#damn this self indulgent shit...PART TWO | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kentuckywrites · 5 months

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The End of All Things - REWRITE

On July 6th, 2018, I succumbed to some self indulgence. Six years later, let's do it again. Featuring @deltheor 's Sydney ~

Pongo knew.

The official BLADE report never made it into the public eye, but he knew Elma, and Elma knew everything, so he got the information out of her. While Pongo had been out on a forced vacation, Sydney had Brainjacked seventy percent of NLA’s population and had taken them to Cauldros, where he’d set himself up in a Ganglion fortress to play the role of false king. Elma showed him the witness reports, people recounting being controlled, people recounting their efforts to stop him. An elite team of Brainjack users were able to take him down, in the end, but even that almost hadn’t been enough.

The rumors spread like a disease throughout NLA. He still walks among us, Pongo once heard. He’s been stripped of his rank, so hopefully he won’t be allowed anywhere near a knife again. I saw him in the residential district once - do you think he’s planning how to do it again?

It hurt. The rumors had nothing to do with Pongo, yet he still felt their sting. He could only imagine how deeply it was affecting Sydney.

In the end, the rumors and the official reports combined were enough for Pongo to make a decision.

He pulled out his comm device and called Sydney just after noon. Someone had given Pongo his number a long time ago, long enough that Pongo couldn’t quite remember who it was. Sydney didn’t respond. Frantic, Pongo kept dialing and calling, dialing and calling, dialing and calling, come on Sydney why won’t you pick up -

“The fuck do you want?!”

And suddenly, everything Pongo had planned to say vanished into thin air. Gods above, Sydney’s anger was something to behold. Pongo knew he had to be quick, or Sydney would hang up.

“H-Hi, Sydney,” Pongo started. “We, um…we need to talk.”

“We’re talking right now, dipshit.”

Damn it. Damn him. Pongo released a shaky breath, trying to keep himself composed. “I meant in person. This is not something I can talk to you about over the comm device.”

“I’m busy. You should spit it out and stop wasting my time -”

“Not over the comm device.”

Pongo hadn’t meant for his tone to get so strained, so forceful. Sydney didn’t respond immediately, and he almost wondered if the (former?) Interceptor had hung up after that little outburst. However, after a moment of silence, he got a response.

“Alright, fine. When would you like to plan our little date?”

Pongo swallowed hard. No, Pongo, it is not a date. Do not get your hopes up. He shook his head, then responded, “Well, um…do you know of that elevator by the West Gate? The one that leads to the very top of the walls of NLA?”

The location held many good memories for Pongo; that was the same elevator he’d taken down to the Industrial District, the very first time he’d stepped foot into the city. Back then, he had no idea who he was, or who he was meant to be. In recent months Pongo found himself revisiting the location, if only to reminisce on the past. Others had called this insight into himself and the hearts of others a blessing, and perhaps he could use this talent to…well. To see Sydney.

“I know the place,” Sydney said, again knocking Pongo out of his stray thoughts.

“Would you be able to meet me there tonight? Maybe around eight?” Pongo asked.

“Sure, I guess. See ya then.”

“Right,” Pongo said, but the dial tone hit his ears before he had gotten his full response out. With a sigh, his hand lowered, and pressure built behind his eyes. Shoving his comm device in his back pocket, he looked to the horizon. The sun was high above him, a promise that the day was still young. It would be a painful wait until the appointed hour arrived.

Pongo found himself waiting at the bottom of the elevator fifteen minutes before eight. This corner of the city was quieter than he expected, but then again, this was the Industrial District. Outfitters, arms manufacturers, and construction workers hurried about the district in a mad frenzy. The chaos usually calmed his nerves; he felt at home in the hustle and bustle, the high energy that came with BLADE’s intellectual conquests. Yet tonight, as he’d been walking towards the meeting point, Pongo had briefly considered getting a drink at the Repenta Diner. Frye had once told him that spiking a coffee wasn’t out of the ordinary, and Pongo had seen first-hand how alcohol soothed aching hearts.

This was something he needed to be sober for, though, so in the end, Pongo had gotten a water from the diner. He’d nursed it in his hands and had taken two sips before discarding the cup. He wish he’d kept it now, as he had nothing to do with his hands aside from wringing them together. Sweat built beneath his palms, the friction of his gloves providing some level of distraction from his own thoughts. Funny, how he allowed himself to feel this. Funny, how it didn’t serve to distract him from the truth.

“Pongo? Helloooo? Anybody home in there?”

Pongo blinked a few times, and when he regained focus, he saw Sydney standing right in front of him. How long had he been standing there?! Gods above, Pongo was out of it, huh? He could even smell Sydney’s cologne - it was one of his favorites. Jasmin, saffron, cedarwood. An expensive blend. Pongo stepped back, his heart fluttering under his chest.

He did not wear this for you. Stop it.

“H-Hi,” Pongo stammered, “sorry about that, I just…”

“Lost in your own head?” Sydney guessed, raising one of his pierced eyebrows in annoyance. “Happens, I guess.”

“Right. Yeah,” Pongo grinned sheepishly, finally making eye contact with Sydney. What was the human saying again, something about eyes being windows to the soul? If that was the case, Pongo could see through Sydney, and in that brief moment, he saw the truth. Sydney was happy to see him.

That made Pongo want to cry.

“So what’s so important that you couldn’t tell me through comms, huh?” Sydney asked. “You’re an old-fashioned fucker if you prefer talking to people in person.”

“Then call me old-fashioned, I suppose,” Pongo laughed nervously, “I, um…I think this is going to be too important for comm messages, is all.”

“Guess I’ll be the judge of that,” he huffed, “so get on with it. I don’t have all night.”

Right, he said he was busy. Pongo needed to get to the point. But at the same time, BLADEs were flying past them both, some casting looks over their shoulders. Damn it, he should’ve thought about how busy it’d be here.

“We should find somewhere quieter,” he suggested, expecting some form of backlash.

To his surprise, however, Sydney shrugged. “Whatever floats your yacht.”

“I do not own a yacht.”

“...I’ll rent you one of mine, sometime. Maybe I’ll throw in a one percent discount on the rental fee, too.”

Pongo’s eyes started to sting as he held back tears. The offer sounded so genuine, so real. Do not get your hopes up.

“I would like that,” he said softly, feeling his heart begin to rip itself apart. He turned away from Sydney before he could say anything else.

Pongo stepped onto the elevator platform, using the controls to send it to the top floor after Sydney had embarked. It was a long way to the top, so once the elevator fence came up and they began to ascend, Pongo found himself sneaking a glance at Sydney. He was facing away, observing the city below. It was an array of colors and lights under the darkened sky, replacements for the stars that didn’t shine that night. Sydney’s head turned slightly, and Pongo could see those same lights reflected in his eyes. What a vibrant red they were, the color of power and blood and undying strength.

Red, the color of love.

The first tear fell. Pongo wiped it away with the back of his glove, wincing when he pulled his arm back. He’d done it too rough, and now his cheek hurt. Not enough to leave a bruise, but enough to leave a memory.

The elevator came to a stop at the top floor. Pongo stepped out once the railings came down without acknowledging Sydney. He came to rest his arms on the fencing along the platform, staring down at NLA. This was where Elma had taken him when he’d first entered the city, when Pongo was unsure about who and what he was. There was a kind of poetic satisfaction in returning here, a satisfaction in knowing that he had found himself.

Though…had he?

No. Pongo wasn’t here to throw himself a pity party. Just push the feelings down, as you always have and always will.

“So…” Sydney said, leaning back on the railing to Pongo’s right, “what do you want?”

Pongo didn’t realize he was holding his breath until he let it go in a shaky exhale. Maybe he could save himself. Maybe he could find a silly excuse and have Sydney get mad at him for wasting his time. Maybe he could find another way to get the answers he needed.

But he couldn’t do any of that in good conscience. He had to face this - and so did Sydney.

“Elma gave me access to the BLADE reports,” he finally said. “They, um…you Brainjacked over seventy percent of the population.”

Silence. Pongo didn’t have the strength to look up at Sydney, to gauge his reaction through his facial expressions. Yet the air shifted, a tension that was nearly unbearable. Pongo opened his mouth, too uncomfortable to remain quiet, but Sydney beat him to the punch.

“Yeah. Yeah, I did.”

A confession. Pongo gazed upwards at that, finding that Sydney had turned around to assume the same position as him. He was staring out at the city lights, his brow furrowed. From the profile, he looked…

He looked sad.

That was what Pongo had been searching for. That was the answer he needed.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” Sydney spat out in response.

“Sydney -”

“I’m fine,” he repeated, sharper this time, “why do you even care?”

Because I care about you.

He couldn’t say that. He shouldn’t.

“Because Elma also told me you suffered some kind of amnesia afterwards,” Pongo answered, “that you did not remember most of the time in Cauldros. It just…from everything I heard, I do not think that the one who Brainjacked everyone was truly you.”

“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?” Sydney’s voice rose, “Of course it was me!”

“No, no, Sydney, listen to me, that was not you -”

“SHUT UP!!”

Pongo flinched back at Sydney’s order. Sydney’s eyes were glazed over, tears trailing down his cheeks. He hunched over to hide his face, an ugly sob emanating from the back of his throat. It took every bit of willpower to resist rushing forward, to resist wrapping him up in a hug, to resist telling him that everything would be alright.

I will not be able to let go if I hold him now.

“I don’t even know why you wanted to see me,” Sydney nearly shouted as he straightened his spine, spinning around to finally face him. “You know what I did. The entire fucking city knows what I did, but I don’t even fucking remember what happened. What, did you wanna point and laugh at the asshole who ruined lives for shits and giggles?!”

“It was not you,” Pongo pleaded, unable to hold back his own tears.

“Then who the fuck do you think I am, huh?! Who are you to tell me who I am and what I’m capable of?! I’m a fucking monster -”

“You are not a monster!!” Pongo cried, “You are not the same person as the one who Brainjacked the city!!”

“Oooh, so that was a fucking clone who did that, then?!” Sydney retorted, “Answer the fucking question, asshole - who am I?!”

Pongo swallowed hard, forcing himself to stare into Sydney’s eyes. His makeup was starting to smear, a black tar staining his cheeks. As Pongo spoke, his voice rose, gaining more and more strength.

“You act vain and narcissistic and you hardly care about anyone other than yourself. You buy things because you think it makes you happy, but you are never happy, because you think you are undeserving of everything you have been given. You act as though you only care about yourself because you do not want anyone showing you the slightest hint of compassion, and it is because you are terrified, Sydney, you are terrified of being loved because you think you do not deserve it, but damn it Sydney you do!!”

“I don’t deserve shit,” Sydney faltered, but now Pongo was shouting, now he felt too deeply.

“YES YOU DO!! Are you living?! Breathing?! Then you deserve someone who loves you, someone who will be there for you through thick and thin, someone who sees past all of your flaws and sees you for your heart!! Fucking hell, Sydney, I lo-”

He caught himself.

“I know you deserve to be loved because I know you are a good person deep down!! Everyone deserves to be loved no matter how many times they have fucked up, and I will not sit back and watch you believe you are undeserving, because YOU ARE!!”

Pongo’s voice was cracking, a mirror to his heart. His breaths deep and painful, he stepped back, hitting the rail. The metal provided a cool sensation against his hands, welcome in the heated moment. Sydney looked shellshocked, eyes wide and unblinking. Pongo had never seen this expression before, and despite his fury, the sight made him near-nauseous. He had to close his eyes, a gentle breeze finally coming to soothe him, caressing the hair sticking to his face.

“The fact of the matter is that you have changed,” Pongo quietly said, controlling how his voice shook. “You put on the same act as before, but deep down…I see you, Sydney. I do.”

Silence, eternal. Pongo sighed. He couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t keep doing this. Getting attached, getting his heart broken when there was nothing left to break.

“I am sorry if you had somewhere else to be,” he apologized, “I got my answer. I will leave you alone, if that is what you want.”

Pongo let go of the railing, straightening his spine and turning back towards the elevator. The silence remained deafening, and his thoughts raced to devour it whole. His own voice echoed in his ears, remnants of his anger, reflections of his soul. The anger was not towards Sydney, he concluded quickly, but rather towards himself. How could Pongo have been so stupid, to get this close to Sydney? The happy-go-lucky Interceptor with a heart of gold, with friends in every corner of the city and beyond, a man who dreamed and hoped and wished for more. That was selfish. That was greedy. That was wrong. He wasn’t allowed to wish for a deeper connection because he was destined to love and never be loved in return. That was his punishment, his sentence, his -

A hand, quickly grasping his. Metal under his skin. A whisper, a plea in the dark.

“Don’t go.”

Pongo wasn’t strong enough to keep his gaze fixed forward. He looked to Sydney, to the quivering form that had stopped him from leaving. He was a shell - or perhaps, this was the original Sydney, the one who was showing his true colors after years and years of hiding in plain sight. And his true colors were beautiful in every sense, vibrant red and gold and white. His palm pressed in Pongo’s own was a dream, a hope, a wish come true.

Pongo looked down at their intertwined hands. He couldn’t. He couldn’t.

And yet…

Could he allow himself to be selfish, just this once?

He didn’t give himself enough time to answer that question. Pongo brought Sydney closer, wrapping his other hand around the back of Sydney’s neck, pulling him in, in, in - and their foreheads touched, skin upon skin. Pongo forced himself to keep the space between their mouths, though he cherished the small contact made between their noses. Do not get closer, he told himself, his last shred of control.

But the little voice in the back of his mind, once smothered, echoed out. You are allowed to want this.

His resolve finally shattered.

“Okay,” Pongo breathed. “I am here.”

And he sealed the distance between their lips.

Sydney was wearing lipstick, Pongo discovered, and he wondered if this sudden kiss would smudge it. It would certainly appear on Pongo’s mouth, and he battled with whether or not that was a point of excitement or defeat. He tilted his head ever so slightly, adjusting so he didn’t aggravate Sydney’s piercings. Sydney’s cologne overwhelmed him, that same mix of jasmin, saffron, cedarwood. Pongo could drink deep of it and never be satisfied.

But he pulled away, eventually - after he realized that Sydney was not reciprocating the kiss. Pongo didn’t meet Sydney’s gaze, everything crashing down on him all at once. He had to say something. He had to come up with an excuse. This is the end of everything. You never deserved to get this close, and now you have to pay for it.

“I am so sorry,” Pongo whispered, “I should have…I should have asked first. I know this would not work, but I just...”

He wiped his tears from his face, turning away. His heart had skipped several beats, and he wasn’t sure why the air suddenly felt so heavy, so constricting. He deserved it, still. He deserved to get smothered in the pain. Friend of the world, closest to none. How could someone like him ever hope for more?

The elevator was enticing, too enticing. But he told Sydney he was here, that he’d stay. The honor took hold of him, so his feet refused to move. Better for him anyways - he had to be here for the fallout, both self-inflicted and external. Gods, he should’ve left when he had the chance. He should’ve ripped his hand out of Sydney’s and spared them both the pain. How deeply, horribly selfish indeed. A hypocrite, a fool, and above all else -

Sydney’s hands found their way to Pongo’s cheeks and pulled him back in.

There they were, kissing under the moonlit sky. It took Pongo only a moment to recover from the initial shock, and then he crumbled, his defenses completely destroyed. One of Sydney’s hands shifted backwards, entangling in Pongo’s hair, and the other fell down to cup the space between his neck and shoulder. Pongo’s arms, out of desperation, wrapped themselves around Sydney’s hips to draw him in closer. He thought this would ground him, but instead he found his thoughts floating in a pastel haze.

Sydney was the first to pull away. Chasing the high, Pongo nearly followed his lips, but as they caught their breath, Pongo couldn’t hold back his relief. He laughed, soft and warm, keeping his hands around Sydney’s waist. Hells, he’d been right before - he couldn’t let go, now that he’d taken hold. He didn’t even realize he was crying until Sydney’s thumb came to trace the skin under his eye, wiping away a wet streak of newborn tears.

“I don’t know what this means,” Sydney whispered. “For you, for me…I don’t know what any of this means.”

“It does not have to mean anything if you do not want it to,” Pongo replied, his smile weak but honest.

“But I want this to mean something. You deserve that.”

“You deserve it, too. You always have.”

Sydney swallowed hard. “I…I don’t know if I believe you, yet. But I want to. Damn, do I want to.”

Pongo didn’t respond, but his smile strengthened. He knew Sydney believed that, and he’d do everything he could to prove him right. That he was deserving. That he was loved, loved so much that it hurt.

And maybe…maybe Pongo could believe that for himself, too. That he deserved the same.

They stared out into the city after that, hand in hand. The silence became their friend.

#xenoblade x #The End of All Things REWRITE: Short Story #sydney #yea. yeah #i dont really know what to put here tbh #damn this self indulgent shit...PART TWO #also if you saw this accidentally posted to my main acc #no you didnt! i fought tumbles and won!!

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sp0o0kylights · 2 months

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Wayne takes in a Beat to Shit Steve Harrington after Starcourt as n Owed Favor to Hopper Part 4

Part Three: link

First Chapter (parts 1-3 on tumblr) on A03: Link

The kid was madder than a wet hen.

Just as slippery as one too, when he got like this--music pulsing like a living thing to signal all his rage and upset.

Not like Wayne hadn’t expected it.

He just wished it wasn’t quite so damn loud.

The music had started up almost immediately after Eddie had stormed to his room, startling Steve awake and nearly making Wayne curse for it.

Normally it was a good thing--music meant Eds was willing to listen instead of heading for the hills.

Normally, they didn't have a house guest who looked like he'd gone ten rounds with a bear.

They had a routine for this, was the thing and the music was a key part of it. It worked all the edges off for Wayne, and he'd long figured out that about thirty minutes was a the perfect length of time for Eddie to stew before he could actually talk things through.

Given the hand Harrington put to his forehead, Wayne wasn't eager to give him that thirty minutes.

Not when Steve deserved little peace he could have.

Unfortunately, so did Eds.

Still.

Strutting through the door and demanding to talk right now was a bad move and so, with a sympathetic look given to Steve, Wayne did what he did best

Gave space.

Let Eddie rage, as Wayne got up and shuffled about the kitchen.

Pulled out the soft earplugs he pretended weren’t there for Eds to steal (playing that damn loud guitar all the time could not be good for his ears) and offered them to Steve, before making two cups of what Wayne privately thought was the Munson “chitchat” drink.

One cup of hot water, one packet swiss miss, a small amount of maple syrup drizzled in, topped with little marshmallows they reserved for these types of situations.

Wayne took his time with it, thinking through what he wanted to say.

‘I understand that this is a screen door on a submarine kind of situation...’

Nope.

‘Son I know you hate listening to anyone for anything but this is serious...’

Absolutely not--that would end up with the boy bolting for sure.

‘Ed’s, I love you but could we please turn Ozzy off while we talk? That man wails louder than any damn cat I have ever met.’

That one was purely self indulgent, mostly because the wall was starting to shake.

Wayne put the finishing touches on the cocoa before staring at both of them.

Perhaps if he stared the Garfield mug in its eyes hard enough, the right words would come through.

They did not.

He kept trying, standing there long enough for the cocoa to reasonably have cooled and for Eddie’s song to flip over to something with more screaming in it than singing.

Wayne supposed that this was the hardest part of being a parent. You just didn’t get to have the magical one liner. The right thing to say at just the right time.

The joke that would ease all the tension and let things progress forward nice and easy.

Instead, you got to fumble your way through the dark with a flashlight up your ass and hope you were going in the right-ish direction. Ideally without making things worse.

Wayne was here though, and that had to count for something.

(Knew it counted for something--because Eddie was still here.

They had cleared hurdles far higher than this when it came to trust. They’d get through this too, come what may.

Steve too.)

“Can I just ask,” Eddie started, aggressive as always when Wayne finally gave in and entered his room, feeling all sorts of awful for the migraine Steve had to have, “what the absolute fuck is happening?”

Sure as fire he was sitting on his bed, leg bouncing a mile a minute.

An unlit cigarette hung between two fingers, looking a little chewed on, but otherwise undisturbed--as it should be, because one of Wayne’s few rules was that smoke stayed outside the house.

“You could.” Wayne said loudly but agreeably, as he turned himself around and dropped down next to his kid.

Held out the Garfield mug, and was happy when it was taken from him.

“Figured you might have other things to say, though.”

Likely a lot of things.

It was as good an opening as any, and his kid didn’t disappoint, launching right to it.

“Why is he here and not at a hospital?”

‘Here’ was punctuated by Ed’s hand winging towards the door, and while it wasn’t the righteous fury Wayne expected, it was at least, an easy answer to give.

“Steve has some people looking for him. Bad people. Hospital makes him an easy target.”

Wayne was still talking loud. Could only hear Eddie himself because he was looking at the kid’s lips more than he was actually hearing his voice.

Eddie took that in, swallowing it about as well as he’d swallowed anything he hadn’t liked.

And thank the stars above, he finally reached a hand out and turned the music down. Not a lot--Steve wouldn’t be able to hear them over all this--but enough that Wayne didn’t have to struggle.

“We’re hiding him from the cops now?!” Ed’s spat.

“Cops know he’s here. Hopper’s the one who asked me to take him.” Wayne reminded him, because it was the truth.

Not the full truth, but given how Ed’s pissed off half the local PD on a good day, Wayne absolutely did not want to see his nephew take on Federal Agents.

(Particularly not the kind who were going ‘round killing kids.)

“So--what?” Eddie yanked hard on his hair, a gesture that looked less intentional and more like he was trying to fight his own anger down. “Hopper just called you up and said ‘Hey, we had a whoopsie with the rich kid, the hospital’s not safe anymore. Can we stash him with you for a few days?”

Wayne nodded once, slow-like.

Always remembered how too fast movements had made Eddie flinch and jerk back when was littler, and given the way Steve was looking, figured it was a good time to be cautious again.

“He did.”

“And you just--agreed? Just like that!?”

“I did.”

He pretended not to see Eddie boggle at him at the simple admission, so furious that he seemed to struggle for words when he normally had too many to say.

Wayne took advantage.

“We did talk a bit more than that, I’ll admit.”

Ed’s scoffed. “About the weather I’m sure.”

“‘Bout trust.”

Eddie blinked at that.

“Trust.” He echoed flatly.

“What have I always told you? People like to ask you to trust them, but you they don’t get to have it until--”

“They provide proof or a reason.” Eddie finished with an eyeroll. “So which did Hopper provide then?”

Wayne took a noisy sip of his coca. Smacked his lips a little before saying: “Both.”

Didn’t bother to say anything else, because he knew Eddie would finish the thought for him.

“One of them was me, wasn’t it.”

Eds didn’t say it like a question, but Wayne hummed in agreement anyway.

He wasn’t gonna shame his boy, but he wasn’t gonna sugar coat Eddie’s involvement in this either. Not when he’d already admitted that was half the reason Hopper had gone to Wayne to begin with.

“No one is expecting Steve to be here.” He said, seeing the chance to hammer home the most important part of this entire shitshow. “So long as no one finds out he’s here, he’ll be safe. Everyone will be safe.”

Steve from the Feds who were hunting him for while he was busy being involved in shit he couldn’t control and Eddie because he had a mouth that most people didn’t like.

Not small town people anyway, and absolutely not authority figures with guns.

“Who’s even after him?” Eddie was theatrical as always, hands waving away as he talked. “Did he make a deal with the mob? Piss off some other rich guy? I know it’s not anything drug related, I’d have heard about it by now.”

After years of experience, Wayne knew exactly how far to lean away to stay out of range, too used to his nephew talking with his entire body.

“That’s his story to tell ya, Ed’s. It ain’t mine. Same way it ain’t my place to tell him your story.”

That at least got the boy to think for a minute. Put down that frustration he carried with him all the time, and use the brain they both knew he had.

“How long is he staying here?”

Wayne shrugged. “Don’t know.”

Eddie sighed and mockingly mimicked Wayne, taking an obnoxious slurp of his cocoa. “The neighbors are going to notice if he’s here more than a few days. The trailer park isn’t exactly big.”

“They didn’t notice that time you decided to make fireballs with the cooking spray and about blew up half the driveway. Don’t think they’re gonna notice someone being quiet in the house.”

Eddie snorted, and probably rolled his eyes again, not that Wayne could see it given the kid was looking into his own mug as he thought it all through.

Wayne sat with him as he processed.

Eds worked at his own pace with things, and while life at large might be against that, Wayne was happy to let him do it. Found it easier that way, then trying to poke and prod and force him like so many father figures did.

Wayne’s patience was rewarded not even a full minute later, when Eddie turned to him and asked;

“What if he finds out?”

This in a quieter voice. An unsure one--words and body hunching in a way unlike the Eddie the world outside knew, but very much like the little boy Wayne had brought inside his home.

It took Wayne a moment to connect the dots--he’d been speaking out of the place parents and authority figures often do, and in doing so hadn’t thought much of the fact his nephew had a real secret.

The kind small town minds didn’t like--and would kill him over.

This all wasn’t about Wayne taking in Steve, he realized abruptly. It was that Steve being here meant Eddie couldn’t be himself.

Could not relax in a place he was accepted for who he was, because Wayne knew and made sure Eddie understood he was wanted here, had a place here, regardless of who he loved.

Now, Wayne had gone and removed it.

‘Shit.’

“He won’t.” Wayne said.

Knew that wasn’t enough, and so, promised: “But if he does, I’ll make sure he understands his safety here relies on your own.”

Ed’s chin jerked in a nod, the two of them sitting in silence for a moment before the boy did as he often did when he wanted a hug but felt too awkward to ask for one, and tipped himself into Wayne’s side.

“Thanks old man.” Eddie whispered into his shoulder and not for the first time, Wayne wished things were easier for the poor kid as he put his mug in one hand and hugged his kid with the other.

Hoped that in the future, it would be.

Even if he had to force everyone and everything coming after him--and now Steve--to do it.

(Wondered vaguely, how bad it was that he was already getting as protective as Steve as he was of his own kid.

Probably very, given his kid clearly hated Harrington.)

xXx

Wayne took the first night of Steve’s stay off.

He wasn’t the type to use his PTO lightly. Was used to rationing it for any possible thing Eddie might need him for.

A night up sick when he was younger, to a night spent chasing him down during some of their bad spots--but the last year or so Wayne had slowly realized he hadn’t had to use it much.

He was still careful with it though, precious as it was, and was thankful for it now as it ensured his nephew didn’t murder their house guest.

Or at the very least, didn't sit there pecking at him.

The kid might've failed English a few times, but he had a real gift with words and an even better one with insults.

(Wayne wasn't quite clear on what all the "King" jabs were about, and absolutely did not get why Steve looked far more hurt at the comment about his "sad ass floppy hair" but given the increasingly flat look Steve was throwing Eddie's way, Wayne figured it couldn't be anything good.)

Thankfully a pointed reminder about Steve's injuries had finally gotten them all some peace, enough for Harrington to drop back to sleep--and for Wayne to realize he looked a little too dead while he did it to be comfortable getting any sleep himself.

The kids chest barely moved, and that it ate at Wayne’s until he got up and shoved a hand under his nose.

Felt his breath, and told himself the poor sod was fine.

Hurt, absolutely, but alive.

Over and over again, until the sun had made its rotation in the sky, bringing the morning with it.

‘Better than nightmares, I suppose.’ Wayne figured, as exhaustion scraped at his eyelids.

Those Wayne knew, would come later. When Steve’s brain caught up to the rest of him, and stopping dumping survival chemicals through his battered body.

He'd given up on sleep entirely sometime around 1 am, and now he sat at his small kitchen table, writing out a medication schedule for Harrington so he and the kid both knew when he could have his next Tylenol.

Wasn’t even halfway through it before Eddie made his typically late appearance and blew through his door.

Had his back up from the moment he’d stepped a foot in the kitchen and it didn’t take a genius to see he’d worked himself into a snit again.

Unfortunately for him, whatever scenario that imaginative brain of his had cooked up fell flat to the reality that was the poor kid on the couch.

Steve Harrington was one a hell of a sight.

Didn’t help that he was doing his level best to make himself as small as possible, curled deep into Wayne's ancient couch.

The blankets covered the ribs and hid away most of the damage, but there wasn’t much Steve could do to hide the shiners on his face--or the marks around his neck.

Not when they’d grown worse overnight, practically inviting questions.

It was almost laughable how quickly Eddie ate whatever words he’d prepared, mouth awkwardly chewing around them as if they were tangible.

The less-than-sneaky looks he threw at the younger teen were equally amusing, and if Wayne wasn’t trying to peace keep, he’d have given in and chuckled when Eds split attention caused him to pour half his coffee into the sink rather than a cup.

Looked utterly lost when, after finishing putting his coffee together and grabbing some junk food thing that absolutely was not a breakfast item, he came to stand awkwardly at Wayne's shoulder, openly staring as Steve blatantly ignored him.

Eds didn’t know what to do, and Wayne couldn't blame him.

Seemed to keep thinking he was going to encounter a boy that likely no longer existed, and whose blood tinged specter just made things sad.

Shit like this, Wayne knew, took a man’s ego and warped it, shaping it to something else entirely.

At least for Steve, it seemed that getting wrapped up in whatever mess he had had shaped him for the better, instead of pretzeling him into something worse. That, Wayne thought, spoke to the boy's character more than anything he’d done prior.

(It helped to know what Hopper tolerated and what he didn’t. That he’d vouched for Steve in the same way Wayne knew he’d vouched for Eddie, even if Eddie didn’t yet realize the cop he antagonized so much would do that for him.)

That didn't erase the history his kid had with Harrington, though.

Wouldn't stop him from seeing the old Steve, first.

‘Don’t you got school?” Wayne asked when he decided Ed had stared enough.

“Yeah, yeah.” Eddie waved him off, trotting out the door. “Bye old man, house parasite!”

It was clearly a jab, meant to nettle, but Steve barely acted like he heard it.

Wayne rolled his eyes.

“Goodbye, Eds.” He said firmly, much of a warning as he ever gave, and fondly watched his nephew scuttle out the door.

Turned to see how Steve was taking things, and was once again given a reminder that Steve wasn’t doing a hell of a lot other than feeling his injuries.

“I think I promised you a game, son.” Wayne said gently, startling Steve out of the distant, dim look he had trained on the wall.

It wasn’t a lot to offer in terms of a distraction, but it would have to do.

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eddiernunson · 5 months

Text

Selfish | Steddie x Fem!Reader | 18+

Summary: Reader is torn as she wants two people at once, and she figures it's impossible...in the sense that they would never want her. She is proven wrong after making an accidental audience with Eddie one night...

Warnings: voyeurism, perv!Eddie, public smut, masturbation (f + m), a little bit of Steve x reader, double penetration...and lots of self indulgent writing.

Authors' Note: Yeah this is just self indulgent. That's all. I'd want them both. <3

Word Count: 10.8k

Selfish.

On a regular day, it’s hard not to feel completely selfish. There’re a million different voices in your head telling you to make a damn choice. Not just telling, but begging.

Not just in your head, but in your life. Your friend and confidant, Robin is one of the many voices telling you so.

You can’t help it, it started so innocently. During the course of the school year, you happen to start thinking that Eddie Munson is damn fine. Your paths barely cross, only seeing him across the cafeteria at lunch or the occasional party to sell. Something about him drew you in. His hair, his hands, his strong forearms, his lust for life, that slutty little waist… He is enticing, hypnotising.

It’s not like you’re ever going to get with someone who you’ve never spoken to unless you somehow drag him into a hallway closet. Oh, isn’t that idea ever tempting?

It’s an uneventful day at school, save for the random graffiti anonymously placed on each class room door. There were several suspects, the perpetrator found but not announced, much to the entire school’s dismay.

When Robin meets you at your regular table, she has a litany of complaints up her sleeve. If you don’t stop her, she can talk for hours about any given subject that passes through her brain. At this point, from an entire summer and autumn working with her on top of spending many hours shooting the shit with her, you’re ridiculously used to it. You might even call it charming.

As usual, you listen with an empathetic, yet distracted ear. Your eyes flicker to Munson every now and then, appreciating the way his muscle shirt shows off his toned arms. Usually, they’re engulfed by his large leather jacket, but on this unusually hot autumn day he is taking advantage of the warmer weather.

Oh, and so am I, you think to yourself, eyeing him up and down appreciatively.

Your eyes flicker back to Robin, holding back a giggle at her expression. She knows about your crush of course, not that you’d tried to hide it. Robin would come up with schemes to set you up with him, but there’s one little obstacle.

“You’re shameless, you know that?” She accuses, a half smile on her face. She’s being playful, as always. “One of these days, you’re going to have to make up your mind.”

This conversation is repeated, always on replay. It’s one of your little games. “I mean,” you start cheekily, “who said anything about talking to them?”

She shakes her head, quiet laughter leaving her lips. “You are impossible.”

See, Robin knew your secret. Not only were you infatuated with Eddie, but with your coworker as well. Steve.

Steve is a bit more realistic; you suppose. After all, you work part time with him, up to 25 hours a week. Most of the job is spent moving tapes from place to place, categorizing, and talking shit. Lately, even more than normal, you’re hypnotized by him, your eyes sometimes glazing over as you take in just how pretty his brown eyes are.

Man, do you have a thing for brown eyes.

This usually eggs him on, thinking his words must mean something. They don't, really. You don’t take in a single word of what he’s saying. You’re just admiring him, his pretty lips, the freckles decorating his skin…

See, your problem is that you can’t decide on which one you’d want more…not that there’s any part of you that remotely thinks you would have that luxury. You’re not possibly conceited enough to believe that you would have a choice. Really, if it came down to it, (emphasis on if), it would be which one would choose you.

And they have so much better to choose from.

So, you let yourself imagine it. There’s certainly no harm in the what if.

“Not impossible, just horny.” You laugh, winking at the way she chokes on her water.

Steve pushes the cart of returns around, tapping his hands rhythmically on the plastic. You are on rewind duty, using a rewinder to go through each returned tape quickly and effectively. It’s a weekday, so business has been slow. Weekdays give more leeway on the display tvs, topics of discussion, and finally, to fuck around.

“Hey, Robin isn’t working today, right?” Steve asks, looking back at you.

You’re invested in the movie playing, leaning against the counter. “Hmm?” The question registers. “Oh, no she’s off on Wednesdays, remember? Band rehearsal after school.”

“Right, right.” He nods, something clearly on his mind.

“Something going on in that pretty little head of yours, Harrington?” You ask, switching the tape out for a new one.

He looks over his shoulder, licking his lips. “Pretty, huh?”

You roll your eyes, completely missing the way his eyes trail down your body. Your disregard of any possibility for a mutual attraction really is your blind spot. “You know you’re pretty, Harrington. Don’t play dumb.”

He shakes his head, pushing the cart along towards the romance section. “If you say so, sweets.”

You lick your lips, tasting the cherry ChapStick that deepens the shade of your lips into a darker red. Something about him is different today.

On the computer is a sticky note asking if the back room filled with unlabelled tapes could be organized and categorized. With the lack of customers, list of chores completed, and plenty of time left in your shift, you end up being bored enough to follow through. It won’t be done in one shift, but at least you’ll get it started. It’s a damn tedious process.

Not even twenty minutes pass by, a pile of marked and labeled tapes already to your left when the door to the back room shuts. You suspect for only a second that Steve needed to grab something, until you feel a pair of hands on your hips and hot breath on your neck. You freeze, gulping as you stare dead ahead at the tapes standing in a row. Your throat dries up like a drain unplugged, every limb freezing in place like you’re glued to the spot.

“Steve?” You ask after a moment passes.

He hums, thumb swaying up and down your hip, gently brushing past the hem of your shirt onto your bare skin. The other hand curtains your hair from your shoulder, trailing kisses down the curve of your neck. As a reflex you relax into it, sighing as you lean into his warm, wet, touch. The sensation flutters throughout your limbs, turning every bone, every muscle, into gelatin.

Your head falls back against his shoulder as his teeth scrape across your skin decorated with goosebumps. Your relaxed disposition is short lived, freezing up when your mind catches up to what the hell is happening. “Wait—” you protest, head snapping up in a frenzy.

He holds your face, turning it towards him. Eyes are hooded, looking tired, but from his dilated eyes you can tell he’s anything but. “What?”

“We-we’re at work, Steve, someone can come in at any moment…”

He listens, partially, barely. His eyes flicker down to your lips, all shiny and tugging him in. “Is that your only protest?” Your heart races, feeling as if someone is pulling at the corners of your mouth as you hesitantly nod. “No one has come in for over an hour, and I locked the door and turned the sign around. We won’t be bothered.”

“Oh.” A gasp leaves your lips as he leans in for a kiss, mouth deliciously open against yours. He demands full control, his fingers spreading across your neck. Your body turns to face him, grabbing onto the collar of the polo shirt he wears under his green vest. You can barely keep up with him, giggling out of pure, absolute, giddiness.

His hand runs up your torso, shaking yet demanding. Your vest is pulled down your arms, his hand pulling you against him. He starts kissing down your neck, pushing you so his arm and your back collide with the shelf behind you. A startled gasp fills the small room, your feet shuffling as the mixed sensations create a pool in the bottom of your stomach.

“Look at you, so pretty, you feelin’ good?” You nod, a hand twisting under his shirt and grabbing at his bare torso. His voice is dripping in husk, gorgeous in a way you’ve only ever pictured.

“Uh huh,” you manage to choke out.

He doesn't falter at his multitasking, his expert tongue working against yours as his hands work the button of your jeans open and the zipper down. “Let’s see how soaked you are...” The joints where your jaw is attached to your skull feels as if they vanish as your jaw drops open and Steve places his hand on your thin, cotton panties.

“Shit, honey, you are soaked.” He mutters, a sly half smile on his face.

“Jesus,” you whimper as he gently teases you.

He wastes no time, pushing your pants down your ass, watching as he exposes you with a stupid level of intrigue. “Baby, you know how pretty your pussy is, just dripping wet, jus ‘for me?”

He slips a finger in, reaching the deepest depths, somewhere yours never fucking could. He’s so fucking good at it too, watching your face as his thumb rotates on your clit, the pleasure from it more than you knew was possible. “S-Stevie,” you whimper, fingers clutching onto his shirt. “Oh, my god.”

“Wanted to see you like this for weeks, honey.” He adds another finger, his face watching and listening for every reaction you feed him. He eats them up like he’s been starving for you.

This information simply didn’t process, because there is no possibility this is true. None. “R-really?” You ask, leg moving up to get better access to your pussy.

Steve smirks, relishing in how you tighten around his digits. “Of course, honey.” His voice is like velvet, tender and smooth. He starts to move them faster, pumping them quickly, watching the breaths from your mouth grow shallower, your head falling back onto a shelf. “You think I don’t notice you watching me?”

Steve loves the reactions you give him, watching how you melt into putty in his hands. “You did?” It’s so close, he’s only started and you’re already being hurtled towards the edge.

“The way your thighs tense up, your eyes watching me, those pretty lips parted…” he explains, you have to give him credit for being much more observant than you had pegged him for. “Wanted to put my thumb in your mouth so many times, darling.”

“Why didn’t you?” You ask him, tensing up as you get close to your climax.

He laughs. You’re almost offended by his nonchalance. Is…is he not turned on, too? “We were surrounded by people, sweets. I have some self control, yunno.”

The reminder that you’re in the back room with him at work is on your mind, a hint of cockiness floods your head. “Evidently, not-not that much.”

He works his fingers harder, you’re not sure if it’s a reward or punishment for your words, but the orgasm is abrupt, overflowing your senses completely as you shake against the shelf. “There she is,” he mutters, fingers working you through every sensation he so expertly provides you.

He smirks as he watches the afterglow take over your face, biting his lip when your head finally lifts up to face him. Just when you think he couldn’t possibly get any hotter, he proves you wrong. You don’t doubt he will prove you wrong again. And again.

…and again.

You barely take a second to recover, hands fumbling down for his jeans button. “Kay, now I need you.” You urge him, grinning at the way his cock pops out against the fabric of his shirt. A hushed swear falls from your lips when you take in his size, bigger than you even thought he was.

And you thought he was huge.

“Yeah?” He asks, a droopy smile on his face when your eyes peer up at him.

You nod, wrapping your hand around him, jerking him off. He’s thick, the head flushed red and a vein wrapping around it. When his face crumples, a crease appearing between his eyes, you’ve already proven yourself right in your theory. “Please, Stevie.” You urge him, pulling his cock towards your entrance.

Your ass sits on an empty shelf, where it’s been resting since he fucked his fingers into you. When he slaps his cock, already leaking with precum, against your clit, you whine impatiently, silently begging for him. “I like when you ask so nicely. Do it s’more, will ya?”

“C’mon, Stevie, I want your cock, so fucking bad. I’ve pictured this so many times, I fucking need it. Please.” You don’t mention anything about a third party usually being present, but that could come up, maybe…

Steve grins, marveling in the way your voice is so pathetic for him. It’s even better than he imagined, by more than a million miles. A part of him is greedy for you, greedy for even more proof of how badly you’ve wanted him, despite the clear evidence from the first time he clocked it.

At the time, he wondered if he was picturing it, the way your eyes were unfocused and shifted down at his arms. He was barely flexing them, when he did experimentally, he watched your breath literally hitch, eyes hurriedly switching back to his face.

It took a few more days of experimentation, but he finally confirmed it when the evidence was too congruent to think otherwise.

He’s even more greedy for you, having spent many nights thinking about you bent over, on your knees, on your back, riding him, you name it, he’s thought of it.

He can ask you to continually beg for him another time, right now he’s just desperate for you, so he ignores the call to ask you to beg even more and pushes the head in.

The gasp, your jaw dropping, the swears that fall from your lips and invade the quiet room, the way your pussy sucks him in, everything about your reaction is perfect to him. The feeling is likewise, watching in real time as his eyes darken for you, and for you alone.

He’s huge in a way you can’t even comprehend, frighteningly so. Still, he starts thrusting, gently as he can muster, still stinging, regardless. He knows he should wait, he has to every time he’s with someone new, but god damn if your pussy wasn’t the best he’s ever felt in his life. His hips move wondrously, rolling them in a way that feels like magic.

You can’t help the yelps and the whines that fill the room, watching and combing your fingers through his famous locks. They’re so soft, despite the constant hairspray and hair products he uses. While the pain mostly overshadows the pleasure, the combination is beautifully laced together.

Boy, can he fuck better than you had imagined. While you have thought of some things while imagining him, nothing has ever even compared to all that he’s giving you.

The moans that pass through his mouth, the roll of his hips, the crumpled expression on his face…all things that your brain could never come up with. Sure, you thought he could talk dirty, imagined his long fingers instead of yours, maybe picturing the way you so desperately finger yourself; this wasn’t remotely close to what you imagined.

Hell, it wasn’t anywhere near what you had imagined.

It’s so much better.

You whimper, stuttering on the S of his name, unable to finish it, too blissed to care.

“S-s, what, honey? What’s that you were saying?” He chuckles deeply when you tighten around him. “Oh, you like being talked down to, huh? Like being put in your place?”

You nod, pulling him for a needy kiss, losing any sense of concentration when his hand lands on your clit, rubbing it in the exact way you needed him to.

“I fucking knew you would, little whore getting fucked at work, taking his big cock like you were made to, fuck.” His thrusts get stronger, harder, faster, gasping wordlessly at how fucking good he is at it.

“Fuck, Stevie, you gonna breed me? Gonna cum in my pussy? Need it so fucking bad, please, please, pleasepleasepleaseplease.”

The smile that invades his face is cocky, watching you crumble under him. “Listen to your pretty voice beg for me, you really want me that bad, huh?” You nod, wondering how his hips hit harder. How was that possible? “Gonna breed you, honey, just keep being a good girl f’me, and I’ll fill you up, mmkay?”

You nod, watching the beads of sweat slowly coat his reddened face. One hand curls itself into the hair by the crown of your head, gripping tightly and watching the intense pleasure that takes over your face. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, no longer aware of any existence outside of this room, you’re here, only here, and will only be here.

“Shit, gonna fill you up, honey, need to feel you cum all over my cock, won’t you, please, sweets, need it—” while he thinks your begging is beautiful, his is just the thing to put you over the edge. The fluttering of your tight walls around him pulling the cum that fills you up beautifully.

His cock thrusts through the collective orgasm you feel together, the force of it pushing his load out of your pussy, you watch it leak past his length and down your thighs. It’s a sight that almost makes you cum again.

He smirks, catching his breath in time with you. He places kisses up your throat, taking in the way you tighten around him. Finally, you come back down to earth, the smell of sex in the room from your tryst overwhelming it. How much febreeze would it take to hide it? Your jeans are barely down to your knees, shirt ruffled, and hair a mess. Man, did you get caught up in him, his kiss, his scent, his cock.

A shy grin cascades across your face, watching as a piece of hair curls its way into his eye. “Hi, beautiful.” He greets, hand plastering itself onto your cheek.

“Hi.” You whisper, still pulsing around him.

“Did you enjoy it as much as I did?” He asks, biting his lip as his eyes look bored into yours.

“Probably more.” You admit, grinning cheekily. “You did all the work.”

He laughs in answer, placing a kiss on your cheek as he pulls out. The loss is stark, you suddenly feel so empty.

Oh, he did manage his entire length. Fuck.

“Was it everything you wanted?”

You flick an eyebrow up at him, tilting your head. “I don’t know, Harrington. You tell me.”

He laughs, winking at you. “Yeah, whatever.”

You wouldn’t exactly call yourself his girlfriend at this point because that certainly didn’t feel like an invitation for such. In fact, when Steve mentions his date coming up that weekend you don’t exactly feel heartbreak, just jealousy.

Whatever weird relationship you just started with him, coworkers with benefits or whatever, you are down for it. You're immediately wondering how often you’ll be in the back room with him, sharing cheeky looks across the room when he winks at you.

When he’s that good, it’s hard not to be.

Despite the urge to, you actually don’t tell Robin over the phone about your hook up with Steve. Something about the secrecy just makes it that much hotter. You lie, telling her the night was boring with customers appearing for their late returns.

The store is reopened, Steve grinning at you manically as he continues with his work. Well, if you can call putting the returns away “work”.

Your mom is at work for the night, taking a double at the hospital. She left twenty bucks on the counter for supper, leaving a note to order some take out. Well, pizza it is. You order the vegetarian deluxe, rolling your eyes at the wait time; forty-five minutes to an hour. Apparently, they are very busy tonight. Whatever.

You decide to kill time, running up to your room and jumping on your bed, kicking your panties off, keeping the sweatshirt you wear on. Your fingers happily dance themselves onto your clit, using some of the gift Steve left you as lubricant.

Sometimes, the person you imagine takes over for you, sometimes they simply put their cock in you, disguised in the form of a dildo. This time, they merely watch.

“That’s right, let’s see those fingers touch your pretty clit.” You imagine his voice, Eddie, picturing him watching you. “Little slut can’t even be satisfied with Harrington’s cock, huh?” He asks, and yeah, maybe you are a desperate slut ready for either man to take advantage of you. But who fucking cares, at this point? Your hand moves up to touch your tit, sneaking past the hem of your shirt, when your own imagination stops you. “No, you can touch yourself over your sweater, I’m letting you touch your pussy, isn’t that enough?”

Somehow it makes you moan desperately, massaging it pathetically. You shake your head, feeling a bit like a brat for the moment.

“No? Feeling greedy, huh?” He asks, you picture his dark brown eyes fixated on your pussy, fingers itching to touch you, just able to prevent himself from doing so.

You grin, nodding. “Please let me, I’ll be so good.” You take full advantage of no one being home.

“Hmm. Don’t think you will be…” He muses, and man, did you know what you liked. You desperately hoped he would know, too. “You already had Harrington’s cock today, and now you want someone else?”

“Yeah, she is quite a slut, ain’t she?” Oh, there he is.

The idea of the two of them here, watching you with dark eyes, both breaking at the seams at resisting the want to touch you, creates a new stir in you that feels nearly impossible.

“Look at how greedy she is, desperate for us, ain’t she?” You picture Eddie agreeing, squatting right in front of your bed to get a closer look.

Suddenly you forget about the urge to beg them to let you touch your tit and move on to begging for them. Begging for one of them, at least, to finally take pity on you and just fuck you already. Why is this so enticing to you? Why does it draw you in so, like a moth to a flame?

Well, you suppose if the flame was two hot, gorgeous, capable men, you’d be drawn to it just as a moth is, despite how badly the heat burns you.

Your fingers grow faster, gasping more intensely as the scenario furthers in your mind. You’re about to push yourself over the edge, the whines from your throat loud and desperate, when the doorbell rings twice, one after the other. Fuck, the pizza’s here.

You completely forgot you even ordered food to begin with.

You rush to put a pair of sweats on, petting your hair down desperately as you pick up the 20 from the counter. The bell rings twice more, you yell “I’m coming, I’m coming!” at the impatient driver. Well, you would’ve been if they were just five minutes slower.

The door opens to face Eddie Munson, holding a pizza in his hand and wearing a dorky delivery driver visor. Huh, the last thing you ever expect him to wear is a bright yellow visor, the shade of American cheese, with a dripping piece of pizza on it, that’s for damn sure. Well, the last thing you expected was to see Eddie Munson, especially with what you were just doing, what you were just picturing. Well, this is awkward. For you it is, for him you guessed it was just another delivery.

You smile awkwardly, tossing him the 20 and trading for your pizza. He asks how much you want back as the order and the delivery fee only cost you 10 dollars in total. You insist he takes the ten-dollar tip, grinning when he blinks in disbelief.

As much as you want to stay and talk to him and get a better handle of his voice, you were so close, and you can feel it starting to drift away. You close the door with a frank thank you and slide the pizza on the counter, running up the stairs.

As the door slams in his face, Eddie’s eyebrows raise, finding the whole interaction peculiar. In fact, when you opened the door, he clocked the scent right away. With how wet you are, both your arousal and Steve’s cum dripping down your thighs, it flooded his nose. Eddie knows the smell of pussy and knows it well. You were in such a rush to get back to your own imagination, you didn’t notice the way his jeans started to tent at the crotch.

Eddie starts to shrug it off, accepting the tip and taking the hint that you wanted alone time, but a sound, enticing and wonderous, floats into his ears. He thought he was hallucinating, did…did he just hear his name?

He wanders past the gate to your backyard and looks up to an open window, not seeing you, but hearing the moans that leave your throat as you continue your mission. His jaw slacks open, listening to you beg for him, beg for his cock. God, now knowing he has such power over you is driving him insane.

His cock throbs in his jeans to the point of hurting, he grabs himself just for the tiniest bit of relief, slightly stroking himself to the sound of your voice. Eddie’s legs are restless, like he wants to go back to your front door and ask if you want his help. He nearly carries himself there, ready to devour you, his career as a delivery driver be damned.

He only makes two strides when the second thing that freezes him into place comes out of your mouth. The first was you openly begging for him, but the second one is hearing you add someone else’s name in the mix. Eddie mistakes it for the wrong name, but as you intertwine his with Steve’s, it becomes clear to him that he wasn’t the only one you were currently begging for.

Your voice gets higher, more urgent, the begging transitions from begging for them to fuck you, which, jesus, to letting you finish. Man, he loves the way your mind works. He slips his cock out, unable to resist relieving himself any further. His eyes flicker to your neighbors’ lights, he hopes no one would be nosey enough to peer into your backyard for the night.

Come to think of it, he’s actually not sure he would care all that much.

The symphony of strings of swears and whimpers that float down from your window only adds fuel to his fire. “Oh, baby, just letting anyone listen to you, if they really wanted to, huh?” Sometimes being vocal is his Achillies heel. He should shut up, especially perving like this, but it’s nearly impossible.

You beg his name, imagining him and Steve refusing again.

“Listen to you beg like a little slut, hmm?” He muses, regretting that there’s nothing for him to clutch on to.

“Eddie, m’ so close…”

“Not yet, doll.” He chides, hoping you’ll play along.

A miracle happens, as if you know exactly what his intentions would be. “Stevie, please?”

“Hmm, don’t you dare, Harrington.” Eddie threatens, and now he really does want to join you.

“Please, I’ve been so good…”

Your insistence, your sweet voice begging for him, God, Eddie’s already so damn close himself. “Let’s hear it, baby.”

The stars align, because from the sounds of your whines that come from your window are just enough for Eddie to spill over his fist, spurts of his cum dripping onto the grass beneath him. From the sounds of it, your orgasm is something that makes your every muscle spasm, the kind that lingers for minutes after. While your mewls, and whines, and whimpers are practically perfect, Eddie really wishes he could get the visuals.

He sees a shadow move; he wonders if you just remembered you have food waiting. He’d better move from your driveway before you realize he’s still there.

On his way to drop off a pizza that is also waiting to be delivered, one he knows he will have to pay for himself after the wait, (worth it), an idea forms in his head that is just too good for him to pass up or call it like it is…insane.

When you feel a repetitive tap on your forearm at lunch the following week, you believe Robin is trying to annoy you. You ignore her, focusing on the novel you’re reading while you shrug her off. At the clearing of someone’s throat, you finally look up.

Oh, shit.

Eddie stands in front of you, hands in his pockets as he nods to the seat right next to you. All you can do is nod, out of breath as he sits in the seat right next to you.

“I’ll uh, just get going.” Robin mutters, shooting you a smirk as she gathers her backpack and takes off.

You shoot daggers at her, anxiously twisting your hands under the table, gulping as your nerves flood your senses.

Eddie rests his jacket leather covered arms on the table, head turned towards you. “Enjoy your pizza?” He asks, a twinkle in his eyes you can’t quite place.

Your brows furrow, confused until it dawns on you. He was the one that delivered it. “Oh…it-it was good.” You smile, sighing nervously.

A lopsided smile takes over Eddie’s face, he watches as the wheels turn in your pretty noggin. Knowing what the confusion meant when they furrow until the realization hits you. It’s a breath of fresh air, really, knowing he didn’t need to worry about rejection, knowing how secretly desperate you are for him.

He nods, licking his lips. “Good, good.” The way you sit nervously, the subtle tensing of your thighs, you’re sweet, amusing, even. “You going to Harrington’s party this Saturday?”

You blink, taking in the sentence. “Huh?”

He chuckles, and the smile on his face is gorgeous. “Harrington. Know him?” You nod, eyes wide. “You going to his party?”

Steve literally invited you the day before, suggesting he might drag you into a closet or something. “Yeah, I am.”

“Wanna go with me?”

Yes. Yes, you do. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. “Sure.” You accept, leaning on your elbow, a shy smile on your face.

“Pick you up at 10?” Somehow, Eddie has the ability to make you feel breathless, and his skin hasn’t even grazed yours yet.

Hopelessly, desperately, you wait for Saturday. Over the week, Eddie has caught your eye across the cafeteria, shooting his cocky grin that continually melts you into a puddle.

That same cocky grin he gives you as he drives over to Steve’s. While Steve knows of your crush on him, he also was aware of how much you like Eddie. Honestly he’s just rooting for you, seeing the excited glint in your eye when you give him the news.

Every little part of you is wondering how it is possible that you might have the choice…when weeks ago you thought you had no possible chance with either of them. There’s a slight part of you wondering…wondering if you’d slipped into an alternate universe where the world is starting to work out in your favor. It feels plausible until you wondered why the hell you’d be going to work or doing homework in your perfect world.

Eddie’s hand rests on your shoulder as you enter, the music blaring from Steve’s living room. A crowd of sweaty teenagers jumping, grinding, dancing, filled to the brim with far too much alcohol. You’d barely said a word to him, stuck in your head as you accepted a red solo cup from him. He makes his own mix, a brown liquid you don’t recognize with some coke. Yours is a vodka-sprite mix, hoping the extra shot you pour will loosen you up a bit.

Or…a lot.

“Dance with me?” He asks, pointing to the living room as he takes a big swig.

You squint at him, already in the middle of taking a big gulp, wincing at the burn. “You dance?”

He shrugs, fingers tapping on the red plastic of his cup. “I do when pretty girls dance with me.”

You take another big gulp, already feeling the effects. What can I say, you are a lightweight. “Better go find one.”

Well, it seems the alcohol is doing its thing.

Eddie’s arm easily wraps around your waist, pulling you up against him. The look in his eye excites you, gulping as his hot breath is on your neck, enticing a shudder. “You little shit.” He mutters, a smug little grin on his face. “I was already asking a pretty girl for your information. I was giving you the privilege of asking, but now you have no choice.”

The cup nearly collides with your nose as he takes another swig, his eyes never leaving yours. His hand easily intertwines with yours as he tosses the cup over his shoulder, tugging you to the living room.

You follow him, hypnotized by his siren’s song. Eddie doesn’t have an inch of patience left in him, already antsy from the show you put on for him. He lets his hands wonder, holding you close to him and going everywhere, your hips, your thighs, your ass, even trailing under your tiny skirt. You don’t protest, inhaling his scent. The mix of body wash, cologne, and just him is mouthwatering.

He doesn’t ask, doesn’t need to from the way you melt in his arms when his lips finally land on yours. The reward of your moan vibrating into his mouth is just what he needs, the very reward he was looking for. You don’t have it in you to pretend you aren’t eager, your lips searching for his as soon as it registers. The kisses are urgent, fervent, and just the right amount of messy.

His knee makes its way between your legs, already mapping how easy it is to make you fall apart, even in the middle of a crowd. And do you ever fold in his arms even at the subtle touch of his hands on your skin, tongue on yours, the adrenaline in your veins… it’s enough to make you forget you’re in a crowd.

When his tongue lands on your throat, sending ripples of pure ecstasy down your spine. The moment he feels you start to grind on his thigh, he has you right where he wants you. His mouth dives into your ear, heated breaths sending a chill through you. “I’ll be right back.”

Confused, you catch his eye, faltering as his knee leaves where it’s stationed.

He winks, walking across the living room, feeling pretty smug at how he feels your eyes on the back of his head.

Now for his plan.

Steve invited a girl over for his party, deciding he’d do exactly what he had insisted he’d do with you. Instead, he’s mesmerized by how you and Eddie are grinding across the way from him. No matter how hard he tries, he couldn’t keep his eyes off the two of you, now wishing you were following through on said plans with him.

When Eddie’s lips met your neck, he feels entirely too restless, forcing himself not to place you in the middle of a sandwich he’d very much like to be a part of.

Now the girl is off with another dude having sought out a different sex buddy when Steve backed out, making out with some jock on his couch. Not that he cares, he’s barely noticed her. He’s far too busy being captivated by you and your date.

Speaking of your date, he attempts to look busy as soon as Eddie starts crossing the room, to where Steve assumed was the bathroom a few feet behind him. Boy, was he wrong. As Steve crowds into the wall, pretending to be staring off towards anywhere else, Eddie stops right next to him, observing Steve with a smirk.

Eddie started keeping track of Steve as soon as he got to the party, keeping mental tabs on him. It wasn’t hard, Steve’s eyes were glued the two of you, and it made Eddie’s plan ten times easier.

“Hi, Harrington.” He smirks, watching Steve’s shallow breathing and shifty eyes. Wasn’t very often he’s seen him lack confidence, and it’s almost too easy to get the two of you to dance how he wanted. “Enjoying the show?”

Steve falters, batting his pretty eyelashes as he processes it. “I-I’m not sure what you mean.”

Eddie rolls his eyes with his arms crossed. It certainly doesn’t help that Eddie had used every one of the tools in his belt. Shown off his arms, put some care into his hair, wore a shirt that was just a little too short for his torso…

As planned, it was working like a charm. “C’mon Steve, those pretty eyes of yours were burning a hole into the back of my head the entire time. Or…were you not watching the way she grinded on my leg?”

Steve’s eyes flicker to you, having now moved back into the kitchen to get another cup of alcohol. His eyes meet Eddie’s again, gulping, not able to find it in himself to deny any further. “Okay, so I was. It’s basically impossible not to.”

Eddie’s smile grows, his teeth just barely peeking through. “Isn’t it?” It really falls into Eddie’s favor that Steve was already against the wall, hand landing right next to his face. “Well, I gotta be honest, from the look on your face it almost looked like you wanted to join us.”

Oh god, is Steve hallucinating, or did Eddie just invite him to do the very thing he so desperately craved? “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Munson.”

Eddie rolls his eyes again, amused at the hesitance Steve displays. “I’m not. I’m inviting you to one.”

Steve’s breath hitches, Eddie affirming exactly what he was afraid of. “Think she’d be down for that?”

The genuine laughter that leaves Eddie’s lips is a bit startling, to say the least. “I can say, Steve, with 100% certainty, that she would be.”

“Well, shit, Eds.” Steve laughs, already hard from the mere thought of it. “Let’s go get our girl.”

A part of you starts to worry, tipsy as you stare into your drink while sitting next to who you thought was Steve’s date but is all over some football jock. Despite your date being Eddie, you were glad. Your jealousy can start simmering down. You catch Eddie’s jeans ripped at the knee, eyes raking up to his face, noting Steve trailing right behind him.

Eddie ignores your confused face, offering his hand for you to take. Yours lands in his, and it wraps around yours as he effortlessly tugs you up to him. “Come on, we’re going upstairs.” He waits for you to acknowledge Steve standing by you, eyebrow quirking up. “Oh, Steve’s joining us.”

You are not protesting. That's the last thing you'd be doing. If anything, it’s just sudden. All you can do is let out stuttered breaths, attempting to ask how, or why, before getting to the what.

Eddie pretends to falter, brow furrowing as he condescendingly tilts his head. “What, I thought this is what you wanted?”

Okay, how could he possibly know that? “Y-yes, yes, I do, but-but how--?”

“You should probably close your window next time you decide to order food and have a bit of fun, there, sweetheart.” Your eyes shoot open wide, immediately understanding why Eddie approached you when he did. Your window. He leans into Steve, laughter sitting under his voice. “Stevie, should’ve heard her, she was begging for us both, sweet thing had no idea I could hear.”

Steve’s mouth turns into a smirk, watching the many phases your sweet face goes through. “That true? You thinking of us both at the same time?”

By this point, your eyes haven’t even stopped switching between the two men as they leer over you. You wonder how many times this exact scenario has crossed your mind, giving you eyes as they proposition you to be the delicious middle of their sandwich. It’s everything you want, everything you crave.

Then why the fuck is it so damn terrifying?

“You got words, sweetheart?” Eddie asks, catching Steve’s eye, who has his hands on his hips, his eyes curtained by those glorious locks.

No words come to mind, except how fucking wet their gazes make you feel. You let your action speak for itself, turning on the spot to run up the stairs.

You’re halfway up when you hear the thumping of two sets of feet behind you vaguely over the loud music, giggles bubbling up your throat as you turn around the corner down the hall. Not panic, but pure excitement fills your chest as the sounds of footsteps invade the upstairs. A hand grabs yours, yanking you back to the door that Steve opens, his own room.

Sometimes it’s occupied by some random hook ups, he usually tries to lock it for a big party, but honestly if there were someone in his room, he would’ve kicked them out. He’s already hooked up in his mom and dad’s room, as barf inducing as it is, and he refuses to do so on this particular night.

Eddie is right behind you as you enter, hands already making their way under your shirt. He’s eager, his hand hooking under the hem and lifting it over your head and your arms. The cold air meets your skin, gifting it goosebumps. Your shirt hits the floor, you can hear it on Steve’s hardwood. The sound is minor in the grand scheme of things, currently focused on Steve’s lips on yours and Eddie’s hands making their way under the wire of your bra.

Steve’s hands grab at your shoulders, pulling you so you fall on top of him, Eddie giggling as he lands on the two of you. Eddie’s laughs weave with the kisses he scatters along your back, your neck, hands moving absentmindedly as he undoes the backing of your bra.

Under you, Steve’s hands delicately grab the straps of the bra and pull them off your arms. Your bra is flung across the room without a second thought, Steve palming your tits and playing with the nipples between his fingers, twisting and groping them as you mewl into his ear.

Eddie falls sideways onto the bed, the momentum knocking both you and Steve on your sides as well with him. You giggle, starting to grab at the edge of Steve’s shirt to lift over his head. Eddie flips your skirt up, his long fingers touching the fabric over your weeping pussy.

“Fuck, you’re soaked.” Eddie mumbles, sneaking under the waistband of your panties, touching you softly and moving his finger up and down. “Pretty baby must be turned on, hmm?”

Steve bends down to mouth at your nipples, his silk tongue hot and magical, gently nipping with his teeth in a way that makes your blood sing.

The marvelous mixture of sensation has your head flung back on Eddie’s shoulder, writhing in their holds as they work together. One of Eddie’s fingers slips in, long and deep within you. A loud gasp fills the room as Eddie’s thumb rotates your clit slowly and watches you fall apart.

His finger hooks, working perfectly against your g-spot. “F-fuck!”

Steve licks up the mound of your breast, dirtily licking all the way to your neck, nibbling bruises across your neck. “Gonna cum so quickly, sweets?” Steve asks, teasing you.

“Feels-feels so good!” You whimper, starting to grind helplessly on Eddie’s finger.

Steve’s eyes switch over to Eddie’s, who is already watching him. He grins, eyes switching from the metal-head’s eyes to his lips before licking his own. Both men are pressed against you as they lean in, their lips connecting as you lay in a true sandwich. Wet sounds of their kisses are loud in the room, and from their body language it gets heated fast as Eddie moans behind you, his fingers not resting for a second.

They’re fast and relentless, a heat in your pussy too hot, too much as you’re pushed over the edge like being pushed over a cliff. It hits you hard as you restlessly wither in-between them. Steve’s mouth moves from Eddie’s straight to yours, muffling the moans that leave your mouth.

The loss is sudden as Eddie removes his fingers to pull your skirt down your ass. “You want me to tell Stevie what I heard, or you wanna tell him?”

Your lips freeze against Steve’s, eyes opening, gulping as you back away from him.

“Ooh, I wanna know, what’d you hear, Eds?” Steve asks, getting the hint when Eddie helps move you on to your back.

“Well, from what I could tell she was picturing us watching her play with herself, begging for us to touch her, begging for our cocks, begging to cum…”

Shit, he did hear everything.

“Shit, when was this, honey?”

You bite on your pointer finger nervously as Eddie tugs on your thighs, giggles spilling from your mouth. “Wednesday.”

Steve shakes his head, unbuttoning his jeans as he grins at you, Eddie settling himself between your legs. “Oh, you greedy girl.”

Eddie finishes pulling your skirt down your legs, tossing it over his shoulder as he asks, “Why?”

“Oh, she didn’t tell you?” Steve asks, cockily grinning at Eddie as he pulls down his boxers, his cock springing free. “Yeah, she took my cock in the back of Family Video that day, didn’t ya, darlin’?”

Eddie quirks his eyebrow, staring up at you from in-between your legs, grinning intensely. “Oh, you are greedy aren’t ya? Maybe such a greedy girl doesn’t get her wildest fantasies coming true, hmm?”

He’s bluffing, but in your post-orgasm haze you can’t tell at all, you're just desperate for them. You protest it loudly, humming several no’s in a row.

“I dunno, maybe you can watch for tonight and we’ll let you join in another time, hmm?” Eddie taunts you, grabbing Steve’s cock and stroking it, Steve’s moan from final, sweet, relief filling the room.

You’re protesting more, resting on your forearms as you’re hypnotized by the way Eddie’s eyes are locked onto Steve’s. Okay, watching them isn’t all that terrible, but you’re already naked.

Eddie leans in, eyes still trained on Steve as he wraps his mouth around the head of Steve’s cock. You’re hypnotized by it, their constant eye contact creating an energy that is palpable. Eddie’s head tilts back, his tongue that he likes to show off so much at school lingering on Steve’s mushroom tip, reveling in the pearl of precum.

He kisses it, twisting his head to you. “Enjoying the show, sweetheart?”

You nod, grinning manically. “Very much.”

“Maybe we can take pity on her, hey, Eds?” Steve asks, also looking at you.

“Yeah, she can watch another time.” Eddie mumbles, pulling away from Steve to lean in back between your legs. “For now, I need to bury my nose in this sweet little cunt.”

That’s the only warning you get before Eddie’s long tongue slides itself against your wet folds, a hot, wet stripe sending shivers up your spine. You can’t help the whine that leaves your throat, desperate and all too happy to accept it.

Steve saunters over to your mouth, stroking himself as he observes your face. “Think you can be a good girl and take this cock down your throat?” You nod, reaching for him pathetically. You guide his cock to your mouth, the large head pushing into your mouth. His length fills your mouth, pushing right to the back of your throat. “Oh, that’s a good girl.”

A hum leaves your mouth around him, somehow dividing your attention between Steve’s cock in your mouth and Eddie’s tongue on your pussy.

Speaking of Eddie, his tongue has been slowly working, barely putting an ounce of pressure, focused on gathering up any arousal you feed him. His fingers are harsh against your thighs, the friction nearly burning as he grips you tightly. “Fuck, you taste…” he pauses, gasping and greedy, “so sweet.”

Your mouth is busy, too busy to tell Eddie how much he just needs to touch you harder, already. Your hips do it for you, grinding up as a silent question. Simultaneously, your hands move to Steve’s base, playing with his balls. Your mouth makes a wet plop, suddenly in the mood to have them up against your face. Your greedy tongue pokes out to lick at the patched hair that covers them, gasping at the sweaty musk they radiate.

Steve buckles, swearing loudly as his hand lands roughly next to your face. “Oh, my gooood, baby.”

As a reaction, Eddie digs in further, his tongue pushing into you, deliciously long and vibrating into you as he hums. The stench of sweat and your dribble fills your nose, your face slobbered and wet. Eddie places his thumb on your clit, rubbing in small circles as the more you give him, the more he takes.

He knows the smell of pussy, and your smell has driven him completely insane, like a pheromone that overwhelms any logic he once held and replaces it with you.

You gasp, taking Steve’s cock back in your mouth, the tip hitting the back of your throat. Steve’s hand curls into your hair, his thumb swaying against your cheek. You can barely focus on it, the overstimulation making that oh-so-funny feeling take over once more, swelling in your stomach.

“You gonna cum again, honey?” Steve asks, his hips moving slowly, yet picking up at an unprecedented rate. You nod around him, his cock hitting and forming a beautiful swell in your cheek, moaning around him. “Gonna fill this pretty little mouth, then we’ll pay attention to Eds over there, hmm? Bet he needs some help, hmm?”

“Might cum from her taste alone, honestly,” Eddie mumbles, working his tongue even faster, even more.

That single sentence does it for you, mouth tightening around Steve as you spill onto Eddie’s tongue, legs tightening around his ears. Steve feels as you moan around him, every part of you tensing, your mouth specifically tightening and pulling sticky ropes that jump down your throat.

It becomes too much, overflowing your mouth and drooling down your chin. Eddie kisses your thigh, lapping up the arousal that spilled to your thighs. Steve pulls out, watching with hooded and hazy eyes as your mouth stays open, tongue poking out covered in him, smiling as when his eyes drift to your throat gulping as he flows down your throat.

“Did I hear you say it was my turn?” Eddie asks, head poking out from between your legs. “Does that mean I get to feel this tight little pussy wrapped around my cock?”

Steve chuckles, his hand still wrapped in your hair. “If I’ve already had a turn, guess it only seems fair.” His thumb swipes across your chin, gathering the excess cum that gathered.

Out of nowhere Eddie pounces, grabbing Steve’s wrist and lapping the sticky substance with his tongue, making a show of it. Well, Eddie is nothing if not a performer.

Steve seems to think his turn is over, turning to the mess of clothes on the floor. “Stevie,” you whine, sitting up. Your legs feel like jelly, grabbing at the shirt on Eddie right next to you. How is Eddie still fully dressed? “Do you have lube?”

“You don’t need lube, sweets, you're soaked.”

You giggle, shaking your head. “Not what I meant, Ed.” You look back to Steve. “Hey, stop getting dressed! You got lube, right?”

“Uh…yes.” Steve startles, hands on his hips with his hips, eyebrows furrowed.

How have they not picked up on it yet? “Seriously?” You ask, switching between their confused glances. “Remember how Eddie said you’d make every fantasy come true?” They nod, you move onto your knees, undoing Eddie’s belt, and button quickly. “Well, when I pictured this, I pictured every hole being filled.”

Usually, a sentence like this would make you shy, embarrassingly so. However, the collective stare the two men give you is mind numbingly arousing.

“Shit,” Eddie mutters, sharing a bewildered look with Steve. “Well, go get the damn lube, Steve!”

Steve chuckles, moseying to the bedside table and grabbing a small bottle.

Your hands, frozen on Eddie’s half undone jeans, finally start moving again, pulling down his jeans and underpants. His cock springs out, the head an angry red. You lean forward, extending your legs backward as you lean forward to accept Eddie in the back of your throat.

Steve comes from behind him, lifting the loose black shirt he wears over his head, sprinkling kisses along Eddie’s skin.

Eddie groans, lifting his head up. “Fuck, ok, get up, need to feel that pussy right now.”

You smirk, getting off Eddie with a pop, standing up on weak legs. Eddie pulls you right against him, wrapping your lips in a sweet kiss. His tongue wastes no time to reach out to touch yours, connecting wonderfully. Eddie turns the two of you around, kicking off his jeans and stumbling over them. He falls backward onto the bed, you falling onto him and giggling like a madman.

A hand wraps around your cheeks, squishing them comically and pulling your face upward. “Kiss me, honey.”

You grin, locking lips with Steve as your body hitches up toward him. A pair of hands plant you back down, bare pussy connecting with Eddie’s gorgeous cock. The sensation makes you whine, thighs tensing around Eddies. Your hips grind helplessly, hoping it pushes him in. “Patience, sweets.”

You whine impatiently, petulantly groaning against Steve’s lips. You part from him, staring down at Eddie. “Stop teasing me, and—” your sentence cuts short, Eddie grinning in satisfaction as he shuts you up. A hushed swear leaves your throat, elongated and stuttered on the sh in shit.

Your impatience is the size of a teaspoon, hips rutting down to take more of him quicker, even though he’s at a size where you know you should take your time. “Take your time,” Eddie tuts, wrapping his hand in your hair.

“I can’t.” You whine, trying to pull him in more.

Impossibly, you manage to take in Eddie’s full length faster than you know you should. It’s still not fast enough.

A second pair of hands land on your ass, grabbing at the apples of your cheeks with harsh nails digging into the soft skin. Eddie’s hands are on your hips, fingertips under the edge of Steve’s. A cold, thick liquid lands where it needs to, a finger pushes it in, a mighty pressure added to the mix.

You whine, bucking into them and grinding on Eddie’s cock simultaneously. A mix of sounds ring out, Eddie moaning, Steve chuckling, you breathlessly gasping. “Fuck.”

Steve adds another finger, twisting and playing, watching how both your holes spasm together, how Eddie’s cock starts to move for you when your hips are jerking too much to really do anything.

Eddie gasps into your ear, groaning and border-line whimpering. “F-fuck, feel this tight fucking pussy…Jesus, Harrington, you planned on keeping this to yourself?”

Steve doesn’t answer right away, inserting a third finger and grinning at your high-pitched reaction. “With how good it feels, can you fucking blame me?”

“How many times you pictured fucking me, sweets? Good as you thought it’d be?” Eddie asks, voice guttural.

“S-s-s-so much better,” you stutter, whining in the crook of his neck.

Over your shoulder, Steve winks at Eddie, and it gives Eddie the warning to pause his movements to allow Steve to enter. The pressure of the head against the hole is so good. “Fuck,” you whimper, gasping desperately.

If there’s anything you’re willing to admit, it’s that you never knew you could feel this good, this full, it’s a shame it took this long, really. The stupid part is, Steve isn’t even halfway in. Your jaw drops, hands tensing and curling and toes twitching, so many little muscles moving instantaneously.

“You okay, sweets?” Eddie asks, whispering sweetly as your gasping grows in both depth and volume. You frantically nod, the sweat fierce and intense.

“More.” You beg, the only word that can possibly make sense to you.

However small, however faint, Steve heard the plea and pushed in more. Your jaw drops, leaning onto Eddie’s bare chest with your elbows and staring at Eddie’s darkened, brown eyes. He’s pretty, too pretty.

You adjust, and yeah, lube definitely needs to be used in this bullshit, it makes it feel so much better. “More,” you whimper, twisting your body to look back at Steve to see his reaction as he pushes in one last time.

The awkward twist of the body is worth it to see how his jaw drops and eyes close, followed by his head falling back in bliss. “Fuck, both your tight little holes are so good, honey.”

“What a good girl you are, love, god you take cock so well,” Eddie compliments you, whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

Steve’s strong hand sways across your ass, caressing it fiercely. “Like she was made to, isn’t it,” he adds, hunching over your build to kiss the bare skin.

Your toes are curled, your whole-body tense, eyes closed as you lie in the sandwich that contains the three of you. Good. God, it’s good. The goodness that it is starts to trail down your cheeks, trailing off your chin. “Good,” you whimper, trying to look at both of them at once. “G-good. Move. Move,” you act restlessly, hands moving without a destination in mind, hips bucking anxiously with no such success.

They work in tandem, their hips synchronously moving together, both rolling their hips perfectly. Steve twists his arm around your torso, extending as he wraps his hand around your neck, fingers beautifully spread, choking the little air you have out of your lungs. Eddie stares up at your face in awe, holding your hips fiercely while his hips buck up.

Steve’s hand awkwardly spiders up your jaw, letting go of your neck to hook a thumb in your mouth and rest his fingers on your chin.

As a reflex, you start to suck on it. “What a pretty slut we have, hey, Stevie?” Eddie asks, admiring your pretty mouth wrapped around Steve’s thumb.

“Thirsting over her little holes being filled, taking it so well, fucking right, she is.” Steve agrees. He yanks his thumb out, using the same hand to lightly slap your ass.

You moan, loud and stuttered, and guttural at the sting of pain that just adds more to the pleasure. “Fuck!” Steve chuckles doing it again, harsher this time.

Eddie’s arms wrap around you, pulling your tits against his chest. He pulls you in for a kiss, dirty, and filled with spit. Steve slaps another time, harder than the others, you yell into Eddie’s mouth as a direct response. Your lips stutter off Eddie, whining desperately at the marvel.

“Whore.” You whine out, desperate.

“Oh, she wants to be called a whore, does she? Well she certainly earned it, didn’t she?” Eddie mocks, voice only a little bit strained. Eddie surges forward, slapping your ass harshly, igniting a yelp from you from the unexpected sting. “Sorry, Stevie, I wanted in on the fun.”

Steve grunts out a moan, “Of course, after all, our whore loves it, doesn’t she?”

They start to move faster, Eddie’s hips more jagged, Steve’s hips in a rolling pattern, both cocks fucking you in a way that is simply too good to be true.

That seemed to be the common theme for the night, good. While fantastic, amazing, wonderful, beautiful, are much better synonyms, good is the only word simple enough to reach your brain. Maybe the stream of tears trailing down your face are stealing the strong words from your vocabulary, maybe it’s the cocky look that sits on both their faces. Maybe it’s the wandering hands.

“Gonna cum.”

“Oh, make a mess for us, sweetheart.” Eddie commands, planting wet lips all along your jaw, neck, shoulder, anywhere he can reach.

Steve slips his hand around your thigh, placing two fingers on your clit. “Wanna feel this tight little hole as you cum, yeah? Gonna see our baby make another fucking mess.”

The pleasure is overwhelming, consuming every nerve you have. Gasps leave your throat, high pitched and too much. “Cum all over me, baby.”

A feeling you’ve never had, a high you’ve never reached, comes into play, forcing you to push something you didn’t know you could. “Oh, I’m gonna—”

A gush overwhelms the heavy breaths that are coming from both Eddie and Steve. Your vision is flooded with stars, writhing in their collective hold.

It takes you a minute to recover from it, both men’s hips slowly bucking in, slowly hips rolling and swaying. You still look like you need time when you choke out, “Fuck me! Fill me up, please, please, please?”

“Of course, whatever the pretty girl wants.” Steve mutters, hands gripping onto your hips as he fucks into you, matching the relentless pace Eddie was already at.

“Jus’ like that, jus’ like that~”

“Oh fuck, keep begging like that, honey.” Steve encourages you, grabbing harshly against your scalp.

“You better be as close as I am, Harrington, or this will be embarrassing.” Eddie warns, only half joking with how desperate his moans sounded.

“Fill her up with me?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” Eddie answers, grinning manically. “J-j-jesus christ!”

The symphony of moans as they fill you up in both holes is music to your ears, something you never thought you’d hear. You do your best to memorize every note, every consonant, every vowel, to commit it to memory.

The world freezes as three sets of lungs attempt to catch their breath. Hands gracing over any skin they can touch for a gentle caress. Caresses lead into kisses on skin, wet and comforting in the best way.

You can’t tell how much time passes as the three of you fall over into a three way spoon, cocks still keeping you good and full.

“Did so good, honey.” Steve praises, petting your hair and skin.

“Good girl, such a good girl for us.” Eddie adds, unable to help his hand fluttering over to Steve’s hair, as well.

Your gasps turn from whimpers to hums, accepting every whisper of appraisal with an overly satisfied grin sitting on your face. They pull themselves out eventually, you moan at the loss as your spaghetti limbs sprawl on the bed. “Gonna grab you some water, honey,” Steve whispers, planting a kiss in your hair.

“You need a bath, sweetheart? I know for a fact it fits the three of us down the hall.” Eddie asks right after him, yanking a pair of his jeans on.

You nod, head feeling heavy on your neck.

Eddie scoops you up in his arms, carrying you down the hall. As the tub fills with hot, soapy water, Steve comes back up the steps with a cold glass of water to the bathroom. “Drink up.”

In Steve’s corner tub, you sit on Eddie’s lap, arms wrapped around him absentmindedly as Steve climbs in across the two of you. They spend their time washing your body, the hot water, and bubbles soothing and gentle as ever. It feels so good, so nice, it hurts to think it will end soon.

Your hormones must’ve been wild, because the tears fall down your face as you start to think about how badly you don’t want this to end. They’re worried, asking what’s wrong as they worriedly reach one another’s eyes. “’M selfish.”

“Why you selfish, sweets?” Eddie asks, tilting your chin up to him.

“Cause…cause I don’t want this to end…having both of you...it’s too good.”

Eddie and Steve share a glance, the both of them knew from the start it wasn’t just a one-time thing. “Who said this was going to end?” Attempting to reach your eyes with his.

“What?” You ask, a beautiful flicker of hope in you.

Eddie’s arms tighten around you, hand reaching in to kiss your cheek. “It’s nowhere near over, baby.”

“You’re too good for us to let you go, honey.”

“Really?” You ask, now a tad skeptical. “You’re going to let me be selfish enough to have both of you?”

“Please.” Steve chuckles, eyebrow furrowing at the crash down the stairs. “If anything, we’re the selfish ones, honey.”

Selfish.

On a regular day, it’s hard not to feel completely selfish. But when there’s two enticing and captivating voices telling you that’s not possible, you forget the word even exists.

Thank you so much for reading! I love to read comments and replies and tags and as always reblogging is the best way to support fic writers on tumblr

taglist: @pinkcowracing @yourthebrokengirl @skrzydlak @thirddeadlysin @sammararaven @bebe07011 @prettylovley @josephquinnschesthair @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you @names-were-taken @oddussy420

#eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #steddie x reader #steve harrington x eddie munson x reader #steddie x reader smut #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson x reader #steddie x you #steddie x y/n

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arabaka · 1 year

Text

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ miguel x spidey!fem!reader. CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ !!! NO SPOILERS !!!! splashes of angst. unprotected sex. creampie. cervix fucking. WORD COUNT: 1.8K PSD CREDIT!!! MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI !!!!!!!（ ꐦꉺωꉺ)つ @miguelism @pompomegranate come get ya mans !!!!! PART TWO HERE !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You can still see him here.

It’s not real and it never will be– not again, anyways.

“March 13th.”

How long are you going to keep doing this? Your jaw tenses. Here we go again.

The argument is a solo act; there’s no one to talk to here but you. So naturally, you run the same trite script until it comes to the same inevitable conclusion: giving in to the self-indulgence.

The bad thing’s already happened. You lost Miguel– well, more like he lost you. You’re the one trapped in this purgatorial vortex. The space that lies between every what if, the border of every possibility.

And it’s so fucking lonely.

So it’s ironic that your multiverse jumping wristband is good for anything but its intended use. It mocks you, its amber projections burning red when you even so much as try to go home. Not to your original timeline– to HQ.

To him.

But you know that will never happen so you make do with what you have: the memories stored on your gadget, the device looking worse for wear with jagged claw marks running down its sides, disappearing into the scarred flesh that lies beneath it.

He didn’t mean to hurt you. You know that.

You wish you could tell him.

You (metaphorically) furiously fan away that cloud of remembrance. You’re already stuck, no need to dwell on the last time your heart was ripped out. You lie back, resting against nothing but floating amongst everything. Limbo sure is weird.

Arm resting over your stomach, you train your eyes on the happier time playing out from the screen on your wrist. It’s not perfect; the vision cracks, sometimes glitches in reds and greens before going back to normal. It’s getting worse.

There you go again! We’re trying to have a good time here.

Right. Right.

Sorry.

Focus.

You take a deep breath, chest rising and falling steadily.

Focus.

You close your eyes and when you reopen them, fix them on the screen that shows you strutting in Miguel’s domain, it’s like you’re there.

It’s like you’re back home.

“You gotta eat, you know.” Tossing a paper bag way up high, it doesn’t surprise you that he catches it with lightning fast reflexes, even with his back turned to you. “And if you don’t, I’ll make ‘em take empanadas off the menu.”

He’s still. Only sound coming from him is the rustling of the bag. At least there’s that, you think as you approach the floating platform. “Don’t make me come up there!” You holler, though you only get your own echo in return.

Shit. He’s in a mood.

Throat flexing with a thick swallow, you decide to go up anyways– you sure don’t want to wait for him to come to you. Thing’s slow as hell.

Webs whipping from your wrist, you fashion a slingshot apparatus to propel you yards into the air. Nothing beats the rush of a flight, even now as you descend into what could be a particularly thorny situation with a particularly grumpy man.

But he’s your particularly grumpy man.

“Hey,” Your voice starts softly, “Everything–”

He turns around, stopping you in the middle of what was going to be your magnum opus of pep talks to show he’s got a mouthful of doughy goodness that keeps him from talking. And when he swallows, there’s a damn smirk waiting for you to kiss.

You don’t fall for it, at least not now but god do you want to. But first…

“Asshole!”

“You just jumped to conclusions.” Another bite of the savory empanada just to tick you off. You’re so cute when you’re annoyed, even if it’s all in good fun. Your cheeks puff up and your nose scrunches when your eyebrows furrow. He’ll kiss you if you won’t.

“Oh, real mature. Hiding behind–”

In a flash, the empanada goes back in the bag and in red glowing binds gets fastened to the side of his computer mainframe, freeing up his hands to pull you close. A little too roughly, but you melt into his big frame regardless, lips pursing against his and giggling when you can taste meat and spice.

“How romantic.” You mutter and he laughs.

God, his laugh. Nobody heard it too often– nobody but you, that is.

When Miguel was with you, it’s as if you two were in a world of your own. A timeline of your own. Where past transgressions and terrible happenings were nonexistent. Where he could be him, the man he was supposed to be: sweet, charming, and kind. And where you could love him like he deserved.

Is someone else filling that role now?

Great! You’re thinking too much again. Stop fucking this up!

“June 27th!” You blurt, warped back to reality when your thoughts strayed too far from the projection.

The picture’s changed now. You’re home, your residence littered with reminders of Miguel. It’s empty, but not for long. The front door slams open and you and Miguel come pouring in, him taking the lead as the two of you blindly navigate the foyer with your lips locked and hands gripping each other for dear life.

Your cheeks in real time burn. Maybe you shouldn’t stay for this memory.

Oh, don’t be such a prude. It’s literally you! The little voice in your head chastises and honestly… You can’t argue with that.

“M-Miguel, I don’t– I don’t have– I’m not on–”

“Shut up.” A tempered hiss is pressed to your lips, thick digits coming to frame your face as he pushes you further into the space you’ve come to share together. “Or I’ll change my mind about filling you up.”

You can’t argue with that.

“Say it.” His growling crests your ears, breath hot and fangs out just moments later when his pelvis is flush against yours, cock buried to the base in your sopping wet pussy. You swear he’ll drip drool on you at this point, the man driven to the brink of his sanity by the way your cunt hugs him so tight. It’s like you want to milk him for all he’s worth.

Your hands paw helplessly at his chest, all your energy zapped as your eyes roll back under the curtain of fluttering fluffy eyelashes. “F-Fuck Miguel– f-fill me up!”

“Keep going.” His voice is low, rich and dark.

The fat head of his cock presses up against your sensitive bundle of clitoral nerves, slamming hard when you whimper and cry for him, “Right there, right there!” You start to babble, the words freely flowing from your kiss-bruised lips because your brain is long gone, “F-Fuck me, need your cum– need you, need you, Miguel! Please don’t stop, please!”

“Yeah? Can’t feel whole without my cock? Need it?” His tone seeped in pride, he loves seeing you unravel for him like this. “I’m givin’ it to you baby, right where you need it. You feel that? Your little pussy crying for me, so fucking wet. Fuck, you’re so good. Good for me.” He’s kissing you now, sloppy and panting into your mouth before his tongue ravishes yours and swallows every moan you give him.

Your legs locked around his waist still bounce, hips raised off the bed by Miguel’s brutish clutch so he can bully more of himself into you, harder and faster. Your lower body limply follows his every move, takes every slam and thrust all the while wet squelches fill the room. Your vision finally coming back, you see his nostrils flare and his eyes glazed over with a beastly kind of lust. It’s enough to make your bones shiver.

You can’t help but let your gaze rest there, even as he fucks you within an inch of your life, always so fervent with his thrusting as he stuffs you full, but you just can’t get over this view: his pectoral muscles flexing when you tighten up around him in just the right way, the way sweat gathers on his brow before trickling down his sharp jawline, and the way his lips stay agape because if he’s not groaning, he’s growling.

“That’s it, mi vida. Doin’ so good. Pussy takin’ me all the way in. Shit– I’m addicted. Might just fuck you raw every time. Want that?” One hand comes to your face, thumb just barely squishing your cheek and making you pout. “Say it.”

“Y-Yes, yes! Please Miguel!” Tear drops glimmering in the corners of your eyes, you plead for him, “C-Cum inside me, I’m getting close!” Every sense of yours is on fire, everything burning bright for him and only him. Always for him.

And you see a similar inferno explode in his narrowed eyes just then and it’s immediate, the way he unhooks your legs from his waist and bends them aaaalllllll the way back until your knees are violently knocking against the mattress, his lumbering body taking yours in the mating press he so adores.

Because he gets to fill you to the brim. Bump and grind against your cervix until even that soft nodule is his. He’s staking his claim, making you his as the soles of his feet dig deep into the sheets, his toned limbs caging your bouncing body until you’re nothing but a squealing little mess for him to clean up.

His balls slap firmly and roughly against your folds, sticky webs of cum starting and breaking each time he snaps his hips. Your walls tremble around him, gushing out more of your essence every time. You’re just about undone. He can feel it.

But so is he, his already thick cock pulsating with another rush of blood as the coil in his stomach heats up. He puts all his weight into you, onto you the last couple thrusts – he knows you can take it – so he can kiss you. So he can taste you.

“‘M cumming, c-cumming…” Your words are muffled and tired, eyes wheeling back as your orgasm hits you hard and heavy, Miguel following soon after with plenty of cum to fill your pretty pussy up with and an animalistic series of grunts as his cock twitches and throbs inside you. It’s thick and so much, too much so that the opaque matter starts to pool out when his hard shaft finally leaves you, giving your featherlight folds another heaping layer of viscosity.

“‘Tch– it’s comin’ out already.” He huffs, though with a bit of a laugh. “Can’t have that.” So his fingers gather what’s remaining and slip into your cunt before he pops another kiss to your parted lips, nipping just a teeny bit on the bottom half to get you to squeal one last time for him.

And that’s how the video ends. That’s how you finish, having followed along with lithe fingers rubbing your aching clit and one or two at any time plunged and crooked inside you, but it’s not the same.

It’ll never be the same.

#miguel o'hara x you #miguel x you #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #miguel smut #miguel o'hara smut #atsv x reader #atsv x you #spiderman x you #spiderman x reader #.˚₊ ੈ ʚ 📝 ɞ ₊˚. ꒰ marie writes! ꒱#.˚₊ ੈ ʚ 🍰 ɞ ₊˚. ꒰ a little treat for miguel. ꒱

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kairiscorner · 9 months

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married life. — kento nanami x spouse!reader (part 1)

summary: he'd give up his old habits and more just to see you smile, be with you for a little longer, and make you the happiest person in the whole damn world; he's your husband for that very reason. pairing: nanami kento x spouse!gn!reader genre: tooth-rotting fluff !! content warnings: mentions of slight alcoholism author's note: i saw that fanart of nanami that i reblogged and my mind just came up with all kinds of shit for him. i loved him for 6 months straight, I WANNA GET BACK THERE, LET ME LOVE HIM FOR 6 MONTHS MORE !!

kento nanami comes home from his dead-end, nowhere 9 to 5 job, exhausted and in need of rest. about a year ago, all he had to comfort him was a bottle of pricey wine that he indulged in every end of the month or so, not minding it was nearing its expiry date. he only had store-bought bread and whatever melodramatic soap opera was on TV to entertain him.

kento nanami was indeed, lonely; he was well aware of his own loneliness and needed nobody to point that out for him. it always made him feel worse whenever anybody would say how handsome he is or he's not getting any younger and that he has to settle down at some point.

kento nanami was never the jealous type, though whenever he'd hear word about a coworker of his or whoever getting married and being invited to the ceremony, he'd always feel a kind of pang in his heart, knowing he could never have that kind of life.

kento nanami had given up all hope of finding the right person, none of the people he had met recently were anything he felt connected to (or could even start a conversation with).

kento nanami used to clutch his wine bottle at night, hiccuping in a drunken state as the dialogue from the characters on the late night soap opera on TV was fading from his senses and sleep had come to finally take him away.

kento nanami however, gets woken up in the middle of the night to the feeling of warm hands on both sides of his face; hearing a soft, gentle voice call his name as he grumbles and groans.

kento nanami hears a giggle ring throughout his ears as he's being helped up by soft hands. "kento... if you were that tired, you could've asked for my help, love." you chided him gently as he hummed in confusion.

kento nanami sighed as he tried to stand up. "my... spouse isn't gonna like... that you're helping my drunk self off the couch... right now..." he said as he nearly staggered, but you aided him up as you nearly carried him up the stairs. "they don't want to see... me drinking anymore... but i can't help it, i miss them... too much, the alcohol... it brings me closer to them, lets me stay with them a little... little longer in my dreams..." he mumbled.

kento nanami began to tear up lightly as he kept mumbling and muttering about how much he loves his spouse, how much they saved him from a lifetime of loneliness he already accepted was going to be his life. "i can't believe that... that i... i was saved from... growing old all by myself... a miserable, meaningless life... a life without them by them... and i pull this stunt on them after... promising i'd be better... it didn't make me feel any better, it made me feel sadder." he confessed to you as you got him up to your shared bedroom and laid him down on the bed.

kento nanami sobbed as he kept going on and on about his beloved spouse, how he wants to be better and that they've looked forward to the day when he could spend one evening without him being passed out on the couch from the habit he had yet to get rid of him drinking himself to sleep before he got married.

kento nanami felt loving hands stroke his hair and shush him, kissing his temples as he tried to say sorry to his spouse. "please stop kissing and holding me... my spouse'll be sad... i wanna see them so bad..." he whispered as you chuckled. "kento, i am your spouse." you tell him as you felt over his ring finger, the two of you wearing the rings you both slid on each other on the day of your wedding.

kento nanami blinked his tears away in realization, and his face scrunched up even more as he began to sob harder. he wrapped his arms around your waist and cried into your shoulder, apologizing that he should've squared up, he shouldn't have let you down, but you shushed him and told him with a comforting voice that it was okay. "it's hard to get out of a habit, love... i know that. i'm not angry, i'm not disappointed... i'll stay with you forever, kento, you don't need to keep that in your dreams. i'll always be with you." you promised him as you kissed the top of his head, with him thanking you and kissing your cheeks, his tears wetting them as he muttered how in love he is with you, how he'll work on this starting tomorrow, but for now... all he wants to do is hold you in his arms and sleep with you, just lay here on the bed with you in his arms and with his heart beating in harmony with yours.

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prouddogboi · 1 year

Text

Stray dog (Part 2)

To find the most recent chapters, please go to @doggoboigaugau 's masterlist

Sorry it took me quite long lmao TToTT School and work deadlines are killin' me.

Pairings: Ghost x Soap x Male Reader

Summary: Male Reader is traumatized and refuses to open up to 141. Soap found out something horrible going on with him and told Ghost about it.

Word count: 1910

Warnings: Smoking. Mention of attempts to self-h@rm.

The next morning you woke up with a throbbing headache. It was so bad that you felt like hundreds of needles were jabbed into your eye sockets and every time you blinked, those needles plunged into your brain, sending a sharp and chilling pain to the crown of your head. This was by no means a strange occurrence for you though, given the fact that every night the base celebrated a party you always indulged in this self-sabotaging habit.

Still, no matter how bad the situation was, you still had training to attend to, tasks to get done, reports to compile, and a miserable life to live. You turned your head to look at the clock, silently praying that it wasn’t too late.

It was 13:00 in the afternoon already.

“Shit!” You threw an arm over your forehead. Nice, you missed the morning training session. It was your responsibility today to train the new recruits and now you messed up the whole Task Force’s schedule once again just because you could not handle your pathetic emotions properly. The thoughts of giving up flooded your mind yet again since it was no use in waking up anyway, it was too late to do anything useful. The other team members were already aware of how irresponsible you were as you continuously failed to be on time for training the newbies. And what about the newbies’ impression of you? Probably an unreliable man who was no longer fit to be a member of a special Task Force that was particularly famous for its efficiency. Or maybe you were never fit to be one to begin with.

Why didn’t the others wake you up? You had worked here long enough to know how scary and irritated Ghost could get when people missed his training session. There were even times when he immediately had the unpunctual soldiers pack their things and get sent to another department because he couldn’t fuckin’ stand people disrespecting his schedule.

“Maybe they forget about my existence. Maybe I wasn’t that big of a part of this Task Force.” You mumbled to yourself, trying to pull your tired body out of the heavy blanket. As much as you wanted to give up, the desire to be important to someone, something, or some organization, …just anything, urged you to wake up and keep trying. You wanted yourself to be seen.

Upon opening the door of your stuffy room, you instinctively covered your eyes as they were attacked by rays of blinding sunlight. Your room was too dark and gloomy, doors and windows tightly shut all day and night, no wonder you would react so unfavorably to the bright sunlight that is often associated with positive moods by most people.

The base was unusually quiet. You didn’t meet a single soul on your way to the kitchen to fill your hungry stomach. No Soap cracking stupid jokes with his heavy Scottish accent and laughing loudly to them himself, no Gaz cursing at his jokes, no Roach laughing at the two dumb manchildren, no Price sighing and telling them to at least be less raucous. You tried to shrug the nasty nagging feelings off, but it soon became unbearable when you walked into the kitchen and saw all the dirty dishes in the sink.

“They have finished their lunch.” And they had it without you. The people you considered to be your own family, much closer than the biological family that you had cut all contact with, didn’t wake you up from your drunken sleep, totally forgot your existence, and enjoyed a meal together like there wasn’t anything missing. You knew damn well that you were overexaggerating the seriousness of the situation, but you just couldn’t help it.

‘What am I to them?’ That question kept spiraling inside your brain, worsening the headache that you were already having. In a brief second, all the nagging feelings were anthropomorphized into a disgusting creature with multiple heads and mouths by your ailed mind, shrilly screaming out your deepest thoughts that were fraught with insecurities. Your legs were rendered weak and you collapsed on the floor. Supporting your weakened body with all four limbs, you took heavy breaths, trying to calm yourself down.

A few minutes later, you managed to put yourself together enough to stand up and get out of the base, on the way you didn’t forget to grab a pack of cigarettes. You felt stupid to resort to nicotine as a way to fight against all those feelings, but you didn’t know a better way. There were times when things were so bad that you had no energy left to hide your conditions from your teammates, and Price was concerned. He used to have you talk to some therapists, and not surprisingly to you at all, they could not handle you for long. No one ever could.

You were now standing in the parking lot with a cigarette in your mouth. You sighed, clearly satisfied with how strongly its bitter taste stimulated your taste buds. When you first arrived here as the newest member of Task Force 141, Soap and Gaz always joked that you’d become Price’s smoking buddy, but that did not happen. The image of you standing with Price awkwardly because you two couldn’t find a mutual topic for a conversation made you feel too uncomfortable to even try, so you kept avoiding the older man or pretending to not hear his offer until he just stopped inviting you. It was so obvious that the men wanted to get closer to you, they wanted to earn your trust, to make you feel at home and be yourself among them, yet you kept pushing them away. And now perhaps they had stopped trying all together. It was not their fault. It was yours.

But why it was so painful? You were supposed to feel relieved that they had given up so that you didn’t have to blame yourself every time you turned their kind offer down and saw the sadness drawn on their faces. ‘Why do I keep feeling like shit no matter what I do?’

Feeling that the intense emotions that were barely suppressed by the nicotine started to get out of hand again, you cupped your head with both hands, the half-burning cigarette fell to the ground. Suddenly, your eyes caught the red burning tip of it, together with how the paper wrapping around the nicotine was slowly burnt to black. At that very moment, a dark but familiar thought popped up in your mind. You bowed down to pick up the cigarette, blankly staring at it resting between the two fingers of your right hand. Then, your eyes turned to your left hand, examining your spotty lower arm. It was full of the small round scars that were caused by burning your arms with the burning tip of a cigarette. You had noticed Ghost looked at these scars of yours many times; luckily he never asked about them. The army was a place filled with people who had different background stories and bore numerous scars, so it wouldn’t be abnormal for you to have some that were a bit funny-shaped.

‘Should I do this again?’

Maybe you should. It helped with the emotions. Well, temporarily, but that was good enough.

Just as you were about to press the burning tip into your lower left arm, someone threw their whole weight into you. You were hugged by two strong arms and the cigarette was again dropped to the ground.

“There you are! I’ve been finding you everywhere!” It was the Scot man. “Are you smoking? Gosh, I hate this smell! Price’s cigars are much better!”

‘The ones that smell good are never bitter enough.’ You thought to yourself.

“Have you had lunch, pretty boy?” Soap pinched your dumbfounded face.

“Not yet.”

“What? Unbelievable! Get to the kitchen with me right now, Sergeant.” The man literally manhandled you straight from the parking lot into the base, leaving you no time to object.

As you two arrived at your destination, Ghost was already sitting there, sipping some coffee. Soap forced you to sit down right next to him while he proceeded to walk to the fridge and pulled out a dish, putting it inside the microwave oven.

“Here you are, babyboy~” He put the hot meal in front of you. You chose to ignore the pet name and his flirtatious voice simply because he had started doing it to you ever since you start working here. It was just one of his signature thing, you should not fall for it and mistake it as a sign of interest that could develop into romantic feelings.

“Thanks, Soap.”

“Aw, don’t be so all worked up and formal, babyboy. Ya’ welcome~”

Silence fell over the three of you, until you just felt so awkward that you had to speak up, “So… how was this morning?”

“It was fine. Ghost stepped in your place and took care of the training.” Soap replied.

You carefully glanced at Ghost, just to find that the man already looked at you, which made you tremble slightly. The skull mask on his face made him too difficult to read, you couldn’t tell whether he was annoyed or he just gave up on expecting something greater from you.

Soap laughed at your reactions, “It’s okay. You were drunk so Price agreed to let you sleep. Also, Ghost volunteered to help you with the training so he probably doesn’t hold a grudge. Am I right, Ghostie?”

The masked man didn’t answer; instead, he turned back to his cup of coffee.

You quickly finished your meal and left, saying that you should do training by yourself. The truth was you couldn’t stay there any longer, you didn’t want to disturb Ghost and Soap’s rare peaceful time together. You had already made too terrible an impression on Ghost, it’s best that you did not mess up again. As a result, you also missed their conversation. It was not intended for you to listen to anyway.

“You’re right. He did it.” Soap’s voice was solemn, with no sign of flirt or unseriousness like a few minutes before.

“You mean the scars?” Ghost looked up at him from the cup.

“Yeah, the round scar marks that you’ve told me many times.”

“It was just my guess. How do you know he really did it?”

“I found him in the parking lot. He was holding a burning cigarette and about to press it into his left arm.”

A few minutes of silence passed until Ghost spoke up, “Fuckin’ hell.”

“I asked Price about his past, I know it’s a nosy thing to do, but I wanted to help. Unfortunately, Price knows nothing either. Y/n… the boy never opens up to us.”

The two men sat quietly, exchanging worried looks with each other. If only you could know how much they cared for you, maybe you would find it easier to accept their love and help. Yet, even if they told you, even if they desperately showed you so many times that they cared and loved you so much, would your brain allow your heart to welcome them just like how it used to welcome other people you had met earlier in your life, the ones who left you wounded and made you the way you were today?

If someone asked you that question, you’d just offer them a weak smile and simply say: “No”. You're now too tired to hold on to any crumbles of hope left in your broken soul. You'd like to give up.

to be continued i guess :")

Taglist: @aphroditeslovr @prestigeghoul @edgyboi10000 @c0nny3917 @peter-the-pan @lovecats123451

#call of duty #cod #cod x male reader #ghost cod #soap cod #john price #gaz cod #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #ghost x male reader #soap x male reader #price is a tired dad #mw2 x male reader #roach cod #cod x reader #school is killing me #im so stressed out #angst #cod angst

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lume-nosity · 1 year

Text

if they get isekai’d to our world

characters: tighnari, nilou, yun jin, eula, aether, lumine, heizou, kazuha, xiao

genre: fluff

an: this is completely self indulgent and i may make a part 2 of this when i’m feeling up for it. take this post before i vanish again for the week. i’ll see you all again on the weekends <3

notes: not proofread, gender neutral reader, swearing, written in hc form so it’s short/weird, reverse isekai trope, written in one day

reblogs are appreciated!

trusting tighnari with your plants.

he’s experienced in the botanical area, so have him tend to them. it’ll also give him an opportunity to study/observe said plant(s), so just have him watch your plants when you don’t have the time. he’ll be very happy.

but if he finds out that you haven’t been caring for them before the isekai fiasco, he will scold you. and then give you a lecture on why and how you should care for them.

if you have like a book on plants/biology/anything plant related, he’ll be thrilled to read such a book from you. he will spend sleepless nights reading it, and you have to remind him to take it easy.

nilou, yun jin, and eula playing just dance.

nilou’s having a great time, ended up getting high scores while eula is flustered but she still maintains her graceful stature when dancing.

eula didn’t want to play at first because she’s suspicious of the game, but she was dragged into playing so she didn’t have any other choice. she ended up liking it but of course she doesn’t admit it. and yun jin is just glad she gets to be a part of it.

all of you are dancing the night away frfr

having venti listen to your playlists.

as it’s known, he knows every song in existence. but listening to your playlists, he’s surprised he’s never heard of such a tune before. because, you know, he’s not from your world.

but even so, it reels him in wanting more. so he begs you to borrow your phone to listen to your playlists, especially new ones you just made.

when you left your phone somewhere unattended and venti came across it, he looked both sides before snagging your phone off of its place to listen to your playlists in secret. ehe.

aether & lumine being your errand buddies.

if you’re planning to go out to run an errand like buying groceries or something, these two are the first ones to volunteer to help. i know they do everything in teyvat; doing shit for everyone and all that but this is different. when they got isekai’d, they’re reunited! (i’m going to ignore the abyss sibling bullshit okay let me write in peace i want these two to be happy)

so they’re returning the favor by assisting you in anything! even in your house, they still help you with chores and whatnot! which made you worry for them, so you’ve decided to arrange a time where you all could sit and chat. they talked about their journeys to other worlds, and you could listen to them talk for hours.

introducing heizou to true crime documentaries.

ohhhhh boy you know he will binge the SHIT out of them. now that he doesn’t have to deal with missing pets, he has something interesting to indulge himself in.

he ends up figuring out who’s the culprit before the show could even reveal who. which shocks you, if you’re the type to take a long time trying to connect the dots.

if you show him some unsolved cases, you know damn well he’ll look/watch into it. you have a smart detective on your hands, and if he ends up solving them as well, you must be writhing in pride that you and heizou are the only ones who know the truth.

kazuha asking you to go out on a stroll from time to time.

one time when he accompanies you and your errand buddies because he wants to see what your world looks like in addition to lending another hand, he wants to see that again. the wind, the sky, the view, all of that. it’s all unique to him.

so, expect him to ask you if you’d like to go out on a little stroll for a while. it’s an excuse for him to feel what your world would be like, to digest its features and compliment it all in a poetic sense.

most likely points out the colors of the leaves you guys walk by. he’s just blabbering about nature while you’re out here digesting his words and your mind turns into an actual tree from listening.

teaching xiao everything you know about your world.

yes, this seems bland, but listen. xiao is oblivious to how teyvat works in terms of tradition/humans, and now that he’s isekai’d to your world, you have to teach this poor innocent individual.

he needs information in order to adapt to this new world he’s not familiar with, knowing there’s not really a way out.

xiao is listening intently and nodding to everything you say, asking questions at the same time.

this isn’t part of the headcanon, but he’s also cautious when you say you’re going to go out at night especially when aether & lumine are busy with other matters. if that were to happen he will be the one to step in. no danger will befall you when you have a yaksha by your side.

#✏️ lume writes #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin fluff #genshin headcanons #tighnari x reader #nilou x reader #yun jin x reader #eula x reader #aether x reader #lumine x reader #heizou x reader #kazuha x reader #xiao x reader #x gn reader

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angelkhi · 1 year

Text

santa's little helper - j.m

pairing: joel miller x reader

summary: you get more than you bargained for being santa’s little helper.

warnings: SMUT 18+ (minors DNI), thigh riding, fingering, dirty talk, some cursing, unprotected sex in an apocalypse (big dumb bitches), creampie (even bigger dumber bitches), pet names, age gap, low-key feral joel, a little bit of pining if you take off your glasses and squint. idk i’m writing this post crimbo dinner prep i’m tired.

word count: 2k

a little note: the logistics of when the breakout started and when the reader was born do not make sense but that is not my fault i'm not a scientist and i'm bad at math. anyways here's my singular christmas fic. to anyone that celebrates merry christmas, and to those who don't, have a lovely december 🫶🏾 (also not proofread i’m tired and it’s christmas)

Christmas is one of the few traditions kept alive in Jackson, with handmade paper decorations about the houses, small Christmas trees nursed to health with the help of Joel, children running around singing festive songs you'd missed for so many years. You felt truly alive for the first time in a long time.

Joel's smile is light, barely visible behind the beard curated from yarn, but you’re close enough to see his upturned lips. His eyes flick over your outfit, a green t-shirt turned dress, some striped tights and a stroke of damn near magic with long expired makeup transforming you into Santa’s little helper.

"Cute as a button." He mumbles. A steady stream of children enter the makeshift grotto and you don't get to enquire. Not that you would. Your whole body is ablaze with nervousness, Joel's comment striking deep, so deep in fact you probably could've foreign caking deep pink out of date blush to your cheeks. He’s one of the few good men left in this world, and his rugged looks are an added bonus, so it’s no wonder you keen for his approval.

The day goes off without a hitch, the smiles on the children's faces when they got to meet the Father Christmas, the endless amounts of crayon covered decorations each kid got to design, the supply of sugar cookies that dwindled far too quickly. You almost felt bad for the sugar rush their parents would have to deal with later on in the evening. But they wouldn’t care. It’s Christmas.

By the end of the night you’re beyond tired. A few stranglers help with some off he menial tidying, but you send them on their way, your morning plans of self indulgent cleaning spree at risk of being disrupted.

The town is quiet, but brightly lit when you lock the double doors, and you use the rare moment of peace and quiet to appreciate all that you’ve endured.

"Let me walk you home." You yelp quietly, the voice from the darkness unexpected. Though not unwelcome when you spy Joel's broad shoulder leaning against the old barn.

"You scared the shot out of me" You pause to catch your beating. He looks apologetic and for a moment you're worried you upset him "You don't have to do that."

"Walk you home or scare the shit out of you?" You chuckle.

"Not scaring the shit out of me would be nice, but you don’t have to walk me home Joel." In fact you can see your home from where you’re standing it’s so close.

"I know. I want to."

Joel fears that's about as close as hell get to a confession. He admired your normalcy in a world far beyond it. He admired you, albeit secretly.

The two of you walk in silence, until he’s walking up your porch stairs and you’re panicking about the once welcomed silence, filling it with an invitation into your home. He accepts with a quiet smile, taking in the festive lights and handcrafted decor.

You guide him through the small hallway into a tiny living room, filled with random trinkets and furniture that’s worse for wear. Its more homely than his humble abode, and it screams you, warm and inviting.

He leans back into the worn sofa, his legs spread. Even in the Santa Clause get up you're not sure how to place yourself. It's Joel Miller for heavens sakes. A part of him secretly enjoys your nervous energy as you hover in front of him, not sure what exactly to do with yourself.

"Here come sit." Joel pats the faded velour, "tell me what you want."

He suggested it without thinking, and of course you comply. You’d walk into a building full of infected if he asked. Something shifts when you find yourself in his lap, you wonder if he notices it too, the way the air in the room suddenly grew thicker filled with something you’re not sure you’d ever be brave enough to act on. Your palms grow clammy. Breathe.

Joel is dumbfounded at just how perfect you look in his lap. He’d keep you there forever if he could. His hands rest on your thighs, thumbs guiding a small driving small patterns into the striped tights. He dips his head low, trying to meet your downcast eyes.

“I want you Joel.” The admission has your cheeks tingling in slight embarrassment and an underlying fear of rejection.

"That's it sweet girl. Use your words and i'll give you anything you want."

Those hands slip beneath your dress, a wide palm cupping your warm cunt. He holds your gaze, watching and waiting.

“I want you to fuck me.”

“That so?” He hums, eyes raking over your almost innocent face, then down to where your hips meet his. Two fingers tap your thigh and a commanding ‘up’ is spoken. You raise your hips as he asks, you’d do anything he asked in that moment. Joel’s hands snake around the back of your thighs, pausing for a brief moment before gripping the scratchy tights and pulling with vigor. They split easily under the force, exposing you to him. He thumbs the edge of your panties for a moment, the small creases in his forehead deepening when he takes you in.

"Red lace? Where on earth did you get these?" His tone is light, punching through the heavy thickness in his throat and he tries to collect himself, just for a moment.

"I don't scavenge and tell Mr Miller." You chide playfully.

“Don't care where you got em from as long as I get to keep em."

"Then earn them." Joel smiles, not one to back down from a challenge, giving you a small and simple nod.

He’s so gentle when he places you on the sofa you’re lost for a moment, then he’s on his knees in front of you, hands on your thighs spreading you open. His thumb traces over the wet gusset of the almost transparent lace, a perfectly harsh pressure building when he rests on your clit. He doesn’t bother wasting time taking off the pretty underwear opting to pull them aside instead.

All of that sweetness, all of the hesitation flies out of the window when he finally catches a glimpse of you, so ready for him. Joel’s sharp tongue is sweeping against you in a bruising rhythm, nipping and sucking on your exposed clit. He’s impatient and determined, losing himself in how good you taste, showing no mercy when you grind yourself against him, gasping when your clit swipes against the soft bump of his nose. Your hands swipe through his salt and pepper waves, pulling him closer and he decides then that he’d happily die between your thighs. Your soft whimpers grow louder until they’re high pitched whines whilst you chase the orgasm he’s so desperate to give you.

“Fuck Joel.” Your fingers tighten around his soft hair, his rough fingers curling your weeping hole. All it takes is on hooked finger pressing up against that spot, one more soft drag of his tongue and you’re finished. Joel’s hips buck up at nothing when you cum on his face, making those pretty noises, hips clean off the couch cushions as you ride out your orgasm. But he doesn’t let up, fingers moving at a languid pace.

"Gimme one more. One more and i'll fuck your pretty cunt so good you'll feel me for days." Cocky bastard.

You’ve clearly lost all sense, because you nod like you have anything left to give.

He doesn’t stop, not until you’re thighs are practically shaking around his head, and you can barely keep your head on your shoulders. He looks so proud of himself when you find the energy to open your eyes. Like he could walk away untouched, your release giving him all the pleasure he needs.

He manoeuvres your pliant body back into his lap, hands cupping your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek.

"I ain't gonna be sweet on ya." Lies. He's already more than sweet on you, half way to smitten and too much of a coward to confess. If he were one for making rash decisions he'd be on one knee begging you to marry him and making you cum on his face. Though he wouldn't need a rash decision for the latter.

"Don't want you to be soft on me Joel. Please." You grind your hips into his growing bulge, shuddering breaths drowning out your weak plea. You make quick work of pulling down the handmade red trousers, hesitating only for a moment when your fingers rest on the waistband of his boxer shorts.

Joel’s chest heaves a little when your soft hands grip him, dragging the shiny pink head of his cock against your wet cunt, slipping him into your sopping hole with ease.

“That’s it. Take what you need.” He rests a guiding hand on your hip, until your flush against him, taking him to the hilt.

“So good for me.” This man and his fucking mouth.

He presses his mouth against yours, kissing you and claiming you all at once. His lips are surprisingly soft, a heavy contrast to the way he’s gripping your hips, pulling you flush against him. It’s not lost on you that he’s doing all the work but there’s not a single thought left in your head, just Joel and how he feels and sounds.

"Got you nice and full don't I?" You try to speak, honestly you do, but all that comes out is a pathetic whine. "Too fucked out to speak. Look at ya', so perfect all for me."

There is nothing that could pry you away from each other in that moment, your panting breaths, the slight tinge of sweat, burnt sugar and pine in the air. Joel's illicit grunts and your soft screams.

He finds some restraint and pauses, somehow placing you flat on your back, the soft couch cushions moulding around your body, worn out springs creaking beneath the weight of you both.

He cages you in, relishing as you practically melt into the worn leather sofa. His fingers hook under your knee, lifting your thigh higher, the small amount of strain forgotten when he sinks back into you hard and deep.

He takes almost as much as he gives, driving his hips in a harsh rhythm chasing his release, watching the way your body responds to him. Pretty lips parted, eyes closed so tight, pussy clenching around him. Nothing will ever feel this good. Joel thumbs at your clit once again, and he completely surrounds you. He’s so deep you can just about breathe, his deep grunts and guttural moans floating about your once boring living room.

He gives you your third orgasm of the evening, and you feel everything but nothing all at once. There’s nothing but him and you and the knowing that you’d never felt this good before and nothing would ever come close again. His thrusts are relentless, your wet cunt clenching around him sending him over that perfect ledge. Your name is the only thing on his lips when he cums so deep, you’re not sure where he ends and you begin. He’s completely still, muscles taught goading himself through his orgasm, the feeling nothing short of euphoric.

Joel’s hands find your face again, that softness ever present and he melts into your body, your lips.

“Honey you with me?" He asks after a short moment, his voice hoarse. You nod at first, but he’s looking for words, words you’re struggling to find with what little bit of energy you have left.

"I'm with you. Seeing fucking stars but i'm with you." Joel's shoulders grow less tense at your reassurance. He nods, calloused fingers exploring your cool skin all over again. You gasp in unison when he slips out of you, tucking himself into his boxers and pulling your panties back into place.

"So. Did I earn my keep?" The elastic twangs against your skin and the pair of you share a breathy laugh.

"Sure did. I'm all about giving, in the spirit of christmas of course." He smiles, more triumphant than cocky, though it morphs into a look of pure determination when you speak again.

"Did I mention I have them in black too?"

#smut #tlou smut #tlou #tlou hbo #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal joel miller #pedro pascal smut #the last of us smut #the last of us hbo #joel miller x reader smut #christmas fic

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topherwrites · 5 months

Text

FIC RECS: OUTER RANGE, OUTER BANKS, STRANGER THINGS

If I made a little comment about every single fic or series here, it would be inhumanely long, so I've refrained from doing so and have just put the summaries for each. This is split into two parts, TGM fics and everything else.

I hope that anyone who reads this list finds something that they love on it just as much as I do! If I missed you, I'm sorry, there was a lot to sort through!

SOME OF THESE ARE 18+, PLEASE HEED THE INDIVIDUAL WARNINGS!

RHETT ABBOTT

Yellow Soul by @creatchie8

Trapped in a relationship with your high school sweetheart Perry is like a never ending nightmare of always stepping on eggshells. One winter break changes everything as you are reintroduced to his younger brother, Rhett. Looking for an escape, Rhett provides the perfect shelter you crave.

right where i want you by @sushiwriterhere

Standing there, staring at the cotton balls in the trash, some part deep inside of you decides that it’s now or never with Rhett.

Odds are Stacked by @sunlightmurdock

In which Rhett loses a bet and you lose your virginity.

Wayfaring Stranger by @/sunlightmurdock

Betrayal sends Rhett veering further West, searching for answers and searching for himself. Instead, he finds you.

Much Love by @southpawbitch

you & rhett have found yourselves in a little fwb situation despite the fact that you have a fiancé.

About Last Night by @delopsia

A self-indulgent take on Rhett's best friend coming back to Wabang and surprising him after his final rodeo.

Dancing Beneath the Moon by @/delopsia

How is it that your heart only longs for the ghost of a cowboy? And why do you get the feeling that his heart utters the same for you?

Closing Time by @youvebeenlivingfictional

“You’re having a helluva night, huh,” You comment. “S’that supposed to mean?” “You got a shit bull, then you struck out with that girl…And you failed to bait Luke Tillerson into trying to kick your ass.”

RAFE CAMERON

Untouchable by @boneblushed

It is crucial that the head boy and girl of Kildare Academy work together. Too bad the head girl is you and the head boy is Rafe Cameron.

Glitch by @/boneblushed

Rafe has a bad fall on the ski slopes. A temporary amnesiac, he falls in love with you all over again.

So Gorgeous It Actually Hurts by @/folkloreslovechild (deactivated)

childhood enemies to lovers, the slowest of burns, an unbearable amount of pining, both parties in heavy denial for like 90% of the fic, Rafe’s a total douchebag but he can’t help it (you’re gorgeous).

Euro Trip by @/folkloreslovechild (deactivated)

europe summer trip au!

new light by @outerbankies

you come home from college to spend your last summer before senior year in your hometown of the outer banks. an old friend hits you up wanting something more, and you begin to see what’s really been there all along.

You Belong With Me by @forevermoreharrington

Rafe’s fallen helplessly for his dream girl but she just doesn't see it yet.

tis the damn season by @atlabeth

When your roommate Rafe lies to his family that the two of you are dating, you agree to go home with him for the holidays to help sell it as his fake girlfriend after a generous bribe. It's just three weeks in the Outer Banks with one of your best friends -- what could go wrong?

Armour by @probably-writing-x

Having your heart broken was one thing. But Rafe watching somebody break your heart? That was something nobody could prepare for.

So We Won't Forget by @netegf

you meet rafe cameron at a grief support group while he struggles with the loss of his father. he's trying to be a better man, and you can't help but love him for it.

Hate It When You Leave by @/netegf

you are trying to cope with the fact that you're hopelessly in love with your best friend. He's trying to cope with the fact that you don't go after the things you want… including him.

I Know I Am by @bookofbonbon

For Rafe, it's always been you. He's just waiting for you to realise it too.

STEVE HARRINGTON

redamancy by @sanguineterrain

redamancy (n.) - the act of loving someone who loves you back; a love returned in full // or, four times you kissed Steve Harrington, and one time he finally kissed you back.

dancing with our hands tied part i | part ii by @taintedcigs

in which steve is in love with his best friend's ex.

EDDIE MUNSON

Pearl by @cacoetheswriting

a story about two kids trying to navigate through love and loss, inevitable goodbyes, various reunions, friendships and hardships, joy, heartbreak, plus surviving the upside down - all to the sound of Janis Joplin's Pearl.

#rhett abbott x reader #rafe cameron x reader #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson x reader #rafe cameron #eddie munson #rhett abbott #steve harrington #fic rec list #fic rec

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emmyrosee · 1 year

Note

hello🤍 i really love and appreciate your work! hope you’re doing well✨

can i request kageyama tobio or todoroki shoto when they want the attention or anything on your mind about them?🥹 THANK YOU SO MUCH🥹🤍

NO BC LIKE I NEED TO TALK ABOUT THEM MORE FRFR 🥺🧡

Here’s a Kageyama piece bc I don’t have any for him yet and he deserves it

——

Tobio doesn’t always demand your attention.

9 times out of 10, he’s completely self sufficient, being the supplier to affections you need, rather than demanding yours.

And sure, he’s not made of stone, holding your hand is one of life’s greatest pleasures. Kissing you on the cheek while you look over the takeout menu is exactly what the doctor orders.

But sometimes? The 1 time out of 10?

You really just wanna make him work for it.

You’ll always give him the luxury of never having to plead for you attention, and you indulge him in your affections without making him writhe.

Today. Today? Today is not one of those days.

Because today, even though he’s had this plan with Ushijima for the past three weeks to hang out and practice just the two of them, you woke up overly playful.

You wanted to make him squirm juuuuust a hair.

He seemed mindless to it, not thinking twice about the way you duck from his holds or reach away from his hand. It's alright. You've got all the time in the world to annoy him before and after he hangs out with his friend.

But, not-so surprisingly, it comes to a head when you're avoiding his kisses goodbye. This, he's forced to notice, when you turn your head just slightly when he leans over to kiss before he leaves.

His lips get a mouthful of forehead.

Pouting, he pulls back at you with a glare of betrayal, brows furrowed slightly. You snort softly, “what’re you lookin’ at?”

“Why’d you turn your head?” He grumbles, tightening his grip on your hips. Then, his brows shoot up, “is it my breath?” He uses on of his hands to huff and sniff his breath, but he seems to be confused when the smell is normal. “Why didn’t you want to kiss me?”

“What do you mean?” You hum, your arms looping around his neck. “Of course I want to kiss you. I always want to kiss you.”

He looks at you, suspicious, but he does lean down to try and kiss you again, whining out in annoyance when his lips press to your eyebrow. “Come on!”

“What!”

“I want a kiss!” He grumbles, fingers slipping into the waistband of your pants and gently tugging you closer, his refusal to leave without a kiss evident. “Is this because I’m hanging out with Ushijima today? Because I can cancel, I know he’d be just fine with it-“

“Why do you think that? And why would I mind that you’re hanging out with Ushijima? I like Ushijima.”

“I don’t know, you ask your lips!” He snaps, and just as you go to open your mouth to speak, he tugs you closer again, this time, catching you in a dominating kiss that has you giggling into his mouth. His hands come up to cup your cheeks, keeping you close as your teeth start to clack against each other from your laughter and his determination.

“Tobio!” You manage to squeak out, finally parting from him with a dopey smile. Your fingers hook in the collar of his shirt, and he uses one of his free hands to wipe your bottom lip.

“You play around too much,” he murmurs, voice in a rasp from the prior affection. “Why can’t you just love me?”

“EXCUSE ME?” You gasp in outrage, and as he fights back the smirk on his lips, you tug his collar promptly, “I literally love you more than life itself, don’t even try it.”

“You’re the one who refused to kiss me first!” He scoffed, leaning in for another and smiling against your lips when you don’t pull away. “Had to provoke me and shit. Hate it. Just kiss me when I lean in, damn.”

“You will live if I don’t give into your kisses whenever you demand,” you tease, leaning up to him to sink your teeth into his lip, which, even though he gives you an annoyed look, he absolutely pursed out for you to nip. “Now go. Don’t keep your friend waiting. Scram.”

He groans dramatically, "there you go. Trying to get rid of me again." You smack his chest, and he chuckles as he stills your hands. This time, he leans forward for a kiss, and you comply, moving your arms to wrap around his neck. This one is a lot more gentle, paced and familiar, it takes your breath away and you mewl happily into his mouth. In an act of dominance, his massive paws come up to grip the hair at the nape of your neck, and you whimper softly.

He pulls away with a pant, "I fucking love you."

"That's nice," you smile, fighting the laughter that wants to spill from your lips when he looks completely unamused to your next act of rebellion.

"I'll leave you for Ushijima, I swear to god, asshole."

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thoughtsforsoob · 3 months

Text

places in Tokyo that they take you to :)

a/n: idk if y’all can tell but i visited Tokyo, Japan not so long ago and absolutely fell in love with it. it was such a beautiful experience and I hope that if you ever do go, you have fun too. please don’t skip out on it and make time to visit it if you can! this may be a little specific but i know this is self-indulgent. please let me know what you think of it !!!

yeonjun

team planets! i see him liking how artsy and pretty it is. he loves seeing you enjoy the different exhibits and takes so many pictures of you there. he whines when he has to take off his shoes for the water experience part (which is so beautiful btw). he whines because he knows you’re gonna tell him to “put his damn dogs away”. i think his favorite part of the flower room because he loves how you look among all the flowers. Says some corny ass shit like “yeah, they’re pretty but not prettier than you.”

soobin

Tokyo Disneyland! He is a total nerd so he would love this place. He makes you get up super duper early and rewards you with coffee (tullys tho omggg). You guys arrived early enough and are there for rope drop. He even dresses up all nice for the day. He buys the both of you matching character hats. He totally insists on porky and slinky hats (he begs to be porky so you let him). He loves getting on all the ride but his favorite was beauty and the beast. he loves the attention to detail. he even gives you a little kiss while the ending scene is happing and def makes you blush. Don’t even get him started on the parades. He watches every single one of them. Especially the last light show. He holds you close to his side and wraps his jacket around you. The whole moment just feels so sweet and romantic and he lives for it.

beomgyu

harajuku enjoyer for sure. he loves all of the clothing shops, shoe stores and everything else. He for sure goes into all of the stores and tries on a million things and has you give your opinion. Don’t worry, after all of that shopping, he’ll make sure to get you a treat! He’ll fill you both up on Okinawa ice cream, cheesy 10 yen coins and plenty of coffee!! I feel like he’d also take you to music stores. You both comb through the many floors of Tower Records and find your favorite albums. Also..what’s harajuku without a photo booth session :)) he makes you take one of those silly ones that make you look like a doll. Silly gyu

taehyun

sensō-ji! I feel like he really appreciative of older places and places that make for pretty pictures. he def makes you both put on kimonos for the whole experience (don’t be like me and def watch your step when walking in these narrow shops…aka: don’t skip down the stairs 😜) he loves the whole touristy vibe and he hopes you do to. He obviously also stops at all the food stalls and buys you and him treats to try. HE also takes a pretty picture with you in front of the temple…one where he even kisses your cheek. He is in that good of a mood omg. You two also do fortunes at the temple and you both get bad luck :(((( sorry I don’t make the rules

huening kai

snoopy museum for sure. Yeah ik this place is technically in yokohama but like…idc :) anyways, huening gives snoopy lover vibes so he would def love to bring you here. he loves looking at all of memorabilia with you and if you’re a snoopy enthusiast also, he asks you questions and makes comments. he def begs you to take a pic with him by the giant snoopy in the middle of the room. he keeps it in his wallet forever. he also loves the stuffed snoopies so you get matching ones!

#txt imagines #txt fluff #txt headcanons #txt x reader #txt reactions #txt texts #soobin x reader #soobin fluff #yeonjun x reader #yeonjun fluff #beomgyu fluff #beomgyu x reader #taehyun x reader #taehyun fluff #huening kai fluff #huening kai x reader

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the-head-ancho-chilli · 2 years

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The Hashira reacting to your fear of spiders

Quite a self indulgent post, as I am currently sleeping in the basement so I can beat the summer heat. However I keep finding spiders which is awful because I hate them too T_T

Post is just as the title says, hope that you enjoy ^^

Word Count: 3.5k~

Mitsuri Kanroji

You would think that as one of the strongest Hashira that she wouldn’t be intimidated by insects

After all, she is pretty close to Shinobu and Obanai

Surely this sweetheart would be able to save you from this predicament!

Well you thought wrong

From the second she lays eyes on you cowering in the corner staring at the ceiling in horror, concern washes over her

“Aw baby, are you alright? Are you hurt?”

Until she follows your unmoving stare to find the spider you’ve been glaring at this whole time

A shriek is ricocheting all around the building’s interior as Mitsuri scrambles to the opposite corner, nearly knocking over the small table in the process

“Sweetie, there’s a spider” You warn nervously. Mitsuri is biting her nails as she frantically looks at you and the spider over and over. “How do we get rid of it? I don’t want to touch it!!!”

Turns out Mitsuri hates spiders too

Kind of ironic for the Love Hashira, don’t you think?

Both of you try to throw objects at the spider to hopefully kill it without ruining the ceiling

Mitsuri isn’t even close to hitting the spider because her throws aren’t even reaching the ceiling, she keeps severely underestimating her tosses because she is afraid to cause more damage

Now you’re both stuck

You end up chucking a newspaper at it, causing the spider to scurry a couple inches to dodge the roll of paper

This freaks both of you out, leading to Mitsuri clinging to you as you both run out of the room

Eventually one of Mitsuri’s cats will wander into the room and take care of the problem for you both

You now have an ally in your arsenal :)

Obanai Iguro

It’s no secret that Obanai loves creepy shit

He loves horror, foggy days, and Halloween is probably his favourite holiday

Obanai even has Kaburamaru around, he’s for all things spooky

When he walks in to find you cowering away from a spider on the table near your cup of tea, his reaction surprises you

He’s lowkey offended

“Are you kidding me” “Just get rid of it Obanai”

He just doesn’t understand why you’re afraid of them

“Explain it to me first, you’re being ridiculous” Obanai groaned with a glare. “I just hate them, they’re creepy and they can jump at you” “Oh, so if Kaburamaru was a snake you would hate him too?” You could feel your eye twitch at that response. “That’s not the same thing cause he’s a snake, you idiot!”

Now look at who’s being unreasonable

Obanai would probably interrogate you for a few minutes before reluctantly catching the spider and releasing it outside

Of course he does this with his bare hands

When he returns to you calming yourself down, he gives you a firm pat on the shoulder while you focus on your breathing

“It’s not that big of a deal, you’re bigger than it anyways” “Wash your damn hands, you sadist” “Rude”

He’ll probably just leave the interaction like that and not think much of it

However if he sees that you’re genuinely hurt from his part with the incident, he’ll give you a hug and apologize

“I should’ve done better the other day, I was disrespecting you and your fear” He whispers while awkwardly holding you close

He’ll make it up to you eventually, but he still seems annoyed by your hatred for spiders

But he knows that it surely comes within good reason

Just give him time

Tengen Uzui

Immediate laughter was heard from all across the estate

Here you were, in Tengens arms after you found a spider in the cabinet while the two of you were in the middle of dinner

The spider sat on the container of salt you were going to add to your stew, but you ended up leaping at the Sound Hashira in an effort to get away from the eight legged bastard

Tengen instinctively carried you as he searched for whatever spooked you, but he had howled with laughter when he found what it was

"It's not funny, Tengen." "You're right honey, it's hilarious! Hahahaha!"

He was laughing so hard that his knees were pointed inward, struggling to hold himself up

Once he calmed down, he placed you off to the side to go remove the spider

You had a frown on your face, but you rolled your eyes and got back to cooking dinner

Tengen returned with a cocky smirk on his face, which didn't help soothe your irritation

"Another good day with my beloved saved by yours truly, man I'm good at this" He said while smoothing his hair

"Pfft, you're oddly smug for someone who just took a spider to a patch of grass" You quipped

"Is that so?" He rested an arm on the top of your head, leaning on you ever so slightly to show off his large stature. "I think you're quite picky for someone who's afraid of spiders"

You didn't say anything, soley focusing on getting dinner done

Tengen was concerned by his silence, thinking that maybe he had gone too far with his teasing

"Hey..." He whispered, resting one of your hands in his, bringing it up to his face to place a soft kiss on your knuckles

"No hard feelings?" He had a slight smile on his face, looking down at you while you softly tugged your hand away from his

You punched his arm jokingly with a playful smirk on your face

"For now..."

Sanemi Shinezugawa

"You're a fucking wuss" Sanemi groaned

He was in the middle of training only to be interrupted by you calling his name with panic in your voice

Running to you, he tore the door to living room with his blade drawn, only to find you pressed up against the wall

Looking around, he doesn't see anything but you still shook from where you stood

You directed him to the blanket you were using, where a joro spider sat with its bright green abdomen shining in the sunlight

Now here Sanemi stood, with his blade on the floor where he dropped it and had his arms crossed

"Kill it" You begged. Sanemi only raised a brow at you, but otherwise remained unmoving

"What's in it for me?" He said with a sly smirk on his face

You really didn't want to make any deals with the Wind Hashira

Not that he never kept to them, but rather that he requested the most ridiculous things to agree to your demands

"Ughhhh fine, what do you want?" You wailed. Anything to get the damn spider gone and get back to the book you were reading

Sanemi's smirk widened. "We're going hiking tomorrow"

You blinked at his bargain

"Deal"

Sanemi crouched down, and picked up the spider carefully with his bare hands

He was calm and quick about it so he was able to hold it in a manner that didn't risk him getting bit

"It's going to be a short hike though..." You pondered out loud

Sanemi stood up again. "What makes you say that?" He asked with his back to you as he headed outside again

This time you had a clever smile

"You never said how long this hike had to be"

Sanemi stopped suddenly, standing still in the door without a single inch of him moving

"Uhh, Sanemi?"

Sanemi turned to you creepily, an evil grin plastered across his state

A chill ran down you spine and you broke into a sprint, Sanemi chasing you with the spider around the training grounds

What an asshole

Shinobu Kocho

On the outside, Shinobu seems like a good person to go to

You shyly lead her to one of the empty wards, pointing to a spider resting on the wall near one of the beds

"Oh my! Are you afraid of spiders? Do you want me to take it outside?"

When you nod at her, still cautiously staring at the spider preventing you from completing your tasks around the Butterfly Estate, Shinobu doesn't waste a moment to save the day

"Alright! I'll take care of you my sweetheart~"

She is the Insect Hashira after all, so she can take care of this issue no problem

Easily traps it in a cup and placed her clipboard over it to prevent it from escaping again

When Shinobu returns, the spider is gone and her clipboard isn't with her

"That must have frightened you! Do you need to sit down? I'm here now"

Her face is beaming with a grin as you hug her, thanking her profusely for getting rid of the little terror

She's kind of surprised with how grateful you are, not really expecting such a happy glow to take over you

It leaves her kind of flustered

Little did you know that in the other room, the spider was seated on a desk still trapped in between the cup and the clipboard

Shinobu keeps the spider for a while without you noticing

At first she was going to use it to hopefully help you get rid of your fear

She thought that if she showed you the spider in a more controlled environment, like a small terrarium, that maybe you'll find it as interesting as she does

But the plan has changed after seeing your expression

Shinobu starts to release the spider every few days in places she knows you'll find it

She does it all for the giddy look on your face when she comes back empty handed, and the tight hugs you give in appreciation

She feels guilty for it, but she can't resist your embraces

By the second week, the other residents started to notice

The butterfly girls pulled Shinobu aside to convince her to stop scaring you unnecessarily

"That's so mean!" "How could you do such a thing?" "Apologize immediately!" The triplets lectured collectively

After explaining her intentions, Shinobu vows to the girls and herself to correct her wrongdoing

"Shino, where are you taking me?" "I don't want to spoil the surprise~"

She leads you to her study, where a small terrarium sat on her desk

"Oh you got a new pet! What is it?" You questioned ecstatically

Shinobu had a small smile on her face as she handed you a bag of mealworms

"It's a spider that I trapped two weeks ago. I wanted to see if I can help you ease your fear of spiders." Shinobu spoke calmly as she gathered two books full of annotations, flipping to some pages she had noted. "You don't have to love them, but I wanted to see if you could understand them. They are quite fascinating creatures!"

You two spent the day learning about spiders, and although you still hate them, you found yourself a little bit soothed by the interesting facts Shinobu shared

Admittedly, feeding mealworms to the spider she kept in the terrarium was kind of cool

Kyojuro Rengoku

Okay there are two options here

If he finds you with a small spider, he is like your knight in shining armor

“Don’t worry my love, I’ll remove the threat at once! You can count on me!”

Kyojuro will take a small cup and a piece of paper, calmly trap the spider, and take it outside with a smile on his face

He’s so gentle that it makes you question why you were afraid of the spider in the first place

When he comes back, he will lift you into his arms and hug you tightly while nuzzling his cheek into yours

“See? It’s not so bad! I’ll always be here if you find another, my love”

Will happily participate in anything you ask of him in times where you need more calming down

How endearing ^^

That is until you figure out that there is a second response to situation like these

Even heroes have their limits

Kyojuro comes home to find you calling out to him, in the bedroom this time

When he enters, there you are, pointing at a spider that’s as big as your palm sitting on the middle of your bed

“Kyojuro, you’re finally here! I was just trying to put away the linen from the…. Uh- Kyo? Are you okay?”

You’re absolutely floored to see the Flame Hashira standing there with his usual smile on his face, but he looked like a nervous wreck

Panic was in his eyes and this man was sweating bullets

“Oh, hahaha! I’m sorry my love, what did you need me for?”

Is he serious…

“Yeah there’s… a spider on the bed”

You couldn’t believe your eyes as his expression shifted from anxious to cold so smoothly

Kyojuro’s face was dead, devoid of his cheeriness, staring hollowly at the large spider that sat on his sheets

Then his face snapped back to a grin and pulled out a matchbox

“Kyo, what are you do-“ “Killing it with fire of course!” “WHAT???”

You had to drag him out to calm him down and convince him not to burn down the entire building

After Kyojuro returned to a more sensible state, he kindly asked his crow to eat the spider and led him into the room

Kaname gobbled it up and thanked his master for the snack

Yummy :)

Giyu Tomioka

Depends on how he finds the spider can drastically change his reaction

If he finds a spider by himself while minding his own business, he'll leave it alone

Completely unfazed by it

He'll only move it if he knows that you'll see it, but often makes truces with them over their existence

"I'll leave you alone if you leave me alone" Kind of deals here

But the second that you scream at the eight legged thing, Giyu smashes it and the surrounding area to get rid of the spider

For such a stoic guy, he went all out like it stole his cold soba

"It is done" Giyu mumbles, calmly wiping the remains and debris off his fist with a handkerchief

You found his confusion hard to believe when you backed away from his open arms, silently declining his affectionate offer

Frankly you now had more things to worry about now that the wall was destroyed, but at least the spider is gone

Giyu is lowkey proud of himself, thinking that he handled the situation well

By the third hole in the living room wall he finally questions if there's a more effective way of doing this

The way that he sees it, Giyu is completely okay with sharing a space with a spider because he does not fear them

This is why he has an unspoken truce between them and other bugs

But because you fear them, Giyu views the same spider as an immediate threat to your safety because YOU fear them

Which is why he attacked so strongly

After speaking with you about your fears around spiders a little more, Giyu now reacts more tranquil at your shrieks when you discover them

Now uses the sheath of his blade to prompt the spider to step onto the holster, and slowly brings it outside to set the spider down on a tree

Still isn't sure what to do when you're still a little freaked out after the interaction, but at least he's learning

Gyomei Himejima

Overdramatic as hell

You almost don't want him to take care of it for you, but the spider sitting on the door has effectively trapped you in your bathroom

When Gyomei opens the door to the bathroom you cowered in, his expression is the same but can't seem to find the reason why you called him over

"Is something troubling you?" Gently speaking in case any sudden movements scare you more

You whimpered “The door…”, shakily pointing at the door he opened

Gyomei enters the bathroom, closing the door behind him and uncovering the spider that got injured in the result of him entering

Two of its legs were bent the wrong way, twitching violently

The giant man before you immediately bursts into tears at the sight of the dying spider

"Oh, I did that. I'm so sorry little one, I didn't mean to." Despite how tranquil his words were, there was a steady river of tears on either side of his face

Your heart wretched at the gentle giant before you crying at the small creature

The spider was so small and jerked at every second, there was nothing you could do to save it

Gyomei felt it was necessary to put the spider out of it's misery, and ripped a small piece of a rag you kept in the bathroom and killed it right where it was

This caused Gyomei to cry even harder

You felt quite guilty about the whole situation, since you were afraid of spiders

What kind of threw you off was the funeral you held afterwards in the garden

You found it silly to throw a large funeral for such a small creature, but Gyomei answered the questions flooding your head before you even voiced them

"No creature is small enough to not be worthy of life" He said, praying silently with the beads around his clasped hands. "All of them are precious, all living beings are loved as long as I am around. Death is such a sorrowful thing"

Your silence didn't go unnoticed by him

"Why do you fear spiders? They're so small, and you're as large as I compared to them. Why do they trouble you?"

You tell Gyomei as much as you were comfortable with, he was nodding silently from where he sat next to you

His hand touched your shoulder softly, tracing his way to the top of your head where he stroked your hair

You leaned into his side, allowing him to wrap his arm around you as he patted your head softly

Perhaps you were too judgemental of Gyomei at first

The gentle giant was just sensitive, that's all

Muichiro Tokito

You might as well go to someone else

Muichiro is an amazing training partner and a great friend, but you have to admit that he's not going to be of much help

You had hung your haori on a railing when you got back from the lake with Muichiro since it had gotten soaking wet

Muichiro dropped it in the lake while you were packing up your stuff after enjoying some early morning training

When you returned to your haori after stopping at Ubuyashiki's estate for some guidance and food, you found a spider sitting ontop of where it layed on the railing

You froze where you were, sweat dripping from your temple and slowly backed away to return inside

"Muichiro?" You called. "Hmm" Muichiro was muching on some tempura at the table. "There's a spider... Could you get rid of it?"

Muichiro shoveled some more food into his mouth

"Let me finish eating and I'll do it" He said without even looking at you

You were skeptical, but you sat down and continued eating with him, occasionally talking in between bites

You had left to go speak with Kagaya about an upcoming mission, but when you returned to your haori again, the spider was still there

It was as if it was mocking you

Inside you found Muichiro, but this time he was doing some crafts, like making paper flowers and knitting lilac bouquets

"Muichiro, the spider..." "Hmm" He hummed again, still not looking at you

You sighed and walked back outside, seeing if you can wait for the spider to leave instead

You found that your haori was spiderless and warm from drying in the sunlight all afternoon

While the two of you walked back to the village on your way home, you both continued talking about whatever came to mind

"I think I'm forgetting something..." Muichiro mumbled

Keeping quiet, you didn't want to mention the spider on your haori earlier

You didn't want to make him feel bad about his forgetfulness

Thinking of ways to avoid the topic, you didn't realize that you were quite a bit in front of Muichiro until he put his hands on your shoulder suddenly

"Stay still for a sec..." "Huh? Oh, okay. Is there a leaf in my hair again?" His fingers gently pinched your upper spine

You turned around and immediately flew to the ground, scrambling backwards away from your friend

"Nah, just this spider on your haori" Muichiro mumbled with the same one you saw earlier

You were thankful that he caught it for you before you noticed it was on your back

He sat with you as you squirmed where you were, trying to get your disgust out of your system before you return to your respective estates

꒷꒦˚︶︶꒦꒷︶꒷꒦˚ ꒷꒦˚︶︶꒦꒷︶꒷꒦˚ ꒷꒦˚︶︶꒦꒷︶꒷꒦˚

Thank you for reading! This took a while to complete but I had a lot of fun writing it :D

If anyone wants to submit a request, know that my inbox is open and that there are request info available on my pinned post so please look it over before submitting ^^

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film-bro-hotch · 2 years

Text

Victim of a Bad Habit - Hotch x Fem!Reader -- one shot

This is completely self-indulgent and simply because my brain is hyperfixating on Love and Human Remains. Please enjoy

Synopsis: You grew up with Hotch. You always knew him as the cocky asshole who slept around. The two of you were in a weird friends-with-benefits-type relationship. You kept it up through high school and would hook up during winter and summer breaks from college when you were both home. You hadn’t seen or heard from him since graduation, and honestly you hadn’t thought of him Not until he showed up at your job one day, asking questions about a recent murder.

Warnings: smut 18+, oral sex (f receiving), consent king Hotch, flashbacks mixed with pining, smoking, Hotch is an asshole, you are an asshole, I think that’s about it

WC: 3.6k

You were running as quickly as you could, or at least as quickly as the mix of your heels and Philly potholes would allow. You slept in a little later than usual and had to skip your morning coffee, just trying not to be late. You looked down at your watch. 9:03. Okay, you just had a couple more blocks to go. Maybe your editor wouldn’t notice that you weren’t at your desk yet.

Crossing one more street and taking large strides to maneuver the crosswalks of downtown Philly, you managed to make it to the newsroom at 9:09. The hustle of the place was normal. There was always someone running around, someone on the phone making calls. What you weren’t expecting to see was a couple of police officers and men in suits.

Sure, talking to cops was part of your job as a reporter, but you usually spoke to them on the phone, over email, or you went to them. Cops rarely ever come to you.

“You’ll want to talk to Ms. L/N. She is the one that ran the story. Her editor should be here soon as well.”

So your editor wasn’t there yet, perfect. But the cops wanted to talk to you. You ducked into the hallway to your office, trying to make it seem at least like you weren’t ten minutes late. You were logging in to your computer when you heard a knock on your door and someone say, “Ms. L/N?”

When you turned from your chair, the last person you expected to see was your old go-to hookup, Aaron Hotchner.

“Holy shit,” you said in disbelief. “If it isn’t the biggest asshole I know. It’s been a minute, Hotchner. You really know how to keep a girl waiting.” What you hadn’t accounted for, though, was change. His lips were creased in a tight line, and annoyance seemed to be pressed permanently into his face. His partner looked more shocked than Aaron did, though there was some amusement behind it.

“Excuse me?” his voice made it sound more like a command than a question.

“What? Would you have rather I called you a whore?”

His partner’s snort of either shock or laughter interjected before he could say anything. “You two know each other?” he asked, his voice wavering a bit like he was trying to hold back a laugh.

“Old friends,” you said.

“Former classmates,” he said at the same time, earning your raised brow.

“Okay,” his partner said, clearing his throat and shoving his hands into his pockets. “I haven’t had coffee yet. You want some coffee?”

“I would love some coffee,” you say. “Cream and sugar is fine.”

The other agent gave a nod and looked over to Hotch, but he only gave a firm shake of his head. He looked back to you, smiling in a way that told you he knew at the very least that the two of you messed around back in the day. “I’ll have that right out sweetheart,” he said before closing the door and heading down the hall.

You stood from your chair, moving a little closer so you could lean on your desk, arms crossed. “So, law enforcement?”

“FBI, actually,” he said dully.

“A Fed? Damn, you really made something of yourself…but it seems you got a little boring in the process.”

He bristled at that. “I am not boring.”

“Maybe not boring, but compared to the Hotch I know, this guy is…well, I have yet to see that shit-eating grin you used to always have.”

“People change.”

“That much?”

You weren’t sure how, and you weren’t going to ask, but somehow Aaron had gotten the keys to the theater’s rooftop. He was smiling like a fool as he climbed up the ladder, taking your hand and pulling you up the rest of the way.

“You sure no one is going to call the cops on us? I would rather not have to explain to my parents that I was caught having sex on someone else’s private property,” you said, giving him a critical look. You thought he was crazy when he suggested this, and he probably was. But you said yes anyway.

“Oh come on, live a little, Y/N.” He already had a cigarette in his mouth and was in the process of starting his lighter. When he managed to light it, you plucked it from his mouth, feigning annoyance.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you to wait on a lady?” you asked.

“You’re considered a lady?” he countered, earning him a rough shove to the chest, but you were both laughing.

“You can be such a dick sometimes, you know.”

“Yeah. Keeps the people I don’t like away,” he mused, taking the cigarette from your lips and replacing its warmth with himself. His lips brushed yours, feeling the bump from where his lips were starting to chap. It was getting colder, and he more than likely forgot to put on a moisturizer. It was almost a surprise to you considering he was always preening himself. You pressed yourself into his arms, feeling his stubble brush against you.

“Good thing I tolerate assholes,” you mused before going right back to the kiss.

Well, he was certainly still an asshole. Just one that grated your nerves a little bit more. You had a feeling that he wouldn’t tell you what changed, what seemed to make him such a different person. Was it really the job?

“Okay, fine. What does the FBI want anyway?” you asked, tilting your chin up a little bit. You could be pompous too.

“The recent string of murders,” he started, and you nodded.

“I know. I’ve been covering them,” you interjected, mostly just to get on his nerves. Which you did, it seemed.

“Your article about the one two nights ago, it had some information that came from anonymous sources. We need to know who those are.”

“Ah ah ah, it isn’t that easy, Hotch. I take my sources very seriously. I’m not just going to give them to you.”

“Why not?” he seemed more in disbelief than anything

Oh? Why not? You couldn’t help the smirk on your face. He sounded like a spoiled child who didn’t get his way.

His partner came back in then, holding two steaming cups. He handed one over to you which you gladly took. Toying with Hotch really was exhausting. “Thank you…I don’t believe I ever caught your name.”

“Hotch didn’t introduce me while I was gone? Seems like he’s slacking. I’m Agent Dave Rossi,” he said, extending his hand. You happily took it, not bothering to look at Hotch as you did it. You knew how bruised his ego was, and you loved kicking it while it was down.

You leaned back against your desk, one arm across your body still and the other holding your cup of coffee. “As I was saying, I can’t just give up my sources, no matter how much you say it is going to help you in your case.”

“And if I get a subpoena for you?” Aaron challenged.

“Listen, I don’t expect you to understand, but anonymity is something we take very seriously. If I grant my sources that, they will get it. And if I get subpoenaed, what do you think is going to happen? Like every other journalist, my paper has funds for this kind of stuff already set aside. I’ll have to pay a fine or spend a little time in jail, so what?”

“So what? Do you not care about justice being served? About protecting the community you are writing to?” Hotch asked, an edge to his voice you hadn’t heard before.

“Maybe if you did your jobs a little better, reporters wouldn’t have to worry about that.”

You seemed to really have struck a nerve then. His jaw clenched, and he looked at Rossi. “We are done here,” he said before storming out of the room. Rossi offered you a half smile, pulling out his wallet and handing you two cards, what you assumed were their business cards.

“If you change your mind. Oh, and thanks for the coffee,” he said as he turned, closing the door to your office on his way out.

You only had a few classes with him in high school, and to be honest you really didn’t talk when you saw each other. You both had your circles you ran in, and they didn’t overlap. Sometimes you would give the other a nod in the hallway. It was known that Aaron got around. Some rumored that it was not just with girls, but you didn’t care about that. It wasn’t any of your business anyway.

You simply took the time he would have with you and relished in them when you could. You were usually out late in some part of town or your room when your parents were gone, which was more often than not. You never went to his place. No one ever did.

One of the last times the two of you did anything together, you were both 22 and on break from college. It was just a couple of months away from graduation. He had just gotten into the law program at George Washington. You were lying on the roof of that same theater. You don’t think he ever got rid of the key he had back in high school.

The two of you had been drinking, and you were sharing a cigarette. Your hands were in his hair as you asked, “You really want to do this? Go into the whole law thing? You can’t exactly sleep around being a lawyer.”

“Sure I can,” he said with that stupid grin, “name a lawyer who doesn’t.” He had a point there. Your free hand was still running through his fluffy black hair.

“I mean it. Like, do you think you’ll enjoy it?”

“Law is black and white. There is a right and a wrong. It’s that kind of simplicity that draws me to it. I don’t have to think when I work, so I can spend every moment outside of it pondering everything like I always have been.”

“And this thing we are doing? Trespassing and all that, right or wrong?”

“Oh, very wrong, but that’s what makes it fun.”

That was the last time you saw that devious smile of his. No trace of it was on whatever you saw today. You wanted to know what happened to the man you once knew, the man that had such an annoying grin that somehow managed to make you smile. You shook your head. You had gone years without thinking of him, you can go the rest of your life pretending it didn’t happen.

You spent the rest of your day working like usual, calling sources for your next article, brainstorming new ideas. Even with his business card shoved to the back of your desk drawer, you felt called to it, to him. You had gotten most of your things in your bag, ready to leave for the day. Even at the door you felt you were missing something. You knew what it was, but you also knew you couldn’t leave without it. “Fucking bastard,” you muttered under your breath, grabbing the card and shoving it into your pocket. For safe keeping.

When you got back to your apartment, you threw your stuff on the kitchen table like most days, lounging and deciding that dinner would be something you thought of later, that today was far too tiring to think of what to cook. You stayed like that for a long while, surfing the tv channels and finding nothing that was satisfying. Nothing could seem to take your mind off of him and the way he was nothing like the man you remembered. Against your better judgment, you pulled out the business cards, deciding to give Hotch’s partner a call.

He picked up after the first couple of rings. “Agent Dave Rossi.”

“Hey, this is Y/N L/N, the reporter from the newspaper. I know it’s a little late, but I was wondering if I could talk to one of you.”

You could have sworn you felt his smirk through the phone. “Oh, it’s no trouble at all. If you would like to come to us, we are staying at the Marriott on 2nd Avenue.”

Just down the street from you. “That would be perfect. 30 minutes okay?”

“Sounds great. Room number is 317.”

You said goodbye and hung up the phone, grabbing your keys and wallet, shoving them into the tote bag you usually kept in the kitchen. You could just grab some dinner on the way back. If you were talking to Rossi then maybe it wouldn’t last too long. You left your house, walking along the sidewalk a few blocks away until you reached the hotel. It was nothing fancy, pretty standard really. You figured people wouldn’t exactly like their tax money being spent on housing federal agents in 5-star luxury hotels every case they had. If only that was true, that would be quite the story. You take the elevator up to the third floor, hanging a left and finding the room with relative ease. You knocked, stepping back and waiting for Rossi to answer.

But the man that opened the door was not Rossi, and he looked nearly as shocked as you.

“Y/N? What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, his shock turning to annoyance.

“I called Agent Rossi…said I wanted to talk. This was the room number he gave me.” You should have expected this. He seemed to eat up the little bit of the interaction he saw between you and Hotch earlier today.

Hotch seemed to think for a moment, but finally he stepped back from the door. “Rossi isn’t even here. He’s back at the police station working on paperwork. Just come in and we can talk,” he said, giving you room to step in. It was then that you noticed he had changed into more casual clothes. A George Washington Law School sweatshirt and some sweatpants. He looked like he was about to go to bed.

“Listen, I’m really sorry for earli-” you had started, but he cut you off.

“It’s fine, really. Don’t worry about it.” His tone said otherwise. He sat down on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees. There was a long moment of silence between the two of you, a tension that the other seemed to refuse to break. You were the first one to speak.

“What changed?” you asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Everything about you. It’s like you are a different person,” you would have continued, but his agitation stopped you.

“Jesus Christ, not this! Can’t you just deal with the fact that I’ve grown up and you haven’t!” he snapped.

“I haven’t grown up?” you asked, baffled.

“You called me a fucking whore in front of my coworker!” Well, he had a point there.

“I know that was uncalled for, and I’m sorry, but I called you an asshole, that’s different.”

“No, it isn’t!”

“I’m trying to fucking apologize, Aaron! Would you just let me?!” That was the first time you had raised your voice at him, and it seemed the two of you had run out of steam. You were both quiet, neither wanting to challenge the words that hung thick in the air.

“What changed, Aaron?” you asked again.

He was silent for a long moment, his eyes not meeting yours. His gaze was fixed on the floor, his eyes deciding that it was much more interesting than facing you. “I was a stupid kid, Y/N,” he started. “I didn’t know what I was getting into. I didn’t think I would care. I saw so many cases go through my door as a prosecutor, and I felt like even though I was serving justice, I wasn’t making any difference. I wasn’t saving any lives. I felt - I was so lost. I went through high school and college coasting, and I was so lost.”

You were quiet as you moved closer, placing a hand over his. You felt his calloused edges, and his fingers brushed over your cuts and scrapes. “Still picking at your fingers?” he asked, finally meeting your eyes.

“We all have our bad habits,” you said, your fingers finding themselves lacing with his.

“Mind if I pick this bad one back up again? Just this once?” he looked up at you, and you could feel a part of your past self smile. There was still a hint of him there. You took your free hand, running it through his hair. It was shorter now, parts of it stiff from a little bit of a heavy hand at the styling gel.

“Please,” you found yourself whispering. Your breath was taken out of you as he pressed his lips to yours, your hand still in his hair and gripping the back of his head as you pulled him closer. His weight pushed you into the plush hotel mattress, still holding on to his hair. You winced a little, his teeth colliding with your bottom lip as he tried to deepen the kiss, and you couldn’t help but laugh a little. You could hear his soft chuckle against your lips, feel the way his laugh made his chest shake. You started to move away from his lips, your kisses peppering the corner of his lips, down to his jawline, but he pulled away abruptly. You expected regret, for him to tell you to get out and not call him again. But when you saw his face, you saw that stupid, shit-eating grin he had been missing.

“I think I owe you a little something. For being a bit of a dick, I mean.”

“A bit?” You asked, raising your brow, but he didn’t give you time to complain. His lips were on your jawline now, slowly moving lower to your neck, staying in a few places a little longer, with the intent to leave a mark no doubt.

He worked devilishly, moving to your collarbone. You went to unbutton your top, but he stopped you. “Ah ah ah, my job.”

Oh, damn him. His fingers were agonizingly slow, going one button at a time, leaving a kiss at each place that had once been covered. When he reached your breasts, one hand slipped to your thigh, the other taking hold of your bra strap. “Is this okay?” he asked, pulling away from his work to look at you.

“Keep going,” you breathed out. His hand slipped behind you, unclasping your bra with an ease that surprised you despite his known history. He pulled it off your body, leaving your breasts exposed for him. His lips continued their journey, one hand gripping your left breast while his lips toyed with your right. You couldn’t help the high pitched yelp of surprise when you felt his teeth graze your nipple. “Aaron,” you managed, feeling yourself squirming underneath him. You could feel a heat growing between your legs, one that you tried to stifle by keeping your thighs closed.

Of course he noticed, and you could nearly feel his smirk in his kisses, the way he moved from your breasts down to your navel, stopping occasionally to leave his mark. He looked up at you then, asking for permission to go further, and you nodded. “Your words. Use them,” he scolded. If you were in any other situation, you would have rolled your eyes, but at that moment you needed him, so you gave in and said, “Yes.”

His fingers were nimble as they unclasped your belt, unbuttoning your pants and pulling them down, throwing them to the side. Next was your underwear which in his eagerness he nearly ripped. You opened your mouth to complain but stopped as he moved closer, placing your knees on his shoulders and starting the real work. You nearly came undone by his first touch, something he was surely going to tease you for later. One hand was still on your thigh, gripping hard enough it was sure to leave a mark come morning. He kissed the most vulnerable parts of you, slowly pulling you apart like an intricate braid that only he knew the secrets to. You could feel yourself building, and Hotch could too. He pulled away just long enough for you to groan, your body begging for his return. “Aaron,” you called, hearing him laugh from between your legs.

“So impatient,” he toyed.

“Asshole.”

“You already knew that one.” It only took a few more waves of his devilish hand to bring you to your peak, gripping the cheap, white bed sheets and crying out, gasping to regain your breath. You could hear your heart thumping in your ears, a sound that nearly overwhelmed you when Hotch came back up, grinning like a fool and kissing you. Tasting yourself on his lips, your hands back to his hair and his hands cradling your face. It all felt so right, and for a moment it felt like you had that Hotch back.

“You think we could keep this bad habit up?” you asked, still trying to catch your breath. Hotch just gave a little laugh and shook his head.

“No, I don’t think we will.”

“Glad we are on the same page,” you breathed as you kissed him again.

The two of you laid like that for a while, sharing the occasional kiss but mostly just staying in each other’s arms for as long as time allowed. You still weren’t sure if you would be there come morning, but that didn’t matter. You would be back one of these days. You were both victims of bad habits.

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witchmoon · 2 years

Text

by our red string of fate.

Part 1

Pairing: Prince Aemond Targaryen x fem! Reader

Summary: Aemond returns to King’s Landing for Aegon’s name day celebration during the midst of war. Immediately he regrets his decision to join the festivities, threatening an existential crisis, but then a mysterious beauty catches his attention - intriguing his jaded heart. It’s an unlikely place and the most inconvenient of times, but somehow he's renewed by the prospect that he could finally have a love he’s never known.

Word Count: 4.6k

Author’s Note: Third person perspective, reader/she (Y/N) is from an unspecified house with limited knowledge of the Targaryens. Some deviation of timelines and of HOTD canon/ details. Multi-part wip / slow burn, angst, eventual NSFW (lots!), language, soft feels.

I just want to write about Aemond falling in love, so the story is hyper-focused on the two mains-only without a lot of scene setting and background regarding the dance. Hope you stick around and enjoy! Comments/asks welcomed. LMK if you want to be tagged.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

don’t stop trying to find me here amidst the chaos. though i know it’s blinding, there’s a way out. say out loud, we will not give up on love now.

Sometimes Aemond wonders why he still shows up for shit like this, especially when the attendance is so insufferable. Not that he doesn’t occasionally enjoy hearing his name mentioned in mixed tones of reverence and fear when he returns home.

Admittedly, he does find the soft whispers amongst the crowd of highborn families that his mother insists on periodically inviting to court dryly amusing, but only just.

The attention can also prove a nice stroke to his ego every once in awhile, but it isn’t important to him the way it might have been before the war started. The pointed compliments and overt side-glances his way seem particularly insincere, holding no significance, as every person in the room fails to override his growing boredom.

Heavens save me.

Aemond begins to seethe at the fuckery of it all, and the night continues to progress with no clear end in sight. Time passes and with every moment that it does, his interest in remaining present depletes.

It’s unsurprising in consideration of how the conversations stay surface-level, lacking quality as the topics float weightless and repeating, forever removed from reality. Even with so many moon turns passed, everything still seems to remain relatively ordinary. No- dull as shit, he internally counters. Its personally stifling within the confines of the Red Keep.

He hates it here. The lack of evolution disappoints Aemond, even despite his expectation already residing at an all-time low. But what could be expected? Certainly nothing more from the self-indulgent snobs so far up their own asses as they regale in false self-importance, and definitely not when they maintain this guise for their foolish king’s name day celebration. What a farce.

His train of thought compels him to consider the raised dais where his idiot brother currently sits, already several cups deep into his spirits. Aemond can’t help but roll his eye, a habit he’s no longer keen to conceal. He’s grown tired of putting on fronts, especially for his family, wearing his emotions more easily on his sleeve so to speak.

Disdain and bitterness reignite at the sight of Aegon, selfish prick that he is, weaving back into Aemond’s marrow as he reflects on the many sacrifices he continues to make in the name of honor, loyalty and duty. And for fucking what?

i don't feel guilt at being unsociable, though i may sometimes regret it because my loneliness is painful…

The wine is weak, the food is tasteless and the music - abhorrent. He swears he’s going to gut the damn jester that keeps circling the main floor if he sees him again, envisioning the crimson pool that would undoubtedly ruin his newly polished boots in his mind’s eye, were he to act on the impulse.

It wouldn’t be worth it and Mother would be none too pleased…

Convincing himself of this, it’s actually not lost on him that he’s spent his entire life actually living within and throughout this ever-growing debacle. So many nights just like this, and the irony of such staggering a truth becomes too fucking rich. He blames his father most of all for this, but there are other factors too, ideas less congruent, but convincing all the same- he’s been cursed since birth.

His aversion to remain in this hall, in the entirety of this damnable Keep, only builds. The mood of Aemond is a transformative black and he’s past annoyance when more people fill the space, to the point it feels like everything probably should implode on itself. And he can’t say he wouldn’t welcome this, even if it meant his own demise, because at this point who fucking cares?

but when i move into the world, it feels like a moral fall- like seeking love in a whorehouse.

Alas, it does not. But the cynicism within him just keeps expanding. He can only blame himself. Just lay in it then, and try to be civilized.

Truth be told, the appeal for him to do anything these days that didn’t include partaking in the plotting for destruction and so many endless deaths during war meetings, or patrolling for visible threats from the sky on Vhagar had been strong. He’s convinced it must have been in a moment of weakness, during one of his deep bouts of loneliness, that the invitation bearing raven had conveniently arrived to him.

Aemond can’t justify any other reason than this, for he’d made haste to King’s Landing without any true forethought upon receipt of his mother’s handwritten request. Why had he been so easily swayed? Was it because life of late felt reduced to boring days, an unknown future, an irregular sleep, repeat? Yes, likely. But these were weaknesses better kept under wraps.

He smirks at such an unmerciful fate, but mostly to himself when he turns again to the main table, witnessing in real time as his only living parent bestows Aegon with a small surreptitious slap at something mouthy he’s just said towards her. In all these years, nothing ever changes.

Their grandsire holds Aegon in a death glare full of contempt by her side, utterly disapproving as well, which is something Aemond finds satiric. After all, wasn’t this what The Hand had always wanted for The Greens? Irreverent power and glory, Aegon upon the throne…such folly.

i can hardly breathe, and now you're right above me and your shadow suffocates.

The Keep had momentarily seemed a welcoming concept, but the present is too sobering a contradiction, impossible to ignore now. Sadly, the notion that he’d feel differently for this homecoming was once more proving false.

He can’t deflect responsibility, knowing his decision in actuality has been swayed by the growing weariness of violence - how tired he is of constantly being on the defense; forever at odds with his heart, his soul. It all feels heavy, a burdensome weight that will not hold much longer. What is my purpose? Although he will never admit this to anyone, he’s begun to lose sight of what he’s even fighting for anymore.

He needs something else to focus on for a while. A spark of interest would be nice, anything might do, as long as it could keep him from lashing out in anger - mostly at himself. Or worse, he could go spiraling downwards, back into the deep abyss of his emotions for a long-term residence. Just wither away into nothingness, and he has half a mind to let it happen. Fuck it all.

The actuality of all this flits across his mind, leaving the room suddenly muted to his ears. He shuts out the conversation he’s been involved in for an undisputed amount of time. Interestingly, the group surrounding him is littered with several lords and ladies that used to scoff and shirk at him a mere handful of solar cycles previously.

Hypocrites, cowards, utter cunts - the lot of them.

It doesn’t really matter to him though, these fools from a bitter and harrowing past, nor their opinions. Instead he inwardly returns to a more pressing matter up for his contemplation - the emptiness he’s been feeling for awhile, how internalized and damaging it still is.

He thinks of the way it all stacks up against him, how it’s reduced him to a man underwhelmed, unfulfilled… and the greatest issue of all, unloved. This is something Aemond is forever conscious of, and it’s like he’s suddenly experiencing the same oppressive state he’d lived in for so much of his youth, a time in which he was not in control whatsoever.

Once upon a time, he had been soft - a dreamer with a lot of heart to give. Unfortunately, by no fault of his own, his sensitive nature had proven detrimental, swiftly making him the target of many immature, albeit cruel intentions. Even despite being a Targaryen son, he’d constantly found himself the brunt of jests amongst his eldest brother and younger kin alike.

It had been a callous awakening, one that both fed his deep-seated feelings of inadequacy and expanded his burgeoning anger, turning him more spiteful with age.

What the fuck?

He wonders why these memories are suddenly seeking their re-emergence, particularly when it feels like he’s already spent a lifetime making painstaking efforts to finally move beyond such devastating haunts.

But it never really leaves him.

In defiance of persistence, self preservation and all he’s mastered, everything he’s proven of himself through accomplishment and challenge, some things still refuse to detach themselves from him. They are core memories that shall remain forever tied to the very matter of which he’s made, and because of this, he’s tried to make peace with their aggravation.

Even still, it’s a nuisance for him when he considers his own personal defects, how ingrained they seem, like a sustained poison in his blood. Inescapable fallacies that others have convinced him of, no matter his renowned skills as a swordsman, his impressive mount on the biggest dragon in the world, all his knowledge - the rarity of an education that is vast, uncommon… the notoriety of his crimes.

Am I not more than this?

He’s flawed - yes, as painfully aware of this truth as he is of his demons, so many well-acquainted old foes that have been around his entire life, lurking endlessly. They’re more repressed than before, but Aemond doesn’t think they’ll ever truly leave him, and he’s inclined to accept this damnation too.

But try as he might to tamper it, he feels primarily defined by his navigation and survival through neglect and bullying, at being physically maimed and sexually taken advantage of at a young age, none the wiser at the time. It’s all very tragic, even still, and yet he’s tired of being married to the victimization of it all.

He often wonders what’s so terribly wrong with him that every day, it feels like Westeros is trying to strangle him. As if she’s been trying to do this for his entire life - kill him slowly. And this plausibility doesn’t seem out of the realm of possibility as he sardonically considers his existence, how shit it’s been, that the bitch might actually be succeeding in the endeavor.

It's an ever-present thorn in his side, and it feels deeper tonight, the stab somehow greater. He feels like disappearing or giving up, and the decision to give in only persists in the absence of an anchor - one he’s been in dire need of for some time.

If only there was a new strength from which he could draw, something powerful that he might feel inclined to cling to. His mind reels at what could possibly keep him grounded, give his life meaning, keep him sane enough to remain in this living hell.

But hope is a foreign concept, a dangerous entertainment that Aemond doesn’t make a practice of, and happiness is even more evasive. For him, there’s no miracle waiting in the wings for the perfect moment to unveil itself and show him kindness. There’s no fortress from which to seek refuge within, no bastion or brave defender to come to his aid, no salve to erase all the hurt in his torn heart. It’s a lost cause.

He knows that coming here tonight has been a grave mistake.

no dawn, no day, i’m always in this twilight.

He wants to move, but the will to do so momentarily abandons him, leaving him to remain trapped within himself. His singular vision loses focus as his stare shifts to the intricate flooring before him, a distracting pattern of which he really isn’t seeing. It’s not promising, but he’s somehow hoping the ground might miraculously deign mercy upon him by opening up and just swallowing him fucking whole.

He holds his breath, willing this occurrence, but of course it's all for naught. Then, as if from the end of a dark tunnel, he hears the familiarity of his name, spoken and echoing, drawing him back to the present. He begins to anticipate the confused stares from the group he’s been standing with, though no genuine conversing has taken place thus far.

When his mobility reinstates of its own accord, he shifts his weight to buy some time before looking up to consider the lord who’s asked him... something. He knows not what, nor does he care, but upon Aemond’s vision refocusing, he’s not seeing them or anyone - only her.

in this light, i swear you’re mine.

It's a mysterious occurrence, the way time works - how the stars seem to have finally conspired to align with opportunity and chance. And for the first time tonight, perhaps ever, he finds himself captivated.

The crowd has split, forming a clear path from where he’s standing to the opposite end of the room. He swears his traveling gaze has been moved by some greater force, something he cannot name, beckoning him. It must be true, he’s convinced as the connection he’s feeling with the nameless woman increases.

The air becomes charged with renewed energy, a unique heat that seems untainted by pretense. And it’s heat that flourishes within him now - inexplicable, drugging when he realizes all at once that she’s staring back at him. Only him.

There’s a curiosity to their exchange, the way it goes on in silence, in secret. It’s everything but fleeting, what they’re sharing from afar. And although it's from a great distance, he knows this could be something of substance, worth pursuing. Something unnamed within him spurs this idea, urging him into action to seize this unexpected opportunity, but then she looks away and he’s completely startled.

Suddenly, Aemond cannot breathe. She is fucking beautiful. From his remote observation, this is clear, but he’s also sensing something else about her. Aside from the obvious, that she’s literally the most stunning person in the room, that he has probably ever seen, her energy is not supporting this fact.

It perplexes him.

Amid the many exquisite objects within this opulent hall, she outshines them all, easily taking center stage. But what’s drawing Aemond the most, putting him on the highest of alerts, is the unease he senses emulating from her. She looks about ready to dart from the stale festivities, as if she’s simply gathering her nerve while mapping out her next move in order to see this realized.

Take me with you.

Actually, she looks exactly the way he feels, and intuitively he knows that she is someone he needs to have in his life. He’s still staring when she unexpectedly looks at him again, and with this second glance - a feeling of pure elation begins to take root within him. The air rushes to enter his lungs once more.

Suddenly he feels alive again, awakened from the dead at long last.

i looked at him with unexplainable recognition, i stared at him with a burning throat and teary eyes.

It’s time to panic.

Truth be told, she hadn’t meant to stare for as long as she had, and then again. It's definitely not something she’s prone to do - fixate on strangers, especially considering how uncomfortable it’s always made her when on the receiving end of such attentions.

But in her defense, dear cousin had recently disappeared, leaving her to her own devices without any formal introductions. Thus, voiding any and all potential attempts at social interactions on her own, should she have chosen to pursue them.

She had not, and it wasn’t a great loss for her either, as the night so far had proven rather stale - falling flat despite its nauseating frivolity. And yet, as a first-time visitor to the capital with limited knowledge of court customs, being put out like this felt like a blow, like abandonment.

It did not bode well with her to feel less than, misplaced, unwelcome. And these were all issues she’d been struggling with since arriving, trying desperately to maintain a sense of calm confidence that she did not actually feel an iota of.

In honesty, she could have anticipated this if only she’d removed the figurative rose colored lenses from which she’d been trying to experience tonight through.

It wasn’t fated to be ideal though, as she had immediately sensed something malignant from the moment she’d walked through the entry door earlier. Bittersweet, but unsurprisingly, it left her longing for the solitude of home with its rolling lands, the beauty evergreen.

She maintains vexation over recent decisions, once more finding herself in a situation that’s left her ill at ease - hellbent on forfeiting any and all of the night’s eventualities. If I could just get out of here. Yet, something holds her back.

Perhaps it’s the perceived lack of decorum in disappearing that stays her. Hardly - but the watchful eyes throughout the room do give her pause. Aware of the scornful judgement being passed about, in constant motion from one fiend to the next, she can’t say she’s trying to draw more attention.

She’s not senseless either, having been told numerous times of the weight this invite held - one of generosity and privilege and opportunity. In theory, it had seemed plausible, so she hadn’t dismissed the importance of impression that kept being pressed upon her every day leading up to now.

And now, there’s contradiction at every turn - the night proving to be little more than a pitiful show of extravagance. A colossal inconvenience to celebrate and placate an unworthy man-child.

As if I really give a shit about this Aegon twat.

He apparently IS the king, but she really fails to comprehend this as fact. From her personal observation, he appears more juvenile than ruler, all tired eyes and messy hair. He’s wearing a permanent scowl of disinterest too, as he begins making his rounds amongst his guests. It’s plain to see he’s intoxicated, struggling at times to stay upright on his two feet.

Even the heavy crown atop his head fails to stay centered, impossible to maintain its position with the continuous sway of its wearer. Such a mess.

Though she finds herself wondering why she left home for this, she can’t deny the inherent need within her to be pushed - really move out of established comforts for the sake of growth. Admittedly, life had become dull enough for her to consider travel, even despite perceived dark times in the more well-known parts of the world.

The risk had been taken, and tonight was accomplishing her misguided notion to experience something new, something she’d never had before. It was definitely not a place of comfort either, but neither was it engaging as she had hoped it might be.

Perhaps a little intrigue would do some good in this social wasteland, but there is nothing, nobody.

While she wasn’t a stranger to taking inherent leaps of faith, having a rather optimistic outlook most days, nothing was presently inspiring the spark within her. Likewise, nothing was pulling her to put some faith into this night, relinquish any benefits of doubt. There was nothing compelling, nobody convincing her that this particular setting was anything other than cold and callous.

More than that though, it felt undeniably toxic, laced with the unmistaken undercurrent of condescension. And for the first time in her life she yearns to be invisible.

These are not my people and I don’t belong here.

The realization of this hits hard, at a very inopportune moment, and it's causing her cool facade to deplete significantly. It feels like she’s breaking down, on the brink of a total collapse. She could crumble and it would be so easy, but still, she hangs on.

She sips her wine and it’s disgusting, aware that any further indulgence in it won’t be worth tomorrow’s ache in the head. However, the heavy cup remains a functional prop to keep her semi-occupied with intended movement. She thinks at the very least, it's helping her blend in more with the rest of this cunty crowd, appearing like less of an outsider, less...delicate.

The thought of taking another walk around the hall seems a viable option - an attempt to kill more of this rotten evening. She finds more appeal in the notion, rather than standing still and pretending she’s agreeable with her surroundings.

Everything continues to fall away, and it’s getting harder to crawl out of her melancholic mood. Though, on a very specific level of self-awareness, she knows she’s being too critical of the situation and too hard on herself. It’s a deep flaw for her, to be constantly plagued by one’s own high expectations, equipped with the unfortunate knack of also being dramatic.

It’s a curse in many ways - limiting, exhausting, upsetting. She hates that she feels so much, so deeply. She hates the way she always ends up let down in the end. She hates the way she wants more from life, yet always comes up short.

What did you actually expect… to fall in love with a prince?

The thought is enough to get her angsty, exasperated that she could still have the capacity to be this naive, to think that such wonders might exist. Fairytales, her personal kingdom of dreams recognized, come to life. She could romanticize the idea for the rest of her days, but they’re simply that, dreams. And only dreams they will remain. Intangible.

When she considers this, and she’s done so often throughout her life, it always leaves her reeling with the harshest of realities in the end. She wonders why she puts herself through it, time and again - dreaming up a life and a love that will never belong to her.

The outcome will never change, you’re destined to be alone.

She’s too much in her head at this point and it weights her, but she’s done pretending, over the tolerance. She realizes she has to get out of here, that it doesn’t even matter where to. Just away. And suddenly there’s no more argument left within her of what she should do by staying. There’s no room left for lingering guilt either.

It’s simply time to go.

Scanning the space, she finds her exit route in record time. But beyond these four walls, she has no idea where she’s going. It doesn’t matter, I don’t care.

Although it momentarily deters her from taking action, she decides to chance one more look across the room in an attempt to locate her kin. At the very least, it would be wise to give notice of her leave for the evening, but the effort is fruitless and she’s quick to abandon the search.

That's when her eyes land on him.

are you breathing just a little and calling it a life?

Who is he?

She has no idea, though she could draw some conclusions and seven hells, he is stunning! There’s an enigma about him, a danger and acuteness to his character that exudes a well-steeped confidence. She can tell all this just by the way he holds himself, at least that’s the impression she’s receiving by his body language, the semi-defensive stance.

He intrigues her, radiant yet darkly masculine as well, and he physically stands out with his impressive height and athletic build - everything she’s attracted to. He looks important, but displaced. It’s also clear he’s disinterested with those around him, perhaps jaded by the same shortcomings in his life as she is with hers. She wonders, thinking it could be true.

The energy from him draws her the same way his appearance does, all black leather and belts, a dagger, a donned eye-patch, gorgeous long hair that is pale, glorious. Even in the dim light, it shines as if illuminated - a most mysterious beacon, working to draw out her withering heart with a renewed vibrant curiosity.

Fuck, that is lovely. She thought she was leaving, but now her feet feel heavy and she can’t look away.

A Targaryen, obviously. But who the fuck is he, which dragonlord is this? She MUST know.

He’s striking, it's undeniable, even despite looking forlorn in this current setting. Or maybe it’s just a blasé air that he keeps. It could be a front. Again, she wonders. Either way, she picks this up right away, deliberating how it isn’t obvious to the imbeciles he’s standing amongst, of how very little he cares.

Its a strange concept, like tragic art, as she spectates the scene. It's like he’s invisible, such as she, or he wants to be, such as she. He’s completely withdrawn from the conversation… and he is beautiful.

Unbeknownst to him, he’s also outwardly manifesting everything she’s been internalizing - its just something she feels, senses. The silent energy emanating from him becomes a fucking madness, moving unseen across the space, weaving through faceless bodies. And suddenly it’s crashing into her with subtle violence, summoning her in a manner that’s arcane, unintentional.

It transmits nonetheless, in a demand to feel something, anything.

She thinks she might, knowing he would be the reason, and she casts a silent wish then: look at me, escape with me. She expects nothing. And yet, it seems he has somehow received her unspoken plea with perfect aim, because almost immediately he looks up, finding her without pause, effortlessly.

It takes her breath, taken aback by the depth of his stare, even from afar. But it’s not merely the meeting of their eyes that's causing her panic to grow now.

It's the way the most beautiful man she’s ever seen maintains his stare, subtly tilting his head in acknowledgement of her existence. It’s the way he’s just excused himself from the small group he’s been standing with as she watches him finally break loose from them.

It’s the way he's walking directly towards her now with unmistaken interest.

the sadness you carry, it hangs like a ghost.

Aemond’s need to go to her is instantaneous, his mind quickly made up, surrendering to her unspoken beckoning. What he’s feeling can’t be described, but it puts him in motion with assured steps towards her, intent to maintain their connection.

The last thing he wants now is a deterrent, some dumb bastard interrupting his advancement with meaningless words and insincere praise. He can’t be fucked, especially since the exuberance of others often exhausts and bores him.

Besides, he’s not that infamous and he thinks his appearance should emit a genuine aloofness, at least enough to mark him as unapproachable.

In this moment, he hopes for it to be true.

As he continues, his boots on the stone floor leave an echoing sound - the faintest of cadences to his ears. Even the soft music that’s been playing, sounds he’d previously drowned out, return to fill his senses. He’s aware of how the room comes alive once more and how his attention hones into the finer details - the beautiful things that matter enough to hold some of his appreciation. But nothing is shining as bright, as gorgeous as her.

i’ll just tear it down, and i’ll wear it like a ribbon - give it.

His perspective is altered, biased. He’s ever grateful for the reprieve in detaching from the aimless buzz of verbal interaction. He carries on as the swooning strings from instruments and all the paintings and flickering candles in the room act as a backdrop for the dream he’s finally found himself in.

There’s a grandeur to the moment, and it doesn’t even seem like he’s in the same place as before. It's a subtle shift with great impact and to Aemond, it’s like a slow awakening of his spirit. His heart feels lighter, his chest less constricted somehow. Breathing comes more easily as he realizes he’s no longer holding everything in.

For him, tonight finally makes sense - he sees with so much clarity and with it, an aspiration to unearth something extraordinary. I am here because she is here. And she’s his focus, it can’t be misinterpreted.

This is intense, he knows it is, because he can be intense - in looks, in demeanor, in speech. For example, the effect of his set jaw and determined eye are apparent just based on the way she looks away again, like she needs a moment for herself. Like maybe she’s alarmed by him and his imminent approach…

Regardless, he can tell she’s ready to go simply by her nervous shifting of weight from one foot to the next and the way her hand grips her wine cup. It’s so obvious, but he silently demands for her to stay put, at least until he can reach her, join her.

Don’t you dare move!

As he draws closer, he realizes he hasn’t actually formulated an introduction, though. He’s been fixated on priority one - getting to her, but now that he’s almost within her sphere, it's possible he’s going to come on too strong.

It really isn’t in his nature to be aggressive, at least not towards women. But there's a fine line between that and being resolute, and he can only hope she won’t confuse the two. It gets him stressed either way, just the anticipation. And its abrupt, how the air circulating now feels to have stopped altogether.

The urge for something clean in his lungs grows more intense. In fact, it's been too many lapsed hours since he last stepped outside, so he thinks maybe this is the angle he will use with her.

He sees her look down at the drink in her hand, then back at him with a ghost of a smile, and then away again. All these nervous habits miraculously enchanting him, though he’s aware it’s all stemmed from a discomfort and he could sympathize. He does - this brave girl.

Aemond needs to get to her, knowing this setting has become too intolerable for them both. It leads him to mull through all the potential areas he could take her to - more private areas within the Keep. He’s trying hard not to envision her on his bed though, laid out before him, but it’s a challenge not to go there…

His thoughts come up short, interrupted and replaced by disbelief in an instant. And he can see the shock on her face too, witnessing the scene in horror the moment Aegon, of all people, drunkenly clashes into her with unabashed force.

It happens quickly, the unexpected contact of his body propelling the cup she’s been holding towards herself, effectively spilling its dark contents onto her bodice and sleeve. His fiend of a brother remains unsteady, loud and obnoxious as he begins to inappropriately grope her figure with slurred and insincere apologies.

But it gets worse when he sobers just enough to focus his vision, and fully consider the beauty of the woman he’s currently offending - the one that he still holds fast within his clutches. He voices his immediate thoughts, loud enough to be heard by many.

“Heavens, what a pretty present you are! I think I shall wait to unwrap you in my chambers.”

Aemond sees fire, he walks faster.

i can give you my loneliness, my darkness, the hunger of my heart; i am trying to bribe you with uncertainty, with danger.

The familiar sting of tears begin to surface in a rush, threatening to fall although she wills them not to. It would be so easy to cry now, and it’s something she tends to do when she’s at her limit. The frustration becomes unbearable, but she simply cannot allow this weakness to display.

Aside from the fact that everyone appears to be looking at her, the music has also stopped and the only sound filling her ears now is the seething laughter from the king. His prodding fingers are still at her waist, her lower back and his breath is hot on her ear, repulsing her just as much as his verbal filth has.

This little blond bitch, I could kill him.

She wants to scream, fueled by so much repressed anger, thinking she might act out soon if she doesn’t escape the predicament. Above all things, slapping the fool touching her is of the highest priority, but she also wants to cut out the eyes of every person currently gawking at her as if she were the problem.

She wants to combust into flames, she wants to cease to exist altogether.

Even her free hand has formed into a fist so tight that her knuckles ache, and although it's of little consequence to her, she can vaguely feel the shallow cuts her nails have begun to make into the delicate skin of her palm. Time halts and she’s burning from within, her vision clouding with rage as her arm begins to raise as if by its own accord.

She intends to lay one into Aegon’s jaw. At the very least, he deserves a slap, although the consequences will be dire. Even with this knowledge, she can’t seem to tamper the physical urge to do some harm to him. It’s the least he deserves.

How dare this fucker be so blatantly disrespectful.

Her mind is made up, he’s getting slapped and she’s determined to see this through. But suddenly her movement is blocked, stilled by a gentle pressure of long fingers wrapping securely around her forearm. A deep breath is drawn and she’s still trembling in her animosity, her embarrassment, when she turns to consider the disrupter.

To her relief and amazement, she’s met with a welcomed face, a beautiful one. It’s him, the only one she wants to see, to know.

The good Targaryen - finally, he is here.

And he is so close to her when he leans in, offering a verbal warning with a solemn tone for only her to hear.

“Don’t.”

His touch is reassuring, sending bursts of warmth throughout her at the tenderness being exhibited. His expression however, betrays a significant degree of anger and it hardens his features further, in an impossible way. Oh gods!

She’s seeing a lot of sharp lines and hard angles, an immaculate bone structure and the most impressive scar that runs a great length down one side of his face. It hadn’t been noticeable from a distance, not really, but now it draws her. Truthfully, it’s devastating how devilishly handsome he is and how weak she’s begun to feel just being near him.

He almost doesn’t seem real, but the obvious irritation emulating from him is substantial. Even still, there's a compassion in his touch and it’s his touch alone that she feels upon her body now. It compels her to be soft again and then she is, loosening and moved by his thoughtfulness to come to her aid, offer her stability in both body and mind.

His actions ground her, and he’s respectful as he takes the emptied cup from her with his free hand, discreetly handing it to a passing servant without a word.

She’s aware of how she turns into him then, drawn to his body heat, the most natural attraction. And with Aegon now gone, a relief in itself, she feels safe - protected. The urge to throw her arms around him in gratitude is strong, but she abstains.

He continues looking at her, his face otherworldly, and he’s saying something that she cannot comprehend as her world goes quiet. She can’t capture a thought or formulate a word, feeling her mind draw a blank, abandon her while he looks on.

Her mouth turns dry and her clothes become too warm as she gets lost in the intensity of his eye, the riveting color of it. From afar she couldn’t decipher, but up close she can clearly see that it’s a glorious azure blue, rimmed by a darker hue - indicating something of further mystery, an enigma. It isn’t typical, and therefore stunning, moving her in an inexplicable way.

A soft moan escapes her lips, ever so telling of the effect he’s having, as his brow lifts with some amusement. He’s clearly heard the sound, providing some inclination to him of her desire and he can’t help but pull a small half-smirk, satisfied by this revelation. But he’s still waiting for a response, impatient once more, and he demonstrates this by reinstating his firm grip on her arm to give a slight squeeze.

She wonders if he’s always like this, communicative with gestures and touches of varying pressures. It takes her mind somewhere it shouldn’t - to a place that involves just them, their bodies and very little clothing.

Does she want to know? She isn’t certain, but he seems physically overbearing suddenly, as if he’d moved further into her unnoticed. And he might have accomplished this while she lost herself to a budding desire, envisioning what he might look like fully unclothed…what he might feel like against her, from within her.

Fuck!

His close proximity isn’t helping reel in her thoughts, as the sensual scent encapsulating him climbs to meet her senses. It's fresh, something divine, and she finds herself wanting to chase and consume. It brings a new type of fire to their shared space as she imagines her lips pressed to the exposed skin on his neck, breathing him in.

The visual finally releases her from her mind trap, and she refocuses to stare at his face, placing her hand blindly on his own without thought. She shakes her head apologetically, helplessly, needing him to repeat the question - it’s really all she can do.

He obliges her, knowing she can hear him, that she’s listening now.

“Come away with me.”

come home to my heart.

It really isn’t a question and she finds herself silently nodding in acquiesce to his demand, feeling the adrenaline begin to flourish. The only audible response from him is a deep “hmm” as they take their leave. It intrigues her, but not nearly as much as the way he walks in equal measures of grace and arrogance or how his silken hair begins to move illustrious over his back with each step taken.

To her, he is an exquisite creation, surely made from the gods and he walks as one amongst ineffectual men as he leads them through the mass of people. It’s a quickened pace that she matches, noticing the way he calls off a small group of approaching knights, the Kingsguard, with a flick of his wrist to still their advances.

Although they’re amid many watchful eyes, the music has begun again, reinstating many dancers back to the middle of the floor following the scene with the king. It offers some relief, but what she’s finding to be the greatest comfort is the contact he maintains on her elbow, at the small of her back while he guides her out of the hall.

The heat infiltrates from his hands, runs along her spine and she doesn’t mind the mild possession of his touch. It thrills, and her spirits continue lifting as something akin to hope seeks to re-enter her heart.

i promise you, i was here. i felt things that made death so large it was indistinguishable from air, and i went on destroying inside it like wind in a storm.

It’s a well kept secret that Aemond considers himself a lover, not a fighter (at least in theory), though he doubts anyone would believe this if he were ever to admit it aloud. In fact, he feels that he’s improved in reining in his more violent impulses when they arise, attempting to adopt a more critical stance on whether to act on said impulses or not.

He reflects on this now as he navigates through the Red Keep with familiarity, thinking perhaps this banal approach is prominently wrought from Lucerys’ death. He knows it is… but this is different.

Despite the beautiful woman with him, casting a curious glance his way, he’s silently fuming with a sudden need for vengeance. And the center just won’t hold, he can’t call this off now that he’s in action - moving, intentional.

As such, his steps are calculated, the direction mapped as they ascend a set of stairs together in record time. She follows willingly, half-dragged by his hand at a certain point, though she doesn’t complain. He’s grateful for it, and without a word, they turn down a dark corridor that takes them further through the never-ending maze of apartments and bedchambers.

His heart is pounding, the most violent of slams from within his rib cage, as his long legs carry him closer to his oldest nemesis.

you go on by finding a channel for your love…

Aegon’s behavior is always unacceptable, but tonight it’s inexcusable as well.

Tonight, it feels more personal.

In fairness, Aemond’s tolerance had already waned substantially throughout the course of the day. Though not uncommon, his brother had been acting an absolute wretch from the moment he’d risen and begun interacting - effectively wearing most everyone thin.

Still, recent events simply won’t release from his brain. His brother’s actions, specifically the ever-occurring heinous mistreatment of women, continues to spread like a plague. It’s bothersome, but whats worse is the fact that such behavior remains unchecked, tolerated, as everyone turns a blind eye time and again.

Aegon, the perpetrator that knows nothing of consequence, who could care less who he offends and hurts. Aegon, who never learns.

The loathing for his sibling is prominent more now than ever, the rage significant in power as it burns at the very core of Aemond. It threatens to spread like wildfire as he recalls the image of Aegon colliding into her, touching her, taunting her - the one whose hand he’s now holding. This exquisite darling that’s with me.

It leaves him seeing red once more, and he’s resolute to make right this gross wrongdoing, finding the catharsis absolute when at last, he does.

…and another for your rage.

There’s justification in the way Aemond storms Aegon’s bedchambers, startling the room’s occupants as he dismisses a handful of ladies already in various stages of undress.

There’s satisfaction when he knocks the wine from his brother’s hand, spilling it across the regal bedding before advancing to lay waste to every last spirit within sight, all crashing bottles and broken glass.

There's an absolution when his fist meets Aegon’s mocking face, disrupting his cavalier smile with brute force. The delivered blow drops his brother to the littered floor as so many shards seek to break the skin of his hands, his knees.

It’s an absolute agony for the king, but he continues in a deranged manner with uncontrolled manic laughter filling the luxurious space. In High Valyrian, Aemond speaks departing words of revulsion and fury and threats.

Then he’s back outside the room, the splintered door now unable to properly close as guards rush to Aegon’s aid with trepidation and no small degree of bewilderment at what’s just transpired between the siblings.

He grabs his awaiting companion’s hand then, his own showing the faint beginnings of a bruise as it takes form, darkening just beneath the surface. It’s inconsequential for Aemond, for he’s more surprised that she’s remained to wait for him despite whats just been witnessed firsthand.

He sincerely wonders how he hasn’t managed to scare her away with such a wrathful display. Yet, he’s finding a great relief in knowing he hasn’t managed to achieve this after all. In fact, he’s in a bit of awe that she’s remained. It means more to him than he could have imagined, and certainly more than she will ever know…

At present, his knuckles sting, but he doesn’t care. His heart is thunderous, but he doesn’t care.

An incredible amount of relief is washing over him at what’s just transpired through words and actions, honest emotion pent up for so long, finally released. It’s palpable, this foreign elation being felt as they retreat, backtracking so many of their steps. Even servants rush to either side of the halls so as not to remain in their wake, potentially interrupting their progress.

And he’s so certain of his menacing appearance now, just by their reactions, though he half-wishes his brother had put up a fight and tried to roughen him up. But it matters naught. At this point, his immediate intention is strictly to get himself and her to a place of privacy - as far as possible from Aegon’s blasted existence too.

Aemond huffs in spite of himself on reflection, feeling a bit bitchy over the circumstances, for this wasn’t the first impression he had wanted to make.

Too late now.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x you #aemond x reader #aemond x oc #aemond fic #hotd fic #aemond targaryen

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bubbleddisasters · 20 days

Text

So I saw a cool ship edit with Jade and Che’nya, and that has given me the confidence to talk about my favorite crackship/Rare pair!

(This is pretty long, sorry!)

Che’nya and Idia!

It originally started out as a joke like “Over Powered Cat Boy x Cat Loving Gamer Boy”, but then I realized how actually good they could be for eachother.

Although they never technically talk in canon, they do meet in Glorious Masquerade for like 6 seconds, but I shipped them prior lol.

Basically, Che’nya would be extremely good for Idia in many ways, I hope its not a bother, but I’ll just list my personal ideas!

(Keep in mind that in Alice in Wonderland, Its stated in “Through the Looking Glass” the Cheshire Cat is the second most powerful being, next to the personification of Time, So I envision Che’nya is pretty op, and theres some evidence to prove that but i’m not going to get in to that right now)

Starting off from Idias side:

One: Lets say Idia refuses to eat or care for himself, Che’nya could teleport away his consoles until he does, or teleport the food to him.

Like : “You won’t shower? Gee I wonder where your routers went.” “Won’t sleep? I opened a portal on your gaming chair that teleports you to your bed” “Won’t drink water? Damn, that figurine near the edge of the table looking real pushable right now.”

We also know that Idia has a huge soft spot for cats. Che’nya is most definitely the most cat like person in the cast. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a cat form. So thats definitely some sway there.

Also, if he does or even if he doesn’t have a cat form, he has a big and floofy tail, and if he does have a cat form, I imagine it to be Mainecoon like (since Che’nya is pretty tall and lanky) so free floof to pet/brush when Idias stressed (also A Whisker Away AU?)

Another thing is Che’nyas invisibility: He can be a comfort for Idia without being seen, so Idias less judged for his anxiousness. Like if Idias in a stressful meeting or something in STYX, He can be there to comfort or calm him without anyones notice. Also, If Idias in a stressful social situation, Che’nya can teleport him or them both away, or make them or just him invisible.

Plus, judging from the most definitely self made artwork on Che’nyas pants, I think its safe to say he’s probably an artist of some sort, and I think he’d be more than willing to indulge/read/play/watch Idias recommendations, and maybe draw something for him. (The requirements are either cuddles or Solving Che’nyas riddles three)

Finally, judging by the fact Che’nya casually waltzes through NRCs magic barrier, which took SEVERAL HIGH TECH STYX STRIKES TO CRACK, often enough for Riddle to be able to say “The Intruder” and everyone just knows its Che’nya.

Also, RSA is THE ENTIRE ISLAND AWAY AND ON A GIANT FUCKING MOUNTAIN, so this means Che’nya is very casually teleporting across the equivalent of atleast a small country without producing jack shit in terms of blot, while (from what we can see on his design) not wearing a mage stone.

He’s also been detaching his own body parts, flying, going invisible, etc since age 5, and from Rollos story we know that amount of magic use would indefinitely kill 80% of people, especially a kid, so knowing that, I’m pretty sure its somewhat safe to say if Che’nya got into S.T.Y.X atleast once so he knows where it is, he’d be able to teleport back in and out (the security team fucking hates him and the blot research team wants to experiment on him.)

With that, Idia wouldn’t feel as if he’s trapping Che’nya down there if they were to tie the knot, and gives the possibility of being able to teleport out to shore for in town dates.

On Che’nyas side, Idia is someone who’s very fun once he sort of lets himself go, and god forbid if those two team up on April Fools.

He’s also someone that is already pretty lonely by nature and I find it extremely plausible Che’nya feels slightly replaced by Cater, and although he definitely still cherishes Riddle and Trey, its nice to have someone that you don’t fear might find a replacement.

Also, at RSA, we know he’s good friends with Neige, but because of Neiges fame, that must be hella stressful when you’re trying to hang out and get jumped by fans or paparazzi.

Not to mention Neige is likely very very busy due to the same factor. I’d also wager most people at RSA are not as much fun to him, considering it’s mentioned they always seem to be perfect and pristine at events.

That cycle of semi- perfect paradise like school days would probably bore him, along with the very bland or stereotypical reactions I can imagine his pranks getting.

So we have on one side the stress of being friends with someone in the limelight at all times, and the stress being chased around when you go to visit your childhood friends + being lowkey replaced.

So someone you can pretty much always count on to be available and a dorm that won’t chase you out (probably too anti-social and/or Socially anxious to do so) and is somewhat willing to indulge in your chaos from time to time, or just play games with.

I could also see Che’nya and Ortho getting along very well too, with Ortho being the most aggressive wingman for Idia. Also, if Che’nya gets Ortho in on pranking Idia, it’s going to turn into a prank WAR.

Also, fun idea, Lilia, Cater and Trey being Che’nyas Wingmen.

I like to imagine Che’nya and Lilia are extremely good friends (They call themselves the Pink Bats and Purple Cats Jumpscarers) and since from what we know, Che’nya only has his grandfather, Lilia emotionally adopted him after Che’nya unintentionally fell asleep in his Cat form in the woods and Lilia told Silver to bring him back because “he was concerned about the high magic levels he sensed” and basically did the equivalent of

—-

Silver: “Father, It might not be a stray-“

Lilia, fully aware its a fae beastman : “Finders Keepers :) “

——

Basically this snowballs into Che’nya getting invited into the dungeon runs with Idia, and yea.

Trey’s wingmanning is 40% trying to make sure Riddle doesn’t catch Che’nya, 20% trying to make sure he doesn’t blow up the kitchen trying to make something for Idia, and 40% being the sane consultant of date ideas, making sure Cater doesn’t go overboard with ship posts, and the preventive measurer to the date ideas recommended by Lilia.

——

“Please do not have a sword duel for a date.”

“Nya? I’d be fun!”

“I don’t see why not. I did that with my lovers back in the day. Melanor in her training uniform was quite a sight to behold, Ravaene also looked fine, I suppose. Poor him was always too easy for us to take out however-“

“Lilia, thats uh, not the point. I don’t trust either of them with weapons.”

“Hm? Silver got his first sword when he was 10 or so. Baul and I refereed Sebek and Silvers first real duel when they were…12, methinks? For all Bauls bragging about his grandson, it was my son who won in the end-“

*Camera pans to a very concerned Riddle in the doorway.*

“What kind of a discussion is going on here?!”

—-

Yea, thats pretty much it!

(If you recognize some of the beginning spiel from a comment section on tiktok yes I wrote that and I got mildly lazy and thought past me explained it pretty well so I copy and pasted a few pieces)

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thetorturerwrites · 1 year

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Lylas

Summ: Adam Sackler was never one for beating around the bush, but this level of blunt was beyond comprehension - even for him.

Notes: Purely self-indulgent filth. There will probably be other parts to this because I cannot get it out of my head, but I have no set time frame for it. Also, I do not apologize for the extraneous world-building in my smut. That's just how I roll... (Also also, some of this might be in response to the fact that not everything has to be squirting...)

“You should let me fuck you.”

The cavalier way he said such a bizarre thing made you short circuit. Astonished, you stopped mid-shoelace-tie and stared up at him. Adam Sackler was never one for beating around the bush, but this level of blunt was beyond comprehension - even for him.

“What?! Why?”

He grinned down at you because, with you right there on the ottoman, you sat eye level with his dick. With that cheshire grin turned on you, you unexpectedly forgot how to breathe. You’d never looked at Adam that way before, but with one question, he upended your world view. Adam was lethally beautiful, and he knew it. Shaggy black hair swept back and forth over his dark eyes to match his moods - off to the right for mischievous, low over the brow for brooding. It was easy to admit he was a looker, but you’d never considered him to be anything beyond that. A big, glaring red flag permanently hung over his head since the day he walked into your house. Now, though…

He certainly watched, and enjoyed, the struggle going on in your mind and not-so-casually slid both hands smoothly, purposefully into the pockets of those well-worn, low slung, faded blue jeans and leaned his hips forward at you. Of course you looked. Who wouldn’t? Catching yourself, you forced your eyes up to his green t-shirt, but that wasn’t much help because it fit him offensively well. Painted on would be an understatement. Adam was all wide shoulders and shelf-like pecs, and suddenly, you understood his sex appeal. Forcing your face into a placid mask, you waved him off and bent to finish tying your damn shoe. Time to get the fuck out of this room.

You forgot, however, that you’d asked him a question.

“One, you bring home shitty dudes. Two, I don’t want to date. After that last bullshit…”

The last bullshit being the most recent round of Hannah and Jessa, both idiot girls who ran roughshod over Adam and his tender heart. On more than one occasion, you’d seen fit to murder one right after the other, but nobody could tell Adam anything. He was a right pain in the ass and a whole pervert, but he was also kind and doting, a thing those two heifers took advantage of too often. He was also stubborn to a fault, and when he believed a thing, or when he wanted something, he would pursue it 100%. He’d believed in them, but even he had to admit they were trash in the end.

“... this would be the perfect solution.” You realized he’d not stopped talking while you took that mental break, and you struggled to focus. “One stop shop.”

Shoe finally situated, you stood, pretending not to be acutely aware of the way he watched you smooth the wrinkles from your plum blouse and rub the wrinkles out of the thighs of your pants. Masquerading as confident, you jabbed at the air between you.

“First? Rude.” Although, internally you admitted you brought home shitty dudes. They never seemed shitty until they walked out the door, leaving you unsatisfied and annoyed. All dudes were shitty, though, weren’t they? There was no earthly reason to believe Adam was any better despite how much he believed himself superior.

“Second? Jim and Carly would shit kittens.”

Jim and Carly were your parents - his mom and your dad, specifically. They met in Tahoe on a Friday and were married by the following Sunday. Secretly, you believed Carly was in it for the money because Jim was - no two ways about it - loaded, but she genuinely seemed to love your dad. After all the heartache he’d endured, you found you couldn’t begrudge him that happiness, even if it made your teeth itch. In a blur, the Sacklers moved into Jim’s mansion on the hill, filling it with more noise than either of you could remember. With internships, college, and the damn economy, it made sense for everyone to live at home; so, you all had to learn to live together.

Well, sort of. Jim and Carly never stayed home long enough to get used to anybody, really. Jetsetters, they called themselves, which left the rest of the household free rein.

At the mention of your part-time parents, Adam took a step forward, brow piqued, lips pursed.

“You in the habit of sharing all the naughty details about your love life with dear old daddy, baby sister?”

He only called you that when he wanted to rile you up or when he wanted something - both true in this case.

“Me?” You laughed, a full-on, hold your belly laugh. “Ha! You’re not exactly shy about the vast number of “dirty sluts” (you even treated him to finger quotes) you’ve found in the area, Sackler. You don’t need to tell us anything about your love life, you shit, because everybody already knows!”

Wiping delighted tears from your eyes, you shook your head. It really was too absurd.

“No, this is… too weird, and not for nothing, it's kind of creepy. I promise you’ll find shiny new sluts to fuck just around the corner at what’s-her-face’s block party. But please, wait five minutes so I can vacate the premises before you do whatever it is you do.”

Adam loved it when you laughed. He spent an inordinate amount of time trying to make you laugh because your eyes sparkled in such a pretty way, and your face softened all over. To put it plainly, you lit up from the inside. After Hannah’s crazy and Jessa’s perpetual moodiness, he simply enjoyed watching you laugh because it was easy to get you to do it. Easygoing and whip smart, he found he enjoyed the mental sparring with you because you could keep up, and you weren’t so fucking dramatic.

That started everything.

Soon enough, he couldn’t get you - or your laugh - out of his head. Finding out about all the other faces and noises you made infected his brain. Now, when you laughed, his eyes trailed away from your face to the rest of your body because he wanted to see the effect of that laugh all over you. The bob of your breasts when he got you particularly good, the way you often held your waist and huffed at him, drawing attention to your generous hips - the details of you affected him far more than they should have and made him want to affect you just as much.

If he was completely honest, he didn’t give a single shit if Jim or Carly ever found out. He was pretty sure he still wouldn’t give a shit if your relationship was by blood rather than marriage. He was going to fuck you. It was only a matter of time.

“Those are good reasons, baby sister, but that’s not a no…”

The problem was that Adam was right.

“Hey, uh..” The shitty dude you’d escorted to your front door turned at the threshold, beet red and stammering. “I’ll call you, yeah?”

You didn’t even remember his name.

“Sure. Yeah. Whenever?”

Probably more abruptly than you should have, you shut the door in his face and then let your forehead fall against it with a loud thud. You threw your fists in the air, irritated and crabby. Meeting him was nice. The party was pleasant; the wine flowed freely. His kisses tasted like candy, and the way he nibbled your neck was delightful.

After the banter, the ride home, and the bourbon, however, Rick… Robin?... Roger? Yes, Roger was all talk and no substance. His bed-game was decidedly lacking. All he’d accomplished was a nice warm-up, whiskey dick, and no grand finale for you.

“It's. -thunk- Not. -thunk- That. -thunk- Hard!”

“Whatcha’up to, kid?”

You shrieked, jumped a foot off the floor, and spun with fists raised to knock the threat out, in theory at least.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Sackler. You scared the shit out of me.”

Rubbing at your sternum to calm the racing of your heart, you slumped back against the door. You concentrated so hard on regulating your breathing that you didn’t hear him shuffle closer. Nor did you notice him leaning over you, his thick left arm braced on the door above your head, until his crooked index finger lifted your chin. Only then did the alarm bells ring because damn that was a sexy move. And Christ on a cracker he smelled good - salt from the ocean blended with caramel spice. It made your mouth water.

“Feel like now’s the time for I told you so,” he quipped, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Tell you what…” The arm that was overhead slithered over your torso, settling a good bit of his weight across your shoulders. “I’ll do this, and you can tell people I forced you.”

He winked, and a second later, his warm hand slid into your DIY sleep shorts. You’d worn the ugly cut-off sweatpants pair to dissuade your date from lingering. Now, you wished you’d found an actual pair of pants because the shorts only gave away how traitorous your cunt was. Skillfully, Adam’s middle finger found the groove between your tacky labia, using the residual (barely) slickness from your failed attempt at sexy times with… Rufus? Ryan? Regardless of his name, his touches were clumsy compared to this. Adam kept an even pace and the exact right amount of pressure, sliding in the perfect way to coerce more wetness from your entrance and carry it back to your swollen clit.

You croaked, straight up sounded like you swallowed a frog because as his fingers defiled you south of the border, his stare wrecked you up north. His beautiful brown eyes were whiskey warm tonight, softened at the edges but intently focused upon you. You could get drunk on those kinds of eyes. If he gazed at all his conquests like this - as though nothing else mattered - you understood the pull. It moved, his stare, from your eyes to your mouth and back. You nearly begged him to kiss you but this was already so strange, so taboo.

And yet… and yet…

He’d never been so fucking pleased to be right in his life.

All he had to do was get you there, and he’d win the argument. Roman, a guy he met on the track, was manufactured to be an idiot and would never figure out how to fuck right, even if his life hung in the balance. How he'd managed to even meet you was beyond understanding.

Adam, however, had been fucking since he was 14, and he’d long since learned all the magic buttons. It was the one good thing to have come from his years struggling with sobriety. Replacing alcohol with sex taught him a lifetime’s worth of skills. Skills he now used to pull another squeak from your pouty mouth. Each time the pad of his finger caught your hood, the reluctant peep you made shot straight to his dick. He wasn’t sure if he would manage to not fuck you tonight, but he reminded himself that he had to play the long game.

For a solid 30 seconds, he rubbed only at your clit, back and forth, back and forth. He set a very specific rhythm that had you twisting beneath him deliciously. Your yelping grew louder and louder until one in particular cracked, and that was his cue.

“Hold my shoulder.” He nudged your nose with his to get your attention and nodded when both of your hands came up to rest on his chest and biceps. “That’s it.”

He couldn’t help himself from licking at the way your mouth popped open when he slid his fingers inside of you. The way the corners turned up was too tantalizing to ignore.

Mother Mary of God… He was inside you. Granted, it was only his fingers, but they belonged to your step-brother. Your face burned, but the hundred objections your brain conjured died at the back of your tongue because fuck, they were good. Two fingers, middle and ring, had you whining like a schoolgirl as he carefully, deliberately explored you. He wasn’t awkward about it like every other dude who’d been in your pants. He didn’t stab at your cunt as though he’d miraculously grown a jackhammer for a hand.

Nope. He took his time, slow and steady. He noted the angles and ridges that made you moan. And when he found that perfect spot, the spot that made you curse far louder than you intended, he stayed right there. There was no in and out anymore, no poking or prodding. Once he found it, his touch shifted from up/down and in/out to side to side. You came unfuckingglued. All ten fingers dug into hard flesh. You all but leapt into his arms as he rubbed at your tight bundle of electric nerves from the inside. And the more you responded, the faster he went.

“There’s nobody here, kid. Let’s hear it.”

You couldn’t have swallowed the cries for every dollar your dad invested in this huge-ass house. Your hips bucked against Adam’s expert manhandling, chasing that elusive sort of orgasm you can only get from someone else. Closer and closer it crept. Tighter and tighter you wound. From you knew not where, you found your voice, though it was scratchy and broken.

“D-don’t stop un-until I sh-sh-shake.”

His dark brow lifted, but he didn’t argue. It was a thing hardly anybody knew (because hardly anybody could fucking deliver), but a great orgasm, a really fantastic one, made you shake. Not tremble. Not wiggle. A full-body, clack your teeth kind of shake. On another day, you’d have been embarrassed to tell him that, but you watched determination change his face from amused and entertained to keenly interested. His efforts inside your cunt multiplied until you went rigid. He wanted to see it, clearly, but more than that, you wanted it, salivated for it. Right here on the cusp, you didn’t care that it would happen at his hands.

With your head tipped back, eyes screwed shut, and mouth agape, that hot-wet bud of ecstasy finally bloomed, and you wailed. It was electric, shooting sparks into your fingertips, but somehow, in the very middle of it, both of your hands wrapped around his wrist on the off chance he’d stop right at the best part, which they all did, but Adam only chuckled and carried right on fucking you stupid with nothing but two fingers.

Vulgar sounds squelched out around his fingers to accompany the vulgar things he whispered in your ear. Dirty girl with your pants around your ankles. Are you always this easy? Who’s the best big brother ever? Your pussy gushed; your ears rang. You rode his fingers like a champion, reveling in the quake and the rag-doll rattling of your insides.

The whole thing was indecent, fit for film, really.

Don’t fuck this up. Don’t fuck this up. You cannot fuck her tonight. Do not fuck this up.

Long game. Long game. Long game.

You fell back against the door, wincing when he extricated his fingers. He wanted to wrap himself around you and keep pushing, but he held back. This was a delicate operation, and straying too much to either side would fuck it all up. You’d either blow up at him and feel like he actually assaulted you, or you’d never speak to him again. Neither was a winning scenario. Tamping down his near-manic need to taste you, he gently traced your lips with his gummy fingers until you opened your eyes.

“That was some show, kid.”

Confusion crinkled the corners of your eyes, and he nuzzled your chin, matching the fire in your cheek with his own. He understood. His proposal wasn’t normal, and how much you’d obviously enjoyed it probably had you all up in your feelings. Hovering his mouth above yours, so close he could feel your breath, he fought himself over whether you needed to be kissed.

But when you lifted ever so slightly onto your toes, seeking it out, he clenched his jaw hard and fought the urge to fuck you right here on the floor. Somehow, he kept his shit together, and he thought certainly he deserved a goddamn medal for valor. He pushed away and veered you towards the stairs.

“Time to go, little sister. It’s past your bedtime.”

For a week, Adam cornered you at least once a day to stuff your pussy full of his thick fingers and make you beg. After that first time, he knew exactly how to play you, and he delighted in drawing it out until you pleaded for him to make you cum. You’d mistakenly said his name during your second encounter, and now, he wouldn’t come anywhere near the things that made you shake without hearing it.

You never considered yourself the begging type, but it turns out that when someone knows precisely the way to touch you and the exact right way to make you scream as you climax, begging becomes much more palatable. It also turns out that whether Jim and Carly were home didn’t make a single bit of difference because when Adam texted you his offer from across the kitchen table, you ran after him like the house was on fire.

That’s how you wound up here, sitting on the edge of Adam’s desk, naked as the day you were born, legs spread obscenely wide and panties crammed in your mouth to keep you muffled if not quiet. With one hand deftly driving into your messy cunt and one wrapped around your hip to coax it into a rocking motion, he all but pulverized your sanity. Up was down, left was right, and “brother” was just another fucking word. As you inched higher and higher up climax mountain, you rationalized you weren’t really doing anything wrong. He’d never fucked you in any other way than this. He wasn’t a real brother, either. There was nothing wrong with a little fun, right? Sure, it was strange, but when he… fuck when he hit that spot right… right there… your brain went…

“You should let me fuck you,” he murmured against your throat, a throwback to what started all this.

It crackled in your prefrontal cortex, and you pushed at his bare chest, babbling incoherently because part of you thought it was the worst idea ever, and part of you thought it would be the best fucking thing in the history of ever. They argued with each other behind your eyes. That was too far. Wasn’t it? But it would feel so good. You couldn’t, possibly. Right? Sure, you could. Twice on Sunday, even. Surely, he had plenty of other options. Didn’t he? Who fucking cares?

“Just a little, kid. I’ve made it good for you, yeah? Just the tip.”

Your thoughts on the matter were irrelevant, it seemed, because the clink of his buckle launched you into a panic. You tried to escape his grip by leaning back, but he clenched his arm around your back, making escape impossible. Struggling to keep calm, you realized it felt ridiculous and performative to panic because you splayed across his desk like you were posing for his calendar. You gawked at him, eyes shining with something you couldn’t quite pin down because processing that your step-brother was about to put any part of his dick inside you was overwhelming. This was too much, too forbidden.

“Now, don’t look at me like that.” He rubbed soothing circles into your ribcage and stepped in. You felt the weight of a cock you’d never seen laying against your swollen pussy, eliciting a low groan. “Only for a minute. Stay right there; don’t move.”

And then, there it was. The round head of Adam’s cock slowly breached your body’s sticky barrier and scrambled your senses. Tears formed. Your chest heaved - because you wanted him to ravage you, to fuck you dumb and blind, but you just couldn’t. Right?

Maybe your inner monologue wasn’t so silent. Or maybe he read your mind. Something changed, though, from “just the tip” to an iron grip and his right hand over your gagged mouth as he snapped his hips and slid all the way home.

Adam expected you to shout, to have an outright tantrum and draw far too much attention to the situation. Instead, you shuddered against him the way you did when you came all over his fingers - not as hard but definitely unmistakable.

“That’s it. S’good cock, isn’t it? Told you you’d like it.”

Testing the waters, he withdrew about halfway and slowly pushed in again, absolutely loving the way you moaned in response. He’d nearly cum in his pants when you let him shove your panties into your mouth, and whenever he looked at you still gritting your teeth into them, his dick throbbed. With no firm objection, he unwound from his caging stance and took proper hold of your perfect, meaty ass. He scooted you closer to the edge of his desk, damn near falling off, so he could get his demanding dick inside you from tip to root right fucking now.

Adam’s cock was fat. There was no other way to describe it. He filled you up so completely you couldn’t even blink. The slide of his girth against your insides was dizzyingly good, and all you could do was cling to his shoulders.

And when he started talking? That dirty way with that sexy-ass voice?

It fucked you all the way up.

The things he said to you, too, differed from the things you’d heard him say to his hook-ups. They were filthy sluts, not even worthy to come over in the daylight, just a hole for him to get off to. You were his dirty little sister, though, weren’t you? Too cock-drunk to even say no to big brother. You loved his fat cock, didn’t you? You’d let him fuck you whenever he wanted, wouldn’t you?

You were positively, expertly, no two ways about it done for.

Like a dick-addled fool, you nodded along with all of it. You’d say whatever he wanted as long as he kept packing more and more of his missile cock into your aching cunt. Maybe that’s what you wanted - to be reduced to an object, a fuckdoll sister he’d turn inside out at his whim with no recourse to say no. When that idea took hold, you vibrated against him. You generally didn’t orgasm from penetration alone, but by sheer size, Adam rubbed at every single one of your spongy triggers with each stroke. Coupled with the downright pornographic thoughts in your fucked-out head, you whined like a petulant child, overcome by the effort it took to keep quiet, to keep yourself coherent.

“What the fuck is going on here?”

Your eyes flew open, tracking the voice to its owner, who leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over a very familiar broad chest. You burned from ears to toes, knowing this looked exactly like what it was, and there was no pretending it was anything else. Even worse, your deviant fantasy abruptly shifted to include these extra details - wind-faded jeans, threadbare gray cotton shirt bleached by the sun, and a brush of red across a nose and cheekbones matching those you'd looked up at for days. He was a carbon copy of the man currently demolishing your boundaries by burying himself to the hilt in your body.

Ben, Adam’s twin, the wayward son, had finally home from his camping trip to the desert.

Adam nestled his face in your neck to hide his smugness. He knew his brother would be home today, and he timed everything around the fact Ben said he’d be here early afternoon. Edging you was a cake-walk. He’d been practicing all week, and when he saw the text asking if he needed anything from their favorite pizza place, he knew how much time he had to get you right and ready so Ben would find you well and truly empty-headed and sexed out.

Ben wasn’t sold on having you. He half liked the idea, but he thought it was more trouble than it would be worth. More than once, though, Adam caught him lazily stroking himself while watching you run down the beach or sunbathe by the pool. It would only take a nudge to get his brother fully invested. Adam played the moment, and specifically you, perfectly, and holy shit if this wasn’t one for the books. You and your round eyes, searching for an explanation that would make sense of why he was balls deep in your tight cunt on a Saturday afternoon.

“Someone’s been a bad girl,” he said to his brother, licking a stripe across your thundering pulse. “What do you think, bad girl, wanna show Ben how you shake?”

You sobbed. There was nothing for it because Adam’s cock never stopped. His brother’s presence in the room didn’t faze him one bit, and it took a full minute for you to realize it was some of that twin bullshit you were always on them about. Of course they’d seen each other fucking. They probably fucked lots of people together. You bristled with humiliation because it was obvious Adam set this up, but your pussy, smart bitch, clutched at his every thrust, considerably more so when he asked you such a depraved thing.

Meeker than you intended, you nodded because yes, you did, in fact, want to show Ben how you came.

Adam shifted his weight, pulling out of your sloppy cunt for only the time it took to put your feet on the floor and turn you to face Ben. He hummed as he grabbed your hips, pulled you back against his body, and let his cock find his target. Your head dropped on a moan as he filled you back up because it was even better this way. You had surer footing, could brace yourself on the desk’s corner, and didn’t have to concentrate on not falling. Using fistfuls of your hips as leverage, Adam crashed into you, sending jolts throughout your already overstimulated body. It was glorious.

And then, Ben’s boots came into your line of sight, followed swiftly by his muscular hand around your throat, silver rings cool against your heated flesh. You tracked beauty mark to beauty mark, wondering when the constellations kissed his cheeks. You should have been mortified. Ben finding you here with Adam should have struck you dead there and then, but it only emboldened you because his eyes weren’t full of judgment. He wasn’t disgusted by what he saw. His honey-gold gaze, laced with hunger, burned into you possessively. He held you by the neck, the strength of his grip waxing and waning in time to your heartbeat, while his brother plowed you from behind. When his voice wiggled its way into your ear, your knees nearly buckled. Adam’s was clear but devious, which made his filthy quips more surprising because they were hard to expect. Ben talked very little. His voice, which you didn’t truly appreciate until this moment, was rough and low, like his very voice box was calloused.

“Is this the first time he’s fucked you?”

You whimpered, eyes drifting shut until you felt a rough tap at your cheek. His face, all furrowed brows and licked lips, telegraphed that next time, he’d slap you proper. Pushing yourself to stare straight into his eyes - it was like looking into the sun - you nodded again, feeling every bit of your desire dribble down your legs because one brother was great, but two was immaculate.

“Is this the last time he’ll fuck you?”

Your guts clenched, and you reached out to stabilize yourself by laying both hands on Ben’s chest, which you already understood was only because he allowed it. Without a second thought, eager even, you shook your head. You’d reached the point where you’d let him - no them - do whatever they wanted whenever they wanted it because holy goddamn.

Adam chose this moment to increase the speed with which he fucked you into oblivion. His hips slapped against yours, hands clamping down onto your shoulders for better leverage. Your eyes crossed, and you nearly swallowed your gag. With one hand on Ben, you reached up to grip Adam’s fingers, anchoring yourself between the two of them. They were your literal rock and a hard place, and they worked in tandem to drive you thoroughly crazy. Ben’s hand slipped between your legs, fingers finding your slippery clit. You howled, spine waking up to tingle and dance.

“Fuck, there it is,” Adam groaned behind you.

What else could you do but give him what he wanted?

His brother had told him about the way you shook when you orgasmed, and he really had thought nothing of it. Most people did that, didn’t they? If you did the job right, there was always a tremor in the legs, a wobble in the walk.

Ben was not prepared for the way you shook when you came.

For a second, he thought you were about to have a seizure, but he watched your face smooth out in pleasure, watched your lips turn up at the very corners, and he was flat out shocked by what he’d just witnessed.

You loved it. Loved being fucked. Loved coming so undone your mind stopped working. For him, it was the way you smiled as you came. The shaking was stunning, of course, but nobody he’d ever fucked before had goddamn smiled - beamed! - through their climax. It was truly the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

And then he grinned like the devil himself because fucking hell…

“You’re fucked, little sister. You know that?”

He scooped some of your slick onto his finger and popped it in his mouth. Shit, you even tasted like candy.

“Well and truly fucked.”

#adam sackler x reader #adam sackler smut #adam sackler imagine #adam sackler x you #adam sackler #torturer tuesdays

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