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#ive always been kind of one of the followers of others
irisjaxx665 · 3 days
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in the past couple years, ive been working on getting better with talking about my traumas. at this point the only people i havent talked to about everything are my parents. i dont cry as much now, talking about it though.
before colorado, my parents, their son brett, and i lived in Oklahoma. He, while biologically my full sibling, never acted like a brother towards me. from when i was age 11 til 13 He molested me and threatened my life many times. so i hadnt called Him a brother since i was 10. this, they know and the molestation stopped though the threats and insults didnt until we cut contact when i turned 18. but when i was 7, i met my first and, for years, only friend, who i fell in love with, and who became a better brother to me than i had ever known. i never brought him to my parents house, and this they dont know. His name was Nikolai, he was 11 then. i loved Him with all that i was or ever would be and He saw me as His little sister. so i swore to be the best little sister anyone could have. He loved mardi gras and wanted to go to new orleans when He got older. He taught me kickboxing and russian, i taught Him ballet and what limited german i knew. we talked about everything and nothing, and i felt like someone cared about me, instead of just caring for me. we swore oaths, bound in blood and fire and the passion of innocence. we swore to join the marines when i hit 18 so we could serve side by side. we swore to keep no secrets to each other. we swore that a pain to one would be a pain to both. we swore to name our firstborns for each other, and name the other godparent when we found our loves. we swore to get matching tattoos. we swore to fulfill bucket lists together. to see the world together. He taught me how to clean my wounds when i learned what hate was, aimed towards myself like a grenade with my name etched on its face in every language. He taught me how to protect myself against the animals that roamed our woods and climb trees and swim the rivers around us. He picked me up and cleaned me up after my suicide and overdose attempts in my tween years. He taught me the names of the stars and how to follow their dance. He told me every quote and phrase that has lodged itself in my head and in my veins and on my bones. He let me cry and be afraid and be myself without telling me that i had to be ashamed of who i was, or that i had to change.
on march 25, 2014 i found His body, after getting home from a spring break trip with my parents. since then, the only other real brother ive had has been Caine. everything gets very hard every year, around His death and His birthday in december. in april is when i was raped by the cop. that may is when i found i was pregnant, and got clean of heroin. january of 2015 is when i had and lost my twins. winter isnt kind to me. between my mental and physical health, its taxing.
this year, when Pond and i get home from our honeymoon, ill be 9 years clean almost to the day. the twins wouldve turned 9 this past january. and Nikolai would have turned 27. i still feel so weird knowing im older than my big brother. my one true fear is losing the people i love. and since i was young ive had memory issues. and as every year passes, i can feel im losing a piece of Him. i can barely remember His voice now. i remember His eyes. i remember the feeling of getting to be in His arms, in a hug, sleeping, sobbing, fighting. i remember His scent. He always smelt of the forest and the river and freedom and joy and safety. meeting Caine in colorado, i saw Niki in Him. He taught me how to trust again and taught me not to be ashamed of my scars. because somehow the gods still havent taken me and thats why i wear them. and we talked about everything and nothing. then i met Pond, and in His eyes, i saw Niki again. Pond has Niki’s eyes. rich, deep, honest, loving, passionate, beautiful eyes. and He knows every inch of me. every scar, every freckle and hair of me. and somehow, He loves me. though i could never know how. and these men ive loved in my life mean worlds to me. i just wish i could give them the worlds they deserve. instead, all i can do is all that i can.
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uyuuma · 9 days
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“ THE MOVIE'S NOT THAT SCARY ”
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bigbro!choso x fem!reader ღ MDNI.
❥ summary. you and yuji itadori have been best friends since middle school. you often came over for movie nights with him and his big brother. little does yuji know about the things you and his big bro have been up to.
❥ warnings. nsfw, female anatomy, slight age gap, doing stuff under the covers next to yuji, etc.
❥ a/n. i've been thinking of this scenario for a while. was super fun to write about, ive become a choso girlie in recent times :)
❥ wc. 2.3k
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"Yo, you still on for movie night?" A voice calls out from behind you.
You turn around and see that it's Yuji, your best friend. You adjust the bag strap on your shoulder and smile at the familiar face.
"Yes, of course!" You replied enthusiastically.
Yuji has been your friend all the way back from middle school. You transferred as a new student and he was the first person to introduce himself. You guys quickly became close friends because of his kind and extroverted demeanor.
Yuji had an ongoing tradition with you where you guys would have movie nights on Fridays. It was mostly held at his house since he had the bigger TV. Throughout middle and high school you guys would excitedly choose a movie and watch it after a long week of school, wrapping up the week in a fun celebration.
Sometime in your senior year of high school, some things changed in Yuji's household. His older half-brother, Choso, moved into the house with Yuji. You could remember the day like it was yesterday, the first time you laid eyes on the pale man.
He was around 7 years older than you from what Yuji told you. Already long graduated college before you even started. You felt something inside you spark when you first saw him, you weren't really sure what it was though. It could've been his stoic face or perhaps how he towered over you in height. But something made you feel giddy whenever you were around him.
Choso began to join in on movie nights, around the time you were 19. Calmly resting on one side of you, with Yuji engulfed in the movie on the other side of the couch. Yuji was always too immersed into the movie to notice how you and Choso would share glances at each other every now and then. It even flew right over his head when you started to wear skimpier outfits when coming over as well. How your oversized t-shirts and sweats turned into tight lacy-tank tops and booty shorts that accentuated your ass just right. I mean, it wasn't his fault because Yuji never saw you in that way.
Oh, but Choso did. He noticed how exchanging glances turned into you nudging your hand against his, or how you playfully rubbed your foot against his leg. How your clothes became increasingly revealing every week or how you would cling to him at the scary part of a movie.
Choso was experienced, he could tell how hard you were trying to get his attention. He found it extremely adorable at your attempts to flirt with him. He would often let out a quiet chuckle or make clever remarks that would make you get butterflies in your tummy.
It wasn't long before you and Choso started to mess around. How Yuji never noticed how you two would disappear halfway into the movie for an hour, was beyond you. It was a common occurrence for you to tease Choso under the blanket too much, making him excuse himself that he had to lay down in his room from a 'headache'. He would then shoot you a glare and squeeze hard onto your thigh, signaling to you that you better follow. You would then excuse yourself a couple of minutes later so that you could use the bathroom.
Really you were headed to Choso's room, where he would bury his cock into you until you begged him for mercy. Your body spasming from his ruthless pounding, covered in sweat. After he felt like you received the correct punishment for whatever you did that pissed him off, he would quickly clean up to join back with Yuji. You would follow him, the stench of sex still all over you. But, Yuji never seemed to notice.
That still applied to your current situation. You were sitting in between the boys, blanket on your lap as it extended to Choso's. Yuji didn't use a blanket, he just had his favorite pillow on his lap. Tonight Choso recommended that you guys watch a horror film. Yuji put on the original 'Scream' excitedly, since he enjoyed cheesy horror flicks.
A little into the movie Yuji had already become absorbed into the plot, not paying any mind to the two of you. That was when you felt Choso's arm move behind you. You believed it to be him just putting his arm around your shoulder so you leaned into him. That was when you stifled a gasp from exiting your mouth as you felt his warm fingers pull at your shorts.
You look up at him, holding back a whimper as he snaked his hand through the back of your shorts. His fingers found their way to your panties, skillfully parting it out of the way. He used his middle finger to gently rub against your clit, hoping to get you wet. It worked as you easily became soaked from his touch.
He smirked and kept his eyes on the TV, moving one of his digits along your slit. You squeezed your legs together from the warm sensation and leaned into Choso's shoulder. You fought back a moan by gripping onto his sleeve.
Choso then plunges his slender and long middle finger into your soft cunt. He gave out a muffled groan disguised as him clearing his throat as he felt himself become hard from the sensation alone. Something about how your pussy sucked in his finger made him want to fuck you right then and there. Unfortunately, it wasn't possible at this very moment.
Feeling how your pussy squeezed his finger and legs quivered from his touch made him add another finger. It made you gasp, feeling him slowly insert his ring finger inside of you, gasp audibly enough for Yuji to pick up on it.
"Hah, looks like you still find horror movies scary." Yuji said teasingly, looking over briefly. He turned to face the TV, still being clueless as to what was going on.
You gave out a nervous giggle in response and moved to look back at the TV, trying not to break the act.
However, Choso would not let up as he started to move his fingers inside of you. You squeezed your thighs together as he finger-fucked your little hole. His fingers began to grind against your walls as he curled them to hit your sweet spot. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as he hit that spot relentlessly, trying to get you to make more noise.
Choso loved to humiliate you, so he worked his damned hardest to get you to let out your sweet moans. He knew Yuji was too stupid to catch on, he just simply wanted you to feel embarrassed.
That was when he quickened the pace, your wetness starting to cover his fingers in slick. A familiar wet slapping sound began to seep from beneath the blanket, as he moved his fingers aggressively into your needy cunt. You quickly glanced at Yuji, knowing for certain he could hear that.
"Damn, the sound effects in this movie are pretty realistic." Yuji said as he shoveled popcorn into his mouth.
You become hot in the face knowing your lewd little cunt was making sounds loud enough that Yuji could hear it.
"Yeah, I guess they know what it sounds like to rearrange someone's guts." Choso said with a smirk. His voice was nonchalant, but you knew it was his sadistic way of poking fun at you.
You suck in air through your teeth annoyedly, closing your eyes, trying to relax as best as you could.
Unfortunately for you, Choso would give you no moment of reprieve as he timed his fingers curling and stroking your sweet spot along with the biggest jumpscare of the movie.
You let out a shocked moan, gripping onto Choso's bicep harder. You hid your face in Choso's chest in embarrassment, trying to slink away from Yuji as much as possible.
"Woah, calm down. The movie's not that scary." Yuji was surprised by your sudden reaction. He looked at how you clutched onto his big brother for safety and just smiled. He was glad you at least could find relief in Choso. Unbeknownst to him, you were fighting for your life not to spasm uncontrollably and cum all over Choso's fingers. Yuji returned his attention to the movie.
Choso was now painfully hard under the blanket, his erection going untouched for quite some time now. He hissed, feeling himself become constrained in his boxers. The pace at which he was moving his fingers started to slow down as he readjusted himself next to you. He moved his legs so that they were spread out beneath the blanket.
You could tell that meant he was hard and you looked up at him to see what he wanted next. Your eyes were met with his normal, expressionless gaze. The light from the TV perfectly illuminated his face to where he looked almost intimidating. He then bent down enough to where he could whisper into your ear.
"I want to fuck your throat." His breath was hot against your ear.
You looked at him, trying to see if he was being serious. He was. He guided you with his left hand to feel how stiff his cock was. You gulped and looked down at his lap, gently rubbing against his erection. He let out a low groan and leaned back against the couch, still keeping his fingers inside you.
You look at Yuji real quick and wait for something scary to happen again in the movie. As soon as you heard a woman shriek on the TV, you quickly hid under the blanket, resting your head on Choso's lap.
You could hear Yuji's muffled laughing from beneath the cover, him buying into your act that you were hiding from the movie.
You then watched as Choso took his left hand to free himself from his sweatpants and underwear, his dick was flushed at the tip and throbbing. You took a deep breath and inched closer toward it, licking lightly on his tip. You could taste the salty precum start to cover your tongue as well as how his abs flexed from your touch. You slowly took him into your mouth, letting your saliva coat his cock. You could tell he was getting annoyed from how slow you were moving because he bucked his pelvis into your face, catching you off guard. You choked a little but quickly caught up to the pace he wanted.
Feeling your slutty throat engulf his cock from under the blanket made him go feral. He went back to fucking your cunt with his fingers. He almost let out a guttural moan from the sensation of your two holes tightening around him. Instead, he just held his mouth and chin with his hand to muffle his sounds. He feigned a bored look on his face, almost as if he was falling asleep, but really he was occupied with how amazing your mouth felt.
His thrusts into your pussy matched the pace that you swallowed him, he was entranced trying to help the both of you cum together.
You too, became absorbed in the moment. Forgetting that outside of the blanket was innocent Yuji, who knew nothing of what was going on. You were caught up in sliding your tongue skillfully along Choso's length and feeling how your throat molded to the shape of his cock.
Choso could feel your saliva start to drip down into his boxers and the feeling was so lewd that his body tensed up. He began to struggle holding in his sounds and jittery movements, he knew he needed to finish or he'd lose it.
His fingers curled against your sensitive spot again, this time he mixed it with quick thrusts, making you moan around his cock. The sound was luckily unheard because the movie was playing loud music. The moan caused vibrations in your throat, which made Choso's eyes dart to the back of his skull. He was so fucking close to busting down your throat, he could feel it coming.
He added a third finger into your sopping wet cunt and continued to massage the spot that he knew so well. This was the final straw for you as you felt your orgasm crash down in waves. Your pussy clenched around his fingers as you came, your legs spasming uncontrollably and your toes curled.
He also reached ecstasy after feeling you squeeze him. He thrusted into your mouth and came as far down your throat as he possibly could. You could feel his hot, thick load spurt into your throat as you struggled to swallow.
After both of you regaining composure and calming your breathing Choso slowly withdrew his fingers from your tired cunt as well as you cleaning him off gently with your mouth. He tucked himself back into his sweats and you took that as a sign to come out of the blanket for some fresh air.
You came out, lights from the TV blinding you temporarily. As your vision adjusted you can see Yuji looking down at you.
"Aw, you missed the ending of the movie." He said slightly disappointed. He took note of your disheveled appearance, hair all tangled and mascara slighting ruined. "You must've been really scared, huh?" He asked worried about you.
"Ah, yeah I should've warned you that I don't handle horror movies that well." You said nervously, trying to comb your hair with your fingers.
"It's alright, I just hope you won't have any nightmares tonight!" Yuji said as he stood up, starting to clear the dishes off the coffee table.
"Don't worry lil bro, I don't think she's getting that much sleep tonight anyways." Choso said with a wide smirk. He winked at you and slid his slick covered fingers into his mouth to taste it.
You watched as he savored your flavor on his tongue, his eyes not moving off of yours.
You guessed you were probably sleeping over tonight.
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livingemkayde · 4 months
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between blurred lines
best friend's dad!/dad's best friend!joel miller x f!reader
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(pre-outbreak)
↳ warnings: this is rated for 18+ only! minors, please do not interact. smut, unprotected pinv, fingering f! receiving, cockwarming (!?!?!?) uhh dom!joel, significant age gap, dad's best friend mixed with some best friends dad (?!!?!?!?). i think that's it, let me know if i forgot anything.
↳ a/n: I LOOK PRETTY GOOD FOR A DEAD BITCH (she's alive!). im back from my tumblr break bearing a gift! i missed you all like crazy. gonna spend finals week catching up (procrastinating) on all the reading ive missed out on for the last month. i hope you guys like this one.
AND a very special thanks to @joelsversion for beta reading this in it's very early rough, rough stages. my ride or die fr 🤞
↳ summary: joel miller has always been...there. never different, always sporting a brooding scowl etched into his handsome face. he's your best friend sarah miller's dad, arguably worse, your dad's long time buddy. things are never different. not until this summer. not until now.
↳ follow @livingemkaydenotifs if you would like to be notified about more fics like this. love ya'll big time
↳ if you would like to read more of mine: masterlist
“You shouldn’t be in here.” “No,” you agree breathlessly. “I shouldn’t.” He slots himself against you, his other hand grips your hip and pushes you back into him. You gasp softly.  “Let it go.” You realize he’s talking about your dress. You squeeze your eyes shut. His lips skate against your neck in a way that makes you dip your head to the side in a silent surrender.  “Let it go,” he repeats.
You grew up with Sarah Miller. 
Soccer teams, high school football pep rallies, prom, homecoming, college acceptance season. Even though it turned into long distance facetime calls, and text chains nine messages long once college hit, Sarah Miller will forever and always be your best friend. 
It’s good to be back in Texas. Both you and Sarah moved back into your childhood homes the second after graduation hit. It’s good to be back, good to see her, your parents, and…Joel. 
You hadn’t seen him in a while. The last time you remember spending more than five minutes in his passing presence was when you and Sarah decided on that Chinese place for a post-high school graduation ceremony meal. He’s close with your dad. In an old school kind of way. In a lets raise our kids together kind of way and a the wives can go shopping together kind of way — before Sarah’s mom split, that is. 
Joel Miller, always brooding, always gruff and quiet. He’s never different. Though, you can’t help but think things might be different now—
No. You almost have to remind yourself out loud. He’s not different. He never is. He’s Joel Miller and you’re — you’re just a kid. You’re as old as his kid. 
Sarah, despite your hardened efforts, managed to drag you out of bed and into the shortest dress you own for a night at some club halfway across town. 
“Sarah, are the shot glasses still in the top cabinet?”
You reach for the knob, barely getting onto the balls of your feet before slipping on the cold laminate tiles in the kitchen. Your open palm balls into a fist and makes the cabinets shutter. Sarah responds with something from her room equally as unintelligible as your question was to her. You can feel your dress starting to ride up a little in your efforts, but you rifle through the Miller’s cabinets like it’s your own home. In some ways it is. 
“Hey, kid.”
You spin around, and quickly shuffle the hem of your dress back down. He nods his head in a lazy greeting. 
“Hey.” You’re breathless for some reason. It’s not because of the shot glasses. 
“Been a while,” Joel says, shuffling into the kitchen and setting a mug in the sink. He looks the same. Tousled hair and a beard just beginning to tinge gray. He’s always — always the same. 
You clear your throat. “Yeah. Been a while.” 
“Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” 
“Good to have you back,” he mumbles, settling back against the kitchen counter. You can see his arms flex when his palms settle onto the countertop. He’s strong, so much bigger than you. You never really noticed the big broadness of him until now. You’re not used to guys like him. All the boys you ever really experienced were clean shaven, soft in a way that told you they’ve never hauled ass through a day’s work. A lifetime of work. 
“Good to be back.” He clocks your outfit. You try to change the subject. “How are things?”
“Same ol’ same ol’.” He grabs a beer from the fridge. “Your dad’s gettin’ into golf. Tryna make me go out with him.” 
You laugh. “Not your scene?” 
“No, not quite.” He shakes his head, sipping on his beer with a smirk that almost makes your knees weak. “What’d you study again?” 
You scoff playfully. “Like you remembered in the first place.”
“Play along.” He smirks.
A knot sticks to your stomach, just below your navel. His voice is sickly sweet. Syrupy and Texan. His voice is like medicine. 
“Education. Just applied for jobs in the fall.”
“You teachin’?” 
“That’s the plan,” you let out with a breathless kind of laugh. 
“Smart girl.” 
His head cocks, and tilts it to the side. Your breath catches in your throat, palms sweaty against the black fabric of your dress. “Hardly.” 
He pauses, eyes you. It’s fleeting—you might think you dream it. You pick at the skin of your own thumb. 
“Your dad know you’re goin’ out?” 
You scoff. “I’m an adult. Don’t need my dad’s permission.”
“Don’t be a smart ass.” 
You eye him, a smirk plays on his lips. 
“I’m not—just…grown up, I guess.”
Something unreadable spreads across his face. “I guess.”
You hitch a tough breath. 
“What’d you need?” He swigs at his beer. 
“Oh.” You look back towards the cabinets, then. “Shot glasses.” 
“Moved ‘em,” he nods and stalks forward, backing you against the counter. He’s got a dark swirl of something warming behind his gaze. You don’t try to scoot away. Even when he reaches up next to your head and you hear the clink of two shot glasses brush up against each other in his fingers. 
“Don’t have too much fun,” he whispers while he pushes the glasses into your hands and leaves the kitchen.
__
You desperately, for your life, cannot keep up with Sarah Miller. 
She drinks entirely too quickly, efficiently, and practiced for your poor alcohol tolerance to keep up with. She’s a machine, and after three shots in, you’re already wasted. It wasn’t even midnight when your vision started to pull in a sideways direction and everything seemed a little slow. You knew things were taking a turn for the worst when the blonde quaffed frat guy with a Texas A&M polo shirt started sounding a little too funny. He was glued to your hip the entire night, though you aren’t sure you even remember his name correctly. You have your bets set on Colter, but then again, after your second shot, everything started to sound a little fuzzy to your rosied ears. 
And when Colter called you and Sarah an Uber at three a.m., you didn’t have the guts to ask him his name, only shooting him a half hearted thanks over your shoulder—your liquid courage having sobered up by the time the Uber rounded the corner to the Miller’s house. 
Even though Sarah Miller can throw back shots like it’s her day job, she passed out onto her bed as quickly as you both left her childhood bedroom while running late for your driver to the club. 
Before she promptly fell asleep, she mumbled something almost unintelligible into the pink sheets of her twin sized bed. But you could make it out enough to spring back from her words while your heart skipped a beat. 
“Get a shirt from my dads room.” 
So you knock, quietly, almost too quietly, and when you rap your knuckles against the wood of Joel Miller’s bedroom door a little harder, it pushes open slightly. The crack of it floods black, you can’t see inside, only the dim night sky illuminating the window sill and curtains in its wake.
When you push it open a little further, the door creaks so loud you push your eyebrows together with worry and freeze in your timely steps. But it’s empty. The bed isn’t entirely made, the covers a little rumpled and haphazard. You spot his dresser and make a quick beeline for it, itching to get out of your uncomfortable dress. 
The drawer slides open with a shift of wood on wood and you snatch up the first black t-shirt you find sitting neatly on top of the pile. Subconsciously, you bring it to your nose—sunlight, and evergreens, and a little hint of musk that peaks through the laundry detergent. The worn, soft cotton of it makes you sigh deep into the dark bedroom. You close your eyes, ball your fist up around the collar and lean into the dresser with your palm fitting against the edge of wood. Just as you turn around and move to close the drawer in your exit, a voice pulls your eyes up from the darkness. 
“What’re you doin’?”
You jump, almost instinctively bringing his shirt to your chest. A sinking, uneasy feeling settles right under your throat. It’s almost like you’ve been caught red handed—you most definitely were. 
You don’t say anything. The light pouring in from the hallway surely illuminates you enough. Joel’s eyes trail down to your bare legs, then to his shirt you have clutched in your hands. 
“That my shirt?” He points to your chest with a vague gesture of his hands. You look down at the material balled up in between your shaky fingers, then back to his eyes.
“I don’t—” You shake your head even though you know your efforts are fruitless. The least you can do is tell the truth. 
“Sarah—she’s—she’s sleeping. Told me to get clothes in here.” You make a slight nod of your head towards his open dresser. He doesn’t say anything, but he takes a step towards you. 
“Sorry, I can just—” You point towards the door behind him, and move to leave. 
“‘S fine,” he mumbles in that deepened, soaked drawl. All honey, and velvet, wrapping you up into something warm and inviting. It tugs at something just beneath your belly. 
When he gets closer, your breath punches out in a staggered rise and fall of your chest. Your fingers don’t move from clutching his shirt. When he nears, he slips a hand past you, brushing your waist, and shuts the drawer closed with a soft thunk. 
Your breath catches in your throat, his eyes trail your figure. 
“Fun night?” 
You clear your throat, nod, slowly, still studying his darkened gaze. “Yeah.”
You clock how close he is when you put your weight on one hip and his jeans brush up against your bare thigh. His breath swirls on your eyelashes. He tugs on his shirt in your hands and lets out a hearty sigh. Shifting from one foot to the other, then again. It seems like you both stay like that for years. 
Brown. His eyes are brown—maybe a little darker than they normally are. His eyes try not to roam, but that hint of something is gone before you can blink. 
He backs away then, towards the door. Most likely seeing you out. He settles near the entrance and looks back at you. Your bare feet shuffle through the carpet. He nudges the door open with a rough palm on the doorknob, leaning against the frame as you approach. 
You’re about to leave, but he catches your elbow, and you spin back to him in a desperate kind of way. 
“You look pretty,” he whispers to your surprise. “Forgot t’mention it earlier.” 
Pretty. 
He thinks you’re pretty. You didn’t even think pretty was in his vocabulary. 
You didn’t think he would notice. 
You don’t say anything. Your eyebrows furrow with want. You study him, eye his brown stare and the way his chest rises and falls under the navy blue t-shirt he’s wearing. And you slowly—slowly push the door shut. You both watch it close. It clicks, the sound of it deafening to your ears. 
He would never, ever make the first move. You’re smart enough to know that for certain, but—pretty. He thinks you’re pretty, and after all this time, it’s still always Joel. 
So you turn your back to him, swipe your hair over one shoulder and turn your head to the side. You can hear him silently swear under his breath. 
“You mind?” you say, gesturing to the zipper of your dress. His soft steps pads on the floor. You can almost feel his chest against your shoulder blades. 
His fingers toy with the zipper, hot and rough but—hesitant. He pulls it down slowly anyways, exposing your back to the crisp air conditioned air, and the heat of his gaze. The straps fall as the zipper does, he curses again, succumbing to your decided fate. 
You hold the front of your dress to your body on instinct, even though the only thing you want to do right now involves him ripping it off you. 
He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t do anything else—doesn’t back away or come closer or leave. So you reach your hand backward to find him and gasp softly when his fingers tangle with yours. You pull his hand to your body. He locks onto your waist like a leech. 
“What’re you doin’?” He rasps against the shell of your ear, almost like he’s pleading with you. He sounds like he’s in pain. Maybe he’s torn between pleasure and good judgment. You want him to forget about the latter entirely. 
Your stomach drops, you glance to the side again. 
“I thought—” 
“You thought, what?”
Your face goes hot, stare at your feet instead. His hand doesn’t leave you. 
“I don’t…” 
“You thought this was a good idea?” 
You don’t say anything. For some reason you didn’t think it was a bad idea. Not when his hand reaches around to grab your hip.
“What would your daddy think?” 
“I don’t really care what he thinks.” An admission more than anything. 
He sucks in a breath. A quiet contemplation. The look on his face doesn't read pissed, but it's a far cry from happy. You don't know what is behind his gaze.
“Nothin’ but trouble.” He breathes out in a heavy sigh. “Ain’t ya?”
His voice is so much deeper now. His accent shows through, silken and so southern it makes you grip your dress a little harder on instinct. You’ve lost count of how many times your breath has gotten caught up in the tightness of your throat. 
“‘S one word for it.” 
He almost growls, his hand skits down to the hem of your dress and pushes his fingers under it, trailing upward, but stopping before he meets lace. 
“You shouldn’t be in here.”
“No,” you agree breathlessly. “I shouldn’t.”
He slots himself against you, his other hand grips your hip and pushes you back into him. You gasp softly. 
“Let it go.” You realize he’s talking about your dress. You squeeze your eyes shut. His lips skate against your neck in a way that makes you dip your head to the side in a silent surrender. 
“Let it go,” he repeats. 
You drop the hand on your chest and his t-shirt with it. Your dress falls to the floor in a black blanket of smoke. You gasp when his hands are on you, inching slowly from the hem of your underwear to grasp your breast in a rough, teasing palm. 
A small sound escapes past your lips. His other hand, quick to respond, slots over your mouth, silencing you and your whiny moans. 
It’s — rough. The way he pushes his palm into your face to quiet your whimpering, forcing your head back to rest against his shoulder. The way he pushes your underwear down your thighs to rest with his forgotten t-shirt, and your all too tight, too short dress. It’s rough, but so, so gentle. 
It feels like heaven. 
You pitch your back, arching into him in a desperate way. Writhing against him when he finally pushes a calloused finger in between your dripping folds. 
“Jesus.” He shakes his head. You can feel the scratch of his beard against your temple. You wonder what that scruff might feel like between your thighs. “Been wantin’ it all night, huh?”
It’s a question, but not one he needs an answer to. The mess between your thighs is evidence enough. 
Joel. You try to plead, but he’s relentless in his quieting attempts. The pad of his finger brushes against your clit and you’re keening against him. You can feel him smile. 
“Quiet,” he whispers into your ear, then lifts his hand from your mouth, hovering, waiting until the inevitable moan to escape past your lips. But you try your hardest, bite at the skin on the inside of your lip, and he rewards you. He’s a gentleman like that. He sinks his middle finger into your cunt, rubbing tight circles on your swollen clit with his thumb. Everything about him is just so, just right. 
Maybe, usually, with other guys, you’d be disappointed if they’re stingy with the foreplay. But you walked throughout the bar all night with slick dripping through soaked lace just at his words in the kitchen. Smart girl. So you push back into him and beg him—
“Joel.” You’re breathless. You plead at him with your body, with everything you have. “Please,” you whisper simply. 
Something like desperation and want and a little twinge of anxiety settles in your stomach when he releases you. He walks you back to the edge of the bed. It smells like him when you lay down and the softness of the blankets kiss the edges of your face. You can hear the clink of his belt buckle and you suck in a tiny breath.
“How do you want it, baby?” 
You push him back, and his eyes go wide. It’s the first reaction you’ve gotten out of him the whole night. A peak behind his brooding mask. And when you settle each leg on either side of his hips, he groans. It makes you a little more brave. 
“Like this,” you whisper, placing your hands on his chest. He grabs at your wrists, and pushes them under his wide palm to his stomach so you lean forward down to him. He pushes his boxers down and you try not to look, but you make a small sound at the sight. 
“Look good—” he grunts. You take his tip and notch it at your entrance. “Always look so pretty.” 
Your heart pounds in your chest. Everything is different. Everything is new. 
Pretty. 
“Fuck,” you whisper, glancing down at just the sight of him. The size of him. 
“You’re okay, angel.” 
Your gaze snaps to his face. He nods. You believe him. 
“I—ah—” you whimper. “I can take it.” 
“I know you can,” he grunts when you sink down an inch and take the tip of him. Your hips cant at the feeling, taking more of him through groans and pressing whines. He lets you set the pace. Let's you take your time. Even when he’s panting through his gritted teeth and tight lips. 
You sink down on him until there’s nothing left to take. It’s almost painful. But he’s right there, playing with the pearl of your clit, massaging your hips. He knows how much you can take and when you can take it. He seems to know alot about you while knowing very little. 
“Shit,” you groan. “Oh my — god.”
You can hear him muttering something along the lines of perfect. 
It feels that way—perfect. He fits inside you with a tight stretch but nothing compares to the feeling of his throbbing length resting inside you. You would die here with your wanton moans and you would wake to find nothing less. 
“Joel,” you whine, clenching around him, the stretch starts to sweeten. 
“That’s—fuck—yeah, good girl,” he whispers. He sounds like something sweet and dark and rough. You fist at his t-shirt. Just like the one left forgotten by the door. You don’t remember what you came in here for anymore. Not when you’re dangerously close from his thumb rubbing slow circles on your clit. 
“Fuck. Yeah?” He can feel it. From the inside. “Y’gonna come, baby?” 
It’s embarrassing. That you could come like this, with him waiting patiently inside you. You don’t have it in you to lie, you don’t have it in you to bounce up and down or move at all. He turned your legs to jello. 
“I-I don’t—” 
“C’mon,” he grunts and grips your hips to keep him flush to your body. “Know ya want it.”
It only takes one swift rock of your hips. His hands, broad and sprawled out across the plushness of your sides. Your body stalls out on top of him. He sits up to wrap his arms around you and brings you close on instinct. If your brain wasn’t so hazy and you weren’t so lightheaded your heart might swell at the thought. You bite out something sounding somewhat like his name—it’s a garbled whisper and cut of words but you think he gets the gist. 
“I—Ngh—fuck,” he whispers into the crown of your hair. You can feel him throbbing inside you. You chuckle something halfway coherent and let him flip you over, settled on your stomach with your face in the sheets. His fingers skip over your backside. 
“Joel,” you breathe. “I—” 
“Relax,” he says behind you, spreading your folds and staring at the way your cunt clenches around nothing. “Just relax, angel.” 
So you do, you sink boneless into the mattress and let him press you down into the sheets. He feels so broad. He feels so good. You tell him quite as much, in not so many words. You feel the weight of him settle behind you, his hand coming up to brace himself by your head. 
“God, you feel so fuckin’ good.” He sinks in, inch by inch. It’s not so much of a stretch anymore. Carving a place for himself inside you. It feels like he belongs there. You think to yourself that he probably does. You’re squirming beneath him, wringing your fists in dark blue sheets. 
You clamp your eyes shut when he bottoms out. Even more so when he finds a pace he likes and sets it. You don’t have to beg him anymore. Your legs shake beneath his hips, even more so when he hikes your leg up on the bed so he can push deeper. 
Something deep rolls through you again. It shocks you. Most of the guys you’ve been with haven’t made you come once, let alone twice. 
“I can’t—” you whine. “I—fuck.” 
He picks up the pace. 
“Y’can,” he grunts. “Know y’can, c’mon, baby.” 
You nuzzle your face in cotton. His hips chase his release and you know you’re close when he nudges against your g-spot.
“Don’t stop,” you whine. “Please don’t fucking stop, Joel, please, it—ah."
When you come, he grunts through ragged breaths. White hot pools in your stomach and you whine so loudly you’re worried about the neighbors. His hand comes to brace against the back of your neck. You’re so fucking soaked he slides through you easily. 
“Jesus, fuck,” he growls. He bears down on you and your hips and sinks to his elbows when he can’t keep himself up anymore. You feel the cotton of his t-shirt brush against your back. It sends a shiver up your spine. He comes, pulling out and spilling over your back. You try to hide your disappointment. 
He lays beside you for a minute, you barely reach your hand up from the bedsheets to brush against his bicep. He studies your face and pants through a slack jaw. He’s scruffy and broad and — perfect. 
Your gaze flick to his mouth, then his eyes. You silently realize he never kissed you. 
“Gonna get me killed,” he whispers. It’s almost weirdly affectionate in a way only Joel Miller could say. Still stuck in a limbo between pleasure and reality. You smile, softly. 
He climbs off you, and slinks to the bathroom. You wait with baited breath until you hear the water run. He emerges with a soft looking towel, damp with water, clinging to his fingers. You watch him and shiver when the towel touches your back. 
“Okay?” he whispers when you sit up and turn to look at him. 
“Yeah, okay.” 
It feels like something is supposed to happen now. You’re not used to this. Everything slowly comes back as the pleasure ebbs and you blink back to reality. You open your mouth, then close it. He does the same. 
You can hear Sarah’s door open and you both freeze. His brown eyes search yours through a furrowed brow. Your heart goes back into normal rhythm when you hear the bathroom door shut. Then nothing. 
He snags a new shirt from his dresser and tugs it over your body. 
The Texans. 
“Cute,” you gesture to the shirt. It’s soft underneath your fingers, worn. A gentle kind of faded navy blue. Joel picks up your dress off the floor and folds it into your chest while scoffing. 
“Shut up,” He shakes his head, but he can’t hide the smirk on his face. “Get outta here.” 
It’s all oddly playful. Like you both can’t believe it and are giddy at that fact.  
“Same time next week?” 
Something deeper flicks across his gaze at the doorway. “Is that a promise?” 
“You can’t answer a question with another question.” 
You turn when you leave the doorway and settle into the hallway. He’s got his hand on the doorframe, leaning into it—towering over you and already burning something hot through you. Again. 
“I just did,” he grumbles with a smug look, and then shuts the door. 
__
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azulashengrottospiano · 3 months
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SUMMARY: to blanc, you are the change he needed, and your pressing secret won't change that.
WARNINGS: mentions of mortality, blood. Vampire stuff.
COMMENTS: ok ok so @vivislosingitagain here is my thought process YOU like biting people and sucking their blood so YOU are a vampire. and HEY GUESS WHAT vampires are IMMORTAL kind of. and im pretty sure blanc is really fucking old so i think mortality angst would work great with him BUT WHAT IF HIS PARTNER WAS AS OLD AS HE WAS AND BIT HIM. that's the post.
also im so sorry if blanc is out of character i have seen this man three times in the routes ive played + the prologue oops.
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It’s a clear night. The stars are bright in the sky, just as they were hundreds and hundreds of years ago. Blanc doesn’t know if they’ll ever change, but he takes comfort in their consistency. They’re stationary, unmoving, unshifting, just like him. He’s always been in Cradle, long enough to see the shattering of bonds between the armies and the first Alice fall. He’s seen the skirmishes and the blood and the carnage.
And he’s seen you, the one who followed him into the rabbit hole and into Cradle.
He remembers thinking you were cute. He remembers Oliver scolding him for speaking his mind, and he remembers you tearing your eyes away from him, a shy smile on your lips. You’ve always been alluring, in a way he never anticipated, and it makes him wonder if someone from the Land of Reason can really be magical like the people of Cradle.
It’s no use though—he knows the passage of time will take you away. He knows love (what he feels for you, there’s no doubt about it) is a powerful force, but it cannot break the way the sun and moon rise and fall, it cannot stop the stars from dying light years away, it cannot stop your inevitable aging.
He knows this, and yet he can’t let go. He greets you in the morning with a soft pat on your head, leaning over your bed as you stretch and yawn. His gaze softens when you rub your eyes and look over at him, and you’re looking at him like he’s the only thing you ever want to see.
He’s so selfish—he wants so badly for you to only look at him.
For someone so keenly aware of how mortal you are, he knows he's being awfully flippant about it. It’s the folly of man, to be so foolish as to yearn, but there’s always the possibility that fate will take pity on his poor soul and listen to its cries for his love to stay.
And so, the next night, a night that should be no different from any other, he breaks his routine. He keeps you up late, chatting over tea as the full moon rises in the sky, asking you if you want to go home. He watches you as you go quiet, your previously bright smile fading into a thoughtful frown. You’re staring into your tea as if it can give you the answer, and Blanc hopes the tea will give you the same answer he would.
I wish you would stay. I wish you would stay with me. I wish you would think I’m worth it. I wish that if I had to be hurt then you would be the one to hurt me because I’ve never loved anyone like you and I doubt I ever will. I wish you would be the one to thrust this dagger into my heart so fate doesn’t have the chance.
“...I want to stay with you.” you say, and Blanc knows you’re hiding something from him but he can’t bring himself to ask when you already look so worried.
“Are you sure?” he asks, reaching across the table to place a hand on yours.
Your head jerks up and you meet his gaze with parted lips—almost like you want to tell him but are far too scared.
“You can tell me anything.” he stresses, squeezing your hand gently.
“I’m not...” you purse your lips, looking away again as you choose your words carefully, “I’m not having doubts about staying here, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
Blanc holds back his sigh of relief in favor of another inquisitive glance. Your brow furrows and he knows you feel his stare, your cute canines poking at your lower lip as you gnaw on it pensively.
“I have a secret I don’t think I’m ready to share yet.” you say softly, turning back to him, “I will someday. I just...need time.”
Blanc laughs, a sound that's full of relief and love and sounds like the wind chimes that hang in your no longer temporary bedroom’s window, the ones that have been there since you came and will be there when—if—you leave.
“Darling.” he breathes, staring straight into your eyes with so much love, “I have all the time in the world.”
The full moon sinks beneath the horizon and the sun comes up again. The teacups from the night before have been cleaned and placed back on their shelves, and the cake you two cut slices out of remains in the fridge. There are still traces of you within the house—your skincare is still in the bathroom, your toothbrush is next to his, and your chair still has a cushion of your favorite color. None of those things have been removed because you didn’t leave.
You’re still in your bedroom, sleeping soundly, but this time Blanc is there with you, his arms wrapped around you. His body is tangled with yours, your legs intertwining as the bed sheets knot themselves around your limbs. Your head is resting right over his heart, the part of him that’s pounding away for you. Gently, he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and stares down at your sleeping face, the face that shows him all of your thoughts and emotions, the face that belongs to the person who loves him enough to stay.
He wakes you up with a kiss on your forehead, a kiss on the bridge of your nose, a kiss on your left eyelid and a kiss on your right, a kiss on your jaw—
He sighs when you start to stir, propping yourself up on your elbows. The bed sheets fall off your body like water cascading down the side of a cliff, and your bleary eyes have never looked more beautiful. He lays there, admiring you in the morning light as the wind chimes chime, the soft breeze from the cracked open window ruffling through your hair.
You shiver.
“Darling,” Blanc calls, placing a hand on your shoulder, “Good morning.”
You smile when you turn to look at him, and you allow yourself to fall back against the mattress next to him.
“Good morning.” you murmur, your nails tracing the curve of his cheekbone before tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, “You look so handsome.”
Ever the charmer, he’s rarely been charmed himself. And so he does the only thing he deems appropriate, and thanks you with a kiss on the back of your hand.
Weeks pass, and Blanc finds himself growing into this new routine. You're a sign of change, that he knows for sure. His own room remains vacant for the most part unless you decide to pull him into his room instead of your own when you’re ready for bed. It makes no difference to him where you go, only that he can follow you like the lovesick fool he is.
Except you’re not leading him to either of your bedrooms tonight.
You’re leading him outside, under the pale moonlight and into the chilly nighttime breeze. He looks up at the full moon and holds your hand a little tighter.
“Thank you for giving me time.” you say, the wind swelling as it passes between the two of you and further into the night, “I’m ready to tell you what I’ve been hiding from you now. It’s...not fair to keep it from you any longer.”
“I understand,” he smiles softly, cupping your cheek, “Go ahead.”
“I’m a vampire.” you say, and it takes his brain a few moments to catch up, “I’ve...found it hard to get blood in Cradle but since meeting with Kyle’s he’s managed to get me blood when I need it. I don’t like drinking from animals or people but it...has to be done for me to stay alive.”
Blanc’s brain is whirring as you spill your guts to him, your mouth moving faster and faster as you explain how despised vampires are in the Land of Reason, how people view them as monsters and how you’re certain you’re cursed.
Cursed. What a funny word to say to him.
“Is that why your canines are so sharp?” he blurts, leaning closer to your face.
You stop talking, bending backward just a bit at his sudden closeness.
“I—I’m sorry, what?” you ask, looking confused.
“Ah, well....I always thought they were cute.” he smiles kindly, brushing his thumb over your cheekbone.
“I...” you blink owlishly before shaking your head in disbelief, “Blanc, I just told you I’m a vampire.”
“Indeed you did.”
Your mouth falls open as if looking for the right words to say, and yet you come up with nothing.
“You can feed from me if you wish. I don’t want you to suffer any longer.” he offers like its the most natural thing in the world.
Still, you say nothing.
And then he murmurs your name, as soft as the flower petals brushing against your ankles.
“I don’t want to use you like that. I don’t want you to be a food source for me.” you grit your teeth, staring at the ground like you couldn’t be more ashamed, “I don’t want to be the monster the Land of Reason made me out to be.”
“You’re not. I give myself to you willingly, and I'll do it over and over again.” Blanc murmurs, hands slipping away from you.
It takes you a moment to realize he’s slowly undoing the buttons on his shirt, leaving his collarbone open to the nighttime breeze and your eyes.
“My love.” he opens his arms for you and his shirt slips off his shoulder, leaving his skin vulnerable—
“I give myself to you.”
And he pulls you into his chest, as he whispers words of love telling you that you can bite him, drink from him, take all that you need and that it will be okay because he’d give you everything if you asked for it, and that you changed his life for the better, you brought springtime’s flowers and winter’s shimmering ice and summer’s warm sunlight and autumn’s delicate, beautiful leaves to a life that was so repetitive and boring until you arrived—a life that belonged to the man you see before you but not anymore because its yours and it will always be yours.
Tears prick your eyes as you kiss his skin, worshiping each freckle and small scar you can reach. Your canines poke insistently at his skin and you ignore the urge for one, two, three, four, five seconds before your mouth opens and you bite down, hoping the small gasp that leaves his lips isn’t one of pain. You’re careful not to take too much but it tastes so good and who knew drinking from the one you loved could make you feel so happy and full.
Blanc looks up at the moon as you feed, happiness and adoration blurring his vision as he thinks about you, you who trusted him enough to bite him, to tell him who you were, you who stayed behind for him even though you could have left.
He stares up at the moon and sighs because he’s in love. He’s in love with you.
And after you’re done, after you pull away and lick the puncture marks to soothe them, after you press a dozen more kisses to his skin, Blanc still loves you. His blood is smeared around your mouth but he pulls you in anyway, kissing you with everything he has because you deserve nothing less than that.
And he loves you.
Over and over again, he loves you.
He doesn’t know how long he’ll be aging or how long you will have by his side, but he knows that if you will forever be his constant, he’ll come out okay in the end.
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targaryenluvs · 3 months
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VICTORS SPOILS
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pairings: dark!finnick odair x fem!capitol!reader
warnings: obsession, following/stalking, creepy behaviour, naive/younger reader, age gap, (reader is 19 and finnick's around 25), non-con touching and kissing, manipulation, bj mentions/insinuations, sex mentions, prostitution mentions, finnick lowkey preying on you - descriptions of brown reader (i was self indulgent since i’m indian 😁) condescending/nit picking mother and pushy parents!
summary: a victor should be celebrated! a victor should get what ever they wish, even if it’s a sweet capitol girl who misplaced her kindness in someone who was in desperate need of reprieve and distraction.
a/n: ITS MY BIRTHDAY!!! HERES A GIFT FROM ME TO YOU ❤️GUESS WHO MADE HER OWN LITTLE HEADER GAHH!! i tried my bestttt - ive been away for a littleeee!! sorry babes <33 it was like 3am and i cooked this up in my head before opening my brewing pot (notes app) and jotting it down - NOT PROOFREAD
the hall was so loud.
they always were at capitol parties. your mother and father always dragged you along, stating that a young lady should be getting out, meeting people, friends, becoming well versed and established in the capitol. and that they wouldn’t always be here. “you need to learn to be alone, fend for yourself and stand your ground. how are you gonna do that if you’re always trying to keep to yourself dear?” your mother sweetly smiled as she looked over you, “i think you still have time to change that dress, not the most flattering sweetie.”
you scoffed as she walked away ever so elegantly. you looked over yourself in the mirror, the green dress was gorgeous, to you at least. but the blue dress your mother had chosen was breath-taking, as much as you hated to agree with her opinion. so you bit your tongue and put the chosen dress on.
mother knows best right?
the sun was setting with an especially beautiful array of colours to which you figured no one would really notice you were gone if they were all focused on something else. there was probably a screen upstairs which you could watch something on. a few things to eat and drink then you’d head up there.
finnick was glancing over to you the whole night. you’d worn blue, and he’d taken it as an ode to him. you hadn’t looked over at him yet but your leaving of the party seemed like an invitation to him to finally introduce himself.
as you settled down on the plush couch you felt all your tensions melt away. but finnick wouldn’t leave you alone for long. “i’m sorry i didn’t know this was occupied.” finnick looked sad and you had no clue why, so being as nice as you are had you opening the room in invitation to him. “no, no! i just wanted to get away from the party. you’re welcome to sit with me finnick.” it felt odd to you for some reason, calling him by his name as if he was a friend. you’d only ever seen him through screens and from afar yet he looked as amazing as always.
“are you sure?” you nodded and smiled, moving down the couch to make room for him. he sat down, respectful of your space. he looked drained and you felt the same way. “tired of the party?” you asked as he smiled and nodded, “a lot of people asking a lot of questions.” you spoke, “everyone has something to say or ask. my dad told me he got three men asking for my hand. we haven’t even been here for two hours. it’s like being in a room with vultures. and if i do accept i’ll just be, nothing. someone stuck to the side of some ugly guy who just wants a pretty face.” you didn’t know what it was about him but you felt as if you could tell him anything.
and he sat, and listened. nodding his head and adding it where appropriate. it felt, nice. having someone actually listen to what you said rather than just asking what you were wearing. he was nothing like what you expected. you’d heard the whispers. that he was a playboy, he was with and had been with multiple women and men over the years. and that he liked it, the gifts, the people, the uhm, other aspects.
“but you, i’m sure you have people to meet, scope out.” you wanted to curl up and die as soon as the words left your mouth. “no! oh my god, i do not mean it like that. you- i- you should not feel ashamed of what you like. i am so sorry- i didn’t mean to imply-” god would you stop droning on? finnick pressed his lips into a thin line, “hey it’s okay. you’re fine. in all honestly, i know everyone has mis-conceptions of me.” you took his place in attentive listening as he explained the truth.
the threats, the people pawing at him, him being sold from fourteen.
you were crying. it all sounded unbelievable and unbearable for someone to go through at such a young age, his life was ruined all because he was pretty, desirable. no child should even have to think of such things let alone experience them. and rather than you comforting him, he was sitting with his arms around you. he was too good to be true.
“i- no i’m so sorry that happened to you finnick. i had no clue, no one does. you are such an amazing person, from the little time i’ve known you. you don’t deserve any of this. how could you get away from this? we could- we could expose snow we could-” finnick cut you off with teary eyes, “there’s nothing we can do. trust me, if there was i would have tried. but i think, if i got married perhaps. i’d have a reason to stay away from the captiol. we’d live in district four, in peace.”
the idea was pretty decent, you’d give him that. and you couldn’t help your heart running a little faster at the prospect of potentially marrying him. you were already fast friends, at least you’d marry a friend? even if he potentially loved someone else or you loved another.
“what if- if you married me?”
he’d hoped you’d say that.
“you’d do that for me? seriously?” finnick faked shock as you nodded, “we’re friends, i’d much rather marry you than anyone else here to be honest. we could be happy.” you smiled as he wiped away his last tear. “y/n, that’s an amazing idea.”
your wedding was marvellous.
your parents pushed out buck after buck, no expense spared for their little girl. as if they actually cared for you. your wedding dress was white and pristine, courtesy of snow. your brown hair in curls and your brown skin glistening. but you added blue accents for finnick, or you thought you did. it’s not like he pushed for you to wear the things he bought by incessantly reminding the makeup artists and helpers that you were marrying the finnick odair, his wife deserved nothing but the best.
you stood infront of a friend, smiling, happy to be marrying a kind soul.
he stood in front of the object of his affection, his desire and love.
in the first few weeks you were undeniably happy, finnick was as sweet as ever and respected you. it was your best outcome. but overtime you seemed to notice changes in his behaviour. when you’d want to go out into town for dinner he’d always have an excuse up his sleeve.
“there’s roadworks towards your favourite restaurant honey. maybe another time?”
“apparently they’re all booked out, maybe in a few weeks time?”
“wouldn’t you rather have a home-cooked meal? i made your favourite sweetheart.”
it began to annoy after the sixth time. “it can’t always be busy can it? we use to go all the time, and it’s not like they’d refuse you finnick. what’s going on?”
“i give you everything you could ever want. why the hell do you want to go out so much? am i not enough? are you- are you seeing someone?” finnick slumped in his seat.
your eyes widened as you rushed over to him, settling on your knees as your hands were placed on his thighs, “finnick how could you say such a thing? i would never do that to you. i swear there’s nothing going on, i just, i’m bored. i’d like to go out with you, explore your district with you, meet new people with you.” finnicks eyes burnt into yours. this is certainly not how he first wanted to see you on your knees, but at least you were whining.
“yeah? you like me? you promise there’s nothing going on?” you nodded dumbly, “yes yes! nothing i promise.” finnick looked down at your hands in his lap, “how do i know you’re not lying?” your hands were on his knees as you straightened your back, coming closer to his eye level, “i promise finnick. you are my husband, i’m with you. i’ll do anything to prove it to you.”
finnick was fighting off every muscle in his cheeks to not start grinning whilst the sad look on his face was breaking your heart, “yeah? anything?” oh this was going to be good. your cheeks were flushed as you heard the words come of out his mouth, “undo my belt sweetheart, show me how much you mean it.” wavering hands hovered over his belt buckle as finnick relaxed into his seat, it couldn’t get better than this right?
wrong.
every time you asked to go out, to meet a friend, to go to the capitol he’d always sulk. and the night would end with you on your knees, him on his to make you forget, or the two of you tangled in sheets.
finnick was finally happy, he had the girl of his dreams after such a long period of sadness, of exploitation and terror. fake smiles and lingering eyes.
he finally got something out of the games.
and his gift?
the victors spoils.
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awfcspencer · 2 months
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hi! I read all your fics and they're amazing! is it okay if I ask for one with either alessia or leah, where they're dating a baddie!r and they're out with the team celebrating. and r noticed that leah or alessia, keeps getting hit on by another woman and r establish that they're taken but they're not taking no for an answer. so, r gets into a fight, basically being possessive and jealous. you don't have to write this if you don't want to, thank you!😊
Anything But Casual || alessia russo x reader
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alessia russo x reader
prompt: requested!
warnings: little bit of jealousy, little bit of possessiveness, alcohol
a/n: thank you! hope this is what you were looking for! I didn’t necessarily make it a fight but definitely most of the request! also slightly on the shorter side since ive been slammed with homework and work recently, but i wanted to get something out! enjoy!
A win at a nearly sold-out Emirates in the London Derby was surely enough reason to go out and celebrate, especially when your girlfriend had put two in the back of the net passed the keeper. On the high of the win, Alessia gladly accepted the invitation to go out, and you were happy to go alongside, needing a nice night out.
You and Alessia, hand in hand, along with the rest of the Arsenal girls filter into the rumbunctious bar. Some more than others making long direct strides toward the bartender, I mean tonight was definitely a celebration. Katie somehow already managed to get a line of shots ready, yelling at everyone to come join.
The drinks were flowing as dancing ensued. Leah and Beth had located the karaoke machine and now were taking turns singing their hearts out to different ABBA songs. You and Alessia were sat at a high-top table casually chatting with Lotte and Vic.
“Want another drink?” she asked as she looked down at both of your almost empty glasses.
“Yeah sure, thank you love.” Giving you a quick peck before she made her way to the bartender.
If there was one thing you knew about Alessia in the time she had been your girlfriend, it was that she is an absolute sucker for physical touch. She loved turning and playing with the rings on your fingers, or when she would drive, her hand had to be on your thigh, and at night, she would wiggle herself as close to your body as she could and wrap her strong arms around you. Ultimately, she always needed to be touching you, not like you really minded though. Her touch always helped calm you down.
Moving to now converse with the other two girls at the table, you had asked Lotte and Vic about their plans for the upcoming break in the WSL schedule.
Trying to pay attention to the speaking defender, you notice out of the corner of your eye that a woman has approached Alessia at the bar. She was roughly a few inches taller than you and was laughing a little too hard at your girlfriend's words. Every so often, her hand would lightly graze Alessia’s bicep as she laughed.
You could feel jealousy begin to bubble inside you. Lotte had followed your dark eyes and noticed what your angered scowl had stemmed from. She placed her hand on yours to help calm you down. Knowing you well enough to know that you might, definitely do, have a slight, major, possessiveness over the blonde.
You knew deep down that Alessia would never pursue another woman when she had you.
She always made sure to tell you that she only had eyes for you after your first jealousy ‘incident’ where you thought the server on one of your first dates was hitting on your girlfriend. You will go to the grave fighting that she was absolutely flirting. But that was the thing about Alessia, she couldn’t read a room if the walls had words written on them. You found this out after you basically had to tell the blonde that you were madly in love with her to get the hint. She simply couldn’t tell the difference between flirting and friendship.
Along with her inability to read social cues, Alessia was simply too kind, she wouldn’t even hurt an ant. She was like a golden retriever, nice, cuddly, and bubbly. She tried her best to not be rude to the woman who approached her asking her name and if she came here often. Every chance she got to put distance between herself and the woman, the woman would close the gap instantly. But still, she continued the conversation, patiently waiting for a chance to make a swift exit.
The conversation between the pair had lasted far longer than you liked so you decided to make your way over, completely against Lotte’s advice to chill out first.
“Less baby what’s taking so long?” Emphasizing the ‘baby’ as you step between the two women and Alessia intertwines her fingers with yours, placing her hand on your lower back as you spoke. Alessia didn’t notice the way the woman had rolled her eyes when you approached but you certainly did. Alessia’s touch did not go unnoticed by the woman and it helped settle your jealousy a little, subtlety letting the woman know Alessia was taken. The woman unable to move closer to your girlfriend which made you ecstatic inside.
“Oh, we were just having a quick chat! She asked me if I came here often and I was explaining my recent move to London, and how I have only been here a few times.” Alessia rambles out, a large grin on her face as she spoke.
You wanted to utter a sarcastic comment to your girlfriend about the woman, but you knew Alessia was simply just too kind, and a chatterbox apparently too. The poor girl could not see that the woman was obviously not interested in her backstory, but rather more interested in taking Alessia home. The way the woman was looking at Alessia made you sick, a look as if she was a piece of meat, big eyes that scanned Alessia’s body up and down as if she were cattle at an auction. It lighted a fire inside you.
“Well, Less we need to get back to our table.” Grabbing the two cocktails and pulling the blonde back to the table.
"She was nice," Alessia said, thinking maybe she had made a new friend in London.
“Yeah real nice Less, very friendly.” The sarcastic comment left your mouth and a nice eye roll following the statement.
Alessia let the comment roll off her shoulders, knowing your jealousy spell at times. Sitting back down and talking to her teammates. She noticed the way you inched towards her body every chance you got, needing to be close to her. Your arm strung over the striker’s shoulders, letting the whole bar know she was yours. Putting together the pieces that you were jealous of the woman she had met, but she wasn’t really sure why. The woman was nothing but friendly towards here, or at least that is what she thought.
The dance floor was now full of Arsenal girls as you pulled Alessia away to dance with your girl. The beat of the music and the alcohol flowing through your body as you and Alessia danced to every song. Swinging your hips along and twirling Alessia around. It was fun, a way to let go and just relax. A slower love song radiated through the speakers as you and Alessia move to face each other, head to head, arms thrown around the taller girls hips. You both in your own little world.
A light tap on your shoulder took you out of your trance.
It was the same woman from earlier.
“Mind if I step in for a dance?”
The question lit an anger in you that you couldn’t control. A fire ablaze in your stomach, shoulders tensing immediately.
“What? Yes of course I mind. You’re not dancing with my girlfriend. Are you crazy?” You blurt out to the woman. Jealousy coursing through your body. How could this woman be so daft you thought.
“It is just once dance.” the woman replied as if it was casual. But you remember how she looked at Alessia just a mere hour ago. A look of anything but casual.
A loud huff left your mouth. “No. No way.” Pulling Alessia away to find a different section of the crowded dance floor. Alessia stayed silent until she was alone with you.
“I am yours. Please know that. No one else is you.” Alessia softly whispered in your ear, holding you tightly as the both of you danced. Alessia knew that you were extremely possessive of her, and while she thought it was sometimes annoying, she also found it somewhat heartwarming.
The night was getting late and the bar was emptying out. You and Alessia decided to leave as Alessia would go grab the car and you would cash your tab out.
As you walked outside, you saw the same damn woman hunched over the passenger side window talking to Alessia. God this woman could not take a hint. You did make a note that Alessia was dead silent, not replying as the woman made every effort to talk to her. Now Alessia could begin to see the woman was far more interested in just friendship. But still she remained nice, she was always nice.
“Please back away from my girlfriend’s car.” you wanted to absolutely scream out but rather said it as calmly as you could.
“I’m just having a chat mate, nothing wrong with a chat is there?” she replied, a light tone of annoyance as she had been eyeing the blonde striker all night.
“Oh nothing wrong with a chat, but not when you been nearly eye-fucking her all night. Now back up.” Desperately trying to bottle your anger and jealousy, not wanting it to overflow. Moving to try to open the passenger side door to get in and leave the bar immediately.
The woman made a loud scoff as she finally leaves the car window and you are now able to get in.
Alessia puts the car in drive as she drives off. It was silent in the car for a few, your mind wandering through the angered emotions flowing through your body. Reminding yourself that Alessia was yours, you were going home with Alessia, your girlfriend.
“It will always be you love. No one else. Ever” she finally spoke, reaching over to place her hand on your upper thigh.
“No one else.” you replied as you place your hand on top of hers. She was yours, always.
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a-sapphic-love · 2 months
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🎧- e.w mindbreak
summary: in which ellie gifts reader an odd pair of headphones, and weird things start to happen.
warnings: MDNI!!!!, dom!ellie, sub!reader, manipulation, smuttt, mindbreak, hypno, bdsm, smoking blunts/ weed use, freeuse, exhibitionism, probably more that i forgot to list
✮ ⋆ ˚。𖦹 ⋆。°✩.✮ ⋆ ˚。𖦹 ⋆。°✩
my first ellie fic- enjoy! (tips and such are appreciated)
you're at work one day, humming at your desk as you finish up a task when your coworker ellie comes up to you.
you both don't talk much, but she's always been nice to you. its kind of weird, since she's cold to your other coworkers, but you don't think too much of it.
"hey, i got these headphones and customized them for my friend, but it turns out she doesn't really use them. your old pair broke, right? so i guess you could have these." she says, smiling. such a sweet gesture!
"oh, thank you! ive been wanting a new pair!" you say, returning the warm smile, and ellie hands you a box with some black headphones on them.
you're surprised when you open the box to find pink headphones, and they seem to be a little modified. ellie is long gone so you can't really ask, but you assume it's because the headphones were supposed to be for a friend of hers.
you put the headphones on, and they fit comfortably, so you decide to just start using them. you play some music, but are confused to realize something's wrong. there's an odd frequency playing.
so you just play a different song, except you keep hearing that same frequency. you stop playing the music to see, and think everything's normal again until you listen close and the frequency is still there.
you were raised by a family that was against waste, so you decide to just suck it up and use the headphones anyway. plus, after wearing them for a few days, you find every time ellie sees you with the headphones on, she just looks so excited. probably just really happy to see you using her gift.
however, odd things begin to happen. suddenly, every time you see ellie your panties get all sticky and you just want to follow her around like a lost puppy.
plus, you're getting worse and worse at your job. you start to forget things, or just simply ignore them. because now, all you spend your time at work doing is looking for ellie. she seems to already know you're getting dumber, and she helps with all the 'big girl things' you just can't do anymore.
"hi, angel, you need help right?" she coos every time you come find her to do something for you. "im so proud of you for coming to get me, i know you can't do it by yourself. it's okay..." and her gentle praise only makes your cunt leak more.
your boss sees how you don't really work anymore and gets angrier, much to ellie's advantage. one day, she takes you into the washroom and shows you a video.
one big, sparkly pink spiral is plastered on her phone screen, and she connects your headphones so you can hear the audio -
"you feel so good with your little pussy all wet, all you want are some orgasms right? you don't think any more, you only get dumber and dumber..." and the video trails off.
it feels like hours that you stand there staring at the screen, hypnotized. you feel her hands on your body, touching your nipples and squeezing your boobs. "you want an orgasm right? wanna cum so bad, but you can't do it yourself? come with me, ellie will help." she coos, and your horny broken mind only wants to listen.
ellie takes you to her house, something she's been wanting to do for a long time, "just had to make sure you were dumb enough," she thinks to herself.
she brings you into her room where there's a little cage all perfect for you, with your new favourite color: pink. she ties you up, all pretty, with an even prettier pink ball gag. you squirm a little, confused. you're not completely dumb yet, and ellie's annoyed by that fact.
luckily, there's a good solution. "it's okay princess, ellie will break that mind of yours, alright?" she says, teasingly. now that she has you all for herself, she doesn't need to keep up the nice act.
ellie leaves you to struggle briefly, before coming back with a small egg-shaped vibrator. she tapes it right on top of your clothed clit, before continuing to play hypno files.
you squirm, even though it hurts with all the tight ropes, at the feeling of the vibe. not only have you gotten soo much dumber, you're also needier. without really meaning to, you mumble a series of broken pleas through the gag. you don't care that ellie hypnotized you and is actively trying to break you. all you want is to cum.
ellie smiles when she notices you moving your hips, desperate for more friction. she presses down on the vibe before sliding her hands up your shirt to rub your nipples. the look in your big, teary eyes makes her clit throb.
"come on, know you wanna cum your brains out, so just do it. cum for me angel," she teases, and it sends you over the edge fast. finally, you break, her dumb little nympho toy.
she unties you quickly and removes the gag before taking all your clothes off. "good girls don't wear clothes if they don't need to... right, baby?"
"yes ellie!" you respond, nearly drooling from how good your last orgasm was- and how badly you want another one. ellie immediately takes her pants off when she hears how you say her name. she wants to fuck you soo bad already
shit, and the look in your eyes- like not a single thought passes through your head, ever. that's how she knows you're broken.
ellie lights a blunt fast, and you find yourself practically humping the floor at how hot she is when she smokes. the air in her room seems to get heavier, and it's greenish-yellow tinted. long puffs, and she takes a few hits before turning to you. "always wanted to do this, since the day i first saw that stupidly cute little face," she whispers, chuckling.
she takes a hit, and this time she blows it in your face. you cough, disoriented by the sudden sensation but you love every second of it. and you're happy to be obedient because maybe that means another orgasm- fuck, you just want to cum again.
lucky for you, ellie does too. she picks you up and throws you on her bed, kissing your pretty lips until you can't feel them. she stops momentarily, opening her drawer and getting her strap, a vibrator, and something else you can't see.
you realise what it is when you feel your nipple get pinched harshly, ellie put nipple clamps on you. you whine a little, but come to be... okay with the sensation. you just want to please ellie, after all.
and anyway, being so good for her pays off. you know for sure when she's 8 inches deep inside of you, stuffing your face inside a pillow with one hand and rubbing your clit with the other.
"you gonna make a mess, hm? you gonna make a mess for ellie?" she says, leaning over to kiss your swollen lips. "mhm, yesyesyesyes, 'm gonna make a mess for ellie, fu-u-uckkk, els," you whimper, and you know it's exactly what she wants to hear.
the base of the strap absolutely abuses ellie's clit, and it's not long before her movements become frantic and she gets even meaner. "yeah, you gonna cum your brains out again like a little whore? yeah?" she groans, slapping your ass harshly.
"say it, say you're a stupid whore for ellie," she says, when she doesn't hear a response. she's right about to cum, she just needs to hear you admit it.
"i-im a stupid whore for ellie!" you whine, having your third- or was it your fourth? orgasm since ellie broke you. it didn't matter how many you had, you just wanted more.
ellie nearly felt the same way. having her own little toy, it was too good just thinking about the possibilities.
after that day, ellie tried out all the things she'd been wanting to do. she brought you to work with her, except now you went so you could be the cum dumpster of the office, going under tables to eat your former coworkers out until they came all over your face.
she took you to the park, so she could humiliate you by making you hump random things. she took you to the library, so she could make you ask the female staff about books while controlling the vibrator in your panties,
even at home, ellie humiliated you by making you clean or do gardening outside with a skirt and no panties. anyone sensible would have been way to embarrassed to keep doing these things.
except you didn't really have a problem with your new life, because you always got orgasms, and that was all your dumb, broken slutty brain ever wanted.
✮ ⋆ ˚。𖦹 ⋆。°✩.✮ ⋆ ˚。𖦹 ⋆。°✩
this account supports palestine 🇵🇸❤️
do not buy any tlou games! neil druckmann, the creator, is a zionist who's funding a genocide! do not give him your money!
https://www.tumblr.com/sulfurcosmos/732456971539775488/how-you-can-help-palestine
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corrodedcorpses · 11 months
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Boys on Film. Part iv
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Pairing: PS!Steve x PS!Eddie x Virgin!reader
Summary: It's been a year since you last saw Eddie and Steve. The last place you expected to see them again for the first time was at a club while you were out with your new boyfriend. The night does not go how you imagined it at all.
Warnings: Smut (18+ MDNI), public sex (ish), fingering, angst, cheating (sorry)
Word count: 6.8K
a/n: I hope this kind of makes up for the ending of the last chapter but also I'm sorry in advance. (also as always a massive thank yous to my babies @andvys @wroteclassicaly @usedtobecooler @bimbobaggins69 for all of your help I love you all so much)
Taglist is closed but if you want an update on when I post the next chapter you can follow my fic account @corrodedcorpsesfics and turn on notifications🖤
Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4.5
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Steve and Eddie stare at your closed door that had just been slammed in their face moments ago. It had all gone so wrong, so fast. Neither of them had meant for it to go that way or to fight like that with you. All of their (and your own) long harboured emotions coming out during the fight, all of the love turning into hate in order to protect your hearts from - what you all assumed - would no doubt be rejection. 
Eddie is the first to break eye contact with your door. Scoffing and walking toward his van as Steve leans his head on the door, closing his eyes trying to will you to open it again. He’s almost sure he can hear tiny sobs coming from the other side and it feels like his heart is breaking all over again. 
He can hear Eddie behind him, pacing and grumbling out “shit”, “fuck” and mumbling “that was so stupid” over and over again. Steve is frozen in place, he knows as soon as he breaks away from your door that it’s all over, that he’ll have to face the reality of what just happened. He doesn’t know if he can do that yet. 
A loud smack, that was obviously Eddie’s palm hitting his car, finally jolts Steve out of his self pity. He finally turns to him, watching as Eddie continues to pace and mumble expletives under his breath, his ringed fingers running through his hair with so much force Steve thinks he’s about to rip it all out. 
“Eddie,” he tries, too quietly as the other man doesn’t stop. 
He glances at your door one more time before sighing and walking up to Eddie. 
“Eddie,” he says more firmly, standing next to where he continues to pace, “come on man-”
“Don't you ‘come on man’ me,” Eddie interrupts, whipping around to finally look at Steve,  “what the fuck was that, Harrington.” 
Steve flinches at the use of his last name, something Eddie only uses to tease or hurt him. 
“What the fuck was what, Munson?” Steve throws his own surname back at him with just as much venom, Eddie squinting his eyes into a glare. 
“All that,” Eddie explains, wildly gesturing to your house, “bullshit you pulled in there. ‘At least you wouldn’t have been a virgin in your twenties’,” he mocks what Steve had said to you. 
“The bullshit I pulled?” Steve almost shouts back, “What about you, huh?” He asks, a finger poking into Eddie’s chest to reiterate his point. “You didn’t break that shit to her gently at all! No wonder she went straight into ‘defence mode’.”
 Eddie just rolls his eyes at him, even though he knows Steve's right. 
The action only angers Steve more. “I wasn’t even in that stupid argument until you dragged me in with your bullshit about hanging out with King Steve.” 
Eddie visibly cringes at the memory of using Steve’s old title, one he knew Steve loathed and has done years of work to be anything but. But, Eddie couldn’t let Steve ‘win’ the argument. If he did he would have to admit that all of this was his fault. 
“Whatever,” Eddie scoffs, “the argument only turned nasty as soon as you put your 2 cents in! The shit you said was just—” Eddie pauses, remembering how Steve had teased him for not ‘making a move’ on you sooner, saying everyone thought you were Eddie’s ‘property’ during high school, outing him for scaring away anyone that dared to get close to you because he knew that weren’t good enough for you, “mean.”
Eddie whispers the last word. The only word he could come up with to express how he felt, how that whole argument transported him right back to his teenage years, something he truly thought he had gotten over from the help of you and Steve. Something he obviously was far from getting over. 
Steve’s demeanour changes, he can see the hurt in Eddie’s eyes, the sliver of vulnerability that he’s been hiding behind his rage. He understands the weight that one word holds.
“I didn’t intend for it to be mean, I just, I don’t know, it just–-” he’s taken aback, stuttering through some sort of an explanation, but there isn’t one. He was mean. 
“It’s like you wanted to hurt her,” Eddie continues, but he doesn’t mean just you, “hurt me.” He whispers so softly, he’s sure Steve wouldn’t even hear him. But Steve does.
“What? Why would I want to hurt someone I love!” Steve says too quickly in response, eyes widening when he realises what he just said, what he just confessed to Eddie. But when he looks at Eddie he only sees hurt in his eyes. 
Eddie still doesn’t think Steve heard him say ‘hurt me’, so he takes Steve’s confession as a confession of love for you, not you and him. 
Eddie just laughs with no humour, shaking his head. “I was fucking right, I fucking knew you hadn’t changed – you’re such an asshole, man.” 
The cogs in Eddie’s head turn, thinking back to how Steve had said all those things against him, no doubt finally seeing his opportunity to put a wedge between you both, so Steve could finally have you all to himself.
Steve just stares at him in shock as whatever fragments of his heart that were left break even further. He didn’t think Eddie loved him back but there was some part of him that had hoped, that had at least thought Eddie would be nice about it, gentle with his heart even if he didn’t want to keep it.  
He didn’t think Eddie would laugh in his face and call him an asshole. 
“Wow,” Steve says to himself in disbelief, “okay.” He feels the tears well up in his eyes as his chest physically aches from all of the heartbreak tonight. He doesn’t want Eddie to see him break down, he'd no doubt laugh at his misery. 
He starts to walk away from Eddie, it’s the only thing he can think to do. It’s only a couple of miles to his house, the air isn’t too cold and it’s not too late — he can easily just walk home, he thinks. 
“Steve?” Eddie questions as the other boy starts to hurry away from him, “Steve!” He tries again, an air of worry in his voice as he calls out, “Seriously? You’re just gonna walk away from me too huh?” Eddie yells. 
“Whatever man,” Steve yells back, already at the end of your driveway, stopping only when his shoes hit the road to look back at Eddie, “you basically just rejected me so, I don’t need this shit anymore.” Steve spits, mentally cursing the way his voice wobbles as he says it. He continues down the road, needing to get as much distance between him and Eddie before he can finally break down. 
“What?” Eddie says too quietly, he realises when Steve doesn’t respond, “rejected you?” he shouts this time. But still Steve doesn’t stop. 
“Steve! Would you — shit,” Eddie curses. He’s so confused about what Steve meant, he’s so confused about this whole evening but he needs to know. The tiny sliver of his heart that is holding onto hope needs to know what Steve meant. 
Eddie runs around to the drivers side and launches himself into his van. Cursing when the engine turns over way too many times before it finally roars to life. He swings out of the driveway like a madman, thanking the universe that you live on a quiet street. 
He catches up with Steve quickly, slowing the van down until he’s driving right beside him. He’s happy he never listened to you and Steve about needing to roll his windows up. 
“Steve, would you just stop,” Eddie pleads. 
“No,” is all Steve replies.  
“Steve,” Eddie pleads exasperatedly, “what did you mean?”
But Steve doesn’t answer and he doesn't stop walking. He hopes if he ignores Eddie long enough that he will just leave him alone.
And he thinks his plan worked when Eddie suddenly drives forwards down the road. But, those hopes are shattered when Eddie parks a little bit ahead of Steve and hops out. 
Steve finally stops walking as he sees Eddie running towards him. He should just turn around and walk away, circle back around at the other end of your street, it’s a longer way to walk but at least he wouldn’t have to see Eddie. But he doesn’t, his feet won’t let him move. He sees Eddie rushing towards him and his whole body aches for Eddie to just hold him as he breaks down and melts into his arms.  
When Eddie finally gets to Steve he’s quick to invade his space, cupping his face tenderly in both of his hands. Eddie searches Steve’s eyes, he can see the unshed tears threatening to spill, the hurt and the tiny bit of hope Steve also holds. It’s enough for Eddie to ask again, even if it could mean more heartache. 
“Steve,” he whispers so tenderly, it makes Steve’s knees almost buckle, makes it even harder to not just fall at Eddie’s feet and beg him to love him back, “what did you mean?”
Steve swallows, hard. He looks into Eddie’s big, brown, pleading eyes. He knows he’s about to get his heart smashed, completely obliterated when he explains himself, but he can’t stop his mouth from moving. God, he would do anything Eddie asked while he cradled his face so delicately and looked at him like that. 
“I basically just told you I wanted you,” he whispers, eye’s never leaving Eddie’s “a-and you just told me to, to get fucked.” He closes his eyes trying to will his tears to stay at bay, the last sentence coming out all wobbly as he tries to stop his bottom lip from trembling. 
“Steve…” Eddie says in a way that has Steve opening his eyes again. He’s met with confusion and yearning swimming in Eddie’s beautiful brown orbs. “You want me?” Eddie asks in disbelief, “I - I thought you were talking about her!” It comes out like a question, like a plea. 
“I was,” Steve says, and he can see Eddie’s eyes start to fall, feel his hands on his cheeks loosen, Steve is quick to grab Eddie’s wrists, keeping his hands on his cheeks before quickly continuing, “I was talking about both of you, idiot.” He says the last word fondly, with a hint of a smile dancing on his still trembling lips.
Eddie can’t help but return a small smile of his own. Steve wants him too. He leans forward to capture Steve’s lips with his own. It’s the only thing he can think to do in the moment, the only thing his body will let him do. Steve returns the kiss immediately. It’s soft, so soft that it sears their lips, all of the passion and pent up feelings and anger from the last hour coming out in the way their lips and tongue dance together so slowly. 
Eddie finally pulls back after they’ve run out of air, resting his forehead against Steve’s. “I like you too,” he whispers, just in case it wasn’t obvious, revelling in the way it makes Steve smile, “I like you both too.”
Steve pulls back to look at Eddie properly, he can see the mix of happiness and regret all over Eddie’s face. 
“Oh.” Steve says. It’s all he can say, he sees the whole argument differently now, sees how stupid they both had been. He realises why Eddie said and did what he did and regrets the things he said to him. Knowing how much more they would have hurt now. 
“Yeah, ‘oh’,” Eddie replies. 
“We're idiots.” Steve sighs. 
“Yep.” Eddie agrees. 
“Should we… go back inside?” Steve asks.
Eddie shakes his head knowingly, “give her some time, trust me.” 
He thinks back to all the times you showed up at his trailer door, sheepishly asking if you could spend the day or the night or the weekend when you were upset. Always claiming to need space from your family after you fought. Eddie never realising what you needed wasn’t space, what you needed was him. 
But you never told him that. 
So, they do give you time. They give you a day to cool off, to sit with your thoughts before they call, but are only met with silence in return. They try again a day later — and again another day after that. They try to go over to your house a week later but you’re either not there or are pretending not to be. 
They try again and again and again until trying every day turns into every two days, which turns into trying every week, which turns into trying every now and then over the next couple of months. The last time they tried was months later when they had had a particularly rough day and just needed you. 
All of this was met with silence. 
You weren’t sure what you expected when you kicked them out, but you hadn’t expected them to just leave. You had expected them to at least come back later that night or the next day. 
Not call you late the next night like that would make up for anything and you didn’t expect it to take them a full week of calling before coming over to try and see you. 
All of this just seemed to cement the idea in your head that they didn’t care about you as much as you'd been stupid enough to believe they did. 
You didn’t realise how upset and borderline distraught this had also made them. You didn’t realise how upset they were after every failed attempt. How they had both sat on the kitchen floor in their new apartment months later and cried, surrounded by half unpacked boxes after that final time they tried, and failed, to call. Because none of this felt right without you.  
And they didn’t realise how you’d done the exact same thing on the floor in your kitchen that night, cursing yourself for not just picking up the damn phone this time.  
******* 
You hold the two dresses up against your body, one at a time. Trying to decide between the black — tight, revealing and super uncomfortable or the dusty pink — a stark contrast, more modest, cute and comfortable. 
You’d spent the last hour getting ready for your date with your boyfriend of about 6 months, Bradley. He was… nice… and fun… and, well, a good distraction. It was nice to feel needed. But, you know deep down that it ultimately won’t go anywhere.  
There’s just something… missing. A spark? Passion? Familiarity? The fact that he’s not Eddie or Steve?
You groan at yourself for even having that thought, dropping the dresses back on your bed as your eyes land on the picture on your dresser next to your mirror. It’s a cute photo of you, Eddie and Steve, faces squished together and giant smiles plastered on your faces. A photo you still can’t bring yourself to get rid of. 
You sigh and flip it over as you seem to before every date, the picture somehow making you feel guilty. As if the two people in the photo hadn’t completely broken your heart. But you know you’ll just put it back to its original position as soon as you get home again. 
You shake yourself out of your thoughts, before you make the mistake of going down that black hole of missing them once again. You decide to just go for the revealing, uncomfortable dress — knowing Bradley would probably like it more, praise you for showing off the curves you mostly hid from him. 
You’ll hopefully be too drunk to feel the discomfort anyway. 
*****
The club is loud and packed when you arrive with Bradley, the bass and the stench of spilled sugary drinks overwhelming. You clutch the strap of the purse that’s across your chest nervously, there’s a split second where you want to turn around, hightail it out of there and cuddle up at home by yourself instead. You from a year ago would’ve, but you’re not that same person anymore. 
“Drinks?” He yells at you over the music. He’s at least courteous enough to keep a tight arm around your waist, hugging you in close to shield you slightly from the rowdy party goers who already had one too many to drink. 
“Please,” you yell back before you both make your way to the bar. Winding through the growing crowd of rowdy people, his hand heavy on your skin, feeling out of place. 
You rest your forearms against the bar, wincing at the sticky feeling underneath. You watch as the bartenders flit around, making the various overpriced, overly sweet drinks for the other patrons who arrived long before you. 
Your eyes wander as you wait, taking in the neon signs behind the bar, the shelves of alcohol with countless cheap labels, smiling as you see two girls overly excited to see each other, the guys next to you obviously getting rejected by the girls standing in front of them, the couple that can't seem to keep their hands off each other at the very end of the bar –- wait. 
Wait.
You stare at the couple for longer than you should. Your brain taking a second to catch up with your eyes. You can only see the back of the guy as you take in his dark clothes, the chain bracelet on his wrist, the tattoos littered along his pale skin, the bats adorning his forearm, the long mop of curly brown hair- No. No no no no no. 
Eddie?
Your head starts to spin, and not just from the overwhelming atmosphere of the club. Why is he here? Why now? Why is he with a girl? You curse yourself for even thinking that last part and for the pang of jealousy in your chest. You’re here with your boyfriend, you can’t be getting jealous of the guy who broke your heart being here with some other girl. 
Even if he was your best friend for all of highschool, the only person who got you through that hell hole, one of the only people you’ve ever truly trusted, truly loved, who you definitely still love more than your own boyfriend as much as you try to pretend you don't, whose back is doing more things for you than your boyfriend has the whole time you’ve been dating, who kisses so much better than him, who looks really good right now kissing… Steve?!   
It’s only then that Eddie turns slightly, giving you a glimpse of the ‘mystery girl’. You feel like you’re gonna be sick. What are they doing? Here? Together? God they look so good. 
All thoughts fail you as you’re mesmerised watching them. The way their bodies press against each other, how Eddie has both hands lazily in Steve's back pockets as Steve's hands fist the front of Eddie’s shirt. Your cunt aches at the way their lips move together as though they’ve done this a thousand times. 
They probably have done this a thousand times, you realise. They way they are standing, so relaxed with each other, like there's no hurry to the makeout session, like they have all night.  
You're confused and hurt as you watch them. You can’t help but wonder if they’re together, they make a hot couple afterall. But you can’t help the awful feelings that that realisation arises. All of your fears from a year ago come flooding back, you were right. They never wanted you.  
Before you can fully spiral you see Bradley’s hand wave in front of your face, it’s then that you realise he’s been talking to you and you see a stressed bartender give you a forced yet polite smile, as they wait for you to tell them what you want. 
“Hello? y/n?” He asks, concerned. 
“Huh?” You reply, dumb, unable to take your eyes off of them — it’s all your brain can come up with as a response, too absorbed in the scene taking place just feet from you.
“What would you like?” He asks, like he’s already asked you multiple times. You rip your eyes away from them, focusing on Bradley’s face that’s still soft and full of admiration, as if you hadn’t been actively ignoring him. As if time hadn’t just stood still, as you watched on in what could only be described as devastation.
“Oh-- ah-- just my usual,” you say finally, glancing back at Eddie and Steve. Watching as Steve’s hand curls into Eddie's hair, it’s longer now, you realise. I wonder if it would still be as soft or if - you shake that image out of your head. “Maybe some shots? Patreon or tequila, you like both right?” You add quickly.
Bradley seems surprised but compiles, ordering one of his own. You take the small glass in your hand, bringing it up to your lips, the strong smell already paralysing, before downing it as fast as you can. You make the mistake of glancing at Eddie and Steve again as you do, finding yourself making eye contact with Steve, realising they’re both looking at you now. You almost choke on the drink in your mouth, wincing at how the liquid burns more than usual as it slides down your throat. 
You grab your drink and Bradley's hand, quickly leading him to the dancefloor. Needing to get as much space between you and the boys as possible. 
Eddie and Steve watch you take the other guy's hand with dark eyes. You spare a glance back seeing Steve’s angry eyes as Eddie whispers something in his ear. 
Angry? What does he have to be angry about? 
You weave in and out of the crowd as they stumble and bump into you, the alcohol making them stagger on their feet and spill their drinks haphazardly on the floor. The further you get lost into the sea of people the more you try to shake Steve and Eddie out of your head, determined to still have a good time despite the anxiety that has wrapped its way around your chest. 
Once you’re almost in the centre of the dancefloor, safely concealed by the thrawl of dancers, you turn to your boyfriend. You pull him in close, rocking your hips to the sound of the music and giving him a forced smile. 
You dance with him for a while, getting lost in the music as you feel the alcohol seep through your body. Although it does nothing to settle the ugly feeling deep in your stomach. As much as you try you can’t help but spare little glances around the club, not being able to stop yourself from aching for just one more glance at them. 
You finally see them, startled by the fact that they’re only a couple of people away from you. Steve is the only one actually dancing but Eddie is happily swaying with him, more than content with and touching Steve and placing gentle kisses all over his neck. Your chest tightens further at the need to tease Eddie about finally dancing, the realisation that you can’t joke with him like that anymore and the jealousy that he would come out to the dancefloor with Steve, even though he never would for you. 
As these ugly emotions swirl around your stomach you realise they’re both watching you, stealing glances the same way you are, but a lot less subtly. Your blood boils at the looks they're giving you, they seem hurt and angry and almost… sad? They have no right to. 
You turn your attention back to Bradley, you make out and grind against him, every now and then looking at them both and winking when you see them clench their jaws. 
You’re confused as you continue your show. What do they have to be angry about? Why do they even care that you’re dancing with someone that isnt them? There was a time when they could’ve had you, a time when you would’ve done anything for them but they were the ones who threw you away. They have no right to be angry now. 
Bradley leans down to whisper in your ear, you’re hopeful that he’s going to say something hot, a compliment or something, instead he lets you know he’s going to get more drinks, leaving you alone in the crowd before you can say anything else. You try to not look anxious about being alone in such a dense crowd of strangers, knowing Bradley is going to take a long time with how packed it is. 
You find some comfort knowing that Steve and Eddie are close by, although you’re not sure why. You decide to continue dancing, doing the most to look as hot and unbothered as possible, but when you spare another glance at Steve and Eddie you’re surprised to find they’ve also gone. It’s weird how their absence has made you feel more alone than Bradley’s. 
You start to leave, deciding to head outside for some fresh air before going to find Bradley where he’s no doubt still waiting at the bar. That is, until you feel hands lightly on your waist. You start to panic, until you hear the stranger whisper in your ear. 
“Hey there, little one.”
Eddie. 
Your body shudders at hearing his voice again. You have to fight every nerve in your body to not melt back into him, turn around and wrap your arms around him and cry into his chest. But you don’t, you're frozen in place instead. 
“We liked that little show you put on for us, sweetheart,” he continues as you feel his hands massage small circles in your hips as he presses himself closer to you, you can feel the outline of his semi against your ass and it takes everything in you not to moan at the feeling. 
He starts to rock you both to the music before pressing gentle kisses along your neck. So feather light you’re not sure if you’re actually imagining them, just some mean trick your mind is playing on you. You start to melt back against him, your body betraying you as it’s automatically drawn into the safety of Eddie’s chest and arms. 
You let yourself get caught up in the feeling before reality comes crashing down. You have a boyfriend, he has a boyfriend, you can’t be doing this. You snap out of the weird trance you’ve been in, pulling away from Eddie and finally turning to face him, fully preparing yourself to tell him off before you see the look on his face. 
It causes your breath to hitch as you see the pure lust written all over his face, his blown and glassy pupils staring into your soul and the possessiveness buried deep inside them that makes your thighs clench. 
You go to take a step back, needing space between you both but your back collides with another chest instead. Another set of lips brushing your ear as they whisper lowly to you.  
“Don't be like that, honey.” 
Steve. 
Your head swims at the proximity of both of them. The familiar smells and feel of them crumbling whatever stubborn exterior you were trying to portray. 
You feel Steve's hands run along the sides of your waist and down your thighs before tracing light patterns back up again, your dress pulling up at the sides as he does. He pushes against you as Eddie had, although he is a lot more worked up from your little show than Eddie was — a testament to how he always was more of the jealous type. 
“Can you feel what your little show did to us baby?” He asks like you’ve wounded them. Eddie pushing against you at the same time. “You’re so fucking naughty, getting us all worked up like that.”
“Anything to say for yourself, miss?” Eddie asks when you don’t respond right away. How could you? Your head feels like it's about to spin off your shoulders, your cunt feels like it’s about to start dripping down your thighs, they’ve thoroughly wrecked you with no more than some gentle touches, barely any grinding and a couple of words whispered seductively in your ears. 
You only manage a small moan in response, one that you’re thankful only they can hear over the loud music. 
They both chuckle at your response, knowing they have you right where they want you. Loving how fucking easy you are for them. 
Steve’s fingers continue to dance along your thighs as Eddie’s hand comes to rest on your waist again, both of them pressing into you and swaying you to the music, causing their hardening cocks to grind against you.  
Steve's fingers slide to the front of your dress, tracing up the inside of your thighs as you let out a little whimper. Steve smirks against your skin as he starts to kiss up your throat as Eddie had just before. Your eyes start to flutter shut as Steve’s fingers inch higher, so close to where you desperately need him. 
“That feel nice, pretty girl?” Steve asks, although he already knows the answer, “want me to keep going?” 
Eddie keeps his eyes trained on your blissed out face, sucking on his bottom lip as he anxiously waits for your answer. 
You nod your head slowly, words failing you as you melt back into Steve. 
“Ah, ah,” Eddie tuts, “you know the rules princess, use your words.” 
“P-please.” You barely breathe out, and Eddie’s sure he would’ve missed it if his eyes weren't glued to your lips. 
He nods at Steve, who groans as his fingers finally make contact with your dripping cunt, feeling the slick that’s soaked through your panties. 
Eddie holds your waist tighter, half keeping you upright as your legs start to shake, half shielding you from any onlookers as he continues to sway his hips, making it look like you three were just dancing.
Steve dips his fingers into your underwear, moaning in your ear as he gathers your slick on his thick fingers before rubbing your clit.
“Fuck, you’re dripping,” he teases, “this is all for us huh?”
You can only nod and whine in response, too far gone to be embarrassed by how close they were getting you already. No one except for Steve and Eddie have been able to get you this close this fast. 
You feel the coil in your stomach tighten further as Steve's thick digits breach your aching cunt, finding a steady pace immediately, his palm dragging deliciously over your slick clit. Eddie’s grip on your waist becomes so tight you’re sure he’s gonna leave bruises that you’re going to have to try and explain to Bradley later, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You’re happy that he’s at least holding you somewhat upright as your knees start to get weak. 
Eddie presses further into you still to keep you upright, so far that Steve can feel Eddie’s hard cock pulsing against his hand even through his jeans. Making Steve’s cock ache for some sort of release as he starts to rock gently into your ass. Craving some relief. 
You feel the familiar feeling of your orgasm approaching as you teeter on the edge. Only able to get out small sputters of “I’m, I’m—” before you’re burying your face in the crook of Eddie’s neck as your orgasm comes crashing into you. 
Your ears ring and your vision goes white as you ride out your orgasm around Steve’s fingers, rutting against his hand while clinging to Eddie. 
When you finally start to come down from your high you’re barely aware of the music still blaring around you, focusing only on Steve’s hands rubbing soothing circles in your thighs, Eddie’s hand in your hair and their praises gently flowing through your ears. 
Suddenly, reality hits you like a truck. Completely cracking the walls of whatever weird dream you’ve been trapped in with Eddie and Steve. Suddenly everything seems too much, their touch is suffocating and grating against your skin, the music of the club is blaring too loud, rocking your skull and their sweet whispers might as well be screams in your ear. 
You need to get away. 
You finally look at Eddie, his eyes meeting yours. He knows that look. 
“y/n-,” he tries as you start to squirm out of their grip. 
“Let me go”, you suddenly hiss at him, finally breaking free and rushing through the crowd and out the door. You hear them yell after you, but you keep going, their voices being drowned out by the music the further you get away from them. 
By the time you finally make it outside you feel as if you can hardly breathe. Your chest is so tight and you struggle to take shallow breaths, you can feel the unshed tears prick your eyes as you try and will them to keep at bay. Although you’re not sure why, you’re almost certain your makeup must be a mess now, most of it left on Eddie’s collar, you doubt a couple of tears would really make much of a difference. 
You shakily reach into the clutch still thankfully secured across your chest, fishing out a smoke. You put one between your lips as you try, but fail to find your lighter. You sigh in frustration, of course you’ve lost your lighter. 
“Here, let me.” You hear someone whisper, before you see the flicker of a lighter in front of your lips. You don’t have to look up from your clutch to know that it’s Eddie. Your eyes meet his timid ones as you lean forward, using the flame to light the end of your cigarette. 
“Thanks,” you mumble before looking beside Eddie, realising Steve also followed you out here. 
You all stand in awkward silence, Eddie busying himself by lighting his own cigarette. 
“I– ah,” Steve finally breaks the silence. There’s so much he wants to say, so much he needs you to hear, but the words won't form, instead he opts for, “didn’t know you smoked.” 
You snort half a laugh, shaking your head. You weren’t sure what you were expecting him to say but it definitely wasn't that. Sorry would have been a good start… but at least you’re talking, you guess. 
“There’s a lot you both don’t know about me anymore,” you reply, deadpan. You see them both visibly flinch at the implication of your words. It's been over a year since they last saw you, you've had a whole year's worth of experiences without them, would they even recognise the person you'd become? 
You bring your smoke back up to your lips, thankful for the distraction it provides and for how it's almost calming most of your nerves. 
It doesn't, however, distract you enough to not feel their hungry eyes on you. You're surprised your dress doesn't have holes burnt into the fabric with how hot and heavy their gazes are. You adjust your dress with your free hand trying to pull the fabric down, cursing yourself now for wearing the revealing dress. 
You don’t want them to see you squirm, you need to keep up this teasing, nonchalant act you were trying to portray, you couldn't let them know how much seeing them again was hurting you. 
“See something you like?” You slur seductively at them, not shying away from their eyes. Even as your palms sweat and your heart rattles in your chest. 
They both chuckle and shake their heads, not in disagreement but at the absurdity of your question. Of course they did. You looked stunning, confident. In a dress you usually would be too shy to wear. It was nice to see you like this, but it was also weird. 
Not weird in a bad way, it just hurt. It hurt them to see that you finally seemed to be growing into yourself and hopefully finally seeing how beautiful you were. Except it was without them. 
“You seem… different,” Eddie finally managed. He couldn't think of a better way to put it. Not better, not worse, just different. But that's what heartbreak will do to a person. 
“I am different.” You say back, no hidden meaning behind it, like it’s that simple. 
They were different. You were different. You’d just grown away from each other. You’d all changed and grown in the year that had passed, in the year that you had all ached for each other. Now here you were, and it felt like you were talking to strangers. 
You had a picture of them on your dresser that you saw everyday, and yet it felt like those two men were different from the ones that stood in front of you now. 
It makes your whole body ache. 
You want to fill the silence, distract yourself from the heavy feeling. You want to mess with them, annoy them, make them even more jealous and angry and hurt than they’ve already seemed to have been tonight. 
“Trust me,” you say finally, “I’ve had lots of experience since you last saw me.” You wiggle your eyebrows suggestively, trying to joke around with them as if it’s no big deal. 
You see their jaws clench. Eddie fights the urge to scoff at you, to roll his eyes, to scream in your face. Steve is a little better at hiding his distaste at what you’re insinuating. Both knowing they have no right to feel as hurt and betrayed as they do right now. 
You’re not theirs. 
“Well, they must be some lucky guys then.” Eddie tries to speak sincerely. It comes out like venom. 
“Hmm,” you hum, revelling in their reactions. Trying to think of what else you can say to rile them up like this. “And girls,” you say with a wink. 
Lies, it’s all lies. 
You had drunkenly kissed one girl out the back of a club after too many drinks. She was nice and soft and tasted like vodka and raspberries. But that was it… just a kiss. 
The furthest you’d gotten with your current boyfriend was some grinding and heavy touches. Always stopping before it got too far. He was always respectful of that, something you appreciated. 
They look at you stunned. You could see their brains working a mile a minute. You could tell they were imagining something much more lewd than reality. Victory. 
Desperate for this conversation to be over before they pried and realised you were talking all of your experiences up to be something much more, you stomp out your cigarette. Giving them a small smile that said ‘are we done here?’ as you started to walk away. 
Before you can get too far you feel a hand desperately grasp your arm. You know it’s Steve before you even turn around. 
You see his mouth open as he struggles to find the right words to say but you don’t want to hear it. You can’t. 
“Don’t,” you interrupt, before he can even say a single word. His mouth closes as his hand reluctantly lets go of your arm, brushing the skin of your forearm as he drops his hand. You curse your body for the goosebumps that appear along the trail of his fingertips. 
You’re about to turn around again when you decide to ask them just one thing. Something that’s been weighing heavy on you since you first saw them at the bar. 
“So, um,” you start tentatively, rubbing your hand over the arm that Steve had just touched, unsure if you’re trying to warm yourself up or wipe away the memory of his fingertips, “how long have you been dating?” 
They share a look before Eddie slowly mumbles, “a little over a year.” 
A little over a year. 
The same amount of time since your fight. The guilty looks on their faces let you know it was very shortly after they broke your heart. So while you were alone, completely breaking and having to put yourself back together again all by yourself, they were just having the time of their lives? Starting a new and exciting relationship? Typical. 
“Of course you have been,” you scoff. Turning abruptly and stalking away from them as fast as your stupidly uncomfortable heels would let you. 
“Y/n wait! It’s not like tha–“ Steve calls after you, desperately trying to catch you before you run off once again. Like he’s worried this time you’ll be gone for good.
“Just leave me alone!” You practically yell. You feel bad for raising your voice and how it makes them flinch but finally, they let you go. 
*****
Taglist: @pxrxcxa @eddiemunsonfuxks @translatemunson @bandofoxxking @munsonsbaby @corrodedhawkins @chainsawmunson @divinelyruled @parkermunson @bimbobaggins69 @eddiemunsonspantschain @hammity-hammer
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kindestofkings · 4 months
Text
tongue-tied (sunflowers)
lando norris x reader
dets: reader is a pro golfer, a massive f1 fan and best friends with lily muni he. will she enter her wag era?
authors note: I litch dont know a thing about golf and I know you can tell lol xx ENJOY
faceclaim: madeline argy
yourusername
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yourusername just wanted to assure everyone im still alive ! just working away and falling more in love with lilymhe, better watch out alexalbon xxx
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lilymhe my love !! training is always so fun with you
alexalbon heyy you're meant to say stop falling in love with me! ive a boyfriend 😑 lilymhe eh why bother :))
ynfan1 can't wait to see you in action on the green!!
ynfan2 🔥🔥🔥
lilymhe
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lilymhe the mixed weather has not stopped us getting some practice in! (its impossible to keep her attention when there's a gp on 🙄)
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yourusername but it's the azerbaijan grand prix! I never miss a grand prix!
lilymhe first alex now you 🙄 🙄
f1fan1 can alobono fight? CAN HE FIGHT??
alex_albon you mean i'm not the only f1 lover in your life???
yourusername oi I was the first mister ! been a mclaren fan since birth 😤 lilymhe tbf she isn't lying... ynfan1 it is sooo common knowledge that yourusername is a ride or die mclaren fan lol yourusername yeah get with it albon
yourusername
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yourusername home and showered in time for the miami grand prix this is a full time job !
kind followers this pact of doritos is a secret between us, got it? so if my personal trainer asks you saw NOTHING, got it?
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ynfan1 yn and lily being f1 fans is so cute !
lilymhe oooh but doritos are your sad snack ? whats happening
yourusername the fav ended in p17 😭 congrats to albonononono tho, i guess alex_albon wow could that have been anymore heartfelt ! lilymhe sush shes a mclaren girlie, don't kick her while she's down!! f1fan1 soooo me coded. its a hard time for us mclaren girlies rn.
yourusername
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yourusername greens beautiful as always! unfortunately inviting alex_albon along with us backfired entirely cause albon didn't bring an papaya wearing f1 friend, so I just thirdwheeled for the day .
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alex_albon oh sorry I think oscar was busy today :(
yourusername thats not who I meant and you know it ! 😑
lilymhe at least you look cute tho!
ynfan1 im litch not a golf fan but I'm obsessed with you lol
ynfan2 I feel so seen, I recognise a lando norris fan when I see one !
landonorris
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landonorris freshhhh
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f1fan1 lando finally past his puberty danny ric is proud
f1fan2 he so fine
landofan1 😳❤️
yourusername
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yourusername it's the monaco grand prix and not only am I not missing it, I'm here! thank qqqq mclaren <33
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ynfan1 ahhhh OMG I hope you meet lando finally
lilymhe babe come williams garage xx
yourusername on my way bestie! gotta tell you about the most awkward encounter EVER lilymhe 🫢🫢
mclaren so glad to have you with us today!
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landonorris just followed you!
yourusername
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yourusername attended my first grand prix after being a fan of the sport my whole life! was so chronically awkward I'll never show my face in public again, I've turned to the drink and am hiding away xxx
unrelated: is there a support group for people who embarrassed themselves in front of their celebrity crush??
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lilymhe it can't possible have been THAT BAD
ynfan1 you looked so pretty tho!
ynfan1 also have you forgotten you're a PROFESSIONAL sportswoman yourself lilymhe they are so right ! you slay always yourusername 🥹🥹
mclaren please come join us for another weekend ! celeb crushes can go both ways you know ....
ynfan1 OH OH OH NORIZZ has a crush on you YAYYY
alex_albon leave you both unsupervised for a DAY and you implode
yourusername you said you would be my wingman, I was unprepared 😔😔
landonorris if you do find one can I also get the number to that support group?
osarpiastri please for the well being of everyone, I cannot hear a recap of this meeting alex_albon we should have stuck with the original plan and gone golfing ffs landonorris kick a guy while he's down why don't you yourusername hello ! hi guys just gentle reminder this is my comment section so I can like ... see everything.... landonorris hi 😳 alex_albon oh ffs help lilymhe
britishgq
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britishgq meets yourusername in our next edition. yn is the pinnacle of modern women, with titles like the 'people's princess' circulating. we believe it's high time for a proper catch-up.
oh, and did we mention she's currently britain's highest-ranking female golfer?
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yourusername ahh this is surreal, I had so much fun!!
britishgq 💓💓
lilymhe I say thats my bestie and I am PROUD
lilymhe a model and a killer sportswoman, someone wife her up before I do ! f1fan1 hahaha thats landos warning
ynfan1 I feel so proud omg!!
ynfan2 oh hello lando lurking in the likes
alex_albon oh?
landonorris
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landonorris have been getting some private lessons in between races, watch out carlossainz55
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carlossainz55 aye you'll need a miracle
landonorris and who says I haven't got one...
alex_albon you'd wanna start returning my calls mate
landofan1 oh hello WHO ARE YOU SOFT LAUNCHING
ynfan1 *whispers* please be yn please be yn 🤞
lilymhe BESTIE STEALER
ynfan1 ahh its SO is yn
yourusername
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yourusername golf golf golf, also I drove a fancy car and didnt crash! waiting for that call from mclaren any second now xx
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lilymhe look at you all adorable and loved up <3
alex_albon these kids are growing up so fast ! f1fan you are everyones parents xx
mclaren getting rid of our first driver as we speak !!
landonorris you are leaving out the detail that you mounted the curb...
yourusername and I can leave the detail of you out of my life if you dont watch ynfan1 HE KNOWS THE DETAILS
landojpg
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landojpg summer break well spent.
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ynfan1 I spot my hero !! must be dating if she's on holiday with the friends
landofan1 ew is lily's friend hanging out of him AGAIN?? get a job christ
ynfan1 you do realise shes a professional golfer right?? ynfan2 there's this thing called holidays ....
lilymhe please give her back to me... you can take alex!
landojpg he's not as cute tho 😔 alex_albon so you're saying I am cute tho? 😎
landonorris added to their story!
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the prettiest papaya supporter🧡
replies:
yourusername ah give a girl some warning before you hardlaunch her to your millions of fans... yourusername kinda so cute tho Ill let you away with it <3 lilymhe AH hardlaunch on main danielricciardo does landonorizz have ... rizz??
_finished_
as always would LOVE to know you're thoughts! come chat about this fic or even ideas you have for my next one??
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c0eu4 · 4 months
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OP81 | Crash ☁︎
Summary: After the biggest crash of Oscar's life, y/n go to see him at the hospital.
Warning: big crash from Oscar, panic attack
A/N: I really hope this will never happen to him :(
MASTERLIST requests are open
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Her teary eyes are focused on the screen. The orange car against the wall, half smashed.
''You ok?'' She hears Oscar's engineer talking to him through her headphones.
He doesn't answer. Her heart beats fast. Very fast. She feels like she's about to break down, but she holds herself back, in case a camera is pointing at her.
''Oscar, are you ok?'' Repeat his engineer. She can hear his breathing, fast. He groaned in pain and finally responded.
''Uhg..I'm..I'm ok.'' She puts her hand over her mouth, no longer able to hold back the tears that flow gently down her cheeks. She cries even more when she sees him trying to get out of his car but he falls back, his arms unable to support his weight.
He finally managed to get out of his car with the help of one of the track agents. His steps are uncertain, he walks towards a stretcher where he is made lie down. He gives the camera a thumb up, but I know he's not doing well.
I quickly wipe away my tears before the camera focuses on me. I see myself, and I want to cry even more. I suddenly remove my headphones and head towards the private McLaren premises. I see the camera follow me for a few seconds then surely change the point of view.
She runs towards his drivers room even though she knows he won't be there. But she needs to be alone, away from the cameras.
She abruptly closes the door behind her and collapses against the wall, crying. She is shaking, like when there's thunder, like when she can't stop laughing, or like when Oscar makes her see the stars.
Her breathing is irregular, she can't stop crying. What if he died in the hospital? What if he's so injured he'll never be able to drive again? What if he gets amnesia and doesn't remember her?
All her thoughts are interrupted by someone knocking on the door.
''y/n? I know you're here.'' She suddenly stops crying and raises her head, tears streaming down her face.
''y/n, it's Nicole. Can I enter ?'' Oscar's mother has always been very kind to her, supporting her in all her projects, even the craziest ones. They have known each other for over seven years now. And she trusts in her.
''I-Its not l-lock..'' Nicole opened the door slowly and entered the room. She comes to see her and sits next to.
''He's alright.'' She said to her, rubbing her back softly as y/n put her head against Nicole's shoulder.
''They take him to the hospital. We can go to see him in less than an hour.'' Y/n nod softly, trying to catch her breath.
''Take deep breaths y/n, he's in good hands.'' Nicole showed her how to breathe as they breathe together. Y/n calm down and stay to chat with Nicole a few more minutes.
They finally get up and directly head towards Nicole's car. They drive pretty fast, Nicole would never have driven so fast in her entire life, but when it comes to her son...
They reach the hospital and are near to run in the corridor to Oscar's room. Once they are in front of the door, Chris waits for them. He took Nicole in his arm and talked to them.
''I waited for you two to see him.''
He entered the room first and Nicole followed him. Y/n do not dare to come in, too afraid.
''I..I will go to see him after you.'' She said to Nicole who nod and smiled at her.
Y/n go back to sit in the corridor, her legs shaking uncontrollably.
Chris and Nicole stay in the room for less than ten minutes but it feels like one hour for her. They finally get out as she quickly gets up walking towards them.
''Is he o-'' Chris cuts her off.
''I think he really needs to see you.'' He looks at her with a firm but also a sweet look.
She didn't think twice and entered the room. When she sees him, in his hospital bed and an IV on his arm, she wants to cry even more.
''Y/n..'' He moans in pain. She approached him, crying again.
''Don't cry sweetheart.'' She takes his hand in her and rubs it with her thumb. He didn't waste his time and put his arms around her hips, pulling her in a comfortable hug. He hides his head against her chest, breathing in her scent. She slides her hand through his hair, caressing his scalp.
''I'm sorry for scared you.'' She heard a little snob and she wanted to cry with him. But she knows she has to keep her head up for him, to not worry him even more.
''It's ok kitty. It happens.'' He cried even more. He loves when she calls him kitty.
''Don't be mad at me baby.'' He blames himself so much. He blames himself for not knowing how to manage his car and for scaring everyone. Especially her.
''I can't be mad at you my love.'' She reassured him, even if her voice was shaking.
They separate from each other and y/n sits on the bed, Oscar putting his head on her lap. She keeps talking to him, with sweet and encouraging words.
''It's ok kitten, you're safe now. And you'll be ok.''
''I disappointed all my fans.''
''You especially worried them.''
''I'm sorry.''
''Don't say sorry. It's not your fault.''
''I lost the car.''
''It happens.''
''I almost died.''
''You're overthinking Osc.''
He sighs and closes his eyes. She passes her fingers through his hair, playing with some of his strands.
''try to sleep. You need rest.''
He kisses her lap and quickly, she can hear little snores coming from him.
She looks at him and finally breaks down. She cried softly, trying to be quiet to not wake him up. His parents come into the room and her mother comes to take y/n in her arms. She cried quietly with her, caressing her son's face.
''Thank you y/n'' She looks at Oscar's father, in incomprehension.
''Thank you for being here for him.''
She just nods and her looks go back to the sweet face of Oscar.
After what seems to be hours, Oscar finally gets up. His head was against y/n shoulder, herself laying against him. Her left arm was behind his neck and her right arm was on his chest.
She looks at him and smiles, trying to comfort him again.
''You feel better?'' She asked him, caressing his cheek.
''I can't feel my body.'' She giggles.
''They drugged you with morphine.'' He laughed loudly.
''I feel like I'm drunk.'' She laughed too as Chris looked at them, amused.
''Can I take a picture of you two ? We need to tell people that you're safe Oscar.''
Oscar laughed again. ''If you want so daddy ahaha.''
Oscar never called his dad 'daddy'. And Chris sighs in amusement. He takes his phone in his hand.
''Oscar smiles for the pictures.'' I put my arms around his neck and smile for the camera. Oscar puts his thumbs in the air and smiles with all his teeth.
Chris laughed at the picture and showed it to us. I laughed too while Oscar started to play with my fingers. He bites it and I groans in pain.
''Oscaaar, you look like you smoked something.''
''Uhmmm maybe I dooo???'' He looks up at me with his little puppy eyes.
All good things end well. Even if Oscar looks like someone drunk.
453 notes · View notes
omg i really really love your blog<3 you are such a sweet person and so kind to all your followers and others on here and your writing is absolutely amazing!
i saw ur requests were open and i was wondering if you could write something for poe dameron? a hurt comfort because in your rules you said you wouldn't accept full angst which honestly is so real of you and i completely agree :D its just, ive read so many fics where poe's best friend or squadron member is either in love with him or fwb with him and he starts dating someone and they look rlly in love but then he leaves the person for the best friend and i cant help but always wonder how the person he left is feeling! and i was wondering if you could write something along the lines of this but he doesnt leave the reader and hes not really in love with his best friend or anything im so sorry this became really long but you can totally ignore this or say you cant do it its absolutely alright!<33
thank you sm though and i hope you have a good day!
Anon, thank you so much for such lovely and kind words! You are AMAZING! (Seriously, they have absolutely made my day/week/year!)
This ask has killed me (positive), my subconsciousness had a lot to say, it seems.
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Tangerine, Tangerine
Poe Dameron x GN!Reader Rating: M Masterlist | ao3 | want to be tagged?
Warnings: angst (but with a happy ending), thoughts that a partner is cheating, blood, x-wing fight, swearing (not star wars swearing, because even though Kriff is great, I need to say fuck), Moonbeam as a nickname, typos, rail road sentences, please let me know if I’ve missed a warning!
Word Count: 4494
_______________________________________
It was just a kiss. It was just a kiss. It was just a kiss. 
You’d misunderstood, you’d read the situation wrong, you’d seen incorrectly. It was just a kiss. It was just a kiss. It was just a kiss. 
Your radio crackled, “Green Leader, checking in. We’re manoeuvring in 5. Call out.”
“Green Two check.”
“Green Three check.” 
 It was just a kiss. 
“Green Four check.” 
 It was just a-
“Green Five check.” 
Just a-
“Green Six check.” 
Just-
“Green Seven,” you swallow. “Check.” 
It wasn’t just a kiss. 
You patted your helmet twice and rolled your neck, breathing deeply as you settled in. On your left, you could see some of Blue Squadron. 
This mission was straightforward - on a holopad. 
Two teams to escort The Harbringer, the resistance supply ship. It had been damaged by a rogue blast from a tie fighter just as it jumped to hyperspace and had had to make an emergency landing on one of Tre’Ral’s desert moons. 
The crew on board had managed to fix all they could. But without proper materials, there was little chance of the ship making it out of the moon’s thick atmosphere and entering hyperspace. So Blue and Green Squadrons had been dispatched. Blue 1-4 had already made contact, jump-starting The Harbringer enough to get it airborne. 
Due to Tre’Ral’s sun and planet density, the gravity on the moons was a little stronger than most world’s atmospheric pressure. 
Green Leader, Sena, had repeated through briefing at how this would affect flying. How to be ready for it. And she hadn’t been wrong, it was different flying here. Tougher. And you loved it.
You’d grown up on Para, a planet with a high gravity density. You’d learnt to fly there well before you’d flown in space. Being here on this desolate moon almost felt like home. Your movements seemed smoother, precise. No longer needing to overcorrect for your naturally ingrained harsh movements. No longer spinning out and fighting low gravity, finally working with the tide. 
The manoeuvre would see the ships escort The Harbringer out of the moon’s atmosphere and then the rest of Blue squadron would form a sort of 3D star formation around the cargo ship. All jumping to hyperspace at the same time to carry it along with them. 
Simple. 
In theory. 
Everyone had spoken about how practically textbook it was, how easy. 
But then, of course, why was Green Squadron going? 
No one at the briefing had asked, why would they when the answer was so obvious. This part of the quadrant was teething with First Order. With a slow, busted supply ship you were all practically screaming for them to come and play target practice. 
You swallow. 
You should be focusing on that, on the mission. Instead of the utter nonsense that was ricocheting around your head and piercing your heart. 
I hadn’t just been a kiss. 
You and Poe had gotten together clumsily, three months ago, your normal awkwardness drowned out by so much Polanis Red that you almost couldn’t see straight. It had been after the battle of Hurthwen, a nasty dogfight that had everyone hyped up on adrenaline. 
He had been drunk when he kissed you, you remembered that. 
Maybe he had thought… maybe he had believed he was kissing her instead. 
It made a lot more sense. 
Sena was the Green Leader, she was a great pilot. One to be reckoned with. She was kind, she was fun, she was beautiful. She and Poe had joined the resistance together, risen the ranks together. Basically inseparable. Always laughing and joking. She had been in the same squad as Poe, under his command before she was promoted to leading one of her own. 
They had always been close. Always. Best friends. 
Sickness bubbled in your throat. 
You remembered Frizz and Hank talking offhandedly, well before you and Poe were a thing. Both of them sure that Sana and Poe were dating or ‘knocking boots’ as Frizz had so elegantly put it. 
“Two people can just be friends, you know.” You’d said, trying to hide your little crush on the commander. 
“Yeah,” Frizz laughed, “But not them. You seen them together?” 
Hank chortled. 
Nonsense. You’d brushed it off then. Allowed it to creep into your thoughts when it was dark and the base was quiet. When Poe’s breathing was soft and light behind you, his arm around your waist. 
Him and Sana just made a lot more sense than him and you. 
“Yeah, but not them. You seen them together?” 
Yeah. Now you had. 
The Harbringer came into view over the horizon. The seemingly endless stretch of desert was cut through in the distance by a fearsome outcrop of crocks, leading up into a field of formidable mountains. 
Blue 1-4 were already hooked up to the cargo ship, all five hoovering moving together as they flew towards you to meet. 
You wouldn’t have said things were difficult with you and Poe. Well, you wouldn’t have said that before. It was complicated for everyone on the base, most staff were on different call schedules, off-world or on a mission at all times. Having a relationship wasn’t straightforward. There were stretches where you wouldn’t even be on the same planet for days, but…
But you had thought it was…
It didn’t matter. 
You’d gone back to the briefing room, just before take off. You’d wanted to tap the main holoscreen twice, for luck. A little ritual you’d adopted early on. Most pilots were a superstitious bunch. 
That’s when you’d seen them. Sana and Poe. Locked in a tight embrace, their lips pressed together in a deep kiss. 
Your heartbeat had thundered so loud you’d been surprised they hadn’t heard it. But they’d been too preoccupied to notice your presence. 
It was cliche but time had almost slowed, calmed and stretched like the moment you take aim, the second before you fired your ship's canons. 
A flash of the control panel had flickered into your mind when you saw them, your fingers twitching as if you had the trigger in your hands. 
You’d turned and left without a sound. Without a word. Without letting them know you saw. Leaving them to… whatever they did next. 
Was it their first kiss? One of many? Had this been going on well before Poe had taken your hand and led you outside so he could clumsily name all the constellations, making up new ones and backstories to make you smile?
“That one here, you see it?” 
“Yeah?” 
“That one’s the best one, best in the sky. It’s orange and it’s right next to that other orange one, like they’re holding hands.”
You’d laughed. 
“That’s me and you Moonbeam.” 
Moonbeam. That stupid nickname. 
You’d gone to your room quickly, the one that you and Poe shared, and taken off the necklace he’d given you. 
“I want you to wear it for luck, Moonbeam.” 
That stupid smile he’d given you as he’d slipped it from his own neck and onto yours. That stupid kiss he’d given you after. You’d thought that expression was cute when you’d seen it, pure. Now it just seemed like he’d been laughing at you, playing some sick joke. ‘How long can I string someone along?’, ‘how far can I go before they realise it’s all pretend?’ 
You’d left the necklace with the ring slipped through on the small set of shelves in the corner, the one Poe normally kept his holopad on. 
It was idiotic, but your neck felt… empty without it. Cold. Every now and then you touched at where the chain normally lay.A subconscious action only brought to the forefront of your mind by the sensation of your own skin instead of metal. 
Something caught your eye in the distance, a flash of sunlight glinting off the horizon. Dread twisted in your stomach as realisation dawned a second earlier than your scanners. The extra gravitational pressure and high quantity of magnetic metals in the sand affected everyone’s ship computers, causing a brief information delay. 
Your alarm sounded out inside your ship, the radar blinking into life as tie fighters approached from the rock outcrop. They’d used the high mineral concentration to hide their energy signatures. 
“Fuck.” 
The radio screamed into life, orders out pouring over orders. Blue squadron rushed into position while Green scrambled. 
“Blue in place now!”
“It’s gonna be rushed, but we haven’t got a choice!”
“No time!” “Incoming!” “Green half split! Evens left, odds right, let’s keep those fighter’s off The Harbringer and Blue squadron! Gamma pattern!” 
“How far away is the Delta?” 
“Calling in attack pattern!” 
You swing to the right, falling in with Hank and Petal and bank hard, it takes less than a second for you to notice that your squad's movements aren’t as precise and well-timed as usual. The stronger gravity throwing everyone, except you, off their game. 
That didn’t bode well. 
You climb for a second, punching hard on the acceleration to get some height and a clear view of the oncoming and flick on your targeting system. The image glitches, doesn’t hold steady even as you focus. Off by half a fraction. 
Shots fire out from both sides, most missing.
“Targeting not working!”
“It’s out!”
“I can’t get a clear shot!” “The read is malfunctioning!”
“Half a click 4/8!” You shout, as you take your shot, hitting two tie fighters head-on. 
“Good shot Green 7!” You can hear the joy and relief in Sana’s voice. “Half a click 4/8, you’ll all have to manually adjust!” 
You dive, swirling around two fighters before skimming close to the ground, trying to draw their attention away from the cargo ship. You spin, slamming your control harder than you would need to in any other situation as you turn and spike past another fighter, taking out one in the process. 
“Wooooo!” Hank yells over the intercom.
You laugh. “Bet you never thought you wished you grew up on Para right?” 
“Every day new things surprise me.” He banks left, you right, Petal dives down. 
It’s too much of a rush, everything all at once, patterns and shots flying, your ship’s systems screaming as you push the engines a little too hard. 
The tie fighters aren’t moving as fast as they normally do, bogged down even more than the x wings by the gravity. They can’t make their normal quick turns and it’s affecting their strike patterns. 
Good. 
But there’s so, so many of them. 
Explosions fly debris out, and you climb higher. Needing a clear view and unable to rely on your targeting systems. 
More shots fly out, The Harbringer is taking a battering but so far its shielding is holding the hull together. 
The radio keeps screaming, overlapping voices that blur into background noise. You’re trained to only hear your call signal, direct messages. You vear off, narrowingly missing a blast to your wing. 
“-On my tail.” Frizz’s voice cuts through the noise, a sharp stab of dread slicing you open as you turn, automatically looking to the reader, it’s still not clear. 
You climb, twist, fall, see a Green ship, followed tightly by two fighters. Accelsorate, bank. You fire. You’re aiming in a panic now, not adjusting right, not breathing through. 
The shot hits one, before you have to swerve to avoid being struck head-on. 
“Thanks 7!” Cril yells over the speaker, managing to shake the other fighter. 
There’s a scream, a crackle of sound over the system. A sound you know too well. You see the ship crash into the desert, exploding before it even hits the ground as the a tie fighter’s shots hit home. 
Frizz.
“No…” 
“Check!” Sana yells, unable to tell who went down with the system glitching. “Green Leader!”
You swerve around another fighter, everything moving so fast, too fast.
“Green Two check!” Cril.
“Green Three check!” Petal. 
Nothing. 
“Green Four!” Sana yells. No call replies. Balna. Not Frizz. 
The momentary rush of relief at Frizz being alive is cut horribly short by the image of Balna’s kind face that bursts behind your eyes. 
You bank left, right, swerve, take aim, twist. 
There’s a chance, a good chance that you’ll win. All of Blue is in place, The Harbringer is moving up with them. The tie fighters are taking more hits than the resistance, their less aerodynamic design hampering them more than usual with this gravity. 
All you need is…
Another alarm. 
“Oh… fuck.” You slam on your intercom. “Z-Fighter!” 
A chorus of yells answer you. 
A Z-fighter, a quick moving ship a fraction bigger than The Harbringer, with two powerful front guns. A few shots would take the cargo ship out completely. 
And with how slow the supply ship was moving, that wouldn’t be hard. 
The Z-fighter storms in, moving fast but not firing, they were obviously having problems with their targeting too, needing a close clear shot. 
“Take out the main cannons!” Sana yells, the panic in her voice cutting through the chaos. You turn, aim, take out a tie fighter but have to veer up at the last second. Twist. 
Someone comes in after you, aiming for the cannons, a fighter clips their side and they can’t correct quick enough. They spiral off, their ship crashing into the Z-fighter. Obliterated on impact. The Z-fighter seemingly unaffected. 
You loop back, adrenaline blinding you to everything, anything that’s not the goal. Take out the canons. Take out the canons. People are counting on you. Take out the canons. 
You fire, a clear shot before you bank to the side to avoid a direct hit to your hull. 
It’s not enough.
You need to pass again, and again. Other x wings flying in, taking shots, the gravity making them slow, imprecise. Only one blast hits and it’s not full on.You’re the only one hitting directly and it’s not enough. 
It’s not enough. It’s not enough. It’s not enough.
There’s shouting and screaming, the zipping of the fighters as they cut through the sky. Someone yells your name and you don’t hear it. 
Another hit lands. One canon out. Only one left. You can do this. The Harbringer is nearly in the upper atmosphere, they can jump from there. Just a few more seconds. You can do this.
“Black Leader!” Poe’s call sign cuts over the dim, followed by the call signs of half of the Red Squadron.
They must have scrambled after first contact. 
The canon’s powering up, a quick glance to your panel tells you that The Harbringer’s shield is barely functioning. They won’t survive a direct hit. With how close they are and the Blue Squadron ships that are attached there’s no way they wouldn’t be pulled down too if The Harbringer fell. 
The canon needs more than one hit to take it down, more than five. No way you can shoot five times before they fire. 
You twist, full force. Pumping the acceleration. Fire. Fire. Fire. Three hit. You don’t slow down. Fire. Fire. Fire. They hit. The canon is still operational. 
Sana is screaming orders, so many shots fire at the canon, none of them hit right, hit full on. 
Two chances left. 
One to fire. If it takes out the canon you just have enough time to serve up, to avoid getting smashed to bits. 
Poe shouts for you over the intercom. 
You don’t answer.
One to fire. If it doesn’t take out the canon then… then you crashing into it head on will. 
Poe yells again, this time cutting over everyone else, sending you a direct call. 
You don’t answer.
You fire. Hit. 
Poe screams for you, his voice painful and panicked. He’s already worked out your plan before you had even thought of it. 
The canon doesn’t go down. 
You cut the call to him. Blocking out his signal. You don’t want Poe to think you did this for him. 
You don’t want him to think you did this because of him.
“Green Seven!” Sana yells, seemingly knowing what you’re going to do. 
Hank screams your name over the radio. It hurts. You think it’s the worst sound you’ve ever heard. 
“Moonbeam!” Poe’s voice is ripped raw from yells, Sana has patched him through over her signal. You were wrong. That was the worst sound you’ve ever heard. 
You dip at the last second, not hitting the canon straight on but smashing your right wing into it. The force surprises you, even though you braced for it. The impact sending you spiralling. You try to regain control, try to turn into the spin. Training taking over even though you're a wing and half a ship down. 
Shouts over the radio, you barely make out- 
“-cannon’s down-”
“-Jump!-”
A spark hits, your console explodes into flame, shards hit your side and you yell. Sky and sand tumbling over each other over and over, and you manage to hit the eject button.
The force rips you upwards, free briefly from your burning ship. But you’re too close to the floor, not enough time to slow down your velocity. There’s-
.
The impact of the ground hurts. Pain explodes along every nerve despite the ejection seat dampening. You scream. 
Agony is everywhere, everything. You can’t feel anything else, can’t comprehend anything except floods of pain. 
You hit your belt, falling out and to the desert floor. Looking up just enough to gauge where you are, where your ship fell. It’s an exploded, fireball mess far off. At least it’s not an immediate threat. You crawl to the side and sob. 
There’s blood falling into the sand from your head, the right side of your face. You can’t see properly out of your eye and your left leg is definitely broken. Shattered. Still, you drag yourself forward, digging your hands in and pulling as something ribs and tears in your side, warm liquid soaking into your fight suit. 
The resistance will jump to hyperspace, they’ll get out. They’ll make it. 
You just needed to get away from your ejection seat, when the First Order doubles back they’ll see it, they’ll see you. You just needed to get to an outcrop. Hide. 
Make it look like you had a weapon. 
Make them shoot you first instead of taking you for questioning. 
Can’t let them take you alive. 
There's the faint sound of a ship somewhere above, landing gear coming down. 
For a second you freeze, panic gripping your heart, you dig into the sand hard, pull, pull, pull  yourself closer towards the outcrop of rocks. The air seems to be leaving your lungs, your breathing ragged and hot. 
You cough, red hitting the dirt, iron hitting your tongue. 
You crawl, pull. The pain is making you light-headed. You gasp, trying to get in a full lung full of air. It's not enough. It's not enough. It's not enou…
.
When you open your eyes your first thoughts are simple. Clear. 
I'm dead.
You were either shot in the head in the sand or simply succumbed to your wounds. 
But then things begin to feel… fuzzy. Not painful, but not right either.
And that's when you smell the Bacta. And then the light starts to change to distorted shapes, and finally, you recognise Hank sitting next to you.
“You better not be dead too,” you whisper your voice dry from lack of use. 
Hank jumps up, goes to grab your hand and then stops himself. There are tears in his eyes. He softly places his fingers on yours and you squeeze back. 
“You're a fucking idiot you know that?” He grins and you laugh. Which hurts a little, but feels good. 
“One sec,” he moves away just to speak to someone outside before he comes back. “I'm the one that picked you up, you know?” 
“Now who's the fucking idiot?” You smile but your chest aches, heavy with the weight of his words. “You shouldn't have done that.” You whisper. 
“What?”
“You were under fire, you should have just jumped-” 
“I saw you eject. Saw you moving. You think I was just gonna leave you there?” He sits. “Besides, I was closest. The commander would have blown up the whole planet to get to you.” 
You swallow, turning away slightly. Going cold at the mention of Poe. 
Hank mistakes the look for guilt, and squeezes your hand again. “Hey, look,” he smiles, “you took out the canons, you're a fucking idiot but you know how to fly in heavy gravity.” 
You snort. 
He smiles. 
“Who did we lose?” 
Hank sighs, “three…”
You nod, closing your eyes for a moment. 
“There-”
There was shouting from outside, a crash and then Poe stormed into the room, med staff close behind him.
You swallow, sickness building in your throat.
He looked awful, drawn out and worn thin like he hadn't slept or eaten in days. His eyes red. 
He rushes forward, Hank moves out of the way, so Poe can take your hand in his. He leans forward and kisses you softly, carefully stroking your cheek, being gentle with your bandages. 
“Moonbeam…” he mutters and you flinch back from him. He looks at you with sad, confused eyes. 
“Look, I can only allow one visitor in here.” The med staff member says.
Hank stands, and speaks when you frown. “I'll see you later, Poe’s the one that hasn't left your side. The only reason he wasn't here when you woke was because I made him go take a shower.” Hank smiled, “you can thank me for that later.” 
Both you and Poe are quiet as the others leave. Poe searching your face for something, while you look away. 
“Moonbeam,” he says again softly, but there's an edge to his words that you're not used to. “What the fuck happened on that mission? What the fuck is this?” He holds up his hand, his necklace and ring wrapped around his palm. His eyes are shiny as he speaks. “Were you trying to kill yourself? What the fu-”
“Poe,” you breathe. Best to get it over quickly. “I saw.”
He frowns. “Saw? Saw what?” 
“You and Sana, in the briefing room… before take off.” 
The small frown on his forehead relaxes slightly for a moment as his eyebrows raise. “You… saw?” 
You nod. 
“You, but, I didn’t see you when I pushed her away?” His voice cracks at the end, a splinter running into the muscle of your heart. 
“You pushed her away?” 
“You didn’t see that?” He frowns again, blinking hard, “you just, just saw and walked away and what? Took this off?” He holds up the necklace again. A tear falls from his eye and he rubs it away furiously as if it had scorched his skin. “Just, just left it and… and…” 
“I didn’t know you didn’t want it…” You say quietly, emotion is making your chest tight and constricted. “I didn’t know you didn’t want her…”
“What?” He breathes, moving closer and squeezing your hand. There’s disbelief in his voice, confusion. Anger, it’s deep down and controlled but it’s there. “No, look, she kissed me. I pushed her away, I, I even logged a report, I’ll pull up the god damned camera feed to show you.” 
He’s not lying. His gaze is unwavering and he’s got that painfully earnest look in his eyes. 
“You thought…” he shakes his head slightly, his voice pained, “you thought I’d-”
“You both make sense together.” You blurt out. “She’s… and you’re…” you shrug and sigh, on the verge of tears yourself. “You’re both the best of us.”
“No,” he shakes his head fiercely, “Moonbeam, no.” He wipes roughly at his eyes again, glancing down for a moment and you lightly touch his head. 
He looks up instantly as you stroke his curls, still lightly damp. 
“I’m sorry.” You whisper.
Poe shakes his head again, grabbing your hand and kissing your wrist. “I’m sorry.” He kicks off his shoes and clambers into bed next to you a little awkwardly. He’s trying to be careful, trying not to hurt you but needing closeness so badly it’s suffocating. 
You scooch to the side as quickly as you can in your current state and lean into him as he wraps his body around you softly and kisses you sweetly. 
“Love you, love you, love you,” he repeats after every kiss, pressing his lips to every part of your skin that he can reach.
“Why are you sorry?” You mutter as he holds you, “I’m the one that messed up.”
He shakes his head, “I’m sorry that I don’t make you realise how special you are, how perfect.” He kisses your cheek, “you’re the best of us Moonbeam.” 
You tut but his grip tightens and he holds you tight. 
“And one hell of a pilot.” He grins. 
You scoff. 
“You are.” He kisses you again. 
You nuzzle against him, settling into his touch. Knots have formed in your chest, pain that’s loosening. His warmth is comforting. Home. 
“Sana said she didn’t know I was in a relationship,” he says softly, resting his chin on the top of your head. “I don’t know if that’s true, but… I do believe her.” 
You nod. “She’s a good person.”
He moves so he can look you in the eyes. “Please, Moonbeam, I… don’t,” he bites his tongue, closing his eyes for a long second. “I want to tell you, I want to say, don’t ever do something like that again… don’t… don’t put yourself at risk.” 
You touch his cheek lightly. 
“But it’s not fair is it?” He smiles sadly. “We both do that every day… You know you were gonna be in my squadron at first?” 
You shake your head in surprise and he nods.
“You were, but… well,” he blushes ever so slightly. “I was so embarrassingly head over heels in love with you,” he laughs lightly. “For months I could hardly talk to you, you know I had to down five Polanis Red’s in a row after Hurthwen just so I could ask you out? I knew I wouldn’t be able to function right if you were in my squad. I knew that I’d put everyone else at risk because if it came down to it… if there was a choice between everyone in the squad dying, everyone on the base, or you… I’d let the resistance burn instead of lose you. Every single time.” 
You close your eyes, fighting the emotion that needs to break through and squeeze his hand like a lifeline. “I love you.” You whisper. 
Your fingertips brush against the necklace, the ring hooking around the first knuckle of your index finger by chance. 
Poe slowly moves his hand from yours and unwinds the necklace from his palm before carefully placing it over your head, giving you plenty of time to move away if you wanted. 
“I love you Moonbeam,” he mutters, his voice low, reverent. Then leans in to kiss you. You kiss him back with all your heart. 
____________________________________
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delfiore · 7 months
Text
—MY DEAREST FRIEND AND ENEMY. (3/5)
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pairing: ona batlle x fem!reader
synopsis: without ona, you find other ways to fill the hole in your heart, as the consequences of your own actions come back to haunt you.
word count: 7.0k
a/n: holy shit is this one long. some more cameos for the plot who are all good bros to our dumbasses in love 👍
PART I, PART II, PART IV, PART V
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2018, 5 years ago.
You always hated it when your hands shake after adrenaline rushes. It felt debilitating, like you weren’t able to make rational decisions because all you could think about was trying to hide your trembling hands.
When your coach called you into his office, you were still cradling your right hand, the other pressing an ice pack to the bruise starting to form on your right knuckles. The way he pointed with his head for you to follow him—doing so without a word—reaffirmed that you were definitely in trouble.
It was a warm day in May, and yet you had two training sessions to complete. You were drenched in sweat afterwards, your body warm and buzzing like a furnace. Definitely not a good day to be pissed off.
Coach Dennis sat in his chair behind his desk, his hands folded in front of him. His lips were curling and jutting out like they always did whenever he was concentrating or trying to look angry. It made him look like a fish.
A silence followed, and then he spoke. “Are you aware of what you did?”
You clenched your jaw to stop yourself from blurting out something sarcastic. “I punched a teammate, Coach.”
“You’re aware that that could get you released, don’t you, Y/N?” He asked. “NYCFC has zero tolerance for violence within the first team, much less the youth academy.”
You lowered your head. Your hands were shaking much less now.
“May I ask why you did it?” Coach pressed further when he didn’t receive an answer.
So you told him. There was a group of girls that had been picking on you for years now. You were never the biggest or strongest, so you used your techniques to weave the ball through defenders, to make you stand out, and it pissed them off.
“So you punched one of them.”
“They were cornering me.” You said simply, looking up at him for the first time since the meeting started.
The man sighed and covered his nose and mouth with his palms. You might have reduced his lifespan by a decade right then.
“Y/N, I know you. I know you will stand up for yourself, and I expect nothing less from you, but this kind of behavior will not and cannot fly here. That’s why I’m telling you this, because I know you’ll be special one day.”
“Those girls are bullies, Coach. They don’t deserve to be here. You should be punishing them!”
“They will get their punishment in due time, but you still punched a teammate,” he said firmly. “You did what you thought was right, but violence is never the answer. You can’t punch your way out of everything.”
“Are you kicking me out?” You asked, trying to remain stoic, yet you were fiddling with your fingers.
“No. I’m blocking your Dallas offer.”
FC Dallas had been one of the top scouts that have had their eyes on you, and you had been working extra hard to impress them. This was your chance to break into their first team, and it was gone.
“You can’t do that!”
“Yes, I can.” He pressed.
“Coach, please—”
“Thank you, Y/N.” He cut you off. “You may leave.”
Leaving Dennis’ office, and walking down the hallway, your eyes caught Sara—the girl you punched—sitting in the infirmary, her face tear-stained, red, and blotchy. She had always looked at you with disdain, but now there was a fear in her gaze as she caught yours from far away. When she did, you got a better look at the damage you’d done to her face. You suddenly felt that shame you should have felt back in the office.
“Yo, Y/N,” you heard someone call when you were outside. “I heard about what happened.”
“You’re gonna lecture me, Gio? ‘Cause Dennis already did.”
“No, man. I was gonna say how badass that was,” he grinned.
A slow grin spread on your face. You shook your head, as Gio put his arm around your shoulder and you walked to the cafeteria.
You met Giovanni Reyna a few years ago when you first joined the academy. In a training session where both the boys and girls participated, you were paired with him for finishing drills. With a hard tackle, he’d almost put you in the hospital. Ever since then, you had been stuck to the hip. He was the first friend you made and the longest friend you’d ever had.
You’d stay another year at NYCFC, honing your skills, and avoiding another run-in with your bullies until the transfer window was near. You were still waiting for FC Dallas to call back, as you had for a year now. It was the only place you wanted, and while you knew it was risky to do so, it was your gateway to Europe through their partnership with Bayern Munich.
“Sara is going to the Red Stars, did you hear?”
“Dylan’s going to Orlando Pride.”
“I heard Hope and Mary-Anne are going to Roma and Lyon!”
You had tried to block out the gossip in the cafeteria, but it made you doubt yourself. What did they have that you didn’t? Yes, you weren’t the tallest or strongest, but neither were Messi, Xavi, or Aguëro. But maybe that was just it; you were not Messi, Xavi, or Aguëro, and you would never be.
Gio was leaving too, there had never been any doubt about that; his dad was a U.S. legend, and it was only natural that he’d give the best to his son. Besides, Gio might have been the next best thing after Christian Pulisic skyrocketed to fame within the past few years. The boy’s move to Borussia Dortmund was almost imminent, and people had been whispering about it for weeks, but you were the one he told first.
“When do you leave?” You asked, picking at the food on your tray. Gio and you were sitting outside having lunch.
“Beginning of June,” he said.
“I’m happy for you,” you muttered, voice cracking quietly, but a small smile remained on your face.
“I’m sorry, Y/N.”
“Don’t be sorry. This is a good thing,” you smiled, nodding as you grabbed his hand over the table. “I’ll just miss you a ton.”
“Hey,” Gio searched for your eyes. “I have no doubt that you’ll be scouted soon. I know it. I know you have what it takes to be at the top, whether it’s in Europe, or here.”
Your best friend left less than a month later. You had wrapped your arms around him so tightly and hid your face in his neck, afraid you might bawl like a baby the last time you saw him on the training ground. But you didn’t cry then.
You did cry, though, when Coach Dennis called you into his office again a week later. This time, instead of expressing his disappointment in you, he hugged you tight, congratulated you, and let you read the email that Portland Thorns FC sent to request a transfer for you to their first team.
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2023, present.
“You ever thought about what you’d be doing if you weren’t playing football?”
You had just drifted off a bit when the voice next to you spoke. Furrowing your eyebrows, you wondered how she wasn’t absolutely battered.
“Don’t know. Never had a plan B. Didn’t want to.”
“Right. But I feel like, I go to training, I kick the ball, people come and watch me, and then when I go home after, I don’t know who I am. It’s like . . . I’m nothing without the footballer.”
You didn’t expect your hookup to be opening up to you like this. You’d only just met her a few hours ago at a club. You had played against her a few times in the league but had never spoken to her face-to-face. Though not the best on the dance floor, she made an excellent dance partner in bed.
“Well, having a personality is overrated nowadays anyway.” You replied, closing your eyes again. “Nobody cares who you are until you fuck up on the pitch, so just don’t fuck up on the pitch.”
“Easy for you to say,” she huffed. “You have your starter place at City guaranteed.”
You ignored her and turned to the other side. A few minutes later, you heard the sheets shuffling, then the sound of a zipper. “This was fun,” she whispered before you heard your bedroom door opening and closing.
No barks, it meant Bratwurst was asleep, luckily for your ears. Most people you had been bringing home he had been barking at. You wanted to think it was him being protective over you, but he would bark at your teammates too when they would come over, except for one person.
Ever since you came back from the World Cup much earlier than you had anticipated, you liked to find company at clubs and parties. In your time of need, you’d found that you preferred sporadic ones, fewer complications, and headaches.
You were also invited to events; award shows, the British Grand Prix, and a few fashion shows. Those you never really bothered with, but they were chances for your stylist to go crazy with the outfits (which you never complained).
The only good thing to come out of those, however, was seeing Gio again at Paris Fashion Week. The moment you saw him, you gladly accepted it when he brought you into a tight hug, feeling like that 13-year-old again when you first met. You kept in touch over the years, but your schedules were always too different to ever meet up. But it was as if no time had passed, and the only thing that kept you both from talking till morning was that Gio needed rest for his rehabilitation training the next day.
“I’m going on a trip to Ibiza soon with a few friends. You should come,” he said.
“I don’t know, G. I wouldn’t want to impose.”
“You wouldn’t. I want you to come. There’s someone I want you to meet.”
“Just because you have a girlfriend now doesn't mean you’re allowed to set me up,” you smirked and shoved him.
“I’ve seen the stuff that came out about you, Y/N,” he sighed. “Is it true?”
“I’m not doing anything illegal if that’s what you’re asking.”
“That’s not what I meant. About you being seen at clubs day in and day out. What is this really about, Y/N?”
You know Gio wanted the best for you, even though sometimes he was too stubborn to admit it. You were too, but you loved him to bits. Maybe that’s why you two fit together so well.
“I let someone close to my heart, and it fucked me over.”
Gio nodded softly. “Well then. Just consider it a vacation. She’ll still be there though.”
“And you won’t make me go out with her?”
“As if I can make you do anything.”
Unless you were legally prohibited or physically unable to, you would never turn down a proper party. So there you were, on a yacht in Ibiza with your best friend and several other people in his entourage. Gio, that little shit, though having promised not to set you up, was elbowing you at a woman the moment she set foot on the yacht. Anyone with eyes would say that she was beautiful; curly hair, plump lips, and soulful eyes you could get lost in.
Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. It didn’t hurt to try.
You went over to the bar where she stood and ordered a drink. Glancing behind your shoulder, you noticed Gio sending you a big thumbs-up.
“So, you are the one Gio keeps raving on about,” said the woman next to you. Her eyes were really pretty.
“I guess so. That’s me,” you let out a laugh, albeit shakily. “Am I everything you dreamed of and more?”
It was her turn to laugh. “He definitely mentioned your confidence, yes.”
“Well, then I’ll definitely keep you around for sure. But just so you know, I do other things besides kick a football around and look pretty doing it.”
“Oh? Like what?”
“I guess you’ll have to find out for yourself,” you smirked. “I’m Y/N,” you extended a hand.
“Leena,” she took your hand in a firm handshake and raised her drink to you.
You took a sip, and watched her behind the glass, only to notice that she was looking back at you as well. “So, how did you know Gio?”
“I worked with him on a couple of photoshoots. I’m a photographer,” leaning against the bar with her drink, she smiled and pushed a few strands of hair behind her ear. “He was really nervous, said he didn’t like getting his picture taken. Luckily, I used to work with kids and animals back home in Finland, so making a full-grown man laugh for his headshots wasn’t too hard.”
“You’re from Finland?”
“Mmhm. I go back and forth between London and Manchester now, though.”
“Interesting,” you nodded inconspicuously. “I play in Manchester. Nice city.”
Before you knew it, the sun had started to go down, and it was time to drive the yacht back to port. As you all made your way to the exit to disembark, you waited for Leena before offering your hand to help her down the ramp.
Your group was to head into town, and have some dinner before going to a local music festival to finish the night off. It was dark by the time you arrived at the venue, and you wasted no time in immersing yourself in the music. Gio and the others were long forgotten, and you found yourself enjoying your time with Leena much more than you had anticipated.
You told her about your job, and she asked about the World Cup. As much as you hated to talk about it, having declined several interviews and podcast appearances in which mentions of the tournament were inevitable, you told her everything she wanted to know.
She was so attentive and listened, even though you knew she didn’t follow the sport, and for that you were thankful. It has been a while since you talked to someone about how you felt and have them listen so wholeheartedly.
“Do you ever miss home?” You asked once the both of you had taken a break from dancing.
“Sometimes, but right now my wanderlust is bigger than my homesickness. I want to see everything the world has to offer.”
You swirled your martini on the standing table. “I’ve been away from home for so long, I don’t really know where home is anymore.”
“Well, I think home is where you make it.” She lay a hand on your bare arm, caressing it slowly. “If you’ve already made a home at this age, what else is there to do?”
Your eyes trailed along her arm up to her face. Your heart slowed, and the music seemed to have faded in the background. Despite the chaos of the festival, several drunk people dancing next to you, and your friends have already disappeared somewhere, you suddenly had an overwhelming urge to kiss Leena.
But it wasn’t her that you wanted to kiss, not really. You wanted to kiss her because it reminded you of familiar feelings, to have someone in your corner that you didn’t have to pretend to. But of course that was all based on a lie.
As she reached into your martini to pick up the olive pick and held it out for you, you bit down gently on the fruit and let her pull the pick away. You smiled bashfully.
“I’ll go get us some more drinks,” you cleared your throat. “Do you want some fries too?”
You needed to get out of there before you did something you regret and ruin a good thing, again.
The bartender was off once you’d given him your order. Whilst waiting for the drinks, you looked around for familiar faces and spotted Gio and a couple of his friends “dancing” to the music in one corner, clearly quite inebriated.
“Y/N.”
You turned around and wished that you didn’t. It was Ona, looking at you like you were some sort of alien.
“Ona,” you breathed.
“Hi. What are you doing here?”
“I’m here with friends.” Now would be a good time for those drinks, bartender.
She nodded. “How are you?”
“Fine,” you said too quickly. “Congratulations by the way, on winning.”
“Oh, thanks.”
“You guys deserved it. No matter who’s trying to take it away from you, you did, and you should celebrate it,” you meant it and tried to force a smile that adequately expressed your sentiments. Needless to say, it would be easier to be saying this to one of her teammates, anyone but her.
You remembered the night she broke your heart, the night when you left your heart by the sidewalk as you trekked all the way home on foot.
That was three months ago, and with all the distractions you’ve indulged yourself in, somehow it still ached.
The bartender handed you your drinks just then, and you were off.
“Y/N, wait.” You closed your eyes. “I’m sorry . . . for what I said, how I said it.”
“No, I think you made your point very clear, Ona. Have a good rest of your trip.”
“Y/N, I did feel something too! I did!”
Ona felt like biting her tongue at the look you gave her when you turned around, the two glasses of Negronis dangling in your fingers by your side. She had almost regretted it when your lips trembled, and your chest rose and fell as if an implosion was imminent.
You took a large step towards her and exhaled. “You don’t get to do that. Not after I’ve tried to do everything to forget you. You can’t do that.”
Ona opened her mouth to say something, but she knew anything she said would only add to your fury.
“I hope you’re happy by the way.” You said mockingly. “Seeing that you got what you wanted. Winning the World Cup, moving back to Barcelona. Hope you’re happy. Bye, Ona.”
She watched unmovingly as you walked away from her, back to a table where a woman was waiting, and pulled her towards the crowd to dance. She found herself returning to her group, not being able to get the image of you swaying behind the woman with your arm around her neck out of her mind.
What kind of sick joke was the universe playing to make her see you right when she was supposed to be enjoying her days off? Maybe it was her punishment, having broken your heart then practically fleeing the country immediately after.
“Where’s the drink, Ona? You were supposed to get us some,” Lucy questioned her when she came back.
“Oh, sorry. I thought I saw someone.”
“Oi, is that Y/N? Y/N!”
“No, please don’t.” Ona grabbed Lucy’s arm, and quickly pulled it down.
Realizing Lucy didn’t know about it, she knew she was going to have to tell her one way or another. Surprisingly, Lucy didn’t laugh or tease her about it after hearing the entire story. They were back at their hotel, with another bottle of wine passed between them, and Ona told her new teammate everything.
“You were under our noses the whole time, and we didn’t even realize,” Lucy snickered with a shake of her head.
“Yeah,” the night had taken a toll on her, and Ona started to feel the effect of the alcohol as she lay staring at the ceiling. “Have I made a huge mistake? Letting myself be involved in all this.”
“Obviously, but the heart wants what it wants. Trust me,” the brunette took another sip from the bottle. “It is a hard situation, but she needs space, as much as you can give her so she can heal.”
“Sounds like you’ve been through it before,” Ona smirked and poked her with her elbows.
The older woman only laughed. “Something like that.”
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As hard as it was to accept the truth, Ona had to move on. She didn’t have a lot of time to mope around, however, before she knew it, the season had already begun. Barcelona had always been a place to return to, and the team needed someone who had Barcelona in her DNA to complete the defense.
It was all going swimmingly, too much so even. The season started out slow, but they grabbed the wins when they needed them. Then it was time for the Champions League draw. Barcelona had been drawn into a group with RSC Anderlecht, AS Roma, and Manchester City.
Just her luck. She’d have to see you twice before the year ended. Barcelona would be going to Manchester first.
With her chance encounter with you in Ibiza still fresh on her mind, she joined the queue for warm-up, looking up every once in a while in case she spotted you. When she did, you were standing by the sideline talking animatedly to your other former teammate Keira. She tore her eyes away before you could notice her, and swallowed that uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach.
“Longing for your American girl?” Mapi said with a smirk.
“Shut up,” Ona mumbled, jogging away to do stretches. “I knew Lucy would blab.”
“So Lucy knows? I was just making an educated guess from the way you keep making those sad puppy eyes at her.”
“At who?” Ingrid appeared from behind.
“Y/L/N,” Mapi raised her eyebrows at her girlfriend with a smirk, and Ingrid gasped excitedly.
“Oh my god, Y/N Y/L/N?! You guys would be so cute together!”
“Guys, come on. We have a match to play,” Ona groaned and begrudgingly jogged away. Just before she started her sprints though, she snuck one last glance at you, when you briefly looked back. As if having been burnt just by a look, you quickly said goodbye to Keira and went back to your half to continue warming up.
“Do you think they were already together?” Ingrid whispered at Mapi.
Mapi sighed, “Definitely.”
Ona started that match on the left, as Lucy also started and occupied her usual right side. You were playing on the right this time to allow Lauren Hemp to be on the left wing. It meant there would be none of her usual duels with you.
Ever since Lucy’s slip-up in the World Cup final, Ona knew she had been more cautious in defense and stayed back most of the time. It gave her the opportunity to set up passes deeper whilst also keeping you at bay, the tactic Ona herself used at United and one she knew you absolutely despised.
Sure enough, you stupidly went up against only one of the best fullbacks in the world. Your dribbling and speed were to your advantage, and Lucy—with all her experience and knowledge of your play—easily controlled you at the flanks. So you tried inverting inside, and Lucy followed you too, if not Irene did.
Man City was pressing high, giving the offense plenty of opportunities in the box, but Barcelona was better in defense. It was only when a precise lofted ball was sent past the back line, that Lucy was trailing after you. You went down just outside of the box. As everyone was getting ready for the free kick, you were still on the ground. Your ankle had been stomped on by Irene during the struggle.
Ona quickly jogged over and put her hand over your shoulder, “Y/N, are you okay?”
“Don’t put your hands on me,” you seethed, swatting her hand away, just as the physios came over and sprayed your ankle. Just moments later, you were able to stand up, but you never spared her another glance.
As much as it stung, she clenched her jaw to stop the tears and got ready for the free kick.
Barcelona ended up winning 2-0, a stellar start to their UWCL campaign. While Ona went to shake hands with several players from the opposition, she looked for you, seeing you walk towards the stands. You took pictures and signed for some people, even gave a little kid your shirt, but she saw the way you lit up when talking to someone in the crowd. Upon closer look, it was the woman you were with in Ibiza.
Your smile was blinding as Leena was led down the pitch towards you. “Hi,” you breathed. “I didn’t think you’d come.”
“Of course I did. You gave me tickets, remember?” She brought you in for a hug. “I’m sorry you lost, but it was very entertaining. I took lots of pictures.”
“Of me, I hope?” You smirked.
She rolled her eyes playfully. “Keep dreaming, Y/L/N.”
Smiling slightly, you brought her in for a side hug. “Thank you for coming,” you kissed Leena’s cheek. “Means a lot.”
Ona was watching the entire interaction, fuming on the inside. Lucy and Mapi knew to steer clear of her path once they returned to the dressing room by the glower on her usually affable face.
SportsPro Media: Y/N Y/L/N Seen ‘Smiling’ After Man City Lost to Barcelona in Women’s Champions League Group Stage “Fans have taken to social media to criticize the winger, 21, after she was seen smiling and conversing with fans at the stands after a 2-0 loss to reigning champions Barcelona. The criticism came after several of Y/L/N’s teammates on the USWNT were also condemned for their overt optimism after barely making it out of their group in the Women’s World Cup this summer. Among the critics was former USWNT international Carli Lloyd. Y/L/N was also seen getting more than friendly with her rumored girlfriend, whom the winger was spotted on holiday with in Ibiza alongside U.S. men’s team’s Gio Reyna after a shockingly early World Cup exit. […]”
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When the second round of the group stage came around, you were much better prepared. Though you were playing away in Barcelona, Man City were preparing to win. You were definitely training to do so, so when the starting XI lineup was posted on the door in the dressing room, you were stunned when your name wasn’t on the list. You had been benched before—it was all part of the game—but only during less important games or for your own recovery, but never during an important game like this.
“Gareth, can I speak to you, please?” You said, gritting your teeth when the gaffer opened the door in his office.
“Of course,” he gestured for you to follow inside. “Take a seat.”
You remained standing. “Why am I not starting for the Barcelona game?”
“I’m doing what I think will be best for the team, Y/N.”
“By benching me? You need me!”
“Easy, Y/L/N. No one is above the club, and I don’t appreciate your tone,” Gareth’s tone was despicably calm, yet no less menacing.
You took a deep breath to compose yourself. “I want to know why, in an important game such as this one.”
“It seems . . . that you might have a personal reason as to why you want to start this game, but I have to rotate the squad and—”
“Wait, wait, wait. What do you mean? What personal reason?”
Gareth sighed. “I’ve been informed that you’ve had a personal relationship with one of Barcelona’s players that didn’t end too well.”
“So? What does that have to do with anything?” You all but yelled.
“I’m making a decision that I deem best for the club, and you and every other player will listen because I am in charge!” Gareth had never yelled, not like this. It made you flinch. “I will not have my players’ private life bleed into the performance of the team. Now, you can either support my decision or I will have you removed from the squad traveling to Barcelona, and replace you with someone else who will put the team above their own interest.”
Your mouth is sewn shut, just by the sheer shock at what the manager had just said. You stormed out of his office without another word, slamming the door open to mask what you were truly feeling inside. It wasn’t fury—you were beyond that—it has turned into fear of being replaced; fear of being left behind.
Man City drew that match, and it was just enough to send the team to the quarterfinals, having done it entirely without you. Gareth had made up a bullshit excuse to the press to make you stay home.
Your agent, Toni, was much more furious for you, saying what he did breach the contract you signed and that you should be taking action. In the five years they have been your agent, you have never had to endure that much legal talk over a club issue before. You’d be amused at their passionate rambling if you weren’t already nursing a headache.
“I think you should leave, Y/N,” they finally said after getting off the phone.
“What?” You furrowed your eyebrows. “But where would I even go? I don’t have any offers yet.”
“You will, once the news comes out that you’re looking to leave the club. You only have one year left on your contract anyway, plenty would seek to employ you.”
You had been through this before. The waiting after letting it be known that you wanted to leave was the worst, but you weren’t just a nobody anymore. You were Y/N Y/L/N, and you would have it your way one way or another.
“Alright, then.” You nodded firmly. “Let’s have a talk with Gareth. I’m not gonna scurry out of this club like a rat.”
Goal.com: Y/N Y/L/N Looking for Man City Exit After Tension With Boss Gareth Taylor “Sources within Man City are saying the American winger could be on her way out of Manchester this summer. The player has reportedly ‘fallen out of favor’ with City gaffer Gareth Taylor after ‘expressing her vexation over lack of playing time’. The 22-year-old was left out of the squad traveling to Barcelona for the 4th group stage match of the Women’s Champions League altogether and has since featured in significantly fewer matches for the Citizens. Several European clubs are reportedly keen to sign Y/L/N, but she could also be making a return to the NWSL for what could be a record signing in the women’s game yet. […]
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Though you were scared, it was much easier to let go of a burden that you have been carrying around for so long.
Which was why you had agreed to come to a concert with Leena when she had asked you. You would let yourself have fun and connect with someone without being scared anymore because what Ona did to you had nothing with who you were, and you sure as hell weren’t going to pay the price for it.
Needless to say, you and Leena had a great time. You were been walking back to your car in the parking lot when you saw a flash. You sighed and walked Leena towards the passenger side.
“Get in the car. Don’t come out, okay?” You told her with a smile, which was quickly wiped off once you saw the photographers approaching.
“Y/N, are you leaving City? Where do you think you’re going next?”
“Did you have a fight with Gareth?”
“Y/N, are you going to Barcelona?”
You entered the car with an exasperated sigh. Your breathing became heavy as you attempted to start the car, and your hand started to tremble.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Leena spoke softly. “Don’t let them get to you.”
She placed a hand over yours and squeezed it softly. Finding her eyes, you nodded gratefully, and drove away, trying your very best not to run those imbeciles over.
You went back to her apartment where you both ordered some takeout. Over a movie, you talked about anything and everything.
It was like that with Leena. Somehow, she has made you feel okay with pouring your entire heart out in front of her, her caring eyes and encouraging silence taking away your doubts about looking like an emotional fool in front of her.
But the moment you saw her eyes dart back and forth between yours, then down to your lips and leaned in, you froze. You wanted this, only because it would be good for you, but you couldn’t do it.
“I’m sorry, Leena. I-I—” Jumping out of the couch, you stuttered like a broken record. Of course, she would have read it like that, you couldn’t blame her. You didn’t quite know what you wanted, but all you could think about was how different it was to kiss Leena than it was to kiss Ona.
“I’m sorry. I can’t do this, I’m sorry.”
She didn’t try to stop you. In fact, she didn’t say anything at all. She might as well have been just as shell-shocked as you were by your reaction. You bolted out of there as quickly as you can, like a coward.
Unsurprisingly, Leena hasn’t tried to contact you. You couldn’t blame her, you’d be pissed at yourself too. It seemed everyone was pissed at you these days.
Chloe approached you once in the weight room to ask if you were leaving. You could only offer her an apology, but she brought you in for a hug. You would miss her the most.
Meanwhile, Toni was working tirelessly on your next move, and all you could do was train and be the best footballer you could be while you waited. Even if Gareth didn’t deserve your effort, your teammates did, and you owed it to them to give it your all until the day you left the training ground for the last time.
There was only one destination you had in mind, but going there would mean having to confront your serial one-night stand that you were possibly in love with, who also didn’t share your feelings.
You couldn’t let that deter you from ascending the football hierarchy, though. You couldn’t, and you won’t. You would do it one way or another because it was where you deserved to be. You would show Gareth that he was wrong about you.
“I can’t believe you’re going to Lyon! That’s crazy, Y/N!” Gio said over the phone. He was the first person you told and was ecstatic when you did.
“They still haven’t sent anything official yet, but it’s looking like it, yeah.”
“Well, what happened to the Barcelona deal?”
“My agent was flipping out when I said no, but then this deal came two days later and now they’re flipping out again but for a good reason.”
“That’s awesome, dude! I’m happy for you!”
“I don’t know, I just—I feel like I’m not there yet or something. Lyon wants me, but they’re freakin’ Lyon!”
“Hey, I know all about imposter syndrome, alright? But you can’t let that keep you from playing at one of the best clubs in the world.”
“Don’t let Dortmund hear you say that,” you smirked.
“Eh, we know where we are. That’s why we sold Erling and Jude,” Gio spoke. “Point is, they want you. They clearly see how good of a player you are. So get your ass over to France and show them that!”
“Yeah,” you nodded. “You’re right.”
“Alright, gotta go. But hey, let’s go for a drink next time you’re in town. Hopefully, by then, you’re a Lyon player.”
You ended the call and got up to go take a shower. Just before you went to the bathroom, though, your phone rang again.
Grinning, you picked up again, “Look, if you’re telling me you’re gonna set me up again, I swear to god, Gio.”
But you didn’t hear Gio’s voice or teasing laugh. Instead, there was a shaky sniffle on the other side.
You checked the caller ID, and it was an unknown number. From Barcelona.
“Hello?” You said, unsure.
“Hey, Y/N. I just . . . just needed to hear your voice.”
You sighed because you knew exactly who it was. You had etched the cadence and tone of her voice into your memories during the many nights you’ve spent together.
“It’s Ona, by the way.”
“I know,” you nodded. You didn’t quite know how else to carry on this conversation. “I heard Barcelona’s beautiful this time of year.”
“Yeah, it is,” she said, sniffling again. “You should see the beach at sunset. It’s great. I go and sit there almost every night.”
“Are you drunk, Ona?”
“No, no. Maybe a little bit. Just a little bit though. I had two glasses of wine. Or else I wouldn’t have the courage to be doing this. Just like I didn’t have the courage to tell you that I had feelings for you too. Have, I still do.”
You closed your eyes and shut off the water. Then she said it again, “I have feelings for you, Y/N. I think about you all the time. And I know you might be with someone now, but I just can’t . . .”
She started crying again. “I can’t go on without telling you anymore.”
“This is incredibly selfish, what you’re doing, Ona.” You were close to tears too, hearing how much this hurt her.
“I know. I’m sorry I fucked it all up. I’m sorry for hurting you. If I could take back everything I said, I would. I’m so, so sorry.”
You took a deep breath and sat back down on your bed. “I forgive you.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I was selfish too,” you said quietly. “You should go to sleep. You have a Champions League final to play tomorrow.”
You ended the call before you or she could say anything else.
“Shit,” you mumbled and threw yourself back onto the bed. This was exactly why you had to say no to Barcelona, even though it was your dream to play for them. Alas, it started to feel like a mistake.
You dialed Toni. “Hey, um, please don’t kill me for asking this, but could you reach back out to Barcelona and tell them I’m very interested?”
“I knew you’d pull some shit like this so I’ve stalled them. They don’t know we’re negotiating with Lyon, and would probably be fine with setting up a call soon. It’d be a headache to handle Lyon, though.”
“That’s why you’re the best agent in the world, right?” You smiled sheepishly.
“We’ll see, Y/N. We’ve got some leverage for now, but it’s not guaranteed that Barça won’t say no.”
“Thank you, Toni!” You hung up the phone.
ESPN: Barcelona Completes Signing of Y/N Y/L/N from Manchester City on World Record Transfer Fee “Manchester City W.F.C. has agreed to sell USWNT winger Y/N Y/L/N to Barcelona on a £485,000 record fee. This transfer surpasses Keira Walsh’s own move to Barcelona from the Sky Blues in 2022 with a fee of around £400,000. The signing of the summer was finally completed after several clubs have been reported to enter the race. Olympique Lyon was also close to acquiring the 22-year-old’s signature, but the deal broke down in late June when the player repeatedly expressed her interest in joining the Catalan giants. A technically gifted forward, Y/L/N can play on either side as a winger, and occasionally as an attacking midfielder for the national team. Her impending arrival at La Blaugrana would provide a boost in attacking power to an already impressive Barcelona side. […]”
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“Jesus, you look like someone murdered your mother or something. Liven up, please.” Mapi smacked her Ona on the shoulder.
“I’m just a little nervous to see her again,” the younger girl muttered, fiddling with her fingers.
She could hear voices outside the dressing room getting closer. At the sound of your voice, her ears trained. She remained facing her locker, trying to occupy herself until you came in. She really felt like throwing up.
You greeted Aitana first with a quick hug, Marta too, then Lucy brought you in for a spin and released you for Keira to go in for the hug.
You said hello to Mapi and Ingrid, both of whom hugged you tightly.
Then you were in front of her. She had expected you to not even look at her, after what she had said over the phone. But you smiled a genuine smile, the one you used to give her whenever the world was a little too hard to bear.
Ona remembered everything. From the sheer hatred and resentment to the lust and sleepless nights under the sheets, to the longing and heartache she endured away from you.
“Welcome,” she whispered quietly, afraid you might not reciprocate her greeting.
Instead, you pulled her into you and held her tightly.
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a/n: i’ve decided to add some lore for our y/n, lmk if you like it, if you don’t like it, if you think it’s too long and you just wanna get straight to the smooching :)) there’s more to come but now the stakes 😌☝️ are higher now that we have some info on what makes y/n ticks. i’m going back to college this week so updates might come later but yeah pls let me know what you think!!
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somnambulic-thing · 4 months
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This fic is part IV of my come as you are universe but can be read as a standalone.
masterlist
messy Eddie Munson x gn!Reader with vagina&boobs, we're early/mid 20s, E 18+
Words: 6.4k
||contains: established relationship/former best friends, outdoor sex, piv, oral, teasing/edging, a little crying, light biting&scratching we're playing with: cum, slick, spit (no spitting tho) and blueberries in various consistencies; fluff, domestic, silly, food mention/eating: it's a picnic situation || you can always dm me and ask for more details
A/N: Oh my god, I finally did it. I've been working on this story since mid-June and it was actually where my ruminations about this universe started. I have no idea why this took me so damn long. I imagined the vision I had for this scenario would fit into something around 3k-ish. Look how that turned out. It's just a lot of sex and a lot of silly banter.
I have to thank @bettyfrommars and R for the help with that story. I probably would have deleted it without you a long time ago
soundtrack
Comments and reblogs are so appreciated you have no idea.
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“You have cum in your hair, sweetheart.”
Eddie’s voice, deep and soft and a little raspy, is full of pride; his eyes full of bliss and adoration.
You smile down at him, stretched out on his back with his arms folded beneath his head, the only remnant of his live-wire-brain a slow bop of his feet which are crossed by the ankles.
He’s just as naked and sweaty as yourself and equally covered in the traces of your lust.
You reach out to tug on a sticky strand of wavy brown hair, twirling the end slightly between your fingertips.
“So have you, Munson.”
Eddie hums and nods like that’s good news and closes his eyes.
The wrath of the August sun can’t reach you in your little hiding spot, it only drips through the canopy of the poplar above your heads, heavy and thick like honey, leaving dancing specks of gold scattered all over his pale skin. You try to trace the ever-changing outlines with your fingertips the way you like to trace the ink, your feathery touch leaving goosebumps behind.
“We should venture to the lake,” he says with a lazy smile. “Go for a swim. Clean up this debauchery.”
You lower down to kiss the corner of his mouth as a starting point for the only journey you’re interested in right now; down the sharp edge of his jaw to his throat. Here you follow the string of purple bruises left by your greedy mouth and it leads you right to the dip of his collarbone. The hum swelling low in his throat turns into a sigh when you trace the shape of it with your tongue.
“Okay, yeah, maybe not yet,” he says and cups the back of your head, softly scratching your scalp. “Guess we basically just got here… we have time…”
It’s hard to tell the time on days like this. If not for the movement of the sun you wouldn’t be sure that it still existed.
There is a special place for the two of you where the laws of nature seem to bend around your togetherness. A space where it’s safe to strip off masks, armor and cloth, to let the other tend to those tender spots that ache from neglect or need and so often both.
It had always been there, created in the aftershock of your collision when you had become friends over night all those years ago. Eddie had been so easy to be around, so easy to trust with your dreams, quirks and secrets. In return, he’d given you pieces of himself too to keep safe, knowing you would treat them with more kindness than he often could. The presence of that space was always perceptible around you like a softly hummed melody wherever you went. One of you just had to pry it open with an inquisitive look or urgent touch and drag the other in behind them.
Today it had been Eddie.
You had followed the sound of tiny rocks against your windowpane and found him outside with a stuffed backpack over one shoulder and a dragon-slaying guitar clutched in one hand, wildflowers in the other.
“What’s the occasion?” you had asked, sensing something nervous in his smile when you flung yourself into his arms.
“It’s a Saturday and I love you.” He had scrunched up his nose in that silly way he always did when he tried to find the right words for important things. “And I want to fuck you where I picked those flowers.”
It had been a short drive and a short hike later when you saw the first spots of red and blue, sprinkles of white and yellow dance in the breeze and recognized them as the same flowers that now waited on your windowsill for your return.
“Almost there,” he’d said and you had felt the seconds slow and stutter as Eddie’s fingers intertwined with your own, tugging you towards the high grass and right through it, heading for the small clearing by the trunk of the tree and into its shadow.
“Nobody will see us here,” he’d said, arms tight around your waist. “Promise.”
You really hadn’t cared either way as Eddie nudged at your jaw with the bridge of his nose to gain access to your pulse.
There had been a moment - albeit brief - where you’d wondered if one could hear you from the path outside the field where time still existed when Eddie plunged his fingers into you, deep and urgent, his praises and your moans mingling, drowning out the birds and bugs lurking around as your back arched off the giant red plaid blanket he must have bought for this very occasion.
And then, finally, the rest of the world was erased from your mind when he chanted your name again and again, knuckles white from clutching the blanket in trembling fists as you swirled your tongue around the hot tip of his cock in slow dragging teasing circles for an eternity until he couldn’t take it any longer.
You smile against his skin, revelling in the soft noises he makes for you when you lap up salty sweat from his chest, when you flick the tip of your tongue against his nipple and in the way he squirms and begs for you to kiss him.
“Please, please, please…” he whimpers as you take your time kissing up his sternum, ignoring the tug in your hair, making sure to worship every patch of damp skin on your way to his lips. Eddie groans, so impatient, so greedy and you want to swallow him whole so you do the next best thing; you bare your teeth against his neck and bite him.
“Holy fucking…” he breathes in sharply but tilts his head up further. “You beast.”
You lick the tender flesh above his collarbone before you blow cool air on it to soothe the bite.
“Too much?” you ask with worry, pushing up to find his dark eyes waiting. You see the flicker of his plan in them the second before he flips you over and pins you down.
“Never.” His nose presses into your cheek before he nips at your jaw. A pointy knee nudges at your thigh and you spread them willingly to let him back between them. “That’s why I’m done begging for more now…”
“Oh no, I’m in trouble…” you try to tease but your voice strings out thin as he moves down your neck and chest; kissing sucking biting. He keeps his eyes fixed on yours and the hunger in them pulls your insides into a tight knot you can’t wait for him to untangle again.
“Let’s earn that clean up at the lake,” he says, his tongue leaving wet glistening trails of spit on your skin all the way down to your hips. There he gifts you a set of pretty teeth marks to remember him by before he settles on his stomach between your thighs, wrapping his arms firmly around them. “Let’s make a mess.”
You prop up on your elbows for a better view. “How will this differ from the average Munson pussy-eating endeavour?”
“Oh, sweetheart… you challenging me?”
“I guess I am.”
 He shakes his head like you’re a pitiful thing, grinning sharply; it’s obscene with the way his mouth hovers over your pelvis close enough for you to feel his breath in the sticky hair above your slit. Your hips twitch upwards in response, impatience flaring up between them and his grip on you tightens.
“Nuh-uh,” he tuts and shakes his head.
There were days when he couldn’t wait to get his mouth on you, cursing each garment that stood between him and the taste of you. But Edward Munson could be unyielding once his mind was set on a particular thing. Painfully so.
“I have a vision here and I need you to hold still.”
“I am,” you grumble, knowing you are not. “As good as I can with you breathing on my pussy.”
“The sooner you comply, the sooner we both get our treat. C’mon. Be good.”
You finally obey and relax, voicing a low, soft “please, Eddie” aimed to break his determination. His lips part in a cunning smile before he sticks out his tongue as far as he can, long and wet and pointed. Hovering.
“I’m not moving,” you whine.
Eddie’s brows lift - demanding patience - and he looks like a demon that way; wide eyes, gaping mouth, teeth bared and spit slowly running down his tongue.
“Oh.”
It’s agony, watching a bead of spit collect at the tip, hypnotizing how it grows and grows and the seconds stretch, just as much as the viscous liquid, before it finally drips down onto your clit and runs down to one side. There’s no controlling it; your hips try to buckle and the pretty pink tongue disappears behind a smile that’s all teeth and tender cruelty and still connected to you by a string of spit.
“Please…”
Eddie chuckles deeply, sticks out his demon tongue again and you force your body into stillness instantly. This is what possession feels like, you think.
“Please, Eddie, please, please, plea—“
The first gentle lick feels like little more than a breeze over your clit, barely nudging it, but it makes your jaw drop and your arms shake. A long stretched whine spills from your mouth as he repeats it again and again and again, adding slightly more and more pressure each time. His eyes are fixed on yours, intense, almost unblinking, and so very dark. It’s adding heat to the electric shocks his teasing sends up your spine. You channel the urge to move, to grind your cunt against his mouth into a pitiful hitching moan.
“Christ, your face…” Eddie groans, stopping his sweet sweet torture, fingers kneading your thighs short of painful. “Could come just looking at you like that.”
“I know,” you breathe out. “Love when that happens.”
He loosens his grip on your tighs, and brings one hand around between them. “I aim to please,” he says with a wink and points a finger gun at you, blowing imaginary smoke away before he shoves the barrel of it inside you.
And then he’s devouring you.
You fall back, your arms finally giving in as the sensation pulls you under, overwhelms you after all the soft teasing. He’s moaning against your cunt and it doesn’t take long for him to undo you again, knowing all the motions by heart that take you out of this world.
Your fist stirs up fine dust as it thumps the ground when he stops seconds before you can fall over the edge.
“No, nonono, why?—“
But Eddie is not listening. “Fucking dripping for me,” he marvels at his hand covered in your slick. He spreads his fingers and watches how your arousal forms shiny strings between his knuckles.
“You’re evil—“
“But my evil methods always get you off so much harder,” he says casually sliding two fingers back inside you while wiping the other hand on your stomach and his glistening mouth on your thigh.
“Fuck—“
A soft smile is curling his lip while he curls his fingers inside you. Your hips twitch up and Eddie uses the moment to press a soft kiss to your throbbing clit.
“Messy, messy pussy,” he sighs dreamily.
You can’t but laugh.
“You’re suuuch a weirdo,” you say softly and run a hand through his hair. You can see the praise lighting little fires in his eyes.
“Well, thank you,” he chuckles darkly. “It’s really inspiring that it gets you wet like that.”
You lose count of how many times he gets you close to the edge again just to pull back and cover you in sticky kisses to your thighs and hips and belly, to run his soaked fingers over your breasts and up your neck over and over.
Every inch of your skin feels sticky, every fibre of your body thrums like vicious reverb when he crawls up to you, eyes wild, lips and chin drenched and glistening with your wetness and kisses you.
“You good?” he sighs, sucks your lower lip between his teeth and pulls until it stings just so before he lets you answer.
“M’ on fire is what I am…”
“Good.”
“You’ve won. I’m such a mess, please, please fuck me.”
The desperate scratch of your nails on his back, makes his head drop to your shoulder and turns his low deep laugh into a moan. It’s contagious, spreads to you as he rolls his hips against you, his hard length sliding through your swollen lips, dragging over your clit.
“You smell like home,” he whispers against your skin as he pushes in, slowly, softly until he’s fully nestled inside of you. Your breath is unsteady, hitches as the pleasure of being so full of him pushes everything else out of your mind.
“Do you feel that?” he brings his forehead to yours, pulling out almost all the way, giving you that full sweet stretch again as he sinks back in. “How perfectly I fit inside you?”
“Feels like home,” you say and feel him smile as he kisses you. It’s slow and dragging at first and he stays close, burying you under his weight and his face in your neck as he buries his cock inside you again and again and over and over with growing speed and urgency.
“C’mon, fall apart for me,” he grits through his teeth, “I got you, always got you.” He peels himself away from you and sits back up on his shins. With his hair forming a wild dark halo around his head and your purple marks scattered over his skin the sight alone of his thrumming, sweat-glistening body straining to bring you to the peak of pleasure is pure ecstasy. His thumb finds your clit, slow dragging circles contrast hard fast thrusts and if you’ve been on fire before, you’re blazing now, hot enough to forge steel.
“Don’t stop…”
“Won’t…”
“So close…”
“I know. Me too…”
“So good…”
“So fucking good… come on… come for me…”
Your heels dig into the ground lifting your twitching hips off the blanket as the searing heat spreads through your pelvis like wildfire. Eddie moves up with you, melts into you, is one with you, fingers digging hard into your flesh to hold you where he wants you to fuck you through it. The world is not a place but a raging pulse and all you can do is surrender your body to him. It’s easy.
He’s your heart anyway.
 He carefully lowers your hips back to the ground, smoothing his palms up and down your sticky thighs while you come down from your high.
“Look at me!”
Your lids are heavy as you blink to clear your view from a few stray tears.
Eddie tilts his head, searching your face with curious eyes, tongue peeking from the corner of his mouth as he backs away slowly, leaving you empty. There’s not much time to mourn the feeling as he swiftly straightens your legs and straddles your thighs.
“What—“
“Shhh, just watch,” he rasps out, licking his lips as he wraps his fingers around his slick, throbbing cock. His voice breaks, strings out thinly—
“Fuck, fuck, fuuuck—“
— as his fist works his flushed tip with precision and a rapid pace. The hair around the base is slick with your ecstasy and as your gaze wanders up his body in search of his face you find it a beautiful display of his own with his jaw slack and brows knit tightly.
His thighs tremble, then twitch and the blur of his hand regains its shape when with a few last long strokes and wide, teary eyes, he spills himself over you again and again in hot thick bursts of white.
The impact of his pleasure brings him off balance and he slumps forward. Your praises are hoarse, insignificant sounds lost between Eddie’s sobbing moans and you run a hand up your body to aid him spread his mess all over your skin while the other hand finds his face to caress a bright red cheek, to brush sweaty hair off his forehead.
“I love you so much,” you tell him.
Eddie sighs softly and turns his face into your hand, presses a long soft kiss into your palm before he sits up and throws his head back to take a deep breath. Above him, sun and wind are engaged in a play, turning the canopy of the tree into a writing, shimmering mass and for a moment, this feels like a dream. Then he sways like the branches, a goofy grin the last thing you see before he lets himself slump down next to you with a thump that makes you wince. He just hums contently, pressing his face to your sweaty neck.
“That was nice,” he mumbles, peppering your jaw with kisses.
“Yeah, uh-hn, really, really nice.”
“Dare say the nicest one yet.”
“Hmm, think I just saw your soul leave your body for a moment.”
“Hmm,” he hums and slings an arm around your waist. “My soul looks great on your tits.”
There is a beat of silence before you both break out in silly giggles, turning into laughter, turning into exhausted kisses and sweet words while Eddie’s soul dries on your skin in the warm summer air.
...
You make him drink some water first because he always forgets and while you have some yourself, Eddie conjures up a meal from his magical backpack.
“I made your favourite,” he says, opening a stainless steel container to reveal a pair of thick sandwiches. “Got some other stuff too.” He hands another container to you. “Just in case… could probably feed us for the next twenty-four hours.”
You remove the lid and find it filled to the brim with blueberries. You lift it to your face to draw in air laced with the sweet, earthy smell of the berries.
You hum with anticipation, mouth watering as you pick one large plump berry and pop it into your mouth, the rich, wild sweetness of the forest exploding on your tongue. “So good,” you sigh and a soft smile curls up the corners of Eddie’s lips. “I take it Wayne was lost in the woods again for a week?”
“Aye,” Eddie chuckles, eyes darting between your eyes and your mouth where two more berries just found their demise. “Must have been a good year. That madman collected enough berries to fill a bathtub with.”
“Now you’re exaggerating.”
He holds up his thumb and forefinger just enough so that a berry could fit between them. “I would call it embellishment.”
You huff and put the container down. Leaning forward, stretching out long over your waiting meal, you place a kiss on Eddie’s cheek. “Thank you,” you say close to his ear. “This is wonderful. You’re wonderful.”
A hand comes up to the side of your head, holding you in place. Eddie turns his face to you, nudging your noses clumsily together. His tongue glides along your bottom lip before his mouth finds yours; a kiss so gentle it feels almost timid.
He releases you with a peck to the corner of your mouth. You watch him lick his lips as you sit back, his eyes are turned down and there’s that wrinkled nose again. You’re about to ask him if there’s something on his mind when he snaps out of it in the blink of an eye, grinning from cheek to cheek and the thought fades from your mind.
“Bon appétit,” he announces with a flourish of his hands.
You mostly eat in silence, leaving the stage to the quiet sounds of nature, recharging while the shadows slowly creep further and further away as the sun makes its journey towards the horizon. There is the occasional protest when you’re stealing bites from each other’s food as well as sighs of appreciation over a simple meal that equates to a feast without even trying.
“Open,” he says, a berry between his fingertips and you pull up your brows.
“You don’t have a good enough aim for that game.”
“And I won’t get any better without practice,” he says with a grin oh so sharp, a voice oh so seductive. “So, love of my life, open. Please?”
It’s hard to stay still like that for long when Eddie is huffing and puffing as he’s missing your mouth over and over. Berries keep hitting your cheeks, your forehead and a few bounce off your lips before he finally lands one in your mouth. He pumps his fist and you applaud him; for effort and perseverence.
“My turn. Open,” you say and he obeys eagerly.
The first one is a miss, the next four find their target with precision.
“You’re cheating.” Chewing much more than one berry requires, Eddie eyes you with his trademark up to no good-expression.
“How would I even do that?”
“Sorcery,” he says, and flicks a berry at you that’s hitting you right between the eyes.
Eddie clasps a hand over his mouth as you wince, eyes comically wide in his shock, breath stuck in his lungs. Before you know you’re doing it, you reach for the berries, feeling some pop between your fingers as you load them up and fling a handful of the sticky ammunition at his chest.
There’s a hollow thud upon impact, followed seamlessly by the smacking of skin on skin as Eddie clasps his hands over his heart, face a mask of anguish and disbelief displayed with such sincerity you’re almost tricked into feeling bad over your attack.
“Crit… hit…” he croaks out before his eyes roll back into his head as he collapses.
You’re on your knees, crawling over to where he lies motionless with eyes closed and mouth ajar. He doesn’t move, makes no sound when you mount his hips right beyond his soft cock that lies now snug against your inner thigh.
There’s dark pulp sticking to his chest; unlucky stray berries squashed in his throes of death. The smudge connects two hickeys, forming one large nebula in a galaxy of bruises. It’s beautiful, the complex hues of blue reacting with his smooth pale skin, turning the mess purple around the edges.
You just sit and stare.
“Wanna have a taste?” he says, one eye cracked open in curiosity before he opens them both. “Clean me up?”
A blush appears high on his cheeks, giving away his anticipation, just like the glint in his eyes and the hands kneading your hips.
“Don’t think I will.” You run your fingertips over his skin, from navel to neck and back again; slowly, softly. “Only fair that you’re a little filthy too.”
“Come on,” he purrs, “have a treat.”
“Nu-uh.”
His nostrils flare, his ribs expand to greedily suck in air and with it, all the mirth and silliness. Suddenly the air feels thick and crackling like in the wake of a storm.
“Alright, alright, I hear you,” he says calmly and reaches for the berries across the blanket.
“There,” he says, his clenched fist oozing purple juice and bits of skin. Dark drops run down his arm as he squeezes the berries to a sticky pulp before he coats himself with the mess from chest to throat. “You can leave some behind.”
“You don’t know what you’re doing,” you say with the calm of a preying beast and lace your hands with Eddie’s dripping fingers. 
“Oh nooo,” he mimics you from earlier and grins like a blade. “I’m in trouble.”
Leaning down slowly, you pin his hands to the ground next to his shoulders. “There will be teeth.”
“W-was coun-ting on it.”
The stutter in his breath is delicious, a first taste of what’s to come. You want to make him whine and writhe under your hands and teeth, you need him crying and shaking and out of his mind.
His nipple is already hard when you flick your tongue against it and sweetness fills your mouth as you lick and suck and tug on the sensitive thing while your fingers find the other hard nub and pinch. Eddie barely breathes. He sucks in all the air he can get, then holds it holds it holds it before he lets it out as soft groans and moans. His fingers flex hard against the back of your hands, nails biting your skin every time you take your teeth to him.
You reach between your bodies and follow the trail of hair down with a featherlight touch to find his cock hot and hard and waiting. You slide your fingertips along the soft skin like a breeze, barely even touching. Eddie’s hips buckle up—
“Shit— hnng…”
— and you take the sensation away. Eddie’s face is flushed, his voice pressed through his teeth.
“Please…”
You lap at his skin, bit by bit uncovering a deep blush that’s more of a crimson compared to the bright red where his skin isn’t stained. He tries to grind against you but you lift your hips—
“Please…”
— and sink your teeth into his shoulder, over and over, inching torturously slow towards his neck. Some bites you kiss better, some you leave to sting a little longer. Desperate hands scurry over your arms, your back, your hips trying to pull you against him. Strands of hair stick to your face that must be stained up to your nose by now. You pull back for a moment and Eddie’s hands find your cheeks—
“Pleaaase…”
— to pull you into a kiss. You press a quick peck to the side of his mouth, then marvel over the shape of your lips printed there like a blue shadow.
“Fuuuck, you’re so gorgeous,“ he rasps with dazed eyes and chases your lips again. You press your foreheads together before he can succeed and his frustration is a cool draft on your wet skin as a long groan spills out of his mouth. “Please, please, lemme taste you, I really want to—“
His pleas are sweet and thick, just like his neck that taunts you with taut tendons and the slide of his Adam’s apple when he swallows hard around his desperation. You’re all over it, raking your nails down the sides while your tongue slides up right under his chin and—
“Fuck, no, wait, fuck—“
— everything moves as Eddie sits up and pushes you with him.
“Are you oka— hng—“ He stops your inquiry; fingers digging into your chin, keeping your mouth from closing, freezing it mid-vowel.
There’s this look again. His gaze flicks between your eyes and mouth until he’s just staring at your berry-coated tongue.
So you open up a little wider.
He moves slowly; it’s almost timid when his tongue finds yours and steals a little sweetness from you.
“Weird?” he asks, softly nudging your nose with his while holding you in place to keep you from swallowing. You barely shake your head before he’s back for more with a bruising kiss that’s full of nipping teeth and greedy tongues. Most of the remaining berries find a sticky end between your bodies before they are lapped up from various body parts and shared through devouring kisses.
You’re grinding your hips against his lap enough to make him shiver and moan but not enough to get him close to the edge and you’re determined to keep it that way until he’s losing it with desire. Which doesn’t take too long.
“You trying to kill me?” he whines with his head dropped to your shoulder.
“Just a little… as the French say.”
He groans. “I’d like to go out soon then, if you please.”
“No.”
He groans again and bites your shoulder. “M’ so fucking hard.”
It’s just a subtle shift of your hips but the next three, four times you move them, Eddie jolts and curses enough to damn whole bloodlines. You reach into his hair to pull his head back so he has to look into your eyes and you take a moment to admire the mess that he is; blue and purple and flushed red in between, jaw slack and breath stuttering under your gaze.
“On your knees. Palms to the tree.”
You lift off and Eddie scrambles to all fours to get into position, knees placed wide apart. There are stains on his back in the shape of your hands, layered over a pattern of slightly raised lines left by your nails.
Eddie’s shoulder blades ripple under your gentle kisses as you embrace him from behind. You run your hands down his belly to the V-shape between his hip bones and a little further to cup his balls with one hand while the other traces a thick vein on the underside of his cock.
You chuckle into his shoulder when he sighs with relief as you wrap your fingers firmly around him and start to stroke him oh so slowly. You don’t keep it slow for long, couldn’t keep it slow without stopping him from thrusting into your fist but you don’t want him to be still; you want him twitching and trembling.
Eddie takes care of the pace and your fingers do all the things that drive him crazy, your wrist twists just the right way and he’s holding his breath again, every muscle in his lower body ready to snap and so you loosen your grip before he can.
His head drops, a fist hits the bark of the poor old tree—
“Godfuckingdamnyou—“
“Shhh,” you whisper close to his ear. “Good things come in threes—“
“M’ not— can’t— hm-m, please—“
You wait another moment for him to calm down, or to hear the agreed-upon words that tell you he really can’t take any more teasing but they don’t come. He just breathes hard and shallow. You swipe your thumb over the hot tip of his cock, rub soft circles over the sensitive slit that dribbles under your touch.
“Whenever you’re ready,” you say and tighten your grip again.
The next time he’s about to burst, you just let go of him—
“Fuck— fuckfuck, fuck you—“ he whines, hips thrusting into nothing and he sinks against the tree, resting his forehead against its roughness.
You caress his back, smother him in soft kisses and hold him close with gentle hands.
“Regret being cocky?” you ask, watching a bead of sweat run down his spine.
“Fuck you—“ he chuckles groggily. You think it sounds a little wet. “Never regretted a second spent with you, demon.”
“That’s just the impending orgasm talking,” you tease, a beaming smile pressed against his skin where he can feel it.
“I dare you to fucking make me come and I’ll tell you again— ah— Christ…“
“God, I barely touched you,” you say slowly wrapping your fingers around his aching cock. “You’re really sensitive now, hm?”
This time, the wetness in his laugh is unmistakable. “Oh, you think?— Hmmng, that’s gooood, please, please don’t stop!”
There’s no more frantic thrusting into your hand; Eddie finds just enough strength to push himself back from the tree to make it easier for you to reach where he needs you.
You work him slowly, no need for fast strokes when he’s crumbling like this and you know exactly where to rub and squeeze and circle to take him apart. High-pitched whines and groans mix with something that sounds like pieces of bark chipping from the trunk of the three. You drink in every noise, every twitch, every oh-so-small sensation; it’s all intoxicating.
Eddie is vibrating. Every atom in his body tuned to a frequency only you can receive. He’s begging you for a kind of mercy that one must be ready to receive.
“If your eyes are closed, I need you to open them now, Eddie. I need you to watch.”
“Oh g-god…”
“Good boy.”
You shift your stance slightly to one side and reach through his spread legs from behind to find that firm, plump patch of skin right behind his balls. Circling your fingers without any pressure, you let him adjust to the sensation first—
“Oh shit—“
— meanwhile, you press his cock flat against his belly, your palm stroking the underside, your thumb placed to grace his frenulum with every slide and—
“Shitshitshit—“
— it doesn’t take much; one two three circles against the tender spot and his breathing stops, four five six and Eddie turns to stone in your hands—
“Come on, Ed, make a mess—“
— and then he comes and comes and comes all over himself.
...
The setting sun sets the sky ablaze.
No pinks, purples or blues; everything is swallowed by a deep, burning orange that turns the surface of the lake into a raging inferno and in the middle of it all, floating on his back, is Eddie.
You’ve been watching him drift along for a while now - long enough for your skin to be as good as dry again - and if it wasn’t for the opposite shore that separates the sky from the water, you would worry he could just drift off into the sky and vanish between the few stray clouds that dare enter the flames.
It’s a fitting scene, you think, as you rewind your memories from the day over and over, matching the heat spreading from your chest into every last corner of your being.
Out in the water, the arsonist turns over and disappears, feet kicking up a small splash of water. You wait and watch until he emerges again a good distance away from where he dove in before you get up from your spot on the lakeside and cross the small distance to the van that’s parked right behind the treeline.
The back doors are wide open, left that way in your hurry to get into the water and you climb in to grab your Polaroid in an attempt to capture some of the colours before they turn into endless blue.
You cover the flash with your palm, listen to the motor eject the picture and tuck it out quickly to let it develop safely in the darkness of a worn copy of The Hobbit that lives in the back of the van. You leaf through the pages that shelter the pictures you made earlier that afternoon.
Two are a little blurry, one is overexposed because you left it face-up in the sun after the noise from the camera woke your subject from his slumber. He’d been curled up against your chest and upon waking demanded instant attention in the form of head scratches. All the pictures are full of colour - blues and purples, mostly - and blissful faces. Even the teary ones.
Looking at Eddie’s bright, sleeping profile makes you aware that the tiredness started to slowly creep into your limbs. You put the book down and get busy shifting stuff around to make room for the fold-up mattress and prepare a bed for the night.
You’re sitting at the foot of the mattress with your back to the lake, unrolling a sleeping bag you probably won’t need when cool wet fingers sneak under the hem of your tank top and damp lips find the side of your neck.
"Sorry,” he says softly when you flinch with surprise. “Didn’t think I was so quiet… Hi.”
“I was engrossed in nest-building and you’re like a cat,” you say and turn around. The soft light from the lantern inside the car renders his smile almost unbearably soft. He’s dripping wet from head to toe and strands of hair stick to his cheek and chin. You brush them away. “A wet, sneaky cat.”
There’s still a blue tint faintly staining big patches of his skin; you suppose you soaked a little too long in berry juice. You trace the outlines with your fingers. “You had a good swim?”
Eddie hums affirmatively, snatches your hand from his chest and presses a soft kiss to the tips of your fingers. “The fucking sky was on fire,” he says in an almost pensive way, eyes fixed on a spot somewhere behind your shoulder.
“Eddie?”
“Hm?” He quickly blinks a few times before his eyes focus on you again. It’s like he’s coming back from far away.
“Where did you just go?” 
“Uh, just… I’m… just a bit tired I guess…” he wrinkles his nose and scratches the back of his head as if another thought is stuck there. “You know…” he pauses again and then the expression melts into a smile. ”Someone interrupted my well-deserved nap after an almost deadly handjob.”
You huff a laugh, but the thought that there is something on his mind that just won’t make it over his lips starts gnawing on you.
“And I kinda wish I had a fucking towel. Don’t feel like waiting out here until I’m dry.”
“Have you tried shaking yourself very quickly, like a good boy?”
Eddie’s brows vanish under his wet bangs and then a wicked grin that can only be the harbinger of mayhem spreads over his face. You regret running your mouth even before he widens his stance and starts to bang his head like he’s at a Metallica show with his dick out.
Drops of cold water fly everywhere, too cool on your skin now that nightfall takes the heat away and you scramble back over the mattress to get away from him. “You animal!”
“As you have suggested,” he laughs, coming back up while trying to get the wet hair out of his face. “Hey, where did you g— hmpf.”
You’d thrown a blanket at him, hitting him right in the face. “Oh shit,” you laugh and crawl back to the edge. “Sorry—“
“Can’t quite take your apology seriously when you cackle like that,” he grumbles unconvincingly, peeling the blanket off his face.
“Dry your wet cat ass with that thing, throw it over a branch or something and then come in here.”
He does just that.
You’re already drowsy when he finally settles in behind you and wraps an arm around your waist, a soft low melody deep in his throat that seems to rest heavy on your eyelids. Eddie turns off the light, mumbles something about mosquitos and nestles his face into the back of your neck. You can hear him sniff.
“This is what you’d smell like if you were a lake monster.”
“S' that good?”
“Very sexy,” he sighs and holds his wrist under your nose. “Verdict?”
You sniff; it’s Eddie but more tart. “Highly erotic,” you say truthfully but half-yawning. “We could be lake monsters together. Share a lake. Just you and I and—” another yawn, “—and the algae.”
Eddie doesn’t reply and you think he must have fallen asleep.
“G’d night, love of my life,” you drawl just as your consciousness slips away.
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people who asked to be tagged about a century ago:
@mrsjellymunson @streamafterlaughter @bebe07011 @dr-aculaaa @whenshelanded @spenciesprincess @spiderman-stilinski @nailbatanddungeon @toomanyacorns
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prettyboykatsuki · 5 months
Note
wyll whos nice and kind down to his bones but develops a nasty jealousy streak….tugs you back behind some secluded corner of camp to kiss you something fierce when he catches how others at camp look upon you…starts smoking a cigarette
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steadily yours | w. ravengard
✮ tags ; jealousy, established relationship, gn!reader, kissing / hickies, alcohol, silly and lovesick wyll
✮ wc ; 2k
✮ a/n ; ive thought about this ask for a week straight. its getting dire.
some minor spoilers for wylls romance like extremely minor and vauge!!! i am only just entering act three so pls dont spoil me but this take place vaugely post game lololol
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The Blade of Frontiers is a good man.
This isn't a title he's given himself, but one bestowed upon him. Through tales and songs all across the city and uttered from the very lips of his lover - Wyll Ravengard has always strived to be a good man.
He can't assert this by any measure, but he knows best his own effort. For the sake of the city, for the sake of his people, for the sake of love. He wants very little to himself, and he fights with every ounce of him. His heart is in the city, but his soul is with you. Between these two places, there's no amount of sacrifice or burden he isn't willing to bear.
Part of being a good man is being the master of your own desires. What other men do is none of Wyll's concern, but he's always been adamant about keeping firmly on the straight path. Wyll wants love properly, much like how he wishes the world around him would follow.
Properly, with order and justice and care. That's how Wyll has lived his whole life.
And he's believed of himself that loving that way came easier upon him than it did others, though that was nothing he felt like bragging about. It never felt difficult to abstain from the ugliness of anger or jealousy.
That was before you. And this is after, this is post having your meeting. Wyll has had a relationship or two. Puppy crushes that fizzled off as soon as Wyll's responsibility began to overwhelming. Like, less than love, really. This time it is love, and love is incomparable to any sensation in the world. Not the cut of a blade against his skin, nor the warmth of a sunset. No mortal feeling could really measure to love.
In the aftermath of loving you, Wyll supposes, there is an ugliness within himself that he never really knew about. But maybe it's only normal. What else could there be after he's encountered the most beautiful thing the world has to offer, beyond even gods?
There are three things on Wyll's mind, lately. One, that he loves you more than he thought possible. Two, that he's relieved about the state of affairs. And three, he's very tired of feeling this way.
Not that he's tired of loving you. Things just aren't so busy anymore, and that means there's always people around. The people of the gate love you, and you're more hospitable than you let on. The camp is busy, rife with life every single evening and everyone is always so keen on meeting you.
You're busy, rightly - laughing and drinking. Though you're not much for talking, you do your duties as a host and tell stories when prompted. You seem to enjoy yourself in the well-earned reprieve and you've really do deserve very bit of that love and attention that's come your way.
So, Wyll knows feeling this way is ugly. The jealousy is ugly, and Wyll's not entirely lacking self-awareness about it. Though before he could chalk it up to other things, lately it's impossible. He knows that the Outlanders who come seeking your company have no idea you're engaged - and that they're simply men who desire you for the name you've earned.
A warrior, a hero, a myth - Wyll does not blame them for their curiosity.
But he feels pitiful to be so stirred up about it anyways.
He drinks tonight, though the carafe of wine is mostly full. The others speak amongst themselves. Astarion drifts by him, stands and sways in motion in the cool night air with a smug look on his face that Wyll is too dazed to catch.
Astarion speaks first. The sound is muffled first, impossible to make out in his own mind before a pale hand waves in front of his face.
"You know I'll have to thank your darling later for allowing me to see such a rare sight," Astarion drawls. He's sober, though there's wine in his hand all the same "The Blade of Frontiers, seething with jealousy. A marvel."
"I wouldn't call it seething," Wyll replies, still only half paying attention. His eyes are glued to you. He can't bring himself to look away.
Astarion laughs, a little pity in his voice , though Wyll can't really make out if it's sincere or not.
"But you'll admit you're jealous? My, Ravengard, you've changed." Astarion says. Wyll doesn't bother asking what he means, since it's true in any case "Forgive those poor Outlanders. It's hard enough watching them pine for one half the lovesick couple as is."
Wyll sighs.
"It's fine," Wyll says, though even he can hear how much he doesn't really mean it "It's not like they would know. I suppose many people wear decorative rings these days."
"Gods, this is funny. Just listen to you, I mean really. What a delight. I have half a mind to call the rest over just to witness it in person. Unfortunately I'm not so charitable," Astarion says back to him holding in a laugh "Whatever will you do, Ravengard? Maybe you could kick up a fuss, or pick a fight. People brawl at these things don't they? Oh what a sight that'd be indeed."
Wyll ignores him, but he does heed the advice. He would like to do something about it, though there won't be any brawl. He steels himself, passes an empty cup off to Astarion who makes a shrill laugh as Wyll starts walking himself over the fire.
When he arrives there, the conversation has come to more of a relaxed lull. You notice him even engrossed in conversation, flashing him a smile so beautiful he feels a little blinded.
He gives you one in return, disarmed. The outlander who's been trying to win your attention all night goes to address you again and Wyll is quick to interject.
"Ah, sorry - would you all mind if I borrowed them for a minute?"
You give Wyll a look of surprise, your eyes crystal clear. He feels guilty almost instantly, but continues anyway.
"Is something the matter?" You ask, your voice softened. You've been drinking, from the way your words melt together.
"Nothing serious, just something I wanted to talk to you about in private. That alright? Promise I'll return them before the night is over."
"As long as you promise," Says the very same one Wyll's been trying to tear you away from all evening. You laugh heartily before standing to your feet. You're beaming at him, brilliant - and Wyll goes back to his usual pleasant self as he gives his goodbyes.
He says something about promising before he whisks you off, faithfully ignoring the knowing looks of party.
And he takes you to a quiet corner of the camp, a short trail bridging between the main plot of land. There's some sturdy scenery, and rocks large enough to shield you from the outside and give you privacy.
He's cornering you a bit, admittedly - but you seem happy to see him. As soon as you're alone, you have your arms around his neck. There's a delightful air of excitement around you and Wyll finds himself filling with all the fondness in the world.
The faint sour-sweet of wine lingers off of your lips. Wyll looks at you closely, studies your expression.
"Sorry, sorry," You apologize, suddenly more comfortable. A side of yourself that you only show to him. How funny it makes him feel "I was happy to see you, is all."
"I can see that," Wyll replies, smug - just barely. You bat your lashes, dazed. It's unlike you. Wyll likes it. "I'm happy to see you too. Always."
"Is it something serious?"
Ah. He's caught isn't he? In a way, he's tremendously lucky you're not too sober. He's sure you'll tease him about it later.
"No, I suppose not. It's nothing at all, I just," He stumbles uncertainly at what he should say "Well, I wanted to speak with you."
"You could've joined us!"
Wyll gives you a sideways glance.
"Could I?" He says, before he catches himself. He adds the next words apologetically almost "That outlander you've been conversing all night seemed rather rapt with you. I doubt I could've interjected anywhere without fumbling."
You look like you're processing his words, but it's not as if Wyll is going to let you.
Wyll often says to you that you make him forget himself, and there are moments like these he find that to be more true than ever. It is unlike Wyll - strong and chivalrous, poise and charming - to bear so heavy a feeling in his heart that he has to express it physically.
Only you could make his silver tongue submit to such urgent, base instinct. Wyll kisses you in the most unromantic way he knows. It's not very gentlemanly. A kiss to claim, to sink, to swallow.
He kisses hard, and your lips are faint with the taste of wine. You make a noise of surprise before you melt into his arms. The warmth of his body makes him feel like he's burning to ash. His tongue touches yours, warm and hot nipping at your mouth.
When you pull away, Wyll decides it still isn't enough to curb the jealousy. He lets his teeth drift down to your neck. Sharpened canines that scrape against thin skin. Wyll sucks hard, enough to make all the capilliaries break.
And you sigh - a pretty, welcoming noise. Wyll is marking you. He leaves one after the other, in admittedly visible places. But he's not thinking about, not really.
Not until your voice breaks, the sweetest edge of desire to your words. He's not so debased to do anything to you while you're more than tipsy. He pulls away from you, blinks at you candidly - before the realization dawns on him in full.
By the gods, what's wrong with him? Embarrassment hits him afterwards, abject dread filling him as he peers at the dark marks along your neckline.
Did he really...? Really?
"Wyll," You say, strikingly sober and delighted all of a sudden "Are you...perhaps...jealous?"
He rubs his face on his hand, suddenly flush, turning his expression to one side. He can't deny it at this point can he.
"I wonder if my life will be easier once our wedding is announced in print," He offers sheepishly. You laugh loudly, absolutely elated as you press your forehead to his. He does the same, of course "The ring seems to be no more than decorative to everyone."
"Wyll Ravengard, I would've never guessed in a thousand years you'd drag me here because you were jealous."
"Please forget my uncouth actions at your earliest convenience my love," He says, groaning "I might die of embarrassment otherwise."
"It's nothing to be embarrassed about. I get jealous over silly things all the time. I tell you as much."
"When you do it it's endearing. I'm meant to be a gentleman, yet in front of you - I lose my wits like I'm a boy no older than seventeen. It's maddening."
"You forget yourself?" You tease, characteristically. He laughs.
"A bit more each day, it seems."
"A little jealousy is healthy, Ravengard. Though, I'm not sure how we're going to return to camp in this state." You say, giving him a suggestive look "Perhaps we have a bit more to talk about here instead, hm?"
"We should be doing such things in a bed. Or a tent." Wyll insists. You chuckle like you know he'll give into you.
"Wouldn't it be more effective if that Outlander you're so jealous of saw me with a post sex glow, along with the hickies."
Wyll feels his skin prick with heat.
"You drive a hard bargain." He comments, voice soft as a whisper. You laugh.
"Maybe you're just an easy sell."
Wyll laughs heartily at that.
"Any one would jump at the chance for something so priceless, Hero of the Gate."
You give Wyll another smile, lovely and genuine - there's nothing smug about it. You kiss him tender, sighing happily into his arms. He finds himself helpless to his own joy.
"Then lets kill time here and head back,"
"Yes," He says, jealousy tucked away for now "Let's do that,"
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faeriekit · 1 month
Text
Health and Hybrids (XIX)👽👻💚
[I can't remember the original prompt posters  for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]
PART ONE is here PART TWO is here PART THREE is here PART FOUR is here and PART FIVE is here PART SIX is here and PART SEVEN is here PART EIGHT is here PART NINE is here PART TEN is here PART ELEVEN is here PART TWELVE is here PART THIRTEEN is here PART FOURTEEN is here PART FIFTEEN is here PART SIXTEEN is here PART SEVENTEEN is here PART EIGHTEEN is here...nineteen...oy vey.
💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts (now featuring mediocre mouseover translations, only available on a computer)
Where we last left off... THE BART RETURNS! The earth rejoices! 🥳🎉 Physical therapy can be fun, even if it usually isn't!
Trigger warnings for this story:  body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) |  my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.
💚👻👽👻💚
Danny learns a few more words with practice.
Foda is simple. If Danny is hungry, he can ask for foda. It sounds exactly like food, and when he asks, they feed him.
…Or they up his IV. Which. Danny’s tongue might still feel sore and nasty, but the doctors and nurses and millions of minders don’t seem that mad when he sticks his tongue out at them. Sometimes they even laugh.
They don’t even sound all that mean.
It takes Danny a good chunk of waking time for him to realize that he…probably is hooked up to something he doesn’t want to think about, since all the efforts of lifting and moving him haven’t resulted in a single bathroom trip since he woke up here.
Firstly: horrible.
Secondly: his legs are super, absolutely, positively immobilized, and if someone doesn’t give him enough medication quickly enough after it wears off, Danny is very aware that something is deeply wrong with them.
So. Uh. That’s…gross.
He learns bealo just as quickly. He isn’t sure what bealo means, per se, but when he says it, they up his medication until Danny can pretend he doesn’t have any legs again.
God niht is goodnight, unless Danny is feeling snippy, and then it’s just niht.
…The one lady who minds him always says the whole thing, though. Even when Danny’s mean. Like the one time he threw his rocket at someone.
Or the time he started ignoring everyone when they tried to touch him.
…Or the one time he tried to freeze his IV bag, and put everyone on alert because if he’d been human, that would have seriously hurt him.
“Sorry,” Danny’d whispered, even if it wouldn’t mean anything to her.
She’d patted his hand and meant it. Danny’d had to dry his eyes with his wrist. “Eall es wel.”
Anyway.
Danny hates being in the freaking bed every hour of every day. So when his “sitting up” exercises turn into “hey, let’s try the wheelchair” practice, Danny gets so excited-slash-nervous that he kind of feels like he’s going to throw up all the liquids he’s been injected with.
None of the regular people try to lift him. Instead the lady does it herself, scooping Danny up in very strong arms, the golden cuffs on her wrists weirdly warm on Danny’s skin. When Danny’s settled, his legs sticking out real weird and his back kind of sore, he’s…out of bed.
He’s. He’s not in bed anymore.
And. Sure. It’s temporary, but it’s not the bed. Danny can wriggle, and he can sort of palm the wheels underneath him with the heels of his shaky hands, and he can see so much more of himself than he has in ages and ages.
For one. Both of his legs are in casts. That’s. Not good. He can’t feel it right now, but the sight of fully encased legs…
Well. If he can transform that won’t be a problem. If. If he has to escape. But it is…it’s super scary. He mostly remembers being captured, but the…the other people had been focusing more on his thoracic cavity and his face and head.
…So why are his legs so bad? Did something else happen?
(It did, didn’t it?)
(…Didn’t it??)
His hands shake, but there’s something to all that grip training, or else Danny wouldn’t be able to paw at his neckline to look down his own shirt. Or, well, his cloth nightie, anyway.
It’s good that he looks, since, well…his chest is glowing a solid green.
Whatever should probably be scar tissue. Uh. It…isn’t. There’re gouges down his chest and a crater where his heart should be that probably should be healing over, considering, you know, he’s not freaking dead at this exact second (mostly??), but. Instead of, like, healed flesh, or, say, his insides, there’s a transparent green…jelly… holding him together.
He can see how the green bounces with his heart beat.
...Danny drops the neckline of his gown. His breath comes in choking bursts, eyes pressed into his eye sockets—he feels sick.
He is sick. He has been sick.
The humans are keeping him here because he’s a freak of nature and he’s broken from head to toe and the Guys in White carved his flesh out of his body and opened him up like a can of cranberry sauce.
He presses his hands to his chest, to his stomach, just trying to breathe for long enough that he doesn’t throw up his oatmeal and occasional juice and IV nutrition onto the pristine floor of his sickroom. The people around him all make sympathetic noises that don’t help because he doesn’t know what they mean.
And then he feels something weird.
Not all the sensation in his fingers are back. It’s easier for him to feel impediments than it is to feel textures—something that blocks him from moving, rather than anything sensory-specific. He can usually tell when he touches fabric, because when he moves too far, it pulls tight around his hand. He can tell when he’s on something solid when his hand fails to go through it.
There is something solid sticking out of him.
Danny’s heartbeat quickens. It’s not. It’s. There’s something in him.
And it’s not—it’s so solid. When Danny brushes his hands against it, he can feel his skin and his flesh move with it, trying not to dislodge the thing embedded in him. It pulls at his skin. He doesn’t know what it is.
His fingers tremble as he tries to brush over the object through his gown, trying to figure out its shape from faulty touch alone. It’s like waking up to find himself jammed with needles all over again.
People are talking around them. Danny doesn’t try to listen in. He’s scared. He’s so scared. Something’s happened to him, and he didn’t even notice.
Some of it is—hard. There’s a crinkling sound when he moves. Danny manages to pull his gown neckline back again to catch something of a glimpse, and all he sees is plastic.
He doesn’t know what it is.
He doesn’t know who to ask. He can’t understand anyone and he doesn’t know if he trusts them.
They put something in him. There’s something embedded in him.
He thinks he’s going to cry.
Something touches his arm—Danny flinches. His core tightens with stress as he puts a metaphorical hand on the button, ready to run and hide at any notice.
It’s the lady. He knows her.
No, he doesn’t. He doesn’t know her at all. He can’t talk to her in any way that matters. She’s not a doctor. He doesn’t know why she’s here, or why she’s keeping him here.
She’s nice. She fed him. But is that all it takes to trick him? To make him compliant? Pliable?
She stops touching him when he gets scared, her eyes worried. She kneels—closer than Danny would like, probably, but she keeps her hands to herself. Danny’s heart races faster, out of order, starting and stopping and starting again like a bad engine.
“Eow eart wel?” she asks from his left arm rest, a common question, so softly. Danny doesn’t know what it means. “Eall es wel. Ænlic eow, ænlic me. Bruce bræð wið me?”
She takes a big, deep, breath. Her hand rises slightly over her chest, following an exaggerated movement. Don’t panic. Breathe. Breathe like me. One, two, three.
Danny’s breaths are more choked. More panicked.
But when she breathes, he breathes with her—even with every stutter in between.
“Hwæt es woh[O3] ?” the lady asks, so gently it’s almost a whisper. Her pointer finger hovers over his body, but doesn’t touch—and eventually, Danny figures out she probably wants to know where he’s hurting.
But he’s not hurting. He’s scared. There’s something inside him, and he isn’t sure what it is. He presses the heel of his hand to the object. He feels something rigid refuse to bend inside his flesh.
There’s something of recognition in the woman’s face. “Inne cwic tima,” she says, more certain of answers outside the room, and darts away,
Danny wants to bounce his bound leg. He feels awful when anyone is in the room with him, considering how little of them he knows, but, somehow, it’s so much worse when he’s actually alone.
When she comes back, there’s a second person who walks through the double doors with her, in blue scrubs with ducks on them. They wave to Danny.
Danny…blinks. He feels numb. It’s kind of a problem.
They take it in stride, though; in their hands is a blank board and a chunky marker. The cap comes off, the new person scribbles for a minute or so, and then turns the board around so that Danny can see.
It’s a…person. A rudimentary outline person, sure, with some visible bones and organs to fill in the person-shaped outline. Danny can recognize most of them from anatomy class, although those memories are more…personal, now. A little more painful.
The person taps on the board. The person points to Danny.
Danny frowns.
The person turns the board back around and makes some Pew, Pew, Pew! sounds with their mouth, occasionally opening and closing their hand over the board to match the noise. There’s some more scribbling. When the board turns back around, there’s a violent smudge of marker on top of the drawn person’s drawn intestines.
The person takes their covered pinky finger and erases a little neat circle of marker in the intestines, mostly favoring one side. They draw a little arrow from the hole to the general outside-of-the-person blank area. Then another circle, with a thicker circle inside.
Danny recognizes the object jutting out of him. Oh. This is how he got it.
The person—probably a doctor, Danny guesses, or the surgeon who did this to him—do these people even need credentials, actually?—hands the board over to the lady. They hold out ten outstretched fingers, marker under their arm, and make a show of counting every one of the outstretched fingers with the opposite hand. Then they take the board back.
And then, when they write on the board, Danny can actually understand what they say.
Or, well, it’s numbers! The numbers are the same as his—the line and a circle is clearly meant to be a ten, and the little x is a multiplication symbol— they draw a 10, as clearly and a brightly as it could be against a stark white board, and add a little x 7, probably to indicate a week; the result is ten suns times seven, or seventy suns.
Danny feels his heart bounce in his chest. Danny would bet a whole lot of money that the number is meant to be seventy days. There is an end point. It’s not that Danny is free to be subjected to random anatomical whims—there’s a goal here. This was purposeful.
The little circle-within a circle gets erased. The hole is scribbled through as if it was never there, and the person makes a weaving gesture with the marker that Danny is certain is meant to be sewing.
Tears prick at his eyes. The lady gets close by him again, but Danny lets her. His hands aren’t good enough for wiping tears the way he wants to, yet. Help and company are good.
She gives him a tissue from Danny's bedside table. He takes it with a whisper of a grip.
“Seventy?” Danny rasps, tearful. Hopeful. Terrified of hope. He practically jams the tissue into his eye sockets.
The lady’s eyes go wide. “Seventy,” she repeats, marveling.
It’s enough. Nothing is perfect, but it’s enough. And if Danny's allowed to spend so long in front of the space window that he falls asleep in his wheelchair, well. It's not like he was in charge of where they went.
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sweatermuppet · 1 month
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What is it like being trans in New Hampshire? I'm trans in Maine and generally consider NH the black sheep of New England when it comes to queer politics. Some of my trans friends consider it a no-stop zone on our roadtrips.
uh it's pretty fine for me. i get kinda sad when people say NH isnt trans friendly (a sentiment ive seen a lot lately). i had an openly transitioning teacher in high school. i had many gay teachers in high school. i was one of the first kids to transition openly at my school & there were a lot of struggles but it was also 6+ years ago & mostly teachers were under-educated & didn't know how to protect me. i got in a fight & suspended over a kid who was transphobic toward me, but i was allowed to use the boy's bathroom & locker room & all of my core teachers were pretty good about using my name & pronouns
i have multiple trans friends, just locally, & know other trans people a little further out in NH from following them on IG. some pretty decent art scenes in various towns & those are LGBT-dense. one of my trans friends started estrogen yesterday (prescription thru informed consent). i will say in my experience, NH healthcare is lacking for transsexuals—it's been easier for me to go thru Massachusetts or NH planned parenthoods, but ive been able to receive treatment fairly easily (cost being one of the only major negative factors)
as for people, a lot of folks kind of don't care? there are of course republicans & conservatives & a disheartening amount of libertarians, but in my day to day, it's mostly "live free or die" & if you're not hurting anyone, it's not too big of a deal. some of the republicans in my life (like friends' dads) have the attitude of "well i don't get it" but they still call me silas & are generally alright with me, aren't hostile towards me
i see trans flags pretty often. i saw a bumper sticker last month that was the shape of NH completely colored in with the trans flag. there are a bunch of coffee shops & bookstores & artsy places nearby i can think of that employ trans people, house trans art, etc
recently, anti-trans & anti-LGBT bills have been introduced & passed in NH. two passed last month, which can be read about here. i saw some pretty disgusting sentiments shared about those bills on twitter when they were introduced. those make it harder to exist here, but it's not impossible & it does not immediately make all residents hostile toward transsexuals. i don't want people to abandon NH because they think it's too far gone or too hopeless. trans people will always exist in every state & every country & every corner, no matter how hostile those places become
people here love me, regardless of how political parties view me. people here fight for me. there are trans people & Black people & disabled people here who are more vulnerable than me who i want to stay & fight for & protect. if you'd like to learn more about diversity in NH & how to protect various human rights, here are some orgs i am familiar with:
NH PANTHERS (anti-racism advocacy & education)
Queer-Lective (art, education, & connection)
Black Lives Matter NH
GLSEN NH (LGBT resources & education for schools/teachers/students)
Reproductive Freedom Fund of NH (abortion fund, sex ed, LGBT advocacy)
603 Equality (LGBT advocacy & education)
Lovering Health Center (reproductive care, LGBT education, gender affirming care for NH, MA, & ME)
Black Heritage Trail of NH (Black history)
ACLUNH (civil liberties + human rights)
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