#I’M SO HAPPY FOR FIZZ | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

andypantsx3 · 1 year ago

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contents: general bakugou x princess reader; fem + afab virgin reader. nsft; oral (f receiving) & missionary. semi-sequel to this drabble. 3.2k.

Your wedding day arrives far earlier than you are prepared for.

It’s a tense affair, for you at least. The country depends on it, and you feel the scheming eyes of the nobility hot on your skin as you pronounce your vows to Bakugou. They will not take kindly to your having chosen him over their sons and brothers, over their own desire to rise to power. There will be a price they will want you to pay, soon enough.

The chapel is resplendent with sumptuous decor, the court in their finest. But the room is fringed with Bakugou’s men in their military leathers, a reminder that this is not a happy day, but rather a dangerous political stunt. It keeps the noble houses docile while they are in the room with you, but you know they will return to their estates and their plans.

Your fate is in Bakugou’s hands, now, in more ways than one.

The ceremony is dizzying, and impossible to wrap your head around. The preceptor pronounces Bakugou your prince-consort, ostensibly to remain so while you assume the throne after your father’s passing. You will continue to rule him as his sovereign. But your vows to Bakugou also promise him your obedience as his wife.

It is a contradiction, an impossible trap, the very reason why the general is the only man you could stomach the thought of marrying. If a husband is to rule you after all, Bakugou will do so justly.

The thought does not stifle your nerves, however, as you make your way back down the aisle, sit down to the reception, and take your meal. A disquieting, anticipatory feeling settles over you, fizzing under your skin. You barely pick at your dinner, and drink too much of the wine.

You can tell Bakugou notices, scarlet gaze ever-perceptive, though he does not say anything until you are shepherded to the bridal suite to consummate.

Various aides try to follow you in to prepare you, but Bakugou slams the door closed on them, propping it shut with one broad shoulder. He barks at them to scram.

“Lord General—that is, Your Highness,” one of them stutters through the door. “We are required to witness the consummation—to verify that it is complete.”

A bolt of shame goes through you at this, and you catch hold of one of the intricately-carved wooden bed pillars. Bakugou grunts, holding the door closed with one palm while spinning to the nearby dressing table and chair. He grabs the chair, wedging it forcefully up under the door handle.

“You’ll be sure of consummation when I’m done here,” he growls through the door. “Don’t need you little fucking perverts making eyes the whole damn time. Now beat it.”

A weird sound escapes you, something between a gasp and a laugh—at his promise, at his gruffness.

“Your Highness,” comes a plaintive entreaty through the door. Bakugou slams a fist against it, and you hear a squeal and a sound like someone’s fallen over their feet.

An absurd laugh seizes you, and Bakugou eyes you pettishly.

“The fuck’re you laughing about,” he says, but there’s no heat in it.

Your fingers twist on the bedpost, nervously tracing the lines. “You’re taking to your new post well.”

Bakugou’s features twist into something dangerously satisfied, a smirk painting his mouth. Your breath comes short.

“My post,” he echoes, raising an eyebrow. “As your husband.”

Your stomach swoops. The disquiet flames back to life under your skin, settling heavy in your gut like a stone.

“I supposed it is a post like any other,” you say, fixing your gaze on the ground. “There are responsibilities and… marital duties.”

You hear the soft tread of Bakugou’s boot as he steps away from the door, the rustle of his doublet as he draws closer. His many medals and ceremonial sword belt clink softly. It is a fashion you know he does not prefer, always living in his shirtsleeves—the better to fight in, to train in.

A calloused hand takes your chin, tipping your face up to his.

“You nervous, Princess?” he asks. His tone is obnoxious, as usual, but his crimson gaze traces your face.

You barely suppress a shiver under his touch. Your stomach churns with a thousand emotions and you find you don’t know how to feel. Relieved that you’ve made it this far. Annoyed with Bakugou’s composure and general manner. Apprehensive about what is to come. And warm, suddenly, all over. You do not want to examine why.

“Nonsense,” you sniff.

A feral smile curls the corner of Bakugou’s mouth like he sees right through you. “You’ve never been with a man.”

Your face burns but you force yourself to return Bakugou’s assessing stare. “I’ve never been to Musutafu, either, but I know it well enough. I should think I am… prepared.”

Something hot alights in Bakugou’s gaze, burning like a coal. It’s not unlike how he looked at you that night in the dark outside his chambers, when you’d first come to him with this wild proposal.

“And what do you think you know,” he says, flatter than a question.

Your nose grows hot. “Enough.”

A thumb slides along your jaw, settling against the pulse in your neck. “Answer the question, angel.”

Your face just might be on fire. You steel yourself, reciting dispassionately. “You will undress me and then… enter me. I shall lie still—they say you can breathe through the pain and it will go away after some time. You will… work yourself to completion. And then we shall be done.”

A snort comes from Bakugou. “Is that how you royal tightasses do it?”

You feel your eyes narrow. “That is how everyone does it.”

Your ladies in waiting had been very emphatic. All of them had spoken of the same mechanics. The initial discomfort, the pain, the way a husband moved upon his wife until he was satisfied.

“You don’t know shit, Princess,” Bakugou says.

You reach up to pull his hand from your face, but he tenses, arm growing solid and immovable.

“Explains why all you nobles are such fucking tight-buttoned pricks if that’s how you’re doing it.”

Your reply is startled out of you when his hand finds your waist. You take a step back, and then another, startling again when your back finds the wall. Bakugou follows you, eyes hot.

“You are insufferable,” you inform him hotly. “I am sure of the matter.”

“You’re always sure of a lot of things, Princess,” he says. His hand is back at your waist, and suddenly all your skin feels too hot and tight, stifling like a velvet dress in summer.

“I am sure you are the most obnoxious man on earth,” you say. “Now be quiet and commence with it. Let’s have done with it.”

Bakugou’s face is suddenly closer than you’d remembered it being.

“I’ll have done with you alright,” he says. “But I’m not gonna do it like you little uppity prudes.”

You find you can’t think of what he means, all of your thoughts clouded with his proximity, the feeling of his hand moving to your skirts.

“I—but there is only the one way,” you manage. None of your ladies had mentioned anything else.

Bakugou’s mouth cuts into a smirk again, and you hate him for how pretty it is.

“We’ll fuckin’ see about that,” he says.

And then his mouth is pressed to yours.

It’s nothing like the stilted peck you’d been obliged to give him at the ceremony—one that still left your face burning, for some unknowable reason. This feels entirely different in its intensity. Bakugou’s mouth is hot and soft and tempting and eager, and your body thrills with it.

Every inch of your skin feels like it zings with lightning when he licks into your mouth, and he presses you harder into the wall. You feel his groan all the way down to your toes.

“B–akugou,” you pant when his mouth leaves yours, only to stifle a yip when he moves down to your throat. He sucks a mark there, laving over it with his tongue, and you feel like you're melting in his hands. “That’s—not my—ah!—mouth,” you manage.

The tiniest scrape of teeth has you yelping again, and you find yourself clutching his bicep for purchase.

“No shit,” he says, leaving another mark lower, mapping his way towards your chest. Calloused fingers come up to cup one of your breasts, thumb swiping over your nipple through your stays. You catch hold of his hair, yanking a fistful of that flaxen blonde, clenching your thighs together.

“What are you doing?” you hiss.

Bakugou looks up at you, expression annoyed. “Consummating.”

“But you’re not undressing me,” you say. “And shouldn’t we—on the bed?

Bakugou raises a blonde eyebrow. “They tell you it needs to be on a bed, too?”

You blink, momentarily disarmed. It was quite literally called sharing the marriage bed—where else were you supposed to do it?

“Are you sure we’re talking about the same thing?” you eventually ask him.

Both of Bakugou’s eyebrows shoot for the moon, and he looks very suddenly like he wants to laugh. A grin yanks at his mouth, sharp and beautiful.

“I knew you’d be a fucking handful,” he says, his tone somehow both annoyed and delighted. “Don’t even know what the fuck you’re talking about and you’re still trying to give me orders.”

You yank at the fistful of his hair you’re still clutching and he hisses, hand shooting out to grab yours. He works your grip off of him, pinning your wrist to the wall. The air in the room suddenly feels a hundred times thicker, like trying to breathe through honey.

“Listen closely, Princess,” he tells you, leaning in. “We're going to consummate, alright. But I’m not just gonna squeeze my eyes shut and stick it in. I’m going to do what I want first, and you’re going to be good and let me.”

Your face ignites in flame. You want to disagree reflexively. “If it’s going to be painful I’d rather just have it over with, if you don’t mind,” you say.

Bakugou stares back, scarlet gaze roving over you. “It’s not gonna be if you shut up and let me do what I want.”

You blink. You hadn’t heard that there was a way around the pain—why hadn’t anyone told you?

“I—really?” you ask.

Bakugou nods. “Really.”

“Oh,” you say. “Well then… you may proceed, I suppose.”

“You suppose,” he echoes, staring you down. The look on his face makes you want to lean forward and bite it off.

“Well get on with it,” you say, arching your eyebrows.

Bakugou looks for a moment like he wants to shake you. But he ducks his head instead, lowering his mouth to yours again.

“Gonna fuck that bossiness right out of you,” he mutters, low like he’s promising himself and not you. But then he kisses you again, muffling your gasp in his mouth.

You’ve never kissed another man, and do not have a frame of reference for what he’s doing. But Bakugou is a good kisser, you think. Every flick of his tongue feels like someone has uncorked champagne and poured it beneath your skin, and every brush of his mouth against yours sends a liquid heat racing through your veins.

You moan into his mouth when calloused fingers delve beneath the collar of your gown, dipping into your stays and pinching a nipple. He rolls it carefully, and you arch against him without any say-so from your brain.

“Been thinking about this, Princess,” he says. “Ever since I saw you in that little nightdress. Gonna show you what it really means to be with a man.”

You’re excused from answering by his mouth back on yours. Not that you think you could, with the way his fingers feel in the cups of your stays, or the press of a strong thigh between your own.

“Bakugou,” you gasp when he peels off of you, only to sink to his knees before you.

“It’s Katsuki,” he says, busying himself with the hem of your skirts.

“B–Katsuki,” you say. “What are you doing?”

Long fingers roll up the hemline of your dress, then yank at your underthings, exposing you to him. You gasp again, moving to cover yourself, but Bakugou pins you to the wall with an arm across your stomach, catching your thigh and pulling it over his shoulder.

“Husbandly duties,” he replies, another smirk on his mouth.

And then your head thunks against the wall as that mouth moves, pressing to you.

“Katsuki!” you shout, biting off into an embarrassing moan when he laves over you. No one had told you about this part—about how a man’s mouth there would make you feel like fireworks had just been lit off in your veins. About how a man’s mouth could even go there at all.

Bakugou doesn’t reply, kissing you there as he had your lips. A delicate suck from him over the cleft of you has you arching in his hands again, and you can quite literally feel him smirking against you.

He works you thoroughly, licking and sucking for what feels like torturous hours, but must only be minutes, until you’re a writhing, panting mess, only held upright by the arm he has banded across your lower stomach. There’s a pressure rising within you, pooling in all your limbs, making you shake and shiver with it, and what feels like no way to release it.

“Katsuki—I feel strange,” you say, bucking against his mouth. “Oh—oh!”

“Just hold on, sweetheart, and let yourself feel it,” Katsuki tells you, before licking back over you. A finger presses up inside of you, foreign but strangely good in conjunction with his mouth. Then another one presses in and they curl as if seeking something, making you twist in his grip.

And then something makes you jerk—the press of Katsuki’s fingers inside you in just the right spot, while he sucks on you, feeling like he’s touching the same place inside of you from both sides.

Something inside you snaps, uncoiling, pleasure flooding down you like a mudslide. You cry out Bakugou’s name, tears in your vision, riding out your pleasure against his mouth. Bakugou licks you through it, groaning low in his throat with appreciation.

“That’s it, Princess,” he says, tone rough. “Now you’re ready for consummation.”

You hear his words as if through a haze, and it’s only once you’re moving—being picked up and carried over to the bed—that you register what he’s saying.

He frees himself from his breeches, and stretches out over you, kissing your mouth. You’re embarrassed to taste yourself on him, but the press of him to you overrides that concern. In one smooth stroke he presses in, and you are shocked to find that he slides home easily, your core slick and ready.

It feels strange, but not at all unpleasant—absolutely nothing like what they’d told you.

“You alright, Princess?” Bakugou asks.

“I—yes,” you say, voice fluttering off when he flexes his hips, moving inside of you. The slide of him inside of you is unexpectedly good, especially when he lowers a hand to your core, pressing a thumb to that bundle of nerves at the hood of you.

“Feel good?” he asks, his eyes hot on your face. You cling to him, hips lifting into him unthinkingly as his thumb pets over you again, as he presses in and out of you a few more times.

You nod, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of saying it aloud.

He grins anyway, feral and fever-bright. His pace picks up into something faster, and you’re embarrassed to hear the slap of him against you, the eager way your body welcomes him in.

The band of pressure builds up inside you again, slowly, with every sure stroke of Bakugou inside you. He’s hot and hard and heavy over you, pressing you into the mattress, and the tops of his cheeks are flush with effort—the way he looks sometimes when he’s just come in from the training pitch.

He’s beautiful—handsome and strong and hot-headed and determined. And it dawns on you that he’s yours now—not just your subject but your husband, your prince consort, and now your lover.

It makes all your skin turn molten hot again, especially when you look down and see your knees have rucked his shirt up. You can see the flex of his abs as he thrusts between your thighs, all that golden skin and dense muscle.

The slide of him inside you and the sight of him over you is suddenly too much, and you feel yourself tip right over the edge again. Bakugou catches your hand as you lift it to muffle your cry, kissing over your knuckles.

“That’s it, Princess, that’s it,” he says again, ducking his head to kiss you.

You moan into his mouth as he fucks you through it, and he groans with the clench of you.

“Feel so fuckin’ good,” he says against your lips, pace picking up faster. “Knew you would, sweetheart, yeah.”

Embarrassingly you feel almost like you could come apart again with the praise. Bakugou groans once more, and you can hear his grip tighten in the blanket next to your head. His hips buck and flex, wildly uncontrolled now, until he gives one final hard thrust.

His weight pins you down when he relaxes over you, his breath tickling over your shoulder. You find you like the weight of him on you, covering you, like a shield against the rest of the world.

Apt, for a general.

“Better than how you wanted to do it, wasn’t it, Princess?” he asks, smug.

You scoff, but you catch the flash of a white grin in the corner of your vision. There is really no question that he’d had the better of it, this time.

“Knew you’d see it my way,” he says.

Over him, you can hear the flutter of feet outside the door, some muffled discussion. Heat rises to your face when you realize the castle aids most definitely heard you cry out under Bakugou’s ministrations. There will be no doubt of your consummation now, regardless of whether you were observed.

“Nosy fuckin’ perverts,” Bakugou says, rolling off of you. You catch another flicker of his chest with the way his shirt gapes, and he looks doubly smug when he notices.

“Not done yet, angel?” he says.

“I am, thank you.” You flush, embarrassed at having been caught. But Bakugou stretches an arm out to yank you over him, pressing you down over his hips.

Your stomach flutters.

“Give me a couple more minutes, Princess,” Bakugou says, scarlet eyes flashing with heat once more. His hand raises to trail through your hair, catching in the wedding hairstyle they’d pinned you into.

“Five more minutes,” your new husband promises you, with a grin like the devil. “And then we'll give them something to really listen to.”

#bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bnha x reader #bakugo x you #character: bakugou katsuki #andie's writing

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amxritt · 3 months ago

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Wrong Code

Tim Bradford x f!reader

summary: after a home security mix-up Y/n lands herself in a holding cell

part 2 — lattes

word count: 1.4k words

warnings: wrongful arrest, fluff

It was supposed to be a chill morning. y/n was in her sweatpants, hair in a loose braid, and slippers as she padded up to her friend’s house. She was dog sitting for the week while her friend was away shooting for a new movie. She was happy to get a break from the chaos of her job, or so she thought.

y/n typed the code into the keypad next to the front door.

Beep. Beep. Error.

Weird.

She tried again.

Beep. Error.

Panic started to fizz under her skin. She was sure this was the right code.

The alarm went off—blaring, screeching, end-of-the-world kind of loud.

“Oh my god,” y/n muttered, fumbling with her phone and the slip of paper with the override code on it. Her fingers were shaking. “It’s fine, it’s fine…”

It was not fine.

The alarm company had already pinged the LAPD. Neighbors peeked out of windows, one of them already on the phone. And then—

Flashing red and blue lights.

A black-and-white cruiser pulled up, and outstepped two officers. y/n froze mid-button press.

“Ma’am,” Bradford called out, hand near his holster. “Step away from the door. Put your hands where I can see them.”

“I live here!” she yelped, then immediately corrected herself. “No—I don’t live here. I’m dog sitting! My friend’s an actress! She’s in—where is she filming? Italy? No, no—France! It’s in France—”

Chen raised a brow. Bradford was already walking toward her, expression unreadable. “Ma’am, we have a report of a suspected break-in. I need you to stay calm.”

“I am calm,” y/n lied, hands shaking as she gestured to her slippers. “Would a burglar wear slippers? These are bunny slippers!”

“Regardless, we’ll have to take you into custody until we can confirm your story,” Bradford said, matter-of-fact. “You have the right to remain—”

“Wait!” Y/n blurted. “Can I at least let the dog out first? He hasn’t been out since last night and I really don’t want him to pee on the couch.”

Tim blinked. It was the kind of request no perp ever made.

He looked at Chen. She gave him a “don’t-look-at-me” shrug.

“Make it quick,” he muttered, unlocking the door.

y/n dashed in, the dog—a fluffy golden retriever named Henry—bounding up to her in joy. “Hi, baby!” she cooed, then opened the back door. Henry zoomed outside, tail wagging, barking at the wind.

Bradford watched her carefully, arms crossed, but something in his stern face had shifted. Just a little.

“He needs to run a bit or he’s going to go stir crazy,” she pleaded, throwing a tennis ball for Henry. “Please. My friend won’t be back for days. I swear, if she would just pick up—”

“You have five minutes,” Bradford relented, jaw still tight.

She looked at him gratefully, cheeks flushed, and that was when he really noticed her. The way her eyes crinkled when she smiled. The messy braid. The oversized sweatshirt hanging off one shoulder. She didn’t look like a criminal. She looked… soft. Real.

Eventually, she returned inside, scooping up Henry’s water bowl and refilling it. “Alright,” she said, voice small. “Let’s go.”

Tim gently took her wrist. “Sorry, but we still have to cuff you.”

“Even if I’m cooperating?”

“Policy.”

“Ugh,” she muttered, holding her wrists out dramatically. “Do what you must, Officer Serious.”

—

Six hours. That’s how long y/n say in the holding cell.

Her one phone call? Straight to voicemail.

By the fifth hour, even Officer Chen had brought her a granola bar and an apologetic look. “We’re really sorry,” she said softly. “We know it’s a mistake, but we have to follow protocol.”

Y/n sighed, head in her hands.

At hour six, the holding cell buzzed open and Bradford appeared.

“She called,” he said simply, unlocking the door. “You’re good to go.”

Y/n stood, rubbing her wrists, eyes wide with exhaustion and relief. “Thank God.”

—

Outside the station, she stood on the sidewalk, phone clutched in her hand, waiting for her Uber.

Bradford’s truck pulled up instead.

“Need a ride?” he asked through the open window. “Figured it’s the least i can do.”

She eyed him. “You’re off-duty?”

“Clocked out ten minutes ago.”

“Then…yeah. Okay. Thanks.”

—

They pulled up to her friend’s place twenty minutes later. y/n punched the code perfectly and gave him a pointed look as the door clicked open.

“See?” she teased. “I do know the code.”

Tim shook his head, amused.

“You hungry?” she asked suddenly, turning in the doorway.

He hesitated. “I don’t want to impose.”

“Come on. You arrested me. You can at least let me feed you. If she has anything edible in here.”

They ended up cooking pasta together��well. y/n cooked, Tim let the dog out again and insisted on washing the dishes. They sat side by side at the kitchen bar, laughing and sharing stories.

“So, be honest… do you secretly judge people by how they parallel park?” y/n asked with a slight smirk.

Tim raised an eyebrow, and gave a small chuckle, “Depends. Are we talking ‘can’t park within the lines’ or ‘curb it like they’re drunk’?”

“I mean, the ones who do a 12-point turn to squeeze into a space that’s basically a football field,” y/n replied in a playful tone, “because I nailed it in two moves out front, and I feel like I deserve some kind of medal or something.”

“Is that so?” Tim laughed lightly in response.

“It is!” she exclaimed as they both broke out laughing.

As they came down from their laughter, she leaned a little closer. “You know,” she said, voice warm, “you’re kind of cute when you’re not arresting people.”

He raised a brow. “Yeah?”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

A pause.

Then Tim looked her dead in the eyes. “Go out with me.”

y/n blinked. “Like, on a date?”

“Yeah,” he said simply, honest and direct.

She grinned, eyes lighting up. “Only if you promise not to arrest me again.”

“No promises.”

They both laughed—and when he leaned in, she didn’t pull back.

The kiss was soft. Unhurried. Like maybe this was the start of something neither of them had planned—but weren’t about to run from either.

#amxrittwrites #tim bradford x reader #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford x y/n #tim bradford x you #tim bradford #Tim bradford x f!reader #tim bradford fluff #tim bradford angst #the rookie #the rookie x reader #the rookie imagine #the rookie fanfic #tim bradford fanfiction

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ilium-ilia · 7 days ago

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kiss the skin that crawls

john price x fem!reader | the surrogate au | masterlist

Part Six: resubmission

cw: light angst, smut, breeding kink | requests: mirror sex, plugs

Thick chagrin fizzes in your stomach as you hold your negative pregnancy test.

A single line in faded blue—you stare down at it with tight lips as you fight to keep your disappointment manifesting in frustrated tears at bay. Really, you know it was silly to allow yourself to get your hopes up so high. A single round of sex can easily lead to conception just as easily as it can lead to nothing. Still, you have people waiting on you, and you try not to think of this arrangement too different from any other job you’ve ever held.

You like doing your work well. Punctual and reliable—resubmissions are always a pain.

Sighing, you set the test on the counter with the fleeting hope that a second line will magically appear before you scrub your hands clean in the sink. Once the scent of lavender has sufficiently soaked into your skin, you exit the bathroom where you find John in the living room covered in inky soot and dried pine needles. His usual rosy, freckled cheeks are marred with streaks of grey as he pulls his head out of the chimney with a huff. Dead leaves weave between the strands of his hair which he quickly shakes out with his fingers before offering you a tired smile.

“Any luck?” you ask with a poorly hidden giggle.

Nodding, John wipes his hands off on his shirt, staining the cotton with faint charcoal before he rests his hands on his hips. The strong taper of his hips still makes your mouth water, especially when coupled with the memory of how they rolled so sweetly against you a few weeks back.

“You had two nests shoved up there. Unoccupied, mind. Happy to say you’ll be able to survive the winter without smoking yourself out this time,” John informs with a grin. “Now all that’s left is to clean up the floor.”

It’s a simple task—at least, when compared to the cleaning of a chimney anyway. John allows you to lead the way as you sweep up dust, soot, and various tree materials into neat piles, though he still insists on holding the pan for you so that you don’t mark up the hem of your dress. Kneeling on the floor, hand holding the metal steady, he watches you carefully as the bristles push the mess into the dustpan.

“Any luck on your end?” he asks after a moment.

Your brows crease. “My end?”

“The pregnancy test.”

You swallow. Suddenly, all the chaff wafting through the air catches in your throat, making your eyes water. “Oh, no. No, it was negative.”

John stands to his feet with a hum with the dustpan in hand. He reaches out to brush his thumb against your face, but when he catches sight of the state of his skin, he decides against it. “Well, there’s always next time.”

Everything feels stiff as you follow John into the bathroom. He makes a beeline for the sink where he gratefully washes his hands to rid himself of old soil and rusty brick, but all you can stare at is the stick next to the basin. The paper has become discolored now, sitting much too long while wet, and still the results haven’t changed.

Attempting to divert your focus, you instead watch as John cleans himself up. Hands scrubbing up over his forearms, palms pressing side by side to cup water before splashing it in his face, fingertips rubbing away at particularly stubborn stains—when he’s finished, he leaves the water running before motioning for you to go next while he dries his hands.

“You’re quiet, darling,” John notes as he places the hand towel back on its rack. “What are you thinking about?”

For the type of relationship you and John have—something bordering on textbook professional and painfully romantic—he’s impressively keen and intune with your emotions. It’s as if he’s split your skull open, viewed every turning cog in your brain, memorising every fleeting beat of your heart and what makes it continue to tick.

“Oh just… I dunno,” you admit with a shrug. “Guess I’m a little upset about the test is all.”

He’s standing behind you now, hands wandering to your hips, thumbs rubbing at you through the thin fabric of your sundress. The butter yellow cotton wrinkles beneath his touch, but it’s nothing compared to the heat emanating from your body that threatens to melt it right off of you. Teeth digging into your bottom lip, you try to keep your focus on the sink.

“I’m sorry, love,” John murmurs as he rests his chin on your shoulder. “These things take time. We’ll try again soon.”

The water shuts off with a squeak before you’re drying off your hands with the damp towel. Not even the scent of the soap can overpower the musk that rolls off of John. He smells of sweat and hard work—sunkissed skin glistening on the rooftop and long stagnant dirt. It muddles the vetiver of his cologne until your mind is left spinning. Your eyes rise from your hands and it’s all over. Mussed hair, his nose against your neck as he places a reassuring kiss.

Now that you think about it, the first time the two of you had sex wasn’t the right moment. Off in your cycle, body not quite ready—you’re certain that’s changed now. It’s been building up the last few days, this insatiable desire that growls in your lower stomach like a starving beast. You’ve tried to satiate it at night with your fingers shoved inside of yourself and anamneses of John playing on repeat in your mind, but it’s not quite enough.

“Soon?” you repeat. “Like, right now?”

Every muscle in John’s body hardens to stone. “Eager, aren’t we?”

“Why not?” you shrug. Then, in a quick moment of what is either bravery or uncontrollable ovulation hormones, you rock your hips back until your rump is bumping into him—flaunting. “We’ve got a job to do, don’t we? Besides, I recall you promising to… how did you word it? Get me plump?”

Your words lure a groan from John as his hands wander up from your hips until he’s cupping the expanse of your stomach. “Nice and pretty carrying my kid,” he concurs.

The speed at which the skirt of your dress pulls up over your rump leaves you pixilated as your hips hit the counter, bones digging into the enamel. Fingers curling into the fabric, you feel John grind into you, rubbing his coarse jeans against your floral panties as if there wasn’t a barrier there at all.

By the time he finally works your underwear down your arse, you’re embarrassed to admit how wet you are. Body begging and anticipating something like this for days, you’re nearly dripping with a glistening sheen that sticks between your thighs. He curses as he swipes a finger along your sex, dipping between your labia and coming dangerously close to skewering.

“Fuck, that thought really got you going, huh love?” he hums in awe.

“Please, John,” you whimper. Your legs are quivering so bad you can hardly stand.

“Don’t worry, we’ll do it right this time.”

He slides into you so easily—so deliciously—and you drink him up. Parched, and lost in the midst of a desert. John keeps hold of your crumpled skirt while his cock pushes into you through the mere hole of his fly. This angle pushes your organs aside. You feel the way it zaps your clit from the inside out, pushing taut through your walls, forcing you to move to his will the way waves erode ancient palisades into dust.

John’s pace is slow but firm, dull slaps padding against the back of your thighs as his hands begin to wander upwards until he’s cupping your breasts. When the floral pattern of your dress is deemed too much distance between you and him, he pulls at the fabric until you’re bare and spilling free. Cerulean eyes meet you in the mirror as he cups the fatty tissue, rolling your nipples between his forefingers and thumbs, sending your back arching.

“Can’t wait to see how big you get. I’ll rub out every ache for you, darling,” he swears between grunts. When you place your hands over his to hold yourself steady, his pace picks up until you’re gasping for breath. “Look at you, such a pretty girl. So perfect already, but you’ll drive me mad when your tits begin to swell.”

When your legs begin to shake, John offers you a little reprieve by allowing you to bend forward until your palms are flat on the counter, supporting your weight as his hips roll into you. His words have you staring at yourself in the mirror—at all the features you once thought were so plain. He’s already building you up. Igniting a fire until you’re glowing.

“Yeah, we’re gonna do this right this time, aren’t we darling?” John continues. “Not gonna let a single drop spill out of this pretty cunt.”

Eyelashes fluttering, it takes all your strength to keep your eyes from rolling into the back of your head in ecstasy. “I-I—John—I can’t,” you babble. “Not like- not when we’re—ah!—standing!”

Seeing the sense in your words, he slows his pace until he’s made a full stop. Your breathing comes so ragged and hot that it fogs up the lambent mirror, obscuring your vision and the small knowing smirk that pulls at John’s lips.

“I think I’ve got a solution for that.”

It isn’t long before you’re stumbling into your bedroom, dress shorn clean from your body like abloom wool left to litter the ground. John has you at the edge of the bed with the orders to keep your legs spread wide as you lay on your back, hands hooked beneath your knees and pulling them far apart until the cold makes your pussy shiver. He stands over you, stained shirt and pants still sticking to his body as he examines what you think must be a small cone of some sort. Cylindrical with a flared base, the lilac silicone squishes beneath his whim.

“What’s that?” you question, knees wavering as sweat builds up on your skin.

“A plug,” John replies simply. “Laswell thought it might come in handy.”

Your cheeks burn at the thought that Kate and Lottie know more about your intercourse with John that you previously thought. Offering him toys; tools. There isn’t much time for you to linger on the idea before John’s sinking into you again, forcing your toes to curl as he quickly finds his way home.

“It’ll keep you nice and full of me until it takes. It’ll take this time, darling,” he promises.

Then, it’s back to work. Unrelenting strength that you’ve seen so often from him in the way he helps around the house or lifts your groceries for you. Biceps swelling as he pulls himself toward you, fingers digging into your hips, body rolling against you. That heat swells as he blankets over you, beard tickling the side of your face as he presses wet kisses against your cheeks before his lips wander towards your ear, breath warm on your skin.

“Gonna look so pretty being so full of me, aren’t you darling?” he whispers. “My pretty girl, such a pretty mum. Who knows, maybe the Laswells will want more than one, hm? Maybe I get to fill you over and over again. Fuck, you’re getting tighter. You like the sound of that, do you? Like the idea of carrying my kids?”

Your orgasm swells within an instant like bread finally proofing, dough expanding until it’s ripe and full with bubbling yeast. Unable to hold onto your knees any longer, your hands snap out towards John until you’re pressing against his chest as if to push him away but your heels say otherwise as they dig into his lower back in a pitiful attempt to keep him locked against you. But John is a raging fire that you have no control over as he chuckles breathlessly against your neck.

“Yeah you fucking do. Such a good fuckin’ girl,” he says in a near growl.

John’s quick to chase his own pleasure all while barreling through the rest of yours. Bordering on near overstimulation—wires rubbing raw together, leaving you exposed and open, tender to the touch—he comes with his lips latched to the side of your jaw while buried as deep as you can manage to take him. You’re pawing at his back now, nails digging into the sordid t-shirt as you feel him twitch inside of you, feeding your womb exactly what she’s been begging for.

The two of you stay like this too long for you to count. He grinds against you as if attempting to massage his cum against the aching muscle of your cervix. With closed eyes you focus on your breathing and the thumping in your chest; wild horses running free, or small creatures skittering across the floor of a forest.

When the dust settles, John pulls out of you—carefully. Strategically keeping you full of him until the last moment, you gasp when something else intrudes. He shushes you with a gentle pat on your stomach before a tame cold presses deeper inside of you, leaving your cunt clenching around something foreign and squishy.

“Just the plug, darling,” he reminds. Once he’s satisfied, John collapses next to you where he wraps an arm around your torso, burying his face in the side of your neck once again. “Did so well. Didn’t even spill a drop.”

Buzzing, you allow yourself to melt into John, body sublimating to be soaked up by the duvet below you; something sings within you.

“I hope it works this time,” you sigh quietly.

“If not, we’ll try again,” he assures.

“Really?”

John takes your hand into his own before pulling it to his lips. “As many times as it takes and more.”

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keeryhours · 5 months ago

Text

please be gentle (when you’re tearing me apart)

Eddie Munson x female! reader, Steve Harrington x reader

Main Masterlist

Eddie Munson Masterlist

Steve Harrington Masterlist

Summary:

You’re in love with Eddie, Eddie’s in love with someone else. Somehow, he accidentally ends up in a relationship with you anyway.

Warnings:

(18+), SERIOUS angst, there is only pain here, hurt/no comfort or hurt/a little comfort, cheating, pregnancy, pregnancy complications, birth/c section, Eddie is really out of character and is a total dick, Chrissy is out of character and she also sucks (sorry guys), smut, fingering, protected p in v, virgin!eddie, virgin!reader, really awkward first time!

Word Count: 14.6k

A/N:

WOW okay this was totally unexpected to write. The length especially. This is just something depressing for the anti-Valentine’s Day mood. I’ve been nervous to post so I hope you enjoy! Big giant thanks to @punkrockmlchael (who made my beautiful banner again and also beta read), @the-witty-pen-name , @fizzing-imagines, @losingmygrasponreality, @writhingg , and @lesservillain for bouncing ideas and beta reading! I couldn’t have written this without you. Also ignore that there’s only dividers for half the fic, apparently you can only add 10 images to a post 🙃

dividers by @/strangergraphics

Best friends.

That’s what you and Eddie were, and always had been. Growing up as neighbors in Forest Hills, you met when you were 8 and Eddie was 10, after he moved in with his uncle.

To be honest with yourself, you had had a crush on Eddie Munson since the first time you laid eyes on him. A silly childhood crush at first, he was so cute with his curls, short at the time, and it made your heart beat fast whenever you walked to the store together for snacks and he held your hand.

He would play you all kinds of music you’d never heard before, heavy stuff that was totally new to you. You weren’t sure about it at first, but you grew to love it. When he got into D&D, he would talk your ear off about his campaign plans for hours. You didn’t mind. You liked listening to him talk. When he started Hellfire, you were the first member to join. You didn’t know how to play an instrument, but you were Corroded Coffin’s biggest fan.

Eddie was everything to you. He was the first person you went to with any news, the only one you were excited to tell anything and everything to. He took you to see every new slasher movie, bought you your first dice set. He was the first thing you thought about in the morning and the last you thought of at night. At some point, it turned into more than a crush.

At some point, you fell in love.

Eddie was oblivious. He never dated in high school, but that didn’t seem to bother him. You didn’t, either, but it was mostly because you were so preoccupied with loving Eddie. You tried dropping hints, but he never seemed to figure it out. You were too scared to just get it over with and tell him outright.

So, you remained best friends. Just friends.

—

“Are you going to prom this year?” Wayne asked, sipping his beer as he sat relaxed in his recliner. Eddie nursed his own beer, feet up on the coffee table.

“Nah,” Eddie said. “You know that’s…not my thing.”

“You should go at least once,” Wayne said. “Might regret it.”

“I doubt it.”

“I had a great time at my senior prom,” Wayne reminisced, smiling at the memory. “You should give it a shot, Ed. Why don’t you take your little friend from next door?”

Eddie shook his head. “I don’t feel that way about her.”

“You can go as friends,” he pointed out. “I’m sure she’d like that. Girl adores you.”

“I’m pretty sure she has a crush on me,” Eddie winced, sipping his beer. “I don’t want to give her the wrong idea.”

“You don’t have to marry her, Ed. Just show her a good time. You two have been so close for so long, I’m sure she would understand.”

Eddie thought about it. He didn’t want to go to prom, like at all, but he wanted to make his uncle happy. And if he had to go with someone, it might as well be you, his only female friend, right?

So, he approached you at your locker the next day at school. “Hey.”

You turned to him, your face immediately lighting up with a huge smile. “Hey, Eds.”

“I, uh,” Eddie looked around awkwardly. “I just wanted to ask if you’d want to go to…prom with me?”

Your eyes went wide, but inside your heart was thundering out of your chest. Had Eddie really just asked you out? “Prom? Really? I thought you hated prom?”

“Yeah, well,” Eddie rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s my last senior year. Hopefully, at least. I figured I might as well give it a shot. We can pre game and sneak in some alcohol. And if it’s lame, we can ditch.”

You couldn’t wipe the huge smile off your face. You were almost a little concerned at how hard your heart was beating in that moment, like it would give out. “I’d love to go with you.”

Eddie gave you a soft smile. “Cool. I’ll pick you up at 6 that night.”

You watched as Eddie left, heading in the direction of his next class of the day. You waited until he was out of sight before you went sprinting in the direction of Robin’s locker.

You found her there, taking her books out. She startled when you ran up on her, placing her hand over her chest. “Jesus. What’s up with you?”

“Eddie just asked me to prom,” you blurted out. Robin’s jaw dropped open.

“No way!” She exclaimed, her look of shock turning to one of pure excitement. “This is huge. I always knew he was into you.”

You blushed. “I don’t know. I had given up hope of him liking me back. This was so out of the blue. I didn’t even think he wanted to go to prom at all.”

“Maybe he’s just better at hiding his feelings,” Robin offered. “Either way, we’re going dress shopping. Prom is only two weeks away!”

That weekend, Robin convinced her mom to drive the two of you to Indianapolis to go shopping in the big city. You were both giddy with excitement - Robin wasn’t much of a dress girl, and she didn’t have a date. The only person she wanted to take, she couldn’t ask. You were pretty sure Vickie was into girls and Robin in particular, but Robin was still too scared to make the move. You didn’t blame her. It wasn’t like typical rejection if things went wrong. So, instead, Robin was going with a group of girls from the marching band as friends.

Her mom took you to the huge mall, which was much more impressive than Starcourt. It was huge, with a ton of different stores. You made a stop at Camelot Music first, where Robin got a new Blondie tape and you grabbed the new The Smiths record and a Metallica Master of Puppets tape for Eddie, since his had recently broken.

Next was the formal wear store. You were both immediately overwhelmed when you walked in, the racks and racks of fancy dresses as far as the eye could see. All different colors, lengths, and styles. It was…a lot.

“Well…I guess let’s get started,” Robin said, her voice unsure.

You probably tried on 50 dresses each. You and Robin giggled as you tried on the dresses her mom picked for you, big floofy pink and blue monstrosities.

“You look like a marshmallow. Like a big pink marshmallow,” Robin had commented.

“Yeah?” You laughed, gesturing towards her powder blue gown. “Well, you look like a wedding cake.”

An hour and a half into dress shopping, you were both getting tired and totally over it. You had the last gown you’d picked out in your hand, and you told yourself if you hated this one, too, you’d just say fuck it and go to prom in your ripped jeans.

You pulled the dress over your head, smoothing it down your body. When you turned and looked into the mirror, you gasped. You actually looked…beautiful.

The dark purple dress hugged your curves, pushing your breasts up and making them look much sexier (and perkier) than they really were. The skirt fell above your knees, showing off your legs. You did a little twirl, the skirt swishing around your thighs. You loved it, it was by far the best one you’d tried on.

“Are you alive in there?” Robin called from outside the dressing room, and you smiled to yourself.

“I think we have a winner,” you called back.

“Ooh!” Robin said just as you moved the curtain and walked out. You saw Robin standing in a dark blue dress that looked beautiful on her, the skirt long but flattering.

“Oh my god,” she said. “You look stunning! Eddie is going to lose his mind.”

You blushed at the mention of Eddie. “You do too!” And she did. Finally, you had both found something.

After you left the dress shop with your bags in hand, you were both feeling much happier. You made a stop at Afterthoughts, where you found some earrings and a necklace to match your dress.

You couldn’t believe you were going to prom, and with Eddie. It was a dream come true.

You couldn’t wait.

—

Prom night, you were shaking as you got ready. The dress was just as beautiful as you remembered. The jewelry you had picked out matched your dress even better than you’d hoped.

Eddie picked you up right on time. He smiled at you awkwardly when he picked you up, holding a corsage in his hand. “Hey.”

You beamed at him. “Hi. Is…that for me?”

“Oh, yeah.” He looked at it like he had forgotten he had it. “You look pretty,” he told you as he slipped the corsage onto your wrist. You blushed as you pinned the boutonnière to his black suit jacket.

“You look handsome yourself,” you told him shyly.

Eddie drove the two of you to the school. The parking lot was packed with students’ cars and even a few rented limousines. Just as you were about to get out of the van, Eddie stopped you. He reached into his glove compartment and pulled out two black flasks, handing one to you.

“This should make this night a lot more fun, yeah?” He smirked. You smiled back, before making a face as you took a sip of the burning liquid. Eddie laughed, which made you start giggling, too.

You took a photo together at the booth near the gym doors, which Eddie wasn’t super excited about. The next thing he did was head for the food, piling a tiny plate full of appetizers. You followed him, grabbing a cup of punch to help wash down the liquor in your purse.

Eddie wouldn’t dance with you until after he’d finished his flask, claiming it was stupid and he wouldn’t be caught dead dancing at prom. But by the time he finished it, he had enough of a buzz that he didn’t care. You were tipsy, too, and absolutely elated when he stood and took your hand, leading you to the floor just as a slow song came on.

Eddie playfully groaned, rolling his eyes, but he pulled you close to his body anyway. Butterflies took flight in your stomach as he placed his hands on your hips and you wrapped yours around his neck. The two of you swayed together in time to the music. You could not stop smiling. You laid your head on Eddie’s chest, tuning out the music as you listened to his heartbeat.

After prom, you headed back to the van. You’d had the best night of your life, one you would never forget. Yeah, you were both a little bit intoxicated, but you were floating on the clouds for a whole different reason.

“D’you want to come back to my place?” Eddie asked as he started the engine. “We could drink a little more, smoke a joint. Wayne’s working.”

You wanted nothing more. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

At the trailer, Eddie rolled up a thick joint as you gathered the bottles of liquor and shot glasses from the cabinet. Eddie was back in normal clothes, and you’d changed into one of Eddie’s shirts and a pair of his sweatpants that were too big on you.

Eddie sparked up the joint as you poured each of you two shots of tequila. You clinked your glasses together before downing them both. Eddie took the first drag on the joint, his eyes falling closed as he inhaled the thick smoke. He looked gorgeous like this, curls still tamed and framing his face. The smoke escaped through his perfect lips, trailing up and throughout the bedroom. He handed the joint to you, and you gratefully took it, bringing it to your painted lips. Some of your lipstick had rubbed off on the shot glasses, leaving a stain.

As the night went on, the two of you got progressively more drunk and high. By the time it was 2am, the two of you were giggling messes, listening to music over the stereo and talking about the latest campaign. Suddenly, in your drunkenly stoned haze, you remembered the gift stashed in your purse.

“Oh!” You exclaimed, jumping up to grab your small bag. “I forgot. I got you something.”

“You got me something?” Eddie asked, confused, his words slightly slurring together.

You reached into the purse and pulled out the bag from Camelot. You hoped he loved it, because now that it was in your hands, you were suddenly nervous. You turned, smiling softly as you handed Eddie the bag. “I just saw it while I was at the mall with Robin and I thought of you.”

Eddie raised his eyebrows at you as he took the bag. He reached inside and pulled out the Metallica tape, a huge grin spreading across his face immediately. “Shit! You didn’t have to do this. But it’s fuckin’ awesome you did.”

You giggled, flopping back onto the bed next to him. You laid with your head on his pillow, smiling up at Eddie from where he sat next to you. “I’m glad you like it. I know yours broke. Probably because you play it all the time.”

Eddie poked you in the side, making you laugh harder. “Shut up, Freak. You love Master of Puppets just as much as I do.”

“That’s true,” you conceded. You looked up at him, his chocolate brown eyes gazing down at you. They sparkled, like his personality was shining its way through. He had a strong nose, kissable lips. God, you wanted to kiss those lips.

Eddie had never realized how pretty you were. He always just saw you as his long time best friend, the girl who definitely crushed on him but he never saw that way. He still didn’t think he had feelings for you, but…you were pretty.

“Have you ever kissed a guy before?” He asked, pushing a section of hair off your shoulder.

You blushed at the question. You didn’t have much experience, your love life was nonexistent. But you had kissed someone, at least. “Yeah. Tommy Hagan in 7th grade.”

Eddie’s eyes went wide. “Tommy Hagan? That dickhead? You never told me that.”

You shrugged, your cheeks red and hot. “It didn’t mean anything. I got invited to Heather Holloway’s birthday party and he was there. We all played spin the bottle. It only lasted two seconds and we never really talked again.” Eddie hummed. “What about you?”

It was Eddie’s turn to look sheepish. “Uh, yeah. A girl at school, Chrissy, in 8th grade. We didn’t date or anything.”

Now it was your turn to be shocked. “Chrissy Cunningham? You didn’t tell me that, either!” He had never mentioned her. You knew it was stupid, but you were struck with jealousy at his words.

“It was nothing,” he said, brushing it off.

“Look at us,” you laughed. “18 and almost 20, and we’re still a couple of virgins.”

Eddie looked down at you, something unfamiliar swimming behind his eyes. He had never wanted to kiss you before this moment, but now... “I mean, we can change that.”

Your heart stopped in your chest. “What do you mean?”

Eddie thought about it for a moment. This could be a point of no return, a step in a direction he didn’t want to take. But in his drunk and high mind…he wanted it. He wanted you.

He leaned forward slowly, so slowly. Your breath hitched in your throat right before his lips pressed against yours. They were just as soft as you always dreamed they were, and your mind went even more hazy from his kisses.

Neither of you were experienced at all and you were both pretty intoxicated, so the kiss was a little awkward and desperate. All tongues and teeth clashing together, hungry for one another. Eddie’s hand slid beneath your t-shirt - his Hellfire shirt - trailing up your smooth skin until he reached your breasts. You hadn’t worn a bra with your dress, so you were bare chested beneath the thin shirt. His calloused fingers delicately grazed your nipples, making you shiver. You’d never been touched there before, never felt anything like this. Being touched by Eddie was so much different than being touched by your own hand.

“I love your tits,” Eddie mumbled against your lips between kisses. You hummed, arching your back into his touch.

“Feels good, Ed,” you moaned quietly, body turning into pure electricity under his wandering touch. Your own hand tangled in the curls at the back of his neck, loving the way your bodies molded together, the feeling of his body finally pressed up against your own.

“Yeah?” He squeezed your breast one more time before his hand moved to your back, sliding down your body until he grabbed your ass, pulling you into him. You gasped, feeling how hard he was through his own sweatpants. “You feel how hard I am?”

“Yeah,” you whispered back. You moved your hand to his chest, sliding it down his body until you reached the tent in his pants. He groaned as you felt him, squeezing his cock through the material.

Eddie sat up, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it somewhere on the floor. You eyed his bare chest, the tattoos adorning his pale skin. You traced a finger over the design on the left side of his chest. God, he was so hot.

His hands slid up your shirt, pulling it up and off. His gaze dropped straight to your tits, he was practically drooling. He reached for the waistband of your sweatpants next, pulling them down your body slowly, leaving you in nothing but your panties. You were grateful you picked something pretty, red and lace.

“So sexy,” Eddie moaned. He leaned forward and kissed your stomach, which startled you a little. He trailed kisses up your body until he reached your breasts, where he ran his tongue over one of your nipples before wrapping his lips around it. You moaned as you arched into his touch, his mouth, whatever he would give you.

His hand slid down your body slowly, slowly, until it reached your panties. He slipped beneath them, fingers dipping between your folds. He could feel how insanely wet you were, and it only made his cock harder.

“So wet for me,” he said. “Bet you can’t wait for my cock.”

You whimpered as he pressed a finger against your entrance. Slowly, carefully he pushed it inside, stretching you for the first time. You gasped at the intrusion, but the pain faded quickly. Eddie slowly pumped his long finger in and out of your pussy, pressing against something deep inside that felt incredible as he curled his finger against it. He added a second finger shortly after, and the stretch was more intense, but from the feeling of the size of his cock in your hand, you knew it wouldn’t even be comparable.

Eddie fingered you a little longer, getting you nice and wet and ready for him, before he removed his hand and slipped your panties off. Now bare before him, he drank you in with his hungry eyes. His cock twitched in his pants.

You helped him push them down his hips, and he kicked them off onto the floor. He didn’t have boxers on underneath, and his dick was so much more impressive once fully revealed. It was big enough that it made you feel scared even through your mind haze.

“You can take it,” he assured you, his words still slightly slurred. “I know you can.”

He reached over you into the bedside table and pulled out an unopened box of condoms. “Finally get to use these,” he laughed, taking one out of the box and ripping it open. You watched as he slid the rubber over his hard cock, tip red and glistening. You wished you could have had a taste.

Eddie got in between your legs, kissing all over your neck before meeting your lips again. His tongue pressed into your mouth immediately, attempting to distract you from the pain where he was lining himself up and slowly beginning to push inside.

You whined as he began to fill you, inch by thick inch. When he was fully seated inside he pulled back and snapped his hips back into you, making you gasp. He set a quick pace, desperately rutting into you as he chased his pleasure, his drunken rhythm sloppy and uneven.

You held onto him tightly as he fucked into you, and he groaned into your neck where he had his face buried. “Feels so good,” he moaned, not exactly caring how you felt, only worried about his own quickly impending orgasm. It was his first time and he was not going to last.

“Eddie,” you whined, “you’re so big.”

He groaned at that. “Yeah, baby? You like it?”

“Mmhmm,” you moaned, and it did feel good, but he was also splitting you in half.

“Fuck,” he hissed, “I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna fucking cum.”

He pumped into you just a couple more times before he was stilling, buried to the hilt inside you as he filled the condom. He moaned loudly, body trembling on top of you as he rode out his orgasm. You didn’t get to cum, but you were too drunk to care.

Eddie pulled out, removing the condom and tying it off before tossing it into the trash can. He collapsed onto the bed next to you, his naked body sweaty, chest heaving.

“That was…good,” you said, not knowing if it was or not. You were happy to have lost your virginity to Eddie, and the whole night had been a dream. But he hadn’t exactly cared about your pleasure. You waited for Eddie to reply, to say anything, but nothing came.

He was already snoring.

—

The unbearably bright light shining through the window around his curtains is the first thing Eddie experienced the next morning. It woke him up, but he only squeezed his eyes shut tighter, groaning as the light made his pounding headache infinitely worse. Fuck, he drank way too much last night.

He barely even remembered it. He remembered the prom, he remembered drinking a lot, doing shots, and smoking a joint. He remembered you, but his memory was hazy. How did you get home anyway? He didn’t remember driving you home after prom.

Eddie stretched, his muscles stiff. He was naked beneath his blanket, which wasn’t entirely unusual. He probably just didn’t feel like changing once he got his suit off.

Eventually he figured he should get out of bed. He rolled over and stood with another old man groan. Fuck, he had to cut back on the drinking, because he definitely felt a lot older than 19 right now.

He pulled on some boxers and a pair of sweatpants he found on the floor, remaining shirtless. Wayne would be passed out in his own bedroom after a long night of work at the plant. But Eddie was starving, and he needed something for that headache.

When he stepped out of the room, the first thing he noticed was the smell. Something delicious was wafting from the kitchen, the smell of bacon overpowering some other food scents. That was weird. Wayne didn’t cook breakfast, not the morning after a work night. He walked down the hall cautiously, brows furrowed as he neared the end of the hallway. He turned the corner, and froze.

You were there in the kitchen, expertly flipping a pancake in a pan. A plate sat on the counter next to you filled with bacon, and another pan on the next burner was cooking scrambled eggs. Oh, and you were dressed in nothing but Eddie’s oversized t-shirt and your underwear.

Oh shit, Eddie thought. What the fuck did I do?

The floor creaked as he stepped into the kitchen, and you turned around, a smile spreading across your lips at the sight of him. “Hey, sleepyhead. I made us some breakfast. Thought you could use something on your stomach.”

Eddie didn’t know what to say or do. Did he sleep with you? Oh god. He was going to be sick. “Uh, good morning. You, uh, didn’t have to do all this.”

He watched as you plated the finished pancakes and eggs. “I thought we could both use a big breakfast after last night,” you said, giving him a smirk. Oh, shit. He did sleep with you last night. He drunkenly lost his virginity after prom, to you.

Fuck. He was a fucking idiot.

You started making plates for the both of you. “I set out a water bottle and some Tylenol for you over there,” you said, nodding to the corner of the counter. Eddie took the medicine immediately, desperate for some relief from his unbearable headache. Now he wasn’t sure what was making it worse, the hangover or the knowledge of what he’d done.

He sat down across from you at the small table. He didn’t know what to say. Your friendship would never be the same after this. He knew you liked him, he didn’t like you, then he slept with you. Now he had to crush your heart. He really felt like he was going to be sick.

“Did you sleep okay?” You finally asked as the two of you ate, breaking the silence.

“Huh?” Eddie snapped back to reality. “Oh. Yeah.”

You smiled softly at him. You figured he was just still cloudy from the weed. “I had a good time last night.”

“Yeah…” Eddie said. “Me too.”

Your face lit up at that, and he could have slapped himself. He didn’t mean that. He didn’t even remember the sex. He was not doing a good job of not leading you on. “Listen,” he said, “about that-“

“It was really good,” you said. Eddie’s watched as your cheeks turned red and you looked down at your plate. “Sorry. I just meant…I enjoyed it. Being with you.”

Eddie had suspected, known even, that you had a crush on him, but this was the first time you’d ever admitted it out loud. Eddie was really going to have to stomp on your heart to put an end to those thoughts, and it was all his fault. He never should have brought you home after prom. “Look, I-“

“I didn’t think you liked me back,” you continued, rambling nervously, excitedly. “I…to be honest with you I’ve had a crush on you for years, but I was always too scared to tell you. But you never seemed like you were into me…until last night.” You giggled, covering your mouth. “I can’t believe we’re together now.”

Together?

Oh, fuck. He couldn’t do this. He could not do this. He couldn’t crush your spirit, wipe that elated smile off your face. He’d never seen you look so happy. He felt like the biggest asshole.

“Oh, yeah,” he said instead. “Um, me either.”

“I can’t wait to tell Robin,” you continued. “She’s going to freak.”

—

Eddie couldn’t believe he had gotten himself into this situation.

Sure, you were his best friend so he liked your personality, and it’s not like you weren’t cute, but he just didn’t have feelings for you in the way you did for him. But now he had slept with you and you thought he liked you back. He had somehow, some way, become your actual boyfriend.

“I thought you didn’t like her like that?” Gareth asked the next school day after prom at lunch. You were sitting with Robin today. You often bounced between the marching band table and the Hellfire table.

“I don’t,” Eddie said simply.

Gareth, Jeff, and Grant looked at him like he was crazy. “Then how…why…?”

Eddie slammed his hand on the table. “Stop grilling me, okay?”

“Someone’s cranky,” Jeff muttered, turning back to his lunch tray in front of him.

“Yeah, you’re in a pretty shitty mood to be the only one of us to lose his virginity and get a girlfriend,” Grant commented. Gareth and Jeff agreed, nodding along.

“Yeah, well,” Eddie muttered. “Would be nice if it was with someone I’m actually into.”

“Harsh,” Gareth tsked. “You should be honest with her. You’re just leading her on.”

“I can’t.” Eddie buried his face in his hands, exasperated and stressed. “It’s gone too far. She thinks I’m her boyfriend. She thinks I like her back. I can’t crush her like that.”

The other three boys exchanged a look. “So…you’re just gonna marry her?” Grant asked.

Eddie froze. That is where this would eventually lead if he didn’t turn it around. But he was scared. He couldn’t bring himself to burst your bubble. “I’ll figure something out.”

As lunch was ending, Eddie jolted when you came up behind him, wrapping your arms around his neck and giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Hey, babe,” you giggled. “How was lunch?”

“Good,” Eddie said, giving each Hellfire boy a look that said don’t say or do a damn thing.

“You guys are so cute,” Robin said, holding her hands over her chest as she tilted her head to the side with a smile. “I’m so happy you’re finally together.”

Eddie felt sick. Just like he had all weekend, since the morning after prom. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m a lucky guy.”

Your whole face lit up with a smile. “I was thinking maybe we could hang out after school. Do our homework and work on the Curse of Vecna.”

Eddie groaned internally. This was such a disaster. “Sure.”

That day after school Eddie drove you back to his place. He reluctantly did his homework with you, mostly copying your answers rather than actually learning anything. Then the two of you laid on his bed and made out.

Hey, if he was going to be stuck in this relationship with someone he didn’t actually care for, the least he could do was take advantage of the benefits.

—

You spent four years with Eddie before you started noticing something was off.

It was the scent you started noticing on his clothes at first, like flowers and vanilla. You lifted his shirt from the laundry, the unexpected smell hitting you. You didn’t own anything that smelled like this, and Eddie certainly didn’t. You knew the smell of his cheap cologne better than anything, the amount of times you’d laid your head on his chest and smelled that distinctly Eddie scent. Something was wrong.

When you confronted him about it, he brushed it off. “It’s this new girl at work. Her perfume is so strong, everyone smells like it.”

You accepted the answer for the time being. But then there were other things you began to notice. A scrunchie that definitely didn’t belong to you on the floor of the passenger side of his van. A condom wrapper in the bathroom trash after you’d been out of town for the weekend. And finally, a pair of pink panties stuffed into the back pocket of his jeans that were so clearly not yours it was nearly comical if it hadn’t made you want to die.

When you confronted him about it the next time, it was with tears in your eyes and a lump in your throat. “Eddie,” you said, your voice cracking as you tossed the panties onto the floor in front of where he sat on the couch. “What are these?”

Eddie knew he had been caught. There was no getting out of it this time. You didn’t own any underwear like that, and it was the wrong size. How could he have been so stupid to have kept the panties? “I…”

“Really?” You sobbed. “You have nothing to say?”

“I’m not sure what you want me to say.” Eddie looked down at his hands. “Yeah, I’ve been sleeping with someone else.”

Even though you already knew his words were true, they still hit you right in the heart. You could feel it cracking, could feel the fault lines forming, the blood and life seeping out of it. “With who?” You asked, barely audible. You weren’t sure if you wanted the answer, but you needed it.

“That’s not important-“

“It is important,” you said. “It’s important to me.”

Eddie didn’t respond at first. He didn’t want to respond. “Chrissy Cunningham,” he answered reluctantly at last. “But don’t pull her into this, she doesn’t deserve to be-“

“Chrissy Cunningham?” You scoffed. “Eddie, we’ve been together for four years. Chrissy knows we’re together. So she was just fine sleeping with a guy she knew was taken?” You laughed humorlessly through the tears. “Wow. You guys are perfect for each other, then.”

Eddie shook his head. “Don’t do that, man, she-“

“‘Man’?” You couldn’t believe the conversation you were having. “Wow, I sure got demoted from baby fast, huh?”

He rubbed his hands over his face. “Please. I don’t wanna do this. I don’t feel like doing this.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have cheated!” You yelled back. “Why would you do this? How could you do this to me? I thought you loved me.”

Eddie mumbled something under his breath, something you couldn’t catch.

“What?” You asked. “I can’t hear you. Just fucking tell me. Why would you do this to me?”

When Eddie looked up at you, his eyes were full of anger, flames flickering behind his normally sweet doe eyes. The ones you had gazed into, taken comfort in so many times. When he opened his mouth, nothing but poison seeped out.

“Because I never loved you!” Eddie yelled, hands running through his hair to the point he was practically pulling it out. You had never seen him so upset. “Fuck! I went out with you because we were friends and I felt bad, and by the time we’d been together for months it was too late. I never liked you back like that. That’s the truth, finally.”

His words hit you like a shot to the chest. You stared at him with your lips parted, staggering gasps being dragged into your lungs. You shook uncontrollably as if it were suddenly freezing. But the tears didn’t yet fall. You felt like you might be in shock. “How…”

“How did I pretend to be in love with you?” He scoffed. “I didn’t do a very good job of it, but it doesn’t seem like you ever noticed. You were so blinded by who you wanted me to be, you couldn’t see what was right in front of you. Hey, as long as I came home and fucked you before passing out next to you, you just took it.” He laughed, a cruel, sinister laugh. “You just let me treat you like shit. Like you have no respect for yourself, or were just that obsessed with me.”

You didn’t even know who this was in front of you right now. This person who looked like Eddie, sounded like Eddie, but was spewing such horrible, hurtful words that Eddie never would. You didn’t recognize him at all. You wanted to blame his words on his heightened emotions, but you could tell everything he said was true. Especially with the cheating to back it up.

That’s not how you treated someone you cared about.

“So you just led me on for four years instead of telling me?” You asked. There was no fight behind your voice like there was in his. Only hurt and defeat. “Eddie…even before all this, you were my best friend. How could you do this to me?”

He didn’t have an answer for that. Because he was a selfish idiot coward? That was the truth. “Look, me and Chrissy- it just happened. It wasn’t supposed to, but it did. She came in to the Hideout, we got to talking-“

“And you fucked her?” You finished for him.

He just looked at you. “Yeah.”

The truth was, Eddie felt bad. He knew he had fucked up astronomically bad. He had led you on, used your body, betrayed you. Wasted four years of your life. He knew you thought he was the one, he knew you were waiting for a proposal that was never going to come. It was his fault things had gotten this far.

Maybe he thought he could fake it ‘til he made it. Maybe he thought if he pretended to be into you, eventually he would be. But that never happened.

And now you were crying, hard. His chest ached for some reason, even though he had no right to hurt for what he had done to you. He deserved to feel like shit.

He wasn’t prepared for the next words that came out of your mouth.

“I’m pregnant, Eddie,” you said, eyes squeezed shut as if that would stop the torrent of tears currently streaming down your face. There was no response. You had to force yourself to open your eyes and look, wondering if he was even still there.

He was. He stared at you, brown eyes wide, mouth hanging slightly open. “You’re- no.”

“I am,” you said, voice hoarse from crying. “I…”

Eddie shook his head. “No. No, no, no. This is not happening. It’s not fucking happening.”

You only cried harder. The pregnancy hormones had nothing to do with this; this was pure devastation, pure heartbreak. Your heart felt like it had crumbled in your chest and there was nothing left to repair even if you could.

“Let me see the test,” he said, holding a hand out.

“Why would I lie?” You asked, voice weak. You were so emotionally worn out, you felt like you could sleep for weeks. Months. Years. You wanted to.

“Because you want me to stay with you?” He scoffed. “Look, I’m not saying you’re lying, but I want to see to be sure.”

You just stared at him. Finally, you said “Fine,” going into your shared bedroom and coming out with a piece of paper with your office visit report. “I went to the doctor. Here.”

Eddie took the paper from your hands, examining it carefully. Sure enough, under “Reason for Visit/Diagnosis”, it said “Pregnancy - 8 weeks”.

“Christ,” Eddie said. He rubbed his hands over his face, like he was trying to erase the information from his brain. He was panicked. He couldn’t be a dad. Not right now, maybe not ever. He didn’t even know if he wanted kids. And with you? His soon to be ex girlfriend who he had treated like shit and didn’t love? “I mean fuck, man. What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know,” you said. Your voice was small, like all the fight had left you.

Eddie felt like he had ruined his life. For one thing, you were both still so young. That was without even mentioning the mess of a ‘relationship’ he had gotten himself involved in, the fact that it would never work out even if he wanted it to because he didn’t have feelings for you, and now he was standing here crushing his pregnant girlfriend’s heart. Like an asshole.

He was an asshole, and he knew it.

“Look,” he said finally. “If there’s really a kid-“

“There is.”

Eddie continued. “I’m not gonna abandon it. I’ll…be here. I’ll pay child support, I want to share custody, I want to be involved.”

You nodded. At least there was that, you supposed. As heart broken as you were, as much as you felt like going to sleep and never waking up again, you couldn’t bear the thought of Eddie leaving both of you. This baby deserved better.

“Look, I…I need some time. I’m gonna go stay with Wayne for a little while. Until I can get my own place.” Eddie looked at you with pity now, the news of the pregnancy dousing the fire of his earlier cruelty. “You can keep the apartment. We’ve got the guest room for the baby, unless you decide to move out.”

You just nodded again. “Okay, Eddie.”

The two of you looked at each other. This wasn’t just the end of your apparent farce of a relationship, but also of your nearly lifelong friendship. Things between you and Eddie would never be the same again. He had taken your heart you gave to him and stomped on it, spit on it.

That was the thing you couldn’t get past. He hadn’t just rejected you, he had destroyed you. The cheating, the lying. Playing you like a fucking game. Like you meant nothing not just to him, but at all. You didn’t know how you’d ever learn to trust again, or if you even wanted to. Eddie slept on the couch that night, too late at night to drive to Wayne’s.

When you woke up the next morning, he was gone.

—

Your pregnancy was difficult. You had severe morning sickness in the beginning - hyperemesis gravidarum, your doctor called it. You struggled to keep any food down, and ended up hospitalized for fluids multiple times. Your doctor was concerned and considered you a high risk pregnancy. You went from monthly doctor visits to weekly. You felt pretty sure your emotional devastation wasn’t helping your physical health whatsoever.

Eddie was helpful, at least. He called you every couple of days to see how you were doing and if you needed anything. He remembered your appointment days and called to ask what the doctor said. He shopped for your groceries for you and dropped them off at the house. It would have felt nice, if you didn’t know he was only doing it for the baby and not you, and if you didn’t know he was still sleeping with Chrissy.

You went through most of the pregnancy alone. At 16 weeks, you noticed a bump for the first time, standing in front of your full length mirror as you got ready for work. It took you by surprise, this little baby bump that seemed to have popped up overnight. You ran your hand over the skin there, surprised by how firm it felt. There was really a little baby in there.

You had an ultrasound that afternoon. You were thrilled to see the baby, one of the only things you looked forward to anymore. The technician showed you your baby, thriving and wiggling around in there. It made your heart swell. She measured the heartbeat and played it out loud, the little whoosh whoosh whoosh comforting.

Eddie came to the apartment that evening to bring you the baby swing he had bought. You were in the kitchen cooking yourself chicken alfredo for dinner, wearing a thin tank top and your short sleep shorts. Eddie let himself in, since he still had a key in case of emergencies. You weren’t surprised to hear him coming in since he’d told you he’d be over.

You heard his footsteps heading into the kitchen, then - “Woah.”

You turned from where you’d been stirring the sauce, raising an eyebrow at him. “What?”

He gestured towards your stomach. “You, uh…your…”

You laughed lightly. “The bump? Yeah, that’s new.”

Eddie walked over towards you, leaning against the counter next to the stove. He didn’t know how to feel about it. It was strange to see, and it made him feel weird in his chest. Something he’d never felt before. “It’s…it’s cute. You look cute.”

You laughed again. “I’m about to get a lot bigger.”

The two of you stood in silence for a minute. Then, finally, Eddie worked up the courage to ask - “Can I…can I feel?”

You were surprised by the question. Sure, Eddie had been pretty devoted to this baby during the pregnancy, but it still caught you off guard. “Oh. Sure.”

You turned and he walked up to you cautiously. He raised his hands, slowly moving them towards you as he looked up at you for confirmation it was still okay. Finally he placed his hands on your belly, feeling the firm bump beneath his hands. It was real. He knew it was real, but now it was real.

“Wow,” he said after a minute. “That’s…wow.” He gently rubbed the bump, in shock that that was his child beneath his hand.

“I got an ultrasound today,” you said. “Want to see?”

“Of course,” he answered immediately. He watched as you headed into the living room, already developing the slightest little waddle. He couldn’t help but smile.

You pulled the printed photos from your purse, bringing them over. Eddie gently took them from your hands. “Holy shit!” He said, laughing as he closely examined the photos. “It really looks like a little baby now instead of a blob.”

“Yeah,” you agreed with a smile. “They said we’d find out if it’s a boy or a girl at the next one. At 20 weeks.”

Eddie’s eyes darted up to you. “Really? Can I…go?”

You raised your eyebrows. “Really? You want to come with me to the appointment?”

“Yeah, of course. I want to know what we’re having. I want to be there myself.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, thinking about it. “How will Chrissy feel about that?”

Eddie’s expression hardened for the first time since he’d come over. “I can do whatever I want. And we’re not talking about her right now.”

You rolled your eyes, heading back into the kitchen to tend to your dinner. “I guess you can come, Eddie. It’s your baby too. But don’t bring her.”

“I’m not,” he assured you. You thought he’d have to be a fucking idiot to bring her, anyway. “I just want to be there.”

You felt like you couldn’t take that from him. If he wanted to be an involved father, he could. You encouraged that, in fact. This baby didn’t deserve to be born into the mess that was your relationship, or what used to be your relationship. Your issues with Eddie needed to be put aside for the sake of your child.

So, four weeks later, you waddled your 20 week pregnant self down the stairs of your apartment complex and into Eddie’s van where he sat idling, waiting to pick you up. He helped you climb in, and you waved him off when he tried to buckle you up. “I’ve got it, Eddie. I’m not totally helpless.”

“I know,” he said, “I just want to help.”

You rode to the doctor’s office without speaking, the only sounds being the heavy music playing over the stereo. You couldn’t stand it. Since the break up, you couldn’t listen to Eddie’s music anymore. Too many memories, too many associations.

When he pulled up at the office, he hopped out quickly to run around and offer you a hand as you carefully climbed down. The bump was significantly bigger already, it was in the way and threw off your center of balance. And Eddie was not about to let you fall and hurt yourself and the baby.

You had grown to know the staff at the office since you were there so often. They greeted you by name the second you walked in, looking pleased to see you. In the exam room, Eddie sat in the visitor’s chair, looking as awkward as he felt.

When the tech walked in, she barely managed to contain the surprise on her face to see Eddie with you. You had been to every appointment alone, and they knew you weren’t together with the father. But she quickly plastered a smile to her face, walking over to you.

“Are you excited?” She asked you. “It’s a big day!”

“So excited,” you giggled. “I’m ready to know.”

You laid back and lifted your shirt up and she squirted the cold gel onto your belly, your least favorite part. She placed the wand on your stomach and began moving it around. There was a screen only she could see, and a bigger screen facing you and Eddie that showed the baby.

The little wiggling baby popped up on the screen, moving all around. You smiled, relieved to see the little guy or girl was doing well. You always worried between ultrasounds that something would happen.

The two of you watched as the tech examined and measured the various body parts, making notes in your chart as she performed the exam. Then, finally, it was time.

“Okay,” she said. “Everything looks great! Do you want to know what you’re having?”

“Yes,” you and Eddie answered immediately at the same exact time. You glanced at each other, laughing lightly.

You were nervous. You weren’t sure why. You really didn’t have a preference for the baby’s sex, but this was a huge deal. This made it real, really real. The baby was about to go from “the baby” to your son or daughter. They would have a name, you would be able to shop more. This was a huge moment, and your heart thumped hard in your chest.

She moved the wand a little, looking where she needed to look. She smiled - “It’s a healthy baby girl.”

You choked out a light sob, hands moving up to cover your mouth. You couldn’t believe it. A baby girl, a daughter. Your daughter. Thoughts flashed through your mind of pink little dresses, playing dolls, dance recitals and late night dance parties. Or maybe she would be more of a tomboy, playing sports and getting dirty. You would love her no matter who she turned out to be.

Eddie stared at the screen in awe. A daughter. He was having a daughter. He couldn’t believe it. He didn’t have a preference for the gender either, but hearing it was a girl, it just felt right. Like this was the child he was meant to have, this was the perfect outcome. His body overflowed with the love he felt for this tiny person already. He nearly reached over and grabbed your hand, but thought better of it. It wasn’t his hand to hold anymore.

You left the appointment in high spirits with a stack of ultrasound photos in your hand. You kept looking them over, amazed at how much the baby looked like a baby. Just as you were about to get back in the van, you felt something move that made you gasp and nearly drop your bag.

“What??” Eddie asked, immediately by your side. “Are you okay? Is it the baby?”

You looked up at him wide eyed. “I…” You were about to say something else when you felt the movement again. You quickly grabbed Eddie’s hand and placed it on your stomach, right where you felt it.

He looked at you strangely, but kept his hand there. Then, a second later - another kick, right where Eddie’s hand lay.

“Holy shit!” He exclaimed, jerking his hand back out of instinct before putting it back. “Did she just kick?”

“I think so,” you said, an incredulous giggle in your voice.

“She’s strong,” Eddie commented with a smile. He gently rubbed his hand over the bump. “My girl. Gonna be a soccer player or something. Or just kick some serious ass.”

You laughed, your hand resting next to Eddie’s. “This has been the best day I’ve had in months.”

Eddie felt a pang of guilt at that. He knew he was the reason for your sadness, for your pain. And now here you were, giving him the greatest gift he could dream of, even if it’s one he didn’t expect. He couldn’t wait for this baby to be here.

Robin threw you a baby shower when you were 33 weeks pregnant. You were huge and uncomfortable, and still mentally a disaster. But Robin had put in so much work you were at least going to make an attempt to enjoy yourself.

She had taken you shopping for a dress, and you’d landed on a long, light pink one with a hem right beneath your breasts, the rest of the dress draped over your belly. It made you feel pretty, even if gigantic.

When you and Robin walked in, the party was already underway, your friends, family, and acquaintances mingling around, eating from the buffet table. There was a table surrounded and piled high with gifts, a rocking chair with a bow on it sitting next to it.

“Oh my god, Robs,” you said, tears springing to your eyes. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“Of course I did,” she said, nudging your arm. “You deserve it, babes. You and her both.” She placed a hand over your belly, making you smile. “You’ve been put through hell this pregnancy, the least I can do is give you a good party.”

Robin led you over to the buffet table, where Steve Harrington was standing. You furrowed your brows at your best friend as you walked, and she gave you a sheepish smile and shrug.

“He’s different now,” she said. You couldn’t believe your ears. “He’s not King Steve anymore. And he helped me out a ton with this party. He’s kind of a dingus, but he’s cool.”

Steve gave you a kind smile as you approached. “Hey,” he said once you’d both reached him, standing up straight. “Congratulations. You look beautiful.”

You blushed, because you certainly didn’t expect him to say that. “I’m huge,” you said.

Steve chuckled. “Well, you’re growing a whole human. Don’t be too hard on yourself. It’s hard work.”

You were completely shocked that Steve was being so nice to you. He had never been mean to you, but he definitely saw you and Eddie as Freaks in high school, and never gave you or Robin the time of day. He really did seem different.

“Come on,” Robin said, pulling gently on your arm. “Let’s get you and that baby something to eat. It’s gonna be a great party.”

And it was a good party. You were having a good time talking with your guests, everyone wanting to feel the baby and asking you questions. The food was good, too, you thought as you filled your third plate in 30 minutes. You were having a good time.

That is, until the door opened and two guests walked in late.

Eddie walked in, looking awkward, a gift bag in hand. He knew a good number of the people in attendance hated him, and for good reason. The fact that Eddie showed up to your party wasn’t the bad part. You were on okay terms. It was the fact that he walked in, hand in hand with Chrissy Cunningham.

Your heart stopped in your chest. You hated that you still weren’t over Eddie, but it was the truth. You felt like you would throw up at the sight.

“Oh, fuck no,” Robin muttered under her breath from next to you, before she stood tall and started walking over to them with purpose.

“Robs, wait!” You called, following after her, but Robin’s long strides were much faster than your 8 month pregnant waddle. Robin was already there when you reached the three, her finger pointed in Eddie’s face.

“And what do you think gives you the right to come marching into her party with your little girlfriend?” She was yelling, fury in her eyes like you’d never seen. “What the fuck is wrong with you??”

“Robin-“ you started, but she wasn’t even hearing you.

“You are the scum of the fucking earth,” she said to Eddie. “You don’t belong here. You don’t belong outside enjoying the day. You belong in a cave.”

Eddie was looking at her with an irritated expression on his face. Chrissy stood next to him, her big eyes wide as she held onto his arm. It made you feel so much worse.

“This is my daughter’s baby shower,” he said. “I have a right to be here.”

“No, this is her shower.” Robin gestured towards where you stood slightly behind her without even turning around. “This is for her. She has been through hell, and it’s entirely your fault. The only thing you did besides ruin her life is put the damn baby in her. Good job, Eddie!”

Eddie scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Down, guard dog, this has nothing to do with you. Get out of my face. I’m here to celebrate my daughter. Not yours.”

“And you had to bring your skank with you?”

Both you and Chrissy gasped. You had never heard her speak that way before. Eddie’s eyes darkened. “Don’t talk about her like that. She has nothing to do with this.”

“She slept with you multiple times while knowing you were in a relationship. So yeah, she’s a skank, and you’re a slut too. I guess you guys are made for each other.”

“Babe, why don’t we just go-“ Chrissy said softly.

“Babe,” Robin mocked. “How cute.”

“I’m not leaving,” Eddie said, looking from Chrissy to Robin, and finally to you. “I deserve to be here. So get over yourself.”

“I think you should leave, Eddie.”

You turned as you all looked behind you, where Steve had walked up. His expression was serious, and Eddie narrowed his eyes at him.

“This doesn’t concern you, Harrington.”

“Well, it kind of does,” he said, tilting his head to the side. “These are my friends. I helped organize the party. No one would have cared if you wanted to be here, but you had to go and bring your girlfriend to rub in her face?”

Eddie was taken aback. He couldn’t believe Steve Harrington was here and had the nerve to talk to him and his girlfriend this way. He was about to say something rude back when you spoke up.

“It’s okay,” you said, your voice timid. “They can stay.”

Steve and Robin looked at you with concern etched on both of their faces. “Are you sure?” Steve asked quietly. “Robin told me your pregnancy has been complicated. You don’t need any extra stress.”

“It’s okay,” you repeated. You weren’t entirely sure if you were really okay with it, but you didn’t want drama at your baby shower. At least, not any more drama than what had already been caused.

Steve looked at you, giving you any chance to change your mind, but you didn’t say anything else. Steve looked at Eddie and Chrissy. “She says you can stay, you can stay.”

The rest of the party was admittedly very awkward. Eddie kind of felt like shit - he knew he shouldn’t have brought Chrissy here. It was the wrong move. He thought maybe it would be alright, but the second he walked in the door he knew what a mistake it had been.

When it was time for gifts, you felt a little uncomfortable. Even as a child you had never enjoyed the whole “opening gifts in front of the whole guest list” part of parties, but you knew your older relatives would find it rude if you didn’t.

You got a lot of lovely gifts - lots of girly clothes and tiny dresses, bottles, burp cloths, a baby monitor, baby soap and towels, health stuff, toys, all kinds of things. You even got some bigger items, like a high chair, a car seat, and a stroller. You were so grateful you teared up multiple times. As a single mom, you had been worried sick about how you’d afford a lot of this stuff.

When you opened Eddie’s gift, it was just a piece of paper inside the bag. You were confused, until you took the paper out and saw the photo of the crib you had been eyeing on it, and a note that he had ordered it for you. Cue the waterworks.

Chrissy’s gift was probably the ugliest baby clothes you’d ever seen in size 24m and a toy she wouldn’t be able to play with for years. You wanted to throw the gift back in her face. She did that shit on purpose.

The rest of the party went well. You managed to avoid Chrissy, or maybe she was avoiding you. You gave each of your friends and family hugs as they left when the party was over, thanking them for coming and for their gifts.

Eddie gave you a nod as he and Chrissy left. He was always so much more pleasant when he wasn’t with her. You could always tell when she was in his ear, too, because he would start stupid arguments and stress you out. You were tired of Chrissy in your business. You never wanted to see her for the rest of your life.

But that was Eddie’s girlfriend, the girl he actually liked, and Eddie was this baby’s father. So you supposed you’d have to live with her.

At 33 weeks, days after the shower, you noticed horrible swelling in your hands and feet. More than the normal pregnancy swelling. You brought it up at your doctor’s appointment, and she was immediately concerned.

Your blood pressure was through the roof. You were diagnosed with pre eclampsia and told to head straight to the hospital to be admitted.

You cried on the way to the car. This whole pregnancy had been hell, and as excited as you were to meet the baby, you were miserable. And it wasn’t time for her to come yet. You were terrified.

You drove around the corner to the hospital’s main entrance, walking inside and giving the receptionist the paper from your doctor. They had you upstairs and set up in bed in no time, hooked up to monitors and put on strict bed rest.

The first thing you did once you were settled was grab the bedside phone. You dialed Robin’s number first, filling her in through tears. She promised to be over right after work with movies to watch, wanting to make you as comfortable as possible while you had to be in the hospital.

Next, you called Eddie.

“Hello?” He answered, a laugh in his voice, and you could hear Chrissy giggling in the background. It made you feel infinitely worse.

“Eddie. It’s me.” It was obvious in your voice that you’d been crying.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, suddenly serious. “Is it the baby? Is she coming? It’s too early!”

You sniffled. “Not yet. But I have pre eclampsia. They hospitalized me and put me on bed rest until the baby is born.”

“Shit,” Eddie hissed. “Do you, uh…do you need me?”

“Can you run by the apartment and grab my bag I packed?” You asked. “Maybe throw some extra stuff in there since I’m going to be here for a while?”

“Yeah, of course. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

The next week in the hospital was a long one. You were bored to death, even with Robin and Steve coming by every day after work and on their days off. They would bring different movies from Family Video every day, and they had bought you a collection of board games to play together.

At 34 weeks, things took a turn for the worse.

Your water broke and labor began far too early. You were in a panic. Robin had been visiting at the time, and next thing you knew, doctors and nurses were rushing in, checking your vitals and fussing over you. The contractions started immediately, coming strong and fast.

“Call Eddie!” You called to a shocked Robin, who froze for only a few seconds before dashing for the phone.

By the time Eddie sprinted through the door, breathless and mercilessly alone, things were well underway. Labor had set in fast, and the baby’s vitals were dropping. They had to get her out as soon as possible.

“We’re going to be taking you back for a C section, okay?” The doctor told you kindly, but you could hear the seriousness of the situation in his tone. “We need to get this baby out right now.”

You had never been more terrified in your life. You could not lose this baby. You didn’t care much about your own well-being, but losing this baby would kill you.

“Can I come?” Eddie asked, his voice shaking. He was equally terrified. This baby, his daughter, meant the world to him already and she wasn’t even here yet. He needed both of you to be okay.

“Yes, you’ll just have to change into a pair of scrubs,” the doctor said. “One of the nurses will bring you some then bring you to the OR. We just need to get her in there and prepped immediately.”

Eddie watched as they wheeled you from the room quickly, disappearing down the hall with an urgency that made him sick to his stomach. Just as he’d been told, a nurse walked up with a pair of surgical scrubs and a hair cap, snapping him out of his internal panic.

He went into the bathroom and changed into the scrubs, pulling his hair up into a bun and putting the cap on. He slipped the shoe covers on last. He felt like he looked ridiculous, but he really didn’t have time to think about that right now.

Inside the operating room, you laid on a table with your arms strapped down out to the side. You also wore a cap over your hair, and a large drape curtained off everything below your chest.

“Hey,” you said, sounding nice and calm and a little out of it. “You came.”

“Of course I came,” Eddie said. He stood next to you as the doctor got to work. He did not want to think about what was going on behind that curtain.

It wasn’t long before the doctor said “Here she is!” and the next thing Eddie knew, he heard a shrill cry. It made his heart stutter in his chest, he lost his breath. Moments later one of the nurses came around with the tiniest baby Eddie had ever seen, wrapped in a hospital blanket. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His child.

You gazed at the tiny bundle in the nurse’s arms. You were so drugged up you couldn’t really comprehend the moment, but you knew that tiny bundle was your daughter. Here at last. And alive, healthy. Pink skin and a head full of brown hair.

“Would you like to hold her?” The nurse asked as the doctor went to work on stitching you up. “We have to get her to the NICU, so only for a moment. I’m sorry.”

The NICU. Eddie didn’t want to think too hard about that. “Yes, I want to hold her.” Eddie held out his arms and the nurse gently placed the tiny baby in them.

She was so small. She felt like glass, like the most fragile thing in the world. He took in every aspect of her appearance, from her hair that matched his, to her tiny button nose, her little pink lips. Her eyes were closed, so he didn’t get to see her eye color.

He moved over to you and held the baby down for you to see. “Here she is,” he whispered to you. “Our baby girl.”

You smiled a loopy smile, but you could feel the love practically bursting out of your chest. “Hi, Lottie,” you said, tears welling in your eyes. “Charlotte Mae.”

Charlotte did great, and had none of the problems common in premature babies. It was a miracle, and you were so grateful.

There was a knock at your door before it opened. Robin walked in, Steve trailing behind her. They both had smiles on their faces and held gift bags. Steve held a bouquet of beautiful flowers. He wore a yellow sweater and jeans, his long hair styled. You couldn’t help but notice how cute he was.

“Hey, mama, how are you feeling?” Robin greeted, coming over and giving you a kiss on the cheek. She looked down at the sleeping baby in your arms. “Hi, Lottie!”

“We’re doing good,” you said, a tired smile on your face. Eddie had been over earlier, but had to leave when Chrissy called the hospital phone, demanding he come home. It had made your chest ache, especially when he obeyed.

“Hey,” Steve said, moving to your other side. He held up the flowers. “I, uh, brought these for you.”

“Had the idea, picked them out, and bought them himself,” Robin said, wiggling her eyebrows.

The way Steve was looking at you did something to you, something felt deep in your chest. “Thank you,” you smiled at him. “They’re beautiful.”

“We also brought you these,” Robin said, placing both gift bags on your lap. One was purple with pink tissue paper, and the other was blue with yellow paper. “Can Auntie Robs hold her now?”

“Of course,” you replied, gently passing the tiny bundle into Robin’s waiting arms. She held the baby like a natural, gently rocking her.

You reached for the purple bag first. You pulled the paper out and found a comfy pair of pajamas for yourself, and a matching set for Charlotte. There was a card inside that read, I’m so proud of you. You’re going to be the best mom ever! Love, Auntie Robs.

You almost teared up, looking at Robin. “Thank you,” you said. “This means so much.”

“Of course,” she smiled. “Now open Steve’s!”

You laughed as you grabbed the blue bag and removed the paper. Inside you found an assortment of candy, and a small teddy bear. A card inside read Motherhood looks beautiful on you. You’re going to rock it. I’m glad we’ve become friends. Love, Steve.

“How did you know I have a sweet tooth?” You asked Steve with a laugh. You couldn’t focus on his note right now unless you really wanted to cry.

“Robin,” he laughed. “She filled me in.”

Robin and Steve visited for as long as they could, taking turns holding Charlotte and helping to take care of both her and you. You were so grateful to have such support, such amazing friends.

Custody was a whole other ordeal. You and Eddie had agreed that he would get Charlotte every other weekend, starting when she was 5 months old and could take a bottle when she was with Eddie since you were breastfeeding.

It worked out, Eddie didn’t argue with you much unless Chrissy started convincing him to, as she sometimes did. He started missing his scheduled weekends, claiming plans with Chrissy. The thing is that Chrissy knew what weekends Eddie had Charlotte, and she would do this on purpose. And he just let her.

It made you so mad. Lottie deserved better than this. She deserved a father who was excited to see her any chance he got. You began to resent Eddie more and more.

It was Saturday night, and Eddie had bailed for the weekend again. He was taking Chrissy to Indianapolis to spend the weekend and go shopping. Honestly, you were in the mood for a good cry.

Not only was Eddie bailing on his visitation, but he was also pushing for more. You didn’t understand it, but you knew who was behind it. Chrissy just liked stirring up shit between you and Eddie. You were convinced she got a kick out of it.

You figured the best way to get a good cry was to go rent a sappy movie. You were sure a good romance would have you sobbing within the hour. You packed Lottie’s diaper bag, strapped her in her car seat, and drove to Family Video.

You smiled when you saw Steve behind the counter through the glass doors. He was on the phone as you walked in, but he gave you a big smile and held up a finger to tell you to hold on a second. You started browsing the movies, seeing what was available.

Steve got off the phone as quickly as possible, rushing over to your side. “Hey, Lottie,” he greeted the baby on your hip, making her giggle and reach for him. You handed her off as Steve happily took her. “So, what brings you in today? Not that I’m not excited to see you.”

You couldn’t help but smile at Steve. “Rough weekend. I need a good cry.”

He frowned. “Why?”

You sighed. “Just Eddie and Chrissy stuff. The usual.”

Steve nodded in understanding, but it pissed him off. He hated the hell Eddie and his girlfriend put you through on a constant basis. He wished he could make it better. “So you need a sad movie?”

“Yeah. Any recommendations?”

He thought for a minute. He browsed the shelves as Lottie played with his name tag. “Hmm…oh!” He reached forward and plucked a VHS off the shelf. “This one will get you for sure.”

You took it from his hands. “Steel Magnolias. I haven’t seen it.”

“Oh, it’ll definitely make you cry,” Steve laughed as you examined the tape, reading the back synopsis.

“Do you know that because it made you cry?” You teased, a playful smile on your lips as you looked at him again.

Steve blushed bright red. “Maybe.”

You laughed, poking him in the side. “Who knew you were such a sap, Steve Harrington.”

“Hey,” he said, holding up his free hand in surrender. “Chicks dig a guy who’s in tune with his emotions.”

“Is that so?”

“It is so,” Steve confirmed with a grin. You could never wipe the smile off your face when Steve was around. He was just so fun, and kind, and funny. He was a great friend, and cute, too, if you let yourself admit it.

You exchanged the tape for Lottie then followed Steve back to the counter where he checked you out. “Just one movie tonight?”

“Yeah. I pass out too early now to watch more than one.”

Steve chuckled as he scanned the tape and pulled up your account. He clicked on his computer for a few seconds before a receipt began to print. “Alright, you’re all set.”

“Thanks,” you smiled as you took the tape and receipt from him. “I’ll see you around, Steve!” You turned and began walking to the front door, ready to get home, get Lottie comfy in bed, then watch your movie.

“Hey,” Steve said, stopping you. You turned around, confused.

“What’s up?”

“Um…” Steve cleared his throat. “Would you…want to go out sometime?” His voice was nervous, like you’d never heard it before.

His words caught you off guard. You raised your eyebrows, switching the baby to the other arm. “What?”

“Go out? Like, on a date?”

You blinked at him. “You want to go on a date…with me?”

“Yeah,” he smiled nervously at you. “I’ve…been wanting to ask you out for a while. But you just had so much going on, I didn’t want to add more stress to your plate…”

“Steve, you could never do anything but make my life better. I love spending time with you.”

He beamed at that. “Yeah? Well…would you want to go on a date with me?”

“Sure,” you smiled. “I would love that.”

You finished packing up Charlotte’s bag, making sure it was stocked with plenty of clothes and her favorite toys, including the teddy bear Steve had given her, which was her absolute favorite. Eddie had plenty of diapers and wipes at his house so you didn’t have to worry about that.

You had your date with Steve tonight. He was going to be picking you up shortly after Lottie left, so you had already gotten ready. You wore a short little dress that you’d been waiting for an excuse to wear forever, your hair hung perfectly, and you had done some light makeup. You hadn’t dressed up like this and gone on a date in…ever.

There was a knock at the door right on time. “There’s daddy!” You told Charlotte, who smiled big and clapped her little hands together. You scooped her up and headed for the front door, opening it to reveal Eddie.

Eddie smiled at Charlotte, but immediately took notice of your look. “Where are you going all dolled up? Got a hot date?” He asked, a sneer in his voice.

Your smile dropped. So he was going to be like this today. “Yeah. I do, actually.”

Eddie didn’t like that. The thought of it struck an unusual and unwelcome jealousy into his chest. “With who?”

“That’s none of your business,” you said. You handed over Charlotte’s bag. “I can do whatever I want. You cheated on me, remember?”

He didn’t acknowledge your second comment. “It is my business if you’re bringing my daughter around some guy.”

You stared him down. “Well, you bring your mistress around our daughter, so I don’t think you have the right to say anything.”

Eddie’s eyes darkened. “Chrissy is my girlfriend.”

“Sure.” You turned to Charlotte, smiling at her. “I’ll see you Sunday, baby girl. I love you so much.” You gave her a lingering kiss on the cheek before handing her off to Eddie. “I’ll see you Sunday.”

Eddie left, and you sighed. You took some deep breaths, trying to calm yourself. You would not let Eddie ruin this night. This was your first time being asked on a date, and you were going to have a good time.

It was about 15 minutes later that Steve picked you up. He looked handsome, wearing a button up shirt and jeans. He held a beautiful bouquet of flowers that he handed you as you opened the door.

“You look gorgeous,” he said, and you could tell from his voice that he truly meant it. You blushed deeply as you took the flowers.

“Thank you,” you smiled. Steve followed you into the apartment, stepping over toys as you walked into the kitchen. You grabbed a vase and filled it with water, placing the flowers inside.

“Where are we going?” You asked as you walked with Steve to his car. He held the passenger side door open for you, and you smiled at him as you slid in. He was such a gentleman.

“I was thinking, dinner and a movie is too lame, too cliche. We watch movies all the time. So,” he gestured into the backseat, “I packed us a picnic, and got us tickets to see David Bowie in the city tonight.”

You stared at him, blinking. “I…no you didn’t.”

Steve laughed. “Yeah, I did. I know you’re a big fan, and he was performing nearby, so…”

“Oh my god!” Your heart was beating out of your chest, you felt like it would explode. “Steve. Oh my god.”

Steve was very proud of himself for this one. He knew you’d freak out, but your reaction was even better than he hoped. “That’s why I asked you out tonight specifically. I, uh…already had the tickets.”

You quickly swiped a falling tear off your cheek before it could mess up your makeup. “Steve Harrington, I think I’m in love with you.”

That made Steve’s heart swell. Because he felt the same way about you.

Steve drove the two of you to the park, where you found a spot next to a large tree. He laid out the blanket and sat down the picnic basket he’d packed full of all kinds of foods. You ate together, laughing and joking and having the best time. But you couldn’t shake the buzzing excitement in your belly from the news of the concert.

It was a couple hour’s drive to the city, but it was worth it. The show was incredible, everything you dreamed seeing David Bowie would be. Steve held your hand, which sent electricity through both of your bodies.

When Steve brought you home, he walked you to your apartment door. Butterflies were flying in your stomach, still ecstatic from the most incredible date you ever could have imagined.

“I had a great time,” Steve said.

“Me too,” you agreed. “Truly. Do you…want to come in? The night doesn’t have to be over yet.”

A smile spread across Steve’s lips. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

Steve followed you in. As you turned to him, you saw something behind his eyes. Like he was thinking, considering something. He lifted a hand and caressed the side of your face with the back of his hand, thinking he had never seen someone as beautiful in his life. “Can I kiss you?”

Your breath hitched in your throat. “I…yes.”

Steve smiled lightly. Then he was leaning in, closer and closer, until his lips pressed to yours.

Sparks flew. You kissed him back eagerly, and he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling your body flush to his own. The kiss turned heated, Steve pressing your back up against the wall as he kissed you passionately. His hands began sliding up the skirt of your dress.

“Steve,” you said, breathless against his lips. “Take me to my room.”

The next morning, you woke up next to Steve. He had his arm around your waist, cuddling you close. You were both naked. As you awoke, Steve did, too, pulling you closer to him and nuzzling his face into your neck. “Don’t go,” he mumbled.

“I’m not,” you giggled. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Steve asked you to be his girlfriend that morning. It may have been a little soon, but you happily said yes. You knew Steve well, he was one of your best friends. You knew you wanted to be with him.

Robin was ecstatic when you told her the news. “About time!” She exclaimed, throwing her arms up. “Took you long enough, dingus.”

You knew you had to tell Eddie. As much as you dreaded it, he deserved to know as the father of your daughter. You waited a couple of weeks into the relationship, wanting to be sure things were going to work out before you brought it up. But your relationship with Steve was incredible, a kind of joy you never thought you could experience in a relationship.

Eddie came to the door to drop off Charlotte one Sunday evening. He was a little early, and Steve was over.

“Shit,” you hissed as he knocked at the door. “I guess it’s now or never.”

You answered the door, loving how Lottie’s face lit up at the sight of you. “Hi baby!”

“Mama!” She called, reaching for you. You took her from Eddie’s arms, sitting her on your hip. “Dada!” She exclaimed next, only she wasn’t looking at Eddie.

Steve had come up behind you, and Lottie was pointing at him. Your mouth dropped as Eddie’s face turned to one of pure anger. “What the fuck?” He said.

“I swear, I don’t know what that’s about. She’s never called him that before,” you explained quickly. Honestly Eddie deserved to have his feelings hurt, but you knew how destroyed you would be if Lottie called Chrissy Mama.

“What is he doing here anyway?” Eddie asked, gesturing towards Steve. “I don’t see Robin here. Do you have a life of your own, Harrington?”

You looked between Steve and Eddie. “Ed…me and Steve are…together.”

The words hit Eddie like a punch to the gut. He figured you would date eventually, but maybe he just got spoiled by you being single. He didn’t expect the pain of finding out you had moved on. And with Harrington? “What?”

You pursed your lips, knowing this had the potential to go badly. “We’re together. Steve is my boyfriend.”

Eddie just stared between the two of you. Then, he laughed, a sinister sounding chuckle. He knew he had no right to be pissed, but he was pissed. “Well, isn’t that just great.”

“Eddie-“

“No,” he said, holding a hand up. “You don’t owe me an explanation. You do whatever you want. Enjoy your life with Steve.”

And with that, he left. He didn’t even tell Charlotte goodbye.

Things with Steve were incredible. He was the best boyfriend you could ask for, and he was amazing with Lottie. She loved playing with him, and he could sit on the floor and play with her for hours without getting bored.

You had been together for a year and a half when he surprised you with a trip to the beach. You spent the weekend laying out in the sun, playing in the ocean, making love until the early morning in your suite.

On the last day there, you were walking down the beach hand in hand. As you were looking down at the sand for seashells, you noticed some writing in the sand. You let go of Steve’s hand to walk over and read it.

Will you marry me?

“Steve!” You exclaimed. “Look, someone proposed! How cute-“

You froze when you turned around to see Steve on one knee, holding a beautiful ring in a black velvet box. You gasped, tears immediately falling. You always were emotional.

“Will you make me the luckiest guy in the world and marry me?”

Eddie came home a little early from work one evening, and immediately knew something was wrong. He could feel it in the atmosphere before he even heard the noises. Those unmistakable noises.

He crept down the hallway, careful not to make any noise. Not that he thought he’d be noticed, anyway. Not with what he deeply suspected was going on.

He made it to the bedroom he shared with Chrissy. The door was slightly ajar, and he took a deep breath before pushing it open all the way.

Chrissy and her ex, Jason Carver, were in his bed, absolutely going at it. Eddie knew this was what was going on from the moment he walked into the apartment, but seeing it, he still felt like he’d be sick. Chrissy turned at the sound of the door opening and screamed, covering herself and Jason, who didn’t really seem to give a fuck at all.

After Jason left and Eddie was left alone with his girlfriend, he demanded the truth. She admitted she had been sleeping with Jason again for months.

Naturally, Eddie kicked her out. Then, he was alone.

Alone with only his thoughts, he had too much quiet time to think. And what he found himself thinking about was you. Far too often. He thought about your relationship, how he fucked everything up, including your lifelong friendship. Sure, he got his beautiful daughter out of it, but he could have treated you better. He should have treated you better.

He also thought about the way you’d treated him. The way you had loved him. How you were the only woman who had ever loved him, besides his mom all those years ago. How he had taken you for granted. He thought about how he would feel if some asshole treated Lottie the way he treated you. The thought itself made him furious.

Because now that Chrissy was gone and he was no longer blinded by his lifelong crush, he was realizing something:

Eddie loved you.

Not just as the mother of his child, or as a platonic friend, but love love. The kind he had been too blind to see back in high school, back during the days of your relationship.

He hated himself now. He had fucked up more than was even fathomable. He had thrown you away, for Chrissy. You were so much better than Chrissy in every way. Prettier, smarter, funnier, kinder. And you had treated him well.

Eddie dwelled on it for months. He grabbed his mail from the mailbox as he headed into his trailer one day, flipping through the various bills and junk mail - until he stopped at one with your name on it.

He dropped the other pieces of mail in his rush to open that one. He nearly ripped it in half getting it open, and as he pulled out the card inside, his blood ran cold.

You are cordially invited to the wedding of Mr. and Mrs Harrington.

It was too late.

tags

@ali-r3n @crispystarfishhottub

789 notes · View notes

lmvari · 2 months ago

Text

⟳ 26. INTOXICATED

You and Kaz arrive at the bar a little late, but just in time for the first few waves of shots being passed around. The place hums with energy, with dim lights, heavy bass, unfamiliar bodies pulsing near the DJ booth.

Ven spots you both from the second-floor lounge near the stairs, presumably the couch space he claimed for all of you.

“Over here!” he bellows, trying to cut through the music with bleary eyes. You spot your friends laughing at his theatrics, already nestled into the couch.

You snort. The night’s barely begun and he’s already half gone.

You scan the crowd between you and the stairs. Someone bumps into you in the chaos, jolting you off-balance. You instinctively reach for the nearest thing—

Kaz.

He feels your light tug and immediately turns to steady you, murmuring a quiet, ‘Careful,’ as he catches your arm.

He holds out his hand. “Don’t let go, okay?”

You smile and slip your fingers into his.

You weave through the crowd, hands clasped tightly so you don’t lose each other in the press of bodies.

“[Name]! Kaz! You guys made it!” Ven slurs, stumbling forward to greet you with a hug that lingers a bit too long.

“God, you already reek, and it’s not even ten p.m.,” you groan, hugging him back anyway.

He giggles. “That’s the thing! It is almost ten, and I’m not blacked out yet!”

You roll your eyes but smile. “Happy birthday, you menace.”

“Thank you!” he sings.

“Happy birthday, Ven,” Kaz says with a soft smile. Ven slings an arm around his shoulder.

“Take care of [Name] tonight, yeah?” Ven adds, waggling his eyebrows.

Kaz chuckles and gently removes Ven’s arm, patting his back. “I’ll look out for her.”

“Boo! No fun!” Ven laughs, tottering back to his seat.

You greet your friends, let Lumi pull you into a selfie, and down your first shot without even asking what it is.

Then another.

You slow down after a few more, pleasantly buzzed but still steady. Some of your friends head down to dance, pulled by partners or strangers into the tide of music. You and Kaz linger, watching from above.

“They’re so loud,” you say, amused as you hear their shouting voices above the music.

Kaz chuckles beside you, pouring himself a drink. “I’m surprised you’re not down there with them.”

Sighing, you take the same bottle and pour it into your own glass. “Normally, I would. But… I’m just not feeling it tonight. Not here.”

“The place?”

You simply hum in response, taking a sip of your drink.

“Soda? Really?” you say as you feel the liquid fizzing in your mouth.

“Someone’s gotta stay somewhat sober,” Kaz laughs as he proceeds to take another sip of his drink. “I already took my one shot of vodka and I already feel dizzy. I told you I don’t take alcohol well.”

You down the soda in your glass and fill it up again with the same drink.

“You do know Ven was just joking when he tweeted that,” you say with a breathy chuckle.

“Even so, I need to honor the celebrant’s wish,” he replies with a proud smile.

You shake your head and take a sip of your drink, not replying.

“Do you drink often?” he asks.

“Not recently, no,” you answer.

“Seriously? Even after the whole break-up?”

“Not a break-up,” you mutter, shooting him a look. He smiles amusedly in response. “And no. I didn’t drink then because I firmly believe alcohol doesn’t help with pain.”

And mostly because you didn’t want to end up doing something stupid while drunk.

“So you drinking now means… what? Progress?”

“Maybe?” You shrug. “I don’t know.”

But deep down, you know that’s not entirely true.

You’d be lying if you said you don’t feel anything for him anymore.

You just forced yourself to stop thinking.

No reminiscing, no late-night peeks at his profile, no checking what his ex posted.

You locked him away in your mind and told yourself not to look back.

That one day, time would dull it all.

His face. His voice. His touch.

Your feelings.

And honestly? Kaz helped with that. Willingly.

He knew all of this and was happy to help distract you and guide you through your emotions.

“You’ll get there eventually,” he says.

At one point you started to think the ‘therapist’ joke was becoming real.

You could feel him glance at you longer than usual, and you notice the warmth in his gaze.

And for a second, it feels like something you could want, something you could drown yourself in.

If only you were ready. But you’re still scared.

Maybe in the future.

“Yeah. I will,” you affirm to yourself.

But of course, just when you think the universe might give you peace,

out of nowhere—

Your eyes land on a familiar figure walking through the crowd at the entrance.

You squint to double check that it’s not just the alcohol in your system playing with your mind.

Your stomach drops.

Of course.

Just when you were talking about it.

And at such a vulnerable state, too.

You grip the edge of the couch instinctively, the cold of your glass grounding you.

Kaz sees your shoulder tense. He looks at you, wordlessly asking if you’re okay.

You turn to him. “I need to go to the bathroom.”

His worry slowly dissipates, and nods in understanding.

You make your way downstairs and to the dance floor.

Then you’re spinning around, moving too fast, eyes scanning the crowd until they land on Ven, drunk laughing with your friends, tipping back another shot like it’s juice.

You beeline to him.

“Ven.” You grab his arm and drag him out away from the group and near the bathrooms.

“Wah–? What’s wronggg?” he garbles.

“Why the hell is he here?”

Ven blinks at you, bleary-eyed. “Who?”

“Kuni.”

“Ohhhh,” he drawls, grin crooked. “Ajax asked to invite him. I said yes.”

“You what?” you hiss, louder than intended. “Why?”

He shrugs, like it’s the most casual thing in the world. “Thought it’d be fun.”

You stare at him in disbelief and betrayal. “Even her?”

Ven immediately sobers up. Not in expression, but in tone. “Hell no. I’d never let her near my party.”

“But he can?”

Ven just laughs—shrill, high, unbothered—and walks away with a stupid, ‘Good luck!’

You don’t know whether to laugh, cry, or go home.

Or strangle an intoxicated friend.

He’s lucky it’s his birthday.

So instead, you go to the open bar and order a whole bottle, bringing it with you.

You step upstairs and make your way toward the couch area, the bass from downstairs still thumping faintly beneath your shoes.

And there he is.

Sitting with Ajax and Kaz, a glass already in hand. Ajax is next to him, mid-speech, but freezes the moment he sees you, nearly choking on his drink. Kaz is settled across the couch, comfortably distant from them, staring at Kuni as if also not expecting him to be here.

You don’t hesitate. You walk straight to them and slide on the couch beside Kaz. Closer than earlier.

You pour yourself a drink, adding ice from the bucket.

No one says anything.

Not yet.

One shot.

Ajax tries, “[Name], he’s—“

The shot glass clinks on the table as you pour more.

Two shots.

Kaz gives you a subtle glance, like he’s about to say something, but doesn’t.

The tension is thick.

You lean back on the couch, letting your head rest for a moment. You don’t notice Kaz’s arm stretched behind you, resting casually on the top of the couch until you’re already half-leaning into it.

Not touching, but almost.

You don’t mean to look, but you feel it.

The weight of someone’s eyes on you.

He’s staring.

He hasn’t said a word. Just stares intensely at the both of you from across the couch like he’s trying to piece you back together in his head.

It’s like he’s waiting for you to break.

And it infuriates you.

You keep your face blank, but your thoughts spiral.

Why is he even here? Why did he accept Ajax’s invite knowing you’d be here.

Was it to mock you? To check up on you? To make sure you can’t move on properly from him?

You pour another drink, but hesitate this time. Your grip tightens. Your breathing hitches.

“You alright?” you hear Kaz whisper softly in your ear that sends shivers down your spine.

You nod. Barely.

Your surroundings begin to spin and blur. The crowd’s chatter and the music’s blaring beat fade into a distant, drowned-out hum.

You try to concentrate, not giving in to the alcohol. Your head tips against Kaz’s shoulder, resting. He doesn’t move.

You glance up, and sure enough, Kuni is still staring.

Still drinking you in like he has a right to.

But this time, he’s downing a bottle as he keeps his gaze fixated on the two of you.

Memories flood back.

The times when you kept saying to yourself that it’s the last time. That you’d end things with him.

And then Kuni shows up, like he always does, to remind you what you’re trying to leave behind.

You glare at him once. Hard. Daring him to look away.

He doesn’t.

If his expression earlier was somewhat readable, this time it’s impossible to comprehend.

Does he regret it? Or is he just proud of himself?

This pisses you off.

You want a reaction out of him.

He doesn’t just get to let you go and be happy. He can’t just be unaffected by all of this.

You want to show him what he took for granted.

There must be something.

And in a sudden burst of defiance, you grab the half-empty bottle on the table and down most of it.

The liquor burns, but it’s a distraction.

A blur.

Exactly what you need.

You stand up, wobbling as the rush hits your head.

Giggling, you turn to Kaz and grab his hand. “Let’s dance,” you say, voice slurred, eyes glinting with something between chaos and pain.

Kaz looks at you with a pointed expression, reluctant, but eventually follows.

From the couch, Ajax watches with wide eyes. “Hey, man…” he starts, already on alert.

Kuni’s still frozen, but only for a second. He finishes what’s left of his bottle and sets it down with a heavy thud and stands up.

“Don’t,” Ajax says under his breath, placing a hand on Kuni’s chest. “Don’t follow them. You’re drunk.”

Kuni doesn’t answer.

You and Kaz reach the dance floor. Amidst the bass pulsing and the people packed around you, in your mind, you have one clear drunk goal.

You start jumping to the beat, loose and unfiltered, dragging Kaz with you. You spin around and tug him closer, too close.

Arms on his shoulders, hips swaying near his. Kaz, ever steady, moves with you but still keeps a proper distance.

“Why are you doing this?” he mutters lowly, trying to catch your gaze.

You just laugh.

Loud. Drunken. Detached.

You don’t answer.

Kaz sighs. “Come on, let’s go bac–“

He’s about to let go and bring you back upstairs until he glances to the side.

Kuni.

Standing stiff at the edge of the dance floor, watching. Jaw clenched. Eyes locked on the space between you and Kaz, like he’s trying to will it away.

Ajax is behind him, trying to pull him back again.

Ah.

Realization hits him.

Kaz sees it now.

He sighs once more.

He knows this isn’t really about him, but he does it anyway.

He lets his hand rest on your waist, pulling your bodies closer. Your arms loop around his neck without thought. Despite being out of it, you can feel the tension between the two of you spike in the air.

Kaz takes it up a notch by slowly inching his face down to yours. You let him.

He doesn’t rush. Instead, he draws it out, lowering his face inch by inch, just enough for your breath to catch. His lips hover dangerously close, not touching, just waiting.

Daring.

And that’s when Kuni shifts.

A flicker of movement.

A reaction.

Ajax tries to hold him back, voice lost in the loud crowd. But Kuni pushes forward.

And before you can process it, a hand wraps around your arm, tugging you firmly, pulling you out of Kaz’s hold.

Your head spins. The crowd blurs. Your heartbeat spikes.

“What the hell are you doing?” Kuni confronts.

Kaz harshly shook off Kuni’s grip on you but kept his tone calm. “Maybe don’t grab her like that.”

“Maybe back the fuck off,” Kuni snaps.

“Oh, now you’re acting like this?” Kaz holds his stern gaze, challenging the other.

A few nearby partygoers paused mid-dance, turning their heads toward the commotion, eyes flicking between the raised voices and the tension unfolding. Some backing up to not get involved. Some were too drunk to care.

Ajax stepped between them, hands up. “Okay, cool it. Not the time–”

“Shut up.” Kuni brushes off Ajax and moves to grab your arm again.

You tug your arm back, voice slurred. “Stop it.”

You look at Kuni, eyes glassy. “You don’t… youu don’t have the right to act like this. You have Mona.” You point at his chest weakly, trying to push him away with your finger.

Fuck. The alcohol is really getting to you.

Kuni’s breath caught.

“You don’t understand,” Kuni speaks lowly.

You wobble a little as you take a step towards him, trying to straighten yourself. But the sheer audacity of what he just said sobers your mind up a bit.

“What?” you ask, still inebriated, but angry.

Don’t understand what?

That he can pull you in just to let go the second it gets real? Acting like he cares, only to vanish when it matters? That he can get back with his past while you mourn your one-sided relationship?

You’ve been trying to get well without him—trying to breathe, move on, forget—but he somehow finds a way to remind you of what once was.

So what exactly are you not getting?

“Why are you eve—”

You barely get the words out before everything crashes down at once.

And then,

You feel a pair of lips on yours.

⟳ BLURRED LINES — PREV | MASTERLIST | NEXT

You say you’re just friends. You say it every time you leave a party together, every time you wake up tangled in sheets, every time you swear it’s the last time. But habits form, lines blur, and pretending gets harder when jealousy starts to sting.

NOTE i’m posting this without proper proofreading lol i’m scared once i finish this smau and go back to read it, i’ll regret writing it sm. anw so let’s just pretend that mc can hold her liqour so well <3 also happy one month advanced birthday venti!

TAGLIST @joiurz @sketcheeee @mywillt0live @kyouzki @ylapsha45 @eternallykira-143 @bananasquash @kunikissr @swivi @ariesloves @lloversss @b-bbytears @kokoscutie @vi0let-writes @tomsishere @franaby @scaraenthusiast1 @iloveescara @usagiarchive @ilovecats-26 @quiechee @snetr @axquella @tatsuomii @lalalaloveallmydays @liyahbug @feiherp @jinjjjia @automaticpatroltragedy @mysterypotatoink @zuhahearts @adres-tia @ssetsuka @strwbrrybbpop @sesamemin @blvdmrcnry @aspinny @jiminscarmex @sammybeefangirls @lxkeeeeee @yu-yumii @linasxoxo @quiet-place-for-thoughts @randomhumans-blog @aaudreys @lesbi-snail @jayzioxx @meowpmzai @s-f-rants @cosmic-rainestorm @honey-and-sweetdreams @vincelikestomince @mono-dontidae @simeonmybabygirlicious @gugumioooo [50/50]

if your name is in bold, that means i can’t tag you

#scaramouche x reader #scaramouche smau #wanderer x reader #wanderer smau #genshin impact smau #genshin impact x reader #genshin wanderer #genshin impact #genshin smau #genshin texts #wanderer #smau

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starmocha · 3 months ago

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April Rain [Sylus/Reader ★ 2000 words ★ Masterlist ★ Series Index ★ AO3] It was raining in the N109 Zone. A/N: Started on this a few months ago, but decided to finish it for Sylus’ birthday instead. Happy birthday to our precious dragon, Big Ca-Cawk, king of my heart, body and soul (ooh whoa~). 🥹💖 Tag list: @solifloris @natimiles @callilypso @likewhyareyousoobsessedwithme @alfredosaws @nezuswritingdesk @valkyyriia @yourlocalcatscammer @qyuin @sylusfluffymeow 【 request to be added 】

It was raining in the N109 Zone.

Cloaked under a seemingly eternal darkness, the insidious city was quieter than normal with many of its residents hiding away from the spring downpour.

Within Sylus’ own grand bedroom, the record player played a soft moody song, its almost melancholic melody seemed heightened by the gloomy weather. The atmosphere was gentle, offering a familiar comfort to you both.

The crisp chilly air from the rain contrasted heavenly with the warmth of him against you—and inside you.

Dressed in only his white dress shirt, your hair still damped from your earlier shower, you rested lazily on his lap, his cock already buried so deliciously inside you. You inhaled deeply, his cologne filling your senses. His silk robe brushed against you, tickling you when he readjusted his arms around your body.

“Look at you,” Sylus cooed, brushing the flyaway hair out of your face. You smiled coyly.

“So sweet,” he murmured, and you hummed back softly in response. He chuckled, reaching over to the side table next to his chair for his favorite drink, a gin fizz. You watched as he sipped the cocktail, eyes traveling from his lips down to his Adam’s apple.

“May I have a taste?” you asked, unknowingly licking and biting your lips.

Sylus smirked at the enticing gesture. “Of course, kitten,” he said, about to raise the glass to your waiting lips, but he startled, surprised when you boldly seized his own lips, nibbling and eagerly tasting the cocktail that still lingered.

He clumsily set the glass back down, spilling droplets on the side table and his hand. He cupped your face with both his hands, taking control back as he hungrily kissed you and greedily stealing your moans for himself.

He hummed against your mouth, sounding almost like a faint deep purr reverberating. He panted softly, nearly groaning as he felt you pulsing around him as he kissed you more deeply, both your minds clouding under this sudden haze of lust. Suddenly, you felt his hands trailing down, gripping your hips as he guided you up and down on his length, both your pants and moans following in tandem.

“Sy—ah!”

He drank in your feverish gaze, your earlier coyness slipping away to a state of pure blissful arousal as you panted and moaned softly in time with his languid movements. Your eyes squeezed shut, voice trembling with need as you focused on just the feel of him bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

Sylus lowered his head, his warm breath danced across your shoulder before his lips lingered in the crook of your neck. No words were exchanged, just the sounds of both of your mounting pleasure intermingled within this room.

“S-Sy—ah… close… I’m cl-ohhhh!!!”

You clung to him, crying out your release, as you felt his fingers digging deeper into your hips, his movements rushing as his own climax was nearing. With a few more hurried strokes, you felt him spurting inside of you thick and hot before he let go of your hips, allowing you to collapse against him boneless and satisfied.

For just a few minutes, both of your labored breathing was heard, sounding louder than the raindrops hitting the floor-to-ceiling windows in Sylus’ bedroom. Distantly, you heard the record playing neared its end before Sylus finally broke the silence between you both, his beathing still unsteadied.

Humming low, he tilted your chin up and kissed your lips briefly. “It seems you might need another shower,” he murmured with a teasing smirk as he freed himself from your warmth, watching with satisfaction as your thighs stained obscenely with his release.

You guided his lips back to yours, your voice just as sensual as you suggested to him, “Perhaps this time you could join me in the bath instead?”

He chuckled, delighted by your brazenness. “I like the way you think, sweetie.”

The warm water soothed your sore muscles as you rested in the large, luxurious bathtub with him behind you. The scent of lavender from the bath salt wafted in the air, carrying away any lingering traces of stress from you both.

“So docile tonight,” Sylus teased, his arm wrapped around your stomach, keeping your body flushed to his. Beneath the water, his hand absently rubbed small circles around your belly. With the warm water, his gentle ministrations, and soothing voice, you found yourself relaxing to almost a slothful state, letting yourself be completely vulnerable in his presence.

“Must be the rain,” you remarked, “It’s so calming…”

He hummed in agreement, hearing the gentle pitter-patters of raindrops on the roof while in the next room, the record player was in the middle of playing a different song. Sylus made small talks with you, but you answered him with only lazy hums. He didn’t seem bothered by the one-sided conversation, finding amusement in your drowsy expressions.

“You’ve been sleepy for a while,” he remarked nearly half an hour later, watching as your eyes struggled to stay open. “Perhaps it’s time I put you to bed.”

Before you could protest, the now lukewarm water rippled with movements and suddenly you found yourself lifted up, held safely and securely in Sylus’ arms. He dried you both off before helping you into a different clean shirt of his.

He then laid you on luxurious silk sheets, amused by your lazy smiles as you stretched and the shirt you wore riding up to reveal your midriff and nothing else beneath. Joining you in bed, he hovered near with his right elbow supporting his weight. He rested his chin in his palm while his free hand brushed your damped hair away from your face.

“I like it when it rains,” you told him.

“Me, too,” he agreed, “It keeps you here with me.”

You peered up at him confused, wondering if you had just missed that brief flicker of sadness that passed over his face, or perhaps, it was just your own wishful thinking, hoping he longed for you the same way you do for him when you were both apart. Instead of asking him, however, you reached up to cradle his cheek with your right hand, remarking quietly, “You know I would stay with you if you ask.”

There was a noticeable pause before he chuckled softly and nodded in agreement. His own hand rested over yours, his fingers brushing over the couple ring he had given you. “Of course,” he answered back, but this time you were almost certain you saw that same instance of melancholy in his eyes.

You suddenly realized something.

“Sylus?”

“What is it?”

“Can I stay with you longer?”

He seemed to stop breathing for a few seconds, surprised by your sudden request. Then, as if the words finally registered in his head, he chuckled lowly and leaned down, his forehead pressed to yours, as he husked softly, “When have I ever denied you anything?”

Even though he had said that, you could practically see he was brimming with joy, knowing just those simple words from you, a plea to be wanted by him and to stay with him, made him happier than any extravagant gem in the world.

“Lull me to sleep,” you murmured to him with the same words he had once uttered to you. He smirked at the memory.

“With a song?”

“Be serious,” you teased him.

“I am,” he countered just as good-naturedly. “Rock-a-bye—”

“How about a story instead?” you interrupted, hiding your smile when he pretended to glare at you.

“You’re no fun.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, though it was fairly obvious there was no remorse heard in your playful tone. You continued to tease him, “Is the leader of Onychinus upset by me now?”

“Very,” he humored you, adding with a lightly-threatening tone, “You should know the last person who crossed me met an unfortunate end.”

“Oh, dear,” you said with mock-worry, continuing flippantly, “But that won’t happen to me.”

“Miss Hunter, you sound so sure of yourself,” he responded cordially. He gasped when you sat up suddenly, pushing him back until he was reclining against the pillows as you straddled him just as you did earlier in the evening. You leaned forward and buried your face against his chest, snuggling closely with your arms wrapped around him.

“Are you a kitten or a koala bear tonight?” he questioned, letting his own arms wrapped around your body.

“I am yours for tonight,” you said instead, adding, “For the rest of our lives in fact.”

“Such sweet words,” he murmured, “I might let myself fall for your sincerity.”

You reached for his left hand that had the match to your couple ring and you touched it gingerly. Sylus’ gaze followed your movement for a few seconds before he reached for your right hand that worn the ring. You watched as he guided the dainty ring to his lips, his head tilting to the side suggestively before he spoke.

“Perhaps one day you will allow me to trade this ring in for an… upgrade.”

Your breath caught in your throat, feeling like butterflies were fluttering in your belly as you remained caught under his softened gaze with crimson eyes holding shades of adoration solely for you. There was a sudden warmth in your cheeks, a rosy hue settling as you smiled at him, answering, “I hope this ‘one day’ will not be too far in the future.”

Feeling delighted, Sylus pulled you closer to him, his familiar warmth enveloping you once more as he kissed the top of your head. “In that case, perhaps I should accelerate my plan?”

You peered up, meeting his teasing look, catching that mischievous glint in his eye. You held your breath, almost afraid to question further, but you couldn’t help but felt a giddiness inside of you, your mind repeating his words again. Each time you remembered his suggestive words, your smile widened just a bit more.

Sylus shook his head slightly, practically able to read all of your thoughts from just your transparent expressions alone. Without a word, he settled down in bed, pulling you closer into his embrace.

“I like the rain, too,” he sighed, cutting off your surprised protests. Your features softened, feeling a growing fondness at seeing how peaceful he appeared to be, his guard always disappearing in your presence. Sylus continued in that same lazy drawl, “The world feels like it moves slower when it rains… like we have all of the time to waste away…”

You snuggled closer to him, hearing his soft amused laughter in response before he brushed the flyaway hair from your face.

The sound of the rain seemed deafening now, but you both could argue that your own hearts were pounding louder, reaching a crescendo as the shared intimacy between you both was also nearing its own climax. For just a few seconds of silence, Sylus watched you rest with your eyes closed as he seemed to ponder deeply over a matter that have lingered in his mind frequently. He exhaled slowly, his resolve made, and he asked:

“Are you truly happy here with me, my beloved?”

You glanced up again, locking gaze with him before you leaned in closer to his lips, feeling the faintest warmth brushed against your own as you whispered familiar sweet words to him: “You should know very well that I adore you. There is no love purer than mine.”

He huffed in amusement, his eyes twinkling tenderly with joy. He closed the distance between your lips, murmuring so gently, his voice would’ve been lost to the sounds of raindrops if you were any further away:

“Do you want to be stuck with me forever?”

“Forever is not long enough,” you answered, kissing him deeply. Your sweet, pleased moans left in between parted lips when you felt his hands rubbed your back up and down, feeling his heat exchanged with your own as you both submitted to your feelings and to the promise of eternity.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace x reader #sylus x reader #love and deepspace fanfiction #lnds fanfics #x — fanfics #sylus smut #sylus fluff #don't yell at me #it's almost 1am #and i have to be up at 5am 🥺#i wanted sylus' bday fic up asap!!!#😔 my new phone hasn't arrived so i will be completely offline once more the whole day tomorrow </3333

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ghostedgwen · 28 days ago

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hey miko!! it's me again lol. i love james a little bit too much and i was wondering if i could request these two more prompts with him?

“I dare you to kiss the hottest person in this room.”

“You are so boring! Live a little, snog a bloke or a girl? Live!”

Hello, Lili! So glad you liked the James request I cooked up! Also very happy to see you come back for round 2 of the tour, I absolutely love your requests!

꒰💜꒱ ; And they said, "Speak now" ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ The Marauders just threw a party at their common room, wonder what chaos could ensue. (mandatory to send a prompt with this! Keep in mind this is the default album if you don't send one!)

Here’s James Potter performing another solo :

The Gryffindor common room was buzzing with gold and scarlet banners fluttered above enchanted candles, the scent of pumpkin fizz and spiced firewhisky lingering in the air. The couches were crowded, the floor was packed with students dancing or pretending not to flirt, and every surface seemed to hold at least one empty goblet.

You stood near the fireplace, watching the scene unfold with mild amusement and the edge of boredom. You weren’t antisocial, just… removed. Floating above it all like smoke.

“You’re doing that thing again,” Marlene McKinnon shouted over the music, bumping your shoulder with hers.

“What thing?” you asked, sipping from your drink.

“The tragic wallflower thing,” she said dramatically, twirling a piece of hair around her wand. “You’re so boring! Live a little, snog a bloke or a girl? Live!”

You snorted. “That’s your solution to boredom? Casual snogging?”

She grinned. “It’s the Gryffindor way.”

Before you could respond, Sirius Black vaulted over the back of the couch with all the grace of a feral cat and landed between you and Marlene. “Did someone say snogging?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows.

“Sirius,” you said flatly.

“____,” he mimicked, equally flat, then brightened. “We’re playing Truth or Dare.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Too late, you’ve already been summoned.” He grabbed your hand and pulled you toward the circle that had formed in the middle of the common room rug.

You resisted, lightly. Not enough to escape, just enough to complain. “You lot are like toddlers with alcohol.”

“We’re toddlers with style,” Sirius corrected, tossing you onto a bean bag chair that someone must have transfigured earlier in the night.

James Potter sat directly across from you, one leg folded under him, the other stretched out lazily. His hair was a wild, glorious mess as usual, cheeks flushed with drink and laughter. He caught your eye and shot you a smile that made your heart stutter uncomfortably.

You’d been friends for ages, part of the same reckless Gryffindor orbit - but lately, being around James felt like teetering on a tightrope. Like waiting for gravity to shift.

The circle quieted as Sirius spun an empty bottle in the centre. It landed on Mary Macdonald, who immediately narrowed her eyes at Sirius.

“Truth or dare?”

She sighed. “Dare.”

Sirius grinned devilishly. “I dare you to… let me do your eyeliner tomorrow morning.”

Gasps. Mary groaned but nodded in acceptance. “Fine. But if you makes me look like a Victorian ghost, I’m haunting you.”

The game moved quickly after that with drunken truths, silly dares, mild hexes. You found yourself laughing more than expected. You even passed a flask with Lily at one point, her cheeks pink as she watched the chaos ensue next to you.

The bottle spun again and landed on you.

Sirius wiggled his fingers in anticipation. “Truth or dare, ____?”

You considered. “Dare.”

Marlene whooped. “Finally.”

Sirius’s eyes lit with mischief. “I dare you to kiss the hottest person in this room.”

Your mouth went dry. Your eyes immediately flicked to James - traitorous, really - but then you forced yourself to scan the room. Lily arched an eyebrow. Marlene was bouncing with excitement. Remus gave you a sort of supportive, apologetic smile.

“Well?” Sirius prompted. “We’re waiting.”

You swallowed. “That’s subjective.”

“Exactly,” he grinned. “We get to judge your taste.”

The group started to chant softly, “Do it, do it, do it.”

Your heart pounded. Your limbs tingled.

You stood, then. It must be the alcohol, or peer pressure, or maybe the fact you were sorted into Gryffindor - but you decided then that it was time to do right by your house.

You crossed the circle swiftly, it felt like the world had slowed as you went over to James and paused to face James Potter who looked at you like he was watching a train come at him at full speed.

Barely greeting him, you levelled with him, and cupped James’s jaw in your hand.

His eyes widened just slightly before fluttering shut as you leaned in and pressed your lips to his. It was warm and soft despite everything. A little surprised, but not hesitant. His hand found your hip, anchoring you briefly, like he couldn’t help himself.

The kiss only lasted a few seconds, but it cracked something open in you. Something dangerous and real.

When you pulled back, James was still watching you, an unreadable look painted across his flushed face. His fingers lingered on your side before falling away.

You turned on your heel and reclaimed your seat. Someone wolf-whistled. Sirius looked like he’d been electrocuted.

“That wasn’t just hot,” Marlene whispered to you behind her hand. “That was confessional.”

You shoved her.

The game continued, but your thoughts didn’t. They stayed stuck on James’s lips, on the way he’d looked at you like he was catching up to something he’d been too afraid to admit.

Later, when most of the party had thinned out and the player was playing something slower, you found yourself alone near the dormitory staircase, hugging your knees to your chest.

“Hey.”

You looked up. James stood there, hands in his pockets, face half-lit by the dying firelight.

“Hey,” you said softly.

He sat beside you without asking, shoulder brushing yours. “So.”

“So,” you echoed.

“That was… a surprise.”

You smiled faintly. “Sorry if I made it weird.”

He looked at you then, his eyes were a hazy mix of honey and flecks of green under with the cast of firelight. “It wasn’t weird. Just… unexpected.”

“Yeah, well. Dares.”

He paused, then said quietly, “Was it just that?”

You hesitated. The room felt too quiet now. Despite the lingering party that is slowly dwindling down, you found it has been muted in the background of this conversation.

You exhaled and said, “I don’t know. You tell me.”

James looked down at his hands. Then at you. “I think I’ve been a bloody idiot.”

You blinked. “That’s a bit sudden.”

“No,” he said, laughing softly, “it’s not. I’ve liked you for a while, actually. Just didn’t want to mess it up. Or make you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t.”

He looked relieved. “Good. Because that kiss - ”

“ - wasn’t just a dare.”

“No. It really wasn’t.”

Silence stretched between you again, but this time, it was warm. Nothing sort of uncomfortable, you felt your lips stretch into a small smile.

“I meant it,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

James’s hand slid into yours, fingers warm and steady.

“I know,” he said. “So did I.”

This request was made in participation of my 1k followers celebration! If you're interested in joining The Tour, kindly send your request my way <3

#ghostedgwen 1k #miko's eras tour #marauders fanfic #harry potter marauders #marauders fic #marauders era #james potter marauders #james potter x reader #james potter fanfic

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jijournal · 1 month ago

Text

Drop The Beat, Steal The Heart | D.M

summary: Hogwarts’ most popular DJ gets summoned to throw the party of the year—but when the birthday boy starts watching you like your a spell he can’t resist, things quickly turn electrifying. Get ready for beats, banter, and tension that drops harder than any remix.

wc: 1.4k+

cw: dj!ravenclaw!reader @ every party in hogwarts, dj!ravenclaw!reader x draco, songs mentioned are not from HP and not even from the 1990s, draco who literally can't resist reader, down bad draco.

READ: Once "love me like you do" is mentioned, play the song! If you do this, gosh it hits so hard.

A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY DRACO!!!

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

It all started in fourth year.

The Ravenclaws were throwing a victory party after the Quidditch semifinals, and it was—frankly—tragic. The butterbeer was lukewarm, someone tried to spike the pumpkin juice with a spell that made it fizz like a Dementor's bathwater, and the music? Absolute torture. Broken charm loops stuttered through the room like a dying phonograph, two different songs were clashing over each other, and at one point—Merlin help you—someone conjured a harp. A harp. At a party.

You stood near the back, arms crossed, lip curled, watching your peers suffer through what could only be described as musical war crimes.

Enough was enough.

With a flick of your wand and a muttered incantation you'd been perfecting in your dorm, you hijacked the room’s archaic spell-sound system. Your enchanted wireless—specially modified with some borrowed Muggle schematics and an irresponsible amount of magic—lit up with violet sparks. The speakers gave a hiss, a pulse of static... then dropped.

The Weeknd's “Blinding Lights” exploded through the room like a thunderclap. Bass booming. Lights flickering. Every head snapped up as the beat took hold—and then all hell broke loose.

Someone shrieked in joy. A Gryffindor chucked their shoe in celebration. People climbed tables. Confetti charms burst midair. Bodies moved like they were under a spell—which, technically, they kind of were.

And you? You just smirked, twirling your wand in your fingers, the spell still glowing at the tip.

You didn’t just fix the party.

You became the party.

Word spread.

Since then, you’d been the DJ of Hogwarts. Gryffindors praised you like a god. Hufflepuffs made you mixtape cupcakes. Even Ravenclaws, with their thesis-length playlists and “curated vibes,” bowed to your chaotic brilliance.

But the Slytherins? They didn’t ask.

They summoned.

So when Pansy Parkinson found you lounging in the Great Hall, writing some lyrics on parchment, headphones glowing purple and silver, it wasn’t a request — it was a decree.

"You’ll be DJing Draco’s birthday party," She said breezily, dropping onto the Ravenclaw bench at lunch like she owned it. She was wearing serpent-green eyeliner and a look that dared you to argue.

You blinked, taking off your headphones. “I’m sorry—was that a question?”

“No, darling,” she said sweetly. “It’s an order. Room of Requirement. Ten PM. We’ve already prepped the fog spells.”

You sighed dramatically. “And if I say no?”

She gave you a dangerous smile. “Then I’ll cry. And Draco will pout. And do you really want to be the girl who ruined Malfoy’s birthday?”

You stared at her.

Then smirked. “Fine. But I’m bringing strobe charms. And no one’s allowed to touch my booth unless they want to be hexed into the Stone Age.”

Pansy grinned. “Knew you’d see reason.”

The Room of Requirement had outdone itself. It looked like a club ripped out of a Milan fashion show—black marble floors, glowing green chandeliers, floating drink trays, velvet couches in dramatic corners. Enchanted fog swirled over everything. And at the center, your DJ platform rose like a throne.

You stood behind your setup—crop top glittering, hair styled for maximum bounce, eyes rimmed in silver glam. With one flick of your wand, your decks lit up. The air shimmered with potential.

You grabbed the mic. “Let’s get loud, Hogwarts!”

The beat dropped into Drake's “One Dance”—remixed with a thunderclap charm that shook the walls—and the crowd exploded.

Every house was there. Gryffindors jumping like maniacs. Ravenclaws with color-changing drinks. Hufflepuffs forming a line-dance of doom. And Slytherins? They were pretending they weren’t into it, but their shoulders betrayed them.

And him.

Draco Malfoy.

Leaning against a pillar with one hand in his pocket, the other wrapped around a glass of firewhisky. White button-up slightly unbuttoned, sleeves rolled to his forearms. His silver-blond hair a little tousled like he didn’t care—except you knew he definitely cared.

And he was watching you like you were a flame he couldn’t help but lean into.

You rolled your body to the beat. Slow. Teasing. Wicked. Your hips moved like you knew exactly what you were doing and truthfully, you did. The room pulsed with your energy, the floor shifting with heat and rhythm, but all of it blurred around the way Draco’s gaze tracked you.

He took a slow sip from his firewhisky, his lips barely touching the glass as his eyes darkened, devouring every movement you made. He was still, coiled like a serpent, watching you like a secret he wanted to unwrap slowly.

You smirked and switched the track into a mashup of The Weeknd's "Die For You" and SZA’s “Low.”

“HEY EAGLE!” someone shouted. “YOU’RE A WIZARDING ICON!”

“DJ!” another screamed. “PLEASE STEP ON ME!”

You blew a kiss at the crowd, spun in your booth, and let the music melt into a remix of "Kiss It Better" by Rhianna that soon transitioned to "Positions" by Ariana Grande—crowd control charms at max. Bodies moved like waves. Lights flickered in time. Sweat, magic, and adrenaline painted the air.

And every time you glanced at the birthday boy—he was still watching. Sipping. Like he wanted to devour the whole scene and you with it.

After your fourth set, sweat glistening on your forehead and your heart pounding from the energy pulsing through the room, you finally stepped down from the DJ booth, leaving on "Love Me Like You Do" by Ellie Goulding for the 'getting drunk' music.

Someone immediately pressed a glittering, frosted drink into your hand—its chill a welcome contrast to your flushed skin. A nearby Hufflepuff leaned in with a wide smile, whispering, “You’re literally the life of Hogwarts.”

You laughed, breathless and exhilarated, basking in the glow of the crowd’s adoration. The music still thrummed through the walls, but your mind was already drifting, seeking a quieter corner to catch your breath.

Turning sharply, you almost collided with him

You're the light, you're the night.

Draco Malfoy—who caught your elbow with a steady hand, his icy gaze locking with yours. “Careful,” he murmured, his voice low and calm amid the chaos.

You looked up at him, flashing a sly grin. “Enjoying the party, birthday boy?” you teased.

He gave a dry chuckle, the corner of his mouth twitching into something like a smile. “It’s tolerable.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh wow. That’s basically a love letter coming from you.”

Instead of letting go, he kept his hand lightly on your arm, anchoring you in the moment. “You’re unreal,” he said quietly, his tone thick with something more—admiration, maybe something like awe.

"You flirt with the music, tease the crowd, make even the portraits blush. And Merlin, I can't believe someone can do all that and still look at me like I’m the one worth noticing.

Your breath caught, your heart stuttering in your chest. You blinked up at him, the air between you electric and heavy.

“I don’t dance,” he admitted, his voice dropping softer, more vulnerable, “but every time you roll your hips like that, I forget how to breathe.”

You smiled, slow and deliberate, the kind of smile that promises trouble. “So breathe with me,” you dared him. His eyes flickered to your lips, then back up to your eyes, hesitation warring with desire in their depths.

The space between you shrank until you could feel the warmth radiating off his skin, the faint pulse of his heartbeat in sync with your own. His fingers brushed your wrist, lingering just long enough to send sparks down your arm, as if testing his own restraint.

You leaned in just a fraction, your lips barely brushing the curve of his cheek as you whispered against his skin, “You’ve been staring all night, Draco. What are you waiting for?” His breath hitched, and you could see the flush rising in his cheeks, the pulse pounding at his throat like a frantic drum. Yet still, he held himself back, barely.

His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke, low and rough with barely contained longing. “If I kiss you right now, I won’t stop.”

You tilted your head, a wicked smile curling your lips. “Maybe I don’t want you to.”

The tension coiled tighter, a delicious electric ache between you. The music continued to hum in the background, but all you could hear was the relentless pounding of your heart in your ears.

Then, as if the universe were waiting for the perfect moment, your music rig pulsed with life, signaling the chorus.

So love me like you do, la-la love me like you do.

Draco let out a quiet, incredulous laugh. “Seriously? we're about to kiss with this song?” you didn’t flinch.

“Fitting, isn’t it?” you tease. His gaze locked on your lips, eyes dark and burning with intent.

And then—finally—he kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t frantic. It was deliberate—like he’d been counting the seconds since the first beat dropped, biding his time, waiting for a moment when the rest of the world would fall away.

His lips met yours with a kind of quiet certainty, soft but hungry beneath it, like he needed to be sure this was real. His hand slid up to your jaw, fingers curling just under your ear, tilting your face as if he wanted to memorize the angle. The warmth of his palm sent a shiver down your spine, grounding you even as your knees threatened to give out.

You gasped softly against his mouth, and he took that as invitation, deepening the kiss with a slow-burning hunger that made your head spin. Your hands found the front of his shirt, bunching the fabric between your fingers, desperate to anchor yourself to something—anything—as the world blurred into fog and light and heat.

His other arm circled your waist, tugging you flush against him. There was no more space between you, no more tension—only release. His mouth moved against yours like he knew exactly how you liked to be kissed—like he’d imagined this a thousand times and was now trying to make up for every second he hadn’t done it sooner.

He tasted like firewhisky and trouble. Sweet and sharp and utterly addictive. The kind of kiss that felt like a secret and a promise all at once. Somewhere in the room, music pulsed and people shouted, but none of it touched you. Not here. Not inside this space of want and heat.

You broke apart just enough to breathe—your foreheads pressed together, your lips still brushing, your pulse hammering wildly beneath his thumb.

And he whispered, low and wrecked, “Told you. I don’t stop.”

You grinned, breathless. “Good.”

Then, he kissed you again.

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd.

“THE DJ’S SNOGGING MALFOY!”

From somewhere in the throng, Pansy raised a glass high and shouted triumphantly, “FINALLY.”

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

masterlist!

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hattiewritesalot · 2 months ago

Text

Chatterbox

Azriel x fem!reader

Summary: A discussion between Rhys and Feyre regarding the interesting dynamic between their friends.

Warnings: Reader is a certified yapper and drinks wine, mention of Feyre’s life after the Spring Court, Feyre MEANS WELL I PROMISE don’t hate my girl 😔

A/N: in my acotar era icl girlies. I write for almost everyone so pls send requests if you have any 😛

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“They’re so different.” Is the first thing Feyre can think to blurt, tilting her head at the couple, eyes narrowed, not in scrutiny, rather in… curiosity. Rhys chuckles, petting her hand. She’s not wrong.

Azriel and Y/N couldn’t be less alike. She hails from the Summer Court, all flowing hair and bright eyes and beams of light in her smile and her words. She’s sunshine in a jar, or perhaps in a bottle of lemonade, prone to bubbling and fizzing whenever she deems it necessary. Azriel is all brooding looks and closed lips. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to. His shadows swirl around the armchair he’s sitting in. They weave around his mate’s limbs, playing with her hair as she chatters.

She’s curled up on his lap, kicking her feet, yapping on and on and on about this and that and who knows what. Azriel watches her, not a trace of boredom in his features, just watching her face and her mouth as she babbles on and on.

Y/N is one of the first people Feyre met upon coming to the Night Court. She’d been thin, depressed, a shell of herself, and Y/N had come right up to her, holding her hands and beaming, telling her just how strong she was. She hadn’t judged her when she’d bawled. She’d make food, and insist Feyre to be the first to try it, because ‘You’re the guest, sweet pea!’. Feyre hadn’t realised it at the time, but Y/N had done it on purpose, something she only noticed when spotting her triumphant smile upon Feyre gaining weight again.

She was sunshine. Complete and utter sunshine. Smiles and winks and giggles and waves to whoever would listen.

And Azriel?

Darkness personified, and not just by the shadows swirling around his feet and in his mate’s hair. He’s quiet, brooding, secretive in a way that is only becoming of a spymaster. Even when paired with Cassian, boisterous and bold, he’s as silent and as deadly as his title of ‘shadowsinger’ suggests.

Feyre pulls her gaze away, looking at her mate as he speaks. “They’re exactly what the other needs.” Rhys hums, squeezing her fingers. She purses her lips, eyes squinting, still coming to grips with this whole ‘mate’ business. Her and Rhys work. Do Y/N and Azriel? Azriel is quiet, concise, solitary. Y/N is a chatterbox. Does he not think she’s too much? Does she not think he’s not enough?

“Now, now, Feyre darling.” Rhys drawls, shooting her a look. “Play nice.” She blinks, and flushes. “No! No, I didn’t mean it like that- stop looking in my head!” She scowls, and her mate laughs.

She looks back at the pair, Y/N only taking a pause when she sips from her glass of wine. Azriel mumbles something to her, and she laughs, cheeks glowing and eyes crinkled.

And Feyre sees it then - the subtleties of the moment despite the exuberance of it all. The way Azriel watches her. The way Y/N’s fingers fiddle with his scarred ones absentmindedly. The way her face lights up as she laughs. The way Azriel’s own eyes brighten when he makes her do so.

“I think I get it now.” She whispers to Rhys. “He could never find her… overbearing. She’s his. He adores her. She adores him just as much. She doesn’t mind how quiet he is. She’s happy to fill the space.” She looks to him. “Right?”

Rhysand doesn’t respond.

“Right?” Feyre presses, brows furrowed.

Her mate shrugs. “I couldn’t tell you, Feyre darling. The truth is, I’ve never quite understood them myself. All I know is that my brother is happy, happy as I’ve never seen him before, and I’m content.”

The High Lady goes quiet, and looks at Azriel and Y/N. One of his large scarred hands is gently stroking the exposed skin of her waist, and he’s looking at her like she’s the sun that shines through his window every morning, like she’s the wind that breezes through his hair and wings when he flies, like she’s the sole purpose for his existence. His mate. His chatterbox.

She grins. She’s never agreed with Rhysand more.

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i myself am also a chatterbox so where’s my azriel pls and thank you

#azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x you #azriel acotar #acotar x reader #BEST BAT BOY

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theballadofharkness · 4 months ago

Text

Whisky and Wine: Part 5

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Claire Debella X fem!reader

Summary: The last thing you expected when you came home from your publishers to your older partner Claire’s home was an invitation to her friend’s, Billionaire Miles Bron, private luxury yacht for the weekend. The problem? Claire had been very careful to keep her fellow disrupters away from you, terrified they would ruin yet another aspect of her life. But nobody says no to Miles, so you find yourself surrounded by Claire’s ‘inner circle’.

Word Count: 9.1K

Warnings: Explicit smut, probably the most smut I’ve ever written?? So as always minors DNI

A/N: apologises this took so long! I was getting the smut just right for you my loves but I should be back to updating more regularly and for those who enjoy my Agatha works, I have quite a few things to publish soon xo 💜🪻

The club is electric.

A blur of flashing neon, bass so heavy it rattles in your ribs, heat thick with sweat and smoke and indulgence. Excess wealth drips from every surface, from the imported leather booths to the bottles of champagne being paraded through the crowd, sparklers fizzing in the dim light. It’s obscene. And Miles fits right in. You see it in the way he moves through the room, eating up the attention, the way people part for him, orbit him like he’s the center of their universe. He drinks it in, revels in it.

And then his gaze lands back on you.

Claire’s hand is already on your hip, fingers resting just inside the dip of your dress, grounding. She’s been like this since she almost lost you, unable to stop touching you, keeping you close like you’ll slip through her fingers if she doesn’t hold on tight enough.

But Miles? He doesn’t care. He sidles up, drink in hand, grin lazy and too familiar.

"You’re something else, you know that?" He says it smooth, all charm and casual confidence, his eyes sweeping over you, lingering in a way that makes your skin crawl. "Claire’s got good taste." A slow sip of his drink, a smirk. "Real good taste."

Claire stiffens. It’s subtle, just the faintest shift in her posture, the slight curl of her fingers against your hip, but you feel it. "I know," she says, voice smooth as glass, but firm. Unyielding.

Miles just chuckles, shaking his head, leaning in slightly- too close, close enough that you catch the faintest trace of his cologne, something sharp and manufactured. "You should let her dance," he muses, tipping his chin toward the crowded floor. "Relax. Have a little fun. You don’t always have to keep such a tight grip, Claire."

His eyes flick back to you, something hungry in them. Something that makes your stomach churn. But before you can react, before you can so much as breathe, Claire is moving. Her hand slides from your hip to your waist, pulling you flush against her, her other arm coming up to drape across your front, keeping you right where she wants you.

"She’s mine, Miles." Her voice is velvet and steel, smooth but dangerous. She doesn’t raise it, doesn’t have to. "And she’s perfectly happy right where she is."

Miles raises his hands in mock surrender, smirking. "Alright, alright," he laughs. "No need to get territorial."

But that’s exactly what this is. Territory. And Claire is staking her claim. You feel the way her grip lingers, the way her breath is just slightly uneven against your hair. She’s rattled. More than she wants to admit. So you lean back, pressing into her warmth, letting your head tip against her shoulder.

"You’re right," you murmur, just for her. "I’m perfectly happy where I am."

Her exhale is shaky. And then she presses a kiss, soft but firm, to the side of your neck. Not just for you. For Miles, too. A warning. A promise. A claim. And Miles? He’s still watching.

You can feel it. Every time his gaze drags over you, every time his smirk flickers, every time he whispers something to Whisky and doesn’t bother to look away when Claire catches him.

She’s tense. You feel it in the way she pulls you closer on the dance floor, the way her hands are firmer, the way she presses against you, like she’s shielding you from something unseen. Like she owns you. And maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the music, maybe it’s just her, but you like it.

"Dance with me," she murmurs, voice low, rough at the edges, her breath warm against your ear.

And you do.

You let yourself melt into her, swaying with the rhythm, letting her hands grip your waist, guide your movements, keep you exactly where she wants you.

"Fuck, baby," she breathes, lips just barely grazing your jaw, her fingers digging into your skin as you press your body against hers. "You look so fucking good like this."

Your head is spinning, your pulse skipping as you whimper, as your hands find the sharp lines of her shoulders, steadying yourself against her.

"Claire-"

But she’s already moving, already tilting your chin up, already claiming your mouth with hers. Hot and possessive, her tongue sweeping over yours, her hands gripping your hips, holding you steady as she devours you right there, in the middle of the club, in front of everyone. And maybe it’s petty, maybe it’s reckless, maybe it’s just desperate, but you let her. Let her kiss you breathless, let her stake her claim, let her pull you in so tight you forget about everything else- about Miles, about the lies, about the tangled mess of the night. All you know is her. Her lips, her hands, her body burning against yours.

And when she finally pulls back, her breathing ragged, her grip still tight, you allow yourself to take in your surroundings.

Birdie is a spectacle, commanding the room the way only she can: loud, uninhibited, draped over Lionel, who looks half amused, half horrified, but still dances with her because resisting Birdie Jay is simply not an option. Whisky is dancing filthy against Duke, all slow rolls of her hips and teasing fingertips, her body built to be watched, to be desired. And then there’s Miles. Sitting back in his chair like it’s a throne, watching it all unfold, swirling the last of his whiskey in his glass like a king surveying his kingdom. His eyes flick from Birdie and Lionel, to Whisky and Duke, to Claire, to you. Always back to you.

Because for all his wealth, for all his power, for all the ways he’s collected and bought the people around him- he doesn’t own you. And that? That’s an itch he is dying to scratch.

But you’re too busy being wrapped around Claire, pressed against her as you move, as the music swells, as the heat builds between you. She’s been holding you, guiding your body, her breath heavy against your neck, her hands running down your waist, her fingers tightening every time you grind back against her.

"Fuck, baby," she groans, voice thick with want, "you’re gonna kill me."

You tilt your head back to brush your lips over the shell of her ear, barely-there, teasing. "I need you to do something for me, Mommy."

The choked noise she makes goes straight to your core. Her grip tightens, her nails digging in just enough to ground herself, to control herself, but barely. "Anything, baby, just- fuck just tell me."

And you feel the power shift. You have her. Just like Miles wants to have you.

So you turn in her arms, winding yours around her neck, kissing her hard, pouring every bit of heat, of want, of command into it. And when you finally break away, your lips barely brushing hers, you say it- low, firm, final:

"This is the last time."

Claire blinks, hazy, desperate, drowning in you. "Wha-"

"You’ve done enough for him." You look directly at her, eyes sharp, cutting through the haze, through the club, through everything. "No more."

Her breath stutters. Her fingers flex against you. And then, soft, shaky, like a promise she doesn’t know if she can keep but wants to, for you. "Okay, baby."

And behind you, from across the room Miles watches. And smirks.

"Claire!" Birdie’s voice cuts through the music, demanding, exuberant, as she practically twirls Lionel around on the dance floor. "Come dance with us!"

Claire barely has time to respond before Birdie’s attention snaps elsewhere. "Duuuuuuuuke!"

Duke, mid-drink, immediately straightens, puffing out his chest as he strides over. "DISRUPTORS ASSEMBLE!" he bellows, grinning wide, slinging an arm around Lionel.

You laugh, just a little, shaking your head, and turn to Claire, smoothing your hands over her chest before giving her a gentle push. "Go on," you murmur. "They’re your friends. I’m just gonna grab a drink."

She hesitates, just for a second, just long enough for her fingers to tighten on your hips. "Baby-"

"Go," you insist, softer this time, pressing a quick kiss to her jaw before stepping away.

Miles watches you from the edge of the dance floor, but when Claire finally lets you go, when she joins the group, he moves too, slipping back into the writhing mass of bodies, back into his kingdom.

You exhale, rolling your shoulders, and make your way toward the VIP bar. And that's where you find Peg. Sprawled out on a velvet sofa, one arm draped over her face, looking seconds from accepting her fate and just passing out right there. She hears you approach more than she sees you, cracking one eye open with a groggy groan before shifting just enough to make room for you.

"Ah," she sighs, voice flat, "welcome to the reject sofa."

You laugh, sinking down beside her, the exhaustion suddenly creeping in now that you're sitting. "That bad?"

"Worse." She gestures vaguely at the club, at the chaos, at everything. "Birdie is in full spectacle mode, Lionel is one drink away from an aneurysm, and Miles is being... well. Miles."

You hum, glancing toward the bar just as Whisky steps up, ordering something strong and dark before turning, catching sight of the two of you, and smirking.

"Oh, so this is where the cool girls hang out," she teases, slipping into the seat across from you, crossing her legs as she swirls her drink. "Mind if I join"

Peg snorts. "Please. The reject sofa welcomes all."

Whisky settles in beside you, stretching out her long legs, and tilts her head toward you with an easy, knowing smirk. "So," she drawls, "are you still mad at me?"

You sigh, slumping a little, resting your head against her shoulder. "No."

She huffs a little laugh, the warmth of it brushing against your temple as she takes a sip of her drink. "That didn’t sound very convincing."

"I’m sorry," you admit, voice soft, heavy with exhaustion. "I just-" You exhale, rubbing a hand over your face. "I hate this trip."

Whisky smiles, nodding like she gets it, because she does. "Yeah," she murmurs. "I get it. These things bring out the worst in us all” She shifts, tilting her head toward Peg. "This is my third one. And it’s awful every time."

Peg laughs, dry and sharp, lifting her glass. "Oh, three?" She grins, eyes glinting with something almost manic. "Try six”

You and Whisky both whip around to gape at her.

"Six?!" Whisky gawks, looking horrified. "How are you even still alive?"

Peg just shrugs, taking a long, deliberate sip of her drink before leveling them both with a deadpan expression. "I’m not."

You snort, pressing your face into Whisky’s shoulder to stifle the laugh bubbling up.

"I mean, to be fair," Peg continues, leaning back into the sofa, "the first couple weren’t so bad. Back when Andi was still around to keep Miles in check. But once he started thinking of himself as a genius, it was all downhill from there."

"God, I bet," Whisky mutters, taking another sip.

You shift, glancing toward the dance floor, where Claire is still tangled up in the group, her sharp, poised movements almost reluctant, like she’s indulging Birdie rather than actually enjoying herself. Your stomach twists. You don’t want to think about why.

"You know," Whisky says, drawing your attention back to her, "the best way to survive one of these trips?" She lifts her glass, winking. "Drinking just enough that you don’t care."

Peg raises her glass in agreement. "Amen."

You take a slow sip of your drink, letting the alcohol burn its way down, before exhaling sharply and leaning back against the sofa. "Fine," you mutter, setting your glass down with a decisive clink. "I’ll be the first one to say it.”

You glance between them, then out toward the dance floor, where Miles is laughing too loud, where Claire is wrapped up in it all, back in the fold, back in the place that makes you feel sick. "What do you think about them all agreeing to do this?"

The air between you shifts. The easy humor from moments ago drains, slipping into something heavier.

Whisky exhales, rolling her glass between her palms, her expression more thoughtful than upset. "Honestly?" she murmurs. "I get it."

Peg raises a brow. "You get it?"

Whisky shrugs. "Look, I’m not saying it’s right, it’s obviously fucked, but…" She sighs, tipping her head back, staring up at the glowing lights overhead. "I have options. Duke? Miles? I can figure something out. But them? They need him."

Peg scoffs. "Damn, that’s cold. You’re not worried for Duke?"

"Of course I am!" Whisky snaps, suddenly defensive, leaning forward. "But he won’t listen to me. I’ve tried before. He keeps saying this is just how the game works, that if you don’t take what’s offered, someone else will."

You chew on your lip, absorbing her words because there’s nothing else to say. Then you turn to Peg. She’s stiff, her jaw tight, her fingers clenched in the fabric of her dress like she’s bracing herself.

"And you?" you press.

She doesn’t answer immediately. She stares down at her drink, like it might hold the answer, like it might give her a way out.

"I can’t even begin to think about this," she finally mutters, voice small, fragile in a way Peg never is. "This could destroy her." Her fingers tighten around her glass, knuckles white. "And then I’m ruined."

You swallow. "Peg-"

"I’ve only ever worked for Birdie," she cuts in, bitter, shaking her head. "Apart from that one short stint working at Claire’s till I got fired for piercing a kid's ear wrong. And if this goes bad- if this turns into something we can’t come back from- I’ll have nothing. I’ll be nothing."

None of you speak after that. There’s nothing to say. You just sit there, the three of you, watching the people who hold your futures in their hands and hope they don’t break them.

Whisky watches you for a moment, swirling the last of her drink in her glass. Then, carefully, she asks, "And you?"

You exhale slowly, pressing your fingers against your temples, willing the tension in your skull to ease. "I-" You shake your head, biting down hard on the inside of your cheek, like you can force the words back down. But you can’t. You’re too tired. Too done.

"I’ve never been more afraid in my whole life."

Peg shifts beside you. Whisky frowns. They’re listening now. Really listening.

The words pour out before you can stop them. "I hate this," you admit, voice low, sharp, a confession ripped from you. "I hate him. I hate all of this. Miles, everything he’s done, everything he’s making them do- it’s sick."

You pause, dragging a hand through your hair, frustration mounting. "And the worst part? I can’t stop it. I can’t change it. I can’t make her see how wrong this is, because she already knows."

Peg sighs, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Then why-"

"Because she doesn’t think she has a choice.” Your voice comes out hard, angrier than you meant it to, but you don’t take it back. Because it’s the truth. You scoff, shaking your head. "And maybe she doesn’t. Maybe none of them do."

Peg exhales sharply through her nose. "That’s bullshit."

"Is it?" you snap, finally turning to look at her. "What would you do, Peg? Huh? Why aren’t you going to Birdie now and telling her she can’t go through this."

She stares at you, silent.

"Yeah." You shake your head, voice bitter. "That’s what I thought." The worst part is that you aren’t even mad at Peg. You’re mad at yourself. Because you do hate this. You hate everything about it.

You press your fingers against your closed eyes, exhaling hard. "She’s my world."

Whisky leans forward slightly, her expression unreadable. "And that means what?"

You let out a humorless laugh, feeling the burn of unshed tears behind your eyes. "It means I can’t go against her.” You exhale slowly, pressing your fingers against your temples, willing the tension in your skull to ease. “I love her," you say, quieter this time. "I love her more than I hate any of this."

Peg sighs, rubbing a hand over her face before leaning her head back against the sofa. "That’s rough."

Whisky doesn’t say anything. Just presses her lips together, nodding slightly, like she understands. And she does. You all do. Because that’s what Miles does. He doesn’t just own people. He makes sure they can’t afford to leave.

The music shifts to something louder, something thicker with bass, and suddenly, the energy around you shifts with it. Birdie practically twirls her way over, hair slightly damp with sweat, eyes bright and wild as she flings herself toward Peg. "Oh my GOD, come dance with me!"

Peg groans. "Birdie-"

"Nooo," she whines dramatically, wrapping her arms around Peg’s shoulders, ignoring the way her assistant stiffens. "You never have any fun, come on!"

Peg opens her mouth, probably to tell Birdie exactly where she can shove her idea of fun, but before she can, Duke is suddenly there, all grinning, puffed-up energy as he claps his hands together. "Ladies!"

You sigh, already knowing where this is going.

"Disruptors assemble, come on!" Duke hollers, practically grabbing Whisky’s hand, dragging her up to her feet like she’s some kind of trophy to be presented. "Show ‘em how it’s done, babe!"

Whisky rolls her eyes, but you can see the small, pleased smile on her lips as she lets him lead her toward the dance floor.

Birdie, meanwhile, is still clinging to Peg. "Pleeease!"

Peg groans again, then glances at you like she’s seriously debating making you take her place.

You just raise an eyebrow. "Go on Peg."

She glares. "Traitor." But she goes regardless.

"Baby?"

The second you hear her voice, feel her hands, warm and steady on your arms, it’s like everything inside you just collapses. You look up, vision blurred, and there she is, your Claire, forehead slightly damp, chest rising and falling as she catches her breath, like she ran to find you.

Her brows are pulled together, her lips slightly parted, voice tight with worry. "What’s wrong?"

You shake your head, blinking quickly, trying to steady yourself. "Nothing, I-"

She cups your face immediately, searching your expression, eyes darting across your features like she’s trying to solve you. "Baby, talk to me."

You exhale sharply, swallowing against the lump in your throat. "I just…” Your voice cracks.

Her grip tightens. "Shhh, shhh, it’s okay-"

And fuck, that does it. You let out a soft, shaky laugh, a few more tears slipping free, "I just love you so much."

She freezes. Like she wasn’t expecting that. Like it hits her, right in the chest. And then she’s breathing out, hands framing your jaw, pressing her lips to yours in a kiss so tender you melt. It’s warm. Steady. Not rushed, not desperate. It’s home. And for a moment, for this one moment, none of the rest of it matters. Not the fight. Not Miles. Not the trial. Not any of it. Just you and her.

The club is a mess of lights and bodies, heat and motion. The music is louder now, pounding through the floors, vibrating against your skin as the night stretches longer, looser, drunker. Birdie is giggling at something Lionel just muttered into his drink. Duke is showing off, glass in one hand, the other firmly gripping Whisky’s hip. Miles is watching everything like he owns it, like he orchestrated this whole night like a symphony.

But none of it touches you. Because you’re right here, wrapped in Claire’s arms, tucked against her chest as she holds you in her lap like you belong there. Like she needs you there.

Her fingers trace slow, lazy circles on your thigh, her other arm slung around your waist, keeping you against her. Every now and then, she dips her head, brushing her lips against your temple, your cheek, your jaw, unable to not touch you, to not breathe you in.

And you let her. You let yourself sink into her, let her be warm and solid and yours. You tilt your head slightly, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to her throat, lips grazing over her pulse. "Baby" you murmur, words drowsy, soft. "Take me back."

Claire inhales sharply, her grip tightening slightly. "Hmm?"

"I’m sleepy," you murmur, shifting in her lap, nuzzling against her shoulder. "Wanna go to bed."

She melts.

You feel it, the way her body relaxes, the way she cradles you closer, the way her breath shudders just a little at how easily you’re giving yourself over to her.

She presses a kiss to your hair, then your temple, then lower, her lips ghosting over your cheekbone as she whispers, "Okay, baby. Let’s get you to bed."

And as she stands, carrying you effortlessly, arms wrapped securely around you, you sigh against her skin.

Because this? This is safe. This is yours.

And whatever happens tomorrow, whatever choices, whatever consequences, whatever comes next, right now, in this moment, Claire is holding you, taking care of you. And you trust her. You always have.

The two of you stumble out of the club, Claire’s hand glued to your waist, practically carrying you because you’re all soft and giggly and melting into her. The music is still thumping inside, but out here, under the Greek moonlight, it’s just you and her.

A TukTuk is waiting, the driver barely sparing you a glance as Claire tugs you in, settling you on her lap like you belong there- because you do.

And then you’re kissing. Lazy, messy kisses, your fingers slipping into her hair, her hands firm on your hips, keeping you exactly where she wants you. It’s that perfect drunken mix of silliness and heat- you giggling against her lips, her murmuring "What’s so funny, baby?" before nipping at your jaw, making you whimper and press closer.

The TukTuk is bouncing along the road, but neither of you care, Claire just laughs when you accidentally pull her too hard and she bumps into the side, and you just kiss her harder in apology. It’s breathless and sweet, hands wandering, bodies pressed together, but it’s also that kind of drunk where you’re just so in love that it hurts. Claire’s stroking your thigh, kissing your shoulder, whispering against your skin, "I love you, baby. My sweet girl. My perfect girl." And you just whimper because you love her so much it’s physically painful.

By the time the yacht is in sight, Claire is fixing your dress, tucking your hair behind your ears, making sure you look okay even though you’re both wrecked from kissing. She pays the driver without a second thought, barely looking away from you, whispering “C’mon, let’s get you to bed, angel."

And you just nod, letting her take care of you, knowing she always will.

Claire is stumbling up the yacht’s steps with you, both of you giggling between kisses, like teenagers sneaking around. Your lips are swollen, your hands can’t stop grasping at each other, and neither of you is exactly steady on your feet.

She barely gets the door to your suite shut before you push her against it, hands tugging at the lapels of her ludicrously expensive dress, mouth slanting over hers with a mix of hunger and affection. Claire just moans, gripping your waist and flipping you so you’re against the door now, kissing you breathless as her hands roam.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” she murmurs, lips trailing down your jaw, along the column of your throat, while you just laugh all breathless and tipsy, tilting your head back to let her have more.

You stumble toward the bed together, nearly falling when Claire tries to step out of her heels and you try to help, which just turns into both of you cackling, Claire grabbing you to steady herself before just tackling you onto the plush mattress.

“Okay, okay, hold still,” she grins, sitting up to unzip your dress, her fingers shaky but so gentle, peeling the expensive fabric slowly off your shoulders, like she’s unwrapping something precious. You just watch her, all hazy and soft, letting her take care of you, because she loves this part, loves undoing you, loves making sure you’re comfortable, loves knowing you’re all hers.

She finally tugs your dress off, her gaze dark as she drags her hands down your bare skin, and you just whimper, pulling her back down, kissing her deeply because you need her, need to feel her- and then you laugh, because Claire’s struggling with her own dress now, and you sit up, batting her hands away, whispering “Let me do it.”

Claire just groans when you say that, her hands trembling as you start undoing the delicate fastenings of her dress. She should be helping, or at least be sane about this, but god your voice, your hands, the way you’re looking at her like she’s everything, it’s got her melting.

“You drive me crazy,” she murmurs, leaning down to kiss you again, slow and deep, her hands smoothing down your bare sides as you work her dress down.

You giggle into her mouth, flushed from both the heat between you and the leftover wine in your system. “I know,” you tease, pushing the fabric past her hips until it pools onto the floor.

And fuck, she’s so perfect, all soft curves, wearing just her underwear now, her hair slightly messy from your hands, her lipstick smudged from your kisses. She’s never looked more beautiful, and you whimper, pulling her back to you, needing her close.

She settles over you, her weight pressing you into the bed, her lips finding your neck, suckling just enough to make you shiver. “I’ve got you,” she whispers between kisses, her fingers trailing down your stomach, touching, teasing, worshiping.

“Mmm, Mommy,” you sigh, arching into her, wrapping your legs around her waist, relishing the feel of her body against yours.

She just smiles, so utterly infatuated, and brushes her nose against yours. “Let me take care of you, baby,” she murmurs, voice soaked in devotion, in love.

And then her lips are on yours again, deeper this time, hotter, her hands roaming, her touch possessive and cherishing, like she needs you just as much as you need her.

She gets distracted for a moment by your cleavage, biting her lip in a way that makes you shiver, before she’s pulling you on top of her. Claire reaches down and you arch your back as she plays with your pussy, fingers dancing over your clit and then pushing inside. You whimper as she hooks them, pumping them in and out, her eyes on yours the entire time. She’s got a knowing look in her eyes as she watches you squirm against her hand, her hips pushing up into yours and your clit dragging against her thigh.

You’re writhing on top of her, panting softly, when she stops and you let out a needy whine. Claire just smirks, before pulling you down onto the bed beside her. Her hands roam your body, teasingly light, as your thighs squeeze together against the ache she’s created.

“Please,” you whisper against her lips. “Touch me.”

Claire huffs a laugh, biting your lower lip before sucking on it. Her hand slides between your legs and you shudder against her touch, hips twitching. She keeps teasing you for a while, until you’re writhing under her touch.

“Fuck,” Claire breathes out, and then you’re crying out as she pushes three fingers into your cunt, thrusting them in slowly. You arch your back, your toes curling against the mattress, as Claire fucks you with her fingers. “That’s a good girl,” she murmurs in your ear as your whimpers turn into a keening moan. “You’re so fucking gorgeous like this. Cum for me.”

You cry out her name as your orgasm rips through you, pleasure pulsing out from your clit. Claire watches you, fingers still buried in your cunt. When you finally come down from it, she pulls her hand away and licks off her fingers, smirking softly.

You reach up, tugging gently at the neckline of her bra. Claire laughs softly, leaning back to take it off for you, and then you’re burying your face between her tits, moaning softly as she cups them in her hands. Your hips squirm as your clit aches for her, and you move so you’re between her legs, kissing down her body until you’re breathing hotly over her cunt.

Claire sucks in a breath, hands reaching up to tug at your hair as you lap gently at her clit. You press your lips to her inner thighs, kissing up and down before you return to her cunt, lapping at her entrance before pushing your tongue inside. She lets out a low moan, hips arching off the bed. You moan against her, moving so you can finger her as you lick her clit.

You’re eating her out with desperation, wanting nothing more than to feel her cum on your tongue. You know exactly what she likes, and soon she’s crying out your name as she clenches around your fingers and you lap up every last drop of her.

“God, I love you,” Claire whispers as you curl up against her.

You press your lips to her jaw, nuzzling her softly. “I love you too.” You snuggle deeper into her arms, feeling exhausted from your night. “You make me so happy.”

Claire kisses your forehead, smiling down at you. You press a kiss to her lips, before trailing them down her neck. You take her hand and guide it between your legs, biting your lip as you feel her fingers against your pussy. She starts rubbing you gently, and you lean down to kiss her. Her tongue slips out to meet yours, pushing into your mouth. You groan as she thrusts it in and out of your mouth, fucking it with the same desperation she showed when she fingered you.

Claire’s fingers slip inside and you moan into her mouth, grinding down on her hand as her tongue fills your mouth again. You push your hand between her legs and she breaks the kiss to moan, pushing her hips up against your fingers. You play with each other as you make out, both of your hips moving desperately. You can feel her getting wetter against your hand and you know you must be doing the same against hers. She moans into another kiss as you add a finger to her cunt, and you can feel yourself getting closer as she hooks her fingers inside you.

Her tongue fills your mouth again as her fingers push deep inside you, curling and uncurling as they fuck into your pussy. You’re so close that you feel like you can’t hold on much longer, and you don’t even try as pleasure rips through your body again. You whine into her mouth as your orgasm pulses through your body, and you feel her cumming against your hand a moment later.

You stay like that for a few moments, enjoying the feeling of your bodies together. You can feel the heat between your legs, the stickiness of your sweat, and the smell of sex filling the air. You kiss her softly as you pull your hand away, smiling softly. Claire does the same, her eyes soft as she looks at you.

She rolls you over onto your back before crawling on top of you. You let out a delighted yelp as she kisses down your body, starting at your collarbones and then working her way down until you’re moaning softly against her mouth. She kisses your stomach softly, before pulling your legs apart and burying her face between them. You cry out her name as she starts licking you, sucking on your clit and fingering you at the same time.

You can’t stop moving, hips twitching as her tongue dances over your pussy. Her fingers fuck into you as her tongue drags over your clit, and you’re not surprised when you cum again, barely a few moments later. You’re shaking as pleasure rips through you again. Claire doesn’t stop until you’re pulling weakly at her hair, panting as you try to catch your breath.

You manage to get your legs closed around her head as you try to calm down, but you feel exhausted when you do. Claire slides up your body, kissing you softly as her eyes crinkle at the corners. You smile back at her, reaching up to run your hands through her hair. You kiss again, tongues sliding together softly, and you sink into the feeling of her body against yours.

You sigh happily as she settles back against you, resting her head on your chest.You’re both tangled together, breathless and sticky with sweat, the heat of the night still lingering, but everything is quieter now.

Claire pulls you closer, her arms wrapping around you tightly, like she can’t let go. She kisses your forehead, your cheeks, her lips soft and lingering, as if she’s savoring every inch of you. Her touch is so gentle now, each caress careful, as if she’s afraid of breaking something, afraid of losing you after everything that’s happened.

“Baby…” Her voice is soft, full of awe and affection. “I… you have no idea what you do to me. I’m—”

You press a finger against her lips, silencing her, and you feel her shiver under your touch.

“No need to say anything,” you murmur, running your hand through her hair, soothing her. “Just… be with me. Let me take care of you.”

Claire nods, her eyes fluttering closed as she leans into your touch. You can feel the weight of the night, the tension, the stress of everything she’s been holding on to… and now, it’s melting away, piece by piece, with every soft kiss you give her, every gentle touch.

You trace your fingers down her back, feeling the way her muscles loosen with each pass. She lets out a quiet sigh, her body relaxing, her breathing steadying, and it makes you feel like you’re the one taking care of her now, holding her together.

“Promise me something,” she whispers, her voice barely audible.

You look at her, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Anything.”

She kisses you again, slow and deep, like she never wants to pull away. “Promise me you’ll always be mine. No matter what.”

You press your forehead to hers, your hands still tracing circles on her skin, grounding both of you in the softness of this moment.

“I promise,” you say, your voice steady, full of certainty. “I’m yours, always.”

And with that, you both finally drift into the quiet, cocooned in each other’s warmth, knowing whatever happens, you’ve found a place in each other’s hearts that’s unbreakable.

The sunlight spills through the curtains, gently kissing your skin, but the stillness of the room is suddenly broken by Claire’s soft groan beside you. Her head’s buried in the pillow, her body tangled in sheets, and you can feel the warmth of her skin radiating, her breath heavy and slow.

You’re not quite awake yet, but the moment your eyes flutter open, you feel it, that undeniable pull. The feeling of being wrapped in her embrace, tangled up with her body, and your chest tightens in that familiar warmth that only she can give you. You try to shift, to stretch your legs, ready to get up and start your day, but Claire has other ideas.

“Uh-uh.” Claire’s voice is low, thick with sleep and that unmistakable edge of mild annoyance.

Before you can protest, she slides an arm across your waist, pulling you right back against her. The strength in her arms is undeniable, and she cages you in, trapping you in her warmth. She buries her face against the back of your neck, mumbling, “No way. You’re staying here.”

You can’t help but laugh softly at how clingy she’s being, but as you settle into the softness of the sheets again, you feel her nuzzle into your skin, her lips pressing a lazy kiss against your shoulder.

“I’m hungover,” she mutters, voice muffled against your skin. “I need you here. Can’t be without you.”

You tilt your head, looking back at her, amused, but there’s a warmth in her eyes that makes your heart flutter.

“Oh? I thought you wanted to get up early today to get some food before Duke eats it all,” you tease, reaching back to gently tangle your fingers in her hair, your voice low and playful.

“Doesn’t matter,” she replies with a small chuckle, her arms tightening around you. “Right now, you’re all I need. Don’t make me beg, baby.”

You feel her shiver against you, her hangover already fading away under the weight of her desire for more. You can’t deny her; you never could. You lean back into her embrace, letting her kiss your neck again, feeling her body press close as if she needs this, needs you, just as much as you need her. And even though the world outside is calling, demanding attention, in this moment, you’re perfectly content. Because, when it’s just the two of you, the world can wait.

You can stay here, wrapped up in each other, for as long as you want. You stretch lazily in her arms, smiling as Claire nuzzles into your neck again, pressing soft, lazy kisses to your skin. Her hold on you is firm, like she has no intention of letting you go anytime soon.

You hum, eyes still half-closed as you tease, “I don’t even know why you’re so hungover. We didn’t even drink that much.”

Claire stills against you. Then, slowly, she pulls back just enough to give you a look- one brow arching, her lips parting slightly like she can’t believe what you just said.

“Excuse me?” Her voice is flat, but you can hear the threat of amusement in it.

You turn in her arms, grinning up at her. “I mean… I feel fine.” You shrug, all innocent. “Maybe it’s just ‘cause I’m younger.”

Claire scoffs. “Oh, you did not just say that.”

You giggle, reaching up to touch her face, tracing the soft line of her jaw. “Aww, my poor baby. Can’t keep up with me anymore…”

Her eyes darken playfully. “How dare you.”

Before you can react, her hands move to your waist, fingers digging in as she mercilessly tickles your sides. You squeal, trying to wriggle away, but she’d got you.

“No- Claire, stop- ” you gasp between bursts of laughter, trying to grab at her wrists, but she’s relentless.

“You wanna call me old, huh?” she taunts, grinning as she keeps up the attack. “Say it again, baby, I dare you.”

You’re dying, your body twisting under her as you laugh so hard your stomach hurts.

“Okay- okay! You’re not old!” you gasp out, barely able to breathe through the giggles.

Claire smirks in triumph, slowing her assault, but she doesn’t let go. Instead, she presses you deeper into the mattress, shifting so she’s hovering over you, her eyes shining with warmth.

“That’s what I thought,” she murmurs, leaning down to kiss your forehead before brushing her nose against yours.

You’re still breathless, smiling up at her, heart thudding in your chest.

And you love this. This playful, soft, giddy side of her, the one she only ever shows when it’s just the two of you. Claire is still smiling down at you, her fingers brushing over your sides, her warmth pressing into you, when-

Knock knock knock.

She freezes. Her jaw clenches. “What?” she snaps, voice sharp with irritation, because of course someone is interrupting this moment.

Before either of you can react further, the door swings open.

Miles.

Casual as ever, he steps inside, barely even sparing Claire a glance as he announces, “We’re having brunch now. You’re gonna miss out on the food- Duke’s in bulking season, so, you know, not a lot left.”

And then he rests his eyes on you. His gaze sweeps over the scene, the rumpled sheets barely covering your bare skin, Claire’s shirt hanging off her shoulder, your hair mussed, your entire aura screaming post-sex softness.

You scream, instinctively clutching the sheets and burying yourself against Claire, mortified.

Claire, meanwhile, seethes. Her face darkens instantly, her body going rigid with fury as she all but lunges for something to throw at him.

“Miles, get out!” she roars, her voice so sharp and commanding that even he, in all his smug arrogance, hesitates for a split second.

But then, of course, he just grins.

Like he’s enjoying this.

Like he planned this.

“You know, Claire,” he muses, eyes still very much on you, “you could just say that you’ll come down to brunch later and to save you a croissant. No need to be so hostile.”

Claire grabs the nearest thing, her empty water glass from the bedside table, and hurls it at him. He dodges, laughing as it shatters against the doorframe.

“Alright, alright! Just saying- don’t blame me if there’s no food left!”

And with that, he finally, finally steps out, closing the door behind him. For a moment, all you can hear is the pounding of your own heartbeat, the heat of embarrassment crawling over your skin. Claire’s arms tighten around you, her breathing heavy with barely restrained rage. Then, finally, she pulls back just enough to look at you, brushing your hair from your face with a gentleness that contrasts the fury still burning in her eyes.

“Are you okay, baby?” she asks, her voice soft, even as her body remains tense.

You nod slowly, still pressed against her. “That was so embarrassing.”

Her expression hardens. “I’m gonna kill him.”

Claire is still muttering under her breath about Miles as she pulls you into the bathroom, her grip firm but careful as if she’s afraid you might slip away. She’s fuming, you can feel it in the tension of her body, the tightness of her jaw.

“I swear to god, I’m gonna-” she starts, but you shush her with a giggle, reaching past her to turn on the shower, steam curling instantly into the air.

“Claire,” you tease, stepping back to peel the sheets off your body, “you can’t murder Miles. Not here. Too many witnesses.”

Claire exhales sharply through her nose. “Baby, do not test me right now.”

But she’s distracted, her eyes drop down to your bare skin, her pupils blown with something other than rage, and suddenly, she’s not thinking about Miles anymore. She tugs you under the water with her, her hands smoothing down your waist, her lips brushing your forehead, your nose, your lips. You hum at the attention, the warm spray cascading over both of you, and for a moment, it’s just that- gentle touches, sleepy kisses, a slow return to reality.

Until, of course, your mouth gets away from you. “You know Miles is fucking Whisky, right?”

Claire pauses.

Her hands still against your back. Then she pulls away just enough to look at you, her brow furrowing. “…Excuse me?”

You grin, loving the way her lips part in mild shock. “Oh, yeah,” you confirm, reaching for the fancy hotel-grade shampoo and squirting some into your palm. “Been happening for a while. But get this- Duke knows. Hell, Duke set it up.”

Claire blinks. Once, twice. “Duke set it up?”

You nod, working the shampoo into her hair, relishing the way she automatically tilts her head into your touch.

“He wants Miles to help boost his career,” you explain casually, fingers massaging into her scalp. “He figured letting his girlfriend sleep with Miles would be an easy way in. Miles gets a hot girl, Duke gets a leg up in his whole alpha-male-streaming-gun-rights-mandom thing.”

Claire stares at you, the water dripping down her face doing nothing to mask her sheer disbelief.

“You’re telling me,” she says slowly, “that Duke is pimping out his own girlfriend… for YouTube views?”

You nod sagely. “Mmhmm.”

The morning sunlight streams through the yacht’s grand windows, casting golden light over the luxurious bathroom. You’re watching with barely contained amusement as Claire soaps up your breasts, still reeling from your whispered revelations about Duke, Whisky, and Miles.

“No. No, absolutely not,” Claire mutters, rubbing your skin as the warm water from the showerhead cascades over her back. “Duke knows? And he’s just- he’s fine with it?”

You bite your lip, fighting back a grin. “I mean, fine might be a stretch. But yeah, it’s all part of his grand plan.”

Claire groans dramatically, tilting her head back under the water, letting it soak through her hair. “Jesus Christ. The absolute state of this group.”

You giggle and wrap your arms around her waist from behind, pressing your cheek to her back. “Mhmm.”

Claire closes her eyes. Takes a deep breath. Pinches the bridge of her nose. Then, she turns back to you, her expression exhausted.

“You know what? Nope. Not dealing with this yet.” She tugs you close again, resting her chin on your wet hair. “I’m gonna hold my baby, finish this shower, and then I will process the absolute horror that is this entire fucking trip.”

You giggle against her chest, arms curling around her waist. “Fair enough, my love.”

The Greek sun is already sweltering by the time you finish getting ready, the heat seeping through the floor-to-ceiling windows of your suite as you slip into your bikini. The black fabric is just the right mix of flattering and daring, the wrap skirt flowing effortlessly around your legs as you tie it at your hip, already fantasizing about spending the day sprawled out by the pool with a drink in hand. Sure, you’d have to suffer through the company of people you’d rather avoid, but at least there’d be an infinity pool, bottomless cocktails, and hopefully, your girlfriend in a very nice swimsuit. You turn, expecting to see Claire pulling on something equally as elegant and commanding as her, but instead, she’s got a robe wrapped tight around her, the thick cream fabric covering her completely.

You frown immediately.

"Baby," you say, stepping toward her. "It’s boiling outside. Why are you covering up?"

Claire hesitates. You see the flicker of insecurity flash across her face before she masks it, reaching for her sunglasses instead of meeting your gaze.

"Just…" she exhales, rolling her shoulders as if the movement could shake off the weight pressing down on her. "I don’t know. Birdie was making comments yesterday about how I ‘need to put in more effort’ and then Whisky’s been…” she gestures vaguely, and you immediately understand.

Whisky- young, perfect-bodied, flaunting it all like she was born to be admired. And Claire, in her 40s, feeling like she’s standing next to all that youth as a reminder of everything she used to be. Your chest aches.

"Oh," you say simply, because if you speak too soon, you might say something really dramatic, like how dare you talk shit about my future wife? You file that thought away, stepping closer instead, your fingers gently prying the edges of her robe apart.

“Baby,” you murmur, sliding your hands inside, brushing over the ridiculously soft beige swimsuit she has on underneath. It’s stunning, elegant, high-cut, perfectly hugging the curves of her hips and waist. “You look so sexy.”

Claire scoffs, shaking her head. “Sweetheart…”

“I mean it.” You grip the robe, pushing it further open as you move into her space, making sure she sees the way your eyes roam her body, the way you drink her in like you need her.

She falters, lips parting.

"You’re powerful, Claire," you continue, voice soft but firm. "You’re brilliant. You’re stunning. And if you think for one second that I don’t look at you and feel like the luckiest fucking girl on the planet, you’re out of your mind."

She swallows, hard.

Your hands slide up, tracing her waist, smoothing over the soft swell of her stomach, watching her body react to your touch. "You make me crazy," you whisper, tilting your head up, your breath warm against her lips. "You make me so fucking turned on every time I look at you. You have no idea how beautiful you are."

Her throat bobs. "Baby I-"

"I worship you, Claire," you interrupt, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to the underside of her jaw. "You don’t need to cover up because of them. I think you’re the most beautiful woman alive, and that should be the only outside opinion you take any notice of."

Her pulse is racing. You can feel it against your lips, can see the way her body sways into you, like she needs you to hold her up.

“Fuck,” she breathes, gripping your waist as you mouth at her neck, lips and tongue soft, teasing. “You are gonna be the perfect little wife for me one day, aren’t you?”

You pause.

Your heart stops. Then, you grin, pressing a final kiss to her skin before pulling back just enough to meet her gaze. "Yeah, baby," you murmur, fingers trailing up to slip the robe from her shoulders. "I really, really am."

She shudders. Her hands move, cupping your face, tilting your chin up, capturing your lips in a kiss that’s more than just a kiss. It’s everything. It’s devotion. It’s love. It’s the way she needs you, the way she aches for you, the way she wants…

You sigh into her mouth, pressing yourself against her, hands sliding around her back as the robe falls to the floor, forgotten. Instead, you reach for something else- a lighter cover-up, a soft, airy sarong that lets her breathe, lets her feel like herself without hiding. She exhales when you drape it over her shoulders, her forehead resting against yours, hands squeezing your waist.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

You smile. “Always, Mommy.”

And then, because you can’t not kiss her again, you do, sighing into her mouth as she melts against you, holding you close like she never wants to let go.

You know the moment you step onto the upper deck for brunch that this is going to be exhausting.

The sun is blinding, the heat shimmering off the pristine white of the yacht, but the real discomfort comes from the people- hungover and loud, sprawled across plush seats, drinking fresh-squeezed juice and espresso like it’ll bring them back to life. Birdie is, unsurprisingly, in full force, standing dramatically by the buffet spread, oversized sunglasses perched on her nose as she bemoans how dehydrated she is, making Peg fill her plate while Lionel nods along, pretending to listen. Duke and Whisky are at the far end, Duke double-fisting iced coffees, Whisky looking fresh and unbothered as she scrolls her phone.

And, of course, not one of them acknowledges you when you and Claire arrive. They greet her, Claire, Governor Debella, fellow disruptor, the woman who matters in their eyes,but you? You might as well not exist. You expect it at this point, but it still makes something ugly curl in your chest. You push it down. Instead, you focus on grabbing a cold drink, some fresh fruit, a little bit of toast and eggs. Claire loads up her plate without much care, still slightly groggy from the night before, her free hand settling against your back as you move to sit down.

The chairs are spaced apart, but you immediately shift yours closer to hers, ignoring the way Birdie’s sunglasses-clad eyes flit toward you at the movement. Claire exhales softly, as if just having you near her is enough to ease some of the morning tension. You smile, pressing your thigh against hers as you start to eat.

"Morning, lovebirds."

You grimace.

Miles saunters up to the table, far too chipper for the way everyone else is still blinking blearily against the sunlight, holding a tiny espresso cup in one hand, his other slipping into his pocket. You feel his gaze before you even look at him, that lecherous kind of attention that makes your skin crawl. And sure enough, when you glance up, his eyes are glued to your chest. You frown and shift closer to Claire.

He chuckles, taking a slow sip of his espresso. “You two had quite the morning, huh?”

Claire’s body goes rigid.

You don’t even have to ask what he means, you know, because of course Miles Bron wouldn’t not take the opportunity to bring up walking in on you both in bed.

Claire inhales sharply, jaw tight. “Fuck off, Miles.”

But Miles just laughs, like she’s just being playful. Like this is some casual joke between friends. “Nothing to be ashamed of, Claire-bear.” He smirks, winking as he takes another sip. “You’ve got yourself a beauty.”

Your stomach turns at the way he says it, like you’re some kind of trophy, something Claire should be proud of because it reflects well on her, the same way a luxury car or designer handbag would.You swallow down the disgust, already too tired for another argument. Instead, you turn your focus back to Claire, spearing a piece of fresh melon with your fork and lifting it to her lips. She blinks, startled, but then softens instantly, mouth parting as she lets you feed her. You follow it with a soft, lingering kiss, your lips brushing against hers like it’s just natural, like it’s what you need.

Miles frowns. For just a second, his mask slips, like he doesn’t like that you’re ignoring him, that you’re shifting the focus away from him. But then, just as quickly, he plasters on another easy grin, turning back to the group as he claps his hands together.

“Well, gang,” he announces, “This morning is all about relaxing. We’ve got speedboats coming this afternoon, some good, old-fashioned, high-adrenaline fun. But tonight…” his voice lowers theatrically, and Birdie squeals.

“Oooh! What have you got planned, Miles?”

He smirks. “All will be revealed, my friends.”

And even though it’s still so early in the day, you already have a bad feeling about it.

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#claire debella #claire debella x reader #kathryn hahn #agatha harkness x reader #kathryn hahn x reader #agatha harkness x fem!reader

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