#and that's all been over the last year and a half

[macfrog]

sweet child o' mine | pt. iv

to @mrsmando - without whom this insane story would never have happened in the first place. i love you i love you i love you thank you all so much for coming on this journey with me - it has been a blast. i hope you like where we turn out! love you guys always n forever x

pairing: neighbor!joel x fem!reader

summary: you're a mom. it's time to get your shit together.

warnings: bon jovi mention straight out the gate, labor/delivery [i have never given birth. those of you who have are nothing short of remarkable. please forgive if some of this is a little inaccurate or vague], use of pain medication during birth, description of pain and post-birth recovery, super emotional reader, unprotected piv, oral, alcohol consumption. DISCLAIMER: this series covers some issues which i know may be sensitive and possibly triggering to some. warnings will always be as thorough as possible, but if there’s ever anything you feel i’ve missed, please let me know. feel free to drop by my inbox anytime.

word count: 12k

pt. i / series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🩵

It’s September twenty-third.

Well, by now, it’s probably the twenty-fourth. You’ve been a little distracted, rolling between the sheets with your next-door neighbor for the last couple hours.

The wedding’s still going strong downstairs. The same Bon Jovi song has played three times over. Tommy has called Joel to ask where he is so much that Joel’s phone is now switched off and shoved to the bottom of his bag.

You’re slouched on the toilet in a sliver of moonlight. A fistful of tissue, panties loose around your ankles. Rolling your forehead side to side along the cool tile, heartbeat hammering between your temples.

Joel Miller – Joel fucking Miller – is in your bed. Naked, sweating, cock probably still half-hard.

This morning, the very idea of the man was an eyeroll. Stood in your mirror, promising yourself that this time tomorrow, it’ll all be over with.

This time in a month, it’ll be a foggy memory.

This time in a year, it –

His voice is muffled through the bathroom door. “Did you fall in, or somethin’?”

You snort. The milky moon blurs across your vision when you pull yourself upright. You swipe between your legs and stand, flushing the toilet.

“I needed a fucking breather,” you tease, tiptoeing back across the room.

Joel’s stretched out; a worked arm draped along the headboard. Sun-kissed to the middle of his bicep, paler across his shoulder. One leg bare on the mattress, the other under the sheets. They only just cover his modesty – dark hair trailing beneath light silk just in time.

He’s so big. It’s like you never really noticed until now. He takes up half the bed, laying like this. And sure, you’re halfway to fucked, but – has he always been so handsome?

You flop down beside him with a sigh, curling up in the burrow of sheets at his side. Your eyes trail up his body – the sheen of sweat up his side, the dark, damp hair under his arm. All the parts of him you’ve never seen before, will never see again.

You gulp. Quit fucking staring.

He doesn’t notice, anyway. He’s rubbing circles into his temples, grumbling. “How many goddamn times are they gonna play It’s My Life?”

“…for Tommy and Gina…” you nudge him, “…who never backed down…”

Joel chuckles, pulling his hand down his beard. “Twenty bucks says he’s changing that to Maria.”

“Oh, for sure. I ain’t going back down to listen to it, though.”

He hums in agreement, reaching over for his beer. His Adam’s apple bobs as he drinks.

“You owe me, by the way. This is my room, remember? My fucking minibar.”

He pauses, the bottle against his bottom lip. His eyes linger south of your chin before he answers, “I’m paying for the damn room.”

“Then I want a drink from yours. Make it even.”

He clicks his teeth and drinks again. “It’s one beer. Call it an early birthday gift.”

You frown. “When the hell’s your birthday?”

“Tuesday.”

“Bullshit.”

“Serious. The twenty-sixth.”

You push yourself up onto your elbows; chest bare and on display. And it’s a strange feeling, how little you care. Twelve hours ago, you didn’t know how close to sit next to him at the ceremony. How many times you could accidentally bump knees or brush elbows and it not be weird.

But in the last two hours, he’s made you come more times than you can count. More times than anyone you’ve ever been with before – that’s for sure. And you’ve repaid the favor: the proof is still dribbling out of you. Still dripping between your legs, all pearlescent and warm. You’re soaked, swollen, still sore from the size of him.

It’s a fucking strange feeling, that you don’t mind at all.

“How old are you turning?” you ask.

Joel swallows. He settles the beer on his sternum, thumbing the corner of the label. Sucks in a deep breath and says, “Forty-eight.”

“Jesus,” you mutter, eyes wide.

He turns slowly, glaring at you. “Hilarious,” he drawls, bumping the bottle against your tummy.

You hiss at the sudden chill. Wiping cold droplets from your skin, you swipe it from his grasp.

Joel pushes himself from the bed with a quiet groan and pads across the room. His cock sways with each step, an arrowhead of thick hair at its base.

He doesn’t seem to mind, either.

You tip your chin back, taking a hefty swig.

The pulsing bass is heavier, guitar squeal sharper, when he cracks open the window. Cool air sweeps past the scent of sex and settles softly on your skin.

The mattress dips again as Joel settles back into bed. He pulls the sheet over himself, silk falling over the stubborn shape against his thigh.

“Well,” you pass him the bottle, “happy birthday, old man. Here’s to forty-eight.”

“Here’s to forty-eight,” Joel echoes, staring off into space, “and whatever the hell it has in store.”

1:29. 1:29. 1:30.

It’s blurring across your vision. The pain and the panic and the blinking of your fucking alarm clock.

Your stomach is still tensed in the aftermath of the contraction; an ache like the slow sway of the ocean, a wave rolling off into the distance. You’re hunched over the edge of the bed – knee bouncing, palms kneading your round belly.

“We’re okay,” you whisper, blowing into the still night. “We’re fine. Maybe it isn’t labor, right? Maybe it’s just those…Braxton…shit…Hicks.”

The cicadas laugh as your uterus swings again.

Another kick of pain; a bolt that winds you, piercing from your stomach down between your legs. So slow it feels fucking personal.

Your back curls, nails digging into the mattress. You grit your teeth until it passes, then push yourself to your feet, reaching for your phone.

You think of Joel: the flecks of gold in his eyes, the rough surface of his palms. The fresh, woodsy scent woven into every thread on his shirt, seeping from every pore on his skin.

The way he’d pull you under his arm and walk you to his truck. Play more Eagles or whatever shit he has to take your mind off the pain – tell you he knows, he knows as you whimper in agony. The way he’d hold your thigh the entire ride, loosening it only to weave his fingers through yours.

He’s in Houston, though. He’s something like three hours away. There’s nothing he could do, even if you did call – even if he did pick up. Even if he got in his truck right this second.

Shit. Shit fuck shit. How are you in labor right now, on this fucking night? All your teasing, all your taunting the universe. You really think that’s gonna happen? You think your kid’s that much of an asshole?

Yeah. They’re half you.

You’re on your own. It’s nothing new; you’ve been on your own for most of your life. You drove yourself to college, worked your ass off, and sold your graduation guest tickets to your roommate. You found a job by yourself, moved back to Austin and turned it into home by yourself.

You haven’t needed anyone or anything, since you were eighteen.

But – oh, Jesus, fuck it. This was a two-man job from the start. Some things you figure you can let slide – and having a kid seems like a pretty decent excuse.

Fuck it.

You move, hunched and hobbling, to the bathroom door. Slumped against the wooden frame, you cup a hand between your legs.

Sure enough, your underwear is soaked. The fluid trickles down the seam of your thigh, warm and thin. It glistens in the moonlight when you lift your fingers.

“Shit,” you whisper. “Goddamn it, Duck.”

Body tingling and almost numb with pain, you scroll through your contacts to J. You stumble into the bathroom, wet fingers slipping around the sink. A weight begins to pull low between your hips.

Two rings and the tone cuts, his voice instantly spilling a cool comfort down your spine.

There’s no hello, no double checking that you haven’t accidentally dialed him in your sleep. Only that trademark drawl, that flat tone you’d swear sounded bored, if it weren’t for the haste with which Joel asks, “You okay?” the second he answers.

As if he were awake anyway, just waiting for your call.

“Yeah,” you choke, rubbing the nape of your neck. “I just called at one in the morning to…to say hi.”

He sighs, the crackle of breath echoed by the tinkle of wind chimes. The creak of wood as he settles into a chair on Vanessa’s parents’ porch. “Alright, smartass. What is it?”

“I’m…I’m in labor.”

“Mhm. That sure is funny, baby. Good one.”

You groan. “No, Joel, I swear – I swear, I just went into labor.”

He pauses. The chimes titter in the background. “You’re…You ain’t kidding me?”

The sharp peak of pain swipes the air clean from your lungs. The phone hits the sink with a clatter, drowning out your cry.

This kid is beating the ever-loving shit out of you. You’d be embarrassed if you had the energy to think about it.

“Baby?” Joel yells, loud enough that the sound loops around the bowl. His voice lifts to an octave you didn’t know it could reach. “Talk to me. Please, talk to me.”

Your fingers clamp around the phone. “I’m f-fine. It’s fine. I just gotta…gotta change my fuckin’ sheets, Joel, my waters broke while I was sleeping –”

“Oh, Christ,” he growls. The door squeals as he storms back into Vanessa’s family home. “The sh…Change the goddamn sheets? You gotta get to a hospital, darlin’!”

You laugh, head tipping back. “It’s fine,” you tell him. “Feels like the kid’s trying to kill me, but I can – shit, I can take ‘em.”

There’s the jangle of keys, the ruffle of a shirt being thrown over his head. “Yeah?” Joel says.“You can take childbirth, all on your own? Do me a favor and call a damn ambulance, baby.”

“An ambulance,” you repeat, laughing again.

“Yes, an ambulance. Call 9-1-1 right now. You want me to call ‘em? Let me go grab the landline –”

“Joel, do not call an ambulance –”

And if you thought you’d heard him at breaking point before – plucking your underwear from his lawn, dragging you around Home Depot, paling in your room with a pregnancy test in his hands – you know you have, now.

“You gotta get to a goddamn hospital now, baby!”

His voice trembles at its end, quivers like the pluck of a guitar string. A high-pitched echo, a nervous vibration.

Joel’s panicking.

It’s the second thing in less than five minutes that you never knew he could do.

“I can’t afford a f-fucking ambulance, Joel,” you yelp, sitting back on the edge of the bathtub.

“I will pay for it,” he pleads, “I’ll pay. Just – you gotta call them. You gotta…” He sighs again, breath wavering. “You’re in labor, and you’re alone. If anything happened to you, I –”

A hushed voice interrupts him. Follows him through the house, knotting her nightgown around her waist and twisting her dark tresses into a ponytail.

“She’s in labor,” Joel tells her. “I can’t stay. I’m going back for her.”

The porch door slams shut before Vanessa can reply, and Joel’s back outside again. Gravel crunching beneath his boots, crickets screaming in the background. “Still with me?” he asks.

“Still here,” you breathe, tracing your nails along your leg. “Duckie says hi, I guess.”

He hums. “Hi, Duckie. You little shit.”

You rock back and forth, eyes closed. Breathing between contractions, your head low between your shoulders. “How long will you be?”

The truck door creaks open. “I’m leaving right now. I’ll be…Fuck, I’ll be a couple hours, at least. I’m on my way, alright?”

Tears drip onto your bare thighs, the salt spilling into your mouth. “Joel,” you shake your head, “I don’t think I can do this.”

“Yes, you can,” he says. “Are you kidding? Got us this far ‘n now you want to bail? That ain’t you, baby. Come on, now.”

“I wanna bail,” you insist. You slump to the floor, head lolling over the rim of the bathtub. Weeping like a little kid. “I’m scared, Joel. I’m so scared.”

“I know you are. Lord knows I’m scared, too – scared as hell. But –” the engine roars to life, “– I can’t wait to finally meet this kid. Our kid. Can’t wait to hold ‘em. Can’t wait to see you become a mom, and me become a dad.”

“Mom and Dad,” you whisper, sniffling.

“Mom and Dad, right? Yeah. You can do this. I know you can.”

The bathroom blurs behind your tears. You close your eyes, replacing the pale night with warmer dawn. Replacing it with images of tiny hands and feet; missing front teeth and a love-worn teddy tucked safely into bed.

Joel’s voice is softer, kinder. Calmer, now that he’s closing the hundred and fifty miles between the two of you.

“Just – don’t let the kid give you any shit, alright?”

The fear boils into determination. Something more irritating than it is terrifying. You inhale, blowing a heavy, shuddered breath to the ceiling. “Whatever, Miller.”

“Attagirl,” he says. “That’s the spirit. Now, call a damn ambulance.”

With a scoff, you push yourself to your feet, waddling towards the foot of your bed. You sway back and forth, holding your bump and listening to the hum of Joel’s truck.

And then you hear it.

Three sharp raps, from downstairs.

You wander to the hallway, squinting in the dark. “Joel?”

“Hm?”

“Are you…?”

The sound grows louder the nearer you draw. Quick knuckles against your front door.

“Am I what, darlin’?”

You lower yourself down the stairs, fist tight around the rail.

It’s August again. Sun’s encore blazing through your kitchen windows, bleeding golden through your living room. Everything shining, everything new and untouched.

Knock knock knock.

Light satin, duck egg blue; string lights and a diamond-encrusted necklace. The bones of your wardrobe propped against your porch. A rattling toolbox hanging from his fist, a positive pregnancy test in yours.

The knocking halts when you flick the porch light on. She calls your name once, old voice quivering.

Your phone is still glued to your ear as you pull the door open. “Al…?”

She squints at you and lifts a hand to shield from the light. She’s still in her pajamas – green dressing gown loose and lifting in the breeze.

Her eyes drop to the tee draped over your bump, the silver stream of fluid down the inside of your thigh. As she opens her mouth to speak, your hand slams into the doorpost.

“Oh, fuck,” you groan, and Alice Brown steps straight over the threshold.

“Are you in labor? Oh, sweetie. Sit down, sit.”

She backs you towards the stairs. One bony, trembling hand around yours – squeezing as tight as you are. She rubs up and down your spine, shushing until the pain subsides.

You blink up at her glowing figure, haloed by the porch light outside. “How did you…?”

She hushes you with a finger in the air. “I’m up most nights. I heard you from the window. Have you called 9-1-1?”

You shake your head, beginning to cry again.

Alice just nods, dismissing your bullshit. “Where’s your overnight bag, sweetheart?”

You toss a thumb over your shoulder. “It’s up in the nursery. I can go grab it –”

She holds you still with a hand on your shoulder. “Stay.” Another curt nod, then, “Get your shoes, get yourself over to my car. Do you need pants? You need pants. My car, right now.”

“Alice, you really don’t have to –”

“Get in the car,” she insists, climbing past you. “I’m right behind you!”

You watch her figure dissolve into the dim upstairs, and lift the phone back to your ear. “Did you…hear all that?”

“Alice Brown,” Joel replies, and you can hear the smirk in his voice. “What’d I tell ya? That woman doesn’t miss a goddamn thing in this neighborhood.”

“Three centimeters,” the obstetrician says, covering your legs with the sheet. “Still a little ways to go.”

The suite is hushed and still. Walls an unoffending shade of oatmeal; decorated only with oak paneling and a framed painting of some lilies.

A nurse tilts the shades, averting the twinkling city lights in the distance. She turns and smiles – the same fucking smile everyone’s been giving you since you set foot in the place. Head tilted, brows arched.

Sympathy that you want to chew up and spit back out at their feet.

You force yourself to smile in return, and she floats back out to the bustling reception.

“Will he make it?” Alice asks. She’s still in her pajamas; the floral print goes well with the interior of the room. “The father, I mean. Joel.”

The obstetrician peels the gloves from her hands. She shrugs as she drops them into a wastebin. “I don’t see why not,” she says. “Things are moving a little quickly, but I don’t see you having your baby in the next couple hours.”

“You don’t know this kid like I do,” you groan, shifting in the bed.

She lifts the cardiotocograph reading, scanning the jagged lines. “You’re doing great,” she says. “I’ll be back in a little while. Just holler if you need anything.” She strolls off, letting the door sweep shut behind her.

Alice adjusts your pillow and squeezes your shoulder. She holds out a cup of water, guiding the straw to your lips. “He’ll be here,” she whispers.

You take a sip and settle back. “I don’t think I’m that lucky. I told him I hoped he’d get a flat on the ride there. This feels like karma.”

“Well, if it’s anyone’s karma –” she wiggles her fingers, “– it’s his. Going to Houston was ridiculous in the first place. Hell, you two not being together is ridiculous.”

You scoff, shaking your head. “Just because we’re having a kid doesn’t mean we should be together. You shouldn’t be with someone for the sake of a baby who won’t even know any different.”

“Right, right,” Alice agrees, turning away. “You should only be with someone if you love them.”

“Exactly. And me and Joel – we’re not in love.”

She murmurs to herself. She lowers into a chair by the window, crossing her arms. “I’m seventy-three,” she says. “I’m not a damn fool.”

Something twists awkwardly between your hips. You wince, clutching your bump.

Duckie’s heartbeat pulses through the room. Muffled little bubbles of noise, popping one after the other. Strong and steady as hell – a determined little thing, the doctor said.

Don’t I fucking know it, you thought.

You reach for the silicone mask and cup it over your mouth. The gas is cold and funny when you inhale, feeling it shoot straight for the back of your skull. It does little more than dull the spiking pain, but still – you tip your head back, eyes rolling closed.

You let yourself fade from the suite – its yellow lamplight and hushed chatter outside – to somewhere warmer. Somewhere brighter.

Birdsong high overhead, and the whispering leaves on the oak trees in your yard. The sweet breeze on your skin, soothing the sting of the sun. Prickling wood on your fingertips, the gentle strum of a guitar somewhere beyond the fence.

Peering between the slats, catching glimpses of him like watching a film reel. His head nodding, his foot tapping. The concentration tight on his face; the perfect pick and pluck of his fingers on each string.

Half-hoping that he’ll spot you, scold you for spying and storm back into his house. That he might bring it up later – And another thing, while he whips his newspaper from your grasp, ignoring your cackling.

Half-hoping that he won’t. That he’ll sit there at his back door, bottle of beer at his feet, playing to his audience of sparrows.

And you’ll stand here, wishing you could ask the name of each song he hums.

The contraction splits your daydream in two.

In two hours, you dilate almost three centimeters.

You pace back and forth across the suite, pausing only when your womb clenches like a fist. The contractions are lasting longer, swinging lower, and punching harder. They’re giving you less recovery time; less of a chance to get back on your feet.

It’s a fucking nightmare.

Joel’s still not here. Last you heard, he’d just hit Travis County. Twenty minutes, baby, I promise. That was half an hour ago.

It might be for the better that he hasn’t gotten here. You’ve warned Alice three times already that you might just beat the shit out of him, whenever he walks through that door.

And you know what, sweetheart? She chuckled. I bet you could beat the shit out of him, sore as you are.

“Fuck,” you cry out, collapsing onto the bed. You stretch out forward, head hanging between your shoulders, and gulp back more of the laughing gas. The ache barrels from your stomach to your hips, peaking in the very center.

Alice rubs circles into the small of your back. It’s not helping, but you let her do it anyways. Gives her something to tell the neighbors that isn’t damaging to your reputation.

“That’s it,” she coos. “A little longer, just a little…”

The door clicks open just as the tense band begins to loosen.

Your head is spinning. The mask slips from your fingers.

Alice’s hand pauses. “…a little longer…” she repeats, voice drifting. Her weight leaves your back, replaced by something heavier, stronger.

Safer.

Someone grounding, someone smelling of pine and sweet spice.

He sits on the bed at your back and curves around your body. Lips to your shoulder like the sun in your backyard. His beard scratches against your hot skin.

You blink your eyes open.

Joel’s watch face winks back at you. His hands are over yours – bigger, wider. His fists swallow yours whole. They turn, slipping beneath your palms, and your fingers lace together.

“Joel…” you breathe, face turning in to his neck.

“Hi, sweet girl,” he says, wiping sweat from your brow.

You fall limp against his chest. “Holy shit.”

He looks exhausted. Gray, almost translucent. Looks like he’s just driven a couple hundred miles, half asleep and wholly panicked.

But – he’s here. He made it.

The sight of him, the feel of him holding you upright, melts away any anger or resolve to fight back. For now, at least. Picking an argument can wait until there isn’t a human splitting you in two.

He’s here. You’re not doing this alone.

“Holy shit,” Joel repeats. “You okay?”

“How did you get here so –?”

“Ninety-five the entire way.”

You frown. “Only ninety-five?”

“Trunk’s a hunk a’ shit,” he admits. “Couldn’t break a hundred.”

Alice scoffs, somewhere across the room.

He cradles you, his lips to your forehead. “Where we at?” he asks, staring at the paper churning from the cardiotocograph.

“Five, almost s–shit – six centimeters.” You clamp down on his hands, your uterus winding again.

Joel holds the mask back to your lips and you suck another chemical breath in. “Six? Jesus,” he gapes at Alice, “ain’t that…ain’t that real fast? For – for your first?”

Your fingers are weak and shaky, resting on his knuckles. “Your kid has a sick sense of humor,” you mutter into the silicone.

“That ain’t from me,” he says. “That’s all you, maestro.”

You turn closer into his shirt with a groan. He’s solid as a rock, swaying you through it. He’s here.

Alice swipes her coat from a hook by the door. She shakes her head, pulling it over her shoulders. “Ninety-five, Joel? Sweet Lord.”

He rolls his eyes. His hand curves around your bump. “Had a little bit of an emergency, Alice,” he says, watching your face twist with pain.

“And what if you’d had an accident?”

“I didn’t, Alice.”

“You could’ve, goin’ that damn fast. You’re lucky you’re even here.”

Joel finally looks up. “It’s four in the mornin’,” he protests, like a teenager. “Lucky if I passed five cars.”

You give him a weak smile, lowering the mask. You won’t win, you mouth.

He presses his lips to your head. “’s too much fun,” he murmurs, and you snort.

“Oh!” Alice throws a hand up. “I’m glad you find it funny!” She buttons her coat and glares back at both of you, hands on her hips.

She’s a busybody – has been since before you even moved in. She showed up on your doorstep on your first night with a casserole in hand, and made sure to get a good look at your living room before she shuffled back to her own place.

Always watching, always listening.

You never thought you’d see the day when you’d actually be thankful for her snoopiness.

“Thank you, Alice,” you say, head tilting. “For getting me here, for holding my hand…Thank you.”

Her expression thaws, eyes gleaming. With a sniff, she composes herself – and then points to Joel. “You call me as soon as that baby arrives. I won’t sleep, Joel, until you call.”

“I’ll call,” he assures.

She looks back at you. Balls her crepe paper fists, gives them a hearty shake. “Good luck, Mom,” she says, and with one last glance, slips out of the room.

Joel turns back to you, an eyebrow raised. “Take it she was out tendin’ to her tulips again?”

“Yeah,” you snicker, “one in the morning, those fuckers had to be watered.”

He chuckles. “You feelin’ okay?”

“Better now,” you tell him.

“I’m so sorry, darlin’,” he says, shaking his head. “I should’ve been here. A goddamn idiot, headin’ off like that. So damn stupid.”

“Shh, you’re here now.” You wipe the tears from the corners of his eyes. “I just needed you to be here.”

He nods. “I’m here, whatever you need. Tell me what I can do.”

You take a deep breath. “I need…”

Joel straightens – bracing, ready to jump at your first request.

“…I need a fucking break, Joel. I’m so tired, and this fucking kid –”

“Alright,” he sighs, shifting from behind you. “You and your goddamn jokes.”

You smirk, looking over your shoulder. “You missed me.”

“Hm,” he fixes the neckline of your gown, “I missed you. I really did.”

Born at 07:43. It’s a girl.

It’s like being broken open. Like splitting at the seams; your old self falling from you like shards of fruit. Separating, rolling apart; making way for someone older, wiser. Someone with all of the answers in the palm of her hand.

Mom.

You finally get it. She turns to you, finally glances over her shoulder. And she’s no stranger – no one you haven’t known your entire life. I know you, you whisper, nail trailing her smile lines and the pimples along her jaw.

I see you every time I look in the mirror.

Duckie is pulled from your body with a scream like bloody murder – a scream which matches the whimper you let out in shock, if not in volume.

The kid can scream. Jesus Christ, she can scream. It pierces the dull room; deafens you for a couple seconds the first time you hear it.

You’ve never heard a sound so fucking beautiful.

She wails as they lift her from your body. All curled-up, wriggling in the midwife’s arms. She wails as they slot her beneath your chin, as they wipe the blood and amniotic fluid from her.

She wails until the moment her skin meets yours, and as though it’s all you’ve ever known, you begin shushing her cries. Your arms close around her body, rocking her until she settles.

Her tiny hand grabs for something, for someone, for –

You.

Her mom.

“Joel,” you gasp, watching her tiny, pruned fingers clasp tight around just one of yours. “She’s…she’s so small…”

He sniffs in reply, lifting his hand from your shoulder to wipe his face.

You turn to look up at him.

He looks as broken open as you feel. Eyes bloodshot and soaking, tears streaming into his thick beard. A sob in his throat which chokes and silences him, until he catches your eye and he can’t help but laugh with elation.

“Look at her,” he weeps, all torn up by the little girl in your arms. He presses his lips to your forehead in a crash of a kiss: wet, soaking wet on your skin.

You beam up at him when he pulls away. “We did it,” you whisper.

Joel shakes his head. He runs a thumb across the damp print left on your head. “You did it, honey,” he mutters. “I was nothin’ but a spectator.”

“You almost missed the game,” you quip, and he laughs again.

Your body throbs; nearly numb with pain, heavy with fatigue and emotion. But as long as she’s here, this tiny tornado of a girl, you don’t feel a thing.

Clenching and then unclenching her fist around your finger – so delicate compared to the punches she was throwing at your ribs just six hours ago. She’s worth every fucking second of it.

You finally fucking get it.

She fits so perfectly in the crook of your arm. It feels as though your body was made just to hold her – the very shape of you, designed especially for the very shape of her.

You wonder whether it was the same for your mom. Whether you came along and made her feel whole, for the first time in her life.

Duckie’s eyes open – all glossy and brand new, blinking up at the both of you like she needed no introduction. She already knows you, from the inside out. Her dad’s graying beard, the threads of silver around his temples. Her mom’s tear-stained cheeks, eyes red and bleary with sleeplessness and pure love.

You’re Mom, you’re Dad.

It’s all she’s ever known.

The pillow sighs as you lean back into it. The doctor begins repairing the damage done between your legs; threading and knitting your body back together.

You’re caught between a state of bliss and shock. Your brain is doing much the same work to itself as the woman between your knees is. Patching over all the bloody parts: the screams which tore your skin, the pain which cracked your teeth.

None of it holds a candle to the weight of her in your arms. No matter how tired you are, you can’t take your eyes off her. Her puffy cheeks, the little creases between her brows. No matter how sore, you never want to let go of her.

Joel runs a finger down Duckie’s cheek. “Ain’t she the most beautiful thing in the world?”

“I love her,” you say, bubbling again. “I love her more than anything.”

An hour old, and she’s already a daddy’s girl.

Joel ambles back and forth at the foot of your bed in the recovery suite, bouncing Duck in his arms. He’s never looked so relaxed, so natural at something. He’s never seemed so content, so peaceful.

Everything he’s ever made with his hands – structures and framework and your goddamn closet – and yet this, this tiny accident, this baby girl you were so sure you’d dreamt up right up until an hour ago –

This is the thing he’s proudest of.

Morning lifts through the windows, all soft and vanilla. It floats around him, sunlight spilling across his skin and breathing life and color into him.

Sunlight – or his daughter. They’re the same thing, anyway.

You pull apart a slice of toast, watching. Just watching. Sweet strawberry jam on your tongue, the flavor of everything sharper, fresher. The colors brighter, more vivid.

The world makes more sense like this, you think. Painted in shades of honey and ochre; a room in a corner of the world where time slows to a halt. A soft lullaby from his lips, and the little coos from hers.

The ache of love and labor lingers deep inside you, and nothing has ever made more sense.

You suck the sticky sweet from your fingertips.

Joel looks up, toying with Duckie’s hand. “You want her back?” he asks, a dumb grin on his face.

You shake your head. “I like watching you.”

He scrunches his nose, nuzzling it against his daughter’s, and whispers, “I wasn’t gonna give you back, anyways.” He sways in the early light, staring down at her. “Jesus,” he mutters, swiping at his eyes again, “I didn’t…I didn’t know I could love somethin’ this much.”

“Me, either.”

He drifts over, lowering himself slowly onto the edge of the bed. He extends his elbow, still cradling the baby, and helps you pull yourself upright.

You hiss, a not-so-subtle sting between your legs.

“You, uh…you think of a name yet?” Joel asks.

“Not yet,” you reply, hooked onto his shoulder. Duck blows a bubble and you wipe it with your knuckle. “I thought we were sticking with Duckie?”

His cheeks swell. The sun kisses the edges of his beard. “I thought of one,” he says softly. “Maybe. It’s your call.”

You yawn into his shirt, the warmth of him calm and soothing. “Alright, Miller. Hit me.”

He looks down at the baby nestled in his safe hands. The smallest thing either of you have ever seen.

The name must roll around his head a few times, the way he tilts to-and-fro – looking at her from one angle, then the next. Deciding, when he pulls back, that she suits it from every direction. Like it was her name long before he or even you knew it.

You watch his lips shape the name before you hear it.

Sarah.

And for what feels like forever, you just stare at him. The syllables lingering in the air like glistening specks of dust in a sunbeam. Your eyes follow them down to your daughter, now sleeping peacefully with two hands around one of her dad’s thumbs.

“Sarah,” you repeat, remembering whose name it was, whose name it is – whose name it has always been. “Sarah Miller.”

Joel’s shoulders lift. “What do you think? She look worthy of bein’ a Sarah?”

The rustle of tissue paper. Blue and green and purple tearing between your fingers. The funny fuzz of pom poms as your hands rummaged through the bag. Her hand swimming towards you, an orange foam fish riding the waves between her fingers. Bubbly sounds erupting from her lips.

Your girlish giggle. Her silly grin. Hopscotch along the sidewalk; stopping to look for cars before she’d walk you across the street. How much do I love you, baby girl?

More than the whole world, Mama.

“I love it,” you breathe, tears running to the corners of your mouth. “Sarah fucking Miller.”

“Sarah fuckin’ Miller,” Joel echoes; two wet lines the same as yours, curving down his cheeks. He shifts her into the crook of his arm.

You’re impossibly close. Your chin rests on his shoulder, foreheads brushing when you lean in to each other. His breath is hot on your lips, closer and closer and closer until –

He tastes like salt, rich with emotion. Salt, and then sweet when your tongue meets his. He lifts his free hand to cup your cheek, and your fingers link around his wrist.

And you know you shouldn’t be doing it – know this isn’t your man to be kissing. But in this room, where no one else can see – where it’s just you, him, and all the best parts of yourselves shaped into someone better – he feels like yours.

Just for a moment.

Joel takes the first week of Sarah’s life off work.

He spends a good twenty minutes on the phone to the contractor, talking more about the kid than he does the job. Her eyelashes, her fingernails, the way her legs scrunch anytime he lifts her up.

He’s besotted with the entire thing. And he tells everybody so.

He moves in with you both, stays in your guestroom. It’s a week of no sleep, no peace, and a total of three showers between you. Wearing the same clothes covered in spit-up and drool until one of you has the time or energy to do laundry.

It’s hard. It’s the hardest thing you’ve ever done. By your count, you’ve already cried three times to Joel – terrified you’re getting it all wrong.

But you’re doing it. Jesus God, you’re doing it.

You order takeout most nights. You can’t stand long enough to cook just yet, and you don’t trust Joel not to burn your fucking kitchen down – despite his protests. And it feels like, after everything your body’s given you, it deserves a greasy pizza and some chicken wings.

You rot on the couch together, watching shitty TV and arguing over reruns of Jeopardy! – until Sarah wakes and the whole thing begins again.

Joel loses the game of rock, paper, scissors tonight.

“Shh, baby girl. ‘s alright now, I gotcha,” he lulls, tucking her back in to her bassinet.

She fusses and stretches out; arms over her head, legs curled up. Her onesie is still a little too big – the socked feet all baggy, the sleeves rolled up her wrists.

He lingers for a moment as she drifts off, a hand stroking her tummy. Watching, always watching her. The rise and fall of her stomach, the puffs of breath from her nostrils, her lips still suckling away in her sleep.

“I swear I have a baby photo that looks just like her,” you say. “Same nose and everything.”

Joel clicks his teeth. “Got her looks from her mom. Lucky thing.”

“Low-hanging fruit,” you snort.

He drifts back over, sinking into the couch at your side. “Doin’ okay?” he asks, and you nod.

Every muscle in your body still feels like a ton weight. Your stomach is still swollen; there are still stitches between your legs. There are moments you can’t tell if you’re crying because of hormones, exhaustion, or joy.

Every time, it’s a combination of all three.

Life before feels so long ago – and it hasn’t even been a fortnight. But then you held her for the first time, and now – your arm misses the weight of her when she’s not in it. Your house feels eerily quiet when she’s not laughing, or whimpering, or screaming the fucking roof down.

You can feel your daughter growing up already, and she’s only ten days old.

On the mantelpiece, safe in a stippled gold frame, your mom beams down over her. The photo at least twenty years old, the memory even older. Laughing, the way she always was; nothing quite so funny as a joke frozen in time.

Joel prods you with his elbow. “She’d be proud of you, you know. Your mom.”

“Oh,” you scoff, “no, she’d be like, Holy shit. This kid totally kicked your ass.”

He chuckles. “Sure she did,” he shrugs, “she’s your kid.”

The TV babbles to itself across the room. In its glow, Joel meets your eye. A tiny, pearly fleck swimming in deep honey.

It’s familiar – each shade of bronze in his eyes, each thread of silver through his hair. Like you’ve mapped each and every line on his skin, collecting them like the sleepless hours between you.

Everything about him feels so normal. Burnt toast in the morning, a spoon clinking around a mug of coffee. The rustle of the newspaper, the sizzle of eggs in the pan, the baby snoring on your chest.

Everything – and yet nothing you’ve ever known.

“I miss her,” you whisper. “I miss my mom.”

His hand finds yours instantly. “I know, baby. I know you do.”

You slouch down, leaning on his shoulder, and close your eyes. Joel presses his lips to the crown of your head, his thumb looping around your knuckles.

Sarah gurgles in her sleep. She sighs – a satisfied little sound. Nothing has ever made more sense.

His voice rumbles against your skull. “Who sent the lilies?”

Your eyes flutter open. “Hm?”

Joel flicks his finger towards the window, towards a sprawl of speckled, cream flowers. “The lilies? They weren’t there this morning.”

“Oh…” You turn to look up at him, cringing.

He sees the flicker of her behind your eyes. Her lustrous curtain of hair, her perfect almond nails.

“Really?” Joel asks, mirroring your expression.

You nod, trying not to laugh. “From her and Kate. You were upstairs with Sarah when she came by. I offered to call you down, but – she just wanted to drop ‘em and go.”

“What did she…? Did she say anything?”

Your head shakes. “She just…she said congratulations, said she hoped we were okay. Then she got in her car and she left. I kinda figured things weren’t sunshine and roses, anyway. You haven’t fuckin’ seen her since Houston.”

He snorts, fingers massaging his eyes. “I was goin’ to tell you,” he mumbles into his palms, “I just…Honey, I don’t even know what day of the week it is right now. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” you mutter.

“Yes, I do,” he insists. His eyes flit over to Sarah, then back to you. “We haven’t really talked it through yet, me ‘n her. I called her a few days ago, we agreed it’s time. It – it’s past time. I shoulda called it months ago.”

“I guess,” you sigh. “Are you okay?”

Joel’s brow furrows. “’course I am. I got the most beautiful baby girl in the world,” and then, rolling his eyes, “you’re here.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you clip, batting his arm. “Vanessa could do way better, anyways.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

You squeeze his fingers, softly adding, “I’m sorry it didn’t work out, Joel.”

He stares down at your clasped hands. He looks tired, worn out. You figure it’s not just from the newborn. But he takes a deep breath, something the color of relief dawning on his skin, and looks you dead in the eye.

“I’m not.”

­“Hey, Duckie – can you say, Happy birthday, Daddy?”

A vinyl wobbles on the turntable – some acoustic record from when Joel was a teenager. There’s wrapping paper still crumpled beneath the coffee table; four plates with more crumbs than cake left, dotted around the room.

Tommy leans in, a lopsided party hat on his head, and tickles Sarah’s chin.

She blinks at him, unamused, then scrunches her little nose and turns back into your chest.

He sighs, straightening. “She don’t like her uncle Tommy all that much,” he grumbles, sulking back over to the couch. Maria puts a consoling arm around his shoulder.

You rest your lips on Sarah’s head, breathing in her sweet scent. Swaying back and forth, you tease, “She don’t like anyone all that much, not unless they’re her daddy.”

Joel’s head lifts and he smiles, eyes glistening. He watches you and Sarah dance; laughs when you twirl her around and she tips her head back, flashing a gummy grin.

“She’ll come around to ya,” he tells Tommy, wandering over to your side. “We all learned to, eventually.”

Tommy scoffs. “Very funny, old man. Jesus.”

Joel stoops down to let Sarah run her small hands through his beard. He catches her fingertips between his lips and pretends to nibble on them.

She giggles, squirming in your arms. Her fingers find the sweeps of hair on his forehead and, taking a fistful, she tugs.

“Christ,” Joel hisses, pulling back.

“That was on you this time,” you chuckle, pointing a finger. “You know she does that, and you still fall for it.”

Maria glances down at her watch. “Is that the time?” she asks, turning to Tommy. “We should really turn in.”

“Oh – right, right.” Tommy tips the last of his beer into his mouth. “We’re takin’ Mom to brunch tomorrow. Better get some goddamn rest.”

Joel hums, still massaging his hairline. “Hey,” he whispers, elbowing you. “Maybe I should take her over. She’s getting sleepy – ain’t you, little Duck?”

“Oh, yeah.”

Tommy stands and holds a hand out. “Why don’t you let Maria and I take her? We’ll tuck her in, keep an eye on her. We weren’t half bad the other day, while y’all were at work. And if she’s stayin’ at Joel’s tonight anyway…”

You glance to Joel, who shrugs. Something shaped like Sure.

“As long as you don’t mind,” you reply, bouncing the baby slowly. “Let me go grab her things.”

Joel’s hand slips across the small of your back as you pass, making for the stairs. He lingers at the bottom, watching until you turn into the nursery with Sarah in the crook of your arm.

You set her down in her crib and gather some of her favorites: a yellow blanket, a duck comforter, a rattle shaped like an elephant. She watches contentedly as you shuffle back and forth, staring when you lean over the wooden rail.

“You know how much I love you?” you whisper, curling a finger inside her fist. She squeezes, and you say, “More than the whole world.”

She grabs at the chain dangling from your neck, the letter S catching the light. Instead, she lifts your finger to her mouth. Her nails scratch light as a feather across your skin. Her gums are tiny and soft around your knuckle.

Everything about her is tiny and soft. Her sweeping eyelashes, her plushy cheeks. Her round tummy, and the squeals she lets free as you dot kisses and blow raspberries all over it. No matter how much she’s grown in three months, she’s still so tiny.

She’ll always be the smallest, sweetest thing you’ve ever known. And she’s all yours.

“Jesus, kid,” you sniff, swiping at your tears. You slip your hands around her back and prop her on your hip. “Alright, let’s go. Quit making your mom cry.”

The bag over your shoulder, you carry her out of the room and into the dark hallway. It’s quiet downstairs; nothing but the crackle of the record player, the distant chink of dishes in the kitchen.

That – and hushed voices in the living room.

“Joel,” Tommy says, over and over again. He’s trying to cut in between his brother’s rambling. Joel – listen to me. Just listen, for one second –”

You linger on the bottom step, trying to split Joel’s voice from Tommy’s. Trying to pluck the words out, over Maria’s humming from the next room.

“…and it ain’t that simple, Tommy it’s –”

“What ain’t simple about it? You have a –” Tommy says it through his teeth, “– you have a kid together, Joel. You really think she’s gonna –”

Sarah grabs the charm around your neck and shakes suddenly, rattling the chain.

You close your hand around hers, losing your balance. “Shhhhit, Duckie, you –”

Joel’s eyes snap to your figure as you step down. He clears his throat, leaning away from Tommy. “Hey – hey, darlin’.”

“Hey,” you reply. Bright. Chipper. Unclenching your fist to let your daughter shake your necklace some more.

She squeals with delight when she spots Joel across the room.

“She ready to go?” he asks, slinging a quick – telling – look at Tommy.

You look between the brothers, browns quirking. They look as guilty as each other: scratching their beards, staring at the furniture instead of you. “Uhuh,” you reply, tongue against your teeth. “Everything…everything okay?”

Tommy slaps his thighs as he stands. “Everything’s great, sweetheart. Sure as shit. Joel – you, uh…you got a key on ya?”

“Oh, yep.” Joel reaches into his pocket. He unhooks a silver key from the chain and drops it into his brother’s open palm.

Tommy calls for Maria. He sidesteps around you, face flushed and smiling.

She floats through from the kitchen, drying her palms on her jeans. “Where’s my baby duck?” she sings, reaching for Sarah.

You pass her over and she melts into her aunt’s arms, curling up into a little pink lump on her chest. “She just had a feed, like, twenty minutes ago, so – she should go down pretty well. And there are more bottles in Joel’s fridge, if you need ‘em.”

Maria nods, wrapping Sarah’s blanket around her. She lifts the bag strap from your shoulder and hands it to Tommy. “I’ll text you as soon as she’s down. Come on, Duckie, let’s get you to bed.”

Tommy leans over and squeezes your arm, winking as he follows his wife. He calls goodnight to Joel, lifting a pointed finger over his head, and closes the door behind them.

Things could not have gone smoother.

It’s suspicious as shit.

You turn when you hear Joel shifting.

“C’mon,” he utters, a pile of plates in one hand. “I ain’t leavin’ you with this mess.” He heads through to the kitchen, broad figure swaying.

The plates spill into the sink, water trickling over them. Joel hums to himself as he gets to work with a sponge in hand.

You linger in the living room.

Things have been good lately – peaceful. You’re in as much of a routine as Sarah will allow: a steady pattern of dropping her off and picking her back up, patchwork family dinners, daytrips whenever both of you can make them.

Your body is healing, pulling itself back together. You don’t have to think about being Mom anymore – she walks in stride with you. The world is painted a new shade of normal – one where you can do anything with a baby on your hip, one where love becomes your first language.

One where you swallow back the ache in your heart, for better or for worse. The only piece of you still fractured. The only wound left open.

Joel’s birthday cards lie flat on the coffee table. You pluck them up one by one – his parents’, Tommy and Maria’s, yours – and Sarah’s.

A messy splotch of a handprint, bright yellow paint smeared across half the fucking card (she hasn’t quite mastered self-control yet). A googly eye plastered to the bird’s chest; orange crayon for the beak and legs.

Sure, you took charge for most of the project – but when he opened it and saw his daughter’s little masterpiece, you caught him swiping his knuckle at the corner of his eye. He snuggled into her, perched on his lap, and whispered, Thank you, little Duckie.

You prop them along your mantelpiece, dotted around your mom’s photo. When you step back, looking from son to brother to…a good friend, you could almost pretend.

Almost pretend that they belong here, on this mantelpiece. There is no yours and his. Just one of everything; nothing doubled nor halved.

Almost pretend that he won’t collect them as he leaves, break into another teary laugh at the sight of the duck painting, and then kiss your cheek goodnight. Promise to have your daughter back in time to go swimming tomorrow morning.

Almost.

“Hey,” Joel calls, “did you, uh – did you hear Tommy talkin’ about Jackson?”

You slip into the kitchen, side by side with him at the sink. “Uh, yeah,” you reply, lifting a towel. “Moose, pine trees. Yep.”

“It sounds beautiful. You think we should take a trip up there sometime? Could be Sarah’s first vacation.”

“You mean the three of us?”

He shrugs, scrubbing a bowl in the water. “Sure. I don’t think Duckie would let one of us stay behind, do you? She’d scream the damn airport down,” he chuckles, looking back to the twinkling bubbles.

You hum. “Maybe.”

“You don’t feel like it?”

“No, I do. I just – I don’t know. Maybe someday.”

“Okay,” Joel says, nodding. “Put a pin in it.”

He passes you a dripping plate and you drag the towel over it, circling the pattern until the suds are wiped clean. And another, and another.

It feels awkward. It feels stiff. There’s something hanging between you, heavy on both your shoulders. A weight you haven’t felt around Joel in over a year.

You turn to him as he stacks the last plate on the draining board. “Is that what you were talking to Tommy about?”

Joel pauses. “You heard that, huh?”

“Only the part about having a kid. It’s none of my business, I know, I just ���”

“Actually,” he clears his throat, “it’s plenty your business.”

He leans back against the counter and crosses his arms. A deep breath, cheeks puffing as he exhales. His grip on the dish towel whitens his knuckles.

He’s…nervous. The same shade of gray he wore the night you went into labor.

He takes another unsteady breath.

“Joel?” you ask, head tilting. “Whatever it is, you can say it. I got whiskey, if that’ll make it easier. Probably tastes like shit, but…”

His expression cracks. His eyes twinkle, and he smiles. Only a little, but enough. Enough to let the words slip through.

“You know, that night at Tommy’s wedding was one of the best nights of my life.”

Your heartbeat thuds a bassline in your ears; the rush of your blood the squealing guitar. Skin tacky, moans caught between teeth. Laughter and lust tangling together in the air.

“Yeah?” you ask.

Joel nods. “Yeah. Lying there – talking, laughing, messin’ around. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed that hard in all my life. I could’ve stayed in that room with you forever.”

Your eyes start to sting. You look away.

“I thought I would regret it. I thought I should regret it. And I never did. But then,” he takes a deep breath, “the next day, I look out front, and my newspaper’s sittin’ on my lawn. And for two weeks straight, I kept checking – and there it was. I thought, Sure as shit, she regrets the whole thing. I thought you never wanted to see me again.”

You shake your head. “I wanted to see you again. I missed – I missed you. Missed pissin’ you off.”

He laughs. “I missed you pissin’ me off. Missed that annoying as hell thud on my porch.”

“I didn’t know if you wanted me to – you know,” you admit, and Joel nods.

“We got pretty good at avoidin’ each other,” he grumbles. “And then – with Vanessa, I thought I’d be doin’ you a favor. Letting you off light.”

“You…you took her number to do me a favor?”

“Naw,” Joel says. “I took her number ‘cause her brother in-law has a lumber company, and I had a closet to build. I was drunk, I was an idiot, and I brought it up to her at the wedding. By the time I thought it through, you ‘n I weren’t speakin’.”

You stare at him, jaw slack. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He shakes his head. He edges closer to you. Voice low, he says, “I shouldn’t’ve gone out on that first date with her. I shouldn’t’ve done any of it. I should’ve talked to you about what I was feeling.”

“Well, maybe we both should’ve,” you mutter, wringing your hands. “I wasn’t exactly the best at it, either.”

His head tips, considering. “Can I tell you now?”

You glance over to him. “Tell me what, Miller?”

“Tell you…tell you that I love you,” he whispers.

It steals the breath from your lungs. One clean swipe.

He nods to himself, then – certain of it – and says it again. “I do, darlin’. I love you.”

Your heart begins to hammer. Tears spill over onto your cheeks, dripping from your jaw.

“And, look –” Joel takes your wrists, “– I got no right to say any of that, I know. I put you through a hell of a lot, these last few months – and that kills me. But if you’ll let me, I swear to you – I’ll make it up to you. I’ll take care of you for the rest of my life.”

You look up. His cheeks are dappled, too – glistening with tears. “Joel…” you weep.

He cups your jaw. “Listen to me. What we’ve had, the last three months – I want it all the time. I want you, and I want Duck. I want the three of us under one roof. I want to sleep in the same bed as you.”

You breathe a shuddered laugh. Your hands fall over his wrists. Keep talking, you mouth, bottom lip trembling.

“I want to get married, or not,” Joel says. “I want to show up to Tommy and Maria’s anniversary party late, ‘cause Duck couldn’t pick which shoes she wanted to wear. I want to have more kids, take ‘em on vacation.”

“Wyoming?” you sniff.

“Wyoming,” he repeats. “I want…I want all of it, baby. You ‘n me. I want you ‘n me, more than anything in the world. And if I’m too late, then you can tell me. Tell me, and I swear on my life I will never mention it again.”

Your hands curve over his. His strong knuckles, worked and weathered and worn by his years. Down to his wrists – the tatty strap on his ages-old watch, the dark hair peppered along his arms.

“I love you so much, baby. So much that it drives me insane. You drive me…fuckin’ insane.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you whisper, balling your fists against his chest.

Joel laughs, nose brushing against yours. “Yeah,” he sniffs, “I figured you’d say som’ like that.”

“I love you, too,” you mumble, linking your arms around his neck. “Shit, I love you.”

“Ain’t that a thing?” he says, and his lips are on yours.

It’s been a year. A year since the first time you felt him – lips soft as velvet, sweet with alcohol and something stronger. His tongue and yours, his teeth and yours. Every part of you clashing with every part of him.

And goddamn, you’ve missed it.

Joel follows you upstairs, pinning you to the wall by your bedroom door. White heat flooding through your veins, he kneels before you and pulls you onto his tongue.

He’s hungry.

He laps at you as though you’ll be gone in the morning. As though he won’t wake up tangled in you, breathing in your scent, lips on your skin.

Dusk seeps in at the edges of your vision; daylight draining from the sky. It’s dark, too dark to see him clearly, but you feel him fucking everywhere.

His beard grazes the inside of your thigh. He kisses where he scratches your skin. He holds your hips steady, tongue dipping in and out.

“You know how fuckin’ sweet you taste?” he growls, slipping inside again.

He looks so good between your legs. Like he was made for it – made for you. All yours, in ways you never really understood until now.

He brings you to the edge with his tongue flat against your clit. Holding your hips firm against his mouth, groaning with you as you fall.

You come with a broken moan. Hips stutter to a halt, legs fall wide open. The warmth in your belly spills over and rushes to every corner of your body.

Joel moans, tongue still lapping as your cunt pulses all over him. “Good fuckin’ girl,” he slurs, watching you come undone.

He stands, a chaste kiss to your lips, and then parts them with his tongue. “Taste good?” he mumbles, kissing you gently.

Yeah, you think, moaning against him, it tastes fucking good.

He spreads you out on your mattress and kisses what feels like every square inch of your body. You giggle at the feeling of his lips behind your ear; moan when they close around your nipple.

Your back arches; little lightning bolts as he pulls the buds to a peak. Your fingers knot through his hair; hissing at the meeting of pain and pleasure between Joel’s lips.

“I love you,” you whisper, when he settles between your legs. You don’t know that you’ve felt something so true in all your life.

He smiles. Your fingers trace the lines at his eyes.

“Come here,” he says, and pulls your hips to meet his.

You curve a hand around his neck, glancing down at your open legs. “Looks a little different to the last time you saw her.”

Joel shakes his head, licking his lips. “Beautiful, baby. She looks so goddamn beautiful.”

Each movement is careful, deliberate. He notches his tip at your hole and pauses until you’re looking at him again.

And then he pushes in.

He slips an arm under your head; the other holding your thigh on his waist. He kisses you as you stretch around him. He still tastes like salt and slick.

You gasp, teeth gritting around a hiss. “Fuck,” you whimper, turning in to his chest.

“Easy, easy,” Joel coos, voice rumbling against your temple. “Catch your breath. Doin’ so good.”

“It’s not sore,” you tell him, nodding for him to move again. “It’s…it’s just…different.”

“Tighter,” he groans, eyes on your cunt as it draws his cock in.

You agree, “Tighter.”

He catches you in another kiss, his tongue slipping between your lips. “Feel so good, sweet girl. Breathe. ‘m right here.”

It’s never felt like this before. This gentle, this tender.

You have never felt like this before. Broken open, stitched back together. Your heart split into two – whole again each time his body meets yours.

Joel catches your moans on his tongue. He steadies his pace; rocking into you over and over. Laughing against your lips; your fingers intertwined with his.

“Feel good?” he pants.

Your head rolls back. “Mhm.”

“Take it, baby. Such a tight little thing.”

“Joel,” you cry, “I’m close.”

His teeth nip at your neck. “Shit,” his hips jump, “attagirl. Just like that.” He thrusts into you harder, bleeding the color from your vision.

You pull his lips to yours, foreheads tacky. Joel’s eyes gloss over.

I love you, he breathes.

And the world whitens.

He pulls you against his chest when you come back around. Shifts up the headboard, skin all sticky and warm. He kisses your temples, kisses your shoulders, kisses your knuckles.

You melt into his grasp, turning to look up at him. You run your fingers over his lips, through his damp hair. Just staring. Drinking him all in.

“You were right next door, the entire time,” you whisper.

He runs a thumb across your cheek. “Yep.”

“Do you think we wasted too much time?”

Joel’s lip turns. “Nah,” he says. “We found our way.”

“Needed a little help, though.”

He scoffs, tongue between his teeth. “I’m sure she’ll hold it against us forever.”

You think of that evening in August. The last bow of the sun before your world changed forever. Of deals struck and promises made. Of satin on your fingertips – newspaper ink and duck egg silk.

You think of that photograph on your mantelpiece. Bright eyes watching every second of it. A smile on her face the entire time.

You laugh to yourself. Joel looks down and kisses your swollen cheek.

“We should go,” he taps your thigh, “got a little duck who’ll be wonderin’ where her mama and daddy are.”

The church tower rings out twice as the truck purrs between graves.

Joel pulls up under the shade of a sycamore, tires rolling to a halt. Sarah kicks her feet, her heels thudding against her car seat.

“Mama,” she presses a sticky finger to the back window, “flowers.”

“Yeah, baby,” you call over your shoulder, hugging your own graveside gift a little tighter in your arms. “Lots of ‘em, huh?”

“Yeah,” your daughter quietly considers, then kicks her seat again.

Joel waits patiently for you to give him the go ahead. He slips a hand around your knee, looking ahead at the rows of headstones. So patient, so gentle.

Your chest swells, a deep breath filling your lungs, and you nod. “Alright.”

“Sure?” he asks. “Take as long as you want, darlin’.”

But if you wait any longer, you’ll never leave. The paper wrap crinkles in your arms. “You take Duck,” you reply, “I’ll take…”

Joel lifts your hand, placing a soft kiss between your knuckles. “You got it. We’ll walk on.”

He leaves you in the truck to collect yourself. He unbuckles Sarah and sets her loose, following her across the grass with his hands in his pockets.

Her light-up sneakers flash as she sprints; head tossed back, toothless smile pointed to the sun. She turns back to her dad, her little hand fitting perfectly into his.

Made for each other.

You hook your fingers around the handle and leave the truck.

Their grave is a short walk down a grassy slope, sheltered by another towering tree. Its leaves flutter down around you as you near the stone; stray petals which catch in the breeze and lead the way.

You kneel down, the grass dry and prickly through your jeans. “Hi, Mom,” you whisper, sweeping some dust from the base of the grave. “Hi, Dad.”

Your grandma picked this spot. She’s long gone – laid to rest elsewhere with a grandfather you never met – so you try to visit as often as you can. Freshen the flowers, brighten up the stone.

It fucking sucks, but someone’s gotta do it.

You peel the brown paper from the bouquet, exposing the soft colors Sarah picked back in the florist. They fit perfectly on the stone, right beneath the words Devoted parents.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, a feeling that wraps itself around your throat and steals any other words – until a flash of pink catches your attention.

“Duckie,” Joel calls, following her between graves. “Hey. This is a cem…Hey, Duck, listen – this is a cemetery, we gotta be – Sarah!”

You stifle a laugh, watching him jog after the hoodie tied around her waist. He swipes for her hand and she dodges him, ducking between graves faster than his mid-fifties joints can turn him.

There’s no one else here – it’s only you. And it’s a quiet enough place as it is, so – you let her laugh. Let him chase her, and let her sneakers light the place in pink. What else is there to do?

“Sorry it’s been a little while,” you tell your parents, eyes still on your man.

He’s kneeling now, Sarah on his thigh, in front of a tall, cross-shaped stone. They’re pointing at the words on the stone, her inquisitive eyes studying each one.

“I know I said I’d come visit for Dad’s birthday, but I guess things got busy – what with the move and all. We’re still living out of boxes. But the girls’ rooms are almost done – we just gotta paint ‘em.”

You look back down to the stone. Your mom’s name carved deep into spotted marble, your dad’s underneath. One awful date to tie them both together.

Dad probably heard Duck’s first squeal and turned away; gone back to whatever boring activity he might get up to in the afterlife. But your mom, you know for certain, is sat with her chin on the heel of her palm. Watching her mini-me trace the shapes of words, squirming when Joel presses his lips to her temple and whispers hints to her.

She’s probably smiling, making some comment about how big Sarah’s getting. How smart she is, how funny. How she must keep you and Joel on your toes – and goddamn, she’s right.

“Joel’s been working on the kitchen,” you continue. “I left my phone in the truck, but you should see it, Mom. He got these marble countertops, these little brushed-gold handles. He wrote our names on the wall before he tiled it, so whoever remodels after we’re gone will find that. The four of us.”

“M-meh-mem-orr-mem-or-ree?” Sarah tilts her head.

Joel nods. “Memory, yeah. Good job, Duck.”

“Duckie’s good,” you tell your mom. “She’s top of her class in – well, everything. Really wiping the floor with all the other first-graders. She’d have been your favorite – I know that much. And you’d have been hers.

“She’s gonna be some kind of lawyer, we think. Social justice and all that. She likes to be a woman of the people. Always talkin’ back to Joel – she hardly cuts him any slack, these days,” you laugh.

“He’s good, too – Joel. Working hard, as usual. Tommy and Maria visited last week – they brought Buckley, and now Duck won’t stop goin’ on about us getting a dog.”

You chance a glance over the stone, making sure the pair are out of earshot when you add, “Don’t tell her, but we called the pound last night. We’re heading there tomorrow while she’s at school to pick one out for her birthday. Joel’s giddier than I think Sarah’s gonna be.”

Joel’s carrying Duck now, wandering down a wobbly row of graves.

She halts him by pointing to one. “N-eh-v-eh-never…fff-or-g-for–”

He stares at her, a grin breaking across his lips. “Sound it out, that’s it. ‘s a big word, baby girl. You got it.”

The world seems to blur around them. The birds sing, a light melody from overhead. The green trees sway across the blue of the sky; the straight soar of cars on the highway. It all fades into the background, behind the two of them – wandering from shade into brilliant sun.

Your family. Your man, your blood – and everything in between. The little girl who brought it all together in the end – leading her dad by hand over knolls and broken stone, chasing butterflies, and asking what eh-teh-err-nal means.

“Means forever,” Joel says, kneeling beside her. “’s how long I’m gonna love you for.”

“And Nel?”

“And Nel.”

“And Mama?”

“And Mama.”

Sarah runs her hands through his beard, swaying side to side. “But me the most,” she concludes, nodding.

Joel hms, biting back a laugh. He lifts his chin, asks the little girl whether or not he’s going gray.

She has the same ridiculous laugh you do. The same snort you used to find so embarrassing, until you heard it come from her.

Just watching them stokes the already burning fire in your ribcage – the warmth flooding around your heart. He’s so good at it – being a dad.

Was he ever anything else, before he was a father? You can’t remember a time you didn’t wake up next to him, wrapped up in his arms, or with one of his kids burrowed between your bodies. It all feels so long ago, now.

He wanted to do everything. He’d lie with you between his legs, holding your half-sleeping form upright while you fed her. He’d race home after work specially to bathe her. He picked up any and every single duck-themed thing that he came across.

And what were you? Mom felt like such a fucking longshot. So out of your reach that you couldn’t understand the meaning of the word.

But there are days when she says it – Sarah, looking up at you with Joel’s twinkling eyes and a smirk which matches yours – and it’s like you’ve been waiting your whole life to hear it. Like you’ve been waiting your whole life for her.

Well. Her, and her little sister.

“And, uh – another thing,” you say, reaching for the plastic handle of a car seat. “I brought somebody for you to meet.”

A clumsy fist shoots up to shake a speckled dinosaur toy – the brown spheres of its eyes catching the sunlight. She squeals with delight when you unbuckle her, kicks her legs the same way her sister always did.

“She’s a little nervous, ain’t you, Nel?” you whisper, laughing at her gummy smile and tiny, socked feet. “She spit up on herself on the way here, but – I think you’re gonna love her.”

You perch the baby on your thigh, same as Joel did with Sarah, and she wraps her fingers around one of yours. You wiggle it – waving to your mom’s name, to the petals gently fluttering in the breeze.

“Mom,” you sniff, “this is Ellie.”

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #the last of us #tlou #macfrog #neighbor!joel miller #babydaddy!joel miller #tw pregnancy

[kentopedia]

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ SAFEGUARD — dazai, chuuya, akutagawa

summary . . . they save you after you've been injured and captured by an enemy.

contents . . . sfw, f!reader (chuuya & dazai) and gn!reader (akutagawa), violence / blood, threats, injuries, hurt/comfort, angst, established relationship, and it's pmboss!dazai bc i can't help myself — 3.5k total

notes . . . i got this request so long ago lol. not my best work, but i have been in the worst writing slump ever and just wanted to finish something. i've also never written for akutagawa before so pls be nice <3

𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐔𝐘𝐀 . . .

there are very few times that chuuya feels he’s been outsmarted. he knows he’s not the mastermind of the port mafia, but he certainly isn’t a fool. when it comes to you and your well-being, though, his mind short-circuits, half of his intelligence draining away while his emotions take hold. 

your relationship isn’t a secret to anyone in the port mafia, which means that it isn’t a secret to your enemies either. and while most people know it’s hard to land a finger on chuuya directly, his pretty little girlfriend doesn’t have the power of a god nestled inside of her.

the rage sparks through him, growing fiercely into the blaze of a forest fire, until all he can think of is getting you home safely. he thinks of your sweet smile as he rips the door of the enemies’ base off the hinges, crushing it into a million pieces with the force of gravity. 

the men are quick to react, but chuuya hurtles the crushed door towards them, knocking three of them to their feet. another group charges at him, but their guns do little against his skill. after years of fighting some of the strongest ability users, simple criminal organizations are as easy to step over like ants. 

chuuya kills them all — except for one.

the man’s knees are wobbling, hand shaking around the gun as he realizes that these will be his final moments. there is fear in his eyes, brown ones that rest wide open, and chuuya almost hesitates. his remorse doesn’t last long, though, before he’s wrapping a hand around the man’s throat, thrusting him backwards. 

“where is she?” chuuya asks, voice sharp and commanding. 

he can feel the man swallowing. 

chuuya knows that backup is probably on the way, but it won’t matter whether they show up or not. he’ll crush the rest of his enemies just as he’s crushed the last twenty men. the poor soul in his leather hold seems to know that as well. 

“i-i’ll take you to her,” he rasps, dropping his gun to claw at chuuya’s hand. 

he drops him, lets him take a few heaving breaths and coughs, before he’s kicking at him, forcing him back to his feet.

the young man takes him up the elevator, weaves him through a hallway as chuuya leaves a scattering of bodies in his wake, not hesitating to kill a single man that gets in his way. there is nothing that can keep him from you. 

how fiercely and loyally he loves you — it drives him to near insanity. 

finally, with blood coating his face and his clothes, the young man enters a room, locked with a code, revealing you. 

chuuya’s rage is almost as blinding as his corruption, as he gazes at the sight of you. bloodied and bruised, tied up in a chair, so visibly harmed. his hands clench into fists. “get the fuck away from her,” he says to the man who seems to be monitoring you.

“what are you doing in here?” the men left in the room panic, but they don’t have time to react before chuuya throws them back at the wall, so quickly, with so much force, that their spines snap. they hit it with a sharp crack, skulls shattering against the plaster, the wall crushing beneath the weight of them. 

limply, they fall to the floor. 

chuuya rushes over to you. 

the young man that led him here disappears, but chuuya isn’t worried about him. he’s a coward; he’ll likely flee from the country and never look back. the men that truly hurt you are already dead, and he’ll burn this building to the ground once he’s gotten you away from it. 

“hey,” chuuya says, cradling your cheeks gently, trying to coax you back awake. he’s not sure if it’s exhaustion, blood loss, or the obvious head trauma that caused you to pass out in the first place. but you’re still breathing, so he counts that as a blessing. 

“hey,” he whispers again, kissing your forehead, like it will heal all your ailments. “wake up, baby. we gotta get you out of here, okay?” 

it takes you a few seconds to come to, eyes glazed over and shell-shocked as you blink at him. “chuuya?” you say; your voice is so hoarse it makes chuuya want to keel over and vomit. “is it really you?” 

guilt gnaws at him, almost crushing, at the fact that thirty-six hours passed, and you’re delirious enough not to recognize him. you probably haven’t eaten, either. 

he should’ve been there. no one should’ve ever had the chance to hurt you, yet…

“it’s me, i’m here,” he says, kissing your lips, your temple, brushing your hair away from your face. the strands are sticky with blood. “shit,” chuuya nearly shouts, pulling a knife from his pocket, sawing through the thick ropes around you as quickly as he can. “i’m so sorry, i’m so sorry.” 

he can’t get you free fast enough, and you smile at him, drowsy, your eyes fluttering shut once more. “it’s okay, chuuya,” you say, leaning your head on his shoulder. “you’re here now.” 

“you have to stay awake,” he says desperately, realizing your head is still bleeding. he doesn’t know how hurt you are. chuuya’s no expert when it comes to medicine, but he’s smart enough to know that internal injuries could be even worse than the external ones. 

“stay awake for me, okay, honey? i’ll get you back to the boss and we’ll find you a doctor. you’ll be just fine.” 

“okay, chuuya,” you hum, weakly gripping his back. seconds of silence pass before you mutter, “i just want to go home.” 

"i know." his heart pulls, and he almost lets out a cracked sob. but he refrains, knowing that there is plenty of time to drown in his sorrows later. 

finally, he gets the ropes under, lifting you from the chair. you’re so much lighter, weaker, and it makes him sick as he carries you. “let’s get you home.” 

𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐖𝐀. . .

the call comes just as akutagawa is getting ready to head home for the evening, his tasks completed, eyes heavy with exhaustion. 

normally, he doesn’t stick around to say any goodbyes, sneaking off into the darkness of the night like a shadow, blending right in. but, something about the evening, so gloomy and drizzly with spring rain, feels off. 

with a heavy knot in his chest, so much different than an incoming fit of coughs, akutagawa heads back up to mori’s office, if perhaps to only ensure that everyone else’s jobs had been completed. he’s a lot of things, but he’s never been a slacker; and he’ll do what it takes to ensure that his position in the mafia is eternally secure.

though, he doesn’t have the opportunity to get all the way upstairs before he run into the boss, who is calm, but with an air of irritation clouding him. 

he explains the current situation to akutagawa in a clipped tone, bored — an enemy group has kidnapped you, holding you hostage. 

“how rude is it to bother a man, just as he is getting ready to go to sleep?” mori says, sighing histrionically.

but what is a minor inconvenience to mori sends an entire wave of dread through akutagawa, his entire body feeling as if it’s been dipped in ice. he can’t explain the horror that washes over him, not really, because he shouldn’t feel so panicked. it is rare for him to get worked up about the danger his subordinates find themselves in, save for his sister, of course. 

but you… you’re different. 

“can i trust you to diffuse the situation?” mori asks, impatiently glancing at his watch as if that will change anything. “i can call someone else, but they will not be so quick.” 

akutagawa doesn’t even think before he accepts the job, hating the way he sounds pathetically desperate for more details. his hands flatten the edge of his cloak, as if his ability is going to take on a mind of its own. 

he calls for a driver, calm but breathing so heavily that an aching cough rises up in him. his throat feels as if it may begin to bleed, but he swallows, glances away from the driver and gets himself under control.

there’s a ransom — bring them the money and they’ll return you, mori had told him. you’re only a lower ranking member of the mafia, and someone that makes for a pretty poor bargaining chip, so the motive is questionable. 

mori probably would’ve let you die, akutagawa knows, his teeth gritting together, so much so that a splintering sound comes from it. but the boss, in his infinite, concerning wisdom, seems to also know that his loyal dog has an soft spot for you. 

as regrettable as that may be.

akutagawa has no doubt that whoever the enemy is, they are no match for him. still, a twinge of anxiety settles in his stomach, fingers jittery as the driver, despite the decreased traffic of the hour, seems to drive impossibly slow. 

“are we not in a rush?” akutagawa snaps, leaning forward.

“apologies,” the driver, says, not daring to even look at akutagawa from the mirror. but the car speeds up, enough for akutagawa to be able to notice, at least. it cools the simmer that has already begun deep in his chest.  

even so, the car seems to go at a snails pace, minute upon minute flying by, with you in the clutches of an enemy. 

akutagawa doesn’t care who they are. he doesn’t care why, or how they captured you. he wants them dead. he’ll rip them apart, easily, and he’ll make them suffer — they’ll be alive for all of it, for every second that he peels the skin from their bones, ripping the smaller ones out of their sockets. 

what he feels for you… well, it’s too hard for him to admit to himself. he has no experience with what it means to care for another person, doesn’t even know if that’s his goal. he just knows he wants to protect you.

and he can’t do that if you’re dead.

finally, the car pulls up to an old warehouse, one at the very outskirts of the port, beyond the docks and the shipping carts. it’s tucked far back, an obvious lair for some villainous organization that doesn’t want to be found. 

akutagawa gets there, but there is nothing. he hears nothing, feels no signs of life as he trudges through the puddles left behind from the earlier rain. 

a small string of panic begins again, as he wondered if maybe the call that mori had told him was only a ruse. maybe this entire time had been a distraction, a way to lure him away. there are other skill-users in the mafia, but none quite as dangerous as him. 

though, he hears it, then. a small little sound, muffled and hoarse, full of pain. 

he ducks into another corner of a warehouse, and you’re there — bound with chains and a gag across your mouth, one of your eyes blackened with bruises, your nose bleeding. 

his heart aches. never in his life has he so quickly made his way over, used the sharp edges of his ability to shear through the chains, falling to his knees as he unbinds the cloth from your lips. 

“where are they?” he rasps, mouth opening and closing, hating the sound of his own voice. he recognizes his desperation, his anger, but the affectionate sound that clips at the end is unfamiliar, as he shakily pulls himself closer to you. 

you glance up at him, eyes glossy and wide, and though you are scared, hurt, he’s so thankful you are alive. his heart flips once, as you grasp at his cloak, the material that has the blood of so many staining the threads. 

“gone,” you say, throat chalky, words nothing more than a note against the wind. “they fled when they heard it was you coming.” 

“and left you?” he asks, jaw clenching, as he hopes that the emotions aren’t as visible on his features as he thinks they are. “were you not a ransom?” 

“no,” you swallow, hard, as if in pain. he notices bruises around your neck, the shape of fingerprints indented there. “i was bait.”

anger rises up in him like a wave, engulfing him, wholly and relentlessly. he is no stranger to that, like he is the kindness you show him, the way you look at him as if he is your protector, rather than a bringer of destruction. “i’ll go after them. where are they headed? they’ll pay, i’ll slaughter—”

“ryunosuke,” you say, reaching for him as he stands, expression pleading as he backs away. “stay.” 

he has half a mind to ignore you — the enemy escaped, after all. but your voice. your eyes… you look so small sitting there, bloodied and bruised and broken. 

“please,” you try again, near tears, and though he has never been good with obvious displays of emotion, something within him snaps at the desperation in the word. 

he nods, slowing his pace as he returns to you, lets you wrap yourself in him, cling to him. his hands fall, naturally, to your waist, somehow knowing where they belong, even if akutagawa never has a clue what he’s doing with you. 

“i’ll call hirotsu,” he says simply, before pulling out his phone, not bothering to untangle himself from you. 

𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈 . . .

dazai is not a forgiving man, and will never learn to be. forgiveness is not a luxury he is often able to indulge in in his line of work, and his heart has hardened enough that until the end of time, those that are branded his enemies will remain his enemies. 

though, in his blackened heart, one soured over the course of time, you have carved out your own little space, lit it up with golden rays of light that are fiery enough to melt the stone casing of his chest. 

his only love — his only weakness. but it is a weakness that his enemies know about as well. 

dazai tries his best to keep you safe. he always has, and he knows that, sometimes, his grasp on you can be a little too tight. that the way he tries to keep you under his watchful eye can sometimes be stifling, frustrating. 

but he can’t always be there to protect you. and it is in times like these, that he regrets letting you go without a bodyguard. he regrets that he listened to your insistence that you could keep yourself safe. 

he should’ve at least told you to take a friend. 

“boss,” his subordinate says, bowing his head, his voice pleading, desperate. “i’m so sorry. your wife—”

“if anything… anything happens to her, you will be the one responsible, do you understand?” dazai says, his eyes cold as he glowers down at the man, only a few inches shorter than him, but feeling so much smaller. “i will personally see that this act does not go unpunished.” 

“of course, sir,” the man says, and he, at the very least, has the decency to sound resigned. to accept his fate and suffer the consequences, for allowing the boss’s wife to get herself into such a situation. 

and dazai means it, every last word; if he finds you in a state closer to death, anyone who put you in harm’s way will be torn apart from the inside out. he isn’t able to think of anything but bringing you home safely, his hands shaking with rage as he sends more than enough people out on a search to find you. 

with all the strings he’s able to pull as the mafia boss, it doesn’t take long to find you, for those that have bravely — or stupidly — used his wife as bait to come forward, and offer an attempt at some sort of negotiation. 

there’s little of the conversation that dazai remembers on the phone, even less that he remembers after that. the anger bubbles up in him and grabs hold of his conscience, the emotion directing his movements with a mind of its own. 

he’s already sent out every last one of his people into the field, ensuring that the organization that had the gall to threaten you is wiped off the face of the earth. deleted from every corner of the world, buildings flattened to the ground. by tomorrow, they won’t have ever existed. 

today, he doesn’t care what happens as long as he finds you alive. 

you’re held hostage by two men — so completely beaten that they’ve given up on any restraints. whatever they wanted from you, you seemed to refused to have given up, lip bleeding, eyes swelling so badly that you can’t even open them. 

dazai doesn’t hesitate before pulling the trigger on the first man, then turning to the other, shooting the hand that holds the pistol. the man recoils, shouts, and drops the weapon completely, as dazai lands another bullet to his knee, causing him to fall. 

slowly, dazai walks up, firing again to his other arm, a loud snap echoing throughout the room. the man winces, trying to crawl to the gun, one last desperate attempt to stay alive. 

he kicks the gun away, watching, as, pathetically, the expression in the enemy’s face changes — any of his remaining hope vanishes. 

“you told me she was unharmed,” dazai says, bending down, his coat flaring out behind him as he squats. 

the man coughs, gasping for air as the blood seeps out of him. “we lied.” he smiles cruelly, and though he shares the same sort of darkness as those in the port mafia, there is something even more twisted in his smile. 

dazai hums. “you the leader?” 

the man doesn’t give an answer, but the slight twitch of surprise on his face is all dazai needs. he’s no one — just a grunt whose life was put on the line to guard you. 

“didn’t think so.” dazai shoots him once, straight through the forehead, instantly killing him. but he is vindictive, angry, and the man he truly wants to destroy, the one who took you, is nowhere to be found. another bullet lands, tearing apart the flesh of his temple, then another, and one more, his skull beginning to cave in from the force of it all. 

dazai heaves, letting the gun clatter to the ground as it runs out of bullets, and then he realizes, all this time, you’ve just been watching him. the ugliest side of him — the worst side of him. 

you’re no stranger to it, of course. how can you be, when you’ve shared a life with him for years? but that doesn’t mean he wants you to see it, see how bloodthirsty he can become. 

he stumbles over to you, where you’re still sitting on the ground, your wrist in your lap, bent at an angle that he knows isn’t right. bruises are littered across your skin, and your hair is matted from the blood that pools at your temple. 

it takes every ounce of restraint he has to stay calm, a million feelings swirling under his skin. ones that he was never familiar with until he met you. 

“i’m sorry,” he says, taking your face in his hands so, so softly, worried that he’ll hurt you even more. “i’m sorry, darling. i should’ve — i should’ve been there.” dazai notices his hands are shaking and he balls them up into fists, leaning back. “fuck. fuck — i’ll kill them all, just tell me who it was. anyone who laid a finger on you. i’ll cut them down one by one.” 

“osamu,” you say, and your voice is raspy, cracking, as your unbroken arm reaches for him, squeezing his shaking hand. “i—”

you open your mouth to continue, but only tears come streaming down your cheeks, over your bloodied lips, saltiness soaking your jawline. no words don’t leave you, but a soft sob chokes itself up your throat.

“hey, hey, hey.” dazai’s voice softens, every muscle in his body relaxing as he draws you nearer to him, into his chest with a touch that’s barely there. “you’re safe. i’m here, okay? they’re not going to hurt you again, sweetheart.” 

you sniffle, barely making a sound, but he can feel the tears drop onto his clothes, soaking the material.

“can you walk? are you hurt anywhere else?” 

you hesitate for a moment before answering; he’s not sure if there’s a reason you only answer the first question. “i can walk.” 

dazai nods, and though the rage is still bubbling there, underneath the surface, there is a coolant streaming through him at the vision of you alive. the men who did this will pay the price, but he still has you — and that’s all that matters.

thank you for reading !!! ❤︎

#bsd x reader #osamu dazai x reader #dazai x reader #osamu dazai x you #dazai x you #chuuya x reader #chuuya nakahara x reader #nakahara chuuya x reader #chuuya x you #chuuya nakahara x you #bsd x you #bsd imagines #bsd x y/n #dazai osamu x reader #chuuya imagines #bsd fanfic #bsd x gender neutral reader #dazai x fem reader #akutagawa ryuunosuke x reader #akutagawa x you #akutagawa x reader #akutagawa x y/n

[anathemaspeaks]

come and get your love

character(s): gojo satoru synopsis: the one in which your best friend needs only one thing - you. or; the three times he's wanted you, and the one time he got you. word count: 4k warning(s): smut a/n: ALL DAY ALL NIGHT NO LUBE NO PROTECTION PLEASE requests are open (please request stuff😭) <3 likes, reblogs, and follows are appreciated!

you and gojo satoru were neighbors.

that was how you met in the first place. you were walking home from college, your new dior perfume (which cost a kidney and a half) in one hand, and dinner in the other. you were walking across the corridor-

crash!

a 6"3 blur of white just ran past you, bumping into you and yelling a "sorry!" and muttering something about cursing someone. perfume bottle now in pieces and on the floor, you were pissed - but he was long gone. asshole.

that was the blur you came to know as satoru. while you were eating dinner, satoru had showed up at your door with a bottle of the exact same perfume - not smushed this time. well, maybe he wasn't so bad.

that was the beginning of your friendship.

you invited in the handsome man to thank him, and asked if he wanted to eat anything. he was about to refuse - until he saw the untouched chocolate cake lying in your kitchen. who could say no to that?

that was the first and last time he wasn't a constant pain in your ass. now, he was your self-declared best friend. it's been almost a year since you both first met, and you enjoyed his company a lot more than you'd ever admit. in more ways than one.

the first time:

in this year you'd also discovered something. well, watched it unfold, really. some smartass decided to give gojo satoru an ipad for his birthday. safe to say, he was addicted to it within a day.

he was an actual ipad kid. everytime he came over he'd have his ipad out, playing games or watching something. why he couldn't just use a normal phone or laptop like a normal person was beyond you.

and he never went anywhere without it. he took it to college, and even got it to your house whenever you guys hung out. well, he did just get an ipad, so you could sort of understand it. but still. weirdo.

you both were both going out to a club tonight with all of your friends. you'd finished doing your hair, and you were almost done with your makeup. you still had to wear your dress. you'd decided to go with a sleeveless blue corset dress that reached mid-thigh.

you were done pre-gaming, if you drank anymore you weren't going to get through the night. you were applying your lip liner when you heard a knock on the door. knowing exactly who it was, you went to open it.

the second you opened the door, you slammed it shut. he looked good - he was wearing a white shirt rolled up to his forearms, with the top two buttons undone, and black pants. but that wasn't the problem.

he was wearing a bright blue backpack. a fucking backpack. and you knew exactly what was in it. you had to mentally prepare yourself before you talked him out of it.

"satoru, either you leave the bag or you're not coming."

"but-"

"no, you can't carry an ipad with you to a club."

"okay okay, i'll..." he paused, his eyes moving lower, followed by silence.

"well?" you asked, breaking the pause.

"...that dress looks really good on you" he managed, voice a bit breathier than normal.

"what?" you asked, face now tinged red.

then, he suddenly moved closer and leaned down right next to your ear, his voice a husky murmur that made you shiver. "i said, that dress looks incredible on you," his eyes lingering a beat too long on your curves.

"though, i think it would look even better on my bedroom floor"

your breath hitched in your throat. was he finally making a bolder move on you, one that isn't a really cheesy pick-up line, or a failed attempt at flirting? fuck.

"i think you've pre-gamed a little too hard, satoru," you whispered, the heat in your cheeks betraying you.

he pouted at that, and you almost gave in. his pretty blue eyes wide with hope, and his pouty lips practically begging you to kiss the frown away.

"i'm not drunk!" he protested.

"i know, 'toru, but we've gotta go, come on." it was probably just him being delirious, but you couldn't help the butterflies in your stomach.

but then, at the club, he didn't leave your side on the dance floor even once. he was so close you could feel his body heat, eyes locked in a silent, electrifying conversation. it sent a delicious shiver down your spine.

as he dropped you off, with his voice an octave deeper, he said, "you should wear blue more often." then, he straightened up and went into his house like it was nothing.

collapsing onto the couch, you buried your face in a pillow, the scent of his cologne still lingering on your dress, infiltrating your senses. sleep wouldn't come. all you could see were his stormy blue eyes, filled with unspoken desire - one you tried denying you felt for him, until today.

a muted scream found its way out of your mouth, muffled by the pillow, a delicious mix of frustration and something far more needy. damn him and those strong shoulders that seemed to stretch on forever beneath his thin white shirt, the poor fabric straining against his biceps with every movement.

and his face? his lips, so full and slightly parted, a sinful invitation for you to kiss them, the moonlight casting a sinful glow on the way his jaw clenched with unspoken desire while walking back to the car. you swore he was a walking sculpture come to life, every line and angle sculpted by the gods themselves.

satoru knew he wanted you since the day he met you, your angry pout, yet somehow gentle eyes captivating him. but this was different. his hands on your waist all night, lips only a few inches away from each other, that fucking dress that took his breath away - it felt so intoxicating.

things were going to change between the both of you for the better, he hoped.

the second time:

it had been a week since that night, and now you both were attending suguru's 21st birthday party. you were all going to stay at an expensive hotel in vegas for the whole weekend. god, you loved being friends with rich people.

it was three people per room, and you were all to be assigned your rooms by the birthday boy himself. you read the text he sent. you were paired up with shoko... and satoru. you could already tell this was going to be a long weekend.

the roar of the plane engines on the way there served as a backdrop for the girls' chatter - you included. every few seconds your gaze would flicker to him, seemingly engrossed in his ipad. but his scorching glances that lingered a beat too long told you it was a blatant lie.

he was watching you. watching with an intensity that took your breath away and made your heart rate spike. every laugh shared with the girls, every whispered secret, you knew he was looking. at you.

when the plane finally touched down in vegas, the desert heat slapped you in the face. a wave of relief washed over you when you finally reached the hotel lobby. this place was huge.

as you finished unpacking and settling into the room, shoko decided she wanted to leave and explore the hotel.

"you coming?" she asked both of you.

"be right there!" you replied. you still needed to fix up your outfit and makeup. now the only ones in the room were you and satoru, who claimed he had to freshen up.

as you applied your mascara, you felt his hand right above the waistband of your jeans, fingers barely brushing your hips. but then suddenly, he straightened up, the moment ending all too soon.

"sorry!" he said, batting his long eyelashes at you and acting oh-so-innocent. oh, he had started dangerous game.

the rest of the afternoon was a blur. you all unpacked, shared stories and spent the entire day lounging around. as the sun set, you went to change your clothes into something more fitting for the casino.

you picked a short, black dress this time, neckline dipping just a little bit too low, knowing he'd be looking at you. the dress clung to you like a second skin. you were a sight to see in that outfit - it was even better than your last one.

you ended up at the bar, the air thick with the mingled scent of expensive liquor and something far more intoxicating. just then, a rather handsome man approached you, his voice smooth and deep. he asked you if you would like a drink.

you decided to have a little fun and play along, enjoying the blatant display of interest - but you were very aware of satoru's gaze piercing into you. his jaw was clenched tight, eyes narrowed a fraction. his stare was so intense it sent chills down your spine.

you took a sip of your drink, eyes meeting satoru's across the room. a slow smile spread across your lips, he definitely wouldn't back down now. not when you looked that divine. not when you had that scum talking to you.

you continued sipping your drink and listening to the man's attempt at smooth talking you. you decided you'd had enough for now, so you excused myself and headed towards the ground floor balcony. you didn't have to look back to know satoru was following you.

the cool desert air on the balcony offered a welcome respite. the real thrill came in the form of satoru, appearing beside you. he looked amazing, navy blue suit doing nothing to hide his body. you were positive he wasn't real.

"need some fresh air?" he asked, clearly trying to act nonchalant.

"oh, something like that" you replied, a playful smile dancing on your lips. "maybe i just needed a moment to appreciate the view... besides the one inside, you know."

he grinned, tilting his head and leaning down so that he could look directly into your eyes from above his sunglasses, "don't think i haven't noticed what you're up to" he said, his voice a husky murmur.

a warmth flared through you, and a barely concealed smile of triumph found its way onto your face. mission accomplished.

"that dress is making it impossible to breathe, impossible to think of anything else but you. makes me wanna forget this whole damn night and just..." he trails off, gaze flickering to your lips, then back to your eyes.

fuck it, he won. you leaned in closer, the distance between your lips shrinking with every passing second. this was it. you were so close, your lips inches away from-

"there you two are. everyone's looking for you, let's go dance."

your softly sighed in frustration. satoru straightened up, a flicker of disappointment crossing his features before they returned to his normal wide grin.

"didn't know you were looking for us! let's go," he replied.

you grabbed shoko's arm and went to the dance floor, thoughts of satoru and how he was so close you almost had his lips on yours on you on your mind as you tried to dance the night away.

the rest of the weekend unfolded in a blur of flashing lights and pounding music. you were in a group, inseparable yet frustratingly apart. every stolen touch, every lingering look, felt like a secret whispered in a crowded room. but in the end, the chance for a private conversation never materialized again.

the third time:

two weeks after the party, you all met up at shoko's house. you left to go upstairs and find the bathroom. when you came back down, everyone had started a water fight in the backyard. you left them alone for two minutes.

you walked out, only to get drenched from head to toe almost instantly. you were going to kill suguru for soaking your new gray shirt, which was now see through.

you spotted satoru amidst everyone, his stare locked onto your chest. you were wearing sky blue lingerie. it was a blatant stare - raw, and hungry. it gave you goosebumps. it wasn't planned, but god, you were glad it happened. you set a mental reminder to thank geto.

before you could do anything, his eyes shifted back up, meeting yours. a flicker of apology danced in his gaze, quickly overshadowed by something much deeper.

suddenly remembering where you are, you sneakily grabbed the nearest water balloon, a mischievous glint in your eyes. you aimed square at his torso. the balloon hit satoru's chest with a loud slap!

if your shirt was soaked, it was only fair that his was too, right? now he was completely wet. bull's eye.

he sputtered, the shock quickly giving way to a wide, mischievous grin. water dripped down his face, tracing a path along the sharp line of his jaw and disappearing down his neck to his abs.

oh. his abs. the sight alone drenched you in a place where the water balloon didn't. he shook himself off with a laugh, raising his hands in surrender and unintentionally flexing his biceps. oh wow.

this time, though, his eyes remained fixed on yours with an intensity that almost had you gasping for air. you both continued to drown each other, competing to see who caused the most damage.

as the sun started to set, you all started leaving. you and satoru said your goodbyes to shoko and started walking towards the car, talking about how fun the day was.

you stole a glance at satoru. his drenched t-shirt clung to his broad frame, outlining the way his muscles flexed with every step. your cheeks burned at the memory of his stare, the way his gaze had lingered on your tits, making your face heat up.

"think you'll survive the drive home like that? i did do some damage, you know," he teasingly asked, amusement evident in his voice.

"oh i will, don't you worry, princess," you replied. "just more proof that i completely demolished your snow white ass." he laughed at that, smile making him glow even more in the golden hour lighting. you both continued bantering until you reached the basement and he parked the car.

you were walking towards your apartment. you tilted your head up, a playful shine in your eyes. "so," you started, "what do you say we call a truce until next time? and then winner takes it all."

a slow smile spread across his face. he leaned in ever so slightly, his lips hovering a tantalizing distance from yours. the scent of his cologne, somehow still present, invaded your senses completely.

"truce it is" he conceded, "but winner gets any prize of their choice," he said with a slight smirk.

"oh? and how do you propose we decide this prize?" you asked, indulging him.

he chuckled, the sound warm and inviting. "let's just say," he leaned in again, close enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath on your cheek again, "i have a few ideas in mind."

you slowly tilted your head upwards and batted your eyelashes, leaning into him before saying "mm, goodnight, 'toru." you let your gaze shift to his full lips before meeting his eyes.

but you pulled away before he could make a move. you relished in the look on his face - like a man starved, eyes filled with a desperate need. for you. you played off your own need for him with a teasing, innocent smile as you entered your apartment.

the fourth time:

satoru was a wreck. the usual carefree, playful glint in his eyes was replaced by sadness, his usual smile replaced by a deep pout. he was draped in a giant, fuzzy blanket, clutching a tub of ice cream like a lifeline. the culprit? a broken ipad.

how he managed to break it beyond repair was quite impressive, actually.

'good riddance,' you thought, thinking about his avid screen addiction.

but the sight of him trudging around your apartment like a kicked puppy, a half-eaten tub of ice cream clutched in one hand and a giant blanket draped over his broad shoulders - you almost felt bad.

you turned on the tv, hoping to distract him, but the suggestion was met with a watery glare and a choked sob. "it's not the same," he moaned, his voice thick with despair, "nothing can make me forget about my broken heart," he sighed.

what a drama queen.

you stifled a smile, the jab dying on your tongue. this wasn't like satoru. this was a whole new level of gloominess. it was kind of adorable, actually. he slumped onto the couch, sitting next to you, the oversized blanket engulfing him like a cocoon of misery.

hesitantly, you reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from his forehead. his skin was warm beneath your touch, and his eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, were clouded with a vulnerability you would never guess was caused by an ipad of all things.

"maybe you need a different kind of distraction," you murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

he turned towards you, gaze locking onto yours. you swore you saw a hint of something other than vulnerability - something that made the butterflies in your stomach flutter. the air hung heavy with the weight of what you said.

neither of you moved, still maintaining eye contact.

"you sure about what you're asking for?" he asked softly, already leaning in towards you.

your gaze flickered from his perfect lips, full and inviting, to the hint of stubble darkening his jawline. every fiber of your being yearned to bridge the gap, to kiss him like you needed to.

"positive," you breathed, neediness evident in your tone.

the space between you vanished in a blink. he leaned in, breath warm against your lips as he filled up the space between you. one hand cupped your cheek, touch surprisingly gentle in contrast to the primal need in his eyes.

his lips met yours with a hunger that stole your breath away, the taste of him a delicious combination of cookie dough from the ice cream, and something else, something so... satoru.

his hand on your face deepened its hold, his thumb tracing a path down your jawline in a slow, deliberate caress. you mirrored the movement, fingers tangling themselves in the soft fabric of his t-shirt, desperate to feel the solid warmth of his body against yours.

the kiss deepened, a tangle of limbs and breathless gasps. his hand moved lower, the thin fabric of your shirt allowing you to feel the searing heat of his palm on your back, his lips moving perfectly against yours

your breath hitched as his hand went under your shirt to grip your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. as much as you wanted to continue, the heat pooling in your lower stomach became harder and harder to ignore with every passing second.

you broke apart from the kiss, a string of saliva connecting you both.

"bedroom" you breathed, not wanting to spend another second without his lips on yours. you closed the gap between you both, desperate to taste him again. you felt both one arm hook under your thighs as he lifted you up, never once breaking the kiss, other hand remaining on your jaw, picking you up like it was nothing.

he pressed you up against every wall on the way to the room, lips practically devouring you. your nails dug into the muscles of his back, urging him closer, closer. you were definitely going to leave marks.

he chuckled in pride at the thought of that, a low rumble against your lips that made your skin tingle, before pulling back just enough to trail a searing kiss down your jawline. he nipped at your neck before biting it. hard. he continued until he was positive you would see them for the rest of the week.

you felt his cock growing under you. your breath hitched in excitement as his lips dipped lower, sending shivers dancing across the exposed skin of your shoulders. and finally, you reached your room.

you were a trembling mess, body aching in anticipation and need for him.

in the dim light of the moon filtering through the window, he looked like an angel - chest heaving, lips swollen from all the kissing, eyes almost black with desire - all for you.

he placed you onto the bed, getting up to take off his shirt. you let your eyes wander, drinking in the sight of him. he was heavenly. toned muscles glistening with a light sheen of sweat from the heat, hair disheveled from you running your hands through it and tugging at it.

you sat up to take your shirt off, but he interjected. "let me," he whispered, "been waiting for this for so long, fuck."

he stared at you, fully naked underneath him. hair spread out on your pillow, lips still wet from his hungry kisses, eyes focused only on him. you looked divine, he was convinced this moment wasn't real.

he took off his shorts and boxers, and-

oh fuck. he was huge. and just as pretty as the rest of him. veins ran up and down the length of his throbbing cock, tip flushed pink - almost red, and leaking pre-cum. because of you.

you had to taste him. as you reached out, he stopped you. "i'd love that, but not today," he choked out, voice deep and filled with desperation, "if i'm not inside you within the next minute, i might actually lose my mind," he groaned.

the last of your resolve crumbling, "then fuck me, 'toru, please" you whined, pulling him down into a searing kiss.

he lined up with your entrance, pushing in just the tip. you felt stretched out already. "'s too big" you cried out. "aw, you can take it pretty girl," he cooed. he was barely inside but it just felt so good. you needed more.

you bucked your hips up a little bit, a silent plea. taking the message, he bottomed out in a single thrust, causing you to moan his name. "shit baby. keep saying my name like that and i'm not gonna last long" he grunted, pulling almost fully out of you.

your mind was consumed with only him. satoru, satoru, satoru - fuck, you couldn't get enough. he was practically splitting you in half with his cock, but you took it like a good girl. his good girl.

"fuck, you're takin' me so well. god, look at you, my perfect girl" you reveled in the praise, mind almost numb from how well he was fucking you, cock drilling into your dripping cunt like a man deprived.

"y'know how long i've waited for this? to have you all spread out f'me? oh, you're such a damn tease, doll. you knew exactly what you were doin', hah? wearin' that damn blue dress, and blue lingerie f'me too? what a slut."

his words sent a heat flooding through you - warm, plush walls clamping down on him, moans and whines ripping from your throat, so cock drunk all you could say was his name.

"mm, y-you weren't so innocent either, y'know" you bit back, whines escaping your throat.

"shit, wanted you since i first met you, baby. you drive me fuckin' insane" he choked out, voice getting raspier. he was a vision. muscles flexing so deliciously with every thrust of his hips, teeth biting on his lip as he moaned out your name, eyes looking only at you.

god, he really was perfect. he leaned down to kiss you again, a hand finding its way to your tits. he caressed it, playing with your nipple while fucking you. you were so painfully close.

his balls slapping against your ass, cock pushing into you with a force only he could possess. you loved the feeling of how right he felt inside you, the squelching sound of your pussy fluttering around him as he relentlessly thrust into you driving you both to the edge.

"s'toru i'm- 'm gonna- hngh" you clenched down on him impossibly tighter as you came. he came after a few more thrusts, release mixing with yours and seeping down onto your now very stained sheets.

he collapsed down next to you, an arm around your waist, pulling you to face him. it was such a stark contrast - two minutes ago he was fucking you like there was no tomorrow, and now here he was, looking at you with a dopey smile on his face and a shine in his bright blue irises.

you couldn't help but grin back. you stayed like that until you caught your breaths, heartbeats slowly returning back to normal.

"so, since the day you first met me, huh?" you asked, a playful smile finding its way onto your face. you were met with a blush of embarrassment spreading across his cheeks. only satoru could go from the epitome of a sex god to a flustered mess within two minutes.

"mhm, been obsessed with you since i first saw that look on your face when i broke your expensive perfume. that was hot. but then, i got to know you better, and you were so sweet and funny and so goddamn pretty and i- i just couldn't help but... you know." he admitted, eyes averting from yours.

you gripped his jaw, making him look at you again. and then you kissed him - a soft, tender one, pouring in all of your emotions. you wanted him to know you reciprocated his emotions.

"good, because i felt the same way 'toru" you smiled against his lips.

"well what took you so long then?"

"what took me so long? what about you?"

"you're the one who liked me," he replied, as if it was oh-so-obvious.

"well you liked me first satoru!" you sassed, trying to turn away from him.

he pulled you back and made you face him again, grip on your waist never faltering.

"so, round two?"

bonus points if you can guess where the title's from ;)

the ipad kid part is kinda random but i totally think he'd be one soo

this took me so long to write, i hope you guys liked it!

#anathema writes #jujutsu kaisen #gojo jjk #gojo smut #gojo x reader #jjk gojo #jjk satoru #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #satoru smut #gojo x reader smut #satoru gojo smut #jjk smut #jjk #jjk x reader

[urhoneycombwitch]

my baby puts his mouth on me

foreword: okay this is kind of written as a bonus scene for i know what they call you bc that version of reader deals with being quiet, too! (not necessary to read that one first but does provide a bit of context as far as interpersonal setting.) sort-of AU that ignores most s4 events. anon request can b found here 💖

wc: 2.2k

cw: discussions of college, shy!reader, oral + fingering (R receiving), R has breasts and a V, weed usage, softdom!Eddie, shifting POV a bit soz 

___

Somewhere between Eddie’s late nights at band rehearsal and your early morning diner shifts, you’ve both been too exhausted to properly fuck when you do see each other, barely time for a spare handjob in the past week. You’re crawling out of your skin by the weekend, missing and craving Eddie in equal measure.

So when your Saturday off happens to line up with his, Eddie makes an afternoon of it- picnic lunch on the shore of Lover’s Lake, lazing around in the August sun while your food settles, then stripping down to your underclothes (even though the spot Eddie scored was totally isolated, you’re still leery about skinny dipping) and cooling off with a quick dip in the lake.

You’re both sprawled out in the blanketed back of Eddie’s van, sun-warmed bodies pressed together, legs dangling out of the open rear door; smoke hangs hazy in the air from the joint being shared. 

“Almost end of summer,” Eddie says, nestling his nose into your neck, arms wrapping around your middle. He can’t look at you, dread unfurling in his stomach but needing to ask, to clear the air, to prepare in case this is one of the last times he gets to touch you like this- “Thinkin’ of going to any colleges?”

”Maybe.” One of your hands slides into Eddie’s hair, scratching gently at his scalp while the other lifts the joint to your lips for a long drag. “They love me at the diner and I make good tips, so I’ll prob’ly keep doing that. Can’t afford anything fancy, anyways- I’ll likely just go to Hawkins Community.”

You still haven’t told him the full story of the mall fire, yet- or about the underground world simmering beneath the surface. He never pushes you to share more than you’re comfortable, which you’re grateful for, but he knows something happened: something that paints your sleep with dark night terrors, something that causes you to slip in the middle of conversations, mind spiraling where he can’t follow. 

For reasons you can’t fully explain to Eddie, college is real low on your priority list- you’ve dedicated this summer to reconnecting with base instincts (weed and Pretty Boy being at the top of the list).

Meanwhile, Eddie tries to still the vibrant thrum of his heart at the news of you staying local, possibly for the next few years; he lifts his head to press his lips against your collarbone. “You should go to college. Jus’ try it out, at least. You’re certainly smart enough.”

“Mmm-” you hum around the joint, another inhale-exhale of smoke before murmuring, “So are you. For the record. We could apply to be nerds together, if you want-”

With a sharp gasp, your sentence drops out of midair when Eddie kisses over your nipple, already peaking through the thin material of your bra. In his hair, your grip tightens, and Eddie groans.

In one fluid movement, he props himself into his elbows on either side of your torso, bottom half of his weight pinning you in place, plucking the smoldering joint from your grasp to dampen it into a nearby ashtray.

“Gonna be my little student,” Eddie says, wet kisses trailing down your neck, flash of teeth making you squirm. “Get you some academic… skirts. The ones with the pleats. Maybe some stockings…”

“You’re so- oh, fuck- dirty…” It’s hard to keep the admonishment in your voice as Eddie noses between your thighs, bumping at your clit through the thin cover of high-cut cotton.

“Mm-hmm.” He seems pleased with the already-visible wet patch, your core leaking steadily as he burrows deeper, until all his senses are blacked-out with nothing but the sharp tang of your honeyed arousal- who needs weed. He could get high off your smell alone.

Eddie suckles at your throbbing clit, purring encouragement low in his throat when your hips jolt forward. “And you love it.”

He’s one deep inhale from being completely pussy-drunk, mouthing sloppily at the junction where thigh meets pelvis, nibble fingers toying at the band of your underwear. He slides them down and off your legs, and you let him, wiggling in anticipation against the pressure he’s keeping you pinned with.

“Could take an electrician course.” Well aware of how close to the wire this conversation is sliding, you let the crown of your head tip back, staring at the van’s ceiling, handfuls of the flannel floor blanket squeezed into fists as you try getting one last word in- “You’re good with your h- hands.”

Said hand is cupping your bare sex, warm and wide between the V of your legs, other hand pushing your thigh back to spread you wide, obscene and on display how Eddie likes; embarrassment blooms hot in your chest as he runs a finger through your folds, slick practically loud against the far-off backdrop of forest sounds.

“What was that about my hands?” He’s teasing now, can hear it in his voice even though you can’t see the lazy grin it’s paired with; a long middle finger breaches your entrance, wet warmth swallowing the length greedily.

Your eyes flutter shut, sighing. There will be a time for arguments again but right now, with a second finger addition and Eddie’s mouth working you up, there’s no room for speech.

On your end, at least- Eddie’s proven on multiple occasions to be a master at multitasking, talking you through it while managing your pleasure, and this afternoon is no exception. His fingers curl expertly into the gummy front wall of your cunt, mouth running every second it’s not latched on to your pulsing button, dirty talk smooth and easy in his low timbre.

“Yeah, honey, that’s it. Fuck, you’re so hot. Can feel you squeezin’ around my fingers, y’so tight, angel, shit… like that- there you go…”

Etcetera. Until he’s bullied his way completely into the cradle of your legs, lying flat on his stomach to get as close as possible; until your cunt is spasming around the push and pull of his fingers, wet dripping and pooling into his palm and down your ass to the blanket below.

There’s a familiar tightness coiling in your stomach, thighs bracing around Eddie’s ears in anticipation of the unraveling. A pleasure-soaked sob gets caught in your throat, dull whine escaping instead through clenched teeth, grip on the flannel doubling until your knuckles creak in protest.

“Hey.” 

There’s a confusing lack of authority or command in Eddie’s voice; you sift through the brain fog of arousal, propping your weight up into your elbows to look down at him.

Eddie looks crazy. Debauched. Lips pink and spit-soaked, chin shimmering, pupils blown out with lust as he presses a chaste kiss to the wiry curls at your mound. “Kinda quiet up there. Everything okay?”

His thumb sweeps a comforting path up the soft skin of your thigh, the abrupt switch from animal to gentleness making your head swim. He’s still looking at you with those puppy-brown eyes, fingers still buried to the hilt but unmoving; you stammer out an excuse.

“Um- yeah. M’sorry. It’s just been awhile, since you’ve had me… like this.”

It’s the truth; over the last busy week in your lives, time has eroded some of what Eddie’s been working on building with you, bravery at making noise faded with the lessened practice time.

“No one else out here, ‘cept you and me, sweetheart.” Eddie’s coaxing his fingers back into steady rhythm, watching your face carefully for any signs of withholding. “Can make as much noise as you want. Lemme hear. Please?”

Usually, Eddie’s not so soft- a sharp crack of palm to ass, flesh jiggling as he draws all the noises he wants from you- but here, in the back of the van, heady weed and warm sun an intoxicating mixture as he asks you to melt for him. 

You obey. Let the floor take your upper body’s weight again as you fuck yourself on his fingers, hips lifted and seeking release. His mouth seals over your clit again, tip of his tongue lashing quick and precise against it, frizz of his curls tickling the insides of your legs as he shakes his head.

The weed is certainly a help as trapped noises heave from your chest, mouth falling open, lax and pliant with moans. “Oh, my god, Eddie. Fuck. Holy shit. Hah- right there, please, don’t stop-”

As if he would. Eddie moans in tandem with you, his own hips chasing the maddening pressure of the floorboards against the hard jut of his cock, leaking through the front of his boxers as he adds a third finger, spurred on by the fountain of breathy words this pulls from you-

“Oh god, oh god- f-fuck- Eddie, Eddie Eddie Eddie-”

Your speech devolves into a mindless, babbling chant of his name. That coil pulls taut, has you crunching forward in a half sit-up, hands fisting at the roots of Eddie’s hair to hold him in place (perhaps harsher than you intend but based on the way his hips stutter and grind, you can safely hazard a guess that he’s into it). 

The pattern breaks when he grazes his teeth against the pulsing nub in his mouth; you have just enough time to gasp out, “I- I’m coming, Eddie, shit, m’gonna come-” before the orgasm hits you full-force.

There isn’t room in your brain to hide all the noise that threatens to suffocate, so you let them all out, muscles tightening and flexing around every bright point of pleasure that he fucks you through. High-pitched whines, panting that wracks your lungs, a moan to top it all off that feels like it comes from your toes. 

“Jesus christ.” Eddie swipes the back of his hand over his mouth, sounding wrecked himself as he climbs back over your body, silver chain necklace and dark curls swinging in front of your blissed-out face. “Fuck, princess. That was so hot.”

“Yeah?” Bashfulness hasn’t fully settled in yet, you’re still loopy from the force of your pleasure, arms slipping over the boy’s freckled shoulders as he leans down to kiss you.

His tongue has a bright tang of you, as you lick into his mouth, one hand leaving his shoulder to trail down his chest. Dark ink whorls beneath your fingertips as you reach the scratchy trail of hair just before his boxers-

“Shit.” Eddie hisses, forehead thunking into yours when you palm the hard length of him, precum soaking through the fabric, softness of your palm contrasting with the damp and rough drag of cotton. His long lashes tickle your cheek, eyes fluttering closed, soft exhale magnified by close proximity as he slowly pushes into your hand. 

You’re mildly surprised he hasn’t come, yet- usually Eddie gets off on getting you off, then uses the rest of his energy to make you both come again, together. 

What Eddie hasn’t told you yet is that he’s done some prep of his own, this week: every night you haven’t spent in his bed, his own spit-slicked fist has taken him right to the edge, stopping just short of coming with a choking grip at the base. The idea was to build up his stamina a bit, to take advantage of lonely evenings in service to a future you.

A very noble cause that is quickly being forgotten as your hand moves with more intent and pressure against his aching cock- the drug haze is almost enough to have him completely at your mercy, to tuck his nose into the curve of your neck and find sweet release by way of your pretty palm.

But he recovers. Get just enough distance from the warmth of you to clear his mind and snake his own hand down between your bodies to capture your twisting wrist. 

The protest dies on your lips when Eddie brings your hand to his mouth, sucking your middle and index finger against the pad of his tongue, saturating your digits in spit.

“Here’s what you’re gonna do.” His eyes stay locked on yours, even as he guides your newly-wet fingers back down your bodies to rest atop your cunt. “You’re gonna touch yourself until you come. Again. And if I feel like you’re holding out on me with your noises, I’m gonna make it real difficult for you to make any noise. At all.”

A thrilling shiver races up your spine, goosebumps prickling in response to the shift in Eddie’s tone. His eyes flick to your lower lip, which he bites, unable to help himself, before following the path of your hand south.

There will be time for unwinding the past, for dreaming about the future. For now, there’s a boy between your legs and the feverish glow of summer calling your name. 

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you

[jumbojazzcats93]

ITS WHAT YOU GET FOR EAVESDROPPING - GHOST

Summary - Ghost overhears Y/N talking about him on the phone through her open office window while he smokes outside.

Tags/Warnings - GN reader, Mentions of sex, strong language, I fucking love Trixie sm, (green to gold is basically when you're enlisted in the military and then switch to a commissioned officer), banner by @/saradika, @glossysoap @violet-phantoms @lordlydragon @quietlyignoringyou @grizzersmamma @ivymarquis

Chain smoking was arguably one of the unhealthier things he could be doing, but then again, so was eavesdropping on his fellow LT. Not even a green to gold, LT L/N was just 26 and only a few years out of the academy. He knew he didn't really understand half of the phrases floating out of the opened window, but it was great white noise for his tired mind.

"Yeah, no, I'm so not even fucking kidding when I say he's-"

Over the last 45 minutes, Ghost had been tuning in and out as he sat at the smoke pit. His place of duty this week was at the Aid Station teaching combat life savers course. His brain was rotting with the mundanity of the info he was putting out because, aside from some brand new additions to the course, it was all decade old information to him. He tilted his head down as he put his butt out in the ash tray. Maybe he could have the newbies practice nasal intubations on each other... that would certainly be entertaining for everyone, even if it wasn't exactly necessary.

"His name? Uhhh.... well, he's called Ghost by everyone here." His hand froze in the ashtray. "He's a pretty big guy.... strong as fuck, too. Like 6'4, 250lbs type of big." People normally add in a bit about him being scary. He was waiting on it as he lit up another cigarette. "I have to be honest."

Here it comes...

"He's a little intimidating." The sheepish laughter mixed with the words was almost endearing. At least... it was put in a way he didn't normally hear. "But you know what, I have to be honest with you. The way I would fuck him-" He covered his mouth trying to silence his coughing as he began spluttering on smoke. "-it's not even funny."

"What the-"

"I'm a ride he wouldn't survive; the wheels would come right off."

Was his face hot from what he was hearing or from choking? Laughter could be heard through the window, "Bitch, I need him so bad, im not even kidding." No one had ever spoken about him like this. Not that he'd heard. God it was hot all of a sudden. Is he sweating? He wiped his hand over his face and then rubbed with hands on his pants before standing up. Cigarette out on the ground, he crushed it before walking out of the smoke pit and trying not to listen to anymore of the conversation coming through the window.

#141 x reader #call of duty #call of duty mwii #cod 141 #cod mw2 #cod x reader #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost x reader #trixie mattel #idris elba #hot ones #gender neutral reader

[surielstea]

Taunts and Tension

Based on this request!

Pairing: Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: Reader and Azriel go on a spy mission and come back a little more touchy than usual?

Warnings: Sexual tension | Briefest mention of a threesome | innuendo of oral (m receiving)

2.8k words

“You have got to be kidding me,” The Shadow Singer grumbled as the High Lord told him we’ve been partnered for his next mission.

“Unfortunately, he’s not,” I huff to the tall male, just as annoyed as him. “Rhys with all due respect, I work alone,” Azriel contended and I scoff. “Does that apply to your love life too?” I quip but they both ignore me. “I know Az, but Eris likes her, he’s more likely to play by our rules if we use her as bait,” Rhys says. “It’s just a meeting, the both of you only have to get along for a few hours,” He hums and I roll my eyes, I couldn’t refuse the offer, he was paying me double for this. “Fine,” Azriel uttered, the fool agreed for free.

“Good, you leave at sunset,” The half-fae instructs then quickly dismisses the both of us when his mate comes into his office, a babbling Nyx in her arms. “Hi sweetie,” I coo at the two-year-old as I pass Feyre on the way out. “Auntie!” He exclaims with a bright smile. The High Lady waved at me and I returned it. “Be careful on your mission tonight,” She advises and I brush her off. “It’s just a meeting, nothing to be worried about.” I smile. “Oh, I wasn’t referring to your assignment,” Her eyes flick to Azriel and my lips form an ‘o’ shape in realization. She chuckled then gave me a wink as the Shadow Singer passed by me, muttering a curse under his breath. I return her smile then nod in a farewell and go the opposite direction down the hall.

The Spring Court was a lot duller than I had expected. Sure the flowers were in bloom and the sun still seeped through the trees but, there was no vibrancy to the colors. “Feyre really did a number on this place,” I hum, looking out at the deserted Court. It still held some beauty, the crystal clear lakes with lily pads floating heedlessly, the rolling hills, and flower fields.

“I kind of feel bad for him,” I mutter, bending down and plucking a daisy from a patch sprouting out the trunk of a maple tree. “Don’t,” Azriel huffed. We were on the border between Spring and Autumn so there was a weird merging between wildlife, the magnolia trees slowly shifting into maples, bunnies sectioned from foxes, and lush forests morphing into rustic woods.

“Are we early or is he just trying to make an entrance?” I sigh, already bored. “Early,” He replies and my shoulders sag. “Can you only respond with one-word answers?” I narrow my eyes on the Shadow Singer. He smirks. “No,” He says and I grit my teeth, looking down at the daisy in my hands.

We go silent for a moment. I stare out at the dusky sky, the last of the sun slipping below the hills. He seems content to continue staring at me, much to my dismay. I didn’t know what for, it’s not like he had to keep an eye on me, and there was nothing I could do that his shadows wouldn’t report back to him, they were often all over me, seemingly out of his control when I was around.

“What?” I snap my head back to him after only a minute, his stare becoming too physical, like I could feel the way his eyes traced my features. “Why are you dressed like that?” He tilts his head. I look down at my gown with creased brows. It was a silk slip, a rich mocha color. I look at what he’s wearing, his usual leathers. “It’s a meeting Azriel, we’re not battling warriors,” I remark. “Is it because we’re meeting with Eris?” He tilts his head. I cross my arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I bite back. “That you’re trying to impress him,” He surmises.

“Nuh-uh!”

“Nuh uh?” He mocks. “That’s your defense?” The brunette scoffs and my frown deepens, leaning against the tree at my back. “I wore the dress ‘cause I didn’t wanna change, okay?” I explain with narrowed brows. “And it’s not my fault he admires me,” I add. “Not that you know the feeling,” I murmur under my breath but of course, he heard it.

He takes a menacing step forward, shadows turning sporadic around him and I roll my eyes on the dramatics of it— anyone else would’ve been begging for forgiveness just by looking into the darkness of his eyes. “What was that?” His hand comes to my chin, forcing my head toward him. I jerk out of his hold with a grimace.

“I said you don’t know what it’s like to be admired, or do you need a reminder that you’ve been chasing the same girl for five hundred years?” This time I was the one to take a step forward, my chest nearly pressed to his. “Because newsflash Az, she doesn’t want you—” I start but his hands come to my wrists and pull them up above my head, pinning me to the tree, his other hand on my hip so I can’t thrash.

His nostrils flared, eyes ablaze and I nearly laughed. “You’re constantly teetering on that edge huh? Can’t ever keep your temper in check?” I arch a brow up at him, my smirk only widens as I watch him grit his teeth. He knew what I meant. Knew that he pounced on anyone who damaged his fragile ego, and talked down on his precious family, gods forbid I mention Morrigan. His hold moves from my waist to my neck, wrapping his large hand entirely around my throat, softly squeezing.

“You’re choking me,” I whisper out and the sadistic fuck has a smile on his face. “You seem like the type to be into that,” He presumes and he wouldn’t be far off if this was a different situation. I flush pink at the idea, it’d be a lie if I said I hadn’t imagined the Spymaster on top of me more than once. My cheeks were burning hot, I was beyond embarrassed, and slightly turned on.

“Not so talkative now, are we?” He was so close, so close his body was pressed to my own, our breath shared as his face hovered above mine, cauldron damn his height.

“Let me go,” I pull at my wrists but his grip is iron, and maybe my attempts were halfhearted because, in all honesty, I didn’t want to leave this position one bit. “You learn your lesson yet? Or are you gonna keep being a brat?” He hums and arousal pools in my panties. I quickly glamour the scent, praying he didn’t recognize it before I got the chance. “Fuck you,” I seethe, continuing my futile attempts to escape. “Such a filthy mouth, you wanna put it to better use?” He asks and if I wasn’t red before I definitely was now. “In your dreams,” I hiss. “Oh love, it is,” He smirks, and my brain stutters. What’d he just say?

My pointed ears perk before I can reply, noticing an unfamiliar pair of footsteps. Not Eris.

“Someone’s coming, kiss me,” I say with a rushed tone. “What?” His hand loosened around my neck. “Just—” I don’t finish and interrupt myself by lifting onto my toes and crashing my lips against his.

He seems taken aback for a moment then to my surprise, leans into it. I melt at the feeling. He was tentative at first but once I showed him this was what I asked for he seemed almost, hungry. His hand slips from my throat and cups my jaw instead, calloused thumb pulling at my bottom lip and forcing them open. I can’t help but obey his silent command, parting my lips wider so he can capture me fully. His mouth seals over mine yet again and my stomach ties into knots, the thrumming sensation in my ribcage making me realize this was a point of no return.

His tongue explored my mouth like it was his and his alone, he was devouring me and I savored every moment. An energy buzzed between us, my wrists still pinned up by his hold, but I wasn’t any less greedy with my lips. I wanted him to taste me, to memorize me, and never forget the feel of his lips on mine, I wanted it to hurt when he had to pull away. Languid movements with his tongue turn into messy, impatient strokes, needing all of me right then and there— and I would’ve given it to him if not for that pair of footsteps returning, so much closer this time.

“What’s going on here?” A gruff voice demands answers and Azriel hesitantly detaches, like he was unwilling.

It takes me a moment to even open my eyes, gods if he’s got me this paralyzed over just a kiss who knows how much more I could take? Azriel lets go of my wrists and I regain consciousness.

“I’m sorry Officer,” I put on my most innocent smile. The male in front of me was Autumn Court patrol, lower in rank based on the patches on his arms. “What’s an Illyrian doing so far from home?” He snarled the word like it was a curse. “We’re traveling sir,” I say, intertwining my hand with Azriel’s. He stiffens at the action as if I didn’t just have his lips on mine. “Travelin’?” The officer scoffs. “Out here?” He hums. “Yes sir, it’s our honeymoon,” I grin wildly, trying to capture the excitement of newlyweds as I hold our linked hands up.

The officer raises his brows a fraction, he was buying it. He was visibly older, you had to be ancient as a fae to start having wrinkles and this guy had plenty. “You know, I feel like I recognize you,” He hums and I swallow thickly. It was more likely for Azriel to get recognized out of the two of us, so the Shadow Singer didn’t take his chances and stuffed his face into my neck, lining kisses from my shoulder to my jaw. My hand goes into his hair, weaving my fingers into his soft, dark locks as I continue carrying on the conversation.

“Really? What from?” I tilt my head, resting my luck. “Not quite sure…” He thinks for a moment. “Ah, forget it probably just confusing you with my granddaughter, she’s lovely like you,” He says and I giggle light-heartedly. “That’s sweet to hear,” I smile. “Alright you kids be safe, perhaps find an inn somewhere,” He starts his trek once more. “Thank you, officer!” I call to him and he gives me a wave.

I nearly cackle as Azriel pulls away from my neck, my lipgloss smeared along his lips. I reach up and wipe it away with a teasing smile. “Not much of a spymaster if I’m the one saving you, hm?” I say, hands cupping his cheeks. “You were the one distracting me in the first place,” He defended, crossing his arms and I snicker. “Awh, poor Illyrian baby is pouting 'cause I’m better at his job,” I taunt, his gaze on my lips as I talk.

“Well, that was quite the show,” A familiar, smooth voice intones from a short distance away and I whip my head towards the figure, leaning against a tree with an unmistakable foxlike smirk on his face. “How long have you been standing there?” Azriel questions and it seems like the Heir might laugh. “It’s truly a wonder how your shadows didn’t find me, though I suppose they’re preoccupied at the moment,” He gestures to the ground beneath me where they were pooling at my feet, flicking up and twining at my ankle every now and again, completely forgetting what their job was in my presence.

The meeting went smoothly, Azriel was a bit on edge with the lack of his Shadows but other than that Eris complied easily, he seemed to have something up his sleeve but we’d worry about that at a later date, we were only ensuring his loyalty was still with us.

He updated us on some information including his father, the two males briefing over a plan to take down Beron, and as I stood there I realized I was just for show, a shiny jewel for Eris to look at, keep his attention before he got the idea that he could survive on his own. Not that I minded being looked at by the Heir, he was quite pretty— hel, I’d be lying if I said I haven’t dreamed about both the males in front of me, at once, more than once.

Azriel shadow-walked us back to the House of Wind when we were finished, or rather when he was finished. I probably could’ve stayed a few more minutes just to admire Eris in the pale moonlight, but my plans just had to be foiled by the Shadow Singer.

Az flew me the rest of the way into the house bridal style— since you couldn’t winnow straight in due to the wards. His hold on me felt more familiar than usual, and when he put me down he didn’t step away so neither did I.

“Hey,” Cassian said from the dining table, a mouthful of food muffling his voice. We both swivel towards the male, sat next to Nesta who couldn’t be bothered to look up from her book to greet us. “How’d the mission go?” The brunette at the table said once he swallowed his food. We both stiffen, the memory of that kiss has been replaying in my head over and over since it ended and yet it felt odd for anyone else to bring it up.

“Uh, went nice…” I shrug. Nesta looks up from her page, eyes piercing as they read me like the chapters in her book. “Really?” She intervenes and I nod. “Yup, just, so normal,” Azriel blurts out, and for a Spymaster, he was awfully bad at lying. Cassian creased his brows, clearly concerned for his brother. “Why are you acting so weird, then?” Nesta interrogates and the male and I share a look. “I don’t think he’s acting weird,” I scoff. “Do you think you’re acting weird?” My words are fast like I only have one breath to finish my sentence. “Pshh, never,” He shakes his head, looking down at his feet then back up to Lady Death.

“Right, well, man am I exhausted,” I stretch, feigning a yawn. “Yeah, the mission really wore me out,” He sighs, rolling his shoulders like there’s a weight off of them, following me up the stairs towards the bedrooms.

Nesta looks to her mate, a small smirk on her lips. “What?” The lord of bloodshed says cluelessly. “They’re totally going to fuck,” She hums, sinking into her chair a little and picking her book back up.

Azriel and I split off into our respective bedrooms, just across the hall from each other.

I paced beside my closed door, wondering what the fuck was I thinking when I let him kiss me. Sure I’ve always thought he was pretty but that was always a stupid fantasy, not something I would ever pursue… until now. Fuck, I am so finished. I repeatedly hit my palm against my forehead as I racked my head for any thought that didn’t immediately trace back to him. I couldn’t even look at my own hands without thinking about his hands, how they held my jaw— no. I wasn’t going to let myself romanticize this, it was just a mission. Nothing more. Just a kiss. A yearning, passion-filled kiss that fed all my cravings and somehow created new ones.

I groaned, deciding that this was the finest form of torture. I now stand still in front of my door, hoping that if I stare hard enough at it, he’ll come knocking and kiss me again because, fuck, I do want him.

I can’t sit here and wait for him to come rescue me from my own torment so I do it myself, hand coming to the doorknob and before I can psych myself out, I fling the door open.

To my shock, I’m immediately met with Azriel’s figure, his hand up like he was just about to knock.

“You couldn’t even let me make an entrance?” He tilts his head and I roll my eyes. “Shut up and kiss me already,” I grab him by the collar of his leathers and pull him in, the door closing behind him as his lips crash onto mine yet again.

General Taglist: @fxckmiup @olive-main @iluvyewman-blog @gaymistakeboi @glitterypirateduck @amara-moonlight @impossibelle @fauxdette @going-through-shit @glam-targaryen @cauldronboilme27 @sarawritestories @tele86 @rogerbarnesxx @azriels-shadowsinger @stinkinstuffie @sandramalikstyles-blog @sassyangel16 @lilah-asteria @starsinyourseyes @inloveallthetime @melsunshine @nighttimemoonlover @ireallywannasleep127 @cumuluscranium

Azriel Taglist: @coolepowersthings @lovely-giggles @quiettuba @ilovewarner45 @judig92 @tothestarsandwhateverend @je-suis-prest-rachel @call-me-a-fool @brieflyclassymortal @cherryjain17 @stqrgirlies-blog @chelsiemp @nyxbranwenn @dnfhascorruptedme @summerandsalt @annamariereads16 @thisiskaylin @itsbonniebabe

Comment a “💙” to be added to the general taglist!

Comment a “🖤” to be added to the Azriel taglist!

#suriels tea #acotar #fanfic #a court of thorns and roses #sarah j maas #x reader #azriel #request #acomaf #bat boys #azriel x you #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #shadowsinger x reader #azriel spymaster #fanfiction #x you #my fic #reader insert #x you fluff #azriel fluff #acotar fluff #x reader fluff #fluff #x reader acotar #acotar fanfiction #sjm #they’re so cute #i need him

[igotanidea]

Somebody's watching me : AK!Jason x reader

Request: AK! jason hears y/n’s name from his opponent and just goes nuts like he goes home looking for her.

A/N : the requests is a little twisted, as usual, but I hope you'll still like it anon :D

***

It was gone.

His old life was gone.

And with it, everyone he knew before.

All that was left was revenge, hate, rage. And this unstoppable need for killing someone, destroy something, wreck havoc on every single person who did him any wrong.

Bruce.

Fucking Batman.

He was the Arkham Knight now.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Focused on building his position so that no one, no fucking one, would ever hold any power over him.

And if that meant keeping tabs on everyone under his watchful gaze so be it.

And if that meant putting some pressure on everyone who dared to do as much as step a toe over the line, so be it.

And disturbances?

Defnitely not something he was about to allow.

And now he was holding a gun to one of his goons head.

"What did you do?" he hissed, his voice distorted by the helmet

"Sir, I --"

"What did you do?" Jason repeated pressing the metal more into man's head.

"I-- I disobeyed--"

"You disobeyed. And do you know what happens to people who disobey me?"

"Sir, please this is--"

Jason shot in the air and the man almost fell to his feet.

"It was-"

"I'm not going to give a warning shot again"

"I was-"

"I'm gonna count to three now. One."

"There's this girl."

"Two."

"Her name is Y/N."

"thr-- what?"

"She is very distant family, but --"

"Shut up!" Jason yelled, his face twisted with rage, not that anyone could see his expression hidden under the metal. "Shut the fuck up you hear me!" it took him two steps to be in front of the man, yanking him up by the collar and pinning to the wall with brutal force, half-chocking him "you ever do as much as think her name again and I'll kill you and put your head on a stick as a warning to anyone who dare have a thought of himself. YOU HEAR ME!?"

"y-ye-yes..."

"now get the fuck out of here!" the man was violently thrown on the floor, getting up as fast as he could and rushing out the door. It was truly a miracle he lived to tell the tale, cause Arkham Knight was not known for his leniency.

But Y/N.

Someone from his past.

More than someone.

A girl, a woman, he was once in love with.

A woman, whose name he forgot in the pursuit after Batman.

Or rather - tried to forget.

She was the only one who ever got him. The only one to accept him fully, with all his flaws.

His Y/N.

His Y/N who betrayed him just like anyone else. Who forgot him. Who moved on without giving as much as a single thought to him when he was lost. Who was never looking for him.

His Y/N.

It;s been years since he heard anyone mention her. Years since he swore to never get manipulated again.

And then.

Just a few letters mixed together. Just a few sounds.

And she was right behind his eyes, just like he remembered her. Because even his dark side refused to let go of the rememberance of their time together.

Her laugh. Her smile. Her eyes and freckles from the sun, as fleeting as the summer days they were spending together. Her calmness, care and tenderness when she was patching up his woudns, tiredlessly putting on bandaids and stitches.

Fuck!

He didn't need that.

Just another phase of brainwashing. If not from his capturers than from his own men.

Hell no.

He was going to say no to the past life once and for all.

Hunting her down, wherever she may be.

See her for the last time.

Pour hatred in his heart, destroying all the remaining piece of useless softness and caring he carried in his soul.

Burn the last link connecting him to the past down.

***

She was spending the night in her old apartment. Sitting by the same desk, with the same lamp, in the same posture she ever did.

One leg half bent and folded under her ass, the other hanging loose in the air.

"You're going to end up with numbness..." he muttered to himself, watching her from the opposite rooftop.

Obviously she couldn;t hear him, but something made her raise her head and look outside the window while simultaniously changing the position.

Jason smiled despite himself.

His heart skipped a beat and sudden warmth spread in his chest.

Only for a second though, since he rememembered why he was here in the first place.

Look at her.

So fucking good.

So fucking calm and happy, while he-

fuck!

traitorous bitch.

Maybe it was her plan from the very beggining. Conspiring with Batman only to get rid of him, so they could both be free of the burdening presence of a man once known as Jason Todd.

Y/N...

Regardless of how sweet her name may have tasted on his tongue he would rather cut it off than fall down that rabit hole again.

He was cold as ice. Brutal. Cruel. Ruthless.

And it was not going to change because he saw her.

Not in the million years.

She was the reason of his fallout. She should have stopped him from going on that stupid mission. She should have made him stay, showed him she cared enough to keep him grounded.

It was all her fault that that after being captured all he could think about was how she was going to survive without him. How her heart would break into million pieces, instead of figuring out a way to free himself.

It was all her fault that he became the Arkham Knight. Cause inhumanity was equal with survival. And survival meant living. And living meant keeping his legacy.

So yes, he hated her.

He hated her, because every single thing he did and every little thing done to him was because and thanks to her.

She was the reason of him getting on top, but also the person responsible for his failure as a person.

She was nothing.

She was everything.

And for the first time since capturing, torturing and tranformation Jason felt conflicted.

Y/N...

His Y/N...

Not his anymore...

***

When some force made her stand up and come to window all she saw was a blink of metal on the rooftop. And since she spend half of her life with vigilantes, it was easy to realise that this must have been one of them.

But the silhouette of a running man couldn;t have been Dick nor Tim nor any other hero she would recognise.

And despite herself, she felt a shiver running down her spine.

Someone was watching her.

#jason todd x reader #arkham knight x reader #jason todd x you #arkham knight x you #jason todd angst #arkham knight jason todd

[hairyjocktf]

Spring Break

Noah was pissed. Today was supposed to be the beginning of the best spring break ever. He’d planned a week-long trip with his college friends to New York City. They’d had it all lined up- museums, restaurants, sightseeing, it was perfect. But about a week before, Noah’s mom had called and delivered devastating news. They were having a family reunion that week. In rural Florida. Attendance was not optional. She’d bought his ticket already and there was no way out.

The day had arrived, and he solemnly made his way to the airport and flew to Tallahassee. They were meeting at his relatives’ place in the Florida panhandle, in the middle of nowhere. He’d been once as a kid and vowed never to go back. After a two hour drive from the airport he made it, driving up a dirt driveway to the massive, yet ramshackle, house in the forest. The next hour was a blur of greeting extended family, most of whom he barely remembered since they tended to stay out here in the country. After that settled down his mom came up to him, clearly very excited about something.

“Noah! You’re not gonna believe this, but since it’ll be a few more days before everyone’s here, your cousins Chevy and Logan are gonna take you out on a hunting trip! Just for a couple days,” she was nearly bouncing off the ground.

Noah groaned. That was the last thing he wanted to do. He had nothing in common with his cousins, and certainly did not want to spend time alone with them out in the swampy wilderness. His mom was not hearing any complaints from him though, and she dragged him out back to reacquaint him with his cousins. Chevy and Logan were chatting with each other on the patio, beers in hand, decked out in the camo hunting gear Noah assumed they lived and slept in. They were only a couple years older than Noah, but looked quite a bit older compared to the baby faced city boy.

“Ayyy Noah! What’s up, it’s been a while man,” Chevy walked over and gave him a bear hug, spilling some beer on his back.

“Hey Chevy, nice to see you too. I heard you guys were uh, taking me out camping,” Noah said unenthusiastically.

“Not just camping my guy!” Logan butted in, “We’re talking full on country backroads hunting boy’s trip! We’ll show you what you’re missing by being cooped up in the city.”

Noah’s heart sank; it was worse than he’d thought. They were gonna drag him out there and make him hunt? He didn’t like killing anything and worse, having to deal with the aftermath. He put on a forced grin since his mother was right there.

“Wow, that sounds real great guys, I can’t wait,” he said through gritted teeth. His subliminal messages to them were entirely lost.

“Hell yes bro! Here’s a pack with some of our extra hunting clothing, you won’t want a whole suitcase out there,” Chevy said, handing Noah a backpack. “We’ve got some extra gear that should fit you, it’s already in the truck. We’ll leave in 30 minutes, so get yourself ready.”

30 minutes?? That was immediate, he wouldn’t even have time to plead his case to get out of it. Begrudgingly he went back inside to get his stuff together. The next thing he knew, it was time. The boys were out front in their pickup truck, the back full of tents, camouflage gear, and who knows what else. Logan laid on the horn.

“NOAHHHHHH! It’s time to scram, let's get outta here!” Logan shouted over the blaring horn. 

Noah groaned, this was setting the tone for the whole trip. He looked at himself in the mirror, the camo pants and hoodie just looked wrong on him. He for sure didn’t want his clothes getting covered in mud though, so he sucked it up and headed out front. Chevy grabbed his bag and tossed it in the back before climbing in shotgun, leaving Noah in the cramped back seats. And with that, they were off.

“There’s a real nice game area ‘bout an hour, hour and a half from here,” Logan said. “We’ll get in, set up a nice camp, then relax. Then at sunrise we’ll start you off with somethin easy, maybe a deer or boar,” he turned and looked at Noah, grinning. 

Noah bounced around in the back of the truck as Logan drove through the forest on bumpy dirt roads. Chevy had put on some country music up front, and they were practically yelling to have a conversation over it. They tried talking to Noah about what he’d been up to, but Noah was sulking and gave only short answers. The sun was starting to hang low in the sky when they pulled off, offroading through some clear land towards a spot they’d clearly been to before. They stopped at a neat little clearing near a creek. It was objectively a beautiful little spot, but Noah was not in the mood to appreciate it, already swatting at mosquitoes swarming him. 

“Alright man, you ever pitch a tent?” Chevy asked Noah. 

“Uh, no, I haven’t”

“Well here, I’ll help ya out,” he said earnestly. “We’ve already got a well used spot here, so first we just lay out this footprint, and here let’s have you start with the poles.”

Noah fumbled around with the metal poles before eventually getting them together. He was frustrated, why would he ever need to know this? Chevy took the poles and got the tent up while Logan was still unloading the back of the truck.

“Alright we’re nearly done, just gotta secure it with these stakes,” he handed them to Noah. “Just stick these through the corner, make sure they’re deep in the ground now.”

Noah took the stakes and tried pushing them into the dirt, but they only made it about an inch in. He tried scraping the dirt away with his hands but that didn’t help. Chevy tapped his shoulder, holding a mallet as a suggestion. They’d just gotten here and already Noah was annoyed despite his cousin’s encouraging attitude. His hands were covered in dirt too, he hated being dirty! And he had no escape from all of it. He stormed off to the water’s edge in a huff while the other two finished putting their site together. The sun was really setting by then.

“Ey Noah!” Logan called, “Come have a beer with us man! We’ve got some chili cookin’ too, ya gotta eat somethin,” he laughed. Noah sighed. There was no point in sulking the entire trip like this, even if he wanted to. He walked back over and pulled a beer out of the cooler they’d brought and sat down.

“It seems his highness has decided to grace us with his presence,” Chevy mocked. Noah chuckled. He’d make it through this, even if it took all the beer in that cooler. The boys ate dinner and talked as the sun dipped below the horizon, with Noah actually giving some substantial answers this time. He was exhausted, having flown in and driven all day. He climbed into his tent to hit the sack. If he’d had a mirror in there, he would’ve noticed what looked like some dirt smeared on his face, just on his upper lip and the sides of his face by his ears.

Noah was abruptly awakened by Chevy shaking him. “Hey bro! It’s just starting to get light out, let’s get moving.” Noah groaned, it was his vacation and he was getting woken up at five something in the morning. He crawled out of his tent, banging his head on the pole; was it really that small last night?  The boys were up and moving already, and Chevy handed Noah a granola bar to eat. “It’s a light breakfast I know, but we don’t wanna miss the prime time of the day,” he said softly.

Despite being exhausted, Noah’s annoyance was fading quickly. Maybe this would be a little bit of fun; at the very least it would be something different from normal. He scratched at his chin, his fingers brushing through the smallest bit of stubble that had sprouted overnight. Noah had never been able to grow facial hair, but for some reason this didn’t alarm him, it felt natural even. He put on his hat to hide his messy hair and began to chow down on that granola bar. As he did, that small amount of stubble began pushing out more, giving Noah a shadow across his jaw. It grew thicker, sticking out further until he had a rough, patchy beard. It made Noah look more natural in his hunting gear, aging him up just a hair. His clothes had also grown less baggy on him, attributing to an extra inch or two in height and some mass he’d never been able to pack on before.

Within a few minutes, they were off, trekking through the tall grass into the brush. Logan guided them to a denser pocket where they set up watch and waited for some wildlife to show up. Logan had told them he knew there were deer that tended to feed nearby, so they just had to be quiet and wait. The tension grew as time passed, and before he knew it, a buck had shown up in the clearing. Chevy had prepared him for this, and he took the shot. The deer went down, and Chevy and Logan cheered.

“Hell yes dude! Nice shot, especially for your first time,” Logan patted him on the back.

Chevy gripped him with joy, “It must be in your blood bro, you’re a natural.”

The adrenaline was coursing through Noah’s veins and to his surprise he was actually having a good time. He couldn’t remember why he hadn’t wanted to spend time with his cousins, they were chill, and this was turning out to be better than being cooped up in the house. The three of them carried the animal back, working together to hoist several hundred pounds. The sun was fully up now and it was humid. Sweat ran down Noah’s back, and he could smell the putrid stench coming off Chevy in front of him. He didn’t mind though, after all, that’s what a working man smells like.

The sweat was clinging to Noah’s damp skin, beading on his forehead. As he slogged ahead, carrying this massive weight on his shoulders, his body began to adapt. His twig like arms expanded with new muscle, his thighs exploded with size, and his chest produced an impressive set of pecs before softening with a layer of fat. The sweat and smell really began to soak into his skin, and under his sopping shirt small brown hairs poked up around his nipples. Those soft, small hairs didn’t remain so for long, sprouting from his chest, covering the expanse in a curly rug that was slicked down with sweat. Noah’s stubble was not to be left out, pushing further out of his face. Hairs wriggled out in the gaps between old ones, leaving him with much better coverage on his cheeks. Around his chin it even started to fluff up a little, coarse hairs puffing out.

They finally made it back to their camp, dropping the load and slumping into the chairs they’d left around the fire pit. 

“We’ll have to gut and clean that in a minute, but here champ,” Logan handed Noah a beer. It was cold, and exactly what Noah needed against the oppressive humidity. “Here’s to many more,” he toasted, before chugging his own down. Noah was finally able to take a breather, and thats when he noticed.

He STUNK.

He raised his arms back behind his head, airing them out. The sweat drenched pits aired their stench to the world, but to Noah, he just matched his cousins now. The exposed pits had a few hairs plastered to the skin. As he sipped the beer and relaxed, more wisps of hair shot out from his skin, growing thick and wiry. What started as a few extra hairs quickly blossomed into a thick forest of hairs, tangling together and poking out of the sleeves of his t-shirt. The hairs itched as they grew in, prompting Noah to dig his fingers in there, scratching through the sweaty, smelly hairs. He didn’t question it, as far as he remembered he’d had hairy pits since middle school. The hairs spread out of his pits, connecting to the dense coating on his chest. The rug on his chest had started creeping upwards, reaching with thick tendrils of hair towards his burgeoning beard.

After a short reprieve Noah was back on his feet, jumping at the opportunity to learn from his cousins how to clean their kill. They were eager to teach him, to fold him into their ways. Noah’s distaste for his cousins, the country, hunting, all of it was evaporating. He felt like he had so much in common with them now, how had he never realized? 

The rest of the day Chevy and Logan took Noah on a whole laundry list of activities they’d planned. Fishing, mudding, you name it. All hesitation had disappeared, Noah was in deep now. He kept drinking with the boys, not noticing that his gut was pushing tight against his shirt. In fact, his whole upper body was stretching out. His shoulders pushed out, growing broader. His frame was massive now, bigger than either of his cousins. He stood out on the edge of a pond in the harsh sunlight fishing, his shirt absolutely soaked with sweat that dribbled down his massive back. As it reached his waistband, it began fertilizing the growth of a new patch of hair right above his plump ass. The hairs sprung out of the wet skin, shooting up his spine in minutes. Before long the hairs had spread out across the wide expanse of his lats, pressing against the tight shirt. The fields of hair were thick, dense enough to darken the shade of his skin, and definitely didn’t help with the sweat situation. The hairs continued to spread, climbing over his round shoulders and down his arms, coating him with a wild fur that cemented his place out in the country. He was really starting to look like his cousins now, between his camo gear, hairy body, and beer gut. 

When the three of them returned to camp that night, Noah was exhausted. He grabbed another can from the cooler and cracked it open. Putting up to his mouth, he tilted it a little too far, spilling foamy beer down his face and into his chest hair. He chuckled and half attempted to wipe the foam off. Where it sat in his beard, the hairs began to thicken and sprout. His mustache grew incredibly thick, making itself known above the rest of his scruff. His chest fur also took to the growth, turning into a real carpet that climbed up and out of his shirt collar. Noah let out a massive burp in response.

“Yo Chevy, we really gotta head back tomorrow? Shit rocks out here,” Noah said with a deeper voice than he’d ever had previously.

“Yea bro, Ma will skin us if we miss the reunion. But don’t worry man, I know you’ll be back out with us in no time,” he flashed a grin at Noah. 

Noah went and dug through their bags, finding a lighter and pack of cigars. Now that the sun was going down, it was cool enough to enjoy being outside. He lit it up and took a hefty puff, his huge, hirsute body taking it in like a champ. Any thoughts about his old spring break, his old life, had been dragged through the mud and stamped out. All he wanted to do now was relax, listen to the sounds of the crickets, and spend time with his bros. 

#male tf #hairy tf #bear tf #redneck tf #hair growth #hairy #hairy chest #hairy pits #hairy back #beard #my writing

[jgracie]

LOVE GROWS (WHERE MY ROSEMARY GOES) — PERCY + CHILD OF DEMETER

masterlist | rules

❝ Hiya,can i request if you have time,Percy dating a Demeter kid?Thank you💕 ❞ — anon

in which percy dates a child of demeter

pairing percy jackson x demeter!reader

warnings me projecting as a child of demeter LOL, one swear word

on the radio . . . love grows (where my rosemary goes) (edison lighthouse)

an never stop requesting demeter!reader guys (i live vicariously through her) also this features another travis cameo LOL him and percy are bffs in my head ALSO the watering can thing is inspired by stardew valley i cannot wait for the day i get to upgrade to sprinklers

Percy’s never been a morning person. However, he has been forced awake at ungodly times due to nightmares

This was one of those times. He could barely remember what the dream was about, all he knew was that it was bad enough for him to wake with a start, his body drenched in sweat as he tried to recollect himself

Looking over at the clock on his bedside table, Percy could barely make out the time: 5:35AM. Well, there was no point going back to sleep now. Even if he did, he’d probably just be visited by nightmares again

So, Percy slipped the nearest t-shirt on and left his cabin, unsure of where he was heading - maybe the beach to cool off? Who knows, he was in disarray. The worst dreams were always the ones you couldn’t remember, the fear of them possibly being important haunting your day

Suddenly, Percy smelt a comforting scent waft through the air. He’d never smelt anything like that before. It couldn’t be ambrosia or nectar - while they both had good scents, they weren’t half as strong as this one. What could it be?

He decided to follow his instinct and find where the smell was coming from. Which led him to cabin 4

Despite it being right across from his own, Percy never paid cabin 4 much attention. Not until now

He continued following the scent and ended up at the back of the cabin, where there was a huge garden filled with what Percy believed to be the most appetising fruits and vegetables he’s ever seen. To the side, there was a greenhouse, where he could see the silhouette of a person

Curious, Percy made his way over to the greenhouse. He’d never spoken to a Demeter kid before, but he’d heard of your nurturing nature and kind hearts in passing

“It’s okay, Cassie, you can go back to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up, I promise,” Percy heard a voice say, stopping in his tracks. Deciding to take a peek, he found himself facing an angel

You were rocking a young girl who seemed to be six years old at most back to sleep in your arms. Wherever you went, the flowers in the greenhouse bloomed brighter, gravitating towards you and wrapping their stems around your arms, almost as if they were vying for your attention

The girl’s face was tear-streaked, but she nodded, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. You smiled and ran your fingers through her hair, praying to your mother that she wouldn’t have another nightmare

You hated when the younger kids got nightmares - they could barely understand the fact that one of their parents is a God, let alone comprehend the strange demigod nightmares

Then, you noticed him. When you locked eyes, Percy felt as if the last puzzle piece of his life was finally put in place. Was it too early to say you were made for him?

“Hello! Welcome to Flowers and Vines (shoutout to Stella for naming it!), how may I help you today?” You said, your cheery tone snapping Percy out of the trance you put him in. Walking inside (he’d been simply listening next to the door), Percy sheepishly rubbed his neck, hoping you didn’t think he was some weird stalker

Percy looked around, now fully being able to see everything your greenhouse had to offer. His mom would love this place

“Oh, I’m good, thanks… I didn’t know you guys had a flower shop here! That’s really cool…” Percy said, trailing off at the end once he realised he didn’t know your name. He was a little embarrassed, but luckily, you didn’t seem to mind

Giggling, you continued for him, “Y/N, my name’s Y/N. And Flowers and Vines is more than just a flower shop, we sell produce too! Mr D’s kids help us with the grapes.” As you told him all of this, you were going around with a pretty pink watering can and watering every single plant in the whole greenhouse. Surely, there must be a more efficient way to water them all?

That morning, Percy decided he would buy a flower from you. When you’d asked which one he wanted, he simply told you to surprise him

“These are some of my favourites,” you said while wrapping your flowers of choice - to Percy, they looked like every other pink, round flower out there, but he’d learn the difference for you. These were now special

Handing him the little bouquet, you continued, “Rhododendron - ‘I shall never look upon your like again’, that’s what they mean. I don’t see them around much anymore, which is why I planted them here!”

It was almost like you knew Percy would never look upon your like again. When he’d asked you how much they were for, you insisted on giving them to him on the house. After much arguing, Percy accepted, keeping them right next to his bed. Something about them made the nightmares a little better

After that day, Percy couldn’t stop thinking about you. Everything he saw around him reminded him of you - from the flowers in the forest to the smell of mangoes in the air as their season arrived

He’d see you occasionally, too, and would shyly wave whilst hoping you didn’t notice the way his face turned a bright red when you waved back

You thought Percy was really cute, too, and were a little disappointed when he didn’t show up a second time after your original rendezvous. You began taking on so many shifts you might as well have been working at Flowers and Vines full time. Your siblings (as well as Dionysus’ kids) teased you relentlessly for this, but you didn’t care. You just wanted to see him again

And then you did

Percy’s idea was one that was suggested by none other than Travis Stoll. He was simply catching up with the son of Hermes when he’d brought up the fact that everyone working at Flowers and Vines watered the plants using watering cans (something which had been really bothering Katie)

When Percy had asked why they did that, Travis explained that they used to have sprinklers but after the Ares cabin tinkered with them once (they were bitter over a game of Capture the Flag), causing the water to go all over the place and killing a lot of the flowers, the sprinklers were unusable and currently being fixed by the Hephaestus cabin

That’s when Percy came up with it. Since he was a son of Poseidon, he could spread water from a source as far as he wanted to. Therefore, he could help with your issue and have an excuse to talk to you

Immediately, Percy ran to the flower shop/fruit market he’d grown to love so dearly

“Hi! Is Y/N here?” He asked one of your siblings, breathless. They nodded and pointed behind them, smirking as they snuck knowing glances to your other siblings

There you were, in all your glory. You seemed to sparkle under the Sun, watering the flowers with your little pink pot. When the water ran out, you sighed. You really needed to invest in a bigger one

Just as you were about to go fill it, Percy proudly announced, “you won’t have to do that anymore!”

You couldn’t believe your ears. As you turned around, you fought the urge to hug the boy. Despite only speaking with him once, you really did miss Percy

Intrigued, you followed Percy to the fountain in the middle of the greenhouse. Before, it used to just be for decoration (since you had sprinklers), but now it came very handy for refilling your watering cans

Extending his arm towards the fountain, Percy willed droplets of water to hover in the air, then, with one motion, threw them all over the greenhouse, watering your plants perfectly

“Oh my Gods, Percy, this is amazing! Thank you so much!” You exclaimed, running over to him and giving him a peck on the cheek. It was a spontaneous decision mainly done because you were getting quite tired of manually watering all your plants

After that, Percy began working at Flowers and Vines as your temporary plant-waterer. You, your siblings and Dionysus’ kids would all cheer when he’d appear, and he’d play into it, making a big show out of getting the water out of the fountain and sprinkling it over the plants, winking at you as he did so

The plants seemed to flourish even more than usual, too. You told yourself it was probably because water from a son of Poseidon was more powerful than normal water (or something along those lines), but you knew the truth

As a child of Demeter, much like your mother, your emotions influenced nature around you. When you were sad, plants would wilt and wither, mimicking the winter Demeter creates whenever Persephone is in the Underworld

The opposite was true. Whenever you were happy, plants would blossom and bloom all around - and you were really happy when Percy was around. Which is why you needed to tell him before the Hephaestus cabin fixed your sprinklers

However, fear got the best of you every time you tried to get the words out of your mouth. Despite practising several times with your siblings (and even once with the Aphrodite cabin), whenever you tried telling Percy, you’d get shy and vines would grow out of your head, tangling with your hair and acting as a shield

Unfortunately for you, Percy couldn’t tell from that that you liked him, so you simply had to get over your fears and say it

Your confession happened on Percy’s last day as your plant waterer. That morning, Katie had pulled you to the side, telling you to hurry up your confession to Percy as she and Travis couldn’t delay the Hephaestus cabin any more (they were getting quite annoyed, having worked on the sprinklers for so long. What did those Ares kids do to them?)

So, you spent the whole day bracing yourself for Percy’s arrival. All you had to do was say it, get his response and move on with your life. It wasn’t that big of a deal!

After Percy watered the plants, everyone watched in silence, waiting for you to say something

“Hey… Percy, can we talk?” You asked, ignoring the hushed cheers of your siblings as you approached the boy. He nodded, smiling at you and letting you lead him to the back, where you kept all the extra supplies

Sitting on a stool, Percy looked up at you, just noticing your nervousness, “is everything okay?” He asked, concern laced in his voice

You nodded, taking a deep breath. You practically had this memorised. You just had to get the words out. You couldn’t get the words out

The vines grew from your head again and you wanted nothing more than to cocoon yourself in them. You’d faced terrifying monsters with a calm smile and eliminated them like you were pulling weeds out of your gardens, but you couldn’t tell a boy you liked him?

At this point, the vines were wrapping around the stool Percy was sat on, and he stood up, confused

Slowly, he made his way over to you and brushed the vines away from your face. As he looked into your wide eyes, he finally understood. Cupping your face with his hands, Percy placed a tender kiss on your lips

“I like you too, Y/N. Like, a lot”

Ok dating hcs 🥳

First of all I just wanna say PICNIC DATES!!! Sometimes you have them on the beach and it’s like you combined both your worlds <3

As a child of Demeter I can confidently say we know how to cook. Percy’s so in love with your cooking. He never thought any cooking could rival his mother’s until you came along

Somehow, you knew how to make meals that make him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. If you asked him to taste ambrosia and one of your meals blindfolded and then choose one, he’d choose yours in a heartbeat

He’s also so obsessed with the fresh produce you bring from Flowers and Vines. I said this in my Percy x Persephone!Reader headcanons but I don’t think Percy’s much of a fruits/vegetables guy so the fact that you have him hooked on them says a lot

Swears he’s addicted. You think he’s just saying that to flatter you but he means it. If someone asked him if he had an addiction he’d look them dead in the eye and go, “yes, my partner’s bell peppers.”

He’s actually right though! Demeter + Dionysus kid powers make the produce taste a little fresher and last for way longer

Percy also decides to learn the language of flowers. He borrows a book about it from the Athena cabin and makes little notes and everything

Once, you came to his cabin and found the book full of scrawled annotations and sticky notes in it and you had to fight the urge to bawl your eyes out because he’s just so adorable

Will literally buy you flowers from your own flower shop though LMAO he doesn’t even try to do the transaction with anyone else. He’ll buy them and you’ll give them to him and he’ll be like “oh thanks I’m gonna go give this to the light of my life now” and he just hands them back to you

Percy’s also def the type of guy to keep one with him so he can get you new ones as soon as they start to wilt. Except his timing is always off because flowers tend to last a little longer when they’re around you

Lowkey still works at Flowers and Vines except he just follows you around and has no salary (he says his salary are kisses from you but knows he’d get them regardless LOL)

Brings Sally and Paul to Flowers and Vines and they’re immediately hooked because flowers in the mortal world aren’t half as beautiful as these hello??

Also, as a child of Demeter, you are naturally very motherly and caring. He loves seeing you interact with Estelle so much!!!

His half-sister warmed up to you extremely quickly and now refuses to be babysat by anyone who isn’t you. Like it can’t even be Percy alone you have to be there!!

Percy ALSO loves it when you dote on him. This leads to him being a little dramatic at times

Looking up, you saw a pouty Percy make his way over to you, his brows furrowed as he looked down at his finger

“Y/N! You won’t believe what happened!” He said. The first couple times he pulled this stunt, he’d scared you shitless, but you now knew all about your boyfriend’s antics and simply gave him a knowing smile

Feigning worry, you asked, “oh no, what is it?” Percy revealed his finger to you, which had a barely noticeable cut at the tip of it

“I was talking to Clarisse when all of a sudden she swung at me!” He told you, looking over to the side. In reality, he’d asked Clarisse to cut him, knowing only a child of Ares could have such precision with a weapon

Sporting a pout of your own, you took Percy’s finger and peppered it with kisses, “I’ll speak to Clarisse, don’t worry.” You said

“Uhh.. Y/N.. she also punched me in the lips… My lips really hurt.”

Let’s just say you didn’t get much work done that day (SAFE FOR WORK!)

#percy jackson x reader #percy jackson x you #percy jackson x y/n #percy jackson #percy jackson x gn reader #pjo #pjo x reader #percy jackson fanfic #percy jackson headcanons #percy jackson x demeter reader #percy jackson x child of demeter #demeter pjo #children of demeter #cynwrites

[flowerandblood]

The Fall from the Heavens (25)

[ dark • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: angst, tension, anxiety, a lot of half-truths ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard

Author note: For the purposes of this story, Lord Rodrik Arryn had a son and an heir, who in turn has a son of his own, to whom our Lady Strong was betrothed. I invented the lullaby in this chapter, so if you think it's weird, thank me, lol.

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

After what he heard, he just vomited, unable to stop the convulsions that were squeezing his stomach, the rapid pounding of his heart or his terrified, ragged breathing. He could feel tears of despair and fear running down his cheeks as he coughed once more, panting heavily over the vessel − he felt like his whole body was twitching.

You will betray her at the moment she trusts you the most.

You will achieve victory, but she will never let you touch herself again.

You will put your child inside me, your bastard son, who will rule Harrenhal after our death.

He felt his stomach twist again in pain at the mere memory – he leaned over the bowl, feeling the gag reflex shake his body once more, but nothing left his throat.

He cried out loudly as if he were a small child, covering his face with his hand, leaning over the table, thinking about how much he needed his wife right now.

How much he wanted to snuggle between her soft, sweet breasts, to feel her smooth, warm hands stroking his hair, her heart beating beneath his cheek.

He drew in a loud breath, reminding himself that he had left her alone and that any moment spent in this disgusting place could have been her last; he reached for the cup of wine, rinsed his mouth a few times and spat the contents into the bowl, washing his face with fresh water, trying to calm himself.

This was part of their game, he thought, feeling his terror slowly begin to be replaced by fury.

He was sure Larys Strong had made her say it because he wanted him to believe that what was to come was destiny, not his and his grandfather's plan.

They wanted to manipulate him, to force him to leave her, to strip her of his protection, to destroy her.

No, he thought.

He was no longer a small child.

He left the fortress feeling that he had again unwittingly become the cold, empty stone he had been for eight years when she had not been with him, recognising that he had to keep a cool head.

He could not allow himself to be weak now.

He knew that if he just looked at her, if he just saw her face again and remembered what that woman had said to him he would simply burst into sobs, so to her disappointment he pretended not to see her.

The journey to the Eyrie, although spent in full sun and short, was unbearable for him and dragged on endlessly; he felt that waves of thoughts, suppositions and versions of events flowed through his mind one after another, causing complete chaos in his head.

What if Rhaenyra did not agree despite his lie?

What if she agrees, but demands the head of his grandfather and mother?

Whoever he was, his grandfather was his kin, his blood; all his life he had fought for them and their rights even if he himself often despised him.

How should he behave in such a situation so as not to let her down?

To fight? Declare war on them? Let her decide for herself once again which side she would stand on this time?

He pressed his forehead to the front of his saddle, clenching his hands on the ropes he held in his fist, feeling that he was descending into madness.

As they landed in the valley below the fortress he slid off his saddle, thinking that he had to share his plan with her, lest she accidentally say something herself that might destroy their credibility.

"− uncle −" She began, walking towards him, her face all pink and sweaty from exertion, unruly strands of her hair clinging to her skin.

His heart pounded harder.

You will come back here to face your nephew and you will take me, because you will decide that I am similar to her enough to satisfy your pain and longing.

You will put your child inside me, your bastard son, who will rule Harrenhal after our death.

He swallowed loudly, feeling that his vision was blank, his hands clenched into fists.

"− we'll tell them you're expecting my child −" He said coolly, sidestepping her, heading ahead, wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible − he heard her draw in a loud breath as she moved immediately after him, terrified, trying to keep up with him.

"− what? − Aemond, we can't lie, not now −" She muttered, clearly terrified by this vision − he pressed his lips together into a thin line, furious that she was making this all even more difficult.

"− they must agree to our terms − I will not discuss my decisions with you −" He growled impatiently and stopped when her silhouette appeared in front of him – her palms slapped against his chest, a fury in her eyes that startled him.

"− you will − you don't know them as well as you do − Daemon can sense the lie, he will see it in your eyes − do you think that once they understand that you are manipulating them they will agree to whatever conditions you set for them? −" She asked with an irritation in her voice that he didn't like; he felt a cold sweat on his neck at the unbearable thought that she was partly right.

Fuck.

He stared at her for a moment, breathing heavily, feeling like he was about to faint, another disturbing thought flashed through his mind.

What had that whore said to her?

"− that fucking witch − what did she say to you? −" He asked uneasily, wanting to be sure she wasn't trying to manipulate his wife the way she was trying to manipulate him.

His Rheanys blinked rapidly and swallowed hard, as if his question made her uncomfortable − he felt an unpleasant twinge in his stomach at the sight.

"− that we should not return to Harrenhal − that I should watch out for myself and trust no one −" She muttered, and he felt his heart stop.

That we should not return to Harrenhal.

That I should watch out for myself and trust no one.

She warned her.

Why?

He felt that he understood absolutely none of this; the woman's behaviour seemed to make no sense to him, but that wasn't the worst of it.

The worst part was the thought that perhaps she really believed what she said.

That perhaps she really did see his betrayal and what he would do next in her dream or in the fire.

He stood watching her like a small, frightened child who was afraid to tell a parent that he had stolen and destroyed their favourite book unwillingly, who was afraid to admit his guilt for fear of punishment and what it entailed.

She must have seen what was happening to him in his gaze because she walked over to him and touched his upper arms, her scent, the smell of vanilla reached his nose.

"− husband, what happened? − if you have doubts, let's discuss everything − but please don't close yourself in the fortress of your mind −" She muttered pleadingly, her voice warm and calm, soothing, as if she understood that he was afraid.

That thought, the realisation that she knew him well enough that he couldn't hide from her what was happening inside him made him feel even worse.

He thought she would loathe him forever.

He swallowed hard as she cupped his cheeks between her hands and closed his eyes, feeling himself tremble all over, focusing only on her closeness.

"− uncle − look at me − I am your ally − I always have been −" She whispered tenderly making another wave of heat and fear surge through his body at the same time, causing something inside him to crack.

"You're your parents' child too. Just like me. What will you do when one of them demands the other's head?" He asked coldly, feeling his heart pounding like mad − he felt like he could hear in his ears the fast pumping of blood through his veins.

His wife furrowed her brows, shaking her head as if she did not understand what he had just said to her.

"− I will never agree to this − despite what your grandfather and your mother did to me, I will not agree for them to be harmed if you assure me to do the same − you know that I am not driven by revenge − and you? − you are the one who constantly doubts me, however, ever since I appeared in King's Landing you have been the one to let me down − yet I remain faithful to you − I chose you, uncle, when will you understand it? − when will you understand that there is no other way for me but by your side even if I come to burn? −"

She said in a trembling, angry, breaking voice from which a shiver ran down his back; he looked at her in disbelief feeling his body filled with guilt and shame.

You are the one who constantly doubts me, however, ever since I appeared in King's Landing you have been the one to let me down.

She was right.

She welcomed him with open arms despite the fact that he hadn't answered her letters for eight years; she didn't show him any kind of resentment, she didn't demand an apology from him, she lavished him with understanding and tenderness when he needed it, wanting to make things right.

It was he who betrayed her when Aegon became King.

It was his mother who forced her to drink the moon tea.

He was the one who made her try to take her own life.

He was the one who kept her locked up like a prisoner.

And yet, it was he who perpetually accused her in his head of the possibility of betrayal, as if he was just waiting for it.

For an excuse to decide that this was never going to succeed.

Despite this, she was now standing in front of him, being on his side, willing to fight alongside him for a future for them.

He felt a squeeze in his throat at this realisation, at the thought that there was never any other way for him than the one that would always lead him to her, to his beloved, to his friend.

To his Rheanys.

He lifted his hand, in some subconscious gesture of tenderness and closeness placing an unruly strand of her dark hair behind her ear, looking at her pretty face, at her bright, shining eyes, at her long lashes, at her swollen, moist lips − everything that belonged to him, that he could take every night.

He felt his manhood twitch in his breeches at the thought.

"Can I kiss you?" He heard her whisper and looked at her, seeing that she was staring at him exactly as she had then, that day when she had come to his chamber as a child, holding a small book clutched to her chest in her hands.

He leaned towards her without a word and closed his eyes, sighing in relief when her plump, soft lips pressed against his in a sweet, sticky kiss; she pulled away from him, stroking his cheeks and hair with her hands, but it wasn't enough for him.

"One more time."

He moaned into her mouth and locked her in the tight, strong embrace of his arms as her lips pressed against his again, this time as if she wanted to devour him, her wet, swollen lips sucking and licking him making him completely hard; he felt the lust, the hot feeling he shared with her shake his body as his eyes involuntarily filled with tears at the thought of what he had heard.

You will take me, because you will decide that I am similar to her enough to satisfy your pain and longing.

You will put your child inside me.

But he wanted her.

He wanted his childhood friend.

His lover, his companion, his joy.

She filled his heart with herself so much that there was no room in it for any Visenya.

"I love you." He muttered helplessly, feeling the words leave his throat without the participation of his free will. "I've always loved you."

He felt her gasp loudly at his words as her body trembled in his arms; his heart squeezed tight with pain as she wept quietly.

"− I feel that some weight has crushed you, my beloved − it covers you like a heavy black cloak − but I am by your side − I am with you − trust me − I know how to speak with them, I know them −" She mumbled out looking at him with a hot gaze full of affection from which he felt that nothing mattered anymore, that he couldn't fight himself or what only she could do.

He was completely helpless against her.

"− will you be by my side even when all is lost? − even if there is nothing left but darkness? −" He asked in a breaking voice, and she smiled, so sweetly, tenderly, joyfully that his hands clenched tighter on her body.

"− yes − don't go the path I could not follow − let me stay by your side − if I am to leave this world, I want to die in your arms −" She whispered softly, and he felt that it was over for him, that whatever he had been thinking about a moment ago, it didn't matter.

"− so be it − fall with me −" He breathed out, before his lips pressed greedily into hers, his fingers digging into the material of her leather coat enclosing her in his tight embrace, their tongues colliding with each other, licking with their soft sighs of pleasure.

He thought, panting hard into her throat, caressing her with a loud click of their saliva, that he could take her now, on the grass, in front of everyone, and fuck her so hard that the whole Eyrie would hear.

This, however, did not happen.

The sight of her would-be betrothed was the last thing he wanted to see − Ronnel Arryn seemed to him to be a boastful and self-obsessed man, focused only on the tonnage of his muscles and how he presented himself.

His grin full of mockery which he threw back at him, looking at the left side of his face made him involuntarily think how pleasant it would be to just slit his throat.

He remembered why they were actually there when they walked into the circular chamber where his uncle and half-sister were waiting for them − he pressed his lips into a thin line seeing that his sister-whore dared to wear his father's crown on her head.

He said nothing.

As his wife threw herself into her mother's arms, he glanced at Daemon; his uncle stood back leaning lazily against the wall, his chin lifted slightly in some sort of challenge, a lazy, mocking smirk on his face.

"Let's sit down." He heard his sister's voice at last, but he had no intention of obeying her orders; so he stood, looking at his uncle, who also had not moved from his place, stroking the handle of his Dark Sister thoughtfully.

"My husband has conveyed to me that my brother-usurper wants to pact over the succession of the throne he himself has unlawfully taken. I must admit that this is a quite ridiculous situation." Rheanrya began, and he rolled his eyes, feeling frustrated and impatient. His wife threw him a quick, frightened glance − he, however, just looked at her, letting her speak.

He decided that he would trust her.

His niece grunted loudly and looked at her mother, adjusting herself in her seat, tense.

"My uncle, Prince Aegon, had no choice. His mother is deeply convinced that her husband, my grandfather, and our King, revealed his final will to her before he died. She mentioned to my uncle about the Prince who was promised, about Aegon's dream. I think she misunderstood him, mother, I…" She paused as Rheanyra looked quickly in Daemon's direction − he and his wife exchanged quick, shocked glances between themselves.

He furrowed his brow, feeling discomfort in his pit, wondering what they knew that might have escaped his attention.

Her mother looked at her again, some strange glint in her gaze.

"Mother?"

"Aegon the Conqueror's Dream. A Song of Ice and Fire. This is the prophecy my father spoke to me about. Whatever Alicent heard, it did not apply to her firstborn son." She said in a trembling voice, as if it was obvious to her.

He felt rage at the thought that their father had shared with his daughter some prophecy, a future that was to befall their lineage, but did not consider them, his sons, worthy of the privilege.

Humiliation, shame and anger surged through his body making his words involuntarily leave his lips.

"You mean to say that our father only conveyed the contents of this prophecy to you, but you don't believe my mother that he could have passed on to her that he changed his mind regarding the succession?" He growled, his sister and uncle throwing him quick, warning glances.

"Calm down, nephew. You are speaking to the Queen." Daemon reminded him, and he looked at him with rage.

"She is not my Queen." He hissed, his hand sliding down to the hilt of his sword when he saw Daemon's fingers tighten around his Dark Sister.

"That's enough. We have met here because Aegon realises, as you do Mother, that his and your children's rights to the throne will be challenged, and the war will not end with your death." His wife interjected, startling him as did the rest of those gathered, his heart began to pound like mad.

What?

"Are you undermining Jace, my firstborn son's right to the throne?" Her mother asked in a trembling tone, clearly not believing what she was suggesting.

Her daughter drew in a loud breath and swallowed hard before answering her.

"He's a bastard, mother. Like me, Luke and Joffrey, he cannot inherit the throne. Will you cut off my tongue for those words? Will you deprive me of my head, father?"

He looked at her with his lips slightly parted, feeling that his mind was not yet able to comprehend fully what she had actually done.

She continued, however, as if the words were pouring out of her like a river.

"We just lie and lie and lie until in the end we ourselves don't know where the truth lies, but it is there somewhere, always, and sooner or later none of us will be able to deny it even if we beheaded all the men in the Seven Kingdoms."

He felt a surge of satisfaction and warm affection shake his body at her words, at her proof that she understood him, understood his pain, understood why her brothers could not be heirs to the throne.

How could he ever doubt her?

Her mother and stepfather seemed as shocked as he was, unable to get a word out.

"How dare you say such a thing? Your father, Laenor Velaryon, has recognised you and your brothers as his heirs. He gave you his name, he recognised you as his child in the eyes of the kingdom." Her mother muttered, clearly heartbroken that her own daughter was challenging her words.

"But the whole Kingdom knows, mother. Even if Jace were to sit on the throne after your death, his lineage will not be forgotten. Are you prepared to die knowing that neither he nor his children will ever be safe? That, like my uncle's coronation, his coronation would also be challenged by lords across the Kingdom?" She asked in pain, as if she herself could no longer bear what was happening, how far they had gone in pretending what was the truth and what was a lie.

He thought that he himself would not have put into words better what he thought and acknowledged with pride that his wife was a great speaker.

That even he would have hesitated and reconsidered what she had said if he had heard the arguments spoken in this way.

"I know what humiliation you experienced, mother, and how much suffering you endured. Believe me that I did too. I, too, do not believe my grandfather would change his mind on his deathbed. I did not and do not recognise Aegon as King, nor have I ever called him that or given him the honour he deserves.

However, if we do not find an agreement, war will break out not only in the Realm, but in our family. This is what King Viserys wanted to prevent at the last supper before his death. Mother, after all, you are siblings. Your brother, though a traitor, extends his hand, he is ready to relinquish the crown he stole from you."

An awkward silence fell; Rhaenyra looked over her shoulder at her husband, apparently seeking his advice. His uncle stared at her with clenched lips, clearly believing that she should fight for her rights no matter what − even at the cost of war.

His half-sister looked at her daughter again and swallowed hard.

"I can consider the terms my husband has conveyed to me, but I also have my conditions. I will agree that it is your children who will inherit the Iron Throne, and you will be named as ruler-regents only if there are two kings, and you will be one of them.

You and your husband will share the power of the Kingdom equally and neither of you will sit on the throne or wear the crown. Aegon the Conqueror's crown and my father's crown will be kept in the treasury.

In addition, my husband and I will sit on the Small Council, and deprived of their seats will be your grandfather and Alicent. In addition, Otto Hightower will be stripped of all other functions and privileges and will reside under our oversight in King's Landing.

Jace will inherit Dragonstone as my first-born son. If no male heir is born to you, the official heirs will be the children from my and my uncle's marriage, pureblood Targaryens."

He stared at her wide-eyed, feeling the cold sweat on his back, his heart pounding like mad as his mind tried to quickly analyse what he had heard.

I will agree that it is your children who will inherit the Iron Throne, and you will only become ruler-regent if there are two kings, and you will be one of them.

You and your husband will share power in the kingdom equally and neither of you will sit on the throne or wear the crown. Aegon the Conqueror's crown and my father's crown will be kept in the treasury.

She wanted the kingdom to be ruled by two kings.

She wanted him and her daughter to have the same title, the same privileges.

He saw his niece look at him, her eyes big with terror, filled with fear of how he would react.

No, he thought.

She was no longer her daughter.

She was no longer a bastard.

She was his wife.

When he had covered her shoulders with the cloak with his family crest she had officially taken his name, and who her father was no longer mattered.

Although he knew that the name her mother had given her was different, to him she was Rhaenys.

Rhaenys Targaryen.

His childhood friend, a woman he trusted, respected, loved, whose opinion and letters he had held deep in his heart for years, whom he would have consulted if he had become king-regent anyway.

The thought that she would stand by his side, that she would help him carry this burden, that she would be like a second, necessary pillar to support the whole crumbling structure that was their family, filled him, to his surprise, not with frustration but relief.

He nodded his head.

His wife sighed quietly, looking at him with hope, turning her gaze to her mother. Rhaenyra's eyes welled with tears of grief and sorrow as she nodded, sealing her decision.

She had agreed.

Gods, she agreed.

"Pass on my words to my brother. Let him know that this is not just about my pride, but about the welfare of the Kingdom and our family. That I respect my father's will and hope that he will do the same." She said dispassionately and he nodded, feeling his whole body quiver with emotion, his hands clasped behind his back clenched into fists.

"You are surely exhausted. My cousin has prepared chambers for you where you can rest to set off on your return journey as we will tomorrow morning. Let us have supper together. I have been separated from my one daughter for too long." She said matter-of-factly and he swallowed hard feeling that he had completely frozen.

No.

None of them could stay here.

He couldn't propose that they fly to King's Landing knowing that they would surely disagree, so in desperation he proposed something that shocked everyone, including himself.

"No." He said coolly. "We'll spend the night in Dragonstone."

His niece beamed all over, her cheek blushing with happiness, as if she didn't believe his words.

"Do you mean it?" She asked sweetly like a little child to whom he had just given a wonderful surprise.

He felt a squeeze in his throat at the thought.

"Yes." He replied calmly, glancing at his uncle, who was squinting, watching him intently. "As an expression of my goodwill."

Daemon tapped the tip of his tongue against the wall of his cheek and hummed under his breath, a tense silence fell between them.

His wife was right.

He had the feeling that his gaze was piercing him to the core.

He muttered under his breath and looked at his wife − Rhaenyra, like his niece, seemed shocked by his proposal, but also pleased at the prospect of her daughter returning to her family home, if only for a while.

"Well…I see no objection. Daemon?" She asked her husband, who looked at his daughter. Apparently, something in her pleading gaze made him decide to remain silent for the time being, as he merely nodded his head in wordless agreement.

He closed his eyes and sighed quietly in relief, feeling a huge stone fall from his heart.

He stepped back, allowing Rhaenyra to leave, just behind her the room left Daemon throwing him one vigilant, mocking look telling him that he knew there was something more behind his words.

His wife, however, overwhelmed by excitement and joy, seemed not to notice it − she ran to him and snuggled into him, clasping her hands on his back, his arms immediately enclosing her in a tight, secure embrace.

He hadn't betrayed her.

He would never betray her.

So why did he feel so guilty?

"There are no words in which I can describe my gratitude to you. "She whispered, burying her face in his chest; he sighed heavily, pressing his lips to the top of her head, stroking her soft hair and neck with his fingers.

"I'm proud of you." He said calmly wanting her to know that he admired what she had done, the calmness in which she had presented his side's reasons while showing understanding and respect for her mother's rights and heritage.

He thanked the gods that he knew when to shut his mouth.

She looked at him and smiled shyly, as if his words surprised and embarrassed her. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him, pressing her soft lips to his, and he murmured low, feeling a tightness in his throat.

He should tell her, he thought with pain, but he didn't know how.

He didn't want to spoil this beautiful moment.

So he kept silent, but the guilt, the fact that he was hiding something from her, pressed down on his shoulders like a huge burden, through which he could experience neither relief nor satisfaction that Rhaenyra had agreed to their terms.

He never expected to fly through the skies beside Larax, Caraxes and Syrax, to ever see Dragonstone, to propose a journey there of his own accord.

He felt shame filling him.

As he and his wife stepped inside their fortress, where their children were already waiting for them, an awkward silence ensued. Jace and Luke stood behind a large stone table that resembled the shape of all of Westeros, looking at him in disbelief and horror. He shuddered when he saw that Rhaena was the first to rush ahead, sidestepping him and her father, enclosing his wife in a sincere, tender embrace.

"I'm so happy you're alive." She muttered in a breaking voice – his niece stroked her back with a smile.

"Me too." He heard her whisper.

After a moment, Baela joined them, throwing him a cold, warning glance along the way, from which he only rolled his eyes. He looked again at Luke, who swallowed hard and lowered his gaze, clearly unable to bear his presence.

He felt disgusted at the sight of them, two boys with cheeks flushed from shame, who knew full well that they did not and should not have any claim to the throne.

He grinned involuntarily at the thought, seeing how pale Jace was, that he understood for certain that their presence meant he would officially cease to be his mother's heir.

Satisfaction as sweet as poison coursed through his veins at the thought.

Jace drew in a breath at the sight of his grimace, his hands clenched into fists as if he felt like lashing out at him − he flinched when Daemon stepped in front of him, standing between them and shook his head.

Jace swallowed hard, furious, lowering his gaze to the stone floor beneath his feet.

None of them came up to greet his niece; only little Joffrey ran up to her and burst into tears screaming that she had left them alone.

They resented her for the side she had chosen in their minds.

She was the only reason they were both still alive, he thought with a sneer.

His half-sister, seeing the look on his face and sensing the tension that reigned around them, decided to take pity on them and suggested that they make themselves comfortable in the chamber that had previously belonged to his wife.

He accepted her words with relief.

As they stepped inside he felt a squeeze in his throat − her quarters were modest, filled with her scent, the windows of her room facing the open sea, the sound of which he could clearly hear. He walked deeper in, looking around her chests of drawers and wardrobes, her wooden bookcases filled to the brim with books, before his gaze finally settled on an ornate oak desk.

He swallowed hard imagining her seated figure bent over parchment.

"− is this here? −" He asked casually, running his fingers over the table top, noticing with a pained heart that it was dusty.

A sign of how long she had not been here.

His niece looked at him surprised and blushed, as if the mere mention embarrassed her.

"− yes −"

He sat down in the chair she sat in every time she wished to convey her thoughts to him, to put them on paper, which then flew all the way to King's Landing to reach his hands. He glanced towards the windows, wondering how many times she had deliberated on choosing the right words while observing exactly the same view.

He thought he was touched.

"− we should rest, husband − if that's what you wish, we'll have supper alone −" She said softly, her voice trembling with excitement and joy.

She couldn't believe she was home again.

He nodded, not knowing what more he could answer.

He had felt the tension all evening; his wife had shown him various books she had read over the years, which she had told him about in her letters. He tried to listen to her and nod, stroking her arm with the tips of his fingers as she sat beside him, flicking through page after page of one of the volumes, looking for the quote she had mentioned to him. Her question pulled him out of his musings.

"− uncle − will you tell me what troubles you? −"

He looked at her horrified and swallowed with difficulty − he only grunted, not knowing what he should answer like a child caught in the act.

"I'm tired." He replied acknowledging that this was partly true. She nodded in understanding, he closed his eyelids as her hand gently stroked his cheek.

"Let's go to bed."

He wasn't going to fight her.

He wanted to leave this place as soon as possible and get away from Daemon's disturbing gaze.

His wife pressed her lips together, seeing that he had put a dagger under his pillow before he lay down − however, she said nothing, knowing he might trust her, but certainly not her family.

He lay down beside her, sighing heavily, and closed his eyes, figuring that perhaps when he woke up the next day and realised that tragedy had been avoided due to his decision, his conscience would have a little more mercy for him.

He murmured contentedly as he felt her arms embrace him, cuddling his face between her breasts, the warmth of her body, her scent filling his entire lungs. He tightened his hands on her back, trying to focus only on the touch of her hands, on her fingers combing gently through his hair, on the lullaby she hummed softly under her breath, and from which his eyelids grew heavier and heavier.

When the moon rises

over the dark sky

When you hear from afar

my bitter cry

Know that I long

Know that I long

Know that I long

When the sun rises

over the bright sky

When you hear from afar

my joyful cry

Know that I'm home

Know that I'm home

Know that I'm home

And then sleep fell over him.

His lips clung to her soft, long neck, sweaty from exertion, heavy, drawn-out sighs full of pleasure left his lips as his hips with sure, deep, quick thrusts pounded again and again into her hot, fleshy interior.

"− forgive me − I've missed you − oh, my sweetest −" He breathed out, quickening his pace, sinking his nose into her dark curls, her moans muffled by the pillow she was cuddling her face into. Her body, though different, was just as warm, her scent, though different, was similar to hers.

It didn't matter to him, because she was there for him, because she had forgiven him.

"− I love you − oh fuck, Rhaenys −" He muttered, clenching his eyes, coming inside her at last, experiencing such immense relief that he cursed for another moment, rocking his hips inside her. He swallowed hard, worried that she wasn't saying anything, his fingers took strands of her hair from her face wanting to see her eyes and then he saw it.

Green irises, luscious as grass.

"− is it true? − is she carrying your child? −" He heard her voice as if from afar and suddenly he was standing in front of her in his chamber in King's Landing, feeling his heart pounding like mad, a cold sweat running down his back.

He felt a strong gag reflex and held it back with the remnants of his strong will.

He couldn't get anything out of himself.

What had he done?

"− answer me − is she carrying your child? −" His wife, his Rhaenys muttered in a voice breaking with pain and despair, her cheeks red from tears, her eyebrows arched in rage, in her gaze something he feared most.

Disgust.

"− I − I don't know −" He mumbled, trying to remember what had actually happened, how he could have done it when, after all, he had promised himself it would never, never happen.

He thought about how he hadn't touched her in so long, how he had missed her so much.

When she discovered that he had hidden the truth from her, what his grandfather had planned, that he knew what could have happened to them in the Eyrie but hadn't told her, she hadn't slept in his chamber, hadn't eaten supper with him, hadn't spoken to him or looked at him even though he had tried so hard to please her.

"− don't you know? − don't you know if you put your bastard inside her? −" She mumbled and burst out into a loud, miserable sob, hiding her face in her hands − he looked at her, panting hard, shaking all over, not knowing what he was supposed to say, what he was supposed to do.

"− HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME!? −" She almost screamed, falling to her knees as if without strength, whining loudly like some kind of animal, her whole being trembling and twitching in convulsions − he approached her quickly, kneeling beside her, trying to touch her, but she pushed him away.

"− my beloved − please − I was possessed by madness, I swear − I − I thought it was you −" He muttered, not knowing how he could explain such a betrayal, such humiliation she suffered because of him.

"− you thought it was me? − you fucked another woman and thought it was me? − gods, Aemond, don't touch me! − don't touch me −" She howled, her voice at once enraged, full of pain, suffering and grief, her eyes red with tears, her whole body quivering.

He was the reason for this.

He had done this to her.

"− my Prince − my Prince, quickly, your wife! −" He heard someone shout – he shuddered as he sat by the fireplace, gazing in horror at the figure of the guard who had rushed into his chamber.

As he stepped out into the corridor he heard someone's loud sobs and screams tearing at his heart; as he ran inside he froze noticing the figure of Rheaenyra kneeling on the floor, covering her mouth with her hand − his wife, and her daughter, was hanging from a rope tied to the frame of her bed, which was tightened around her neck, her dark hair covering her bowed head, her feet not touching the floor.

He ran to her trying to lift her, trying to pull her down, but he knew, felt, that it was too late, her body cold, numb, empty.

His face sank into her flesh covered only by the material of her nightgown muffling his loud, desperate scream.

"Uncle! Uncle, please, wake up!"

He opened his eyes and pulled himself up to sit down, panting heavily, feeling his heart pounding like mad – he could see nothing through the tears that one by one ran down his face, his body twitching all over in convulsions as if it had gone into a state of absolute panic.

"− easy, my love − breathe −" He heard someone's voice beside him, her voice – he looked at her as if he didn't recognise her, her eyes wide in terror, her hand stroking his shoulder reassuringly.

"− Rhaenys − Rhaenys −" He mumbled out like a small child calling out to its mother, bursting into sobs of relief and terror that shook his body − he snuggled into her breast, clasping his fingers on her back so tightly that she hissed in pain – however, she did not push him away and her arms enclosed him in a tight, secure embrace.

"− I'm here, my love − I'm here −" She whispered, again and again placing warm, moist kisses on the top of his head, combing her fingers through his hair.

For a moment he merely wept and quivered, unable to catch his breath, trying to calm himself, listening to her whisper, breathing in her scent, enjoying her closeness, the touch of her hand.

It seemed to him that it was hours before he began to breathe normally, before he realised that all he had seen was just a nightmare, that he was lying with his wife in her bed in Dragonstone.

That all was not yet lost.

He swallowed hard and clenched his eyes shut.

"− there's something − there's something I want to tell you −"

#aemond fic #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond angst #canon aemond #aemond fanfic #aemond one eye #aemond #prince aemond #prince aemond targaryen #aemond smut #aemond x oc #aemond x female #aemond x niece #aemond x wife #ewan mitchell #ewan nation #ewanverse #ewan mitchell fanfic #ewan mitchell fanfiction #ewan mitchell angst #hotd fandom #hotd fanfic #hotd fanficition #hotd fic #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen angst #dark aemond

[hopelesslyromanticshark]

hi covey !! i was wondering if you could write about daughter of poseidon and percy taking leo, jason, piper, annabeth, frank and hazel to the state fair and at the end of the night the reader kissing either leo or jason at the top of the ferris wheel

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ Cotton Candy Kisses

content: leo valdez x daughter of poseidon! reader warning: language author's note: do i mention cotton candy at all in this fic??? no. is it still in the title??? yes. sue me. ANYWAYS im now yearning for my county fair so thanks for that- I GOTTA WAIT LIKE FOUR WEEKS GUYS WHAT THE FLIP I WANT IT NOWWWWWWWW anyways, this was cutesy but also i had a negative want to write it but here it is!!!

when percy and you heard the fair would be in town, you guys didn't even think twice about dragging your friends to it. chrion was quick to shoot this field trip down, something about it being unsafe. and you and percy pretended to be sad, pouting but nodding. and the second the centaur turned his hind to the siblings, the pair was racing off to find the stoll's. with some minor bribery of doing chores for a few weeks and forking over the chocolate bars the children of poseidon had been gatekeeping, they had an easy - though illegal - way out of camp.

a lot of the argo ii crew had yet to be at a fair in their lives. most notable their roman counterparts and annabeth. percy was more than happy to show his girlfriend the ropes, glad that for once he had all the knowledge. it didn't last too long, as annabeth quickly got the hang of things, but percy did soak up every minute he could.

"so...this is funnel cake," you mused, shoving it across the wooden bench with a wide smile. frank and hazel leaned in suspiciously, frank stabbing it hesitantly with his fork.

"it looks...decent?" hazel offered, glancing up at you as you snorted at her response.

"give it a shot! i'm not a big fan but percy loves it," you explained with a shrug of your shoulders, watching with a smile as they took a few small bites, which quickly devolved into huge bites.

"guys! guys! you have got to try this!" jason called as he came rushing back, leo a puddle laughs as he followed. you glanced over your shoulder, welcoming leo's kiss to your cheek naturally.

"what'd you get?" you asked, taking the lemonade you asked leo to get for you with an appreciative kiss to the corner of his lips.

"a deep fried twinkie. best thing to ever grace the planet. here," replied jason before shoving the left over half to his other roman friends. you laughed at the buzzing boy, basically tasing the electric static in the air as you took a sip of your drink. you sighed out a breath as the drink hit your tongue - nothing quite like fair lemonade, truly!

"woah," frank said as he took a bite, his eyes going wide as him and jason shared a look of understanding.

"this is the best thing i've ever seen. we should introduce them to new stuff every year," leo joked, stealing a sip from your drink. though, you didn't really count it as stealing as you presented the yellow bendy straw to him.

"it's like watching kids discover a sugar high," you muttered back, watching frank share the funnel cake with jason, who wasn't exactly a big fan.

"hey! line for the zipper is super short!" percy called as he walked up with annabeth, who was proudly snuggling a teddy bear to her chest. which she won herself, as percy was struggling to hit the balloons with the darts.

"no sir. last time you force me on that ride i threw up!" you hissed, shaking your head rapidly. jason and frank were already jumping up, eager to try more new things.

"cmon. i promise to hold your hair back if you do throw up," leo offered as he stood up, holding his hand out to you. and you looked up at him in the glittering sunlight, gnawing on your lip in false contemplation as you'd already made up your mind.

"and they say chivalry is dead," you teased, taking his hand easily and letting him pull you from your seat and towards the fair ride.

and he did end up holding up his part of the deal, his hands your own personal hair tie as you spilled your guts into a trashcan. leo didn't mind though, trying his hardest not to laugh as you cursed him and percy out between gags. and he had fading thoughts of doing this years later, in a house of their own with a new little valdez on the way.

you sat out of most rides for the rest of the afternoon and well into the evening, nursing a seven-up percy got you as an apology. which earned him a kick to the shins, as you were still mad at him. leo, the great boyfriend he was, sat out with you, too, his arm threw over the back of the bench you guys took up post at. you leaned into his side without a second thought, holding onto piper, hazel, and annabeth's purses while they rode area 51 and the ring of fire.

"we're off to the farris wheel, which i figured was gentle enough for you. wanna come?" piper asked as she and the others came up to you and leo. he looked down at you, leaving the decision completely up to you.

"eh, fuck it. not much left in my stomach anyways," you shrugged, rising with a small giggled.

"that's the spirit!" cheered piper, wrapping her arm with yours and dragging you off with the rest of the group, leo rising and falling in line with the boys, your purse thrown over his shoulder without an ounce of shame.

the line wasn't terribly long as the night was starting to dwindle down and people began returning home. plus, you guys played an intense game of heads up while in line, which made the time fly. following the defeat of your high score by annabeth, you guys were next in line. naturally, the group broke into the natural couple pairs, leo's fingers instantly finding your belt loops with a large grin. piper and jason were more than happy to keep playing heads up together while on the ride. although, it was a bit awkward when the poor teen who was working the ride joked about them being a cute couple, which left the rest of the group hiding their laughs behind their hands as piper replied with a cheeky,

"yeah, his step-mom thought so, too!"

cue more laughter and the teen's face scrunching up in confusion. then the rest of you got your own seats. leo's hand never once left your thigh, his fingers tapping some unknown rhythm as the seat rocked with the roll of the ride. you kept your eyes on your boyfriend, not eager to look down as see the drop, knowing it'd just make your stomach lurch.

"you alright?" leo questioned, ever intuitive to your feelings.

"heights," you replied with a shrug and leo hummed, turning to you as a glimmer took over his eyes. a tale tell sign that this conversation would end with his lips against yours.

"wanna take the edge off?" he offered and you rolled your eyes with a small smile.

"let's see what ya got, valdez," you teased and before you could even finish the sentence completely, leo's lips were pressed against yours. your hands quickly found a home gently against his cheek while his hand slid up from your thigh to grip your waist and pulling you closer - well, as much as he could in the awkward position. he pulled back when his lungs began to beg for oxygen, smiling as your lips subconsciously chased his.

"that work?"

"wonders. but, we should try again. you know, just to make it stick."

"happily-"

"STOP MOOCHING ON MY SISTER, VALDEZ!"

"SHE'S BEEN MY GIRLFRIEND FOR OVER A YEAR, FISH HEAD!"

"I DON'T CARE! GET YOUR GRUBBY HANDS OFF HER!"

"SHE DOESN'T SEEM TO MIND-"

"EXCUSE ME, SIR, DO NOT CLIMB OUT OF THE RIDE-"

#postcards from covey ౨ৎ #all my love ౨ৎ #pjo #hoo #pjo fandom #heroes of olympus x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #leo valdez x reader #leo valdez #leo valdez x you #leo valdez x oc #leo valdez fanfic #x reader #leo valdez x yn #leo valdez fanfics #leo valdez fanfiction #rrverse #pjo hoo toa #riordanverse #heroes of olympus

[violetsiren90]

The Light of Your Eyes

Pairing: best friend's younger brother!Changbin x f!Reader

Genre: one-shot; friends to lovers; smut and fluff; hurt/comfort

Summary: Can the gentle touch of an unexpected pair of hands on your body heal the wounds of your soul?

Content warnings: 18+ (minors, dni), age gap romance (consenting adults); mentions of break-up and unhealthy past relationship dynamics; depression and anxiety symptoms (mild); MC has self esteem struggles, some are body-image related; the ex was low-key emotionally abusive tbh 😒; depictions of alcohol consumption (no drunkenness); depictions of food and eating (MC has a moment of negative thought patterns in regards to food consumption); gaming/watching movies; emotional breakdowns; kissing (so much kissing, guys); Fluffy fluffy FLUFF 💕; making out; interrupted shenanigans; cuddling; shirtless Binnie 👀; strong and gentle Binnie 🥺💘 ; working through FEELINGS 😅 ; breast play; nudity; oral sex (f. receiving); feedbag position; confessions and new beginnings.

Word Count: ~9300

Author's Note: Well, here it is - my first Binnie fic! I wanted to make it as sweet and sexy as he is...which, I know, is impossible, so I gave it my best shot! Hopefully, it's something worthy of his face-claim. I'm not going to make any judgements as to whether I feel it fits the bill, but rather like the man himself, tell you to be the judge of your own opinions! Jutdae!! 😂💗 But in all seriousness, if you decide to read this story, thank you! I hope it brings you something warm and fuzzy!

*The poem at the beginning is an original, and is what inspired this story!

Acknowledgements: I cannot thank @moni-logues enough for beta reading this for me, and for all her hype and humor and general human decency - this story wouldn't be what it is without her! 💖

As always, if no one has told you today, please know that you're loved, and worthy of love! 🧜‍♀️💜

    

the

Bright color of my laughter and the

Melody of the curve of my hips and the

Soft velvet of my irises

     seemed

To have taken their first breath,

Opening gently - like flowers perfuming my soul

- When bathed in the light of your eyes.

"Changbin? What are you doing here?"

     "I could ask you the same question," he says with a little smirk, whipping a dish towel over his shoulder as he shuffles back to let you in.

     Fair enough, you suppose. You are showing up without notice. Not that you ever need to give his sister any notice - as your best friend, there's a key with all the others in your purse that unlocks the door you're closing behind you. You wouldn't have even knocked had his car not been parked in the driveway.

     "Where's Nari?" you ask, glancing at the gaming console hooked up to the massive flat-screen, and a bullet blender cup half filled with something thick, pale and probably protein-packed sitting on the coffee table.

     "She went out of town for the weekend," he calls, heading back toward the dining area. "Last minute work thing." 

     Damn. 

     Your apartment is boring and barren and lonely. You wanted to hang out. You've been coming around more than usual – almost as often as when you were in grad school together. But Nari had her own life, you understood. You had your own life too.

     And then three months ago, on New Years Eve, your long-term boyfriend called it quits. It wasn't as if you were heartbroken. Not really. The relationship had been sick and slowly dying. But returning to a life lived in solitude was proving a difficult adjustment – especially navigating the new and constant stillness which left you the mental space and dexterity to run up against the shadows of wounds unhealed. And you didn't feel like growing into your EQ. You felt like distracting yourself. So you ended up at your bestie's place more often than not, these days.

     You sigh, trailing toward the kitchen. You won't stay long - if her younger brother is house sitting, he'll probably have people coming over. It's Friday night, after all, and he's twenty-four years young.

    The sound of running water, and music from a little speaker playing a catchy beat laced with fast-paced rap draws you into the warmly-lit, open kitchen. You recognize the voice on the track.

     "This new?" you ask, dropping your bag on a barstool and rounding the island to where Changbin is up to his elbows in suds at the sink. He's in a black band tee and bright blue joggers, his curly dark hair unstyled.

    He looks over his shoulder and nods.

    "What do you think? Wait, no, lemme start it over..."

     You smile to yourself as he hastily dries his hands and whips out his phone, pulling the track back to the beginning. He braces himself against the edge of the sink, gnawing on his bottom lip as he bobs his head with the lyrical punches and runs. 

     You smile to yourself, leaning your back against the counter beside him.

     "This is good, Bin," you nod earnestly. 

     "Yeah?" he asks, returning to his soapy task.

     "It really is. Hyunjin's pretty damn fast. Not as fast as you, but who is?" 

You grin, bumping your hip into his side.

     He smirks down into the bubbles.

     He's wanted to make music for as long as you've known him, and even fifteen years ago he could spit out a diss track that would have you wetting yourself laughing. He and his buddy, Hyunjin, met in high school and started messing around with music senior year. They committed to the dream, and both worked full-time gigs - Hyunjin as a tattoo artist and Changbin as a personal trainer - while promoting their artistry in their spare time. Production was a tough road to take when they were counting on nothing but raw talent and guts, but you'd always been an unflinching supporter.

     "We've got a gig next Saturday...at The Eight Ball," he remarks, looking over at you as a proud smile presses a tiny dimple into his bread cheek.

     "What?!" you squeal, turning to smack him on the arm. "Dude, that's fantastic! Oh my god, congratulations!"

     "Thanks, and ouch!" he replies, rubbing his arm with a pout that you ignore. It couldn't possibly have hurt him, not with those biceps.

     He moves to the fridge, a grin still plastered on his face.

     "You should come!" he urges over his shoulder as he appraises his sister's stash before grabbing an energy drink. "I know the boyfriend isn't into rap, but you could come with Nari..."

     You scoff softly.

     "Doesn't really matter what he likes anymore," you mumble bitterly.

     Changbin freezes as he's about to crack open the beverage in his hand.

     "Wait, what? Did you guys...is that over?"

     You purse your lips and nod. Changbin looks completely taken off guard in a way that surprises you. 

“When did that happen?”

You reach back to clutch at the cold tile of the countertop.

“Beginning of the year.”

He scratches his head.

“Nari didn’t…why didn’t you say something?”

You shrug, your eyes falling. For reasons you'd never considered, you’d rarely brought your ex around or even brought him up to Changbin. 

He turns to the still open fridge and swaps out his energy drink for two beers, opening both and sliding one across the island between you.

     "How you holding up?" he asks in earnest concern, a little furrow appearing between his dark brows.

     You want to tell him that you're fine - it's what you've been telling everyone else - but from the way he holds your gaze before letting his eyes search your face, he's looking for a real answer. You pull your lip between your teeth. You're not ready to form the words that spell the truth. He sees it.

    "Ah," he waves dismissively, "Fuck that guy. You're too good for him anyway. What an idiot."

      You blink, a little smirk tugging at your lips.

     "You don't have to hate on him just because we're-"

     "I'm hating on him because I hate him," he stares at you unflinchingly, taking another swig of his beer. "He wasn't good to you, didn't make you happy. I'm glad he's gone. Seriously, fuck him."

     You didn't expect that sort of reaction out of Changbin. Not that you expected anything, but the strong, certain tone he took in regards to your ex's unworthiness has a tiny little warmth glowing in your chest. It was like him to feel strongly and take a stand, but to have his conviction aimed at you...

     "Thanks, Bin," you murmur softly, hiding your smile behind your beer.

     The young man nods, and his lips part as if to speak when his phone buzzes in his pocket. As he answers the call - clearly, from the nature of his greeting, one of his buddies - you're reminded that you’re trespassing on his Friday night. Draining your beer, you grab your bag and slip out of the kitchen. 

     You huff a little sigh as you pull on your shoes, lingering listlessly for a moment before pulling open the door. The thought of going home has your stomach churning. You can't go back and be alone there. 

You can't.

     You have to.

     How pathetic could you possibly get? you consider sickly, staring out into the darkness. Your self-loathing and mounting anxiety battle for dominance as you will yourself to take the step over the threshold that will carry you to your car…

     Click.

     The door swishes shut, and you blink in confusion before you note a bulky arm stretched over your shoulder, hand pressed to the wooden frame below the peephole.

     You turn into Changbin's frame and he jostles backwards, hand dropping to your shoulder.

     "Where do you think you're going?" he asks, a little smirk playing on his lips.

     You try to get your bearings as you resurface from the flash flood of inner turmoil, blinking up at him in confusion.

     "Uuhh...home?" you answer, jerking a thumb back toward your intended exit.

     Changbin shakes his head. 

     "You just got here."

     "Well...I came to see Nari but she's gone, so..." 

     When the faintest shadow of hurt seems to flicker over his features at your words, you stammer to clarify.

     "Bin, it's Friday, I- you've got plans, right? I don't want to be in the way...Like, it's really nice seeing you don't get me wrong, but, it would suck to have one of your sister's random friends underfoot if you're...if..."

     You trail off. He's watching you in amusement now, arms crossed and bottom lip pulled between his teeth, one eyebrow cocked just a little higher than the other.

     "What?" you press him, now a bit self-conscious at your rambling and still on edge from the surging anxiety of moments ago. 

     Damn, what was with you? You'd been a mess lately, and now you couldn't even get your words out with Nari's kid brother?

     "I do have plans."

     Changbin's words interrupt your muddled self-assessment. You glance up at him.

     What? Okay, that's what you had been trying to...

     "I plan to kick your ass at Super Smash Bros Brawl," he quips, turning to round the couch and settle in front of it before reaching for the blue controller discarded on the coffee table.

     Huh?

     You watch him start up the game and move through selections. Shuffling toward the back of the couch, you place your hands on it. He wants to hang out? Now that he found out you'd been dumped. Nari's away, so he's falling into stride, you think to yourself. You sigh. You should be grateful. Instead, you feel like a burden.

     "Um, Bin..." you murmur, "You don't have to do this..."

     "Do what?" he asks without looking back. "I'm not going easy on you, if that's what you mean. And I'm using Kirby - nonnegotiable."

     Your heart melts a little as your eyes rest on him. He's always been a good guy, and it was like him to do this sort of thing - look out for someone when they were feeling low. Leaving simply because you don't feel worthy of his care and attention risks hurting him more than you.

     You slowly slip out of your shoes and cross into the living room, retrieving a red controller from atop the console before sinking onto the carpet beside him. You toggle through your choices before landing on Link. Changbin glances over at you disparagingly. 

     "Link sucks."

     "Kirby sucks."

     "Hey!" Changbin, practically shouts in your ear, "Don't insult my widdle cutie guy..."

     You grimace theatrically at the baby talk.

     "Don't ever do that again."

     "Or what?" Changbin challenges as he immediately unleashes a combo move that has your character hurtling toward the edge of the battle stage.

     You hop around, avoiding him and trying out different button combos. It's been forever since you played this game. Your ex had been a Halo enthusiast. You were never big on first person shooters, but you tried to get into it for his sake. He hadn't the patience to help you learn, though, and after a couple of sessions of grimaces and apologies on your behalf mumbled into his headset, he'd stopped taking you up on your offers to join him. 

     Kirby darts back and forth across the screen after you on stubby pink legs. Eventually you get the hang of things and are returning his attacks, though he easily bests you in an embarrassingly short sequence of moves.

     "Sorry, I'm no good at video games," you mumble apologetically. 

     The smug look falls from Changbin's face.

     "Why are you sorry?" he raises a brow, dropping his controller into his lap, a little smile still playing on his lips.

     You shrug. His smile fades.

     "Who says you're no good?"

     Shit.

     You shift your focus to the screen and toggle for a new character.

     "Best two out of three."

     You can feel his eyes still on you as you opt for Princess Peach.  

     Two out of three turns into five out of eight, and around eleven out of twenty, the doorbell rings. When Changbin turns in surprise toward the sound, you take the opportunity to deliver a critical blow, winning your first match of the night. He rolls his eyes as you giggle wickedly and moves to answer the door.

     You pull your phone from your pocket reflexively to check the socials you've deleted, before sighing and tossing it across the room to land on the carpet with a thud.

     "Did you just throw your phone?" 

     Glancing over your shoulder, you catch him shooting you a quizzical look over a stack of pizza boxes tall enough to feed a small army. Clambering to your feet you trail after him into the kitchen.

     "You do have plans, you liar!" you elbow him as he opens the top box and pulls out a slice, hissing as the melted cheesy overflow burns the tips of his fingers.

     "Ow!" he snaps up a napkin and cradles it under the steaming piece of pizza, shaking his other hand before holding up his fingers in front of you.

     "Blow on 'em," he whines.

     You raise your eyebrows.

     "You're joking."

     He pouts and you want to laugh. This big, grown man is seriously going to give you the lip right now?

     "That's what you get for having no patience, Bin..." you tsk disapprovingly. 

     He lets out a little disappointed sigh.

     "Meanie..." he grumbles, and lets his hand fall.

     You return your focus to the obscene amount of food now stacked on Nari's kitchen table. 

     "So, I'm sure people are going to start showing up, so I'm just gonna..."

     Changbin hands you a paper plate with two slices of pizza and heads to the fridge where he fishes out two more beers. You stare at the plate in your hand.

     "I...Bin..." 

     "What, you don't like sweet potato?" he asks with a smirk, cracking open a can and handing it to you. 

     You blink at him in confusion. 

     "Please enjoy this meal compliments of Han Jisung, who never remembers to update the address on his delivery app. Now, load up on pizza and let’s get back to it because I'm not trying to let you act like you came out on top from winning that last match on a fluke."

     You scoff at his last remark. Watching him pile several slices onto his plate, you take a bite of yours. It tastes good, and you realize as it hits your stomach that you haven't eaten all day. When was the last time you ate a real meal? When was the last time you wanted one? 

     "Noona?" 

     Changbin's voice makes you realize you had zoned out and when you blink up at him, there's just nine inches of disposable dinnerware between you. His lips are pursed and his eyes trace your features, their gaze gentle but searching. 

    "You alright?" he asks.

     There it is again; the concern. He isn't just checking in. His voice is soft and low, like his eyes. As a rule, Changbin's voice is strong, resonant - saying everything from his chest without even trying. So when he's gentle, when he pulls himself back...

    "Do you miss that guy?" he murmurs.

     "No!" 

You say it so quickly.

     Changbin nods.

     "I'm just..." Fuck, why are you suddenly so emotional? "I think I'm...adjusting. Y'know?"

     He nods again slowly. Then he reaches up and touches your face, dragging his thumb over the side of your mouth and suddenly your brain waves flat-line. Your eyes widen and your lips part, but before you can even process what's happening, he drops his hand to swipe it on a napkin.

     "Had sauce on your face," he mumbles, and you can't read his.

     His mouth is tugged up in a small smile but somehow it looks sad, and his eyes look like they're still asking a question that was never really answered. Before you can consider any further, he picks up his plate and heads back toward the living room.

     You follow him, still half in your head.

     When you sit down next to him, there's something hanging unspoken in the foot and a half of space between your bodies. Something has shifted, gone taut. 

     Shit, had you made him uncomfortable? Why had you stared at him like a weirdo when he...wait, he touched you...

     Your eyes shift over to where he sits beside you. He runs a hand through the wavy hair over his ear. Has he always been so beautiful? He turns quick enough to catch you staring and you put your plate out of your lap. The pizza smells so good but suddenly you can't touch it.

     Changbin initiates another round, which you lose in record time. Your stomach grumbles.

     "You better eat if you're going to have any hope of beating me again," he goads, finishing off his third slice to abandon the crust with the others on his plate before launching another game.

     "I had enough," you deflect, pushing your plate toward him.

     "You took two bites."

     "I need to cut back."

     "Like...go on a diet?"

     "Yeah."

     His brows furrow and his tongue slips between his lips as he sends Kirby into a hammer flip that lands as a critical hit and you wince.

"What have you eaten today?"

"What?"

     "You heard me."

     "I...I don't know. I..."

     Your stomach twists. The hunger is there, but so is the anxiety. The fear of being judged for eating too much or too quickly or...

     The game pauses. Your plate slides back toward you over the carpet.

     "The rest of that piece. Or whatever else you want. But something." 

     His voice is gentle but firm. You sigh.

     "Fine," you murmur, grabbing the half-eaten slice.

     You take a bite, and slowly raise your eyes to his as they regard you patiently.

     "Sorry," you mumble, covering your mouth, shifting away from him.

     "Why now?"

     "I make gross noises when I eat."

     "What? No you d-" 

     A hand tugs at your elbow. When you look back toward him his handsome face holds so many things, and you watch as they take turns seizing his features. Horror...pity...anger.

     "Who told you that?" he asks lowly, but it doesn't sound like a question. "Noona..."

     He squeezes your elbow.

     You feel everything you've been shoving down in your chest begin to well up. 

Fuck, no! 

Your lip trembles.

He's shifting to face you.

You shake your head and press your eyes shut.

Your hand is encompassed in a larger one.

     "It's lies, all of it," Changbin whispers with desperate conviction...and your dam breaks.

     He pulls you into his arms as you sob with abandon. One of his hands encircles your waist tugging you against his broad, warm chest, and the other slips to brush tenderly over your nape as you tuck your face into his neck. 

     "He's a liar...shhhh...he's a lying piece of shit," he insists earnestly, into your hair. "You're perfect. He's the one who needs to fix himself. You're so, so perfect." 

     Perfect? You let your heart hold the word in its palm for one precious moment before pushing it away. Your heart had never been one to accept gifts it didn't think it deserved.

     You weep and weep in his strong arms until you run out of tears, and then he holds you while you breathe. As the catharsis of your breakdown begins to settle in, you wonder at the comedown - a softer, warmer one than you've ever known – and you consider the loveliness that has broken your fall.

     Soft and firm, everywhere he touches you. And warm. So warm. Not just the heat radiating from his body like a furnace – the velvet rasp of his voice, the absolute and unfaltering nature of his embrace.

     Your hands move tentatively against his back. Soft cotton stretches and bunches between your fingers over his sturdy frame. Where your face is pressed to his collar every breath draws in a comforting combination of detergent and cologne. When you close your eyes and sigh, letting your weight sink against him further, you feel his arms tighten in response. 

     "Sorry," you croak feebly.

     "Stop," he implores you, "Every time you apologize, I want to sock that guy in the face."

     "I...I'm so stupid, I didn't even really realize..."

     "No," his arms squeeze you again, "He had your trust. It was his job to protect you."

     Protected. That's how you feel right now. Safe. So, so safe. Letting him hold you and reassure you felt good...it felt right. But yet again, the voice in your mind that liked to remind you how much of a burden you always were speaks up in a sickly whisper.

     You pull yourself slowly from his arms and off his lap. Drawing yourself up to stand, you wipe your hot cheeks, puffy red eyes finding his like the needle of a compass. Unprepared for what awaits you in his gaze, your knees nearly give out beneath you.

     Changbin is looking up from where he kneels before you, the yearning in his eyes unchecked as they burn with  an unasked question and an unspoken promise.

     "I should go," you whisper, barely able to form the words.

     "Don't," he says, standing.

     "If I stay I'll just wreck your night," you mumble.

     "You could never," he insists, lips tugging into a little smile. His eyes are still pleading.

     "Changbin..." you breathe, suddenly drowning again in the fizzy serotonin his words ignite in your chest. "You don't want..."

     "You let me be the judge of what I want."

     His hands find your arms and he pulls you in. There are centimeters between you. His eyes rest on your lips. Your heart hammers in your ears as your brain begins to malfunction the way it had when he touched your face...

     "D-do I have something on my-"

     Mouth? His.

    The whole of your being floods with something beautiful and ineffable at the touch of his lips and no voice, no doubt, no force in the world could be stronger than the one that pulls you into him. Your arms fly up to wrap around his neck and tug yourself impossibly closer. His hands drop to your waist, pressing desperately in kind, and your bodies mold together. You flush with heat, sparks igniting in your belly and skittering through your veins as his lips move against yours. He stumbles back, pulling you with him as his knees buckle at the edge of the couch, and your body spills over his lap.

Your fingers card into his hair.

His hands drop to the back of your hips.

Your tongue brushes his bottom lip.

He moans.

     At the gorgeous, deep sound from his chest, you pull back, fighting the smile that pulls at the corners of your mouth. What the fuck is happening right now? You don't get much time to consider as his head falls against the backrest and his eyes flutter open.

     "Sorry," he grins bashfully. The tips of his ears burn pink.

     "Now who's apologizing for no reason?" you tease, pressing your hands to his chest.

     He smiles so sweetly in return you feel you might physically melt. And then the smile fades and the lids of his eyes grow heavy and he leans up to claim your mouth.

     His lips taste the same as a moment ago, but their press is slower, hungrier. His hands are powerful and assertive as they hook under your thighs and pull your hips flush against his own in a single tug. You gasp softly against his lips and you feel his smirk. You feel his smirk and something else - something beginning to press up into your ass through your jeans.

     Licking into his mouth, you push down, grinding your hips over his in a slow, deliberate undulation. The groan that falls from his lips unlocks something inside of you that needs to know every sound he makes and how to elicit them. Your mouth drops to his neck.

     Suddenly, he's gripping your waist and pivoting to lay you on the cushions, slotting himself between your legs. You're still dizzy from the sudden rush of movement, when your legs curl around his hips and over his ass and–

     A loud buzzing from the coffee table has you mourning the press of Changbin's lips to your throat as he glances at the caller ID. 

     "Shit!" he scrambles to sit up, hand still gripping your thigh above your knee when he presses the phone to his ear.

     "Hey," he runs a hand through his hair. "What? Nothing. No, I didn't forget. I will, I will."

     You recognize his tone of voice. There could only be one person on the other end of the line. You sit up, your head beginning to clear as the reality of the situation washes over you.

     "Okay, yeah. Yeah, yeah. Be safe. Love you." 

Changbin presses the end-call button and tosses the phone onto the cushion beside him. He leans back against the couch and claps his hand against your leg with a sigh.

     "She really knows how to wreck a moment for me."

     You crack a wry smile.

     "I mean, it's probably for the best that we don't desecrate your sister's couch."

     His eyes widen as horror, disgust, and amusement wage war across his features. You burst into a fit of giggles. He feigns a gag. You laugh so hard that you snort.

     "S-sorry," you clap your hand over your mouth, still tittering while your ears heat in embarrassment.

     Changbin's face softens again. He reaches for your hand and pulls it from your face, threading his fingers through yours.

     "Cut it out."

     "What? I can't be embarrassed about snorting like a pig?"

     "No. It's cute," he smirks.

     "It is not!"

     "Mhm. Everything you do is cute."

     He glances over at you, a lopsided smirk on his perfect lips, his eyes sparkling. He means it.

     You fluster, gaze dropping to your enjoined hands, and concentrate on tracing little patterns on the back of his with your thumb. He sighs.

     "Wanna watch a movie?"

     The request takes you by surprise and your heart squeezes. If it was any other guy, the night would have been over. For the fourth time tonight, you had been about to head for the door, and for the fourth time, Changbin makes you feel wanted. So you stay.

     You grab a big, fluffy blanket from the basket in Nari's room, and when you return, Changbin has the lights dimmed and Your Name ready to go on the TV. You smile as you settle in beside him, tossing half the blanket over his widespread legs.

     "We don't have to watch this just because it's my favorite, you know," you insist, but he shakes his head.

     "Taki's ma' boy," he smirks, shooting you a glance as he presses play on the remote.

     You're not quite sure what it means, but you feel your heart skip a beat just the same.

You love this movie. You love that you've seen it enough times that you can talk through it. You love that Changbin is more than willing to talk over the film himself. You're not certain when it happened, but by halfway through the movie his arm is stretched out behind your shoulders and your head rests on his bicep.

     "Do you remember seeing this together in the theater?" he asks suddenly, tilting his head toward yours.

     You grin.

     "You cried and Nari gave you shit about it," you recall.

     "You bailed me out. Told her all the sniffling was you. Never even teased me about it either."

     Changbin smiles down at you, his eyes sentimental.

     Butterflies flutter their delicate wings in your ribcage. How does he make you feel this way?

Your eyes dip to his lips for a moment. Sighing, you nuzzle into his shoulder, hiding your face as much as seeking his warmth. His arm slips off the back of the couch to curl around your shoulders and pull you into his side. The movie plays on.

     When the credits roll, Changbin stretches and yawns, and watching him it dawns on you that, working at a fitness center, he's an especially early riser.

     "We should call it a night," you offer, standing and stretching yourself, but you're tugged back down into Changbin's lap, yelping as you topple onto him.

     His arms encircle your hips as he regards you with a sleepy grin.

     "What, do I live here now?" you tease.

     "Stay the night," he urges, tightening his arms around you. "You really want to drive back now?"

     You chew your lip, eyes tracing over his face. This is all more than a bit unreal, and you haven't given yourself even one second to process what's happening, lest you utterly panic. All you know right now is that your little ship had been sinking and he had hauled you into a lifeboat. Everything outside of him seems like a raging sea.

     You nod.

     "Okay," you whisper, combing his hair away from his forehead. “I’ll stay.” 

     His eyes dip shut at your touch and the butterflies flutter gently once more.

     A few minutes later, you take Nari's room and slip into a pair of her cotton shorts, which do basically nothing to contain your ass, and tug on a plain white tee that stretches snugly over your torso. How a big guy like Changbin could have emerged from the same genetic pool as his teeny tiny sister was beyond you. As you glance in the mirror, your heart sinks. You don't like how the tight fit is pressing you out everywhere you're most self-conscious. But, they are just pajamas, and they're all you have at your disposal.

     As you're about to head into the master bathroom to finish your nightly routine, you remember that the toothbrush and toiletries you keep on hand at Nari's are in the little half-bath attached to the guest room. You groan, glancing at yourself again in the mirror, and pull a blanket around yourself before crossing the hall.

     Hoping Changbin hasn’t yet fallen asleep, you knock hesitantly on the door. You hear the bed creak before the door opens to reveal a head of mussed hair and hands scrubbing over bleary eyes. But it's not what you notice. Your apology for rousing him dies on your lips as your eyes glue themselves to his bare chest. Blinking dumbly, your eyes climb from his soft stomach subtly rippling with the presence of strong abdominals up to a pair of impressive pecs with wide-set, dusky nipples. His flannel pajama pants settle at his hips, accentuating how his body broadens as it rises from his waist to his full chest and wide shoulders flanked by bulging biceps. Thick. He's so fucking thick you could bi-

     "...Noona?" he rumbles, his voice husky from sleep. "What's wrong?"

     "Nothing...sorry..." you rush out, ripping your gaze up to his. "My toothbrush is in your room – I mean! in your bathroom. That's where I usually stay, so...but I didn't think you'd be asleep. Sorry, I can just..." 

     He rubs over one of his eyes with his palm as he steps aside.

     "You can grab it."

     Right. You shuffle in awkwardly, trying not to step on the blanket dragging around your feet. As you cross the dark room, you try not to dwell on the rumpled sheets of the bed that speak of his body having lain between them, or the soft smell of his cologne hanging in the air. You quickly retrieve the little toiletry bag and, as you move to squeeze past Changbin at the door, he eyes the fluffy shroud you're clutching to your chest.

     He raises a sleepy eyebrow.

     "I'm sure Nari has pants you could..."

     "I'm wearing pants!" you bluster, "They just...don't fit."

      You move out of the doorway to make your way back to your room, but a hand cups the side of your face and turns it as soft lips meet your forehead. 

     "Good night, noona," he murmurs with a little smile before retreating back into his room.

     You stand in the hall, staring at his door, the butterflies absolutely aflurry.

     Despite your best efforts, you can't sleep. Your mind is full of the last five hours. Full of Changbin.

     He had kissed you. You had kissed him back. And it had felt...

     You roll from your side to your back, sighing up at the dark ceiling. You chew on your lip as you remember breaking down and his arms around you. You would usually feel regretful and ashamed after baring yourself like that to someone. You despised moments of weakness. But you couldn't bring yourself to hate the moments in his arms. You didn't regret them. In fact, you wanted him to hold you again. You wanted to feel vulnerable in his hands, and you wanted him to keep you safe.

     You feel heat rush up from your neck as you recognize these feelings.

     You must be absolutely shameless, you conclude in wonder. You should be freaking out right now - this was Changbin, for Christ's sake – Nari's brother! You should be wondering what happens next, and what all of it means...but even so you can’t bring yourself to care. All your mind can focus on is how his arms felt like waking up after a nightmare to song birds and soft sunlight.

     After an hour or so of tossing and turning, the salty pizza from dinner has you parched and slipping out to the kitchen for a drink. You pull a glass from the cupboard and fill it at the fridge, gulping down the contents to refill it again. Suddenly, you feel two strong arms snake around your waist and you start, sloshing your water and smacking the back of your head into the man holding you. You hastily set your glass down and turn in his arms as he lets out a groan, one of his hands releasing you as it flies up to cup the front of his face in pain.

     "Bin, oh my god! Are you okay? You scared me!" you chide with a chuckle as you reach up to push his hand away and brush the tips of your fingers across his nose. 

    He pouts down at you and you smile.

     "Did I wake you?"

     He huffs.

     "Yeah. To get your toothbrush. Then I couldn't go back to sleep."

     "Sorry," you groan, still stroking over where you had struck his face. "Does it hurt?" 

     He nods.

     "Kiss it better," he mumbles cutely.

     You roll your eyes, but lift your lips to comply when suddenly he interrupts the motion with the soft press of his mouth to yours. It's slow and sweet, and you're struck all over again with how quickly you melt at his touch - a sensation you cannot imagine ever growing accustomed to, but to which you are fairly certain you are in danger of growing entirely addicted.

     "Bin..." you whisper against his lips, "Bin, what are we-"

     "Liar," he murmurs, pulling back.

     Your mouth parts in confusion as you stare up at him, still drunk on his lips.

     "You said the clothes didn't fit. You should wear this all the time," he smirks as he squeezes low on your waist.

     Your cheeks heat as you remember what you're wearing, but you don't have long to be anxious over it as he presses his lips to your nose...the corner of your mouth...your jaw. You tremble as you lean into him, fingers splaying over his warm, bare chest.

     "Let me show you," he whispers against your skin.

     "Sh-show me...what...?"

     He draws back, pressing his forehead to yours.

     "How perfect you are."

     You still, eyes flicking up to his. They're dark and tender and pleading. You let out a little shuddering breath.

     "I...you don't have t-"

     His arms hold you closer, gentle but insistent.

     "Let me," he whispers, the tip of his handsome nose brushing over the dip of your cupid's bow. "Please. I want to."

     You swallow, eyes dropping to his lips. You want it too, you find. You want his hands and lips and eyes all over you, bringing warmth everywhere they meet your aching body. You nod and take his lips again with yours. 

     "Yeah?" he murmurs against them.

     "Yeah," you breathe, slipping a hand up the back of his neck and into his hair.

     He groans in response, deepening the kiss as he licks at your parted lips and when your tongues brush, sparks burst in your belly. You feel it all slipping, the masks, the walls - every barrier you hold up to shield yourself from not being enough. His arms are strong and his lips are tender and you can't focus on anything but the perfection of being so utterly held.

     His mouth moves to caress your jaw, under your ear, down the column of your neck, and suddenly you feel the edge of the counter pressing into the small of your back. His hands grip your waist and he hitches you onto the tiled surface with ease. It's cold against your bare legs, but you don't have more than a second to register the discomfort as Changbin nudges his way between your knees. He runs his hands over your thighs as his eyes trail from your panting lips to your lightly heaving chest.

     You feel your nipples pebble under his gaze and a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, his eyes glinting with mischief as he runs a hand up your side, over your shirt, to rest under the swell of your breast. He flicks a thumb over the hardened bud and you whimper and jump. He laughs softly, his smirk spreading into a full smile as he squeezes your breast and brings his eyes to yours.

     "Your pretty body likes me, noona," he puffs proudly, massaging you deftly through the soft cotton of the tee.

     You don't have a witty retort. Your body likes him so much that it frightens you. And with the deep affection you already feel, have long felt, for him...

     You reach to gently tangle your hand again in his coarse, dark curls. He glances up, a sweet little smirk tugging at his pretty lips again. 

     "Bin..." you sigh.

     "Hmm?" he hums as he slips his hands to your bottom and tugs you forward so that you're flush against him.

     You dip your head and your lips ghost his.

     "Nothing," you whisper, and you kiss him again. Again and again.

     His hands slide from your ass to slip beneath your shirt at your lower waist and he kneads the soft flesh above your hips.

     "So soft. Feels so good," he groans into your mouth.

     You moan as the walls of your pussy contract. You're beginning to ache, beginning to drip – and his words seem to affect you as intensely as his touch.

     He moves his lips to latch onto the soft skin of your neck and suck, his hands bunching your shirt up and up until his mouth pops free from your skin and he's pulling the thin garment over your head and tossing it aside. The cool air pricks your skin and you become keenly aware, for the briefest moment, that you are sitting on your best friend's kitchen counter, stripped down to her sleep shorts, with her brother between your thighs. As your brain races to decide whether to find that incredibly arousing or absolutely panic-inducing, Changbin's cherry lips rewire your neurological pathways in favor of the former when they close around your right nipple. Your head lolls back, colliding with the cabinet door and it clatters. 

     "Shit..." you hiss softly, threading your hands into his hair and gripping it by the roots.

     Your eyes slip shut and you focus on the sensation of his warm tongue slipping over the peaks of your breasts, his strong, smooth palms cupping and caressing. And then you feel his little puffs of breath and the nudge of his nose at the valley of your chest as he groans and smushes your tits up to meet his face. 

     "I fucking live here now," he mumbles into the globe of your breast, and despite the heat of the moment, you softly laugh. You laugh and you feel his smile pressed to your skin.

     Then suddenly he's pulling you into his arms in a bridal carry. You know he's strong, as you wrap your arms around his neck, but can't push away a pang of self-consciousness as he bears your weight. 

     "Bin, I'm so heavy..."

     "You're not."

     "I don't want you to..."

     "Stop it," comes his voice in a soft, deep command as he halts in his tracks to kiss you.

     He kisses you and kisses you until you believe that he could carry you until the end of time, and then he takes you into the guest bedroom and sits you gently on the bed. The bed with the mussed sheets that smell like him. The sheets that he's leaning you into as you push yourself to the middle of the bed while he hovers over the top of your body, his lips never leaving yours.

     As he sinks down over you, the weight of his body pressing you into the mattress has warmth licking through your veins. You move your hands to caress over his broad back, feeling his muscles ripple beneath your fingers as he shifts to prop himself up on his elbow. You use the free space to trace your hand down his chest and abdomen until you reach the waistband of his pants. If he'd just push himself a few inches up you could...

     He pulls away, just barely breathless, and his eyes find yours. He reaches down with his right hand to pull yours gently from between your bodies and to his lips, before threading his fingers through yours and pressing your joined hands into the sheets beside your head.

     "I want to eat you out."

     He says it so simply, so confidently, and you can feel more arousal gush to join what's already begun to paint your inner thighs. 

     "Fuck..." you breathe, your fingers trembling in his grasp.

     "Can I?" he asks, kissing your lips softly again.

     For a moment you're afraid of what saying yes will mean, of the intimacy of it all, of the possibility that you won't measure up, someway, somehow, or maybe...that you will - and what in the world you would do with that level of acceptance...

     You let out a shaky sigh, as you hold his gaze. It arrests you and washes over you. You remember his eyes as he knelt on the living room floor, and all they pleaded with you to disbelieve, to unlearn. 

     Yes. Yes...If it's him, you want it, whatever it means.

     You surge forward, pressing your lips to his, your hands weaving through his hair, pulling him in. He lets out a tiny whimper as you devour him, kissing him with determined abandon until you have to come up for air.

     "Yes, Bin, yes," you shudder into his mouth as he pants over you. “Yes I want you to.”

In answer, he presses one last tender kiss to your lips before moving to kiss down your body. He moves slowly, but with purpose, pressing an adoring mouth to every part of you that’s bared. He kisses your ear, your neck, your collarbones…he moves over your shoulders and down your right arm to the tip of each finger. He kisses your breasts and down your stomach. He kisses your belly button, and over your hips and down your left thigh. He kisses the inside of your knee, and bends your leg to kiss over your calf and down to your ankle. 

You can barely watch him, as he brushes his lips over you, but he flicks his eyes up to yours so often you don’t dare look away. There is something flickering in his gaze, something like a challenge - daring you to contradict, to doubt what he seeks to impress upon you - and you begin to feel something strange and new. Something you’d never found at the touch of a lover, blooming in your chest and unfurling like a proud little flower under the sun: the strong, heady beauty of esteeming yourself worthy of his desire. It terrifies you a bit, and the ugly voice that has heckled you so often tries to cast doubt, but Changbin’s lips and hands are too persistent and assured for the harbinger in your mind to linger long. And the tidal wave of lovely feelings crashing over you threatens to destroy the shabby prison your heart has lingered in for so long.

Changbin lays his head on your thigh as he brings his hand off the other to cup your pussy over the softness of your shorts. His groan is nearly as loud as yours when he rubs over your mound, and it makes you impossibly wetter. He’s so unabashed and liberal with reacting to what he enjoys, and he is clearly enjoying you as much as he ever has anything.

He moves to bring his face to your clothed cunt, hovering over you for a nanosecond to catch your eyes as he mouths down over you. Your jaw drops open, and when his teeth scrape dully over your clit, your hips jerk and you fist the sheets. Changbin pulls back with a smirk, and sits back on his knees between your legs. He pulls one of your legs up to lean against his shoulder as his hands instinctively knead over the muscles of your calf and thigh.

“Do you trust me?” he asks, with a little smile.

You nod with one of your own.

“I’m gonna lift you, okay? You can hold onto my legs, but I’ll have you, so don’t worry.”

You bite your lip and nod, suddenly a little shy. Look at him. Where did he get all this confidence?

He drops your leg briefly to tug off your shorts and panties, cursing at how wet you are, and gently slipping two fingers to brush between your glistening lips and over your clit. You gasp at the sensation - his fingers deft, his touch soft but firm where you ache for him. And then, suddenly, he is sliding your legs back up to rest against his chest and shoulders. His hands slip down to your hips and he effortlessly tugs your ass over the incline of his thighs and flush with his abdomen. Your heart starts to thrum in your chest. His body is warm and sturdy against the soft plush of your ass. Heat floods your cheeks when you sense a slickness against him where your arousal has begun to smear against his stomach. He, however, is far less bashful. Widening the gap between your thighs, he dips his head down, inhaling deeply.

"Fuck…" he murmurs, squeezing your legs where he holds them. 

When he raises his eyes to yours again, they’re unlike you’ve ever seen. They’re dark and hungry and hooded in a way that nearly intimidates you. His expression is full of heat, and manly in its sudden gravity. He watches you as he slips his thumbs under your waist and, slowly with strong hands, pulls your hips up beneath his chin. Your legs bend at the knees and drape around the crown of his head. Your spine curves where your upper back is flush with his thighs, your arm on either side of his kneeling form, and as he embraces you tightly around the hips and waist, you feel nearly every ounce of your weight suspended in his hold. The blood rushes to your head where it lays against the mattress, your neck curving just shy of his knees, offering a clear view of his gorgeous face as he wastes no time in pressing his open mouth to your labia. 

Your core muscles flex in response, hips pressing higher against him as you feel ripples of exquisite pleasure trickle through your body from above. The smooth muscle of his tongue slips past your entrance and begins fucking into you. Your head swims, the slightest dizzying restriction of oxygen dampening your ability to focus on anything but the bliss of his hot, wet mouth. Being tasted has never felt this intense. You whimper, your hands reaching around his body to find purchase on his muscular ass. You feel the press of his throbbing erection into your back as his tongue fucks unhurriedly into you. He’s rock hard, and all for you. From the sight of your naked body, the feel of you in his hands, the taste of you on his tongue. From the sounds pouring off of your lips as he worships your sex. 

Your legs begin to shake. You’re so totally in his hands. He holds you, lavishes you, consumes you. Nothing stands between you and ecstasy, and you can feel your climax fast approaching as pleasure ebbs and flows like a crashing tide on the rhythm of his firm, languid strokes.

"Ch-Changbin! Nhhh!" you mewl, you voice throaty and muffled from your position. 

He growls against you and you nearly cum then. One of his hands drops to squeeze the soft mound of your right breast. Your cheeks burn, sweat beginning to bead on your forehead and neck. You can feel your pussy throbbing - hot and sticky and swollen with stimulation - as he devours it like the flesh of ripened fruit. His lips encircle your clit and suckle as the tip of his tongue flicks over the erect peak of your bud.

And then it all goes white. You lose all sense but feeling as you rock your hips up to meet him, the tension in your abdominals adding sinfully to the fluttering pulsating of your pussy. There’s nothing but you and him and his arms around you and his mouth against the most intimate parts of you as your orgasm washes over you in electrifying slow-motion, pulling you under a tidal wave of bliss for what seems like an eternity. Your lips part in a silent scream of his name, your eyes pressed shut, as he works you through the longest and most intense climax your body has ever experienced.

You feel him place one last sweet, gentle kiss to your cunt before moving the hand on your breast to one of your thighs as he guides you back down onto the bed. You’re panting and boneless as you watch him draw an arm over his cum-slicked chin and cheeks. For a moment he simply looks down at you, a victorious air about him as his eyes trace your sated features and his gorgeous chest heaves with labored breath, then he crawls forward on the bed, stretching himself out on his side next to you, his body flush with your own. He slips his hand over the soft skin of your belly and rubs it soothingly as he watches you with a little grin.

“You good?” he asks in a raspy murmur.

You reach for his face, bringing it to yours as you kiss him with what wherewithal you have. You pull away, still breathless.

“Am I good? Seo Changbin, I think I could fly.”

His answering smile is so filled with joy and pride and affection that you think you truly may have sprouted wings. You roll to your side to press yourself against him, your hand tugging at the waistband of his pajamas, but he takes your hand again in his.

“Not tonight.”

“Why?”

“Tonight is yours.”

“Bin…”

“I’m yours.”

You blink up at him, his head resting on his hand, his eyes sparkling and soft.

“If you’ll have me,” he raises your hand to his lips to kiss your knuckles. “You don’t have to answer right now. I know you’re going through a lot, and this is all…new.” 

He smiles again, glancing down as his features take on a boyish shyness.

  “But I care for you. And, however things work out,” his eyes lock with yours again, “I’ll always protect you.” 

Your heart stands still. There are things that are too deeply lovely for words to be wasted on them. Any words but three - three that are already deeply true, but which have begun to mean something beautiful and different tonight, burying themselves like a little seed in your heart that needs time to grow. So for now you let yourself cry tears that fall like raindrops in the sunlight, and drift to sleep with the steady beat of Changbin’s heart.

“Ay!” Nari’s voice cuts through the din of chatter as her hand shoots out to narrowly prevent a fellow patron from snagging the chair beside her. “Sorry, seats are taken.”

She takes a sip of her beer and stretches her short legs as far as they will reach across the two empty chairs beside her.

“The guys are gonna have to hustle if they’re gonna sit with us,” she says reproachfully, dark brows rising as her eyes scan the venue for the bodies that belong in the seats you have been desperately attempting to reserve for the last hour.

The Eight Ball is crowded to bursting, and you scan the stage for signs of the evening’s openers. Checking your phone, you find that it’s nearly eight. You also find a text that brings a smirk to your lips.

“What?”

You glance up at Nari, who’s staring at you suspiciously.

“Nothing…” you mumble, flipping your phone back over onto the table. You sip your cocktail through a straw.

“Are you texting him?”

You nearly choke on your drink.

“What? Who?”

“You know who,” Nari mocks, narrowing her eyes at you. “The jerkwad.”

“Oh my god, Nari, no!” you sigh, as your phone buzzes again. 

She glances at it.

“Then what was with the look? Who are you…”

“Are these for us?” a voice belonging to a smiling, dimpled young man in a black hoodie with a matching beanie pulled over his head saves you from further explanation.

“Jesus, Chris, finally,” Nari admonishes as he takes the seat next to you, pulling her legs off the remaining chairs to free them up for the other two men that follow behind him. 

The freckled blond pulls Nari into a side hug which she returns, booping his nose before leaning across him to peer menacingly at his friend.

“Yo, Jisung,” she barks, “If you’re gonna order several hundred pizzas, how about taking some with you next time? My fridge is still stuffed.”

The young man blinks wide, surprised eyes at her before his brain catches up with her scolding.

“Sorry, but it wasn’t my fault!” he insists poutingly. “I ordered them because Changbin asked me to and then he canceled gaming weekend ‘cause he had a girl over.” he grumbles, causing the other two to snicker.

“Nice,” Chris giggles.

This time you do choke.

Your eyes fly to your best friend, watching the barrage of questions bubbling up on her face when a voice cuts through the din, silencing the crowd and unknowingly saving himself for the time being.

“Good evening, Eight Ballers!” Changbin rasps into his mic as Hyunjin waves, as ridiculously beautiful as ever, beside him.

You look at Changbin’s eyes.

They’re bright and confident and determined. You smile and cheer when he finishes introductions. As the band hits the first few notes of the opening number, his gaze finds yours, and it’s full of so many things.

His eyes sparkle with seven days worth of secrets – of waking up to your eyes and arms, of a weekend of nothing but bare bodies and hearts, of weeknight phone calls until the wee hours of the morning…of a new way of caring for each other that you’ll eventually tell the others, but that is just yours for now.

As you look at him, so full of adoration, you hope you can offer him even a fraction of the new world he’s only just begun to share with you – and the reflection you see a little more beautifully each day in the light of his eyes.

-Fin-

#changbin fic #changbin smut #changbin fluff #changbin x reader #changbin x you #changbin x y/n #changbin x female reader #changbin fanfic #changbin oneshot #changbin imagines #changbin scenarios #skz fic #skz fanfic #skz reader insert #skz imagine #skz scenarios #skz oneshots #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fic #skz smut #skz fluff #skz imagines #stray kids reader insert #stray kids smut #stray kids fluff #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids oneshot #seo changbin fic #seo changbin smut

[athanza]

Starlett - Part 3

Cooper Howard/fem!OC (not self-insert)

Tags: Hurt/comfort (sort of?), non-allowed romantic connection, lots of tention, pre and post war drama, some fluff

Warnings: Mentions of domestic abuse (no graphic scenes or descriptions of that nature), angst, canon wasteland violence

This branches out from canon but I thought it was a cute story idea so I had to write it. Enjoy! ♡

Part 1 | Part 2 | Final part

2296

Suddenly Irene looked unsteady and she held a hand to the wound on her side.

"Fancy seein' you here." She chuckled painfully.

"I know, I haven't changed a bit."

She laughed but immediately regretted it, groaning in pain.

"You uh," she said, blood dripping down her leg. "you wouldn't happen to have a stimpak on you would ya? I'm uh...I'm not feelin' too hot."

He looked her over, the gash was deep, she'd need more than one stimpak. "Unfortunately I don't think I do."

Suddenly her legs gave out from underneath her and she collapsed.

"Whoa." He said, catching her before she hit the ground.

Irene woke up hours later, lying on her back in what looked like a small cave, her head resting on a saddle bag.

She didn't look any different than she did before the war, albeit a little dishevelled, Cooper figured that however Moldaver survived must've been how she did.

"Coop." Irene croaked.

He looked up from cleaning his revolver and saw her try to move.

"Easy there Starlett, you're pretty banged up."

She winced in pain again and lay back down. "I thought you were dead." She said, weak from the blood loss.

"I should be. So should you."

"Fate had other plans I guess."

Cooper scoffed quietly. She didn't press it, even though she wanted to know if Janey made it.

"You're gonna need some proper medical attention." He said. "Ain't much out here though."

"Eh, it's just a scratch." She joked, swallowing a mouth-full of blood.

Cooper got up and handed her a flask of water, half empty. She took a few sips and handed it back.

"I'm lookin' for Lee, you know where I can find 'er?

"I've been looking for her myself, I'm afraid I can't help you there, I've found nothing but dead ends. The bitch is hard to find even in a fucking desert."

He smiled a little at the very different tone coming out of her mouth than he remembered; she must've been in the wasteland for a little while, at least.

"I'm glad I found you cowboy. You're about the only fond memory I've got left. I needed that right about now."

"I'm not the man you remember."

"Doesn't matter. You've reminded me of something I haven't seen in years."

"And what's that?"

"Kindness."

2077

The doorbell rang and Cooper opened it to find Irene looking remarkably understated compared to her shows, but she still had that aire of grace that she always carried with her no matter where she was.

"Come on in." He smiled, stepping aside for her.

"I can't thank you enough for letting me stay, I know its a lot of ask of someone you just met."

"It's the least I can do."

He closed the door and took her suitcase for her.

Janey appeared with Roosevelt, having been playing in the backyard and Cooper gestured to her.

"Irene, this is my daughter Janey. Janey this is Irene, the friend from work I was telling you about."

"Irene Taylor!?" She said, her eyes sparkling. "I've seen you on TV! Your voice is sooo beautiful! You definitely should have won the award on last month's show."

Irene and Cooper both laughed.

"Looks like you have a fan."

"That's very kind of you." Irene smiled sweetly.

"Janey, why don't you watch some cartoons while I show Irene to her room?"

"Ok." She beamed and sat down with Roosevelt in front of the TV.

Irene followed Cooper to the back of the house where the guest room was and looked at all the family photos as they walked through. Wedding photos, Janey's baby photos, a puppy photo of Roosevelt. When they finally reached the room she felt even more uncomfortable.

"This is you." He said, placing her suitcase on the bed.

"I'm so sorry to put you in this position Mr. Howard, I do appreciate it very much. I didn't know who else to come to."

"Don't worry about it." He smiled warmly. "I'm just glad you decided to leave."

"So am I. You made me realise the cause wasn't worth the abuse, no matter how much I told myself it was. Lee won't be happy but it'll be worth it in the end."

"I'm sure it will."

She smiled softly at him. "I'll let you get back to your daughter. You'll barely know I'm here."

"Nonsense," he said. "You're joining us for dinner, plus I'm sure Janey would love to spend some time with you."

She got choked up a bit at that. Everything she had done since getting into show business had been for other people, someone doing something like this for her was something special.

"Thank you Mr. Howard."

"Cooper." He replied.

2296

Irene lay sleeping and Cooper sat wondering what to do with her.

He couldn't spare any resources, and he didn't need stimpaks, so he had none. Could he carry her to Filly and get her to a doctor? Sure, but that was in the opposite direction of where he was headed, where they were both headed.

It would be more humane to shoot her now to save her the pain, but he couldn't bring himself to do it and it angered him.

"Fuck." He said, getting to his feet and picking up his gun, walking out of the cave in search of supplies.

#cooper howard #the ghoul #fallout #fallout tv #fallout tv show #fallout tv series #fallout amazon #fallout prime #fallout amazon prime #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #cooper howard x oc #cooper howard x fem oc #cooper howard x fem reader #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul x fem reader #the ghoul fanfic #cooper howard fanfic #the ghoul fic #cooper howard fic #fanfic #fic #fan fiction

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @subeddieweek, day five.

Today Is Not Tomorrow

Prompt: Omegaverse/Posessive | Word Count: 2043 | Rating: E | CW: Role Playing Hints of DubCon | Tags: Long-Term Relationship, Older Steddie, Role Playing in Public, Omegaverse, Heat, Teasing, Alpha Steve, Omega Eddie, A Look at Aging, Light Hurt/Comfort, Lasting Love

Eddie sits on the barstool, and he's not wearing blockers of any kind tonight. An act of defiance. He's throwing his scent all over the place, right as he's rushing headlong into his heat, and he knows it's sweet as fuck. Cloying. He knows how he smells, even if it's hard to smell something you're around everyday. He's nearly noseblind to it after all these years, but he's not totally unaware of his own scent. 

And neither are the alphas in the bar, apparently, because they're circling like sharks smelling fresh blood in the water. No, that's just a little bit of slick and pheromones. Everybody's got 'em, what's the big fucking deal? Honestly.

Tonight, here in this bar, he's been touched, brushed against, and groped half a dozen times already. Is he asking for it, being here as his heat is ramping up? Maybe. But he still says no to each of them. And some take no for an answer. Some others growl at him, at each other.

Eddie is tired of this. He's just trying to have a beer, but he's surrounded by alpha bullshit this, alpha bullshit that. He's truly, and well over it by his age. He's not a young omega, hasn't been for a long fucking time, and he's definitely not in need of a savior, never has been. They're all knotheads, and while that sounds great, in theory, he remembers being young. Remembers how it was never what he actually wanted, once he got them between his thighs. Not really. He could never trust them enough to enjoy the act of submission that he's always longed for, so he learned to do without. He'd take care of himself on his own, before he'd drag home some random asshole alpha.

He wants to get held down and fucked, but not by any of these dickheads. He'll wind up bitten and bred, and no fucking thanks.

Not for the first time, he thinks if he were an alpha instead of an omega, he'd never have to put up with this.

He doesn't give a fuck, he can handle himself, he thinks, just a second before he's scruffed by the back of the neck, and he tenses just for a moment, before he goes limp in the alpha's grasp. Submitting, instantly.

Fucking godammit. He kind of hates himself for it. Maybe he can't handle it all on his own.

"You're coming home with me," the alpha commands, and Eddie's whole body melts into the alpha's voice, hand. It shouldn't work on him, it wouldn't, not usually, but it has in this instance. Jesus H. Christ.

Then he's tugged off his barstool, the alpha throwing a handful of bills on the bar, as he leads Eddie off, like he's a pup that needs to be manhandled into submission.

Maybe he's exactly that. 

Maybe he wants to be.

Eddie tries to get a whiff of this alpha, to see if he even likes the smell of him, but the bar is full of alphas, and they're all mixed together in an overwhelming stench.

"What makes you think you're so goddamn special?" Eddie asks, and the alpha tightens his grip on Eddie's neck, not allowing him to move, let alone run. Not that it would matter if he did try to flee, he'd be chased, he knows he would, and easily caught, he's certain.

This alpha is bigger, stronger, and adamant. Eddie can't win against any of those things.

The alpha pushes him up against the alleyway wall, face-first, shoving his knee between Eddie's legs. Pressing upwards.

"You soaking wet for me?" he asks, close to Eddie's ear.

"I think you know the answer to that, unless your nose is busted," Eddie answers, laying his head against the filthy bricks. The knee is pressed harder, higher, and Eddie's body betrays him, releasing more slick, getting ready. Sending out a blatant invitation. 

His biology, overtaking his brain.

Then the alpha spins him around, and sinks to his knees, burying his face right in Eddie's crotch, sucking in a deep breath. 

It's the filthiest thing Eddie's ever experienced, and now he's even wetter than before. Throbbing with need. Want. 

"It's not broken," the alpha says, and presses his face right up against him, even harder. Breathing deep and greedy.

"Do I even get a name, if you're gonna shove your nose in my crotch like a bad dog?" Eddie asks, reaching down and running his fingers through thick hair, pulling, just a little. 

The alpha looks up, with big, expressive eyes. 

"Alpha," he says, and Eddie glowers down at him. 

"Yeah, no," Eddie snaps. "Not happening. You're not my alpha. And even if you were, I'm not into that bullshit."

He gets growled at for his trouble, and Eddie growls back. It doesn't have the bark, and definitely none of the bite, and the alpha throws his head back and laughs.

"That's cute," he finally says, and Eddie seethes. 

"You're going home with me. And I'm gonna take what you desperately want me to have." 

Eddie can't even argue, he's floating away at the idea. His heat finally hitting in full force, making its feelings on the situation known. 

The betrayal of his own goddamn body. 

He's suddenly flushed, and so fucking hot, burning up, and he needs to be out of these clothes, so he nods, and the alpha smiles, caressing his hips, before rising back up onto his feet.

"Take me home," Eddie says, and the alpha does just that.

Eddie is writhing under the alpha, flushed with desire, rolling along with his heat. Feeling drunk on it. Needing the release. Crazy with want, panting, begging, needing. Needing more. Needing everything.

Relishing the feel of the alpha's big hands pressing his wrists to the bed, holding him down, taking. And Eddie gives. Gives this alpha everything he has. All the control, all the power.

He closes his eyes and just feels. Feels his own body, feels the alpha's cock sliding in and out, feels the knot that's forming, threatening to catch and lock them together, at any minute.

And it does.

The knot catches, and the teeth sink in, biting him hard, and Eddie comes. Clenches down on the knot he's now locked to, and comes all over his own belly at the feeling of the teeth in his neck. When the alpha finally lets go, Eddie puts his hand to his neck, pressing against the wound.

"You just go around biting everyone you meet in a bar?" Eddie snaps, but he smiles.

"Only when they belong to me," Steve says, and Eddie laughs. 

"You think I'm your property?" Eddie asks, raising his eyebrow, a question. A challenge.

"Oh no, I'm not that stupid. I'm not new here," Steve says, nuzzling his face against Eddie's neck. Licking at the wound.

And it makes Eddie smile. Because he does belong to Steve. Has, for a very long time. And Steve belongs to him, too. Steve's definitely not new here, so he's definitely not gonna let Steve get by with just saying that. It's just not how things work in their house. 

Eddie will submit, wants to, loves to, but he damn well doesn't want that commented upon like it's a goddamn given. It's his choice to make, always has been.

Even as his body makes demands.

And now that his body has finally given in, gotten what it wanted, the foggy feeling has been snatched away. Too fast. Too abrupt. It never used to be this way. 

Before, he could ride the wave of his heat for hours, for days, lost. Adrift. Steve taking care of him, such good care, being inside him, day and night. Holding him down, fucking him, loving him, and keeping his omega desires beyond sated.

Because he trusts Steve. His husband. His mate. His alpha.

His body would be filled, and loved, and fucking worshipped. And he could float off into space, indefinitely, while it was happening.

And now his body is betraying him. 

These days, after he comes one fucking time, it's like the dial on his heat is turned from eleven down to zero. From blaring heavy metal, to complete radio silence in an instance. No pleasant buzzing in his brain to be found anywhere, only the ringing in his ears, left behind with the sudden absence of it. Like he'd hadn't been lost in his heat, just minutes ago. 

It sucks.

It'll start buzzing again later, slowly picking up for round two, probably, hopefully, but the harsh change right now threatens to drag him low. 

He misses what once was.

He clutches at Steve's back. 

"Watching all those alphas approaching you, thinking they had a chance," Steve says, giving the barest roll of his hips, all he can manage while they're locked together in this way. It probably hurts Steve, but he does it anyway, and Eddie moans at the tugging sensation at his opening.

It brings him back to Steve. 

He's so full. So taken care of. So loved. 

And has been for years, decades. 

"You got jealous?" Eddie asks. 

"Always," Steve says, "they don't get to touch you. Scent you. That's mine. You're all mine."

And Steve's cock must agree, because it gives another spurt, filling Eddie even further with come. 

"Easy there, hot shot, you're old. You'll dehydrate yourself," Eddie says, and Steve laughs. 

But then Eddie tells him, voice serious, "I'm all yours." 

And Steve growls, low in his chest, possessive. 

"You better not be growling at me, sweetheart," Eddie teases, and Steve rolls it over into a purr, smiling. "That's better."

He'll submit to Steve in bed any day of the week, wants to, and feels fucking amazing when he does. But he's still Eddie, and that will never change. He's an omega, but he's his own goddamn man, out of this bed.

Luckily, Steve seems to love that about him. Has always loved that about him. 

Eddie thought he was a bad omega in his youth, and was sure he didn't give a fuck about any of it. Then, along came Steve.

He's not a bad omega, because he's Steve's perfect one. He's been told that enough, to believe it to be true.

Steve's knot eventually goes down, and then he slides out of Eddie. He's immediately down between Eddie's legs, fussing, "You okay?"

Eddie's okay, he's just getting old, and he can't take what he could at twenty or even thirty or forty. He's sure his days of getting heats are coming to an end any day now, as sporadic as they are anymore, and in some respects, he feels like, good fucking riddance.

In others, he'll miss it. Miss what it is, what it might mean, for them as a pair.

Steve's ruts still come like clockwork, and biology isn't fair.

Eddie worries that he might not even get to submit to Steve if there's no heady undercurrent telling him to, guiding him.

He worries he won't be as attractive, as alluring to Steve, once he's no longer throwing down the major pheromones. 

"Where'd you go?" Steve asks, taking a break from running his tongue all around Eddie's opening, cleaning him up. Soothing any hurts. 

"Worrying that maybe this was the last time," Eddie whispers, and squeezes his eyes shut. 

"Honey," Steve says, crawling up Eddie's body, laying on top of him, heavy and protective. Giving him the feeling of security that comes in no other way, can't.

"I'm good," he tells Steve, then smiles into Steve's neck, "You're a good alpha." 

And Steve purrs at the praise, at the love, and it rattles against Eddie's chest, soothing him. Making all his worries slip away. Eddie knows that's what Steve gets off on the most. Their love, their bond. 

And that's going nowhere. Heat, no heat. 

Nothing can change their love, their connection, and Eddie melts into the sheets, and just relaxes under Steve's body. 

"Do you want me to stay on top of you?" Steve asks, and Eddie does.

"Please," Eddie answers. Wrapping his arms around Steve's middle, squeezing him tight.

Today is not tomorrow, and it's not yesterday either, and submitting to that fact means he's just gonna stay right here. In the present. 

With Steve.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @subeddieweek and follow along with the fun! 🖤

Notes: This was my first foray into writing omegaverse, ever. I enjoyed the new challenge, but it quickly turned into a bit of a character study on aging without my permission, lol. I don't even know if the menopause equivalent has a counterpart in omegaverse lore. Welp, it does here, I guess.

#subeddieweek #steddie fic #omegaverse #sub eddie munson #thisapplepielife: subeddieweek #thisapplepielife: short fic #omega eddie munson #alpha steve harrington

[i-trash-about-things]

Eddie's shitty sense of humor strikes again.

A random blurb that came to me after reading some headcannons about Eddie's childish sense of humor

777 words (nice). Suggestive but nothing happens. Reader has hair long enough to tug. GN!Reader and Ed are best friends. Swear word count: 4. English is not my first language! Sorry if something doesn't make sense and feel free to correct me! (Repost because Tumblr flunked the last time I tried posting this)

If you wanna be Eddie Munson’s friend, you’ve gotta learn a few rules. Handle his guitar with care, or else he’ll bash it in the side of your head. If W.A.S.P. is on, you do not skip a single song.

You know all of these, better than anyone with you being his best friend. His partner in crime, the one that always gets him out of trouble– or gets into trouble with him.

But there’s one rule you know better than all of the rest.

Eddie is nothing if not a damn clown.

Loud, potentially annoying, and will crack a joke like he can’t hold it back. Be it an awkward one liner at a funeral, a sarcastic remark in the middle of class or a genuine good joke in the middle of a campaign– His mouth is moving faster than his brain, and all that leaves his lips is absolute tomfoolery.

You know it, your friends know it, all of Hawkins knows it.

And an example of this behavior is that fact he can’t see any one of his friends bending down to fetch whatever fell without pretending to hump against their ass, groaning and moaning so exaggerated you never know if you wanna laugh or cringe.

Shameless.

It is kinda funny when Gareth gets all pissy afterwards, tho.

But, even though you and Eds have been friends for the good part of 4 years now– he never did this to you. Not because he didn’t want to or because it’d be weird, but because he just never had the chance.

You, differently from most people, doesn’t tend to bend down to reach something. You just crouch. Or kneel, when the moment calls for it.

It’s just something you’ve been doing since forever, so you’re more used to it. Mindless, instinct, really.

But the past few weeks, you think Eddie’s been trying to get you to bend down– like he wants to get a completion prize for humping everyone in the Hellfire Club (with the exception of the sheepies, duh). He drops his pick mid practice, asks for you to grab a figurine stacked on the box near the foot of his bed– anything, just to get you to bend over.

So far? No such luck.

But Eddie isn’t anything if not committed to the bit. So, one day, the opportunity shows itself for him and he takes it.

It wasn’t even on purpose, really. He was just getting ready to go out, both of you gathering your coats by the front door of his trailer so you wouldn’t freeze your butts off–

“Oh, hey– wait.” Your hand leaves the sleeve of your hoodie, instead reaching for him to stop moving. Your face is down, eyes on the floor, and he raises an eyebrow. “I think there’s something stuck to your shoe. Hol’ up.”

And before he has the chance to freak out in worry if it’s a spider– you’re kneeling between his feet, tugging on whatever it is stuck to his sneakers.

And, like a match dropped into gasoline, he sees his chance and goes for it.

You don’t have the chance to raise your face before you feel familiar fingers tangling into the front of your hairline, tugging your head up roughly– and Eddie let’s out an exaggerated, throaty groan, half-heartedly moving his hips that are eye level to you.

“Mmph! Oh, fuck yeah, sweetheart, just like that!” He cackles, biting his lip and tilting his head back for that extra effect… But pauses when he doesn’t hear you laughing or groaning in annoyance at his shenanigans.

So he looks back down… And something about the smirk on your face makes his heart skip a beat.

Despite the crude and sexual joke, you don’t look embarrassed in the slightest– much less uncomfortable, which was Eddie’s original fear. No… No, you look amused.

Smug.

There’s something about the way your eyes are halflided, full of mirth as you look up at him from your spot by the floor. The shit eating tilt to your smirk has a shiver running down his spine, and his grip on your hair instinctively loosens. Amused, confident even– even while literally kneeling by his feet.

Jesus H. Christ.

“You’re a dumb ass, Munson, you know that?” You say, the slight tilt to your words hinting at an affectionate tone that has him swallowing the dryness on the back of his throat. He almost doesn’t hear you over the sound of the blood rushing from his head down south.

“I live to entertain.” He hears himself say, and for once he thanks the fact his mouth moves faster than his brain.

#hopefully tumblr won't fuck this post up this fime around #eddie munson x reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson x you #YOU #YES YOU #suggestive #trash's writing tag o/

[hestiaflames]

the enigma of jeremy knox

after one full read and revisiting some of my annotations (and shoutout to @andrewminyardslawyer for this collection of passages) I have attempted to collect my observations and conclusions/theories about the enigma named Jeremy Knox

please tell me your interpretations

Jeremy’s Dad

Mr. Wilshire is Jeremy’s stepfather (we know from "Bryson is in the sitting room with Mr. Wilshire" and then Jeremy referring to him as his stepfather. I was confused about this at the beginning lol)

This means that Knox is Jeremy’s dad’s name. Why doesn’t he want to be called Knox? Is it the reminder of divorce or his family drama when he’d rather not think about it?

Speaking of Jeremy’s dad: "Dad's been stationed [in Europe] a couple times". Most likely military, then. The tense (“Dad has been”) suggests that his dad is still in his life, not dead or estranged (otherwise I’d expect “Dad was stationed” instead). Unless perhaps Jeremy is going out of his way to hide it? He does avoid talking about his family, but he brings this up unprompted and I get the sense that Laila and Cat would know something that big so I don’t think this is a lie

Jeremy maintaining a relationship with his dad could certainly be a point of conflict with his stepfather and siblings, but doesn't seem to fit the "freshman year exy banquet scandal" we're catching wind of. It's possible his dad was involved, but I don't think it's where my money would go. 

Jeremy’s Siblings

Cat tells Jean that Jeremy has one sister and two brothers. Twice we hear Bryson referred to as “the older brother” and Annalise as his younger sister, so the siblings are:  Bryson, Jeremy, and Annalise-and-unnamed-brother-in-unknown-order. 

Of course, we must address “Jeremy has–three” and Jean “idly wondering what she’d changed at the last minute and why”. It sounds like the number changed (unless I’m missing a possibility here?), so why?

Step or half siblings? There is a stepfather in the mix, so she could have increased it to include step or half siblings, but I lean towards not this. Jeremy says that “the Knox family was duty-bound to dress up and smile bright for [the] cameras”, which would be odd to say if his siblings weren’t all Knoxes. Also, Cat tells Jean this after telling him that her two oldest siblings are half siblings, so imo it would be an odd thing to hide on Jeremy’s behalf

Otherwise, I think we’re talking about a death or estrangement. The unnamed younger brother, probably (though perhaps a fourth sibling). Now this is “broke the family in half” or “destroyed the family” territory. “broke the family in half” could be a death but almost sounds more like a schism, perhaps between Dad & Unnamed Brother and the rest of the family? Or perhaps Jeremy&Dad?

Jeremy & Bryson. What is going on here?

Pretty much the first thing we learn about Jeremy is that he is avoiding his older brother, leaving without his keys to avoid the possibility of an interaction.

Jeremy says that Bryson always spends his summers at home, and also specifically says he’ll be staying at Cat & Laila’s over the summer but then only over on weekends during the school year.

The conversation he has with Lucas: “Do you feel safe with him there?” “He’s my brother” “That’s not what I asked” could be read as him being protective of his teammate, but also could be implying that Jeremy knows what it’s like to feel unsafe around his brother. Learning there have been physical altercations wouldn’t come from left field.

The Fall Banquet Exy Scandal

Speaking of breaking the family in half, what happened at this fall banquet?

Annalise says “Overdue for a new scandal… End the way you started”, so it happened his freshman year. She went out of her way to forget everything about Exy and can’t forgive Jeremy for continuing to play, so she seems to blame Exy as much as she blames Jeremy. 

If it did in fact have to do with the younger brother, did he get hurt badly or die playing? If a high schooler died playing Exy three years before, would we have heard about it from Jean or Neil? Our other two narrators are not what you’d call tuned into the outside world all the time. On the other hand, yes Jeremy compartmentalizes even in his narration, but you’re telling me it never crosses his mind while playing a very rough sport if his brother was severely injured? It’s possible, but I’m not sold on this theory. It also wouldn’t explain why it’s tied specifically to the banquet.

The other thought I have is that something happened at that banquet that was some kind of PR mess. The family-in-politics obsession with being a “picture-perfect family” and Jeremy being unwelcome at dinner after bleaching his hair support this, but the Trojan reputation doesn’t. Whatever happened would have to walk the line between totally unacceptable to the family but also not a blemish on the Trojan reputation. Jeremy is made captain and Jean (who knows who he is and would be aware of a Trojan scandal even if it happened before his freshman year, since he was in the Nest and with Riko and Kevin) doesn’t know about it. Kevin is obsessed with the Trojans and with Jeremy, and Jeremy’s teammates (besides Lucas’ almost-comment about him being gay) show nothing but respect for him and his leadership.

I’ve seen speculation that it could have to do with Jeremy being gay, but this would again seem to contradict the fact that Jean and especially Kevin would know, wouldn’t they? I also don’t think Nora’s gonna do that. She wrote gay, trans, and polyamorous Trojans, which you could argue are accepted because it’s the Trojans, but even Jean doesn’t blink about Cody’s pronouns. It doesn’t really make sense to me that she’d pointedly avoid doing 2007-appropriate homophobia and then turn around and do 2007-appropriate homophobia. Possible? Yes. Do I think it’s gonna happen? No.

Cops

“There was little to no chance he’d know them, and no reason they’d recognize him, but Jeremy kept his gaze forward and mouth shut until they were past”. He’s afraid to be recognized. Is it because of a previous interaction (from the banquet? the scandal?) or because of his family? Is he apprehensive about them reacting to him, or something getting back to his family? 

Later Rhemann offers to send Jeremy away before bringing the cops in after Jean is attacked. Jean has no idea why Rhemann is suggesting it, but it means that whatever Jeremy’s fear of cops is, he knows about it and also assumes Jeremy told Jean. This doesn’t seem like the kind of thing that Just Comes Up with your coach, so it’s probably based on a prior experience in college. The freshman year banquet again sounds like the likely explanation here.

Jeremy and Mental Health

Jean says “Maybe [Grayson] will also kill himself” and Jeremy replies “That isn’t a joke”, with “unexpected ferocity”. Cat winces. This could be Jeremy being well adjusted (A little before this, Cat says, “That’s not a thing well-adjusted people say”, after all), but his tone and Cat’s reaction makes it seem a lot more personal than Jeremy just saying “Suicide jokes aren’t funny”. 

Guys, I think Jeremy’s mystery brother might’ve killed himself. If he played Exy and was bullied or maybe got seriously injured and later killed himself, and cops showed up when it happened, and it was somehow brought up during that banquet and Jeremy said something or reacted somehow that caused a familial rift… I think this is my leading theory.

Initially I didn’t think anything of “There’s been an accident”, but I wonder if maybe that’s how the news was broken to him about his brother. Or if his family insists on calling it “an accident” and maybe what happened at the banquet was Jeremy acknowledging that he doesn’t think it was. 

“The right therapist can be legit life changing–just look at Jeremy for proof”, Cat says. We knew from the first Jeremy chapter that he was in therapy and talked about his family, but “life changing” speaks to the severity of all of it. His mom picking the therapist suggests that either he was off the rails enough for her to intervene (more likely mental health issues than something like drug use, again given the Trojans) or that she’s more supportive or sympathetic to him than his siblings and step father. We hear few references to his mom; just a passing comment about her bookkeeper, a mention that she makes the kids go to fundraisers and other events, and that she’s allergic to dogs. Oh, we also know that his mother didn’t hit him. We know he doesn’t get on with his sister or older brother and is “permanently on his stepfather’s bad side”, but very little at all about his relationship with his mom.

Miscellaneous 

About the floozies, and I actually don’t think this is Jeremy backstory. Cat says it was “in response to some drama my freshman year”. She’s a rising junior, so that would’ve been Jeremy’s junior year. Jeremy’s scandalous exy banquet was his freshman year, so I think this is Catalina backstory, not Jeremy’s. I am obsessed with the fact that the queer Trojans nicknamed themselves the floozy line. Icons

One other line that seems potentially telling to me is, “What’s Grandpa think of this investment of yours”. What did Annalise mean by investment? Jeremy putting his time into exy? His use of money? The last thing Jeremy said was about Jean, could he be the “investment”? I think it’s most likely about exy, maybe how his commitment to it either reflects badly on the family or is seen as a silly endeavor

god, i could not be more excited for tsc2, or for the speculation in the meantime

#the sunshine court #tsc #tsc spoilers #the sunshine court spoilers #jeremy knox #jean moreau #usc trojans #aftg #all for the game #my post #aftg meta #tsc meta