#but from the point it came out and years later it became something to joke about - the gay cowboy movie

[katiexpunk]

You may have done this before, I haven’t read all your work, but How about Joel and Tommy (or just Joel 😜) take you on a horse ride, out into the woods and end up having a fun time on the grass

Tell Me a Secret | Pairing Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Non, thank you so much for this request. I hope you enjoy this! I love getting requests from ya'll, makes my heart so happy.xx As a side note, this will be my final fic as an unmarried woman. My wedding is in less than a month (!!!!)

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Word Count: 7.8K | Rating: 18+ Minors DNI Warnings: References to canon typical violence. It's hinted that readers father was abusive. Death. Blood. Reader is an artist. Ellie/Sarah/Tommy/Maria and others are referenced in this. Ellie and Reader are friends. Alcohol. Angst. Horses. Pining. Oral (female receiving). Praise kink. Pet names. Emotional sex. Very unprotected sex. They fuck outside, but nobody is around. Joel makes a questionable choice in this one that invades readers privacy. Breeding kink if you squint. Creampie. Fingering. Lots of references to art and poetry. A surprise ending that might mean more later on... Immersibility: Reader has no physical descriptions apart from having hair, breasts, and a uterus. It is noted at one point that there is charcoal visible on her hands. No age gap is mentioned (make it your own). Creative Credits: the middle image of the graphic is a drawing by @kamal.classic.art on Instagram. The poem referenced at the end is by Olivia Ann Rose. The opening section is modified poetry from Brianna Pastor. Inspiration was pulled from the lake scene in The Princess Diaries 2. And shout out to our boi Leonardo da Vinci, cuz I reference the Mona Lisa.

It’s really easy to be angry. 

Over the years, anger became so familiar to you that you had a difficult time differentiating between that and your sadness. Both felt equally daunting. 

It’s difficult to work on your sadness with its roots are boiling with anger. Both don’t always look the way one might expect them to. Sometimes, the face of anger is neutral, a quiet rumble you don’t notice because it’s buried so deep. 

That steady stream of anger and hurt seemed to trickle into every single thing that you did. You had become cold and numb to the reality of the world around you; an empty shell of who you once were. 

And then you met Joel Miller.  

He came along and started to nurture what you buried so deep that you eventually forgot what was even planted there. 

And you did the same for him. 

Like the sun, you elevated the ordinary with a simple touch. Your rays warmed the cockles of his heart he thought had gone so cold they could never be revived. 

This is that story. 

++++

It doesn’t take Ellie long to figure it out. 

“Hey, give me that back!” You snap at her, attempting to pull the tattered notebook from her hands, but it’s pointless. Her tiny fingers must have been sumo wrestlers in another life, you wager. Putting space between both of your bodies by quickly walking backward, she locks eyes with you until her back is up against the makeshift bookshelf. 

This is your favorite place in all of the Jackson – the makeshift library Maria started a few months back.  It’s not much, but with your help, the collection is starting to grow. You’re quick to stuff books into your pack on raids and have summoned a handful of the townspeople to aid in this effort. It’s always quiet and peaceful; a stark contrast to the world outside the walls that keep you safe here. 

Well, that was until a rather foul-mouthed 14-year-old named Ellie arrived in town. Despite your age difference, you two have become fast friends, even if she does annoy the shit out of you sometimes. 

“Ellie, I am so serious right now, please give my notebook back,” you plead with her from across the room, your hands on your hips, a serious undertone to your voice. 

“Why? Whatcha trying to hide so bad? Drawing a bunch of dicks or something?” she jokes. 

When you don’t respond, her eyes widen in surprise. “Holy shit, dude. You are drawing a bunch of dicks, aren’t you!” she teases, resting the pads of her fingers in between the pages of the notebook, slightly parting the paper. All she’d have to do is move them a little and the pages would fall open, revealing your secrets faster than a Catholic at confession. 

She starts to crack the spine of the notebook, but your voice calling out once more causes her pause. “No, wait, Ellie, stop,” you say a tad softer this time. “I’m not drawing a bunch of dicks, and even if I were, that’s not something you should be looking at – it’s…personal,” you respond, hoping the sincerity and softness you’re attempting to frost over the obvious bite of anger behind your voice will encourage her to listen.

She stares back at you, scanning your face up and down for a hint of the truth, thinking for a few moments. 

“Fine,” she says. Your shoulders fall from your ears and the breath you didn’t even realize you were holding escapes from your lungs. She walks back over to you and extends her arm out, the notebook in hand, preparing to hand it over to you as if she’s some sort of General accepting a truce deal. 

As you reach out to grab it, she lets it slip from her hands a few seconds too early. A nearly silent oops escapes her lips. The notebook falls to the floor with an audible thud, dropping as fast as a dead body, its pages falling open on both sides, like blood spilling on the floor. 

Before you register what’s even happening, Ellie already has her knees on the floor, hovering over the open pages, a look of astonishment and delight on her face. 

“Whoa – is that,” she asks, but before she can finish her sentence, you’re quickly snatching it up, snapping it closed with an audible thud. You both rise, and she’s looking at you, a smug smile of knowing on her face. Her smile grows like she’s just found some sort of secret treasure. “That was me, wasn’t it?” It’s a rhetorical question, she already knows the answer. 

You consider lying, but fuck it, you’re in too deep at this point. Plus, she may be only 14, but she’s smart as a whip, and you know she’d be able to call your bullshit from a mile away. Besides, she already saw the damn thing. 

“Yes, okay, Ellie. Fine,” you concede. “It’s you. I – I like to draw,” you admit sheepishly like you’re afraid of what might come if you say it out loud. 

It’s not that you’re not proud of your drawings, you are. The only thing you can attribute to your unwillingness to share your hobby with the world is akin to a trauma response. 

Memories of your father ripping up your first notebook of drawings, the one he found under your pillow when you were a teenager, flash through your mind. Goosebumps litter your body when you swear you can still hear his raspy voice, harsh from the burn of whiskey, telling you that drawing won’t pay the bills and to knock that shit off or he’ll beat it out of you. He wasn’t particularly a man of his word, but somehow, he managed to keep that one. You’re not sure when the anger started to creep in, but you think it might have been then. Watching your hard work darken and crumble in the fire almost hurt worse than the sear his belt left behind. 

“You were reading your comic over there the other day,” you admit, nodding your head toward the little nook by the window. “The light was just right, and well…I don’t know, I just got inspired and figured I’d give drawing you a shot,” you admit, voice soft and shy. 

“Well you’re pretty fucking good at it,” Ellie admits. 

You shove it down, the spark of happiness her words ignite in you, and it works. For now. 

“Yeah, whatever,” you respond, clutching your not-so-secret secret closer to your chest. You aren’t good at taking compliments; especially now, after everything that’s happened. 

“Can I have it?” Ellie asks. She rolls her eyes for a second, before eventually adding a please to the end of her request. You remember her telling you a few weeks back that Joel has been working with her on manners. You’d only met him once, but as far as you could tell, he was the southern gentleman, wounded dog, not to be fucked with, but still the impossibly polite type of man. The type of man that would punch another guy in the bar for questioning a lady’s honor, or stab him in the kneecap for looking at his girl the wrong way. 

You consider her request for a moment, before eventually deciding that since it is her likeness, she should be the one to have it. You crack open the book, being careful to hide the other pages from her view before the familiar sound of paper ripping fills the room.  You’re careful to tear it in a straight line, close to the spine, so as not to ruin the drawing. 

With her portrait in hand, you bargain, “You can have this under one condition. You can’t tell anyone about this.”  Ellie gives a subtle nod as if to agree. You don’t notice her middle and index fingers crossed tightly behind her back when you hand it over. 

“So you’re sure you don’t have anything super naughty in there?” Ellie teases.

“Alright kid, no more dick jokes or Joel is gonna choke me,” you chide, feeling heat creep up your cheeks. Wouldn’t that be quite the piece of jewelry; a Joel Miller hand necklace. The truth is that while you don’t have anything super naughty, you do have more than one drawing of her guardian hiding in your pages. You’re not sure of much anymore, but there is one thing you do know for certain – those drawings are something she can never, ever, see. Those drawings are something nobody can ever see. 

Ellie was quick to discover your secret.

Good thing it was just one of them. 

You drape your arm over her shoulder and walk out of the library together. 

++++

It all happens so quickly from that moment on. 

It’s only spring, yet the Jackson grapevine is in full bloom, carrying the fruits of your talent to pretty much the whole town. You can’t say you’re surprised. What did you expect from a 14-year-old with minimal entertainment options? 

It starts with Ellie letting it slip to Maria while they’re washing the dishes from family dinner with her, Tommy, and Joel. 

Maria lets it slip to Tommy. 

Tommy lets it slip to Samantha, the town’s soapmaker. 

Samantha lets it slip to Joey, the butcher. 

Joey lets it slip to – well – pretty much everyone else. You wouldn’t have guessed the town's butcher would be such a gossip, but dead cattle don’t make great conversationalists. Before you know it, you’re accepting some sort of art deal over porridge in the dining hall like it’s a shady drug deal. 

“Come on, think of how happy it will make people,” Maria pleads with you. “You only have to do as many as you want,” she adds, looking at you with kind eyes, the ones that are nearly impossible to say no to. 

You stare back at her in silence, attempting to piece together a response in your mind, but your words may as well be a 1,000-piece single-color puzzle at this point. 

“So many of us don’t have those memories anymore. Think of how much it will mean to people to be able to put a drawing of their family up on their walls once more, you know?” she says, laying it on thick. Like how it used to be is what she leaves out. 

“Fine. I’ll do it,” you respond, dropping your spoon on the wooden table next to your half-eaten bowl of breakfast. You feign annoyance, but deep down, you’re excited about the opportunity. Scared shitless, but excited. 

“Yeah? Great. Oh just wait until I tell Tommy, he’s going to be ecstatic,” she says. “Now finish up, can’t have any of that food going to waste,” she quips, before swinging her leg over the bench and adjusting the brim of the cowboy hat on her head as she walks away, a smug look on her face. 

++++

In the following days and weeks, you find yourself immersed in the lives of the residents of Jackson. Setting up your makeshift easel from scrap wood you collected on patrol in living rooms, on front porches, and amidst picturesque landscapes. 

The people, once reserved, slowly begin to open up to you as they share stories and anecdotes of their lives before. It’s sweet, you think – how chatty people get when they have nothing to do but sit there while you try your best to capture their likeness. 

Some conversations are easier than others. Most of the time you just nod your head and let out occasional nods or grunts of agreement, too immersed in your work to listen to what they’re saying, but sometimes you find yourself so engrossed in their stories that the drawings take hours to complete. 

As much as you learn about them, you rarely open up about yourself. Sometimes they ask, sometimes they don’t. Regardless, you feel like the woman you were before no longer exists, she was left to decay with the rest of your family back in Austin. You know she’s in there, buried deep inside, hiding behind a door of anger and tears. Sometimes she cries out, but you buried the key to that lock years ago. No getting out now. 

As the portraits accumulate, so does a sense of connection and unity. You’re no longer an unknown. A threat against resources. When you first arrived in town, you did your best to make yourself useful and show people that you weren’t just dead weight. And it worked, or you think it worked anyway, but the past few weeks have caused a noticeable shift in the atmosphere. Before the apocalypse, you never really saw a place for your artwork or your talent. But now, you can see how it’s becoming a bridge, linking generations and weaving a tapestry of shared histories. Giving people something to cling to, something to hold on to, something to cherish once more.

Of all of the portraits you’ve done so far, your favorite is the one you did of Tommy and Maria. She hasn’t said anything yet, but from the way she placed her hand on her belly, and the way Tommy looked at her, it was pretty easy to guess. You did your best to capture their likeness, knowing it would likely be shown to generations to come. When you showed them the final result, Maria cried and hugged you tighter than you’ve been hugged in years. Their love was obvious – radiant and shiny. If anything were to make you believe in love again, wouldn’t seeing it right in front of your face be it?  You try not to think about it too much when you realize it doesn’t. 

You no longer have to walk the streets of Jackson, bouncing from place to place, alone. There’s always someone to talk to on your journey, or a comfortable silence paired with a subtle wave in the distance, or the occasional sound of a creaky screen door opening for you. Even before things went to shit, you never had this – community. With each finished portrait, you find yourself making a new friend.

You should be happy now. You know that. Your parasympathetic nervous system has had an opportunity to return to its normal state for the first time in years.  You have the warmth of friends, and people like you. Like actually like you. They like what you’re doing, what you’re creating. 

But you aren’t. 

Because while you’re capturing the entire town's attention, you’re starting to realize you only care about attention when it’s from one person.

And unfortunately, he doesn’t seem to give two shits about you or what you create. 

As you lay in bed that night, fidgeting with your necklace, you stare up at the ceiling and think about what started this whole infatuation in the first place. It was a drunken night, hardly anything. Not even a story worth repeating. You shouldn’t even be thinking about it. It was nothing. 

But as you feel sleep calling you into its abyss, you remember the way his voice called your name that night and the heavy feeling of his gaze on your chest. 

It was nothing. 

Nothing.

Nothing. 

Nothing. 

That doesn’t stop you from dreaming about him that night. 

++++

Being the town's only artist comes with its price. While most of the time you don’t mind the endless stream of hellos and requests for additional portraits, you’re not up for much conversation this morning. 

You slept like absolute shit last night and decided that if you weren’t going to sleep through the night, you might as well be productive with your time. When your eyes fluttered closed thinking of what, and who, to draw, the image of Joel sipping a cup of coffee in the dining hall, reading an old Western book from your library, played on the screen of your heavy lids. You decided to put your feelings on paper and start a new portrait. After you woke up from your dream, probably around 3 am you guessed, you stayed up late enough to see the sun rise over the horizon, before eventually deciding that it was too late, early for most, to go to bed now. 

Seeking solitude and shielding yourself from prying eyes, you make yourself at home in the stables. You perch on a weathered stool in the corner of the barn, perfectly positioned in the corner so your back is supported, and begin sketching the handsome grump. As if he was right in front of you, his features are regal; sharp jawline decorated with a salt and pepper beard, one of the patches faintly shaped like a heart, dark brown eyes that resemble those of a deer, the crinkled lines around his eyes and forehead that serve as proof of age. Arguably your favorite feature is his nose. Prominent, aquiline, like a bow that perfectly ties all of his facial features together. Joel Miller is one beautiful fucking man.

Completely immersed in your world, you lose track of time. You could have been sketching for twenty minutes or three hours, who’s to say. Exhaustion envelopes you in an embrace and you doze off in a peaceful slumber. 

When Joel enters the stable for his morning shift, he catches a glimpse of you out of the corner of his eye; perched up on a rickety old stool, head slumped over, resting on the wooden edge of the barn. Your arms are wrapped snuggly around your chest as if to keep yourself warm in the dewy morning air. As he approaches closer, treading carefully against the hay as if he were a cat trying to sneak up on its prey, he takes in the finer details of you peacefully asleep, blissfully unaware. 

There’s charcoal on your hands, your lips are slightly parted and there’s a little glisten of drool pooling in the corner of your lips, and your hair slightly covers your face. Jesus, he thinks you’re gorgeous awake, but seeing you asleep – so vulnerable and tender – nearly causes his heart to skip a beat. He tries to ignore what it does to his cock. He knows you’re an artist, but with the way you look right now, hell, you might as well be the artwork, too. 

He thinks he could stare at you for hours, but there’s something more pressing for him to look at first. He’s seen you carry your trusty notebook around, rarely ever setting it down, and certainly being very guarded when you have it cracked open around others – especially him. So when he sees it lying on the ground, he thinks…what could one look hurt? He doesn’t want to invade your privacy, but as the saying goes, curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back. He’ll be satisfied once he knows what you’re hiding in there. Surely. One look, and he’ll wake you and that will be it. 

After all, it’s just a peek. 

He’s not quite sure what he expected, but this was most definitely not it. As if he were looking into a mirror, his reflection stares back at him from the dull matte of the pages. As he flips from one page to the next, he swears time stops altogether as he takes it in. Your secret. 

As he scans the pages, something burns deep in the marrow of his bones, a fire and heat that exists only for you. Now that he knows your truth, he’s not sure he can stop what he does next. His large palm floats out to caress the underside of your jaw, and the pad of his thumb ghosts over the soft swell of your bottom lip. Before he lets himself get too carried away in his thoughts, he clears his throat. 

“Mornin’,” a husky voice says, startling you. You all but launch into orbit and almost fall over like the stool, but the owner of the intruding voice grabs your elbow before your backside collides with the floor. You’re relieved to see that your saving grace is Joel, yet you’re burning with embarrassment at your clumsiness. 

Joel clears his throat before speaking with his hand still grasping your elbow, “M’pologies, didn’t mean to startle ya, sweetheart.” 

”Oh no, I was just…” you sputter out, still finding your bearings. He reluctantly removes you from his grip but not without letting his fingers trail across your skin as he lets go. The ghost of his touch is a noticeable one. 

“Didn’t sleep well last night, I take it?” Joel asks, a softness to his voice. 

“Afraid not,” you say, kicking your heel into the hay, trying your best to avoid his eyes so as not to spill all of your fucking guts. I was too busy thinking about you.

“You’re in luck, darlin’. I have just the thing to wake you up,” he says, “and ‘m not takin’ no for an answer,” he says with a wink. 

“I’m sorry, am I speaking to Joel Miller? Have you been bitten? Are you feeling alright?” you joke, placing the back of your hand up to his forehead, a giant smile on your face. 

“My reputation of being Jackson’s own Boo Radley precedes me, I see,” he jokes back. 

You shoot him a look that says who the fuck is Boo Radley? Instead of giving you an explanation, he just chuckles like it’s an inside joke. 

“Come on now, we’re goin’ for a ride,” he says with finality. 

You try to ignore the heat that stirs low in your belly at the thought of riding with Joel Miller as he guides you deeper into the stables. 

++++

The sun hangs high in the sky, casting a warm glow over the picturesque landscape of Jackson. Situated in front of Joel on the horse, you close your eyes and exhale all the air from your lungs. You hold your lack of breath for a moment, before feeling your lower belly rise, taking in the crisp air laced with the scent of wildflowers and fresh blades of grass in through your nostrils. 

Joel is an easy-riding partner. He doesn’t say much, yet you feel secure in his presence with your back nestled up against his chest, his thick arms wrapped around you, his capable hands holding the reigns, guiding the horse through the scenic trail with ease. You rub your eyes for a moment before opening them to take in the breathtaking view of the snow-capped mountains far off in the distance, and the lush green meadows that surround you. You almost forgot beauty like this could exist. 

Joel turns his head, following your gaze. A small smile tugs at the corners of his weathered lips as he agrees, "Looks like a good spot to take a break."

Guiding the horse toward the field, you both dismount and allow the horse to graze freely. Joel suddenly remembers he has a blanket tucked away in his saddlebag. He retrieves it and spreads it out in the clearing amidst the vibrant flowers.

Seated on the blanket, you unravel the satchel from over your shoulder and place it on the ground by your side while you simultaneously marvel at the beauty surrounding you. The sun plays hide-and-seek through the branches of nearby trees, creating dappled patterns on the ground. Joel settles beside you, gazing out at the open expanse. 

As you bask in the splendor of the spring day, your attention fully absorbed by the vibrant beauty surrounding you, you inadvertently miss the subtle shift in Joel's focus. His gaze transitions from the scenic view to rest upon you. In a moment of silent admiration, he drinks in the essence of your being. His eyes trace the contours of your profile, lingering on the way the sunlight plays in your hair, transforming it into a golden halo that only seems to make his mouth water more. 

He admires the view of you propped up on your elbows, eyes closed, heart center shining toward the sun, the swell of your breasts painted like a picture before him.

“Tell me your greatest desires,” he says. 

As you open your eyes and turn to face him, as swift as the breeze you feel in your hair, you feel all of the air escape your lungs. Joel Miller is one beautiful fucking man. You’re momentarily lost in your own world as you admire the way he looks like this; relaxed, basking in the sun on a checkered blanket. His dark brown eyes are now a soft shade of amber, the silver streaks are a little more prominent in the sunlight, and the furrow of his brow has lessened. 

“Alright. Tell me a secret” you respond, the corners of your lips threaten to turn up in a smile. You press up off your elbows and roll onto one on your side to face him. 

“Isn’t that the same?” he asks, responding to your movement, mirroring it. 

Now face-to-face, and chest-to-chest with him, inches only separating your bodies, you pause and let your eyes flint to his lips. 

“Anyone can see your desires, no one knows what’s in your heart,” you say. 

“Tell me something,” he says. 

“I still dream of the taste of McDonald’s french fries,” you say, “and I’m not sure I know how to feel happiness anymore,” you say, as a matter a fact. 

Your words reverb through his ears, and he stares at you in silence, unsure of how to respond. 

“I used to be a contractor,” he admits, “and I had a daughter named Sarah.”

You look at him with soft, wide eyes. Pain is visible on your face, taking in what he’s yet to say. When you don’t respond, he adds, “She died in my arms on Outbreak day,” he admits, averting his gaze over your shoulder. His hands have somehow navigated to find a single blade of grass that he toys with in between his fingers. 

“Fuck, Joel,” you pause in silence. Like your words could ever make up for his loss. Everyone had lost someone at this point, but the way he said it, you could tell it still felt fresh to him. 

“It’s alright, Darlin’, next confession,” he says, obviously wanting to change the subject. 

“Ellie,” you chuckle, but you don’t miss the way his eyes light up at the mention of her name. “She’s such a pain in my ass, but she’s probably one of my best friends right now,” you say. Like it should be embarrassing, you, an adult woman, friends with a 14-year-old. 

“Yeah. Little bugger has her way of working her way under your skin, doesn’t she?” he says, bringing his attention back to the panoramic scene laid out in front of you. You notice the smile that graces his face. “Your turn,” you say, this time paying all of your attention to his profile as he stares out to the horizon. 

“I saw your drawings,” he admits, even though every fiber of his being is telling him not to. Your smile fades from your face and your heart sinks. You swear the sun must have navigated light years closer to Earth from the way you feel your skin heat, your blood hot enough to melt bone. You might as well turn to liquid there, melting into Mother Earth.

“Wh–what? What do you mean?” you ask, your voice mostly a tremble. 

“In the barn, this morning… when you were asleep. Your notebook fell to the ground, and well – I saw them,” he decides to leave out the part where he intentionally decided to take a peek, deciding it wasn’t worth arguing the ethics of it. 

You’re nearly one with the core of the Earth, her heat drawing all of the moisture from your mouth, your tongue dry, briefly incapable of forming a response, before your brain lands on the following.

“You mean – you saw – yo,” you start to say before he interrupts you. 

“Yeah, I did,” he admits, once again, a soft tone of honesty behind his voice. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. This is not happening. This is not happening. 

Mortified, your whole body goes limp and the back of your head falls to the ground. You scrunch your eyes closed as tight as possible as if that might somehow wake you up from the nightmare that this scenario is. You bring your hand up to pinch the bridge of your nose and let yourself absorb all of the nasty and icky feelings of embarrassment that cross your brain. 

When you open your eyes, you start “Joel, I can explai–” he cuts you off with the weight of his body pinning you in place, his lips pressed against yours in an intentional, yet gentle, kiss. It’s stationary at first like he’s just trying to get you to shut up, to save you from the danger that is your thoughts. With your eyes still wide open, you stare back and try to rationalize if this is really fucking happening right now. 

You break the kiss for a moment and look up at him, “Joel, what are you doing?” you ask. 

“I don’t know, sweetheart. I haven’t overthought it like you’re about to,” he admits, staring back at you, “tell me you don’t want this,” he says, hoping you don’t. As if you could ever. When his question is met with no response, he takes that as a green light, and his soft lips once again find yours. 

Your eyes flutter closed, and your arms wrap around his broad shoulders, your fingers interlacing behind his neck. He deepens the kiss with a moan and grinds his hips into yours, the heavy weight of his center pressing deep against yours ignites a firework display of nerves in your body. You can tell from the package that’s pressed up against you that he’s quite big. The strengthening of your touch is met with a soft mmm from his chest, as his heavy frame pins you tighter to the ground. 

His lips stray from your lips, kissing over the razor edge of your jaw, finding their way to the nape of your neck. His hot breath and the weight of his strong and capable body make you feel weightless, despite the pressure he pushes on you. 

He presses tender kisses to your pulse and trails them down to the hollow of your throat, causing your breathing to hitch in your throat. His wide tongue licks a long, flat stripe up your windpipe, and his teeth come together in a little nip on your chin. Fuck. You let out a little cry of unexpected pleasure at the sensation. He pins both of your arms high up above your head, and his mouth continues its relentless pursuit on the bare skin of your neck and exposed collarbones. 

“Joel, please,” you beg, your vision foggy from the thrum of your blood pulsing through your veins at a rapid pace; your heart threatening to beat out of your chest. 

“Gotta use your words for me, pretty girl, tell me what you want,” he responds, a low growl to his words. 

He’s barely managed to touch you, yet, you choke out, “Need you,” you moan, “need you to touch me more, god, please,” you beg, your arms still pinned above your head. Satisfied, he releases his grip on your arms, and both of his palms find purchase on your center frame, just below your ribs. He kisses his way down from your throat, through the valley of your breasts, and over your belly, trailing the ghost of his lips to the soft plush below your navel.

He hooks his thumbs under the band of your pants, and deftly pulls them off, alongside your underwear. He continues kissing down the gash between your thighs and pauses once his mouth is centered on your glistening slit. His tongue darts out to lap at some of your slick and you swear all of your senses cross at the sensation of his tongue. 

Fuck –,” you cry out as he licks a firm stripe up your pussy. Joel moans before making his tongue flat and massaging your clit with it. It’s so fucking good. 

He sinks a thick middle finger into you, and your walls clamp around the welcomed intrusion. His finger grazes against the soft spongy spot inside you that feels so good, and he works it in and out of you before adding another finger, twisting and working them both into you with precision. You’re so close. You choke out a moan in response, enjoying the sensation of his long and thick fingers rubbing against your walls as his tongue makes tight circles around your sensitive clit.

You pull at your nipple through your shirt with one hand and hold on to the top of his head, his hair entangled between your fingers as you attempt to hold on to him, an anchor to keep you from floating away, and he devours you.

His fingers thrust faster, his mouth firm on your throbbing bud, and you’re so close. You wail out, and the slurping groans that come from Joel are fucking primal and filthy.

“Shit, sweetheart,” he says, his words barely audible with his mouth on your puffy lips, “want you to come,” he moans. “Come on pretty girl, I’ve got you – let me have it, soak my face.”

His dirty talk is all you need. "Yes, oh my God – Yes! Joel, fuck, I'm coming, don’t stop," you cry, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, your chest hot. Your vision goes white as you release yourself to him. Your back arches and your legs flex; your stomach feels like it’s being sucked into itself, and Joel works you through it, lapping up your come.

He rises from between your legs, his beard slick with your release, and smiles at you. As satisfied as you are at the moment, he’s the one that looks it. As much as he would love to make you come multiple times under his tongue for hours, to savor your sweetness like it was the last strawberry on earth, he’s starving for it. 

He makes quick work of undoing his belt and jeans, before sliding them off his legs to free himself. Gripping his heavy cock in his hand, he positions himself at your entrance and pushes just the tip in, wishing he were less riled up, less desperate for the warmth of your body, but he finds comfort in knowing you’re right at that line with him, begging to be filled. 

“Need you,” you beg, your doe eyes looking up at him. He’s had many people beg for things from him – supplies, food, their life, but you, god, there’s something about you, split open and begging for his cock that he can’t say no to. 

He smiles, and slides all the way in, giving you a moment to adjust to his size. He buries his cock deep inside you, to the hilt, so deep you can feel the tickle of the dark hairs that outline the base of it against your clit. Your pussy is so wet and tight, and holy – “fuck me, baby,” he moans, thrusting his hips out of you just barely before shoving them forward; the stretch of him is a delicious slow burn. 

“Choking my cock so fucking good, baby. So good,” he moans before he begins to set a slow rhythm with his movements, letting you both adjust to the sensation. He praises your name and his breath catches on your collarbone, and he sucks a small mark there as he fucks in and out of you. When you whine for more, more of this, and more of him, this time he’s the one who’s lost for words. He might not know what to say, but his body responds in kindness, his cock thrusting in and out of you with a slow drag that drives you wild. All he can do is admire the beauty that you are under him, an angel on earth making a sweet, sweet mess, all for him. Just for him. 

“Mmm, God, Joel – ‘m gonna, fuck, Joel, – right there –” you cry up to the sky above you, the clouds in the sky witness to your pleasure. He knows his cock is enough to get you there, but it’s not enough, not to him. Putting all of his body weight into his left arm, being sure not to crush you, he drags his right hand out from under his weight and it lands to cup your pussy; already so wet and so full. His fingers extend and find a home on your clit, and he begins rubbing tight circles on your aching bud in a way that makes you swear it must be nighttime from the stars you’re seeing. 

“Here, baby?” his fingers continue their relentless pursuit of your clit, and he bucks his hips harder. He’s rewarded with the glorious sound of your moans reaching an octave that makes his cock twitch a little harder inside of you, “Jesus, sweetheart – gonna make me come like a teenager if you keep clenching like that, gripping me so fuckin’ tight,” he groans, an animalistic sound emanating from his chest. 

“Joel, I’m gonna come –”  

“I can tell, baby – clenchin’ so hard around me, want you to give me your all,” he demands, as he grabs your hair and tells himself not to come with you, too soon.

“No,” you choke out, staving off your orgasm. He stops his thrusts for a brief second, “What?” he asks, a bit bewildered. At this point you’re both a tangled mess of limbs, sweat beading on your foreheads, chests heaving. You intertwine your hands through his hair and gently pull at it as you look him deep in the eyes, “I want to come,” you promise, “I just want to ride you while I do it,” you admit. 

You pulse around his cock at the confession, and with your truth still lingering on your lips, Joel pulls out and flips around so he's on his back. He steadies himself by the base and holds his cock straight up for you. You rise and position yourself over his center; you line yourself up against him while he cups your cheek with the other hand, “take your seat, pretty girl,” he says in a tone that’s just shy of a beg, and you do, feeling yourself slowly sink onto every inch of him. Your action elicits a throaty groan from him. Your eyes once again glaze over at the sensation of him so deep inside of you, so big, so deep. The stretch of him shoves out every other thought you can muster until all that’s left are thoughts of him in your brain.

In an attempt to get a better angle, he shifts his upper body up onto his forearms, as you continue to grind your hips into him. Both of your arms wrap around his neck, and you use the strength of them to pull him closer into your chest as you continue to slowly grind your cunt into him. You swear you can feel him in your lungs, and with the way your clit grinds against his skin, you’re nearly there, nearly gone.

A weird combination of emotions pools in your belly, part pleasure, part something else. You feel it creeping up your throat, clawing up the back of it like it’s manifesting its reality before it manages to surface. Heat pricks in your tear ducts, and before you know it, it’s such a big, bold feeling – a lion in a cage that won’t be tamed. Simultaneously, you feel a familiar tug at your navel, like a rubber band, stretched to its capacity, on the verge of a snap. 

The orgasm that tears through you is so epic it causes your head to fall back, and your eyes to roll to the back of your head, your vision going static white. Your lower body shudders against his thrusts, and your inner muscles clamp hard around his cock as he fucks you through it. You convulse around him, doing your best to ride his thrusts and contribute as your whole body trembles. With tears streaming down your face, you press your lips against him. He wraps both of his arms tight around your chest, pinning you close to his heart, meanwhile spearing you with his cock. His thrusts stop for a moment, and he looks up at you, both hands coming to grip the sides of your face. 

“Why are you crying baby,” he asks with genuine concern in his voice. 

“You’re just – so god damn beautiful, Joel,” you admit, and your sobs come a little harder. If this were pre-apocalypse, you might be mortified by the fact that you were sobbing for a man you hardly know, all while riding his cock, but it’s not. You rest your forehead against his and let the tears continue to fall, a handful of them dropping to his cheeks. Your hand comes up to cup his face, and one of his hands leaves your face, trailing down to gently grab at your wrist in comfort. “No, baby. That’s you,” he says, slowly continuing to fuck into you with a slow grind. 

“My perfect girl, I’ve got you, baby, you’re safe. I’ve got you,” he says, as he holds you and fucks you with such passion and intentionality. He fucks all of the love you haven’t let yourself feel in decades back into you. His cock fills every gap that has been left unfilled by every wrongdoing, every terrible, bad thing. He holds you like it isn’t the end of the world, but rather the beginning. He fucks you like his cock alone could fix everything, and at this moment, you’re confident it just might. 

Still riding him, a soft “please,” leaves your lips. “Please use me,” you say, sinking your pussy down further onto him, so tight you can feel the tip of him pushing down on your cervix. “Want your come, Joel – need it, need it so much,” you beg, and oh god, he’s so fucked. 

Joel was already on the crest of his release a long time ago, but here you are – utterly fucked out, riding him, and begging for his come. He’s a smart man, he knows he shouldn’t, but – you tug at his hair harder, and ride him for all you’re worth. “Fuck me, baby,” he moans, alongside a long slew of your name and other profanities, he only has so much resolve left, a resolve that’s slowly crumbling with each drag of your wet cunt up and down his cock. 

You press your lips to his once again and he feels his balls tighten. The litany of pleas and the taste of your salty tears is what undoes him. Buried deep inside of you, he comes harder than he has in decades, spilling hot and deep inside of you. He fills you up with all he’s worth, painting your insides with white hot ropes of his seed. Normally you’re the artist, but right now, you’re his canvas, his fucking Mona Lisa. 

Joel grunts and you collectively still your movements. He holds you close as he waits for the aftershocks and twitches to still, still plugging you, keeping all of his spend deep inside of you. He plants soft kisses all over your face and neck and caresses your hair. You stay like this for what could be hours, minutes, days. Time is a construct you have no concept of right now. 

After a few minutes, he groans. Pulling out is always the hardest thing to do. “Gonna get off you now,” you say softly, planting a soft kiss on his lips, as you lift your hips and swing your leg over his body. Your pussy whines at the lack of something to grip around. A rush of his come dribbles out of you onto your inner thigh, but you don’t pay any attention to it. You roll over onto your back, and he does the same. As you both lay there, he grabs your hand and squeezes it tight. You’re not sure what time it is now, but by the color of the sky, you guess it’s late afternoon at this point.

“We should get back,” you say, staring up at the sky, watching the clouds make their creations. 

“Yeah,” he admits, only looking at you. When you avert your gaze from the sky to look at him, you get deja vu as you take in the sight of Joel Miller, his tossed curls and chocolate eyes, and you swear you’ve seen this sight before. Maybe in a dream. 

You commit the sight to memory, promising yourself to draw it later. 

“Will you sit for a portrait with me?” you ask, voice soft, once again turning to face him, but this time it’s different.

“Only if you promise to go for a ride with me again,” he admits, and you smile, a heat creeping up to your cheeks. 

“Deal,” you promise. 

You both lay there for what could be hours or minutes, you’re not sure. But as the sun looks like it’s about to dip below the horizon, you both decide it’s time to head back. You both get dressed, and he helps you onto the horse. You both leave your perfect little meadow, knowing that it will be there for you to discover again and again. 

On the ride back, you reflect on a poem you remember reading years ago.

There are two kinds of people in this world, those who see the ending, and those who see the beginning. 

And after years of living in the ending, you’re ready to let the girl who you were before out of her prison. Joel undid the lock, all you had to do was let her see the light of day once more. 

A new beginning. 

You and Joel ride back in blissful silence. 

Once on the outskirts of Jackson, Joel simply says, “Maybe we should invite Tommy next time.” 

But that’s a different notebook. 

END 

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#joel miller smut #joel miler x fem!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller tlou #the last of us #joel miller fanfic #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #katiexpunk answers #pedrohub #pedro pascal #pedrostories

[delulujuls]

friends don't know how you taste | ms47

hi! i know that i have a lot of second parts to write, like for example for this one, but i just cant write other stuff when i am having particular ideas in mind, ya feel me? but dont worry, i remember all of the requests and i will write them in the sooner than later future, i promise!

but here comes the mick schumacher's one and i hope that you will enjoy this while waiting for the next parts for other shots, so bon apetit!

summary: when you are in love with your best friend and only alcohol can untie your tongue to reveal your feelings

warnings: reader being drunk, mentions of alcohol usage

pairing: fem!bffreader x mick schumacher

"Careful, watch out."

The tipsy giggles intensified as Mick steadied his friend's waist a bit more securely while they exited the elevator on the correct floor.

The girl struggled to maintain her balance, and despite being upset when her friends ordered transportation to the hotel for her, she was delighted when Mick turned out to be her ride.

"We're almost there, you're doing great," he reassured her.

Occasionally, he glanced at her, wanting to ensure that the alcohol wasn't taking a negative toll on her. She, however, was in great spirits, giggling and being very talkative.

"When they told me to go back to the hotel because 'I've had enough,'-" she mocked one of her friends, hiccuping, "at first, I got mad. But when I saw it was you who came for me, you have no idea how happy I was to see you!"

She stopped and embraced him, hugging tightly. Mick chuckled softly and reciprocated the hug. He knew he was in for a rather amusing evening with his friend, whom he had no intention of leaving in such a state, even though he could see that she had indulged in one of those harmless ways that shouldn't lead to any harm. Nevertheless, he wanted a clear conscience.

"I'm happy to see you too, liebling."

The girl lifted her head, smiling at his face. Her mascara was slightly smudged, her eyes sparkling, and a wide smile stretched across her rosy lips. Mick returned her smile, looking at her affectionately. She looked charming, staring at him like a painting in the middle of an empty hotel corridor.

"Liebling," she repeated, trying to mimic the German accent, "am I your liebling?"

Schumacher laughed, hearing her feigned accent.

"Of course you are."

She giggled again and hugged him once more. Shortly after, they managed to reach her hotel room. Mick closed the door behind them and seated his friend on the bed. She immediately sank into the soft mattress, feeling everything around her spin. Mick put her purse aside and took off her shoes.

"We'll get you into something more comfortable, okay?"

"Just say you want to undress me."

She joked, giggling. Mick chuckled and shook his head. He was genuinely curious about what interesting things he would learn from his intoxicated friend, with whom he had been friends for many years, and who had never made him feel that there was anything more than friendship between them. However, with alcohol, the girl always became more open, and whenever he was around, she enjoyed his company. Mick decided to play along.

"No, absolutely. After all, we're just friends, right?"

He said, taking off her leather jacket.

"Friends, just friends," the girl sighed heavily, sitting down with difficulty, "of course, as you wish, liebling."

Mick laughed when she again used the term he often called her, this time with an exaggerated German accent that amused him.

"Do you even know what that term means?"

"Liebling?"

"Mhm."

He said, squatting by her suitcase and looking for something for her to change into. As he searched through her clothes, to his surprise, he came across his own T-shirt, which she must have borrowed from him at some point. He smiled to himself. It fit perfectly, being a bit too big for her and, as a result, comfortable.

"Of course, I know."

The girl snorted. Mick stood up and approached her again, holding the T-shirt in his hand.

"So, tell me, and I'll get you changed, okay?"

The girl nodded, a shadow of intense contemplation appearing on her drunken face.

"Liebling," she said again, with the feigned accent, "means darling."

Mick smiled, squatting down and unbuttoning her pants.

"That's right, it means darling."

"I'm your darling?"

She asked, looking at him. He lifted his gaze, and their eyes met. His once amused blue eyes suddenly became serious, and the girl's intoxicated, gleaming eyes also became a bit more serious, too. Nevertheless, a smile still lingered on her face.

"Am i?"

She repeated the question, but Mick couldn't bring himself to utter a word. However, he thought that the next morning, his friend probably wouldn't remember half of the evening, so why worry about what he would say? Even if he revealed his long-hidden feelings to her now, he could gauge her reaction even if it wasn't positive. Everything would return to normal the next morning. He decided to take the risk.

"Of course, you are, liebling."

The girl smiled. Mick returned her smile. He took off her pants and tossed them aside, leaving his friend in just the top and underwear. He stood up and handed her the T-shirt, which she clutched in her hand.

"Can you manage the rest? I don't want you to feel uncomfortable."

"You promised to dress me, so you should keep your word."

She said confidently, looking into his eyes again.

"However you wish."

He replied softly, smiling slightly. He took hold of the bottom of her top and carefully removed it. He tried not to stare; that would be impolite. He grabbed his T-shirt and helped her put it on, tucking her hair behind the collar.

"We'll remove your makeup now, okay?"

The girl nodded and pointed to the bathroom. Mick disappeared for a moment, returning with micellar water and cotton pads. He sat next to his friend, looked at her face, and warmly smiled at her, sweeping her hair from her face and tucking it behind her ears. The girl closed her eyes and nestled into his hand. Mick stroked her cheek with his thumb, looking at her affectionately.

"You have pleasant hands. I like your hands."

He chuckled softly.

"Is there anything else you like about me?"

He asked, after a moment, taking a cotton pad and soaking it with makeup remover. He placed one hand on the back of her head and gently started removing her makeup with the other.

"I really like your eyes," she said after a while, without hesitation, "they're beautiful. Like the sky on a summer afternoon."

Mick smiled, hearing that comparison. With careful movements, he swiped the cotton pad over her cheek.

"I love your smile. And your laughter—whenever you laugh, you brighten everything around you." As she said this, she smiled herself. Mick couldn't hide his own smile.

"God, I think there's nothing about you that I don't like."

"Really?"

He giggled, taking another cotton pad, and he applied it to her eyes.

"Although, no, there's one thing I don't like about you."

"I'm all ears then."

"That you haven't made me Mrs. Schumacher yet."

Mick smiled. For a moment, he worried if he had missed something.

"Would you like to be Mrs. Schumacher?"

"Oh God, yes!"

She replied without hesitation, making him laugh. He set the cotton pads aside and leaned in, examining her face carefully, checking if he had done well in the task entrusted to him—removing her makeup.

The girl bit her lip, watching his face.

"You're doing great. This is the moment when you give me a kiss."

Mick was taken aback by her confidence. Even though, he looked into her eyes and smiled.

"Like this?"

He asked, touching her cheek and kissing her. He felt her smile against his lips, deepening the kiss. Although her lips tasted like alcohol, the kiss was filled with emotions. Not wanting to overdo it, he intended to pull away, but she grabbed his hoodie and pulled him closer.

After a while, they separated, but their foreheads were still pressed against each other.

"You have no idea how much I like you."

Mick confessed quietly.

The girl laughed softly.

"And you're telling me this now, when I'm drunk?"

"You probably won't remember it in the morning," he replied, stroking her cheek, "so I'm not worried that it will change anything between us."

"And you don't want anything to change?"

Mick sighed and lowered his gaze, leaning back a bit. He took her hand in his.

"You're drunk, baby."

"No, not at all."

She replied quickly, but hiccups got the better of her. Mick smiled, stroking her hand with his thumb.

"I'm afraid you won't remember anything from this conversation tomorrow."

"Answer me, Mick," she said, looking into his eyes, which were now avoiding hers, "you don't want anything to change?"

He looked at her. He felt that this joking conversation had taken on a completely serious tone. So, he decided to go all-in.

"I'd like to stop pretending that I only want to be your friend."

The girl smiled.

"So let's stop being just friends."

Mick was about to say something, but she kissed him again. Despite the taste of alcohol from her lips, he also felt the taste of change.

After all, friends don't know how you taste, right?

#f1 imagines #f1 #f1 one shot #formula 1 #f1 oneshots #f1 imagine #mick schumacher #mick schumacher x you #mick schumacher x reader #ms47

[daddyricsdoll]

Hate but I love you too ✭ Ollie Bearman

Summary: From when he ignored you then nearly kissed your lips. Or never said sorry to begging for you. Oliver was a rollercoaster of emotions and it's safe to say- It took hate to love him.

Warnings: Unprotected sex.

Word count: 2.9k

A/N: Based off of a request. I'm sorry it took a while, quite a few things happened, but I enjoyed writing this and I hope you enjoy reading this too! (did change a few things)

“Hey Ollie” I smile at him as we walk toward our karts that sit only metres away from the other. “What do you want?” He turns his head toward me with furrowed brows. “Oh, I-um just came to say hi and good luck.” I try my best to keep a smile on my face as he grimaces. “Ok then, thanks I guess.” He mumbles under his breath before quickening his pace and rushing to his kart. 

It did hurt to watch him leave because of me, but it wasn’t the first time and it never made me stop from approaching him again. And just like the first time, it happened the next, he would always find a way out, but I found another in. I had questioned his actions and dislike toward me, but never got the answer, or maybe the one I was looking for at least. So after setting the goal of speaking to him every time we were in the same premises, I eventually lost it. Moving up into F4 and giving him a smile, then F3 and little glares. 

F3 was an interesting time, it was when we started to only focus on racing, relationships later, whether it was friendships or romantically, we could all agree we had some struggles. And then came the part I thought would be my happy ending, but U-turned straight out. 

But then came a experience for all of us drivers to experience what a lot of kids our age do. So then came a party with nearly all the drivers on the grid, hosted by a driver, so you could expect it to be on the spectrum toward chaotic. It happened to start light, small talk and grabbing another drink, before people loosened up and with that came party games. The truth or dare and spin the bottle. 

My hand lightly shook as I grabbed the bottle in hand, trying to estimate which person it would point toward. Hoping it would be the British boy that sat across from me, and this time he wouldn't walk away. 

Everyone's eyes stuck on the bottle and when it pointed in between two people I looked up to see it was Ollie and Jak. Everyone started shouting out their opinions of who it shall be before they all voted, and it was Ollie. I watched many emotions cross his face as we both leant forward and our lips inched closer to the other.

I stopped moving, waiting for him to make the next move, his lips were so close that I could feel his breath against my skin and I closed my eyes as I waited for him to close the gap. My lips curled into a smile as I was sure I would finally feel him. But instead of his lips ultimately against mine, I felt cold as I lost his presence and then his voice that refused to kiss me. “I can’t kiss her, we’re both rivals and it might ruin the race tomorrow.”

I don’t say anything, but sit back in the circle, at long last, accepting my defeat. I watched as some conflict arose, people telling Ollie it’s just a game and it doesn’t mean anything, but then he fought back claiming he wouldn’t kiss anyone in the circle, and then the game ended. 

I found somewhere to sit in sorrow but also bliss, at how close his lips came to mine, but then how he left. I was alone for a short while before Arthur Leclerc approached me. He wasn’t even part of F3 this year but said “I could never miss out on a party.” and then sat beside me while enlightening me with his jokes and bad english. From there me and Arthur became close, while the tension between me and Ollie grew. I secretly schemed ways in my head to get Ollie back, make him feel the way I felt, make him regret something or tempt him with something, make it come so close then take it from him. There was no denying I wanted that thing to be me, and that’s what held my plan back. 

The next year we both were signed into teams on the F2 grid, he had the opportunity to be with Prema racing and me with ART grand prix. 

After Jeddah, our rivalry started to grow realising we were the top two drivers fighting for the win each race, me getting the victory first and him second. Then came up Australia, a track we were all new to, but it didn’t mean we wouldn’t try as hard. 

I led the race with Ollie right behind me, fighting around corners and defending on straights. We had 3 more laps left as our tires started degrading drastically and our cars lost the power they had earlier in the race. Speeding down the main straight and reaching turn 1 Ollies tire clipped mine and we both spun into the gravel.

Furrowed brows under my helmet as I got out of my car that would’ve taken me to the top of the podium if it weren’t for Oliver Bearman. I put my steering wheel back in and smack the halo, needing something to take my anger out before walking away with clenched fists. Oliver stands still and stares at me as I aim to stride past him, but instead I land directly in front of him but don’t say a word. Our helmets would’ve touched if it weren’t for our heights and although my visor was still on I knew he understood the emotions that ran through me at that moment. We stayed like that for what felt like minutes until I walked away with a brush against his shoulder and hand. 

Every race after that there was a stronger battle between both of us, it was either me or him that won, and those few times we didn’t, the bottom two on the podium had our names on it. 

Just like last year, there was a party held, but this time we were in F2 and I wasn’t tailing after him. 

Me and Arthur walked in together dressed impeccably and proud. We had a good season together and maybe letting loose at this “party” might make this season better. 

Since everyone on the grid was here, it would be inevitable to see Oliver. Whether it’s a good or bad thing, I kind of do want to see him, especially since after that crash, I’ve never been better and he doesn’t enjoy being under me, so I’ll have a great time. 

It barely took 5 minutes until Arthur found Oliver and started a conversation, while I stood with Arthur people congratulated me on having dominance over the season so far and I just waited till Oliver would say it too. And to my surprise it didn’t take long. “Oh um, congratulations.” I hear him mumble under his breath. “Sorry I didn’t catch that, can you say that again?” I ask him, hiding my smirk with a confused look.

He gives me an annoyed smirk, knowing wholly what I was trying to do. “Congratulations.” He quickly says and watches a smile curl on my lips before walking away with one too. Me and Arthur somehow separate and I find another one of my favourite people on the grid–Juan. I immediately laughed as the first words he said were an enlightening joke, and we sat at the table and talked, it felt so short but apparently it wasn’t. 

I excused myself to the bathroom but not without a short interruption. “Nice boyfriend, since when?” The oh so recognisable accent drew me out of my stride. 

“Oh, Oliver? I never knew you had an interest in people's personal lives.” I sarcastically joked, but I gained no reaction from him. 

“I never knew you had an interest in people so low in the championship.”

“Unlike you Oliver, I actually know how to interact with people whether they are high or low in the championship because I know they won’t ruin my race even if we’re rivals.” I try to add some of his words from that night in F3 while taking a step closer toward him and most definitely getting in his personal space. He doesn’t attempt to move back into the wall that he already rests on, but instead looks down at me with concentrated eyes staring into mine. 

“How do you interact with people? Oh please show me. Is it actions before words?” I knew exactly what he was asking for so I step on my tippy toes to stand taller and he lifts his head to look straight forward at me, I move my face closer to his, just like he did that night. I feel the ghost of his hand along my hips as my parted lips hover over his. I breathe against his skin and feel him try to move closer to me just before I break away and walk back into the main room.

Losing my need for the bathroom I walk back with a smirk and see the same one of Arthur’s faces. We both found a seat next to each other and laughed as I told him what happened. Arthur couldn’t get over it and started making fun of Ollie from across the table. Sending him air kisses and chuckles. 

And just like I hoped this night did make the season more enjoyable. 

I walked out of the Prema garage as we were 15 minutes till lights out and me and Arthur had just spent the morning being stupid together. We still couldn’t get over last night and Arthur was just waiting to see Ollie again, which was definite thanks to them being teammates. But as Ollie walked in, I had to leave. I sent him a teasing smile and he looked away with his signature furrowed brows. 

We all got in our cars and lined up on the grid, me and Oliver sharing the front row. Once the lights went out Ollie kept the lead and I trailed behind him, keeping the gap close. Halfway through the race there was a yellow flag which lasted a few minutes before we were back to racing. The yellow flag closed the gap between both of us by a lot and now we were wheel to wheel.

I had the inside line so we both knew what was going to happen. But just like Australia, our cars collide and our race ends in seconds. I was most definitely filled with the same emotions as Australia but I knew hitting the halo wouldn’t ease them. I don’t dare to walk close or past Oliver so I take the long way around and stride straight to my driver's room. I don’t speak to anyone on the way there and slam the door once I arrive. 

It hadn’t even been a minute until I received an unexpected knock on my door. Everyone knew that when I was angry, it was best to leave me alone unless you were certain that you could make me feel better. So when I got up to answer the door I was surprised to see Oliver. Before I could say a word, he beat me to it. “I’m sorry.” I stood there confused trying to process the words he had just told me. “I-I hit something and I couldn’t control my car, I think you hit it too and then we both…” 

“And you think sorry will fix what just happened? For the second time!”

“No, I don’t think it will fix everything, but maybe if you accept the apology then things might change.”

“What happened? So you start talking to me, and now you learn manners! What happened to ignoring me and sending glares or not talking because I’d ruin your race or maybe you just never liked me!”

“A lot happened! And I don’t know how to explain it, but don’t act like I’m the only one that changed! What happened to the smiles you would give me before the race or when you would walk with me on the track?”

“You ignored it Oliver! You never showed an interest and you knew what you did that one night. You really hurt me Ollie.”

“Well then please, give me a chance to fix it. I regret everything I ever did or didn’t do.”

“And why do you want to fix it now Oliver?”

“I… I realised something. I realised that I really enjoyed when you would talk to me! And that the reason I ignored you before races was because you would infiltrate my mind during the race like you do every day and night! And I really wanted you- I still want you!”

“Fuck it.” I mutter under my breath as my hand grabs his and pulls it into my room and shutting the door right behind him. I had spent so long wondering what his lips would feel like, and now I know, they are the definition of paradise, my paradise. And his hands finally against my body did more than just touch my skin, they touched my mind and I tried to engrave the feeling into me. We broke the kiss and I looked into his eyes, irises being eaten by his pupils. Once my eyes landed on his neck, my lips did too. Placing hickeys all over his skin and moaning at the sound of his hushed groans. 

“Is this what you wanted, Oliver?” I ask him against his skin. I don’t get words as an answer but little whines instead. My hands go to the top of his racing suit and I start unzipping it, soon pulling it down his body. Ollie starts to help me, mirroring my actions and seconds later we both stood in just our fireproofs. I couldn’t bear to still see him in clothes so my hands pulled his top off and my hands travelled along his unclothed chest. 

“Come on Oliver, I’m not the one that has to fix this.” I mumble against his lips with a smirk. His hands then grip the back of my thighs and pull my body up against his. My legs wrap around his body like it’s not the first time and he lays me down on the small driver's bed. 

“Is it too hard to finish what you started?” He whispers against my skin as he pulls my pants down my legs and they land on the ground. I sit up and lean forward to slide his pants down his legs so he can help ease the need between my legs. And once his pants sit next to mine, I have to clench my thighs together for at least some friction. 

“Would you like to watch me finish what I started?” I ask and before I gain an answer I swap our positions, I replace my body on the bed with his and I stand in front of him. I barely give him any time to react as I crawl onto his lap. And then in seconds I lower onto his dick. Emitting a loud moan from his perfect lips, one that’s louder and longer than my own. 

“I guess I’ll take first place again, on your list of best people you’ve fucked.”

“Fuck, oh, you’re the only one on the list.” He somehow manages to grit through his teeth. His words do something to me, and I start to work harder, his hips also coming to meet mine. 

“Good, let’s keep it that way.” I occupy my lips with his and we capture each other’s moans. It didn’t take long until we were both moments away from coming, and it was like we had planned it together as we simultaneously came. I started riding both of our highs out until he grabbed my body again and flipped us over. 

My back hit the soft bed and his hands slid along my hips as he started ramming into me. My whole body moved and it was something I didn’t expect from Oliver, but luckily I now enjoy the unexpected. We both cursed under our breath and out loud as our second climax was inching closer. I clenched around his dick and traced the delicacy of his body as I let myself feel everything that he was giving to me.

His eyes that remind me of autumn glint down into mine before I have to shut my eyes as my back arches and I cum onto his dick for the second time. I wait for the disparate feeling of him releasing in me again and whine when it finally happens. 

He then lets out a long sigh and lays down onto me, body enveloping mine as he stays inside of me. “This was more than what I wanted.” He breathes out and then lays beside me, resulting in feeling the emptiness between my legs but oh so satisfied. 

“Have I fixed what was broken?” He asked me.

“Maybe, but this is the first step.” I turn toward him and smile before he smiles back. This was more than I hoped and certainly more than I expected. So to sum it up, Ollie is many things and emotions, maybe I had to go through the dislike to savour and realise how much the like is worth. So Oliver, you made me want to stab you, but heal your wounds. Drown you, but part the ocean so you can walk through. You made me hate you, but love you too.

#ollie bearman imagine #ollie bearman x you #ollie bearman fluff #ollie bearman x reader #ollie bearman #ollie bearman smut #f2 fanfic #f2 fluff #f2 fic #f2 smut #f2 #oliver bearman #f1 smut #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #prema racing

[goldsbitch]

I gave so many signs

summary: First unrequited love is not the one to ever leave your mind. Y/N looks back at her missed connection with Charles Leclerc from the time they were just teenagers and regrets having him slip away.

song fic (disclaimer: rights belong to the respectable owners)

exile - Taylor Swift Lie to me - 5 Seconds of Summer (feat. Julia Michaels) Worst of you - Maisie Peters

warning: Present time, the past

Coming back home to Monaco always brought a sour smile to her face. She loved growing up in this strange small town where everyone knew each other and celebrities came to show off and then went back to wherever, to tell stories of Monte Carlo.

They say that you get to experience three very different real loves in your lifetime - and only if you're lucky, it would be with the same person. Her first love was Charles Leclerc.

I saw you lookin' brand new overnight I caught you lookin' too, but you didn't look twice

Visiting family was the reason why she always came back, but going out with the few girls from high school who stayed there was a treat she dared not to miss. There is just something about hanging out with those people who helped one buy the first eyeshadow and with whom she pregamed at one of their step dad's dermatology office before going on trying to get into any club that would allow minors in. So there she was once again, at the old time spot, having a harder time to hold her alcohol since she'd passed the magic non hangover years. And to her luck, he walked in only a bare half an hour later than her.

Whenever she saw him, even after those years, it was like everyone else had dissapeared from the room. He seemed to age like wine.

It's 3 AM and the moonlight's testing me I know that you've been holding on to someone else And now I can't sleep

"Come here to me," she teased, moving closer to him. He tried to stop her and playfully pushed himself the furthest away possible the couch would allow. "Charlie, let me see!" she insisted and sat on top of him. She had to act quickly, there would be no way for her to keep the upper hand. He was just turning eighteen soon and the time in gym was starting to bring back results. "I do not have any hairline, Y/N," he gasped, annoyed. His tone changed. Back then she interpreted it as just him being done with her shit. Looking at it now, there probably was a different reason why he became more stiff. She sat on him, going through his hair and taking few photos, blissfully unaware. "I'll show this to you in a few years and we'll see! Ha!" Charles eyes were shooting arrows in her direction. She looked back at him, curious and not grasping the moment in the same way as he did. "What?" she asked simply. "Nothing..."

I can see you standing, honey With his arms around your body Laughin', but the joke's not funny at all

She laughed a bit at that memory as she sipped her drink and tried her best to avoid keeping looking back at him as he sat with his current friends and an absolute gorgeous girl laughing at his joke. She knew who she was. Sometimes she peaked at his socials and then blocked him again right away. She certainly knew he had her blocked.

They went to different schools and Charles had his racing activities anyway. So they'd spent a lot of time texting. A lot.

It was just one of the horrifically long school days where she doubted the point of her existence. Life had to be more than sitting in a pointless computer science class. She wanted to be a big lawyer girl boss one day, so why would she ever care about programming. There she was, staring at the assignment from the teacher who was stuck in 20th century anyway, having little to no clue what to do. As she'd usually do, she texted Charles. Bombed him with twenty texts demanding attention, before he finally responded. "OMG i thought someone had died" "i am dying charles" "no your not" "*you're" "i can go back to my race simulator if you keep being a little shit" "nooo, please dont go. you're my only hope. sorry, your. i get it, you got out of the school too early." "that's it, i'm gone" "noo, please stay, I'll be nice and say nice things about you" "i'm staying, go on" "you are absolutely gorgeous" "yes, agree. more" "you are soo funny, amazing, future heart breaker and your passion for racing is so inspiring" "i like this. more"

Second, third, and hundredth chances Balancin' on breaking branches Those eyes add insult to injury

They were inseparable, yet nobody knew. Always meeting alone, because they did not need anyone and their social circles didn't really meet together. Whenever he was back in town, the two of them would hit up their favorite café or hang out at his house and then go for a walk. The two of them walked around Monte Carlo as if they were suppose to be the cartographers creating the first map of that area ever. Those were the good old days that came to end very unexpectedly.

We always walked a very thin line You didn't even hear me out (Didn't even hear me out) You never gave a warning sign (I gave so many signs)

His hands were shaking when he sent the email. But he just could not take it anymore. He was over the moon in love with her and didn't know how to contain it.

"there is no easy way to say this. i love you. sorry. i'm stupid and i know we're just friends. but i basically live only for racing and seeing you. i'm terrified of seeing you with someone else. if there is at least a cell in your body that feels the same, please let's meet up and talk about it. if not, do not reply and i will never mention this again and deal with it. i love you."

She was seventeen when she got his message out of the blue. A scared little girl who was petrified of feelings and anything relationship related. So she never replied to his email.

All this time I never learned to read your mind I couldn't turn things around (I couldn't turn things around) 'Cause you never gave a warning sign (You never gave a warning sign)

Charles had a very little hope that she'd feel the same - why would she, such an amazing person, kind, fun and totally glorified in his eyes, so he could not even imagine him being worthy of her. But what if? What if he was enough? With every day when she did not respond to his email, his heart sank lower. Still, the pain of the first rejection is a hard one to take, because it's usually from a scared unexperienced heart to another and the clumsiness causes great deal of accidental collateral damage one remembers until the end of their life.

You're not my homeland anymore So what am I defending now? You were my town, now I'm in exile, seein' you out

She texted him from school few days after that - a normal text, as if nothing happened. Both of them were too chicken to address the situation openly. So he opted for buring his feeling and she for playing like she had no idea. Deep down, she always knew, even before he emailed her. They texted, continued to meet up. But it was never the same again.

Flashing back to New York City I was done, but you undid me Classic me to run when it feels right

It was hard to get closure for her. After all that had happened and the mess the two made for each other was a hard lesson she remembered vividly. She glanced at your first love again - and finally she met his look, after almost two years of managing to missing each other while they were both back in Monaco. She'd daydreamed about bumping into him, the two chatting and smiling again. The world stopped again for few moments. He shot her an unsure quick half smile that said it all. She knew him too well for that.

And now I wish we never met 'Cause you're too hard to forget While I'm cleaning up your mess I know he's taking off your dress

It was her prom night and she could not be more excited. All her friends were here, family, even Charles managed to get in town to watch her dance and drink all night. She had the night of her life, perfect end to end this chapter of life. The excitement her eyes held was contagious. She spent the first half of her evening with the family and Charles, sharing few dances and laughs. If felt like the good old days. But one shot of tequila led to another and there she was, drunk as pirate and unhinged like a teenage girl. Charles did his best to keep her parents at bay, keep them occupied while he got one of his friends to take care of her. He was worried she might do something stupid, like walk up to the stage and fall down breaking all of her bones. Finally, her parents decided to leave without having to saying goodbye to her after Charles spent a good half an hour convincing them she was just in the back stage and that he'd get her home safe. When they were gone, he began to search for her, only to finally find her sitting on the stairs, making out with the friend he assigned to keep an eye on her.

So take me to every party and just talk to your friends Why don't you let me down, I'll let you do it again Go on and walk all over me, just don't walk away Give me the worst of you 'Cause I want you anyway

It was like being cut open alive and having people watch. There was nothing even remotely graceful about her actions, she was literally sitting on the floor having a battle of tongues with another drunk teenager while people had to walk pass her. It was embarrassing. Charles didn't know what to do. He wanted to run away and never come back, but he couldn't leave her there alone. He couldn't bring himself to stop the two of his friends, because he was just too sad and heartbroken to do so. He just stayed nearby and kept an eye on them. It was one of the longest nights in his life.

She couldn't remember the second half of her prom night and Charles would never speak of it, even though she begged him many times. He always became stiff and started to leave the room. She only kept asking, because it marked one of the biggest shifts in their friendships. He became cold, unresponsive and after few weeks, he stopped communicating completely.

You were my town, now I'm in exile, seein' you out I think I've seen this film before

Funny how people's faces change with years, but the eyes stay the same. The eyes and the look. Charles looked at her the second time this evening. It was like staring back at the eighteen year old boy who was drowning in his feeling.

It was one of her last nights in Monaco before leaving for university. Finally, her dreams were coming true. She was more than ready to get our to show the world she was a force to be reckoned with. She sent Charles countless messages before her final departure, at that moment, she was sure she'll never ever get back to Monaco and wanted to at least understand why he became distant. One evening, he finally agreed to meet up and talk. She was over the moon. Knowing that she could always turn Charles over, she left feeling confident - he was one the very few people she was sure shared the same soul as her. It was as if they'd never stopped talking. Jokes flying everywhere, the two of them strolling around, having no idea this would be the last time (and maybe, that was better for her at the time). There was so much to share, the two kept talking over each other for hours. Charles was happy when she finally stopped to take a breath for a moment. She looked him in the eye and saw a look she'd seen countless of times on his face. There was a shift in her mind and out of nowhere, she was kissing the boy she'd been unknowingly in love for years. She'd realize that she loved him only once she started dating a random guy from her college, expecting the same feeling Charles gave her. But it never came. Had she known, she'd have stayed with him. He tried to convince her to start dating him. Almost begged her to try it with him long distance. But there was a whole world for you to discover, places to be and versions of her that needed discovering. She had kissed only once. But it was a kiss of a lifetime. He blocked her on all socials after she rejected him again.

I never learned to read your mind (Never learned to read my mind) I couldn't turn things around (You never turned things around) 'Cause you never gave a warning sign (I gave so many signs) So many signs, so many signs You didn't even see the signs

The girls were laughing at some joke she missed while digging in her memory for traces of her first love. Charles Leclerc. He was sitting few tables away from her. This time, her heart sank as he kissed his girlfriend on the cheek as they walked away from the bar. She wanted to run to him, to talk to him again after all those years. To tell him the same thing he once emailed her. To explain that she was just too young to notice she had the love of her life right next to you. But she knew all too well what his answer would be. And just like he had back then, she never wanted to hear it out loud.

And I know that you don't, but if I ask you if you love me I hope you lie, lie, lie, lie, lie to me

part 2

#song fic #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc x female reader #ferrari f1 #f1 fic #f1 imagine #friends to lovers #charles leclerc imagine #chalres leclerc fluff #f1 fluff #f1 angst #taylor swift #5sos song #5sos #exile #worst of you #lie to me

[vpgoldenrod]

Aziraphale's Haunted Look: On Being Forcibly Outed and Exiled From The Garden

While we're all talking about Aziraphale's reaction to the kiss, I'm surprised by those who thought Aziraphale looked disgusted because that's not an emotion I'd seen in him at all. There's sadness, and confusion, and anger, but I couldn't remember seeing disgust. When I watched the scene again I realized there's something else going on that really struck a chord with me. It's an uncomfortably familiar look.

He feels exposed. And I know what it feels like to be exposed in such a violent and intimate way.

Stay with me, I promise this is relevant to my analysis.

I didn't know what being transgender meant when I was a kid. Being raised in a fundamentalist Christian house meant that I wasn't exposed to those ideas, so I lived my life feeling like something was always just kind of broken. It was like I was looking right through the problem at other things, trying to alleviate symptoms without understanding why they existed in the first place. I eventually met other trans people, who gently nudged me in the direction of my truth. I even became aware that I had experienced some minor dysphoria. Every time I came close to acknowledging the truth however, my eyes would once again begin to glaze over the problem. I always managed to subconsciously shove it back into a little box and move on with my life. It was like I accidentally “did a big miracle” and hid this truth from myself so well that I continually forgot it was there.

Til one day I had an encounter that changed everything.

We're friends now but oddly enough, it was only meant to be a fling. I won't go into too many details because it's not just my story, but it was a lovely time that culminated with us meeting and doing what adults do. The person I was with, a cis man, silently clocked me the minute we were face to face. For reasons I now understand, without warning and in the middle of our shared intimate experience, he decided to talk dirty to me as if I were a gay man.

No one had ever spoken to me like that before. It had never occurred to me to ask anyone to do that, or that anyone would want to. I was in an intimate space and filled with the typical emotions and endorphins one has during sex, but it was a fling. I had walls up. So for the first time in my life, in this incredibly vulnerable position, someone grabbed me by my lapels and forced me to face a deep truth about myself that I'd spent decades silently dancing around. It was a blunt, irrefutable truth and it hit like a sucker punch to the solar plexus. He saw me when I was very much not trying to be seen, and there's few things more terrifying than that.

Even now, years later, I have such a hard time putting into words the overwhelming emotions I felt that night. There were so many, and yet somehow I can see every single one of the emotions I felt in Aziraphale's face when Crowley lets him go. My heart breaks all over again seeing how exposed he felt. He can barely make eye contact until he stumbles onto the one emotion that gives him his agency back: anger.

Gabriel shows up to the bookshop completely naked. When a bewildered Aziraphale points it out Gabriel says, “Who told you I was naked?”

But that's not how the story goes.

God looks for Adam in the garden, but he hides from her. He eventually tells God, “I heard your voice in the garden and I was afraid because I was naked, so I hid myself.”

Then God asks Adam, “Who told you you were naked?” And of course Adam knows he is naked because he ate the apple.

I've made jokes about Crowley being the apple that bit Aziraphale, but I forgot the bit that happens afterwards. He is aware of his own nakedness. He is exposed. To God, to Crowley, and to himself. As a result he is exiled from the safety of his Eden. Man, if this isn't the perfect analogy for being forcibly outed I don't know what is.

This show is so gay you guys.

#michael sheen deserves an emmy and also a hug #good omens #good omens 2 #aziraphale #crowley #do it again #neil gaiman #good omens analysis #amazon prime video #pay your actors #good omens spoilers #michael sheen #LGBT+

[horseshoegirl]

Set Me Alight: Part 7 - Paint It, Black

📜Life is messy. And complicated. And writer blocky, with a dash of imposter syndrome... I just want to put that out there... Anyway...

Well, the poll won out. You all want to know what Jake said to Midge. This is solely a flashback chapter. I can't say I'm surprised at who you all disliked in the last chapter, though I hope this one will give you some insight into why Midge has held on to this for as long as she has.

Special thank you to @teacupsandtopgun for helping me to write a certain part of this! You can thank her for the puns! And @sarahsmi13s for taking a peak at it!

❗️+18, Minors DNI, Strong Language, Enemies to Lovers, Original Female Character (s), Short OFC, Bradley Bradshaw x Natasha Trace, flashbacks, Halloween college parties, school, angst, sexual themes (overhearing), drunkness/inxotication. I mentioned angst, right? 💀

#8k <- yes, i know

Part 6 | Masterlist | Part 8

*Halloween Four Years Ago*

Giving orders to a football team to put up Halloween directions was not an easy feat. They were kids in a joke shop, only too happy to take every opportunity to jump-scare each other with a spider, a white sheet or slide out from behind a door and shout boo! 

Despite the antics, you were grateful for the help. Nat and you wouldn’t have finished in time. And even then, you suspected Nat probably would have given up halfway through, merely deciding to throw Yellow Caution Tape on the walls and call it a day. 

You wouldn’t have stopped - even if it became a doomed effort. 

Bradley’s friends weren’t what you expected them to be. True, their appearance fit the bill a thousand times over. Tall, broad shoulders and bulging muscles were all the product of hard work - including Bob, who was smaller than the rest, though not by much.  Even their mannerisms, from how they acted childish and goofy to how they winked or playfully flirted, everything you saw played into the stereotypical type that was the classic college football jock. 

Then you got to know them—really know them—and hated yourself for ever associating them as such. 

You already knew Bradley and had met him on occasion. When he stayed over to be with Nat, he was often up before you, and you’d chat with him over a cup of coffee. He always brought her a cup to wake her up when he could, and it always made you smile. 

His story was a sad one. His father passed away when he was only two years old, leaving his mom to raise him alone. While he couldn’t regale you with his memories of him, he instead offered you the stories attached to his father’s things: a button-up Hawaiian shirt in pale pastels, a pair of coffee-brown Ray Ban sunglasses, and even a worn Milk chocolate leather-strapped bag he used to lug his books around campus. 

Then, his mom passed away in high school, and his father’s best friend took him up until the point decided to leave for school. Bradley chose his words carefully when he spoke of any of them, offering little, and you wondered if the loss was still too much for him to bear. 

Or something else had happened, and he didn’t want anyone to know. 

 But as you helped him blow up a few balloons for the floor, a song from a later decade played through the speakers, and Bradley lit up, producing a smile wider than the nearby Jack-o-lantern. He launched into a story about how much his parents loved music and how his father would play the piano, which alone made him want to learn. 

You asked him if and when he did if he’d play for you one day.

Javy Machado, however, couldn’t be more different from Bradley if he tried.

He was just as meticulous as you when it came to detail. The two of you were discussing the best way to tape Velcro to the kitchen cupboards to stick fluff to the sides and mimic cobwebs when you discovered this fact. He was … quietly smooth and persuasive, with a suave smile that indicated he could charm his way into or out of any situation he wanted without needing to flirt or play it thick. 

“Angle it like this, Maeve,” he had explained, stretching the piece out. “Principle of maximum contact area equals maximum adhesive stretch.” 

You had raised your eyebrows at that remark, which prompted him to chuckle softly. 

"Science major," he shrugged with that smile, making your internal monologue stutter to a halt until you went, "Wait... What?!" 

He only laughed at your reaction, amused in a way like he’d been expecting it. But it was that look of genuine interest in his eyes that made you ask him properly. 

He didn't know what field of science to specialize in, but Javy made all of it sound amazing. From stars to not dirt—it's soil—to understanding how the world worked, he knew he wanted to spend his life trying to figure it all out. If he could throw a ball around and be part of a team with his friends, he considered himself fortunate to do both. 

Even if his passion was so far removed from your own, you may have seen some of yourself in his journey, trying to fit in while doing what you loved most. 

Holding up a string of lights against the wall, Reuben Flitch told you he was floating through school, waiting for the day he could finally be free. On that day, he’d take over his family’s business. Comparing him to the fractured story of your brother and sister following in your parent’s footsteps never seemed to cross your mind. 

Because when you asked what the business was, his face lit up with an enthusiasm you hadn’t expected. 

“My grandparents own vineyards," he had beamed. "They've been in the family for generations. I've grown up with the land, the grapes, and the entire winemaking process." 

He told you stories of growing up, playing through the vines and rows of trellises, making you long for the rows of apple trees at Aunt Viv's. He also talked about spending time with his grandfather, learning the process of pressing grapes and his grandmother tending and picking the grapes. He spoke about the people, everyone from the gardeners to the people who bottled the wine to his siblings, with whom he'd played hide-and-seek within the cellars. 

He told you a business major was worth it, as much as he loathed it, if he could own the place one day.  

You hoped he did. 

But Mickey Garica and Bob Floyd were... characters, to say the least. It was easy to talk with them, even laugh with them, as the three of you spread tiny black spiders all over the apartment. 

Mickey couldn’t stop asking if you could paint him one day, though you imagined it would be fandom-inspired rather than a realistic portrait. The second you asked him about his favourite universe, he launched into a word vomit of praise for each and every one. He spoke of Lord of the Rings, Marvel, Star Wars, Star Trek, and Batman—not DC—as the character deserved to be separated from the rest. 

It made you wonder if the one portrait would be enough. Still, you happily humoured him, saying you needed the practice. 

He was in Health Sciences, hoping it would be enough to get his foot in the door to become a firefighter. He talked about it so passionately, about being capable of making a difference and saving lives, that you honestly couldn’t see him in any other role. 

And given the opportunity, Bob was so full of sass and witty comebacks to the ones you managed to throw his way, you were surprised he was seeking an Anthropology and Archaeology degree. He seemed to have a natural talent for what Comedians had labelled “crowd work.” You honestly would have taken him for a drama major had he not told you differently.

However, once he explained his choice, you understood why. Growing up, having been a Boy Scout, learning about nature, rocks, and life. He wanted to know more about life, history, and how things were. 

A visit to an archeological dig site in high school sold it for him. His eyes lit up when he spoke about ancient civilizations, lost artifacts, and all the mysteries surrounding human evolution. He rattled off facts about Neanderthals and cave paintings, which had you urging him for more. 

He happily obliged and was encouraging when you offered a few that you knew of. 

All of them were so passionate about what they wanted to do with their lives, even Bradley, who wanted to pursue football seriously as a career; you admired all of them for it with your entire heart. 

But Jake Seresin was... you didn’t know. Nor did he, it seemed. 

Jake was there at your side every time you went back up that ladder, claiming someone needed to catch you should you fall again. You had rolled your eyes, a slight smirk gracing your face, but you let him all the same. 

He wasn’t as open as the others, wanting to flirt with you more than anything else. Somehow, you managed to get him talking about football, and when you asked him why he played, he admitted that his father had gone and played at the school. He had been urged to apply, and his family would support him throughout his entire ride. 

“Family money,” he said, his tone light when you gawked at him. You didn’t ask what his parents did, but knowing he came from a rich family, you wondered if he didn't want people to know. You certainly didn't. Nat didn’t know, at least not yet. 

It prompted him to add his parents weren’t pressuring him into one career or another; they simply wanted him to keep up with the sport. So, he was buying time and taking electives, trying to figure it out, though he would have to make a decision soon. 

And it made you wonder, under that confidence, under that layer of charm and ease on his surface, if he was searching for what everyone else in the group had already found. While everyone else didn’t fit the stereotype, you wondered if Jake was attempting to mould himself into it. 

How you wished to tell him, he didn’t have to. 

But Jake wasn’t a painting you could tear apart or theorize about. And as you pinned that last streamer to the ceiling, you realized over the course of the afternoon, you’d unwittingly developed a bit of a crush on him. 

You weren’t stupid. You recognized the signs the second he caught you off that ladder. The second he handed you that shot. He was laying on the charm, the flirty glances, the playful smiles. Even the slight touches on your waist as you leaned back, pining streamers to the ceiling, were waving the red flags in your head. 

Jake was either genuinely interested or actively looking for someone to hook up with tonight. 

It wouldn’t be you, that’s for sure—not even for someone so charming and handsome as Jake Seresin. 

In the last two hours, the guys took turns getting ready first while everyone else finished with the final touches. They wanted you and Natasha to go first, but you vehemently refused, knowing they’d ruin hours of hard work if left unsupervised. 

You also wanted to see this through to the end, but you kept that to yourself. You had revealed enough of your quirky, artsy side to them. You did not need to add to it by gushing over the decorations or how the entire apartment turned out, possibly damaging whatever relationship you'd established so far. 

People were weird when it came to shit like that. 

Jake and Bradley emerged from Nat’s bedroom just as the two of you were headed toward yours. The hallway was already lit in a deep red from the lights now neatly strung up in the corners of the ceiling. Though the sun was beginning to set, shining warm light through your window, you knew the total effect would be entirely eerie when night rolled around. You couldn’t wait to see it.

Bradley was dressed as Indiana Jones: a white shirt, a brown leather jacket, and a fake whip at his side. His outfit was complementary to Nat's Marion Ravenwood, her costume the classic white dress from the first movie you spent a while making. Though she did ask you to take some creative liberties with the design, the dress was more risque than necessary. 

The only thing remotely movie-accurate about it would be the puffy sleeves.

You couldn't help but whistle when Jake stepped out from behind Bradley. Instantly perking up at the noise, he let out a sly smirk and straightened the lapels of his deep black leather jacket. 

"Danny Zuko, huh?" you laughed softly. "Guess you've got the whole 'bad boy' vibe down." 

Jake smirked at you, copying one of the iconic character's signature moves by sliding his hands into his black leather jacket pockets as he strode by. "Only missing my Sandy. You wouldn't happen to know where I could find one, would you?" 

You coyly peered at him over your shoulder as you continued down the hall. Unknown to either of you, Nat and Bradley had stopped to watch the interaction, filled to the brim with curiosity. 

"Wouldn't know. I'm more of a Rizzo myself. Too much sass and not enough patience for leather pants." 

"To get into them or to get out?"

With a glimmer in your eyes and a smirk on your lips, you pivoted to face Jake completely, still walking backwards. “You're quite the smooth talker, aren’t you?” 

Jake shrugged, giving off the vibe of, ‘I can’t help my reputation.’ However, you could see the easy grin on his face, and one side of his mouth crooked upwards, making him appear boyish—just like the character he was dressed up as. 

It made your heart flutter inside your chest. 

“It’s a shame I’m more into the rough-around-the-edges type,” you teased softly, pausing by the corner. 

Liar. Oh, you horrible liar. 

Jake’s grin didn’t disappear when you saw him press his tongue to the inside of his cheek, arching an eyebrow. Instead, it turned into a knowing smirk.

“Is that so?” he teased.

You flushed, at a loss for words. Jake's teasing gaze lingered, and the lift in the corner of his mouth suggested he saw right through your lie. Your cheeks burned hot. 

Jake's chuckle echoed softly down the hallway as you made your escape, somehow making your heart race faster. You didn't dare look back, but you could feel his eyes on you as you turned the corner and down the hallway to your bedroom.

As Jake retreated back into the apartment, Bradley coughed lightly. He exchanged a knowing look with Nat, who had been watching your retreat. He jutted his head once toward you, and Nat replied in kind with a single tilt of her head toward Jake. 

They didn’t need to say aloud what they were thinking. They’d talk about what they discovered later, but it wouldn’t stop them from pressing this interesting development further. 

When she reached your room, Nat found you already in your robe, sitting at your vanity, brushing your hair. You had already laid out your costumes on your bed earlier in the day, and Nat raced to hers the second she saw it, making grabby hands at the fabric. 

"Ahh, it turned out so great, Maeve!" she exclaimed, grabbing the top and holding it up. You glimpsed at her through the reflection of your mirror, smiling when she hugged it to her chest.

“If I had made it any deeper, Nat, you’d be showing off more than just dangly bits.” 

She blew a raspberry at you. You giggled, shaking your head.

“You know, I’ve always wanted to do couples costumes. I never thought Bradley would go for it,” she said after a while, standing next to you and straightening her hair in the mirror of your vanity.

“Really?” you asked, concentrating on not poking your eye out with your mascara. 

“How else am I going to shoo off all the girls practically clamouring to get with Bradley? It’s a nice way to do it, don’t you think?” 

“Maybe. Not every costume as a twin, though,” you said, lowering your hand to gesture to yourself. You hoped Nat would at least acknowledge the effort you’d made or pep you up for a party you'd originally never wanted to hold. 

“What about the Danny wandering around the apartment ‘without his Sandy’?”

You dropped your hand from where you had started fixing up your other eye, glaring at her reflection in your mirror. “Really, Nat?” 

“What, you don’t dream of a little Summer Lovin?” 

You felt your face flush. As if Jake would ever really go for someone like you. “It’s Halloween, Nat.” 

“Exactly. It’s Halloween, and it’s getting colder. Maybe you’ve got chills, and maybe they're multiplying.” 

You groaned, dropping your head and smacking it against your vanity. 

“You’re sure he’s not the one you want?” she bumped you with her hip, grinning.

“Can you stop with the Grease puns? Please,” you squawked. 

Nat laughed, twirling a strand of her hair around her finger as she stepped away. "Okay, okay. But if you change your mind, I think Danny Zuko out there wouldn't mind being 'the one that you want.'"

Fingers wrapping around the handle of your hair brush, you didn’t lift your head from the vanity as you chucked it in Nat’s direction. She laughed hard, and you didn’t need to look to know you had missed her completely. 

Nat eventually cajoled you into helping her slip into her dress, adjusting bits and pieces of fabric here and there. You sat back down at your vanity as she twirled once in the mirror, declaring she was satisfied. Then her eyes went to the door, and her attention shifted to Bradley and what waited beyond it. 

"Are you okay if I go out? Do you need any help?" Nat's voice was laced with excitement, and her eyes gleamed with anticipation of finally having a party as she smoothed down the sides of her dress.  

You shook your head, leaning back in your chair. Nat didn’t meet your gaze. "No, I'm good. I only need to touch up my makeup, and my dress is a slip-on," you smiled. "Go make sure Bradley keeps his hat on." 

Nat wiggled her shoulders, biting her lip to mute her squealing giggle. The puffy sleeves of her short dress waved with her, and she precariously tip-toed out the door on her high heels. Once in the hallway, she dramatically yelled, "Come and get me, Indiana Jones!" 

You stifled a giggle, shaking your head, allowing yourself to turn back to face your mirror.

Staring at yourself, you searched every part of your face, making sure your foundation, blush, eyes, and lips were just how you wanted them to be. You toyed with a strand of curled hair, wondering if what you had done was enough—if all of it had been enough. 

Then your eyes came to rest on your costume, so carefully draped across the end of your bed through the reflection in the mirror. 

You're not sure why "Flaming June" happened to be your favourite painting, though you supposed it had to do with the girl in the painting so casually draped across that seat next to that fountain. She was curled up almost like a serpent, covered in sheer transparent vibrant orange, the painting's only bright pop of colour.

The painting was supposedly meant to depict nymphs, sleeping Greek nymphs for that matter, or even Victorian society's obsession with beauty. However, you argued differently in the paper you wrote for it.

You cared more about the juxtaposition of fire and tranquillity in the piece than about whatever cultural influence or social construct it had at the time. That one girl was at the centre of the painting, wrapped in sheer, see-through colour. She was meant to be the focus; that much was certain. 

Maybe you thought her dress signified the chaos of the world around her, and all she wanted to do was find a moment of peace. 

You’d spent countless hours at the fabric store trying to match the correct shade. Once you had completed parts of Nat's, you spent even countless more at your sewing machine, staying up late to make progress on yours. 

And each time she asked you to make alternations on hers, the more drastic you made it to be ‘just that much sluttier', the more you thought about what you could do to yours. In the end, the thin straps holding up your dress, revealing bare shoulders and the long slit between your breasts, ending just before your belly button, was all you could stomach. 

You held the dress up, contemplating your thoughts. You could do this. You could survive one simple Halloween party - one simple college rager party. 

Right?

———

The second the apartment was starting to flood with arriving guests, Jake realized you hadn’t emerged from your room with Nat.

He had been off to the side near a bookcase, talking with Bradley, hoping to stave off the crowd and the rest of the football team for a little longer. He knew they'd want to talk football and strategies for the season, and Jake simply... didn't. 

He wanted a night off. He wanted to relax and have a good time. And talking about football wouldn't be it. 

Bradley had said something to Jake, but he hadn’t been paying attention. He was too busy searching the gathering pods of people for your face. Why, he didn’t know. But he was eager to find out. 

Bradley snapped his fingers in Jake's face, startling him from his search. "Earth to Jake!" 

Jake shook his head, focusing back on Bradley. "Sorry, what?" 

Bradley raised his eyebrows under the rim of his fedora. "What's going on in that head of yours?" 

Jake regarded him for a few seconds before finally looking down at his drink, bringing it to his lips, admitting, "I'm just looking for Maeve." 

As Jake took a drink, Bradley grinned. "She's probably still getting ready. Nat said her costume was based on her favourite panting." 

Jake didn't even look up from his drink when he asked, "What's her favourite painting?" 

"Why? You looking to make a good impression?" he said, still grinning. 

"Fuck off, Man," Jake snapped, taking another swig to finish his drink. Bradley only laughed, now shaking his head. He would have let Jake simmer in his ask, but this was you. He had to give Jake at least a decent running chance. 

"It's Flaming June, the chick in the orange dress. It's a brilliant costume idea. She made it herself." 

Of course, you would have made it yourself, Jake thought. 

"Surely you came across that painting with your 'rich upbringing.' Nat was practically force-feeding information down our throats a few seconds ago to ensure we recognized her costume. It’s some Freddie Luigui piece. I don't know." 

"I know it," Jake snapped. "I've seen it before." 

Jake was pretty sure he had, maybe once at one of his father's fundraising parties, though he actively searched his mind, trying to remember what it looked like. 

Bradley remained silent, slouching against the bookcase and crossing one leg over the other. He narrowed his eyes at his friend and tilted his head. 

"Why the sudden interest in Maeve? She isn't one for..." Bradley trailed off, searching for the correct word. Just as Jake was about to ask him what he meant, Nat's approaching heels on the hardwood floor stopped them both. 

She stopped at Bradley's side, red solo cup in hand, looping her arm through his. "What are you two handsome boys gossiping about over here?" she giggled at her boyfriend, her chin plopping lazily down onto his bicep. "See any snakes in the crowd, Indy?" 

Bradley pulled his face back into a grimace, reciting the famous line. "Snakes. Why does it always have to be snakes?" 

Jake rolled his eyes at their banter, placing his empty cup on the table between them. Nat giggled, tilting her head back, indicating to Bradley she wanted to be kissed. He complied without protest, leaning down, pressing his lips to hers in an overly dramatic display merely to piss Jake off. 

"Get a room," Jake groaned, mocking a wrenching noise. The couple separated, turning to Jake with amused smirks. "You've heard and seen far worse, dude." 

Jake shuttered, the unwanted memory of walking in on Nat and Bradley from weeks ago flashing through his mind. Sharing an apartment with Bradley had its moments - some good, some decidedly less so. It made him wonder if Maeve had to put up with the same shit he did. 

“Where’s Maeve?” Jake asked Nat, ignoring Bradley's remark. "I haven't seen her yet."

Nat opened her mouth, about to tell him you were still getting ready, when she caught sight of a flash of orange stepping out from behind the corner of the hallway. You came into view, your head angled down, mindful of stepping on your dress as thin streams of transparent fabric trailed behind you at your sides. 

Javy let out a low-toned whistle from somewhere in the room, and heads turned, one by one, as you took your final step into the apartment. 

“Damn girl, you clean up nice!” 

Lifting your head, you were surprised to see eyes on you. Javy glided forward to greet you from where he had been standing at a nearby table, and you smiled at him, though a little weary. Deep down, you knew his comment was meant to be a compliment. But something coarse, like sandpaper, rubbed against your heart at the remark, lingering longer than you would have liked. 

“What? Not bad for a fine arts major?” you joked somewhat deprecatively, though your voice held none of it. 

Javy held out his hand, and you grabbed it, allowing him to lift it above your head. With a pump of his wrist, he urged you to spin under his arm several times, letting your dress fan out. You giggled as he urged you, though you wobbled on your heels. The dreaded things were Nat's only contribution to your outfit, and you were severely regretting it. 

He let you go, thinking you had your footing on the last, slowed spin. But when you came to a stop, you were on the verge of falling over, your head dizzy, and your legs unbalanced. 

To his credit, Javy tried to reach out and steady you, already regretting the step he took back. However, before he could, another pair of hands, one on your hip and one taking your hand, steadied you. 

Jake’s hands were firm on your skin, pulling you close as you lost your balance. You fell into his chest, head tilted back, half falling over. And looking up at his face, seeing the amused grin on his lip, you drew in a sharp breath at the sight. 

"Letting me make a good first impression?" he quipped.

“By catching falling women?” you laughed breathlessly, bringing your free hand to his chest. If you had let your hand stall slightly longer than necessary, you would have never admitted to it.

“Seems noble enough,” he replied, helping you to stand. Though he might have let go of your hand, he didn’t let go of your waist. “Or do you make it a habit to test the reflexes of every guy you meet?”

You couldn’t resist the playful jab. “Only the ones who seem like they can handle it. And the pretty ones.”

Jake's grin widened, and he even risked sneaking a quick peek at your lips, letting them rest there for a few seconds before his eyes roamed the rest of your body.

"Flaming June, right? Frederic Leighton's Masterpiece."

You blinked in surprise, letting out a small gasp. You honestly expected to tell people what your costume was, not just some girl in some random orange dress. Jake's knowledge of the painting, let alone his identification of it so quickly, was scoring him some major brownie points. 

"You know your art," you commented nonchalantly.

He shrugged, "I might know a thing or two. I always had a thing for the classics. By the way, it suits you." 

You practically preened under his gaze. "Thank you," you said, a shy smile creeping onto your face. He beamed at you in return. 

Yes, you might have a crush on him. But for the first time that day, you figured it wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

—- 

This was a bad idea - Oh, this party was such a bad idea.

Believing you were having a good time and actually having a good time were two separate things. You certainly felt one of those things. As the night went on, and with each drink you tipped back, alcoholic or not, regret built in your stomach. 

You weren’t sure what you were expecting. Maybe you were seeking reasons where there initially were none, allowing Natasha’s suggestions to slowly chip away at your resolve until you finally gave in. Maybe it was the promise of letting loose, to embrace the spirit of Halloween with all its creative potential.  

Maybe it was the promise of making new friends. Of getting to know people outside the art department. Natasha had told you to mingle. She wanted you to mingle, and yet... you didn’t know where to start. 

You didn't expect Nat or Bradley to coddle you, but they could have introduced you to a few people besides the core group before things had gotten this bad. You didn't dare approach Javy or Rueben, who played beer pong and chugged beers back like it was nobody's business. They were off doing their own thing, and you didn’t want to intrude. 

 Mickey and Bob had gone home earlier in the night. Bob proclaimed he had a midterm to study for, and Mickey wanted to go home anyway so he could call his family in peace. You strongly suspected he wanted to watch Halloween movies instead.

Rocky Horror sounded like a wonderful idea right about now. 

You couldn’t hang around Nat and Bradley all night, either. And nobody from your art classes would even dare set foot inside a party where nearly half of its guests were from the sororities.

You knew that. While you did extend the invitation, you told them you wouldn't blame them if they didn't come. They had looked at you with such disregard you wondered if they were seeing you through newly polished rose-coloured glasses. And standing up against the wall next to your bookcase, like an insipid wallflower, you could hardly blame them for it either. 

You couldn’t introduce yourself in a place where you were the outsider, even within the walls of your own home. Soon after the first few attempts, that realization settled deep into your chest. And you couldn’t help but feel like you had done this to yourself -  an attempt to be part of something like this, even if just for a night.

But Jake… Jake was still here. At least, he should be. He had been by your side for the beginning of the evening, talking to you about what projects you were currently working on over another drink—not whiskey—after you had started to hiccup while putting up decorations. 

After he recognized your dress, you weren’t ashamed to tell him. You had launched into the ideas and thoughts behind two paintings and one sculpture, an old table that you were trying to turn into an elemental-type sundial. You told him about the zodiac signs you had already burned into the wood after sanding it down and how each was placed in its own little section as it related to its element. 

You had reached halfway through your thought process when you realized how lost you were in your explanation. You froze mid-sentence, blushing harder than the colour of your dress. 

"Sorry," you had said. "I ramble when I get excited about my art.” 

But Jake’s interest hadn’t waned. If anything, it urged him to ask, “How did you find something you're so passionate about? Creating things... making art?"

His question had made you pause, though not over what to say but merely how to say it. “It was my voice when words fell short or my escape when the world grew too loud.” 

You caught a glimpse of something in Jake’s eyes—a flash of longing, a momentary crack in his confident demeanour. What followed was a slight nod. It was there, and then it wasn’t, as if he’d accidentally revealed more of himself than he wanted. Then he caught himself, suddenly straightened his spine, and continued the conversation as if that brief lapse in judgment never happened in the first place. 

Ten minutes later, he excused himself to get another drink. And you hadn’t seen him since. 

You scanned the room for him, hoping to spot that black leather jacket among the sea of people. But it was impossible. Under the dim, eerie glow of the lights, each costume blurred into the next, and the crowd swallowed any hope of finding him.

Reaching for whatever mixed drink Nat had made you earlier off the table, you pushed yourself off the wall, weaving through the throngs of people, figuring you might as well try to see if she knew where he had run off to. 

Liquid sloshed over the rim of your cup onto your hand as you dodged a zombie here, a fairy there, and music pulsing like a heartbeat through the packed room. Laughter and snippets of conversations swirled around you as you scanned the sea of faces, both masked and not for Nat. 

Glasses clinked, a witch cackled, and the scent of spiced pumpkin mingled somewhere in the mix with the tang of alcohol and body sweat. By the time you spotted her leaning heavily against the kitchen Island, red cup in hand and her laughter too loud, eyes slightly unfocused, you knew the night had taken its toll on her sobriety. 

She was too preoccupied with telling a bunch of people a story to notice how you quickly launched the contents of your cup into the sink behind her. You extended your arm when you were close enough, looping your arm around her waist. Her arm came up at the same time, sliding across your back to pull you close. 

Nat tilted her head back onto her shoulders, glancing at you with happy eyes. "Maeve!" she whined tipsily. 

Given how far gone she was, you were surprised at how accurately she pronounced your name. She bent slightly, still holding her red Solo cup in her hand, to hug you tight, her face smooshing into your neck.

“It looks like you’re having the time of your life,” you snorted. She nodded against your skin, biting her lip in a smile with a happy, drunken snigger. She lazily pulled back to meet your eye, and you smiled at her. 

“Have you seen Jake around?” 

Nat paused, her gaze flickering around the room as if she'd genuinely forgotten about him, though she didn’t lift her head off your body. "Jake? Oh, I haven't seen him in a bit,” she slurred slightly. “Why? Do you two likeeeeeeeeeeeeeee each other? Is Jake going to make you scream grease lightin’?” 

You reached for her red Solo cup and pried it from her hand. “Okay, yup, you're cut off.” 

“Nooo,” she pouted her arm a dead weight as she tried to take it back. Her hand hit the bottom of the cup, and liquid shot up, once again covering your hand in whatever type of alcohol Nat managed to mix together. You could only sigh. 

“Here comes the fun police,” she muttered under her breath. “I thought you’d be off doing your own thing.” 

Well, that fucking stung just a tiny bit. 

“I’m not going to be the one who cleans up your vomit tomorrow morning, Nat.” 

“I’ve only had,” she held up her hand, widening her thumb and pointer finger probably further apart than she thought, “this much to drink.” 

“Ahm...”  

Luckily for you, Bradley appeared, having seen what was going on. He looked amused yet concerned as he slid between the gap of the island and Nat to observe his girlfriend babbling nonsense on your shoulder. “What’s happening here?”

Nat made another grab for her cup, but Bradley gently intercepted her, taking her hand into his before she could even grasp it. 

“That,” you offered. 

 “I think it’s time we get you to bed, love,” he suggested, wrapping an arm around her waist. You let him take her, happy for him to bear her weight. 

Nat leaned into him, mumbling something incoherent, a mix of protest and agreement. Bradley spared a glance at you, silently thanking you in your unspoken agreement. You nodded, watching as he sandwiched her to his side and carried her off towards her room. 

It always seemed like one of you was always taking care of her. At one point or another. 

After getting rid of Nat’s cup, you felt the sticky residue of both of your spilled drinks on your skin and felt the urge to run to the privacy of the bathroom to wash it off. Stumbling down the hallway, blusters on your feet finally making themselves known, you let your hands casually slide along the wall. The music from the party faded into a muffled, dull noise as you walked. 

You wanted to smile at the lights. The red eerie glow along the top corners of the ceiling only reached not even halfway down the wall, plunging the floor into a dark abyss. You clumsily stuttered through it, unable to see anything below your waist.

It was exactly as you pictured it, and yet you couldn't bring yourself to manage the slightest grin. 

The bathroom door was down at the end of the hall slightly ajar, with the red LED light illuminating its edges from behind. You zoned in on it like a wobbly arrow to a target, tired and completely done with tonight and everything about it.

You reached for the curved handle, about to push the door open, when a high-pitched giggle came from behind the piece of wood. You shot your hand back like you had been burned, and with a quick turn of your heel, you plastered your back up against the wall. 

You immediately knew what was happening behind that door, and it made you throw up in your mouth just a little. 

Ugh, I’m going to have to disinfect the hell out of that bathroom tomorrow. 

The next voice you heard, however, made your heart drop into your stomach. 

“You like that, don’t ya, sweetheart?”

You didn't want to believe it, but you had to see for yourself. Leaning forward off the wall, you peered through the crack in the door, only to spot a black leather jacket taking up most of your view—the same black jacket you had complimented Jake on earlier that day. It was a stark contrast to the red glowing light above him, and something snapped in your heart and recoiled back as one slender bare leg in beige fishnet stockings wrapped around his. 

There was an overly drunken and seductive 'ahm,' forcing you to glance over his shoulder at the girl he was with—her costume was a bejewelled Taylor Swift outfit to match her long blonde hair. 

You swallowed your bile and adverted your gaze, pressing yourself back up against that wall, out of sight and hidden completely from view. 

You knew this was a possibility; Jake was merely looking for a hookup and nothing more. You had considered it all afternoon. Yet, you couldn’t help but feel utterly hurt at the sight. 

"I mean, Nat's pretty clever befriending that girl.. what was her name, Maeve?" the girl snickered. 

"I know. It sounds like something out of those weird fantasy books everyone loves." A whimper from his companion followed Jake's breathy and muffled laugh.

At the dig, your hand went to your chest, your heart thudding painfully under your palm. The realization they had been talking about you, about Nat, made tears flood your eyes. 

You didn't understand it. Or maybe you did, and you were too blinded by the possibility of someone like him, someone like Nat, Bradley, Bob, Mickey, and Rueben, to beat the fucking pyramid scheme and care about someone like you. 

What other explanation was there except the fact you had been blinded by those who proved to be the exception? Blinded by the fucking elementary school crush cause he had flirted, smiled, joked, and maybe even showed some half-decent interest in you. Clearly, the second he figured out you weren’t going to hook up with him, he sought his sights on someone else. 

Jake wasn’t trying to mould into the stereotype. He was the fucking stereotype.

"Even her costume," she sneered. "Like, who the fuck dresses up like that for a college rager Halloween party? You're supposed to dress up slutty."

You couldn't speak, staring down the front of your dress to what you had thought had been a risky enough slit. You couldn't even breathe. 

"You kidding me?" he laughed lowly. "Bradley was practically screaming at us what she dressed up as. I'd have no fucking clue what she was otherwise. I'd guess some random Greek Godness obsessed with that awful shade of orange."

Your hand slid up from your chest, around your throat to feel your harsh, rough swallow. Only it didn’t stop there, suddenly finding yourself wrapping it around your entire mouth, stifling any noise wanting to escape. Through shaky inhales in and out of your nose, you fought hard to stop yourself from crying over this. 

Over him. Over a fucking jock who would say anything to hook up with a girl. Only to get his dick wet. 

But you couldn't prevent the tears from welling up in your eyes, or from one finally spilling over, dropping down your cheek only to stall there, or how the hand covering your mouth curled up around your cheekbone, only to stroke away the tear. 

You refused to look back at the door through the crack, so you fixed your gaze on the darkness consuming the ground. And as you lowered your hand, you caught the ugly black smear marring your skin.

 How could you not? Standing in the glow of that red hallway light, it was the only thing you could see.

The artistic irony hits you like a freight train. Here you were, dressed as the girl in your favourite painting. Her dress had been the only bright shade of colour in the entire painting, and you, standing in the top half glow of bright red LED lights, had failed to notice what had been staring you in the face all along.

Orange was muted by red, and black bled through all. The only thing about you that stood out the entire evening was this tiny black mark scarring the back of your hand—black tears from smeared mascara.

"I would have guessed an orange," the girl snickered, quickly followed by a mewl. "Though she practically blended into the wall, I couldn't see her with the lights." 

Lips plucking on skin echoed off the title and out the door, and Jake drew in a ragged breath as he agreed. "She did blend right into the fucking wall, didn’t she?"

Your eyes burned. The girl giggled. 

“How long do you think this one will stay? She seems… different, to say the least.” 

Jake sniggered. “Seriously, you think Natasha Trace is hanging around that girl out of the goodness of her heart?” 

His laugh was so full of malice that it was nothing like the ones you had heard pleasantly filling your ears earlier. 

“Everyone knows after what Nat did, she needs an image clean up. Playing the saint, befriending the weird loner art girl, giving her the best friend badge?” 

“If she thinks she’s got a place in the big leagues, she’s in for a rude awakening,” the girl murmured. “Pathetic. People like her don’t belong with people like us.” 

There was a pause. “It’s just like Natasha, though. She always needs an audience, something to validate her feelings. It’s brillant really.” 

Jake's agreement was a silent blow, his next words the dagger. "Nat's smart. She knows how to play the game. Maeve's just...convenient."

Convenience. The word echoed in your mind, bouncing off the walls of your already crumbling self-worth.

“Give it a year. Trace is going to drop her the second the next new shiny person comes along. And everyone is going to forget about the little art girl she used up and discarded. Or she’ll become the most hated girl on campus.” 

Without your back up against the wall, his words might have made you crumble into that dark abyss. 

“Can we stop talking about her now?” the girl whined. “I thought you promised to get me off.” 

Jake chuckled lowly, the sound morphing into a low, predatory growl. “You brought her up, sweetheart. But don’t worry—I’m all yours now.” 

You pushed yourself away from that wall, stumbling down the dark hallway to your bedroom out of instinct, refusing to subject yourself to any further torture. But just before your door, you fell into the wall, your shoulder throbbing as you slouched against it. 

The world around you swirled, leaving you consumed by one thought—and one thought alone.

That. Fucking. Asshole! How dare he! How fucking dare he!

To hear Natasha be demeaned, your friendship demeaned and used as a stepping stone in pursuit of a meaningless hookup... anger boiled under your skin. You didn’t care what he or what they had said about you, but Nat? 

If Jake thought he’d succeed in sweet-talking you, to play you like a puppet on a string, just as he assumed Nat had been doing, he had another thing coming. If he was going to talk shit about your friendship with her, you’d show him just how spineless you could be. 

Oh, he’d wish he’d never caught you off that fucking ladder. Wished he had never met you and flirted with you, obviously a ploy to find someone to hook up with. You gagged at ever having a crush on him in the first place. 

But as you leaned against the wall, trying to steady your swirling thoughts, doubt wormed its way into your mind.

What if he was right? 

What if your friendship with Nat was just a convenience, a way for her to maintain her status or recover from her sorority fallout? You knew nothing of it, nothing more than what she told you. There could be more to the story, things she hadn’t revealed, things nobody else had either.

 No, you shook your head, trying to dismiss the thought. Nat had been there for you in ways no one else had. 

Jake was just an asshole. Plain and simple. 

But then another thought sucker punched you in the gut. 

You couldn’t tell anyone else what he said. You wouldn’t be responsible for causing that type of drama within a friend circle, one that long before you ever showed up. They never would have believed you anyway, and Nat… she worked so hard to get out, escape the rumours and gossip, to put it behind her. She didn’t need to know about this.

You had no choice but to carry this burden alone. It was a lonely decision, but perhaps loneliness was a small price to pay for the semblance of harmony among friends—or so you tried to convince yourself.

But Jake. You could no longer give a rat’s ass about Jake. If he wanted to attack Nat, then fine. You hit him right back. That much you could still do. 

Whatever had possessed Frederic Leighton to name the piece you currently embodied, “Flaming June,” whatever possessed him to gift that girl with fire in her name, that fire was suddenly born in you. 

A flame that sparked and kerosened your soul to burn, hot and bright. It was a wildfire that rushed under layers of skin and ignited every nerve, ending with a ferocity you never knew you possessed. It was born to protect what you had found - Nat, Bradley, Bob, Mickey, Javy and Rueben. And that fucking asshole would never be allowed to put you down, Nat down, like your family did, ever again. 

Pushing yourself off the wall, you stepped into your bedroom. Slamming the door, the lock clicked hard into place. 

It never opened the rest of the night.

NOW YOU KNOW....

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[sunshine-theseus]

Put Your Head On My Shoulder | Jessie Fleming x Reader

Words: 4k Summary: you and jessie go through many ups and downs but things work out in the end Warnings: angst, fluff, mentions of depression and taking medication for it, covid didn’t happen, pretending the game vs real madrid was at Stamford bridge not in Spain

Jessie Fleming and I met at the 2015 world cup, both freshly 17 and competing in our first big tournament. Despite the fact we didn’t play each other, I found myself stumbling into her on the sidelines of Canada’s game against The Netherlands. Words were exchanged but we didn’t see each other again until the next year.

We knew we were both on athletic scholarships for the Bruins at UCLA and promised to try and meet outside of training to keep in contact without sport. It was surprising however, when my box was knocked out of my hands as I crashed into the young Canadian, both of us trying to enter the same room. She was clearly struggling to see over her own stuff, stumbling over words as her cheeks flush a very familiar red, trying to apologise.

“J, if you say sorry one more time I’m asking for a new roommate. Which I had no idea we were until now.” I crouch to pick up my books and writing equipment that was in my box as Jessie tries to manoeuvre to her decided side of the room.

I give up and rush to help her when she stumbles over her own foot and nearly goes flying.

“Jessie! You’re going to break something before the season even starts Jesus Christ be careful!” my hands gripped her waist tightly to stop her from tilting forward, then I grab the top box so she can actually see. The same red blush covers her cheeks.

“Sorry, my mum just insisted I try to take all my stuff in as little trips as possible, which is proving to be difficult. I’m sorry about your books.” With her stuff firmly on the ground she finally looks as me.

“They put the Australian and the Canadian in the same room knowing we just basically kicked you out of the Olympics?”

“You did not!” the joke was rare coming from her. She was funny and kind but still rather serious and shy, preferring studying statistics and players over team bonding or spending time with people after a game.

I understood that, I felt that, and that’s how we worked. Us against the world. We trusted our team and confided in them, but we’d really only want each other in times of need. Obviously there were people like Sam or Christine, who were like our big sisters for our respective national teams, but Jessie and I were just drawn to each other.

-

After UCLA came Chelsea. Both of us were about to start our last year of uni when her offer came through, far before mine.

By this point we’d been inseparable for four years, so I worried we’d be split; her making the move to England and me stuck in our dorm. Except it’d be much emptier and lonely, or filled with some stranger’s things.

And it was just like that. Time zones caused issues with keeping in contact. Eventually that became other things. Study, because she still had to finish her course. Team bonding, practice. What would be a call once a day became once a week until it filtered out, and her texts would be answered in seconds while mine sat in wait for whenever she decided she was free.

My offer came in the January transfer window. Emma had been in contact with me for a couple months, clearly trying to convince me, and 6 months ago I wouldn’t have even thought about it. But when I stare at the ‘merry Christmas’ and ‘I got the offer’ messages left unread and think about seeing the girl I thought would never leave me, I take the time offered.

And a week later I find myself sliding into Sam’s spare room groaning into the pillow as she fusses over the Australian snacks I did manage to get through customs.

“What’s got you in a mood chickadee?” I feel the bed dip beside me and her hand rubs my back.

“J.” the older Australian lets out a hum before taking a moment to reply.

“She talks about you all the time. About how much she misses you and everything you got up to at uni. All of which I already know because I hear it every camp.” I can feel the joking eye roll despite not seeing it.

“She talks about me but doesn’t talk to me. That means nothing. And I know she’s busy but so was I. Just because I was captaining a university team instead a stupid professional team doesn’t mean I wasn’t busy or doing something important! And I still kept in contact!” by now I’ve rolled over onto my back and started fiddling with Sam’s tattooed fingers, trying to distract myself from the pit of loneliness and despair that’s been slowly eating my stomach.

I dare not mention to anyone the decline in my mental health or the required psychology sessions Emma was going to provide for me once every few weeks. Everyone knew I was sad and that’s all they needed to know. But once upon a time, Jessie would have known everything, holding my hand tightly the whole way.

“You should sleep, big first day tomorrow. I’ll make you breakfast. Alarm-”

“8:30, I know. Every day, same time. Thank you Sam, really.” She smiles and pats my head before leaving.

-

To say my first day didn’t go well would be somewhat of an understatement. At exactly 8:30 my alarm went off. At 8:32, the pill bottle rattling at the bottom of my bag was fished out and 1 was being washed down by water. At 8:43, Sam was banging on my door calling for breakfast and I was rushing to make sure the pill bottle was hidden after changing. No one needs to know I’m taking anti-depressants, including Sam.

When we pulled into Cobham, I started to feel sick, and I told Sam just that.

“I’ll catch a train home.”

“It’s just nerves, you’ll be fine.”

“No-”

“You stay until at least lunch time, then we’ll see.” A pointed finger is shoved into my face, but I begin to stroll alongside her anyway.

I do almost book it for the nearest train station as soon as I enter the locker room. Sitting in the cubby next to mine, tying her shoelaces, is Jessie Fleming. During the chaos of the move and my first day, I manage to forget the way our numbers are right beside each other.

“You’ll be okay. You don’t even have to talk to her.” Sam whispers as she makes her way to her own cubby, greeting people on her way through.

So I try. Placing my bag in the nook and beginning to change into my training kit without the Canadian even looking up. It’s when I place down the same styled Tiempo Legend 8s I’ve been wearing since they released, that I can see her head turn from the corner of my eye. I don’t acknowledge it, continuing to slide the boots onto my feet and tie them up. But that doesn’t stop her.

“Oh my god! Hey!” there’s a lightness in her voice that I used to be so familiar with and it makes my heart clench.

I take a moment before deciding replying would be too rude for my liking.

“Hi.” Short and simple, and quite blunt.

“I didn’t know you signed, or that you even got the offe-” forget being nice.

“You would’ve known if you bothered to keep in contact with me.” With that I slide out of my seat beside her and make my way to Sam.

-

It gets worse when Emma splits us into pairs for dribbling drills, and she slides me toward Jessie.

“Of course.” I sigh but accept my fate as a ball rolls our way.

“What’s wrong?” a phrase that, coming from her mouth, used to have me spilling every small emotion I was feeling.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Come on Beans, tell me.” The nickname had been created in our first year of university. She learnt I loved green beans and I’m rather tall, so the name fit. But she didn’t feel like the same person who I let make the funny name.

“You don’t get to call me that anymore.”

“What? Because I moved?”

“No! You left for Chelsea and I was happy for you, we had a plan to stay in contact until I followed along to somewhere in England. But you stopped trying. You stopped answering. You left me alone when I needed you the most. I would’ve done anything for you to have the career you deserved but you got it, without me. I just thought I’d still have my best friend when it happened.”

To say that training was tense from then on wasn’t a stretch. Emma never paired us up and any time one of us entered the locker room, everyone else would wait in silence for a burst similar to the one on the pitch. It never came.

It was after my first session with the psychologist that things began to change.

Because the psych was only here for me, Emma was kind to lend her office to us for the 50 minutes while she did other work around the grounds. I assume the girls were grateful to escape the tension for the moment.

“Same time, 2 weeks from now! It’s good you’re making progress!” The rather lovely lady shouts just as I’m closing the door, waving and smiling in thanks.

But as I turn around, I nearly bump into a small figure. A rather familiar one at that. Jessie begins to fall backwards but I grip her waist, holding her in place. It’s a familiar scenario, the feeling of my hands on her waist and her burning red cheeks are something I struggled to ever forget.

“T-thanks” her cheeks burn that same red.

“No worries.” I mumble in reply as I remove my hands, taking a step back.

“Who were you talking to? That didn’t sound like Emma. And what are you making progress on?” the questions don’t come rapidly but I still struggle to process them. Jessie’s smart, she can put two and two together, so I should tell her. But what if she laughs? There was a time where the thought wouldn’t have even crossed my mind, she’s not that type of girl. But things change.

“I- I-” Jessie places a gentle hand on my arm and nods, confirming it’s okay to take my time, but please continue. I sigh.

“She’s a psychologist.”

“A sport psychologist?”

“Well yes and no. I… I’ve been diagnosed with depression, and Emma wants me to have someone professional to talk to.” Her grip tightens but I know it’s in concern.

“When- when did you…”

“A couple months ago. Don’t worry, it wasn’t just because of you, a lot of things happened.”

“But it was partially because of me. I wasn’t there for you when I should’ve been. You’ve always been there for me and I got here and treated you like shit. Discarded you like you were nothing. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” tears well up in her whisky brown eyes, but I smile.

“J, if you say sorry one more time, I’m asking for a new roommate for the away match against Man City. Which I did know we are… for once.”

“You can’t just forgive me.”

“I’m not, it’ll take time, but I want my best friend back. Sprout.” Jessie charges forward and wraps her arms around my waist.

“I’d do anything.” Her voice is muffled as her head presses into my chest, but I smile.

~~~~~

Things changed once again a few months after that. The 2020 Olympics had been delayed due to natural disasters, but we still found ourselves milling around the Olympic village together in our very little spare time. I also found myself admiring her for every little thing, every detail. Eventually I had to admit to myself that I’d developed a crush on the girl.

“What’s going on in that busy brain of yours?” Jessie had been by my side every step of the way with my mental health after she found out, and this question wasn’t uncommon, but the answer would be.

“I know this could ruin things, I’m very aware of that, but I have to tell you now otherwise I don’t think I’ll ever have the courage to.” Gaging her reaction was difficult, Jessie was a very stoic person.

“I-, I’ve found myself growing feelings for you. Feelings that surpass best friends, or how I feel when you show up for me. I like you, a lot. And I need you to know that. Standing in the middle of a pathway surrounded by half naked athletes in Olympic Village, I like you.” I look her in the eyes. Those burnt umber eyes, so warm and comforting, that always draw me in.

“I really like you too. Everything about you. I want to care for you and be there when you need me. I want to wake up in your arms and be able to admire every feature as the sun beams down on you like the miracle you are. I would even go as far as saying I desperately want to be your girlfriend.” I barely let Jessie finish what she’s saying before I lean down, a significant way, and kiss her with everything in me.

~~~~~

2 and a half years later and Jessie hasn’t left my side since. Most of our quarrels are just that, silly fights that are solved by the end of the night. We moved in together after 3 months and were rarely been seen apart.

That included tough games.

Real Madrid was our first game of the Champion’s League season, and we knew it was going to be hard. They were physical most importantly, so we had to play to that. We knew that when we were up 2-1 in the 78th minute.

“Jessie Fleming challenges Athenea Del Castillo, barley missing the ball and clipping Athenea on the foot! Oh, and the ref is calling for a penalty. I’m certain first contact was outside the box.” Is what would be heard by anyone watching the match through a screen, but you didn’t need a commentator to know the ref made an unfair call.

The contact was clearly outside the box and yet we’re forced to line up and watch Olga Carmona take the wrongly rewarded shot, me grasping Jessie’s hand in my own as a way to reassure her.

It’s obvious the referees are against us when Niamh makes a shot on goal, the ball sliding in, but it’s claimed offside. Something to do with Sam supposedly messing with the defence, another false claim. There’s nothing we can do when the final whistle blows and we’re tied, all of us dropping to the ground in exhaustion and disappointment.

After shaking hands with the Madrid players and briefly talking with Hayley to catch up and talk about things that happened between our last camp and now, I travel toward Jessie.

My girlfriend stands solemnly with her head in her hands. I managed to pull them away momentarily to see the tears drifting down her cheeks, but she’s pulling her hands away and turning around before I can ask what’s wrong.

“Darl, it’s not you’re fault.” I don’t want to invade her space while she’s upset so I walk around her and simply stand, hoping she’ll reach for me.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Jess-”

“Leave me alone Y/n.” not another word is uttered as she turns toward Fran and Niamh and walks away from me.

I similarly turn to Sam and Erin, with a shocked look, jaw hanging and rejected tears looming on my water line.

“She probably just needs to be alone.” As Erin tries to comfort me, we all turn to look at the subject of the conversation, only to see her being comforted by Fran, Niamh and Ashley, despite her effort to insist she’s fine.

“Maybe I didn’t push hard enough?”

“No you should never push when they clearly need space.” Sam places a reassuring hand on my shoulder

“But why is it only me she needs space from? I’m supposed to be the one she seeks comfort in. That’s what girlfriends do.”

“I don’t know chickadee.”

-

I expect Jessie to already be back at our apartment by the time Erin drops me off. Our shared car had been taken from the parking lot at the stadium and Jessie had disappeared, so those dots connected themselves. But our designated parking space is empty as I stroll along the bitumen.

There are no familiar white shoes next to the door in the same exact spot she puts them every day, no kit bag hanging on a hook, waiting to be washed tomorrow. No Canadian waiting in our bed, curled up in one of my already oversized shirts or hoodies and shorts, begging me to hold her.

I try not to worry when I call her and she doesn’t pick up. Maybe she went the long way and there was traffic? So I call Niamh to ask her if she knows where Jessie went. She doesn’t have an answer. Then I try Fran, and Zecira, and even Emma.

I ask everyone to try and call her too, Sam offering to take Kristie and search every corner of London, Erin offering the same. It’s midnight by the time I give up trying to contact her, asking Aggie if I could borrow her car tomorrow to look around if she wasn’t back, her living down the road from us. The young forward is insistent on joining me if it comes to it.

When I wake up the next morning and find Jessie curled up against me, in one of my hoodies and shorts, relief washes over me. Her brown curls are messy, her soft pink lips cracked open to allow air into her lungs. The sun trickles in through the curtain and lights up her face, freckles looking like bursts of light against her skin. Her eyes are still puffy from last night and tears have dried upon her cheeks, and I can’t resist the urge to reach up and lightly wipe them away.

As my thumb drags across her tan skin, tracing her face, her eyes flutter open, and I remember how easy it is to get lost in them. So warm and inviting.

“Mornin’ honey.” I press a gentle kiss to her nose, her cheeks, her forehead and her eyelids.

“I’m sorry for last night. I just felt horrible, if only I didn’t make the tackle.”

“I know darl, but that’s what I’m here for. I love you, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you yeah? I was bloody worried though.” Jessie nestles her head into the crook of my neck and nods, pressing her own kisses on any skin she could reach.

I wrap my arms around her and pull her up until she’s laying on my chest instead. My cold hands sneak under her hoodie and she jumps from the shock, swatting at my hands beneath the fabric.

“I reckon I make us some tea and brekkie and then we can do whatever you want all day. How’s that sound?” I flip us over so Jessie can go back to sleep for a while, but she clings onto me, pulling me down aggressively by the front of my old Chelsea travel shirt. Her lips press against mine with energy and love and I get caught up in the feeling. A moan slips past someone’s lips, which of us I’m not quite sure, but I slowly pull away, trailing kisses down her neck until I reach her collar bone.

“Let’s save that energy for later yeah?” I swiftly wink as I finally roll off the bed.

-

I’m making scrambled eggs when I feel Jessie’s arms wrap around my waist. She presses soft kisses across my back as I sway us back and forth to the slow jazz song spewing from the record player.

The next song comes on and I abandon the meal completely, turning off the stove and twisting myself in Jessie’s hold so I can face her. I take one of her hands in mine and rest the other on her waist, her spare landing on my shoulder.

“Put your head on my shoulder; Hold me in your arms, baby” the lyrics continue as we follow along, her head resting against my chest, my chin balanced on top. We dance slowly through the kitchen, the music carrying throughout the house.

As the song finishes, I dip Jessie, leaning over her as her leg kicks out. My gaze flickers between her eyes and her lips and within seconds I’m kissing her again, still in the dip. When I pull her back up, she jumps into my arms and pulls my lips to meet hers for more, the force making me stumble back into the counter behind me.

“I want to slow dance with you around our house when we’re old and can barely kick a ball anymore. Our kids and grandkids playing around while it just feels like the two of us. Because it’s always been the two off us and I never want that to change.” Jessie whispers against my lips. My heart clenches with love as I take her in.

“Will you marry me?” The words escape both our lips almost in complete synchrony. I almost drop her, but my grip on her thighs upholds as I kiss her again, and again, until I can’t kiss her anymore.

-

“I stole this video from Y/n’s phone not long after Jessie and her broke the news of their engagement. Y/n had texted me that morning saying she wanted ideas for a ‘day in the life of a woman in love’ video she planned on making that very day, and I knew that she would have forgotten all about the phone while she and the love of her life shared a special memory together.” Sam takes a pause to look at Jessie and I, sitting side by side at the front of the room.

“What isn’t shown in the video, is the ring that was sitting in the pocket of Yn’s shorts, waiting to be place on the only hand it was made for. The ring went with her everywhere for at least a month before this cute dance proposal. Every day in training, Y/n would tell me a new plan she had come up with to ask Jessie to marry her, and I always told her ‘you should do it when the moment feels right. Don’t force it.’, as I clearly had experience with this sort of thing… And she told me that was a bunch of absolute bullshit.” Our friends and family laugh while my wife’s face drops in shock, her elbow lightly nudging my side. I let out a snicker and kiss her cheek, wiping off the lipstick residue that is left behind.

“Well it turns out I was right. As always. And I’m honoured to be standing here as a best woman in front of two of my best friends, the most amazing young players out there, two people who were made for each other; sculpted by the stars and the earth, to be in each other’s lives, celebrating that love. You’ve both overcome a lot, personally and as a couple, you deserve this love.” A tear escapes my eye as I stand to hug Sam.

“Now can the two nerds please make their way to the dance floor for their first dance?” I take Jessie’s hand in mine and pull her along.

Her suit coat is left on the back of my chair and her waistcoat is unbuttoned and she looks fucking good. Her hair rests on her shoulders and her slack pants fit perfectly around her thighs. Jessie holds part of my dress train, so we don’t trip as we hold each other in similar fashion to the day that led to this, the same song playing on the large speakers in each corner of the room.

“Put your head on my shoulder Whisper in my ear, baby Words I want to hear, tell me Tell me that you love me too”.

Jessie stands on her tippy toes, my heels not helping our height difference.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

#woso x reader #woso #womens soccer #wsl #woso fanfics #canada wnt #jessie fleming #jessie fleming x reader #chelsea fcw #chelsea women

[andvys]

Love will tear us apart // part four 

Warnings: angst, fluff, mentions of ptsd, nightmares, alcohol consumption, mentions of drugs, not nsfw but still 18+, jealous and mean Eddie

Pairings: Eddie Munson x fem!reader // mentions of Steve Harrington x fem!reader

-

“So you’re still crushing on Eddie Munson?”

Your eyes widen, grip tightening on the telephone “w-what?” you exclaim, straightening your back as you sit up on your knees, the cushions of the couch soft beneath your legs.

“We have been talking for what- an hour?” 

“An hour, twelve minutes and thirty seconds to be exact.” another voice cuts in, making you furrow your brows in confusion, who is that?

“An hour, twelve minutes and thirty seconds yes-” “thirty five seconds now.” 

Jonathan sighs “anyways, we’ve been talking for over an hour and all you talked about was Eddie Munson.” 

“Who’s Eddie Munson?” you hear the voice in the background.

“Her crush.” Jonathan slurs, chuckling “he’s also a drug dealer, he sells weed and stuff.”

“What! He is not my crush!” you exclaim, making Jonathan chuckle. 

“Dude, that’s sick. I like Eddie Munson.”

“W-What- I, who is that?” you ask, feeling more confused than ever. 

“Who Eddie?” 

“What? I know who Eddie is you dumbass, who is the guy in the background?”

“Oh! That’s Argyle, he’s my friend.” 

“Dude, I’m so stoned.” Argyle says in the background. Jonathan only chuckles in response, mumbling some incoherent words.

You furrow your brows, an amused smile tugs at your lips as you lean back on the couch “Jonathan Byers, did you start smoking weed?” 

Jonathan clears his throat “yeah.”

You chuckle at the slur in his voice. In all those years you have known him, you have never seen- or well, heard him this way. 

"I never pegged you for a stoner, Jonathan.” 

“It helps me relax, you should try that too, it might help with the nightmares and the panic attacks.” 

You never actually considered it, taking something to help you with the weird symptoms you were experiencing lately. You never really considered taking medications let alone drugs in general but Jonathan was right, maybe it could actually help. 

“Yeah.. maybe that’s not a bad idea.”

“Or you could just inhale the sweet scent of Eddie Munson again-”

“Ugh shut up, I should've never told you about it.” you groan, running a hand down your face. You only told him that because you knew that he would be one of the people who wouldn't tease you for what Eddie did for you. Robin would have started teasing you relentlessly and Steve, you don't know how Steve would react considering he knows nothing of your weird interactions with Eddie. 

“Who else would you tell about it, Steve?” he scoffs.

“Who’s Steve?” 

“A dick.”

“Hey! Steve is nice.” you mumble, defending your friend. You know that he wasn't always nice to Jonathan but he changed after everything that happened with the upside down and Nancy “he is my best friend.”

“Ouch, what about me?”

“You ditched me for Nancy.” you joke, it wasn't exactly a lie. After Jonathan and Nancy became friends and later on started dating they both ditched you and Steve, that's how you and him became friends in the first place. 

You were there for him after they broke up and he was there for you when you had no one else to talk to after what happened to you. He knew of all the things that went down so you didn't have to lie and make up some bullshit story about running away from home the way you were forced to do with other people who approached you after you came back to school. 

“Speaking of Nancy- how are things between the two of you?”

“Uh good, I think.” he mutters “she’s applying to the same college as me.” he says, with a weird tone in his voice.

You raise your brows, “you don't sound too happy about it.” you point out.

“Well-”

“Dude not this again, this is stressing me out please don't talk about your girlfriend again- hey he has been talking about her all day.” his friend, Argyle, complains into the phone causing you to laugh. 

“Shut up- yeah let’s not talk about it. What about you, are you applying to any colleges?”

You sigh, staring blankly at your wall, you haven't really thought about it, your mind was taken over by anxiety and all the trauma you apparently haven't processed yet. Your grades were dropping too and you were certain that you were going to repeat senior year. 

“Uh- I don't know, I have a feeling that I’m not gonna make it.” you mumble “this year, I mean, my grades don't look good right now.” 

“Oh, how's that? You were always one of the best.”

“I don’t know, my mind is kinda- I’m just struggling.” you mumble. You know you don't have to hide your feelings when you talk to him even though you aren't as close as you used to be, you still tell each other everything.

“I’m sorry, y/n.” he speaks softly. 

“It’s okay, hey- uh how is Will doing?” you ask, you know he struggled more than you did after what happened.

“He’s good! He’s doing better here. I think moving away from Hawkins was good for him, maybe you should do that too.” 

“Yeah.” you trail off as you look at the large clock on your living room wall, the ticking sound getting too loud all of the sudden, making you feel anxious for some reason the longer you look at it. 

The ringing of your doorbell startles you. You blink, shaking your head, you look out the window, just now noticing the car in your driveway. 

“Oh shit, I gotta go, Steve’s here.” you mumble as you lean down, grabbing the boots that you picked out earlier, you put the phone between your shoulder and your ear so you can put your shoes on.

“Right, careful with the drinks, you might run into a certain someone and confess all your darkest secrets to him.” Jonathan chuckles. 

You shake your head at his words “there won't be any confessions tonight.”

“Tell me about it tomorrow and hey, Munson might be there, maybe you can buy some weed or ask for more cuddles.”

“Oh shut up, we weren't cuddling.” 

He laughs at your words and you can’t help but chuckle as well “I gotta go. Tell the fam I said hi.”

“Will do, have fun and don't get too drunk.” 

“Okay dad.” 

You rush towards the front door after hanging up the phone, looking at yourself in the mirror one time before you open it. Steve is leaning against the doorframe, a smile on his lips that widens when he sees you. 

“Hi.” you smile as you open the door further. 

His eyes widen as he looks you up and down “hi.” he smirks, licking his lips “y/n, I didn't think it was possible for you to get even prettier but wow.” he breathes, a slight blush on his cheeks as he stares at you.

“Pfft, look at yourself, you’re the pretty one here.” you say, trying to hide the flustered expression on your face. He is your best friend, you’re used to his flirting and teasing but he still manages to make you flustered every single time. 

“I guess we’d be a pretty couple, huh?” he smirks, his brown eyes staring right at you. 

Your lips part in surprise as you look into his eyes “I-”

“Hey dingus! Stop flirting, let’s go!” Robin shouts after rolling down the window in his car.

Steve rolls his eyes at her, flipping her off, making you chuckle. Robin mumbles something in the background as she looks at the two of you. 

“Okay, let’s go.” he smiles at you.

“I’m definitely getting drunk tonight.” you mumble as you grab your jacket before stepping out of your house. You didn't really like going to parties and you didn't really drink much either but after the awful and stressful days you’ve been having, your mind was just begging you for a short break from both the anxious thoughts and him. 

-

Eddie hated nothing more than parties, the awful music that blares through the house, the annoying drunk people who are either to giggly or too aggressive only cause him to roll his eyes every few seconds, he can’t wait to go home, listen to actual good music and just relax while reading his favorite book for the 100th time. He wasn't here for the fun of it though, he was here to make a couple of deals, the jock that invited him was nice enough for Eddie to agree. Both him and Wayne could use more money, but not even an hour in and he wanted nothing more than for the ground to swallow him up.

Until you showed up.

He straightened his back, pushing himself off the wall as his eyes lock on you. He drowns out every noise, blind to everything else in the room, all he sees is you. His eyes widen slightly. You look so pretty. You always do but something about tonight has him frozen in place. You wear your hair differently tonight, you ditched your usual clothes for a pretty dress, a short one too, an oversized denim jacket thrown over your shoulders, a smile tugs at Eddie’s lips, his eyes soften the longer he stares at you, he ignores the weird feeling in his chest he always seems to feel whenever he looks at you or whenever he’s around you. 

He gulps as he eyes you up and down, a soft smile is resting on your lips as you look around the room. He hasn't seen you since the day he drove you home after you almost passed out in the bathroom. You haven't been to school ever since that day and he felt guilty and horrible for the way he treated you after you thanked him for what he did, especially after he witnessed your weird interaction with your brother. He wanted to apologize the next day but you didn't show up and the day after that you didn't show up either but he kept waiting for you, looking around the cafeteria in hopes that he would spot you somewhere but you were nowhere to be found, he walked past your lockers after every class but you didn't show up, for a moment it reminded him of the time you went missing but seeing you here now, puts his mind at ease. 

Something pushes him to go talk to you, to ask if you’re okay, to tell you how pretty you look but just as he takes the first step, someone else walks in, coming up behind you. Steve. He snakes his arm around your waist, pulling you into his chest, he kisses your cheek, you giggle in response as you look up at him.

Eddie’s heart drops at the sight, the soft smile falls from his lips and he watches the two of you with a scowl on his face. Fuck, why does it hurt so much to see you so happy with him. 

Steve grabs your hand and pulls you further into the house. Eddie’s eyes follow you trying to see more of you. He notices the lack of his bandana around your wrist and for some reason it saddens him. He liked seeing you wear something that belongs to him. He notices something else though, a bruise around your wrist that wasn't there before, was it from when your brother grabbed you? Anger welled up in his chest at the thought of someone hurting you. 

He spent many moments thinking back to your interaction with your brother. Was he hurting you? Was he the one who gave you those scars?

No. What Eddie had witnessed was purely just a fight between siblings who don't get along, right?

Feeling someone’s eyes on him, he turns back and finds Robin staring at him with a knowing smirk on her face, she chuckles as she walks towards him, turning to look at a girl who walked past her before she turns back towards Eddie.

“Hey.” she smirks. 

“Hi?” Eddie looks at the girl with a curious look in his eyes.

“You are pretty obvious you know?” 

Eddie raises his brows “what do you mean?” for a moment he thought she was talking about him making drug deals but it wasn't a secret so he didn't care about being obvious about being here for only, this. 

Robin chuckles, looking down for a moment before she raises her head again “your not so small crush on y/n.” she says as she leans closer to him as she looks around. 

Eddie gulps, eyes widening as he grows flustered, he shakes his head wildly “me? crushing on y/n? that’s bullshit.” he scoffs. 

Robin throws her head back, laughing at his words “yeah, you’re right, it’s total bullshit cause it’s not even a crush at this point, you are totally in love, dude!” she chuckles. You and Eddie might be the most oblivious people she has ever seen and met, you both aren't aware of your feelings, well, maybe you are but you keep denying it to both her and yourself but Eddie, Eddie is totally oblivious to his feelings, he won't even admit it to himself but she sees the way he looks at you when you aren't looking. He is the epitome of heart eyes. 

He opens his mouth to say something but Robin cuts him off, holding her finger up “Ah! No need to deny it, it’s written all over your face, just like the jealous look on your face when you saw her with Steve.” 

Eddie just scoffs as he crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back against the wall. 

Robin chuckles at the blush on his face, she has never seen him so flustered before, his cheeks are almost as red as the solo cups on the table next to him. 

“I’m not in love with her.” he scoffs, a frown on his face as he shakes his head once again. 

“Are you trying to convince yourself right now or..” 

He gives her a death glare causing her to chuckle again. 

“Anyways, you could like stop being a dick to someone who actually likes you and cares about you and maybe try to talk to her like a normal person instead of watching her like a creep and then saying the meanest shit to her because you are afraid of your own feelings.” Robin takes a deep breath after her short ramble, grabbing one of the solo cups, she nods at him before walking off. 

Eddie’s eyes widen, cheeks getting even redder now. You like him and care about him? What a bunch of bullshit “what feelings?” he mutters to himself.

Robin’s words echo in his mind for the majority of the night. Eddie had a hard time understanding his own feelings. Most of the time he was in denial when it came to anything complicated and it seemed to get worse when it came to you. 

One thing he was certain of; he hates seeing you in pain, he hates seeing you sad and scared. His heart ached in his chest when you were having a breakdown on the cold and dirty bathroom floor. Holding onto him for dear life, crying into his chest as you tried to breathe. He wanted to protect you more than anything, it hurt him to see you this way but it also hurt to see you so happy with someone. All night he had to watch you dance and laugh with Steve and Robin, now he didn't mind Robin, he doesn't know much about her but he likes her. Steve is a different story, he hates him. He doesn't know whether it’s because of his perfect status or if it’s because he has that one thing that Eddie can’t have? He doesn't know. 

That ugly jealous feeling inside of him, grew more and more, it was burning in his chest and he felt angrier throughout the night, Steve had his hands on you all goddamn night, on your waist, on the small of your back, holding your face as he kept kissing your cheeks, holding you against him as you both danced and you, you did nothing to stop him. You giggled every time Steve pulled you into him, trying to kiss you. At one point he even had his hands on your ass while you were dancing. 

His hands balled into fist and his jaw was clenched in anger, he couldn’t focus on anything but you and that happy smile on your face as you leaned into his touch. God, he hates you right now.

His eyes meet Robin’s again, the same look on her face as before, she knows, of course she does, the jealousy and the anger was anything but subtle.

Suddenly her eyes widen as she looks at something next to Eddie, a mix between a warning and a teasing look in her eyes. 

Eddie’s brows snapped together as he turned his head to see what she was looking at. It’s you, you abandoned Steve and were now walking towards him, a happy look in your eyes, the same soft smile on your lips as before. Your denim jacket was long gone allowing him to see more of your black dress, his eyes fall to the necklace around your neck, a simple silver chain, it reminds of something he owned once. He eyes your wrist, seeing the bruise more clear now, he could see the fingerprints, yeah, it was definitely from where your brother grabbed you. As if he wasn't angry already, seeing this filled him with more rage. 

“Eddie, I’m so happy to see you-” you speak over the loud music, your voice and the look in your eyes give away your drunken state “y-”

“What the hell do you want?” Eddie asks, rolling his eyes at you. He didn't mean to sound so rude but he was angry and pissed off already and now you out of all people came to speak to him. 

“I uh-” you mumble, looking around uncomfortably, you almost sobered up immediately “w-what are you up to?” 

Eddie glares at you as he meets your eyes “working and it’s a bit hard when you’re standing here so..” he mumbles, waving you off. 

You blink, the soft and happy expression on your face slowly falls and is replaced by something else, sadness? Disappointment? Whatever it was, it made Eddie feel guilty right away. 

“Right, uh- I’m gonna go.”

“Yeah you should.” Eddie speaks coldly.

You purse your lips, nodding at his words, you chuckle to yourself as you turn to walk away, you feel stupid for even thinking that you could have a normal conversation with him. 

Eddie stares at your back, dread settles in him, he knows it’s wrong to treat you this way, he feels horrible every time he does but for some reason he continues to treat you like shit every single time.

You stop and stand there for a moment before you turn back around, your eyes meet his and he watches you curiously, eying the confused look on your face “why do you hate me so much, Eddie?” 

The question has him taken aback. He stares back at your sad expression, all the happiness taken away from you again, god he feels so horrible. He hasn't seen you genuinely happy in a long time and the moment you were finally able to loosen up a little, especially after what happened a few days ago- he ruined it again.

You wait for him to say something, arms by your sides, your shoulders slumped as you wait and wait. You sigh, why do you even bother?

“Y/n, I-”

“Hey man, heard you were selling tonight.” 

You roll your eyes at the interruption. 

Eddie sighs, closing his eyes for a moment, he huffs in annoyance as he opens his eyes again “yeah, how much do you want?” he mumbles, looking at the guy in front of him. 

You stand back for a moment and stare at Eddie, he hates you and there's nothing you can do to change it, you tried to once but it was a lost cause, he would always hate you and you would always care about him. How couldn’t you? He saved your life, you wouldn't have made it without him but he doesn't know that and he never will.

You shake your head, ripping your gaze away from him, you turn around and walk away from him. You are too sober for this and you can feel the anger rising inside of your chest, it isn't directed at Eddie, no, you could never be angry at him but you are angry at yourself, for being so stupid, for caring about someone who hates you with every inch of their being. 

Eddie looks over the jocks shoulder, staring at your back as you walk into the kitchen, he wants to call out to you, tell you to wait so you can talk but he gets cut off again as another guy approaches him. Eddie sighs in annoyance as he looks at him, he recognizes him from math class, he would always sit in the back with him and talk Eddie’s ear off. 

“Fuck.” he mumbles, knowing that he won't be able to make a quick escape, he would try to avoid him but knowing that he’s one of the stoners who would buy the most, he’d be pretty stupid to run off when he could make a good deal right now even when he has to sacrifice his nerves and listen to a bunch of shit he doesn't care about. 

-

He finds you in the kitchen almost an hour later, you’re leaning against the counter, downing a drink swaying a little.

Where the hell is your stupid your boyfriend?

He huffs as he stares at your drunken form. He doesn't doubt that you have been downing one drink after the other since he last saw you, you looked tipsy earlier but now you look absolutely wasted. 

He watches as you throw the now empty cup down, reaching for another one.

Eddie shakes his head, rushing towards you “hey, I think that’s enough.” he says, grabbing the drink out of your hand. 

“W-What the hell?” you mumble as you look at the cup that’s been ripped out of your hand, staring at it in confusion before your eyes move up, looking into his eyes, the concern his eyes is impossible to miss, it makes you angry, why does he look at you like that when he hates you so much? 

“What the hell do you want? Didn't you tell me to leave you alone? I did, so fuck off.” you slur, glaring at him as you reach for a new cup but Eddie takes that one away too, putting it down. 

“You’ve had enough y/n.” Eddie warns, looking down at you, under different circumstances he might find the pout on your face amusing but the hurt and angry look in your eyes was anything but funny to him. 

“N-No, I don't think so.” you mumble shaking your head, you were drunk but not drunk enough to forget. 

“But I think so.” Eddie argues, pushing the cup away as you try to reach for it again. You groan in annoyance, glaring at him as you cock your head to the sight, staring at him, you blink, eyelashes fluttering, your lips are set in a pout. They look so kissable right now and you look so goddamn cute. A blush settles on Eddie’s cheeks at his thoughts. 

You lean against the counter, looking him up and down, he swapped his hellfire shirt for a washed out Metallica shirt, he’s wearing his signature leather jacket and his denim vest, he looks so good. “I like your shirt.” you blurt out. 

“You do?” he asks surprised. 

“Yes, I love their new album.” you smile. 

Eddie’s eyes light up, a smile tugs at his lips. Lucas did tell him that your music taste was similar. 

You take a step closer as you eye his necklace, reaching up to touch the guitar pick, Eddie’s breath hitches in his throat as you look up at him through your lashes “I- I like this, too.” you mumble, playing with the guitar pick. 

“Yeah?” Eddie whispers nervously. You have never been this forward with him, you always kept your distance, it was him who initiated the closeness of your bodies. In school, when he’d sit next to you, at the bar when he’d come close enough to feel your breath on his skin, in the bathroom at school when he held you- but it was never you, you never came this close to him. 

“Yeah.” you nod, the look in your eyes is so intense as you gaze into his brown eyes- it’s almost as if you are trying to read his thoughts, like you’re trying to take a look into his mind, like you’re trying to see his soul, trying to figure something out. You blink, looking away for a moment before your eyes return to his, you fingertips graze his chest and you look down at your hand. You want to touch him, to hug him again but you can’t. This is still Eddie, the same Eddie who hates you. 

You clear your throat, pulling your hand back again, you look down and you reach for the drink again.

Eddie groans in annoyance, pushing it further back again “I told you, you’ve had enough, y/n.”

“I’m not even drunk.” you exclaim, your eyes darting between him and the drink. 

“Uh- yes you are.” he grumbles. 

You roll your eyes at him and scoff, staring right into his eyes as you take the cup that Eddie put down, you manage to take a few sips before it’s taken away from you again, he slams it on the counter, spilling some of the liquid “stop it, you’re being a brat.” 

You hold your breath as you keep your eyes on him, the slight rasp in his voice made your stomach flutter, the look in his eyes didn't help either, why does he have to be so attractive? 

You reach for the cup again but Eddie grunts in annoyance, grabbing your wrists gently, he tugs you forward causing you to slam into his chest “I swear to god, y/n, stop. You’re only making it worse for yourself.” 

You snort, ignoring the way it feels to be pressed up against his body “and why the hell do you care? Oh and I still want an answer, why do you hate me so much, hmm?” 

Eddie gulps as he eyes your face slowly, he’s still holding your wrists in both of his hands, your chest is pressed against his and you are so close, even closer than the last time, your lips are only inches away from his. 

His heart flutters in his chest as your eyes flicker to his lips before they return to his eyes. Eddie breathes shakily, what does he even say? There is no answer to your question, there is no reason for him to hate you. He doesn't even hate you. Robin was right when she said that he is scared of his own feelings but he isn't about to admit that to you. 

You shake your head at him, of course he wasn't going to say anything. You think about what Robin said in the cafeteria a few days ago. 

Eddie’s eyes flicker down to your lips for a mere second, you would have missed it if you didn't stare at him as intently as you did, his pupils dilating the longer he stares at you it caused a wave of fury to crash through you. You have seen him look at you this way before. He either looked at you with anger and hatred in his eyes or with lust, like he wants to rip your clothes off and fuck you right then and there, was this the only thing you were good for? 

You don’t know whether it’s the alcohol in your system or the anger that is cursing through your veins that push you to say the next words. 

“Is it because you can’t have me? Because you can’t fuck me?” Something in the back of your mind was screaming at you to stop knowing you would regret it all in the morning, if you can remember any of this.

Eddie took in a sharp breath, staring at you in shock with his big brown eyes.

“Why else would you hate me? I-I never gave you a reason to.” you pause, drawing in a long breath “I was a-always nice to you but you treated me like shit, right from the start but why?” 

You didn't even notice how tense you were until you finally asked him the question that has been on your mind for years. 

Eddie stiffens, his heart is racing, his palms are getting sweaty against your skin as he stares at you, he didn't expect this. It doesn't help that you are standing there, completely pressed against his body with your short dress that leaves nothing to his imagination. Just a few days ago, you were sitting on the counter with your skirt riding up your bare thighs, making him all nervous and god, he feels like a creep for looking at you that way but fuck, you are perfect.

“Do you want to fuck me, Eddie?” you ask him with anger in your voice. 

His eyes widen even more, you press yourself even tighter against him and he is certain that you can feel him, all of him. He hates how much he loves it, the feeling of your body against his, he has spent far too many nights laying awake thinking of you in ways he would never actually get to have you. 

His lips are parted as he stares at you in surprise. 

You lean in closer and for a moment he thinks you’re about to kiss him but instead you stand on your tippy toes and lean in to whisper something in his ear, your lips brush against his ear lobe. 

“Fuck.” Eddie mumbles quietly, clenching his jaw. The feeling of your lips on his skin is something he will never be able to forget. 

“I’d let you.” you whisper. 

You will truly hate yourself tomorrow morning but right now, you don't care about anything. 

“If that means you’d hate me less.” 

You should have listened to Jonathan when he told you to be careful with the drinks. 

Eddie clenches his jaw, he pushes you away gently, he feels as though you are mocking him, you came to this party with Steve, your boyfriend and yet you are here with him, saying all these things to him you don't mean. He knows exactly what you are trying to do, you want to hurt him, mock him, give him a taste of something he can never have. 

“Stop that.” he says through gritted teeth as he pushes himself away from you, the hateful glare in his eyes returning as the concern slowly slips away.

You stare at each other for a moment, both quiet, both breathing heavily. Eddie tries to stop himself from saying something he will regret later on and you, you just look like you want to run away so you don't have to listen to the hurtful words that he is about to throw at you. 

He feels so angry all of the sudden, your words would have flattered him if things were different but you didn't mean what you said. You were playing with his feelings. You would never fuck him, you would never touch him, not the way that he wants you to at least. 

“I don’t want to fuck you.” he spits.

“I don't want to touch you.” he lets go of your wrists, not caring about the hurt look on your face right now. 

“I don’t want to see you.” 

“I don't want to hear your fucking voice.”

“I don’t want you anywhere near me okay? You wanna know why I hate you?” 

Lies. It’s all lies but Eddie can’t stop himself. His eyes are burning, his throat feels like it’s gonna close in on him, everything in him is screaming at himself to stop but he can't. 

You take a step back from him, his sudden outburst leaves you with a nervous and anxious feeling in your stomach, digging your nails into your palms, you clench your jaw as you straighten your back, fighting back your tears.

“I just fucking do, I can’t stand you, y/n, there's no reason, I just hate you.” and he hates himself even more in that moment, he’s lying to you and he's lying to himself and he’s running away from his feelings. 

You bite on your lower lip to keep it from trembling, you stare at him almost in disbelief. You nod, your breathing quickens and you suddenly feel lightheaded again, the same feeling you have felt a few days ago flooding through your body. 

You tear your eyes away from him, you need to get away from here, away from him. You reach for the drink again and this time he doesn't stop you, you down it in one go, throwing the empty cup away “thanks for your honesty.” you mutter weakly, turning away from him but before you can walk away, he grabs your elbow gently and pulls you back “y/n-”

You rip your arm out of his grasp, didn't he just say he doesn't want to touch you? 

“Don’t fucking touch me, Eddie.” you mumble angrily, you look up at him “I’ll make it easy for you okay? You don't have to see me anymore, you don't have to be around me and you certainly don't have to touch me.” you spat, looking at him through your tears, you take a deep breath, you want to walk away but something in the back of your mind is screaming at you to stay, to confront him further as you notice the guilty look in his eyes.

He is so irritating, perhaps the most irritating person you have met, he says the cruelest things and then he looks at you like some sad puppy and you hate it.

“You hate me? Okay.” you nod, wiping your tears away in anger “then stop saving me, Eddie. You are only making it harder for me.” you exclaim with a shaky voice. 

Eddie’s eyes dart from one place to another, he knows you are talking about the incident at the bar and the panic attack he helped you through a few days ago but somehow, it feels as though you are talking about something else. 

“I’ll stay out of your way s-so please, please, do the same for me instead of giving me false hope and breaking my fucking he-” you sniffle, pausing, you take in the shocked expression on his face at your words. 

He speaks your name softly but you don't give him the chance to say anything else, you just shake your head and walk past him, rushing out of the house, using the backdoor in the kitchen. 

Eddie turns around, staring at the door you just walked through. There are so many things running through his mind right now, so many questions but above it all there's the voice in the back of his mind that is telling him to go after you and he does after a moment of just blankly staring at the door, he rushes out of the kitchen, following you out. He knows he shouldn't have, he should leave you alone after what just happened but he can’t. 

He calls out to you as he spots you standing in the driveway. It’s freezing outside and you aren't even wearing a jacket. 

“Y/n! Hey..” he walks towards you, repeating your name but you are standing there, not moving, you’re almost stiff “you’re gonna freeze to death.” he complains, about to take his jacket off as he walks around you “listen, I’m-” his words get caught in his throat, “what the- y/n?” 

Your usual warm eyes, the color in them gone, instead it’s replaced by a milky color. 

Eddie gulps, he looks around, seeing if anyone else is out here but it’s just the two of you. He puts his hand on your shoulders “hey, y/n.” he speaks softly to no avail. 

“What the fuck..” he whispers, he shakes you softly “y/n!”

You don't react to his touch or his voice, you remain the same. A gust of wind blows through the dark streets at the same time as one of the street lights start flickering. A shiver runs down Eddie’s spine as he turns to look around, eying the street light closest to the two of you. His brows are furrowed in confusion, he has seen this before, the lamp in his bedroom would flicker every night a few days in a row but that was two years ago and it stopped ever since. 

“I-Is this some sort of panic attack?” he mumbles as he turns back to you, knowing you won't answer him anyways “come on, sweetheart.”

Thunder rumbles in the distance and lightning flashes through the sky as the rest of the street lamps start flickering. 

He takes your face in his hands, tilting your head up “y/n, wake up!” he slaps, your cheek softly “fuck.. please wake up, y/n!” he almost yells, eyes widening with fear, his heart jumps as the wind grows stronger, the lights flicker faster. 

He looks around, confused and scared as he looks back down at you. He doesn't know what’s going on, he doesn't know what the flickering lights have to do with the state you are in but he knows, he knows something is very wrong. 

He doesn't know what else to do, he doesn't know how to snap you out of the state you are in so he does what he did last time, hoping that it will help the way it did last time. He pulls you into his arms, gently moving his arms around you as he cradles the back of your head against his warm chest. His heart is beating against his ribcage, his eyes clouded with fear and worry. He holds you tightly, rubbing your back softly. 

“Fuck.” he whispers, there's something eery in the air, he can feel it, he can see it, it’s right in front of his eyes. 

“Please, please wake up.”

-

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[clarks-letterman]

head in the stars, only night wanderers can read you | edward cullen x male!reader

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a/n — if i say this is crackfic will y'all like it-

summary — Edward hears some desperate thoughts about himself and decides to give into his nature.

warnings — 18+! smut, spit kink, blood kink, biting kink, dead dove don't eat

words — 2.6k

~~~

God, all I wanted him to do was make me his slut. His whore. His anything, so long as I became his.

Funny. The human mind created something out of nothing, astonishing to Edward as he heard them come to life with a capriciousness. Words were processed and controlled, even halfway through a sentence. Thoughts were left unaltered. He could almost hear the synapses setting themselves on fire, catching this person in a fiery embarrassment when a second thought erupted.

Fuck, I shouldn't be thinking that. Isn't he, like, a super-senior?

The voice echoed in his head, and Edward let out a low chuckle at the slip of profanity. Normally, he wouldn't have caught wind of this, as Edward had years of experience choosing what to tune out and acknowledge as nothing but someone else's business. If he so pleased, he could listen to them, but it was like standing in a stadium full of people: it was a choice to either single someone out or let it all mesh together. But the thought was so direct—so passionate—that he had no choice but to be subjected to the unspoken words.

He presented himself calmly, standing perfectly upright. There was a small quirk of his lips moving upward as he spoke, "Don't worry, it's mutual."

"What?" You asked, yet even to stand from the routine call of the bell. Edward surmised that your question was simply a way of playing dumb, as your voice unspokenly echoed something different. Stay calm, he doesn't know, does he?

"What?" You asked, yet even to stand from the routine call of the bell. Edward surmised that your question was simply a way of playing dumb, as your voice unspokenly echoed something different. Stay calm, he doesn't know, does he?

Everyone passed in droves around the two of you, paying no mind to the conversation taking place.

"I think I feel the same way," he admitted.

Really, me?

"Really? How did you know?"

He's so perfect, even here. Even now. I must have a fever—there's no way this is real.

"I figured it out a few moments ago," he bluffed, "you stare at me like you're in a trance."

Fuck. Edward didn't break eye contact with you, making the crinkle under his eyes from smiling easily visible to you. He couldn't believe he made you feel like this.

"You think you feel the same way?" This must be a joke.

"I'm just not sure," Edward paused for only a moment to search for the best way to describe his point, "if us doing anything together is a good idea."

Is he closeted?

You stood, finally getting to his level, "I won't tell anyone, if that's what you're worried about."

You started slipping a backpack strap over your should, ready to start walking with the remaining crowd of people in the cafeteria to your next class. Unfortunately, you didn't share the class with Edward, so he would have to wait to continue this until later.

"Oh, by all odds, I would never have an issue with that. I'm referring to the fact that I might like things that you wouldn't be too keen on trying." People were freaks back then; historical recorders simply chose to omit those details. Edward was more than happy to try something taboo. "So, that's definitely not an issue."

You planned to say something else—what exactly that was, you weren't sure. Did he have a cell phone? Would he feel comfortable giving you his e-mail? What was he even trying to get with this conversation? You formulated a whole list of questions, unsure of where to start, but by the time you thought of the first one to ask, he was gone. He must have vanished into the crowd, you assumed.

Taking the long way to the class, dreading physics as it was arguably the worst subject you performed in, something came at you with a force and speed that was impossible. Well, you might have been wrong about that, but the pace at which your surroundings changed wasn't normal. That you knew. What you couldn't have known was who—or what—drug you to the bathroom faster than the speed of sound.

What the fuck was that?

Edward heard the panic in your thoughts, your blood rushing faster as the adrenaline kicked itself up, and attempted to sound reassuring, "It's just me."

"Jesus, you could have asked to meet up," you protested.

He held you close, ushering your back into the porcelain sink. The smell of your blood paled in comparison to some of the others he caught wind of, but he couldn't deny that it smelled delectable, regardless.

His words were soft, "Do you want this? I need to know before anything else."

You held a hand to his stone-like chest, staring into his dark eyes, "Yes, it's all I need."

Silently and hastily, without a single breath taken, he kissed you. He feared physical touch, running from it for decades, but in the end, it would never matter. His urges told him to kill you now, but time would kill you later. In the meager minutes away from you, he deliberated between two ideas: an intensely idiotic and risky move with a great payoff or a life of not knowing. Sometimes, hearing the things coming from other people's heads made it go to his own, and he caved. He took the risk, and let himself exist outside of hiding. He would have preferred to hold it forever, but you would have to resurface for air at some point so he pulled away.

"I do need something from you first. . ." He dragged, fearing to finish the sentence. How would you react? There was time to think about it later, near the time when he would ask for forgiveness. Maybe that would be in one hundred years or tomorrow, depending on how this moment went. And, in one swift dive, sharp teeth and cold lips met the warm skin of your neck.

He could feel you tense at the action, easing into it until you realized that he had bitten down until blood was drawn from two holes in the side of your carotid. Your mind held no words, but Edward felt something ruminating on the outer edges of your thoughts—a creeping feeling of actually enjoying it. You thought about shoving him away and running out of the bathroom, but he could catch up to you. He could kill you with nothing but his bare hands if he wanted; his speed was enough to prove it. There was a strange sensation of your blood flowing elsewhere beside your neck. You placed a hand on the cool sink behind you for support, helping him feast on you.

The thin layer punctured, blood spewed from the aorta and, with nowhere else to go, pooled in Edward's mouth. He swallowed the stream, taking strong gulps at first until he weaned himself down to small sips. He pulled away with an ichoric kiss comprised of saliva and blood to the wound, inking the area with red as if it were a craven lip stain.

"You taste perfect," he mumbled. As always, he wanted to drain you of everything you had. Your blood tasted complex, and he wanted to keep it as a thing to be served over every meal—preferably all while your heart still pumped.

A stream of red coursed out of your neck after the initial, along with a benign sting from his piercing. The lack of which acted as an etherizing pain-killer. The pain was there but only reminded you that you simply had to exist so as to be below Edward.

Skin tickling with warmth, he had never felt more dead in his life. He seemed to be reminiscing of a time long ago, eyes golden and lost.

After a moment, his eyes fell on you, and he started to feel unsettled as he set into his more human qualities. His compassion returned, tearing off his shirt and balling it up. His cold fingers brushed your neck as he placed the cloth on your cuts. "Here—for the blood."

Edward was impossibly near you, the sweet scent of lilac and honey wafting toward you now that he was shirtless. You only saw them for a moment, but his impeccable white teeth were a violent red as if he pulled a tooth out with no pain, only letting the blood pool and spill out. His chin, messy and incarnadine with your blood.

"What was all that for?" Your voice was weak and pitiful. You didn't think of anything that would suggest you were mad, solely curious.

In response, he undid the buckle of his belt and everything about his jeans. The sounds created a symphony of anticipation inside you, heart beating faster at the thought of seeing him. He didn't fully remove them, not wanting to tear his hand away from your source of bleeding, so he awkwardly shuffled his pants and boxers down to his thighs. Out sprung his cock, thick and reaching. It was the real monster here, searching for something to pierce.

You needed something else to think about for a moment, to combobulate yourself from that fact. "Does it—do I taste good?"

His thumb grazed from your jaw to your lips. "Open."

You listened, and he pursed his lips, tilting your head back with the hold on your chin and on your neck. A wad of saliva slipped past—red and glistening in the harsh lighting overhead. It landed directly in your mouth, and it tasted awful—bitter and metallic plaguing your taste buds. His saliva was worse than medical styptic. You jerked from Edward's touch and turned to the sink, ready to spit it out and rinse the horrid taste out of your mouth until Edward stopped you.

"Swallow."

Knowing what he could do, you listened to him again. His perceptive hearing picked up on your obedience as the softest swallow fell on his ears. You turned back to face him only to see a smirk on his face, "Good boy."

His hearing picked up on something else, too: the sound of where your blood gushed and circulated. Every place it reached, he knew of and was happy to know the steely rush to your crotch at his acts.

“Let’s see how good you listen,” he teased, baring his fangs in a confident simper to show the capability of his power. His hands fell on your bottoms, undoing them but going only that far. "You can touch yourself, but I want to see how long you can resist the temptation."

"Okay," you agreed, painfully disrespecting yourself by refusing the opportunity. A God stood before you, lean and chiseled, someone who exceeded more than words could describe. Even your thoughts couldn't capture it all, how perfect he looked—even bloody—and how his smooth voice cooed in your ear.

Edward, his cock still hanging out with impatience, lifted it with one hand while the other cautiously peeled the stained cloth from your skin and tossed it into the bowl of the sink behind you. The blood clotted and the stream stopped. His voice echoed a soft, "Turn around."

His hand dug between your skin and the fabric of your clothes, pushing down your bottoms. Cold fingertips circled your entrance, toying with the nerves by lightly tracing the ring of it over and over again. Edward promised himself that he would take you home and take things slower the next time. For now, he settled on using some of his spit on his dick, lathering himself in a mix of gushy blood and welled-up salivation.

His entrance was quick, just like his many other acts, but it did not go unnoticed. His size was invading, reaching and stretching into places it didn't belong. From his view, your hold looked filled by his wide girth, and he only hoped that he was long enough for it to feel good on your end.

His soft, golden eyes reflected in the mirror. He tried to gauge a reaction from you, his senses so high that he had trouble discerning your thoughts for a moment. After a few hip swings, lowering himself from the sensation of feeling slick warmth heating a fraction of him up, he could finally hear the thoughts swirling in your head.

Fuck, he feels so good! So painful. . .

He leaned into you, his gaunt chest pressing into you. He turned his head to your ear and uttered, "I want to hear it—out loud. You know what I mean."

You lulled your head back into him as he caused your whole body to shake with each thrust, "I need more of you, Edward. Fuck, I need it all."

His neck craned down, and his head followed, catching a whiff of the dried blood on your neck and placing a kiss on it, "Of course."

Deeper he went, slamming his hips further into you with a heightened desire. His full weight rested on you as a result but swiftly repositioned his hands onto the sink, covering yours. The smack of dead skin to flourishing skin echoed in the small enclosure. Edward was stiff, slipping up that he had to feign some sort of human reaction for a moment. He stopped forcing himself to breathe or blink, focused only on making your heart quicken and hearing that sweet red nectar rush through you like a high tide.

"Degrade me," you spat out. "Call me every name you got."

"You're a harlot—a whore, my slut," he growled. He sounded genuine. "Everything under the bright moon is mine, including you."

That did it for both of you. Edward kept his hips firmly pressed against your ass, the pressure causing the porcelain sink to start cracking under your hands. His cock flooded your insides with sticky white come, and you felt the crotch of your pants dampen as a mound of pressure released itself.

"Technically, you listened, but I was hoping to leave school early and head to my house."

"We can still go, if you want?" You offered while picking up the bloodied shirt from the sink and rinsing out the stains if left on the sides of the bowl.

"I think we have a project to work on—it might take a few days," he slyly suggested.

#edward cullen x y/n #edward cullen #edward cullen x you #edward cullen x reader #edward cullen x male reader #edward cullen x male!reader #robert pattinson x reader #robert pattinson x y/n #robert pattinson x male reader #twilight #twilight fanfiction #twilight x you #twilight x reader #twilight x male reader

[denimbex1986]

'...Mr. Arnold is tempted into the ball by a Doctor Who Annual and is playing the theme in the music shop scene – are you a fan of Doctor Who in real life? And what was it like making those jokes and references in front of the Tenth Doctor David Tennant?

“I’ve always dipped in and out of Doctor Who over the years since Sylvestor McCoy, who was doing it when I first became aware of it when I was growing up. Even if you’re not a fan it’s one of those shows you can’t really get away from, so doing that particular scene in front of David was really fun, and of course Douglas had directed Doctor Who as well. Apart from the amusing situation of two supposed Doctor Who fans talking about Doctor Who without realising they’re in the company of a Doctor Who, I also seem to remember Michael being the one to suggest that he would deliver his “due to problems at the BBC” line directly to David.

Oh, and I think it was actually my idea to grab the annual off the harpsichord before joining the queue behind Crowley at the end of the ballroom scene (which we’d shot weeks earlier at this point). When we were blocking it out and rehearsing I knew I had to leave my position and get to the front for my “surrender the angle” line, and then later it just felt like I wouldn’t leave without the annual so I ran back through everyone to grab it. Nobody seemed to have a problem with me doing that so I just carried on doing it when we shot it! I do remember it being a fun set with Douglas and the team being very open to suggestions.”

How did you balance filming both Good Omens and BBC Ghosts at the same time?

“Luckily both shows were a joy to work on, and everyone seems to know about both of them. We were shooting them in early 2022 and I also had a little part in an ITV drama called ‘Stonehouse’, starring Matthew Macfadyen. I usually never know when I’m working next so to have three great TV jobs at once was very unusual. There was all this date juggling and I actually almost had to turn down Ghosts due to clashes. Luckily both shows had to move some dates so it worked out. But yes, I spent two weeks up in Scotland shooting all that Good Omens ballroom stuff, then I came back down to London to do Ghosts, knowing I’d be back up to shoot my scenes in the music shop in a couple of weeks. Now, when I found out who was playing my wife in Ghosts I couldn’t believe it: Caroline Sheen – Michael Sheen’s cousin! She was amazing and that was another great set in general. I say “set”, but it’s all filmed in that house which surprised me. I’d worked with Kiell [Smith-Bynoe] and Jim [Howick] before, and Charlotte [Ritchie] was in the Good Omens radio play a few years ago and a big fan of the book. Charlotte’s very musical of course and we got talking about my folding keyboard I had for practising my Good Omens stuff, and she ended up setting it up in the house for us to have a play on!

Now, when we’d shot all our internal scenes there was this big storm forecast, and our external scenes were scheduled for the day of the storm, so that had to be moved into the next week. It meant I ended up shooting those scenes outside the house, then going straight back up to Scotland to shoot the Good Omens music shop scene the next day! When I mentioned to Michael I’d just worked with Caroline he said “ooh she’s in Ghosts is she!” and revealed that she’d texted him about me which was rather surreal. Then later after the Ghosts wrap party Kiell gave me a part in his Channel 4 Blap, so at the time I felt like I was killing it career wise, but the industry quietened a bit after that and my workload eased off over the year so I was in my overdraft by November.”

What are your plans for the future – can we expect to see you in something else soon?

“This year, after a bit of a quiet start, I was very fortunate to work on a Disney+ show called Rivals which stars… David Tennant! I think I’m allowed to say my character is called Brian, and I shot five episodes so that was another really amazing job, and great to work with David again (I told him he must be my good luck charm, although I hope he’s not sick of me). That should be out at some point in late 2024. Other than that I’ve filmed a few other bits I presume will be out next year, one of which is called Truelove on Channel 4 which actually looks really good. That starts early January. Of course now Season 3 of Good Omens has been greenlit, I would love Neil and the gang to have me back on that… but I can only keep my fingers crossed!”

#Rich Keeble #Ghosts #Mr. Arnold #Good Omens #Doctor Who #Michael Sheen #David Tennant #Neil Gaiman #Stonehouse #Matthew McFayden #Rivals #Disney+ #Truelove #Jim Howick #Caroline Sheen #Charlotte Ritchie #Kiell Smith-Bynoe #Sylvester McCoy

[piningpebbles]

the dream smp journey: attempting to make the lore of the dream smp more accessible.

so back when i first wanted to get into the dream smp i had absolutely no idea where to start. i asked some people and they told me pretty much “look up dream smp + [insert youtuber name] and start there” and so i did, but i quickly came to realize how much i was missing from the story by not seeing all the different points of view.

so i decided to make my own playlist.

it was just for myself at first, but as i got more obsessed with the story, i also gave the link to some friends of mine so they could have the full experience, and they loved it. so i kept updating it.

my goal was to try and make a capsule of the entirety of the lore on the dream smp across almost every single POV, because while i do appreciate those who make recap videos, they always miss something and it’s usually with peoples’ POV who aren’t considered to be “main characters” which sucks because one of my favorite things about the dream smp was how everyone was their own main character with their own individual storyline you could get invested in.

i’ve seen every single video in the playlist, and did my absolute best to discern what should be included and what didn’t need to be. 

for instance, while i personally enjoyed streams where they’d just goof off, this is a lore-centric playist so i didn’t include all of them unless one of the jokes or such gets mentioned/becomes important later on. or if there is a lore event happening but two people have almost identical streams to one another then i decided between the two of them which one to keep. or if the cc themself made an edited version of their experience, i would decide whether to go with that or keep the original vod

it’s far from perfect. i tried to keep up with it as long as i could I STILL HAVE VIDEOS IN MY WATCH LATER THAT I PLANNED TO ADD but simply put while the dream smp storyline got longer and longer it became harder to keep up with. i watched pretty much all the streams when they happened but failed to update the playlist accordingly so right now it has almost everything up until ”Hitting on 16.”

i always wanted to finish it before i posted it, but i’ve been seeing people talk about how they miss the experience of watching the dream smp and while i obviously can’t provide the full interactive experience that the dream smp offered as it came out, i knew i couldn’t just keep this in my back pocket and thought i could at least offer a good chunk of the experience for you guys to still be able to keep!

here’s the playlist, spanning over 300 videos.

there’s also a semi-canon playlist (not nearly as thorough) for events that get mentioned by the cc’s a lot or are just cool to have and i wanted to include them somewhere so here it is also!!

to go along with it i also made a masterpost (can you tell i love making lists) which is what every single video on the playlist is supposed to be (and was last i checked, but videos get taken down every so often so there might be a couple missing here and there).

i hope to update this one day and have it fully finished, but with my schedule (full-time college student babyyyy) and simply the hundreds of hours of content i’d need to sift through it just seems impossible (and frankly just really intimidating) to challenge alone right now. so i also wanted to give this to the community to maybe be able to do what i couldn’t!

my hope with this is that if someone in a year or two (or whenever really) is interested in the dream smp they won’t have to sit through recap videos and instead can watch the real thing in a single playlist connected to the doc. my dream is for the masterpost and the playlist to go hand-in-hand, being like a guide people can follow that would also link to other moments and lore that is saved but just not avaliable on youtube, so we don’t have all these moments just lost to time.

i want to make this collaborative, i’m hoping this will maybe spark others to share what videos/moments they have saved and stored with each other for the dream smp and maybe together we could complete this thing somehow!! make the playlist and masterpost i dreamed of (the one right now is scuffed, but at least it’s something). the dream smp is one of my absolute favorite pieces of media out there and i want to share this with people but (as you can probably tell) i have no idea what i’m doing!! any step to help make the story more readily accessible is a good one, though!

i know i’ve missed things but i’ve done my best. and while not the perfectly polished thing i hoped it would be when i sent it out to the world maybe it could be a good building block for the community to use. so please share this!! reblog it!! all that jazz!! i want this to be for everyone!!

anyways, this is a long post. but the whole reason i got into the dream smp in the first place was because of the awesome fan content i saw and this crazy and creative community and i want to be able to give back, if i can.

#dream smp #the dream smp journey #dream smp lore #mcyt #tommyinnit #jack manifold #c!tommy #c!jack #(sorry jack and tommy gotta use you to cross-tag) #(is it even crosstagging if they're IN the playlist?.... lot to think about) #i really wanted to add more to this #my goal was to catch up on all the videos and then go back and transcribe each one (or link pre-existing transcriptions) #and then add content warnings if need be #i had this idea too where say you just finished up the nov.16th lore after that it would be cool to link you to sad-ist's animation!! #just things like that! i had a lot of things i was thinking about #anyways thanks for reading my c!jack analysis posts throughout all this time now you may have my massive lore bank i've been holding onto #cheers!!! #rambling rocks #like.. holy shit #will this even turn into anything? i don't know. i hope so #i want to come back to this and give it the TLC it deserves #but until i find the time + motivation for that i didn't want to keep it just to myself #i just hope this is a good step towards making the dream smp story more accessible to people #pebble post

[pensat-i-fet]

Birthday twins (Rúben Dias x Reader)

**Of course, I had to do a little birthday imagine for the birthday boy! 🎂 Credit to @faye01mcfc for the ginger shot idea! Hope you guys enjoy it!! ❤️**

Word count: 1852

Masterlist

Wattpad

What do you get for the guy that has it all? And that can buy anything he wants but doesn’t have yet…well, that was currently your most significant problem as you walked around the streets of Madrid. Manchester City were in the Spanish capital to try and get revenge after the way they lost in the previous edition of the Champions League, but for you, it was also a chance to do some touristy stuff and to get some shopping done.

You soon discovered that your second favourite thing called Serrano, after the ham, was the street that had that name and where you could visit some of the most luxurious stores. The architecture of the area was also stunning so you took plenty of photos and videos in between all the shopping.

“Should we go to Loewe next?”, asked Sasha, who was also in Madrid for the match and became your shopping buddy the second you mentioned your plan.

“Sure, I love their menswear. I might find something there”.

Yes, back to your problem. Sunday was going to be a very big day for you. Not only was it your birthday but it was also your boyfriend’s birthday. Meeting someone who was born on the same day as you and him becoming your boyfriend felt like some sort of destiny thing. Like you were meant to be together. But it didn’t make buying a present for him less of a pain.

Rúben had everything he wanted. And when he wanted something new, he bought it. He really was that type of guy. You wanted to write down all the things he mentioned liking for future gifts…only to find a parcel arriving home a couple of days later containing that same thing he mentioned. Really annoying.

“I like that jacket”, you said, pointing at a gorgeous bomber jacket. You loved it when Rúben wore those.

“Get it for him!!”, exclaimed Sasha, happy you finally found something you liked. “Should we go to Sephora next?”

“Duh! Always”.

So the next shop you visited was Sephora, where you bought way too many things for you…and some for Rúben. A little plan formed in your head as to how you were going to give him the presents.

                                         **

Finding the perfect gifts was hurdle number 1. Number 2 was finding out when to exchange them since City played an away match on Sunday. They were heading to Liverpool to play against Everton so it wasn’t the longest trip but…should you give him your presents before he left? After he came back? And what was he planning on doing with the presents he got for you?

Saturday was also the day you were going out to celebrate with your friends, leaving Sunday as the day for a big family dinner. So everything needed to be sorted out before you left to meet your friends.

“Last party as a 25-year-old then?”, asked Rúben, getting inside the room while you finished getting ready.

“I’m getting too old for this. I need to party as much as I can before my back starts to hurt and all that”, you joked.

“The hangovers will get worse too…”.

“And you’ll use that as an excuse to try to feed me weird mushroom concoctions. I can’t let that happen”.

He shook his head before burrowing his face in your neck and muttering against your skin. “We should spend our birthdays together”.

“Call in sick?”, you suggested but he only laughed.

“We are the same age. Literally”.

Only a couple of minutes later, your phone started to buzz with a couple of texts from one of your friends saying they were waiting for you downstairs.

“I gotta go. I’ll see you tomorrow, old man”.

“I was born at 8 pm, not during the night like you, so…”.

He shut you up with a kiss. “Have fun”.

“I will. Good luck tomorrow”.

What you didn’t know was that Rúben was actually looking forward to you leaving because he needed to get some things ready too before leaving to meet the team. Why did he have to play on your birthday?

                                   **

You made it home…late. But still set the alarm to 7.30 so you could say a happy birthday to Rúben the moment he woke up.

“Happy birthday!”, he said, beating you to it.

“Ugh, I hate you. But happy birthday my love! Or…feliz aniversário?", you tried to say, reading the note you had left on your bedside table. "Did I get it right? It’s what Google translated happy birthday to”.

“We’ll work on the pronunciation but yes, it’s correct. Thank you!”

“Look inside your pillowcase”.

That left him even more speechless than your terrible Portuguese accent. “Are you still drunk?”

“Ha ha. Do it”.

So he did, and there he found a birthday card from you.

“How did you…”, but before he could finish asking, he realized how.

“Let’s just say I asked a little fairy for help”.

“Come on, Bernardo is small but not that small”, he said, making you laugh. “Now I understand how I lost my room key and how he was the one to find it so quickly”.

Rúben opened the card starting to read it. He laughed at all your attempts to write to him in reading the card, he had to laugh at all your attempts to add little words in Portuguese. But he loved them, and all the other words in the card too.

"Go make some tea".

"I don't want to leave the bed now, Rúben…".

"Go make some tea", he insisted.

"Why?"

"Just do it".

Leaving the bed was tough but you made your way to the kitchen and found another birthday card, this one for you, behind the kettle.

"Great minds and all that, right?"

Since you were already there, you put the kettle on and moved away so the noise wouldn't disturb your call.

Reading Rúben's card put a huge smile on your face. He was so cheesy. And you loved it.

"Are you making tea then?"

"Yes, let me grab a mug and a teabag…".

"Get the mug I got you for Christmas".

You frowned but did as he told you, finding a note underneath it. The note had instructions on where to find your first gift.

"This is fun", you told him, giggling like a schoolgirl. "Also, open the big pocket of your suitcase".

He also didn't ask why, guessing what it was all about. And when he opened the pocket he saw a note telling him to go find Bernardo so he could get his first two presents.

When he went to find his friend, you started to look for your gifts. Finding them and more clues about the next one's location.

He overdid it, of course. But it was the last "gift" that you liked the most. It was just a note telling you he had called your boss so he would know you weren't going to work on Monday. Rúben had a day off after the match and that would be the perfect day for you to celebrate alone. No family, no friends…just the birthday boy and the birthday girl spoiling each other.

                                     **

Both your parents and Rúben's joined you at your place to watch the match and then wait for him to get back and go to the restaurant you had booked for the day. That was, if any of you was actually hungry enough to eat dinner after all the cake you had been eating. Your dad, being the baking enthusiast he was, made sure there was enough cake to feed half of Manchester. And some cupcakes too.

"He's back", you yelled, jumping from the sofa so you could run to the door and half tackle Rúben. Good thing he was strong or you would have ended up on the floor.

"Missed me?"

"What am I supposed to celebrate without my birthday twin by my side?", you told him, pouting.

"Well, I'm here now. Let me say hello to our guests and get ready to go to dinner. And then I'm all yours".

You also needed to get ready but wanted to surprise your boyfriend and were already wearing something nice enough for dinner. He thought that was your outfit for the night when he saw you. But when he left, you ran to the guest room to put on the dress you planned on wearing that night.

"Darling, you look so beautiful", said your mum.

"Thanks. I bought this in Madrid the other day".

"Another birthday present for me?", asked Rúben, getting out of the room wearing some nice black trousers and a matching shirt. And holding the jacket you bought for him for Christmas to complete the look. He looked like a whole meal. A much better meal than the one you would be offered at the posh restaurant you were going to.

"You could try wearing it too but I'm not sure it's the right size…".

"Seeing it you wear it is much better", he whispered before taking your hand and following your families to the door.

You were getting ready for a toast when you noticed Rúben picking up his glass of water.

"Making a toast with water is bad luck", you told him, passing him a glass of champagne and seeing his hand move. "Don't you dare pick up the glass with juice. Come on, just a little sip".

He obliged and you all toasted to another year of health, happiness, love and success.

                                      **

"Nooooo".

Hearing the alarm go off on Monday was never a good feeling. Especially when you remembered you were supposed to have the day off.

"Wakey wakey, old lady. I know age makes it harder to leave the bed in the mornings but we have a day full of activities ahead of us", said Rúben, jumping from the bed and leaving you there, still half asleep.

"I'm younger than you!"

"By 12 hours!"

You heard movement in the kitchen and sat up slightly, wondering what he was doing. But you soon found out, hearing his footsteps coming closer and a familiar melody.

"Is that happy birthday in Portuguese?", you asked and he nodded, holding a little cupcake in his hand. He put a candle on it too, which made you laugh.

"Make a wish".

You blew the candle and made your wish before kissing him and taking a bite of the cupcake.

"Wait! I have something for you too!"

Copying his actions, you went to the kitchen to find something for Rúben and came back to the room singing happy birthday to him.

"I hate you", he said when he saw you were holding one of his ginger shots with a candle on it too.

"Well, you weren't going to eat the cupcake so…".

But he blew the candle as well, making another wish before tickling you and making you laugh so hard you probably had woken up the whole city.

"Happy birthday, annoying but beautiful birthday twin".

"Happy birthday, my love. There's no one I would rather share my birthday and my life with than you".

#ruben dias #ruben dias imagine #ruben dias one shot #ruben dias fluff #footballer imagine #footballer one shot #footballer fluff

[levi-akerman248]

Honesty

Levi x male reader

I don’t even know what this is. Just a lot of smut I wrote. Got a tad rushed at the end cause it wrote it at like 2am and got tired after almost 4 hours of writing.

Enjoy tho 🤷‍♂️

“You missed a spot.”

(Y/n) let out a soft sigh and gave a light chuckle, “I’m aware Levi, I just needed more soap.”

As if to make his point clearer, (Y/n) reached behind Levi to grab the body wash sitting on the shelf behind him

They were currently taking a quick shower since (Y/n) had woken up feeling quite frisky.

Luckily, they woke up early and were able to have a quickie before having to attend the morning meeting set to start soon. As the Captain and Section Commander, they were expected to arrive on time.

Unfortunately, a slight set back is causing them to be a tad late.

“I swear to the walls, you are never cumming in me again.”

(Y/n) couldn’t help but chuckle as his lover glared up at him, the tips of his ears slightly red.

“You always say that but we both know how much you love when I fill you up.”

(Y/n) was fully enjoying teasing Levi, how could he not when his little lover made it so easy. Though there was a small part of him that thought maybe Levi didn’t enjoy it after all.

“I most certainly do not. It feels uncomfortable and it’s a bitch to clean out. Why on earth would I enjoy it?”

‘Hmmm…’ (y/n) thought, ‘perhaps I misjudged his feelings. It has happened before.’

“…Ok then, I won’t do it anymore.”

Levi paused briefly while (Y/n) finished rinsing himself off and prepared to step out of the shower.

‘Surely he’s joking. The asshole has never not came inside me in the 4 years we’ve been together’

As (Y/n) left the bathroom to get dressed, Levi finished cleaning up and got out as well. Mentally deciding that (Y/n) was in fact not serious and the next time they had sex (y/n) would undoubtedly cum inside Levi as he always has.

Well, about two weeks later there they were. It was early in the morning, the sun had not yet risen, and the two lovers were tangled together in bed.

Levi was panting, his arms wrapped around (y/n) and his face buried in his neck as his lover pounded him ferociously

(Y/n) grunted and moaned as he slammed his cock over and over, driving it deeper into his lovers tight ass.

Levi was warm and tight around his cock, it was taking everything in (Y/n) not to cum right there but he was determined to make Levi cum first. As he always did, insisting on putting his lovers pleasure before his.

Levi was in heaven, as he always is when he’s connected so intimately with (y/n). With every thrust, he sees stars. (Y/n) was hitting the perfect spot head on with his cock, having memorized its location.

Levi’s eyes squeezed shut, his fingernails marking (Y/n)’s back as pleasure ricocheted through his groin. It wasn’t long before he finally came undone. His cock spasmed, cum smearing all over him and his lover. Waves of ecstasy washed through him as he slowly came down from his high

(Y/n) couldn’t help but smirk, he always gets a sense of pride knowing he’s the one who put Captain Levi of all people into a state of pure pleasure from his cock.

He began his pounding once again, having stopped briefly to enjoy the sight of Levi cumming. It wasn’t long before his thrusts became sporadic

An anxious feeling came through Levi, this was his favorite part. (Y/n) would soon fill him full. He could never admit it to himself, and especially not to (Y/n), but he absolutely loved the feeling of being filled to the brim with cum.

He doesn’t understand why but something about being cummed in gives him life. It sends him into what he can only describe as a mental orgasm. He not only desires it but craves it.

With a few more thrusts, (Y/n) felt the build up of his own orgasm. His balls clenched and his eyes rolled and just before he cums, he pulls out. He fists his cock quickly, cum shooting out and onto Levi’s stomach, Mixing with his own.

The second (y/n) pulled out Levi’s eyes, which were closed anxiously in waiting, shot open. He glanced down in disbelief as (Y/n) was coming down from his high.

Levi couldn’t process what was going on, he couldn’t believe what just happened. (Y/n) always came inside, always. Levi didn’t understand what was different this time, thinking at first he had done something to upset (y/n).

But then he remembered, his brain showing him the quick shower scene that told him (Y/n) was only doing what he said he would.

Levi didn’t like that one bit and (Y/n) could tell he was upset. He knew immediately why, as he was almost always excellent at reading Levi’s body language.

‘Oh, so he does like it.’

Deciding to test him, (Y/n) reached over and gently stroke Levi’s cheek, something he usually does after finishing inside him.

“What’s wrong my love? You seem upset.”

Levi debated telling (Y/n) the truth. That he was not only upset but down right pissed off and disappointed. But by doing that he’d have to admit he lied about hating being filled. He’d have to admit that he not only liked it, but desired it greatly.

And that was something his pride absolutely could NOT do.

So instead he decided to go along and pretend everything was fine, telling himself that there was no way (Y/n) could keep this up for long. He was bound to break and cum inside at some point.

…right?

It’s been another three weeks and here they were again. This time Levi had seduced (Y/n), an extremely rare occurrence on its own, while he was in his office shortly after breakfast.

Luckily, (Y/n) had already finished his paperwork and was about to leave for morning training when Levi came in and coerced him into a quickie. Now Levi lay bent over (Y/n)’s desk, hands gripping the edge as he had his ass pummeled.

He tried desperately to be quiet, as (Y/n) was being exceptionally aggressive this time. The back of Levi’s neck was gripped in a tight hold, the force of (Y/n) keeping him down and in place as (Y/n) took what was his.

(Y/n) had to admit, not being able to fill his lover full was upsetting him as well. He wanted nothing more than to spill his seed deep inside of Levi. To paint his walls with his cum and claim him in the most brute way.

But (Y/n) was also stubborn and determined to teach Levi a lesson. Levi needed to learn to trust (Y/n) and not be ashamed to admit what he enjoys. It low key upset (Y/n) that after 4 years of being together officially l, Levi still couldn’t be completely truthful with (Y/n).

The aggravation at Levi not trusting him, as well as the unfulfilled desire to finish inside his lover, lead (Y/n) to be slightly more aggressive than usual.

(Y/n) let out a stiff grunt with every violent thrust. Loving how Levi was now having to bite down on his hand to keep the noises at bay. (Y/n) couldn’t help but reach out and grab a fist full of Levi’s fine hair and pull him up against his chest.

Levi couldn’t help but let out an exceptionally loud whimper as his hand fell from his mouth to reach back and grab at the wrist of his lover. He could have easily removed it but he loved the sting, and he couldn’t help but enjoy being man handled.

(Y/n) let out a deep chuckle in between his grunts as he continued to pound into Levi. His other hand on Levi’s waist, keeping him still and stood against him.

Levi shivered and clenched his teeth, drool leaking from his chin as (Y/n) spoke sternly into his ear.

“You like that don’t you? You love when I pull your hair? When I take what’s mine? When I force you to lay there and take my cock like a good little cock slut huh?”

(Y/n)’s words made Levi’s cock drip with precum. He did. He loved being used as (Y/n)’s personal cock sleeve. To feel, in the moment, like nothing but a hole for his lover to fuck. It was like a form of praise to Levi. He loved to please (Y/n). It was his one main purpose. And he was doing a great job at fulfilling it.

(Y/n) was getting frustrated, he wanted Levi to admit to him all his desires. He wanted to hear Levi babble in ecstasy about how much he loved his cum. To hear him beg (Y/n) to claim him oh so roughly. To listen to Levi’s sweet sobs of pleasure as he was filled over and over to where (Y/n) cum was overflowing from every hole.

And he wanted it now.

Levi was surprised when (Y/n) suddenly pulled out of him. He was about to ask what was happening when he was abruptly forced to his knees.

(Y/n) sat down in his office chair above him, breathing a little heavy, as he gazed at Levi beneath him with a look in his eyes that Levi couldn’t pin point.

“(Y/n), what are you-“

“Shut up.”

Levi’s eyes widened, his mouth slightly agape. He was utterly confused but also aroused at (Y/n)’s dominant attitude.

(Y/n) stared at Levi, silently trying to figure out the quickest way for Levi to break.

“Put your hands behind your back and keep them there. If you move them even once I’ll tie them to your ankles.”

Levi’s heart was thrumming, not only from just having had a cock pounding in and out of his ass, but from the sheer tone (Y/n) was using. The one that screamed ‘Defy me. I fucking dare you.’

Good thing Levi was always great at following orders. He put his hands behind him, gripping them as comfortably at he can.

(Y/n) wanted to smirk and say ‘good boy’ but he had to keep up his pissed off look if this was to work.

So instead, he leaned over and reached out, grabbing Levi by his hair once again and bringing him inches from his face.

“Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m getting a little tired of your pride being the reason you can’t be truthful with me. So until you can sit there and confidently tell me exactly what you want, you’re going to suck me off over and over and over again. Except you will not be swallowing a single fucking drop until you can get over the fucking false pretenses that admitting your desires to me is somehow demeaning. So if you want me to give you my cum, you’re going to have to beg me for it. Do you understand?”

Levi was frozen in shock, he didn’t know what to do. He wanted to tell (Y/n) how much he wanted his cum, he really did.

But, something was stopping him. A feeling in his gut that screamed at him not to. So he sat quiet, trying to find a solution that didn’t involve him losing his dignity.

But (Y/n) was not a patient man and quickly got to work of fulfilling his promise.

Using the grip he had on Levi’s head, he forced his cock into the warm, wet cavern of Levi’s mouth. (Y/n) through his head back and groaned as he forced Levi to bob up and down on his cock

Levi moaned around the cock in his mouth, his eyes already stinging and his cheeks stretching to accommodate (Y/n)’s size. His own cock dripping fluid onto the floor, saliva pooling around his lips, god he was such a cock slut. He wanted badly to reach out with his hands and fondle (Y/n)’s balls, knowing that it almost always brought him to an early end.

But he wasn’t allowed and Levi knew better than to test (Y/n) while he was like this. So he sat there, for the next two hours. Jaw gone slack, face a mess with dried spit, lips swollen, and body covered in (Y/n)’s cum.

It was times like this that Levi cursed (Y/n)’s stamina. The man could literally go all day and night and not be too tired for another round. Levi’s knees were sore, his hands had been tied back since Levi lost the strength to hold them back manually. And the new addition of a cock ring sat at the base of Levi’s cock. Keeping him from cumming.

After his ninth orgasm, (Y/n) pulled Levi off his cock, just like he had been doing after every orgasm, and checked to see if levi would finally admit to him.

“How about now? You ready to admit you want my cum?”

Levi swallowed, his throat was getting sore, and spoke with a coarse voice

“P-Please….”

(Y/n) gripped his chin gently and gazed into Levi’s watery eyes

“Please what?”

Levi licked his swollen lips, and went to speak

But his stomach knotted up once again. And all he could say was “Please….w-why do I hav-“

Before he could finished (Y/n) shoved his cock back into his mouth with an annoyed tch.

“That isn’t what I asked.”

(Y/n) furiously slammed his cock down Levi’s throat, more pissed off with every push.

“Why can’t you just say it? ‘Please (Y/n) fill me with your cum’ that’s all you have to say and I will gladly do so. I’ll fill your ass full of my seed and plug you up. You’ll go the rest of the day filled with my cum just like I know you want. I’ll pour it down your throat, fill your stomach nice and full of my milk. And I’ll do it every day if you so wish but no. You’d rather be here. Kneeling in a pool of my wasted cum.”

(Y/n) felt yet another orgasm reach him and pulled out. But decided not to cum this time. He was reaching his breaking point.

Levi caught his breath and whimpered when (Y/n) glared at him one final time. “Say it.”

Levi squeezed his eyes shut, a few tears rolling down the already carved paths down his cheeks. He begged that feeling to go away, he tried desperately to speak his desires to his love.

(Y/n) sighed, clearly this didn’t work. All it did was prove to him that Levi didn’t trust him. So he begrudgingly reached down and untied Levi’s hands and took of his cock ring.

Levi was confused at first but that was quickly replaced by panic when (Y/n) got up and walked to where his clothes were on the floor

Levi didn’t know what happened, but when he saw his lover start to walk away, the sinking feeling in his stomach, the one that forbid him from telling (Y/n) the truth, vanished. And in its place was the feeling of sheer panic. He didn’t want something as silly as this to ruin the best part of his life.

So he quickly stood, with great effort as his knees were fucking killing him and his legs tingly, and flung himself into (Y/n)’s arms. He kissed his lover hard, relieved when (Y/n) kissed him back with just as much passion

They pulled away and stared deep into each other’s gaze

“I want you (Y/n).”

Levi’s expression was that of what he always wore. Except (Y/n) could see the love and passion that shone through his grey eyes like stars shining through the clouds late at night.

“I want all of you. I want your love. I want your dumb ass remarks. I want your equally smart ass comments.”

(Y/n) chuckled and nuzzled his nose against Levi’s

“…..I want your laugh. I want your smile. I want the butterfly’s that stir in my stomach every time you touch or even look at me. I want everything that has to do with you.”

(Y/n) was holding back his tears as he felt the overwhelming love radiate from Levi.

“And I especially want your cum.”

(Y/n) couldn’t help but bust out laughing, which only caused Levi to hide his face in (Y/n)’s shoulder

“Shut the fuck up, you’re the one who want me to say that.”

(Y/n)’s laugh went away slowly before he nuzzled his lovers cheek

“I know baby, it was just really cute.”

Levi huffed but before he could complain much more (Y/n) quickly moved them to their room.

“What in the actual shit are you doing!? We’re fucking naked you idiot, someone’s gonna see!”

(Y/n) chuckled and closed the door behind them quickly. Luckily it was lunch time and no one was in the halls.

“That was stupidly reckless asshole.”

Levi grumbled as he was laid on there bed, (Y/n) crawling above him and spreading his legs

“Sorry my love, but I didn’t wanna fuck you at my desk and risk slipping on the mess you left on the ground.”

Levi scoffed in disbelief, “I didn’t leave Jack shit on the ground, you’re the one who came like ten times and didn’t clean it”

(Y/n) shrugged before roughly entering Levi, affectively shutting the latter up. (Y/n) smirked and leaned down next to Levi’s ear

“Get ready cause you’re about to be bedridden for the next week.”

#levi x male reader smut #levi ackerman smut #sub levi #levi aot #levi x male reader #captain levi #levi attack on titan #levi smut

[pedrito-friskito]

'til kingdom come - tasm!peter parker x fem!reader

the evolution of your relationship with peter parker.

a/n: my entry for the April TFC Writing Challenge! it was for a fic based on a song, (til kingdom come by coldplay - off the soundtrack!) I happened to watch The Amazing Spider-Man and No Way Home in the same weekend, and well, here we are. enjoy! 🤍 (just for the record - this would be no way home era tasm!peter parker, so at least a 5-6 years older than at the end of tasm 2!)

word count: 4.4k

warnings: mentions of car accidents, hospital stays, broken bones, fluff, not completely explicit but still explicit smut, this was INCREDIBLY self-indulgent and I regret nothing

✨@friskito-library for updates on new works!✨

You’re used to him disappearing, at this point.

To waking in the middle of the night to an empty half of the bed, the pillow still warm, the only sign that he was here at all your scattered clothes on the ground, the ghost of a kiss on your mouth, and the satisfied hum in your bloodstream. It’s routine, to a degree, and has you burying your face in his pillow, chasing whatever remnants you can until he comes back.

And he always comes back.

+

It started as some kind of strange, electric current that ran beneath your skin when this doe-eyed scrap of a man paused in the doorway of your hospital room. He heard you crying, walked in, concern in that chocolate-coloured gaze and asked you if you were alright. Given the circumstance, your leg casted six ways to Sunday and a painful crick in your neck, you blubbered out a no, but then he introduced himself - “Peter Parker, I’m…I’m Peter.” - as he handed you a tissue, and then all of a sudden he was sinking into the chair at your bedside, distracting you from the pain.

“You don’t even know me,” you protested, shaking your head.

He’d just lifted a shoulder, dragging the chair a little closer. He handed you another tissue, asked if you wanted some water. “If you told me your name, then I would.” His grin was infectious. “Besides, when I heard you crying, I couldn’t just keep walking.”

You talked for hours. Until the nurse came in and declared visiting hours over, your evening round of pain meds in your hand. Peter hovered as she pushed the syringe into your IV, and your vision swirled at the edges. Ah, morphine. “Say your goodbyes,” the nurse prompted, giving him a pointed glare. “Boyfriend can come back in the morning.”

“He’s not my…” you trailed off, the meds kicking in fast, making your words slur. Your hand flopped off the edge of the bed, and Peter could resist the urge to squeeze his fingers around yours.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he grinned, and you were out cold by the time he reached the door to your room.

You saw him the next day. And the next day. The day after that, and the day after that. He became a permanent fixture in the chair at your bedside, distracting you with anecdotes and cheesy jokes while your leg healed. He never showed up at the same time each day, but learned the visiting hours window quickly, and was good with his timing, always showing up within it. Your nurse still had to kick him out when he showed up later in the day, your visits often trailing well past the end of visiting hours, but she let him stay longer more than once.

He was there the day they discharged you, and helped you into the taxi to take you back to your apartment. He was patient, helping you up the steps and into the elevator, carrying your bags. At that point, you knew each other supremely well, and there was something so comforting about being around Peter, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

“You hungry?” he asked, setting you up on your couch, propping your leg up the way the nurse had instructed. “I’m no chef, but I make a mean boxed mac and cheese.”

“Everything in my fridge has probably gone bad,” you pouted, wincing as you adjusted slightly. “It’s been weeks since I’ve been home.”

“Shit. Right.”

“Pizza?”

He grinned, nodding in agreement. “Pizza.”

And so you spent the day together on your couch, watching old movies and eating pizza. Peter made sure you had water close by, doled out the meds the hospital had given you, fluffed your pillows. 

You forgot about the pain, and it wasn’t the drugs.

And before long, you were half asleep, as you were most nights when he visited you in the hospital. Except now, your head lolled on his shoulder, his t-shirt covered chest rising and falling beneath your hand. “I should go,” he mumbled into your hair. “Let you get some rest.”

“I can sleep here,” you mumbled back. “You can take my bed, if you want. You don’t have to go.” You hummed, your voice drenched with sleep, and then you were out like a light.

You woke some time later in your bed, your leg propped up on pillows, blankets pulled to your chin. There was a note on your nightstand, scrawled in a hasty hand.

Couldn’t leave you on the couch. Quite the first date, if you ask me. Hope you slept well - Peter x

Your eyes lingered on the words first date, and you tried to ignore the thump in your chest, but no matter what you did, it wouldn’t go away.

+

About a month later, after your cast was removed, the first few rounds of physical therapy done, and you were feeling good.

Good enough to call Peter out.

You’d finally gone back to work, and perched at your desk, staring out the window on your lunch break, you dialed his number. You’d seen each other a few times since you’d been discharged, the odd cup of coffee when you were both free. But the note he’d left at your bedside still lingered in the back of your mind. You needed to know.

“Hello?” he answered with a grunt, and it sounded windy as hell wherever he was. “You good?”

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, spine prickling at the concern in his voice. “Everything’s fine, I’m just…”

“You’re what?” he questioned, almost heaving a breath on the other line.

“Is this a bad time?”

“No, no, it’s fine.” He grunted, and there was a sound like he almost dropped the phone. “You’re what?”

“You called it a first date,” you spewed out, the words tumbling out of your mouth. “The day I came home from the hospital, when you stayed with me.”

“Uh, yeah, I guess I did.” You could almost see the blush in his cheeks. “Is that okay with you?”

“It is,” you said slowly, ignoring the whip of wind on his end of the line. “But you realize that calling it a first date implies that there’s gonna be a second date.”

“Does it?”

“It does.”

“Then how about I pick you up at seven?”

+

“I wasn’t gonna do this,” you breathed out against his mouth. His hands - god, his hands - were on your hips, pulling you against him while his lips ghosted over yours. He’d spent the elevator ride mapping out the curve of your jaw, making your pulse jump beneath your skin as he roamed your neck. “I was gonna make you wait, I was gonna-”

“Shut up,” he mumbled back, and his hands jumped from your hips to your mouth, pulling you more firmly against him, his lips claiming yours. “Fuck, you’re pretty.”

He’d knocked on your door at almost half past seven, and as you yanked the door open, some chastising comment about him being late, he’d pushed a semi-crushed bouquet of flowers into your hands, leaning forward and pecking your cheek as he murmured, “You look nice.” And the comment died on your tongue.

Dinner was great. The conversation passed between you as easily as ever. You talked about work; your journalism gig was busy as ever, and when you told him you had Spider-Man to thank for your latest front page article. “Your pictures worked perfectly,” you said over the rim of your wine glass, not missing the way his ears turned red. “It was the perfect cover shot.”

“I’m glad.”

A few hours of conversation, a brief tussle over who would pay the bill - Peter won, claiming that it was your article that put his photo on the cover, so he owed you one - and you were walking back to your apartment. You had to stop a few times, rubbing at a rogue pain in your leg, and after the second time, Peter tugged on your hand until you were behind him, then gestured for you to hop up.

“Are you insane? Peter, I’m not light, you can’t-”

“I carried you to bed on our first date,” he quipped, dropping his hands and turning around. He watched the puzzle pieces fit together in your expression, the details sussing themselves out. It formed a little dip between your brows, and he couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and smoothing his thumb over it.

“You did, didn’t y-”

And then he kissed you. Right there on the street, lamplight pouring over the both of you, the slight pain in your leg forgotten.

You were speechless when he pulled back, and a moment later, you were on his back, the pair of you striding towards your apartment.

He’d kissed you again in the lobby as he set you back on your feet. Again as you waited for the elevator. When it was blessedly empty, he crowded you into the corner and pushed his face into your neck, teeth scraping your pulse. When your breath hitched, he did it again. Again and again and again.

Then, inside your apartment, he pushed you against the wall, quieting your words, drinking them down with his hands on your face. Your blood thumped in your ears, heat flaring between your legs as he pushed his tongue between your teeth.

Fuck waiting.

He was careful. Gentle, even, as he snaked his hands back down your body, glancing around the curve of your ass before he was gripping behind your knees, lifting you up and against him. You squeaked at his strength, wrapping your arms around his neck as he carried you down the hall to your bedroom. You undressed each other slowly, lips never far apart as clothes scattered across the floor.

Something like panic flared in your eyes when you saw the bruises along his ribs, the scratch at his collar, but he kissed you again, silencing your worries when he snuck his hand down your front, fingertips licking at your nerves, pulling sensations to the surface of your body you hadn’t felt in a while.

The carefulness continued, both of you bathed in the darkness, the only source of light the slit in your curtains. Peter moved differently in the dark, somehow anticipating every move you made, as you explored each other. He pulled noises from you you didn’t think yourself capable of, making you cum hard once on his tongue before he was crawling over you on the bed, the ends of his hair tickling your skin as he made his way up to your lips once more.

There was that moment of realness, that pause of trepidation that filled the space between you when you fished a condom out of your nightstand. He hissed when you moved your hand over him, following his movements, tracing his outlines.

When he pushed into you, your good leg wrapped around his hip, his hands braced around your head, his face buried in your collar, you lost what little breath you had left. He managed to find every last nerve you needed touched, and it wasn’t long before you were losing it again, your head thrown back on the pillow, fingers buried in his wayward hard.

You fell asleep shortly after, curled on your side, Peter glued to your back.

But when you woke up, he was gone.

+

Peter avoided you as long as he could.

He felt bad about it, obviously, the guilt tugging at his insides anytime he saw something that reminded him of you, caught a scent in the air that smelled suspiciously like your shampoo.

He hadn’t wanted to leave. Truthfully, he could have stayed there in your bed all night, even if sleep evaded him. He would have watched you for hours, committed every inch of you to memory as you slept, maybe woke you up once or twice with his mouth or his hands or a combination, just to hear those sweet noises of yours again.

But then his senses had prickled, the scream of alarms outside reaching his ears. You stayed soundly asleep, your brow furrowing again. Despite everything in him yelling that he needed to go, Peter reached out, swiped his thumb across the dip in your skin yet again. It hadn’t disappeared when he’d kissed you hours ago, his movements taking you slightly by surprise, but then, your lashes fluttering with dreams, it smoothed out beneath his touch, and he smiled.

He didn’t want to leave.

He was falling for y-

The thought cut short. He shook his head, snuck out the fire escape and climbed to the roof of the building, pulling his gear out of his bag and disappearing across the city, his senses chasing the alarms.

The thought, and the feeling that accompanied it, wouldn’t leave him alone. Even when he went back home, Aunt May chiding him to eat him something when he appeared in the kitchen the next morning, his mind wandered back to you. You would have woken up alone, the only evidence he was there in the first place being the condom in your garbage can. 

And the sucked bruise he’d left on the inside of your thigh.

He was a mix of longing and guilt, heat and despair. His body begged him to go back to you, to apologize as many times as it took for you to let him kiss you again. But his mind said no, told him it was too soon, that his past was too fresh.

But could you really put a timeline on grief?

He’d never forget Gwen, never forget the way he’d held her that night, the way life had so cruelly ripped her away from him. She was a part of him, forever. No amount of time would change that.

Aunt May’s voice echoed in his mind. What she’d said when he found her packing Uncle Ben’s things into boxes.

You’re throwing his stuff away?

No, god, no. I couldn’t do that. It’s part of me. I’m just finding a better place for it. I’m gonna take one last look, and I’m gonna put it where it belongs.

For years now, he wasn’t sure what to do with everything he felt for Gwen. It still loomed around his heart, clutching at him like a vise, sneaking up on him at the most inopportune of moments. The love he’d had for her, it had nowhere else to go, so it sat in him, brewing like oversteeped tea, making him feel sour for what he’d lost.

Finding a better place for it.

Put it where it belongs.

He intended to call you that day. He was running late for an appointment, rushing through the city streets, when he collided with someone, a cup of coffee falling to the sidewalk at his feet. He narrowly avoided the hot liquid, cursing under his breath, and then he caught the scent of your shampoo, forcing himself to ignore the way it twisted his gut.

But then he took a deeper breath, and realized it wasn’t just the smell of your hair. 

It was you.

“Oh my god,” he whispered, shame and guilt washing his cheeks rosy. “I’m so sorry, I’m-”

“It’s okay, Peter,” you said, rising to your feet, now-empty coffee cup in hand. “Don’t worry about it.”

He pulled you to the side, avoiding the coffee spill, dragging you into a doorway a few steps up from the sidewalk. You went willingly, but he could see the hesitation in your eyes, and he couldn’t blame you. Your eyes darted anywhere but his face, leaning back against the doorway, chewing at your lip.

“I screwed up,” he said bluntly, and that had your eyes zipping to his. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to sneak out on you, or avoid you, or any of it. I just…I’m sorry.”

Your brow lifted slowly. “You keep saying that.”

“Would you give me another chance?” he asked, the words still pouring out of him. “Please?”

Your chest lifted as you inhaled deeply. “I don’t hear from you for weeks, you come out of nowhere and spill my coffee, and you ask me for a third date?” Your tone was almost flat, but there was a quirk at the corner of your mouth you couldn’t hide. 

Daringly, Peter took a step forward, crowding into your space. His hand hovered for a moment before he lifted it, curling his fingers and letting his knuckles trail down your cheek. Your eyes fluttered and he took another step.

“Yes,” he breathed, leaning down until his forehead was pressed to yours. His knuckles caressed your cheek again. “Please.”

Your next inhale was sharp and you tilted your head back, the tip of your nose moving along the curve of his. “I swear to god, Peter Parker, if you disappear on me again, I won’t-”

He was too busy kissing you to hear the end of the sentence.

+

Three days later, you had him in your bed again. It was an interesting evening, to say the least.

You made him wait this time. Sort of. It was your fourth date now, technically - you’d held out after the dinner he’d taken you to after your collison on th street - but the way he’d kissed you goodnight after this one had you saying fuck it to waiting yet again. There was something different about him, something less haunted in those dark eyes, something less hurried behind his movements.

Your kisses lingered in the elevator, the doorway, the hallway. You drank glasses of water in the kitchen, and Peter was distracted, his eyes catching on the drafts of your latest articles, spread out on the countertop. “No more Spider-Man?”

You lifted a shoulder. “No one’s seen him around in a while,” you answered, stepping close to him. “Plus, my favourite photographer disappeared on me.”

He cracked a smile. “Well, he won’t do that again, I’ve got it on good authority.”

Your smile echoed his. “Good.”

But then just as quickly as it had appeared, the smile faded. “Listen,” he started, his brow going hard, rubbing his hand up the back of his neck. “I promised myself I’d be honest with you, and there’s…there’s something I gotta tell you.”

“Okay,” you said slowly, tilting your head to the side as you set your glass down. “So tell me.”

He braced both hands on the sink, pressing his lips together for a long moment before his head turned in your direction. “It was me that saved you that night. The car accident, when you broke your leg.”

Your brows pulled down, instantly confused. “No, it wasn’t. Peter, we didn’t even know each other back then, it was-”

The cops had told you who it was, your nurse repeating the story with the tiniest bit of disdain. It was what had inspired your front page piece, when you finally went back to work. A thank you, of sorts. It was-

“Spider-Man,” Peter says, his jaw hard enough to cut glass. Your head is spinning. “That’s me. I’m Spider-Man.”

You started laughing. Giggling like mad, nearly bent in half. “What are you-”

Without a word, Peter stepped away from you, one hand held palm up, and jumped. The ceilings in your apartment were low, but it was still a good three feet above your head. His bare hand connected with the ceiling…

…and stuck.

He swung slightly, staring down at you, his lips still pressed together.

“You…saved me?” you murmured out, your voice dropping as he did, his feet back on your kitchen tile. You weren’t sure whether to laugh or cry. Your memories of the accident were hazy; you’d spun out, your car diving off the edge of the bridge and into the river below. You remember being filled with fear as soon as the car hit the water, but the impact knocked you out. You woke up in the hospital later on, and the cops filled you in, told you that Spider-Man had carried you into the emergency department.

Peter just nodded. His shoulder lifted. “It’s kind of what I do.”

“But then you…?” you trailed off, your brow scrunching again.

He closed the distance between you, his thumb smoothing between your brows, something of a habit of his that you were already growing used to. “Then I came to see you in the hospital. I had to. I had to make sure you were okay.”

“You…You’re Spider-Man.”

He smiled as his hand moved around the outline of your face, his thumb now riding the curve of your lower lip. “I’m Spider-Man.”

“I’m having sex with Spider-Man?”

“I thought we were dating, too.”

You pushed at his chest, curling your fingers in the collar of his t-shirt and tugging him close. “I’m having sex with Spider-Man.”

The corner of his mouth lifted, and you kissed the grin off his mouth. He moved faster than your eyes could track, grabbing you up into his arms, carrying you down the hall to your bedroom.

+

You lay sprawled in your bed hours later, the sun long gone. Peter is stretched out, his arm tucked behind his head, while you are laid on his chest, your chin resting on your hand. You’d only stayed quiet when he’d had his mouth on yours, your questions deterred while he was busy having his fill of you, making those sweet noises echo off the walls of your bedroom. He wasn’t sated, not by a long shot, but he could see the questions on your face as you both came down, chests heaving.

“Go ahead,” he prompts you, tugging you close. “Ask me.”

He tells you everything. He fields every question, tells you as much truth as he could bear. He doesn’t hold anything back, his words spilling out faster with every question on your lips. Soon enough, you’re kissing the words out of each other’s mouths, tangling in the sheets once again.

And then you have a secret of your own to share.

“I’m in love with you.”

His heart stalls in his chest. Every feeling he’d battled over the last few months brought back to the surface. “I…” His eyes search yours, so full of emotion - so full of truth - he feels guilt crawl up his throat. 

He’s told you about Gwen. You know what happened, you know the story. And you hadn’t pressed him for details, when he first brought it up. You were in the hospital still, laid out in that bed, him perched in the chair beside you. Your fingers had curled through his when he first brought it up, your eyes shining back at him. “It’s okay, Peter. I…I lost someone too. A long time ago. I get it.”

He wants to. He wants to tell you the same. He wants to admit it - to you, and to himself, finally.

But…

“I can’t,” he says, the words feeling like lead weights on his tongue. “I just-”

“It’s okay, Peter,” you reply, an echo of what you’d said when he’d first told you. “I get it, I just-”

He grabs your forearm, pulling you further up his chest, until he can bury his hand in your hair, his kiss cutting off your sentence. “Can you trust that I want to? That I want to say it, I just…need time? I’m not gonna ask you to wait for me, but if you-”

It’s your turn to cut him off, your mouth lingering on his. “I can wait, Peter. I will wait.”

+

And so it’s continued. More dates, more nights spent in your apartment. Walks through Central Park, dinners at Aunt May’s. May is in love with you from your very first meeting, which Peter predicted, and it’s all too easy to fall into the patterns, to become an even steadier part of each other’s lives.

Every time he has to go, his senses pulling him to another corner of the city, he sees the concern in your eyes. “Be careful,” you beg him, kissing him soundly. “Come back to me.”

“Always will,” he grins, returning the kiss, ducking out the window.

And he always does.

But now, he’s been gone for hours. You’ve been checking the news like a crazy person, scrolling on your phone, refreshing your best sources every few minutes. But nothing. You even go so far as to call the hospitals, making sure he hasn’t turned up in an emergency department somewhere. You can’t tell May; you can’t worry her like this.

Hours turn into days. You deter May’s worried calls with a white lie that Peter has food poisoning and has been sleeping it off at your place. Almost two days, and your worry is at an all time high. This is different. Something feels different, something you can’t quite put your finger on.

All you can do is wait. You told him you would.

+

The weird tingling from Dr. Strange’s spell fades, the brightness clouding his vision fading away, and Peter finds himself standing in your living room. A glance at the kitchen clock tells him it’s very early, and as the exhaustion of the last forty-eight hours starts to set in, already making his limbs heavy, he heads for your bedroom, stripping out of the suit as he goes.

By the time he steps through the doorway, he tosses the suit in the direction of your laundry bin. His mind is still spinning, churning with everything he’s witnessed in the last few days. He doesn’t really know how to make sense of it all, but there’s one thing he has to do.

“Hey,” he murmurs, reaching out and covering your shoulder with his hand, shaking gently as he pulls the blankets back with his other hand.

You grumble for a moment, your eyes cracking open, but when you see it’s him, you surge upwards, throwing your arms around his neck. “Peter!”

“Hi, baby,” he mumbles into your neck, dropping the blanket and wrapping his arm around your waist, the other finding a home in your hair. “Sorry I disappeared on you.”

“What happened?” you cry, pulling back, taking his face in your hands, your eyes instantly inspecting him. “You were gone for two whole days, I didn’t know what to-”

He kisses you hard, wrapping your hair around his knuckles. You return the affection, holding him as tightly as he’s holding you. “I wanna tell you what happened, but I don’t totally know myself? All I know is that I’m exhausted, and there’s something that I do have to tell you.”

You pull him down into bed, instantly fitting yourself against his side, pulling the blankets over you both. Puzzle pieces falling into place. Your brown furrows, and he moves his thumb over the dip. “What is it, Peter? Tell me.”

He drags his knuckles down your cheek. “I’m in love with you, too.”

THE END.

#my fics #'til kingdom come #tfc writing challenge #tfc april challenge #peter parker #tasm peter parker #tasm peter parker fic #tasm fic #andrew garfield peter parker #idk how else to tag this #tasm peter parker fluff #peter parker fluff #tasm peter parker smut #peter parker smut #Spotify

[politemagic]

Sleep Token Living in a Haunted House

These headcanons are based on this meme I made the other night. I had a lot of thoughts on the eepies living in a haunted house, a lot of them are inspired by the show Ghosts if you've seen it. I had a lot of fun writing these so I hope you like em♡

1.45k words (she got lengthy so i added a keep reading)

➺ Thanks to a few years of communing with an ancient deity, Vessel has become quite attuned to the spirit realm. Everywhere he goes, he can sense the presence of the souls unable to move on from the mortal plane.

➺ When they first step foot in their new home, Vessel immediately feels like he’s being suffocated by the amount of activity in the house. He tries to identify the spirit, but there’s too many to even keep count, the grand foyer a whirlwind of translucent figures in various period attire.

➺ When they sit down for dinner at the end of the day, Vessel decides to tell the others about their spectral roommates. After observing them for the better part of the day, he hasn’t picked up on any signs that they’d be malicious, they honestly just seemed to carry on with their lives despite being dead.

➺ II just shrugs. From what Vessel's told him in the past, there are ghosts just about everywhere you go, and they haven't bothered him yet. He imagines it won't be much different living in a haunted house, if the spirits are as tame as Vessel seems to believe they are. 

➺ Really, II just feels bad for Vessel. He knows that he'll be able to live in peace, unable to see, hear, or even sense the ghosts, but he knows Vessel isn't afforded that same luxury. He just hopes he will be able to find some form of solace from the constant commotion Vessel was describing.

➺ III is way too excited. As a kid, he always dreamed of living in a haunted house filled with a bunch of ghost friends. He’s always secretly been a little jealous of Vessel’s gift, but if he lived in a haunted house… Maybe he could find a way to communicate with them himself.

➺ Two days later, Vessel knocks on his door only to find III seated in the middle of a ring of candles, mumbling some words he knew were just gibberish. His interruption earns him a pointed glare as III explained to Vessel that he wanted to make sure that the ghosts knew it was okay to talk to him, so he wanted to reach out first.

➺ In the long run, it might have been better for the ghosts if they had left III alone.

➺ One night, he was trying yet another method of communication with the ghosts after exhausting most of the suggestions he found online. The Ouija Board started out as a joke, a housewarming present from Espera given after they had been filled in on the house’s haunted status. But III decided it was worth a shot.

➺ He had been at it for about a week at that point, and he was starting to think that Vessel was full of shit when he said the house was haunted. That was, until he sat with his fingers resting on the planchette and asked if he should give up.

➺ The planchette drifts slowly over to the “No” and III was over the moon. Using the Ouija Board suddenly became his favorite activity.

➺ He asks them any questions he thinks of. He’ll ask for opinions on things like his outfit or if a classic novel was worth the read. “They were there when it came out, I figured they’d know!”

➺ The ghosts plead with Vessel to get him to stop (in my own personal hc the ouija board emits a sound or something that beckons the spirits and they actually find it really annoying).

➺ When Vessel tried gently suggesting III use Google instead, he insisted that he preferred “Ghoul-gle”. (i'm so sorry). Vessel knew better than to try and dissuade him any further.

➺ IV is equally as excited as III, but it’s more from a root of curiosity than a root of fantastical dreams. He’s always been fascinated by ghosts, sometimes even wondering if he might be a little “sensitive” himself, though he never experienced anything like what Vessel described.

➺ He spends a lot of his time as they’re settling into the house researching the different people who have died in the house. He’ll print out news articles and stuff to show Vessel, asking if that person still haunted the house.

➺ He has a note on his phone where he keeps track of the different ghosts and what he knows about them. He tries to keep track of where the different ghosts tend to hang out, so he can be aware of who might be around any time he’s wandering the house. (in the US version of Ghosts Jay has a note on his phone that’s all the different specifics of how ghosts work. I think he would have that too for sure)

➺ IV would never openly admit it, but sometimes, when he’s alone, he’ll talk aloud to the empty rooms. He doesn’t try as hard as III because he’s overhead Vessel tell him to ease up a few times. But he secretly wants to talk to the ghosts so badly, and thinks it just isn't fair that Ves is the only one with the ability (he doesn’t think it’s fair to him or to Vessel).

➺ The ghosts were constantly talking Vessel's ear off, excited to finally have someone who can hear them! They'll ask him to do different things for them, like open a window, turn on some music, or leave the television on while they're out of the house.

➺ Vessel is still navigating the best ways to set boundaries with the ghosts so he can, you know, live his life. He already lives in the service of Sleep, he really doesn’t need to be serving the will of these ghosts on top of that. 

➺ Sometimes he’s very receptive to their requests, and other times he can be quite crass in his denial. Slowly, they begin to work out some systems as to what they can ask for and when they can ask him about it, and for the most part they’re very respectful of his space and offer their own help when they can.

➺ Outside of Vessel, the ghosts have also taken a shine to II (probably because he’s the most chill™), taking it upon themselves to help him in any ways they saw fit. It could be anything as menial as closing the door when someone forgets to shut it all the way so that he doesn't have to get up from his seat, or once he swore he felt a sudden, cold presence engulf him when he complained about the heat while practicing his drumming.

➺ As you can imagine, III was very jealous when he walked into the kitchen one evening to see a coffee mug carefully floating down from the top shelf as II fixed himself a cup of tea. 

➺ He was pouty the rest of the day, not understanding why they would prefer II. When II tried to suggest that maybe it was because he left them be, III insisted that II just didn’t understand them the way he did. “Maybe if you bothered to talk to them, you’d learn they were real chatterboxes!” 

➺ IV expresses his silent jealousy of II's status as the ghosts' favorite non-medium in the house differently than III. Instead of moping, he pays attention to the little things Vessel did for them, and he makes a point to do them himself as well.

➺ He winds up becoming quite a talented baker after learning that the ghosts loved the smell of cookies. The aroma of his chocolate chip cookies quickly won over a few of the ghosts. (I’m just gonna say it. I think there’s a female ghost from like the 1800s in that house with a little bit of a crush on him. He’s attractive, thoughtful, and knows his way around a kitchen. That’s what dreams are made of right there)

➺ Though IV really won them over when he snuck into III’s room and threw the Ouija Board away.

➺ III decided that he didn’t like ghosts anymore when IV showed him the picture of the “Thank you ♡” left in the steam on the mirror after his shower.

Bonus bc I like the idea:

➺ One night at dinner, IV makes a playful jab at III but instead of hearing the expected laughter of his friends and bandmates, he swears he hears the laughter of a woman.

➺ Later, IV asks Vessel about it in private. He laughs and confirms that yes, he did indeed hear ghost laughter. Evidently the former lady of the house found his comment to be very amusing.

#these were just some silly ideas rattling around in my brain but i hope you enjoy them!!! #if you have thoughts please please please share them i want to read them <3 #also consider this my formal invitation to anyone to come scream with me about sleep token #this is my first time posting anything like this for sleep token im surprised it took so long? #sleep token #sleep token headcanons #worshitposting #sleep token vessel #sleep token ii #sleep token iii #sleep token iv #em's stcu #(gang pls don't let this flop)

[sirendeepity]

[ SJM Romance Week, day 7: Free Day ]

A/N: I might be completely and unashamedly biased, but I love those kids to pieces. In my mind, there are one too many options on how the triplets have come into the world, but this is the one I hold dearest, so I tried to put it into words. Hopefully, I did it justice. A short summary would be a canon-compliant fic of sorts, set years into the future, where Nesta and Cassian had kept their pregnancy a secret from the world, but not anymore. Enjoy <3

@sjmromanceweek

T/W: occasional mention of past traumatic events;

W/C: 3.9k

It’s been four years since Cassian had last felt the “jumping off a cliff with tied wings would be less stressful” kind of nervous.

You want this, he reminded himself. And gods damned him, he did. He had all but howled when Nesta had given him the green light. He had written a letter—little more than a scrap of paper with a date, place, and time scribbled on it—, and counted down the days. Eleven. He had double-checked that everything was how it was supposed to be before stepping out of the house—still fifteen minutes earlier. Cassian didn’t want to take any risk. He simply leaned against a tree and waited, looking at the hollowed-out trunk they had used as a drop-off point for their letters during those past few years. A couple of years shy of a decade had passed since he’d last seen his family, so Cassian took those moments of quietness to let his memories flow. How the last war they’d fought had taken everything from his mate, leaving an empty shell of the fierce female she used to be; how he had kept his promise and took her far, far away, to a place no one knew about. A place where they could both rest and heal. Their friends had been distraught when Cassian had told them they would leave for an indefinite amount of time and asked them not to contact Nesta in any way—to give her space and, most importantly, time. And they had. Rhys and Feyre had rarely spoken to him using their daemati abilities, asking for updates, if they needed anything, when could they meet again. Even Azriel’s shadow had kept their distance. Kept their secret, too. A little more than two months and Nesta had held out a closed envelope to him. “For Feyre and Elain,” she said simply. So Cassian had found that very place in the middle of nowhere, tied a white ribbon around one of the lowest branches, and let a simple thought travel out into the ether: “I’ve got something for you.” That had been their first contact. But even as the letters became more frequent, Cassian could see how Nesta’s eyes shuttered every time he tried to bring up Velaris, or the House of Wind. So they all waited. Time flew by, and before Cassian could take a full breath, weeks turned into months turned into years, and now—

“Cass.”

Cassian blinked, turning to face the owner of the voice. Feyre stood a few steps from him, tears already filling her eyes. Rhys was at her side, and Mor, and Az. Everyone had come, right when he’d told them to. Not a minute before, and not a minute later. Words failed him, so Cassian just opened his arms wide, inviting his friends and family back into his life. Tears fell, and laughter soon filled the air around them as hugs and kisses were exchanged. Even Amren, for a fleeting moment, wrapped her slender arms around his middle, squeezing him tightly despite her furrowed brows. Cassian wasted no time, kissing Gwyn on both cheeks in congratulations, careful of her round belly, before setting off into the woods and beckoning them to follow. “There’s something I want to show you.”

“I told you Nesta would turn the wolves prowling this place,” Mor gestured at the mountains around them with a manicured hand, “and make puppies out of them.”

Feyre laughed. It must’ve been a recurring joke between them.

Cassian only grinned, “Something like that.”

A few minutes later they reached an opening, a meadow big enough for comfort, and a house came into view. His house, the one Cassian had built from the grounds up. It was two stories high, with a small patio on the front—mirror to the much larger one in the back— and a tall stone chimney. He had flattened out one side of the rooftop, making a little terrace of sorts—which Nesta had decorated with pillows and plants and candles—, and every door and window had been painted a bright red. It had taken them some time to turn that place into a home, but now there was something unequivocally theirs about it all. Cassian had come to cherish the peace of mind granted by its four walls, and it had turned into a safe space for him as much as it was for his mate. Instead of opening the doors to them, Cassian guided his friends to the back. A couple of stray trees dotted the space, with flowers ready to bloom. They hosted swings and knotted ropes. A sheet had been tied between two trunks and turned into a makeshift hammock.

Planks of wood were still piled up beside the furthest tree. Once upon a time, Cassian had promised he would pick up the project again, but he could hardly bring himself to look at it without bile rising up his throat. That broken tree-house was all he could see.

“Daddy’s back!”

A small figure wrapped in a yellow dress ran toward him, chubby arms already raised in the air. Cassian caught his daughter as she launched at him, swinging her in the air before bringing her close to his chest. Gasps echoed behind him.

“Look, look!” Nora exclaimed. Twin pigtail braids swayed this way and that, following the movements of her head. “Mommy put her ribbons in my braids! Now I’m a valykirie, too!”

Cassian laughed at his daughter’s words. “Valkyrie,” he corrected her, kissing her rosy cheek. “You look so pretty, Ladybug.”

Nora giggled, hiding her face in the crook of his neck and wrapping her arms around him.

“Cass,” Mor choked on a whisper. He winked at her, inclining his head as he moved deeper into the garden. A large blanket had been laid onto the grass, almost every inch of it covered with small plates and trays filled with hard cheese, cured meats, and veggies of all kinds. Nesta had even made fresh rosemary and olive bread that morning, filling the house with its aromatic scent. Thankfully, the Mother had blessed them with a sunny day—a rarity in Illyria, especially during that time of the year, when spring and summer met in uncertain weather. Sometimes it was so warm they had to strip off layers of clothing, others the sky was raining down on them, or the wind sneaked into their home and tried to steal anything light enough to be carried away. That day was perfect, with white clouds sheltering them from the harshness of the sun and a light breeze to keep them cool. The trees helped, too. It was there, under the shadows of rustling leaves, that his mate was. She was seated on a plush pillow, one of the many they had thrown around, with a baby curled over her chest. Two, actually. Maya left a kiss on her brother’s cheek, patting his soft curls as he wiped at his eyes. His wings were relaxed, low on the ground, and Nesta was rubbing his back in wide circles. Nora’s excitement must have woken him from his nap. Athos tended to be grumpy when someone disturbed his dreams. With one last kiss, Maya parted from her brother and ran to Cassian.

She stopped at his side, barely reaching his knees, and Cassian bent down to place a hand on top of her dark hair, braided in a crown—so I can look like Mom, she had said that morning. But it was not at him she was looking at. Her gaze was fixed behind him, where Emerie stood. As Nesta rose, Athos still in her arms, and walked closer, Cassian watched his daughter study the female, waiting. Everyone held their breath.

“Are you Em…” Maya’s blue-gray eyes, Nesta’s eyes, turned to him, and Cassian nodded in encouragement, “..Erie?”

Emerie sniffed once before clearing her throat. “That’s me.”

Maya gasped, joy lighting up her soft features. She pivoted, pink skirts and all, and spread her little black wings. The right one stretched open, while the left couldn’t go past half its length. A brutal scar ran down its inner side, covering leather and skin alike. Cassian’s throat closed at the memory of his daughter, his Butterfly, falling from the tree house. The one he’d built for them. The one he should’ve built better, making sure everything was safe before letting three toddlers get in it.

One of the floor planks had given out when Maya had jumped on it, the wood breaking beneath her tiny feet, and in her fall the exposed shards had dug into her back. Had cut through tendon and bone alike. They had managed to save her spine—fuck, they had managed to save her life—but there was nothing they could do for the little wing. It had been devastating. For weeks, Cassian had barely been able to eat, to sleep, to look his kids in the face. He’d been ridden by guilt and shame. He still was, the darkness lurking toward him, hitting him in waves, and more than a year had passed since that awful day. A warm hand grabbed his, holding gently, and Cassian turned toward his mate, exchanging glances. She knew, he knew, neither of them would let the shadows take control of their thoughts, their emotions, again.

“Mama said I’m like you!” Cassian could’ve sworn pride laced his daughter’s words. Nesta had told her, told all of them, countless stories about Emerie, and Gwyn, and even Feyre and Elain. About those females who had not allowed the blows life had dealt them to break their spirit, to bend their will.

“Did she now? Well,” Emerie said, voice thick with emotions as she bent down and stretched her open palm toward Maya, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, then.”

“I’m Maya,” she said, grabbing Emerie’s fingers with both hands. “And she is Nora.” On cue, Nora started wiggling in his arms, so Cassian placed her feet back on the ground and wrapped his newly free arm around Nesta’s waist. “And that is Puppy.”

“He is Athos!” Maya scolded her sister, both of them bursting into a fit of snorts and giggles. Athos blinked once, twice, golden-brown curls falling into the hazel eyes they shared. With skin one or two shades paler than his sisters’, he was the one resembling Nesta the most—save for the pair of leathery wings on his back, now tucked in tight as he turned his head the other way and hid in the safety of his mother’s arms. He had her same quiet nature, too, but that didn’t stop his sisters from luring him into trouble at any given chance. Nora, on the other hand, was Cassian’s carbon copy. Not just in looks, but in spirit too. She laughed as hard as she cried, living her emotions to the fullest. Much like the day they were born, she was always at the lead, always the first to act, to make way for her twins. Believe it or not, she was not the mind behind their shenanigans. Maya was. Their eyes were the only feature that set them apart. One from forests and mountains, the other from skies and seas. Maya was a little devil in disguise, already too clever for her own good.

“Oh, my,” Elain breathed, cheeks stained with tears. “Are they-”

“Triplets,” confirmed Nesta. The waterworks began again.

“When?”

“How?”

“Girls, finally!”

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Congratulations, brother.”

Cassian raised his hands, exposing his palms in surrender, and said, “We’ll tell you everything, but we should eat first, or only the ants will enjoy my bread.”

Cassian took Athos from Nesta’s arms so she could greet her sisters properly, and edged Nora and Maya toward their embroidered pillows, the others following suit.

As he caught Azriel’s eyes, his brother left his mate’s side and inched closer.

“Hey, Puppy,” Cassian murmured into his son’s ear, guiding his attention toward Az. “Do you see this guy?” A nod. “If you don’t like the noise, or if there are too many people, or you just don’t feel very good and your mother and I are not around, you go to him, okay?”

Azriel inhaled slowly, his shadows swirling with the movement. A black curl reached out tentatively, and Athos studied it. His warm eyes rose to Azriel’s then, who patiently waited for the boy to make the first move. “Do they hurt?” He asked, one little finger reaching back.

“No.” To prove his point, he let the black tendril wrap around Athos’ finger. “They’re very curious, though. They like puppies, I’ve been told..”

Athos’s gasp turned into a quiet giggle. “They tickle.”

Soon they were all seated, letting fresh food and berry juice pass from hand to hand, talking about everything and nothing at all. From the projects Nyx wanted to explore to modernize Velaris—the male, now more than 50 years old, had a mind so brilliant it turned Dawn’s thinkers green with envy—, to the journey across the continent Lucien had promised Elain as a gift for their latest anniversary—only a couple of arrangements left to make before their departure—to the obvious new double-addition to their ranks, Azriel and Gwyn’s twins. There was so much to tell, so much to catch up on.

Cassian looked at his brother and found him smiling tenderly at the boy, love and gratitude filling his eyes.

“But let’s focus on the real stars of this day,” Mor said, face still splotchy from all the crying. Her brown eyes jumped from one little face to another, as if she wanted to imprint their soft features into her brain as quickly as she could.

“When is your birthday?” Rhys asked, taking a sip from his glass. “We have missed five of them. We must fix it.”

Maya didn’t even finish chewing her food before replying. “Four.” To prove her point, she raised three jam-sticky fingers in the air. Rhys chuckled, bending his head. “My apologies.”

“At the crack of dawn on the 23rd of September,” three curly heads turned one after another, entranced by their mother’s voice. “After ten hours of labor,” Nesta added pointedly, twisting Maya’s dark strands around her finger, “Came Nora, then Maya, and then Athos.”

Nesta exhaled heavily, Cassian replicating the gesture. “Our brave boy.”

At his words, the groups shared a sort of understanding.

There was this belief, among Illyrians, that every time a baby was born, they were faced with two options—two mothers. If they got too scared by the world surrounding them, so dark and cruel and full of terrors, the Mother would cradle them in her arms and take them someplace else, where no harm would ever find them. Nesta, Cassian knew, was still plagued with nightmares of her pained, desperate screams filling the silence left by their son. He’d come out of the womb with the birth cord wrapped around his neck. Despite the midwife’s lightning speed in freeing his airways, it hadn’t been enough. But then, just as the sun peeked from behind the mountain tops, time had seemed to slow as a small, frail, tentative wailing filled the room.

“Really?” Gwyn exclaimed with too much enthusiasm. She placed a hand on her bump, forcing her lips to curve in a smile despite the tears brimming her teal eyes. “They’re supposed to be due at the beginning of August. Close enough.”

“Sissy’s birthday is in August, too!”

“No, Nora,” Cassian laughed, grateful for the distraction. He placed a cheese stick in her hand. She chewed on it without hesitation. “Her birthday is in June.”

“Who is Sissy?” Lucien asked. “Are we missing someone?” He looked shocked, as if he couldn’t believe there were more.

“Trixie—Beatrix,” Nesta amended, “is our oldest.” By the look on their faces, Cassian knew they were all doing the math.

“Don’t worry,” he grinned, “She will be here, soon.”

“She already is.”

All eyes turned toward the house, to the proud female stepping out the backdoor.

Joyous screams rose from the kids, their smiles lighting up like fireflies as they stood and ran to their sister.

Trixie crouched, arms open, bracing for the collision. She kissed their cheeks, their little noses, their soft curls. Cassian’s heart swelled in his chest at the sight.

“Such cute overalls, Puppy,” she said, taking his hand and guiding him into a spin.

His son smiled from ear to ear. “You gave it to me!”

“I did, didn’t I?” She gestured for the kids to sit down again with one hand, the other holding the ribbons tied around a box. Trixie bent to leave a soft kiss against Nesta’s temple, placing the box on the grass at her side before rising again and making her way to him. She knelt behind him, and Cassian moved his wings to make space for her body as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and hugged him, moving to sit at his side. Nyx, to her right, looked anywhere but at her, the tips of his pointed ears turning a deep shade of red. Cassian was tempted to call him out, but knew his “over-protectiveness” would only piss off Trixie.

“Everyone, this is Trixie,” Cassian said, grinning like a cat. “Trixie-”

“Everyone,” she cleared her throat, bobbing her head once in acknowledgment.

Maya made her way onto Trixie’s lap, passing food to her older sister, and they flowed back into easy conversation.

From the opposite side of the blanket, Amren nodded in Trixie’s direction, “How did you find that one?”

“She found us,” was Nesta’s reply. She opened the box containing the Illyrian’s typical pastries Cassian had asked Trixie to buy, and found a little corner to place them among the rest of the food. “She had made the house her own. I found her sleeping in our bed when we came here.”

Cassian, Mother damned him, had come dangerously close to losing it when he had realized they were not alone in the house. The dagger was in his hand within moments, ready to take down any threat, when Nesta had climbed down the stairs on nimble feet and told him, in that no-nonsense way of hers, that there was a little girl asleep in the main bedroom, and he should cook dinner for three that evening. Cassian had kissed her senseless, and just like that they had found themselves with a daughter. Well, Cassian wished it had been that easy. Trixie, who had seen and lived through more than any fourteen-year-old should, had waged war on them for months, trying her very best to push them over the edge. But Nesta was relentless, and so was he. Nothing she could’ve said or done would have made them turn their backs on her. So she stayed, and soon enough Beatrix became Trixie became Sissy. A blessing, that’s what she’d been. She had healed some intrinsic part of Nesta that not even Cassian had been able to reach. He would forever be indebted to her for that reason only. Her wings had not been clipped, so he’d been able to teach her how to fly, and fight, and dream again. His daughter in all the ways that mattered, and then some.

“The house was big enough for all of us,” Nesta glanced pointedly at her, adding, “It still is.”

Trixie stared right back at her, one of those wordless conversations happening between the two females. Cassian was used to it.

“That’s amazing,” Elain smiled brighter than the sun. “I am so, so happy for you guys.”

“Please,” Gwyn whined, “Don’t cry or I’ll cry, too.” The two laughed, tears slipping free anyway.

“I can see why you kept contacts to a minimum,” Lucien passed a napkin to Elain, gently pulling locks of hair away from her face as she dabbed the corners of her eyes. “I would’ve kept this little corner of heaven a secret from the world, too.”

Cassian glanced at Nesta and found that she was already looking at him. Now, her eyes seemed to say. A tug on the bond confirmed that.

“Speaking of which,” Cassian exhaled. Should he break the news gently? Or should he go straight for it, and adapt to the consequences?

Nesta, it seemed, had already made that choice for both of them. “We’re coming back to Velaris.”

Feyre could barely contain her enthusiasm. “Really?”

“Really,” Cassian echoed. “It will be good for the kids. They should make friends and play with other kids their age and drive us crazy. Am I right?”

Maya looked up at him, a mischievous gleam in her bright eyes. Nora, closest to Nesta, was already giggling.

“Mother spares us all,” Rhys murmured. They had their hands full, and they had never left this mountain. Cassian already felt weak in the knees at the idea of unleashing the triples on Velaris. But, fuck, how he wanted to take them on walks along the Sidra, or see the House turn into an even bigger mother-hen for Nesta’s kids, or teach them how to fly on one of its many balconies. And Starfall! They would love Starfall, he was sure of it. And the week-long celebrations for Solstice, with presents and hot cocoa and-

“Oh, no,” Trixie’s voice called him back to the moment. She was facing Nyx, answering a question he must’ve asked her while he was lost in his thoughts. “I’m going to stay here.”

Nora gasped, and Nesta was instantly there to calm their daughter down before she started what they had taken to call “the domino cry”.

“It’s okay,” Trixie said while rubbing Maya’s arms. The pout on her face was not a good sign. The trembling chin was even worse. Cassian gazed down at Athos, looking for any hint of distress. Trixie went on, “We’ll see each other every week, I promise.”

“But why can’t you come with us?” Nora sniffed. “It’s unafaire.”

“Unfair,” Nesta murmured to her, “And she can’t come with us because there are other kids who need her here.”

“Other kids?” Athos scrunched his little nose.

He nodded. “You three have each other, but other kids might not be so lucky. Trixie was among them, a long time ago.”

“But Sissy is our Sissy.”

“I am, yes,” Trixie said, “But maybe I can be that for all the other children who need a Sissy as well, don’t you think?”

Nora blinked at her a couple of times, mulling over the words. “Will they become Ladybug, Butterfly, and Puppy, too?”

Behind her, Nesta shrugged. “Why not.”

Cassian’s heart made a backflip inside his chest. He met his mate’s serene gaze, the most delicate pink staining her cheeks. They would end up with a legion of kids if Nesta had her way. Cassian couldn’t think of a single reason why she shouldn’t.

Cassian mirrored her smile with one of his own. “We should start thinking about names, then.”

“You guys are out of your minds,” Amren commented, but the concern in her voice didn’t match the grin stretching her red-painted lips.

Athos started laughing, the giggles turning into full belly laughs as his sisters joined him. And as the wind made lullabies of rustling leaves, and the smiles of his family outshone the sun itself, Cassian knew with absolute certainty the one reason he was still there, alive and content. Or maybe it was three.

#dee writes #good things come in three #sjmromanceweek2024 #nessian fanfiction #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar