#I even walked to a different room in the apartment

[myntrose]

Missing You !

ೃ⁀➷: how the l&ds boys are when they miss you.

a/n: I want these men so bad it hurts. n e ways trying something different from smau 🤍 this is part one, will write the other boys later. Also pls send requests !!

content warning: the boys missing you to the point where it's a bit concerning. maybe ooc. Suggestive in Xavier's part towards the end. Did not proof read srry💔

ft: Zayne, Xavier x reader (separately)

pt. 1 , pt. 2

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ zayne (705 words)

the hospital holds an unnerving chill in the air. everyone can feel it; the staff, nurses, patients and the other doctors. and even though everyone could feel it, no one chose to acknowledge the source of this tension. because no one wants to disturb Dr. Zayne when he's in one of these moods.

It's another hard day for Zayne. The paperwork seemed endless, he's had to deal all sorts of patients, and he hasn't seen you in a week. You were out in a mission, nothing out of the normal for a hunter. But Zayne couldn't help but worry. He loves you, knows you're more than capable of handling yourself, but worrying about you comes as easy as breathing to him. It's second nature, an everyday thought.

Just as he starts to steady himself, the ink of his pen explodes on the report he was writing. He about ready to lose it, letting out a deep, heavy sigh. Zayne isn't usually this disoriented, and it's making him go mad.

Moving from his desk, Zayne paces around his office, opening your last message. it stresses him out that it was 2 days ago.

ms.hunter: ugh this mission is so dumb. smt happened and now it looks like ill be gone longer. im sorry babe :(((

He grips his phone a little harder. Paces the room with heavier steps. Breaths another sigh.

What is wrong with me?

A knock at his door disrupts his pacing.

"What?"

Zayne doesn't realize he said that with a bit too much bite, a bit too coldly. The door opens to reveal his new secretary, looking like a scared little lamb entering the lions den.

He looks at his secretaries face, realizing his harsh tone. Zayne murmurs a quick apology, asking his secretary if there was something needed.

"There's someone here to meet you, Dr. Zayne. Said they had an appointment?" The secretary trails their sentence like a question, knowing that Zayne shouldn't have any appointments today. Poor thing was shivering from the doctor's cold demeanor.

The veins on Zayne's head are almost visible now. On top of this day, an unscheduled appointment? Had it not been for his doctors oath to not harm, he would've denied this appointment.

Another sigh leaves him, as he tells his secretary to let the mystery appointment inside his office. Zayne makes his way back to his desk, head in hands trying to compose himself.

"You really shouldn't be sighing so heavily, Dr. Zayne. Heard it's bad for you"

Zayne's head whipped so fast towards the doorway, that you almost left bad for laughing at the action.

He blinks once, then another, before standing up and meeting you halfway across the room.

" 'm sorry for not texting you sooner, but I've been working twice as hard to get done with my mission-"

You don't get to finish your sentence before Zayne crashes his lips into yours. This kiss was desperate, filled with longing and want. It's almost startling, usually Zayne is more composed than his.

"would be more composed had you told me you'd be arriving back today" Zayne responds, perfectly reading your thoughts. Before you could say anything, he kisses you again. This time, he's softer, placing one hand on the small of your back and the other cradling your face.

You're the one to pull apart first, desperately needing air. Looks like your boyfriend missed you more than you realized. Oh, this was gonna be so fun.

Zayne scoffs, but he's still holding you close. "I do not scowl. It's just been a stressful week at the hospital."

You laugh at that. God, he missed your laugh. He missed you. He walks the both of you to his desk, where he sits you on his lap as he takes a seat.

"Did you miss me that much? It's only been a week."

"A week too long, my love"

While you and Zayne catch up, the rest of the hospital is glad that the chill in the air has died down. Looks like the staff knows who to call when their doctor is in that mood.

𓆩✧𓆪 xavier (570 words)

there's only a few things that causes Xavier to wake up. Either you shaking him awake, peppering his face with kisses, or when you steal the blanket from him.

Actually, it's mostly you that causes him to wake up. And right now, the reason why sleep escapes him is because it seems like you escaped the bed at some point.

Xavier feels around your side of the bed, only to be met with emptiness. Confused, he wakes up, and looks around to see the room still in pitch darkness.

2:34 a.m. It's still horribly early, so you wouldn't have woken up for work. Plus, Xavier knows your schedule better than he knows his. He knows that you don't have any kind of missions to attend to right now.

So, where were you? A sudden rush of thoughts occur at once, and Xavier can't help but assume the worst scenarios. He jumps out of bed and checks around the apartment.

Bathroom? No. Living room? Empty. Kitchen? Quite. He's going a bit crazy, because where did you go?

He just about to rush outside when he hears the sound of keys opening the front door. Turning to the sound, he watches as the door opens to reveal you.

You, holding a bag from the nearby 24/7 convenience store. You walk in, not realizing that Xavier was watching as you enter the room.

You're holding your phone in your other hand, staring at it. It wasn't until you looked up that you noticed you were being watching by your boyfriend.

Your words don't make it to his ears. Rather, he answers you with a question of his own.

"Where were you?" His voice is deep, laced with a serious tone that doesn't quite suit him. Oh no, was he mad?

"I went out to buy ice cream. I couldn't sleep and wanted something sweet. I texted you where I was!" Defending yourself, showing Xavier the bag with a few ice cream bars.

Oh right, he never checked his phone. Xavier pulls his phone out of his pockets, and opens his notifications to see that you in fact did text him where you were.

"Oh."

You move to the kitchen, putting the ice cream away. "Yeah, oh is right. What, d'ya think I just left without saying a work ?" You only meant that jokingly, of course. Turning around, Xavier is right behind you, caging you between himself and the fridge.

It wasn't until you looked at his eyes when you realized that, oh, he was worried. The realization sets in, and you understand what just happened. Xavier had woken up, and genuinely thought you were done.

Your eyes soften as you look at him, moving your hands to his face "Oh, baby, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you like that." Xavier melts into your touch, and you both stay like this for a while.

You speak up first. "Why don't we go back to sleep?"

Xavier opens his eyes, looking down at you. "Actually, I'm not sleepy right now. I think I'm hungry."

"Do you want some of the ice cream I bought? I got your favorite flavor- Xav- Xavier why are we going to the bedroom?"

"I said I was hungry."

"Oh...?!"

Later that morning, you had to call into work "sick" for both you and Xavier.

[sheepispink]

THE TRUTH. (super soldier au part 2)

cw: mentions of telling someone to commit suicide, threats, bullying

guys idk how i feel about this one but here u go 🙏

PART ONE

———-

Happy Birthday

freak.

A present stopped you from walking out at your usual time. It was a week until your birthday, and usually no one remembered other than those who had your file. Although that mostly consisted of blacked out paragraphs now.

It’s wrapped a little messily, not the worst, and you slowly pick it up, noticing a weight inside. You had never got a present before, much less more than a small timeframe to have some sort of celebration— not that you ever took that opportunity anyway. Most years you were too busy hung up with wires and drowning in your mind from drugs. Your thumb brushes over the paper curiously, looking for a name tag but finding nothing to mark the sender. Neatly, you rip a line through the paper which reveals a cardboard box. It’s blank, no branding or anything to attach itself to. When you open it though, you’re quickly greeted by a strange sight; a gun.

A handgun to be more specific, a Browning L941 if you wanted details. It sits neatly in the box, looking clean but you can tell by the small nicks in metal it’s not new. There’s a note beside it, typed— never handwritten.

“If your aim is as good as they say, surely you can prove it by putting it to your head.”

You’re not too surprised, at least more than the initial eye widening. After all, you did deal with the piece of paper on your designated breakfast table every morning. Your eyes flicker down, to the sentence beneath.

“If you’re too scared, we’ll just have to deliver the gift in person.”

That makes you blink, the implications of the clear threat not lost on you. It wasn't the first time you’ve heard them; enemies swore that they’d tear you apart limb by limb, Ghost promised he’d douse you in cold water the next time you caused a bloodbath and even the scientists taunted you with those syringes. The difference was, those were.. well threats you couldn't exactly avoid. Ghost would always get mad at you for making a mess, and you used to be far more rebellious against the scientists— or was that fear? Enemies threatening you was just a farce anyway, you’d have their bodies by your feet soon enough that it wasn't even worth thinking over twice. But this? Comrades, or well they’re supposed to be, who want to kill you? Teammates who would live happier knowing they put you to the grave. It’s no longer the opposing team, no longer the one Ghost points his finger at, no longer the ones that destroy humanity.

No, they only want to destroy you.

For the first few days, you tried to shake it, but you were feeling the weight of the words even more than usual. The stab of pain in your back when they threw the bread roll at you; that could be a bullet next time. Your shoes in the toilet could be your body next time. The fox who whines and whimpers would be you when you were deemed useless.

The truth was, you didnt care about the damn movie, or the cake you were promised, nor even the words “happy birthday” being said to you. It was an excuse, a white lie even, to get the Captain, or Ghost, hoping one of them would actually come into your room. Never have they stepped foot in since your first arrival, never feeling the need to either. The Captain only had time to care when you emailed him, but even that seemed too risky, what if he laughed it off and the surrounding soldiers heard? Ghost barely ever gave you time to talk anyway, and when you did get a moment, there were too many around.

So you invited them over, tried your best act as if you really wanted a birthday to celebrate with them. They’d come, you’d show them the note, the gun. If they laughed, it’d be fine, hidden in your room— you could find a solution before they told the others and it spread around the base. If they didn't laugh, you’d be safe, guaranteed that no one would really try what would happen on that piece of paper.

But you hadn't anticipated that neither of them would come at all. Your eyes brim with tears, unsure how that is even possible as you step into your room, a tenseness sinking into your bones and spreading across your body. With them completely out of the picture, you’re left by yourself until your end surely comes. Maybe you should’ve known, especially when you remember what soldiers call you— a monster.

But it wasn’t in your coding, in your genes or even near your thought process to harm those that threaten you— at least not first anyways, and especially when they’re not explicitly enemies. This was a moral dilemma your tampered mind wasn't capable of handling. Despite the sick growing in your stomach, you had a plan. There were outdoor training rooms, more specifically small cabins that were sometimes used to punish soldiers if they acted up too much.

The gift remains untouched on the dresser, a silent promise watching you at all times. It’s almost four o clock now, and the day isn't getting any brighter in the middle of winter. Opening your closet, your hands pass over the many uniforms there. That’s all they give you, uniforms, it’s why yours are always clean— your only purpose is to fight. So you grab the jacket in the furthest corner, the one usually saved for extreme weather conditions and slip that on. It disguises your figure enough and the hiking boots are exactly what you need to be a new person.

Your hand grazes the knives in your old belt, and you take a few, sliding them into the new holster behind the jacket. Just in case. There’s nothing else to take now, apart from your small radio that you sometimes keep on your person— you dont really use a phone either since it was seen to be a distraction. You’ll likely have to starve for the rest of the day, though with your knowledge you could probably find some sort of food out there. Just in case, you grab an MRE, a spare that stays around in the off chance you get dizzy from eating nothing all day.

Slowly you step out in the hallway, looking around for anyone before closing your door shut again. You didnt dare make it suspicious with a backpack, so your bottle is stuffed into your jacket pocket instead. Same for the untampered gift on the table, they’d assume you’d be back later to open it.

This was your best bet.

You head down the corridors, keeping a confident pace so people wouldn’t even try suspect you— that’s the key to everything, after all. Ironically, that wasn’t the situation at all, in fact they were.. friendly? A few soldiers gave you a nod as you walked past, which wasn’t the craziest thing but, considering no one’s ever done that before, it was exhilarating. You nod in turn, a mask hiked up to your nose but it just looks like you’re keeping your face warm for when you go outside— not that anyone here is phased by a mere mask anyway. Infact, a few soldiers who look particularly boisterous even go as far to fist bump you, likely thinking you’re someone they know. You don't care in the slightest; you’re just happy that for once you get to experience what your life should’ve been like.

The giddiness is temporary though, as you turn the corner to see Ghost stepping out of a room with two crates of drinks in his hands. You falter, stopping in your tracks as he closes the door behind him.

Is this really the right idea? Running away like this?

It’s only for the day, at least that was the idea, but what after that? What if they didn't stop at your birthday— what if it continued? You could tell him right now, pull the mask down that covers your face and confess every little detail running through your head. What would you do if he got in trouble for your foolish decisions? He had shown his stance when he chose not to show up at your birthday party; he clearly didn't care at all.. right?

“Do you need something?” He says lowly, clearly having realised that you’ve frozen in your tracks before him, and giving you a narrowed stare for that reason. Surprisingly, it’s less demeaning and more questioning, considering how harsh his eyes usually go when looking at you. It gives you a bit of hope.

”D-do you need any help with that, sir?” You’re not sure why your voice stuttered, not particularly wanting to think much about the matter either. Instead, you stare right back at him, your eyes widened as you stare in his pupils moving around like it’s searching you.

Did he recognise you?

“No, that’s alright.” It’s gruff, and harsh and yet far more nicer than he’s ever spoken to you before. You manage to force yourself to nod in response, giving a small salute before hurrying off down the corridor.

Trekking through the forest is a little bit of an effort but you eventually meet the small cabin that’s there. It’s almost never used in winter, but in the summer they might do their training in these areas and keep the lunch here. Slowly you step inside, recognising from the get go that there’s not particularly much. There’s a few bedrolls for wilderness training, albeit a bit torn and some dry firewood left discarded on the little fireplace. That’s good, at least you won't freeze anymore than you already have. It’s not like you can use it though— it’s too risky. If anyone sees smoke out here you’re bound to get caught in seconds, and possibly even by your predators.

You lock the cabin door, placing a chair beneath the handle as you let out a sigh and slump against the wall. This would be a long, painstaking night and you cant help but wonder if it’d been better to just defend yourself when they came. But what if you lost control? What if you seriously hurt someone? Even if they were trying to harm you?

The thought makes you shudder, even more than the thoughts you’ve been desperately pushing back. But when there is nothing else to do in this cold place, it’s hard to keep your mind focused. The only way you survived these past three months with Ghost is by not thinking about your situation— at all. It’s probably why he hates you. From how he reacts anyway, you’re more like a robot than you’ve ever been a human. You’ve been monitored all your life, since before you were born you were made for the cause. No clue of who your mother was, you were genetically modified as an embryo for all the traits they wished for you to have. Other children in the program had the same, of course, and for the first years of your life you were blissfully unaware. You didn’t understand that the kids you ran around and giggled with would end up being your own enemies, despising that you turned out to be the successful experiment and not them. It wasn't as glamorous as it sounded, but they complained, saying you didnt have to be sent away like they did, to be fostered and deal with the pain of the experiments for the rest of their lives.

That’s exactly what you had though. You were split from them altogether, coddled by scientists and doctors, personal trainers who felt more like drill sergeants than anyone that wanted to help you. Of course, you were tampered with too, drugged up on strange substances as they tampered with your nerves, always changing you to be better because you were never enough for them. They were supposed to enforce rationality within you by erasing anything that could get you worked up, and so your emotions became suppressed, pushed down and piled with the weight of responsibilities to keep them down. But it clearly wasn't successful, at least when you’re not on the battlefield. When you entered that place, it was like a switch had turned on in your brain, all morality slipping out as you only followed the orders of whoever the handler was. Your mind always enters a haze after you snap out of it and come back from hours of combat, leaving you feeling sick to the core.

But now, things are changing— too fast. You had cried, because they didn't come to your birthday party. For once, your stomach felt sickly with misery and your breath had caught in your throat when you’ve never stopped breathing before, ever. Your hand reaches into your pocket, pulling out a small fox toy. It was a gift from a younger scientist who had just been a mere intern. He had been put forward for the menial task of looking after your post-experimentation state, making sure your vitals were fine. You didnt get to talk to him that much, considering you mostly were deep in sleep, recovering from the new strain on your body. But he stayed beside you, making sure you were okay. When you left to get tested on the field with Ghost, he gave you a small plush, just the size of your hand.

“A little gift.” He chuckled, smiling gently as he rubbed your bandaged arm. “Don't give me that look. I know you’re not actually that unbothered, they just made you that way. You can say you like it, you know, that it makes you happy.”

You could only nod in return, it was the truth, you were very happy.

The sky was already growing dark and without the determination that kept your body distracted from your needs, you were actually feeling your hunger full force for once. The little fox is clenched deep in your hands, a natural predator and yet it’s more common to see them die out in the wild than thriving. Just like you. Your stomach growls, and so you reach for your MRE, eyeing the food within. You were probably supposed to warm it up first, but you’d just have to eat it like this for now. You rip the first packet open, and just try to scarf it down without thinking about the taste too much. It wasn’t the best to say the least. But you’re used to it now; you barely got proper meals apart from missions, and often had to eat one of these after an unsuccessful trip to the mess hall.

You’re about to inspect the other packet when a low scratching noise is heard against the door. Instantly, you pause, mind shifting into something akin to a battle mode already. Slowly, you approach the door, pressing your ear as your hand reaches in your belt for the knife. The windows were frosted up, so it’s unlikely they could see in when it was already pretty dark in here. A low whine echoes out and you realise who's actually stalking you, quickly removing the chair and opening the door. The little fox stands there, looking up at you as it slowly steps inside the cabin.

For once, you let your guard down and just sigh, closing the door and securing it again. “C’mere.” You rarely fear anything, and so you scoop the little fox up without a second thought, even as it squirms initially and its claws are sharp on you. You settle in the warmest area of the room again, next to your mre pack and grab the fork, scooping out some of the food. You didn't need the rest, but he could use it. The fox reluctantly eats the food, and you giggle when you realise it probably doesn't taste much better to him either despite being starving. You took it off by letting him drink half the bottle of your water, which he greedily takes along with a few fruits you packed.

“Your fur is matted, and you’re all banged up but you’re still adorable.” The thought makes you sniffle, a bittersweet smile rising on your lips. The fox rests its head on your lap as you run your hand over its fur, gently scratching every now and then. Why couldn’t people see the truth in you as you did right now? You’ve trained for so long, fought to keep all of them safe on their missions and all you got in return was a scared look, disgust and sometimes even anger. It hurt, more than you allowed yourself to feel.

But this is the first time you’ve been alone without the battlefield before you, or a supervisor staring you down. You could have a gun to your head tonight, and no one will find out until the morning, so for now you just begged that the soldiers were joking, for the sake of everyone involved.

You just wish Ghost and Price would’ve listened, so you could be safe and warm back there, at least getting an early sleep on your birthday. The scientist promised, he said it’d get better, he said there would be others who would care like he did. He said only the higherups were this bad; he lied to you. The tears drip again, unable to stop this time and you bury your face in your hands, mourning everything you’ve lost, and everything you’ve yet to lose. Dead or alive, you may lose it all.

————————-

Taglist:

@mellohimmku94 @rafaelacallinybbay

[no-144444]

different- o.piastri

summary: the differences are starting to show ow that oscar is going to be present in mia's life, and in turn, yours.

pairing: oscar piastri x ex! single mom! fem! reader

part one | part two

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

You were terrified. The past few weeks had been… strange, to say the least. You’d seen Oscar every single day of the last month. He moved his entire life to London in the span of a week for Mia. It reminded you of the teenage Oscar who would move mountains for you, and you were glad Mia got that side of him too.

It had been a whirlwind of emotions since Australia, and you’d watched every Grand Prix since then from your London house. Mia adored it. You told your family and friends about Oscar coming into Mia’s life, and there were varying degrees of support, but Teresa, your closest friend, hated Oscar. Every time she saw him it was either a roll of the eyes or a passive aggressive comment, but he took it all in good faith and just smiled and continued talking. It was a lot though, you’d been Oscar-less for 4 years, just seeing him through a screen, and now he was coming to your apartment everyday with a coffee for you, and something for Mia. Now, you two texted daily. Now, he was there again, and it freaked you out. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

Oscar sat outside in his car, psyching himself up for the conversation that was about to happen. How the fuck dop you tell a 4 year old that you’re her dad and you didn’t know about her for 4 years, and now you want to be in her life every single day? How do you apologise for the missed time? How would he apologise to you if she got mad at you? What if she hated him forever and he lost her and you? How could he prove to both of you that he was serious about you two?

Beth: You’ve been MIA since last week, what’s up Osc? Call me please xxx

He cursed himself and the universe's impeccable timing. Beth was the girl he’d been seeing for a few months, and like all the girls he’d dated since you, bore a striking resemblance. He didn’t know what to tell her, how to explain it, or if he even should. His first thought was to ask you what he should do, what you’d be comfortable with him telling, and then he realised he would then be admitting to ‘moving on’, when he really only wanted you. He was at a stand-still in his brain, and muted her messages before going up to your front door. 

“Hey,” you smiled, opening the door to him, Mia on your hip. The picture in front of him made his heart ache a little bit. He could imagine himself coming home to it every night, after every race, for the past few years. “Come in.”

“Thanks,” he smiled, walking inside and taking Mia out of your arms as she reached for him. She softened the ache a bit. “Hey Mia.”

“Hey Osc!” she bundled into his arms, squirming around. She directed him to her playroom where they spent about 3 hours together, before you came in to set her down for her nap. 

“Do you want to…?” you offered, gesturing to her bedroom. “I can show you, just in case you need to know one day.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat and followed behind you. “Yeah, after you.” 

He watched as you gently tucked her in, a soft smile on your face as she looked at you with all the love in the world. He could’ve sworn his heart was trying to claw itself out of his chest to get to you two, but he swallowed back the tears, and left the room behind you, after kissing Mia on the forehead. 

“She really likes you,” you pointed out as you made him a coffee. 

“Thank you for letting me be part of this,” he nodded. “It means… everything to me. She does.”

You nodded. “You’re a natural.” 

He took the cup you handed him with a grateful nod, and you sat across from him. “How are you doing?” 

You stared at him like a deer in headlights for a moment then looked back down at your own mug. “Can I be honest?”

“Of course,” he assured you. “I want you to be.”

“I’m a bit… overwhelmed? If that’s the right word. This is all just… a lot,” you explained. “It’s just… I was a single mom for like 4 years, and now I have you and I guess I’m just still getting used to it. Not that it’s bad or anything, it’s just… different. But Mia and you get on so well, and you’ve been so kind throughout this whole process, so, thank you for that. It’s just-”

“Weird?” he offered, and you chuckled. 

“Weird,” you confirmed. “What about you?” 

“It’s been weird, obviously. But, I adore her. I knew I had cared about people before, but this is just… different. I didn’t think I could care about someone so much after you-” He cut himself off with a sigh. “I’m sorry-”

“It’s alright,” you shook your head. “I get what you mean.” 

He nodded. “She’s wonderful. She’s so smart. She’s so funny. She’s so… you, honestly,” he chuckled.

“She’s a mini me that looks like a mini you,” you laughed. He’d missed that laugh. He’d missed you. 

He nodded. “Well, yeah.”

“How does it feel to be leading the championship?” you asked, sipping your tea. 

He didn’t even think about F1 unless he was in the car. He just raced, and then rushed home to see you and Mia. He shrugged. “I haven’t really thought about it,” he breathed out a long sigh. “I guess it feels good?”

“You haven’t thought about it?” you gawked. 

“I usually rush home after races,” he admitted. “I like to talk to Mia about it.” 

“Oh,” you looked at him, then back down at your mug. “Well, y’know, we could come to the next one, if you want her there.”

“I’d want you there too,” he took your hand. “Both of you.” 

You nodded. “We could be there.”

“I’d like that,” he smiled, his thumb running over your knuckles. “I’d like that a lot.” 

“Alright,” you smiled flatly, but he could see something in your eye, something that made him think he was doing something right. “We’ll make it happen.” 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

“Oscar… is my dad?” Mia questioned. “How?” 

“Well, Oscar and I used to be in a relationship, and we loved each other very much. And we broke up before I knew I was pregnant with you, and I didn’t have a way to tell him you were on the way, but we saw each other in Australia and I told him then, and that’s why he’s been coming over so much,” you explained calmly and gently. 

She nodded for a moment. “That makes sense. Why did you two break up?” 

Both of you cringed and he turned to look at you. 

“Sometimes people may be the right fit, but it might just not be the right time in their lives for them to be together. That’s what happened with me and Oscar,” you spoke slowly, basically grasping at straws to think of something to explain your very complicated break up. 

Oscar tried not to let himself get excited at the fact that you still thought he was right right person for you, but it did make him fell quite good about himself. Right person, wrong time? He could work with that.

“So do I call Oscar; dad, or Oscar?” she asked, glazing over your explanation. 

“You can call me whatever you want,” he smiled. “Oscar, Osc, dad, anything.”

She nodded, studying him again. “I think I’ll call you dad,” he decided. “I like you a lot dad. Are you going to stick around now?” 

He chuckled. “I’m going to stick around until the end of time Mia,” he promised. “Swear.”

“And you and mom are going to get back together?” she asked sceptically.

“Umm,” he thought about it for a moment. “We don’t know.”

“Well you should. Mommy has been single since I was born, and she needs someone who’ll love her,” she blurted out as you covered your face with your hands. 

“Mia,” you groaned. 

“What?! It’s the truth!” Mia shrieked. 

“Anyway,” you changed the topic. “Do you have any other questions?” 

“Not really,” she admitted. “Am I going to have to go between dad and moms house?”

You looked at each other. “We haven’t really talked about that yet,” Oscar admitted. “Is that something you don’t want?” 

“No. It seems like a lot. I want both of you in the same house with me,” she shook her head. 

You turned to each other again. “Well, we’ll talk about it,” you smiled back at Mia. 

“Can dad stay over tonight?” She asked. “I want to watch a movie with him.”

“Of course he can sweetheart,” you smiled and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll get dinner started.”

“I’ll clean up the playroom!” She called out as she ran in the direction of her room. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

“That wasn’t bad,” he announced as he chopped up carrots. 

“Not at all,” you nodded, your mind a million miles away. 

“I thought she’d take it worse,” he sighed. “Oh, and I really don’t have to stay over tonight-“

“Nonsense,” you brushed him off. “We have a spare bedroom. It’s all yours.” 

“Thank you, for all of this,” he smiled. “She genuinely means everything to me.” 

“That makes two of us,” you smiled, a genuinely, real smile. The ones he was so used to back in the day.

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[daryltwdixon]

Daryl Dixon x Reader Don't Scream

Part 1 | Part 2 (coming soon) | masterlist

Summary: You didn’t mean to be here. You didn’t mean to see this. The motel door had already been cracked open, a splintered frame, a hint of something wrong curling in the air. You should have turned around, left, pretended you never saw the blood on his knuckles, the way it was painted across his throat. But then he looked at you. Slow, unfazed. Like you walking in on his carnage was nothing at all. You didn’t know why your breath shuddered. You didn’t know why your fingers itched to touch. And you sure as hell didn’t know why you didn’t run.

tags: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT 🕊️ horror, Dark!Daryl Dixon, blood and implied violence, no outbreak, motel room encounters, morally gray reader, predator/prey vibes, dubious situations and dubious consent (the reader whole heartedly consents they're just trying to reason with themselves that this is a terrible idea), serialkiller!Daryl, reader walks in on something she shouldn’t, fear-turned-arousal, misattribution of arousal, thanatos / death drive theory. a/n: thank you so so so so much to my friend @dixonsdarkelf for beta reading & giving me the boost I needed to post this! also thank you to @rheedus for this fabulous gifset that inspired me

The drive home always dragged.

You let out a long, exhausted sigh, fingers tightening on the wheel as the road stretched endlessly ahead. This wasn’t how the weekend was supposed to go. You were supposed to stay with your family for two more days—grit your teeth through the small talk, sit through the passive-aggressive questions about your job, your life, your choices. Smile. Nod. Pretend. But instead, you were barely a few hours in before it all fell apart.

Dinner had started fine. It always did. But then one question turned into a pointed remark, then into something sharper, something meaner. The same fight, just recycled into different words, but this time, you weren’t in the mood to swallow it down. This time, you pushed back. Voices rose, tempers flared, and before you knew it, you were grabbing your keys, shoving out the door, leaving behind the half-eaten meal and whatever thin thread was still holding the conversation together.

Now you were here—alone on the highway, miles of darkness stretching in every direction, headlights carving a path forward. 

Traffic jams bled into one another, each red taillight blurring into the next, the clock on your dash creeping past midnight. Eventually, the further you went, the emptier the roads became, until it was just you and the long-haul truckers, their rigs groaning under the weight of whatever cargo they hauled through the night.

Your eyelids grew heavier, dipping lower with every mile. You blinked hard, willing yourself awake, but exhaustion clung to you, thick and suffocating. It wasn’t just the late hour—it was the crash after the adrenaline of the fight, the weight of too many words you couldn’t take back pressing down on you.

You told yourself you’d be fine. Just another two hours to go.

Then a deafening horn shattered the quiet, and before you even realized what was happening, your tires veered across the lane. You gasped, jerking the wheel hard, the car lurching as you barely corrected in time. The highway was nearly empty, but that didn't matter—your heart was pounding, hands clammy where they gripped the steering wheel, the sudden shock of how easily that could’ve ended differently locking your breath in your throat. That was it, you knew you needed to stop, needed to pull off and find a place to get some rest before hitting the road again in the morning. 

You took the next exit, into a town that was barely a town at all, just a forgotten smear of civilization on the side of the highway. The streets were empty, the buildings slumped and decayed, as if the place had given up on itself long ago. A gas station, a diner with its ‘Open 24 Hours’ sign flickering in and out of life, and a squat little motel, its vacancy sign buzzing weakly in the dark.

Pulling into the parking lot, your headlights washed over cracked pavement and weeds pushing up through the concrete. Only a few cars were parked outside, most of them old and rusted, as if they’d been sitting there for far longer than a single night’s stay. The only light came from the neon sign overhead and the sickly yellow glow spilling from the front office window, casting shadows that felt too long, too stretched.

You swallowed, gripping the steering wheel. Something about this place felt…off. Not in an obvious way—no shattered windows, no ominous figures lurking in doorways—but in a way that made your skin crawl. Like the air itself was holding its breath, waiting. These were the kind of motels in movies where you’d scream at the protagonist: Keep driving, idiot! Find someplace else!

But there was nowhere else, and you couldn’t risk driving another hour to find the next rest stop.

It wasn’t ideal. Hell, it was probably a breeding ground for bed bugs, or worse–the kind of place where people checked in but didn’t always check out. But the thought of curling up in your car for the night, stiff and vulnerable in an empty parking lot, wasn’t much better.

All you had to do was get the key, lock the door, and make it through till morning. You’d toss your clothes the second you got home, scrub this place off your skin like it never touched you.

It was fine. It would be fine.

The fluorescent lights in the front office buzzed overhead, their hum just a little too loud in the unnatural silence. The air inside was stale, thick with the scent of something overly sweet—like someone had tried to cover up years of cigarettes and mildew with cheap air freshener.

A small bell sat on the counter. You hesitated, then tapped it once, the chime ringing out sharp and hollow.

Nothing.

You waited, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, the feeling of being watched crawling up the back of your neck despite the room being empty. Just as you were about to hit the bell again, a figure shuffled out from the back.

It was a woman, older, her expression carved from stone. Stringy hair pulled back into a loose bun, a cigarette smoldering between two fingers, her nails yellowed from years of nicotine.

“What can I do for ya?” she drawled, exhaling a long stream of smoke. It curled thick in the air, stale and cloying. You forced yourself to breathe through your nose, ignoring the burn in your throat.

“One room, please. Just for the night.”

She tapped at the ashtray on the counter, knocking the embers loose without looking. Her gaze stayed on you, too steady, too knowing, as if she was peeling you apart one layer at a time.

“You travelin’ alone, honey?”

Your spine straightened.

“No,” you said a little too quickly. “My dad’s waiting in the truck.”

She hummed, dragging another long inhale from her cigarette as her beady eyes stayed on you. Like she could tell it was a lie, no matter how sure you tried to sound.

“So, two beds?”

“Just the one is fine,” you said, tightening your fingers around your bag strap “We’ll manage.”

"Cash or card?" she asked, watching, peeling away whatever confidence you tried to have.

"Card," you murmured, fishing it out with stiff fingers.

She slid it through an ancient-looking reader, her other hand tapping the desk with the long, deliberate patience of someone who had nowhere to be. Her name tag was smeared, almost unreadable, and the glass of the front desk window was covered in a film of grime. 

She handed the card back, then a single brass key, its tag worn soft with age.

“Room one eighty,” she said, sliding it forward. “End of the lot.”

You took it quickly, fingers brushing against the cold metal.

The woman leaned back, taking another drag, her lips curling around the cigarette. “You let me know if y’all need anything, alright?”

You forced a nod, but something about her stare made your skin prickle. You turned toward the door, gripping the key so tight it pressed sharply into your palm.

Outside, the air felt too thick, like the humidity had climbed in the last few minutes, settling heavily on your skin. 

Then, you felt it again.

That thick, crawling awareness pricking at the back of your neck. That quiet, animal instinct that told you someone was watching. You turned your head before you could stop yourself.

Across the parking lot, just beyond the neon glow of the motel sign, a man stood under a broken street light. At first, he was nothing more than a dark shape, half-obscured by the flickering light, his face hidden in the deep hollows of shadow. 

He was just… standing there. Watching. 

You didn’t recognize him, and he was too far away to make out anything but his built form, the broadness of his shoulders. But there was something in the way he stood, still as stone, his body angled just slightly toward you, his gaze locked and unblinking.

The look in his eyes, dark and unreadable even from a distance, sent a shiver licking down your spine.

You turned quickly, your nerves on fire. But as you made your way down the long stretches of rooms on the outer perimeter, the railing overlooking the parking lot, you began to hear signs of life. The sounds seeped through the walls, slipping under doors and filling the narrow stretch of concrete. A bass line thrummed from somewhere nearby, muffled by thin walls as it seemed to pound with the rhythm of your heartbeat. Somewhere farther down, men shouted, their voices rising and falling, drunken or angry or both. Laughter burst out, sharp and sudden, followed by the distant clatter of something knocking against a table or a wall.

When you turned around and looked back across the parking lot, the man was suddenly gone.

TVs droned from multiple rooms, the glow of static flickering through slatted blinds. Someone had left theirs too loud, a newscaster rehashing old stories like it wasn’t the middle of the night. A couple was arguing behind one of the doors you passed, their voices biting and loud, words slamming into each other with no space to breathe. Something crashed—glass, maybe, or a chair knocking over—and you picked up your pace without realizing it.

Anywhere else, maybe it would have felt normal. Just people awake too late, passing the time, waiting for morning. Here, it only set your teeth on edge. Something about it felt wrong.

The fact that so many people were still awake at this hour made the muscles in your back pull tight. You weren’t alone here. But that didn’t mean you weren’t isolated.

Then, a heavy thump.

It came from the room to your right, sudden and jarring, loud enough to shake the thin wall between you. Your breath caught as you flinched back, your heart hammering against your ribs. There was movement, the slow creak of weight shifting, but nothing else followed. No voices, no explanation. Just silence settling too quickly, like whatever had happened had stopped the second you reacted to it.

Your feet moved faster, a reflex more than anything, carrying you down the walkway before you could think too hard about it. The numbers on the doors passed in a blur—178, 179, and finally, 180—your fingers tightening around the key as your room finally came into view. 

You fumbled once, just once, hands suddenly damp, but the second the lock turned, you pushed inside, slamming the door behind you.

The second it shut, you turned the lock.

The noises outside dulled, voices and music muffled the moment you closed the door and slumped your back against it, your chest rising and falling like you’d just run a half-marathon instead of walking across a motel lot. Your fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt, gripping at nothing, your pulse a frantic beat against your ribs.

You dragged in a breath, trying to slow the restless thrum in your veins. Just get through the next few hours, get some rest, and then you’d get the hell out of Dodge.

It was fine. It would be fine.

Except, sleep didn’t exactly come easy. You tossed and turned on top of the stiff bedspread, every shift of fabric loud in the silence, ears straining for any sudden sound beyond the walls. A door shutting, footsteps outside, voices carrying just enough to make you wonder if someone was too close to your room.

After what felt like forever, you gave up, flipping on the TV just to drown out the rest. The low murmur of late-night programming filled the room, casting weak blue light over the cracked ceiling, but it didn’t do much to settle you. You weren’t sure anything would.

The one thing you couldn’t ignore in favor of sleep, though, was the slow, gnawing ache of your stomach.

You should’ve stayed for the rest of dinner. Sat through the tense conversation, swallowed the words you wanted to throw back at them, and picked at your plate even if you had no appetite. At least then you wouldn’t be thinking about stepping outside again, not in the dead of night, not in the seediest motel you could’ve possibly stumbled across.

But the longer you lay there, the worse the hunger got.

Every motel had a vending machine, didn’t they?

You sighed, scrubbing a hand over your face, already hating where this was going.

You just had to be quick. In and out. Then you’d lock yourself in and actually try to sleep.

You knew it was wishful thinking to assume the vending machine would be easy to find. It was never that simple. You circled the building twice, passing the same cracked pavement, the same rusted-out cars, the same rooms with their curtains drawn too tight.

By the time you finally stumbled across the middle hallway, the glow of a single overhead light barely illuminating the space, you were already regretting this. The vending machine sat in the corner, humming under the flickering fluorescents, the metal frame dented, the glass fogged with fingerprints.

Your fingers hovered over the rows of snacks, barely able to focus on the choices, your body still on edge from the walk over. The motel felt alive, like every sound behind every door was something you weren’t supposed to hear.

The machine hummed under flickering light, the buttons worn down to the plastic. You fed it a couple of crumpled bills and tapped at one, then another, and waited. A loud mechanical churn. Then—nothing.

Great.

You smacked the side of it. Nothing again. Your stomach twisted painfully, a sharp reminder of just how long it had been since you’d last eaten. You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face, and turned to leave.

And that’s when you noticed it.

A door, cracked open at the very end of the hall.

The frame was splintered, like it had been forced open.

Something in your gut tensed.

You should walk away. Right now. Get back to your room, lock the door, and pretend you never saw anything. But something about it—about the stillness of it, the way the dim glow of a bedside lamp barely reached the threshold—made your feet stall.

Someone could be hurt. Or worse.

You swallowed hard, pulse in your throat as you crept closer, every instinct screaming at you that this was a bad idea. The air shifted the closer you got, thick with something you couldn’t name, something wrong.

And now that you were standing at the threshold, staring at the cracks in the doorframe, splintered from some kind of forced entry, your eyes drifted lower. Something dark and sticky was splattered on the ledge of the door, thick streaks leading onto the carpet inside.

Your heart stopped altogether. It was no longer rattling in your chest from fear, but fully frozen, skipping and halting as if trying to jumpstart itself while you stared into the dimly lit room.

At first, it was just shapes—shadows swallowing each other, the motel’s tiny lamp and the flickering TV casting everything into uneven light—warm and dark one second, sharp and cold the next. As your mind caught up to your eyes, it sharpened, the darkness peeling away, and you finally realized what you were looking at.

On the queen-sized bed in the center of the room, the bedspread was untouched, barely rumpled, except for the body laying perfectly still atop it.

Like someone had laid them there on purpose.

A mess of red had soaked deep into the fabric, fresh enough that the air was thick with it. The copper scent was overwhelming, clinging to the back of your throat, so metallic and sharp you could almost taste it. There was so much blood. More than you had ever seen in one place. Too much for it to be okay, too much for it to mean anything other than the obvious. You should have turned around. You should have stopped looking. But you couldn’t. You couldn’t do anything except stand there, heart frozen in your chest, as your brain worked double time, locking onto every detail like it needed to catalog the carnage in order to make sense of it. The body was positioned too neatly, arms at its sides, legs straight, head turned away just enough that it felt unnatural—like whoever had done this hadn’t just been brutal, but deliberate.

Your stomach clenched. The smell invaded your nose again, worse now, thick and nauseating, making something cold claw its way up your spine. You stumbled back a step, your hand flying to clamp around your mouth before you could decide whether you were about to scream or be sick. You needed to move. You needed to leave. You needed to call someone, do something, but your limbs refused to cooperate, locking up as if freezing in place would somehow make this all disappear. Your body was waiting for direction, for instinct to kick in, but it never did.

Then, the bathroom door on the other side of the room swung open, spilling yellow light into the dim space as a man stepped out.

At first, it was the fluffy pink robe that threw you off, a ridiculous contrast against the raw violence laid out before you. Your brain latched onto it, desperate for anything that made sense, anything that didn’t belong to the nightmare in front of you. But then your eyes dragged upward, and you saw it—the blood.

It was everywhere. Splattered across his throat, smeared up his neck, drying in dark, uneven streaks along his collarbone. His hand was coated in it, the thick, dried red cracked over his knuckles, like he hadn’t bothered to wash it off. Like he hadn’t cared enough to try.

Panic reared its head, shoving its way into your chest, squeezing your lungs tighter than before. It was one thing to stumble across a body, to witness a crime. It was another to look into the eyes of the man who had done it. Your body understood before your mind did—the liquid fire of adrenaline flooding through your veins, your muscles locking up in place, every nerve screaming caught, caught, caught.

His gaze locked onto you, heavy and assessing, and even from where you stood, you could tell his eyes were the deepest ocean blue you had ever seen. There was no rage in them, no madness—nothing that fit the sheer bloodshed he had left behind. He was unnervingly handsome, despite it all. Maybe because of it.

He inhaled, dragging another slow pull from his cigarette, letting the smoke curl lazily from his lips before shifting his weight, completely unconcerned.

Then, finally, he spoke.

“Well,” he muttered, voice rough and edged with disinterest as he let out a puff of smoke, “shit.”

You should have run.

You should have turned and bolted down the hallway, thrown yourself outside, screamed for help—something. But you didn’t. Your body wouldn’t listen, wouldn’t let you turn and run from the scene in front of you. Your limbs were locked in place, rooted to the motel floor like they had forgotten how to move, how to respond, how to do anything but tremble.

He seemed to notice, and flicking his cigarette, he made his way slowly toward you. He was so slow and careful it was almost predatory, like he was trying to camouflage into whatever normalcy was left in the room. Like he was trying to convince you that this was completely normal and he wasn’t some axe murderer in a pink fluffy robe.

“C’mon now,” he muttered, stepping toward you with zero hesitation, like your presence here was nothing more than an inconvenience. “Least shut the damn door.”

He moved with easy, unbothered confidence, reaching past you, pressing his palm against the motel door and nudging it inward. It swung heavy on its hinges, closing behind you with a soft, final click.

Your breath shuddered. You were really stuck here now, with him, and for some reason, the panic in your chest wasn’t flaring like before. You remained stock-still, frozen, waiting for him to make his move, to put you out of your misery for being a witness to his crime. What was his weapon of choice? Did he have a knife? A gun? Did he kill with his bare hands?

The man stepped in close, standing just in front of you now, close enough that you could see the uneven streaks of blood drying against his throat, close enough that you could smell the mix of cigarettes and sweat and something deeper layered with the metallic tang of blood. 

He didn’t say anything right away. Just looked at you, head tilting ever so slightly, like he was turning over a thought in his head, working something out.

Then he exhaled, lifting a hand—slow, deliberate, like he was giving you a second to react—and twisted a lock of your hair between his fingers.

His touch was light, but it sent a bolt of something electric straight through your spine, and yet, still, you didn’t move. You should have pulled away. You should have slapped his hand down. But your body wasn’t yours right now. It belonged to fear.

He hummed low in his throat, almost to himself, turning the strands between his fingers, studying them with an unreadable expression.

“You’re real pretty,” he muttered, almost absentmindedly, like it was a passing observation, not something meant to soothe you. His voice was low, rough, dragging over the syllables like he didn’t use them often. “What’s a pretty thing like you doin’ in a place like this?”

Your throat locked up, lungs seizing against the flood of adrenaline. You weren’t even sure if your heart was still in your chest based on the way blood was roaring in your ears, drowning out every rational thought. He was teasing. Curious. And—God—flirty?

If you didn’t know better, if you hadn’t just stepped into this room, hadn’t seen the blood, hadn’t noticed the body stretched out too perfectly on the bed—you might’ve… you might’ve…

You swallowed hard, but your throat was too dry to get any sound out. Your pulse slammed in your ears, your heartbeat betraying everything you wanted to hide. He watched you for a moment longer, then let your hair slip from his grip, rubbing his bloodstained fingers together as if testing the softness.

“You’re shakin’,” he observed, mouth pulling into something that wasn’t quite a smirk, but leaned in that direction, like your fear was interesting to him… like it was cute.

His fingers twitched then, and after a pause, he reached up again after sticking his cigarette in his mouth—this time, just barely brushing his knuckles along your jaw. The touch was fleeting, but enough to make you tense even more.

He made another small sound in the back of his throat, mock sympathy edging into it.

“Like a scared little bunny.”

You should have been running. Screaming for your life. You should have turned and bolted the second you saw the blood. Why weren’t you fucking running?

The part of you that should have been shutting down, the part of you that should have been clawing for survival, digging its heels into your fogged, terrified brain to pay fucking attention—that part of you…

It was curious about him too.

You watched as his face changed then, watching your reactions like a predator tracking in his prey, eyes narrowing as they darted around your face, reading you, piecing something together. His lips twitched like he was amused, like he had figured out something you didn’t even understand about yourself yet.

“No…” he said, pulling his hand away, head tilting slightly before his face split into a grin, pulling the cigarette out between his fingers, “you’re not scared, are you, little bunny? You like this.”

“No!” The word ripped out of you, barely a whisper at first, but then louder, cracking in the dim room around you., “No.” Your breath stuttered as you tried to sound more confident, your whole body wired too tight, but the denial felt weak even to your own ears.

“Oh, there she is,” he said, watching you closely, pleased that he had finally drawn something out of you. “You gotta name, sweetheart?”

Your lips pressed together, your jaw tight, but your eyes sharpened, taking him in, really seeing him now. His blue eyes were dangerous and beautiful and terrifying all at once, cutting through the haze of your fear like a blade. There was blood splattered up his face, drying along the sharp structure of his cheekbone, disappearing into the strands of dark hair that hung loose in his eyes. It should have made him look monstrous. It should have made him unrecognizable as anything human.

But it didn’t.

It made you want to lean forward. Your mind flashed with the idea, and you did everything you could to keep your body from following, the idea that you wanted to trace the sharp cut of his jaw, to drag your tongue over the remnants of metallic blood he had missed along his lip and—

No.

No no no no no.

The thought seared through you like an open flame. Your breath caught, your skin igniting in humiliation, a flush so deep you wanted to disappear. You couldn’t believe this. Couldn’t believe your own body, couldn’t believe the way your stomach clenched, the way something hot and ugly was overlapping the sheer horror of what this man had done. There was fear, yes—a lot of it. But there was something else crawling underneath, something just as intense, something that made your pulse skyrocket as his hand moved.

His hand pushed the cigarette into the wooden frame, the hiss of the burning end snuffing out by your head. His fingers then found the strap of your shirt, curling around the fabric, dragging it down over your shoulder with his bloodstained grip.

“No name, huh?” he murmured, watching your face, watching every shift in your expression, like he was memorizing what you looked like when you trembled. His voice was lower now, quieter, dangerous in a way that wasn’t loud or obvious, but steady and unshaken. He leaned in closer, close enough that the heat of his breath ghosted over your throat.

“That’s okay, bunny,” he muttered. “I don’t got a name either.”

Your stomach dropped.

And then, to your utter horror, he kissed your shoulder.

Not deep. Not forceful. Just the slow, deliberate press of his mouth against your skin, his lips barely parted, dragging warm and rough over the place he had just exposed.

It sent a violent shudder down your spine. The sensation—the heat of him, the quiet intimacy of it, the way he didn’t move away after, just lingered there—lit something in your chest, something sharp and unbearable. Your nipples, the traitors, hardened underneath your shirt, poking through the thin fabric that stretched across your chest. A gasp left you before you could stop it, your eyes widening in shock.

The man huffed softly against your skin, something amused in the sound.

“You like this, bunny?” His voice was slow, edged with something almost thoughtful, like he was figuring it out as he spoke. His nose brushed the side of your throat, his breath warm as he tilted his head, inhaling the scent of your perfume.

“You like a man like me takin’ advantage of just how scared you are?” His hand tightened just slightly at your shoulder, his mouth ghosting along your jaw before he murmured, “That it, bunny? You like the fear?”

His lips brushed your pulse.

“The shame?”

His fingers traced along your collarbone, the metallic tang of copper filling your nose as his hand got closer and closer to your face again.

“You turned on by a little bit of blood?”

Your breath caught in your throat, fingers curling at your sides, and you knew whatever you said next would change everything. You should have lied. You should have denied it, should have shaken your head, should have shoved him away and run before it was too late.

Your mouth parted, your chest heaving like you had just surfaced from drowning, but before you could answer, his hand snapped up, grabbing the nape of your neck, fingers lacing in your hair. His other hand suddenly gripped your jaw, forcing your face to tilt toward him.

It was fast, sudden, a flash of violence that slammed through you like a bolt of electricity, it made you gasp sharply, eyes going wide.

His grip wasn’t bruising, but it was firm, unyielding. His fingers dug into your jaw just enough that it bordered on pain, enough that you felt the quiet threat humming underneath him.

His eyes narrowed, sharp, dark, and hungry, locking onto yours like a predator seeing prey for exactly what it was. His grip tightened for a split second, his thumb dragging rough over your cheek, the dried blood flaking slightly against your skin, crumbling like dust beneath his touch.

“Say it,” he rasped, voice still calm, still steady as stone, but something inside it had changed—harder now, more dangerous.

Your body locked up, trapped between the heat of him and the cold reality of what was happening, of what had been happening for longer than just that moment.

Because it hadn’t started when you stepped into this room.

It didn’t start when you saw the blood. It didn’t even start when you heard the body hit the floor.

It started long before that.

You’d always known something was wrong with you. The way fear didn’t keep you away—it called to you, wrapped around your ribs and had you in its grip. The way you’d always looked for danger, for the spike of adrenaline that made your heart hammer against your ribs, made you feel more alive than anything else.

You could’ve stayed at your parents’ house. You could’ve forced yourself to sit through another dinner filled with questions about your future, their expectations suffocating you like a cage you were never meant to fit inside. But you didn’t.

You left in the middle of the night, peeling away from their house like something inside you was clawing to be free, chasing an impulse you hadn’t fully understood at the time.

You hadn’t stopped driving until exhaustion forced your hand. And when you pulled into this motel, when you stepped onto that cracked pavement, when you heard the distant sounds of raised voices, of something heavy hitting the ground—your pulse hadn’t stuttered in fear.

It had spiked.

And while you tried to ignore it, ignore that pull, to force yourself to sleep, you couldn’t say no to that part of you that needed to see. You’d left your room, weaving through the shadows of the motel, passing this exact door. The vending machine hadn’t been the excuse you told yourself it was. It wasn’t hunger for food that had your stomach twisting, your body restless against the scratchy motel sheets.

It was hunger to know.

To see.

To find the blood, the body, and the man who did it.

And now he was standing in front of you, looking at you like he already knew all of it. Like he’d read the answer in your dilated eyes, in the way your breath had hitched when you first saw him, in the way you were still here, still trembling under his grip but not running.

Your mouth was dry, your body refusing to move, refusing to break free of his hold. Because the worst part wasn’t that you were afraid.

The worst part was that you liked it.

You made a small, broken noise, your fingers twitching, your whole body tight as a wire as you reached up, your hands sliding around his  forearm.

“Yes,” you whispered. It was barely a sound, barely more than breath, but his eyes flickered, something shifting beneath them.

The pressure released all at once.

His grip loosened from your jaw, tracing down the side of your throat with something slower now, something more deliberate. You let your hands fall, reaching for him instead. His thumb dragged along your cheek, wiping away the remnants of old blood he had left there. His lips lingered, the warmth of them stark against your skin, a slow drag over your jaw as he exhaled. The scent of him—smoke, sweat, the faint metallic ghost of dried blood—was thick in your lungs, wrapping around you, leaving no space for anything else.

His lips barely moved as they traced your jaw again when he spoke, the words slipping against your skin, low and quiet, like they weren’t meant for the space between you but meant to sink into you, settle deep, curl around something inside you that you didn’t even have a name for.

“I know, bunny.”

It was soft, almost affectionate, but threaded with something deeper. Something knowing.

Like he had been waiting for you to admit it to yourself first.

His fingers, the ones still tangled in your hair, tightened slightly—not rough, but firm, keeping you in place, keeping you still for him. He turned your head just enough to guide you, slow, like testing a skittish animal, like making sure you wouldn’t bolt the second he took what you were already offering.

You didn’t know him. You didn’t even know his name.

And none of that mattered.

Your hands, trembling but restless, lifted before you could stop them, pressing against the warm plane of his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall beneath your palms. He was solid. Real. Your fingertips brushed against the edge of the pink robe he still hadn’t bothered to shed, the soft, ridiculous fabric clashing with the rough scrape of stubble along your throat as his mouth continued its path downward.

You felt the shift in him before you even saw it, the slight pause of his breath, the way his grip in your hair flexed before tightening further. His tongue peeked out from his mouth, tracing the vein of your artery along the column of your neck. You shuddered against him, eyes fluttering closed, and he chuckled, low and breathless against your skin, the sound of it vibrating against your pulse.

“That feel nice, sweetheart?”

You opened your eyes to look at him, and his were darker now, heavy-lidded, focused entirely on you, taking in every shuddering breath, every small twitch of your lips, the way your pupils had swallowed nearly all of your color.

Then, he kissed you.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet. It was ravenous. Not just hungry but starved. The slow, intoxicating drag of lips and teeth and heat blurred every thought, every warning screaming in your head turning into static. You felt one of his hands skim lower, tracing the dip of your waist, fingers pressing into the thin fabric of your shirt like he was debating whether to rip it from your body or take his time peeling you open.

His mouth moved over yours like he already knew you’d open for him, like he had been waiting for it, waiting for this.

And God, you let him.

[snowysosturn]

Fire & Desire - Matt Sturniolo Part 21

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22

Pairing: Y/n x Matt Sturniolo

Summary: Y/n has always clashed with Matt. Despite working for Chris’s clothing brand and being close with Nick, her relationship with Matt has always been tense at best. While being forced to be around each other more, their animosity turns into something deeper. Can they overcome their differences, or will their fiery emotions tear them apart?

Warnings: Angst, tension, arguments, hurt.

Nick and I stand there, frozen.

My stomach drops to my ass.

Christina is in Matt’s bed.

Fast asleep, wrapped up in his sheets like she belongs there. It reminds me of when I stayed in his bed in the house.

How could he allow her to do the same.

I feel Nick tense beside me, he's silent but I can almost hear the cogs turning in his mind, like he’s piecing together the same horrifying realization I am.

Then the ensuite door swings open.

And out walks Matt.

Messy hair. Shirtless. Sweatpants hanging low on his hips. Looks like she helped him out last night instead.

The second he looks up, our eyes meet.

And everything inside me stops.

Nick moves first, he could never be silent for that long. “Are you fucking kidding me?!”

Matt’s mouth parts slightly, but Nick doesn’t give him the chance.

“Seriously?” he seethes, stepping forward. His voice is a dangerous mix of betrayal and anger. “You fucking lied to me. To her.” His arm motions toward me, but I can’t move. I can’t even breathe.

Matt tries to speak.

But Nick gives him no mercy.

“I don’t wanna hear it!” he snaps, his voice rising. “I don’t wanna hear a single fucking word come out of your mouth right now.”

Matt’s face hardens, but he stays silent.

Nick scoffs. “You had one thing to prove, Matt. That you meant it this time.” He shakes his head. “And you couldn’t even do that.”

I can’t stand here anymore.

I need to be in my room. So I turn and leave the room.

Not fast. Not slow. I honestly feel like I'm floating.

I can hear Nick’s voice from down the hall, and he's not letting up easy.

“You either care about her or you don’t, Matt.” His words cut through the thick, suffocating silence.

“So which is it?”

I don’t hear Matt’s answer.

Because I don’t think I could handle it.

Nick’s POV

Y/n turns and walks away, and I don’t blame her.

I watch her go, watch the way her arms wrap around herself like she’s holding herself together, like she has to hold herself together because Matt sure as fuck won’t.

But I’m not done.

Not even close.

I turn back to Matt, still standing there like a fucking idiot, like he’s the one blindsided.

“You’ve gotta be fucking joking.” I breathe, the disbelief thick in my voice.

Matt doesn’t even try to defend himself.

Maybe he knows there’s no excuse.

Maybe he just doesn’t have one.

Matt motions me out of the bedroom before closing the door behind him, the two of us stood in the hallway.

“What, I might wake your precious Christina?” I sneer, pointing at the door. “Wouldn’t wanna interrupt her beauty sleep, huh?”

Matt exhales sharply. “It’s not like that.”

I laugh. “Oh, really? Because from where I’m standing, it looks exactly like that.”

He shakes his head, but I don’t soften.

“I’m so disgusted with you.” I shutter. “I thought you would be real this time. That if you were serious about Y/n, you’d to fucking act like it.”

Matt clenches his jaw. “Nick-”

“And what do you do?” I cut him off. “You self sabotage. Again. Like you always fucking do. Because you never know how to handle something real.”

Matt’s eyes darken.

I don’t care.

I take another step forward. “And Y/n?” I point a finger toward the door she just walked toward. “She’s the realest thing you’re ever gonna get. And you know that.”

He drops his gaze for a second, but it’s long enough for me to see it.

Guilt.

Good.

“You know it” I repeat, voice quieter but my tone stays the same. “And you just threw it away.”

Matt opens his mouth, but before he can get a word out, a door behind me swings open.

“Jesus Christ” Chris groans, stepping into the hall. He looks half asleep, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “Can you two shut the fuck up? Rachel’s asleep in my room.”

I whip around. “Oh, of course she is!” I snap. “So what, you’ve got a girl in your bed too?”

Chris blinks at me, like he wasn’t expecting that reaction. “What?”

I throw my hands up.  “Seriously, who the fuck thought it’d be a good idea to bring girls out here?” 

I don’t care who hears me.

I don’t care if I wake up the entire goddamn villa.

Chris shrugs, unfazed. “I did?” looking at me like I’ve lost my mind.

“The fuck are you freaking out about?” he scoffs. “I like Rachel, so I flew her out. I can do that, you know.”

I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Oh yeah? And you think that was a good fucking idea?”

Chris crosses his arms. “Why the fuck wouldn’t it be?”

“Because look at what you just caused!” I snap, throwing a hand back toward Matt’s door. “You might not have been the fire, but you sure as fuck were the fuel.”

Chris rolls his eyes. “You’re being dramatic.”

“No, I’m being real.” I hiss, stepping closer. “I want them out. Within the next two hours. I don’t give a fuck what needs to be done. I want them gone.”

Chris’ expression hardens. “That’s unfair.”

I shake my head. “Unfair?” I scoff. “You wanna talk about unfair? Y/n spent this whole trip thinking her and Matt were finally on the same fucking page, and now she walks in to find Christina, of all fucking people, in his bed? And you wanna stand there and act like I’m being unfair?

Chris opens his mouth, as Matt stands awkwardly next to me.

Chris locks eyes with him.

“Wait, what?” Chris’s brow furrows. “She’s in your bed?”

Matt still doesn’t say a word.

Chris shakes his head, exhaling sharply. “Jesus Christ, man.”

I shake my head in complete disgust, looking between the two of them.

“The two of you are fucking idiots” I say, my voice filled with nothing but disappointment. “Absolute fucking idiots.”

Chris exhales sharply, rubbing a hand down his face, while Matt just stands there, still not saying a goddamn word.

I don’t have the patience for this. Not right now.

Without another word, I turn on my heel and storm down the hallway, heading straight for Y/n’s room on the other side of the villa. My blood is boiling, not just at Matt but at Chris too. They both fucked up, and they both know it.

As I walk away, I hear Chris let out a frustrated sigh before opening his door and stepping into his room.

Matt?

I don’t hear him move at all.

I get to Y/n’s room and try the handle, but the door doesn’t budge. It’s locked.

I sigh, knocking gently. “Y/n, it’s just me.”

A few seconds pass, and then I hear the soft click of the lock. The door opens, and there she is, completely wrecked, her eyes red and swollen, tears streaming down her face. My chest tightens at the sight of her.

“Ah no Y/n.” I mutter, stepping in without hesitation.

Before she can say a word, I pull her into me, wrapping my arms around her tightly. The second she buries her face into my chest, she breaks, her sobs shaking her whole body. I squeeze her tighter, resting my chin on the top of her head.

“He’s an idiot” I tell her. “A fucking idiot.”

She doesn’t respond, just keeps crying, and I hold her through it.

After a minute, I guide her over to the bed, and we settle in. She wipes at her face, sniffling, and I wait, letting her take her time.

Finally, I ask, “What happened last night?”

Y/n takes a deep breath, wiping at her damp cheeks before finally looking up at me. Her voice is quiet, shaky.

“It was fine at first” she starts. “Obviously I was so happy for you, then you’s got up and left after Chris did.” She trails off, taking another breath.

“Then Chris came back with them.”

I already know exactly who she means.

“Christina and Rachel” I say, and she nods, pressing her lips together like even saying the name makes her sick.

“Chris kinda insinuated to Matt about them two catching up.. Nate and I felt awkward, so we went and did two shots and when we came back Matt and Chris were gone, it was just Rachel and Christina in the booth.” She says, staring blankly across the room.

“I mean, I knew things had happened between them before, but Matt told me.. he told me he hadn’t been with anyone since..” She pauses, blinking rapidly, like she’s trying to stop fresh tears from falling. “Since that night in the house. And Vegas was after that, so I didn’t think, I hoped, nothing happened. But the second she started talking, I just knew.”

She clenches her fists in her lap, shaking her head.

“She was smug. She kept making these little comments, insinuating that they were a thing. And when I asked her outright how Vegas was, she just smirked and said “WhAt HaPpEnS iN vEgAs StAyS iN vEgas.”

My jaw tightens.

“That was it for me” she says. “I didn’t want to be there anymore. I knew if I stayed, I’d just get more upset, and I didn’t want to make a scene. I just needed to leave.”

She looks at me with tired, blood shot eyes.

“Nate asked if I was okay, and I told him it was just a weird situation, but.. the truth is, it wasn’t just weird. It hurt.” She pauses. “I don’t think anything happened in Vegas.. Well, I didn’t. But the fact that she’s still here, still acting like she has some claim over him, and the fact that he-” Her voice breaks, and she swallows hard before continuing. “That he let it happen? That he didn’t even try to stop it? It just made me feel like a fool.”

I shake my head, anger building in my chest.

“You’re not a fool.” I tell her firmly. “He is.”

She gives me a weak smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Me and Nate ended up leaving then, he didn’t want to stay either” she says. “I didn’t even say goodbye to Matt, but at that point, I didn’t care. I just wanted to be away from it all.”

I nod. “Was anything said at all?”

She sighs. “Nope, when we got back to the villa. I checked my phone, hoping stupidly that maybe Matt had messaged me. I know he’d seen I left. I just hoped that he’d care.”

Her voice wavers on those last two words, and I clench my fists.

“But there was nothing” she whispers. “Not a single message. Not a bit of concern. And I just, got so angry because I knew why I was angry. Because I care. Because I have feelings for him.”

She blinks, a single tear slipping down her cheek.

“So I turned my phone off and went to bed, hoping that if I slept, the night would be over faster.”

I take a deep breath, letting everything she just told me sink in. I already was mad, but now? Now I’m fucking fuming.

I run a hand through my hair, shaking my head. “I'm going to say it again, but Matt’s a fucking idiot” I mutter.

She lets out a small, sad laugh. “Yeah. He is.”

I pull her in again, letting her rest against me.

I let out a deep sigh, rubbing my face. “I feel awful for not being there for you last night” I admit, my voice heavy with guilt.

Y/n immediately shakes her head. “No, don’t feel bad. You didn’t do anything wrong. You were living your life which you deserve, you were oblivious to everything.” She sniffles.

I lean my head back against the headboard, exhaling sharply. “Well, this whole situation has officially shocked me into being completely sober.”

That earns a small giggle from her, and I smile, relieved to see even the tiniest bit of light return to her eyes.

I tilt my head, looking at her. “Do you want me to stay in here for a bit?”

She hesitates for a second before shaking her head. “No, I think I’d like to be on my own for a little while.”

I nod, respecting her space. “Okay. But if you need anything, I mean it, Y/n, just come get me. I don’t care what time it is.”

She gives me a grateful smile. “Thanks, Nick.”

I squeeze her hand one last time before getting up, heading for the door. Before I step out, I glance back at her, still curled up in bed, her eyes staring off at nothing.

I want to fix this for her. I want to fix Matt. But for now, the only thing I can do is be here for her.

So I leave her room, closing the door gently behind me, and head to my own.

Y/n’s POV

I drag myself off of my bed to  push open the balcony door, letting the early morning air into my room. I feel like I’m suffocating in here, like the walls are closing in on me.

I crawl back into bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling nothing and everything all at once. Numbness settles over me, and I let it. I don’t know how long I lie there, my mind running in endless circles, but it must be at least an hour.

Then, faintly, I hear voices outside on the patio. My ears perk up at the low tones, one voice sharper than the other.

Nate and Chris.

I don’t move, barely breathing as I listen.

Nate’s voice is quiet, laced with disbelief. “I just don’t get it, man.”

Chris sighs. “What?”

“This whole thing. I came home with Y/n last night, and I thought-” He pauses, like he’s still processing it. “I thought Matt was different with her. That he actually gave a shit.”

Chris exhales, and I hear the scrape of a chair moving. “I don’t know what the fuck is going if I’m honest.”

Then followed by a pause.

“The girls are leaving soon” Chris says after a moment, his voice more certain. “I told them they have to go.”

Girls? So that means Rachel is in the villa, too.

I close my eyes, pressing my fingers into my temples. The thoughts of the four of them being in that booth all night. It’s not the four it should’ve been.

“Good” Nate finally says, though his voice is distant, still caught up in his thoughts. “That’s good.”

Neither of them says anything after that, just the occasional sound of movement. I don’t know what to do with any of this. Do I go back to sleep and pretend I didn’t hear? Do I stay curled up in bed and wait for them to leave?

I don’t know.

All I do know is that I don’t want to feel like this anymore.

I swallow the lump in my throat as I hear the girls voices outside, light and carefree, like they have no idea the storm they’ve left behind.

They laugh, saying their goodbyes, talking about how much fun they had. Christina’s voice is the loudest, going on about how this trip is "so needed." Rachel thanks Chris for having them over last night, her tone full of gratitude, like this was just some casual getaway and not the disaster it turned into.

“We’ll let you know when we’re back at our hotel” Rachel says smoothly.

Chris responds almost too casually, “Yeah, do that. Hopefully, we can meet later. One on one.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling the sting in my chest. Of course. Of course, he’s already setting up another meetup, like none of this meant anything. Like bringing them here, ruining everything, was just some minor inconvenience.

How long are they even here for?

I hear the shuffle of movement. I hear Christina giggle, making some passing comment about how wild the night was, and then the sound of the front door closing.

They’re gone.

But the mess they left behind? That’s still here.

I should feel relieved, but all I feel is exhausted.

I don’t move from my bed for the rest of the day. Not for food, not for water. I just lie there, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of everything settle over me. My mind replays every moment, every touch, every look, every promise Matt ever gave me.

Was it all fake?

Did he ever mean any of it?

Or was his plan to play with me all along?

I feel stupid. Completely and utterly stupid. I let myself believe in something real. I let myself believe in him. And now, I’m left here, in this bed, in this villa, drowning in the realization that I was just another girl to him. Another meaningless moment in his never ending cycle of self sabotage.

Tears well up in my eyes, but I don’t let them fall. I’ve cried enough.

Instead, I just lay here. Empty.

Four more days in this place. Four more days of agony, of being in the same space as Matt, of pretending I don’t care when it’s eating me alive. Within the last 10 days, everything felt different, full of excitement, possibility. Now, it feels like I’m trapped in a nightmare I can’t wake up from.

It’s confusing. All of it. The way he looked at me before, the way he made me feel like I mattered. And now? Now he’s just another person who’s shown me that words mean nothing. That promises are empty.

But one thing is clear.

I don’t want to speak to Matt again.

a/n : GET HIM NICK GET HIM (dw any questions you may have will be answered)

taglist : @mattybearnard @sturn-33 @ncm9696 @yourfavsturniologirl @crazy4jewel @sodakid1234 @stupendoustreewinner @lovealwayssturniolos @matthewsturniolosss @m4ttsmunch @loveexxx @ilusa @starkeyszn @wonnieeluvvr @dylnblue @valxrieq @maggot3647 @cigarettecemetary @ribread03 @chrisstvrns @bandasaruswrx @noplaceissafeanymore @amexiass @witchofthehour @mattssgf @jetaimevous @v33angel  @ivysturnss @urmom69lol @ashlishes @watercolorskyy @sturnioloshottiekay @amelia-sturniolo3 @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @pvssychicken @alizestvrnss @chrisstxrnsaxe @sophand4n4 @vickytaa @marrykisskilled @bxtchboy69 @yourfavsturniologirl @julisturn @sydneyylainn @sophia-77n @trevorsgodmother @sturnslutz @yourmother29 @girl24cherry @astronea @pinkdyit

[violetwifey]

𝑼𝒏𝒓𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒅

𓂃 ࣪⋆💿˚ ༘ synopsis:

roomate!vi helps reader to untangle knots in their hair and even braids it 💗

Today was one of the worst days you’ve ever had. You find out that you’ve failed a test you spent 2 solid weeks to work on. Your mom calls you to lecture you on how you rarely come home during the weekends. Some idiot sitting beside you in class would not stop chewing his gum so loudly. The list goes on.

You were so relieved to finally be walking back to the dorm— eager to wash the day off with a hot shower and lay in bed as you eat some hot ramen, watching your comfort show till you fall asleep.

The door opened with a creak as you stepped inside. You took off your shoes to put it on the shoe rack. As usual, you saw Vi— your roommate— doing her workout in the living room. Normally you would tease her— telling her how she cares way too much about her body, or how she was slacking a little. But you had no mood for any of that today.

So instead, you walked straight to your room. Vi found that suspicious. She looked up at your closed door while doing her last set of pushups but decided that you were probably just tired and needed some time alone.

But then she heard it when coming out of the shower.

A sharp, frustrated noise. Followed by the sound of the brush hitting the vanity. Then another frustrated grunt. Then—

A muffled sob.

Vi’s reaction was immediate, her body moving before her mind caught up. She pushed open the door, and the sight before her broke her heart. You sat in front of the mirror, wrapped in a bathrobe, damp hair wetting the back of it. Your hands trembled as you tried to push the brush through the tangles of your hair.

When it didn’t work, you put more force. The more you struggled the rougher you got. Your shoulders were shaking, your eyes glassy with tears.

Then, with a sharp inhale, you snapped. “Why won’t you just—” Your voice cracked as you yanked the brush harder, only for it to snag painfully. “God, I hate this—I hate everything—”

Vi didn’t think. She just moved.

She was at your side in a heartbeat, gently prying the brush from your fingers before you could hurt yourself anymore. “Hey, hey, stop,” she murmured. “You’re gonna hurt yourself if you keep going like that.”

You wanted to yell at her. Scream for her to just leave you alone. But when she said, “Lemme do it”, in the most softest voice you’ve ever heard from her, you couldn’t find it in you to protest.

She crouched behind you, one knee pressed into the floor, her hands hovering just above your shoulders as if giving you the chance to say no. And when you stayed silent, she took it as permission and gently gathered your hair in her hands, separating it into manageable sections.

“Just relax, yeah pretty?” she murmured, her breath warm against your neck.

The first touch of the brush was so different from how you’d been handling it—so careful. She started at the very ends, working through each tangle slowly, making sure not to tug too hard. When she hit a particularly stubborn knot, she didn’t yank like you had in frustration. Instead, she worked through it with her fingers first, twisting the strands apart with delicate precision before running the brush through again.

“You gotta be gentle,” she said, almost to herself. “Your hair’s just mad at you for manhandling it.”

You let out a weak laugh, but your eyes burned with fresh tears. Not from frustration this time, but from how impossibly tender she was being.

She kept going, section by section, brushing in slow, careful strokes. Every once in a while, she’d smooth her palm over your hair, as if to soothe both you and the strands she was tending to.

“There we go,” she muttered, more to herself than to you. “Not so bad when you take your time, huh?”

You nodded wordlessly, too overwhelmed to speak.

She paused, setting the brush down for a moment, and you thought she was done—until she ran her fingers through your hair, combing through the strands with a softness you’d never expected from someone like Vi.

“Better?” she asked, her voice still quiet, still careful.

You swallowed hard. “Yeah… better.”

Vi hummed, satisfied, and then—before you could brace yourself—she stood and wrapped her arms around your shoulders from behind, pulling you into her chest.

Vi’s arms were warm around you, and the weight of her presence was steady, comforting. You could still feel the dampness in your eyes, but the raw, exposed feeling that had been gnawing at your chest was slowly starting to fade. It was as though Vi’s gentle hands had somehow untangled more than just your hair.

She pulled back just slightly, giving you space but still holding you close enough that her presence was unshakeable. You glanced at the mirror in front of you, your hair finally free of tangles and knots, now soft and shiny.

“Better?” she asked again when she noticed that your tears stopped coming, her voice still low and careful.

“Yeah,” you breathed, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. You felt embarrassed, but at the same time, you couldn’t ignore the tenderness Vi had shown. “Actually… could you, uh… could you braid it?”

Vi raised an eyebrow, but there was a small, surprised smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “You want me to braid your hair?”

You nodded, a little hesitant but somehow trusting her. “Please? I don’t know… it might make me feel a little better.”

Vi studied you for a moment, and just as quickly, her smile softened. She reached for the brush again, setting it aside on the table, before bringing a chair, moving to sit behind you.

“Alright,” she said, voice uncharacteristically gentle. “Let’s see what I can do.”

Her fingers brushed through your hair one more time, gathering the strands with ease. There was no rush, no teasing, just a calm rhythm as she worked her way through, braiding your hair with careful concentration.

The feeling of her hands in your hair, so skilled yet gentle, made you relax even further. The tension in your shoulders melted away with each smooth tug of the braid. It was intimate—more so than any teasing moment you’d shared—and something about it felt… different.

When she was done, she tied the end with an elastic and gently tugged at the braid to make sure it was secure.

“How’s that?” she asked, her tone soft but still with that playful edge.

You reached up, feeling the braid resting against your neck, and for the first time in what felt like forever, a small, genuine smile tugged at your lips. “It’s perfect, Vi. Thank you.”

She paused for a moment, and you caught a glimpse of something warm in her eyes, something that wasn’t teasing or sarcastic. Just… warmth.

“Anytime, pretty,” she said, a soft chuckle escaping her lips. “Next time, you’re not handling it all by yourself, alright?”

You nodded, your chest full for the first time in a while. “Alright. Next time… I won’t.”

And in that moment, with the comfort of her hands in your hair, you felt like you were exactly where you needed to be.

i'm alive <3

anyways, this is day 187629843 of questioning the universe why vi isn't real.

also, i really want arcane friends in this app, cus none of my friends watch it in real life even when i suggested for them to watch this masterpiece. one of them even said they found it boring. the audacity? but to each their own...ig?? their loss! 😛

[defututus]

Baggage Claim Reunion

modern!rockstar!eddie Munson x reader

masterlist

summary: Corroded Coffin is finally home after their first supporting tour in the UK and you get to pick them up.

word count: 5.3k

content warning: established relationship, fluff, more fluff, some language, references to sex and a dom/sub relationship that I'll explore at some point, overall you and Eddie are just happy to be reunited.

author's note: this came to me as I was waiting for @corroded-hellfire to pick me up from the airport when I visited her. I stewed on the idea for a little bit before deciding to write it and I'm really happy with how it turned out!

Also, I'm starting a general taglist if anyone is interested 👉👈

Indianapolis International Airport was buzzing with people in the evening. Most of the individuals walking by look like they’d rather be anywhere else right now as they slump over in the chairs waiting for their luggage or lean against the handles of their carry-on bag. It was amazing to see how some people dressed there. You saw people dressed from head to toe in new Disney merch, in their pajamas, suits, the whole nine yards. Indiana was finally blessed with a few warm days around this time of year so you drove to the airport in a sweatshirt and some pajama pants. The occasion was exciting but did not warrant dressing up since you’d be going to bed right after. You even tried to nap earlier in the day but the anticipation for today’s events kept you wide awake. Hell, you’re probably the only one at the arrivals gate full of energy as you anxiously bounce on your slippered feet waiting for the passengers of an 11-hour flight from Helsinki to return home. 

Corroded Coffin had finally made it and was invited to open up for another band on the European leg of their tour. Everyone was so ecstatic when they got the call from the band's agent and began preparing. Eddie quickly got the necessary time off from work approved (one of the perks of Wayne’s new promotion to shop manager), passports were renewed, visas expedited, and before you all could even process what was happening you waved goodbye as Corroded Coffin flew off to tour for the next month. It was hard for you to adjust to your apartment being so quiet. Eddie was always coming over to stay the night to the point that you’d joke he should just move in. Maybe you’d suggest that after dropping everyone off when they arrived home. The band would have weekly hang outs every Saturday night at your place and would sometimes culminate in a sleepover with you all sprawled out across the living room. Your head more often than not would end up on Eddie’s shoulder and his arm draped across your shoulder. It was weird to go so long without him humming a tune or tapping his fingers against something. It almost didn’t feel like home without him. 

Eddie would call you after every show and you’d spend as much time as possible catching up on each other's day before he had to go help with loading up the van and promise to call again the next day. There’s the usual back and forth about who should hang up first until one person gives in, or in some cases one of the band members takes the phone and hangs up for you guys. They don’t do it to be mean, but they all know that if they don’t do it then Eddie will make them late for load out almost every night. 

You miss Eddie’s warmth, his contagious laughter, the way he always had a corny joke or compliment when you were in a bad mood. Hell, you even missed when he was trying to be annoying. You missed every part of him and as proud as you were to see Corroded Coffin get the attention they deserved, you also wanted your best friend and boyfriend back. The distance made you realize how hard it was to function without him. Sure, he had done other tours before, but the time difference left you two with little time to chat and it made you feel lonely. Your other half was missing.

You get to the baggage claim earlier than expected, having looked up the map of the airport the night before to avoid getting lost. The universe must have sensed your desperation because there was barely any traffic during rush hour. Once you strode through the glass doors, you find the carousel everyone’s luggage would be dropped off and park yourself on a bench facing the gate. According to the boards plastered around the airport, Corroded Coffin’s grueling nonstop flight had landed and their luggage was being delivered to the baggage area, meaning your boys would be arriving soon. There’s a small food court near the baggage claim and still had plenty of time left before the guys come out, so you take the opportunity to get some food for yourself. It’s not much, settling for a quesadilla and bag of tortilla chips with queso. You’ll eat that and let the boys fight over the bag when you drive them all home.

Your phone nearly died earlier and you needed it to get home from the airport so you resort to the age-old activity of people watching to make time pass by easily. You watch exhausted families carrying their sleeping children, pilots and flight attendants heading to and from work, and count at least four adorable dogs that make you want to abandon your post waiting for the band so you can say hello to them. There was even a man who sat near you with what was possibly the funniest, most wrinkly English Bulldog you had ever seen. His name was Hank and you were so excited to tell Eddie about him when you two were finally reunited

You were so excited to see everyone – mainly Eddie – that your heart began to pound every time you saw a group of people approach the baggage claim, but found yourself immensely disappointed every time when you learned it was not Corroded Coffin. There was a surprising amount of tall white men with long brown hair. Were you being tortured? It sure felt like it.

Twenty torturous minutes later and you finally see a familiar group of people approaching the baggage area. Leading the pack is Jeff, who is chugging the last of his water and shoving it in his backpack. Grant and Gareth are passionately arguing about something with Gareth enthusiastically jumping as if the added height would help prove his point. Behind those two is a drained looking Eddie with a can of Monster in his hand and his guitar slung over his back. Eddie insisted he take the guitar as a carry-on because he didn’t trust anyone to handle it with care. The rest of the band’s equipment was being shipped back to the States and would arrive in a few weeks.

 He had changed his hair a bit before leaving for tour by getting an undercut and you never realized how much a change in hairstyle could affect his confidence levels. His self-esteem got a big boost once Corroded Coffin began to take off, but this new haircut really helped him.. The longer portion of his hair was tied back into a loose bun to show off the shaved back. You joked that he did it solely to show more of his neck to you since you had a habit of biting it. He had headphones on and wasn’t really paying attention to the argument going on in front of him, looking as exhausted as everyone else in the building, but with little more curiosity about this part of the building and the amenities that surrounded them. He wore a faded Corroded Coffin hoodie (he insisted on repping the band whenever possible) with the sleeves rolled up, exposing his tattoo sleeves and a pair of gray sweatpants, your personal favorite. Eddie was definitely dressing for comfort in this case, although you’d make the case that he looks good no matter what. He looked tired, the long flight most likely taking whatever energy he had left before the show, but somehow he looked as perfect as ever.

 Grant is the one to spot you first and waves in your direction. You throw your half-eaten meal down into the large to-go bag it came in and drop it on the floor to dart in their direction. Eddie doesn’t see you barreling over to them, instead taken by the large sculpture near the elevators. It’s not until he hears you yell, “Welcome back!” that he realizes his favorite person is finally here to take them all home that he tugs his headphones off his ears. The metalhead pushes through to the front of the group and meets you halfway to pick you up and twirl you around. He had never looked happier, all semblance of exhaustion wiped off his face the second he had you in his arms.

You’re both smiling at each other and start giggling when he spins you around. Your reunion is like something out of a movie. The world slows down around you as your attention lies solely on Eddie, his eyes, his smile, his everything. The rest of his band watches from afar to allow you both to have this moment. Eddie had a smile on their face that they didn’t see often - it was usually after a great show or whenever you two were apart and he finally saw you again. They collectively decided to keep their mouth shut about how much he’d complain about missing you. Always moaning about how he wished you were there with them, how he wished you saw what he did on stage (you have social media, you saw every second of every show), and how he missed talking to you. Eddie called you every day yet he acted like he hadn’t spoken to you in years. It was easy to just let him have his moment with you while they all waited to collect their luggage at the appropriate carousel as it began dropping out of the chute. 

Eddie’s spinning slows down until he’s just standing there with you in his arms.. He loosens his grip enough to place you down on the floor but immediately pulls you in for a tight hug. If there was one thing about Eddie that you liked to share with people, it was the fact that he gave the most amazing hugs. He would hold you so tightly you felt that he might actually break something if he were any stronger. Years of working odd jobs and later at the mechanic led to him building enough muscle so he finally filled out his shirts and could lift anything with ease. Hauling gear was easy for him, and he particularly took joy in throwing you around like a ragdoll, whether during sex or just to wrestle around and get you to laugh. Right now, it felt like he was trying to squeeze the air out of your lungs. All the love he had for you was fueling the hug’s strength. You reciprocated the embrace as much as you could, still feeling a bit giggly because your boy was finally home. Your face is buried in his neck to take in his scent. It was intoxicating. You had started using some of his shirts as pillow cases to tide you over while he was gone. Your bed usually smelled like him since he slept there most nights, but without him visiting the sheets began to lose their comforting smell. Thankfully, he already had a drawer for his stuff so you didn’t even have to ask him to give you anything. You even took one of his shirts the last time you visited his place so you could have something new.

Eddie presses a kiss to your forehead before resting his head on top of yours, almost whispering against your hair, “Oh honey, my sweet girl…,” he presses his nose to your hair to breathe you in and continues with a smile, “I missed you so much.”

His hands move from your waist to cup your cheeks after pulling away from you. There’s a moment where you two don’t say anything, just taking each other in for the first time in a month. Then, he pulls you closer to press a soft kiss to your lips. It’s not the passionate kiss you were craving all month, but you were happy to finally feel his soft lips against yours. You’re leaning into the kiss as the world disappears around you, at least until you hear someone clear their throat and you remember Eddie did not arrive here alone.

“Um, sorry, do we get a hello too?” You pull away from your boyfriend and look over to Jeff who was speaking and laugh at his request. Eddie’s gaze follows yours and he cocks a brow at his bandmate, looking absolutely pissed that his bassist dared to interrupt your moment with him, but also that Jeff wanted to take you away from him. Yes, you were good friends with the rest of the band, and yes he was sure you also missed them, but you were Eddie’s girlfriend. He wanted to hold onto you for as long as humanly possible. If he could, he’d sit in the driver’s seat and use his arms as your seatbelt when you drove home. Despite his protests, you fully let go of Eddie (to which he lets out a sad whine and follows you to the others) and give each member a greeting and a hug, asking how the flight was and making general small talk. Without any warning besides the quiet thud of his footsteps on the tile floor, Eddie moves to stand behind you and wrap his arms loosely around your waist and rest his head on your shoulder. One of your hands reaches up to scratch the back ofhis scalp and he lets out a content hum, happy to just stand here all night as long as you never stop touching him.

“So…” you begin, turning your attention to the group as a whole, “how was the trip? Did you guys get to sleep for a little bit?” You feel Eddie shift a little bit behind you, unaware of the look he’s giving his friends who just chuckle. 

Grant looks Eddie directly in the eyes and replies, “Oh, definitely. Eddie was especially quiet so it was pretty easy.” You cock an eyebrow at Grant, a little suspicious of the claim since the Eddie you know, the Eddie who sleeps in your bed most days, is a known sleep talker and never shuts the hell up when he’s awake. There was never a quiet moment with him. This was especially the case now, given how Eddie hasn’t spoken since he held you. Usually he’d be going on and on about every thought that went through his head during the plane flight or things that happened between your last phone call and now. 

“I’m sorry, but I wasn’t aware that Eddie had a mute button. Where is it? Does he have a new secret freckle that I don’t know about? ” You point a finger in your boyfriend’s face while questioning the others. Eddie, taking the opportunity to get another laugh out of you, leans in and tries to playfully nip at your finger but you just move your hand away when he does so. He’s still silent and you’re becoming more suspicious of him by the second.

Jeff walks over, having gone to the nearest trash can to dispose of his empty bottle. He adjusts the backpack on his shoulder before replying, “Well, someone lost their voice last night at the end of the show.” The other two boys laugh and Gareth pulls his phone out to seemingly provide evidence for Eddie’s actions as Jeff continues on, “He was invited on stage for the last song of the night with the headliner It was fucking sick. The gutturals? Disgusting. ” 

Gareth hands his phone over to you with a video from Tiktok pulled up. You kept TikTok open throughout the night to watch everything unfold live, but somehow missed this part of the night. Maybe this was when you were trying to sleep or went on a cleaning spree. 

Like Jeff said, it was the last song of the night and they called Eddie on stage. The metalhead is sweaty from his previous performance but looks like he could go on all night if he had the chance. He has a smile on his face that fills your heart with pride, his joy only growing when the audience begins to cheer even more than they were before once he came on stage.  Eddie is still in his stage outfit and makeup, some smoky red eyeshadow, wearing a half buttoned up button-down shirt, distressed jeans, and his favorite combat boots. The unbuttoned shirt revealed sections of his tattoos and his two necklaces - one with your first initial on it and the other was his new lucky guitar pick. His original has been hanging around your neck for around two years now. You were sure the comments were flooded with people fawning over his looks, they always are. 

The two walk up to center stage as the band plays the first notes. You can almost feel the energy of the room just by watching the video. Everyone in the audience begins cheering. Everyone knows the lyrics and they all scream along with the two men on stage. The first notes of the song begin to play and the two vocalists make it to center stage before they start singing. Eddie has one foot up on the stage risers as he belts out the lyrics.

All in with a losing hand

The sun sets on a wanted man

No spine, born without a backbone

Two-faced, too late for a tombstone

 His screams are most akin to a deep growl from the back of his throat. He tried his best over the years to improve his guttural screams without damaging his throat, but maybe last night he got so excited that he forgot to take all the precautionary steps he took to prevent any damage. 

Eddie nods at this and speaks up as much as he’s able to and says, “I got carried away and fucked up. I could feel the damage happening maybe halfway through the song but there was no way I was gonna stop.”

 Jeff nods, muttering under his breath, “And you’re the one always lecturing us about proper technique…” Eddie huffs and raises a ringed middle finger to his bassist who did the only reasonable thing and gave Eddie one back.

You take a little pity on Eddie because he’s clearly annoyed at himself for doing this and how he hurt himself. You turn to him to peck his lips while soothingly rubbing his shoulders. Your touch is already making him feel better. All he wants to do is go home and snuggle up to you in order to make up for lost time. From behind you, there’s some muffled comments being made by the boys, including a sarcastic ‘I can never get over how whipped he is for her…’ coming from Gareth. Eddie tears his eyes from you to Gareth and hoarsely remarks, “At least I have a girlfriend.” It’s barely audible to them, given the condition of his voice and the overall noise levels of the airport, but they’re able to decipher what he said by lip reading. The reactions are mixed. Grant fakes offense, Jeff scoffs, and Gareth flips him off. Then, the younger man gets an idea. 

“You know…”, Gareth says, readjusting the bag hanging off one shoulder with a sly smile on his face, something you notice right away when you turn to look at him, “I’ve actually been acting as his interpreter. I’m pretty good.”

Your boyfriend scoffs and croaks out to Gareth, “No the fuck you’re not.”

Instantly, Gareth replies, “What’s that? You’re indefinitely appointing me as the new frontman? Aww, thanks man! I really appreciate that you trust me with the band!” Eddie shakes his head and is about to walk past you and try to knock some sense into his drummer, mainly because he’s tired and just wants to go home, but you’re still holding onto his shoulder so he stays put. He’s pursing his lips and is clearly ticked off by Gareth, which seems to have been his goal. Most of the time, Eddie could put up with Gareth’s shenanigans, but you swore that every time they went on tour Eddie would come back needing a break from him. He needed a break from everyone, really. That’s what was so great about this job. You’re stuck in a tiny van with them with zero time by yourself and once you get home you can just avoid them until you can bear to look at their faces again. They didn’t schedule a Hellfire session next week for this exact reason. Eddie didn’t want to hear any of their voices or look at them for a while. Hell, he wanted to forget the guys even existed. His plan was to spend time with you, spend time in you, and spend time catching up on his sleep… with you

He’s sick of standing here, he’s sick of the clothes he’s wearing, he’s sick of being awake. Eddie grabs his suitcase from the small pile of luggage that made up their belongings and said to you, “I wanna go home.” He pulls the handle up and takes your hand to begin walking towards the exit. You couldn’t understand what he was saying seconds ago and found the perfect opportunity to poke fun at him.

“Oh yeah, I’d love to watch Titanic when we get home! We can do a fun romance movie marathon!.”

Eddie stops in his tracks and spins to look at you. Did you not hear him correctly? Is his voice that messed up? It’s only when you’ve got the same shit-eating grin on your face that Gareth is wearing that Eddie realizes you’re just messing with him. He gives you the same glare he previously gave the rest of the band and lets go of you before turning to leave the building. You let Eddie take a few steps by himself before shouting out, “You’re going in the wrong direction!”

Eddie groans and turns around again. You and the boys are laughing and all decide it’s finally time to get going. Your boyfriend strode in the other direction to the other exit, one hand on his luggage and the other grabbing your hand again as he passed. You’re laughing even more now and follow him to the elevator leading to the parking garage. Everyone else follows behind and you all make your way upstairs and to your car.

All the bags are packed into the back and the boys into the seats. Eddie immediately claimed the front passenger seat to avoid being sandwiched between the other three, but it gave him the opportunity to hold onto you more. Once everyone was buckled in and ready you began the hour long drive from Indianapolis to Hawkins. There was some chatter at the beginning, but as time went on the chatter morphed into a loud conversation about god knows what. You kept your focus on the road in order to get everyone home as fast as possible. Your patience was beginning to wear thin so you couldn’t imagine how Eddie was feeling. Their loud comments were almost enough to drown out the car radio and the other vehicles whizzing past you on the highway. 

The entire time, Eddie kept one hand on your thigh. Neither of you had the energy for sex right now, but you couldn’t deny that his touch wasn’t getting you a little hot and bothered. You were used to satiating each other's urges whenever you had the chance so you had a month's worth of desires and urges to let out with him. When the time came for him to leave for tour, he made you promise not to touch yourself because ‘you can’t play with something that belongs to him’. You could have easily gone against his wishes, it was all for fun, but it just made his homecoming all the more exciting. His hands were warm and the heat went right through your jeans. He would squeeze your leg sometimes when you stopped and sometimes rub the inside of your thigh with his thumb. 

You drop everyone off at their respective homes and heave a sigh of relief once it’s just you and Eddie in the car. You love those guys, you really do, but sometimes when they’re all together in the same room (or in this case, car) they all start acting like lunatics. Your only saving grace was the fact that they all wore seatbelts and Eddie, the usual instigator of their chaos, was quiet and drained of all his energy. 

As you begin the drive to your apartment, you lower the radio volume until it’s merely background noise.  Eddie takes his hand away from your thigh and crosses his arms as he makes himself more comfortable. He even pulls his hoodie up to keep warm

You lived two towns over so the drive would be twenty minutes until you both could finally go to sleep. Out of the corner of your eye you see Eddie moving to recline the passenger seat a little bit and shut his eyes. 

“Get some rest, baby. We’ll be home soon.”

There was never a discussion about where he’d be staying the night, you just assumed he would be sleeping here. It was a peaceful, quiet drive. A few minutes after he got comfortable you heard his even, heavy breathing and smiled at how quickly he fell asleep. He tired himself out after that last show. Eventually, you roll into your complex’s parking lot and slow to a stop in your designated area. Once the car is off, you take one of Eddie’s hands and give it a squeeze to wake him up. His eyes flutter open and you give him a warm smile. He blearily rubs his eyes and slowly ambles out of the car. You grab his luggage and he picks up his guitar case to sling over his shoulder.  Once he’s out and all his belongings are out of the car, you go over to him and hold your hand out which he happily takes. It’s a short walk from your car but takes a little longer than normal thanks to everything you two are lugging and how sluggish your boyfriend is moving. Thankfully, the temperature wasn’t dipping too low so neither of you were in a hurry. Eventually you get to the front door of your apartment. Neither of you speak on the walk over, but it’s a comfortable silence so neither of you try to fix that. 

The door finally opens after you fight the lock for what feels like an eternity. Eddie sighs when he steps inside. He sets his guitar case down on the sofa and you put his luggage down next to the front door. You kick off your slippers as he leans against the couch to bend over and pull his sneakers off. Once those are off, he begins stripping down in the living room without saying a word. Eddie pulls his hoodie over his head and is followed by the Metallica shirt he wore underneath. Then, he pulls off his sweatpants to reveal… nothing else.

“Ed, honey, did you really take an 11-hour flight without underwear?”

Eddie turns to you as he takes his hair down out of the ponytail he was wearing. He runs his fingers through his hair and scratches at his scalp to relieve the tension from having his hair up for that long. Your beautiful boyfriend stands in the middle of your living room, completely drained and fully nude in front of the open living room window. Eddie looks at you and tiredly answers, “I didn’t feel like wearing them” like it’s completely normal. He’s beyond the point of holding a regular conversation. The dim lighting doesn’t help to hide the bags under his eyes. This would be a conversation to be held in the morning.

You sigh and shake your head at him. He’s bending over to pick his clothes up and you get a full view of his ass, and you won’t complain. It’s a great view. So great that you go over and give it a little tap. You don’t have the energy to give it a full-on smack, something else to tackle tomorrow. Eddie turns and has a small smile on his face. He takes the shirt in his hand and throws it at your face. You hate to admit it smells amazing - it’s a little more sweaty than the shirts he usually gives you since he was stuck in a cramped plane for eleven hours, but that was what somehow made it smell better. He picks up his laundry (minus the shirt) and carries it into your room. Your eyes are scanning his body as he walks inside. The only light source in the room is your bedside lamp, so there’s even less light in there. He’s half hard despite the exhaustion over the past 24 hours and you make a mental note to yourself to wake him up with a blowjob, he always loves that. All his dirty clothing is tossed onto the designated laundry chair, now a mix of your dirty clothes and his, before he flops down onto the bed on his stomach. He’s sprawled out like a starfish and groans when he hits the bed, burying his face in your pillows. It gives you the opportunity to ogle him more, the skeleton wings on his back and the bite mark that you gave him that he permanently tattooed onto the side of his neck. It’s the closest thing you guys had to matching couple tattoos - he had a bite from you on his neck, and you had his on your inner thigh. He was perfect.

You take the time to remove your clothing and strip down like Eddie did earlier. He turns his head a bit to watch you. His eyes trace your curves as the clothing falls off and is placed on the growing mountain in the corner. Once you’re properly undressed, he turns his head back to your pillows so he could  take in your fragrance again. The mix of your shampoo, soap, and natural scent was better than any drug.

“God, I’m fucking exhausted…”

You tiptoe over to the side of the bed and sit down next to him, moving a lock of curly hair away from his face so you can look at him more. He has a sleepy smile on his face, and it’s obvious that he’s on the verge of falling asleep. You reply, “Mm, I bet. Did you have fun?” 

The metalhead nods his head and takes your hand in his to kiss the back of it. Eddie missed a lot of things. He missed the smell of your bedsheets, your warmth when he woke up to your body curled up next to his, the long nights spent in bed just laughing and talking until one of you fell asleep. With his lips pressed against your hand, he mutters, “Yes, but I’m happy to be home…”

He called your apartment home. There was already a mix of his belongings in here besides his clothing so it would make sense that it felt like home to him. The question keeps flying around in your head, but again, it’s a conversation for tomorrow. Your blankets were calling your name, especially with this angel of a man under them. You reach to your bedside table and turn the light off with a soft click, the streetlights outside barely illuminating the room now. Eddie holds the sheets open for you as you tiredly climb inside. The last of your energy leaves your body the moment your head hits the pillow. A pair of strong arms encircle you again and pull you close so your chests are pressed together. You nuzzle him and give him a little kiss before whispering, “Goodnight, Eddie. Get some sleep.”

You two are both out within ten minutes.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

taglist:

@ainelantv

[artdcnaldson]

We can run back please expand on that beautiful thought

like…. Walk with me….

You’re just out at the record store or something browsing when he approaches you and says that you have the perfect look for a project he’s working on, that he’d love to have you come to his studio and do a bit of modeling. He’d pay you, of course, he’s not some creep or anything.

And he seems so approachable and sweet, and he says you’re so beautiful, that he really thinks you’d be perfect… how can you say no?

His studio ends up just being a spare bedroom his apartment, the windows are covered so he can adjust the lighting how he wants. It’s all pretty simple— the lighting, the plain white fabric as a backdrop. It doesn’t feel very special or different than any other photo— like your awkward prom photos, headshots.

“C’mon, open up a little more,” he instructs, but you don’t know what he means. He has to physically adjust your pose and posture— guiding your hips into the correct angle, tilting your chin up with his thumb. “Perfect, you’re doing great.”

He smells like cigs and a musky cologne. It floods your senses as he stands in your space, as he presses his fingers into the small of your back so it dips in and your body curves tantalizingly. He steps back, snaps a few pictures.

“Can you take the jacket off?” He asks, peering up at you from over his camera. “It’s bulky, it’s swallowing you up.”

You take off the jacket, shrugging it off and to the side. He smiles and takes a few more pictures. You enjoy the soft pressure of his big hands on your body as he adjusts you into new poses for him— like a pretty doll for him to play with.

After a while, the room is thick with cigarette smoke. He has one dangling from between his lips that he puffs on between instructions. “Can you go topless?” He asks suddenly. When he registers your surprise he tacks on a quick explanation— that it’ll be tasteful. That it’s all for art. That you’re beautiful, that someone who looks like you should be immortalized like that.

And it works on you, as corny as it is. It feels different once you take your top off, when you’re exposed to him like that. You can’t help but cover yourself, laughing shyly, nervously. He stands up and uncrosses your arms, exposing your breasts to him while he holds your wrists at your side. “Don’t cover up,” he says, and a trail of smoke follows the words. You swallow and nod.

He snaps a few more pictures, and now his hands feel different. Like he’s not posing you as much as he’s taking the opportunity to touch you. His hands running over your ribs as he turns you slightly to the left, his thumbs grazing the undersides of your breasts. Your breath goes shaky, and the thick cling of smoke in the air is making your brain all fuzzy.

His fingers trail just at the waistband of your hips, touching at the hip huggers you wear. “What about these?” He murmurs. “Can you take these off for me?”

Rational thought is at the window. You’re not even sure that you’ve heard a camera snap in the past ten minutes. His fingers pop the buttons there and they slide down your legs. “Very pretty,” he hums, big hands exploring the newly exposed flesh. “You should be a model.” He grins like it’s the funniest thing in the world.

Because Isn’t that what you’re doing? Even if his camera is forgotten around his neck, and you’re stripping down in a guest bedroom for a man you met on the street an hour ago. His fingers ease the soft cotton of your panties down your legs and you don’t try to stop it. You part your thighs to let them pool at your ankles. His breath is hot at the apex of your thighs as he looks up at you. “So beautiful.” His lips are brushing your skin and your knees feel weak. “Can I take some more pictures?” Isn’t that what you were there for?

[queenshelby]

The Peaky Role (Part 24)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Age Gap, Best Friend's Dad, Smut

The sun streamed through the bedroom window, casting a warm glow across the bed as Cillian lied there, his eyes still closed, a peaceful expression on his face.

The events of the past few days played out in his mind like a movie reel as he indluged on a sleep-in.

He could smell the scent of you that still lingered on the pillows, a sweet reminder of last night as he stretched, a soft smile curling his lips, before reaching for his phone.

His fingers danced across the screen, pulling up your message from this morning, which he must not have heard coming in.

"Thank you for last night. I feel much better today and can't wait to see you on set tomorrow," it read, followed by a heart emoji.

Cillian's chest filled with warmth, thoughts of you dancing in his mind as he typed a quick reply. "Miss you already. Hope filming is going well," he sent, his heart quickening at the thought of your smile before he crawled out of bed and headed to the bathroom for a shower.

The water cascaded over him, invigorating, washing away remnants of sleep. Cillian's mind wandered back to your laughter, the way it lit up a room.

His phone buzzed again; another message from you. Heart racing, he stepped out, curiosity gripping him.

"Miss you too x," it read on the screen and Cillian chuckled, shaking his head, a grin spreading. It had been quite a while since he felt such a lightness in his chest and the fact that he was well and truly falling for you worried him.

After drying himself off, Cillian threw on a thick hoodie and some jeans. He then glanced in the mirror and coamed his hair quickly, which is when another buzz jolted him back to reality.

It was his alarm, reminding him that his daughters were landing soon and, with a quick text to you, he rushed out of the apartment.

..........

When he arrived at Liverpool airport, the bustling terminal greeted him, filled with the chatter of families and the scent of coffee. Cillian strided through the crowd and scanned the arrivals board which indicated that the flight from Dublin had just landed.

After about twenty minutes of waiting, Cillian eventually spotted Nina and his youngest daughter Ciara, who is 15, among the throng, their faces lighting up as they spotted him.

"Dad!" Ciara shouted, weaving through the crowd and Cillian walked towards them, meeting them halfway.

"Hey, you two," Cillian grinned, wrapping his arms around both daughters, squeezing them tightly.

"Okay, that's enough, dad," Ciara huffed playfully, pulling back and rolling her eyes. "People are watching us and you are being emberassing," she teased, but a smile tugged at her lips while Nina stepped forward, glancing at her father with a raised eyebrow.

"What's with the hoodie? Hiding something?" she quipped, her eyes narrowing, catching a glimpse of the fading hickey on his neck.

"No, why?" he asked, feigning innocence while his pulse quickened, heart pounding in rhythm with her gaze.

"Well, you do have a bit of a mark there," Nina pressed, her brow arching, a smirk dancing on her lips. "On your neck, which looks like a hickey," she nudged him playfully, her eyes narrowing with mischief.

"Definitely not a hickey," he countered, running a hand through his hair, trying to maintain composure. "It's from filming," Cillian insisted, forcing a laugh that sounded hollow even to him.

Nina crossed her arms, her expression a mix of amusement and suspicion.

"Please tell me that's not from Y/N during one of your intimate scenes. Because that would be totally gross," she blurted, her brows knitting together.

Cillian forced a laugh, his cheeks heating. "Nah, it's from a different kind of scene," he replied, his eyes darting away, hoping to deflect her curiosity. "Don't worry about it," he insisted, trying to maintain a nonchalant demeanor.

"Whatever you say, Dad," Nina smirked, crossing her arms while Ciara nudged her sister, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

"So, are we going shopping or what? I need new trainers and Nina needs some stuff too," Ciara determined, knowing full well that her father disliked shopping trips.

"You guys really want to go shopping?" Cillian clarified, eager to distract them from any more inquiries about his neck.

"Yeah, I need new trainers for track," Ciara chimed in, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.

Nina nodded, crossing her arms. "And I need some summer clothes for our trip to France," she added, a hint of excitement creeping into her tone.

"France?" he echoed, his brow furrowing.

"Mum is taking us to that new festival in Nice. Big names, great vibes," Nina explained, her eyes lighting up.

"Right," Cillian straightened, keeping a casual tone. "I didn't know anything about it," he admitted, forcing a smile.

"Well, you and mum don't talk anymore, so how would you?" Nina shot back, her tone teasing yet pointed.

Cillian rubbed the back of his neck, a hint of irritation flashing in his eyes, but he swallowed his pride. He knew that his ex did not have to inform him about every detail like this, but it would have been nice if it had been discussed, especially since Ciara is only 15 and had school to attend.

"So, mum booked that very nice hotel for us. It's supposed to be amazing," Nina added, excitement bubbling in her voice as the three of them walked towards the parking lot. "And I was going to ask Y/N if she wanted to come too. Mum said she could," Nina glanced sideways at Cillian, causing him to audibly choke on nothing.

"Y/N?" Cillian's heart raced, the thought of you going on a trip with his ex unsetteling.

"Yeah, dad, my best friend. Y/N. Remember her?" Nina chirped, oblivious to his unease.

"Right," Cillian murmured, his mind spinning. "Uhm, she is auditioning for a play in Galway soon, so I doubt she'll be able to."

Nina raised an eyebrow, her expression one of skepticism. "A play, huh?" she asked as they finally sat down in Cillian's hire car. "How come you know about it and I don't?" Nina leaned back in her seat, arms crossed, a challenge sparkling in her eyes.

"Because she told me about it in passing. We've been talking a bit more now that we work together," Cillian replied, masking the warmth creeping into his chest as he lied to his daughter who, after this, luckily changed the topic.

...........

Twenty minutes later, Cillian pulled into a bustling shopping centre's car park, the sounds of chatter and laughter spilling out from the nearby cafés.

"First stop, trainers," Ciara declared, unbuckling her seatbelt and jumping out and Nina followed, throwing a glance back at Cillian who took a little longer to get out of the car.

"Come on, Dad! We don't have all day," Nina called, already darting towards the entrance.

Cillian chuckled, shaking his head, but hurried after them, scanning the bustling crowd. The thrill of his daughters' excitement pulled him along, a welcome distraction.

"What sort of trainers do you want, Ciara?" Cillian asked and her response amused him.

"Something that'll make me look fast," she grinned, darting through the entrance.

Nina rolled her eyes at her sister's enthusiasm. "You know it's all in the runner, not just the shoes," she teased, nudging Ciara as they entered a brightly lit store filled with vibrant displays.

Cillian followed behind, shaking his head with a smile. "Alright, let's see what we can find," he said and, as soon as they walked into the first shop, Ciara dashed towards a wall of colourful trainers, her eyes lighting up at a pair adorned with electric blue accents.

"These! They'll make me fly!" Ciara said while two of the three female store assistants were quick to offer their help, or more so, attempt to flirt with Cillian, tossing their hair and smiling nervously at him.

"Do you need a hand with that?" One of them asked, glancing at Ciara's choices, feigning interest while clearly admiring Cillian instead.

"Can I try them on? In a 38 please?" Ciara asked the assistant, her excitement bubbling over, but the assistant was busy staring at Cillian, completely smitten.

"Sure thing! Right this way," she replied, her voice bright as she flashed a smile at Cillian who caught Nina's eye, shaking his head with a bemused smile.

"I don't get it. She is like what? 25 at the most?" Nina whispered to her father as they watched the sales assistant dash off quickly and Cillian couldn't help but blush.

"I don't know what you are talking about," he muttered, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Sure you don't," Nina teased, nudging him playfully.

Cillian shook his head, a chuckle escaping as he watched Ciara excitedly try on the trainers. "What do you think, sweetheart?" he asked, his eyes bright as he knelt beside her.

"They're perfect!" Ciara exclaimed, bouncing on her heels, already envisioning herself on the track.

"Alright, let's get them then and get out of here," Cillian said, tossing a glance at Nina, who held back a laugh as she continued to observed the two sales associates whispering to each other, their eyes darting Cillian's way.

"Are we taking these?" one of them then asked and Cillian nodded before pulling out his wallet.

"Yes," he replied, following the woman to the counter.

"Fabulous. They look really nice on your daughter," the cashier remarked, her eyes sparkling as she scanned the trainers.

Cillian nodded casually. "She seems happy with them," he answered, handing over his card.

"That's 180 pounds pleasse," the cashier announced, glancing up with a bright smile as Cillian tapped his card and, once the payment went through, the sales assistant handed Cillian the receipt along with a piece of paper with her name and phone number on it.

Cillian pocketed the receipt, glancing at the note, somewhat bemused.

"Uhm, I don't think I...," he murmured, an awkward smile flickering on his lips as he tried, politely, to refuse to take the woman's number while Nina and Ciara both snickered beside him.

"Just take it, Dad," Nina laughed, interrupting and nudging him.

"Yeah, be a good sport," Ciara teased, grinning as she grabbed her new trainers.

"Okay, thanks," Cillian muttered, shaking his head but unable to suppress a smile as he pocketed the note, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks.

"Alright, where to next?" he then asked, turning to his girls, who stood by the door, grinning with amusement.

"Clothes, definitely!" Nina exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with excitement, already dragging Ciara toward the next shop.

Cillian followed, his gaze flitting between colourful displays and laughter bubbling up from his daughters. He felt so out of place as they flitted from shop to shop but enjoyed the vibrant energy they radiated.

After a few hours however, he had enough and, luckily for him, so did his daughters.

"Alright, that's it," Cillian declared, hands on his hips, surveying the chaos of shopping bags scattered around them. "Let's get to the apartment and have some dinner," Cillian declared, leading the way through the bustling centre, his daughters trailing behind with arms laden.

...........

When they arrived at the apartment with their suitcase and shopping bags, Cillian gave them a quick tour.

"Now, the apartment isn't big, but it will have to do as the entire hotel has been booked out by the cast and crew. So, you girls will sleep in the bedroom and I will take the couch," Cillian announced, brushing a hand through his hair as he ushered them inside.

"Sounds good," Nina replied as she headed straight to the bedroom to drop her bags and Ciara followed closely behind her, shoving her own bags beside Nina's just before she stepped on to something sharp with her bare feet.

"Ow!" Ciara yelped, hopping on one foot as she glanced down, right besides the freshly made bed.

"What is it?" Nina turned, concern flashing across her face.

"Just some stupid earring," she replieed, picking it up and holding it up for Nina to see.

"That's Y/N's earring," Nina exclaimed, her eyes widening as she squinted at the delicate piece of jewelry which was given to you by your grandmother. "Where did you find it?" she then asked, tilting her head in confusion.

"On the floor, near the bed," Ciara replied, a frown creeping onto her face.

"Weird," Nina said before taking in it from her sister's hand and putting it into her pocket. "But, I wanted to catch up with her anyway, so I will text her later," Nina announced before seeking out her father again who was busy with preparing dinner already.

"What time does Y/N get off?" Nina asked, her brow furrowing as she glanced towards the kitchen.

Cillian turned at the sound of her voice, stirring a pot on the stove.

"She should be done by six," he replied, checking the clock. "Why?"

Nina shrugged her shoulders. "I thought I'd see if she wants to join us for dinner if that's okay with you?" she proposed, a determined smile spreading across her face. "I wanted to catch up with her anyway, and I thought it might be nice for her to join us," Nina added, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

Cillian froze for a moment, knowing very well that, having you over for dinner, would be awkward.

"Nah, lets just have a nice family dinner tonight," Cillian replied, turning back to the stove. "Despite, I am sure she is probably tired."

"Dad, come on!" Nina pressed, her smile unwavering, eyes glinting with determination. "At least let me ask her," Nina asked and Cillian turned back, stirring the sauce with more intensity, the aromatic scent filling the kitchen.

"Fine," he relented, glancing at her with a raised brow. "But don't pressure her, okay?"

"I won't," Nina promised.

Tags:

@sunbeamseas @saint-ackerman @oatmealisweird @naxxsstuff @amanda08319 @r-m-cidnah @elysiannook @cillshot @infireddabdab @tastycakee @harrysbestiee @lilybabe22 @adalynlowell @henrywintersdearestgirl @ietss @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @ryiamarie @axionn

@nela-cutie @futurecorps3 @delishen @nosebleeds-247 @thirteenis-myluckynumber @gills-lounge @hjmalmed @lost-fantasy @tiredkitten @sidechrisporn @smallsoulunknown @charqing-qing @hopefulinlove @aporiasposts @shycrybaby @me-and-your-husband @hjmalmed @lacontroller1991 @galxydefender @aporiasposts

@galxydefender @hunnibearrr @saint-ackerman @lunyyx @gentlemonsterjennie1 @ihavealotoffandomssorry @nadloves @lost-fantasy @nolucesn@mcavoy-girl @hjmalmed @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @blushykiss @tatumrileyslover @teawithsatanx @orijanko @rhaenyra4ever @xcinnamonmalfoyx @budugu @nadloves @kmc1989 @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @smailaway @sophiaaguirred @blondie-22 @meadows5 @randomcreator-09 @hagarsays @kikimurphys @strangeobsessed

[lascvitae]

❦ — actress minjeong & actress y/n getting ready together

synopsis. when y/n opens up to minjeong about feeling homesick, she couldn’t help but want to be the one who she can confide in.

pairing. actress!minjeong x actress fem!reader genre. fluff warning(s). none.

word count: 836

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ katty ᥫ᭡: okayokay i know it’s short but 😭 i don’t wanna make this a long series and yall know i could yap on for hours while writing…

main masterlist.

y/n woke up early the next morning, greeting the birds as she outstretched her limbs to shake off the lingering feeling of sleep.

the mattresses was so comfortable that y/n practically slept like a baby, springing up to prepare herself for the day ahead.

she was going to see the contract for their tv show, going over their pay and how many hours that they would be working for.

y/n was so excited that she had gotten ready in a little under an hour (with the help of singing saturn by sza), assuring that she had everything inside of her purse and most importantly — the key to her apartment.

with a clear of her throat, she knocked on the door to minjeong’s apartment and waited patiently. she suddenly felt a wave of insecurity wash over her, thinking about all of the possible hairs that could be out of place. did her makeup still look okay? had her perfune wore off yet?

“y/n?” minjeong repeated, snapping the girl out of her daze. “you’re very early. the meeting isn’t until another hour.”

y/n’s smile widened, taken aback by minjeong’s natural beauty. she was already dressed but her makeup or hair wasn’t done yet. “we leave in thirty minutes!”

minjeong raised an eyebrow at your excitement, wanting to tease you further but you were still correct. there wasn’t any point in wasting time.

though, the excitement only intrigued her further.

“hopefully you can keep that enthusiasm.” she moved further inside, giving enough room for you to step in as well. “do you want to come inside and wait?”

y/n’s smile faltered at the unexpected invitation, nodding her head as she slowly walked inside. minjeong’s apartment looked very different from her own — it was minimalistic and there were multiple plants that sat in different corners. “nake yourself at home.”

minjeong noticed her co-star’s curious eye, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she walked into the bathroom to continue getting ready for the meeting.

y/n decided to sit down on the edge of the bed closest to the bathroom so that she could get a proper look of minjeong. the girl was applying sunscreen, completely focused on her reflection in the mirror.

“so… when did you start acting?” y/n’s gaze trailed down to the floor to avoid staring for too long, kicking her feet slightly. if their team knew hiw minjeong wanted her apartment to be decorated before her arrival, she had to be respected in the industry more than she may have thought.

minjeong began to apply some light makeup as y/n watched and she figured that she liked her the most this way. relaxed without the pressure of cameras or paparazzi. “about the age of nine is when i began to do it professionally.”

y/n sat up straight, seeing how much minjeong had gotten done in just a small amount of time. “did you ever have to move away from home?”

she saw the blonde haired girl shake her head in response, busying herself with her hairstyle. “i was born in korea and we never stayed too long anywhere overseas. what about you?”

her gaze returned to the floor, shrugged her shoulders. “this is my first main role.” y/n stood up as she heard minjeong’s perfume bottle being used, assuming that she was done getting ready.

she wandered into the bathroom, immediately hit by the intoxicating smell of the perfume. “it’s kind of scary being so far away from home.” y/n leaned against the doorframe, biting her lip because of how vulnerable she was being. “i don’t even know anyone here.”

minjeong watched as the girl played with her fingers, avoiding her gaze. she listened as she continued, waiting patiently before adding her input.

“you know me.” minjeong took y/n’s hand into her own, fingers running over her knuckles. she cracked a small smile before looking away and returning back to her usual poker face. “i’m not just your co-star, i’m your friend too. so don’t think like that, alright?” y/n chewed on the inside of her cheek, nodding slowly.

minjeong’s hold on y/n’s hand lingered for longer than it may have needed to, finally pulling away to tug at the loose strings of her hair. “does my hair look cute?” she asked, turning to y/n with an unreadable expression.

y/n nodded, blushing from their previous contact. “ah, wait.” taking a small strand, y/n began to braid the piece down to the end, feeding in the extensions. “there! now it isn’t just down.” she smiled brightly, radiating onto the older with how contagious it was. “okay. the driver is probably waiting for us.” minjeong guided the girl out of the washroom.

her perfume left a trail, leaving y/n slightly dizzy as they left the apartment. “oh! and minjeong?” the blonde haired girl hummed in response, tapping the button for the elevator. “thank you. for… what you said earlier. it goes both ways.”

minjeong smiled at that.

“no need for you to thank me.”

perm taglist — @saysirhc @aedollie @prologue-ae

[aliceinborderlandsquidgame]

Sorry that one is ours | Triangle!GuardS x Fem!Player!Reader

Summary: Double trouble thats what you get for trying to cheat during a game! At least they wont take your organs.

Warnings: AU no set in S2 - NSFW - Double penetration - Anal sex - Dub/con - No protection - Open ending - Random numbers for the guards -

Notes: I think a big part of the fandom wanted something like this. Well here Im to deliver.

Really you never did mean to get caught cheating. Even less in a deadly game.

Player 033

But the robotic voice of a triangle guard let you knew that fuck you were caught up and now consequences were needed to be faced. When the guard 009 guided you towards a location you have never been before you expected to be eliminated, the quick hearbeat of yours filled your ears as you were forced to walk throw different stairs and holds.

Finally the guard came in front of a red door, they knocked three times and it opened revealing another guard, the 010 number on their uniform printed.

Well fuck. Was all you thought as you felt the other guard pushing you inside the room. Whatever these two had for you was maybe worse than death.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~

Maybe your destiny was not worse than death at the end.

"Oh fuck, 010 she tastes divine" The Man only know as 009 said from between your legs. His tongue diving inside and out your pussy as he licked every part of it. One hand of yours kept gripping his curly looks but he did not seem to care.

"Oh I bet she does" 010 said from behind you biting and kissing your neck. "She cant stay in place, cant you player 033 ?" He taunted one hand holding your neck to push you back against him on his lap while the other played with your tits. "Yeah thats what I thought"

Your brain was foogy, you could tell 009 had his hands on your legs and knees forcing them apart while 010 tortured your nippels.

A particular hard suck from 009 made you moan and cry his number getting a laught from 010 who sucked harder on your neck.

"Did you hear that 009? She seems to like when we are rough, do you like it Beautiful?" He taunted licking your ear.

You nodded too lost to talk back when 009 pulled at your clit again.

"Its too much" you cried knowing you were close to cum, the two men could tell too.

"She is so close 010" the one from between your legs said, "she is fucking shaking"

"Is she? Dont stop then, lets make our dear 033 cum as hard as she can" 010 said forcing his fingers into your mouth and ordering you to suck on them. "There you go. See 033 ? Its easy to follow the rules" 010 mocked you from your early attempt to cheat. "But if you have not been a bad girl then we would not be in this position. And I think you are liking it too much. You cant stop griding against me" 010 said moving is hips so you could feel his hard dick.

"Aww you cumming?" 010 asked feeling your body tense. "Go on, cum all over 009's tongue I bet he wants it. Right 009"

"Fuck yes I do, I want to feel all this cheater juices over me" 009 said adding one finger and sucking on your clit with fervor.

It was too much. Between 009's tongue and now finger inside you, 010 fingers playing with your tits, squishing them together and pulling at them not caring when you made a sound of pain that went to his finger that he still forced to suck. Your body could not follow, could not understand the line between pain and pleasure. With one last moan that was drown by 010's fingers you came.

009 laped your cunt. His tongue not leaving a single drop to waste and his finger keep moving inside you, touching your G spot to prolongue your orgasm as much as he could.

"Move your hand 010" 009 said getting back on his feet to kiss you making you taste your own cum his tongue enter your mouth caressing yours, he sucked on it leaving you without air.

"You think she can take our dicks next?" 009 asked kissing your bruised tits while 010 let out a contemplative sound as his finger went down to play with your sensitive clit almost sending you ever the edge again.

"Oh I think she most likely can, after all our punish for her its not done yet. A cheater needs a good reminder to never do it again"

"Getting her filled with our cum will be enough?" 009 taunted making 010 laught.

"Oh I believe it will, what do you think 033 ? Can you handle both our dick and seed ? Well its not like you have much of an option"

009 got on the bed making you lay on top of him facing him he groaned as he felt your wet pussy over his hard dick.

"She is dripping" 009 said taking your hips to guide you over him, taking him slowly.

010 stroke himself at the sight of his friend's dick going inside you and by the wet sounds it made.

"Take a deep breath" 010 ordered his own dick slowly pushing into your ass, he saw your hands gripping on 009 shoulders. "Relax im almost all in" 010 took a deep breath pushing himself fully inside you.

"Ah fuck, I can feel you" 009 said slowly moving inside you, unable to wait any longer.

"Fuck 009 dont be a dog" 010 said but he soon followed his hips hitting your ass as his dick went in and out "Cmon 033 I know you can take us, you are-fuck you are keeping us warm"

Both guards moved in a slow steady peace, their groans and curses leaving his lips when they were not kissing you.

010 was as demanding as 009, taking your hair and kissing you from behind his movement going faster, balls hitting your ass. 009's hips went up to meet the hard peace one of his fingers playing with your clit.

"I can feel her clentching around me" 009 said biting his lower lip "Fuck she is gonna cum all over me"

"Is she? Are you 033?" 010 mocked giving a particular hard and long thrust into you. "Go on, cum over him. Show us just how good we make you feel"

"I wont last if she keeps cletching me like this" 009 said with a deep breath taking your hips and pushing you down so he could reach deeper "Im gonna fill you up so well 033, you will be ruined for anyone but us"

"Dont forget about me 033" 010 said from behind licking your ear "You ass its going to be full of my seed by the end of this. You wont be able to walk or even think"

Your orgasm came crashing without a warning their words sending you over the edge. 009's dick pulsed with need as his own orgasm hit, the hot cum going inside you as he kept moving you.

010 was not behind, seeing the display he pushed his dick deep till his own orgasm hit and his seed filled your ass. Both men groaning and moaning.

And you have never felt so full, the amount of cum this two had was like a joke, you could feel it falling down your legs and out from your ass.

"Dont let it go to waste" 010 said pushing it back inside with one finger while 009 lazily caressed your clit smirking at your overstimulated self.

"Do you think we can keep her?" 009 asked 010 "I would hate to see a good fucktoy go to wast"

"I can call on some favors" 010 responded now finally out from you. He turned you around caressing your face and taking note of the different bruises over your body. "I think we did find our perfect fucktoy, 009"

[olderthannetfic]

Tumblr: "Would you like to join this fanfic writing community and talk about writing/the creative process?" Me, a fool: "I haven't been in a fandom community for 15 years. Maybe it could be fun." The first post: Person 1 correcting someone who said loose, not lose, noting that they've had internet harassment as a result of confusing the two in the past and are trying to help. Person 2 saying they have a learning disability and this is ableist and also unlike you I'm not so sensitive. Person 1 says they also have dyslexia as well as ADHD, and they've found sounding it out helps, as lose and loose have different sounds and thus different spellings. Person 2 says they sound the same, starts accusing Person 1 of faking dyslexia for not specifying a type of dyslexia, starts copying and pasting dyslexia definitions, and begins to pull the "this isn't an academic paper" defense.

Yeah, I'm good. I'm sure there's more but I clicked off at that point. I don't know why fandom is like this but as someone with autism + ADHD who's bad at 'reading the room' and 'unspoken social rules', I could 100% see myself offering up a correction and then having someone melt down at me. (And before people go "oh Gen Z, them Zoomers lmao" Person 2 was 39, which is not Gen Z.) I miss talking about writing and tips and things sometimes but I don't miss having these kinds of people fall apart at random. Trying to tiptoe around landmines while walking on eggshells is not my idea of a good time.

I'm too old and tired and employed for this. I have a diagnosed mood disorder + Generalized Anxiety Disorder + ADHD + autism and even I can handle having a single spelling error corrected.

--

[solvyn]

unspoken control - l.ball

summary: lamelo thrives on dominance and teasing you word count: 2.9k warnings: smut - unprotected p in v, slight dom/sub undertones, teasing

you barely notice the way people look at you when you walk into a room with him. it's not that you're oblivious; it's that you’ve learned not to care. because what does it matter, really? let them whisper. let them stare. let them try to dissect what’s going on between the two of you when even you don’t have a name for it.

he makes it easy not to overthink things. that’s just how lamelo is. there’s an ease to him, a looseness, like everything is just a game he’s already figured out how to win. sometimes it gets on your nerves—how little he seems to care about what other people think, how effortlessly he moves through the world, how he never questions himself the way you do. but other times, it’s the thing that makes you feel safest.

he’s always been good at reading you, at knowing when to push and when to let you come to him on your own. but there’s always been this unspoken thing between you—an understanding that no matter how much he lets you take the lead in public, behind closed doors, it’s different.

he’s different.

"come here," he says, and it's not a request. it never is with him, not when you're alone.

you hesitate—not because you don’t want to, but because you know what he’s doing. he likes to test you, to see if you’ll listen the first time or if you’ll make him ask again. there’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes as he watches you consider your options, like he already knows which one you’ll choose.

and you do. you always do.

his hand wraps around your wrist the moment you’re within reach, tugging you forward until you’re standing between his legs. he’s sprawled out on the couch like he owns the place (and technically, he does), one arm draped over the backrest, the other resting on your hip like it belongs there.

“took you long enough,” he murmurs, fingers tracing lazy circles against the fabric of your dress. you roll your eyes, but the effect is ruined by the way your breath catches when he presses his palm flat against you, just enough pressure to remind you who’s really in control here.

“you’re so impatient,” you say, but your voice comes out softer than you mean it to. he smirks, tilting his head up to look at you properly.

“nah,” he says, slow and easy, like he’s got all the time in the world. “just know what i want.”

and it’s you. it’s always you.

he lets you have your little defiance, lets you pretend you’re the one deciding how this is going to go. but his grip tightens just slightly, fingers pressing into your skin in a silent reminder. you can push all you want, test all you want, but at the end of the day, you’ll always end up right here—right where he wants you.

because the thing about lamelo is that he never has to raise his voice to get what he wants. never has to force anything. it’s in the way he looks at you, the way he carries himself, the way he makes you want to follow his lead without even realizing it.

“sit,” he says, and this time, you don’t hesitate.

his hands are on you the second you settle onto his lap, one resting against the small of your back, the other trailing up your spine in a slow, deliberate touch that makes you shiver. he chuckles, low and knowing, and leans in until his lips are just barely brushing against your ear.

“good girl,” he murmurs, and just like that, you’re gone.

because that’s the thing about him—he doesn’t need to be rough, doesn’t need to bark orders or demand obedience. he just knows you, knows how to get under your skin, how to make you fall apart with nothing more than a look, a touch, a few well-placed words.

and the worst part? he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“you like this, don’t you?” he asks, voice laced with amusement. “pretend like you don’t, but i see right through you.”

you hate how right he is. hate how easy it is for him to read you, to unravel you, to make you feel like you don’t have a single secret left. but you love it, too. love the way he makes you feel small without making you feel weak. love the way he takes care of you without making it obvious. love the way he never lets you forget exactly who you belong to, even if neither of you have ever said the words out loud.

“shut up,” you mumble, pushing at his chest, but he just grins, catching your wrist in his hand before you can pull away. he presses a kiss to your palm, soft and slow, before dragging his lips down to your wrist, your forearm, the sensitive spot inside your elbow that makes you squirm.

“make me,” he challenges, and you know you’ve already lost.

his fingers tighten around your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. he leans back, studying you like he has all the time in the world, like he enjoys watching you squirm under his gaze. it’s a game to him, always has been, but it’s one you never win.

“you act like you don’t love this,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against the corner of your jaw. “but you always listen, don’t you?”

he tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes, and the look he gives you makes your breath hitch. smug. knowing. like he sees right through every little act you try to put up. because he does. he always does.

“go on,” he prompts, voice low and commanding. “tell me i’m wrong.”

but you can’t. and he knows it.

so you do the only thing you can—you give in.

and the worst part? he doesn’t even gloat. doesn’t rub it in your face or make some smartass remark. he just hums in approval, like he knew all along, like he was just waiting for you to admit what he already knew.

his hand slips under your chin, tilting your face just enough for his lips to brush against yours. not a kiss, not yet, just a tease, a reminder that you’re his. and when he finally does close the distance, it’s slow and deliberate, like he has all the time in the world to remind you exactly what you already know.

because the thing about lamelo is that he doesn’t just ask for control. he takes it. effortlessly. casually. like it’s his by default.

and the worst part? you don’t want him to stop.

his lips move against yours, slow and confident, like he's exploring a territory he already knows he owns. you melt into him, your body pressing against his as his hand slides up your back, fingers tangling in your hair. he grips gently, just enough to send a shiver down your spine and remind you who's in charge.

he pulls away, his breath hot on your lips as he murmurs, "you're so responsive. it's like you were made for me."

you can feel the heat rising in your cheeks, but you don't look away. you can't. his gaze holds you captive, and you're drawn into the depths of his eyes, drowning in the unspoken promises you find there.

his hand moves from your hair, trailing down your neck, your shoulder, until it reaches the zipper of your dress. he toys with it, his fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of your back, making you arch into him.

"melo," you whisper, half plea, half protest. you're not sure what you're asking for, but he knows. he always knows.

"shh," he soothes, his lips against your throat now, kissing and nipping gently. "i've got you. just let go."

you take a deep breath, forcing your body to relax, to submit to his touch. he smiles against your skin, and you can feel the curve of his lips as he murmurs, "good girl."

he slowly pulls the zipper down, his knuckles grazing your spine, making you shiver. the dress falls open, and he pushes it off your shoulders, letting it pool at your waist. you're exposed, vulnerable, but the way he looks at you makes you feel powerful. desired.

his hands are on you again, tracing the lace of your bra, teasing the swell of your breasts. you gasp as his thumb brushes over your nipple, the thin fabric doing little to dull the sensation. he does it again, and again, until you're squirming in his lap, your breath coming in short gasps.

"please," you manage to whisper, your voice barely audible. but he hears you. he always does.

he unclasps your bra with one hand, his other arm wrapped around your waist, holding you steady. you shrug out of the straps, and then you're bare, your breasts exposed to his hungry gaze.

he takes his time, his eyes roaming over you like he's committing every inch to memory. then he leans in, his lips wrapping around one taut peak, and you cry out, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

he sucks and licks, his tongue teasing you, his teeth grazing gently. you're a mess of sensations, your body on fire, your mind a blur. he switches to the other breast, giving it the same attention, until you're panting and writhing in his lap.

you can feel him hard beneath you, his arousal pressing against your thigh. you reach down, your hand brushing against him, and he growls, his mouth still on your breast.

"careful," he warns, his voice a low rumble. "don't start something you can't finish."

you look up at him, your eyes meeting his, and you see the challenge there. you smirk, your hand wrapping around him, feeling him throb in your grip.

"who says i can't finish it?" you ask, your voice steady despite the storm raging inside you.

he chuckles, low and throaty, and leans in, his lips brushing against yours. "prove it," he whispers, and then he captures your mouth in a searing kiss, his tongue claiming you, his body promising a night you won't forget.

and you know you're in trouble. the best kind of trouble.because with lamelo, it's always more than just a game. it's a dance, a battle, a surrender. and you wouldn't have it any other way.

your body responds to his challenge, a surge of heat rushing through you. you shift in his lap, straddling him, your dress riding up around your hips. his hands grip your thighs, fingers digging into your soft skin as you grind against him, feeling his hardness press against your core, separated only by the thin fabric of your underwear and his pants.

you break the kiss, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you look down at him, your eyes locked onto his. you can see the desire burning in his gaze, reflecting the fire that's consuming you. you reach down, your fingers working at his belt, then the button of his pants, your knuckles brushing against him, making him suck in a sharp breath.

he lifts his hips slightly, allowing you to tug his pants down, freeing him. you wrap your hand around his length, feeling him pulse against your palm. he's hot and hard, and you can't help but stroke him, your thumb brushing over his tip, spreading the bead of moisture you find there.

he groans, his head falling back against the couch, his eyes never leaving yours. "you're playing with fire," he warns, his voice a low growl.

you smile, a slow, sultry curve of your lips. "maybe i want to get burned," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

he chuckles as his hands tighten on your thighs, his fingers digging into your skin. "careful what you wish for," he says, and then he's moving, his hips bucking up into your touch, his hands sliding up to grip your waist.

you gasp as he lifts you, his strength surprising, and then you're hovering over him, the heat of him pressing against your core. you're wet, your body ready for him, and you can feel the thin fabric of your underwear clinging to you, the only barrier left between you.

"last chance," he murmurs, his eyes locked onto yours, giving you the choice even as his body trembles with restraint.

you reach down, pushing your underwear to the side, and then you lower yourself onto him, inch by agonising inch. you both groan as he fills you, your body stretching to accommodate him. you can feel every ridge, every vein, as you take him in completely.

his hands are on your hips, guiding you as you start to move, rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. you brace your hands on his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as you ride him, your body chasing the pleasure only he can give you.

he meets your movements, his hips thrusting up to meet yours, his body driving into you with a force that leaves you gasping. you can feel the fire burning hotter, the pressure building inside you, threatening to consume you.

his hand slides up your body, his fingers wrapping around your throat, his thumb pressing gently against your pulse point. it's a possessive touch, a reminder of who's in control, even as you ride him. you can feel your heartbeat against his thumb, your body on the edge, ready to fall over into the abyss.

"come for me," he commands, his voice low and rough, his eyes locked onto yours. "let me see you fall apart."

and you do. you can't help it. your body convulses, your inner muscles clenching around him as the orgasm rips through you. you cry out, your head falling back, your eyes closed as the pleasure consumes you.

he follows you over the edge, his body tensing, his grip on your hips tightening as he thrusts up into you one last time. you can feel him pulsing inside you, filling you, marking you as his.

you collapse against him, your body limp, your breath coming in ragged gasps. his arms wrap around you, holding you close, his heart pounding against yours. you can feel the heat of his body, the sweat slicking your skin, the scent of him surrounding you.

and in that moment, you know. you belong to him. completely. irrevocably. and there's no turning back.

the room is quiet, save for the sound of your ragged breaths slowly returning to normal. your body is still pressed against his, your heartbeat syncing with his steady, strong pulse. his arms are wrapped around you, holding you close, his hands tracing lazy patterns on your back.

you can feel the intensity of the moment still lingering, like the remnants of a storm, the air charged with electricity. your body is sated, your muscles relaxed, but there's a hum just beneath your skin, a reminder of the fire that consumed you moments ago.

his lips press against your shoulder, a soft, gentle kiss that sends a shiver down your spine. you lift your head, your eyes meeting his, and you see the same intensity reflected in his gaze. it's softer now, tempered by satisfaction, but it's there—a smouldering ember ready to ignite again at the slightest provocation.

"you okay?" he asks, his voice a low rumble, his eyes searching yours.

you nod, a small smile playing on your lips. "more than okay," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

he smiles back, a slow, lazy curve of his lips that makes your heart flutter. his hand comes up, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your cheek. you lean into his touch, your eyes fluttering closed, a soft sigh escaping your lips.

when you open your eyes again, he's watching you, his expression serious. "you're mine," he says, his voice low, steady, leaving no room for argument. "you know that, right?"

you take a deep breath, your heart pounding in your chest. you do know it. you belong to him. body, heart, and soul.

you nod, your voice steady as you say, "i'm yours."

a look of satisfaction flashes across his face, and he leans in, his lips capturing yours in a slow, deep kiss. it's a claiming, a sealing of your words, a promise of more to come. you melt into him, your body responding to his touch, your heart swelling with emotions you can't put into words.

when he pulls away, his eyes are dark, the intensity back in full force. "say it again," he demands, his voice rough.

you look into his eyes, your voice clear and steady as you say, "i'm yours, melo."

he growls, a low, possessive sound that sends a shiver down your spine. his hands tighten on your hips, and you can feel him hardening against you, his body ready for you again.

"you drive me crazy," he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours. "i can't get enough of you. i don't think I ever will."

[cheynovak]

American Sin

Soldier boy x Angel aka Y/N Female supe

Summary: set somewhere in the 70s. Before gunpowder soldier boy had another sidekick who he couldn't get along with... until one horrible incident.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, Almost rape, Name calling,SB being SB, talk of virginity, ...

English isn't my first language.

Please do not copy my work. Sharing/likes and comments are appreciated.

*** Chapter two: Try Again, Motherfucker."

"Who did this to you?"

Ben’s eyes burned into her, his whole body tense.

“Who?”

Y/N’s throat felt tight. She could barely think, barely breathe.

His hands were still gripping her waist, but not in the teasing, aggravating way he usually did. This was different. His fingers pressed into her skin like he was barely holding himself back.

She didn’t answer. Couldn’t. He yelled. “Who the fuck did this to you!?”

The force of it jolted her out of her daze.

Before she could even think, the name slipped past her lips.

“… Mitch.”

The change in Ben was instant. His face went blank. Too blank. Then, slowly, something dark crept in. His jaw locked, his nostrils flared, and his whole body tensed like a bomb about to go off.

Y/N had seen Ben angry before. But this? This wasn’t just anger. This was pure, murderous rage. And it terrified her.

Her fingers trembled as she clutched the counter. “Ben?”

He didn’t answer. Didn’t even look at her. Instead, he turned—shoving back from the counter so fast —and started toward the door.

Panic surged through her. She jumped down, stumbling slightly before rushing after him. “Ben! Where are you going!?”

Still, no response.

He was marching now, his whole body moving with purpose, fists clenched at his sides. Her heart pounded.

She knew what he was going to do. And she couldn’t let him.

Y/N lunged, grabbing his wrist, yanking him back with more strength than she probably should have used. "Ben, stop! Just—listen to me!"

He whirled around so fast that she nearly stumbled back. His eyes were wild. His chest heaved. Y/N swallowed, her voice shaky. “I got away. I—I stopped him before anything happened.” She shook her head. “You don’t have to—”

Ben’s laugh was cold. Sharp. Dangerous. His voice was low now, rough and tight with barely-contained fury. “He put his hands on you.”

She didn’t know what to say.

Her heart hammered as she clutched his arm. “Ben, please,” she whispered. “Just let it go, I don't want trouble.” His eyes snapped to hers, and for just a second, something flickered there—something almost like disbelief.

Then, his lips curled into a scoff. He ripped his arm from her grip and walked away.

Ben stormed into the photo studio, ready to tear Mitch apart. But the room was empty. His fists clenched. He was seeing red.

**voices.**

Through the open hallway, he heard Mitch talking. Smug. Unbothered, trying to cover himself. Ben followed the sound, boots heavy against the tile as he stalked toward the office.

“…Misunderstanding, that’s all,” Mitch was saying. “She’s young. Girls like that—they don’t know what they want until you show them.”

Ben didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate. He ripped the door open. Edgar barely had time to turn before Ben grabbed Mitch by the collar and yanked him up.

The little bastard barely got out a squeak before Ben threw him. The table collapsed under the impact, wood splintering as Mitch crashed onto it. Papers went flying. A lamp hit the floor.

Mitch groaned, dazed, hands scrambling against the wreckage. “Jesus—what the fuck!?”

Ben was already on him, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and hauling him up before he could even try to crawl away.

“Wait—wait—” Mitch stammered, panicking. “It’s not what you think, man—” Ben slammed him back onto the broken table. Mitch gasped, eyes wide.

Edgar sighed. “Soldier Boy, put him down, it's a misunderstanding.” Ben didn’t move. His knuckles whitened against Mitch’s collar. Mitch swallowed hard, words spilling out in frantic desperation.

“She—she gave me signals!” he blurted. “I thought she wanted me to! She’s been flirting with me all morning, man—”

Ben’s eye twitched.

That was it.

He lifted Mitch like he was nothing, marched across the room— And threw him straight through the window.

Glass shattered.

Mitch screamed, arms flailing, but before he could fall completely, Ben caught him by the ankle. Now, Mitch dangled ten stories up.

Screaming. Begging.

Edgar’s calm voice cut through the chaos. “Soldier Boy.” Ben didn’t look back. Didn’t care. Instead, he loosened his grip, voice dark as he spoke.

“Look at her, Stan” he growled, eyes locked on Edgar. “You tell me—does that look like a girl who fucking wanted it?"

Edgar’s usually calm expression faltered as his eyes landed on Y/N. Her torn fishnets. The forming bruises. The way her hands still trembled at her sides.

For the first time, she saw something close to guilt flicker across his face. “I’m so sorry,” Edgar said, his voice measured, careful. Y/N barely heard him. Her focus was on Ben.

On the way he held Mitch over the ledge like he was nothing but a piece of trash. On the way his shoulders heaved with anger, his fingers tight around the bastard’s ankle.

Mitch was sobbing.

“Ben,” she said softly. She stepped closer. “Please. Don’t do this.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t even acknowledge her.

“Let him go.”

Ben let out a slow, long breath. Then, finally—after a long pause—he yanked Mitch back over the ledge and dropped him onto the floor like a sack of shit.

The second he hit the ground, a dark stain spread across his pants.

Y/N wrinkled her nose. "Jesus." Mitch scrambled back against the wall, sobbing, hands shaking. Ben crouched down in front of him, voice dangerously low.

“Next time” He tilted his head, eyes burning into Mitch’s. “I won’t hold back.”

Mitch frantically nodded, barely able to breathe between his pathetic hiccups.

Ben stood, then turned to Edgar. “Give her a different outfit,” he ordered, voice sharp. “Now.”

He brushed past her like nothing had happened. Y/N clenched her fists. “You didn’t have to do that.” At that, he turned back, eyebrow raised.

“Like I said before,” he drawled, arms crossing over his chest. “Everything here is my business.”

Then, without another word, he walked off.

---

That night, Y/N found herself standing outside his door.

She had been lingering for a few minutes now, ear pressed against the wood, making sure he was alone.

Finally, after a deep breath, she knocked. Heavy footsteps. Then, the door swung open.

Ben leaned against the frame, shirtless, again, just a pair of sweatpants hanging low on his hips. His eyes flickered over her, taking in her nervous stance, the way she fiddled with the hem of her oversized hoodie.

“What?” he asked, voice gruff.

Y/N swallowed. “I, uh… I wanted to talk to you.”

His eyebrow quirked up. For a second, she thought he might laugh. Instead, he let out a slow exhale, then stepped back, opening the door wider

“Fine,” he muttered.

She walked in, ducking under his arm as he held the door open.

Just as she did, she caught movement from the corner of her eye—

The twins standing down the hall, watching. Next to him, Sara, one of Vought’s assistants, looked between Y/N and Ben, eyes wide with curiosity.

Ben, the bastard, smirked—then shot them a wink before shutting the door behind them.

Ben barely looked up as he snorted a line off the coffee table.

“What do you wanna talk about, Angel?” he asked, voice rough from the coke.

Y/N hesitated. Her hands were clammy. Her heart raced.

“I, uh… wanted to thank you.”

Ben snorted, wiping his nose. “Not needed.” He leaned back on the couch, stretching out like he owned the damn place—because he did. Arms spreading along the back of the couch, his whole body lounging like a king on his throne.

His legs spread slightly, his sweatpants riding low, the fabric stretching at the groin. Thick, heavy. Obvious.

The dim light carved shadows along his stomach, every muscle flexing as he moved. Broad chest, sculpted abs, strong thighs pressing against the fabric.

The room suddenly felt too warm

“That it?”

“No,” she said quickly.

He finally looked at her. “Then spit it out.”

Y/N took a breath. And then, before she could talk herself out of it—

“I want you to… take it.”

Ben’s brow furrowed. “Take what?"

She swallowed. “My… my virginity.”

The room went silent. Ben finally looked to her fully, brow raised, expression blank. She panicked. Started rambling.

“I—I mean, if you want,” she stammered. “I just—I’ve been thinking about it. Without it, no man will see me as an easy target. And you don’t get involved in you... eh hook ups, so it’s not like there’ll be weird emotions—”

Ben stared. Her face was on fire.

“It’s just a business transaction,” she continued quickly. “I don’t like you like that, so I won’t fall in love or—”

A scoff. Then a laugh.

Ben leaned forward, elbows on his knees, watching her like she had just said the dumbest thing he’d ever heard.

“Lemme get this straight.” His voice was low, rough with amusement. “You want me to fuck you, just so you’re not a virgin anymore?”

Y/N pressed her lips together. “…Yes.”

He let out a slow, deep exhale, shaking his head.

Then, after a beat—

“That,” he said, licking his lips, “is the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard.”

Those words felt like a hit to her face, tears started to form, "I eh, well please just think about it." She said quickly and then turned to walk out.

Ben's eyes followed her. Wondering why she'd asked him.

--

Taglist:

Jensen: @jackles010378 @libby99hb @winchesterwild78 @suckitands33 @mostlymarvelgirl @deans-baby-momma @ancles @tulipsvanilla @thesilmarillionblog @jays-bonnie-on-the-side @kr804573 @kamisobsessed @hobby27 @globetrotter28 @kindollss @muhahaha303 @shadysoulangel @lyarr24 @spxideyver @impala67rollingthroughtown @panickedbitch @deansimpalababy @livya99 @yvonneeeee @ladykitana90 @stoneyggirl2 @imsiriuslyreal @panickedbitch @roseblue373 @n-o-p-e-never @ariasong11 @lmpala1967 @sherlockstrangewolf @spnaquakindgdom @writtenbyhollywood @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @healojane @star-yawnznn

[fel-09]

https://www.tumblr.com/fel-09/776826484778254336/hello-dear-how-are-you-i-really-like-thranduil?source=share

So perfect.💕

What if the fairy reader is from Thorin's team. Thranduil catches them. That's how he meets the fairy reader.

Do you think Thranduil would want the fairy reader for himself? Or would he want the fairy reader to stay so Thorin and his group could leave? What if Thranduil asks the fairy reader to stay with him forever in exchange for they support in the Battle of the Five Armies? Is it possible for you to write something based on these possibilities? Sorry if it's too much.

I already have something like this somewhere but I'm too lazy to look for it so I'll just write a new one

Choice without choice

The halls of Thranduil’s palace were carved from living stone, bathed in soft light and the shimmer of enchanted lanterns. Deep beneath the roots of the forest, time moved like a river—slow and inescapable. The prisoners of the Woodland Realm knew this well, for the elves did not grant their freedom easily.

Thorin’s company had been captured. Their weapons stripped, their fates uncertain. They stood within the cold walls of their cells, murmuring in low voices, weighing their chances of escape. But among them, one prisoner was held apart.

The fairy.

Thranduil had seen many wonders in his long life, but it had been an age since he had laid eyes on one of her kind. A fairy among dwarves—how strange. How impossible. And yet, here she stood, proud even in chains, her wings hidden beneath travel-worn cloth, her eyes burning with defiance.

"Your presence is a mystery," Thranduil said as he regarded her. "And I do not like mysteries in my realm."

She did not bow, did not avert her gaze like so many others would have. Instead, she met his eyes with steady resolve.

"I travel with them," she said simply. "That is all there is to it."

Thranduil’s expression remained unreadable. He stepped closer, tilting his head ever so slightly. "A fairy does not simply follow dwarves into ruin. There is more to your story."

She did not answer.

A long silence stretched between them before Thranduil finally spoke again.

"I will not waste words on Thorin Oakenshield. His heart is too full of pride, too blind to reason." His voice was quiet, yet edged with something sharp. "But you… you could choose differently."

Her brow furrowed. "What are you saying?"

He regarded her for a moment longer before turning, motioning for her to follow. Guards flanked them as he led her away from the cells, deeper into the palace. They passed through halls of silken banners, past waterfalls that whispered secrets only the trees could understand. And then, at last, they stood within a great chamber—his throne room.

Thranduil turned to face her.

"I will offer you a choice," he said. "Stay here, with me, and your companions will walk free. More than that—should you agree, I will lend my forces to their cause when the time comes. The Battle of the Five Armies looms ahead, and they will not survive it alone."

The fairy inhaled sharply. "You would bargain with me? Keep me as a prisoner in all but name?"

Thranduil’s gaze was calm, but something flickered beneath it. "I would not call it imprisonment. The Woodland Realm has long been without the presence of your kind. You belong among us, not among those who will fall to greed and war."

Her hands clenched at her sides. "And if I refuse?"

His expression did not change, but his voice grew softer—dangerously so. "Then I will not stand against Thorin’s madness. I will let fate take its course. And your friends… they will perish in battle."

The weight of his words pressed against her chest.

She should have known. Elves were patient, cunning creatures. Thranduil was no different. He would not waste his strength on a war he deemed foolish, but he would not let an opportunity slip through his fingers either.

She was that opportunity.

A pawn. A prize. A rarity to be kept.

And yet, in his eyes, there was something else. Something almost unreadable.

Possession.

"You would keep me here forever?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Thranduil stepped closer, the scent of the forest clinging to his cloak. "Forever is a long time, little star," he murmured. "But I do not think you would be unhappy here."

His hand reached for hers—gentle, as if he were offering a choice, though she knew there was none.

She could stay.

Or she could lose them all.

[snowysosturn]

Fire & Desire - Matt Sturniolo Part 22

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22

Pairing: Y/n x Matt Sturniolo

Summary: Y/n has always clashed with Matt. Despite working for Chris’s clothing brand and being close with Nick, her relationship with Matt has always been tense at best. While being forced to be around each other more, their animosity turns into something deeper. Can they overcome their differences, or will their fiery emotions tear them apart?

Warnings: Angst, tension, feeling of betrayal, mentions of loss of appetite, arguments, this ones a looooooong one

The sun is beginning its slow descent by the time I finally drag myself out of bed. My body feels heavy, like I’ve been carrying the weight of the world in my chest. I need something, anything, to ground me, and right now, a cup of tea sounds like the only thing that might help.

That’s the plan. Go to the kitchen, make it, and come straight back up to my room. I’ll sit on my balcony and watch the last bits of sunlight disappear while I think about what to do next.

 But my main goal: avoid Matt.

I slip out of my room, moving as quietly as possible. The last thing I want is to draw attention to myself. The house is silent apart from the distant murmur of voices outside on the patio. I catch a glimpse through the window, figures sitting around, but I can’t make out exactly who. Not that it matters. I’m not stopping to find out.

The only sound that gives away my presence is the low whirl of the kettle. I stand there, staring at it as it heats up, feeling every second drag out like an eternity. I grab a mug and put the tea bag in it so as soon as it clicks off, I can pour the water and milk, moving quickly but carefully. Just get in, get out.

Successfully, I make my tea. 

Mission accomplished. 

Now, I just need to make it back upstairs.

But just as I start up the steps, the sound of the patio door sliding open sends a jolt of panic through me. 

Shit.

I don’t even turn to see who it is, I just pick up my pace, practically going up the steps two at a time.

I reach the top of the stairs and turn the corner, then..

BAM.

I nearly spill my tea everywhere as I slam into someone, my breath catching in my throat. I look up, and my stomach drops.

Matt.

For a split second, time slows. His eyes lock onto mine, searching, but I don’t give him the chance. Like I’m on autopilot, my feet keep moving, my mouth stays shut, and I walk right past him without a single word.

I don’t stop. I don’t hesitate. I reach my room, step inside, and lock the door behind me.

I let out a shaky breath, gripping my mug a little tighter. I try my best to shake it off. It was just a few seconds. Just an unfortunate encounter in a house that now feels way too small.

I know I’m going to have to face him sooner or later. There’s no avoiding it forever. But I’m not ready right now, not for a one on one, not for the inevitable conversation.

So, instead of dwelling on it, I step onto the balcony. The sun is slowly dropping lower, so I sit here and try an appreciate the sky, and for the first time all day, I feel like I can breathe..

Until there's a knock at my door.

I freeze.

No. No, no, no. If this is Matt, I swear to god.

But then I hear a familiar voice from the other side of the door.

“Y/n? It’s me.”

Nick.

Relief washes over me so quickly it almost knocks me over. I exhale, setting my tea down on the small table before walking back inside. I hesitate for just a second before unlocking the door.

Nick steps into the room, his expression soft but searching mine. "How you doing?"

I shrug lightly, forcing a small smile. "I'm okay.. I just made a cup of tea. Was gonna sit out on the balcony while the sun sets."

Nick nods, his eyes flicking toward the open balcony doors. "Mind if I sit with you?"

"Of course not" I say, stepping aside so he can follow me out.

We settle into the chairs. The silence between us is comforting, a huge difference to the chaos of the past twenty four hours.

After a minute, Nick clears his throat. "I ran into Matt coming up the stairs."

My body stiffens, fingers tightening around my mug. "Oh."

“I just asked if he had spoken to you yet, and he said no."

I huff out a breath, looking back toward the view. I take a slow sip of my tea before turning back to Nick. "So, what's your plan for the night?"

He leans back in his chair, stretching his legs out in front of him. "I'm gonna go meet that guy."

I raise an eyebrow. "That guy? You’ve been talking about him for days, and I still don’t even know his name."

Nick hesitates, his expression shifting slightly. He looks at me like he's bracing for something.

I narrow my eyes. "Nick.. what?"

He winces, rubbing the back of his neck. "His name is.. George."

For a second, we just stare at each other. Then, at the exact same moment, we both burst out laughing.

"George?!" I manage between laughs.

"I know! I know!" Nick groans, covering his face. "I was hoping you wouldn’t ask."

"I'm sorry, but that’s just- " I laugh harder, shaking my head.

Nick grins, finally giving in. "I know I never pictured myself with a George but I swear, the way he is makes up for it though!"

"I'm sure it does.." I say, still giggling. "It's just.. George."

We end our fit of laughter and I don’t bother asking what everyone else’s plans are, especially after overhearing Chris earlier. My guess is he’s going to meet Rachel. Whether Matt tags along to meet Christina too is a different story. I don’t want to know. All I know is that I’m not moving from this room.

Nick doesn’t press the conversation any further, and I appreciate that. Instead, we sit there, laughter lingering in the air between us. I'm glad Nick came into me because suddenly I feel a little bit lighter.

Eventually, he checks his phone and sighs. "I should probably start getting ready."

I nod, still staring at the sunset. "Yeah. Have fun."

Nick hesitates for a second before standing. "You sure you’re good?"

I glance at him, offering a small smile. "Yeah, I’m good." I mean it is a lie, but he doesn’t call me out on it.

He squeezes my shoulder before heading out. I exhale, setting my empty mug down on the table beside me. I know I should eat something, try to distract myself, maybe even attempt to sleep, but I don’t move. I stay curled up in my chair, staring at the fading sky, wondering how everything changed so fast.

When I finally move to my bed, I pull the covers up around me, but even laying here feels weird. The sheets feel awful against me now, tainted with memories that once brought comfort but now only make my stomach churn. My mind spirals, picturing how easily our history could be replicated in his bed, with someone else. The thought makes my chest tighten, and I squeeze my eyes shut, wanting it all to stop.

I take a deep breath, then another, but it doesn’t help. My mind keeps circling back to the same place, the same questions, the same ache in my chest that refuses to go away. How could he do this? Did any of it mean anything? Was I just another passing moment for him?

I need to make it stop.

I turn onto my side, curling into myself, exhausted from it all. Being honest, my eyes hurt that much from crying, I don’t find it hard to fall asleep.

I wake up the next morning determined to be a new woman. I have a shower to wash away all of yesterday's sorrow, before pulling out the smallest blue bikini I could find. I make my way downstairs and throw myself together a small breakfast, considering I haven't eaten in over 24 hours but not forcing myself too much as my appetite still isn't fully back yet.

I take my breakfast outside to the patio and I settle onto a lounger, my plate resting on my lap. The villa is silent. Everyone must still be asleep, sleeping off their drunken choices, their reckless mistakes.

Good. I need the peace.

I take a slow bite of my food, staring out at the water. The pool glistens under the morning light, the water undisturbed. Today is a new day. A fresh start.

I adjust my sunglasses and stretch out after putting my plate under my lounger, determined to soak in the sun and let it warm the parts of me that feel cold and bitter. If anyone sees me out here, I want them to see that I’m unbothered. That I’m fine.

A few minutes pass in silence before I hear the sliding door creak open behind me. I don't turn to look. I don't react.

I realise it’s Nate and Nick coming out, both looking more awake than I expected.

"Morning" they say in unison, and I greet them with a small smile “Morning early birds.”

I turn to Nick first. "Soooo? How was your night with George?"

Nick rubs the back of his neck, and I can tell he’s holding back his excitement for my sake. "It was good" he says simply.

I narrow my eyes at him. "Nick."

He sighs, then finally lets the grin slip through. "Okay, fine. It was great, actually. We got drinks, had a laugh. He’s funny, really easy to talk to."

I smile at him, genuinely happy. "That’s what I like to hear. You deserve a good time."

Nick gives me a look, like he’s checking if I really mean it. I do. Just because my love life is a disaster doesn’t mean I want everyone else to be miserable with me.

I turn to Nate next. "And what about you? What were you up to?"

Nate stretches his arms over his head, looking far too well rested. "Didn’t move from my bed. Best sleep I’ve had in weeks."

I laugh. "Of course you did. You look like you just got back from a spa retreat while the rest of us look like we barely survived the night."

The three of us settle into conversation, and for a moment, I let myself enjoy the lightness of it. But in the back of my mind, I know this moment won’t last. The rest of the villa is still asleep, for now. And soon enough, I’ll have to face the reality I’ve been trying to avoid.

"Is Chris up?" I ask Nate, trying to sound casual.

Nate shakes his head. "Don’t think he even came back here last night."

I swallow hard, nodding slowly. "Oh right"

There's been no sign of Matt either. That tells me everything I need to know.

Guess that means he went out with Chris and stayed with Christina last night again.

I should’ve expected it, but expecting something doesn’t make it hurt any less.

For the rest of the morning, it stays just me, Nick, and Nate chilling outside. The sun climbs higher, and the villa remains quiet, no sign of Chris or Matt. I sip on my water, listening to the distant waves crashing on the shore, slipping in and out of conversation with Nick and Nate as a distraction.

By midday, that peacefulness is interrupted. I hear the sliding door open, followed by the sound of footsteps approaching.

I lift my head slightly, peering through my sunglasses. Chris and Matt step outside together. Just seeing them like this, together, appearing at the same time, only further confirms what I already knew. 

Matt was with Christina last night.

I can feel my heart break over again, but I refuse to let it show.

Without a word, I rest my head back down on the lounger, keeping my sunglasses on, blocking them out. I’m not ready for any type of conversation. Not yet.

Nate and Nick casually greet them, like nothing is out of the ordinary. Chris stretches, rubbing the back of his neck, and asks if anyone’s hungry.

My stomach twists at the thought of food. The second I saw Matt, my appetite vanished again. So I keep my mouth closed.

Nate says he is and disappears inside with them, leaving just me and Nick alone by the pool.

The quiet settles between us for a moment before Nick turns to me. “Are you coming to dinner tonight?” His tone sounds like he wants me to be there, even though he understands If I don’t want to.

I hesitate. The idea of sitting at a table with Matt, pretending everything is fine, feels impossible. I open my mouth to say no, but Nick is already cutting me off.

“You don’t have to talk to him at all” he reassures me. “I’ll be there the whole time.”

I exhale, chewing on my bottom lip. I do feel bad if I don’t go. It’s just dinner, right? I mean, the tension between Matt and I is like old times, nothing I haven’t had to deal with or experience before. The only thing is, the feeling in my chest is a hundred times worse than it ever was before.

“Okay” I finally say. “I’ll come.”

Nick grins, tapping my arm lightly. “We’ll have a good time, I promise.”

I nod, but the weight in my chest doesn’t lift.

By now, it’s nearly 3pm, and the sun has drained me but nowhere near as much as the situation with Matt has. The exhaustion clings to me, both physical and emotional, and I know if I don’t rest now, I’ll be useless later.

“I think I’m gonna go for a nap” I mumble, pushing myself up from the lounger.

Nick gives me a small smile. “Good idea. I’ll wake you if you’re not up in time.”

I nod again, grateful, and make my way inside. The second I hit my bed, the world around me fades.

When I wake up, the air in my room feels heavier, the remnants of my dreams still in my brain. I shake them off and head straight for the shower.

By the time I step out, wrapped in a towel, I feel better. Maybe, tonight won’t be as bad as I think.

I walk out and go to sit at the vanity, but I feel like I need to lift the vibe even more.

A drink and music.

That’s what I need if I have any chance of enjoying myself tonight.

Still in my towel, I make my way downstairs, moving quickly so I don’t run into anyone. I pour myself a vodka lemonade, throwing pieces of ice into the fancy glass.

Running back up to my room, I shut the door, take a sip, and set my speaker on full blast. I turn on It’s ok, i’m ok by Tate McRae, the lyrics hitting a little too close to home. I let the music drown out my thoughts as I start getting ready, determined to feel like myself again, even if it’s just for tonight.

I move through my routine on autopilot, letting the music and the slight buzz from my drink carry me through. I’m not overthinking my outfit, my makeup, or my hair, yet somehow, when I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I look effortlessly put together. Maybe it’s the lighting, maybe it’s the fact that I’ve just given up on caring, but either way, I feel like this is the best I’ve ever looked.

I pick up my phone and text Nick, asking him to come to my room to take pictures. It barely takes a minute before he’s knocking on my door, slipping inside with an approving grin.

“Damnnnn!” he says, dragging the word out. “You look amazing.”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t help the smile that creeps onto my lips. “You have to say that.”

“I really don’t” he laughs, already pulling his phone out. “We need evidence of this moment.”

We take a few pictures together, Nick hyping me up between shots, making me laugh just enough to keep it natural.

When we’re satisfied with the pictures, I wonder where it is we’re actually going to eat. “So, where are we even going for dinner?”

“Some Italian place Chris booked” Nick says, glancing at his phone. “He said he made the reservation earlier.

I nod, I love italian food, so I’m hoping this whole thing is just easy. I grab my purse, double checking that I have everything, phone, keys to the villa, money. I take a deep breath before heading downstairs with Nick.

The moment we step into the foyer, I see them. Chris, Nate, and Matt are all standing together, talking casually like nothing has changed, like the last few days haven’t flipped my world upside down. Matt looks up first. For the briefest second, our eyes meet, and I swear I see something flash across his face, it’s something, but I can’t make out what. But I don’t let myself dwell on it.

I adjust the strap of my purse on my shoulder, forcing my expression to remain neutral. This is the closest I’ve been to Matt since the nightclub, since everything, but I refuse to let it get to me. Not tonight.

I tilt my chin up slightly, gripping onto my confidence like it’s my lifeline, and step forward like I don’t have a care in the world.

I stay locked in conversation with Nick as we leave the villa to make our way to the restaurant, trying to distract myself from the tension in the air. Chris lingers back slightly, eventually matching my pace as we walk. His presence next to me is quiet at first, almost hesitant, before he finally speaks.

"You okay?" His voice is low, careful, like he already knows the answer but feels the need to ask anyway.

It’s a weird one. I haven't heard from Chris since everything went down. He’s been distant, not in a hostile way, but in a way that tells me he didn’t know how to approach me. And now, here he is, finally asking.

I glance at him briefly, weighing my response before settling on, "I will be."

Chris nods slowly, seeming to accept that answer. “Can we talk later? About everything?”

I exhale softly, not quite ready to dive into whatever everything entails but knowing that it’s overdue. I don’t think there was any malice from him in this situation. And I’m not mad at him at all. I would like to know what his thought process was throughout all this. And maybe, he's actually done me a favour. “Yeah,” I agree. “Later.”

That seems to be enough for now. The group keeps moving, making our way toward the restaurant. When we arrive, the guys step inside ahead of us, but I notice them mumbling amongst themselves, their voices low and almost hurried, like there’s some sort of confusion.

Something about their body language makes me pause, and I follow their line of sight before realizing exactly what has caught their attention.

Rachel and Christina.

They’re seated at a table near the back. Five empty seats are pulled out beside them, waiting.

A sharp, sinking feeling settles in my stomach.

Of course. 

Of course they’re here. It was already bad enough having to see Matt, to sit across from him and pretend I wasn’t still breaking, but now, this?

I don’t even have to look at him to know. I can feel his presence, his hesitation. I wonder if he knew they’d be here. If this was always the plan.

My fingers tighten slightly around the strap of my purse as I will myself to keep my composure.

This night just got a whole lot harder.

Nick squeezes my hand gently, a silent reassurance that he’s here, that I’m not alone in this. “What do you wanna do?” he asks quietly, his voice just for me.

I take a breath, steadying myself. “Sit at the other end” I say, keeping my voice even, refusing to let this shake me any more than it already has.

Without hesitation, Nick follows my lead, guiding me toward the farthest end of the table, away from Rachel and Christina. I slide into my seat, positioning myself as far as I can from them, while Nick sits beside me, his presence like a barrier between me and whatever mess is sitting across the table.

Matt and Chris take their seats. Chris next to Rachel and Matt next to Christina. Whether it was planned or just happened naturally, I don’t know, but it doesn’t make a difference, the damage is done. 

The tension is suffocating. You could cut it with a knife. I never thought at the start of this trip I’d be sitting diagonally across from Matt and another girl.

Nobody speaks at first. There’s an awkward shuffle of menus being picked up, the quiet clinking of silverware as waiters move around us, but no real conversation. 

I keep my gaze down, focused on the menu even though I’m not really reading it. My appetite had started to come back earlier, but now? Completely gone again.

Nick, ever my lifeline in this nightmare, leans in slightly constantly making sure I’m okay. “You good?” he murmurs, his voice low enough that only I can hear.

I nod once, though I’m not sure if I mean it. “Yeah” I lie. “I’m fine.”

But we both know I’m not.

I try to keep my focus on the menu, pretending to be absorbed in the options, but it’s impossible to ignore Christina. She is relentless, shifting in her seat so she’s angled toward Matt, her body language screaming interest. The way she leans forward, the way her fingers reach out casually to graze his forearm as she talks, it’s all so intentional.

“Oh my God, Matt, you look so good tonight” she purrs, tilting her head as she studies him. “Did you do something different? Your hair? A new cologne?”

Matt barely reacts, only offering a tight lipped smile as he glances at her briefly. “Uh, no. Same as always.” he replies, going back to his menu.

But Christina isn’t deterred. She lets out a soft, exaggerated sigh. “God, I can’t believe we’re all in Hawaii together. It feels like such a movie moment, don’t you think?” She flicks her gaze up at him through her lashes. “Like, if this was a movie, we’d be the main characters.”

Matt huffs a small laugh through his nose, shaking his head. “Yeah, I don’t know about that, don’t really take myself as the main character type of guy.” His tone is light, but there’s no real engagement. He’s keeping it neutral.

She’s not giving up, though. She leans in again, dropping her voice to something more sultry. “You know, I had so much fun the other night” she murmurs, just loud enough for me to hear. 

My stomach twists, but I don’t react. I refuse to. Instead, I lift my glass of water to my lips, taking a slow sip as if I’m completely unbothered.

Nick shifts beside me, subtly kicking my foot under the table as if to say don’t react. I know he’s watching me closely, waiting for me to crack, but I won’t.

Chris, who’s been silent this whole time, suddenly clears his throat. “Christina, didn’t you say this was your first time in Hawaii?”

It’s so obviously a distraction tactic, and I can’t tell if he’s doing it to get her off Matt’s back or because he knows I’m sitting here, silently absorbing every word.

Christina finally tears her gaze away from Matt and glances at Chris. “Oh, yeah it is.” she says, waving a hand dismissively. 

Matt doesn’t say anything. He just flips a page of the menu, like none of this is even phasing him. Meanwhile, Rachel is watching me like a hawk, waiting for a reaction.

I meet her eyes for a split second and give her the most nonchalant look I can muster before turning to Nick. “What are you getting?” I ask, my voice steady.

Nick glances at me, eyes scanning my face for any sign of weakness before answering, “Probably the carbonara.”

I nod. “Good choice.”

Nate, ever the sweetheart, seems to pick up on everything, the way I’m keeping my head down, the way Nick keeps a protective presence beside me, the way Matt and Christina’s exchange is unfolding just within earshot. Without missing a beat, he slides into conversation with me and Nick as he’s seated opposite us, as if we’re in our own little bubble, separate from the tension on the other side of the table.

“So, what’s the plan for tomorrow?” Nate asks, leaning forward with a smile. “I was thinking of heading down to the beach early. Maybe rent a jet ski or something. You two in?”

Nick catches on immediately, grateful for the shift in attention. “Absolutely. I’d love to see you wipe out within the first five minutes.”

Nate pretends to be offended, placing a hand over his chest. “Excuse you, I’m actually a professional. Very experienced!”

I can’t help but smile at their antics, grateful for the distraction. “Professional, huh? I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Nate smirks. “Oh, you will. And when I leave you both in my wake, don’t come crying to me.”

Nick scoffs. “Yeah, okay, Nate. Keep dreaming.”

As we laugh, it’s almost easy to forget the rest of the table exists, almost. Because out of the corner of my eye, I see Chris sitting stiffly, glancing between me and the rest of the group, like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He hasn’t even touched his menu. He just sits there, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, like he’s caught in the middle of something he never signed up for.

At one point, he opens his mouth like he wants to say something,to me, but then he hesitates, pressing his lips together instead. His fingers drum restlessly against the table. It’s almost like he wants to acknowledge the elephant in the room, but he can’t.

I keep my focus on Nate and Nick as everyone gives their orders, letting them carry me through the moment, keeping me occupied. And for now, that’s all I need.

The food arrives shortly after, and I focus on my meal, keeping my eyes down, keeping my composure. If I just get through dinner, I’ll be fine.

But Christina doesn’t make it easy.

She just doesn’t stop, her voice carrying just loud enough to ensure I hear every flirtatious remark, every exaggerated giggle. It’s all so obvious, the way she leans toward Matt, twirling a piece of her hair around her finger. 

“Oh my God, Matt, you’re so funny” she forces, brushing her fingers against his wrist like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He hasn’t even said anything that funny.

“We should totally do something after this!” Christina continues, tilting her head. “Maybe check out that tiki bar? It would be so fun.”

Matt doesn’t commit. “Maybe.”

Maybe.

That single word twists something in my stomach, because it means he hasn’t outright said no. And I know it shouldn’t matter but that doesn’t stop the sting.

As everyone starts discussing where to go next, I stay quiet, already knowing my answer. The only place I want to be right now is home. I only ever agreed to dinner, nothing more. The idea of trailing behind while Christina continues her performance, while Matt does whatever he’s doing, is unbearable.

I lean toward Nick and quietly tell him, “I’m heading back.”

He nods in understanding, not even questioning it. “That’s fair. I’ll go for one drink, then I’ll be home after. We can debrief, I’ll try to get more info.”

I manage a small smile at that. If there’s anyone I can count on to feed me the details later, it’s Nick.

We both stand, and I feel Chris’s eyes on me, but I don’t meet them. If he wants to talk, he can find me when I’m not on the verge of either snapping or crying.

Nick walks me to the taxi rank just outside the restaurant, following behind me as we weave through the crowd. I should want to stay out, to drown out my thoughts with drinks and distractions, but all I want is to be alone.

“You sure you’re okay going back on your own?” Nick asks as we wait for a taxi to pull up.

I let out a breath. “Yeah. Just over it.”

Nick doesn’t push. “I’ll text you when I’m on my way back.”

A taxi pulls up, and he opens the door for me. Before I get in, he squeezes my hand briefly, just a reminder that I’m not alone in all of this.

I nod my thanks, slide into the backseat, and as the car pulls away, I finally let out a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding.

I pull up to the villa and thank the taxi man, paying him for the fare. I step out of the car and as I do one pulls up directly behind me.

I freeze for a second, my stomach tightening as I watch Matt step out of the taxi behind me. Of all people, of all times, it has to be him.

I don’t wait for him to say anything. I turn toward the villa, walking quickly up the steps, my heels clicking against the cobblestone pavement. I take my keys out of my bag, unlocking the front door.

I can hear him behind me, his footsteps unhurried, like he’s debating whether to call my name.

“Wait” Matt’s voice finally breaks the silence, and I feel his presence closer than I expected. “Can we talk?”

I let out a slow breath before turning to face him, the front door slightly open behind me. His eyes search mine, like he’s trying to figure out where my head is at.

“Talk about what, Matt?” My voice is steady, but I can feel the exhaustion creeping in.

He rubs the back of his neck, looking almost.. nervous? “About this. About everything.”

“I’m not too sure what there is to talk about” I say, my voice surprisingly steady. “I’ve seen it all. I saw Christina in your bed. I saw how she was with you tonight.”

Matt’s face falls, and he opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, but I don’t let him.

“And now, what? You think you can stand here and make some sorry excuse for your actions? Do you even realize how disrespectful that is?” My voice rises slightly, frustration taking over. “You can’t just act like nothing happened, Matt. You don’t get to do that.”

He sighs, rubbing his hand over his jaw. "I never wanted to hurt you."

"Well, it’s a bit too late for that now.” I say, my voice sharp. 

"I’m sorry." he mutters.

I let out a short laugh. "Yeah. So am I.”

Matt stands there looking at me, almost confused.

“I'm sorry I let you play with me for so long. Sorry I let you in, that I actually believed there was something real between us. But it’s clear now, isn’t it? Whatever tension was there, it was only ever sexual for you."

Matt steps forward, opening his mouth to protest, but I cut him off.

"So what now?" I snap, my voice shaking with anger. "What’s your next move? You feel bad for how you’ve treated me, so you’ll do what? Buy me flowers? But never actually give them to me? Did you ever track down Christina’s ex to get her locket back too? Or was that just a special little stunt for me?"

I let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking my head. "And don’t you dare try to tell me you haven’t been with anyone else since that night in the house. Christina basically spelled out what happened in Vegas to me at the club.”

Then realisation hits me. “It makes sense to me now, the real reason you customised your jacket that way. You didn’t do it because you felt something for me. You did it so if the topic of her in Vegas came up, you had something to sway me from believing it, so you could keep stringing me along.”

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Can you please listen to me? I didn’t even know they were coming out here” he says quickly, almost desperately, like that one fact will make any of this better.

I scoff, shaking my head. “That doesn’t change anything.”

“It changes a lot” he insists, stepping forward. “Chris was the one that brought them out here, he has a thing with Rachel and probably just-”

"-wants to smash?" I finish for him, my voice sharp. 

"Yeah, Matt, I know. Just like you said before, that Chris only gave me a job because he wants to smash?" I tilt my head, watching as realization dawns on his face. "Yeah. I heard you when you said that."

Matt shifts uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. "I never meant that" he mutters. "I swear, I didn’t mean it like that."

"Oh really?" I fold my arms, my patience running dangerously thin. "How exactly did you mean it then, Matt?" My voice is sharp, no bullshit. "Because it sounded a lot like you were trying to discredit any of the work I do."

Matt exhales sharply, looking away. "It wasn’t about that, okay?" His voice is tight, like he’s struggling to find the right words. "Maybe I was jealous, maybe I was pissed off at the whole situation, maybe I just-" He stops himself, his jaw locking.

"Maybe you just what?" I push, my voice rising slightly.

His silence is louder than anything he could say. And then, it hits me.

I let out a hollow laugh, shaking my head. "Oh my god. It was projection, wasn’t it?" I take a step closer, my words like a slap to the face. "You said Chris only gave me a job because he wanted to smash, but really, that was just you speaking for yourself. You only ever kept me around because that’s what you wanted."

I take a breath, my heart pounding. "And congratulations, Matt. You got it."

Matt’s face falls completely.

"And then you got it from her too, only a matter of hours later." My voice is laced with disgust, and I see the tears welling in Matt's eyes, but I don’t stop. "It’s obvious to me now, you never had feelings for me. You never cared."

I take another step closer, my chest rising and falling with the force of everything I’ve kept inside. "I know you saw me leave the club that night. I know you saw me walk out. And not once did you check on me. Not once did you care enough to see if I was okay. It was like, out of sight, out of mind. I disappeared, and you moved on like I was nothing."

I shake my head, a bitter laugh escaping me. "And then you brought her back here, to the same villa I’m staying in, to rub it in my fucking face? Like this is some sick joke to you?" And then to keep doing it, over and over again, like it wasn’t enough to break me once?" My voice shakes, but not from weakness, from the sheer weight of the betrayal burning inside me. "You didn’t just move on, Matt. You made sure I saw it. You made sure I felt it. Like twisting the knife wasn’t enough, you had to keep pushing it in, again and again."

I shake my head, my breathing uneven. "And for what? To prove a point? To get back at me for something you thought I’ve done? Or was it just fun for you? To watch me fall apart while you played pretend with her?"

Matt’s mouth opens like he wants to say something, to defend himself, but I cut him off before he can even try. "No. Don’t. Because there’s nothing you can say that will make this okay. Nothing you can do that will undo the fact that you chose this. You chose to hurt me. And I’m fucking done." I spit, my chest rising and falling with the force of everything I’ve held back. 

"Because all you’ve ever done is choose to hurt me. Over and over again, like it’s second nature to you." I stop for a second to catch my breath, realising how pointless this all is. "I don’t even understand why you’re standing in front of me right now, when what you want is down at the bar with everyone else. Stop bothering me, and go back down there and get it."

Matt looks at me, his jaw tight, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, like he wants to argue. Like he wants to fight his case. But he doesn’t get to, not now. Not after everything.

"In fact" I breathe out a bitter laugh, shaking my head, "don’t ever think of speaking to me again. Because it’s clear now, Matt, we were always better off when we didn’t speak. When we just ignored each other. Maybe that’s what we should’ve stayed."

My heart is hammering in my chest, my entire body shaking from the adrenaline coursing through me. 

I turn around and storm into the villa, slamming the door so hard behind me that the walls seem to shake with the force of it. But he doesn’t follow. He doesn’t even try. Probably heading straight back down to the bar to get exactly what he wants. What he’s always wanted.

My blood is boiling as I march into my room, every step fueled by the sheer rage burning inside me. I feel like a bull, seeing red, ready to destroy everything in my path. But I don’t, because I don’t have time to waste on any of this anymore.

I grab my phone with trembling fingers, my vision blurring from unshed tears as I unlock it.

 I can’t stay here.

I refuse.

I pull up the American Airlines website, my breathing heavy, my chest rising and falling too fast. I don’t even hesitate as I search for the first available flight back home. 

The sooner, the better.

And when I find one, first thing tomorrow morning, I don’t even think twice. I press confirm before I can second guess myself, before the pain can catch up with me.

I’m leaving.

I’m done.

a/n : OOOOF. thats gotta sting.

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