lingering eyes on your grown up body, seeing the curves you developed and the pretty ass thighs you got from the slight athleticism. youre shaped so good, could make a grown man hot and bothered.

“you know..” he trails off, finally peeling his eyes from you and then staring at his phone again.

the relationship between you two spirals, soft touches that can be seen as innocent, but only you two know what either of your actions mean. and because of toji having to be a single dad at some point, his cooking could speak volumes. volumes that you could fuck him good with.

that was a week ago.

you were really some nasty bitch that was hidden with your face and mouth.

telling by the way you sat back, legs spread wide and toji having his face in your cunt.

“how the fuck do you taste even sweeter when i go back for it..?” he growls the question, hands supporting under your thighs to keep them apart. “so fucking wet.”

your moans vibrated in your throat, fingers in his hair and tugging so tight when he gets that good spot on your clit. the spot that makes you snap your legs closed and had you cross eyed.

he chuckles meanly, tongue flicking at your clit and he spitting the arousal mixed fluids back onto you.

until he hears a door open, him stopping and putting a hand over your mouth. he glares at you for a second, “hush.” he says.

“dad!?” megumi yells through the house, your heart stopping and nervous.

“yeah? what you doin home so early?” he yells back, his thumb giving small circles on your clit. he listens to megumi, then smiling evilly and chuckling. “well, just came home from gym so im showerin’!”

words exchanged, he goes back to laughing a bit. you couldnt find this funny, what if he catches you both and tells everyone?

“what are you freaking out about?” he looks and asks, dumbfounded face apparent.

“what about megumi, your ex wife finding out?” you whisper shout, nerves bad and jittery.

“well, they was gonna have to find out, somehow.” he shrugs, eyes lowering to you and. hell no, you couldnt risk that.

you start to gather your clothes, or at least attempt to. “mm–no you dont, come here.” he softly says, hands on your hips and face going back to your clit. “oh, im going to have so much fucking fun with you.”

you bite your lip, eyes squeezed shut when he goes back to slurping your clit and tugging at his hair. “toji, what if i get too loud?” you try to say, almost cut off by a moan.

“i dont fuckin’ care.” he says quick, pulling himself away from your clit. he looks to your panties, grabbing the pair and shoving them in your mouth. “you are the one who has to be quiet.”

you moan soft, toes feeling like to cramp because of the hard curls. “you have a choice to make.” he says in between sucks and slurps. “either you can stay here.. cunt open, legs spread wide–“ he says, but pulls you back in when you squirm, “aht aht, dont you go anywhere.” he says, kissing your clit and sucking while his tongue goes in and out of your walls.

“either you can stay here, cunt open.. legs spread wide.” he repeats, he kissing your clit and labia. “and cum on my fucking tongue..” he starts again, “or you can make me stop.” he goes for your nipple, fingers pinching at the bud, “ill pull my tongue out of your cunt..”

“and you can put your clothes back on and pretend like nothing happened.” he says mouthful of pussy, hand’s massaging your thighs.

he pulls away, looking up at you. “whaddaya’ want?” he asks, chin and nose glossy from spit and cum.

you try to pull his head back down, him being awfully stronger than you and he laughing. “thats my good girl.” he laughs again, leaning up to kiss you. a growl forms, “fuck!” he says in anticipation.

“dad? you good?” megumi shouts out, concern but uninterested as well.

“yeah, slammed my toe.” toji shouts back, mental focus back to your cunny and his eyes rolling back from the sensory overload. megumi doesnt show back, both of you hearing him leave the house and car cranking up.

“get on your belly.” he says, yanking the panties from your mouth and flipping you over. you chirp, ass getting goosebumps from the exposed air hitting it.

“gunna fill your belly with my hot fucking cum.”

[synthetickitsune]

Petty ✧ h.js

Pairing: Joshua Hong x gn!reader Genre: angst/fluff Summary: Joshua can be a bit petty when he's tired and feels wronged. Even if he's at fault all along. Word count: 2.3k A/N: please get me out of here, i've been in shua brainrot since january and this is once again @hanniedream's fault >:(

Joshua has never hated your bedroom more than he hates it at this moment.

The room is too big. The walls are the wrong color. The windows are too big and it feels like the whole world can see him and laugh at him. The bedroom should be the only room in your house. It wouldn’t be so empty then.

The bed is too big to be sleeping in it alone. It’s cold. The sheets feel like ice around him, no matter how tightly he wraps himself in them, and his arms are empty even though your scent lingers on your pillow. He won’t be as pitiful as hugging it to sleep, he refuses. 

Where are you anyway? 

Pout pulls on his lips without his permission as he strains his ears but he can’t hear a single sound. He checks the clock again, then checks one more time that he’s not seeing wrong. You should be here by now. He accounted for everything - how long your night routine takes, a little snack if you felt like it, the time you’d need to be away from him after the fight, the time you’d waste on thinking whether you should hang onto the resentment or not. You should be here already. You should’ve been here ages ago. So where are you?

It goes against his pride that he gets up and makes his way to the living room where he expects you’d be sulking. And you are there - sleeping soundly.

He huffs in disbelief, hands on his hips as he watches you sleep while he can’t even keep his eyes closed. Does he mean nothing to you? How can you sleep without him?

He has half a mind to wake you up - he walks up to you and leans down, still undecided whether he should do it. What would he say? He can’t admit he can’t sleep without you, so he’d just look like a dick. Besides, you sleeping here means you’re still upset, so you wouldn’t come to bed anyway. Then he notices the dried tears in the corner of your eyes. 

He frowns, any thoughts of waking you up gone from his head. Were you actually mad? The argument wasn’t long or, in his eyes, that big of a deal. True, he was also quite exhausted, so it’s kind of foggy and he knows he was a bit too harsh. He also admits he was in the wrong, a fact he realized during the first two hours of his tossing and turning when he remembered that the events happened differently from what he initially thought. But it wasn’t a big deal anyway… You don’t usually cry over petty arguments. And he knows better than to hope for any sleep now.

Joshua leaves for the bedroom quietly, sighing once he lies down in bed. The pout tugs on his lips again. He feels wronged too. You could’ve just told him instead of immediately getting defensive and calling him wrong when he just didn’t remember at the moment. Why would you cry? Was he really that mean? He doesn’t think he was. He tries to sleep, but over what remains of the night, he can’t get more than a couple minutes of sleep at the time.

Safe to say it didn’t exactly help his sour mood that he didn’t rest at all. As soon as he decides to get up for the day, he struts into the kitchen and starts on boiling the water for his coffee and taking out things to prepare himself breakfast.

“What the fuck, Joshua?” you groan from the adjacent room, voice dripping with annoyance and hostility. Of course the noise would wake you up. And now he can’t exactly explain why he thought he’d get his usual morning greeting - well he didn’t think at all, but now that the routine is broken and not one nice word is spoken to him, he pauses. He swallows uneasily thinking of how it usually goes - waking up with you in his arms or you hovering above him, wishing him a good morning with the sweetest kisses. Not this.

He snaps out of his, his pettiness wavering a little, but not enough. He was in the wrong, but you could’ve explained that to him more yesterday. Not like he was in a state of mind to listen to you, but you could’ve tried… He’s too tired for this.

So he keeps doing his thing, taking out the vegetables to cut. He notices you disappearing into the bedroom, to change and freshen up he supposes. It doesn’t feel great to have you walk away from him without another word.

He’s cutting vegetables when you return. At this point he doesn’t expect much, but he also doesn’t expect you to walk straight past him, barely stop the cupboard door from hitting his head when you take out your mug. He also feels something die inside him when you pour the boiling water into only one mug, making a drink for yourself despite there being enough water for both of you.

His focus is more on you than the knife in his hand, which is not the safest thing when he’s trying to cut the carrot, but he needs to be ready and catch every word you’ll say. Because you need to say something, right? Wrong, apparently. You’re just sitting there sipping your coffee and scrolling on your phone without paying any attention to him. Does he not matter to you?

He wants to get angry, wants to heave a long and angry sigh, slam the knife down and confront you - but that’s not him. It does cross his mind, he just can’t do it. It’d scare you and it’d make him feel like one of those stereotypical angry husbands and that’s the exact opposite of what he wants. Opposite of what he should do if he wants to ever have the chance to call himself your husband.

He closes his eyes and takes a couple of deep breaths. This situation was ridiculous. He can’t go another day without a proper sleep and he doesn’t think he can get through breakfast with you ignoring him. Was Joshua’s pride really more important than you? No. Of course not. Especially not when it was all so stupid and ultimately his fault. 

“I was wrong,” he sighs, he finally puts the knife down before he can cut his finger off, “I’m sorry.”

He turns around, and after what feels like eternity you’re looking at him. You sigh too, rubbing your eyes. Properly seeing you now, he notices you must’ve had a restless night just like him. It makes the last remains of his pettiness dissipate. He opens his arms cautiously, hoping, wishing… You get up and hug him back, let him hold you as he wraps his arm around your middle and cradles your head with the other one. Finally he feels like he can breathe.

“I’m glad you apologized,” you rub his back, and fortunately you don’t flinch away when he kisses the side of your head. He hums sheepishly, squeezing you a little tighter. “I was really frustrated with you. It wasn’t even that big of a deal, you could’ve already apologized yesterday.”

“I know,” he acknowledges. Looking back, he shouldn’t have brought out the issue out of nowhere in the first place. “Are you still mad at me?”

“I wasn’t mad, just frustrated,” you repeat, “It’s fine now.”

He nods, letting you go just enough that he can kiss you properly. His morning feels much better immediately. You smile at him and he’s wondering why would he ever do anything to threaten that smile. He doesn’t want to let you go now that he has you back in his arms, but he’s hungry and he thinks you must be too. “I’ll make breakfast for us, hm?”

You free yourself from his embrace rather than him allowing you to pull away. His reluctance shows in his hands taking hold of yours and bringing them to his lips, lingering. You give him a reassuring smile and only then does he let go. 

What you notice before going back to your chair, before moving from the spot, is Joshua looking at your cup on the table in a way that you can only describe as a puppy watching his favorite toy spinning in the washer. You don’t think he noticed you saw, or that he meant for you to see at all, and it takes a lot not to start laughing. It does give you some satisfaction, though, to know that the argument and his own mistake didn’t leave him unaffected. His shoulders are still slumping and he looks so down you’d think you didn’t make up already. 

“Joshua?” you call his name and he quickly turns his head towards you as soon as he puts the knife down again. You chuckle and rest your head on his shoulder. “Should I make you a cup of coffee?”

“Yes please, thank you,” he beams at you, eyes turning into crescents when you kiss his cheek.

You pull out a mug, conscious of his eyes following your every movement. Something about your choice of the piece of ceramics must be not up to his standards if his displeased grunt is any indication. However when you look at him, he only gives you a small smile.

“What’s wrong?” you cross your arms over your chest. He grows timid, looking away. You roll your eyes. You’re almost sure you’re being played for attention, but you will give him the benefit of a doubt this time because he seemed genuinely sorry for the fight. It’s cute how he melts into you when you hug him from behind, your hands resting on his stomach. 

“What about the matching ones we got for Christmas instead?” he mumbles almost too quiet for you to hear.

“I already have my own cup though,” you frown.

“You need to make a new one,” he says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world

“Huh?”

“We’re gonna restart this morning,” he explains calmly, “I won’t be an asshole and we’ll have a nice breakfast together with our cute matching cups.”

“You called them cringy before.”

“Don’t ruin the vision,” he warns playfully. You hold his gaze, hoping he’ll cave but he doesn’t. You break first.

“What am I supposed to do with the other cup though?” you laugh at your ridiculous boyfriend, but he’s not done being unreasonable.

“Bring it to me,” his tone is suspicious, so you have no idea why you listen. You get to watch as he downs the rest of your morning drink in a few long gulps and puts the cup in a sink. “There, problem solved.”

“Joshua Hong, you’re insane,” you sigh. You’re smiling though - so it’s his win anyway. He won and now he’ll get to watch you boil more water and prepare coffee for both of you, because you need to match one hundred percent of course. It’s still not the safest to cut vegetables when he’s so distracted but his fragile heart is practically jumping off his chest when you take out the very cheesy matching Christmas cups and set them down. “Stop staring.”

“I need to make sure you’re doing it right,” he teases. He’s happy that everything is fine, happy that his morning returned to normal and happy that-

“Do you think I can’t?” you quirk a brow at him, pausing the preparations. 

He swallows and nearly trips over his over feet closing the distance between you and cupping your face in his hands. 

“No, baby, I’m so sorry,” he frowns, kissing your forehead and lingering there, waiting for your verdict. He hears you sigh and his chest feels thigh.

“You’re so cute, Shua,” there’s a smile in your voice and his heart skips a beat when he hears his nickname, “I’m not upset, I’m just playing with you.”

“Don’t do this to me,” he whines, burying his face into your shoulder. His arms wrap around you and you’re stuck between his body and the counter, trapped in his hug. All you can do is hug him back and press some kisses to his neck.

“I’m sorry, baby,” you smile, “How about I finish the coffee, hm? Then I can hug you and cling to you to make up for it.”

“I made you upset first,” he mumbles. You roll your eyes at his sudden self-awareness. He pulls away to look at you, a slight pout on his lips. “But you took advantage of that. I think I deserve a kiss as well.”

You should’ve known it was all a manipulation tactic.

But knowing or not, it doesn’t change the fact that you kiss him and smile against his lips as you do when you feel him smile too. He doesn’t let go until he’s had his fill, until he leaves you breathless and chasing after his lips. 

“I missed you,” he whispers, coming back for just one more kiss, “Hurry up with the coffee.”

You should scold him. You should remind him that he is the reason why your morning is so messy.

But you don’t. 

Instead you do exactly as he told you and enjoy having him close again once the coffee is done. And you enjoy as Joshua feeds you the first piece of breakfast for a taste test, and you enjoy him pulling out a chair for you, bringing you your plate, and holding your hand the entire time you eat.

Most of all you enjoy his warm embrace when you lay down for a nap that won’t make up for the cold and lonely night, but that feels heavenly nonetheless.

[stargirlfics]

So Much Goddamn Talkin’

Joel Miller x Black F!Reader

Summary: Sometimes Joel has to quiet the noise in your head. Luckily he’s quite good at that.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, post outbreak—Jackson era, mutual pining, friends to lovers vibe, established relationship, some mentions of anxiety, feelings and fluff, competency kink, soft dom!joel vibes, smut: oral (both receiving), fingering, soft intense PiV, unprotected sex, praise kink, daddy kink, come marking

*reader is written and described as black but anyone is welcome and encouraged to read!

Word Count: 6k

Currently obsessed with the thought of older, domestic Joel in a relationship and couldn’t stop myself from getting carried away! Enjoy!

It wasn’t like this was the first time you’d ever spoken to Joel.

On the contrary, what had started as a timid friendship became something else entirely with one spontaneous kiss that only the stars bore witness to that night. 

A silly dream of romance had landed right in your lap despite the crumbling of the old world behind you, taking everything with it and yet they took your breath away constantly, like a whirlwind, two grounding anchors were now tethered to your heart and their names were Joel and Ellie. 

So why were you so nervous? 

Sighing softly, you decided to blame it on the watchful glances Joel was giving you from across the yard, distracting you from the book you were reading. Eye contact with him could feel like the most searing heat, spreading like wildfire and at the same time the deepest depths of comfort. 

Not always being a man of many words, the things he could express with a simple look or the weight of a hand fascinated you, made you fall so dangerously hard and with a certainty you’d never felt before. 

Therefore you reasoned it simply couldn’t be your fault for being distracted and wanting him so much right now. Not when he made you feel this way without even having to try very hard. 

You just needed to take a moment to soak it all in, a blooming hope carried in on the breeze now that it was the beginning of spring in Jackson, the wildflowers and planted seeds starting to sprout, and the soil and your own souls teeming with life after so long spent just surviving. Now there was space for healing. 

Space for you to sit in the rocking chair Joel had worked on for months as a birthday present to you, or watch him get around to all the house projects (because once a contractor always a contractor) and strum out the prettiest chords on his guitar late in the evenings out on the porch. 

This felt more like living and you never wasted a moment to covet it. 

“You’re doing an awful lot of staring, Miller.” You looked up from the same page for the fifth time to catch him already looking your way. 

He blinked and put another nail into the wood post he was working on. 

“Hm, well damn right I am when you look the way you do. Now if I told you it’s been at least ten minutes since you’ve turned a page in that book you just might have to admit you’ve been starin’ too.” 

There was that little smirk you knew so well, dancing on his lips as if he knew just how much it would drive you crazy, the confirmation that you hadn’t been subtle in the slightest either. 

“Well, you’re out here giving me a show.” You make a point to turn to the next page then, looking away before he could throw you a look at the sass in your tone. 

He was right of course but what he didn’t know was that reading had started all this to begin with. 

The tattered novel had been a surprise find on a patrol one day and came with an unexpected eroticism, bits of dialogue and tantalizing imagery on the page you were stuck on making your mind wander and wonder. 

It’s why you felt a little nervous, caught off guard, suddenly wishing you were in bed and underneath him. 

He flashes his teeth at you, that smirk widening into a smile at your reply, his attention returning to the tools in his hands but your own continued to linger. Remembering. 

A few nights before in particular, when he was fucking into you so deep you had to bite the sheets to keep your moans down. You could still picture the definition of his arms as they cradled you and kept the headboard from colliding into the wall at the same time. 

Or how good you knew it felt when his broad palms swat across your ass, never failing to make you yield to him with such eagerness. 

You wished you could have your hands on him now, petting, feeling, showing him how much he was desired and cared for, how much you wanted to be filled by him, stretched out and aching with nothing but his name in your mind and on the tip of your tongue for hours.

Those stray thoughts had you turning back a page, leaning into the slow burning fire lit underneath you. 

Still unsure of how to initiate these desires, you didn’t want to distract him from something he’d been trying to get around to doing for awhile and at the same time felt a thrill at the idea of tugging him away, leading him to bed. 

With some hesitation you decided to bide your time for a bit longer, getting caught up in words that made you squirm imagining Joel doing and saying them. 

God, you weren’t sure how much more of this you could keep up, feeling the slick pooling of arousal between your thighs, the way you wanted to grind against nothing already. 

Joel finished repairing the post in no time and moved on to patch up a hole in the wall of the old shed, unaware of your internal dilemma. 

Eventually he gathered up his tools and stored them away, told you he was gonna head in and wash up but that you should keep relaxing out here for as long as you wanted and he’d get started on preparing things for dinner later. 

He left you with a kiss to your temple and the lingering familiarity of his touch. Handsome and sweet, he was going to be the death of you. 

Your mind felt too restless to keep sitting but you took him up on the suggestion just for awhile longer, trying to find the right way to move things in the direction you wanted. Family dinner wasn’t for another four hours and Ellie would be here a bit early but there was still time and you wanted to make the most of it. 

So you finished off another chapter and finally closed the novel, ushered inside with the echo of birdsongs and the steady thumping of your heart in your ribs. 

–

Joel had been so sure you hadn’t noticed his repeated stares as much as he’d noticed yours, bowing his head under the warm spray of the shower he could only think of how pretty you looked sitting there while he worked, fond of the fact that you liked to be next to him even if he was occupied.  

At first he couldn’t wrap his head around it and was almost too unnerved and bewildered by the fact that you took such an interest. 

Not at all used to someone touching him or looking at him like he was their entire world but that’s the only way you looked at him and as much as he had tried to be measured, tried not to get attached, he had come around to the idea of a relationship again. 

Loving people was frightening, something he felt he’d lost the ability to do properly after all these years, all the blood staining his hands and his conscience.

He had lost so much, seen too much death and feared he would only bring ruin, that he would lose her too, until you came along and turned everything he thought he knew on its head. 

Oh what secrets and stories of loss he had told you in the quiet of night, when old nightmares and new guilts collided and kept him from sleeping though that was much less these days now that you slept by his side every night. 

It had been a long time since he’d shared his bed and now it made him smile thinking of how natural it felt to wake up next to you, how easy it was to be around you, in the quiet moments he could see how the foundations you’d both built together had been made solid and steadfast over time. 

Silly to think how he fretted over ruining his friendship with you all that time ago, the way everyone was sick of him in the days leading up to when he would finally ask if you were interested because they all knew he had nothing to worry about and those worries in his head were swiftly put to rest when you tugged at his shirt to pull him closer and asked what had taken him so long.

He’d never forget that moment. 

Joel thought then that this was the moment he knew but quickly learned there would actually be a collection of moments–several times a day–that would remind him just how hooked on you he really was.

Like the times he showed his age and your sweet giggles and clever retorts always followed soon after, or how much he’s come to love the summertime because your brown skin basked in the sunlight is like art to him and he relishes every chance he gets to see you exactly as you are.

You brought a fullness and meaning to life here, encouraging him to slow down, to breathe. Taking care of one another made him stronger, nourished in ways he didn’t think were possible.  

“Honey.”

He grits the word out like he’s trying to call you up here, reminded of how lucky he felt to have you, to be so connected.

Watching you walk around batting your eyes acting like you don’t know that it’s the pretty, round edges of your nose, the smile lines, the plush of your hips and that glowing thing inside you beating in your chest that drives him crazy. 

Simply put, he was impressed by you. Constantly. You could handle yourself, skilled in your own right, already handy with weapons long before he was in your life and even more proficient now, deadly, with the things he’d taught you since. 

You were resourceful and calm in tricky situations or when quick medical training was needed and yet none of the carnage of infected and worse terrors ever changed the soft way you tended to people, almost like you couldn’t help but give a little extra love. 

And you had certainly spared many an ounce of that love for him; he’d forgotten how good it felt to smile this much over someone, can’t remember the last time he felt this way and definitely can’t remember the last time he’s seen his Ellie look at someone with such admiration either. 

Everything about you captured his attention and he was grateful to be able to live some sort of life again after so much heartache, after believing he could never have these kinds of things for himself. 

Those hands of his could scorch the Earth but you made him understand they could build things too, could show love and give pleasure just as well and just as fiercely. 

Sometimes he wasn’t sure if he was doing a good job of it. 

All he knew was that he never wanted to let you go and that was enough for him. 

–

When you venture into the bedroom you find him getting dressed, hair tousled from being towel dried, another wave of aching bloomed in your core as you thank yourself for having nudged him into letting it grow out a bit during the colder months. 

He looked so handsome doing nothing at all in particular you were sure you’d implode if you didn’t just come out with it, you just hope he wouldn’t mind doing some undressing again. 

“Hey, honey.” 

His voice was low and gentle, the familiar pet name in his usual smooth rasp made you stride forward, sending you surging into his arms so that you were squished against his chest. He tilted his head at you just slightly in question before you were pressing your lips to his.

Your mouths met so tenderly at first, fingertips bursting with a nervous energy as they reached for his shirt, grasping needily as you lost yourself in the slow ease of the way he kissed you back.

But a little spark of anxiety makes you tense, overthinking the kiss, feeling a little silly for just how turned on you were, how much he could see it written all over you, dripping quite literally in desperation even if you tried to reason with yourself that you knew there wasn’t anything wrong with that. 

“J-Joel…shit,” you whined and huffed through sloppy kisses, slowly finding yourself being walked backwards and held firm against the closest wall, “Oh…we don’t have to do this if-” 

“The hell are you goin’ on about?” Joel grumbled against the column of your neck and all ability to articulate went out the window.

Rationally you knew it was a pretty good indication he wasn’t bothered by the spontaneity from the way those strong hands of his were already underneath your shirt, pinching almost in the haste to grip your flesh but you were already overthinking and it held persistent. 

“Just…if you’re tired, I understand. We can wait till tonight. I don’t want you to feel obligated.” Your words were huffed out in nervous gasps, trying to will your knees not buckle when his scruff teased a swipe across your jaw. 

Joel pulled back then so you’d have to look at him, knowing the anxious flit of your lashes well. 

He knew what to watch for, patient when you needed reassurance that you were free to run wild with your desires, that he was never tired of having you bare and wrapped around him at any hour of the day but this was of no consequence, he’d make sure you knew where he stood.

Shaking his head, he doesn’t give you more than a moment to suck in a breath before his hands leave your waist to hold your face. 

“So much goddamn talkin’, sweetheart,” the words are a heavy growl against your lips in between heavier kisses, “Think I need to remind you of some things and put those thoughts out of your mind, yeah?” 

Your whole body felt hot, flushed with desire and aching for whatever he was going to do to remind you, nodding before your tongue could catch up with your agreeing thoughts. 

“Let me show you.” Joel caged you in against the wall, broad shoulders blocking everything else out. 

The steady rise and fall of his chest became your focal point and new arousal sparked at his attentiveness, so easily able to soothe, to make you unravel for him. 

“Please, I want you so much.” Your softly sighed plea turned into a whine when you were crushed to his chest again and this time there were no reservations to the embrace.

He was so good at this, making you burn for him so often you wondered sometimes how you were able to get anything done.

Hungry fingers pushed the collar of his flannel back, jeans already unbuttoned for your wandering attention to latch onto and he encouraged it with a push of his hips against yours. 

It’s an easy movement, dropping to your knees like you’ve done a hundred times before to see how just a simple kiss already had him stiff and straining against denim, teasing the kind of thickness you so badly wanted to fill your throat with. 

Your mouth watered, fingers outstretched to wrap around hot skin the moment his cock was free, unable to stop yourself now. Joel’s rough sigh following the steady pump of your hands made you glance up, meeting the intensity of his gaze and you held it there for a moment before your tongue was tasting him. 

“Look at you...already have it in your mouth like the quick learner you are,” He hissed through his teeth and you could feel where he throbs against the hollow of your cheek. 

Pride swells in your chest from the praise, knowing the tone of his voice meant the restrained edge of patience from letting you tease him back was slipping.

You could feel it in the flex of muscle underneath your hands where they’re braced on his thighs and you hoped he was proud watching your lips stretch around him, head bobbing nice and easy the way you know he liked it.

You’re unconcerned with being neat about it, slicking him up with your mouth and still trying to take him deeper, trying to take all of him in fact. 

You liked to flirt with dreams of your nose being pressed snug against Joel’s pelvis, wanted to feel him through your entire chest even if burned because there was sweetness in being deprived of oxygen like that. Call it an unwavering trust. 

You gave in to the feeling and kept your eyes focused upwards on him, trying to relax your jaw despite all the anticipation, happy to let him take control. 

“That’s it, that’s my girl. Stay just like that.” 

Listening is hardly even a thought when you’ve hung onto his every word, every movement, not minding the strain in your jaw as he rocked his hips into the wet heat of your mouth. Tongue swirling over his shaft, the thick head of him, desperate to earn it, to make him curse and growl out your name. 

The pressure of his fingers against your jaw and then the back of your head had you moaning, trying to speak while he fucks your mouth. 

“P-please, make me take it.” Your heart lept with each languid thrust of his hips sliding deep so he could feel the softening of your throat.

He’d give you whatever you asked for when you whimpered like that. 

Firm and sweet was his grip, raspy grunts and cursed out praises that flowed from his mouth even sweeter to your ears as your tongue slid over the soft, sensitive head of his cock and back down the length of him. 

You’re insatiable and any anxious thoughts still rattling around in your mind were quickly fading, replaced with his touch, his smell, his taste. The salty smear on your taste buds had you pressing your thighs together, craving relief.

“Good girl, yeah that’s it. Startin’ to understand now, sweetheart?” 

Your head tipped forward and the only response you could give was a heady moan, doing your best to nod knowing how much he’d like seeing that, the tears already welling along your lashes from the effort but you didn’t mind.

Knowing you made him tip his head back, a heavy palm braced against the wall above your head while he grunted out curses and filthier praise made you feel a dozen more times ravenous, encouraging him to keep going with sloppy, wet whimpers that were barely held back from your kiss swollen lips, stretched over every thick inch of him you could take. 

“Love watching you choke on it, honey. Fuck that's good, show me how much you can fit.” 

The sight of him is something you hoped to never forget, searching for and finding the slight snarl of his lips when the tip hits the back of your mouth and the flex of his biceps when you slide your tongue around to lick the underside of him. 

Joel could barely hold himself back, the urge to bury himself in your throat almost overwhelming but he wanted more than that, he wanted to reward you for listening so well, for how much you make him feel.  

It had been building all day and he knew you had to feel it too. He was loath to pull you off his cock, an ache through his chest at your desperate cries from the loss of contact but he was quick to remedy that with a searing kiss.  

You melt and are grateful your knees are already on the floor when your tongue meets his. It was so messy, hungry and neither of you cared. 

“Get on the bed. Go on, darlin’.” Joel’s voice sounded like warm syrup, covering you in adoring instruction, taking you and leading you where he knows is best. 

And god do you love when he was in this mood, nothing but a filthy edge to his affections. 

So you complied, ignoring the twinge in your tummy as you moved to the bed, sprawling out across sheets that smell like the both of you. 

He watches you get comfortable, loosening a few buttons and those jeans finally discarded on the floor before the distance is closed and he’s all over you. 

Every touch and caress was intentional as he undresses like he’s unwrapping a present, greedy for all of you but so passionate, so easily able to steal your breath at the same time, slowing down the tempo now that your legs have fallen open and there’s nothing left covering you. 

“Prettiest fuckin’ pussy…and she’s all mine.” Joel admires you for a moment, firm hands tickling your thighs while his thumbs circled the soft, sensitive junction of your thigh so close to where you wanted him most. 

The praise has you sighing breathlessly, peeking down to see the way he was looking at where you glisten, a sureness to his features that made you feel safe all while the clench of his jaw sent goosebumps across your arms.

You want to echo that he’s right but he doesn’t let you have the chance, a broad palm sliding down over the hair covering your mound, tugging at it gently before two thick fingers are swirling over your folds. 

Muscles jolting, you were rocking up into a touch that is so expert and familiar you are helpless against it.

“Joel, oh! That feels so good,” You’re panting, trying to catch your breath while your body responds to the tight circles he was rubbing against your clit.

“Yeah? ‘Can tell. You’re so slick, honey. Did suckin’ me off get you this worked up?” 

Your nod is pure reflex, hips grinding against his movements needing to chase the pleasure that was slowly oozing its way into your system. 

It’s only something he can do and he’s so steady, so thorough with you even as you squirm, those two fingers now stroking at your entrance eliciting sounds that sparked heat in your cheeks and spread down to your chest. 

You want to be as connected to him as you can, almost pleading for him to sink inside you already just desperate to feel completely surrounded by him. 

And Joel can’t seem to grasp enough of you under his hands, gone for the way you cling to him as he fits his middle finger inside, marveling at the way your walls take him in. 

He would never get over your strangled little cry at being stretched around his knuckles. 

“I asked a question, lemme hear you.” He spoke a little more loosely, his Texan drawl slightly heavier now. 

“Yes, yes,” you’re remembering yourself after a moment, “Fuck, yes I love sucking your dick.” 

The words are shameless, falling from your lips as a promise, a proclamation that you know he feels the weight of when he leans in to kiss you again, muffling your sounds while he slides a second finger in alongside the first that’s filling you so perfectly. 

Any concept of time or day is somewhere in the background muted, far away and suddenly you know you’re right where you should be, right where you belong, no traces of anxious thoughts lurking any longer.   

You could sink into these sensations now, enjoying how his kisses had moved to your neck exploring the sensitive spots and smiling against your skin when a new one is found because he loves feeling you clench around him when he does. 

It’s a gift to Joel, being able to draw out this kind of bliss in you. 

He wanted you to feel good, wanted to be the one to make your world shatter and then piece it back together again when you came down to the ground. 

Your eyes rolled shut when he plunged deeper, the pads of his fingers massaging at your walls in tandem with what his mouth was doing between the valley of your chest and further down to where your stomach fluttered. 

Somewhere in the haze of it all you realize his mouth was at your thighs, the white hot touch of his lips closing around a stretch of supple flesh bringing another wave of heat before he’s licking gently, bruising a mark into your skin that only he will know is there later. 

“I could spend hours like this, you know that? Could have you makin’ such a pretty mess all over my hands, all over our bed…and I know you love when I do this.” Joel husks before he’s finally tasting you properly. 

He starts at your clit, tongue flattened against you in anticipation of the inevitable flex of your legs, determined to keep you right where he wants and you’re already so far gone for him and this moment that your head tilts back against the pillows in a gasp. 

You feel almost weightless as you succumb to the pleasure and how he presses his mouth into your pussy like he wants to devour it. You’re sure you’d let him swallow you whole if it kept feeling like this. 

It’s not even a question really, you know you would, until you’re between sinew and bone and part of him forever. 

The plunge and curl of his fingers combined with the flick of his tongue had you panting, heat skittering across your body while your hips circled on their own accord.

“More! Please, Joel!” It’s a chant and a sob all rolled in one and you don’t care how needy it sounds. 

He keeps going, lapping at your sex greedily until you’re clenching down around his fingers and your toes are curling, crying out for him not to stop as you hurtle towards the cliff’s edge.

Skin dewy and alive, you decide that you don’t want to spare anything, not when he’s watching you as hungrily as he eats. 

You give him all your sounds, all your pleas, handing him your body and your heart at once. 

It’s amazing how it doesn’t take long for him to have you so close, right at the precipice, forgoing his own breaths to keep pace, to give you what your body is singing out for and when you finally let go, when your orgasm is finally coaxed from you he only presses his face into you further, drawing out every bit of pleasure he could in hopes of seeing that soft sweet look in your eyes afterwards.

“Attagirl, doin so well.” The words are a tether. 

He’d take care of you and that’s perhaps what made it so easy to surrender yourself to the passion of the moment knowing it would linger long after you were both spent. 

“Mmm you should see yourself right now,” Joel hummed, licking his lips while you attempted to catch your breath, “I always want you, don’t forget that yeah?” 

The last part catches your attention through the curtain of bliss, a serious shift in his tone telling you that he meant every word; you had no reason to second guess yourself over your desires and he was making sure of that. 

You nodded and sat up to reach for him, nevermind how you still trembled, your desire to be close to him was stronger than ever now. 

“I need you, Joel! Please, I’ve been so good…” Your words tug at him, you can tell they do by the way he ruts his hips against the edge of the bed. 

He crushed his mouth to yours before you could finish speaking, a much welcome relief, the burning flame inside you quelled for a moment. 

“Sure have been, honey and I think good girls should be rewarded.” He nipped at your ear, stealing your breath with his words. 

And even further when his flannel joined his jeans on the floor, climbing back onto the bed to follow the path of your body with his own, framing your limbs and wrapping you up in his embrace like you were made to fit against his chest. 

Your legs fall open again to wrap around his waist as he settles some of his weight down against your hips, just giving you a taste, calling back memories and reminding you, funnily enough, of that novel you were reading earlier. 

It felt like you were suddenly amongst the pages, chest heaving, your core tender and dripping as the man of your dreams was about to show you how much you’re his in every way.

Fairytales didn’t exist in this world but you felt like you were in one right now.

A giddy and timid smile spread across your face when Joel trailed warm hands down your body, catching on the bend of your elbow, wrapping around your ribcage to settle on the crest of your ass as he puts more of his weight down and uses his shoulders to nudge your legs apart and back towards your chest. 

The air felt thicker but your breathing seemed to even out, everything in your body thrumming with energy and an intensity neither of you could ignore any longer. 

Reaching down between your bodies you wrap a hand around where he’s thick and throbbing, guiding him closer with a soft smile, feeling how heavy he hangs in your hand, fingers pinching his skin when he rocks against your folds, the dirty sounds of his cock gliding through your stickiness. 

Joel groans against your forehead, holding himself steady as your hips buck into his touch, the tip pressing against your entrance and finally, slowly, sinking inside. 

Your moans are twined together in the quiet room. The stretch makes you keen, hands fumbling and grasping at strong shoulders, grateful he lets you have a moment to adjust. 

But it’s not long before you’re squirming again, whining for him to go deeper, to fill you to the hilt and he made good on his promises to do exactly that. 

He keeps your hips tilted up with the press of his palm underneath you, meeting little resistance the more he splits you open and it does something to him to see how much of a mess you are and he’s barely fucked you yet. 

“You can do it, know you can…there you go.” Joel pulls back to give a shallow thrust, lips brushing your temple and a hand coming up to cradle your cheek. 

The drag of his cock against your walls was everything, steady thrusts building up the tension coiling in your belly, fantasies from your novel melding with reality.

You felt like you were floating, your toes pointing when he changed the angle, brushing against a spot that had you crying out, ankles trying to lock around his torso.

Pressing heavier and faster with his hips however, your legs stay spread, the beginnings of a tremble rippling through your muscles now that he’s caught on. 

His pace remained measured and deep, just the way you were begging for it, and he’s content to watch your brows pinch, your jaw slacken, content to hear every gasp of air and pretty sobs  mixed in with your moans driving him crazy every time they slip from clenched teeth. 

“Shit, I love watching you take me like this.” He cooed. 

You can feel the heavy slap of his balls colliding with your ass when he pounds into you again and soon your hands slip from sweaty skin, scratching down his chest to pull at the sheets, so overwhelmed with feeling but never wanting it to stop.

“Daddy...Please, please keep going.”

You’re so caught up in the moment you don’t realize you’ve said it out loud, glassy eyes moving up from where you were trying to peek between your bodies to meet Joel’s careful gaze, only half registering how they widen for a moment. 

He’s taken aback for just a second, almost questioning whether he heard it correctly but something’s been knocked loose within him now, his cock twitching from the reverence and adoration in your tone, bestowing him with a title he suddenly wanted to earn. 

Joel was a grown man and had lived through many hells to be able to have you bare and underneath him like this, he reasoned he deserved to have a little fun in the bedroom especially when he hadn’t expected to be so affected.

“Ah so that’s what you’ve been reading in that book of yours. Just wanted Daddy to fuck you all day is that it, sweetheart? Yeah, I gotcha now.” He rasped low against the crook of your neck and started to fuck you harder. 

His grip on you was less gentle but still just as passionate, the force of his thrusts stealing your ability to think properly. He wanted to make you say it again. 

The burning in your cheeks only subsided a little at his acceptance, more heat flooding you from head to toe at being called out, wondering how he knew it was something you read in your novel, if it had been that obvious. 

It didn’t matter now, you see where his dark eyes have narrowed, ready to make you come again with this newfound discovery. 

So you try and be good for him while you moan and clench down on his length, your pussy swollen and aching but tingling for everything he could give you, “Yes, daddy! Just…oh! I couldn’t help it. Thank you, daddy!” 

He knows you’re close, a familiar frenzy to your breathing, the slick wet sounds between your legs, it’s everything he dreams of and more, torn between watching your face as you come or watching the way his cock shines with your release. 

With a few more strokes and the soft rubbing of his thumb against your clit you shatter, face pressing against the meat of his shoulder while you ride it out, feeling weightless in his embrace. 

It makes you giggle when you can’t keep your head up any longer, neck lolling back against the pillow where he cradles your head in his hands, keeping you in place as he finds his own release swiftly after yours, pulling out to cover your puffy folds in hot ropes of his come. 

You would never tire of being made a mess, even if you knew you’d be sore tomorrow, nothing quite ever beat the feeling of being fucked out like the way Joel could have you.

“Baby…” you’re breathless and bursting with emotion, “Thank you for that. Think I really needed it,” You laugh against his chest and sigh.

You’re almost too nervous still to look at him after your slip of the tongue but you know deep down there’s nothing you have to be worried about. 

“Of course, honey. Anytime, and I mean that.” 

–

You’re not sure how much time has passed, drifting in and out of a dreamy slumber still cradled against Joel, only now you realize you’ve been cleaned up and tucked under the covers but you don’t mind, you know you can simply lay here and soak it all in, he would take care of you. 

Racing thoughts no longer buzz around in your head, all you can feel and see is Joel and you smile to yourself knowing the intimacy you just shared still lingered in your body, love etched in your fingertips where they’re laced in his hand against his stomach. 

His lips press against your temple and you close your eyes again letting yourself be swept away with the sweet drawl of an “I love you.” in your ears and the gentle evening sun warming you both.

—

A/N: This was actually lowkey inspired by that scene where Joel is leading Ellie, Henry and Sam down the street after they come out of the tunnels and Joel just shakes his head and goes “so much goddamn talkin’.’ while looking like an annoyed father because they’re all being too loud…got very hung up on that bit of dialogue and could not let it go so here we are!

Also hope I added the daddy kink bit here in tastefully, it’s a fave of mine and I struggled a bit to think of how to incorporate it in a way that felt real for Joel so I only just dipped my toe in with it here but I hope you liked it! 👀

Thank you for reading <3

some no pressure tags! 💫 @eupheme @ozarkthedog @moreofem @tinydramatist @black-fairy3 @federalchickensoup @fluffyprettykitty @persona-enthusiast @moonstruksandco @ghotifishreads @communism-bitches

[introloves]

best friends older brother! choso is so dependable and caring you just cant help having a crush on him. <3

yes!! thats exactly it!

he never says no when you’re in need of a ride- too many drinks in and even though he chastises your drinking habits will still pull up and tug you out of whatever bar or club you've found yourself in. because even though youre grown- he can't shake the lingering possessiveness that comes with being an older sibling. never says no when you've found yourself in the middle of a less than satisfactory dinner and you're practically begging him to come and save you. puts on a smile while you're clinging onto him and asking if you look pretty- searching for the approval that wasn't found with your date; settling for squeezing where he touches and swallowing tersely, nodding and adding in a,

"the prettiest, angel."

never says no when you’re stuck between wanting to please a man- but new to this whole scene, (maybe because you've always held out with the tiniest hope that choso would be the first one) and come to him with gentle words- because you trust him, always have. he's been a constant in your life for as long as you could remember and while he's always hung out around a different crowd thanks to your difference in age, choso has always been there. so its easy coming to him and wondering if he could teach you, and there's no inkling of a possible rejection lingering in the back of your mind, 'cause choso's terribly sweet on you- and never says no.

not even when you finally drop down to your knees, shaky hands stopped with equally trembling hands to guide you- show you what makes him feel good.

allowed to spit out words that have only been spoken casually, this time with purpose- tangled between groans and whispers of your name that sound heavenly like this, painting you like someone he can have instead of a dream.

"pretty girl."

its gritted through gnashing teeth- blinking back the blurry image of you, trying to see what he's only ever imagined with his own eyes, reaching up to drag his long hair behind his ears. building up courage to actually touch you.

reaching when you're gasping- mouth pouty and sore from how thick he is, pressing your face into large palms to search for that approval you've only ever thought could come from him.

blinking back your own tears when he kneels before you- tongue lapping into your mouth, arms wrapping around your body; not caring about the messy trail of spit running down your chin and neck in favor of holding you close.

he's always been there- and promises that he always will.

[fairyybngtn]

Pairing: Armando Aretas x Black Reader

Genre: Jealousy/Fluff??

Warning: use of the n word and slight smut

Note: this is my first time ever writing anything so it might not be good. I been wanting more Armando fics but people barely be uploading anymore so I had to step in lol. (Also I added Megan in it…am I the only one that seen Jacob and Megan together cause nobody is talking about it)😭

Summary: A night at the club with your coworker, whom you secretly had a crush on, altered the dynamic between you two. What was meant to be a one-time thing spiraled into a whirlwind of feelings you struggled to navigate. Everything shifts when a new girl joins the team, and Armando seems to take an interest in her.

Tired was an understatement. After countless hours debriefing and working on the latest case, all you wanted was to collapse into bed, pour yourself a glass of wine, and binge-watch Love Island. But it was your coworker and best friend Kelly’s birthday, and she was adamant about hitting the club. "Why don’t you invite Armando?" Kelly suggested, her excitement barely contained. You looked at her like she was stupid. “Armando? Really? He doesn’t seem like the type to hang out with coworkers, especially not at a club.” Kelly persisted, oblivious to your hesitation. You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Kelly, I don’t even know if he likes going out, let alone to a club. And besides, he barely acknowledges me at work.”

“He doesn’t have to hang out with us,” Kelly pointed out. “Rita, Dorn, Marcus, and Mike will be there too.”

You considered her words, the idea starting to seem less far-fetched. Still, you were uncertain. “I suppose. But what if he doesn’t even show up? And what if things are awkward?”

Kelly gave you an encouraging smile. “Come on, just give it a try. It's my birthday, and I want all my friends there, including the mysterious Armando. You never know, maybe this will be the night everything changes." Reluctantly, you agreed, sending a quick text to Armando, half expecting no response. But to your surprise, he replied almost immediately, agreeing to join.

After work, you went over to Kelly’s house so that you two could get ready. You were wearing an oversized sweater and sweatpants and had no idea what to wear. Kelly said, "Girl, your body is literally banging. Let’s show it off tonight!” She pulled out a dress that looked too small for you to fit. It was a black, snug dress that hugged every curve. You hated wearing anything tight, but because it was your best friend's birthday, you wore it anyway. You did your hair, deciding to let your curls out instead of the usual slick-back bun, and fixed up your edges. Kelly looked you over and grinned. "You look stunning. Tonight’s gonna be unforgettable."

You two were on your way to the club. When you arrived, the place was packed, and the sound of Sexxy Red’s "Fuck My Baby Daddy" playing got you excited for what the night had in store. You walked until you found the rest of your coworkers: Dorn, Mike, Marcus, and Rita. Mike, flirting as usual, said, "You need to dress like this more often. If I were around your age, I'd be all over you."

You laughed it off, but you didn’t see Armando and assumed he hadn’t come. You sat down with Marcus and Rita, taking your time to warm up to the large crowd. As you did some people-watching, you finally spotted Armando leaning against the bar, and your heart skipped a beat. He wore a fitted black shirt and dark jeans, a gold chain glinting under the neon lights. His hair was freshly styled, and he exuded a confidence that seemed so different from his usual office demeanor. He walked up to the group, greeting everyone. His uncle Marcus said, "Damn, that Lowery DNA is a bitch," seeing the resemblance between him and Mike. Armando looked at you and smiled.

"You look amazing tonight," he said, his eyes lingering on you with an intensity that made your breath catch. This was the most he had spoken to you since you started working together. Your cheeks flushed under his gaze, feeling the magnetic pull between you.

"Thanks," you replied, your voice barely audible over the music. "You look pretty different outside the office too." His smile widened, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "Glad you noticed."

"Want a drink?" he asked. You nodded, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. As the night went on, one drink turned into several, and your best friend Kelly soon interrupted your conversation with the others. Her song "TGIF" by Glorilla came on, and she pulled you to the dance floor. Normally, you wouldn’t dance so openly but after seven drinks you had no care in the world and now here you were in the middle of the club with your best friend Kelly twerking together.

Unbeknownst to you, Armando made his way towards you. The distance that usually separated you at work seemed to dissolve. Here you were, throwing it back on Armando, who was catching every movement. The heat between you was undeniable, a magnetic pull that drew you closer with each passing moment. His hands rested on your hips, guiding your movements as you swayed to the rhythm of the music. The crowded dance floor seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in your own world.

As the night wore on, the tension between you two intensified. The proximity, the stolen glances, the subtle touches – it all built up to a crescendo. When Armando’s lips finally met yours, it was like a spark igniting a wildfire. The kiss was urgent, filled with pent-up desire and longing. You could feel the heat of his body against yours, and your eyes hungrily traced the outline of his form. His bulging veins, the prominent bulge in his jeans – every detail fueled your growing desire. The kiss deepened, and the world around you seemed to vanish, leaving just the two of you in a whirlwind of passion and longing.

"Let's get out of here," he murmured against your lips, his breath hot on your skin. You nodded, your mind a haze of desire. He grasped your hand and guided you through the swarm of people and out into the cool night air. By the time you reached his car, you were already tangled in each other, the tight space only heightening the intensity of your longing. When you finally arrived at his place, the anticipation was almost too much to bear. The moment the door closed behind you, he pushed you gently against it, his mouth capturing yours in a fierce, heated kiss. His hands roamed over you exploring and memorizing every curve of your body.

You couldn't resist any longer you pushed Armando back against the arm of the couch as you climbed into his lap. He responded eagerly, his hands roaming up your thighs to grasp your ass, pressing you firmly against his growing erection. His grunts mingled with your soft moans as you grind against each other, but it wasn't long before his impatience got the better of him.

With a swift motion, Armando lifted you and carried you to lay you down on the bed, his gaze dark with desire as he took in the sight of you. He moved to climb on top of you, but you were quicker, grabbing his arm and pulling him down so that he was flat on his back, with you straddling his waist. His hard cock pressed enticingly against your clothed cunt, just waiting to be released. His hands gripped your hips tightly as you rocked against him, the friction sending shivers of pleasure through both of you. You could feel his hardness through the thin fabric, driving your desire even higher.

“Me estás volviendo loca" he growled, his thick Spanish accent laced with lust as his eyes locked onto yours.

"Good," you replied with a mischievous smile.

Your fingers worked quickly to undo his jeans, freeing his cock. His breath hitched as you positioned yourself, sliding your panties aside and sinking down onto him in one smooth motion. The sensation of him filling you was electrifying, both of you groaning in unison. Your hands braced against his chest as you began to move, riding him with a rhythm that drove you both wild. The sounds of his rough groans and the intense heat between you heightened the moment, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through you. Not wanting you to reach climax just yet, he flipped you over onto your stomach and pounded into you roughly. His hands gripped your hips firmly, and he leaned over to kiss along your jaw, his lips brushing your skin with each passionate thrust. The sound of his thick Spanish accent giving you praises, mixed with his low moans, pushed you over the edge. With one last powerful thrust, you both came together, the intensity of the moment leaving you breathless and entwined. When you finally sank into each other's arms, exhausted and satisfied, you knew your relationship would never be the same again.

The next morning, you woke up before Armando, the weight of what had happened hitting you like a truck. The whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you was overwhelming, and you left without speaking to him. Armando had always been a distant crush, someone you admired from afar. But now, the lines had blurred, and you found yourself tangled in feelings you didn’t know how to acknowledge. As you gathered your clothes, you glanced back at Armando, a pang of longing striking your heart. All you wanted was to stay wrapped in his arms, but the weight of last night’s events pushed you to flee. Checking your phone, you saw a bunch of missed calls and texts from Kelly, wondering where you had gone. With a deep breath, you dialed her number, ready to face the aftermath.

“Girl, where did you disappear last night?” Kelly's voice was laced with curiosity and concern.

You hesitated for a moment, then blurted out, “I left with Armando. We… ended up at his place.”

Kelly’s gasp was audible even through the phone. “No way! What happened? Spill!”

“Girl, I don’t even know where to begin,” you admitted. “All I remember is us dancing together and then going back to his place... We slept together.” The weight of your confession hit you hard. “I don’t know what to do now...”

“Wow,” Kelly said, stunned. “Are you okay?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure,” you admitted. “I just need some time to figure things out.”

Weeks passed, and finding a new normal became a struggle. The memory of that night lingered in your mind, a constant reminder of what had happened whenever you saw him. At work, things seemed to fall back into their usual rhythm, but the atmosphere was charged with an underlying tension. Armando barely acknowledged you, and when he did, his responses were curt and one-worded. Whether it was during meetings or on missions, he made a deliberate effort to keep his distance, intensifying the emotional strain of your interactions. You found yourself constantly thinking about him, the memory of his touch and the way he made you feel. It was impossible to focus, and the unresolved emotions gnawed at you, making it difficult to move on. Every interaction with Armando, no matter how brief, was charged with unspoken words and lingering glances.

One day, as you passed each other in the hallway, his gaze met yours for a moment longer than usual. There was something in his eyes, a mixture of regret and longing that mirrored your own feelings. But before you could say anything, he looked away and continued on his way, leaving you standing there, your heart pounding in your chest. The tension between you two was palpable, and you knew that sooner or later, you would have to confront it. But for now, you were caught in a limbo of uncertainty, waiting for the right moment to address the complicated emotions that had taken root in your heart.

The next day, Mike and Rita called a meeting to let us know a new person would be joining the tech team. Her name was Lana. When she entered, it was like a burst of sunshine filled the room. She had a vibrant, bubbly personality that instantly drew everyone in. It didn’t take long for everyone, including Armando, to take a liking to her. You watched from a distance as he laughed with her, their conversations flowing effortlessly. He never did that with you, but could you blame him? You never took the chance to talk to him, still holding a grudge against him for what he did to Captain Howard. Jealousy gnawed at your insides, a constant reminder of the unresolved feelings from that night with him.

One afternoon, you walked into the break room to find Armando and Lana in deep conversation so engrossed together that they didn’t even notice you walk in. You felt a pang in your chest, the reality of the situation hitting you hard.

"Hey," you said, trying to sound casual. They both looked up, and Armando's smile faltered for a moment before he greeted you.

"Hey, how's it going?" he asked.

You forced a smile. "Good, just grabbing a coffee." As you turned to leave, you heard Lana ask Armando something, her voice light and teasing. You couldn't make out the words, but the laughter that followed felt like a punch to the gut. Tears clouded your vision, and you quickly left the room before anyone could see you cry. You ran to the bathroom and, with trembling hands, texted Kelly.

"Kelly, can you come to the bathroom? I need you," you typed, your fingers barely able to hit the right keys through your tears. Moments later, your phone buzzed with Kelly's response. "I'm on my way. What happened?" You tried to steady your breathing as you waited. When Kelly finally arrived, she found you sitting on the floor, your face buried in your hands.

"Hey, I'm here. What's going on?" she asked, concern lacing her voice.

You looked up at her, tears streaming down your face. "It's Armando. I walked in on him and Lana. They were so close, laughing, talking... I don't know what to do."

Kelly sat down next to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. "I'm so sorry. Armando is an idiot if he doesn't see how amazing you are. But you need to decide what you want. Do you want to talk to him and try to work things out, or is it time to move on?"

You sniffled, trying to gather your thoughts. "I don't know, Kelly. I still have feelings for him, but seeing him with Lana hurt so much. I'm scared of getting hurt again." Kelly hugged you tighter. "Whatever you decide, I'm here for you. Just remember to take care of yourself first. You deserve to be happy." You nodded, feeling a bit of comfort in her words. "Thanks, Kelly. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Anytime," she said, giving you a reassuring smile. "Now, let's get out of here and go get some drinks,” Kelly said, helping you to your feet. With some convincing from her, you agreed to head back to the same club. Though hesitant, not wanting any feelings about that night to resurface, Kelly's persistence won you over. Unknowingly to you, Armando was there too. You sat at the bar, waiting to get drinks for you and Kelly, lost in your thoughts, when a familiar voice interrupted them.

"Mind if I join you?" Armando asked, his expression unreadable. You stiffened, but gestured to the empty seat next to you. "Sure." For a moment, neither of you spoke, the thumping bass of Megan Thee Stallion’s “Thot Shit” filling the silence. Finally, Armando took a deep breath and broke the tension.

"I've been meaning to talk to you about that night," he said, his voice barely audible over the noise. "I didn't want things to be awkward between us."

You looked at him, your heart pounding. "It's not just about that night, Armando. It's about everything since then. I know I left without saying anything to you, and I regret doing it, but it feels like you’ve been toying with me. Keeping your distance, giving me one-word responses... and Lana," you said slowly, locking eyes with him.

Armando's expression softened, and he leaned closer. "I never meant to toy with you. Lana and I are just friends. I didn't realize how it looked from your perspective."

"You didn't realize?"... “Nigga really?” you echoed, frustration bubbling up. "How could you not see it? Every time I see you two together, it's like a knife in my heart."

"I know, and I'm sorry," he said earnestly. "I was trying to keep things professional and not make things awkward, but I see now that I ended up doing the opposite." His phone buzzed again, and you saw Lana's name flash on the screen. The sight of it was too much to bear. "See, this the shit I'm talking about just go be with her, Armando."

You got up to go back to Kelly when he reached out to grab your hand gently. "No, listen to me. Lana isn't who I want. You are." Your heart skipped a beat, but doubt still lingered. "Then why didn't you say anything before? Why let me suffer in silence?"

"I was scared," he admitted, his voice raw. "Scared of making things worse, scared of losing you. But I can't keep pretending. I have feelings for you, real feelings, and I want to be with you." The sincerity in his eyes made your resolve waver as this is the most emotional you ever seen Armando. “If that's true, then we need to start being honest with each other. “No more games and hiding how we really feel about each other."

He nodded, a look of relief washing over his face. "Agreed. No more hiding.”

You took a deep breath, feeling the tension start to lift. "Okay. But you have to prove it, Armando. Show me that you're serious."

“Mami, te puedo mostrar cómo puedo demostrarlo.” he replied, a smirk playing on his lips. You couldn’t help but laugh at his comment. As the noise of the club swirled around you, a glimmer of hope began to stir within you. Maybe, just maybe, things could be different this time.

Translations

“ Mami, te puedo mostrar cómo puedo demostrarlo.” - Mami I can show you how I can prove it

“Me estás volviendo loca - You’re driving me crazy

[hanckocks-dagger]

(In other words)

masterlist

John Hancock x gn!Reader

Description: While high on Hancock's couch, you get ready to tell him you're leaving Goodneighbor tomorrow. Trouble is, the thought of kissing him just keeps distracting you.

Tags: First kiss, getting together, Hancock is a simp. Reader could be viewed as SoSu or not. No pronouns used for reader, no use off y/n

Warnings: Recreational drug use (jet), smoking, canon typical swearing.

Cross posted on my ao3!

You were leaving Goodneighbor tomorrow. Sitting idle made you antsy, and it had already been several days since the urge to wander had struck. You'd only stuck around because... well.

"You want another hit?" Hancock asked from the other end of the couch, head lolling on the back of it, dark eyes turned to yours, canister of jet held out to you.

After a long moment of consideration, your jet-addled brain working overtime to comprehend, you shook your head mutely. Hancock shrugged his shoulder and stuck the canister into his mouth.

"Fhoot-eulf," He said incomprehensibly around the spout, then pressed down on the mechanism. His whole body sagged further into the couch, somehow managing to look even calmer than he had after the last three hits of Jet. Even if ghouls really did have higher chem resistance than lowly humans like yourself, you were sure Hancock topped them all. You'd had one Jet to his four, and he'd also spent the morning working his way through a Brandy bottle, which you'd always found made your heavy-limbed high feel a little more like paralysis than a comforting buzz.

Probably a good ten seconds after Hancock had spoken, you let out a muffled, "hmm?", cheek smushed into the couch so you could keep staring at him.

Those black eyes, momentarily distracted by the Jet in his hands, turned to find yours again, crinkled at the corners. His smile, ever charming, lingered on the verge of turning mean. He did like to tease you about being a lightweight.

Instead, he leant to the edge of the couch and hooked you by your socked feet, tugging them into his lap, dragging you a few inches closer to him.

"Nothing, sweetheart."

He patted one of your knees placatingly, the way one pet a startled a horse. Or (you thought, a few painfully slow seconds later), that was to say, the way one used to pet a startled horse. Seeing as they were extinct now, or possibly mutated into something hideously unrecognizable.

Hancock's hand, warm on your knee, disappeared after a minute. Or after a few seconds, seeing as trying to keep a grasp on time on Jet was a losing game. He dug into his pocket, pulling out a crumpled pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Ever generous, he offered you one. You nodded, but could seem to make your hand rise up to take it from him.

He grinned, placing it between his lips. You wanted to disagree with this, but your vocal chords didn't want to respond either, and no words were coming to mind anyway. Sober, you would realize these were the classic signs of the Jet comedown, that momentary disconnect between body and mind, which unnerved you enough to take a few days off before finally succumbing to Hancock's next offer.

High, though, you were left to watch as Hancock raised the lighter to the cigarette, lighting it with a deep inhale, before plucking it from his mouth and passing it over. He blew the smoke teasingly into your face, laughing when you scrunched your nose in distaste.

"All the drugs a person could need. A warm bed, semi-clean streets." He said, a new cigarette between his teeth, "Honestly, I don't know why outsiders are always badmouthing Goodneighbor. Best fucking place in the Commonwealth."

Slowly, like an overloaded computer rebooting, your body came back online. You picked the cigarette from your lips, flicked ash from the end of it, ignored the thought of how it had been in his mouth before yours.

"You might be a bit biased, Hancock."

He laughed back at you, gravelly, that mix of ghoul and smoker and just pure... him.

He had been dropping these comments increasingly over the last few days, probably picking up at your unease. It was probably why he had suggested the two of you stay up in his office getting high for the night instead of going down to the Third Rail. Crowds made you antsy, the heat from bodies and the din of echoing small talk reminding you all the more of the open, fresh air you were missing.

Hancock was clever, he knew what was coming even without you spelling it out for him. Over the months since you'd discovered Goodneighbor, you'd been crashing in the Statehouse whenever you found your way to this area of Boston, preferring it to the stifling atmosphere of Diamond City. (Or so you told yourself, the truth might be you preferred the company).

He also clearly knew some of the affinity you held for him, the way you'd let him charm you into sticking around almost a week after you'd planned to leave.

"Still," He said, "One of the better places to be, hmm? Well, as long as you stay on the Mayor's good side." He winked at you.

Yet, he was too proud to come right out and beg for you to stay.

You could always ask him what he wanted. But you worried that his answer might be enough to sway you.

"Oh yeah," You deflected instead, ignoring the spark his wink shot down your spine, ordering your traitorous heart not to beat faster. "Heard the guy's a bit of a dick."

"Oh, he's a lot worse than that," His hand snuck back onto your leg, making a slow path up your calf, "But not to pretty things like you."

It was your turn to laugh, ignoring the heating in your cheeks, ignoring the goosebumps his touch left in it's wake. "John," You said, mock scandalized, "I thought you were an intellectual. Is a pretty face really all it takes?"

He had been slowly easing closer to you, or maybe he had been pulling you closer to him. When he leant over to stub his cigarette, his shoulder brushed yours.

"'M not easy. But I'm smart enough to know that when you find something this pretty in an ugly world, you hold on tight." He'd moved in close, hand reaching your upper thigh. With the other, he plucked the cigarette from your lips, down nearly to the filter, and flicked it to the side, not breaking eye contact. You could feel his breath tickling your nose, smelling like cigarettes and the slightly metallic taste jet left in your mouth. It made you lightheaded, entire mind screaming that he was about to kiss you, finally, after months of flirting and opportunities neither one of you had taken.

Instead, though, he squeezed your thigh and pulled back, eyes trained on you, a curious glint in them, like he was watching your reaction.

For just a moment, like you were a magnet following his pull, you followed after him, hand sliding downwards as if to bring his hand back to where it had been, keep it there, keep him there.

Then, the rational part of your brain, offline since before you'd accepted that hit of Jet, kicked in, screaming at you about everything that could go wrong. Taking this from a friendship to... something more would complicate everything. You didn't have the time or the energy to spend on a relationship, you didn't want to be chained to a settlement. If word got out about your... whatever it would be, you might lose out on deals with some of the seedier members of the community, you might lose trust with others. In other places, a relationship with a Ghoul might even be enough to have you barred from entry.

But, a traitorous voice from the back of your mind whispered, none of those really mattered. The truth of it was, after everything that had happened to you, if you were to let this go any further and something were to happen to him, it would break you.

So, you pulled back, shutting your eyes and taking a steadying breath. Your hand, halfway to grabbing his, stopped and balled into a fist, dropping back to your side.

You wracked your brain for something to say, something joking to diffuse the tension and return things to the way they were.

You heard Hancock shift besides you and allowed yourself a little breath of relief, assuming he'd gotten the hint and backed off, tired of waiting for someone who chickened out at every opportunity.

Instead, though, you were surprised to find his warm hand on your cheek, felt the corner of his hat press softly against your forehead. You opened your eyes, found him looking at you, almost desperate.

"Maybe I'm wrong," he started, voice pitched low and quiet, less sure of himself than you were used to, "In which case you just tell me. But I get the feeling it ain't that. I see the way you looked at me. I know you know how I've been looking at you."

You swallowed, traitorous body responding before your mind can butt in. You nodded, hand coming to grasp onto his bicep, wanting more than anything for him to move closer, to remove the patch of air the two of you were both breathing.

"So tell me," His voice had dropped to a whisper, like he was speaking with a startled animal. "Why won't you kiss me?"

You exhaled, a shaky thing. For some reason your eyes stung, and suddenly you were fighting off the urge to cry. Your grip on Hancock's arm tightened, not wanting him to let go.

Words escaped you, but you worried he'd take your silence the wrong way. You used your free hand to move the front of his hat high enough that it wouldn't poke you and leant your forehead to his. You shut your eyes again, partly to hide the tears that you couldn't seem to stop from forming, partly to embrace the moment better.

Hancock's thumb stroked slowly across your cheekbone. He whispered your name. Worried your voice would break, you nodded against him, eyes still squeezed shut, afraid of moving from this moment, of going forward or pulling back.

Quiet, he said, "Please kiss me."

You dug down, finding the person who sleeps under the open sky of the wasteland, who fights off hordes of ferals, sneaks through Gunner camps, takes on Deathclaws and survives.

You pressed your lips to his.

Warm, softer than you had envisioned, just like the man himself. Hancock's other hand rose to your cheek, so he was cupping your face in his hands, pulling you even closer. You let him take the lead, tilting your head gently, licking against your lips. You opened your lips for him easily, your hands wrapping around the back of his neck, leaving the two of you chest to chest, you halfway in his lap as he licked into your mouth, ravenous as if he had been starving for you.

You never wanted it to end, wanted to spend every moment of the rest of your life pressed to him, feeling his hands on you, his lips on yours, his tongue exploring your mouth.

When the tears slipped out, you almost thought it wouldn't matter, thinking you could keep the kiss going, sure you would survive without breathing, so long as he didn't stop kissing you.

But then a hitching sob rose from your chest and you were pulling away despite yourself, tucking your wet face into the crook of his neck. His hands wrapped around your waist, settling you properly against him.

You swallowed any other rogue sounds, blinked rapidly to try to rid yourself of the tears, trying to pull yourself together so you could face Hancock again. One of his hands was rubbing soothingly along your back, the other having worked it's way up to your hair, gentle fingers smoothing out tangles, rubbing along your scalp.

It took longer than you would have liked to pull yourself together, and a bit longer than that to gather the courage to look at Hancock, sniffling lightly.

His smile was tight, self conscious, as if he genuinely believed you could have been crying because of his kiss.

You didn't even let him get through his dejected, "That bad, huh?" before you were spitting it out, desperate for him to understand that it wasn't his fault, "I'm leaving Goodneighbor tomorrow." You got it out fast, as if it left a bad taste on your tongue.

He blinked, insecurity fading from his expression, replaced by genuine confusion.

You continued, desperate to repair your faux-pas, to make him understand your thought process, why it would lead you to tears; "This just... makes it that much harder to go."

You ran your hand down his chest, anxiously fiddling with the stitching on his lapels, "Hanc- John, please believe me, I've been wanting to do that for fucking ages, I just-"

The gentle press of his lips against yours cut you off, a quick press of heat and then gone again. This time you did chase after him, managing to get in a peck against upturned lips before he was pulling away.

It was your turn to be confused, pulling back to look at his smiling face, wondering if all that drug use had finally fried his brain.

"That's what's got you so worried?" He asked, voice soft.

You blinked at him before giving a small nod, expecting him to tell you to just stay with him, pressure already building behind your eyes as you imagined explaining to him that you just weren't made for sitting idle.

"So, then, when do we leave?"

"We?" You whispered, not trusting your voice.

"If you're alright with delaying the departure a bit, I should probably wait for the ne'er do wells to sleep off the hangover to give a little speech, pretty sure it's bad form for the Mayor to up and vanish. Then again, it's me we're talkin' about, they should know better than to–"

You pressed your lips to his, partly from exhilaration, partly for him to shut up long enough for you to process the information he'd presented you with. You'd never considered asking Hancock to leave his town. In your mind, he was Goodneighbor, the very best of it.

You pull away, running a finger across Hancock's cheek, feeling the muscles jump under you as he gives you a soft smile.

"Are you sure?" You ask.

"Love, I'd like to see anyone try to stop me."

Notes:

Thanks for reading! Please leave me a comment, or request something, or just come chat with me!

[chelseeebe]

still into you, part 2

eddie’s back, keeping to his word while trying to make up for his past mistakes. will it all work out when your worlds collide?

sauurrr i feel like i want to do a part 3 bc i have ideas but i’m not sure !!??!! also i just wanna say that it’s felt sooo good seeing people in my notifications again, tumblr finally unshadowed me after emailing them god knows how many times !!

18+, mdni. smut. a lil bit of angst and mean words towards reader and mentions of pregnancy. no use y/n!

read part 1 here.

‎♡‧₊˚

he’s late.

you’d spoken on the phone this morning and eddie had told you he’d be back some time tonight and that you should wait up because it’ll be worth it.

and now he’s fucking late.

late or not even coming.

it had been a long month of phone calls and anxiously reading magazine articles about his whereabouts, learning to trust again hadn’t been easy. there had been a handful of times where he’d called too late and missed you or you’d called while he was out which meant you’d gone days without speaking.

steve had done his best to reassure you that it was just different out there and you shouldn’t worry. he’d made a promise, right?

but there’s a pressure in your chest now, a feeling you hadn’t felt since the first time he left. defeated and dejected once again.

eddie is so late that you fall asleep on the couch. the same couch you first kissed him on just a few weeks ago. your dreams are filled with images of eddie, the wide smile that graced his face when ella forced him into fairy wings or the look on his face when you’d roll over in the middle of the night and kissed the corner of his mouth.

you’re awoken by a soft palm cupping your cheek, eyes peeking open to see the familiar silhouette of curls and denim now illuminated by the flickering television, deep set frown on his lips.

“i’m so sorry,” he starts, the words sound like static in your barely conscious mind, “my plane was delayed and i couldn’t call you.. i’m so fucking sorry,” you realise he’s on his knees in front of the couch, still squinting as you adjust to the light.

“i thought you weren’t coming,” you murmur, placing your hand atop his, the pressure in your chest subsiding the more you realise that he’s actually real and not just a dream.

eddie sighs, it’s his fault for even giving you reason to have those doubts and that kills him. “of course not.. i made a promise,” his thumb strokes gentle patterns into your cheek, “i’m coming back, always.”

“mhm,” you nod, a mix of tiredness and a lingering lack of trust.

“you wanna go to bed?” he asks, desperate to get in your good books again. hell, he’d have to do far more than this to make seven years of shit up to you.

“only if you carry me,” offering your arms out, if ella can do it, you can to.

“obviously,” he chuckles, sliding his arms underneath your knees, hoisting you off of the couch.

you’re anything but quiet walking up stairs, giggling into his neck as he groans his way up the staircase. “fuck, i’m getting old,” he complains, backing his way into your room, gently laying your body on top of the duvet before knocking the door shut.

you nestle into the pillows, watching eddie as he undresses, his jacket hitting the floor with a soft thud. he’d only been gone a month but you’d missed his presence. the way his eyes glided over your body, enamoured by your less-than-impressive mom body.

he collapses onto the bed, shuffling underneath the blanket with you, reaching out to bring you closer. “i know i said..” his nose pokes against your neck, a deep inhale before he continues, “that it’d be worth it.. but i’m tired and you’re tired so.. can i just make it up to you tomorrow?” nuzzling against your soft skin.

your laugh vibrates against his cheek, sliding your arms around his neck, legs tangling together in a mess of limbs, “eddie munson turning down sex? jesus christ, what’s happened to you?”

eddie grunts, deep and husky, flipping the situation on it’s head as he clambers on top, “oh fuck you,” his barely holding himself up, body weight keeping you pressed firmly against the mattress.

“please do,” grinning up at him, marvelling the way that even in the dark, he was still the prettiest man you’d ever laid eyes on.

his lips find your neck, peppering kisses along your jawline, hips rutting against the thin material of your pajama shorts.

when his mouth meets the delicate spot between your collarbone and the crook of your neck, you can’t help but let slip the one thing you’d been waiting to say, “i’m glad you came back,” gasping as his teeth graze the fragile skin.

he pauses, looking up at you, basked in moonlight, “i’ll always come back to you,” mumbling quietly, before continuing his descent down your body.

your eyes flutter shut, allowing your body to relax, blissful desire overcoming every nerve.

holy shit, you were happy.

-

the next few months go by smoothly. he’s back when he says he’s going to be, keeping his nose clean and his head down while he’s out on the west coast.

of course it’s never easy saying goodbye. each and every time you’re filled with this sense of dread, petrified that this might just be the time he doesn’t return.

but he does.

each and every time.

eddie had got back late last night, still half-asleep as he sips his coffee next to ella, haphazardly feeding her the breakfast she was quite capable of feeding herself.

“i’ve been thinking,” he starts, watching as you busy about with dishes. he doesn’t understand how you have the energy to care about that shit this early in the morning. “i think you should come out to california with me.. next time i go back,” shoving a spoonful of mushy pancakes into ella’s mouth.

you pause but don’t turn to face him, staring down at the sink full of bubbles, “what for?”

that part of his life didn’t interest you one bit, maybe he enjoyed it and you were happy if he was but that wasn’t anything you wanted. in fact, you’d been meaning to bring it up for a while now.

you understood that dating eddie meant that strangers were far more interested in your relationship than they should be but they’d started to accost you at work, taking ella to and from school, just about anywhere in public. the attention was starting to get a little tiring, nothing you couldn’t handle but you’d wondered if he somehow had the power to stop them.

“well,” handing the spoon to ella and getting up from the table to join you at the sink, “we’ve got our album rollout soon so i’m gonna have to be out there a little longer this time,” his shoulder knocks into yours, pulling your attention from the dirty dishes, “but.. we have our release party and i want you to be there,” pulling that cheeky grin he knew you couldn’t say no to.

how much longer? he was already out there for weeks at a time, how much longer could they keep him? oh god what if they go on tour? you’d never cope.

“release party?” grabbing the dishcloth, wiping the suds from your hands, “i don’t even know what that is.. you don’t want me there,” turning to face him and his sickening smile.

“of course i do,” lips turning into a frown, taking the cloth from your hands, “it’s a small party.. the boys and their girlfriends.. a few people who helped on the album,” he’s serious now, dipping his head to meet yours. “they wanna meet you, everyone does.”

you sigh, looking into his gleaming eyes. you’re obviously apprehensive to agree, if the stories you’d heard of the other guys were anything to go by, that weren’t the goofy nerds you’d once watch practice all night, now you think you’d actually probably hate them.

“what about ella?” turning to look at your daughter, your one saving grace.

“i’m sure we can figure that out,” eddie blinks, “steve can have her or.. or his mom,” throwing out anything he could think of, “i’ll throw them some money, make sure she has the best week ever,” rubbing his fingers together.

“he won’t take your money eddie,” you sigh. steve would never, because as much as he now liked eddie, he was still your best friend and he knew you’d kill him if he did.

“no,” eddie whines, “it’s not for steve, it’s for ella.. so they can go and do whatever they want.. eat whatever they want.. you know,” he peers over your shoulder at the kitchen table, eyes gleaming with opportunity. “ella, don’t you think mommy should come with me and you can have a vacation at uncle steve’s house?”

you tut as ella chimes in with a loud, enthusiastic “yes!” banging her fists against the table.

your palm meets his chest, “don’t use my own child against me, asshole,” struggling to stop your lips from curling into a smile. it was working and you hated the fact that you were so easily swayed by him.

“ella has spoken!” he exclaims, taking your hand on his chest into his, “so you’ll come?” cocking his head to the side, much like a tiny, manipulative little dog.

you huff, admitting defeat, “fine.. but only if steve says yes and there’s no guarantee he will,” flicking your eyes back over to ella, who is watching with a massive toothy grin.

it’s times like these that you’re grateful she doesn’t take after her dad.

-

of course steve says yes. useless prick.

“why don’t you wanna go?” his brows furrowed, sipping the overpriced coffee he’d suggested you go get.

“can you imagine me in la? me? really?”

he chuckles, “yeah.. yeah i can actually,” shaking his head. knowing steve, he’d probably been thinking about how he would fit right in there. if you ever did end up moving west, there’s no way in hell that you’d leave him here.

“shut up,” brushing him off, “what if nobody likes me?”

it had been a genuine worry of yours since before eddie had even asked. there’d surely be a thousand eyes on you seeing as you were now very publicly with him. you paled in comparison to his exes. models and singers alike. you were just some frumpy mom who no one had ever heard of.

why would they like you?

“stop it,” steve swats at you, “they’ll love you! i love you so they’ve got no reason not to!”

but you weren’t so sure.

-

so after weeks of fretting about clothes and deliberating over whether you should even go with steve, you jet off to lax.

you’d attempted to pay for your own ticket but eddie hadn’t accepted any of it. told you it was all taken care of and all you had to do was go. much to your disapproval.

there are a few fans at the airport, with no interest in you, obviously. they were so used to him at indianapolis airport now that the paps didn’t even bother.

eddie’s excited babbling about the party keeps you relaxed throughout the flight, focussing on his smile and not the fact that you were thirty thousand feet in the air.

everything starts to feel real when you land and are immediately ushered through the airport, bundled into a car and told to stay put until they got your luggage.

holy shit.

“there’s some dickheads out front.. it’s just so we don’t see them,” eddie soothes, taking your hand into his, resting on his thigh.

“is it always like this?” you ask, curious about this side of his life that you never saw. even more grateful that people in indiana mostly left you alone now.

“sometimes.. but they’re only doing this because of the album.”

you nod, sitting in quiet reflection as people come and go constantly. bustling around the car, muttering things to eddie as they do. it all just seemed so overwhelming, like there was never a moment alone.

eventually, your bags get stuffed into the car and you begin the journey to god knows where, all the while clinging onto eddie’s hand with a iron tight grip.

when you turn into a gated driveway, you sit up. peering out of the window at the glorious garden. his drive was bigger than your entire house, you couldn’t imagine having this much room at your disposal.

his house is big. actually, big is an incredible understatement. it’s breathtaking.

nicer than anything you’ve seen before. you couldn’t even begin to materialise how much he must have spent. you’re not sure you even want to know.

the ceilings loom ten feet tall, walls covered in tasteful but overpriced art. the sofa alone probably cost more than your entire house. christ, it’s the size of your living room as it is.

“jesus christ,” you breathe, still taking in the lavish house, gawping at the tacky statues and the glistening glass chandelier hanging above your head.

“nice, isn’t it?” he states, still wheeling your suitcases behind him, “obviously i didn’t decorate it myself.”

“you’re ridiculous,” you smile, marvelling the rather excessive house, “you don’t need all of this,” gesturing around the room.

“hey,” he pouts, ditching the suitcases to make his away over to you, “this house used to be very useful when..” trailing off as he realises just what he was going to say.

“when what? when you were a whore?” you bite, only half-joking.

“woah,” awkwardly laughing, unsure of whether you were joking or not, “when i had parties,” correcting your presumptions, “but i’m a boring man now.. thanks to you,” his arms snake around your waist, pulling you into his body.

your arms return the favour, tilting your chin to match his, “hmm is that right?”

his eyes are no longer on yours, gazing down at your lips with a twinkle of lust, “yup..”

“oh, well maybe i should just go..” but before you can finish, his hands are grabbing your ass, palming at the doughy flesh.

“uh uh,” pressing your heads together, pausing just before he connects your lips, “i’m never letting you leave now,” and with that, he finally kisses you.

skilfully walking you backward through the large foyer, still palming at your ass as he does so. you should’ve known that this was first on the agenda. there weren’t as many opportunities for the two of you to have sex at your house.

his lips hang from yours, leeching onto your bottom lip, palming at your sweater, eager to get it off. “i’ve thought about having you in every single room in this house..” he mumbles into your mouth, making your cheeks burn.

“every.. room?” you speak softly through kisses, bashful at his words.

“mmm,” he grumbles, hand slipping under the soft material of your sweater, brushing over the curve of your waist, “need you.. here,” walking your body back into the marble counter, your lips still barely connected, “in there,” gesturing back towards the grand living room, “everywhere,”

your thighs squeeze together in anticipation of it all. you were flying back home in a week, there was not a chance you’d get through the entirety of this massive house in that short time.

eddie growls into your mouth, hoisting your body onto the countertop in one swift movement, forcing his way between your legs. you can feel his cock already, pressed against your throbbing cunt.

his tongue slides into your mouth, moving against your own with hungry movements. you were too old for this kind of excitement, the ferocity was making your head spin.

his hands are quick, working your sweater off without much interruption, immediately finding your lips again. your hips cant, chasing the needed friction of his cock, eager to strip him from the rough denim.

“someone’s impatient,” a rough laugh echoes from his lips, but he’s obliging. unbuttoning your jeans before patting your thigh to move for him.

you do, letting his cold hands slide your jeans down your thighs, stuck around your ankles as he’s really not concerned with taking them off fully. you’re soaked already, can feel it when the fresh air hits your heat.

eddie’s focused now, his own pants pulled down around his knees, cock jumping in his boxers when your hand reaches out to touch his chest. you liked that. the fact that even now, you could control him with a simple touch.

“jesus baby,” he remarks, two fingers slipping between the crotch of your underwear, “you don’t know how much i’ve thought about this,” mouth hanging open as he works his way between your soaked folds and into your hole, eliciting a sharp gasp from your mouth.

he’s slow with it, curling his fingers at just the right spot, “oh god,” you whisper, one hand clinging to his forearm, the other holding onto the hard counter.

your eyes flutter shut, head rolling back, granting him access to your untouched neck. he immediately attacks the delicate skin, no doubt leaving his mark like some unruly teenager.

“need you now baby..” he grumbles, removing his hand from between your legs and nudging his boxers down just enough for his cock to spring up, already leaking with pre-cum.

“yeah.. yeah,” muttering into the room, heels attaching around his hips, urging him to speed things up.

his hair brushes against your neck as he gazes down between your bodies, staring in awe at the way they connected, almost losing all composure when his cock nestles between your folds and slides perfectly into your quivering cunt.

pretty pink lips parting to groan when he bottoms out, savouring the feeling for just a moment before his hips take over. his pelvis connects with the backs of your thighs, finding his rhythm, seeking whatever pace made you the loudest.

your quiet squeaks aren’t enough for him, after years of being quiet, you’re not used to having the freedom to be loud.

“c’mon sweetheart,” he pants, hand skirting around your hip, squeezing the flesh, “i wanna hear you,” slipping out of your cunt, refusing to give you what you want without something in return.

your eyes open to eddie, staring right back at you, devilish grin on his lips, “don’t be mean,” you pout, squeezing your legs to pull him forward, huffing in frustration when he keeps back.

his forehead presses against yours, glossy eyed as he gazes into your eyes, “this what you want?” he bites before sinking back in, profanities tumble out of his mouth.

a disgusting whine finds itself at your lips, filling the space between you, drawing his gaze to your wetted lips. “that’s it baby,” thrusts starting to gain speed, his tip bullying your walls.

you can’t help but get louder, keeping your eyes trained on his dilated pupils, moaning with each time his pubic bone brushes against your starved clit. knuckles turning white as you grip onto the counter, chanting his name like some sort of mantra.

“there she is,” he pants, slamming into you with such speed that makes you feel as if you’re flying. it’s filthy how much the wet, pornographic noises your bodies are making spurs you on. only wanting to get louder to match them.

eddie’s thumb meets your neglected clit, circling the bud in line with his thrusts. the pleasure is overwhelming, sending your head into the clouds and your stomach hurtling toward your long-awaited orgasm.

“eddie..” drawing out his name, letting it echo through the decadent kitchen, “fuck,” fingernails leaving behind half-moon markings on his forearm, unsupported by the ruthless motion of his thumb against your clit.

you’re struggling to even stay with it, gasping for breath as your walls tighten around him. sighing as he begins to falter, “you gonna cum princess? huh?” beads of sweat beginning to form on his nose, holding his own orgasm off to allow you yours first.

“yeah.. yeah,” you babble nonsensically, “oh fuck.. oh eddie,” thighs trembling around his hips as you topple over the edge, holding onto the counter for dear life as your orgasm takes over.

body going numb as the fuzzy feeling takes over, watching his lips mouth that’s it and baby’s over and over. trying not to topple over as his cock continues to nudge against your spongy walls, slowing as his own orgasm begins.

“cum in me,” you urge, completely besotted by your own desire for him, “please,” resorting to begging when his eyes squeeze shut, unable to hold himself off any longer.

he grunts, you coax him through it, ankles still resting at the small of his back, unrelenting with their grip as his cock spurts thick ropes of cum, painting your walls. “shit- baby.. i- you-,” he puffs, “what the fuck,” throwing his head back, his messy fringe sticking to his damp forehead.

“sorry..” you mumble, ashamed by the way you turn into a ravenous monster around eddie, wanting to give him your all and nothing else.

“jesus christ don’t apologise,” his hands clamp around your cheeks, pulling your face to his for one final kiss, mumbling a quick i love you before helping you from the counter.

eddie’s in his element here, not that he didn’t make himself at home in your home, but this was his domain.

there’s a strange twinge in your heart, a rogue voice that occasionally makes an appearance, something that made you question whether he was really happy with your little life or if it was just something he was accepting for the time being.

you bury it down, refusing to let it grow into anything more and follow him down the hall, listening to him complain about his back.

-

nothing could’ve prepared you for the party. it couldn’t have been further from how eddie had initially sold it to you.

it’s all bright lights and thousands of people. expensive dresses and unfamiliar faces fill the room, prodding and poking at eddie and subsequently you. wanting to know the ins and outs of everything.

fuck. you think. this is suffocating.

there’s no release, people are fucking everywhere.

even after you gulp down a glass of wine, people whizz around you, echoing fake niceties about your dress or your hair or whatever materialistic bullshit they were pretending to care about.

eddie is a natural of course. he’s been doing this for years. he always had the ability to carry a conversation, to make people listen to him. you weren’t so lucky.

he’s prattling on about some sick riff on the new album now, barely giving you chance to let him know you’re going to the bathroom.

hoping to seek some solace from these vultures. you so wished steve was here. he’d make everything feel better, tell you that it was okay and that these people don’t deserve your time.

but he’s not. he’s a thousand miles away, probably tucked up in bed with ella. somewhere you longed to be.

after a long ten minutes in the cubicle, uttering a chorus of positive affirmations to yourself, you push your way out, right into the crowd of very glamorous women all stood in front of the mirrors. reapplying their makeup or touching up their already stiff hair.

one of the older ladies takes notice of you lingering behind, turning to face you with a smug smile, “you’re eddie’s new thing, aren’t you?”

venom laced between her words, rolling effortlessly off of her sharp tongue. the other women all turn in tandem, all narrowed eyes and faux smiles.

“uh.. i’m his girlfriend,” shaking their glances off, focusing on the stream of running water on your hands and not the prickly feeling at the back of your throat.

“oh! girlfriend!” she titters, barging into one of the other, “usually they don’t make it that far.. what d’you have that the others didn’t?” her icy gaze runs the length of your body.

no doubt judging your dress, the way your mom body sat in the lavish fabric. you don’t blame her. you’d hated it from the moment you first looked in the mirror.

“we..” clearing your throat to avoid your voice cracking, “we used to date.. in high school,” you could feel yourself physically shrinking, reverting back into the same quiet girl you were in school.

“aw sweet,” there’s not even a hint of sincerity in her nasally tone, “well you know, we all thought gigi was gonna be the one,” the other women nod in agreement, “he was just different with her.. everyone thought he was going to propose.. never seen him like that since,” nodding like she’d won a contest you weren’t even competing in.

her words sting, and she knows it. in fact, she relishes it. even though you know she’s only doing it for some sort of reaction, you still let them in. your heart prangs in your chest; now stood frozen in front of the basin.

“you have a kid, don’t you?” she continues, clearly unhappy with your lack of reaction. wanting to stick her claws in just a little deeper.

you nod, biting down hard onto the inside of your cheek. trying to swallow the growing lump in the back of your throat.

her eyes wander down once again, “yeah i thought so.. eddie always said he didn’t want kids,” tutting her shiny white teeth, “i wouldn’t expect him to hang around long, he’s at the peak of his career darling.. no time for high school sweethearts and their kids.”

and that’s it. the final blow. slicing through your chest, churning your guts from the inside out. a stranger had affirmed every single fear and doubt you’d had. crumbling the facade you’d curated for this fucking party.

you don’t even give her the satisfaction of a reply, or perhaps you give her exactly what she wanted, storming out of the bathroom with a trembling bottom lip and watering eyes.

instead of going straight back to eddie, you find a quiet corner, facing the wall as you collect yourself the best you can. your throat hurts, the lump struggling to disappear, tears threatening to spill over as you attempt to remember how to breathe.

eddie is higher than you’ve ever seen him before, relishing in the moment. he’s completely different out here. talking to any and every one, turning the charm on the second someone walks his way.

“eds,” mumbling quietly, tugging on his arm to garner his attention.

you hated him a little for even convincing you to come. why couldn’t he have just sent pictures? no fuck that, why couldn’t he have just stayed here and never forced his way back into your life?

you don’t mean it. you love him.

“hmm?” not quite looking at you.

“i wanna go back.. i don’t feel good.”

this is where he turns, focusing his attention on you, brows furrowing immediately, “what? what’s wrong?”

now, you could tell him. let him know that his friends were assholes and you were either going to burst into tears or run out of this place screaming. but decide to leave it until you’re back at his, there was no use in causing drama on his night.

“i just..” you sigh, dipping your head low so no one else could hear, “i don’t feel good.. maybe i’m sick,” it wasn’t a lie as such. your stomach had been turning all night but you’d brushed it off as anxiety, eager to not ruin the party.

“well-,” he begins but stops, “d’you want me to come with you?” though you can tell he really doesn’t want to. you don’t blame him.

eddie’s always been an extrovert, begging for people to pay attention to him, even if it meant tussling with basketball players or anyone else that dared to question his character. he just wanted people to notice him.

“no no.. i just wanted to let you know,” chewing on your bottom lip, his face becoming increasingly more concerned with every word. you hope he hasn’t noticed your watery eyes, not in the mood to have to explain what had happened right here, right now.

“okay.. we can go, it’s okay,” eddie soothes, picking up that something wasn’t right.

this is what you’d tried to avoid, not wanting to selfishly snatch him away from his event, his friends and his album launch.

“no.. stay here, i’ll be fine, just need to.. rest,” brushing him off, as if you wouldn’t kill to just curl up in his big bed, talking away all of the harsh comments you’d heard.

his expression becomes incredibly soft, despite the crowd surrounding the two you trying to pry, “you sure? i don’t mind..” he frowns, “i’ll come back with you, I don’t want you on your own if you feel that shitty,” already looking past you trying to catch someone’s eye to tell them about the change in plans.

“no!” you push, rather quickly, “please don’t let me be the reason you miss this.. i promise i’ll be fine,” pulling away from his grasp, rushing out of the building with absolutely no plan to get back.

eddie strides along behind, grabbing onto your arm, forcing you to stop and face him, “hey.. stop, i’ll get rob to drive you,” guiding you through the see of people and out into the fresh air at long, long last.

it’s like you can finally breathe again. the stifling heat of a hundred bodies wasn’t helping your anxieties, relief washing over your body the second the november breeze hits your flushed face.

he leans into the same car you arrived in, muttering something to who you assume is rob, motioning for you to come over. you oblige, standing at his side as he repeats what’s happening to you though none of the words compute.

“i won’t be long, okay? a couple hours max and then i’ll be back,” pulling you in for an unreciprocated hug.

he bundles you in to the back of the car, nodding to rob to start the journey.

you’re thankful the conversation is non-existent, leaning your forehead against the window, drawing lines into the condensation on the glass.

you want to go home.

and not eddie’s house.. home.

three days had been more than enough for you to decide this life wasn’t for you.

wiping spaghetti off of ella’s smiley face was. gossiping with steve about people you went to high school with was. los angeles certainly wasn’t.

-

eddie stumbles into the bedroom some hours later, obviously tipsy with a vague stench of booze and people clinging onto his clothes. the smell turns your stomach, peering over your shoulder to see him sliding his suit jacket off, trying to be quiet but failing miserably.

"whoops sorry.. did i wake you?" he asks, slightly slurring his words.

"no, i wasn't asleep," you shift, turning to face him, preparing to break the news.

he slides into the gargantuan bed, running a hand over his face as he comfies himself, "you all okay now?" extending his hand to rest on your waist, smoothing his fingers over the thick duvet.

you exhale, peering up at him through the dimly lit room, "i think i'm gonna go home tomorrow," you’d stewed on it all night and decided it was what’s best.

“what?” his hand stops, sitting up to see you better.

“i’m going back to hawkins tomorrow.”

“why?” he exclaims, unable to comprehend why tonight had gone from a great night to you rushing off home.

“because i miss ella,” you’d umm���d and ahh’d about telling him what had gone down in the bathroom, ultimately deciding not to. he’d only reiterate some bullshit about it not being true and you shouldn’t worry, it wasn’t worth the effort.

“it’s three more days babe.. wha- i don’t understand, where’s this come from?” he’s breathing heavily, focussing on sobering up you suppose.

you sigh again, hesitant to tell him that his friends were assholes and had made you feel like shit. “i just.. i guess i don’t fit in here,” shrugging it off, minimising the niggling thoughts of insecurity that had planted themselves into your brain.

“what are you talking about?” eddie frowns, genuinely perplexed. “did something happen? what are you not telling me about?”

you shake your head, struggling to find the right words, “there was just..” trailing off into the void, “someone said something to me and i’m-,” biting down into your bottom lip, decidedly letting it all out, “i don’t want this life eddie, i never asked for this.. for people to try and pick my life apart! that wasn’t part of the deal!” becoming increasingly frustrated with your boyfriend.

how could he not get it?

“woah.. who said something? i can fix that,” his eyebrows knit together, you’re not sure if he’s angry or just confused. “if you don’t tell me, i can’t do anything.”

“what are you gonna do?” nostrils flaring at his inability to just understand, “what’s said was said.. and i want to go home eddie, that’s the end of it,” running a hand through your hair, still stiff with hairspray and whatever other gunk the stylist had shoved into it.

“jesus christ,” he huffs, sick of the conversation, of trying to get you to stay. “fine. i’ll get someone to change your flight in the morning, can you wait that long?” his snarky voice making an appearance. you hadn’t missed that.

“thank you,” you whisper, unable to get any louder for fear of the lump in your throat.

instead you turn over, squeezing your eyes shut, refusing to let the tears brim over. eddie wouldn’t have understood even if you could tell him, ella wasn’t his kid, those words wouldn’t hurt the same. sure, he’d be pissed and he’d more than likely get her fired but what use was that now?

she’d still uttered the words. still forced her poison into your brain, she’d already got what she wanted.

-

eddie barely musters up two sentences to you in the morning, speaking in hushed tones to the muffled voice on the other side of the phone.

everything’s fucked and it’s your fault. he knows it too.

“flight’s in four hours.. rob’ll take you to the airport at twelve,” he huffs, hanging the phone back on the wall with enough force to make the plastic rattle.

“thank you,” you call after him, watching as he disappears down the long hall. he had just trampled on your already throbbing heart, stomping on the organ as if it didn’t matter.

-

when rob arrives, eddie’s in a more optimistic mood, wheeling your suitcase out of his room with a sullen expression, attempting to sway your mind one last time. “i can always cancel this flight..” opening the large door for you, “you can stay if you want to.”

“eddie..”

and with that, he knows it’s not going to work. blinking rapidly, a deep sigh coming from his chest, “right, got it.”

his hand slams the car door shut, still lingering on the metal as you sit inside. you felt like a petulant child, being sent away because you dared to disobey the rules. it’s all so stupid.

and deep down, eddie knows that ultimately, this is all his fault. he’s the one that skipped town eight years ago, left you without so much as a note to explain himself. as he watches the car roll down the drive, he lets himself wonder what life would’ve been like if he didn’t leave, if you’d even still be together or if this had to happen to bring you two back together. the universe was cruel like that.

-

the airport is bustling, families dithering around trying to find their flights and busy men dashing from one place to the other.

there’s only one thing you need and that’s the bathroom. shoving yourself and your things into a cramped cubicle to do what you needed to do.

and maybe you were being silly, perhaps the stress of last night had got to your head and now you were jumping to crazy conclusions.

but you’d been here before. known the signs, the little things that most people would probably just brush off. so you’d made rob pull into a gas station on your way to the airport and bought a two pack of the cheapest tests you could find.

five minutes feel like five hours. refusing to even peek at the shitty piece of plastic until the time was up.

your heart is thudding, blood pumping around your ears so loudly that you’re sure the lady in the stall next to you could hear it.

hands shaking as you turn the test, two thin blue lines reveal themselves on the tiny screen.

the test clatters to the floor, your mouth falling open as your eyes fog. it wasn’t like you didn’t know, you just didn’t know.

and now you do, everything feels fragile. someone’s cough rings in your ears, the sterile bathroom felt a thousand times smaller than it did five minutes ago.

eddie always said he didn’t want kids.

her voice echoes around your head, just as snarky as it were the first time you heard it. you feel sick. the acidic liquid rises quick, forcing you to spin and stick your head into the porcelain bowl.

emptying your stomach until your throat stings, retching and coughing, trying not to start sobbing.

eddie always said he didn’t want kids.

you can’t tell him, not yet anyway.

fuck.

a thousand thoughts flood your mind. were you even still together? he was on this press tour for weeks now. you can’t tell him over the phone. maybe you had broken up and you wouldn’t ever have to let him now. he would just have an illegitimate child in his hometown that he’d never know about.

nothing felt right. the high you’d been riding from the first two days with him had quite violently come crashing back to earth.

the only thing you want to do is tell steve.

he probably wouldn’t know what to do nor would he be very much help, you just needed to know that everything was going to be okay.

-

it’s the first thing you say as you slide into steve’s bmw, blurting out the news like it wasn’t potentially life changing.

as expected, his jaw drops, blabbering about babies at a hundred miles an hour. excited and amazed all at the same time.

“- i haven’t told him yet,” you manage to spit out in the middle of his nonsensical ranting.

“what?”

“i didn’t even know until i got to the airport,” you sniff, staring at the drops of rain on his windscreen rather than his eyes. “he’s on this press tour for weeks now.. i can’t tell him over the phone.”

“well shit,” steve’s shoulder slump, empathising with your less than ideal situation, “you have to,” he blinks, focusing on the road ahead.

“steve.. i don’t think you understand,” swallowing the air, unsure if the car was the best place to tell him about your little argument. “shit happened, it’s not.. it’s not that easy.”

he frowns, tapping his thumb against the steering wheel as he drives, “well,” voice louder than expected, “we’ll think of something, trust me.”

your body relaxes for the first time in hours. if no one else had you, you know steve did.

-

there are paps fucking everywhere, littering the sidewalk as steve pulls into your drive, the bright lights already blinding you.

“what the fuck?” steve screeches, turning to face you in the driver's seat. They aren’t dumb, they know that if they step on your property, you are well within your rights to escort them off. so they hang back, inching towards the car but staying far enough away to not allow you to get them off.

“i don’t know.. i don’t know,” shaking your head, you were baffled how they had even found out you were home. you’d known they were scummy but christ, not this scummy.

“just get inside and I’ll bring your stuff in,” steve nods reassuringly, stepping out of the car ready to punch whoever got in his way.

you exhale, preparing for the onslaught of questions and pictures. the key poised in your hand to get you inside as quickly as humanly possible. word must have got out that your trip had ended abruptly, that or someone had seen you sulking around the airport like the sad sack you were.

your feet stumble along the asphalt, holding your hand to your face as to guard your eyes from the flashes. hundreds of questions echo in your ears, what happened between you and eddie munson? have you broken up? did he cheat again?

it’s god awful. gritty voices screaming across the lawn at you. steve has your suitcase rolling behind him, jaw clenched as he guides you to the door.

“you’re harassing a pregnant woman you fucking scumbags! go fuck yourselves!” he unleashes over his shoulder, flapping his arms about.

your mouth falls open, pulling him through the door and into your hall. the one thing you had not wanted him to let slip and he had just blurted it out to the crowd of hungry vultures.

it’d be the first thing on the front page tomorrow and yet you still hadn’t told eddie. at least now you didn’t have to.

he knows he wasn’t supposed to say it too, hand slapped across his mouth, inundated with shock and regret. “i’m so sorry, i’m so fucking sorry,” he rushes, eyes like saucers as his arms wrap around your shoulders, “i’m an idiot.. fuck! i’m sorry,” you cheek smushed against his chest.

the familiar feeling opens the floodgates, tears stream down your cheeks, wetting his t-shirt as your shoulders shake. wailing hysterically into his beating chest. he wasn’t quite expecting this, more so a few hours of the silent treatment.

“oh no.. i’m sorry, i really didn’t mean to,” steve whispers into the air, his chin coming to rest atop of your head, squeezing your fragile frame in his arms.

“it’s not-,” rudely interrupted by a rogue hiccup, “shit.. it’s not you-,” hiccup, “oh my god,” you exclaim, tears turning into laughter at an unprecedented rate.

steve loosens his grip, confused as all hell at the mess you’d become against him. “jesus christ, are you okay?” holding your shoulders at arms length to examine the snotty, hiccupy mess in front of him.

“no,” you laugh, completely hysterical.

he guides you to the couch, making your movements for you, plonking down on the cushions in a flurry of emotion.

there you tell him everything. the party, the bitch with the sharp jawline in the bathroom and her nasty words, the aftermath and then all about your panic attack in a tiny lax bathroom.

it’s cathartic, knowing he won’t judge or diminish the way you feel. steve just listens, his hand rubbing small strokes on your knee every time you got to a juicy part.

how the hell were you ever going to tell eddie now?

-

there’s a knock at your door, mindlessly going to answer it without thinking much of the mad crowd of people that were out there just a few days ago. steve had gratefully been staying with you, helping with ella while also trying to hatch a plan to tell eddie without ruining everything.

it only occurs to you that it very well could be another nosy reporter as the door is already unlocked and slightly ajar.

you peep around the tiny crack, prepared to be bombarded with a bunch of questions and bright lights.

there’s none of that.

only the pitying image of one eddie munson stood on your doorstep with his shoulders slumped, black ray-ban’s hanging from his shirt and an inconceivable look upon his face.

“what the fuck?” he utters, barely audible. he looks exhausted, dark rings around his eyes with the body language to match. his hair in dark matter tangles hung around his face.

your mouth opens but the words fail to materialise, utterly speechless. there’s nothing you could possibly say now that would lessen the blow. and bless his soul, steve had fucked it.

no.

you had fucked it by running off back home without telling him the seemingly very important news.

“were you ever gonna tell me?” eyebrows screwed together, eyes glossy with what looked like tears.

“i.. i- yes, i was.. i didn’t.. i didn’t know,” pleading with him with your eyes, hoping they could tell him exactly what your words couldn’t. your lip trembles, as much as this had played on your mind since steve had let slip, the two of you still hadn’t come up with an acceptable explanation.

deep down you know really why you still hadn’t called him. you were scared, terrified even, that he’d laugh at you. tell you to fuck off, or get rid of it and to never contact him again. that wouldn’t surprise anyone, he was at the top of his career and definitely wouldn’t want to jack that in for his boring high school ex-girlfriend.

that’s what you’d told yourself anyway.

“when? when it was born?” his words are sharp, reaffirming every single fear you had conjured up in your brain.

you inhale sharply, the lump making it up and out of your throat before you had the chance to swallow it down. tears spill down your warm cheeks, the most ghastly cry coming from your mouth.

you must look utterly pathetic as eddie’s face softens almost immediately, springing from your doorstep and over the threshold to caress your cheek, mopping the tears with his thumb. “sorry.. i’m sorry fuck- i just wish you’d told me,” leaning forward to keep his eyes solidly on yours, any anger had dissipated from his face.

“i was scared, i’m sorry.. I didn’t know what to do,” burying your face into his shoulder, already wetting the shirt with your tears. shoulders shaking as you sob. “i swear.. i didn’t know until i got to the airport, i really- i just needed a few days..” howling into his steady shoulder.

he walks the both of you inside into your hallway, pushing the door shut before his other hand tangled into your hair, soothing out the wild strands. “i know.. it’s okay,” reassuring you even though you really didn’t deserve it.

“and that lady.. i don’t know, she got into my head,” sniffling, appreciating the familiarity of his cologne and the faint smell of cigarettes he always seemed to have.

his body stiffens, pulling your body from the safety of his, “what lady? is this about the party? fuck sake man, no one would tell me anything,” he’s serious now, frustration overcoming his features once more, although this time they weren’t directed towards you.

you sigh, using your palm to wipe your stinging cheeks, “it doesn’t matter.. and it’s fine, you know? i get it.. why someone like you wouldn’t want kids. i’ve come to terms with it,” nodding through your lines, despite the fact that you couldn’t have believed them less.

“what? what the hell are you talking about?” flabbergasted that you’d even suggest that.

your face falls, once stoic and ready to face being a single mom again. “that lady.. she said..” shaking your head, “you didn’t want kids,” bottom lip quivering, tears threatening to spill over again.

“oh my god,” it clicks for him, and you wish it would for you too. “that’s.. fuck- i did say that but it was a long time ago now,” his fingers dig into your arms, ensuring that he really hammers his point home, “of course i do.. shit sweetheart, of course i do,” the flecks of caramel in his eyes shine through ten-fold when he’s staring at you, glossed over with the remnants of his tears.

your mouth opens, moving though nothing comes out, hopeless as the words fail to form.

“you’re an idiot,” eddie laughs lovingly, pulling you back towards him, encasing your face in his rough palms, the cold of his rings soothes your tear laden cheeks. “why didn’t you tell me? or just ask me?”

you giggle a bit, shrugging your shoulders, “i don’t know.. i didn’t think,” nothing made sense and yet, you felt better than you had in weeks.

eddie’s here, in front of you, happy, grinning from ear to ear as he remembers why he’s even stood in your dark corridor, “baby.. we’re having a baby,” squishing your cheeks between his hands.

his joy is palpable, brushing off on you despite your leaking eyes. he still looks at you like that, even though you’d scarped off, even after you had let the world know you were pregnant before him. it was like the stars shon in your eyes, as if the very key to living was buried somewhere within your soul and he just had to be the first to grasp it.

your heart is bursting, a weeks worth of sleepless nights and fretting over destroying your relationship had come to this. to holding each other in the dim light, both terrified for what was to come.