#but like not everything would be good on the screen | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nordschleifes · 21 hours

Text

the prophecy

➝ jenson didn't want money, just someone who wanted his company. is that too much to ask for?

➝ word count: 4k

➝ warnings: mentions of death, alcohol, and a particular bad time for jenson

➝ author's note: well, the last two weeks have been horrible, i completely doubted my ability as a writer and my health decided to abandon me in every way. i still don't feel very good and i really think i should give up everything, but ally won't let me, so here we have another one-shot that i had shelved out of frustration with myself. enjoy!

Driving down that street was bittersweet.

The night was beautiful. The sky was spectacularly clear and the silver light of the moon illuminated the gentle waves of the Mediterranean. The pleasant breeze disguised the heat that had been on the French Riviera all day.

However, you weren't looking at the goosebumps in your arms or the stars twinkling in the sky. Your eyes were fixed on the large butter-colored house that stood discreetly among the shady trees just to his left.

As you stopped the MINI you had rented at Nice airport, you allowed yourself to roll down the window and contemplate those familiar walls.

It felt like an eternity since you had last been there, walking up the stone steps, the gray mixed with red. You closed your eyes, trying not to pay attention to your stomach, which churned at the memory. However, it was something you couldn't help.

After all, that had been your last sight of John Button.

You clearly remembered the day you had met him. Wearing a white shirt and with red cheeks from the heat in Melbourne, he approached you and your boss, Richard, with a wide smile. After some typically English jokes about the intense sun, he invited the two of you to join him at the table where he was sitting with his daughter-in-law, Jessica, and son, Jenson.

It was with that moment in mind that you noticed something strange in the house.

With the swaying of the tree branches that covered the facade, you could see that the front of the residence was illuminated, as if there was a light on. In addition to being sure that no one was in the house, you were almost certain that you hadn't left any lights on the last time you were there.

“Someone broke in”, you thought, rummaging through your bag for your house keys.

After typing a message to Jenson, stating that you had seen something strange at John's house and that you would check out what was going on, you made your way to the main gate, finding it ajar.

— My God — you murmured, as you followed the path in silence. With wide eyes, you were trying to make out the sharp sound that mixed with the rustling of leaves and the waves of the sea when a particular loud noise made you jump.

Taking your phone from your pocket, you rolled your eyes when you read the name on the caller ID. “Bad timing”, you thought, as you dragged your finger across the screen and brought the device to your ear.

— Now I can't, Jenson, I'm here at John's house…

However, instead of a humorous comment or an ironic question, you heard a loud sob.

— Y/N — Jenson murmured, taking a sniff.

— Are you crying?

— I'm here, Y/N.

— Here? Jenson, where are you?

— Here — he stammered, before crying again, this time louder.

So loud that you realized what he was talking about.

Walking a few more meters, you saw the staircase that led to the front door of the house, as well as a man sitting on the steps, accompanied by a half-empty bottle of whiskey and his face wet with tears, leaning against the wall next to him.

— Jenson! — you exclaimed, hanging up your phone and running towards him. Climbing the steps two at a time, you approached the driver practically out of breath, your heart almost coming out of your mouth — Jenson, are you okay? What happened? What are you doing here?

He looked at you with a blank stare.

— Y/N…

— Jenson, tell me, what are you doing here?

— I want my father — the driver replied softly, the words dragging on his tongue. Holding his face, you noticed more tears falling from his eyes — Where is my father?

— Jense — you murmured, before pulling him towards you for a hug. With his head buried in the crook of your neck, he cried loudly, his gasps making his entire body shake and your eyes filling with tears. You allowed them to fall from your eyes as you blinked a little harder, tightening your arms around him.

— He wasn't supposed to come alone — he stammered against his shoulder, before looking up and sniffling — He couldn't, he shouldn't…

— I know, Jense, I know — you replied, running your hand over his face to dry the tears.

— He died alone, Y/N — Jenson murmured — He died without anyone by his side. My father died alone, without anyone…

You pressed your lips together, feeling more tears streaming down your face. It was ironic and particularly sad, considering how loved John was by everyone around him. Dying like that, in the open and completely alone, was something you didn't wish on anyone.

— I don't want to be alone — he continued, rubbing his nose — I don't want to be alone, I don't, I don't…

— You won't be alone — you said, trying to calm him down, as the driver reached for the bottle of whiskey, taking a large gulp before you could protest or stop him.

— I will, Y/N — he replied, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand — I will, I know I will...

— No, you won't — you said, as Jenson brought the bottle to your mouth, only for you to abruptly remove it from his hand — And you're going to stop with that whiskey now.

He tried to retrieve the bottle, but you tipped it over the steps, spilling the rest of the contents onto the stone.

— No — the driver protested, as the amber liquid ran down the steps.

— Yes — you returned — You can't keep drinking, Jense.

— I can…

— No, you can't and you won't — you said, your tone somewhat harsh, almost like a mother scolding a naughty child — I'm not going to watch you drink yourself into an alcoholic coma with my arms crossed. Now get up.

He looked at you with an expression that mixed confusion and sadness.

— Y/N — he stammered.

— Come on, Jense — you said, giving your hand to help him get up.

The task of taking the driver into the house was not simple. Far beyond the darkness of the rooms, courtesy of the curtains that covered the large windows that faced the sea, Jenson seemed determined not to cooperate with your efforts to take him to the main suite to take a shower.

After some struggle to drag him up the marble stairs to the second floor and tripping over a painting that was leaning against the wall as he slurred about how much his father liked that place, you managed to make it to the spacious bathroom. of the room that had once been John's. Asking Jenson to lean on the white stone sink, you allowed yourself a few seconds to breathe before continuing on your mission to save the driver from the worst hangover of his life.

— You can take off your clothes — you said, seriously.

— For what? — he asked, frowning.

— So you can take a shower. You reek of sweat and cheap whiskey.

Your observation made him take a step forward, losing his balance and placing both hands on your shoulders.

— It’s not cheap whiskey, it’s a very good brand…

— Which you probably bought for five euros in some dodgy liquor store in Monaco, right? — you asked, as you took your hands to the white shirt he was wearing and started to undo the buttons, revealing his chest.

— But it was a good whiskey, you could have tried it — Jenson murmured — But you threw it all away...

— It was either throw it away or let you keep drinking it until dawn.

— That was my plan.

Your hands stopped at the last button of his shirt, your lips pursed as you lifted your face to look at the driver. The seconds of silence that stretched inside the bathroom made your heart sink. After swallowing hard, you asked him to take off his shirt, which he did without saying a word.

Next, you moved on to his belt, unbuckling it and undoing the button on his pants.

— What are you doing?

— Taking off your pants.

— For what? — Jenson asked in a naive tone.

— So you can get in the shower — you replied, bending down slightly to slide his jeans down his legs, leaving him in just his underwear — Come in.

— And the underwear?

You felt your face heat up.

— I definitely don't need to see your dick today, Jenson. Now go to the shower.

Balancing himself with his hand on your shoulder, he carefully entered the bathtub, sitting on the edge. Watching you turn on the shower, he hissed as he felt the cold water splash onto his legs. However, that didn't stop you from placing your hand on the driver's tattooed shoulder to encourage him to get wet.

— No, Y/N — he grumbled — It's too cold.

— The cold water will help you…

— I don't want help.

— Come on, please — you said, bringing your face closer to his — You'll feel better after the shower...

Turning his head to you, his gaze seemed empty.

— I'm not going to get better, Y/N — he said in a low voice — This is me now, this depressed and pathetic thing that no one wants around...

Something about those words made you adjust your posture, irritation rising up your neck in a hot wave.

— Get in the shower, Button — you said, harshly, pushing his shoulder.

Silently, he stood up and placed himself under the cold spray, letting out a loud grunt. After searching the cupboards and only finding some soap forgotten in the corner, you returned to the shower to clean Jenson's skin and hair. “It’s going to look terrible without conditioner”, you thought to yourself, as your fingers rubbed his scalp. After rinsing off the soap that was on his skin and hair, you turned off the shower and wrapped him in a towel.

— Can you dry yourself? — you asked, earning a positive nod from him — Okay, then I'll make the bed.

Leaving the driver to dry off, you went to the bedroom, testing the lamps that flanked the bed, which looked somewhat imperious with its canopy, and condemning yourself for having forgotten that there was no power in the house. The furniture was old style, however, contrary to what you would expect in a lived-in place, the cupboards, shelves and desk were empty. You knew that this was the result of a day's work by Jenson and his sisters with the intention of keeping their father's memories.

Removing the sheet, you felt relief fill your chest when you discovered that there were still pillows and a blanket on the bed. You had just thrown the dusty fabric in one of the corners of the room when Jenson appeared in the bathroom door, completely naked. Staggering, he dropped face down on the bed without any ceremony.

— Jense, I was finishing…

— No need — he murmured, his face against the pillow.

Pursing your lips, you dropped the blanket onto the mattress, making a conscious effort not to look at his butt.

— Okay, so — you stuttered, while the pilot fidgeted, turning his head towards you — I'm going to see if there's another blanket for me to take to the couch downstairs...

— Why?

— Because I'm not going to leave you alone here.

— So stay.

You gave a small smile.

— I'll stay, Jense, but downstairs.

— Stay here — he stammered, stretching a hand across the bed.

— Here?

A positive grunt was the only response you got, heavy breathing indicating he had fallen asleep. Facing his calm expression, you didn't have the courage to deny his request, especially at that moment. Settling down on the mattress, you felt Jenson shift next to you, grunting in reaction to your movement. Then, he placed an arm over your stomach, as if he was trying to hug you or just make sure you stayed there.

And you stayed.

The sun was rising over the horizon and entering the room through the window without any ceremony when you woke up. A little confused, you rubbed your eyes, focusing again on the ceiling, realizing that the checkered pattern was from the fabric covering the canopy and not an eccentric painting choice by John. The memory of the man made you look to the side, finding Jenson still lying down, sleeping soundly, a string of drool dripping from the corner of his mouth.

The scene made you give a restrained smile. The habit of drooling was something you had already used to upset Jenson, who claimed that it was a lie and that he had never drooled in his life. However, his denial didn't make you stop your jokes.

Rubbing your eyes, you stood up carefully, making your way to the stairs slowly, evaluating the way the sun entered the rooms and illuminated the spaces.

“No wonder John loved this place”, you thought to yourself, as you passed through the dining room towards the kitchen.

As you expected, there was nothing in the cupboards or refrigerator, something that seemed obvious considering the house had been empty for six months. However, at the same time as you could feel your stomach growl, you didn't feel comfortable with the idea of leaving Jenson there, especially after what he had said to you during the cold bath you had given him.

Jenson had mentioned that he was afraid of being alone and that he didn't want that for his own life. However, inside the bathroom, the driver said that no one wanted him around because he was sad, going so far as to say that he was pathetic for that. As you approached one of the windows, you pursed your lips tightly as you remembered the way he had said those words, as well as the pain that permeated them.

At that moment, you didn't know what to say to him, limiting yourself to putting him under the cold spray of the shower. However, the answer didn't come with a night's sleep, much less with a walk around the house or long minutes of contemplation of the Mediterranean that stretched blue and infinite between the trees. You knew it shouldn't be so difficult, that you could limit yourself to a few words of comfort and a hug, but it didn't seem like much.

— Good morning — you heard someone say behind you. When you turned around, you found Jenson standing in the middle of the room, his hair completely messed up as he rubbed his eyes.

— Good morning, Jense. Did you remember that underwear exists? — you gave a little smile. Looking down, the driver assessed his own underwear for a few seconds before looking back at you.

— I thought I should redeem myself after what happened yesterday. In fact, I apologize for — he hesitated for a few seconds — Everything.

— I appreciate your intention, but you don't need to apologize for yesterday.

— But I…

— It's alright. These are things that friends do.

A smile appeared on Jenson's face, but something told you he wasn't entirely sincere.

— Have you done this for other friends of yours?

— To some. You're not the only one I know who likes to drink, Jense.

— Lucky them to have you — he said, running a hand through his hair — And me too.

— Yeah, lucky you too.

The silence lasted for a few seconds until Jenson let out a sigh.

— Is there anything to eat in this house?

— I didn't find anything.

— I think Natasha cleaned the kitchen that day — he murmured, placing his hands on his hips — Do you want to go for coffee?

— In your house?

— Yeah, I guess — Jenson replied, with a little smile — I'm going to get dressed and we go, okay?

— Okay — you said, crossing your arms as he turned around and headed for the stairs.

You headed to Monaco in your rented MINI, navigating the tight, winding streets at a leisurely pace. This was clearly not something Jenson was used to, considering he was shaking his leg non-stop. However, you preferred to remain silent, trying not to get lost in the tiny entrances spread across the city.

You finally spoke up as you parked in front of the building, a white structure neatly placed against the hill that squeezed the city against the sea.

— We’re here — you smiled.

— Yes, we're here — Jenson murmured, without much excitement.

— Let's go up?

He hesitated for a few seconds.

— I don't know if it's a good idea.

You raised an eyebrow.

— Jense, you live there.

— But I don't know if I can...

— Why couldn't you go up to your apartment?

Passing a hand over his face, he merely muttered a swear word before exiting the car with heavy steps. You followed him in silence, particularly confused. Greeting the doorman, you walked down the hall to the elevator, which opened its doors promptly. Inside the metal cubicle, you could see the tension in the way Jenson clenched his jaw.

Tension that dissipated when he opened the apartment door and found that the place was empty.

— Thank God — he murmured, running his fingers through his hair.

— For what? — you questioned him.

— What?

— Thank God for what, Jense? — you repeated, seriously — What happened? Does it have something to do with what happened yesterday?

— Y/N…

— I know this is a complicated time, but I need you to trust me. You know I'm here to help you, it's always been like this, Jense.

— I know…

— So tell me. Tell me what happened and I will help you.

Jenson walked to the sofa, laying down between the pillows with oriental prints.

— It's complicated, Y/N...

— How complicated?

— Complicated in the sense that you can't fix it — Jenson replied, looking impatient — In fact, I don't even think I can do that...

— Tell me, for fuck’s sake! — you shouted, irritated by that damn suspense he was making.

— Jessica broke up with me! — he returned in a scream that seemed to carry all his anger and sadness — And before you ask, it wasn't friendly or anything like that.

You stared at Jenson for long seconds, carefully thinking about your next words. Something told you to try to talk to him to better understand the situation, perhaps even to orchestrate a reconciliation, however, you remembered something he had said the night before.

— Was she the one who said you were pathetic? That no one wants you around?

The question hit him in a sensitive spot, his blue eyes filling with tears. Upon seeing that reaction from the driver, you didn't hesitate to put yourself in the space between his legs and hug him tightly, his head against your stomach. Jessica had said that to him and, in a way, it filled you with anger.

Jenson wasn't pathetic, much less someone nobody wanted around. In fact, there were days that you just wanted him to be close to you, making you smile with his good-natured comments about trivial things. In your view, Jenson was like the sun, brightening even the grayest of British days. And he didn't deserve to be erased, especially by someone who didn't appreciate him the same way you did.

— You know it's a lie, Jense...

— But I can't stop crying — he murmured against her body — I don't feel like I used to, I just feel...

— Sad?

— I miss him — Jenson replied, looking up at you — I miss him all the time...

— This is normal…

— Not for Jessica. She doesn't want a guy like that, who keeps crying all the time, sad, missing his own father. She wants the happy guy that likes to party, have fun and stuff...

— But I don't want to — you murmured.

Suddenly, he raised his head, looking startled by his response.

— No?

— I want Jenson. And know that, whoever truly loves you, will always be by your side, no matter if you're happy or sad — you said, running a hand through his hair.

The driver gave you a small smile before hugging you again, his head against your belly. The scene could even seem romantic, considering the stunning view from the apartment and his almost intimate touch on your waist. However, any suggestion went out the window when you heard an uninteresting sound.

— I think you're hungry — Jenson murmured, looking up at you. The comment made you laugh.

— I came here because someone promised me breakfast — you replied.

— Well, if you insist — he said, letting go of you and getting up from the sofa.

The meal preparation was simple, with some scrambled eggs, toast and a cup of coffee each, courtesy of Jenson's inability to make anything more elaborate. Sitting at the kitchen counter, you were eating practically in silence when the driver broke the silence.

— Thank you for finding me yesterday.

— Oh, there’s no need to — you replied, taking another sip of your coffee.

— I need to, Y/N. I don't even remember how I ended up there without using a car, especially with that horrible whiskey.

— Yesterday you said it was great — you laughed.

— So you could see that I wasn't doing well — he replied, bursting into laughter along with you.

When the laughter stopped, you looked at each other for a few seconds.

— Any problem?

— None, I just remembered something my father said — Jenson replied.

— About what?

— About Jessica.

You rolled your eyes, picking up your coffee cup.

— Are you going to talk about her again, Jense? — you questioned, punctuating the sentence with a sip.

— No, it's just — he said quickly, hesitating a few seconds before continuing — He had told me once that she wasn't the right woman for me.

— When?

Jenson poked the scrambled eggs with his fork, somewhat disinterested.

— I think it was after I went to McLaren. It was a conversation we had after an argument I had with her. And he said that Jessica wasn't the woman for me and that there was no point in insisting on that relationship.

— No?

— “It’s a waste of time to continue with this girl, she doesn’t care about you”, he told me — he continued — But I didn’t listen. I thought it was nonsense of him, but he kept talking...

— Talking?

— That the perfect woman was right under my nose and that I was ignoring her.

You raised an eyebrow.

— And you were?

— I like to think not, but — Jenson hesitated, looking at you — I think he was right. Again.

You just smiled.

— John always had a good eye for these things. Especially when it came to you.

It was the driver's turn to smile, without saying a word. And in a way, it didn't need to. John knew his son like no one else, and if he said something was better for Jenson's life or career, he was almost always right. “Maybe that’s why he misses John so much”, you thought, turning your attention back to your plate.

After finishing your meal, you helped Jenson with organizing the kitchen, before checking the time and realizing that you were quite late.

— I need to go — you murmured, heading towards the door.

— Do you have any engagements?

— I have to pack my bags at the hotel.

— I thought you had them at the car — the driver said, with a small smile at the corner of his mouth.

— No, they're in Nice. I had gone to visit a friend here when I stopped by John's house and, well, everything happened — you explained — But now I can't stay, my flight leaves in the early afternoon.

— Where are you going?

— London.

Jenson pouted.

— What a shame, I thought youI would take the opportunity to make a stopover in Ibiza.

— No, I need a guide to the best parties and he's not available at the moment — you returned, in the acid tone that you knew disarmed him every time. And just as you expected, he laughed.

— In fact. So, I guess I'll see you later.

— Yes, you have to be in Woking in a week.

— Thank you for reminding me — he said, approaching you for a goodbye hug — Have a good trip.

— Thanks.

You were arranging your bag on your shoulder when Jenson said your name.

— Yeah? — you said, looking back.

— My father was talking about you.

A hot wave rose to your cheeks, your hand tightening on the door handle. Your heart was pounding inside your chest, almost as if it had suddenly come back to life.

— I imagined — you managed to say, before leaving the apartment.

#jenson button #jb #formula one x you #formula 1 x you #f1 x you #formula one oneshot #jenson button fanfic #jenson button one shot #jenson button x you #formula one x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 x reader #jenson button x reader #nordswrites

61 notes · View notes

crybabycrry · 8 hours

Text

photo booth with ellie ᡣ𐭩

warnings: nothing but fluff & some kissing<3 and that’s it:3

note: i was at the mall yesterday with @tatestitties and we accidentally sheared a kiss in the photo booth totally by accident? and it gave me the idea to write this lol i was a little drunk when i wrote it so it might not make any sense. NOT PROOFREAD

daily click. dont buy tlou. read this. and this. help palestine

you had dragged ellie to the mall because you need to do some shopping. you had already went to a few stores and now walking to yet another one with 3 bags in ellie’s hands.

ellie enjoyed tagging along with you because she loved to see you get all happy when she said that she wanted to come with you, and it also ment that ellie would get to see you in all these clothes you decided to try on. and damn you always looked so fucking good in literally everything you tried on.

and also ellie LOVES to buy you new things. it brought ellie even more joy to see you happy, and ellie loves to smother you with gifts and new things.

as you were walking out of a store from the corner of your eye you spotted a photo booth. “omg ellie look” you pointed to the booth. “what?” she asked in confusion because she could not tell as to what you were pointing to.

“the photo booth,” you told her. “wanna go get some pictures?”

“uhh dah, is that even a question” you giggle slightly at her response. now dragging her by the arm towards the booth.

౨ৎ

“did you put enough coins in?” you ask.

for some reason the photo booth was not working. ellie had put in the right amount of money in and pressed all the button and still, nothing is working. “i don’t know why it’s not working”

as you and ellie were about to get out a voice started coming from the big screen before the two of you says something, about pressing this button to take your photos. and as soon as this very robotic voice hit your ear you both looked at each other and smiled from joy.

you and ellie took your seats in the booth and ellie pressed the big red button right in front of her. the machine gave you a three second warning before each photo.

for the first picture out of four you and ellie tuned to the side with your backs touch and looking right into the camera smiling and doing whatever you want with your faces.

for the second picture you laid your head onto ellie’s shoulder and she laid hers on top of yours and you gave the camera some duck lips.

for the third photo you and ellie wanted to be a little cute and silly so you made some funny faces.

and for your fourth and final photo ellie took you by surprise by grabbing you and pulling you in for a long and passionate kiss. you almost didn’t have to to close your eyes for the photo, but in the very last second you shut them close and tangled your fingers in ellie’s loose bun.

even after the machine had told you to get out, ellie was still holding you tight and moving her lips slowly against yours.

you really didn’t want to pull away for this kiss but you also kinda need to breathe, so you tap ellie on the thigh to signal her to pull away:(

you and ellie got out of the photo booth, both you and ellie a little dizzy from from the delicious, yummy, tasty kiss you had just sheared. ellie’s hand reached into the little thingy(wtv it’s called) and she got out the photos you had just taken.

a bright rosey blush spread all across ellie’s face and a smile that she quite literally could not keep off of her face. you looked down at the pictures in ellie’s hand and then at her face seeing how flustered she looked. you place a kiss to her cheek.

“your so cute when your flustered like that”<3

66 notes · View notes

explodingstar · 17 hours

Text

I miss you Simon.

Warnings: NSFW 18+

Pairings: Simon Riley x f!reader

It was a slow day for you back home all the household chores were done and dinner was already made for later tonight. Just some leftovers from the night before, reheated. Simon had only left a couple weeks ago to go back on deployment to another mission. You miss him already and damn do you miss him. You grab a book and lay down in bed with only the bedside lamp illuminating the darkness of the bedroom.

Buzz buzz

A text? From Simon? You pick up your phone hoping to see his name in your notifications instead its just another alert from facebook. You roll your eyes and put down your phone again but you REALLY needed him to text you especially with the mood you were in at the moment. All of a sudden an idea comes to your mind and you put the book you were reading down on the bedside table alongside your glass of wine. Was this a drunken idea? Possibly. Did it still seem like a good idea?

Definitely.

You get up and walk over to your closet and grab Simons favorite article of clothing that he LOVES to see you in. A black lacy one piece that is just sheer enough to see everything, in the right lighting. You grab your tripod and set it up at the edge of the bed and change into the lingerie that Simon had essentially tried to rip off of you before. You set up your phone on the tripod and turn it on video mode to take screenshots of it later. At first you pose a couple different ways. One on your knees with your arms pushing your tits together and your hands on the bed in front of you. Another one with the top of the one piece down so your tits are fully out and your hands running through your long gorgeous hair. You get to thinking…‘What would Simon enjoy most?’ An idea hits you. You turn your back to the camera and seductively bend over to where your ass is in the air and your soaking wet pussy can be seen through the sheer lingerie that you decided to put on. You get up and grab your phone looking through the video to make sure everything is perfect. A couple screenshots here, a couple there and you make a little folder called “For Simon”.

“This should get him to text me…” ‘attachment delivered’ you read.

Simon’s POV

DING “Simon! You got a message!” “Thanks Johnny I’m pretty sure I can hear” Simon says annoyingly. He picks up his phone and opens your message. He smirks to himself and stands up from his seat. “I’ll be right back mates” He goes into the bathroom off of the barracks just for a bit more privacy.

Your POV

RING RING RING You look down at your phone blushing when you see Simon’s name and photo come across your screen. You slide over to answer “Hiiii Simon” You hear the sound of metal clinking together and you know exactly what it is, his belt coming undone with one hand. “Im going to assume you got my pictures love”

“Ughh Fuck. I did..ya miss me don’t ‘cha?” He says through grunts. “I always do” you say rubbing yourself just to the sound of his voice. A small moan escaping your lips as you do so. “Wait till I get back…you wont be able to walk for teasing me like this…oh fuck” he says softly. He continues stroking his cock still looking at the pictures you sent. “I cant wait for you to come home.” You say with your middle finger slowly pumping in and out of you. “Fuck..well lucky for you I get home tomorrow…”

A/N: I plan on making this a part 1! Part 2 would be Simon coming home. 😈 (Sorry for any errors its almost 2AM.)

#cod #cod fanfic #cod modern warfare #cod mw3 #cod x reader #ghost cod #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you

68 notes · View notes

annwrites · 1 day

Text

exactly what he needs, pt. 4 ♡ ⋆｡˚ | other parts here

— pairing: nate jacob x fem!reader

— type: ficlet (multi-chapter)

— summary: nate & you have breakfast together, made by you. he then takes you grocery shopping, & later in the week, he finally asks you to be his!

— tags: cute lil domestic moments, you wearing nate's jersey, meeting the parents day 1, first kiss

— tw: dollification (mans isn't even trying to hide it anymore, he straight-up is tying bows in your hair now), eating, snooping, it being implied that nate has already thought about one day baby-trapping you if push-comes-to-shove, misogyny (he's so mean to cassie), threatening, f receiving oral, emotional manipulation, possessiveness

— word count: 11,661

— a/n: reader uses pads bc i use pads & we are all about self-inserts around here (i never learned how to use tampons, don't judge me). honestly, idk how nate would feel about pads. like, on the one hand, i can see him as seeing them as more "unsanitary", but also preferring it if reader is still a virgin. tbh, he prob just tries to pretend periods don't exist, & doesn't want to hear about it if you're on yours, apart from a slight heads-up & being informed once everything down there is back to normal.

i hope this doesn't seem like things are moving too fast in reader & nate already getting together, but tbf, nate & cassie had hung out for what? prob at most a couple hrs when fezco beat his ass, & then the boy is lying in the hospital thinking he's in love & wants to have babies with her. i say it's on-par for his character lol.

The next morning after your day together is the first time Nate ever shoots you a text.

A simple Good morning, sweetheart.

You stare at it for around ten minutes, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. You type up a reply, then delete it. Then type up another and backspace the entirety of it as well.

Finally, you press send on a simple Good morning. (:

Nate: Any plans for today?

You: Might clean the house a bit, then go grocery shopping.

You watch as three little dots dance on your screen, then suddenly disappear. You then suppose you’ve not supplied an incredibly interesting answer.

You toss your phone down on the bed, deciding to finally get up for the day. It’s nearly fifteen minutes later when you check your texts again and see that Nate replied…ten minutes ago.

Nate: How do you get your groceries home?

You: There’s a store not too far from here. If I don’t have very many, I usually just carry them as I walk. If I have quite a few, sometimes I take the bus.

Speaking of which, you need to check the schedule for it today and plan accordingly. That is, until Nate replies.

Nate: I can drive you there and back. I don’t mind.

You begin to type, telling him that’s completely unnecessary, but you’re not fast enough.

A text from him pops up: omw

You throw yourself back on your bed, groaning. You’ve just woken up.

You hadn’t planned to go to the store for perhaps a few more hours. You want to at least wake up first. Eat something, then clean. Even if the house is already essentially spotless, but you have a cleaning schedule you try to adhere to to keep it that way. And to give yourself something to do on the weekends in your spare time.

Which is, apart from tutoring, all you really have.

You decide to just stay in your PJs—a pair of soft blue shorts with clouds on them and a white t-shirt.

You’ve already washed your face and brushed your teeth, as well as your hair—which is now in a bun atop your head.

You make your bed, opening your curtains, letting the morning sunshine into your room before you go to the living room and flip the lock on the door to let Nate in.

You then head to the kitchen to decide on what to make for breakfast. You’re torn between eggs and bacon, or waffles, with perhaps a small side of French toast, when you hear a truck roar into your driveway.

You’re torn from your debating over breakfast by a knock on the door.

“It’s open!”

Nate enters the house, slipping off his shoes, closing the door behind him.

“I’m in the kitchen,” you call softly.

He comes to stand in the entryway. “Want me to give you a few while you get ready?”

He surely hopes you’re not the type who goes to the store in her pajamas, at least.

You turn around to look at him, leaning back against the counter behind you, crossing your arms over your chest. “Actually, I was planning on going later this afternoon. After cleaning. And eating… I haven’t had breakfast yet,” you say sheepishly.

“Shit,” he hangs his head for a moment, then looks at you again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fuck up your plans for the day. I just didn’t have anything to do this morning, so I thought I’d run over and help you out.”

You shake your head. “It’s ok. I appreciate it. You don’t have to stay if you have somewhere else you need to be.”

“I don’t. Not until this evening, at least.”

His dipshit dad wants everyone to have a family dinner together, while Nate wants to do anything else.

Like be here with you.

“Have you eaten yet?”

He has—a breakfast burrito maybe an hour ago. “No, do you want to go somewhere and get breakfast?”

“I could make us something instead?” You turn back around, opening the fridge again. “Any requests?”

He’s quiet for a moment, just taking you and this moment both in. You, still in your pajamas, having just rolled out of bed a little while ago, standing in the kitchen in the early-morning light, offering to cook for him. It’s all so…domestic. And a warm feeling forms in his chest at it—imaging this as his home with you. Imagining you’re both married and your kids are still asleep in the other room.

You glance back to him.

He shakes his head to clear it. “I’m sorry, I’ve just never done—had this before.”

“What?”

“My-” he stops himself before he can say ‘girlfriend’. “A girl cooking for me.”

Your brows furrow. “Really? Neither Cassie or Maddy ever did?”

He chuckles. “I honestly don’t think of either of them know how.”

“That’s sad,” you state simply, before turning back around. “So, do you want bacon and eggs, or waffles, pancakes…I can do French toast?”

“Whatever you want to do is fine with me.” He likes that you know how to make so many things. That you want to do so for him. He’d chosen right with you.

You turn around yet again. “You’re my guest, so you get to pick.”

He smirks, shrugging. “Bacon and eggs is fine with me.”

“How do you like your eggs?”

“Scrambled works.”

You nod, then start pulling out cookware.

Nate had stood to the side, watching as you worked, occasionally sipping on a mug of black coffee—you’d put some on just after having gotten up. He’d asked more than once if you wanted help as he watched you flit about the kitchen, but you’d only smiled and shook your head.

Finally, once breakfast is ready, you make the both of you a plate and carry them into the dining room, sitting his plate on one side of the table and yours on the other.

You take your seat before he can bother pulling it out for you. He tries not to let it irk him. He tells himself it’s because it’s a habit, since you’re in your own home. You’re not used to being catered to. But neither is he.

Thankfully, Nate had gone for a run after eating earlier, so he’s able to clean his plate. He doesn’t want your feelings hurt—for you to feel insulted—by him not eating every last bite. And it had been rather good, actually.

“You’re a good cook.”

You look up to him, beaming. “Thank you, I’m glad you liked it. Do you want anything else?”

He leans back, shaking his head. “I don’t think I can fit anymore.”

You nod, standing, taking both your plates into the kitchen, placing them in the dishwasher.

You return to the dining room and remain silent as Nate types a message out on his phone, looking up to you as he tucks it back into his pocket.

“I’ll get dressed and then we can head out.”

He stands. “It’s warm out.”

You smile. “Thanks for the forecast.”

He smirks. “You could—if you want to—wear the skirt and top I bought you.”

You’d hung everything up to dry last night and had truthfully forgotten about all of it until his just-now reminding you.

“Unless you don’t like them?”

You shake your head. “No, I do. I just…I wish you had asked me first.”

“Would you have let me get them for you if I had?”

You wrap your arms around yourself. “Probably not.”

“Then I made the right decision to make it a surprise.”

He heads in the direction of your bedroom, then, and you trail after him. “I just don’t understand why.”

You feel stupid, speaking to the back of his head.

He comes to sit in the swing-chair in the corner of your room. “Why what?”

“Why you bought me everything you did. I looked up the necklace, how much it costs…”

He’s unphased by it, knowing he’d spent well over a grand on you yesterday. But in truth, it hadn’t been nearly the amount he’d wanted to spend.

He'd wanted—more than anything—to take you into a lingerie store and blow a ton of cash on you there, watching you try on everything he asked you to. But he knew better. For now, at least.

“So I wanted to get you a few nice things. You act like it’s some sort of terrible thing for me to have done.”

You sit on the corner of your bed, facing him. “I’m very grateful. For all of it. I just…I hope you don’t think you need to buy my friendship, Nate. I’m not going anywhere.”

It has nothing to do with friendship. But he can’t tell you just how much it turns him on: spoiling you, buying you expensive things, the idea of you being covered in him—from shoes, to clothes, to jewelry, to perfume and more. It gets him off—makes getting off easier, in truth. Until he has your body to do that with, that is, at least.

He leans forward. “I’m glad to hear that. But you don’t have to worry—I never thought I did.”

He glances to your closet. “Do you want to get dressed?”

“I should probably check to make sure everything is dry. I hung everything up last night.”

You leave your bedroom, heading in the direction of the laundry room.

Meanwhile, Nate stands, finally having a moment alone in your room. He wrenches open the drawer on your bedside table and is met with a couple remotes, a book, a few hair ties, a charging cable…nothing of interest. So he closes it.

Heart pounding, he peeks out your bedroom door—you’re nowhere to be seen—and he then opens the top drawer of your dresser next. Ever-organized, your panties are all in individual cubbies—all cotton, some solid colors, others with patterns printed across them, like small flowers and stars. He picks up a bra. White, with a bit of lace, a small bow in the front, another sage-green. Everything utterly virginal. He digs, but finds not one sex toy.

Perhaps you have them elsewhere.

He jumps when he hears a door close. He steps into the hall a moment and sees the bathroom door is now shut.

He returns to your room, getting on the floor and looking under your bed, where there’s only a couple vacuum-sealed bags full of clothes. He then quietly opens your closet. On the top shelf are a few boxes. He pulls down a shoe box, which, unsurprisingly, has a pair of brand new tennis shoes inside. He puts it back, pulling down another.

And it’s full of old Polaroids. They’re all from when you were younger. You and your dad, another of the two of you, a photo of a butterfly, another of a dog looking up at the camera, and he nearly drops the box when he finds a picture of the two of you. The pair of you can’t be more than six or seven-years-old, both of you smiling toothy grins up at the camera.

He flips it over. Written in faded blue ink on the back, it reads “Nate + Y/N ‘05”. He pockets the picture, putting the lid back on the box and setting it back in your closet.

He stops snooping and sits back in his previous seat, unable to remember the picture ever having been taken. He wonders if you do.

When you finally emerge from the bathroom, Nate is still sitting in the corner of your room, his head leaned back and eyes closed, hands folded in his lap.

You silently sit on the edge of your bed, folding your legs over one another, draping your new pink skirt over them. You don't want to wake him, so just as you begin to consider changing back, closing your door and cleaning the house while he rests, he slowly opens his eyes.

"If you'd like to take a nap, you can."

He shakes his head, looking you over. You look perfect. For the most part. "Don't want to wear your necklace today?"

You glance to the robin's-egg colored box on top of your dresser. In truth, you're a bit paranoid about wearing something so expensive. What if the chain breaks and by the time you realize, it's long-gone?

You then look back to him, watching as he stands, opens the small box, then removes the necklace inside.

He comes to sit down behind you, slipping the chain around your neck, fastening it into place.

He then begins to tug the hairband from your ponytail.

You half-turn your head back toward him. "What're you-"

"Do you mind if I do your hair for you?"

You're starting to wonder if Nate has some hidden interest in hair-styling.

"I...I guess not."

He slips your hairband free, it coming to rest on his wrist along with the one he'd taken from you yesterday.

You sit there silently, enjoying the feeling of someone else's fingers in your hair once again, your cheeks growing warm as you feel him pull one side of your hair into a pigtail—something you're not quite sure about, but you decide to only make a judgement once he's finished.

He then does the same with the other side, smoothing some hair down your back, before gripping both your upper arms. "Done."

You stand, walking over to the mirror set atop your dresser and inspecting the half-up, half-down style. One pigtail on either side, the rest of your hair against your back.

"I think you look really pretty like that," he says from the bed behind you.

Who knew the star-quarterback had hidden hair-dressing talents.

You turn back around to him. "So when do I get to do your hair?"

He raises a brow.

"I could put clips and bows and ribbons-"

"Do you have ribbons?"

He...he can't seriously want you to put one in his hair...

"Yes."

He stands. "Where?"

"In the bathroom, the second drawer below the sink."

He leaves you standing there as he goes to rifle through them, returning a moment later with two that match the color of your skirt.

"Nate-"

"Turn around."

You're not sure that you appreciate his demanding tone, but do as he says nevertheless.

Once you have bows tied around either pigtail, Nate puts his hand against the small of your back. "Let's head out."

When the two of you arrive at the store, you go to get out, until Nate stops you by grabbing your left hand. "Wait for me to get it."

You sit back in your seat and wait for him to come around to your side. Once the door is open, you speak. "You don't have to come in with me if you'd rather wait here. I know grocery shopping, well, shopping in general, can be tedious."

He shrugs. "I don't mind."

He takes your hand, helping you down and shuts the door, leading you inside.

Nate stays close to your side as you toss various items into your cart—paying acute attention to each thing you do. You don't get a terrible amount of junk food, but he wishes you'd forgo the cereal. He'd already told you from here on out he'd be bringing you breakfast every morning.

He studies what kind of conditioner you use, what kind of lady razor, even your morning facial-wash. He briefly daydreams about getting you ready for the day—the detailed process he would go through to make you look like his own perfect living doll.

It's when you're in the frozen foods aisle that you briefly pause as he pretends to look over the frozen pizzas, when he's actually watching you. Watching you stare at a couple across the way, giggling and kissing each other, the girl's hand resting over her swollen belly, that is.

Hurt flashes across your features and he briefly grows angry, wondering if it's jealousy—if you know the man.

He steps over to you. "Do you know them?"

You jump in surprise at his presence, having been lost in your thoughts. You shake your head, throwing a bag of frozen vegetables in the cart. "No." You're quiet for a moment. "I was just thinking."

"About?"

You look at the happy pair again. "What that must feel like."

He places his palm against the small of your back, refusing to remove it for the rest of the shopping trip.

Nate of course takes it upon himself to not only load every single grocery bag into the bed of his truck, but also unloading and bringing every one into the kitchen once you're home. He simply watches from a kitchen island stool as you put them away.

He eventually excuses himself to your bathroom, deciding to finally cross the boundary of going through your medicine cabinet.

He locks the door, turning the faucet on as he goes through the cabinet under your sink first. Some toilet paper, a box of pads, some pantiliners, cotton balls, cotton pads—basic bathroom paraphernalia.

He then starts pulling open drawers. One he's already familiar with, it's filled with small baskets which hold elastics, hair bands, bows, clips, headbands and the like. Another houses hot-tools: a curling iron, which looks barely-used, a straightener, which has clearly been well-loved—the company name all but rubbed off of it, even an old crimping iron, and a blow-dryer.

He moves onto the last drawer, which just has extra toothpaste, toothbrushes, some lotion, triple antibiotic, extra shaving gel, and some other odds-and-ends.

Finally, he opens the medicine cabinet, curious if you're on birth control. If so, that will be coming to a stop immediately. Not only does he hate the horrid list of side effects that come with it, but once the two of you start fucking, he wants to be in complete control of your reproductive options.

Needs to be if... Well, if he eventually decides he can't live without you and has to resort to drastic options to keep the two of you permanently connected for the rest of your lives, he'll have that option.

But all he finds is some Tylenol, Advil, expired allergy pills, an old prescription bottle with your dad's name on it, a bottle of mouthwash, a small cup of bobby pins, some q-tips, and a couple—of course—clean makeup brushes, a few other items here and there.

He quickly searches the shower and just finds a few bottles of various kinds of soap.

Finally, he flushes the toilet, turns the water off, and comes to join you in the kitchen.

Nate had left not longer after you'd finished cleaning the house, him offering to help, but you telling him you could never ask a guest to do such a thing, so he'd instead sat on the couch, idly watching football, fantasizing once again about you being his perfect little housewife. Cooking and cleaning and grocery shopping for him, allowing him to dress you up and show you off.

It's in the moment as he watches you humming to yourself as you dust off the mantle that he decides this Thursday you'll finally be his.

Nate continues on with the studying ruse to continue spending one-on-one time with you.

Monday, you'd done exactly as he'd asked: you'd worn the white dress, a pair of flats with it even, your new necklace, a hint of blush, and you'd even curled your hair, which had made him hard near-instantly.

It had taken everything in him not to hold your hand as the two of you walked into school. As soon as he spotted Lexi—the ridiculous look on her face as she watched the two of you—he pulled you in the other direction before you could see her yourself, seating you with him and his friends. When you had brought up going to find Lexi, he'd merely told you he thought it might be nice for you to meet some new people that morning.

He knew by their expressions that his friends had wanted to say something—anything about you—perhaps throw around some vulgar jokes, but the death-glare he greeted them with instead kept them talking about football and some party that had gone on this last weekend, which he'd been unaware of, too concerned with filling his time with you.

As the week went on, the two of you began to text more and more. You woke up everyday to him and went to sleep to messages from him. He'd even called you once, and the two of you chatted for almost an hour about everything and nothing. He would've been content to stay up all night listening to your voice, until you had gotten off the phone, telling him you were going to sleep and you would see him in the morning.

You had no idea he was outside of your house that night, watching your bedside lamp flicker off.

Thursday after school, once the two of you are finished studying, Nate finally takes the plunge, praying to fucking God he gets what he's been dying to have for the last two weeks.

He pulls out his extra jersey from his bookbag, handing it to you.

You look up to him, confused.

"I thought you could wear it tomorrow to school, and the game that night."

You look down at it, the metallic number '18' on the front, then back up to him once more. "Isn't...isn't wearing a player's jersey to school something girlfriends usually do?"

He scoots the least bit closer to you, his legs on either side of your chair. He reaches up, gently gripping the back of your neck, light enough that it seems just a sweet gesture, but he knows what he means it as: him touching what is about to belong to him.

"Would that be such a bad thing?"

You blink once, twice. "What?"

He takes one of your hands in his free one. "Listen, the last few weeks," even if he knows it's only been two, but so little time together sounds...not the best out loud, "spending time with you has been a welcome change in my life. I know it started out as just tutoring, and we can keep doing that, of course. But, Y/N, I really, really like you. Being around you is just...so fucking easy. You're easy to talk to, to hang out with, to text with. And you're incredibly beautiful. And kind. And smart. Honestly, I could go on for the next hour, if not longer, about all your admirable qualities. Suffice to say that I'm very-much interested in being with you. And if you feel the same way that I do, then maybe we can give this a shot."

A strange, uneasy feeling comes over you. You tell yourself it's because you've never been asked out before. Never had someone show such blatant interest in you before like this. You're used to being alone, so of course the idea of being with someone—anyone—but especially Nate Jacobs, star football player, his dad's name being a household name in East Highland, and the guy every girl at school seems to want—seems unthinkable.

"I...I didn't think I was your type."

So does that mean you have thought about it? Being with him?

He runs his thumb over your knuckles. "I didn't think so either. But that's precisely why I think you're so good for me. You're not attention-seeking. Dating girls like that in the past has caused me nothing but trouble. You're not superficial. You care about shit—see things—in ways others just don't. Not at our age, at least. Not at our school. You're mature, responsible, know how to take care of yourself..."

He trails off, wanting you to reply. To just say yes. To give yourself to him.

"I don't know about this..."

His grip on your hand tightens just the smallest bit. "What's your concern?"

"How do I know you're not rebounding, from Cassie or Maddy?"

He shakes his head. "I'm not. I should've been done with Maddy a long time ago for the way she treated me. What she did at McKay's...I can never forgive that. And Cassie was a mistake from the first moment. We had both been drinking. And I just...I wasn't thinking clearly. But I am now. And I know what I want."

You look down to your lap. "And what if I screw things up? I've never dated someone before. I'd have no idea what to even do."

"Nothing here has to change. Not really. Us being together just means spending more time together." He fights back a smirk. "And me finally getting to kiss you."

Your head jerks up.

"Once you're ready," he adds on, knowing you'll be ready when he deems you so.

"And what if I'm just one more person to hurt or let you down?"

He feels like with that one question alone—you being so concerned for his wellbeing—he falls in love with you.

He releases your neck, now cupping your cheek. "You won't be. Do you think I haven't thought the same thing? You were abandoned by your mom. Your dad, too, essentially. The last thing I want is to be one more person to leave you. So I don't plan to.

"Listen, I'm not saying everything is going to be like a picture-perfect fairytale all the time, but I think so long as we're both happy, give each other our all, and consistently work at what we have, then we'll both be happy.

"Just in the time we've spent together, I've already opened up more to you alone than I have to anyone else in I can't tell you how long. I trust you."

He brushes the pad of his thumb over your lower lip and you want to cry from how gentle and sweet he's being—has been—with you.

Finally, you resign yourself to the likely fate of your first heartbreak.

"Okay."

His brows raise. "Yeah?"

You nod, a small smile on your face, your eyes filling with tears of joy. "Yes."

He stands, picking you up, wrapping your legs around his middle and your arms around his neck before spinning you around. "Oh, baby, I am going to make you so fucking happy."

You look down at him, and you believe it.

When you wake the next morning, you only get so far as brushing your teeth and washing your face when you hear a truck outside.

Still half-asleep, you wander to the front door and look through the peephole to see Nate coming up to it, one of his arms behind his back. You briefly wonder if you'd overslept as you flip the lock and open the door.

He comes in, pressing a kiss to your warm forehead. "Morning, angel."

You look up to him with sleepy eyes. "Am I running late?"

He smirks, thinking of the things he'd love to do with you while you're still half-asleep like this. It'd be too all easy to take control in bed.

He shakes his head. "No, I'm early," he says, pulling a bouquet of a dozen white roses out from behind his back.

You gasp lightly, taking them from him. "They're beautiful." You look up to him. "You didn't have to bring me flowers now that we're together."

It feels oddly strange to say.

He presses another kiss to your forehead. "I wanted to. It's something I want to do for you, bring my girlfriend flowers, take her on dates," he shuts the door behind him, backing you up against the wall, the flowers clutched against your chest as he places his palms on either side of you. "I hope you know I intend to spoil you fucking rotten."

Your eyes widen. "Oh."

He smirks. "C'mon, let's go get you ready."

Once you've put your flowers in a glass vase near a window in the kitchen, Nate takes your hand, leading you into the bathroom.

"Sit," he says before stopping himself, nearly opening the drawer to your straightener. He doesn't need you knowing he'd been snooping. "Straightener?"

"Uh...top drawer," you reply, seating yourself on the toilet lid

He retrieves the device, plugging it in.

As it heats up, he grabs your hairbrush from atop the sink and comes to stand behind you, running the bristles through your hair.

"You...you don't have to do my hair."

"I want to."

In truth, he wants to shave and moisturize your legs as well, then dress you in his jersey—picking out a bra and panties, too, before doing your makeup.

"Did you do this for Maddy and Cassie as well?"

He'd bought Maddy clothes, but she would've never let him dress her. Would've most-likely mocked him had he so much as given her a ponytail. Cassie was obviously a different story. "No. And we don't have to talk about them anymore. They're in the past now."

You fidget nervously with your hands. "Isn't that important—addressing our pasts to get to know one another better?"

Once your hair is free of tangles, he sets the brush down on top of the toilet tank. He then comes to stand in front of you, kneeling down to make the two of you level. "It is, but I don't want you to worry about either of them. You're the best thing for me now."

He sprays some heat-protectant on your hair before beginning to straighten it.

Nate gives you some privacy as you go over your legs with a razor one more time before getting dressed, even if you'd shaved the night previous. When you're finished, you come to stand in front of the mirror, and you simply stare.

Your hair is like it was the other day when you went grocery shopping, only, instead of ribbons on either side, he'd used hair bands that have two small balls on them that match the color of the numbering on his jersey. He'd actually done surprisingly well in doing your hair.

When you step out of the bathroom, he's waiting for you in your bedroom, his extra jersey, which you'd had hung up in your closet, now resting on your bed.

You nearly want to pinch yourself, everything seems so unreal in this moment.

He picks up the blush he'd gotten you, along with a makeup brush from your hardly-ever-used vanity and he dips it into the fine powder before gripping your chin, swiping the brush over the apples of both of your cheeks once, then twice.

You giggle nervously. "I'm starting to feel like a living-doll or something."

He smirks, snapping the compact shut, setting the materials back where they go. "I just like taking care of you."

He picks up your diamond Tiffany necklace, one more sign of his ownership over you, and clasps it around your neck.

He nods down to the jersey. "I'll let you get dressed."

Nate fights back a raging erection every mile to school. Here you sit, completely fucking covered in him, in the passenger seat of his truck. He'd done your hair, your makeup, bought the piece of jewelry you're now wearing, and his jersey hangs from your frame like a dress—he'd also picked out the white pair of tennis shoes from your closet that you're now wearing. Even eating a muffin he'd stopped to pick up for you.

He wants to pull over in a secluded spot somewhere and claim your virginity—one more part of you that will now belong to him—but he tells himself that will come soon enough.

If his plan works, you'll be in his bed, a whimpering, crying, whining, begging mess under him, sooner rather than later.

Your pussy will be his to fuck whenever and however he pleases.

He'll finally be back to no longer having to use his hand.

His fucked-up sexual fantasies of the two of you will finally get to come true

When Nate pulls into the lot, he 'accidentally' steps on one of your shoelaces after you've gotten out of the truck. He lifts you back up into your seat, setting your foot atop his knee—just like at the bowling alley—and people watch from their cars as he ties your shoe for you.

Finally, he takes your hand, firmly twining your fingers together, before locking his vehicle behind the two of you, as you walk into school together.

And you feel yourself begin to sweat nervously with every pair of eyes that turn your way, some people clearly not thinking much of it—bless those few—while others react with shocked expressions, whispering amongst themselves, eyeing you up and down, making you want to crawl inside a hole.

You look up to Nate and he looks nothing short of confident and unbothered.

You then glance over to Lexi's table and Lexi's expression somehow looks...sad? Disappointed, maybe?

Cassie, however, is shaking she's so enraged.

You quickly balk and look away from her before sitting down beside Nate, thankful you had worn a pair of black bicycle shorts under his jersey.

You drown out Nate's football friends chatting with him about tonight's game as he places his hand on your knee, then slowly moves it higher, then higher, until it's on the middle of your thigh.

You can feel your face growing warm out of mortification. What if someone sees? Thinks that the two of you are...well, already doing that.

You're torn from worrisome thoughts, thinking perhaps you'd made a mistake—you're not sure exactly what choice to consider as much—by Nate squeezing your leg.

You blink up at him. "What?"

He nods toward his friend. "He asked you a question."

You look at the young man across the table, who's maybe a year younger than the both of you, with black hair and hazel eyes, braces still on his teeth.

"I'm sorry, I guess I didn't hear you."

"I asked if you were going to be at the game tonight, since you're Nate's new girl."

"Of course she is," Nate replies for you. "She'll be in the stands cheering us onto victory. Right, baby?"

You give him a nervous smile, then nod.

He's pleased with your agreeable response.

When you get into second period, Cassie is already there, in her seat, which is just behind and diagonal to yours. You don't look at her as you lie your books on your desk, afraid to meet her eyes.

Then you hear her whisper "bitch" as you take your seat.

You slowly turn back to look at her, filled with hurt at the cruel name.

She gives you a nasty look. "What are you looking at?" She asks in a snide tone.

You turn back around without another word, fighting back tears for the rest of class, unable to think of anything else but how she'd always been so nice to you, and now despises you.

Once class is over, you go out to your locker, so distracted that you don't see Nate leaning against the one next to it with a smile meant only for you.

A smile that immediately disappears when he sees the sullen look on your face, and your bloodshot eyes.

You fumble with your lock twice before finally getting your locker open.

"What's wrong?"

You nearly jump at the sound of his voice.

You shake your head, setting your books back on their shelves with shaking hands. "N-nothing."

He leans down closer to you and speaks gently, quietly. "Something happened. Tell me."

He isn't going to take no for an answer.

You shake your head and he feels his fuse growing shorter. "Did someone say something to you?"

You look up to him. "I don't want to cause any trouble."

He delicately laces his fingers through your hair. "You won't. Just tell me what happened, sweetheart."

You shift from one foot to the other, clutching one of your textbooks to your chest. "Cassie. She-"

His tone grows hard. "What did she do?"

"When I got into class she called me a bitch. I wasn't...I wasn't sure if I heard her correctly. I turned around to look at her and she just...she had such a mean look on her face and asked me what I was looking at, so I just turned around."

He clenches his jaw so hard he's sure it will break. If that stupid whore ruins what he'd just gotten to finally happen with you—making you his—he'll fucking kill her. Actually kill her.

He wants to make a scene right in the middle of the hallway, wants to show you just how far he's willing to go to protect you, even just your feelings, but he knows it will only frighten you away. Showing his devotion to you in extreme measures is something that will have to come in time.

He presses a firm kiss to your forehead, staring down Cassie across the way, who's watching the both of you with a devastated look on her face. He then looks down at you, lifting your chin until your eyes are looking into his own. "Just ignore her. She's jealous. That's all it is. Eventually she'll get over it and move onto her next flavor-of-the-month."

You nod, grabbing the rest of your things for third period.

He smiles down at you, brushing his knuckles against your cheek. "I'll be there in a minute. I'm going to run to the restroom first."

You nod, heading to class.

Once you're out of sight, he makes a b-line for Cassie.

And the dumb bitch is stupid enough to actually smile at him.

When he reaches her, he slams her locker shut with one hand—causing her to jump—keeping it firmly in place against it as he stares her down. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

She shakes some hair off of her shoulder, looking up to him, back straight, eyes pensive. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"That's complete fucking bull. Y/N told me what happened in second period." He lowers his voice so only she can hear. "Let's get one thing straight, you desperate whore, if you screw this up for me, you won't like what happens to you. You have no idea the things I'm capable of—the lengths I'm willing to go to—when someone tries to destroy my life or take someone I love away from me."

She flinches at that—him admitting it—his feelings for you. And after such a short time...

"We had our fun, now I'm done with you, just like the other half of the male student population here. The fuck did you really think was going to happen with us? Did you think we'd...what? Get married, have kids, and live in a cul-de-sac in some fantasy where you're actually a good person that any man would deem worthy of marriage? I got exactly what I wanted and threw your ass to the curb when I got bored and you started acting fucking psychotic."

He points his finger at her face and she shrinks back against a locker, tears stinging her eyes. "Stay the fuck away from me, and even further away from Y/N. If I find out you've said another word—so much as come near her... Just try me, Cass."

With that, he steps away, heading to third period.

After school, Nate drops you off, promising he'll be back that evening to pick you up before the game, and you give him a soft kiss on the cheek before he leaves.

Once you're alone, for some reason, you feel like you can finally breathe. Like some weight had been bearing down on your chest all day and has suddenly lifted.

You blame it on the crowded halls and your noisy classmates.

You leave your hair the way it is, but change into something more comfortable before finding something to eat and sitting down to do homework.

In the middle of finishing your math homework, you begin to think of what had happened with Cassie. It had hurt your feelings, but you aren't angry. If anything, you feel sad on her behalf. While she was, of course, partly to blame, she'd still lost her best friend and boyfriend both, as well as earning herself an even worse reputation around school. You tell yourself the anger isn't necessarily directed at you. That's she's just lashing out in general due to being hurt and alone, and you're an easy target.

You're not sure trying to make nice with her is a good idea, however.

Your phone buzzes, ripping you away from your worries about Maddy trying to come after you next, even if she seems to have far less interest in you and Nate—minus that day in the parking lot—when you check it. You see that it's from Nate.

Nate: Be by around 6 to pick you up.

You: See you then. (:

Nate: Make sure to wear my jersey. 🏈

You grin at his finally using emojis.

You: I will. ❤️

You're left with a little over two hours to yourself before he'll be there to pick you up again. So you take another shower, knowing you sweated a bit more than usual today, then lie back on your bed and try to distract yourself with a movie.

Shortly before six, you dress in Nate's jersey again, and a fresh pair of panties and bicycle shorts before going out to sit on the swing in front of your house to wait for him.

You can't help but smile when he pulls up, butterflies in your stomach.

He comes around, opening the passenger door to the truck. Once you're seated, before you can buckle yourself, he does so for you.

You don't manage to say anything, such as telling him that him doing that really isn't necessary, before he shuts the door.

Nate rolls down the windows, blasting upbeat rap music on the way back to the school. You smile, thinking he looks cute when he's excited. He doesn't seem to exhibit that emotion a lot.

Then again, apart from winning at bowling, neither do you.

Perhaps the both of you are too serious for your age.

You lean back, a smile on your face, and he rests his hand on your upper thigh. You tell yourself you're fine with him touching you there.

That it doesn't make you uncomfortable.

That he's just trying to be a sweet boyfriend.

Once the two of you pull in, the parking lot is only sparingly filled. But the game also doesn't start until after seven.

Once Nate has helped you out of the truck, disliking that you'd already unbuckled yourself before he got a chance to, he takes your hand in his—his duffle bag slung over his other shoulder—as he heads in the direction of the field house. One you're around the backside of the school, he drops his bag on the ground, turning back to you.

He cups your cheek in his large palm. "Can I get a kiss for good luck?"

You hesitate for a moment. Then, "Yes," you say with a shy smile.

He smiles down at you in return before pressing you up against the brick building, then lowering his lips to yours.

He fights back a moan at finally getting to be this: your first kiss. The first one to taste you. The only person to ever have this intimate moment with you.

He opens your mouth with his, gently flicking his tongue against your own and he feels your body stiffen, until he does it again and you relax.

He stays like that for a good few minutes, his tongue tasting you, the sun beating down on his back as his form shadows your own, both your eyes closed as you, after seventeen years, finally find out what it's like to be kissed.

And it's slow and gentle and passionate. And you feel heat pool between your thighs.

You whimper against his lips and his cock hardens at the sound.

He pulls back just the least bit, his lips hovering over your own, which are now red, a bit swollen. "What was that?"

"I dunno," you say, gripping his t-shirt, pulling him back down to you.

He grows impossibly harder at the fact you want more.

He easily obliges.

He wants to move his lips down to your neck, wants to give you a hicky before you go sit on the bleachers for the game, but doesn't.

Finally, he pulls away, both your breathing labored. "Alright, I have to go get ready, my little good-luck charm."

You laugh at that.

He presses one more soft kiss to your lips before reaching down and grabbing his bag.

"Oh," he says, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket. "This is for your ticket." He hands you a five dollar bill. "And this is incase you want anything from the concessions."

He hands you a fifty and your eyes widen.

"I don't think a pretzel costs that much, Nate."

He shrugs. "Maybe you'll want a souvenir of your first game."

You stand on your tiptoes and he smirks, leaning down again as you wrap your arms around his neck. You press a soft kiss to his cheek, before whispering in his ear. "Good luck. And thank you."

He kisses your lips again before stepping away. "I'll look for you in the bleachers."

He begins to walk backwards toward the field house.

"I'll be there cheering you on."

He smiles at the image of that. "Maybe we can do something after."

You nod. "Good luck!"

Surprisingly, when you go to sit on the bleachers, Cassie, who's gathered with the rest of the cheerleaders, doesn't look back at you but once, shortly after you first sit down. It'd only been a glance, and then her completely ignoring you, which you're beyond okay with.

You'd bought yourself a water before finding a seat, the day still hot with the sun out, even if it's beginning to slowly set.

A sense of thrill fills you when the players run onto the field, your eyes immediately honing in on number eighteen.

You feel your cheeks grow impossibly warmer when you remember your kiss from earlier.

You watch as the players gather around their coach, Nate removing his helmet as they—you assume—strategize. He glances up to you and gives you a wink and you smile in return, blowing him a kiss.

Once they break, Nate pretends to catch it, pressing it to his chest before putting his helmet back on.

You can't help but admire him in his uniform.

You've never liked sports before tonight. But with Nate now being your boyfriend and out there on the field, you're completely engrossed. You sit on the edge of your seat the entire game, just watching him running this way and that across the field, blushing when you think about the two of you wearing matching jerseys.

And every time he scores a touchdown, which turns out to be a lot, you hop up from your seat, clapping and smiling, feeling proud of him.

In all honesty, seeing him plowing through the other players and tackling and just...playing the game...actually turns you on a little. Okay, perhaps a bit more than a little. It just makes him look so strong.

You wonder what he would think of that fact.

Once the game is over, the Blackhawks having unsurprisingly won, Nate removes his helmet, yelling and laughing in victory with the rest of his teammates. You smile, glad to see him happy.

He looks into the stands, searching for you and finds you in the same spot you've been in all night.

He waves his hand for you to come down and you do, coming to stand on the other side of the fence from him.

He rests his forearms atop it. "So, what did you think?"

You grip a few of his fingers. "I had fun, which I didn't expect." You giggle to yourself.

"What?" He asks with a smirk.

You shake your head.

"Well, now you have to tell me."

You look up at him from under your lashes and he can already tell he's going to fucking love whatever is about to come out of that pretty little mouth.

"You look really good in your uniform."

He leans forward. "Oh, yeah?"

You nod. "Mhm."

He reaches forward, gripping the one you're wearing, bringing you a bit closer to him. "So do you."

You kiss then, the taste of him now mixed with sweat and grass and fresh air.

He pulls away. "Climb over here."

Watch me fall or hurt myself, you think as you wedge your tennis shoe in the chain-link fence. Once you're halfway up, Nate lifts you the rest of the way over, and you wrap your legs around his middle, running your fingers through his slick hair.

"Sorry, I'm all sweaty."

You shake your head. "I don't mind," you say before kissing him.

You wait for Nate outside of the field house, leaned back against the red brick stones, staring up at the millions of stars littering the night sky, feeling so completely happy for the first time in you're not sure how long.

Once players begin to file out, you watch for Nate to be among them. When he exits, he glances in your direction, coming over to stand in front of you, offering you his hand. "Ready?"

You nod.

Once you're in his truck, he stands in the passenger side doorway, one of his arms resting against the top of the truck, his other hand against your left calf.

"I've had a really great night, and I don't really want to just drop you off at home, and then it ends."

You just look at him, waiting for him to continue.

"If I ask you to stay the night at my place, will you?"

You shift in your seat. "Doing...doing what?"

"Just sleeping," he states. "Maybe we can watch a movie in bed or something."

You think about it for a moment, not sure you're comfortable with moving this quickly.

"What about your parents?"

"What about 'em?"

"They won't mind you bringing a girl home late at night?"

He shakes his head. "I mind my business and they mind theirs. If I want to invite someone over, they're not going to tell me no."

You think that's a very unconventional way to parent, especially when it comes to him having a girl in his room—in his bed.

"You don't think it's a little early for me to be spending the night?" You ask gently, using a kind tone to try and prevent hurting his feelings.

He's quiet for a moment, now looking away from you. "I'm sorry. I guess I got too excited to spend more time with you tonight. It was a stupid idea. I shouldn't have asked in the first place. Just forget I did."

He goes to pull away and you suddenly feel bad. You'd hurt his feeling anyway. Something you had told him you didn't want to do just yesterday.

You quickly grab his hand. "No, I'm sorry. I just...I don't-" you scramble for some excuse that isn't 'this makes me uncomfortable'. "I don't want you to get the wrong impression about me."

He softens, stepping closer to you again, his hand sliding up your thigh. "Like what?"

You relax at the tension quickly dissipating. "Like..." you bite your lip. "Like I'm easy. Or...or a slut. Or-"

That same hand comes up to caress your cheek. "Baby, you'd never even had your first kiss before tonight. I could never think that about you. You're probably the most innocent girl—person, even—at this school. And like I said, we'll only be sleeping."

You look at him for a moment. "I don't have a change of clothes. Or a toothbrush or-"

"You can just wear something of mine. And we have extras, I'll just give you one."

Finally, you cave. "Ok."

He gives you a gentle smile. "Ok."

When you and Nate pull up to his house, you suddenly feel inadequate at the large home that looms before you. Two stories tall and very, very expensive looking.

You're so busy studying the extravagance of it that you don't notice Nate unbuckling you.

"Your house is-"

"Obnoxious, I know."

He helps you down, taking your hand in his before grabbing his bag and heading inside.

You glance around the foyer, but not for long before Nate begins pulling you toward the stairs. And then you hear his name being called from down the hall.

He stops in his tracks, rolling his eyes.

"Is that your mom?" You whisper.

He drops his duffel bag, which thumps against the floor. "Yeah."

"Nate, come in here, I want to tell you how great you were tonight!"

You take one of his hands in both of yours. "Can I meet her?"

He pulls his hand away without answering. Only, instead, giving you a 'wait here' before walking away.

You stand there, unsure about the sudden shift in his mood. It was like it had happened gradually on the way over and only became more extreme the moment her voice called to him.

Does he really hate being here that much?

When Nate enters the kitchen, his mom is making a salad at the island, his dad grabbing a beer from the fridge.

Marsha walks around it, gesturing for Nate to lean down to give her a hug, which he does, and she plants a quick kiss to his cheek. "You were so great tonight, honey. Your momma is very proud of you."

He nods. "Thanks."

He glances back down the hall, and then his dad speaks. "You left yourself open too much in the first quarter. I've said it before and I will again, you need to work on that, son."

Nate's fists tighten at his side.

He glances back down the hall again and immediately regrets it.

"Do we have company?" His mom asks.

"No. I do." He takes a step away.

"Wait, hold on. Who is it?"

He rolls his eyes. "Does it fucking matter? I need to get back to her-"

He lets out a low swear. He just had to say 'her'.

His mom crosses her arms, now interested. "Her? Did you bring a girl home?"

"I think your mother means 'another girl' home."

Nate glares at his father as he takes a swig of his beer. Finally, he looks back to his mom. "Yes."

Her brows raise. "Well, do I get to meet her?"

Nate sighs. He steps out of the kitchen, and you look up at him, now full of nerves. He jerks his head in the direction of the kitchen.

You walk up to him. "Is everything ok?" you whisper as he takes your hand.

"It's fine." Is all the reply he gives you before pulling you into the kitchen with him.

Your eyes look this way at that, taking in the lovely décor and the beautiful island and appliances, then looking to his mom, then his dad, who seems to be watching the two of you with no more than idle amusement.

"Mom, dad, this is Y/N. Y/N, these are my parents."

His mom steps forward first, pulling you into an unexpected hug, but you quickly embrace her in return. You don't want to admit how nice it feels to be held by a mother, even if she isn't your own.

Finally, she pulls back, holding you in place by your upper-arms as she looks you over. "Well, don't you just look adorable in Nate's old jersey."

You flush a shade of crimson. "Thank you."

She releases you, placing her hand over her chest. "I'm Marsha, the mom. And this is-"

"Cal," His father finishes, stepping up to the island, reaching across it to shake your hand.

You nearly tell him you already know his name, but refrain, knowing doing so will only make this moment more awkward.

Once introductions are through, you step back to Nate's side.

"It's nice to meet the both of you."

"Oh, she's polite!" His mom chimes in. "I already like her a lot better than Maddy. Not that that's hard to achieve." She takes a bite of her salad, swallowing. "She was a truly awful girl."

Nate wraps his arm around your waist, but before he can pull you away and get you upstairs and locked away inside his room with him, Cal speaks. "Going through 'em awful fast, aren't you, Nate? That's what, three girls now, in almost as many months?"

You feel nothing short of embarrassed, perhaps even a little ashamed, at his comment.

Nate's grip on your hip tightens painfully for a moment, and you're sure it'll leave a bruise, but you don't speak, instead just bearing witness to the now-taut silence enveloping the room.

Nate steps away from you, going over to the fridge.

Nate grabs a beer, Cal going to grab himself another, until Nate speaks so low only he can hear. "Not nearly as fast as you, though, am I?"

"Excuse me?"

"You're such a fucking asshole. Leave me," he glances to you, then back to his dad, "And her alone. Stay out of my way, and I'll stay out of yours like we usually do."

With that, Nate comes over, firmly gripping your hand, and leading you upstairs.

Once Nate has shut the door behind the two of you, locking it, he throws his duffle bag down, then grabs a pair of boxers and sweatpants from his dresser before going into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

You seat yourself on his bed, wondering what, exactly, had been said between he and his dad to make him so upset. Unless it was the comment about him going through girls? On the one hand, it was kind of a shitty thing to say. On the other, parents sometimes give their kids a hard time. It comes with the territory.

A few moments later, Nate emerges from the bathroom, shirtless, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips and his hair damp and tousled.

You feel that same heat from earlier when he'd kissed you settling between your legs again. Then you tell yourself now is not the time—he's upset.

He walks over to his closet.

"Are you ok?" You ask softly.

He hands you a plain black t-shirt. "Here, you can wear this to bed after you've showered."

So he's not ready to talk about it just yet. "What about bottoms?"

He lies back on the bed, one of his arms slung over his eyes. "Nothing I have will fit you. The t-shirt is fine."

You accept that, padding into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you.

When you emerge, it's in Nate's shirt, a fluffy towel wrapped around your wet hair.

He's still lying on the bed in the same position from earlier.

You rub the towel against your hair a few times, then drop it in his hamper before coming to sit with your legs crossed beside him. You're silent for a moment, trying to think of the right thing to say. Finally, you just make a simple offer.

"Do you want me to leave?"

He shakes his head, his other arm coming to rub up and down your spine. "No."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He lowers the arm from over his eyes, which are now open, staring up at the ceiling. "There's nothing to talk about. I told you: he's an asshole."

You shrug. "He's your dad. Picking on you is kind of part of his job."

"That's not why he said it. It's not why he does any of the shit that he does. It has nothing to do with him being my dad."

"Maybe he just-"

He looks at you then. "Can we just not talk about my dad while we're in bed together?"

You withdraw into yourself a little at his sudden irritation. And how he had worded it. Like you're doing something other than just talking.

"Ok, I'm sorry."

He notes that your tone now sounds slightly frightened. He sits up, leaning on his arm, his free hand coming to grip your waist. "No, I am. I didn't mean to snap at you. It's just him. It's always fucking him."

"Have the two of you ever considered sitting down and just having a heart-to-heart?"

He snorts, then looks at you like that's the stupidest idea anyone has ever come up with.

"Lie down with me," he says, pulling back the covers, which you then crawl beneath.

He pulls you against him, his arm under your neck, fingertips lightly tracing the tip of your shoulder. "Thank you for being here."

"You're welcome. I'm very proud of you tonight. It sounds like your mom is too."

He bends the arm that's not holding you behind his head.

"I'm glad you stayed."

"Of course I did," you say, resting your hand over his chest. "I thought I hated sports until tonight. I had a fun time watching you."

He looks at you. "Good."

He then slips his arm out from under you, your head falling back against a pillow which smells of cologne and him. He hovers over top of you, scooting you lower before he presses a kiss to your forehead.

You panic. "Nate..."

He looks down, but you grab his chin, which he doesn't expect.

"Don't look."

His brows furrow.

"The t-shirt sort of rode up."

He bites back a smirk. So you're half-naked underneath him, then.

He lowers his body onto your own. "There, now I can't see."

You remain staring up at him.

He plants a soft kiss to your cheek. "Is this ok?"

You're quiet for a moment. Longer than he'd like. Until, finally, "I guess so."

That's all the permission he needs before he starts kissing you. He teases you with his tongue again like earlier, since you had seemed to like that so much, before he eventually moves lower, pressing hot, wet kisses to your neck.

He moves from one side, and when he gets to the other, you jerk underneath him and whimper.

So he kisses that same spot again and your breathing quickens.

His cock fills with blood, knowing he's found a sweet spot.

And so he kisses and sucks at the sensitive skin, until your hips have risen up against him, your arms around his neck and you're panting. He flicks his tongue and you moan in the back of your throat, your control slipping more and more with each kiss. He doesn't stop until he's sure you're soaked and he sees that he's left a purple bruise in his wake.

When he looks down at you, your face is flushed, your lips slightly parted, your hair a mess. It'd be so fucking easy to have his way with you right now. But it would ruin everything to do it this soon.

"Did you like that?" he asks, smoothing some hair from your face.

You nod.

He wonders just how far you'll let him go tonight, short of him breaking your hymen with his cock.

He grips your hip in one of his hands, then moves it higher, to the curve of your side, then higher, until you reach down, firmly grabbing his wrist, his hand now underneath his t-shirt that's barely even covering you now.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"I-" you shut your mouth.

In truth, all you want is to touch yourself. Or maybe let him. No. You can't do that. Not this soon. God, what are you doing? In his bed, nearly naked—nothing covering your bottom half, which is now so wet your thighs are slick from it—and wanting nothing more than to tell him to keep going.

You've never felt like this before. But you've also never had any form of intimacy with another person before.

Only ever yourself.

He gives you a look of understanding. "I don't give a shit what society expects of you. What you think you're supposed to do. I want to know what you want, right now, in this moment."

Finally, after a beat of silence, you release his wrist.

He slowly pushes up the t-shirt higher, then higher, until he can see the bottom swell of your breasts, then he pulls it over your head, tossing it on the floor.

And he just marvels at you. Your naked body lying back against his dark sheets. He still has his lower half covering your own, but knows he'll get to see every inch of you before the night is through.

He leans down, taking one of your nipples in his mouth and you throw your head back.

He grips your hips, trailing his tongue over to your other breast, now sucking on it. He looks up to you. Your eyes are now closed, head thrown back, mouth slightly parted.

He rolls a nipple between his teeth and your hips lift, which he pushes back down into the mattress.

He moves back to your other breast, doing the same, willing a whimper or a cry from your lips. Even his fucking name. Instead, you're so damn quiet. Maddy and Cassie had both been vocal—sometimes overly so. This he's not used to.

Finally, he lifts his head and your eyes pop open, wondering why he's stopped.

"Are you not enjoying it?"

Your brows furrow. "What?"

"You're not really making any noise. Are you this quiet when you touch yourself?"

You wait a moment, then nod. He just tells himself that he won't stop until he's changed that fact, then.

He dives back down, devouring your breasts again, then kissing between them, gradually moving lower and lower, until he's right below your belly button.

You suddenly sit half-up, leaning back on your forearms.

"Do you want me to stop?" He asks.

Your heart is pounding, and there's an incredibly strong pulse going between your thighs. A million thoughts race through your head. The most prominent one: is this why he'd given you attention in the first place? To make you another notch in his belt?

"This...this isn't all you wanted me for-"

"No. I want you. All of you. Being intimate with you is just one part of it. I don't plan on having sex with you tonight. When I take your virginity, I want it to be perfect. For your sake. There's just something I want to try."

He releases one of your hips, twining his fingers between yours for reassurance. While he understands your hesitancy, he wishes you'd lie the fuck back down and spread your legs for him.

Until, finally, you do.

He kisses down your stomach, then is pleased to see that you'd recently shaven your pubic area.

He makes a mental note to start setting you up appointments, which he'll be paying for, so you can get waxed regularly. At least he won't have to worry about stubble or ingrown hairs at that point.

When he's finally eye-level with your pussy, his throbbing erection grows impossibly harder. You truly are fucking perfect in every way.

He lowers his mouth onto you and, finally, you cry out at the unexpected feeling.

He quickly throws both of your legs over his shoulders, spearing his tongue, burying it in the heat between your thighs. He flicks your clit and your fingers tighten around his.

God, you're already so fucking wet. He blames it on your being a virgin—not that he doesn't absolutely fucking love it.

So he does it again. And again. He then swirls his tongue this way and that, sliding up your soaked folds—God, you taste fucking amazing—then back down again. Finally, he pulls back the least bit and he hears you whine in response as he begins to kiss your inner thighs.

At least he'll have this to use against you when the time comes: a bit of oral sex, leading you right up to the edge, and then denying you an orgasm unless you do what he wants will be a perfect weapon against you.

Finally, after wiggling your hips more than once, clearly wanting his mouth back on your pussy, he gives you what you've silently asked him for.

He kisses, licks, sucks, bites—lightly—until he focuses solely on your clit.

He hopes you scream when you fucking cum just so his dad has to hear it.

Instead, that fantasy is broken when you release his hand, pulling one of his pillows over your face as you finish against his mouth, your hips lifting, which he once again pulls back down as he continues eating you out.

He only hears your muffled cries—he can swear he hears you say his name—until you finally drop the pillow on the floor, trying to catch your breath as he presses a few kisses to your now-pulsating pussy.

He rests his chin against your pubic area, watching as you slowly begin to calm, your legs still over his shoulders.

"How was that?"

You feel dazed, your legs like jelly, even a bit sweaty. "Good."

He raises a brow. "Just good?"

You tangle your fingers in your hair, the pulse of your pussy just now beginning to calm. "Really, really good."

"You liked it that much, huh?"

You nod.

"How much?"

You sit up, your muscles now feeling weak. "I loved it, Nate. T-thank you."

He studies you for a moment, considering. "Do you want me to do it again?"

"Really?"

He notes just how eager and excited you sound. Almost desperate for it—for him.

And in that moment, he knows he finally has you exactly where he fucking wants you.

#fic: euphoria (nate jacobs x reader)#nate jacobs x y/n #nate jacobs x you #nate jacobs imagine #nate jacobs x reader #euphoria x you #euphoria x reader

65 notes · View notes

cookie-crumblr · 3 days

Text

GN!READER x 3 YANDERE OC’s

thinking about how Enix, Lucy and Issac would be the first three of my OC’s to cut our legs off if we disobeyed them or tried to run away an i MMMMMMMMMM

CW: GN! Reader, no body descriptions for reader, dismemberment of reader, reader referred to as they/them, murder, drugging, vomit(non descriptive dw), spoilers for lucky, permanent body mutilation, non con, p in whatever hole you have, somno(in Enix’s part), reader has hair in lucy’s part mentioned (not described) Not proof read!

!!MINORS DNI!!

Enix~

When you first awoke in shackles, you couldn’t imagine staying! this guy that you had once thought was just a shy nerd, turning out to be a psychopath to this extent!? You can’t!

You think of a plan to escape as soon as you can.

He let you loose after a while. you promised you’d be good, schmoozed up to him too, pretending nothing had changed. And he believed you.

You ran the first chance you got. A neighbor saw you running in your underwear and hurried you inside. You asked to call the police, she rushed to find her phone.

But too soon after, Enix busts through her front door.

He has a pair of hedge trimmers in his hand… You tried to run but you were frozen solid watching him beat the old woman to death with them. You tried to tear yourself away from the gorey scene unfolding, you tried to run, but he caught you.

“Butterflyyyy~ Looks like Ill have to rip off your wings after all…” He holds you tightly in his grasp, his tall body fully encasing you. “I really didn’t want to”

He injects you with something as he’s holding you, and you feel your body grow suddenly so heavy and your vision fades.

Now he’s looking over your precious, sleeping form, you are even easier to watch and protect! and he can’t help but love how dependent you’ll be on him from now on.

His dick throbs.

You’re so perfect, even just sleeping under anesthesia. He lifts your stumps and gently feels his work… He shouldn’t. He stops himself. Not yet anyway, he wouldn’t want to injure you while you’re in a serious recovery phase.

But soon, he’ll definitely put you back under to fully enjoy what he’s done.

Upon waking you feel terrified… Something is so very wrong! you can’t move your legs! You shoot up into a sitting position, and see the reason…

You vomit over the edge of the bed.

Your legs are gone.

(He definitely mounts them on the wall in the bedroom with a little plaque and everything like they’re one of his prized specimens)

Lucy~

You’ve disobeyed her too many times recently, you’ve ran and hid yourself inside the forbidden red doored room.

You didn’t anticipate how obsessed with you she turned out to be.

The room is completely filled in every corner with something that has to do with you. Pictures and posters of you cover the walls, they look professionally taken. The shelves are filled with photo albums, journals detailing your days and old documents. Some have your thrown out med bottles, vials of what you can only assume is cum in some and blood in the others…. You shiver. You don’t want to keep looking, but it’s all around you.

There’s what looks like some kind of Alter at the front and center of the room.

You find it hard to breathe in here…

You think you might get sick if you stay too long.

There are two windows that don’t have screens on either side of the alter. You dash to one of them and try it, luckily, it slides right open.

“Where are they!?” She screeches. You hear her heels clicking against the wood down the hall. “Find them.”

You escape down a trellis covered in blue morning glories, and run into the gardens.

All too soon you’re being tackled to the grass, as one of Lucy’s guards finds you.

Lucy walks out next, taking her time to get to you, building up even more of your tremendous anxiety. Your heart is thumping in your throat, you can see each beat pulsing in your vision. You’ve never seen her so mad!

The guard holds you down obediently.

She’s got an axe.

“You don’t need both of your legs, right Y/N?” She stands over you.

“Wh-what??”

“Hold them still.” She says to the guard.

“Lu-Lucy!?”

She brings down the axe onto your thigh, a harsh, heavy pain bursts through you and you scream out. Your bone definitely snapped but she wasn’t strong enough to take off your leg in one clean hit….

She brings it down a second time, missing the same spot and just causing you more blinding pain, you scream until you’re coughing and almost vomiting.

“LUCY!!! STOP!!!!” You beg and plead but she looks wildly ecstatic as she brutally mutilates your body.

Again the axe comes down finally separating your leg from your body. the pain is immense and your blood soaks the garden bed. You’re so dizzy and you feel sick, you’re writhing and sobbing just glad the worst is over.

“Call the doctor. And a taxidermist.” She licks your blood off of the axe before she throws it and picks up her dress instead, and steps over you. Her body falls over yours, cradling your face in her arms as she now sits on your midsection. You’re fading in and out of consciousness and weakly try to do anything, but the pain is overwhelming.

“Aw… You’re so cute Y/N, I can’t stay mad at you~!” She pets you and wipes some sweat slicked hair off of your forehead.

Her soft lips come down to yours, you barely register the sensation. As you’re fading you feel her rocking her hips on you.

(She def keeps them in her worship room)

Issac~

“This is necessary, Y/N!”

“NO ISSAC PLEASE!!!!!” You threaten to rip your vocal cords with how loud you’re screaming!

He brings the hacksaw to your thigh, right under your cheek. You feel the rough metal touch you and flail wildly.

You’re on your stomach so you thankfully don’t have to watch…

“PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE!!!” You repeat over and over, snot and tears staining your face.

“I hate to do this to you i swear! But you’ve made me! we told you not to run!!”

“I WONT I WONT I SWEAR I WONT!!!”

“We already gave you that chance.” He states coldly.

The metal touches your flesh once more, but this time he slides it across with pressure enough to cut right down to your bone. You feel the vibrations against the solid part of your body and shiver. The pain is intense and you don’t recognize the voice coming out of you anymore.

You writhe and curl into yourself against the concrete while he pushes the saw back over you, and then again.

The pain doesn’t stop when he stops cutting.

It’s the most intense thing you’ve ever felt.

You’re biting your lip and groaning and wailing when he puts it in you.

“What!!” You cant wrap your head around what’s happening! He’s entering you, while your bleeding out from your thigh!

He spreads your legs wider, you hear him sloshing around in the puddle of your blood.

He fully shoves himself inside you without regard, he can’t help himself every time that you’re completely at his mercy.

You’re all out of wailing at this point, you’re throat is too dry and torn. Your vision is filling with black spots and you feel terrified. All you feel is the throbbing numbness of where your leg used to be, and his huge dick slowly stroking your insides.

You feel the familiar sweat inducing sensation of a saw blade against your other thigh now, You can’t even scream anymore or beg him to stop, you just feel your skin start to be torn open all over again and pass out.

He cums inside you and it spills out around his length mixing into your blood puddle.

48 notes · View notes

hazbinfallinginaspiral · 2 days

Note

Could we get a fic where Retro's sick?

I feel like after Retro came into the Vees' lives that the trio would basically forget how to do the tasks Retro took over and enter full blown panic mode if Retro ever got sick.

Not a fic, but here’s some ideas as to how it’d go!

-When Retro gets sick, they are dying from like, everything. Remember, sea bunnies have high tolerance to poisons toxins, and I’m pretty sure, germs. Like everything else with Retro, it doesn’t happen often, but when it does, it’s bad.

-they are super sensitive to everything. From touch, to sound, to smell, taste and seeing. The lights have to be dim.

-they hate bright lights (Vox has to dim his screen and Val’s not allowed to bring a lamp) silence will probably lead to crying, they’ll need some background noises. Static or ambience will do the trick.

-above all else? They cannot be trusted to be left alone.

-Retro wants food, but their stomach hurts. They specifically want the food that only they can cook, so they can’t even have the food they’re craving because they can’t cook because they’re sick.

-they want cuddles, hugs, and kisses but can’t have any because touching them is the equivalent to touching an actual sea bunny- which means you’ll be poisoned. Vox is the only one who’s immune because he’s biomechanical.

-They sleep walk and hum a bit, which terrifies Valentino. They’ll wander around and try to clean, but it’s just a bunch of stumbling and half hearted tunes. They try to take a shower but can’t manage on their own and end up calling Vox in for back up (He’d be watching the cameras in their room and realize when they’ve been in there for too long)

-Retro will probably be very clingy and whiny, on the verge of tears at all times. They want love and affection but they can’t have it! They just want love and snuggles. Being sick sucks.

-Alastor comes over when he finds out, much to Voxs dismay. He cooks, gets Niffty to help clean (Val is stuck in Voxs office, or leaves the tower altogether, trying to avoid her wrath) and Alastor stays with Retro a good amount of the time. He plays little show tunes and sets up a radio in their room so they always have some music or white noise to keep them company if he isn’t around.

-Vox visits as often as he can manage, trying to soothe Retro. He sings little lullabies sometimes, giving them little kisses and assuring them it’ll be okay.

-Retro likes the hum of Voxs TV static (and the noises his TV head makes in general) better than the same tunes playing on the radio on repeat. They’re grateful that Alastor is helping and was thoughtful enough to gift it to them, but the sound of Voxs static is more familiar and comforting to them.

-Velvette gets stuck with laundry, and she soon realizes why Retro is always complaining about Val’s outfits. She’s also very stressed and panicked and constantly asking Vox how Retro is holding up.

-Val is in charge of cooking and doing dishes, when Alastors not around. There are notably fewer glasses broken than usual when he’s cooking, since he’s making an attempt to keep calm and quiet so Retro can rest.

-Vox doesn’t take on many more responsibilities, he’s with Retro most of the time. If he’s forced to actually go to work, he’ll spend the entire time worrying and doing research to find out what he can do to help.

#hazbin hotel #vox #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin vox #writing #vox x reader #my writing #x reader #thanks anon!#vox fanfiction #hazbin valentino #hazbin hotel valentino #valentino x reader #hazbin hotel velvette #hazbin velvette #velvette x reader

33 notes · View notes

bestworstcase · 2 days

Text

@red-bulbasaur from here

ok but he's probably working with glynda?? it combines him saving people and protecting the relic in a way that makes sense and gives him important work that he can't abandon without making him too important to the plot. qrow not telling the girls much could be for a million reason including keeping a sensitive mission secret and not worrying the girls since they have enough allready.

three issues with the idea that tai and glynda are working as partners on the same ‘assignment’ for oz:

that’s not how ozpin did things. in every other context he assigned one person per task

we know what glynda is doing: she left vale to find help, presumably in mistral and/or menagerie. if tai is working with her, there’s no reason for his ‘assignment’ to be kept secret; even if “trying to find help” is a cover for the real mission (eg, moving the crown somewhere else), then the cover story should cover tai as well.

there is zero narrative connection between glynda and tai other than both of them being adjacent to ozpin, and glynda is much closer to ozpin than tai is. he’s on patch sitting at home during the broadcast, she’s visiting the dust shop in downtown vale. she spearheads the failed effort to retake the academy, he stays at home.

the issue with qrow lying to the girls is that lying is always framed as the wrong choice. the idea that they’re not trustworthy enough to know more than “your dad is on assignment,” or that they need to be protected from the truth, is exactly why everyone—including qrow—was spitting mad at ozpin after 6.2/6.3; qrow is also the one who chose to bring the kids into the loop and has since v6 consistently trusted their judgment and been forthcoming with them.

for him to outright lie to their faces about information they specifically asked him about would be an enormous, shocking reversal for his character—and that’s a frankly bizarre thing to expect the story to do at a point where qrow is sober and more optimistic than he’s ever been. bordering on character assassination, like i said. this is a narrative where you cannot be a good person and lie to people. period. the liar is always wrong.

so it’s like. it comes down to whether you think the narrative will just sabotage everything it’s developed with oz and qrow in the last few volumes for the sake of making tai look better, or if you think the two characters who have been present and actively trying to better themselves since v6 will prove to be more trustworthy than the one who’s been sitting at home off screen since v4.

33 notes · View notes

nikethestatue · 2 days

Text

Chapter XVI

You Are the One

One time, Elain Marie Paige Archeron had everything she ever wanted. She had love. A love that was pure and clean and genuine. A love that did not ask for anything in return. The kind of love that was true, and kind, and forgiving, and protective. She couldn’t remember a time when she laughed as much as she did in the last three months. She recalled waking up every morning for the past three months and feeling lighter, like there was joy and a promise of good things. Now, in hindsight, she realised that it was because she was in love. But also because she was loved. No one’s ever loved her like that before. No one looked at her in the same way, like she was precious. Like she mattered. Like she was someone’s favourite thing in the world.

Only Elain Archeron did not hold on to that love.

She took it for granted.

She took the man who offered her his devotion and his loyalty and his unconditional, undeniable and passionate love for granted, never thinking that she’d ever lose him.

But she did.

She lost Azriel.

“Remember, darling, that’s nature…simple biology,”

“Daddy, you aren’t going to be talking about how babies are made?” Elain sniffled, half amused, half horrified.

Her father smiled a sad smile and shook his head no.

“You have to remember that it’s the sperm that chases the egg. It’s the man who pursues the woman. Not the other way around. A man will chase and will not give up until he gets that sperm into the egg.”

“Ew, dad!”

“You are a big girl, my pretty rose. You know what I mean.”

Elain considered his words, and as graphic as they were, they also made sense. He was correct.

“Love was invented to make nature more palatable,” he continued, “but biology never changed. It’s still about the sperm and the egg. Therefore, let him chase you. And if he doesn’t, then you’ll know the answer. But never chase a man, sweetheart. It’s his nature, his responsibility and his destiny to chase after a woman.”

She sighed and looked out the window.

It's been almost two weeks and Azriel hasn’t sought her out. The sperm hasn’t chased the egg. Azriel hasn’t chased her at all.

At first, it was just…silence.

For four days, it was silent.

Her texts went unanswered. There were no call backs. She even went old school and sent Azriel an email! And that didn’t get a response either.

She was ready to go all the way to Canary Wharf and be the weird girlfriend who busts into her boyfriend’s home and starts to demand answers.

But he finally messaged her with a one word text: ‘training’. That’s all it said. No apology and no explanation. Not an ‘I am sorry for ignoring you’ or ‘I’ve been swamped with the team stuff’. No, she didn’t get anything other than ‘training’.

And so, Elain had changed her mind about trekking to Canary Wharf and waited. Training would eventually be over and he would be back. He'd return to her. Elain wanted to be an understanding girlfriend, who was going to support her man. She realised that he needed to get back into the groove of the game after his injury and get his body back in playing shape. Therefore, when Saturday came about and Arsenal was playing Luton Town, she dutifully turned on the telly and listened to the pre-game broadcast while Piglet raced upstairs and then came back with his red jersey, tossing it to her and urging her to dress him in it. He already knew what he needed to wear when Azriel was playing, and even though he made a mess in his cubby, turning it out and tossing all the other things on the floor, Elain thought that it was too cute how he got so excited and was behaving like a proper little fan.

They watched the game, with Piglet sitting there, enraptured, and howling happily every time Azriel appeared on the screen. How Piglet recognised him, Elain didn’t know–she once hid under a blanket for 10 minutes, and her pug was wandering around in confusion, looking for her, never thinking to pull the blanket off. But here, he somehow was eagle-eyed and was spotting Azriel among the tiny players on the screen.

While Piglet was innocently happy to watch the game, hopping and rolling around, Elain’s mood was more subdued. She did take a photo of the pug and sent it to Azriel. When the game concluded, and Arsenal had won, she messaged him and said ‘Congratulations! Brilliant game’.

Thanks.

That’s what Eain got in response to her message from Azriel.

Thanks.

Angrily, she waited for more, but nothing else came.

Because if he’d responded, she’d confront him and give him a piece of her mind. What did she do to him?? She was a somewhat reluctant girlfriend, but she had the right to be reluctant. He moved like a freight train, but she was more cautious. Besides, she’s lived through many heartbreaks before and every single man that she’s been with has broken up with her. She never broke up with anyone–all the breakups were initiated by the men. And it looked like the pattern was continuing, unbroken. Azriel was also fed up with her and was breaking up.

That night, after the terse ‘thanks’ Elain closed her bedroom door, so Piglet wouldn’t hear her, and wept.

She wept for herself, for her lost love, for her stupidity.

She cried tears of anger, feeling rage sweep over her, cursing Azriel under her breath, calling him names. She was so angry. Angry at him for making her fall in love with him. Angry at him for making her feel. For having hope. Feelings and hope were things that she long ago placed in a place that she did not access and longed to forget. She hated Azriel Night for making her think that she could be loved, with a passion and devotion that Rhys offered her sister Feyre. She hated him for being even worse than Eris. At least Eris never offered her false hopes–he was what he was and she knew that going in. There would be no sweeping her off her feet by Eris. But Azriel…No, Azriel was gallant and strange. He courted her with ferocious intent and was not shy about showing her, and everyone around them, how much he wanted her. He loved her dog. He cooked for her. He cared for her. He cherished her. He joked, but he never pushed her into an uncomfortable place. She didn’t expect to find him and somehow, he landed on her doorstep. Literally. The old saying ‘it will happen when you least expect it’--well, it happened to her. She didn't expect him to sweep into her life and just overtake her whole existence. Because he did. And she hated him and herself, for allowing him so much power over her. She’d given him everything–her heart, first and foremost, but also access to her home, to her sanctuary and to her family. Even her father had accepted Azriel as an appropriate match for his beloved Elain. Elain was her father’s princess. She was the one he loved the most, and the one who gave him the most worry. He’d been lukewarm on Eris, despite Eris’s title and background. But Azriel–Azriel’d wormed his way into Sir Charles’s heart and Elain’s father came to like Azriel quite a bit.

But he never called.

At some point, while operating like a zombie day in and day out, Elain couldn’t stand it anymore and swallowed her pride and messaged Gwyn Berdara.

She was mentally exhausted, thinking nonstop about Azriel and why he was acting the way he was acting. Unable to bring herself to reach out to him yet again, and receive yet another awful, one word answer, she opted for contacting Gwyn. She had no feelings about Gwyn either way–she’d only met her twice in person, and Gwyn wasn’t memorable enough for Elain to develop a strong opinion about her. But Gwyn didn’t respond to her either. Elain had sent a nonchalant sort of message of: Good morning! How are you? Just checking in to see how things are going with Azriel Night? I didn’t want to bother him as he is training and playing right now, but I am curious about your progress with him?

The message remained unread.

However, Elain Archeron did not need to wait for long to get answers to her questions. They came a day later, courtesy of the Daily Mail.

Another Mystery Woman for the Rackish Lothario?

Azriel Night, Captain of Arsenal, never one wanting for female company, has been spotted at The Devonshire with a new companion.

It seems that only a few months had passed since he was photographed on the streets of London carrying another woman in his arms following an attempted robbery. He’d been previously seen with the beautiful partner, now identified as Lady Elain Archeron, on more than one occasion. Hello Magazine even published a holiday spread of the lovely Archeron sisters and their partners in their Christmas edition. London society is still buzzing over the surprise marriage of Lady Feyre Archeron and Lord Rhysand Darling back in December, and over the budding romance between Lady Nesta Archeron, the Duchess of Velaris and Mr. Cassian Night (Azriel Night’s brother).

By all accounts, the romance between the gorgeous aristocrat and Mr. Azriel Night was going splendidly and he’d been seen leaving her luxurious Russell Square townhouse, and even walking her pug, all through the month of December. However, it seems that their relationship is now on pause.

Mr. Night had been spotted dining at the upstairs restaurant at The Devonshire in the company of another woman. The yet to be named companion and Mr. Night enjoyed Sunday lunch at the Soho hotspot, dining on Roast Rib of Beef, all the trimmings and sticky toffee pudding.

After so many trials and errors, will this one be the one to capture Azriel Night’s heart forever?

He was at The Devonshire on Sunday–the Sunday when it was Elain’s turn to cook Sunday roast. When everyone had come to her house for lunch. And by everyone, she meant–everyone. Rhys. Feyre. Her father. Nesta. CASSIAN. Cassian Night, who introduced her and Azriel, was at her dinner table, eating roast chicken and buttery peas. But his brother, Elain’s boyfriend, was on a date with someone else.

A more awkward lunch couldn’t be imagined into existence, even by a talented writer.

Nesta was seething, smoke coming out of her ears. Cassian looked pained and uncomfortable. Rhys didn’t fare much better.

But it was Piglet who broke everyone’s hearts. He sat by the front door for three hours–waiting for Azriel to arrive. He didn’t move. He didn’t eat. He waited.

And waited.

The whole family was here, and surely his dad would come as well. So he waited. He paced and then he lay on the floor, and he looked at the door, blinking his big brown buggy eyes.

Only Azriel never came.

It was a few days later, when Elain on on break between meetings and arranging dates that her phone lit up with a message. She looked at it and her face dropped.

Gwyneth Berdara

Hi Elain! Things are going well, thank you for asking. How are you?

Elain Archeron

I am well, thanks! Forgive me for bothering you,

Gwyneth Berdara

It’s no bother! I apologise for not responding sooner. I had a presentation to create and it took all my energy and time! 😀

Elain Archeron

I can only imagine. I was just wondering how things are with Mr. Night?

Gwyneth Berdara

We made the Daily Mail. Can you imagine? The one time we had lunch together. I can’t imagine spending all my life being hounded by journos

Elain Archeron

Oh, have you? I wasn’t aware that you were in the paper!

Gwyneth Berdara

😂 😂 I am suddenly a mini celebrity. Haha. I am only joking. But honestly? Don’t laugh, but we are mostly talking about football and working out. And hand to hand combat.

Elain Archeron

You are interested in hand to hand combat??

Gwyneth Berdara

I’ve been studying. Self-defence first, and then I got interested in other things. He is showing me some sicke moves!

Elain Archeron

? Okay. I guess thank you for getting back to me. Let me know how it progresses.

Gwyneth Berdara

Will do. Also I didn’t realise the two of you were so close. He talks about you a lot. I know you were his matchmaker too but it’s like you are his GF or something.

Elain Archeron

Well, no worries. I am not. Thanks. Bye.

Elain was even more confused and upset about things after that bizarre exchange. Also, who used the expression ‘sicke moves’?

Professor Gwyn was into hand-to-hand combat? And Azriel was teaching her ‘sicke’ moves? Elain knew that Azriel was a fighter and grew up rough, but…what?

There was no clarity around what was actually happening between Azriel and Gwyn after all that, and Elain only grew more and more anxious.

Another Sunday.

It was Nesta’s turn to cook and host, however, Sir Charles insisted that his daughters come to his house instead. And for that, Elain was grateful.

She was even more grateful to her sisters, who’d arrived without their men. She knew that they were lying when they said that both Rhys and Cassian were ‘busy’ on Sunday, but nevertheless, she was grateful to them. She didn’t think that she could handle another painfully awkward lunch with the handsome brothers who looked entirely too much like Azriel, and with her grieving pug.

She was seated on the sofa, her legs tucked beneath her, her chin resting on her folded hands, as she looked out the window. It was raining. Rain. Rain. Rain. Endless fucking rain.

She barely bothered today–her appearance was sallow and unkempt. She tied her hair in a messy bun, wore a beige jumper and a pair of yoga trousers–attire which was entirely inappropriate for Sunday lunch and not something she’d ever dare leave the house in. But she just couldn't bring herself to care. When the butler opened the door, he stepped back, lack of recognition evident on his face, before he quickly gathered himself and said, “Lady Elain, good afternoon. Please come in.”

Her father, and neither of her sisters comment on her appearance and the maudlin way that she moved around the house, with Piglet trailing behind her, his nose to the ground. No one was surprised when she went to her father’s study and curled up on the sofa, like she did when she was little.

“He’s lost weight,” Sir Charles noted, as he stroked Piglet’s back, while the pug lay unmoving in his lap.

“Two kilos,” Elain said, looking out the window. Expensive cars rolled down the street, taxis and stray pedestrians huddled under their umbrellas. Late January was miserable. Even the warmth of the fire in the marble fireplace didn’t make a difference.

“That’s a lot for a pug,” her father commended. “Is he not eating?”

“He eats, but he doesn’t ask for snacks and mostly he just sits by the door,” Elain answered and wiped the tears that rolled down her cheeks.

“Elain,” he began saying, but she rose up swiftly and rubbed her eyes vigorously.

“I am okay, daddy,”

“No you aren’t,” he said sadly. “No you aren’t”.

She shrugged, like it didn’t matter. And maybe it didn’t. Nothing much mattered.

“Let’s go eat.”

Just then, a knock on the door informed them that lunch was indeed served.

At least life was predictable. Pleasantly predictable here, with her family. There were no treacherous men and no disloyalty.

Feyre and Nesta were already at the table, their expressions worried, even though they tried really hard to act normal.

“Hi Piggy, come here little boy,” Feyre tried to summon the pug, but Piglet didn’t even look at her and just went to his bowl, sniffing disinterestedly at the chicken and rice offering.

Once the wine was poured and the soup was served and the butler left the dining room, Nesta, who’s been clutching at her spoon like she was going to lunge at someone with it, snarled,

“I have to say something,”

“Don’t say anything,” Feyre warned. “Nesta. Don’t.”

“That utter arsehole,” Nesta ignored her youngest sister and clutched at her napkin until her knuckles were white.

Sir Charles winced, knowing that the lunch was about to descend into chaos.

“Girls,” he began with a sigh, but suddenly was interrupted by Elain.

Her voice was monotone and she spoke without inflection, staring straight ahead.

“If I die before Piglet,” she said calmly, while the rest of her family tensed and stared at her with apprehension, “show him my body.”

“Elain,” Feyre gasped. But Elain ignored her and continued,

“Bring him over to my deathbed. Allow him to smell me. He will understand death. He will understand that I was gone and that I would not be coming back. Allow him to mourn me. But do not attempt to spare him the sight of me and my death. He should know that he was not abandoned. He must know that I died, but that I did not leave him. He must understand that unlike others, I did not abandon him. Not like his first family and not like Azriel. He should not be waiting by the door for me to come back. Take him to the funeral and allow him to watch me be lowered into the ground so he understands the finality of it all. He must know that Elain loved him and did not leave him on his own. She was not like Azriel. She never lied to him.”

What Elain had missed the most was the casual intimacy.

As another week passed and January was coming to a close, Elain’s life returned to its natural, if boring routine.

She worked, taking on more clients–thank god for January and ‘resolutions’ and people wanting to couple up–and that took a lot of her time. She was grateful for the distraction, but the nights and the weekends were tough.

Most evenings, she cried herself to sleep, while remembering all the good things that she’d lived through with Azriel. He wasn’t dead, yet the fissure of emptiness inside her chest that was created by his absence really felt like he had died. There was something unsaid and unfinished about them, which bothered her like a toothache. It was a wound which she kept irritating every time she remembered something about him.

How he was so effortlessly sexual with her, and how his relaxed sensuality allowed her to feel free with her own sexuality for the first time in her life. To Azriel, she was beautiful. Always beautiful. Never awkward or chubby or clumsy or strange.

The way he would habitually slap her bum, every time he passed by her. Or pinch it. Or caress it. Or cup it in his large hand. At first it scandalised her. And then, she grew to love it. She grew to expect it.

The way he strutted around after a shower in only a towel wrapped around his hips, showing off his incredible body…goodness gracious! That was something to behold! The way she learned all the details of his form, no matter how insignificant–his tattoos, the shape of his shoulders, the thickness of his biceps, how his neck was a touch too long for his body, but how that made him appear more graceful. She knew exactly how many abdominal muscles he packed–more than six, and definitely eight, and she knew the shape of his long strong fingers. His hair curled slightly in the back of her neck. His hazel eyes had more green in them than brown, and were peppered with black specks. He had perfect toes. The V of his hips could only be called vicious, because it was so sharp and pointed right at his…The one thing Elain never got to see. She never saw his member. Felt it, knew that it was worryingly large and thick, but she never saw it.

She supposed that she always thought that they’d have more time.

She recalled how one time, they were in a restaurant. It was moderately busy and they were seated by the window. It so happened that there was no one at the table in front of them, or by their side. So what did he do? He parted her shirt on her chest, and when she thought that he’d just cop a feel–something he did often and without hesitation–he bared her breast completely and tugged on her nipple, while kissing her lips. She sat there, completely delirious with love and arousal, while he pinched and rolled her nipple in his fingers, while squeezing her bare tit in his palm. Just as the waiter approached, he tucked her back in and acted like nothing happened.

She missed him.

Sometimes, she screamed into her pillow, a long, tortured scream because she…well, she missed him. There was nothing that could replace him in her life.

She loved him. Loved him when they were together, and loved him now–perhaps even more than before.

He rang her.

Once.

It was a day like any other. A blustery wintry afternoon, only 5 pm and already pitch black outside. Though slowly, but surely the days were getting a bit longer. Just a little. It was early February and Elain just changed into her comfy joggers and a sweatshirt having just come back from walking Piglet. He hated being outside, especially when it was cold and drizzling, and thankfully, it was a quick walk and he did his business in record time.

For some reason, it didn’t register with Elain that it was Azriel’s name on the Caller ID.

She’d become so used to his calls and messages that it seemed normal that he’d be ringing her.

“Hello,” she said.

He seemed surprised when he said, “Hi Elain”.

Everything stopped.

The moment she heard that voice, that achingly familiar, smooth, deep voice she felt her hands shake, and her heart beat wildly in her chest.

She threw her phone on the counter as if it burned her and then, with her finger trembling, pressed the ‘speaker’ button.

“Why are you calling me?” she demanded, her voice barely a whisper.

He didn’t answer right away.

“Why?” she asked again, and to her horror her voice was already hoarse and weak, and she sounded strangled. Because there were tears in her eyes and she was hyperventilating.

“How are you?” he asked softly instead.

How was she?

How dare he?

How was she?

She howled like an animal in her sorrow over losing him.

She cried.

She screamed.

She wondered what she'd done and why he just left her without an explanation?

She didn’t eat.

She didn’t sleep or she slept too much.

“Fine. Brilliant. All good,” she laughed a dry, angry laugh. “I am sure you are doing well too, right? How’s Gwyn?”

He sighed, like the sound of her voice pained him.

“I didn’t like the way things ended between us,” he told her somberly, ignoring her question.

“Well, it was your choice, wasn’t it?” she reminded him.

“I suppose?”

It sounded like he wasn't sure.

“What do you want, Azriel?” she demanded.

“How’s Pink?” he asked instead.

“What do you want to hear exactly?”

Did he want to hear about Piglet crying by the door?

Did he want to hear about Piglet avoiding any football on TV and barking violently for her to change the channel if he saw anyone running on a green field?

Did he want to hear about Piglet sitting and waiting for him for hours, day after day, hoping that his dad would show up?

“You abandoned him,” she accused him savagely. “I told you not to make him fall in love with you. I told you not to allow him to get attached to you. I explicitly told you that this would happen if he thought of you as his own.”

“I am sorry,” he whispered brokenly.

“You did it all. You hurt us, Azriel. What do you expect to happen now?” she questioned him, feeling her voice becoming hysterical. “Two brothers and two sisters together at Christmas. A third sister alone. A third brother who used to date the third sister is now with some random woman. Is this your vision? For all of us to play happy families? Like nothing’s happened. Like we didn’t exist. Like what we had didn’t matter??”

“He did matter,” he argued. “It does.”

She ignored him.

“Cassian and Nesta are dating now. Feyre and Rhys are married. Instead of leaving me alone–like I requested, over and over again–you made me fall for you. Fall in love with you. And then you tossed me aside.”

“You love me?” he breathed a shocked gasp.

“What?”

“You said you fell in love with me,”

“You are unbelievable,” she cried out. He was always deranged, but now he was even more incomprehensible. What was wrong with him?

“My dog is screaming any time he sees Arsenal signage. My heart is shuttered. Is that what you wanted?” Elain broke down in tears. “Is that what you wanted?

“I never wanted that,” he argued quietly. “I never,”

“What did you think would happen?” she insisted, sobbing. “That I can just walk away?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice devastated. “It all spiralled out of control…I didn’t want any of this.”

She wasn’t listening to him.

She cried.

Cried for her lost love. Cried for the children she’d never have with him. Cried for the future they’d never have. Cried for not knowing what his perfect day consisted of. Cried for the Christmases they’d never celebrate together again. Cried for his touch and for his kisses and for him next to her in bed. Cried for the games she’d never cheer at. Cried for knowing that she’d never see him snuggling together with Piglet.

She cried and Azriel listened.

She didn’t know how long it lasted–felt like an hour–and he didn’t say anything. He didn’t comfort her, but he didn’t ask her to stop either.

At some point, Piglet came over. He looked up at her, watching her weep, and whimpered sadly, before curling himself at her feet.

“I am sorry, Elain,” Azriel whispered at last.

She quieted down, before telling him,

“I wanted to be your wife, you know. I wanted to build a family with you. I wanted to have your children.”

“I understand. And I am sorry.”

“I wish you happiness, Azriel. Even if you robbed me of mine.”

#elriel #elain archeron #azriel #azriel and elain #pro elriel #elain #elain x azriel #my fanfiction #A Match Baked In Heaven #my writing #Elriel fanfic #elain and azriel #azriel x elain #new chapter #acotar fanfiction #modern au

34 notes · View notes

lostbetweenvampiresandmusic · 1 day

Note

Prompt request- 6 and 18?

6. Why are you completely drenched?

18. Is he always like this?

I hope you like this!💜

-------------------------------

The store was quiet tonight. Usually, it was filled with young teens trying to decide what movie to watch or young couples in search of a good flick to put on. Now, it was quiet. The only noise audible was the static coming from the dozen television screens showing clips from several movies.

It was weird for it to be so quiet on a Friday night, but in all honesty, I couldn't really be bothered. Maybe if it stayed this quiet, I could go home early and have some time for myself. I sighed as I leaned on the counter, staring at the boardwalk. The sign on the door clearly said open - on the right side, I checked that one twice already - and even the door was propped open. The boardwalk itself was quite busy, but hardly anyone even looked towards the store. I sighed as I flipped through a magazine, finding the reason: some big-time artist was performing down the beach. That explained a lot. It would also mean that afterwards it would get busy.

"Jesus, you look like a walking depression!"

I looked up with an annoyed glare. Paul stood in the doorway, blocking any potential customer from entering.

"I do not. I look like an exhausted and bored customer service worker."

"Isn't that the same thing?"

I laughed, causing him to grin. He stepped into the store, a loud sloshing sound following him with every step he took. I frowned, looking at him.

"What did you do?"

"Nothing." He shrugged. I looked at him, then at his clothes and realised in the bright light of the store that he was soaking wet.

"Why are you completely drenched?" I asked, slightly panicking. Max would not be happy with this...

"I fell in the ocean."

"You fell? In the ocean?"

He nodded, jumping up to sit on the counter. I quickly pushed him off, earning an annoyed 'Hey!'.

"No, listen - you get the whole store wet, and I am the one that gets to clean it and gets to deal with an angry Max."

"He wouldn't get angry with you."

"He would, Paul. Either get out of the store or help dry everything off."

"I'll go!"

With that, he left, leaving a long wet trail behind. I sighed as I searched in the back for a mop and a bucket. That asshole. Sure, I was no longer bored, but I preferred being bored over cleaning up someone else's mess. I found the mop in the corner of the broomcloset and made my way back out on the floor. With an annoyed and tired sigh, I got to work, quickly cleaning up the wet footprints.

"Have you seen Paul?"

I jumped, almost kicking the bucket I'd used to empty the mop in over the floor. David stood in front of me.

"Hold on," I said as I grabbed the bucket and placed it on the counter, quickly calming myself down. It was a miracle how someone who wore that kind of boots could make so little noise.

"Well?"

"Yeah. He was here."

"What did he do this time?"

He must have picked up on my mood - although that wasn't that difficult to do. I motioned towards the - clean - wet floor and the mop leaning against the counter.

"Is he always like this?" I asked. Surely, he wasn't, right?

"Chaotic and an asshole?"

"You said it, not me."

"He is."

I nodded. It was good to know that I wasn't anything personal anyway.

"He's also very adamant to visit you every night."

"I see all of you each night." I countered - they always came in to bother Max.

"He comes in for you."

"Why?"

"Ask him. Not my thing to tell."

I sighed, rolling my eyes. "You're just as much an asshole as he is, you know that?"

David just grinned, a sudden unpredictability in his eyes. "I'm worse, darling."

I shivered. "Well, if you do find Paul, could you tell him to come back?"

David nodded as he lit a cigarette. I decided not to mention anything about it. That was a Max problem - if he didn't want anyone to smoke in his store, he should enforce that rule with the most problematic customers, and not the customer service worker working for a minimum wage.

He left the store, and I finished cleaning up Paul's mess. It got me wondering, though, why was he so adamant about coming here each night and talking to me? None of the other boys really paid much attention, but Paul? Besides the obvious tomfoolery in his act, he was quite sweet. One time, he'd gotten me dinner when he realised I forgot to eat. He always checked up on me, even stepped in one time when I had a difficult customer. And I always did like to see him. It did cheer me up. It did make me feel more relaxed. So, I thought to myself, if he comes in here and I ask him why and he tells me he likes me - maybe I actually like him too?

#the lost boys #marko #david #paul #dwayne #tlb #the lost boys 1987 #tlb 1987 #star #the lost boys x reader #paul tlb #paul x reader #tlb david

26 notes · View notes

chicken-wayng · 3 days

Text

No Strings Attached

I do not own 911, obviously.

Current Word Count: 7, 086 (or around 26 pages)

Track#1: Bi, Bi Bi

It starts like it's going to be a normal night. Buck is on his way over, Chris is setting up their usual spot on the couch, and Eddie has just finished up burgers for their dinner. Then Eddie's phone pings with a message alert that changes the evening:

Would it be alright if Tommy joined us? Sorry it's such late notice but he’s got tonight off and…

Eddie doesn't read the rest of the message. His heart feels weird and he suddenly feels a little hot. It's not like the panic attack he'd experienced when he was afraid Ana and he were moving too fast, but it definitely is as uncomfortable. It feels like everything sturdy was pulled out from beneath him; which was a statement in itself from a man in his field of work. His ears ring as he types out a short response of consent.

Why does he feel so weird about Tommy coming over? Tommy has visited before and had dinner with Chris, but adding Tommy to family nights felt different in a way Eddie couldn't properly word. It felt entirely unreasonable how his entire being suddenly rejected Tommy's presence… And lately even Buck's. Ever since he'd announced his newest paramour, it seemed all Eddie heard about. Tommy likes this Star Wars themed coffee place near the 118, Tommy likes dark chocolate over milk chocolate, Tommy likes scary movies, Tommy likes video games, Tommy likes Buck and Eddie feels sick every time he thinks about it. Just the thought of it is horrible and it only makes Eddie feel worse. It's a vicious cycle of destruction he can’t stop himself from participating in.

A knock at the door interrupts his circling for now, but it's the subject of his thoughts knocking so it's like ice on a burn; a temporary fix with lasting damage. Chris lets out a cheer, grabbing his crutches and making his way towards the door. Eddie makes it after the excited boy, just in time to see Chris throw the door open and yell, “Buck!”

Eddie motions for Chris to step back and tells him to go make sure the living room is picked up while he gets the guests settled.

Buck is dressed in a pair of well fitting jeans and a purple sweater that hugs his body comfortably. A bit of his collarbone peaks out of the neck and it’s tight enough that Eddie can trace it without use of imagination, as it elegantly rises and falls with his broad shoulders. It’s a thin, dark purple sweater that brings out the blue of his eyes and the blonde highlights of his curls.

Tommy clears his throat, as if politely reminding the two he’s there, before stepping up behind Buck and holding up a bag of sour patch kids in his right hand. Eddie’s happy Tommy thought of Chris, but his attention narrows in on the left hand on Buck’s hip and suddenly he feels angry. Tommy smiles pleasantly as he says, “We brought a treat for the little dude and,” using that offending left hand he motions to a case of beer Eddie hadn’t had the time to notice in Buck’s hands. “some for us.”

It is a petty side of Eddie that makes him channel his father as he says, “Oh that’s so nice of you man, but it’s just that it's late and I don’t want Chris to have too much sugar before bed. Also I don’t think I want to drink, you can if you want I just don’t really need it to have a good time.”

Buck looks crestfallen and Tommy looks… odd but Eddie is saved from having to explain his attitude as Chris saunters back into the room. A huge cocky smile is on his face as he says, “I beat your score! It was so easy.”

Eddie’s earlier happiness briefly returns as he watches Buck separate himself from Tommy to go check the screen recording Chris had captured, both talking so excitedly it's easy to ignore his current discontentment. Until he has to turn around and entertain it.

“So how was work?” Tommy asks, friendly as ever. Dressed in a casual, pink v-necked sweater and jeans, Tommy looks genuinely comfortable. Eddie had known him well enough to know that while he was content and happy with the current life he’d built for himself, Tommy still had something he had been working through the last time Eddie and he had hung out. It seems that in the few weeks he’d been dating Buck, he'd gotten the metaphorical job done.

“Surprisingly boring,” Eddie says with a laugh, glad to have familiar territory to discuss. After returning the question, Tommy regales him with a tale of his day and Eddie slowly begins to relax. Realizing he hadn’t made a plate for Tommy, he does so as he listens as Tommy’s no-good day finally comes to an end that leaves them both laughing. It’s so easy to like Tommy, he’s such a great guy.

Realizing he’d kind of cornered himself into not drinking (not even his normal one bottle with dinner), Eddie grabs orange juice from the fridge and pours three glasses. Raising an eyebrow, Eddie asks, “Would you like one too?”

“Of course,” Tommy says, the left corner of his mouth quirking up as he leans on the counter. Something about it feels blatant to Eddie, but he’s not sure what it is. It’s too obvious and he’s never been one to guess the glaring plot, even with the number of telenovelas he’s watched. “Please and thank you, sir.”

Eddie jolts for a moment, an unexpected thrill going along his spine and traveling to a place it shouldn't be at a dinner party with his son, best friend, and his best friend’s boyfriend. He recovers quickly, but the damage was done in two ways. Not only does his jumping cause him to overspill, but he knocks over the glass intended for him as well. The orange juice covers the counter and quickly runs towards the floor, luckily Bobby was his cooking teacher and one of his tenants was to have a cooking rag. Eddie was able to sop most of it, but his shirt and jeans would have to be changed.

Tommy grabs the sink rag and uses it to wipe the sticky up, his shoulder bumping Eddie’s in the small space. They work to quickly clean up the mess and with their combined effort it doesn’t take more than two minutes.

Eddie tsks, shaking his head as he says, “I’m sorry man. Boring days get to me. Dinner is done so you don’t need to worry about it but I’ve got to change. Have Buck set you a spot at the table. Tell him the green mats are in the wash so he’ll have to make do with the yellow ones.”

“No problem. Now go before it starts to feel gross,” Tommy responds with a laugh.

Eddie passes Buck and Chris on the couch, who both look up with questioning countenances before noticing the spill down Eddie’s front. Eddie goes to his room, taking off the dirty clothes and going to his attached bathroom to wet a rag. Once he’s acceptably clean, he grabs the first shirt in his closet and quickly pulls on a pair of jeans. Pausing to check himself out in the mirror, he realizes it’s a blue sweater Buck had gotten him for father’s day. It has the word dad (and all related synonyms) all over it, in over a hundred languages, done in different shades of blue and eclectic fonts. Mentally preparing himself to go back, Eddie tells himself, “You haven't done anything wrong yet.”

Although not much of one, the pep talk does its job enough to get him out of his room. Chris and Buck are still on the couch, chatting happily, so Eddie goes back to the kitchen. Tommy has set the table and is now standing there, looking out the window with his arms wrapped around himself.

Now it's Eddie's turn to awkwardly clear his throat in announcement of himself, and he watches how Tommy jolts. The larger man turns to face Eddie, a guilty expression on his face and suddenly Eddie feels like shit. Tommy is his friend, no matter how Eddie's day went he has no right to make him feel so insecure.

“You okay man?” Eddie asks, not wanting to overstep but not wanting to fall short.

Tommy smiles, one so self-deprecating that Eddie recognizes it from the mirror, and says, “Yeah I just got in my own head. I can't stop beating myself up.”

“Don't,” Eddie says sternly, knowing how hypocritical the command is. “You wouldn't treat anyone that way so you don't do it to yourself. Want to share a beer with dinner?”

Tommy nods, grabbing them each one. The weird ice wall that had gone up seems to melt, conversation flows better as Eddie finishes grabbing all the needed condiments.

“...Anyways, it all boils down to human error,” Tommy finishes.

“People,” Eddie sighs as he grabs Chris’s burger, splitting it into four. “You'd think with a computer with all of human knowledge on it, we'd be smarter.” Eddie holds up a finger to halt Tommy before he responds so he can yell, “Boys, dinner! Go wash your hands.” He waits until he hears them scrambling up until he waves for Tommy to continue his thought.

“Oh but why learn when we can watch funny cat videos?” Tommy laughs, a deep rich sound that Eddie thinks fills the room pleasantly. It’s enthralling. “Much more important.” Tommy licks his dry lips to wet them, and Eddie would like to say that’s what drew his attention to them but then he’d be lying.

This close, Eddie can scent Tommy and it’s intoxicating. An alluring mixture of sandalwood, eucalyptus, and Kraken - whatever soap he uses and the deodorant - and most importantly Buck. The lavender and rosemary of the herbal hair products and the bergamont antiperspirant (“Never deodorant, Eddie. Not unless you want to smell me after two hours!”) Buck keeps spares of in Eddie’s bedroom bathroom. Distantly, Eddie notes that they’re both Old Spice guys too but mostly he can’t stop focusing on the fact that Tommy smells like Buck, which must mean the opposite is true. Something about this triggers Eddie’s earlier bad mood and he has to look away or else he just knows Tommy will see it.

As usual, he’s saved by Christopher as the excitable boy exclaims, “Dad please?!”

“Please what?” Eddie laughs, looking up at Buck with an eyebrow raised. The dirty blonde blushes and Eddie has to look away.

“Buck says there’s a new Kung Fu Panda movie out!” Christopher explains with a sigh. Eddie shares another look with Buck, this one much less confusing and clearly saying, ‘Kids, amiright?’

Buck laughs in response, moving towards his seat. Eddie would describe Tommy’s laugh as enthralling, the sound was nice and he would never grow tired of it; but Buck’s laugh was addicting. It felt like the times he went without it were the most miserable parts of his existence. He’d do anything to hear it for the rest of his life.

“Did you catch the game last night?” Tommy asks as he brings their beers over from the counter, taking a seat at the round dinner table, between Christopher and Buck, and across from Eddie.

“The college playoffs?” Eddie confirms as he holds up the mustard and ketchup bottles and in a silent question if Chris wants either. When he was younger he was normally a ketchup only kid, but ever since he'd entered his preteen years Chris liked to have the option.

“What else is on?” Tommy responds playfully.

“Ain't that the truth,” Eddie laughs as he puts the wanted mustard on the four cuts of burger. Eddie passes the bottle to Tommy and for a moment their hands brush and linger for a moment longer than necessary. Eddie brings his hand back with a grunt of apology.

“There was a new David Attenborough ocean documentary last night,” Buck comments, before taking a bite out of his burger.

Chris gasps as he asks, “You watched it without me?”

“No,” Buck laughs. “I watched the game with Tommy. I was making a joke because he implied there was nothing better on.”

“Ohhh,” Chris laughs too and then says. “You and Tommy should stay and watch it with us!”

With this he looks at his dad with such puppy eyes that Eddie only shrugs and responds, “It's up to them but we've gotta work tomorrow so they probably won't wanna, bud.”

And now it's Buck's turn to use his own Labrador eyes as he begs, “Tommy please? I have a set of clothes in my drawer big enough to fit you as pajamas!”

Eddie knows exactly how Tommy feels even before he gives his answer, because he's been there a thousand times for Evan Buckley:

whipped.

Track#2: Bringin' da Noise

Dinner goes pleasantly and soon they're heading for the living room to start Buck and Christopher’s documentary. The two settle into their usual spots, and just as Eddie is about to sit in his he realizes that he can't sit there. Normally Buck is sandwiched between the two Diazes but he'll probably want Tommy to sit next to him. Eddie hangs back and when Tommy stops to give him a questioning look he simply motions to the spot and says, “Currently the best place in the whole house.”

Tommy snorts and takes the seat and soon they're all settled and watching the TV. There's basic conversation between the three, but really they don't talk because Buck and Chris are paying more attention to David Attenborough. It's surprisingly comfortable, almost exactly the same as their normal routine.

Halfway through, both Tommy and Eddie are out of their beers and Buck’s out of his orange juice. When Eddie goes to stand and grab them a refill, Tommy stops him and says, “Let me. You just relax and I'll be back soon.”

Eddie thanks him and goes back to watching TV. It isn't until Tommy is coming back ten minutes later with a piece of paper does Eddie realize how long it had taken him to grab the drinks. The source of his stalling is apparent, as he doesn't have the drinks and instead holds up a “contract” Eddie recalls all too well for the drunken night it had been written.

It was after Shannon had died, and Eddie had needed nothing more than to get drunk with his best friend. Chris was at abuela’s so Eddie wasn't worried about letting his inhibitions go, and let go they did. Unable to recall the exact circumstances, somehow Eddie had gotten into an emotional state wherein he was complaining about being alone forever. Chris was growing up, soon he'd be 18 and then college and Eddie would be left with an empty nest. Equally as drunk, Buck had been reminded of a movie he and Maddie had watched where the main characters agree to get married if they aren't by a certain age. Long story short, they had decided to create a similar contract. Written on one a piece of construction paper for a project of Chris's, in the worst handwriting and so badly misspelled it looked like old English, was written,

I, Edmundo Diaz, of sound mine do hereby declare if by ages, 45 and 40 respetifly, we are unmarried then I will marry Evan Buckley.

It's simple and to the point, written big to take up the paper. Buck had doodled little hearts and flowers to border it and over the years that it had resided in the kitchen it had obtained a few cooking splatters of unidentifiable sorts. A piece of paper that truly should have been thrown away by now, yet Eddie had persistently kept on the fridge regardless of how many girlfriends gave him funny looks over it.

“Did you guys make a Wedding Pact?” Tommy asks, and to hear it from anyone else, especially a man of Tommy's stature and profession, Eddie might have been nervous but from him Eddie feels only a fierce protectiveness that makes no sense.

“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” Eddie snappily defends them, crossing his arms.

“Wait,” Buck says, swallowing and halting himself mid-sip of his beer. “You don't think it's a good idea anymore?”

Once again he's channeling his inner Golden Retriever to give Eddie the most pitiful look, one that has him scrambling to explain, “No! Not at all!” Somehow Buck's face falls further and Eddie further says, “Or, not no I don't want to marry you. I definitely do!” Seeing Tommy's joyantly raised eyebrow, Eddie further digs his hole. “Er, I mean I don't not want to marry you when- IF!- if the time comes.”

Tommy laughs, the joy and his eyes taking over his countenance as he says, “Oh my God, you two!” His own laughter cuts him off.

Eddie's face feels hot and he distracts himself by putting the subtitles on.

“It's a completely valid contract,” Buck says. “I would pay to have it notarized!”

“I would notarize it for you now,” Tommy responds. “If I had a printer for the finalizing paperwork.”

“Dad has a printer!” Chris helpfully offers.

“It's notarized in our hearts,” Buck says with a dismissive hand wave. The conversation ends, and they settle into a comfortable silence filled with the narrations of Mr. Attenborough. Eddie feels like something has shifted, even though Tommy just sits down and they go back to watching TV.

Once the credits start rolling, Eddie turns to tell Chris to get started on his night time routine but stops when he sees him passed out with Buck. Both are laying in the same sprawling-fashion, heads thrown back and mouths open, tucked into each other like they couldn't sleep as soundly without the other - and truly they couldn't. Eddie lets the credits roll through and another doc play as he observes his little family.

And then his eyes glance next to him and he realizes he isn't the only one completely enraptured. Tommy has a soft smile and suddenly Eddie feels…

“What time is it?” Tommy asks, his head darting up as he realizes Eddie was staring at him.

Eddie checks his phone, it's late. “12:46, we should probably get them in bed.”

Eddie stands up, his body aching from a good day's worth of work, so he twists his back to crack it and alleviate some of the pain.

“I could help you with that really quick,” Tommy says. “I got my masseuses license.”

“Wow, vet, firefighter, pilot, masseuse; you're pretty skilled,” Eddie responds as he thinks over Tommy's offer. It's not like Tommy hasn't given him a rub down before, but it's different this time - he's Eddie's best friend's boyfriend now.

“Don't forget notary and best coffee maker at Jabba the Hutt,” Tommy adds with a laugh. “I like to keep busy.”

“Sounds like it,” Eddie says along with his own chuckle. “Hey if you ever really get bored I've got my hands full here,” Eddie waves his hands at his boys, before his hands return to his aching back.

“Oh I'd love to,” Tommy says energetically. “Anytime you need me let me know. I know it's a bit awkward me suddenly dating your best friend just as we're becoming friends ourselves and all, but I really want to be your friend. I wasn't trying to, like, use you for information on Buck.” Tommy's blue eyes reflect that he's telling a heartfelt truth.

For an Ex-catholic, Eddie prays a lot. Currently he's praying for a metaphorical bell to save him, but since it's not coming he decides to just ring true. “I know that, and I didn't mean to make you feel like I don't want to be friends… it's just…”

And that's just it. Eddie can't even admit it and understand it himself, there's no way he can say it aloud. Thankfully Tommy takes over and charge, as he leans against the counter to nonchalantly admit, “You know, I thought you and Buck were looking for a third. I didn't realize you two weren't dating until a couple weeks into our friendship and right before he visited me at work.”

Eddie desperately wishes for another beer, just so he has something to distract himself with, but instead he raises and lowers his hands while his mouth gapes open like an idiot. “Shh-Whattt???”

“I mean, I was okay with it,” Tommy shrugs. “But it was a shock to learn you guys weren't-”

“- Tommy? Eddie?” Buck's voice is deep with sleep and he rubs his eyes with curled fists in a way that is both adorable and attractive. “We should put Chris in bed and get there ourselves. We all have work tomorrow.”

“Yeah, of course!” Eddie responds, jumping at the out. “I'll carry Chris to bed if you make sure he has all his school things together?”

Buck hums his consent and they split apart to do their familiar tasks. Eddie tucks their son in bed and by the time he makes it back to the kitchen Buck is already back. And with Tommy. The larger male has him backed up against the counter, panting breathlessly and blushing redder than Eddie has ever had the pleasure to see. Suddenly, it dawns on Eddie that it will be Tommy sharing his bed with Buck tonight and that he'll be the one on the couch.

And he wishes for midnight - even though it's already there.

Track#3: Makes Me Ill

Eddie's circling turns into a whirling hurricane.

A curse to see Tommy with Buck. It had happened once before he knew they were dating, but now it seemed every time he went out they were on a date. During their shift after the sleepover, all he hears is about how much fun Buck had and how they should do that more often. When he takes Chris to school on their next day off, he decides to drive by Buck's apartment… only to find his visitor’s spot taken up by Tommy’s truck and opts to drive on. During the family dinner Bobby and Athena hold at their place once a month, Eddie overhears their hosts inviting the younger couple to a double date for later in the month. Once Buck had somehow forgotten his phone at home and they'd had to go on a call before he could grab it, when they'd gotten back to the house Tommy had been waiting with it and flowers, telling Buck, “not to forget about his dentist appointment after his shift tomorrow,” with an adoring kiss good-bye.

Tommy was becoming a permanent fixture and the thought of losing his position scared Eddie beyond thought.

It had been two weeks since their sleepover and Eddie had found every excuse to get out of having to endure another one. It wasn't that he couldn't stand Buck or Tommy, he just couldn't stand them together and not… well that's just it. He could tell his avoidance disheartened Buck, yet the alternative was something beyond words and incomprehensible. It was better this way.

So he did his best to avoid the couple while failing horribly. The first time it happened Eddie had to head back to the station because he'd left his wallet. Since it was the middle of the day, Chris was at school and the only hassle about this was the drive back and forth. When he'd pulled up and parked, the fire engine rushed out. Then as he was exiting his truck, Christopher's school called to talk about a bake sale. After 30 minutes (33 minutes and 24 minutes according to the call log) he was finally ready to head inside the house.

It was silent without the B squad and eerily odd without his team. Like going into a school or a doctor's office after hours, the same anxiety about being caught even though he was allowed to be there. That's when he heard it.

“If you keep doing that, I'm going to be late for work and we're going to be caught,” a deep voice says, followed by a rich chuckle. Although they've only known each other for a short amount of time, Eddie recognizes the voice easily as Tommy's.

A naughty laugh answers his statement.

Realizing just what they’re doing in the shower room, Eddie quickly backtracks, unwilling to let that image haunt him for the rest of his day. Not that him not seeing it helps, if anything it makes it worse, because now every time he goes to take a shower all he can imagine is what exactly he could have caught them doing.

The second time he's on a movie date with Marisol.

Pepa had agreed to watch Christopher so they went with something mature. Honestly, Eddie wasn’t too interested in watching a seemingly smart person make bad decisions and miss the blatant truth in front of them, so he wasn’t paying attention to the movie’s plot. They were about halfway through the movie and Marisol seemed to be enjoying it, so he simply leaned back and distracted himself by looking around.

There hadn’t been a lot of people in the theater to begin with, but after the main character had made a cringy decision over half of the little crowd had departed. Now it was just Marisol and Eddie in the front three rows and a couple in the back row.

From his position and the darkness, Eddie couldn’t make out the faces of the lovers but now that he was focusing on anything but the movie he realizes he could definitely hear them.

At first it was just a heavy breathing, which quickly gave way to a panting then the intermittent sound of addicting whimpers joined the hushed cacophony. The participants were obviously trying to keep it down and Marisol had yet to notice, but it was all Eddie could focus on. He'd had sex thousands of times, in multiple ways, but never anything as passionate sounding - even as muffled as it was.

Eddie shifts, trying not to let Marisol in on his discomfort.

A deep, pleasured moan comes from the back row, and Eddie can't help but look at Marisol to see if she heard it. Somehow she hadn't, but when Eddie looks at the screen he sees a sex scene and realizes she must have thought it belonged on the screen.

Thankfully Marisol doesn't notice and the movie is over within 30 minutes. Grateful, Eddie makes a speedy exit, practically dragging Marisol out the door. Unfortunately, she stops him in the hallway outside to point out a poster for an upcoming movie. Which means that Eddie witnesses the couple exiting the theater, hand in hand and with matching countenances of love and bliss.

Buck and Tommy.

Eddie only gets a moment to covetously observe them before Buck sees them. It does make him a little happy at how obviously happy the other man is at seeing him, but his desire to be there too trumps any joy Eddie feels.

“Eddie!” Buck exclaims, holding his hand up as if Eddie could miss him in a room full of people.

‘This must have been a little of what Buck felt when I crashed his first date with Tommy ,’ Eddie thinks but he says, “Hey guys! How goes it?”

“Great! We just saw one of my favorite books on screen!” Buck responds, the couples facing each other now so Eddie can see his pure smile easily. “It was an amazing adaptation!! What did you guys see?”

“I think we might have seen the same thing!” Marisol remarks. “Did you just come out of theater 6?”

As Buck confirms her, Eddie catches Tommy's eye. He's unable to keep it for long because the glint of them says Tommy knows Eddie knows they weren't really watching the movie.

A month has gone by, which means Bobby and Athena's dinner is tonight and that Tommy and Buck have been dating for two and a half months now. The indefinable feeling that haunts Eddie has gotten worse. Everytime he sees them together he feels his blood boil with it, when Eddie sees them separately it lays dormant. So far he's been good at keeping their visitations quarantined, but at a family dinner he would inevitably have to be around the both of them. Maybe he could use Chris as a buffer.

It's with this goal that he slowly gets them around, to the point that Chris essentially is rushing Eddie out the door. They arrive later than everyone and Chris quickly abandons him to go hang out with Denny, Harry and Mara. Eddie curses his son's extroverted personality as he makes himself go hang out with his best friend and good friend, who just so happens to be his best friend's boyfriend. Nothing to be weird about.

Why is he being so weird about it?

“What's up with you, man?” Tommy asks as he and Buck make their way over to him.

“Nothing much,” Eddie answers with a wave towards Chris as he continues, “Just been so busy lately I feel like I haven't had any free time.”

“I feel that,” Tommy says, wrapping a firm arm around Buck's waist. “Are we still on for Sunday? No pressure if you've got something else to do or just wanna use the day to relax instead.”

“Oh, y’know, it's just, I've got no one to watch Chris,” Eddie stammers out the excuse, knowing how flimsy it sounds as he says it. “You guys have fun!”

Buck shakes his head then says, “No, no! I don't really like basketball. Why don't you guys go together, I'll watch Chris! I've missed my Captain America time.”

And how can Eddie say no to that? So he doesn't, “Are you sure? I wouldn't want to make you feel… like you did before.”

“Yeah but that was before…” Buck blushes, looking down shyly where his hand rests on Tommy's wrist. “I didn't understand how I felt then, and now I do. I don't want to come between the two of you like that.”

“Of course you wouldn't,” Tommy comments lowly just for Buck, but Eddie hears it anyway.

Not understanding it and also knowing it wasn't intended for him, Eddie ignores it as he says, “Okay, awesome. Sounds like a plan! I'm looking forward to it.”

Luckily, Bobby chooses this moment to make his way over and their weekend-plans conversation ends. They chat for sometime about general things, before Athena makes her way over. Eventually they get on the topic of children and for once Eddie doesn't notice Buck with Tommy, as the couple slips away.

Actually, it isn't until they're sitting down for dinner does he notice their absence, because Chris asks Eddie, “Where is Bucky?”

Looking around, Eddie shrugs and says, “I don't know. How about this, you go save our seats and while I go to the bathroom I'll look for them.”

Words he'd come to regret as soon as that heavenly blessed, muffled moaning once again graced his ears. He should have known with his luck he'd catch them again . Should have somehow guessed what they'd be doing because he knows both of his friends.

What he doesn't expect himself to somehow know is how… distracting their noises are. Unlike the time in the theater, Eddie stalls to admire the sound and what he hears leaves him yearning for a cold shower.

“Tommy, please,” Buck whines, a sound so desperate and pleading. “Don't tease, we have to hurry.”

“Then maybe you should do so,” Tommy responds deeply, clearly just as aroused. “Come for me, Evan.”

The sound that Buck makes is one Eddie will never forget and also why he couldn't meet neither Buck nor Tommy's eye over dinner. After all, how do you make eye contact with your best friend when you know the frantic sound they make as they ejaculate? How can you look into your friend’s eyes when you want to hear their boyfriend orgasm?

And what if you just as desperately want to hear more.

Today they're at the wedding venue to help Maddie and Chim plan their wedding. “They” being Athena and Bobby, Karen and Hen, Buck and Tommy and Eddie. They were invited to help on choosing the cake and none of them were going to give up free sweets.

“I'm so glad May was okay watching all the kids today,” Karen comments to Maddie. “I can deal with my sugar rush, not theirs!”

This garners some laughs and the congenial mood follows them into the room where they'll be taste testing. The group is led through the Japanese-inspired sliding door to a beautiful room that utilizes and encaptures natural beauty. The table they sit at is elegant but clearly made from a large tree. Eddie is sat next to Buck and the end of the table, with Tommy on Buck's left, Athena is next to him and Bobby is at the head of the table at the fiancee's insistence. Karen is across from Eddie, Hen is next to her, then Chim and Maddie.

The first cake is a simple red velvet, which Eddie is immediately biased for until he takes a bite and realizes it tastes nothing like his abuela's. Trying to conceal his face because the others seem to like it, he wipes his mouth and takes a drink of his water. Karen catches his eye and without words he knows she's in the same boat.

“How's Christopher?” She asks after setting her own glass down and dabbing her lips softly so she doesn't mess up her chapstick.

“Oh you would not believe…” Eddie starts, telling her about Christopher’s foray into the dating world.

Karen laughs, “Well do you expect any difference with who his other father is?”

“Not at all,” Eddie says with his own laugh. “I just hoped he'd learn more from…” he turns to Buck, “What'd you call it?” He snaps his fingers, turning back to Karen to answer his own question and continue, “Point 2 version than Point 1.”

Buck's eyes are furrowed in confusion until he seemingly realizes they're talking about him because he considerably brightens as he chimes in, “Oh please! We've had the same amount of hook-ups since you joined - actually I think you've had more than me in the last 6 or 7 years!”

Eddie opens his mouth to start protesting but stops himself as he does the mental math. Shannon, Ana, being friends with benefits with Lena until she'd called it off, countless one night stands, and lately Marisol. Ali, Taylor, Natalia, 13 one night stands (Eddie knows how many because Buck has told him about every one) and now Tommy. Libido wise, they’re matched. Relationship wise, they’re on a similar path.

“Whatever,” Eddie mock-scoffs, the smile on his face a sure sign that he’s joking. “I’ve had more serious relationships.”

“Indisputably,” Buck mock-snarks, his smile just as mischievous. “You’re looking for a mom for Christopher, not a partner.”

Eddie gasps, bringing his hand to his chest in false offense, “How dare thee!”

“Why would he need to be looking? You’re both,” Hen jokes.

Tommy laughs, “You can’t even deny it, Evan. The only decorations you have are his art works. They’re framed and displayed in places of honor,” He looks at Karen and Hen as he says, “When he brought me over to his apartment for the first time, I swear he spent the first hour showing me around like he was some art curator showing off his favorite artist’s work.”

Everyone laughs, which is what the bakers walk out to with the next cake.

“I’m glad to see everyone’s having a good time,” A woman says, obviously the head chef or the baker’s version of that. “Are we ready to try the next?”

At everyone’s agreement, they clean up the table and pass around new plates with the new cake. Eddie would know what kind it was, if he had been able to listen to the baker instead of being completely enraptured by Buck and Tommy. The way they catch each other’s eye and share a secretive smile… It's alluring. The way their smiles sweeten, obviously in love and happy… Eddie wants to join them.

And Eddie realizes he knows exactly what that indefinable feeling plaguing him is.

It’s been obvious the whole time.

He drags his gaze away, looking straight ahead and meeting Karen’s eyes. They’re surprisingly sympathetic, like she’s experiencing something sad and wants nothing more than to fix it. Eddie can understand how she’s such a great mother, because he feels her love and he’s not even a child. Meeting her gaze is hard, but definitely easier than staring at the sweethearts.

“So Denny wants Chris to come over for a sleepover, I know we’re kind of busy now but since we’re both here we might as well chat about it,” Karen suggests as she tries the cake.

Eddie loves his family.

Grateful to her distraction his mind is taken off of the constant repetition of BuckTommyBuckTommyBuckTommy… or at the very least it’s an obnoxiously loud background noise.

“That’s perfect!” Eddie responds. “I can take them this next week if you could take them next sleepover.” Eddie subconsciously observes Tommy excusing himself and standing as he pulls out his phone to see his calendar. “Denny could come over this Friday. He could join in on our family night.”

“Yay!” Buck joins in to say after looking back from Tommy’s retreating form. “I’m excited! We’re going to have a Kung Fu Panda marathon so we can go watch the new one on Tuesday. Do you think Denny would like to come?”

“Definitely,” Karen says, all smiles. “Hen and I could use her day off to have a girl’s day with Mara. Denny went to my last salon and got embarrassed by all the grannies, he doesn’t want to go if they’re going to be there. They get… pinchy.”

Eddie laughs, “Oh my abuela and her book club are pinchy too. Every time they come around Chris he’s pretending he’s sick and wears his mask!”

“That’s smart!” Karen snaps her fingers. “I’ll have to tell Denny to use that one.”

“I’ll bet Chris already has,” Buck says. “Denny is just too sweet. Chris is more mischievous,” He rubs his head bashfully. “I swear that’s not from me.”

Everyone laughs. “Sure, Buck,” Hen says sassily, looking at him with a sisterly look. “Although, I will say he does get it from both of you.”

“Do what?” Maddie asks, leaning to face them better from the conversation she, Chim, Bobby and Athena had been having as it had come to an end.

“Chris got his player personality from both his dads,” Karen explains.

The entire table laughs.

“Oh goodness it is becoming apparent how alike our children are to us all,” Athena laughs waving her hands as she explains everything that had occured with Harry.

“I’m glad it’s all going to work out,” Buck says when she’s done.

Eddie nods, “Truly. Although, it all works out in the end, otherwise it’s not the end.” Everyone nods, adding on their own regards, but Eddie stops paying attention because it’s all taken by Buck discreetly excusing himself to the bathroom.

Which is a totally normal thing to do, but Eddie can’t stop focusing on the fact that Tommy isn’t back yet. The last time, he should have expected it and has been kicking himself for not realizing soon enough. Unable to give conversation, he crams his mouth with the rest of his cake and just nods along.

Ten minutes go by.

At this point he’s chewing mush, but he knows exactly what he’s going to do as soon as he’s done eating.

He swallows.

“Hey, I gotta go to the bathroom,” Eddie softly says as he stands up, pushing in his chair robotically. “I’ll be right back.”

The walk to the bathroom is thankfully short and the door is the same papery thin, sliding door that they had been led through before. Which means Eddie can hear them perfectly.

“You don’t think so?” Tommy is saying. “I know so, that's why I was feeling him out.”

“No way, he’s got all that Catholic guilt. Even if he could, he wouldn’t,” Buck replies.

“I’d beg to differ,” Tommy chuckles.

“Well I’m begging you to hurry,” Buck interrupts himself with a moan. “Please, oh my God, please .”

“Don’t beg God, keep begging me.”

There isn’t much talking after that. The time Eddie spends in that hallway feels innumerable. Able to easily listen, he makes sure to leave and be sat back in his spot well before they’re on their own way back.

Eddie finds that this time makes it no easier to meet the couple’s eyes.

The last time, Eddie had gone to Buck’s apartment after he and Marisol had gotten into an argument. In his defense, his spot had been open and only Buck’s Jeep had been in the apartment’s designated parking spaces. The walk up the parking garage stairs and to the elevator was daunting and the walk down the hallway to Buck's apartment was ominous, yet that was normal lately.

Maybe that's why he thinks nothing is off as he uses his key to unlock the apartment and goes in.

The sight that greets him is straight from a porno made by God for him.

Buck is bent over his counter, face twisted in a pert near illegal expression of pleasure, clearly overstimulated and loving it. Tommy is behind him, a similar countenance of ecstacy written across his face, dirty but adoring of the man beneath him. They are both facing the door, which means as soon as Eddie walks in and sights them that the opposite is true as well.

For a few seconds the momentum carries them through a few more thrusts and Eddie watches, captive to his own desire before he realizes this is real real life and not one of his repressed dreams.

“I'm sorry,” Eddie cries, trying to look away and failing as he backs up towards the door. “I'm going!”

“Eddie,” Buck says, voiced perfectly hoarse and fucked out. “Wait,” he straightens and Tommy backs up, pulling out evidently by the moans.

Eddie can't help but watch, but he also can't stay. Somehow he peels his gaze away, and runs from the apartment.

Upcoming Queue

(this is a rough draft outline. I wanted to cross-post what I have written so far because I can😎 I'd really like constructive feedback or someone to describe my writing. I'm also in need of a summary and I'm obviously no wordsmith)

(Blue are Posted, Red are Not Posted)

Chapter #1: Bi, Bi, Bi :: The set up OR As Eddie is setting up for a normal family night, Buck asks if Tommy can come and Eddie feels... Feelings about it.

Chapter #2: Bring in the Noise :: The set up pt2 OR An addition to family night doesn't disrupt it as worried.

Chapter #3: It Makes Me Ill :: Eddie has arrived in Jealousytown. All of the stations make him sick, especially when every stop be has to see Buck give love and attention at his will. And you can't imagine how it makes Eddie feel, to see them without him OR The 5 Times Eddie Catches BuckTommy.

Chapter #4: It's Gonna Be ME :: Eddie, Tommy and Buck get drunk at Chim’s bachelor party. Eddie makes a big confrontational speech to Tommy about how he thought they were friends and he can't believe he'd go behind his back type thing. Essentially telling Tommy there's been hundreds before him and Eddie's been there the whole time, it's gonna be him. Realizing he's made a fool of himself, Eddie runs off and avoids teven.

Chapter 5: No Strings Attached :: Eddie asking Chim, Hen and Bobby if he's homophobic, Chim says he's homo something (this is the plot bunny that started this fic)

Chapter 6: I Thought She Knew :: a proper break up with Marisol where he apologizes and she says she knows and there's no apology needed if he doesn't do it to another woman. They chat and he learns one of the big reasons she left is because she's bi too.

Chapter 7: Just Got Paid :: Eddie is still avoiding Buck and Tommy after Madney’s bachelor party and wedding but things are going more smoothly. Between more talks with Bobby and Hen he comes into his queer identity

Chapter 8: This I Promise You :: Confession

Chapter 9: Digital get down :: Domestic bliss 101

Chapter 10: That's When I'll Stop Loving You :: Found Family moment/telling the firefam

Chapter 11: Space Cowboy :: +1

Chapter 12: That's When I'll Stop Loving You :: Domestic bliss 202

23 notes · View notes