#all happy and about finding out something/someone

[helenanell]

A Breath of Life || Challengers

Part Two

Pairing(s) : Reader x Patrick – Reader x Art – Reader x Tashi (sort of.) 

CW: MDNI - 18+ : smut, rough / manhandling. Infidelity. Angst. A lot of yearning. (They all want each other, badly.) Manipulative behaviour. Minor spoilers for the film.

Notes: Female Reader (AFAB Reader) - Absolutely no use of y/n, (because I despise it, sorry)

Wordcount: 9.7K

Summary: You met Tashi in your final year of high school and were more than happy to have lost a tennis match against her. Afterwards, the two of you become inseparable and you find yourself feeling for her in a way that you don’t quite understand.And then things get even more complicated when Patrick and Art burst into your lives. As the years pass, desire, love and hatred all get tangled together...and so do the four of you.

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The idea of meeting Tashi Duncan had been much more intimidating than the actual event itself. It was an odd thing, to idolise someone who was the exact same age as you—a girl not yet out of high school and still so chronically unsure of herself and the world—but it was impossible not to. 

You had watched every single match of hers that you could, staring for so long at the way she moved, that you were left with the afterimage of her burned into your eyes: She was in your thoughts constantly and always waiting behind your eyes when you closed them hoping for sleep. 

You were brilliant at tennis, you knew that you were. But Tashi played like it was the only way she could take oxygen into her lungs; each serve and shot an inhalation and exhalation. You understood, because you felt something similar.

For a long time, you had been ignored or dismissed in every aspect of your life, by everyone. But then you had found tennis, and you were really fucking great at it. 

 Tennis saved your life by making you undeniably tangible. Your existence could not be disputed when someone had to react to your movements, to receive something you had offered. 

It was no wonder then, that for as long a match lasted you were unhealthily obsessed with whoever it was that you were playing against. They made you real. 

But then you played Tashi. You had lost, of course, but it had been a close match, neither of you dominating for long before the other gained the upper hand once more. The gasps from the crowd had been the swelling of some great tide, breaking against your flesh and reinvigorating you like freezing water. 

Once it was over, you felt bereft of something vital. You felt as though you had slipped back into non-existence, only this time it was worse than ever, because your connection to Tashi Duncan was gone. 

But your body remembered. It ached and throbbed, rebelling at all you had put it through- no. All Tashi had put it through. You were desperate to feel it again. 

And your prayer was answered. 

She appeared before you like an angel.

Tashi jogged over to you as you gathered your things after the match, flushed and with beads of sweat glistening on her skin like crystals. And her eyes…they had been wide and dark and enrapturing. And then she had said the words that would change the trajectory of your life: 

“So, when can I play you again?”

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

Ruah is the Hebrew word that means God’s spirit, but it is also breath or air and is widely understood to be God’s presence in the world. 

You couldn’t remember when you had learnt the word, but you knew that in the Bible, God had created Adam by breathing life into him. Which was why, when anyone joked about Tashi Duncan being some kind of deity, you could not dispute it, because that is what she had done to you. 

Tashi had breathed life into you.

 Her presence in your life has allowed you to come alive even off the court: you finally felt like a real person. Thanks to her, you knew that when you put your racket down, you did not simply disappear. 

Tashi saw you, on and off the court, and you loved her for it.

But, by the time you were both accepted into Stanford, over a year after you’d first met, you still wouldn’t let yourself delve into that love, and work out the ways in which you felt it. Not only because, you’d only ever been drawn to guys in any romantic or sexual way, but also because you felt undeserving of her.

 How pathetic would it be for you, who crawled at your best friend’s feet, to look up and whimper out words of desire to her?

 You were blessed to have her in your life, let alone to be as close with her as you were. Love was so many disparate things; you could love her as a friend, and hold that carnal aspect deep down. Just having her in your life was more than enough. She was enough.

Or so you thought. 

At the party celebrating Tashi, the two of you had not yet left each other’s side. You were dancing together, close enough that you could feel the ecstasy of victory buzzing beneath her skin as she held your hands and pulled you close. Her hair was silken and flowing down her back and as you were tangled up with her, it tickled against your own exposed skin. 

“They’re still staring.” You whisper into her ear, laughing as she answers by twirling you around and then pulling you back in. 

You practically fall into one another, having to steady yourself by placing your hands on her hips, the beaded fabric of her dark blue dress digging into the palms of your hands. 

“Good.” Tashi answers, wrapping her arms around your shoulders.

She turns you enough that with your chin resting on her shoulder, you are looking right at the two boys who had been gawking all night. One dark haired with confidence coming off him in waves, the other more reserved, a different kind of potency bubbling beneath the surface.

The blonde’s eyes meet yours and he tilts his head, offering a delicate but untethering smile. 

“You’re going to have to talk to them.” You offer, still held in Tashi’s arms. “Otherwise they’re going to follow you around like lost puppies all night.”

You gasp and squirm away as your friend playfully pinches your side.

 “Do you really think they’re just looking at me?” Tashi questions incredulously.

You laugh at her shock. “Of course they are.” You say, gesturing up and down her form as she continues to sway to the music. 

“Oh my God!” Tashi exclaims, grabbing your hand and pulling you close again. “You’re such a fucking idiot! They’re looking at you, too!” 

You roll your eyes, but can’t help feeling a little buoyed at the prospect of being desired. “Yeah, right.”

Tashi shakes her head. “It’s a good thing you’re so oblivious, I like having you all to myself!”

Heat floods every part of you, acutely aware of the sweat trickling down the back of your neck, your skin uncomfortably warm. 

Only when the two of you have stopped dancing do they come over. 

Art Donaldson and Patrick Zweig saunter needfully into your life and had you known then all that would ensue, you still would have welcomed their approach. 

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

The four of you had wandered down to the beach. 

Art and Patrick were sitting on deck chairs that sat side by side, their legs stretched out and their gazes lustful, both of them looking at Tashi who was perched on a rock opposite them. In that moment, the moon seemed made only for her, the silver light lining her form. 

You sit on the sand near her, your legs pulled up to your chest. The waves softly hit the beach behind you, lulling you into an even more incorporeal mindset. All that exists to you, is Tashi and the two boys who so clearly want her. 

Despite how desperately you want to engage in their conversation, you’re exhausted and distracted by the knowledge that your parents will already be looking for you. 

You’ve rested your chin on your knees, your eyes drooping shut, when a voice calls out to you. 

“Hey, are you okay?”

 Art is crouching beside you, his hand on your back, his knees sinking into the sand, shifting the surface beneath you. You jolt at the contact, scrambling to your feet as Tashi chuckles.

 Patrick’s gaze flits between you and Art and then over to your best friend, his cheeks dimpled with a smirk. 

“I’m fine.” You reassure with a shaky smile, brushing sand off the back of your dress. “I should go though, my parents will be waiting.” 

“You can’t leave!” Patrick protests playfully, placing a hand to his chest. “You’ll break my heart.”

You grin, spurred on by his own smile and shrug. “And why should I care about that?”

Patrick’s mouth drops open in feigned hurt as Art chuckles, shoving his hands into his pockets and stepping away from you. 

You turn to Tashi, meaning to say goodbye, but she’s already up and hugging you. She often kisses your cheek as a form of goodbye, but this time she gets so close that her lips tease the corner of your mouth as hers make contact. You are electrified by it.

You know that she isn’t doing it for you, which is confirmed when she pulls away with her eyes flitting giddily between Art and Patrick who have both gone utterly still as they watched the display. 

 Despite the jealous ache that blooms, you play into it, because another part of you is excited at the thought of working the two boys up. You pull Tashi back into a hug, your hands resting dangerously low on her back as you squeeze her. She giggles into your ear. 

“You already have them wrapped around your little finger.” You say it quietly, but loud enough that you know the boys will hear. 

Over Tashi’s shoulder, you see Patrick smirk again and Art runs his thumb over his his bottom lip with a small smile on his face.

When you do finally pull away, Tashi smacks you on the ass. 

“It was great to meet to you!” Art shouts after you. 

“I miss you already!” Is Patrick’s shouted offering.

You just shake your head and continue on your path away from the beach.

Unbeknownst to you, three sets of eyes follow you until you’ve disappeared from view.

When you get home, you still feel the touch of Tashi all over you. But when your hand dips under the covers, something has changed. Because when you close your eyes, it’s not just Tashi you see. Instead, multiple people are fighting for dominance in your midnight fantasy:

You see Patrick’s licentious smirk.

You see Art’s coy smile. 

They’ve both invaded your mind, corrupted your thoughts that for a year had been so gloriously void of anything but Tashi.

And from that moment, you know part of you will always hate them. For so long, even knowing you can’t have her, all you’ve needed to sate yourself are thoughts of Tashi. But they’ve changed that.

You hate Patrick Zweig and Art Donaldson because they’ve made you want more. You want….one of them. You don't know why and you also don’t know which one of them it is. 

But what is clear to you, is that a new itch has arisen within you, and it comes with panic, because unlike with Tashi, you’re certain there’s a possibility that one of them might actually want to scratch the itch for you.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

Had he known how furious you were going to be with him when you arrived, you doubted Art would have been so eager to invite you to have lunch with him in the cafeteria. 

Even when you slam your tray down and drop into the seat opposite him, he still looks happy to see you. He always did. It was infuriating.

“What are you playing at, Art?” You struggle to keep your volume down. You hadn’t wanted to yell at someone in a long time, but he had managed it.

Concern flashes in his eyes, but his lips press together in a way that tells you he knows exactly what you’re referring to. And yet he still asks:

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re fucking with Tashi’s head.”

“I would never do that.”

You scoff, stabbing the flimsy plastic fork into your salad. “Except you are, and I know that you’re doing it on purpose.”

Art pushes his own tray to the side and settles his elbow onto the table, resting his chin on his hand. “Yeah, how’d you figure?”

“Why else would you tell her that Patrick doesn’t love her?”

“Because I don’t think he does. Do you?”

You ignore his question, instead opting to pick up your apple and throw it at his head, hard. He catches it, that damnable little smile still on his face. 

“For fuck sake, Art!” You erupt. “She needs to keep her head on straight. Don’t upset her just because you want her for yourself!”

He tilts his head, blue eyes sparkling as he takes a large bite out of the apple. He chews for a bit before holding it back out to you, speaking through a mouthful:

 “You should have the rest of this, you haven’t been eating enough.”

“Fuck you!” You snatch it from his hand and shift in your seat, easily throwing it and landing it right in a nearby trashcan.

“Well that was a waste of perfectly good fruit.” Art licks some residue off his thumb and then leans across the table. 

You fail to snatch your wrist away before he grabs it. He’s gentle but firm, and as his thumb rubs along your pulse point, you feel the residual moisture from his own mouth he’d left behind, transferring to your skin.

“You don’t have to fight this hard to protect her,” Art presses. “She’s a grown woman.”

“She’s my best friend and I don’t want you to hurt her.” 

Art’s thumb stills, but he tugs your wrist a little closer. “Do you really think I could?” 

You scowl, pulling free of his hold. “You know, the way you and Patrick worship her isn’t the compliment that you both seem to think it is. You’re putting her up on a pedestal, practically deifying her, but she’s not invulnerable. She feels more strongly than anyone I’ve ever known and tennis is her life. If you get in her head and fuck up her game, It will break her and then I will break your fucking hands.”

This time when he’s smiles, it’s rife with fondness for you and it makes you want to punch him for the fluttering it causes in your stomach.

“You didn’t answer my question.” He says simply.

“What?”

“Do you think Patrick loves her?” Art repeats patiently. 

“Do you love her, Art?” 

“Can you please just answer my question?”

“I don’t know!” You throw your hands up in exasperation. “I’m not even sure I would know love if I saw it. All I do know, is that you both lust after her and definitely for each other too, even if you’ll never admit it. You’re all totally fucked.”

Art’s jaw clenches, the muscles ticking, but instead of irritation or anger at your outburst, his gaze softens. When he speaks, it is soft and achingly tender:

“You do know love. Because you love Tashi.” 

You let out an embittered laugh. “Of course I do. I tell her all the time.”

“But she doesn’t love you, not in the same way.”

You really didn’t know if he intended for that to sting, especially not with how gently he’d said it, but if he had, he’d failed. You came to accept that fact a long while ago, and while you would always want Tashi in some respect, it was not the all consuming desire it had been. The lust was gone. She was important to you. She was your best friend and you wanted to protect her. 

Unfortunately, the two men you wanted to protect her from, were the ones who had usurped her as objects of desire in your mind.

“Are you trying to find yourself a catchphrase before you go pro?” You sneer at Art. “I’m not sure how great that would look on a billboard for Adidas.”

“You deserve to be loved.” 

You had picked up your cup to take a drink of water, but upon hearing his words, you slam it down again and rise to your feet. He tracks your every move, as calm as ever.

 “I can’t talk to you right now, Art. You’re being cruel.”

You storm away from the table, only making it a few steps before you hear the scrape of his chair against the floor as he rushes to follow you.

 You’ve only just pushed open the door when he crowds up behind you. 

Art’s hand lands on your back as he guides you outside, his other hand rests on your arm and even after he turns you to face him, his touch remains.

 His hand is wrapped lightly around your arm, the other keeping you close- his palm pressed against your lower back. Anyone watching would think he was drawing you into an embrace. You almost shudder at the contact.

 Patrick has always been handsy, touching and caressing you under the guise of teasing, but Art has always moved around you as though you’ll disintegrate at the lightest touch. The way he’d held your wrist back in the dining hall and how he cradles you now, is the most he’s ever touched you.

 Your chest heaves as your flesh tingles.

Art’s head drops, his eyes on his own hand on your arm, as if he can’t understand why he’s holding you. His voice is strained:

“Patrick isn’t good for her.”

And just like that, you’re slammed mercilessly back down to earth. 

Art wasn’t touching you with tenderness or affection, you were just someone he was holding in place so that you had to hear him out. So you had to hear how much he wanted Tashi. 

“Oh, but I deserve to be thrown at him as a distraction so that you can have her?” You snap at him, more hurt than you’ll ever admit.

“You deserve whatever it is that you actually want.” 

Art sounds frustrated now, not at you…but perhaps at what he knows you won’t say. You do want Patrick. But you also want him. You had just never considered that he knew that.

But that’s not what you say. Instead you say–

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Do you want to know why he isn’t good for her?” Art presses, entirely unaffected by your fury.

“No, but I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”

The hand on your back pulls you a little closer, one errant blonde curl falls down from his forehead and brushes your temple. His breath is hot against your cheek. 

“Patrick’s not good for her-“ Art begins, his tone becoming embittered. “Because he wants you. He always has.” 

You rip free from Art’s grip with such force that the friction of it burns, his fingerprints leaving red marks on your arm. “You are unbelievable!” 

“I’m not lying. You know I wouldn’t, not to you.”

“You will say anything to have her won’t you?” You laugh nastily. “What’s the plan, Art? Do you think that I’ll try and seduce Patrick away from her now, leaving a space open for you to swoop in?” 

“Ask me how I know.”

“No.” You spit back at him. 

But you don’t move. 

Your body waits for words that your mind doesn’t think it can handle hearing. Something feels so close to breaking and you can’t help but feel like it’s to do with whatever force binds the four of you together. 

Art steps forward, closing the distance again, he raises his hands and rests them on either side of your neck, his thumbs pressing onto where your pulse is ratcheting beneath your fragile skin. 

“I know he wants you, because the night after he won our match- when he won Tashi’s number- he told me that I should fuck you.”

“Art.” You warn, frustrated tears bringing horrible pressure behind your eyes.

A small group comes out of the dining hall and have to split down the middle, because neither of you move a muscle. Art’s hold tightens, like he’s trying to leave a permanent imprint behind without it hurting you. 

He whispers now. “Patrick told me to fuck you. And I know him. He said that because when he couldn't have you, it excited him to think that I would. That I'd tell him about sleeping with you.”

“That was such a long time ago.” You say shakily, coming completely unmoored.

But Art won’t let it go.

“He still looks at you the same way, and that’s not fair to Tashi. You want to protect her, right? Well what will it do her when she finally notices the way her boyfriend is constantly eye-fucking her best friend?”

You hit out against his chest with a closed fist. The shock more than the force makes him stagger back. 

“You are so fucked in the head! You and Patrick are both pathetic little leeches who want the same girl, but can’t cope with the way it’s made them realise that they also want each other. You know what? I actually think so much would be solved, if you and Patrick just fucked each other!”

You start to back away and Art darts forward, trying to grab you again, but you smack his hand away and turn your back.

“Leave me alone, Art! And leave me out of your shit!”

He calls out your name with ragged desperation, but he does not follow. And even though he’s truly made your skin crawl, something about that makes you even more furious. 

Why won’t he follow you? 

Why do you still want him to?

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

You hadn’t spoken to any of them since your argument with Art. 

You couldn’t cope with the realisation that if any of them ever did feel any desire for you, it was only because they saw you as some sort of vessel through which they could access parts of the person that they truly wanted.  

You couldn’t even be said to exist in Tashi’s shadow anymore, you had simply been subsumed by it. Those two men, who you both despised and wanted desperately, would never see you, not really. To them, you were just part of her. But you would not let them ruin your friendship with Tashi. You just wouldn’t.

You knew when you arrived to watch her match that something wasn’t right. She was upset. You could see it in all the minutiae of her: in the way she took off her hoodie, in the way she picked up her racket. Something was really wrong. 

You walk through the stands until you come across Art. 

There are two free spaces to the right of him, so you sit down on the one furthest away, leaving a gap in the middle for Patrick to take up when he arrives. But then time passes and the match approaches and he still hasn’t materialised. 

You feel Art staring long before he makes his move. The air shifts as he shuffles over into the seat directly beside you.

“That seat is taken.” You intone harshly. Your eyes are fixed on Tashi as she prepares. 

“If it was, I wouldn’t have been able to sit in it.” 

“Sorry, I should have been clearer. I don’t want you anywhere near me, so I want Patrick to sit there instead of you.”

Your name is a tentative as he speaks it. “Will you please look at me? I can’t handle you not looking at me.”

Your gaze remains set on Tashi, she looks up and finds you in the crowd. The furious divot between her brow eases for a moment before her eyes snag on the way that Art is leaning into you. She turns her back on the entire crowd, but you know the gesture is meant for you alone. 

Fuck. What the hell had happened overnight? If it was Art’s meddling, you’d kill him. 

“The match is about to start.” You say coldly. 

 Art’s hand lands on your knee, but when you flinch, he immediately pulls it away. 

“I know I hurt you and I’m sorry. I- I need you to forgive me.”

You grit your teeth at his audacity. “Why do you need me to, Art?”

“Because I can’t stand the thought of you not being in my li-“

The match begins and Art never gets to finish his sentence. 

In fact, you don’t speak to him properly for almost a decade after that. Because Tashi gets hurt. Her sporting career ends in the blink of an eye and takes your friendship with it.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

Both you and Art had sprinted down onto the court, your heart breaking in your chest as you fell to your knees beside your best friend, tears gathering in her eyes as she whimpered in pain. 

What had hurt the most though, was the way Tashi had shoved your hand away when you had tried to comfort her.

“Don’t touch me!” She had barked on a ragged breath. “Get away from me. Get away!” 

The hatred had dripped from her words and landed on you like a corrosive liquid. And as it had burned down to the bone, you had looked at Art and the apologetic agony with which he’d regarded you—even as he’d cradled Tashi’s head in his hands—told you what he’d done.  

He’d not only told you about Patrick’s supposed lust for you, but he’d also told Tashi. He had told her that even after her now boyfriend had won her number, he’d apparently been thinking about fucking you. Art had also definitely shared his little insight that Patrick didn’t love her either, which you quickly worked out had contributed to his absence.

So Art got what he wanted: he finally had his hands on Tashi and he’d done it by carving you and Patrick away. 

Art Donaldson was an attentive, gentle, even needy man, but you had been so stupid to think that meant he couldn’t also be calculated and cruel. Because of course he was. What else could win the heart of Tashi Duncan but brutal passion? It was part of what she loved about tennis: the unforgiving force of hits that once you met them, somehow felt like affection.

When Patrick had tracked an injured Tashi down, still waiting to be taken to hospital, he had been ordered away by both her and Art.

You knew that because he’d just told you. It was the first thing he’d said to you when you’d let him into your room fifteen minutes earlier.

Now, you were both sitting on the scratchy carpet of your dorm, passing a bottle of vodka between the two of you. 

You felt bereft. Your body wracked with sympathetic pain for the grief in your mind. You’d lost Tashi today, you knew that. And the man that had caused it, was a man you’d spent years yearning for. 

Art hadn’t only taken Tashi from you, but he’d violently ripped himself away too.

“Art wasn’t lying.” Patrick grumbles after taking another hearty gulp of vodka. 

“Please, don’t.” You beg wearily, taking the vodka from his outstretched hand and pressing it to your lips. Not even the burn of the spirit going down your throat registers.

“I wanted- want, both of you. You and Tashi.” 

He isn’t drunk, only tipsy, but he’s getting there, and his words are sluggish, laced with fury. 

“Shut up, Patrick.”

You fall down onto your back, resting the vodka bottle on your stomach, holding it by the neck as you stare up at the ceiling. 

Patrick has been sitting opposite you, but he moves languidly forward, crawling up over your body. He braces one knee beside your hip as the other slots between your legs. 

You blink up at him as one of his hands rests beside your head and the other falls over your own where it still holds the vodka bottle. You let him take it from you, placing it beside your body before the hand then moves to rest on the other side of your head. 

You’re now trapped beneath him, his lithe body hovering just above yours.

When he leans in, his alcoholic breath almost sears your skin as his lips brushed the shell of your ear. 

“Sometimes, when we were fucking I would imagine that you were with us.” Patrick’s teeth nip at your ear. “I asked her once, you know, and she slapped me. Called me a pig. I think she was just mad because she liked having you to herself. You were such a devoted acolyte, kissing the ground she walked on—“

Fury bursts within you like a solar flare, red-hot and ruinous. He was talking about her in the past tense, as if she was dead to both of you already.

Art groans in pain when you knee him in the balls. You use the chance to shove him off you and he falls to the side, knocking the bottle of vodka over. 

As you stand up, you feel the alcohol seeping into the carpet at your feet. 

“You are a pig.” You hiss down at him.

 It’s your room, but you find yourself storming towards the door. 

You don’t get far before Patrick recovers, clambering to his feet and easily closing the distance with his long legs. 

You groan in frustration as he presses you into the door, one hand above your head and the other wrapping around your torso, his fingers dangerously close to brushing your breasts over your tank top. 

“If I’m a pig, why did you let me in?” He pressed his face into your neck and breathes you in.

 Some of the vodka has evidently soaked into his shirt, because the scent seizes you with the same violence with which he had. It’s a secondary intoxication. 

You words come out weakly, and you hate that it’s because you’re using so much energy fighting the urge to press back into him:

“I felt sorry for you.”

Patrick laughs. 

The smug bastard actually laughs right into your skin, the vibrations travelling all the way down to where your body has begun to ache the most. 

“Oh, sure.” He coos patronisingly. “It definitely wasn’t because you’ve wanted to fuck me for years.”

You should fight him, but you don’t want to. 

You should protest when the hand that he has pressed to the door moves to pull down one of the straps of your tank top. But you simply don’t want to.  You want him. 

Art had been right about both of you.

No sooner has the thin strip of fabric been removed from your shoulder, than Patrick is clamping his teeth down on the exposed flesh. You yelp in surprise, the pain a burst of sordid pleasure. 

Patrick laughs again, the hand he has pressed to your stomach pulling you flush against him. You can feel his need for you pressing into your backside, but in case you had somehow missed it, he bucks his hips up into you. 

You gasp and he laughs again, his tongue now running over the aggravated skin where his teeth have left a dent.

“We both know what this is.” He goads.

“And what is it?” You ask teasingly, your head now thrown back and resting against his chest. He groans into your neck as you grind yourself back onto him. 

“Inevitable.”

“Are you just doing this to get back at them?” You ask, not daring to speak their names. 

An angry grumble you can’t quite make sense of tears out of Patrick’s throat just before he is forcefully spinning you around. 

You get barely a glimpse of his feral smirk before he is easily picking you up again and throwing you over his shoulder. The slap he delivers to your ass is punishing and stings furiously as he practically throws you down onto the carpet.

The bed is right next to you, but the asshole apparently wants you on the scratchy carpet and with a wet patch where the vodka has soaked in.

“I’m doing this, because I have wanted to fuck you, from the moment I saw you dancing at that party.”

 You’ve barely got your breath back after being thrown about, when he is grabbing your calf and yanking you down so that you’re laying completely flat beneath him. 

“But you only ever pursued Tash-“ 

He cuts you off from saying her name by leaning down and pressing his mouth to your still clothed breast. His tongue swirls over the fabric, your nipple growing pert. 

When his knee presses up between your legs, parting them forcefully, your head falls back, strands of your hair wetted by the spilt alcohol. 

When Patrick bites down on your chest far too hard, your hand instinctively comes up to slap the side of his head.

 You’re so shocked by your own burst of violence that you go still at exactly the same time as Patrick, both of you breathing furiously. When he does peer up at you, his dark curls slick against his increasingly sweaty forehead, menace dances in his eyes. 

“Do that again.” 

You wish you could have feigned confusion or indignation for even a moment, but your blood is pumping to all the right places to urge you to make terrible, delightful decisions.

 Your second slap connects cleanly with his cheek, your palm tingling with the force as his head spins to the side. 

Your handprint is already a pink mark on his skin when he wraps his arms around your torso, lifting you up just enough so that he can pull your tank top off and throw it to the side. Your chest is left bare to him and he wastes no time before peppering kisses to your sternum, to your breasts and your neck, his arms still wrapped around you, his nails digging into your back. 

The throbbing ache between your legs becomes far too much to bear, so you curl your fingers into his hair and forcefully tug him away from your chest- a bead of saliva stretching between your flushed skin to his swollen lips. 

You lean your head forward, taking his bottom lip between your teeth and biting, pulling at it until he groans pathetically. You let him go, beyond pleased when you don’t have to tell him what you want next. 

You don’t want to wait any longer. You haven’t slept with anyone since you met him and Art. 

Art.

 Is it wrong that as Patrick pushes your back into the carpet and pulls down your sweatpants and underwear in one clean tug, that you close your eyes and briefly imagine that it’s Art instead?

You might have found an answer if you had more time, but when you open your eyes, Patrick is over you, his shorts and boxers already discarded alongside your clothes. His shirt is still on, but neither of you have the patience for the second or so it would take to get it off him. 

Patrick smirks down at you before pressing two of his fingers into your mouth, you open gladly, your eyes locked onto each other as he swirls them around. When he’s satisfied, he pulls his fingers out, and then licks his own hand, mixing himself with you. 

He swipes his wet hand over your already slick core a few times before he’s pressing himself inside of you. Your arms curl around his neck as you wrap your legs around his waist. 

“Fuck.” He groans, his tongue licking up the side of your neck as his hips begin to move. 

“Patrick.” You plead, your fingers digging into the nape of his neck. 

He knows what you want, nipping at your neck before he is driving into you with bruising force. 

In that moment, as you’re joined in the way you’ve wanted since the moment you’ve set eyes on him, you realise thar Tashi isn’t the only person that can make you feel real. 

As Patrick drives into you–his lips and teeth leaving marks on your flesh that will be wine-dark by morning, and the horrible fabric beneath you leaving carpet burn on your back– you finally know more than tennis can make you feel alive. 

The sex is forceful and punishing, but fuelled by a genuine passion. Nothing but your intermingled breaths and the sound of your joined bodies fills the room. 

If the two of you hadn’t been so lost to your pleasure, you might have heard Art knocking on your door. But you didn’t. 

He did however hear the two of you, so he walked away. 

You wouldn’t speak to him or Tashi again for over ten years.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

You weren’t in New Rochelle to compete. You didn’t need to. You were on the top of your game, ranked the third best female player in the world. 

No, you were in New York because despite your better judgement-- and the many years that had passed since you’d last seen him--when Patrick Zweig had called you, you’d answered. 

You hadn’t heard his voice since you had told him that for your own sanity, you couldn’t see him anymore.

For the two years you had been together after Tashi had banished you both from her life, you had let Patrick consume you. And you had never played tennis so poorly in your life. 

You hated what that said about you, that you had willingly discarded someone you had genuinely cared for to improve your ability to hit a ball. But hitting that ball was what kept you alive, not him. 

Not only that, it hadn’t taken you long to realise that you didn’t love Patrick enough to let him affect your career.

And yet when he had called, you’d answered. And when he’d told you that Art Donaldson had entered the Challenger as a wildcard, you both knew that you would come. 

From the moment you had booked the flight, to the first step you’d taken into the hotel, you had lied to yourself that you were only coming for the closure that you hadn’t received as a twenty year old. 

But when you stepped into the hotel lobby and saw Tashi disappearing into the nearby elevator, your self-deception shattered. 

You were here because still, after all the time that had passed, you ached for the way that you had felt when she had been in your life. You missed her. And you had missed Art. 

It was a sickening truth of your life, that while no one had fucked with your head or upset you as much as Art had ended up doing, no one else had ever been so attentive to you either. 

Art had watched you—watched out for you—even when you weren’t playing tennis. In fact, in moments of utter stillness, when you had been doing nothing even remotely remarkable, was when you had always caught him staring. He never shied away, or broke his gaze when he was caught, he’d just smiled as if he wanted you to know he would never feel shame for being found looking at you. 

And that had not changed.

You have been sitting at the hotel bar for ten minutes, feeling sorry for yourself and nursing the same glass of gin and tonic, when you feel someone looking at you. 

You turn your head cautiously, your shoulders sagging as your eyes meet Art’s. He’s sitting on one of the small leather couches tucked into the far corner of the darkened room. 

It had been an inevitability, but things would have been so much easier if you never came across him. 

You know you shouldn’t move- part of you had come for closure and you could get that just by watching him compete tomorrow, so you don’t need to talk to him. 

But then Art tilts his head and smiles at you like no time has passed and pats his hand on the unoccupied space beside him on the couch. 

You get down off the barstool.

 As you approach, he watches unflinchingly.

The last time you had heard Art’s voice, was when Tashi had suffered her injury and he’d been permitted to stay by her side when she had ordered you away.

And yet even after so much time, when he greets you with a quiet ‘hello’, the pathetic girl who had pined after him returns.

You don’t respond as you come to a stop right in front of him, the tips of your heels right against the toes of his shoes, but you make no move to sit down. 

It’s of course not the first time you’ve seen him since college, or been at the same event, or even in the same room- you’re both highly successful tennis players, you couldn’t help but overlap sometimes. But neither of you have ever allowed yourselves to get close, or to even speak. 

It has been over ten years of your eyes connecting through crowds and across rooms that felt much larger than they were, simply because there was distance between the two of you within them. 

Art sits forward, his forearms resting on his knees. He’s fiddling with his wedding ring and you can’t bear to look at the familiar way his fingers carry out the gesture. 

When he looks up at you, it's so open and wanting that you almost turn right back around. But then you hear his voice again.

“Can I ask you to sit with me?” 

“I don’t know Art, can you?” 

He smiles, sighing softly as he runs his hand through his hair. It’s short- much shorter than the curls he’d had at college. You like it. It suits him. 

You shift on your feet, crossing your arms across your chest to cover up your nerves. Perhaps you can protect yourself if you look like you’re closed off from him and from…whatever this interaction is about to be. 

Art doesn’t say anything else, but he surprises you by rising to his feet. You stagger back, but his hand reaches out and lands on your side to steady.

His touch lingers for a moment too long, but he does eventually pull it away.

 But he’s still close, too close.

Your hands have fallen to your sides, so it is too easy for Art to reach out and brush his fingers against yours. He doesn’t intertwine them, but he’s doing enough to let you know that it’s what he wants to do. 

He whispers your name. “Will you please sit with me?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Art.” 

“When have you ever known me to have one of those?” 

You smile ruefully, but take a step back. His hand chases you, his fingers brushing against yours again as he tries to take your hand. 

“It’s been a long time since I’ve known anything about you.” You say, hating how sad it sounds. 

You should be angry at least. His meddling and his desire for Tashi is what ripped you all apart. And he has her now. They have a daughter together.

He doesn't get to ask you for anything, not even if it’s just to sit with him. 

You can’t trust yourself to sit next to him. 

“You do know me. Time can’t change that.” He insists, quietly but firmly. 

You scoff nastily. “I knew Art Donaldson when he was in college. The world famous tennis player who does AD campaigns for sports cars with his wife, is a stranger to me.” 

“Yeah.” Art laughs darkly. “He’s a stranger to me too.” 

You frown at him, growing angry. He seems exhausted and down-trodden. He’s clearly hurting and you hate that you know that—you hate that you‘d been able to tell that even from across the bar—because it means that he’s right: you do still know him. 

“It’s late, Art. You should get some rest. Big day tomorrow.”

You turn away from him and while he doesn’t reach for you this time, he does call out. You keep you back to him as he asks his question. 

“Who do you want to win, me or Patrick?” 

“Tennis can’t decide a victor between the two of you, Art. It’s never been able to.”

When you walk to the elevator, you feel a physical strain as you stop yourself from looking back at him.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

You were right, tennis couldn’t decide on a winner: it was as fickle and incomprehensible as the human heart. Which was fitting, seeing as Tashi had always described tennis as a relationship. 

You had sat only two places away from her during Patrick and Art’s match, and you know she had seen you. But there had been no reaction, her face had been impassive and set on the court, her eyes hidden behind a large pair of sunglasses. 

Now, the match was long over and a result had been given. And yet there hadn’t been a victory for anyone. Just like you knew there wouldn’t be.

Something had happened on that court between the two men, some silent, inexplicable exchange that had altered the very fabric of them.

This time, when Art knocks on your door, not only do you hear it, but you answer. 

You feel almost shocked when you pull open the door to reveal him, dressed in a grey t-shirt and flannel pyjama trousers. You’re surprised at the sight as if you hadn’t known he was coming- as if you hadn’t readily offered up your room number when he had messaged and asked for it.

You’re also somehow certain that Patrick had given him your number, but you didn’t want to dwell on what sort of exchange had led to him handing it over.

Without a word, you step away from the door, self-consciously tightening the cord that holds the silk robe around your body. You stop and face the windows.

The curtains are drawn, by you stare forward as though the whole skyline is on display to you. 

The door to your room clicks shut.

You hear Art take off his shoes before his feet are padding towards you. 

When his arms wrap around your waist, you close your eyes and savour the sensation. He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, so you lift a hand and rest it on the side of his head. 

“I want to retire at the end of this year.” He says and you can feel his exhaustion in the slow breaths that coast over your neck. 

“So retire.” You answer softly, your eyes still on the curtains. “You’re tired.”

You know you don’t need to clarify. Thanks to the grateful press of his lips against your neck, you know he understands what you mean. 

Art is weary of all that he has to be when he’s playing tennis; he’s tired of the effort it takes to play the sport for not just him, but for Tashi too. His wife has been living vicariously through him. He’s been living for two people, taking the strain of two professional athletes combined. 

You know there had never been any point in competing with Art or Patrick, because Tashi would always love tennis the most. 

A shiver wracks your body as Art’s hand reaches for the bow that’s keeping your otherwise bare body concealed from him.

 “Can I?” His request is whined into your hair as he presses his face into the back of your head. 

Instead of answering verbally, you nudge his hand away and untie the robe yourself. Then, you take hold of both of his wrists and guide his hands onto your skin. You let out a sigh of relief when Art finally touches you the way you want him to. 

Your hands are still on him as his fingers move to cup your breasts, but he is the one guiding his movements now. He squeezes, his thumbs brushing over your nipples. 

“Art.” You rasp, pressing back into him wantonly. 

“Can I have you?” He asks, pressing open mouthed, hot kisses to your neck as he palms your breasts. “Please, let me have you.” 

“Stop fucking asking me and just do it.” 

You feel him grin against your neck just before he backs away, pulling back your robe and tugging it from your body.

The fabric has barely had time to pool at your feet when he’s grabbing you by the hips, his fingers digging in as he turns you. 

When Art’s lips finally claim yours, you moan unashamedly. His kiss is gentle but assured, you struggle for breath as he refuses to release you. Then, his hands are cupping your ass and he’s lifting you up. 

With his lips still moving hungrily against yours, Art settles you onto the edge of the bed. When he draws back, your lips chase after him and he smiles, grasping your face in his hands and giving you one more brief but searing kiss before he’s dropping to the ground.

 His hands press into your knees, forcing them apart as he begins to kiss and lick up your inner thighs. 

You prop yourself up on your elbows, watching where his mouth ravenously meets your flesh, tracing his path as he works his way closer to where you want him most.

When he reaches the top of your thigh, Art peers up at you through his long eyelashes, already looking drunk on you as he presses another kiss to your burning skin. 

“Lay back.” He instructs gently. 

But you’re too transfixed to listen- too desperate to see the moment his lips land on your core to look away.

He smiles at the realisation, delighting in your shudder as his tongue darts out and licks a line up your centre. 

“Oh my- fuck!” Your head falls back, already lost in the feeling of his mouth's devoted ministrations. 

As Art pleasures you, one of his hands skates up your stomach and gently presses down, asking rather than forcing you to lay back. This time you oblige, your eyes closed as your hands fist in the sheets. 

“You deserve so much more than I can give you.” 

You smile to yourself. Only Art could grovel as he gives so much pleasure.

Tightness begins to coil in your lower belly, but the moment he adds a teasing finger to his tongue’s movements, you realise you can’t wait. 

“Art- stop.” You gasp out, sitting up and resting your hands on his head. 

He halts immediately but doesn’t remove himself from between your legs. 

“Are you alright?” He asks, his hands rubbing soothingly along your thighs. 

“It’s not enough.” You say, tugging on his hair, trying to get him to come to you. “I need you.” 

Art doesn’t have to be asked twice, but he also doesn’t rush. He presses one last kiss to your now very sensitive folds before he’s climbing over you. 

You shuffle back, settling yourself onto the middle of the bed and even as Art takes off his clothes, he watches you. It’s as if he’s afraid that you’ll disappear if he so much as blinks. 

Now completely naked, he lays himself over you, his arms braced beside your head. He positions himself so carefully thar it’s almost as though he’s trying to fit himself to the shape of you- every divot and curve perfectly aligned sp that you’ll be fused together forever. 

As Art sweeps hair out from your face, his blue eyes bore down into you with an adoring intensity. 

You smile up at him and he rewards you by cradling your face in his hands, he lowers his head, his nose brushing yours as he gently takes your lower lip between his teeth.

Only when you understand what he wants and you open your mouth, does he kiss you again, his tongue delving in deeply.

As he seeks to consume you, your hands run down his back, squeezing his sides with your thighs. 

Art’s still kissing you as one of your hands reaches the curve of his arse, you dig your nails in and he jolts, his mouth moving away from yours and travelling down your neck. 

Tentatively, you move one hand around and down between his legs and when your hand wraps around him, he falters, his kisses stopping. 

“Is this alright?” 

Art moves again, licking the sweat slick expanse of skin between your breasts.

“Anything you do will be alright.” He assures, his lips brushing a nipple and making your back arch. 

“Do you want to have sex, Art?” You ask, barely restraining yourself.

His breaths are hot against your sensitive breasts when he answers. “Please.”

It is a joint effort as he slides inside of you. You gasp, arms wrapping around his neck as he presses kisses into yours.

Art groans as he begins to move achingly slowly, his hips rolling over yours with precision. 

You're happy like that for a few minutes, both of you revelling in your closeness after years subjected to absent desire for one another. But eventually, you want more.

You yearn for more force and luckily as you buck up into him, Art gets the message.

 As one of his hands moves behind your head, cradling it so that he can keep kissing you, the other wraps around your thigh, and pulls your leg higher over his hip, allowing himself to get even deeper. 

“You’re so beautiful.” He says in-between sloppy kisses, moving rapidly as you moan and whine. “You’ve always been so beautiful.”

Even with him inside you, making you feel more desired than anyone ever has, your mind drifts to that first night you had met him. The first night you had met Patrick. 

“You stared at Tashi.” You say.

You aren’t accusatory or upset, if anything the acknowledgement if it turns you on more. All four of you have always had a desire for the other, and it feels powerful to finally acknowledge it.

“-That night on the beach, you couldn't take your eyes off her. Neither of you could.” 

“I wanted you.” Art asserts with a particularly powerful thrust. “I- I wanted you so badly, but you went home.”

You nod, pulling him in for another kiss as you meet his thrusts. 

You understand his thinking. You’d often wondered how things might have changed had you not gone home early that night. If you’d stayed on the beach and then gone to their hotel room along with Tashi. 

Entirely content with just moving as one, you both fall silent and somehow Art curls over you even more tightly, like he wants his whole body to hide yours from the world. 

After you’ve both found your release he takes you into the shower and cleans himself off of your sensitive skin, each swipe of the washcloth accompanied by a kiss.

It ends up being time wasted though, because when you return to the bed, he takes you twice more.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

You wake up with Art’s head resting on your bare chest. He’s laying on his side, one arm stretched out on the pillow above your head and his other hand resting on your hip. 

You’re sore in the most pleasant of ways as you sit up. You try to move slowly but Art stirs anyway, his head turning to press open mouthed kisses to your sternum. 

You rest your hand on his cheek, meaning to guide him away, but he moves so that he can kiss the palm of your hand instead. 

It’s only when you sigh into his touch, his eyes still closed as his other hand delves between your legs, that you realise why you had woken up int he first place. 

Someone was knocking on your door. 

And then you hear her voice. 

Tashi is calling out your name, sounding almost panicked.

 “Please, open the door, I know you’re in there.”

This time when you push Patrick away, he obliges, but far less quickly than you would have liked.

 In the time it takes for you to throw on your silk robe and gather up all of his clothes from the floor, he has barely got himself to stand up. He’s naked and blinking sleepily at you. 

When you shove the bundle of his clothes into his arms, he rushes to press a passionate kiss to your lips, holding the back of your head with his free hand.

You aren’t sure you want to know whether he’s truly still half asleep and genuinely hasn’t realised what is happening, or if he just doesn’t care that his wife is outside the door.

Flushed but furious at his casual demeanour, you push Art into the bathroom and close the door, just as Tashi knocks again.

 The repeated request for you to come to the door tumbles from her lips like a prayer.

You brace your hand against the door as you draw in a fortifying breath and smooth out your hair. You swear you can feel her through the door. 

The moment you open the door, Tashi is bursting in and closing it behind her. You step back, waiting for her to make the first move, for her to shout of attack or go charging into the bathroom. But she does none of those things. 

Instead, Tashi pulls you into a crushing hug. You go still, shocked but healed by it at the same time.

She pulls back, taking your face in her hands.

 “You’re a phenomenal tennis player.” Tashi says it rapturously. 

If you weren’t burning up at the feel of her hands on you, you might have laughed at how ridiculously perfect it was that those were her first words to you after over a decade. 

Tashi communicated and connected through tennis. She loved through tennis.

All you can muster is a very sincere: “Thank you.”

Tashi brushes your hair out of your face, tucking a stray piece behind your ear. You find your hands lifting, resting atop hers where they hold your cheeks.

“You need to let me coach you.” Tashi demands almost possessively.

“I have a coach.”

“They’re not me.”

“No, they’re not.”

And just like that, you were snared again. 

You had gone years without any of them, and with one word, you had allowed all three of them back into your life.

 Only this time, you know it might actually kill you if any of them leave. And perhaps it would kill them too. 

Only time would tell.

#challengers movie #art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x you #art donaldson smut #mike faist #patrick zweig #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig x you #tashi duncan #tashi donaldson #tashi x reader #zendaya #josh o'connor

[yuri-is-online]

One Sided Love Triangles: Twisted Wonderland

Because I really hate it when someone has to lose. Anyway idk I thought these would be funny:

Jade vs Malleus- partially inspired by Private Thoughts of a Moray of course but also just like. The randomness of it. Jade has nothing against Malleus before he starts liking you at all, he's just a very powerful person who he would like to get close to so he can help him out. But now? Oooooh he hates him he hates him he hates him. He's the literal worst for getting to be close to you when no one else is close to him and Jade has yet to dance across the line of suspicion that's keeping you from living happily ever after. Malleus thinks Jade's courtship efforts are deeply fascinating, probably asks Lilia if ritual self humiliation is part of the process, and gets a very disappointed look sent his way. He's rooting for Jade because someone has to take care of you when he's not around and an eel isn't a bad choice.

Floyd vs Ace- crabby is little shrimpy's best friend and that makes him moody. Floyd wants to be happy when Yuu come in to basketball practice with his water bottle, but the only reason you brought it was because you found it on your way to drop something off for Ace. Damn this is the pits, why can't all of your attention just be on him for once? Seven he wants it so bad he floats through practice like a jellyfish because of how dispondant he is. Meanwhile Ace thinks your crush on Floyd is super gross but he's not going to judge. To the point Yuu starts to worry they're being set up for failure when encouraged to confess.

Trey vs Rook- you would think that Trey knows better than to assume Rook is in love with everyone he compliments but there's just something about watching you two interact he doesn't like. He tries to rationalize it by assuming it's because he likes you, and he wants to be capable of fligrting with you but he's not like this when Cater makes joking passes or when random mob students actually do. Rook decides he finds this funny and determines to play into it so he can goad a confession out of Trey. Love is truly beautiful ♡

Ace vs anyone who can breathe- he's delusional. He loves Yuu so much the idea that some people aren't interested in the same way he is just doesn't enter his mind. Might have something to do with how much he's denying his feelings that he's constantly assuming the worst but when Cater tries to tell him that he doesn't make it super far into Ace's skull...

I've got more but I need to sleep...

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #i also have a version of this for tdb but meh #eepy time #jade leech x reader #floyd leech x reader #trey clover x reader #ace trappola x reader

[whytheylosttheirminds]

I Remember Everything - Rafe Cameron

(Prologue and Chapter 1)

Summary: You left the island two years ago, leaving the love of your life a shattered man in your wake. Now, when you return, you find the sweet boy you once loved has transformed into a monster of a man. How can you detangle the real Rafe from the terrible things he's done?

Timeline: begins toward the end of obx season 3 and is mostly canon.

Content: this story contains sexual content, alcohol and drug abuse, and brief mentions of violence. All chapters are 18+, minors do not interact!

Prologue

Before gold, before grams, before the gun, there was you. Back when there weren’t crosses to steal, lines to snort, cops to run from, there was you. Long summer nights on the Druthers, your mom blowing up your phone ‘cause you missed curfew again. Skipping class and riding to the beach on the back of his bike. All the way back to grade school, playing tag and pretending you were pirates. Then middle school, that kiss under the lifeguard tower, a first for both of you. In high school, the night you got back from the “character-building summer camp” you had been shipped off to and you shared your other first. When you were first together, it didn’t even hurt, but just felt like fucking finally. 

He remembers it all, taking all of his strength to keep it stuffed under the surface. The coke, the violence, the drama he creates in his wake cover you up nicely, until those nights when he’s dead asleep and there you are again, leaving. When he wakes, it all comes back to him. How he sat on the curb and watched you go, bloody and hurt from the night that was your final straw. How he showed up on your doorstep the next day, like he was five-years-old again asking if you could come outside and play. How your mother told him you were gone and wouldn’t tell him where you went.

“Honey,” she said with something like pity in her voice, “Promise me, you’ll let her go, let her be happy.”

A promise he kept, until the day you rolled back into town with no warning. Your timing could not have been worse. After the summer from hell, the summer that made him a killer, he finally felt like he was in control. It wasn’t until he saw you, the only person in the world that ever really knew him, that he realized he had no idea who he was. 

Chapter One

You clutched your phone tight, reading and rereading the message. One you used to get nearly every night but hadn’t seen in two long years.

party at cameron’s tonite !!

It was a group text, sent by the girl from your high school you bumped into in the grocery store earlier that day. You had been back on the island for all of an hour before inevitably seeing someone you knew. You tried to duck quickly into the cereal aisle, but she caught your eye before you could disappear, an action you were infamous for.

“Omg, we need to hang out soon!” She had said, before handing you her phone to put your new number in.

You smiled your fakest smile and said, “it’s a must!” You didn’t think either of you really meant it, but apparently she had.

There were eleven or twelve other numbers in the group text, none you had saved, but you assumed they were likely other people from your high school. She probably just added anyone in her contacts she could think of, not even stopping to realize she was inviting the Kook prince’s former princess to his party. Your relationship had been the stuff of legend on this island. Everyone had an opinion, you were practically a celebrity couple, and it was the biggest news on the island for months when you left, suddenly disappearing overnight. Some real shit must’ve gone down around here since then to make it such old news that this girl didn’t even think about it when adding you to this text.

Your heart pounding in your ears, you couldn’t believe it when you felt yourself typing out i’ll be there :) 

You wore your hair down, the way you always used to have it in high school. After you left, you had cut it short, wanting to shed away as much of your old life as you could, but in the last few months you’d started to let it grow back. Now it flowed down to the middle of your back, tickling the skin of your shoulders where the thin spaghetti straps of the little dress you had on left them exposed. You let the front pieces fall around your face, a sort of curtain to keep an extra layer between you and the other partygoers.

You could not believe you were here. For real this time, not in a dream as you had been every night for two years, but really here. 

As you walked down the gravel path, it all came rushing back. The smell of Rose’s garden, the distant sound of the ocean lapping against the shore, the low thud of the music echoing through the crisp evening air. How many times have you walked down this path? How many nights had you spent here, your senses filled with the glory of Tannyhill, the glory of him? And yet now it felt so heavy, the sights, sounds, smells of it all were nearly choking you. Tears welled in your eyes, but something kept your feet walking towards those grand front doors, towards him.

Four years earlier…

The glass panes of the front door are slightly blurred, only revealing the soft lighting of the grand entryway on the other side. You had crossed this threshold at least a thousand times in the ten years since your family moved to this island. Knocking felt strange, you felt so small standing here in the porch light, surrounded by moths and the thick coastal August air. An envelope, wrinkled from being opened and rifled through so many times, was clutched between your clammy hands.

A figure you couldn’t quite make out approached the door, and your heart pounded in your ears as you hoped desperately it would be him who opened the door. But it wasn’t.

“Oh, hey - I- hi, Mr. Cameron,” you stammered, ever intimidated by the island’s most powerful man.

“Y/N,” Ward nodded cordially. “It’s after 10pm.”

You smiled weakly, if you felt small before, you feel positively infantile now.

“I was just hoping I could see Rafe for like, just a second,” you pleaded, putting on your sweetest smile.

“He’s studying,” Ward said. “You can come back tomorrow. Goodnight.”

Before you could protest, the door was closed and the blurred figure retreated into the house.

Never one to give up, you stuffed the letter into the back pocket of your jeans, and stepped back from the porch, sizing up the massive house to see which rooms still had lights on. You knew the blueprint of this place by heart, checking off each family member mentally as you scanned their window for signs of life. Wheezie’s room? Dark. Sarah’s room? Dark. Rose and Ward’s room? Still lit. This would have to be a stealth mission. 

You snuck around the side of the house and looked up at the last window on your list. To your excitement, the room was still lit. You saw a long shadow pass by the curtains, and you actually jumped a little from the thrill. After spending the longest summer of your life apart from the one person you wanted to spend it with, he was actually right there, just two stories off the ground.

You traveled 800 miles today, what was a few more feet? Blocking out the better judgment ringing in the back of your mind, you picked up a few pebbles from the rocky path that leads to the backyard, and started climbing the big tree that grew right up past Rafe’s balcony. How you were gonna get from the tree to the balcony? That was five-minutes-from-now-you’s problem. You chuckled to yourself as your body naturally found each branch and knot on the tree. You used to have competitions when you were kids to see who could climb this tree the fastest, and you beat Rafe everytime. You remembered the shocked look on his face the first time he saw you scurry up the tree, you were hoping for a similar level of approving surprise once you got where you were going.

Once you reached the branch directly across from Rafe’s balcony, you pulled one of the pebbles from your pocket and chucked it at his window as hard as you could. 

“Shit,” you whisper-yelled as the throw fell short and the pebble dropped, loudly knocking into the first floor window below. You couldn’t afford another noise-causing miss, so you recalculated the throw and bit your lip as you lobbed the next pebble hard. It smacked into Rafe’s window with a loud TINK and you smiled in satisfaction. You waited a moment, then two, and still nothing. The shadowy figure did not return to the curtain. You only had one pebble left, and you had never been good at climbing back down this tree. Remembering the time you fell out of it onto the waiting Rafe below, and you both ended up needing stitches, your stomach twisted in fear. You took in a deep breath and held it, letting the last pebble fly. Another sharp TINK, and a moment of baited breath later, the tall shadow finally returned to the window.

Rafe opened the curtains harshly and you immediately broke into a wild smile. He looked so cute in his fitted gray t-shirt and plaid pajama pants, his normally gelled back her falling in messy pieces around his face. You held back a giggle, delighted by the completely confused look on his face as he searched out the window for the cause of the sound. He lifted the window open and examined the two pebbles that had fallen on the windowsill. 

You took the opportunity to whisper a loud “psssst.” His face shot up in surprise and his eyes finally found you in the tree, just a few feet off of the balcony. Where you expected to see surprised delight on his face, you instead caught something cold and irritated.

“Y/N,” he whisper-called to you. “What are you doing?”

“I just got back, I wanted to see you!” You called to him, hoping his apparent anger was just in response to his own shock.

“I’m busy.” Rafe went to close the window and you felt your moment of opportunity slip away.

“Wait!” you stopped him. “Please don’t make me climb down. We both know it won’t end well.” You smiled a sweetly shy smile you hoped would melt his icy demeanor a bit.  

He sighed and looked at you annoyed for a moment before climbing out the window, his height requiring him to duck low in order to make it through. He had grown even taller over the summer, he must have hit 6 foot by now, maybe more. Your stomach flipped as you watched his athletic frame emerge from his bedroom, now able to see how defined his arms looked in the moonlight. You’d always thought he was a cute boy, but the way he looked right now lit a fire in your belly. Then you realized what it was - while you were gone, the cute boy-next-door had become a man.

“Just reach over,” he directed you.

“I don’t think I can without falling,” you explained. “I think I’m gonna have to jump.”

“Are you stupid?” He scoffed humorlessly.

Your heart sank, the boy you left behind three months ago never would have called you stupid.

“It’ll be fine, you just have to catch me,” you explained.

He rolled his eyes and opened his arms, reaching them over the bannister of the balcony, “fine.”

The brief moment of joy you got from his submission faded fast as you made the mistake of looking down at the gap between the tree and the balcony.

“Actually…” you said, bravery fading.

“What, are you scared?” Rafe taunted.

“No!” you insisted. You smiled at him, suddenly feeling like the two of you were ten again and he was daring you to jump off the trampoline into the pool in your backyard.

Now or never. With a deep breath and a sharp yelp, you threw yourself out of the tree and towards his waiting arms on the balcony. As promised, he caught you, and pulled you quickly over the bannister. His arms wrapped around your waist, yours around his shoulders, he held you there just a few inches off the ground.

You flattened your hands against the taut muscles of his shoulders, delighting in the strong warmth of them. But before you could fully revel in the feeling of being in his arms, he released his grip on your waist and you dropped the final few inches to the ground. Rafe quickly stepped back, breaking the lock your arms had around his neck. Despite the southern summer heat, the air between you suddenly felt ice cold.

“Rafe,” you whispered, stepping towards him, but he only pulled further away.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said without even looking at you.

Rafe started back towards his window, and something gave you the feeling he was not going to invite you to follow him through it.

“I need to talk to you,” you started to explain.

Rafe whipped around to face you, the way he towered over you at his new height sending goosebumps down your spine.

“Why don’t you go talk to your new boyfriend instead?” He snapped.

You were so stunned that you let out a little laugh, which only made his furrowed brow scrunch even more in anger.

“What are you talking about?” You asked.

“I saw the pictures your camp was posting on their website all summer. I saw you wrapped around that douchebag.”

It took a moment of confused silence for you to realize what he was talking about, when it finally dawned on you, you laughed again. He turned from you and started heading towards the window again, but you caught his arm, your hand not able to fit even halfway around it.

“No, Rafe,” you explained, “That was just Andy, one of the other campers. We were doing a trust fall exercise. He dropped me like two seconds after that!”

Despite himself, Rafe turned to look at you, eyes examining you nervously. 

“Are you ok?” He asked in a small voice, wishing desperately that he didn’t care.

You smiled softly, there he was - your boy. 

“I’m fine,” you assured him, showing him the small scar on your wrist. “Just a little scrape.”

A moment passed, he avoided your eyes but allowed you to step closer, your hand sliding down his arm and slipping into his, his fingers reluctantly intertwining with yours. You knew exactly what words he was struggling to find, but decided to let him get there on his own.

Finally, “Why didn’t you answer my letters?”

Your other hand reached into your back pocket and pulled out the envelope you had tucked away. You held it out to him wordlessly. He took the letter and held it to the light coming from his room, examining it with a confused look. The envelope was addressed to him at Tannyhill, from you at camp. When he finally noticed the “return to sender” label, it all clicked.

“They kept getting returned to me, I don’t know why,” you said as you squeezed his hand. “I asked to use my phone to let you know but they wouldn’t let me. I almost just snuck out of camp and came home so I could explain it to you.”

“Your mom would’ve been so mad,” he said, finally, finally smiling at you.

“Then she would’ve just taken away my phone and we’d be back where we started,” You said. “There’s like twenty more letters like that. I don’t know why they never made it to you, it’s like someone was sabotaging me.”

Rafe seemed satisfied with your explanation and the remaining bit of anger on his face melted away completely. He stuffed the letter in his pocket and suddenly threw his arms around you, lifting you in the air as you yelped in surprise, giggling as he started planting sloppy kisses all over your face and neck.

“Shhh, baby, my parents will hear you,” he whispered. “They’ve got me locked in my tower because I failed my last quiz in this fucking summer school pre-calc class.”

“Rafe!” you said in mock-scandal. “Naughty language!”

“Oh, baby, I can say way naughtier things than that,” he growled in your ear, your cheeks now burning from real-scandal.

“C’mon,” he said, setting you down and grabbing your hand, to lead you to his still-open window. 

He placed his large hand on the small of your back as he helped you through the window, climbing in after you and closing it slowly so as to not make a sound.

You and Rafe had done some more-than-kissing things before, but that was the night you gave yourselves to each other completely. He held you after, softly kissing the scar on your arm from when Andy had dropped you.

“Never gonna let that Andy asshole touch you again,” he said between kisses. “He can find his own girl, you’re mine.”

You giggled and he looked up at you in confusion.

“Rafe,” you were laughing hard now. “Andy’s gay.”

He broke into a bashful grin, a quick blush of embarrassment swept across his cheeks before he grew serious again and started kissing up your arm.

“I don’t care,” he said. “They should all know - all the Andys and Jakes and Chads and whoeverthefucks,” his kisses had reached your neck, “no guy is ever gonna get to touch you like me.” He pulled back and looked into your eyes with a sincerity that squeezed your heart. “Gonna love you forever. Gonna marry you, make you a mom. Never gonna spend three months, or even three fucking days away from you again. That what you want?”

“Yes,” you breathed, meaning it with your whole being.

“Good.”

Now…

The memories flooded your brain as you opened the door and stepped into the home you used to think would be yours someday. The party was swelling, the vibe feeling so familiar and so uncomfortable at the same time.

You made your way straight to the kitchen, desperately needing a drink. Every step you took sent a memory flashing through your thoughts like a shock to your brain. You passed the living room and saw movie-nights-turned-make-out-sessions on the couch, playing mario kart with Sarah and Wheezie while Rafe laughed at your hyper-competitiveness, prom pictures in front of the fireplace. You passed the dining room and saw the first family dinner you were invited to, how you made Ward laugh with a story about fishing your own dad used to tell, how Rafe squeezed your thigh under the table in pride. You entered the kitchen and saw the time you and Rafe set off the smoke alarm trying to make pancakes, the time he lifted you onto the counter and went down on you when his family was out of town. And then, standing by the keg, you saw the girl who invited you, clearly plastered already.

“Omg!” She yelled when she saw you.

Everyone else in the large kitchen turned and looked at you. It felt dramatic, but you could swear the whole room fell silent when they saw you, a comical record scratch playing in your head.

The girl who invited you ran over to you, beer sloshing over the side of her solo cup and onto her shirt. 

“I can not believe you came,” she said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “I completely forgot when I invited you, about, you know, you and-”

“Can I get one of those?” you cut her off quickly, gesturing towards her drink.

Before she could answer, a loud crash came from outside the kitchen’s open french doors. The heads that had all been watching you suddenly snapped toward the sound towards the crowded back yard. When the loud bellow of a man’s voice rang out, the people in the kitchen all ran towards the unfolding scene. You pushed through the crowd and out the doors, drawn inexplicably to the voice. Your heart dropped to your stomach when you realized why - it was Rafe.

There in the backyard, packed with drunk people and lit by string lights, Rafe stood with his fist clenched in the collar of some guy’s white button up, forcefully pulling the scared looking dude toward him while he yelled.

“I said none of that fucking cheap shit,” Rafe yelled at the guy you now realized was a cater-waiter. 

“I’m sorry sir, I-” Rafe threw the man down and he fell back in the dirt.

“This isn’t some ghetto block party out in The Cut,” Rafe yelled. “Do you know who’s fucking house you’re at right now?”

The crowd around you watched, most smiling in support of the man they looked at like he was a rockstar. You cringed at the looks of admiration in their eyes and took Rafe in with your own.

He looked different, harder. His floppy blond locks had been shaved off, and he had traded old t-shirts and jeans for slacks and a polo. He was as tall and built as you remembered, but instead of it being endearing, it was just scary as he looked down at the poor server like he was gonna kill him.

Then he spat on him. He actually spat on another human being. It disgusted you in more ways than one, and you felt your heart breaking in your chest as you realized you had no idea who this man was. The boy who held you on that night four years ago and promised to be yours forever clearly didn’t live here anymore. You turned quickly and pushed back through the crowd, unable to watch another second of this sickening display of toxic masculinity.

Rafe glared down at the pogue-scum in the dirt below him, an eerily familiar feeling washed over him as something moved quickly in the corner of his eye. He turned at just the right moment to see a whip of long hair disappear through the crowd.  But it wasn’t. It couldn’t possibly be. Surely, it was not you.

(chapter 2)

a/n: Hiiii this is the first fic I've posted in about 10 years!! Hope you enjoyed, forgive me if I'm rusty! More chapters to come :)

#rafe cameron #rafe obx #rafe cameron x reader #obx fic #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe x reader #rafe outer banks #obx smut #rafe cameron fluff #rafe fanfic #rafe x you #rafe fanfiction #rafe smut #rafe imagine #rafe fic #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron and you #rafe cameron and reader #rafe cameron and y/n

[sp0o0kylights]

Eddie was all about desecrating corpses. 

Particularly, the huge ones--and nothing was larger than the burnt out husk of Starcourt. 

Yellow caution tape, muddied and ripped from its time in the weather still decorated parts of the doors. 

The place used to be crawling with security, but that had eased off now, the job returning to a local outfit rather than the smooth and swift guards who previously haunted the joint in pairs. 

It was easy as two days spent camped out in his van, watching the main entrance and a few side doors. In no time at all, Eddie had schedules memorized, points of entry selected and even three possible escape routes should things get dicey.

He didn't expect them to. 

Not when he’d already rolled his checks and came up with a number that, were this an actual D&D game, would make him a happy man. 

It was always a point of contention between him and his Pa. This perception. The natural ability he had that good ‘ol dad just didn’t seem to possess. 

The one that made him patient long enough to get a feel for a gig. 

To know instinctively how hard a job might be, and how to go about doing it safely. 

(Eddie personally doesn't believe much of it is talent. Thinks it is in fact, forcibly learned, due to the nature of his upbringing. 

Grandma and Grandpa Munson, bless their dead, departed souls, had at least given something of a shit. Tried to keep family things family and work things work, even when said work was illegal as it gets. 

They understood things like appearance and public reputation. 

How that kept the pigs off your back and food on your table.)

His Pa had never cared for any of that. 

Eddie didn’t grow up with family meals, or even food in the house let alone on the table. He grew up watchful, forced to learn or take a hit meant for an adult in the process. To weigh the risks against the benefits, and how to charm the pants off an unsuspecting target while doing so. 

It was how he’d escaped his own prison sentence when his Pa finally got eyes too big for his abilities.

Eddi had gotten lucky in that situation. 

Or rather--he’d gotten Wayne. 

Wayne, who gave up his own room, his own bed, for his nephew. Had bought him his sweetheart on his sixteenth birthday and a van on his eighteenth. Both things were used, and a little battered around the edges, and Eddie had almost thrown up the day he accidentally found out Wayne had used his life savings for the damn car, but they were above and beyond anything he had any right too. 

Eddie would be damned without him. 

But he knows his uncle needs help. 

Can't pay for himself and Eddie. Never really could, and so has been giving his nephew literally everything he has in an effort to make up for it until Eddie could help pay his way. 

Not that a singular soul would trust a teenage Munson with such a precious thing as a part time job, and so Eddie had turned to the familiar. 

The mall fire, and the resulting flood of federal agents had really put a damper on his income the past few months. Drugs were risky, and getting riskier with them sniffing about, and things were getting tight again in a way they hadn’t in a long, long time. 

(All it had taken was finding the hidden stack of bills. 

Big ol’ words stamped in red topped every one. Bold letters screaming ‘Overdue’ and ‘Payment Missed’ and ‘Late Fees.’ 

One single letter had panicked Eddie more than any other, the one that clearly said Wayne had been talking to the payday loan place down the street, and he’d be damned if his shortcomings made his Uncle willingly walk into a debt pit so few climbed out of.) 

Growing up like he had, Eddie was trusted in certain circles. Had access to places many didn't as his sole inheritance, because he was known.

 Someone who didn't rat, who could be trusted with given tasks. Who kept to the criminal code, and was good about not backstabbing you if caught.

He’d hit up a few old connections, dropped some hints. Put out “feelers” as one might say. 

Got a nibble and soon enough, Eddie was back in business, getting called up and offered a few small tasks for decent dough. 

Sometimes it was fetching information. 

Sometimes it was ferrying an item.

Today, it was a retrieval.

There was something someone wanted in the ruins of Starcourt--and they were offering an insane amount of money to get it.  

The plans hadn't made sense, not at first. The instructions Eddie had been given sounded outlandish, if not outright total bunk. 

Like the existence of a multi level basement under Starcourt? How the hell had no one caught that being built? 

Or that the security systems down there could possibly still be turned on? After four months? 

Who was even paying for it? 

Eddie had heard stupider things though, and the pay for this little jaunt was good. Too good to pass up. 

"They want a local in case something happens and the rescue squad comes running in. That way, it's just a little trespassing fun. The town deviant getting his kicks in the big scary mall, and not what they think it is." His connection had told him, meeting with Eddie in a Mcdonalds the town over. 

The place had a play palace, big enough to host a number of screaming rugrats. It made for a great cover as they pretended to be just two men in overalls, getting burgers on their lunch. 

Not a soul could hear a sound over the kids screaming, and if a blueprint sat between them then, well, if it looks like a maintenance worker, and it talks like a maintenance worker…

People never did look twice.

"And what else exactly would they think this is?" Eddie asked, munching on the food he got for free as part of even entertaining the offer. 

"A retrieval, Double D." 

Eddie hated that nickname.

"Some rich kid bit it in the fire, and his parents are paying out top dollar to get a few of his things, seein’ as the feds wouldn’t let anybody back in after they condemned the place." The guy, whose name was Mickey said. 

He idly traced a finger along the lines of the blueprint, the path he was wanting Eddie to take. 

(The path Eddie would later ignore, on grounds that it was going to get him caught.) 

 “Specifically a signet ring and car keys.”

“Car keys?” Eddie had asked, mostly in a bid for more information. Mickey was the kind of guy you could breadcrumb into giving more information than he intended to, if one played their cards right.

And Eddie was a damn good poker player. 

“Yup. Goes to a BMW--which they want you to drive to a safe place. Parents think he lost it somewhere around,” Mickey’s finger stopped, before tapping the blueprint twice. “Here.”

Something had niggled in the back of Eddie’s head. The first whispers of recognition, of a fact that he knew something about this--something he couldn’t yet recall. 

He wasn’t stupid enough to ignore it. 

“Who's the kid?” He’d asked. 

Mostly because he was curious, partially because it was a way to ease in the real questions he wanted to ask.

Like what a rich kid was doing four levels down in Starcourt the night of the fire. 

“Does it matter?” Mickey said, but dug into his pockets anyway. Retrieved a little 2 by 3 wallet photo, done in the traditional High School Picture Day style. 

He’d tossed it on the table, and Eddie didn’t react. 

Kept his face perfectly blank, even as his stomach contracted and his breath caught in his chest. 

Carefully pulled the picture to him, to make a show of examining it. 

“Don’t know him.” He lied after a moment, fighting to get his breathing back under control before Mickey figured out what was up. 

“Told you it didn’t matter. What matters is that you get the shit. And hey, while you’re down there…” 

Mickey talked a bit more, and idly, Eddie listened. He knew this little B&E was going to have more components than just retrieving a few things. Had long figured out that this entire front of retrieving “some rich kids keys” was just that--a front. 

Word on the street was that Starcourt was hiding something--something a lot of very powerful people were getting increasingly interested in. He’d rolled his eyes when he caught wind of the first little rumblings, the rumors and whispers that the thing was shrouded in Government secrets and conspiracies, but hadn’t been able to ignore the shit that had come after. 

Likely, the people who had hired him and Mickey understood they had to act now, before someone else did, to see if anything worthwhile was actually down there. 

The real question is why the hell they were using Steve Harrington’s death to do it--when Eddie knew for a fact that Steve Harrington was alive. 

Or alive as anyone could be, at two am at a Shell gas station. 

“Alright.” Eddie said finally, pulling the blueprint towards himself before rolling it up, making sure to casually roll up Harrington’s picture with it. “You got me interested. Half up front and I’m in.”

Mickey grinned at him. “Knew you would be, kid.” 

One hand shake and a hefty envelope later, and Eddie found himself on the way to Starcourt on his very first stakeout. 

It was that first initial look that confirmed it--Harrington’s prized BMW was in fact, still sitting in the parking lot.

Abandoned by rich assholes who absolutely could have paid to have it towed.

Which led to a domino effect of stakeouts, late nights and confrontations, up to and including his present position, counting down the minutes before he could break into Starcourt.

“Ready?” He murmured, and one could be forgiven for thinking he was talking to himself given how quietly he said it.

They would be wrong. 

“Yeah.” The not-so-dead rich kid drawled from the passenger seat.

Eddie tossed a grin at Harrington, who rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. 

“Come on, Stevie.” He purred. “Let’s go find out who impersonated your parents, and why they want that ring you supposedly own so badly.” 

“Honestly dude I just want my car back.” 

“That too.” 

#this is a two parter #the second part has the steddie lol #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #season 3 AU #sorta #0o0 fanfics #stranger things #I mean really how did he get his keys back #breaking and entering #you cannot tell me eddie wasn't drawn to starcourts remains like a moth to a flame

[ventique18]

~ Thoughtless ~

Somehow you feel it. Maybe you're just letting things get to your head, but maybe. Just maybe.

Malleus is in love with you.

How can you not think that, when he comes by to see you almost everyday, or when he sometimes finds himself thoughtlessly tucking a stray hair away from your face. When his hands would naturally find their way to rest on your hip while you're busy baking something, and he would curiously watch from behind?

So when he carelessly lays his head on your lap one lazy afternoon, you find yourself blurting out "I think I'm in love with you." Just as naturally as is his intimacy is towards you.

He doesn't speak. Doesn't even laugh. He just thoughtlessly pulls you down and, clumsy and mismatched as they are, lets your lips wordlessly do the talking.

You're over the moon. How could you not be, when a person you thought was beyond your reach is hopelessly in love with you just as you are with him? You'll be spending your time as a couple from now on. Going on romantic dates together, greeting each other first thing in the morning, getting to know each other in a much, much more familiar depth. Maybe even considering... marriage.

There's an infinite things that you want to do with him. So many things that make you happy. You're happy.

... Until...

"I wonder what bouquet my betrothed prefers for our coming wedding?"

You overhear him as he strolls with Lilia.

Betrothed? As in, someone you promised to marry? He did say wedding.

What the hell.

He's already engaged to someone? And he still kissed you so passionately like that? All along, he was already meant to marry somebody else while he's fooling around touching you here and there, kissing you and pecking you and hugging you and... Is that why he didn't say he loved you when you confessed? He's just leading you on because he's bored?

That son of a--

Tears. Ugly tears. You scream furiously and cry miserably as you strangle and punt and wrangle your poor pillow at Ramshackle. Your best friends watch silently while they try to coax you with your favorite food and your favorite zero-substance comedy film. It works. Your mood lightens.

Until they go home, and he barges into your home with grin you wanted to sucker-punch off his ugly, cheating, demonic, monstrosity of a lying face.

"Why are you here?" You spit out.

His thick, slimy skin couldn't taste the venom in your words.

"Good evening," he giddily greets as he walks over to you-- almost prancing for god's sake, "I was wondering. What type of flowers do you like?"

"The hell are you on about? You think you can keep stringing me around? I'll fuck you up."

"Careful. I am exercising a deep self-restraint out of respect for you. But if you keep playing with me like this, telling jokes about 'fucking me'-- as people say nowadays-- I might truly end up debauching the sanctity of marriage."

You leer at him. What the hell is he yapping about?

"Fuck?"

He sits on the sofa beside you; as graceful as he always seems to be. No, actually. He sits as ugly as a bridge troll. "I see you are impatient. Truth be told, I am too. But we best wait until after graduation, at least. So before then, I would like to ask: what flowers would you prefer for our wedding? I rather wish to grow them myself."

"Our wed--"

And it clicks in your head.

'My betrothed.'

'What flowers would you like?'

'Our wedding.'

It's you. The betrothed is you.

You almost laugh out loud. Out of the silliness of it all, out of embarrassment perhaps, even out of relief. This guy. God, this guy. What a careless, thoughtless, whimsical, nonsensical, brainless guy. But somehow,

"I like wisteria."

It's just, so naturally, him.

"The flowers in full bloom when we first met."

#wrote a one shot short shot while on break #twisted wonderland #ventique rambles #malleus draconia #malleus x reader

[bones4thecats]

Hello, I would like to request an imagine with a reader Mitsuri Kanroji or Shinobi Kocho( Kimetsu no Yaiba) with the characters Scarabia, Leona and Malleus please

Having A Shinobu/Mitsuri! S/O

Type of Writing: Request Name: Having A Shinobu/Mitsuri! S/O Characters: Kalim Al-Asim, Jamil Viper, Leona Kingscholar, and Malleus Draconia Requester: @marinahavik

A/N: This is a mixture of both Shinobu and Mitsuri as the readers, with two having Shinobu and the other two having Mitsuri by what I think would fit best. Anyways, enjoy!

⚠️ TW: Manga/Mugen Train Spoilers! Slight swearing, mentions of death and self-doubt ⚠️

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

Shinobu Kocho! Reader ; Basic Headcanons

☀️ Kalim, as we all know, is danger prone. You on the other hand, are far more trained and adept to your surroundings and the poisons that come near you

☀️ Your smile is something that Kalim also adores, but when he notices that whenever someone asks about your family, he begins to suspect that there is something behind your smile that you don't want the others, including him, seeing

☀️ When he does find out about your past and how your sister died, the housewarden of Scarabia tears up and hugs you tightly, reminding you of Tanjiro after your fellow hashira, Rengoku, passed away

☀️ He really wants to meet your estate's members, and when they come by to visit you, probably due to a mission nearby, he admires Uzui and Mitsuri the most

☀️ You give him a genuine smile as he tells Tanjiro and the rest of the Kamaboko Squad stories of his childhood and his homeland of Scaling Sands

What do you think of Shinobu Kocho! Reader?

" I love her so much! Her smile is so cute! But, the way she teases Jamil does seem to make him become slightly annoyed… I wonder why. "

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Mitsuri Kanroji! Reader ; Basic Headcanons

🐍 When Jamil first met you, he was alarmed by how loving and kind you were

🐍 Like, how in the name of the Great Sevens did you end up getting organized into a college for dark-magic users? You seem to fit Royal Sword Academy far more

🐍 It's not that he hates how happy-go-lucky you are, in fact he loves that part of you. You’re like the sun to his moon. But, the way you effortlessly show off yourself just for others to google at annoys him to no end

🐍 He's not mad at you, rather he's mad at the others. They know you are together, so why are they trying to ask you out in front of him?

🐍 Anyways, when you had first brought your family to Night Raven College, his parents and yours bonded well, sharing the familiarity of their oldest child being strong at a young age, though Jamil was more magic while yours was physically

🐍 Speaking of your strength; Jamil loves it to no end.

🐍 He knows that you suffer from the curse of self-doubt, as he does himself in some areas. So, whenever he sees you doubting yourself, he comforts you and speaks of how sweet and gorgeous you are, no matter the body type or what decorates your skin. After all, beauty is on the inside just as much as the outside

What do you think of Mitsuri Kanroji! Reader?

" She's quite a bit of everything mixed into the most beautiful person ever made. Their personality is astounding and just the way she effortlessly takes care of Kalim to help me out is great. Though, her appetite is quite difficult to keep up with. Thankfully she knows how to cook and bake just as well as I do. Speaking of which, she made these amazing mochi the other day- "

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Shinobu Kocho! Reader ; Basic Headcanons

🦁 He was initially annoyed by you

🦁 You just seemed to appear so arrogant because of your constant teasing remarks to him and others and your sly smile was not helping his views on you increase

🦁 But, whenever and however you to had got together, he always is latched to your back. At least when your not busy

🦁 Leona may not seem like he does, but he listens to every explanation on the poisons you are either working on to heal your fellow Demon Slayers or to learn about in order to heal them

🦁 As a beastman, Leona has very good hearing and a excellent sense of smell. So, whenever you come back and he smells the scent of another on you, he gets pissy. The same goes if he were to find a male ZENITSU clinging and asking for your hand in marriage

🦁 You love to tease him, and it’s so gosh darn easy to do so. When you see his form stiffen at your words, you just go on. But, if you were to see his tail swaying and smacking against the ground or any nearby surface as his ears lay flat, you back away and tell him you were joking

🦁 When you had decided to tell Leona about your sister and everything that you were planning, he was extremely upset at first. But, after a while, he grew to understand, making you swear to at least find a secondary option

🦁 He knew you weren't, but he hoped you at least tried for him

What do you think of Shinobu Kocho! Reader?

" They're alright, I suppose. Their teasing does get annoying, but I can't lie. They’re real good with a, uh, whatever the hell their blade was called - a nichirin. But, I do hope their plan works with another route, I can’t stand the though of losin 'em in that way… I hope that bastard upper two dies painfully though… fuck him. "

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Mitsuri Kanroji! Reader ; Basic Headcanons

🐉 He, much like other Night Raven College students, believed that you belonged at Royal Sword Academy because of your personality

🐉 But, seeing you lunge into gear and protect Silver, Sebek, Lilia, and himself from Leona's oncoming overblot-filled attacks made him look at you in a slightly different light

🐉 You were an amazing person by nature. Your kindness and adoration of all things you deemed cute (which was nearly everything), made Malleus gently smile at you for the first time

🐉 He normally lays his head in your lap as you mess around with his hair, normally taking the back pieces and braiding it to match your own, this action normally makes Sebek upset, but Malleus loves it

🐉 Along with that, seeing how strong you are makes him overjoyed with pride in his lover. After all, normally no pure human can take down a half-fae such as Sebek with as much ease as you had

🐉 Your appetite is something that Malleus also likes. As a fae, he has quite the stomach as well, so seeing you absolutely mash down the delicacy you call mochi makes stars form in Malleus' eyes while tinges of fear get struck in other Diasomnia members

🐉 Whenever he sees you doubting yourself, your dragon-fae lover comes behind you and hugs you while his tail wraps around your leg, lightly squeezing your calf and thigh in reassurance; you were perfect in his eyes

What do you think of Mitsuri Kanroji! Reader?

" They are by-far the most interesting human I have met in my elongated life. Their sense of character is admirable, just seeing their smile makes my once-lonely existence light up with a delightful mixture of joy and love. I just wish they would see themselves in just as much of a shining light as I do. "

#Twisted Wonderland #Twst #Savanaclaw #Scarabia #Diasomnia #Night Raven College #NRC #Twisted Wonderland x Reader #Twst x Reader #Savanaclaw x Reader #Scarabia x Reader #Diasomnia x Reader #Night Raven College x Reader #NRC x Reader #S/O! Reader #F! Reader #GN! Reader #Kalim Al Asim #Kalim Al Asim x Reader #Jamil Viper #Jamil Viper x Reader #Leona Kingscholar #Leona Kingscholar x Reader #Malleus Draconia #Malleus Draconia x Reader

[celestialtarot11]

May Month Predictions for You 🌅💖

Hi friends! Welcome back to another PAC reading. Today we’ll be doing May month predictions 🤭 this ones extra spicy! Enjoy and feel free to like comment and reblog 🤍

Pile 1: Hi there pile 1’s! 🌅💗 I see for you May is all about speaking your truth and owning your needs/wants. Speaking up about the things you like or don’t like, setting boundaries and becoming organized. If you are moving into a new place this month will be about physical organization, it helps you think clearly and feel better when your space is clutter free. Also this is a month for you of clearing out the old, especially physical things. It may carry emotional attachments and its time to release that. May for you is beautiful because I see you are becoming disciplined in your goals, plans and solidifying your dreams. You are also having the strength and capacity to let go of what doesn’t serve you 🥰🤍 If you are wondering about romance this month is the month where you focus on you, i know it may not be what you want to hear especially if you are seeking a person. This isn’t a sign they won’t come in, I think spirit is saying to get your ducks in a row for yourself first and this person will meet you halfway ☺️💗 which can very well be in this month! Never mess with divine timing 🤣 I think for those who are in relationships you will be coming back to yourself, focusing on self care a lot more and will be prioritizing healthier habits and mental stimulation. This may be a month for you to explore dating as well if you haven’t found someone! 👀 enjoy pile 1’s!

Pile 2: Hi there pile 2’s! Welcome to your reading 💖🤍🤭 I could you not I was so excited for you doing this reading!! If you are wanting a promotion or a job this is the month! If you are an entrepreneur and hoping to receive financial help it will come! You are moving into such an abundant place mentally emotionally and physically, and nothing is in your way. You want to focus on peace, wealth and happiness this month, and you are self assured in your joy 💖🌅 For those who are moving places, this place will help you relax and find lots of peace and abundance. Material abundance and also internal happiness. If this is something you’ve been working on for a long time, like a project, a business, or moving out, it will pay off in May. May is your month to shine and feel good. I see any storms are being put to rest, you’re focused on you and you feel open minded. Any financial opportunities will flow to you now 🤍🌅 in terms of romance I do see you’re maybe looking for options now, but not at your expense. Meaning you are performing self care whilst managing options and we love that! There will be someone coming in to whisk you away 👀 and I mean in a good way lol. They will have you intrigued by their conversation and way of thinking. You will enjoy debates and banter and discussions with this person. This can also be a new friend for a lot of you! Not necessarily romantic. Thank you pile 2 for being here 💗🌅 dont forget to like comment and reblog to spread the love

Pile 3: Hey there pile 3 👀 welcome! 🤗 For your May month I see travel plans are being solidified. I also heard “the gc made it out the group chat” so for you maybe there is a friend group you’ve been wanting to travel with, and May is when it happens! I also see you are focused on making different streams of income which is leading you to explore different positions, and experiences. Like maybe you have one job where you make pizza and then another where you are a contract manager 🤣 two vastly different options! But it would be something you enjoy. Something that calls to you and something you’re ready to pursue. Its definitely not tedious and boring as a contract manager, its something that you already wanted to do and thought of for so long. May month could be clearing up for you in terms of your schedule, and time. So you have more time to focus on you and your hobbies. For romance ya’ll could be meeting a fancy person whilst traveling 👀 or it could be everyday commute and someone strikes your fancy. Someone you’d like to be with, they have what you consider is attractive 🥰🤍 ya’ll could also be traveling home and are saving up and May month is wonderful! I also am hearing for advice dont stick to plans too much this month, there’s something about you being reliant on structure and plans which nothing is wrong (I do the same) but spirit wants you to be flexible a little. Allow for some spontaneous adventure, random happenings, and fun 👀 enjoy pile 3! 💗💖 dont forget to like comment and reblog 🤍

Thank yall for always being here 💗🥰 this one is a fun one! Wishing ya’ll a happy May month.

Paid readings ☺️🌅

#astrology community #devi post #astrology #tarotcommunity #divination #tarot deck #tarot #witchcraft #tarot reading #pick a pile #pick a picture #pick one #pick a card romance #pick a card #tarot readings #tarot readers #astro posts #astrology notes #astro notes #astro observations

[shamelessfaceless]

Navigation | Marvel Masterlist | Series Masterlist

The one and only Spider-Woman.

Pairings: WandaNat x F!Spidey!Polish!Reader, OC x Reader, Avengers x Reader (Platonic)

Summary: When your girlfriend cheated on you, you decided to finally accept Tony Stark's offer.

Warnings: Cheating with man, sad R, Homophobia

Wc: 1.2k

A/n: I will put my whole heart in this series😭 Next parts are gonna be longer.

You promised yourself you would always smile  while wearing your mask. For this reason your mask was showing the bottom of your face. It was your own project and it had a special place in your heart. You wanted to show people that nitatter what you are doing, and who you fight with, you will always smile, just be happy that you can protect innocent people. Another reason why you projected your mask like that, was the fact that you have fangs. It's not like you use them often, but they can be really helpful. One little bite, and can paralysis villains for a while. S.H.I.E.L.D knew about your existence, and wanted you to join avengers. They even send to you the one and only Tony Stark with Nick Fury. You decided to wait. It was your last month of school, and you had a girlfriend you didn’t want to leave alone.

You graduated with not so bad grades, and you passed all your exams with almost the best scores in your class. You hoped your girlfriend would be with you, but she texted you at the last minute that she needed to take care of her sick mother. You believed her. How could you not? She was almost the most important person in your life. So in the evening you decided to visit her, her mother knew you really well, and was happy her daughter had someone like you. Well, she didn’t know you were a couple, she was a typical homophobic christian, just like most people in your country. 

Only thing in her room you could see was how deep she was in kissing a guy. She didn’t even notice you opened the door to her room. Looking in her cold eyes made your stomach flip. You don't even know how... no, when this happened. You don't know when she met him, when he started being the reason she's smiling everyday, when she stopped caring about you. Only thing you can look at are her sky blue eyes you loved looking at. You were always finding your safe space in her, now the only thing you see in her eyes is how much she is disgusted in you. Her words were something you were expecting. You weren't enough. He is a man, of course she would want to be with him, how could she love a girl? You were just stupid thinking he was just her friend.You tried so much to not end up like before. But everything is always the same. You are trying your best, but they are always choosing someone else, someone who isn't so complicated, someone who is.. pure. The most important, they always will choose someone who will fuck with them after a week of dating. They don't understand why you care about romantic things, when you could just let them fuck you. They are animals chasing their own pleasure, don't giving fuck about true love. 

It was the first time when you put on your mask and did wear your bright smile. 

There was no reason for you to stay. Your friend moved out a long time ago, and for you, your online friends were enough. Your parents were dead. At least for you. Just like you were dead for them. They didn’t want a Lesbian daughter, and you hated them for all the traumas they gave you. You half lived on the street. Most of the time you were spending in school or saving your country. You showed up in your home only if you needed to take a shower or books for school. 

“What are you thinking about kiddo?” Tony asked, putting hand on your back.

“You know, just how my girlfriend cheated on me few hours ago, and now Im part of fucking Avengers” You didn’t even looked at him. You only look at changing numbers signaling that you were higher every second. 

After running away from your girlfriend's house, you called Tony. Only thing  you wanted was to leave as far away and as fast as you could. Break ups were always hard for you. You just wanted to feel loved, feel important for someone. Looking at the sunset on top of one of the buildings was your way to say goodbye to the country you truly love. You promised yourself, you will start a new and better life. No thinking about the past. You need to let it go, and life looking at the future. You knew it would be hard, but you also knew you needed to do this. There's too many open wounds, just because you couldn’t let go thinking about the past every night. 

Pretending to smile while meeting everyone was the hardest part. Pretending to be happy while in the back of your mind the only thing you could think of was your exs, and how you couldn’t be enough for them. Tony left you just when you walked out of the elevator. Steve introduced himself and his friend Bucky. You gave them a polite smile and mumbled your name. You just wanted to go to your room and sleep the rest of the day. Next people that introduced themselves were Clint, Bruce and Sam. Last person was Natasha Romanoff. You learned from her that her wife Wanda is on the mission with Thor. 

“I hear slavic accent.”

“Oh, yeah…  I'm Polish.”

“Tony was one hundred percent sure you're from Russia.” You hate when people mistake you for Russian. It's not even like your languages sound super alike. 

“Chuj.” You said to yourself. “Uhm, nevermind.”You looked at the floor when she looked at you. Natasha just laughed it off and you smiled. 

(Chuj - Dick)

“I'm guessing you don’t know where your room is?” When your eyes met her forest green ones, you felt like you couldn’t look away, but you needed to. You didn't want her to take you for a freak. 

“Yeah… Stark just left me here, and didn’t show me anything.” You rolled your eyes.

“Come with me. Tony decides that you will take Wanda's old room. We have lived together for the past few years, so her room stood empty. It's next to ours.” She said pointing at one of the doors. “So if you need something you can always knock.”

“So… It was nice to meet the famous black widow.” You opened the door to your room. 

“It was nice to meet another spider.” After you closed the door you looked around the room. You didn’t take many things with you, so there wasn’t a lot to unpack. Just some clothes and books. Just a few minutes and everything was in their places. You looked out the window and a few seconds later at mask in your hands. 

After a while you were jumping between buildings. It's late at night, so one would rather see you. When you get tired of jumping, running and half flying, you sit at the top of a skyscraper.

“So It will be my new life. The spider-woman saving the world.” You laughed to yourself. “It's almost unbelievable.

TAGLIST:

@marvelwomen-simp @andersonsprincess @leenasayeed @sapphic-simp4015 @taliiiaasteria

#marvel #wanda maximoff #lesbian #lgbtq #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanov #wanda maximoff x natasha romanoff #natasha x reader #wandanat #wanda x reader

[zegrasdrysdale]

Can you write about Nico dating a really famous actress, she is in House of the Dragon and in Dune, and now she is doing the press tour for the movie so she hasn't seen Nico in a while so to surprise him she goes to the stadium series and is at the family skate with him holding hands and being cute the whole time, so Nico is asked about their relationship the press conference after the game and he answered the question being a proud boyfriend, please? I love your writing

[ press pause ] n. hischier

paring : Nico Hischier x fem!reader

summary : after being away for a few months filming and doing press for her projects, (Y/N) surprises boyfriend Nico at family skate before the Stadium Series

warning(s) : one suggestive comment but other than that, cute and fluffy

author’s note : this request has been sitting in my drafts bc i wasn’t very proud of it but i decided to let it see the light of day bc i miss the stadium series. pls lmk what y’all think (the entire press conference is completely made up for the sake of the fic btw)

༺═──────────────═༻

She needed a vacation by the time her tour ended in New York City. It’s exhausting doing a multi-month press tour for a show that wasn’t coming out until the summer. She knows she’ll have to go on another one anyway while the season is airing on HBO.

The idea didn’t enter her mind until she saw a billboard on the highway going into New York. It advertises the two NHL Stadium Series games that are happening in a few days.

When the games were announced a few months ago, she was already booked on the press tour for season two of House of the Dragon. Nico wanted her to come to the game against the Flyers but she wasn’t sure if she’d be in the area to go.

Turns out, she is. Since she’s in the area, she decides to surprise her captain boyfriend at family skate.

Cat Toffoli worked closely with a designer to make some jackets for the wives and girlfriends of the players for the Stadium Series. She even made sure to make one with a “13” on it, just in case.

She’s happy that she gets to put the jacket to use since she’s surprising Nico at family skate. Pressing pause on her press tour to support her boyfriend in what’s one of the most important games of his life was the best idea she’s had in a while. It’s been a long time since she has laced up the skates Nico bought her when they first got together during the 2021-2022 season. Tonight seems a good time.

An Uber takes her from her shared apartment with Nico in Hoboken to MetLife Stadium in East Rutherford once she's in something that she can comfortably skate in, which ends up being leggings, a red shirt, and her jacket that Cat had made for her. She grabs one of Nico's beanies out of the endless pile in his closet just in case her head gets cold.

She gets more excited the closer she gets to the football field turned hockey rink. She shakes with excitement when the Uber pulls into the player parking lot.

Cars are parked all over the place. She recognizes most of the cars that are parked. The Devils get the ice tonight for practice and family skate.

With her jacket wrapped tight around her and a duffel bag holding her skates, she heads in the back entrance. She shows her ID to the security guard, who gives her special credentials so everyone knows she’s allowed there and is allowed onto the ice.

She’s already late so she could pull off this surprise. All of the players and their families are out on the ice. With quick feet, she makes her way onto the field. Her duffel bag slung over her shoulder as she rushes to the rink.

As soon as she reaches the bench, someone tells, “Nice of you to join us!” She sits down so she can change into her skates. Jack skates by with a smile on his face. “He’s been hoping that you’d show up.”

Her eyes scan the ice to find her boyfriend. She finally is able to spot him as he skates over to her. Jack skates off and Nico takes his spot.

When her laces are tied, she stands up and Nico helps her over the boards. “You’re here?” he asks as she gains her balance on her skates. “I thought you were traveling today.”

“Decided to press pause so I could be here for you,” she tells him. “Wanted to support my boyfriend after all the supporting you’ve done for me.” Nico flashes his dimpled smile at her.

She takes in his appearance. He’s in full gear with his red practice jersey since they did practice before the families came onto the ice. He has on his Devils beanie with the pompom on top of his head. The eye black he has on his cheeks looks good.

Nico takes her hand and loosely laces their fingers. “I’m glad you came,” he says. “It wouldn’t have been the same if you weren’t here.”

“Your dad and sister came though,” she replies as Nico begins to skate backwards. He pulls her along and she manages to keep her balance by holding his hands. “I’m sure it would’ve been okay if I wasn’t able to come.”

He pulls her closer to him so her chest is pressed against his gear on his chest. Nico’s hands rest on her waist to make sure she doesn’t fall. “You’re the most important person in my life, schatzi,” he tells her. “It wouldn’t have been the same. I promise”

She smiles up at him.

Out of the corner of her eye, he notices all the cameras on the two of them. She’s not even surprised. She’s one of the world’s most known actresses and he’s the captain of the Devils. Reporters are probably getting all the pictures they can get.

Nico doesn't let go of her hand. He makes sure their fingers are locked the entire time she's on the ice.

It's easy to forget the world around her when she skates with Nico. She's so focused on Nico and Nico is so focused on her that it feels like they're the only two people in the world despite multiple pairs of eyes being on them and a bunch of cameras trained on them.

There's only a few minutes left of family skate when Nico decides that it would be a good idea to spin his girlfriend. When she's on the toe pick of her skates, because Nico thought it would be smart to get her figure skating skates, he grabs her hand and spins her around.

"Nico!" she gasps as she spins right into his arms. He wraps his arms around her waist "You can't just do that without warning me. What if I fell?"

He laughs against her ear. "You know I'll always have you," he tells her. "You would think that you'd be able to skate on your own by now."

She shakes her head as Nico kisses the swell of her ear. The smile that forms on her lips is involuntary since she's trying to be mad at Nico. "I don't think you understand that I skate maybe three times a year," she sighs. "My job doesn't involve skating like yours does."

Nico smiles and she looks up at him. "Have I ever told you how good you look on skates?" he asks. "Because this look does it for me. Hope you know that."

With a gentle shove from her, Nico backs away but always makes sure to keep a hand on her so she doesn't fall.

"You are so lucky that I love you," she says to Nico as she carefully turns to face him.

He hums and playfully rolls his eyes before he slides his hands up to cup her cheeks. His fingers are freezing, but she quickly pushes that thought out of her head when Nico pulls her in for a soft kiss. She can't help but smile as she returns the kiss.

It's very rare for Nico to show this type of affection in public let alone at a Devils event. They're both very shy about their relationship when it comes to the public eye, but sometimes a moment overwhelms them and they can't help it.

Like this moment. Center ice on the Stadium Series rink.

She wraps her arms around his waist for a little extra security. The last thing she wants to do right now is fall on her butt. She can hear all the snaps of the cameras the longer their lips are connected.

Nico breaks the kiss and smiles at her. She reaches up and pokes his dimple, which gets a laugh out of Nico.

"Alright, Dimple Lover," he says with a smile. "Let's go. I feel gross and sweaty. I need to shower."

"As long as I can join you if you decide to shower at home."

"We're going home right now."

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

From the moment Nico scored on Sam Ersson thirty seconds into the game, she's been on her feet. It set the pace for the rest of the game. The Devils scored two goals every period, and Nico himself scored two goals on the night.

East Rutherford is on fire in the stands. They're cheering. It gets even louder when Nico is being interviewed by Emily Kaplan on a live mic and he says, "Thanks for showing up. It was fucking amazing- sorry."

He has the cutest smile on his face and waves at the crowd around him. The smile she already had on her face grows impossibly bigger.

When Nico heads down the tunnel to get out of his gear, she heads down to stand outside the media room so she can catch Nico before he goes in and does his post-game comments.

She's liking pictures of her and Nico from yesterday on Instagram. She replies to some of her mentions on Twitter. She even posts one of the pictures of her and Nico from yesterday when they were on the ice at family skate. Almost immediately, it begins blowing up on every single social media platform like her posts usually do when she posts Nico.

Minutes after she posts the picture, Nico comes walking down the stairs that lead to the hallway. He's back in Sopranos outfit, sans the jacket. The white tank hugs his body and shows off his arms. The cut he has under his eye completes the look.

Nico spots her before he turns into the media room. He says that he'll be in the room in a second. Then he walks over to his girlfriend.

"Hi, handsome," she says with a smile on her face. "Nice goals. Oh, I like this outfit too."

He leans down and steals a kiss. "Those goals were for you, schatzi," he whispers to her as he tucks her hair behind her ear. "I had to show off for my girl."

She smiles up at him and he mirrors it.

"Nico, we need you in here," someone says. "Nate's ready to go."

Nico nods and looks into the room. "Want to come watch?" he asks. "I'm sure they wouldn't mind."

With a nod, the two of them head into the room.

The reporters buzz as Nico walks up to the table to sit with Nate and she makes her way to an empty seat among the reporters. The woman she sits next to has a moment of panic and realization of who she is as the press conference gets underway.

One of the reporters in the front row asks, "Nate, was that celly after your goal planned?"

Nate laughs and nods. "Yeah, actually," he replies. The reporters in the crowd laugh. "Chris and I sat down and planned out a couple of different cellys just in case either of us scored. I happened to be the one to score, twice."

"Speaking of two goals, Nico," another reporter begins to say. "How do you feel after those goals you scored? Effing amazing?"

Nico smiles. "Yeah, it felt good, without the addition of another word that shouldn't have been said on live television," he replies with a very light laugh. "No, it feels good to score two goals coming off the All Star break. Took some time off, skated and worked on what I needed to, and, uh, I'm ready to have a good second half of the season."

They make eye contact and she smiles at him. One of the reporters notices that Nico's smile has gotten softer. "So, your goals have nothing to do with the fact that your girlfriend was here all weekend?" a third reporter asks.

"The fact that she was able to take time out of her incredibly busy schedule to be here means a lot to me, yeah," Nico says. "Being able to score a couple goals was me telling her that I was happy she was here."

"So it doesn't bother you that her presence this weekend has made multiple headlines and occasionally overshadowed the game?"

Nico scans the crowd and finds the reporter that asked the question. "I have never once thought that her being here this weekend overshadowed the game," he replies. "I am more than happy to have her here. If she makes a view headlines then oh well. She's one of the world's most well known and talented actresses, and I am proud to be her boyfriend. If that means that some of the attention is off of me then okay."

She smiles and bites her bottom lip as she watches Nico while he and Nate finish up the press conference with questions about the game.

One of the things she's always been worried about was completely overshadowing Nico and his career with hers. Now that she knows that he's proud of her accomplishments.

As soon as Nico is done, he makes a beeline right for her. She opens her mouth to say something but Nico quickly cuts her off with his lips. She giggles into the kiss and wraps her arms around his neck.

Cameras click around them but she doesn't care. Neither does Nico if he meant what he said.

"Nico," she laughs as she breaks the kiss. "This is your day. Enough about me. Stop making me a headline by kissing me in front of the cameras."

He smiles. "I don't care," he tells her. "I'll kiss you in front of a million cameras."

She shakes her head and pushes his hair out of his face. "You are insane," she tells him.

"You love it."

"I do."

༺═──────────────═༻

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#hockey imagines #hockey imagine #hockey fanfiction #hockey fic #hockey oneshot #hockey fluff #nhl imagines #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #nhl oneshot #nhl fluff #nico hischier #nico hischer x reader #nico hischier fluff #zegrasdrysdale request

[onlymingyus]

Shut Up (teaser)

pairing; wen junhui x f reader (ft. xu minghao)

genre; smut (minor dni), angst, fluff

summary; You think you know about the world around you, but one day you find out you don't know anything. When you start to fall about it's your boss Wen Junhui who picks up the pieces and keeps you safe. 

content warnings; a lot of dark themes including: sexual assault, murder, guns, knives, beating, fighting, selling of guns, selling/using drugs, alcohol/eating, crying and dealing with trauma, mild dubcon. mob boss!junhui, second in command!minghao, security!mingyu, assistant!reader.

smut warnings; hard mean dom!junhui, sub!reader, dom!minhao. unprotected/protected sex, creampie, threesome, multiple sex scenes, rough sex, impact play, degrading, pet names, degrading names, dumbfication/objectfication to a degree, hand job, fingering, oral (m&f receiving & giving), crying/dacryphilia, innocence kink (no explicitly said), breast play, body worship. I am very certain I have left something out.

w/c; 35.9k and some change (1.2k this teaser)

a/n; this fic is for my @onlyhuis. thank you for not only editing this for me but supporting me every single word along the way. i hope you enjoy this one so so much my little huihui. with that said -- this fic is VERY dark and could be a lot for some of you to read. please be sure to read the warnings before reading so that you are prepared for what you are reading.

this fic will be released 5/15 at 3 pm est to read it now subscribe to my patreon and click here

“I literally don’t give a fuck. Get his ass out of my sight.” 

Your brows raise as you look down at the tablet in your arms when the sound of your boss's voice rings through the bar. Someone had pissed him off and you were just happy it wasn’t you this time. Wen Junhui was an important man to a lot of people and for a lot of reasons, most of those reasons you chose to ignore and just do your job. 

There were a lot of things in your job that you had to ignore in order to keep it. Things like money appearing in large quantities with little to no explanation and meeting someone only to never see them again after they opened their mouth just a little too much. 

Glancing towards Jun’s office, you watch as one such man is being pulled out by Xu Minghao, Jun’s second in command. You meet the desperate man’s eyes only briefly before dropping yours, but it’s enough to give him hope as he pulls against Minghao’s arms, trying to move back towards the bar where you were standing. 

“Hey! Hey, lady, pretty lady! I'm in here all the time. You ‘member me right?” 

Scoffing, Minghao shakes his head, nodding towards security at the front door for help. You watch under lowered lashes as Kim Mingyu takes one of the man’s arms, helping Minghao drag him towards the exit as he continues to ask you for help.

“I had the fuckin’ money! This is bullshit!” 

You let out a breath you hadn't realized you had been holding when Minghao walked back through the door, letting Mingyu shut it behind them. Wiping his hands off on the front of his shirt, the man lifts his eyebrows at you as you try to look busy with your previous task.

“You’ve been told not to look at trash when I’m taking it out. You don’t remember things very well to be so pretty, Y/N.” 

Sighing, you finally meet Minghao’s eyes as he leans against the bar in front of you. You knew what you had been told; it was just that it was easier said than done to ignore something kicking and screaming as they were being dragged out of a building. 

“I’m sorry. I should’ve gone to the back when I heard Mr. Wen ye–express his displeasure.” 

You watch as a smirk pulls at one side of Minghao’s lips when you correct how you talk about your boss and his best friend. He had a soft spot for you and he knew you were doing your best.

“‘Least you know what you should've done.” 

“Hao!” 

Looking back towards Jun’s office when his name is called, Minghao purses his lips and pats the bar with his hand before giving you one more lingering look. You watch him until he disappears into your boss’s office and the door is left cracked so that only a low conversation can be heard. 

You spent most of your days and nights at Moonlight Lounge. Since you had been introduced to Jun and taken on the unique position of his personal assistant, your life had changed dramatically. You were in charge of managing most of his personal accounts—but never his business accounts—and you were the one who kept his schedule to the minute. 

“Y/N!” 

Hearing your name being yelled by Jun wasn’t an unusual occurrence but he didn’t sound pleased, though that wasn’t a new fact either. You weren’t friends with your boss and you weren’t sure if you ever would be. 

Holding the tablet closer to your chest, you glance towards Mingyu, who grimaces at how your name was said before turning away as you turn towards the office door. Everyone knew that one moment could make or break how your day was going to go at the lounge, and you had caused more of a disturbance by looking at the man as he had been dragged out. 

Knocking on the door, you slip inside, feeling two sets of eyes on you as Minghao sits against a sidebar console on the right of Jun’s desk and Jun himself sits behind the large desk with a frown on his face. Lifting your eyes you try to skirt around Jun’s eyes but the man leans his head to catch your gaze before sighing and pushing his tongue into his cheek.

“Sit down. Jesus Christ…”

He was in a mood and there was nothing you could do to change it. Slipping into the leather chair, you clear your throat and rest your tablet on your lap, straightening your spine so that you feel taller and less small under Jun’s gaze. Lifting his hand, he pushes his glasses up his nose before reaching for the tumbler of whiskey in front of him, taking a sip and sitting it down hard. 

“Tonight we have some important guests coming to the lounge. I want to make sure we have some of the girls prepared to serve them but I want you to steer clear of that section.”  

Furrowing your brows, you give him a confused look when he doesn’t yell at you for what happened but instead goes to your task for the night. Glancing towards Minghao, you slide the pen from your tablet and stutter for a moment before opening the notepad to take notes. 

“I–wh–oh…sure. Do I know who the guests are? So that I can tell them? And so that I can make sure there are adequate refreshments for their visit.” 

Jun narrows his eyes at you before letting them move along your frame appraisingly as you switch into assistant mode and out of scared little kitten mode. You were stunning and when you wanted to be, you could be fierce. You had shown it on more than one occasion but Jun still had an urge to keep a close eye on you, like he did anything else that belonged to him. 

“They are…” Smirking, Jun looks over to Minghao, lifting his hands in a question before sighing. “Competition and nothing more, darling. Don’t give them top shelf; we don’t serve that to those who don’t deserve it.” 

Swallowing hard at the pet name, you make some limited notes as Jun watches you carefully. It wasn’t the first time he had called you darling or some other variation of a pet name, but it still made you nervous every single time. Rolling his eyes, Minghao crosses his arms and leans his head back as he watches Jun stare at you. He knew exactly what he was doing, even if you didn’t. 

“I think that handles everything. Make sure they are happy, but not too happy. I want them to be jealous of what they can’t achieve. You get what I’m saying?” 

Nodding, you bite at your bottom lip, making Jun tilt his head as he watches intently. You mutter to yourself, writing down a few of the waitress's names along with your suggestions for how the guests should be handled before looking up to meet Jun’s eyes and feeling your cheeks burn at how he is looking at you. 

“Uh, yeah, I mean, yes, sir, Mr. Wen. I’ll take care of everything.” 

Gesturing towards the door, Jun smirks as you pop up out of your seat quickly, ready to leave. He knew he was intense and he knew you were crumbling under him. He wanted you under him in more ways than one, but he had patience and an inkling of respect about him. 

“Good girl. I’ll see you tonight then.”

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#junhui smut #seventeen smut #jun smut #svthub #svt smut #junhui angst #seventeen angst #svt angst #jun angst #junhui x reader #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #jun x reader

[autistichalsin]

I am once again thinking about the fact that Halsin doesn't WANT to be told that he was a good leader at the Grove, and he DOES want exactly one thing.

Think about the scene where he gets the letter from Francesca. After Halsin laments that he might not have been meant to be Archdruid, you get a few options. First, the two that try to reassure him he was a good leader.

You served the grove well, and found a worthy successor. No one can ask more of you.

To which Halsin says: Still, though... I cannot help but wonder if there was more I could have done. Perhaps, Oak Father willing, I may yet have the chance some day... Forgive me. The shadow curse occupied me so entirely and for so long... I almost miss the purpose it gave me. Now I must find a new one.

He's still glum. A bit hopeful he'll find a new purpose, but clearly not happy overall.

2. You could resume your position at the grove once we've defeated the Absolute.

To which Halsin replies: I thought that would be the case once... yet perhaps the grove will not need me.

He's given up on returning to the Grove, and is a bit sad about it, as much as he's relieved; he never wanted the position and was quite happy to leave, but seeing the ease with which the Grove recovered- didn't actually need him at all- has to hurt, and further his belief that he was never a good leader. Hence, not feeling remotely cheered up by the player's insistence otherwise, because he feels in his heart of hearts it's not true.

One option lets you gently tell Halsin yeah, he is a bad leader, but that's okay.

3. Not everyone is meant for leadership. There's no shame in walking away.

Halsin responds neutrally to this: Indeed. But I have roamed far and wide for years - whole lifetimes. I have seen much, done much, learned much. It would be a shame to not pass that on.

Because he is okay with the idea that he wasn't meant to be there. But he needs something more. He needs a purpose, and he needs something else.

Leading us to...

4. Grove aside, I'm glad you stayed with me.

The only response Halsin gives his approval to, before he replies: As am I. I can scarcely imagine life without your company now, and of course I made a promise to help you - one I intend to fulfill.

He didn't just need to be told it was okay if he hadn't been the best leader at the Grove, and he didn't just need a new purpose.

He needed the promise that he belonged somewhere, in spite of it. That no matter what mistakes he made, someone out there still cared for him. That he could be Halsin Silverbough, not Master Halsin, First Druid of the Emerald Grove.

And that's why he's so happy in his epilogue: not just because he left the Grove, not just because he has children to care for, not just because he's done fighting, not just because he has a purpose, a way to serve others/nature... But because they care for him there. Just like the player does.

It's why he says that he no longer needs to roam now that he has somewhere he's meant to be, and why he says the struggles of balancing others' needs are diminished. And why he says so deeply and sincerely that he's pined for the company of the group.

He needed to be wanted, more than anything.

#halsin #halsin silverbough #bg3 #baldur's gate 3

[fairyysoup]

it will come back

part two

a.k.a. sever the blight (eddie's version)

pairing(s): werewolf!eddie munson x fem!milkmaid!reader

summary: As May Day approaches, you find yourself running into Eddie, and succumbing to his charms, more and more.

cw: smut, heavy petting, fingering, frottage, denied orgasm, public sex, getting caught, alcohol consumption (both eddie and reader), a bit of humiliation, teasing, tons of flirting, eddie munson's Big Meaty Claws, jealousy (by reader), eddie being a flirtatious shit all around, slight enemies to lovers beat here, some kind of historical fantasy period, fairytale au, descriptions of scars, mentions of abuse, reader is a servant to an abusive master

a/n: Happy May! I wrote this in a complete stupor and woke up and it was almost 8.0k words, so there will be a part three. I also wanted to get this done yesterday, but that's not how the cookie crumbles. Alas.

The lyrics that Eddie sings in this are from a traditional English folk song, commonly called "As I Walked Through the Meadow." There are variations on the lyrics, but this is the version I used here.

MY WORKS ARE ALL 18+ MINORS DNI

The man from the creek is being thrown out of the tavern in the center of town.

You know because you’ve been watching since he went inside. Except, if anyone were to ask, you’d say you’re simply watching the ripples on the mud puddles on the dirt road in front of the building. They’re fascinating, you’d insist. They say you can see your future in them.

You’d noticed him going in as you were stepping out of the haberdashers. You knew it was him from the wine red of his blouse– it’s a rich color, like you’ve never seen on a garment worn by anyone in town, and certainly not by someone claiming to come from the woods. The last time you saw him, nearly a month ago now, you forgot to ask him where he got something so richly woven and colored, in such seemingly good repair. You contented yourself with a single lie: you didn’t want to know. 

You also figured that you would likely never see him again. That this so-called Eddie Munson was probably better off disappearing back into the woods and staying there. You’d never seen him in town before, and you certainly didn’t expect to see him there any time soon. He doesn’t exactly fit in with the rest of the townsfolk; people who work the land, who own it, who sow it. His rich red wine doesn’t fit into the bland suedes and dull grays of your neighbors. 

No– no, with his wild, curly hair and bright, rosy cheeks, he definitely doesn’t look like anyone who belongs in Havensfield. He belongs in a storybook. He belongs in a fairytale you tell to little children, to send them to sleep with something larger than life in their minds. Just like you haven’t been able to sleep a wink without thinking about him and his troublesome smile and sparkling eyes first. 

It’s as if he has you under some sort of spell, unable to move on but remaining steadfastly in place with your mind only revolving around him. You figured it was probably best to spend the coin he gave you and get it out of your system, so maybe you can get rid of the one physical thing that reminded you of his existence.

But here he is, in the flesh and very alive, and being tossed into the mud puddle you had been gazing into, spraying droplets of dirty water off in every direction. A cacophony of laughter rings out from the open door of the tavern– a barkeep angrily wipes his hands on his apron, snarls something at Eddie, and disappears back into the building, the door slamming shut behind him.

The town has erected a maypole in the square for the May Day celebration in just a few days. The marketplace is normally hectic during the festival. Shopkeepers will set up their stalls, the place will be decorated with garlands of flowers, and for days at a stretch one can hardly get their errands done for the amount of chaos going on in the place. That’s why you did your shopping today, rather than waiting for the festivities to begin.

You didn’t expect this.

You haven’t moved from your spot in front of the haberdasher’s. You don’t know if you should– you look this way and that, wondering if anyone is going to approach him, or if everyone else instinctively gives him a wide berth. The people on the street continue about their business like they haven’t seen him, like he isn’t there. You wonder if it’s some unseen force of nature that keeps them away. Does some magic spell exist to make him undetectable to anyone but you? Or are you just the only one stupid enough to get close?

He just sort of lays there in the mud, staring up at the sky. You assume he’s drunk. Why else would he have been thrown out of the tavern? Drinking them dry, getting unruly, starting fights… Yes, you should go on about your business. 

Your hand fists in your skirt, the color of barleycorn. Such a drab color when compared to his deep red, like the flow of blood from a wound. Just as you had feared, it draws you in like a moth to a flame. You lift your skirts and step carefully across the muddy town square, until your feet toe the edge of the puddle he lays in. 

“Do you… need help?” you ask when you peer down at him. From this angle, his eyelashes fan across his cheekbones in long arches, fluttering like fairy wings. 

“My Lovely Lady of the Creek!” He croons wistfully up at you when you pass into his field of vision. “We must stop meeting this way.” 

“Which way is that?”

“With me on my back in a bunch of water.” He smiles at you treacherously, in that way he does. Like he’s privy to a joke that you’re completely unaware of.

“Well, are you just going to lay there like a dead man in the road? Or would you like help?” Your hands are on your hips, the small basket for your purchases wiggling precariously on your wrist. 

“You really should be more discerning about who you offer to help,” he lectures as he heaves himself up to sit. Muddy water sloshes up towards your shoes, and you scamper back before they can get wet. “Lest I begin to get the wrong impression.” 

“I don’t recall ever offering you help before,” you point out. 

“Right,” Eddie says after a moment, his eyes sweeping along the road. He looks unsure, as if he doesn’t know what to ask for, if he wants anything at all. “You… could help me over to the well?” 

Your eyes follow his to the well in the center of the square. You shrug, and then brandish your hand at him. 

Eddie looks at it thoughtfully for a moment before placing his hand into yours. His hand engulfs yours in warmth, his long fingers stretching up and around your wrist. A flush bursts beneath your skin from where his touch hits, spreading up your arm and into your chest.

You’re going to catch fire, you’re sure of it.

Instead, you just help him to his feet, trying not to slip in the mud, yourself. Eddie staggers, sways back towards the porch of the tavern. You lunge forward to catch him before he can fall over again, and you snatch him around the waist without much thought. His arm plops down onto your shoulder, and your basket bats against his hip, the contents shifting inside.

You’re so close now. He smells like pine and whiskey, and his body is warm. So warm that you’re surprised he isn’t sick in bed. 

“How much did you drink?” you ask him, your voice choked as you heave him towards the well. You don’t want to think about his body pressed against yours, his arm hot around your shoulders. He’s looking down at you with an impassioned gaze that you don’t want to match. You fear that if you look up into his face, you will. 

“No more than usual,��� he murmurs. His hand reaches out and grabs the stone ring of the well once you get him to it. He kneels on the step of it, starting to look a little green in the face. 

“You smell like the tavern floor,” you tell him frankly, raising your hand to push his hair away from his face. 

“Well, I was just laying in a bunch of piss and shit, so.” Eddie raises his head and gazes up at you, wide-eyed, when you press your hand to his forehead. 

“And you’re much too hot,” you assess, watching his eyes flutter at your appraisal. “Don’t you dare get sick in the well. I have to drink out of that.”

“I need water,” he grumbles, and pulls away from your hand. He tries to stand, and fails.

“Stay,” you tell him firmly, planting a hand on his shoulder. Eddie pouts, watching as you place your basket beside him and step up to the well to fetch him the bucket yourself. 

Like a child who’s just been given a present, Eddie’s eyes fall to your basket. “What’s this?”

“My shopping,” you grunt with the effort of cranking the wheel to lift the bucket from the well. 

“Ooh– stockings?” 

You turn to glance at him, and see that he’s lifted the cloth from the basket to peek at the contents inside. He’s pinching your new stockings between his two fingers, pulling them out with a gleeful expression on his face.

You could kill him. “Put those back,” you hiss, letting go of the handle of the wheel. The crank spins backward, and down in the well, the bucket hits the water again with a loud, wet splash.

“Silk stockings, no less,” Eddie continues, ducking away from your swiping hand as he begins running the smooth hosiery over his knuckles. He seems to have gotten his second wind– no longer staggering, nor looking green in the face, he scampers around the well while you chase him. “Now how could a milkmaid afford such finery? It couldn’t be… no, I shant say–” 

“Give it to me now,” you snarl at him, rounding the well after him. You hadn’t wanted him to see them– hadn’t wanted anyone to see them. It’s not something that you could have gotten yourself, on your own pay. The Master or Mistress would assume that you’d stolen the money, and punish you for it. Obviously, any stranger seeing them would be improper.

And Eddie… Well, he knows exactly how you got your hands on them.

“Could it be… a silver coin?” He giggles like an impish little sprite, his feet working faster than his mind. “Given to you by a handsome, charming, mysterious stranger?” 

Eddie turns to look at you, holding the silken fabric up to his cheek to feel its softness. The sight of the gesture, him pressing his cheek against your undergarment, makes you see red. 

“You little demon–” You lunge for him, but he jerks away, barrel rolling across the opening of the well somehow without managing to fall in. He lands on the other side with a noisy plop, laughing hysterically, and you continue rounding the well to get to him. “Your hair is unsightly and you smell like dirt and you’re as vain as you are vexing and I would rather try to climb the maypole than call you charming!” 

“Well, you’re correct on most accounts,” he tells you, still trying to slow his laughter. Eddie lifts the cloth on your basket, still containing a bread roll and a new wooden comb, and begins carefully folding the silk stockings into a neat bundle. He tucks them back into the basket primly, while continuing, “But I would love to see you try to climb a maypole. Mine has been known to be good for such uses–”

“You’re despicable.” You snatch the basket away from him and step away from the well, turning your back to him without a goodbye. 

“Maybe so,” Eddie replies from behind you. “But you’re still curious, aren’t you?”

You stop. You shouldn’t, but you do, and you know it’s a mistake the minute you turn and see him already standing, not swaying in the slightest, and beginning to crank the wheel of the well to fetch his own water. 

With a scowl, you watch his arm work the wheel until the bucket rears up over the lip of the well, and he lifts it onto the edge. He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, like he expected you to have walked away, and he smirks. “Ohhhh, she’s curious. You know what they say about curiosity.” 

Your skin prickles as you’re uncomfortably reminded of your last meeting with Eddie. “You’re much too fond of your idioms.”

“They’re idioms for a reason,” he replies frankly. With the water bucket steady on the edge of the well, he pinchest the front of his blouse and begins untucking the tails from his trousers. 

“What are you doing?” you snap, appalled, as he lifts the hem of his blouse to expose his belly.

He pauses, looking at you dubiously. “I have to wash my shirt.”

You bluster, “In front of the whole town?”

“Who’s looking?”

Who, indeed? You finally think to take in your surroundings, and you notice that the town square has cleared since Eddie was thrown out of the tavern. Aside from the occasional passerby, no one is lingering, and certainly no one is watching Eddie as he peels the muddy fabric from his skin. 

“You’re the only person in this town who deigns to speak to me. I thank you for that,” Eddie says, not unkindly. “But you should know that it makes you a rose among thorns. That isn’t necessarily a good thing.”

“How is that not a good thing?” you ask, feeling his eyes rake over you just before he pulls his shirt over his head. You see a flash of pale skin, and avert your eyes so swiftly it nearly makes you dizzy.

“Roses tend to be picked,” he tells you simply, as if it’s obvious. “Careful who you show your colors to.”

Your face heats against your will, while your eyes remain locked on the building across the way and not on him. At least, not until your curiosity wins out, and you steal a glance at him. 

Eddie dunks his dirty blouse in the bucket, splashing water down onto the stone step at the base of the well. The muscles of his arms flex with the work, and his hair spills over pale shoulders, rosy at the collarbones. He has pictures drawn on his skin with black ink– mythical creatures you learned about as a child, which denote power and magic. Surrounding the images on his skin are scars, old enough that they’ve gone pale, but their raised appearance indicates that he’s seen his fair share of danger. Hair trails down his chest and to  the curve of his stomach, then disappears beneath the line of his trousers. Your eyes trace the trail of it, lingering on his waistband as you wonder how far down it goes. 

He must feel your eyes on him, because he glances up at you. You immediately rip your eyes away, but it’s too late. He’s already seen you looking– seen you staring. 

Eddie grins, his eyes lighting up with mischief. “If it pleases you to look, then look.”

“I wasn’t… I wasn’t looking,” you say, with more than a hint of pride, turning your nose up a bit for good measure. 

“Of course,” Eddie muses, a wicked smirk still on his face. “And neither was I.” 

He meets your eye with a heated gaze that makes goosebumps break out across your skin. His eyes are two black coals, burning at you from just a few feet away. They slowly move up and down your body, until he sets his jaw and turns back to the bucket. He lifts the red blouse from the water and wrings it out, casting droplets of water down his forearms.

You watch them travel along his pale skin, your eyes tracing the blue veins and sinewy muscles of his arms. And that’s when you notice it– the cloth tied around his wrist.

It’s pale pink. It has a slight brocade pattern to the weave. It’s one that your Mistress had no use of, and when she decided she didn’t want the cloth for anything, you took and dyed it yourself with rose petals, and turned it into a blanket for your bed.

It’s the same cloth that you tied to the injured leg of the wolf in your dream, all those weeks ago. But it wasn’t a dream, or it couldn’t have been– the end of that very same pink blanket is still frayed from the tear of the fabric.

“Where did you get that?” you ask him sharply, marching forward. He startles, drawing back just a bit, his eyes glancing you up and down in alarm.

“Get what?” he says coolly, though his manner doesn’t reflect his tone. He’s backing away from you, holding up his hands like you mean to attack.

“This.” Far too bold for your own good, you snatch his wrist in your hand. Eddie gazes down his nose at you as you yank his wrist up near your face, twisting until the pink brocade glints in the overcast light of late April. “Where did you get this cloth?” 

“In the woods,” he says simply. 

“This is from my bed,” you hiss at him, your eyes narrowing as your hand tightens on his arm. Beneath his overheated skin, his pulse pounds against your fingers. You feel it like the beating of a thousand drums. “I don’t believe you. Where did you get it?” 

“I told you,” Eddie repeats slowly. “I found it hanging from a tree. Thought it was pretty, so I kept it.” His face betrays no emotion now, almost strategically so. Where alarm once was, there is nothing. No hint of hesitance, or mischief, or cunning. Just a blank slate that you have no way of reading. 

Your eyes flick between his face and his arm, trying to connect the dots. That’s when you notice the mark as well– among the otherwise pale, older scars that riddle his torso and arms is a long, jagged gash on his bicep. It arcs across his skin and appears to have been from a deep wound. It’s raised over and scarred, but still bright in color. New.

You’re wondering if your mind is playing tricks on you. It’s improbable that the scar on his arm is the one you patched on the wolf a month ago. You refuse to believe such things; you don’t believe in wolf-men, in fairytales, in silly superstitions.

You release his arm. You still don’t believe him– not when he so quickly went from being startled, to suddenly showing no emotion at all. You don’t trust him in the slightest. It seems to you like he’s hiding something, but you don’t know what. You don’t believe he’s anything other than a man. You can’t honestly say that you believe he’s evil, or that he means you harm, but you still wouldn’t lay your life down to fend for his honor.

And that cloth. You would bet your life that the fabric wrapped around his wrist came from your bed, dyed by your own hand, tied around the wounded leg of a wolf on the last full moon. But you can’t dispute that what he says is true. So you step back, and you fix him with a steely-eyed gaze that you know would make even the roughest of men shake in their boots.

“Good day, Mr. Munson,” you say, and he looks surprised that you even remembered his name. “I hope that I never see you again.”

“Making a wish like that is unwise,” he replies mildly, turning back to the bucket that he has perched on the rim of the well. “Unless you have a coin to toss in the well for it. Silver, maybe?” 

Your cheeks burn hot, and you turn away from him. He infuriates you so much. You can’t recall a time when a man affected you so badly. 

“Right. Because you spent it,” he observes, taking your silence as a quiet relent. “I’ll sleep well knowing that my coin was spent on a pair of beautiful stockings. Excellent craftsmanship, by the way. The weave is immaculate. Feels like spun gold.”

“Go to Hell,” you mutter, finally turning away from him, for good this time. 

“As long as I know you’ll think of me when you wear them,” he tells you as you walk away, “I’ll die a happy man.”

You pause. For a moment, you think of turning back to him, telling him to shove that exact thought down his stupidly pretty gullet. But you don’t. Thankfully, you have the reserve and the self respect to set your shoulders and leave him there, rinsing his soiled blouse there on the edge of the well.

You still didn’t ask him how he got a blouse so fine. You doubt that he would tell you the truth even if you did. All you know is that he stays with you, haunting you, rolling through your mind the way he rolled across the mouth of the well, until your hand lands on the gate to your Master’s property.

You can’t afford to have him occupying your thoughts. You can’t afford to be so distracted– you don’t even want to think about what may happen if the Master learns that you’re on your way to being smitten with someone. Someone young and beautiful and, from what you can tell, not running a farm with indentured servants on it.

And when exactly did you go from wanting him to disappear into the woods, to being smitten with him?

On May Eve, you get just enough of your chores done for the Mistress to not find any excuse for you not to attend the festivities. With your hands tight on a woven basket, you set off with a group of young milkmaids from down the lane, bearing torches, to collect flowers from the meadows and woods. 

Bringing in the May is one of your favorite customs, mostly because it’s practiced by the young people of the town. You don’t have to worry about being watched by the town elders. There’s an air of being chosen by someone; the more popular girls in town get flowers laid on their doorsteps in abundance. You’ve never been left flowers, but each year you hold out hope that someone, anyone, will leave them for you. A gesture– you’re wanted. 

There’s music in the air. Groups of young men and women laugh and dance, and the meadows are dotted with the little blooms of fire at the ends of torches as flowers are gathered. You’ve already indulged in a certain amount of floral spring wine and honey cakes, lulling you into a sweetly tipsy, giggly mood. There’s magic in the air– you can taste it in the humidity, the moonshine, the salt of sweat and earth.

“There aren’t enough flowers in the meadow this year,” one of the girls in your group complains, tromping through the high grass. 

“This isn’t the only meadow in Havensfield, Victoria,” says another. 

“I’ve seen more growing by the trees,” you offer, holding out your basket for one girl to toss a few measly primrose blooms in.

The other girls stop. You look around in the low torchlight at the appalled expressions on their faces. 

“You can’t just… go into the woods,” the one named Victoria objects. “There’s… there’s fairies. And wolf-men.” 

“Oh, please.” You roll your eyes while the other girls balk. “You can’t honestly tell me that you believe those old wive’s tales. You know the elders only tell those stories to keep us from going into the woods to fuck.” 

A few snickers rise up with the smoke from the torch. “It’s true, I saw Katherine Plack sneaking through the woods with Scotty Raker two nights ago,” says a short girl beside Victoria, nodding sagely.

“And what were you doing in the woods, Hyacinth?” the girl holding the torch says, slugging Hyacinth on the shoulder. 

The girls dissolve into laughter, while you suck on your lower lip and gaze toward the trees. It can’t be that dangerous, if Eddie claims to come from in there… somewhere. You imagine a cozy little cottage in the woods with a well beside it, tucked away, hidden from town. You imagine him chopping the wood to make it, himself. You imagine his lean frame and strong hands holding an ax, the drawings on his skin highlighted in the filtered sun through the trees as he swings the blade–

“I’m going to go see,” you announce abruptly, your voice nearly cracking. You’re nodding to yourself, looking like an idiot while you fumble to pick the basket up and set it on your hip. “Yep. That’s what I'm going to do. You all can stay here if you want.” 

“But, there’s no light,” Victoria insists, pulling her hair back away from her face with a condescending expression.

“Moon’s almost full, I can see just fine,” you snap back. Honestly, what does it matter to her if you go into the woods? “I’ll be back.”

Hyacinth calls something about “girding your loins” after you, but you’re too far away to really pay it any mind. The grass grows taller by the trees, and you hop over the creek into a wide bed of bright yellow marigolds. They wiggle in the slight spring breeze, lit with just enough moonshine for their color to show even in the dark.

“Beat that, Victoria,” you mumble as you set the basket on the ground. Methodically, you begin picking them, choosing the biggest blooms, the ones with the most immaculate petals. You’ll decorate your small cabin with them, and fashion garlands for the town square with the rest. 

As you wander over to another bed to collect some more blooms, you hear singing, following the tune being played by the pan flute across the meadow. It’s an old folk song that most of the people in town would know, and you hum along mindlessly as you pick the flowers at your knees. 

“As I was a-walking to take the fresh air, The flowers all blooming and gay, I heard a young damsel so sweetly a-singing, Her cheeks like the flowers in May.” 

It’s a young man’s voice, coming from somewhere in the trees, low and rich, and quiet enough that you don’t think it’s meant to be heard by anyone else across the meadow. Tipsy, you smile to yourself, not thinking to look for the source of the voice, but just appreciating the sound as it travels on the breeze.

“Said I, ‘Pretty maiden, and how came you here, In the meadows this morning, so soon?’ The maid she replied, ‘Why, to gather some May, For the trees they are all in full bloom.’”

As your fingers stroke along soft flower petals, humming along under your breath, you glance over your shoulder towards the meadow, where flaming torches dance like woodland spirits in the night. Laughter follows the music and the raucous cheering of the other groups of May-goers, dancing and collecting their own greenery and flowers.

The rich, velvety voice filters through the trees, ever quieter, but even closer than before. You look up just in time to see the source of the voice move just beyond the treeline, and then he appears, leaning against the trunk of a great pine, close enough that you can see the deep wine red of his blouse, and the wicked smirk on his lips.

“I said, ‘Pretty maiden, shall I go with you Through the meadows to gather some May?’ ‘Oh no, sir,’ she said, ‘I would rather refuse, For I fear you would lead me astray.’”

You could swear that Eddie’s eyes glow nearly red at you in the moonlight, his teeth sharper than you’ve ever seen them as he grins at you. The lace at his collar is untied, disheveled, falling open to reveal one of the inked pictures on his skin and his dark chest hair. 

“Climb any maypoles today, princess?” he asks you after a moment of your staring at him, like you’ve seen a ghost.

The question sets your skin aflame. You sit back on your heels, giving him a caustic expression, despite the way your heart flutters at the sight of him. It’s the eve of May, your lurid mind thinks, tracing his outline among the trees. Anything could happen. 

“I thought I told you I never wanted to see you again, Mr. Munson,” you retort, imagining that he won’t be affected by your words in the slightest.

He isn’t. “Ah-ah, you said you hoped that you wouldn’t. But you didn’t toss a coin in the well, therefore, your wish was never going to be granted. Rules of nature, sweetheart.” He wags a finger at you. “And enough with that ‘Mr. Munson’ business. You remember my name, don’t you?” 

“Eddie,” you say quietly, not sure why you feel so shy when you do. Probably because, up until now, you’ve been firm in your false belief that you’d never give him the time of day. It seems it all depends on whether or not you’ve seen him shirtless, first.

“Good girl. I knew you were paying attention.” Eddie smirks at you then, sowing the seeds of your detriment right there. He stands poised, and then bows low as he says, “So, pretty maiden, shall I go with you through the meadows to gather some May?”

You consider quoting the song right back to him, but you figure that it’s probably what he expects you to do. So instead, you sigh and shrug your shoulder at him. “As long as you promise not to crush them in your big meaty hands.” 

Eddie’s mouth drops open in shock, an impressed smile curling his mouth up at the corners. He barks a laugh. “That’s not how the song goes.” 

“Well, the song ends with them kissing and then getting married in the morning,” you point out, with a roll of your eyes. “So, forgive me for not adhering to the lyrics.”

“Also, my hands are not meaty.” He smirks at you ruefully, his face half bathed in moonlight. He leans towards you, “I’ll tell you what is, though–”

“If you’re about to mention your maypole again, I’m leaving,” you snap, glaring at him in the dark. He snickers, but says nothing, instead preferring to start gathering marigolds. “Just how did you manage to find me again, anyways? There are hundreds of people wandering the meadows tonight. How is it that you keep managing to run into me and no one else?”

“Oh, I can sniff you out in a heartbeat, princess. It’s one of my many talents.” The flowers are dwarfed by his hands– his long fingers pinch the stems delicately, offset by the size of the silver rings he wears on them. You admire them, watching them glint in the moonlight, the tendons in his wrist flexing and his skin pulling tight over veins and knuckles. The heavy metal clicks as he works. You’re about to comment on them, when you watch what said fingers are doing with the flowers.

He takes one, and loops the stem around another, creating a loose knot that lets the tails sit alongside each other. He repeats the process slowly, building a chain of bright marigold blooms, while he hums idly and shoots you a heavy look from beneath his lashes. “Ah. So you’re not afraid to look, now. That’s good to know.” 

You tear your eyes away. The tips of your ears burn with embarrassment at having been caught staring, yet again. “Have you any shame?” 

“Not a hair of it.” 

Eddie holds up a finished crown of flowers, grinning at you. He places the circlet of blooms on your head, and as he draws back, tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. 

“And I crowned her my Queen of sweet May,” he sings at you, more of a coo than truly carrying a tune. “The most beautiful one in all the land, of course.”

“From princess to queen,” you muse, trying not to show how quickly your heart is melting. “I’m sure you must think that endears you to me.”

“I’d like to think so,” Eddie admits, leaning ever closer to you. You can see the reflection of the moon in his eyes, glinting vaguely red– you can smell honeyed wine on his breath. His voice drops even lower in register, until it’s just barely above a whisper. “I hope so. Tell me I’m wrong, sweetheart.” 

“I think,” you murmur just as quietly, letting your eyes drop indulgently to his parted lips. They’re so plush and inviting, they’re right there. You need only let yourself bend an inch and you could kiss him. You breathe in, “I think…”

Your hand falls softly to the basket of flowers beside you.

“I think your hands are egregiously meaty.”

You lift a handful of marigolds and smash them into his mouth, making him splutter and fall backwards. You cackle, flinging yourself in the opposite direction, scrambling up to run away. You swear you got some of them in his mouth; you can hear him coughing and spitting them at the same time as he laughs.

“I’ll get you for that!” You can hear him leaping up to chase you, and the prospect makes your heart pound in your chest, your blood rushing hot beneath your skin. You’re sure that it will be easy for him to catch you– you’re hoping for it, really.

You duck between the pines and into the trees. “Come sniff me out then, if you must!” 

You hear his laugh from behind you, almost sounding dark and menacing. Your hair stands on end, but your feet carry you through the trees, running even though you feel as though you’ve been struck by lightning. 

His feet pound the earth behind you, his laughter dancing on the breeze and combining with the music from the meadow. Beyond the trees, your contemporaries dance and make merry with the coming of summer. Here, in the woods, you run from some indeterminate end– one that you have an inkling of, like the barest traces of a memory, but you can’t quite make it out yet. 

Eddie’s hands snatch you by the waist, and you yelp. Heat bursts beneath your skin where he touches you through your bodice, whirling you around until your back hits the trunk of a tree. 

Your breath catches in your throat, heart pounding, chest heaving. Eddie is so close, and the air around you buzzes with energy and magic, as if the very trees themselves were singing. 

“You little minx,” Eddie muses, his voice rumbling low like thunder. “Just need me to chase you, is that it?” His eyes truly do shine red, you don’t think you’re imagining it– each time they catch the light of the moon, or a torch burning far off in the meadow, you see a glimpse of that subtle iridescent red of a forest creature in the dark glinting back at you. 

“I think you’re a spirit,” you whisper, the words light and airy in your throat as you try to regain your breath. “I think you’re one of the Fey. You can’t be real.”

Eddie has you caged in against the tree– one hand on the trunk beside your head, one on your hip. You don’t want to be anywhere else. “Oh, I’m very real, sweetheart. Shall I show you how much?”

His forefinger traces the line of your cheekbone, down the side of your face, to your jaw. You want it bad. You want him and anything he’ll give you– throw you to the ground, take you as prey, the lot of it. You won’t be married in the morning, but tonight all things are possible. 

You turn your face and drag your lips across his knuckles, half-gone in your desire. You barely even register the look on his face; eyes wide, lips parted in awe, like he’s never seen anything like you before. Like you confound him as much as he confounds you. A match made in heaven. 

Eddie catches your jaw in his fingertips, holding you like you’re made of glass, and he crashes down into you. He tastes of cherry wine, as rich and deep as the color of his blouse, which you fist in your hand to tug him closer. 

“Please,” you whisper against his lips. It falls like a sigh into his mouth, and his hand tightens on your hip momentarily before gathering your skirts. The fabric flutters as he pulls at them, tugging them up just enough to disappear beneath the hem. 

Your breath quickens. His hand makes contact with your thigh and you think, Oh fuck, this is really happening. 

Eddie’s finger’s pause on the breadth of your thigh, just above your knee. His forefinger strokes downward, passing over your garter strip and feeling the weave of the silk before he cracks a self-satisfied smirk at you. 

“Nice stockings. Get them recently?”

Your eyes narrow with false gravity, your nose scrunching. “I’ll kill you.”

His smirk stretches into a grin, and he scoffs a little laugh that flutters across your lips. It feels like a kiss. “Dying between the legs of my beautiful Queen of May sounds like a good way to go, actually.”

His hand drags hotly up your outer thigh, and the touch nearly burns you to your core. Eddie’s thumb presses against the skin just at the juncture of your leg, and you press your lips together to bite back a moan from coming out. Everything between your legs is tense, and pulsing, and turning feverish the longer he just pets at your skin and tugs your leg up to rest against his hip. 

His fingertips dig into the curve of your ass and the moan escapes you; high pitched, needy, embarrassing. You’re hot all over and you feel like you might die if he doesn’t touch you– you have a mind to tell him so, too, when Eddie dips his head and bites at your earlobe. 

He dips his finger between your folds, tracing one forefinger up the seam of your cunt, and you swear you could nearly scream. Flesh that is too hot and too sensitive bursts alive with feeling. His finger is drenched, your legs shake just from one touch. Is this what it always feels like?

“Oh, baby,” he coos as you whimper into his neck. His lips move slowly along your skin. Each move of his finger, just teasing you gently, dragging so slowly over your clit that your back arches and you keen long and high. “That’s it. This is what you needed, isn’t it?” 

You let out a pitiful squeak, nodding your head like you may explode rather than answer. He strokes you firmly and then gently, watching your face, studying your expressions. It’s so much and it’s not enough, not nearly enough to settle the throbbing in your core. 

“Please…” It’s the only thing you can come up with, the word bubbling up out of your throat before you can make it make sense. “Please.”

“‘Please’ what?” Eddie tilts his head. His pale skin nearly glows in the moonlight, the red in his eyes shining for a split second. “Please… here?”

His finger circles your entrance, prodding but never quite dipping in all the way. It’s just enough to make you see stars, just enough to turn you nearly insane. 

“Oh my God,” you cry out, fingers digging into his shoulders and gripping at his neck. 

Eddie hums, letting you feel the gentle touch for a few more seconds before it’s gone. You could cry. There are tears in your eyes– you could sob, throw a tantrum. You don’t think it would make him change his mind either way.

“My hands are too big, though, aren’t they?” Eddie shakes his head, mirroring your pout in a condescending manner that makes you want to smack him. Then he cracks a smirk, and you know he’s just being mean. “Mhm. Big and meaty. Too much for a sweet little thing like you. I wouldn’t want to break–”

You snatch his wrist through your skirts and bring his hand back between your legs. No preamble, no begging– this time he hisses, and you sigh with relief as you grind down onto not just his fingers, but his entire hand. 

“You’re not disappearing on me this time, Munson,” you nearly growl at him. Your tongue lavishes his skin, his long neck providing just the right amount of area for you to indulge in. 

“I would have stayed,” he gasps out when your teeth find a particularly tender spot under his jaw. “I’d have stayed if I knew you wanted me to.”

“I want you to,” you say, and you wonder if you’ll regret it in the morning. But the morning seems so far away right now, and his hand feels so good between your legs, and you don’t quite understand how you could regret anything that makes him look at you like that.

“Don’t– You can’t talk to me like that,” he whispers, and his eyes shine like rubies in the night as he gazes at you in awe. “You should know better than that.”

You do know better. But still, you tell him, “Stay,” and it’s like a dam has been broken. You know that you’ll never get rid of him now, and you don’t really want to. You want him to make a home in your chest, right against your heart. You want him to always touch you like this. You want him to always look at you with that same reverent gaze, like he’s just looked upon divinity.

Eddie crowds between your legs and his hand leaves you, but his thigh remains in its place. His leg presses tight to your core, the rough fabric of his trousers not nearly as warm as the touch of his hand, but just as erotic. You rock forward mindlessly against his thigh as he takes your face in his hands– one wet with your arousal– and kisses you breathless. His lips move over yours softly, and then passionately, until you take all that passion and feed it back into him twice over.

You lose track of time. The stroke of his tongue against yours, your hands in his hair, his firm thigh between your legs, all brings you to the edge of oblivion. You squirm against him and he chuckles against your lips. He knows what you want. He’ll give it to you, you know it, you know that he will–

And then a twig snaps. Someone calls your name just through the trees, and then, fucking Victoria breaks through the bushes just in time to see you jump and squeal, having to clutch at Eddie’s shoulders to keep from falling over when he spins around to see who intruded on your precious moment.

“OH! I’m so sorry– I thought–” Victoria fiddles with a long lock of her hair, twisting it idly before tossing it over her shoulder. You’re sure you look disheveled, with Eddie’s crown of marigolds slowly unweaving itself in your hair. It’s obvious to her what you’d been doing– Her eyes rake up and down Eddie’s frame, standing halfway in front of you like a shield, his chest heaving, a dark spot on his trousers where his thigh had been pressed between your legs. “Well, you said you were going to be back, and we thought you’d gone missing…”

“I was in the middle of doing something,” you tell her bluntly.

“Understatement,” Eddie mutters under his breath, and you knock your elbow against his back.

You ignore him. “I thought you didn’t want to go into the woods?”

“Well, that was before we thought you… disappeared.” Victoria looks from you to Eddie. “Who’s this?”

“Something.” Eddie grins at her, sharp teeth glinting in the moonlight breaking through the trees. “Sorry I stole her away from you. We were actually just having a fascinating conversation about when it’s appropriate to disappear– you could join us if you want?” 

Eddie glances over his shoulder at you, and smirks a bit at the expression of complete and utter envy on your face. You don’t want anyone to join. You don’t want to share him. You want him all to yourself. You want to grow on him like ivy until no one can see him but you. You want to hold him close to your chest and keep him there for eternity, and then some. 

“Oh, no, I–” Victoria blushes. She half-turns, like she wants to run away from the conversation entirely. “I just wanted to let you know that we’ve collected all the flowers we need, so… we’re going back to town. You can stay… if you want.”

You want to throw a fit.

She ducks back into the bushes quickly. Eddie is quiet for a moment, listening to her footsteps through the grass, before he turns to you. 

“You were jealous,” he teases, leaning towards you with that stupid self-aggrandizing grin.

Your face grows hot with anger and embarrassment. “You did that on purpose.” You shove him bodily, so that he stumbles a bit to the side, and he snickers. “I can’t believe you. She could have said yes to that.”

“Nah, she was too bashful. I knew she wasn’t gonna take me up on the offer. She wandered into something she wasn’t ready for.” Eddie leans up against a tree, smiling at you with a more resigned expression now. He looks you over, like he wants to burn the image of your kiss-bitten lips and rumpled dress into his memory. After a moment, he meets your eye again. “You should go. Get some sleep before the festival tomorrow.”

“But I–” You flounder. You just made so much progress, and now you’re just back where you began. You shouldn’t be proud about it now– not after he nearly took you to pieces with a single touch. Not when you can still feel the sharp edge of an orgasm pressing at your core, wanting to force its way out but with no way to get there now, and every look at him makes it press that much harder. “You know what– I don’t even know what I expected.” 

You march off towards the tree line. You have to find your fucking flower basket. You have to go and make garlands and slap together some bouquets for the festival tomorrow. You have to pretend like you aren’t dying inside from the disappointment.

“Princess.” You turn to him. He isn’t smiling anymore, he just looks disappointed as well. He glances up at the moon, and then back to you. “It’s a full moon tomorrow. Best not to go near the woods, okay?”

“Don’t tell me you believe in those stupid wolf-man stories, too,” you snap, beyond aggravated.

“Just promise me,” Eddie bites back, his eyes shining dangerously in the moonlight. “Promise me that you’ll stay in town. Don’t come near the woods. Drink, be merry, have a good time.”

“And you?” You feel a bit humiliated and desperate, vying for his time and attention– but you want it. You want it, you want him, more than anything, but you have a feeling you won’t be getting what you want, yet again. “What about you?” 

“I’ll find you,” he says firmly, and then lowers his eyes. Softly, he amends, “I’ll always come back to you.”

#i'm inordinately proud of this one uhh #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #werewolf!eddie munson #werewolf!eddie #werewolf!eddie munson x reader #stranger things #roses*

[cameronspecial]

Dad!drew and readers kid wants a sibling, so drew and reader have THE conversation

Can We Really Do It?

Pairing: Dad!Drew Starkey x Reader

Warnings: Suggestion of Sex at The End

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.6K

Masterlist

Anything Megan wants, she gets. There are boundaries, of course; however, if it is within his power and she is being good, Drew makes it his mission to buy it for her. Today, the little girl comes home from daycare wanting something that her parents can’t just pick up on a run to the store. “Mommy, I want a baby brother,” Megan announces nonchalantly, focusing her attention on eating her snack. The hand drying off a glass freezes, “Why do you ask, Baby?” Megan shrugs and stares at the carrot in her hand. “Stephanie has one and she gets to play with him at home all the time, so I want one too. Can we go to the store tomorrow to get one? I have been a good girl,” she suggests. Y/N sighs and sets the glass on the drying rack, “Unfortunately, Baby, Mommy and Daddy can’t just go to the store and get one. I will have to talk about it with Daddy and if we decide to get one, then it could be a while until we get one.” When her daughter doesn’t reply right away, she knows that Megan has already moved on from the conversation. “Okay, can we play outside after snack?” Megan innocently asks, kicking her legs while she eats the vegetable. 

———

As Y/N returns to her bedroom from the adjoining bathroom, Drew starts taking off the decorative pillows his wife insists on keeping. She joins him at the head of the bed and fluffs their pillows. “So…” she begins, eyes remaining on her task. “Meg asked me about getting a baby brother.” He pauses his actions, getting into bed beside her. “And do we know why she is asking for one?” he pries. She snuggles into his side, “Because Stephanie has one and Meg wants someone to play with.” Drew nods along with her explanation. “I see. I mean… We always talked about wanting more kids. The question was always when,” he reminds her. She leans her head back to rest against the headboard, “We did, but is two years too early? I mean, we always said we would wait until she starts school to start trying.” “That is true. You and your sister have a two-year age gap and you guys turned out fine,” he says. 

“We aren’t my parents though, so it is more so what we are ready for. I love Megan. But sometimes she can be a lot and if we have another kid, we would need to deal with both.”

“Yeah, we would. I’ll be honest. I think that we can do it. We are great parents and we have so much love to give. Maybe another kid would be good for us. However, having a baby affects you physically, so if you aren’t ready to go through that again, then I am perfectly happy to wait.”

Her heart squeezes at his consideration of her needs. Being pregnant was hard, yet the reward of getting to be a parent made it worth it so the pregnancy wasn’t her issue. “I’m fine with the pregnancy. It’s just… Can we really do it?” she thinks out loud, tracing the skin on his forearm. His lips find her temple, “I mean… Can we physically have sex to have a baby? I’m going to say yes considering we did it last night without the baby-making part.” She gives him a shove at his joke. “Be serious. Do you think we can do it?” she chuckles. His smile turns to a straight line, “I do. And in the instant that we think that we can’t, we will have each other to rely on.” She takes a second to process what he is saying and makes her decision. “Okay, let’s do this.”

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming @magicalyoura

#dad!drew #dad!drew starkey #drew #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey #drew starkey fanfiction #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey fluff #drew starkey x female reader #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x you

[traffytaffy]

OP Men and proposing💍

Ft. Law, Kid, Sanji, Zoro.

Sorry i haven’t posted in a bit. I had like no ideas, but this was actually requested by my best friend who was going through “marriage fever” lmao.

Requests are open!

❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

Law;

-Marriage isn’t something he’s concerned with but if it is something that you’ve shown interest too, then he’ll consider it. But expect a proposal after several years of being together.

-He would prefer something quiet.

-Somewhere that only you can hear the way he speaks to you in his gentle voice as he tells you everything he loves about you. 

-He wont get on one knee but he would be right next to you, thigh-to-thigh, hand-in hand… as the close contact of his warmth radiates off of him and onto you.

-He would probably pick the night time so it would be more peaceful as the moon and stars are out (also so you don’t see his deep blush)

-He looks embarrassed at first but decides to just be upfront and honest.

-He would pull out a diamond ring. It wouldn’t be too extravagant,something minimal but filled with love.

“Would you…accept this? And make me the happiest man…once more?”

❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

Kid;

-Marriage doesnt really pass his mind. If youre with him. You’re his, not a paper or a ring can tell him otherwise.

-I dont think he would care about the logistics of it, but he decides to take matters in his own hands once he sees someone flirting with you…

“Married?”

You nod to get the person flirting with you away…

“I don’t see a ring on ya finger”

-After…beating their ass. Kid would make you a custom ring with an engraving of you and his initials.

-Instead of getting on one knee. He just hands you the ring, his flustered face not able to meet your eyes and all he says is:

“Keep it on, you hear me?”

-And thats all you needed to hear to know you’re a married partner now…without even saying yes.

(You can not convince me he’s not a big softie)

❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

Sanji;

Do i even have to say it?

He has every…little..thing… planned..

-Its Sanji, you should know he would make a proposal the most romantic gesture he has ever done.

-He’d probably buy you bushes of flowers. Petals running up and down the beach where you find a candlelit dinner waiting for you. And of course… he cooked it all.

-French wine. The best of the best.

-His suit was fresh and crisp, not one single wrinkle in its fabric. You actually felt a bit under-dressed but he assured you that you were the most beautiful thing to him no matter what you wore.

-You felt like an idiot cause out of all the extravagant dates and romantic gestures hes done for you, it took him getting down on one knee for you to finally understand what was happening.

-He has a long speech. You probably have to shut him up by giving him a kiss midway through and saying “please shut up. Of course its a yes” in a sweet and playful way obviously.

-Cause he didnt need to say every great detail about you for you to know your answer was always going to be a yes.

❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

Zoro;

Probably accidentally got lost and made it to an office where he can file for marriage.

(Kidding…well maybe..?)

-He probably would propose if its something you want. As for him, its not really a big deal.

-He actually does try to plan it out to the best of his ability, asking his crew members for help.

-He loves you so much and wants this to go as planned that he even asks Sanji of all people for help. Sanji takes care of cooking a special dinner for you two.

“Im only helping you cause its for y/n”

But secretly, he wants Zoro to be happy as well.

-When it happens, you two are alone on the deck of the ship, sharing a drink after the two of you ate the dinner Sanji had made for the two of you.

-When the time of the night came that he thought was right, he is sweating profusely.

“Can i talk to you?”

-You nod and listen as your beautiful eyes stare into his, causing him to stutter.

-He doesnt have a speech or anything, he believes the words should just come to him.

But they dont.

-He pulls out the ring and looks at everything else but you.

-He holds the ring out to you while rubbing the back of his head nervously.

“Marry me?”

#one piece #trafalgar law #eustass kid #eustasscaptainkid #one piece eustass #trafalgardwaterlaw #roronoa zoro #eustass x reader #law x reader #zoro x reader #black leg sanji #sanji #sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji #one piece sanji #law x y/n

[the-bi-space-ace]

Okay I’m going to talk about cutting off Crosshair’s hand because while I know plenty of people see a lot of symbolism in it and think it was a good decision I have things to say about it.

I have CPTSD which has a lot of different symptoms. One of them is trembling or shaking. There’s a lot of complexities tied up in it but I’m not going to go into more detail because it’s not a fun thing to talk about.

What I liked about Crosshair’s trauma was that it impacted him not only mentally and emotionally but also physically. It’s very representative of what it’s actually like dealing with symptoms from something like PTSD and CPTSD (there are differences between these two that I won’t go into rn). I loved that we got to see a physical symptom of something psychological. It’s so rare that it’s handled well. Because yeah meditation and safety will help, certainly, but oftentimes it’s not the end all be all. I’m safe. I’m protected. I take care of my mental well being. But I still have symptoms that say the opposite. Because it’s not as simple as ‘no longer in the bad situation therefore the symptoms will stop’. I’ve made my peace that it’s lifelong and, honestly, Crosshair’s symptoms would be lifelong as well.

Cutting off his hand…

Here’s the thing.

The show really makes it seem like cutting off his hand is something he needed to move forward. He needed to be rid of the symptom because it was a physical reminder and it was holding him back from moving on. Cutting off the hand means no more shaking which means he’s healed. No more shaking hand=no more trauma. He can finally move on with his life.

And to that I say ouch.

There’s been plenty of times my symptoms are inconvenient to myself or others. Times when I wish I could just make it stop. Times when I’m terrified that it’s holding me back and I’m screwed up and that’s all I’ll ever be: broken. There are plenty of times I know people wish i could just knock it off and get over it and cut it out but that’s not how it works. Like I said. I’ve made peace with this thing that’ll be with me forever.

It was refreshing to see him try to adapt to dealing with it instead of ignoring it or trying to get rid of the part of him that was hurting. I loved that. It was such a freeing thing to see. Someone who will live with the hurt and the symptoms and it doesn’t make him any less. It just makes him have to do life a little different.

I hate that they cut off his hand. I hate that it wasn’t handled with any sort of nuance or delicacy. And I hate that this thing that made me so proud of him, so proud to share something with him, just got cut off for… what? Shock? To ‘fix’ him?

If we had gotten more time with the loss of his hand maybe I’d feel differently. Hell, I’d love to see how Crosshair adapts to losing his hand, see how he learns to accommodate. It would give him and Echo something to bond over and talk about, finding healing with each other. I think this could’ve been done well. I’d still be on the fence about it but I would’ve held my breath and saw how it played out.

I fully expect people to roll their eyes at me here. I expect that people will say that I just don’t get it or that this isn’t what they intended. I’m sure this isn’t what they intended. At least I hope it isn’t. But what they intended doesn’t change how insensitively this was handled after a whole season of him unpacking his hurt and trying to learn to adapt to it. No one reacted to it, not even Crosshair, and we got no unpacking of what happened. I’m not happy with this but it is what it is I guess.

#the bad batch #tbb crosshair #tbb spoilers #tbb season 3 #idk what to say other than ouch #feel free to disagree #this is just how I’m feeling rn #maybe I’ll write something nuanced in fic form about this one day #and I’ll feel better #but for now I’m getting my week of sadness out of the way #before I move on to continue writing and ignoring the parts of canon I don’t like #it just stings is all #tw ptsd #tw cptsd

[a-spes]

| ALL THE THINGS I AM NOT - One shot (3.097 words).

| Summary - Since Peter Parker joined the team, things aren't the same anymore. Why does everyone seem to prefer him to you? (Inspired by that post from @th3-c0rps3-r0gu3)

| Tags & warnings - soft mom!Natasha Romanoff x adoptive daughter!Reader, former widow!R, angst with a bit of comfort, happy ending, R&Nat are insecure (they're trying their best), self-hatred, mention of past traumas, R is injuried (during a mission), mention of blood&death.

| MOODBOARD — ✧ — MASTERLIST — ✧ — TO SAY SOMETHING

You wouldn’t say that you hate Peter Parker. 

It is a strong word to describe your feelings, and you don’t like what it implies. You can’t hate someone who hasn’t done anything wrong to you, someone like him. He is the opposite of a bad person, so why I am feeling that way? He is nice. That’s what everyone is saying about him, and you know they are right, even if you don’t like to admit it. He always has that smile when you two are talking, answering you kindly even when you’re trying to test his limits.

It would’ve been easier to not like him if he had any defects, but he doesn’t. You’ve tried to find some, you’ve spent hours observing him, waiting for the moment he would make a fatal mistake, but the moment never came. You even started to question if he was human.

Natasha told you that humans make mistakes all the time, and that you can’t avoid them. It’s normal, she said, that’s what makes you one. You used to think you were better than that, better than everyone, but are you? When you look at the boy, you are not sure anymore.

He is everything I am not. 

You thought you were doing good, really. You made a lot of progress, and effort, since you've joined the team. Two years ago, most of them wouldn't even agree to let you out of your room. Now, you could talk normally to almost all of them.

You thought that you were doing things right with the team, but you slowly realised that your attempts are not enough anymore. You have made a lot of progress since the first time you set foot in the compound, no one will deny it, but you are not at his level yet. 

Two years ago, you wouldn’t even step out of your room during the day, barely sleeping when the night came around, and at best you would exchange wary glances with the team. You didn’t trust them nor they did, and even if you are now talking, it hasn't changed a lot. That’s something they never told you, but their eyes and actions have done it for them. These two never lie, not when you know how to interpret them.

They don’t even let you go on a mission alone, let alone attending the most important meetings. You think it is stupid because you are the most skilled of everyone here. Well, maybe it’s not true, you never managed to beat Natasha in a fight, but you are sure that you are at least as useful as them on the field. 

I am too young, just a kid. 

That’s what they call you, but the nickname doesn’t carry the same kindness as when it’s for Peter, their voices being tinged with disdain. Except when it’s from Natasha, you like it when she calls you nicknames. She doesn’t do it because she thinks you are not capable of handling yourself, but to remind you that you have time. The time to learn, to make mistakes, to grow. You both know that you will never be a normal teenager, it is too late for that, and nothing can erase the first years of your life, but the redhead is confident : you’ll learn how to live, you just need a bit of help. 

She is the only one that doesn’t seem to treat you differently, but you are not sure if she counts. You two are the same. You have been through the same things, and she is the one that brought you here, it is obvious that she wouldn’t let you go. 

She wouldn’t, right?

You don’t know. You are not sure of anything, everything seems to go backward since he joined the team. All the progress you’ve made? Gone. In a few weeks, he did better than you’ll ever be able to do, and you don’t even understand how that’s possible.

You can beat him in a fight whenever you want, no matter the conditions. Even with your eyes closed, and your hands tied behind your back, you would be able to put him down in a matter of seconds. You are fast, strong and attentive while he is clumsy, dreamy and weak. He can’t even use a gun properly, always missing his target when it’s moving, even slowly. Whenever you are looking at him, all you can see is a kid that has no idea what he's doing here but thought it would be fun. A kid that was given a toy, and thought that it made him the most important person on that earth, a hero.

I am everything he is not. 

Yet, they prefer him, so there must be something you are missing. Since he joined the team, he has created a strong bond with all the Avengers, even with Natasha. You thought your relationship with her was special, but it’s apparently not that much. You saw them laughing together, but you’ve seen worse when you witnessed the woman ruffling the boy’s hair. You are sure she would braid the boy’s hair too if it was longer. 

Well, maybe I hate him.

You have every reason to feel this way when he was stealing what’s yours, destroying what you had taken so long to build. Only, it somehow didn’t feel right. Natasha doesn’t belong to you, none of them are. They are humans, and humans have feelings, they don’t have to get along with everyone. That’s what you’ve learned from the redhead, but you only realise now that it is not only true for you ; you can’t force anyone to appreciate you. Yet, you would have liked to live up to their expectations, something the boy seems to do effortlessly.

He is always smiling, saying the right thing at the right moment, laughing with the others. Since he arrived, he has never made anyone angry, he never had one of those violent breakdowns where you would hit someone by accident. Natasha says it is not your fault, but you know that the others don’t think the same way.

Durings meals, apart from their missions, Peter Parker is the only thing they know how to talk about. Everything he does is praised. Even the things you were doing as a kid, things you’ve never been congratulated for because everyone had to know that, it was normal. Natasha said it was not, but you are not sure if you believe her yet because if it’s not, where are your praises? 

Maybe it is because they don’t expect anything from him. He is just a kid who’s learning, not a threat to be dealt with, let alone a weapon to train. No, Peter Parker is none of that. He is nothing more than a stupid kid who’s trying his best to save the city, and it’s a story you can’t bear to hear anymore. Just his name makes you feel as if your whole body is burning. It’s a feeling you can’t name, but you are sure that you don’t like it.

He is everything I am not. 

If you saved him that day, it is definitely not because you appreciate him. You even had a moment of hesitation before throwing yourself between him and that bullet, wouldn’t your life be easier if he wasn’t here? No, it wouldn’t. 

You didn’t want to take that bullet for him, especially not when this is the consequence of his own stupidity, but it was the obvious choice. You hate being sent on a mission with him because it is like going with a baby widow. You have done everything right, he has not, and yet you are the one suffering the consequences of his recklessness. 

If he had died today, it would’ve been your fault. You know it’s not true, but you can already hear them tell you that it is. That’s why you did it, because you know they value his life more than yours. It is not easy to accept that you are not the most important person on the team anymore. In fact, you have never been there since you joined the Avengers, but you believe that it was true before. 

Those people, they have powers and technology. They can do things you will never be able to achieve, no matter how hard you try. You hate that too, that feeling of failure. Yet it is not your fault if you are trapped in a competition that you can’t win. So you thought that, maybe, if you save their precious boy, then you would get the attention you wanted. 

I didn’t want to, but I did what I was supposed to. 

Except it doesn’t feel right. The Quinjet was quiet during the return journey. You didn’t even know where the boy was, and honestly couldn’t care less. You were even relieved to know that he couldn’t witness you in a moment of weakness, leaving you alone to inspect the wound left by the bullet. You told him it was nothing, but you lied, and you don’t even need to take a close look at your abdomen to know that.

However, it wasn’t the pain that was worrying you. The only thing you could think about was their reactions. Natasha told you many times that you are allowed to make mistakes, that it makes you human, not weak, but you know she is lying. You’ve already heard Fury scolding people for their mistakes, even the Avengers sometimes fought for the same reason, and you definitely don’t want to deal with that right now.

So when the Quinjet eventually lands, you go straight to your room. You were scared to step foot in the common areas in this condition because you knew your mom was waiting for you there. Maybe she had made your favourite meal, or maybe she decided to do the boy’s favourite. This time, you can’t stop the tears from welling up in your eyes.

You’ve seen how she acts with the boy. She is so caring, always smiling, and her eyes are even shining. You don’t think it has ever happened when she is with you. Her expression is always tinged with sadness, perhaps pity. It is when you witness those moments that you realise that she deserves more than you will ever be able to give her : a normal kid. 

Maybe she realised it too.

Last night, she came home late, called in for a last-minute mission, and she missed your return by a few hours. She had no idea how your mission went, and even if she trusts you to handle yourself, she can’t help but feel concerned. She doesn’t like to know that you’re on a mission without her because anything can happen.

If Natasha was already worried, it is only when the following morning came that the feeling began to gnaw at her from the inside. She even started to bite her nails again. It was almost ten in the morning, and no one had seen you yet. They say that you are probably sleeping, and they might be right, but what if they are not?

She knows that some missions can be exhausting, and not only physically, what if it was one of those? You didn’t seem to be doing well lately. Despite the appearances, she noticed every little change in your behaviour, and she is sad to see you going backwards. She guessed that, maybe, you needed a little space, but she is no longer sure she made the right choice. She has the feeling that your relationship has deteriorated in recent weeks, almost as if you were avoiding her.

The redhead could no longer bear to stare at the hands of the medical bay’s clock, all she wanted to do was go, and check on you, but she couldn’t. She made a promise to the boy’s aunt. She glances at Peter who was asleep, he has been injured during the mission, nothing serious, he should be out of here the following morning. However, she promised her aunt to look after him when she couldn’t. 

She always keeps her promises.

Natasha didn’t bat an eye all night, but even if she had wanted to sleep, she wouldn’t have been able to. She couldn’t stop thinking. When the day came, she still had no idea what to do. Widows aren’t known to be good at expressing their feelings. The woman always felt awkward in her interactions with you, scared that her actions could do more harm than good. Maybe you weren’t the one that needed a bit of space. 

“How is she?” is the first thing the boy asked when he woke up that morning, but the frown on the Avenger’s face let him know that she had no idea what he was talking about. “We got a bit of a … situation during the mission” he explained, avoiding saying that his recklessness put them in danger, “we both got hurt, but it is nothing too serious”, he quickly added when he saw the expression on the redhead face changing suddenly.

The boy tried to reassure her, but it was too late. The woman barely heard him as she was rushing out of the medical bay. She was an idiot. She should’ve checked on you the moment she stepped foot on the compound, she should’ve guessed that you wouldn’t go to the medical bay on your own. You’ve always hated those places because it is where you are the most vulnerable.

It was almost eleven when she knocked at your door. She did it three times, but each of them was met with an oppressive silence. When she tried to open it, she discovered that it was locked. However, there isn’t a door in that world that can stop a widow. In less than a minute, she manages to open it, and enters the room.

She understands something is wrong when she sees your form under the covers. You would never stay in bed that late, being awake before she is most of the time. If at first she was hesitant to step in, she almost ran to your bed when you didn’t reply to her calling your name multiple times. Your sleep is so light that someone walking across the corridor is usually enough to wake you up in a flash.

She pulls back the covers without thinking twice about it, and the view she sees is definitely not what she would call “nothing serious”. The sheets are covered in blood, your blood, and you are not sleeping at all, she can see how you are struggling to keep your eyes open. She is not even sure you noticed her presence.

"Baby?" she tried to call again, but you didn’t react to the nickname either. "Baby, what happened? Talk to me, please, open your eyes", she said, kneeling by your side.

She shakes you slowly, but it has no effect. You don’t react before her hands grip your face, her nails leaving marks on your skin because of the brutality of her precipitous gesture. She is trying to open your eyelids to see your eyes when a whine escapes your lips.

You have no idea what’s happening, but don’t have the energy to ask the question. You just wish the woman would let you go back to your comfortable slumber, far from the pain, and that world of misery you were trapped in. But she doesn’t. Instead, she stole your blanket, leaving you shivering with cold, and she wouldn’t stop talking, worsening your headache.

When she takes you in her arms, being as careful as she could, she notices how cold you were. Yet, you seemed to be sweaty. She doesn’t waste more time, almost running back to the medical bay. You were hanging in her arms as a rag doll would, your head dangling painfully on the side, and the same was true for your limbs.

She held you firmly in her arms, constantly glaring at you, as if she feared you might disappear if she let her guard down. On the way, she kept mumbling things that you couldn’t understand, not knowing if those were really intended for you, or if it was a way to reassure herself. Maybe it was both.

When the woman pushed the medical bay door, she didn’t even need to yell for someone to come. The second the doctors saw you, they knew it was an emergency. 

It is only a few days after that they let you out of the medicine that was keeping you out. The first thing you felt was the pain you tried to ignore since you've been shot. A whine escapes your lips. You felt your mom close to you before you saw her. She probably didn't sleep or left or eat since you've been, no matter for how long it have been. You feel a bit guilty at the thought.

“Don’t you dare to do that ever again,” she whispered, holding you as close as she could against her chest. One of her hands rested on your back, gripping the soft fabric of your hospital gown, while the other one was stroking your hair, “you scared me to death …” she added, and you felt really stupid for not realising that she had always cared for you, and probably always with, but you were too blinded by jealousy to see it. 

“I am… sorry,” you managed to reply in a hoarse voice, “I was scared. I wanted to show you that I can be strong too,” you whispered, “I wanted to prove that I’m worth loving,” you eventually admitted, your voice being so low that, at first, the redhead wasn’t sure if she heard correctly. It broke her heart to realise that it was her fault. You didn’t need space, you needed her by your side, and now she was here, you wouldn’t let her go, holding her as you could, not minding the pain it caused in your abdomen. 

"But my little dove, you are already the strongest person I know, you don't need to prove it anymore to anyone,” she whispered, “and I will always love you, I won’t let you doubt it,” she added, letting you go to cup your jaws with her hands. She let her thumbs brushing your forehead before she kissed it, repeating the three words you were dying to hear the past weeks again, and again, and again.

You could both feel tears running down your cheeks.

| MOODBOARD — ✧ — MASTERLIST — ✧ — TO SAY SOMETHING

| Tag list - @godhatesgoodgirls

#a spes writing #mcu fanfiction #reader insert #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov #natasha romanoff fanfiction #natasha romanoff angst #natasha romanoff comfort #angst with comfort #angst with a happy ending #one shot #natasha romanoff x fem!reader