#Or maybe that's because I stayed up late last night when I didn't need to

[auspicioustidings]

I am sure I must have yapped about this before but consider alpha Ghost who despises omegas. Roba was an omega and he used every bit of his biology against Ghost to try and break him. He just cannot be around omegas now, he hates it when any of his pack even smells like one from being out and about.

It means their pack beta Gaz gets treated like their omega to an extent. It's not like he hates it, it's nice that they want to spoil him, but he also wants to look after someone y'know? Everyone thought he'd present as an alpha when he was growing up and he still feels the instinct to protect those weaker than him. It maybe gets to him a little that he feels like an alpha, he is a beta and he gets treated like an omega.

He does not expect to present late. He certainly does not expect an omega scent match to be the thing that triggers it. You're everything he has ever wanted and he knows he will break Ghost's heart if he brings you home. So he doesn't.

You are rejected by your scent match and it hurts. You didn't realise how awful it would be, how much it would wreak havoc on your system. Alphas can reject a scent match and not be too affected but omegas? It is horrific.

Soap smells you on Gaz no matter how much he tries to hide it. His fucking scent match and Gaz is hiding them. The others were too distracted by Gaz's new alpha scent but Johnny always did have the best nose, and he is not going to let this go. He knows Ghost's feelings and he loves the man, but he will not ignore their omega to spare him from confronting his trauma.

You don't trust him when he tracks you down. Another scent match here to break your heart all over again? He's so upset at how sick you've gotten over it, gets to his knees and begs for a chance for his pack.

Only when you finally let him take you home, Ghost growls at you. One of your scent matched alphas growls at you. You want to die. You run away while Soap and him get into a shouting match.

You meet your last alpha while you are running. Price has no idea what is happening when you crash into him as he's walking the path to home. He never thought he'd have an omega. A scent match at that? It's more than he deserves he thinks. He's happy about you running into him, you're his and it feels wonderful. Only you are wildly distressed while smelling like Soap and he needs to figure out why.

He tells you to stay put because he can feel Ghost through the bond, feel his turmoil. He should never have left you, but his concern for his pack mate took priority.

The thing about meeting all your scent matches in quick succession is that it nose dives you into a heat. But they hate you. One rejected you, one brought you to another so he could growl at you, one left you when you were in distress. You are so distraught that you can't go to them because you are certain they will only be disgusted that you would ask them for help with your heat.

You find the nearest shelter. It's a crumbling shed out the back of their property. It doesn't do much to keep out the cold, there are leaks that get worse when it starts to snow through the night. You wish there would be more because you are burning.

The snow storm muffles your scent. The only reason you don't die is because Ghost braved the storm to go grab more firewood from the shed.

There he is, the alpha who hates omegas with his scent matched omega in heat, in pain and in danger. He walks away. You accept death would be a kindness now.

Except you don't die because he sends the others. You don't die because even though he cannot stand to be around you or to smell you, he gives his pack to you. He sits in the armchair all night listening as his pack bundles you into the pack bedroom and knots you through your heat while desperately trying to combat the hypothermia that was setting in.

It's months and months of angst and tension and misery as the pack tries to divide their love between their pack mate and their omega. Ghost hates himself every time he growls at you and scares you. You hate yourself for tearing this pack apart.

There doesn't seem to be a happy ending here until a pair of betas visit town. Maybe Ale and Rudy are just what this pack was missing to make it whole. Maybe they soothe all those frayed edges, act as a buffer. And maybe, just maybe, one day Ghost and you realise all at once that somewhere between you starting to growl right back at him and him starting to make an extra cup of tea for you, you fell entirely in love.

The rest of the pack can't believe it took you two idiots so long to realise it.

[wannabehockeygf]

plastic palm trees - william nylander

part of the think later fic series

"Thought that it was real, thought that it was worth it, Out the window everything was looking perfect, Caught in a dream, it's not what it seems."

*** request: "hey girl saw you wanted more maple leafs players and don’t you worry I would love some willy nylander for plastic palm trees"

summary: a whirlwind romance was only serious consideration for one of you. word count: 6.8k pairing: william nylander x fem!reader warnings: insinuation of sex (in a fade-to-black, time lapse thing), alcohol notes:

MY FIRST WILLY FIC

^ we've been getting fed such good pics of him lately

heartbreak because if i can't be happy NO ONE CAN.

i had to do hella research on the city of Toronto for this

It was one of those suffocatingly warm nights at the end of April that always managed to catch you off guard. Since moving to Tampa, you'd gotten used to the random bursts of heat and humidity, but tonight, it seemed more oppressive than usual. Maybe it was the setting—an after-party for the Toronto Maple Leafs on top of a fancy skyscraper, with a rooftop bar and pool. It was after their last regular season game against the Bolts, the one that got them to clinch the playoffs, and it was as far out of your element as you could get, especially with your best friend nowhere to be found. Typical.

Everyone here was either already wasted or riding some other high, and despite the fact that you were wearing a bikini that made you look like you fit right in with the army of models around you, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you didn't belong. Not that anyone cared or noticed, but the nagging insecurity in your gut was loud enough to drown out the music blaring from the DJ booth.

You needed out. Immediately.

With your head down, you started pushing your way through the crowd, dodging guys in swim trunks and girls in bikinis more expensive than your rent, when suddenly it hit you—the pool deck was indeed wet. Slippery, in fact. You tried to stop yourself, but gravity had other plans. Your feet slid out from under you in slow-motion horror, and for one terrifying second, you were convinced you were about to make a grand entrance into the pool.

Except… you didn’t. Instead of a splash, you collided with something warm and solid behind you. Not too solid, though—just the perfect amount of solid that made you immediately wish you could stay there a little longer. A squeak escaped your lips, and you twisted your head around to apologize, but as if playing the role of clumsy, awkward girl to perfection, your eyes locked onto his.

Oh. Oh wow.

His eyes were beautiful—crystal blue, sharp and hypnotic. You were so caught up in them that you almost forgot how to breathe. Your jaw hung open, just a little, and his laughter was the first thing to break through the spell. God, even his laugh was attractive. Deep, yet boyish. The kind of sound that makes you feel all kinds of flustered for no good reason.

He brought his hand up to scratch at his patchy blond beard, which was—against all odds—also unfairly good-looking. And then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, he pulled you back onto your feet in one smooth motion, his arm still firmly around your waist. You didn’t miss how strong he was. Okay, cool, play it cool. Definitely don’t acknowledge the fact that you just fell into a guy with abs for days.

"Whoa, you alright?" he asked, voice warm and tinged with amusement. You could practically hear the smile in it, which only made your heart flip-flop even more.

You nodded quickly, trying to steady yourself. “Yeah, I’m good! I just… forgot the ground was wet.” Great. That sounded totally sane. 

“Easy to miss,” he grinned, his arm still lingering a little longer than necessary before he finally let go, stepping back just enough to give you space. “Not your fault. Happens to the best of us.”

You tried to laugh it off, though it came out more like an awkward cough. Smooth. Very smooth. “Thanks for, uh… catching me. I probably would've done a full backflip into the pool otherwise.”

He chuckled again, that sound making your stomach twist in ways you weren’t prepared for. “Glad I could help save the day.” He paused, and then as if he was actually interested in you beyond just saving you from a catastrophic splash, he asked, “I’m Will, by the way.”

Will. Of course, his name is William. Because of course, I’d fall into a guy who looks like a freaking Nordic god with a name like William. You cleared your throat, trying to regain some semblance of dignity. “Nice to meet you, Will. I’m… well, I’m just trying not to die of embarrassment, so you can call me a mess.”

He laughed again, this time a little softer, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Nah, you’re doing fine. No more slipping, though, alright?”

“I’ll do my best,” you said with a weak grin, still fighting the urge to just melt into the ground.

He took a small step closer, glancing around at the chaos of the party before turning his attention back to you. “You look like you could use a drink. Can I buy you one?”

You blinked, the words Can I buy you one? still bouncing around in your head like a ping-pong ball that refused to settle. Your heart did a quick stutter step, trying to catch up with the situation as you stared at the walking Norse god who had—somehow—deemed you worthy of his time.

A drink. He was offering you a drink. You should say something. Anything, really.

“Uh, sure,” you croaked out, before clearing your throat and attempting to sound like a fully functioning human. “I mean, yeah. That sounds great.”

His smile widened, like he found your awkwardness adorable, and you cursed internally at the fact that even his smile had to be perfect. Because, of course, it did. Of course, he had to be the kind of guy who looked like he stepped off a movie set, made you feel like a complete idiot, and was still nice enough to offer you a drink instead of just leaving you to fumble your way to the poolside bar alone.

William motioned for you to follow him, leading you through the crowd with surprising ease—probably because people just naturally got out of the way for someone who looked like that. Meanwhile, you were fighting to keep your cool, your feet somehow both heavy and light as you trailed behind, staring at his broad back and the muscles that shifted with each movement. Was it hot in here, or was that just you?

Yeah, it was definitely just you.

You arrived at the bar, and William leaned against it, catching the bartender’s attention in a way only someone with that level of effortless confidence could. “What’s your drink?” he asked, eyes locking onto yours again, and for a split second, you forgot how to form words.

“Uh…” You glanced up at the chalkboard menu, your brain desperately trying to pick something that didn’t scream I’m lost, help me. “A margarita?”

He grinned, giving a little nod like you’d passed some secret test. “Good choice. I’ll have the same,” he said to the bartender, who had the audacity to wink at Will before disappearing to make the drinks. You stood there, doing your best not to fidget, but Will’s attention was back on you, and you suddenly felt like you were under a spotlight. He leaned in slightly, the smell of expensive cologne wafting in your direction. Why does he have to smell so good?

“So,” he started, his voice smooth and casual, “what brings you to a party like this? You don’t exactly look like the type to hang around a Leafs hockey crowd.”

You nearly choked. “I—uh—I could say the same about you.”

He raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eyes. “Really? You don’t think I could pass for a hockey player?”

“You’re a hockey player?” you blurted out, louder than you meant to. Then you immediately wanted to slap yourself. Of course, he’s a hockey player, you idiot. He just said this was a Leafs party, and the man looked like he could bench-press you without breaking a sweat. Smooth. So smooth.

William’s grin spread wider, clearly enjoying your flustered reaction. “Yep. William Nylander, right wing for the Toronto Maple Leafs.” He paused, leaning in a little closer as he lowered his voice. “Not gonna lie, though… I’m a bit more interested in you than hockey right now.”

Your brain short-circuited. William Nylander. Oh my god. You were talking to that William Nylander. You’d somehow managed to embarrass yourself in front of one of the most famous hockey players in the NHL. If there was a hole in the ground, you’d gladly crawl into it.

“Oh,” you said weakly. Because what else could you say?

He didn’t miss a beat. “You seem a little surprised,” he teased, his hand brushing against your arm in a way that sent shivers down your spine. “Didn’t expect to meet a guy like me tonight, huh?”

You swallowed hard, trying to keep up with the situation. “No, not exactly. I mean, I didn’t even know this was a Maple Leafs party. My friend invited me, but she’s—well, she’s disappeared.”

He chuckled, clearly amused by your rambling. “Lucky for me, then. I get you all to myself.”

The bartender handed over your drinks, and you gladly took a sip, hoping the alcohol would somehow calm your racing heart. William watched you, eyes twinkling with mischief, like he knew exactly the effect he was having on you.

You could feel the warmth from the margarita sliding down your throat, but it did absolutely nothing to temper the heat already coursing through your veins. The ice-cold drink clashed with the fire igniting inside you, fueled by the fact that William freaking Nylander was standing right in front of you, smiling like he knew every secret thought you were desperately trying to keep hidden.

Oh god. He was looking at you again—those impossibly blue eyes scanning your face with a level of intensity that made your breath catch. It wasn’t fair. Not when he had that stupidly perfect jawline, the kind you only ever saw in glossy magazine spreads. Or, you know, when you accidentally fell into the arms of a guy who looked like he could bench press you for fun. The thought of it made your stomach do another one of those unwelcome flip-flops.

“So,” William began, leaning in just a little closer, his voice soft yet dripping with that effortless charm. “What else don’t I know about you, aside from the fact that you’re stunningly beautiful and apparently terrible at walking on wet surfaces?”

You blinked. Stunningly beautiful? Did he just say that? You knew it was a line. It had to be a line. But the way his voice wrapped around the words made it feel like more than that, like he actually meant it. Your brain scrambled to respond, and you barely managed to avoid a full-on choke this time. “I—uh, well, I’m usually not this clumsy, I swear.”

He raised an eyebrow, his grin widening, that teasing sparkle still alive in his eyes. “Mm, I don’t know. You seem like you might need a little more… steadying. You know, just to be safe.” His gaze flickered to your waist, where his hand had been earlier, and you swore you could feel the phantom weight of it still lingering. “I could always lend a hand. Maybe two, if you need ‘em.”

Your laugh came out too loud—awkward, but you couldn’t help it. “I’ll, uh, keep that in mind,” you stammered, taking another sip of your margarita like it was a lifeline. His flirtation wasn’t corny, but it was relentless in a way that left you completely unprepared. It was as though he was gently laying down brick after brick, building up the tension, each little compliment stacking on top of the last. And you? You were just trying to keep from crumbling under the weight of it all.

“You know,” he continued, his voice dipping lower, leaning into that sweet spot where a whisper might live, “you really do stand out here. I’m not just saying that.” His eyes locked onto yours again, and suddenly, the noise of the party seemed to melt into the background. “Everyone else is… well, they’re either trying too hard or not trying at all. But you…” He paused, letting his eyes roam over you in a way that felt both appreciative and entirely too intimate for the middle of a party. “You look effortlessly gorgeous. Like you’re not even trying. It’s… refreshing.”

You could feel your face heating up, and it wasn’t just from the humidity. There was no way he could really mean that, right? You felt like a fish out of water, surrounded by people who seemed to thrive in this kind of environment—women with legs for days and hair that didn’t frizz up at the slightest hint of moisture, unlike your own. But here was William, saying things that made you feel like maybe—just maybe—you weren’t completely out of place.

You took another long sip of your margarita, hoping the liquid courage would do its job, but your nerves were still very much in charge. Every time you looked at him, you were acutely aware of how out of your depth you were. The man had an aura about him, an energy that came effortlessly, like he was born knowing he could make women weak at the knees with just one well-placed glance. And tonight, all that effortless energy was directed squarely at you.

“You’re quiet all of a sudden,” William teased, leaning in closer, his voice dropping to that low, dangerous level again, the kind that made your toes curl. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

Pretty. There it was again, another compliment dropped into conversation like it was nothing, but this one landed differently. It felt personal, like he wasn’t just throwing out lines to get a reaction. His eyes stayed fixed on yours, curious, like he genuinely wanted to know what was going on in your brain, which was a dangerous place to be right now.

You forced a laugh, trying to act like your entire body wasn’t buzzing with a mix of nerves and attraction. “Oh, you know… just wondering how I managed to fall into the arms of the one guy at this party who’s apparently allergic to shirts,” you joked, gesturing to his open button-down that was doing absolutely nothing to hide the fact that his abs were, indeed, carved by the gods themselves.

He threw his head back and laughed, the sound so full and rich it almost made you forget how embarrassing your comment was. “Shirts are overrated,” he said with a playful shrug, glancing down at his chest like he was only now realizing he wasn’t wearing one. “Besides, you’re not exactly overdressed either, you know?”

Your cheeks flamed. “Touché.”

He smirked, the kind that made your heart do that stupid little flutter again. “But honestly? I’m not complaining. If I’d known falling into my arms would be part of your plan tonight, I would’ve ditched the shirt earlier.”

Okay, now you really were melting. He wasn’t just flirting; he was relentless. And worse, he knew exactly what he was doing, gauging your every reaction like he was running some kind of experiment on just how flustered he could make you. Spoiler alert: very.

You smiled, trying to play it cool, but it felt like every nerve in your body was hyperaware of how close he was standing. You could practically feel the heat radiating off his skin, the subtle scent of his cologne still teasing your senses. Focus, you reminded yourself. You didn’t want to come off as some starstruck fan who couldn’t handle a little flirting.

“Falling into your arms wasn’t exactly on my to-do list tonight,” you quipped, finally meeting his eyes again. “But, hey, accidents happen.”

William’s lips quirked into that smirk again, the one that was quickly becoming your undoing. “Some accidents aren’t so bad,” he said smoothly, his eyes flicking down for just a second before they locked back on yours, making your breath hitch.

There was something about the way he looked at you—like he was undressing you with his eyes, but not in a sleazy way. No, it was more like he was figuring you out, studying every little reaction, every shift in your body language, every flutter of your lashes. It was almost unnerving how much attention he was paying to you, like he had all the time in the world.

“Okay, now I know you’re trying to kill me,” you muttered under your breath, barely loud enough for him to hear. But of course, he did.

“What was that?” He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine. “Something you wanna say to me, sweetheart?”

You felt your heart stutter in your chest at the sudden proximity, the pet name slipping out of his mouth so casually, like it was something he’d said a hundred times before. You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way his voice sent heat pooling in your stomach. “Just that you’re not exactly subtle, are you?”

“Why would I be?” he asked, pulling back just enough to give you that devastating smile again. “I’ve got you right where I want you.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. He was so goddamn confident. Not cocky, not arrogant, just… sure of himself, like he knew exactly what effect he had on you, and he wasn’t afraid to use it. And the worst part was, it was working. Every word, every glance, every laugh—he was pulling you in without even trying.

You swallowed hard, trying to find your voice. “Yeah, well… maybe I just like the view.”

His grin widened at that, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Oh, you like the view, huh?”

You felt your face heat up instantly. “I meant of the party,” you corrected quickly, even though it was a blatant lie.

Willam raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Sure you did,” he said, his voice dropping to a near-whisper as he leaned in just a little closer. “But I’m glad you like what you see.”

You felt the air between you shift—just a little, but enough to make your pulse race. His eyes darkened slightly, and for the first time tonight, the teasing edge in his voice softened, replaced by something more serious. More intense.

“Listen,” he said, his voice low, the flirtation still there but laced with something deeper now. “This party’s fun and all, but… I’d much rather spend the rest of the night with you. Somewhere quieter.”

Your heart thudded in your chest, and you stared at him for a moment, trying to process what he’d just said. He was asking if you wanted to leave with him—if you wanted to take this to the next level.

Part of you knew you should probably play it cool, act like this wasn’t sending your mind into overdrive. But the other part of you—the part that had been riding the high of his relentless attention all night—was screaming at you to say yes.

William waited, his eyes never leaving yours, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He wasn’t rushing you, but there was a heat in his gaze that made it clear he was hoping for the answer he wanted.

And honestly? So were you.

“I—uh—yeah,” you finally managed, your voice shaky but steady enough. “I’d like that.”

William’s smile widened, his eyes lighting up with that same mischievous glint as he straightened up, offering you his hand. “Then let’s get out of here.”

The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting a warm, golden hue across the unfamiliar room. You blinked against the brightness, disoriented for a moment until you felt the weight of the arm draped across your waist. Right. William. Last night. Your mind replayed flashes of the night before—the teasing, the drinks, his relentless flirting, and then… everything else.

You shifted slightly, the cool sheets brushing against your bare skin, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from the man beside you. William’s breathing was slow and steady, and you could hear the faint rustle of him stirring next to you, his presence impossibly close and yet suddenly foreign in the daylight. What the hell just happened?

You glanced over at him, your heart doing that annoying flutter thing again. Even half-asleep, he looked annoyingly perfect. His blond hair was tousled from sleep, his face relaxed, and those damn long lashes—seriously, what kind of guy has lashes like that?—cast soft shadows on his cheekbones. He shifted slightly, his arm tightening around your waist for a moment before loosening, as though even in sleep he wasn’t quite ready to let you go.

It was kind of surreal, being here. In bed. With William freaking Nylander.

You closed your eyes for a second, trying to piece together your thoughts, but before you could drift too far into overthinking mode, you felt him stir next to you. His arm moved away, and the bed shifted as he sat up, the sheet slipping down to his waist. You kept your eyes closed, pretending to still be asleep as you listened to him move quietly around the room. The rustle of fabric, the sound of a zipper, a soft curse under his breath as he searched for something. You could practically picture him getting ready to leave, and part of you wondered if this was the part where he would just disappear without a word.

But then you felt the bed dip again, and his hand brushed lightly against your shoulder. “Hey,” his voice was soft, huskier than it had been last night, laced with that morning grogginess that somehow made him even more attractive. “I’ve gotta head out soon. Got a flight back to Toronto in a few hours.”

You opened your eyes, blinking up at him as he sat on the edge of the bed, half-dressed in a plain black T-shirt and jeans that somehow still managed to look designer on him. His hair was still messy, but it only added to the effortless charm he seemed to carry like it was second nature. You sat up slowly, clutching the sheet to your chest, suddenly hyperaware of your own disheveled state in comparison to him looking like he just walked off a runway.

“Oh, right,” you mumbled, your voice a little scratchy from sleep. “Back to the glamorous life of hockey stardom.”

He chuckled softly, his blue eyes catching the morning light as he glanced back at you. “Yeah, something like that.” There was a pause, a moment where neither of you seemed to know what to say next. You weren’t exactly prepared for the morning-after small talk with someone like him, and part of you wasn’t sure if he’d want to stick around for it either.

But then he reached into his back pocket, pulling out his phone and turning it over in his hand before offering it to you. “Here,” he said casually, but there was a sincerity in his voice that caught you off guard. “Put your number in.”

You blinked at him, momentarily caught off guard. “My number?”

He nodded, a small, almost boyish smile playing on his lips as he looked at you. “Yeah, unless you’d rather I just disappear into the night, never to be seen again.” His tone was teasing, but there was something genuine behind his eyes, like he was offering more than just a casual exchange of digits.

You hesitated for a second, staring at the phone in his hand. Part of you wondered if this was just something he did—collecting numbers like souvenirs from his nights out—but the way he was looking at you, waiting, made it feel different. Like he actually wanted to stay connected.

You reached for the phone, your fingers brushing against his for the briefest moment before you started typing in your number. “Alright,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant despite the nervous flutter in your chest. “But only if you promise not to spam me with shirtless selfies.”

He laughed, the sound low and warm, making your stomach do another one of those stupid flips. “No promises,” he grinned, taking the phone back once you’d handed it over. He glanced at the screen, then back at you, his smile softening just a little. “But I’ll definitely text you.”

You weren’t sure what to say to that, so you just nodded, feeling a little out of your depth again. This whole thing felt like it existed in some kind of surreal bubble—like you’d stepped out of your normal life and into some alternate universe where William Nylander was asking for your number and promising to text you like this wasn’t completely out of the ordinary.

He stood up then, pulling on his jacket and giving you one last look before heading toward the door. “I’ll see you around, yeah?”

You smiled, though it felt more like a question than a statement. “Yeah. See you around.”

And then he was gone, leaving you alone in the quiet room, the scent of his cologne still lingering in the air, clinging to your skin. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding, staring at the door for a moment as you tried to process everything. The night, the morning, the fact that he had just given you his number.

What. Just. Happened?

You flopped back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling as a small, incredulous laugh bubbled up in your chest. This wasn’t real life. It couldn’t be. But as your phone buzzed on the nightstand, you glanced over and saw his name light up the screen.

“Talk soon :)”

Yeah. This was definitely real. And you were in so much trouble.

The days that followed that surreal morning were a blur of disbelief, excitement, and an overwhelming sense of What the hell just happened?. You spent an embarrassing amount of time staring at his name in your contacts, debating whether to text him first or wait for him to follow up on his promise. But, true to his word, he didn’t leave you in suspense for long. That very same day, your phone lit up with a simple, casual message: “So, did I pass the ‘won’t disappear’ test?”

From there, it was like a dam broke. Texts became more frequent, each conversation flowing more easily than the last. The banter came naturally, with him teasing you about your corny responses at the party, and you firing back with just enough wit to keep him on his toes. But it wasn’t just flirting anymore—it was something deeper, more meaningful. Soon, those texts evolved into long FaceTime calls that stretched late into the night, your screen lighting up with his face as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

Except it wasn’t. Nothing about this was normal.

The first few calls were awkward in the way new things always are—filled with small talk about your day, what you were doing, and how many hours he’d spent training. He’d call you from all sorts of places—his car, the gym, even in between meetings with his agent—giving you glimpses into the world of a professional hockey player that still felt so far removed from your own life. Yet, the more you talked, the more he let you into those private, quieter moments. It wasn’t all glamorous; there were days he was exhausted, barely able to string sentences together, his hair mussed from pulling off his helmet, wearing nothing but his gold chain and boxers. He’d laugh at himself, apologizing for being a “boring, dense hockey guy,” but those moments, when his guard was down, were the ones that pulled you in deeper.

You found yourself opening up too. You’d show him little snippets of your life, whether it was cooking dinner in your tiny apartment or walking on your favourite beach. He seemed genuinely interested, asking questions about the things you never thought anyone would care about—your job, your friends, even your ridiculous obsession with late-night baking shows. He'd make comments like, "You bake? That’s cute. Maybe you can make me something when you're in Toronto," as if the idea of you being there wasn’t absurdly impractical.

Yet, every time he said it, that spark of curiosity flared to life. What if you did go?

There was no denying the pull. With every passing day, every call, every conversation, Toronto became more and more tempting. You could picture it so vividly—flying out, seeing him in person, experiencing this thing between you without a screen separating you. It was ridiculous, though, wasn’t it? You barely knew him. You had sex with him once. This was all supposed to be some fun, flirty thing, not a long-distance… whatever this was turning into. But when he mentioned it—“When are you coming to visit me?”—your heart would skip a beat, and the idea suddenly didn’t feel so far-fetched.

It was around the two-week mark when he FaceTimed you from his apartment. The view behind him was incredible, a sprawling cityscape with the CN Tower looming in the background. He was dressed in sweats, hair still damp from the shower, lounging on his couch like he didn’t have a care in the world. You, on the other hand, were curled up in bed, trying to keep your excitement from showing too much as he asked about your day. It was a mundane conversation, really, but there was a comfort in it, a growing familiarity that felt… nice. More than nice.

“You should be here,” William said suddenly, his eyes locking onto yours through the screen. There was a seriousness in his voice that wasn’t there before. “I keep telling you, you should come to Toronto.”

You laughed it off, like you always did, trying to mask the way your stomach flipped at the suggestion. “Yeah, because hopping on a plane to Canada is totally practical. I’ll just drop everything and come running, right?”

But William didn’t smile this time. His expression was soft, almost vulnerable. “Why not? I’m serious. You keep saying no, but you’re not really giving me a reason. I told you I’d pay.”

You blinked at the screen, momentarily thrown off by the change in his tone. He wasn’t teasing, wasn’t flirting—he was asking, really asking, and for the first time, you didn’t have a quick comeback ready. You stared at him, feeling your heart pound in your chest.

“Willy,” you started, your voice softer now, unsure of how to explain the million thoughts racing through your head. “It’s just… complicated. I have a life here, a job. And we’ve only known each other for, what, two weeks?”

“So?” His response was immediate, like he didn’t see the issue at all. “It’s not like I’m asking you to move here. Just… come for a visit. Spend a weekend. See what happens.”

Your mind spun with the possibilities. A weekend. It sounded so simple when he said it, but to you, it felt like opening Pandora’s box. What if you went, and things weren’t as easy in person like it was the first time? What if this whole thing fell apart? But another part of you, the part that had been growing more attached to him with each passing day, screamed at you to say yes. To stop overthinking and just take the leap.

“I want to,” you admitted quietly, almost afraid to say it out loud.

William’s face lit up at that, the corners of his lips tugging into that boyish grin that always made your heart skip. “Then do it. You’re way too in your head about this. Just come. What’s the worst that could happen?”

The worst that could happen? Oh, you could think of a few things. But staring at him, his expression so open and genuine, you found yourself nodding slowly, your own grin starting to form.

“Okay,” you said before you could talk yourself out of it. “I’ll come.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, both of you processing what they meant. William’s grin widened into a full-on smile, his excitement palpable through the screen. “You won’t regret it,” he promised, his voice full of certainty. “I’ll make sure of it. I’ll buy your tickets, too.”

And just like that, the decision was made. You were going to Toronto.

For the next week, your anticipation grew, along with your nerves. Every time Will mentioned it—“You’re going to love the city. I can’t wait to show you around,”—you felt a mix of excitement and anxiety. It wasn’t just the trip; it was the what ifs that came with it. What if things between you were different in person? What if this whole thing fizzled out? But the pull was too strong, the connection you’d built too real to ignore.

By the time you were at the airport, suitcase in hand, your nerves were a tangled mess. Yet, somewhere beneath the anxiety, there was a sense of thrill, a quiet voice telling you that this might just be one of those moments in life where you take a risk and it pays off. After all, how often do you get the chance to fall headfirst into something this unexpected?

The flight to Toronto felt like the longest of your life. As the plane descended, you stared out the window, watching the sprawling city beneath you slowly come into focus. The CN Tower stood tall, piercing the sky, and the shimmering waters of Lake Ontario stretched out like an endless mirror. You clutched your phone in one hand, the other drumming nervously against your knee. This was it. You were about to step into something that could either be a dream or a disaster, and the weight of that realization hadn’t fully hit until now.

When the plane touched down, you were hit with a rush of nerves. What if things were awkward in person? What if the chemistry that felt so electric over FaceTime fizzled out the second you were face-to-face? You had no idea what to expect.

But then you saw him, waiting just outside of baggage claim, and all the doubts melted away.

He stood there in a hoodie and sweats, casual yet effortlessly cool, his blond hair messy like he’d just rolled out of bed—but somehow, on him, it worked. The moment his blue eyes met yours, his face lit up in that same grin you’d seen a hundred times through a screen, and it felt like everything around you faded.

Your heart did a little flip as you approached, suitcase dragging behind you. “Hey,” you breathed, trying to sound normal, but your voice came out a little shaky.

William stepped forward, closing the distance between you in a few strides. “Hey,” he replied, his voice soft, his grin never wavering. Without hesitation, he pulled you into a hug. And just like that, everything felt right. His arms around you were warm and solid, his body familiar in a way that surprised you. He smelled like cologne and clean laundry, and for a moment, you let yourself sink into it, into him, letting the reality of the moment wash over you.

“You’re actually here,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to look at you, his hands lingering on your arms. His eyes were bright, amused. “You weren’t just messing with me, huh?”

You laughed, feeling a little more grounded now that the ice had been broken. “What, did you think I’d back out last minute?”

“I don’t know,” he teased, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping lower. “You seem like you scare easy.”

Before you could come up with a witty response, he grabbed your suitcase and motioned toward the exit. “Come on, I’m starving. Let’s get out of here.”

The first few hours were a blur of excitement. He took you to a cozy café not far from the airport, somewhere tucked away and intimate, where you could sit by the window and watch the city move outside. Over coffee and a shared plate of pastries, the conversation flowed as easily as it had over the phone—only now, there was something more. He wasn’t just a face on a screen anymore; he was real, sitting across from you, his smile lighting up his entire face whenever you made him laugh.

And he did laugh. A lot. More than you expected. You’d forgotten how much your weird sense of humor had slipped out in those earlier texts, but now, sitting across from him, you felt freer. The walls you’d built, the ones you’d used to guard yourself from being too vulnerable too fast, were crumbling faster than you could stop them.

After coffee, he drove you around, showing you the city like it was his personal playground. You marveled at the historic brick buildings of the Distillery District, snapping photos as he teased you for acting like a tourist. You walked along the waterfront, where the breeze off the lake was cool and refreshing, and he bought you ice cream from a little stand by the pier. At the mention of grabbing lunch at St. Lawrence Market, you could only laugh—he was a whirlwind, jumping from one idea to the next, his excitement palpable.

Later that day, you met his brother, Alex, who welcomed you with a warm smile and a handshake that quickly turned into a hug. “So you’re the mystery girl,” he said, glancing between you and William with an amused grin. “He hasn’t shut up about you for weeks.”

You felt your cheeks burn, but William brushed off the comment with a smirk. “Don’t listen to him. He’s just jealous.”

That evening, as the city lights began to twinkle against the darkening sky, William took you to a quiet rooftop bar, a stark contrast to the one you met at. The view of the Toronto skyline was breathtaking, and the mood between you shifted. You weren’t just two people exploring a city anymore—there was an undercurrent of something deeper, something you both felt but didn’t quite put into words.

You ended up at his place that night, the air thick with anticipation. His apartment was modern, sleek, with floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a stunning view of the city. But you barely noticed it. Your focus was on him, the way he looked at you, the way his hands felt on your skin, gentle yet insistent.

The nights that followed were electric, filled with quiet murmurs and heated kisses, bodies intertwined in the dark. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing. Just the two of you, giving in to the pull that had been building since you fell into his arms. It was intense, thrilling, and everything you hadn’t realized you were waiting for.

You stayed for the full week. You explored more of the city together, visited Kensington Market, strolled through the Royal Ontario Museum, and even caught a Leafs game where he introduced you to his teammates. They were charming and funny, ribbing William for finally bringing a girl around. “This one must be special,” Mitch joked, and while you laughed it off, part of you wondered if it was true.

But as the days went on, something shifted.

You’ve been here longer than planned, each day blurring into the next in a way that feels easy, natural. But there’s something different about William tonight. He’s quieter, more distant, the usual spark missing from his eyes. You’re curled up on his couch, his arm thrown around you,  the Toronto skyline glittering through the window–-but there’s an unease hanging between you.

“I’ve been thinking,” William starts, his voice low, as if he’s trying to find the right words. He’s sitting right beside you, although he doesn’t dare meet your gaze, fingers tapping restlessly against your shoulder. “About us. About this.”

Your heart stutters. “What do you mean?”

He finally looks at you, eyes soft, but there’s an underlying tension there. “I just… I didn’t think it’d get this serious this fast. I mean, I like you. I really do. But…” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t expect it to be this… much.”

The weight of his words sinks in slowly, a cold pit forming in your stomach. You don’t say anything at first, waiting for him to continue, to explain what exactly he’s trying to say.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is, I need to keep things casual. For now. It’s a lot, you being here, and I’m just… I don’t know if I can handle more with everything going on.”

There it is. The words you didn’t want to hear. The same ones you’d feared might come, lingering in the back of your mind ever since you landed in Toronto.He’s exactly like the rest of them. And believing that he was worth it?

Well, that was just gullible of you.

[thedailyvio]

Day 191 - 194

Attack for TheInkyBaroness on ArtFight

Wip and Alt Below:

[keeps-ache]

HEY

[sunsburns]

good luck, babe!

pairing: tashi duncan x fem!reader x patrick zweig x art donaldson

summary: patrick zwieg invites tashi duncan and art donaldson to join him at your engagement party. you think they came to celebrate you and your new chapter and put the past behind you, rebuilding lost friendships, but tashi hopes to stop you from marrying a man you never wanted.

—or: the trio crashes your engagement party

word count: 10k+ (i have a serious problem)

contains: SMUT 18+, smut with a lot of plot, post-challengers movie, fluff & comfort, angst, tashi’s pov but lowkey get's mixed up around the end, foursome, oral (fem receiving), oral (m receiving), p in v, unprotected sed (wrap it before yall tap it), homewrecking, cheating but also not cheating but also a worse third thing, three-way make out, four-way make out, dom!tashi, patrick being nasty, art being a loser, no use of y/n, situationship that lasts 13 years.

author’s note: this fic is based on this request with inspo from the greatest song on earth: good luck, babe! it was supposed to be a quick smut blurb but at this point, you all know i can’t write smut without some kind of angsty plot. everyone is super messy and there is some of the dirtiest smut i’ve written so far (it’s only going to get worse from here). this one is a roller coaster.

It didn't make sense to any of them, how you could've possibly ended up with him. 

Tashi remembered him from Stanford vividly. He came from a white-collared family, with daddy's money that bought him everything he could've ever asked for, yet he still wanted more. He played golf and polo and even dabbled with tennis but never had enough guts or skill to take it seriously. But his dad funded most of the programs and events at the school, so everyone had known him, his charm, his family, and his inability to stick to one thing even outside of sports. He clung onto a new girl every other week, a new girl wrapped around his finger only to be ultimately tossed aside like the rest of them.

"What a dick," Tashi remembered you saying once, stabbing your fork into your salad while glaring daggers at him from across the cafeteria as he bragged loudly to his fan club about how he beat you in a game of tennis. 

Which he didn't. 

You let him win. 

His parents had been paying you to coach him, paid you extra every time you let him win a set or two against you, even if it was off the record. God knows you needed the money.

"I think I'm gonna quit." You said, turning back to glance at Tashi.

"About damn time," she snickered, shaking her head. "I told you you're wasting your time with him when you could be doing something better. Like training with me."

You had rolled your eyes and poked her arm with your fork, "If I'm still trailing after him this time next week, shoot me in the head and put me out of my misery."

Almost thirteen years later, you're walking around with his ring on your finger at your engagement party. A party where your fiancé announced your upcoming retirement after a tennis career run that Tashi would’ve killed for: a six-time US Open winner; two-time gold medalist at the Olympics; and brand deals that would ensure you and the next four generations of your family lived happily under your trust fund.

Clearly, you weren't marrying him for his money.

It made Tashi anxious, because, in some way, she could see that the marriage you will have with your fiancé is far too similar to how Tashi's would have been if she and Patrick stayed together. 

Okay, maybe that was a reach.

Or maybe it's how it would've been if neither of you had gone up to Art and Patrick's hotel room that night. Or maybe it would've been Tashi's ring on your finger instead.

She couldn't shake the bitter taste in her mouth as she watched you laugh with him, your eyes lighting up in the way they always did when you were truly happy. It used to be her who made you smile like that. She remembered the late-night practices, the shared victories, and the quiet moments shared in the comfort of her dorm room. She remembered the promises you both made and dreams of dominating the tennis world together.

But she shouldn't dwell on the past, she shouldn't think about what-ifs. At least that's what Art tells her with a hand on her shoulder. Tashi glances at his hand, noting the wedding band that rests on his finger. The squeeze he gives is meant to be reassuring, but instead, it feels suffocating.

"I'll never know how he bagged her," Patrick tuts from her other side, a drink already in his hand. He holds it close to his mouth, biting the rim of the glass before taking a swig, his eyes never leaving you. His gaze is shameless, tracing the way your dress hugs your curves, how your hair shines under the chandelier lights, and the way your lips move as you speak.

"Lucky, lucky man..." Patrick shakes his head, a bitter edge to his voice.

A waiter passes by, offering hors d'oeuvres, and Patrick takes enough for the three of them for himself, setting his empty glass on the platter. As he stuffs an appetizer in his mouth, he begins to walk away, his eyes fixed on you.

"Where do you think you're going?" Art asks, his hand slipping from Tashi's shoulder.

Patrick spins around, mouth full, and shrugs. "To congratulate the future bride."

Art and Tashi stand there, watching, almost dumbfounded when they see Patrick sneak up behind you, wrapping his arms around your middle and lifting you into the air. You shriek, champagne spilling from your glass, but once you see who it is, a wide smile breaks across your face.

"Patrick!" Tashi can hear you from across the hall. Patrick lifts you again, hoisting you into the air. You wrap your arms around his shoulders as he spins you around, your laughter ringing out—a sweet melody that draws the attention of everyone nearby. "You made it!"

Tashi feels a pang of surprise. 

You and Patrick had been in closer contact than she imagined. It stings, a reminder of the distance that had grown between you after her injury, much like the distance that had grown between Art and Patrick. She never knew you had turned to Patrick for comfort. Though it made sense—Patrick was the one you invited, not her, not Art. Patrick was the one who had to ask if he could bring two guests instead of the traditional plus-one. 

But surely, you must have known that if you invited Patrick, Tashi and Art would come too, right? 

Right? 

The question churns a pit of dread in her stomach as Art starts to lead her closer to you out of courtesy.

Patrick's arms are wrapped tightly around your torso, his hand resting too low to be innocent, but you seem happy nonetheless. Happier in Patrick's arms than in the arms of your future husband. You embrace him close, the ring on your finger glimmering under the chandelier lights as you hold onto the back of his neck, your laughter finally subsiding as the spinning stops.

As Tashi and Art approach, the reality of the situation hits her harder. She's watching from the outside, a spectator to your happiness, feeling the sting of what could have been. She forces a smile; your engagement to the worst person in the world can't possibly be the thing that makes her break. Not after everything she's built since she started coaching.

Art tries to catch your eye, offering a polite smile once you let go of Patrick. "Hey."

"Hi," you say breathlessly, a bright smile across your face while Patrick swings his arm over your shoulder. You seem happy, almost relieved that Tashi and Art were here as if you doubted their attendance. "Wow, it's been so long. You guys look great."

"Thanks," Tashi finally says, the words weighing on her tongue like lead.

"You look beautiful," Art tells you, and it's rushed as if he's been trying to keep it to himself but couldn't help it once he was close enough to you.

Before you can get a word out, another arm wraps around your waist, discreetly pushing Patrick away from you to slide into your side. Patrick lets out an annoyed groan, stepping aside as your fiancé squeezes you tightly and says, "She does, doesn't she? Hey, killer."

You turn to him, about to say something, maybe greet him back, maybe introduce him to everyone. But he doesn't let you, he's leaning closer until his lips lock with yours. It takes you by surprise—you flinch at first before finally letting him kiss you properly, his hand cupping the back of your neck, pushing you as close to him as humanly possible.

Art lets out a low, awkward sigh while watching it happen before him, and Patrick rolls his eyes, stepping back in search of a waiter for another drink.

He holds onto you like you're a prize he's won. Almost as if he's been competing with everyone in the world to finally hold you and show you off. As if that's all you had to offer.

You blink, clearly embarrassed, as you clear your throat to disperse the awkward tension in the air. "These are some, uh," you stumble over your words before nodding towards Art, Tashi, and Patrick, "some old friends from college. I'm sure you remember—"

He's interrupting you again, reaching out with the hand that's not on you to shake Tashi's hand. He holds it tightly, his thumb pressing against her wedding ring. "Tashi Duncan, how could I ever forget? Still beautiful as ever."

She has to force herself to smile, for your sake. "Good to see you too—"

"You know," your fiancé starts, cutting her off, "I still remember the time you told me to suck a bag of dicks 'cause I took up your court time. Best day of my life."

"Yeah," Patrick laughs. He's found another glass of champagne to sip on, and it's by his lips when he says, "who doesn't love getting cussed out by Tashi."

You wince. "Patrick—"

"No, no. He's right. It's one out of a million. I took it as a compliement," your fiancé says, glancing at Tashi again, his eyes darting up and down, lingering on her wedding ring once more before she finally pulls her hand out of his grasp. He spots the arm Tashi has been clinging to. "Art Donaldson, I'm a big fan."

Art stiffens as if taken by surprise. "Really?"

Your fiancé is nodding, and when Art glances your way for a split second, he tugs you closer. "You're incredible. Watching you play, it's like, woah! He's killin' it out there. Too bad you've retired though, would've loved to see you play longer."

There's a faint redness to Art's face when he nods. "Oh, thank you."

"I've always wondered if I'd turn out the way you did if I stuck to tennis." Then he laughs, nudging your side. "If only this one put me to work like Tashi did to you, maybe we would've competed in the US Open a few times."

You snort and shake your head, the idea of watching the two of them even standing on the court together amusing you. "You couldn't beat Art if you tried."

Your fiancé shrugs. "Maybe Patrick."

"Stop kidding yourself. You can't even beat your nephew and he's twelve."

He hums, turning so that he'll face you. He holds your waist with both hands, caressing you gently. "You sure know your way into a man's heart, baby," he says lowly before kissing you again. It's rough and messy, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth. You shriek and press your hands against his chest. He doesn't let go immediately, peeking a glance towards the trio while kissing you.

Tashi feels a knot of disgust tightening in her stomach. The audacity of him to touch you like that in front of them, as if he’s marking his territory, sets her blood boiling just a little bit. God, did no one teach this guy any kind of etiquette?

She catches Art's expression out of the corner of her eye—his jaw is clenched as he turns to look away. Patrick's lips curl in a sneer, the glass in his hand trembling slightly. He fights the urge to throw it.

Your fiancé reaches down and gropes your ass over your silky white dress before finally separating from you.

You stand there, looking flushed and embarrassed, letting him whisper something in your ear before he walks off, joining a group of men who whistle and catcall at him as he nears them. Each jeer and hoot feels like a slap to the face.

"Uh, sorry," you apologize, unable to meet their eyes as you blindly wipe at your chin to fix your lipstick. "That was... I don't know what's gotten into him. He's not usually like this. He's, uh... he's great."

Patrick scoffs, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Yeah, real great."

Tashi can’t help but frown, her heart aching as she watches you fumble. "You can't possibly want to marry him," she wants to say, but the words get stuck in her throat. She can't bear to hear the answer, especially if it's the one she fears.

Art steps forward, his face a careful mask of neutrality. "If you’re happy," he says, but there's an edge to his tone, a challenge. The unspoken words hang heavily in the air: "Are you?"

You nod quickly, too quickly, as if trying to convince yourself as much as them. "Sure, sure. I mean, what’s not to be happy about? His family loves me. I'm retiring this year, and gonna spend more time with my family. Hopefully more time with some old friends?"

"Old friends?" Tashi repeats, the words tasting bitter on her tongue. The casual way you say it, as if years of distance and silence can be bridged with a few meetings, stings more than she cares to admit.

"Yeah, before I get busy with the baby."

"Baby?" Patrick's voice is sharp, almost disbelieving. "You’re pregnant?"

"What? No!" You quickly sputter, shaking your head. Then you pause, a thought crossing your mind and you lighten up a little bit, a hopeful smile gracing your face, "But I do want kids one day. I want three."

"Does he want kids?"

"We've talked about it, but he shuts it down all the time."

"You poor thing." Patrick puffs out, pinching your arm before reaching for your hand and leading you toward the bar. "Let's bring this conversation outside, ladies. I need a smoke. And you all need a drink stronger than his champagne."

The idea of fresh air and a strong drink is appealing. After grabbing a bottle of finely aged wine, the four of you make your way to the garden outside the grand hall. The shift from the stuffy indoor atmosphere to the cool night air is a relief. 

The moonlight casts a silvery glow over the meticulously maintained garden, illuminating the path with a soft, ethereal light. You glow in your pretty white dress, the fabric shimmering as you take a seat on a patch of grass near the rose bushes. The scent of roses mingles with the crisp night air, creating a tranquil yet poignant backdrop. You glance up at the three of them who stand there, watching you.

Tashi raises a brow as you take a long swig of the wine. She didn't remember you to be much of a drinker. 

"It's not that big of a deal," you say, passing her the bottle when she finally sits next to you. 

It's as if her movement had woken the two guys and then Art takes a seat on your other side while Patrick lies down on the grass a few feet away to light a cigarette. 

You pout, "If he doesn't want kids, then we won't have kids."

"But you want kids," Tashi reminds you, but it's more of a question as if she's wondering if that's truly what you want. Don't get her wrong, Tashi loves being a mother, she would kill anyone for Lily, but you wanting kids barely before confirming your retirement threw her off a little bit.

"Of course I do." You hiccup, reaching for the bottle again. "I'm not getting any younger. It's just... he'll come around."

"And if he doesn't?" Art asks, his voice gentle but probing.

"Can we not talk about that right now? I just want to get shitfaced and party."

"Now we're talkin'!" Patrick interjects, his grin wide as he takes a drag from his cigarette. The embers glow briefly in the dark.

"Come on, everybody gather." Patrick flicks his cigarette off to the rocky pathway and snags the bottle from Art's hands. He raises it, nodding at you with that same smirk he's had for years. Snarky, cocky, and yet endearing. "To celebrate new beginnings. Even if your future husband's a dick and can't make you cum nearly half as hard as I can. Good luck, babe."

The rest of you all make a noise of annoyance, rolling your eyes. "Seriously?"

"Shut the fuck up, Patrick," Art scoffs, though there's a faint smile tugging at his lips as you let a giggle slip out past your fake annoyance.

Patrick's smile only widens at the sound of his friends' protests. It reminds him of the good old years when his biggest worry was which shorts he'd wear to his next game. "Cheers!"

As the bottle is passed around, Tashi can't help but feel a pang of nostalgia mixed with bitterness. The comradery of the past clashes painfully with the reality of the present. Is this how things are going to be like now? Is this night a call for a truce, waving the white flag so that all of you could be friends again, now as adults, making plans for brunch and getting the kids together for birthday parties?

You take another sip from the bottle, your gaze drifting towards the moonlit sky. "To new beginnings," you repeat softly, though the hope in your voice is tinged with uncertainty.

Tashi leans back, her eyes lingering on you, a mix of longing and regret pooling in her heart. Art sits quietly beside her, lost in his thoughts, while Patrick’s laughter rings out, masking deeper sentiments beneath his forced cheerfulness. The chatter and music from the hall spill into the garden, the warm lights casting a golden glow over the scene. Patrick talks animatedly about the seasons he thinks he has left in him, and to Tashi's annoyance, you encourage him.

She shakes her head at the way Patrick's eyes light up, glancing at her with a knowing look. Despite her irritation, she can't deny the comfort of slipping back into their old dynamic.

Suddenly, Art hums thoughtfully. He has been mostly quiet, listening to the conversation with occasional quiet laughs. Now, as he puts down the empty bottle of wine, he looks at you, his eyes more alive than they have been in a long time. "I had a burger for the first time in years," he announces, a smile spreading across his face as if he is proud of it.

You gasp, perking up as you reach over to hold his hands. "How was it?"

"Amazing," Art says fondly, "like heaven inside a bun."

"You should've seen him," Tashi smirks, shoulder to shoulder with Patrick, playfully kicking Art. "He was drooling just looking at the menu."

He rolls his eyes, "I wasn't drooling." When you fall silent, he looks at you again, frowning. "You haven't had one in a while, have you?"

You shake your head, "No, I think the last time I had one was when we graduated."

Patrick scoffs, "Bullshit."

You laugh, "It's true! I've been very strict with my diet. And now that I've retired... I don't know..." You shrug, suddenly getting shy as Art starts tracing stars against the back of your hand. "There are so many options, I wouldn't know where to start."

"It doesn't have to be anything fancy," Tashi says.

"Pretty sure I saw an old diner on the way here," Patrick suggests. He stands, stretching and groaning before bending over to take Tashi's hand and help her up.

You sputter, watching them all start to stand before you. "Shut up, we're not driving, you're drunk."

"But sober enough to see how badly you want this," Patrick teases, waving a finger near your face and smirking. "You're drooling."

"No, I'm not!"

"Sure you are," Art joins in, pulling you up to your feet. He swipes a thumb at your chin, "Look right there, by your lip."

"Oh," Tashi grins, "I see it."

"Shut up, Tash, no you don't." The words fall from your lips before you can stop them. The old nickname fits too smoothly as if it hasn't been years since you've called her that. Tashi smiles, feeling like a teenager again, messing around with you. She starts to walk off, Art and Patrick following her while you stand there, dumbfounded and a little breathless from their teasing.

"Where are you going?"

"To get a burger?" Tashi shrugs, and she smirks at you, a mischievous smile that makes you wonder if any of you have ever grown up at all. "You coming or what?"

You try to be reasonable, "I can't just leave."

"We'll bring you back before anyone notices," Patrick bargains, jogging back to your side and taking your arm to lead you to the exit. "Lighten up, when was the last time you had some fun?"

You don't even look back.

You find yourself laughing, nodding as the four of you make your way out of the garden. The moonlight guides your steps, casting long shadows on the path.

The walk is a blur of laughter and shared stories, the kind of carefree joy that you haven't felt in years. Before long, you arrive at the diner. The neon lights buzz softly, casting a nostalgic glow over the parking lot. You can smell the greasy, comforting aroma of burgers and fries even before you step inside.

The few people in the diner stare, watching as what seems to be a runaway bride and three wedding guests stumble and giggle over each other, lips a little purple from the wine you've all had and ordering burgers to go.

Once you have your food, you all find yourselves sitting on the curb of the diner's parking lot, the warm night air wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. Patrick hands out the burgers, his eyes twinkling with a mischievous light as he makes a show of presenting yours to you. "First bite in... how many years?"

"Too many," You take the burger with a chuckle, unwrapping it and taking a bite. "Oh my God," you mumble around your mouthful, "this is amazing."

Tashi watches you, a soft smile playing on her lips. "Told you."

Art takes a bite of his own burger, nodding in agreement. "There's nothing like it."

You shake your head, going in for more, "This is the greatest thing I've put in my mouth."

Patrick, already halfway through his, lets out a loud laugh, "Yeah, I bet."

The parking lot felt like a little bubble of the past, untouched by the years that had separated you. It was strange how easy it was to fall back into the rhythm of your old friendships, how natural it felt to banter and laugh as if no time had passed at all.

Tashi rolls her eyes, though you don't even seem phased by Patrick's joke. "I can't even get mad," you say, swallowing, "I feel like I'm eighteen again."

"Tell me about it," Art agrees. Then he pauses for a beat, chewing on her burger a little slower before turning to you. "You know, this reminds me of that time... when, you know."

"Oh," You snort and nod, scrunching up your face at the memory. "Yeah. It kinda does."

"What?" Patrick looks between the two of you, raising his brow in interest. "What time?"

"It was a long time ago," you tell him.

"Like back in Stanford," Art explains, and then he points between Tashi and Patrick with his burger, "when you two were still a thing."

Tashi sits up straight now, her full attention on you and Art. "Oh, really?"

"It was that time Patrick came for a surprise visit in the middle of our girls' night," you say, nodding your head at her, hoping she'd catch up with the memory. "And you kicked me out of your dorm so you and Patrick could... you know."

Tashi nods. "Have some alone time." She finishes for you.

She remembers that night well: you were both nestled in the haven of her dorm room, the soft glow of the television casting gentle shadows on the walls as the movie played on. You were curled up under her covers, your bodies intertwined, legs tangled together in a comforting knot. The world outside ceased to exist in those moments, leaving just the two of you in your little cocoon of comfort.

Tashi can still feel the sensation of your fingers running through her hair, the tender, rhythmic motion soothing her in a way nothing else could. The warmth of your touch lingered on her scalp, your fingers traced lazy patterns, and she remembered the way her body instinctively relaxed into yours.

But then came the knock on the door, and she felt her heart jump at her throat as she swung her legs out from under the covers and padded softly to the door.

When she opened the door, there stood Patrick, his presence almost surreal. He was holding a bouquet of carefully picked-out flowers, their vibrant colours contrasting sharply with the dim light of the hallway. His smirk was both nervous and charming

"You kicked her out?" Patrick gasps, and Tashi gives him a blank stare. He's acting as if he wasn't even there, as if he didn't stand by her desk while watching her scramble to clean up the mess the two of you made in her dorm and shove you out the door before locking it.

Patrick shrugs, that stupid smirk painted on his lips again before he finishes his burger. "Would've let you stay if it were up to me," he tells you, "The more, the merrier."

"No way," you poke your tongue at the inside of your cheek. "She wanted you all for herself."

"Please, I would've been too distracted with you to even give him my time of day," Tashi admits. "I did you a favor, Patrick. Saved you from blue balls."

He holds a hand to his heart. "I'm so honored."

"But anyway," you start, "while I was walking back to my dorm I bumped into Art, who got stood up on a date."

Patrick blinks, turning to Art. "You got stood up?"

"Was it that girl from marketing?" Tashi asks.

Art's cheeks start to turn red, the flush growing from his neck and up to his ears at the attention. "Yeah, she, uh, she bailed on me last minute."

"I remember you telling me the date went well," Patrick says. "That you guys went out late, bought takeout... you made out in your car," Then, to fuck with him, he adds, "You came in your pants 'cause she kissed your neck. Remember?"

"And that did happen," Art confesses begrudgingly, glaring at Patrick while Tashi laughs. "It’s just... it wasn't with her..."

"It... it was me," you admit.

Tashi wishes she could say she's surprised, but it's nearly impossible because anyone who knew you back in college knew very well about the big crush you harboured for a certain blonde. She knew the way you swooned after him, even if you never tried to admit it because it was too embarrassing.

"Wait, so," Tashi starts, poking at your side and drawing a nervous giggle from you. It makes her smile. "Is Art that guy you told me about, with the puppy eyes and pretty smile?"

"Okay," you puff out, blushing, "I did not say puppy eyes."

"You think I have puppy eyes?" Art asks you, his gaze softening.

When you take a few seconds too long to answer, Patrick claps his hands together and swings his arm over yours and Art's shoulders, pulling the two of you closer to him. "Aw," he teasingly coos at the two of you getting all flustered, "you think he has puppy eyes."

"It was so long ago," you say, running your hands over the soft fabric of your dress. "I don't even remember."

"I'm so sure you don't," Patrick hums, a knowing look in his eyes before he presses a sloppy kiss against your cheek.

You groan, shoving your hand in his face to push him off before you stumble to stand on your feet again, wiping your cheek from his spit. "You're disgusting," you huff, but there's no real bite in your words because there's a faint smile threatening to appear at the corners of your lips. 

You stand there for a beat or two, brushing off your dress and feeling the weight of the night settling in. You stare down at the three of them sitting on the curb, the neon lights of the diner buzzing behind you. You can see the hall where your engagement party is from where you stand; you almost don't want to go back.

"Okay," you tuck your lower lip between your teeth as you hesitate, "this... this has been fun."

"Don't leave yet," Tashi says while Art's smile drops, his face falling in disappointment.

"Yeah," Patrick rushes to stand, reaching for you, "the party was just getting started."

"I really have to get back," you step away. "If anyone finds out I left, I'll hear about it for days. This has been great. Like, seriously, I don't think I've ever laughed this hard since before..." You trail off, your tongue getting tied as you glance at Tashi, then at her knee, covered by the length of her dark purple dress. You clear your throat. "Well, uh, I better go. But thank you again, for the beer and the burgers and the memories. I hope you guys can make it to the wedding."

You start to walk away before they can say anything. Like, on purpose, as if you know that if they tried to make you stay and ditch your party, you would. You would cave to their defences.

The sound of your heels is deafening. Tashi watches you go, she watches how you wrap your arms around yourself, and it all feels too similar to how she watched you go all those years ago and never chased after you. 

"Don’t marry him," Tashi stands from the curb. She's shaky on her feet, taking long strides to walk past Patrick and hoping to catch up to you. She sees you freeze in your steps, barely out of the parking lot. You turn to look at her quickly, face falling in shock at her demand.

"What?" Your voice is quiet, hoping that your ears are betraying you.

Tashi slows down once she is close enough, the distance between you is almost nothing but the gap feels like miles. The red and blue lights from the neon sign blend into a deep purple against your skin, casting an ethereal glow that makes this moment feel suspended in time. She watches your face, sees the way your brows knit together, the flicker of anger and confusion in your eyes.

Her heart is pounding, the blood rushing in her ears almost drowning out her voice. But she forces herself to speak, her voice low and urgent. "Don’t marry him," she says again, each word feeling like it's being ripped from her chest. Her resolve, which had held firm all these years, finally crumbles.

Getting Patrick back into her life had been one of the most complicated, tangled pains she had ever undertaken. The late-night calls, the awkward meetings, the painstakingly slow rebuilding of trust between herself and Art. 

None of it had been easy.

Yet, even with Patrick back, there had always been something missing—a void that only you could fill.

She looks into your eyes, her gaze unwavering, despite the tears welling up. "Please," she pleads, her voice breaking. "Please, don't marry him." The words hang heavy in the air, a desperate plea that carries years of longing and regret. She knows that having you back won't make up for the lost time, and won't magically fix all the mistakes and missed opportunities. But she can at least try, can at least fight for the chance to make things right.

"Tashi, you can't possibly be asking me to—"

"It’s not worth it," she tells you anyway, her voice trembling with the weight of unspoken truths. She knows it’s a risk, a gamble she's taking by laying her heart bare, but she can’t hold back any longer. The years of resentment, of silent longing, bubble to the surface, fueled by the sight of you with someone else's ring on your finger. It's a bitter pill to swallow, the realization that she resented you not for leaving, but for never coming back. 

Why didn't you come back?

Tashi's words hang heavy in the air, a desperate plea born from years of unspoken desires and regrets. "Both of you want different things anyway. You don't love him," she continues, her voice raw with emotion, "it's not gonna last. One day you're gonna wake up in the middle of the night and realize I'm right. You'd hate to admit it, but I will be right. I am right. He doesn't deserve you. He's no good for you."

You scoff, "And you are?"

"You said it yourself," she presses on, her voice barely above a whisper, "You've never laughed the way you do with us. And you kept in touch with Patrick, so that's gotta mean something." It's a feeble attempt to grasp at straws. "Marrying him will just be another excuse, another stupid reason. I thought you were better than that."

Then she remembers that night before you left for London, back in 2012. It's like a distant memory now, a flicker of what could have been. The air was thick with anticipation, the tension palpable as you stood on the precipice of something new. She remembers the way your eyes met hers after your exchange with Art at the hotel bar, a brief greeting with an old friend, both of you at the peaks of your careers. It is a silent exchange of longing and regret. For a moment, it felt like time stood still, like the world was holding its breath, waiting to see what would happen next.

She remembers the smell of your perfume, the bitterness of the drink you were having and how she could taste it when she kissed you; tongue running over your teeth, nails clawing at skin, hair tangled between fingers, hot breaths and unkept promises and false apologies and a night of regret.

And then the morning came, and with it, you had to leave. And she never stopped you.

"Tashi… I can't just throw this all away for you. For any of you. You were the one who told me to leave."

"I know."

"Because you know everything, right? Because you know he's not good for me, you know it all."

"I know you."

"No, you don’t," you say, your voice tinged with hurt. "Not anymore.”

Tashi huffs, shaking her head before she reaches out, cupping your cheeks gently in her hands. Her lips hover over yours for a moment, a silent plea hanging in the air between you. She waits, her heart pounding in her chest, for you to make a move—to kiss her, to push her away, anything.

You gaze into her eyes, tears glistening in the dim light, before finally closing the distance between you. The kiss is tender, and bittersweet, a culmination of years of unspoken longing and regret. It's a brief moment of solace amid chaos.

Your hands dig into the nape of her neck, where the short ends of her dyed hair tickle the skin of your wrist. The heat of your engagement ring nearly burns her, the edge of the diamond scraping against her skin.

When you pull away, breathless, Tashi fears this will be the last time she will see you. 

"Tashi, this doesn’t change anything," you say, your voice trembling.

"It changes everything," she whispers, her fingers tracing the line of your jaw. "You know it does."

But you step back, breaking the contact, the distance between you growing with each passing moment. "I have to go," you murmur, the weight of the decision heavy on your shoulders. "I need to think."

As you walk away, Tashi watches you go, her heart heavy with uncertainty. She clings to the memory of that fleeting moment, a glimmer of hope in the darkness. 

Back in the hotel room, an uneasy silence settles among the trio. Tashi steps out of the shower, her mind a whirlpool of conflicting emotions. The press of your lips still lingers on her own, a persistent buzz that crawls under her skin. 

As she rubs lotion into her arms, she takes her time, methodically moving over each inch of her skin as if she could somehow rub away the confusion and yearning. She finishes her skincare routine, staring at herself in the mirror, almost meeting the eyes of the eighteen-year-old girl who had her whole life ahead of her. It's a constant chant in her head not to dwell in the past. 

She has to focus—she needs to find a way to pull Patrick Zweig out of the top 200 ranks and get him qualified for the US Open by the time the next season starts.

Speaking of the devil, when Tashi steps out of the bathroom, she finds Patrick lounging on the loveseat by the open window. Naturally, his shirt has found itself a home on the floor, and a cigarette dangles from his lips.

He perks up when she walks out, sitting up to greet her, "Don't beat yourself up."

Tashi rolls her eyes and climbs into the bed, letting herself sink into the soft comforter. "Shut the fuck up, Patrick. And put that shit out."

"I'm just saying," he shrugs, taking one last drag before flicking the cigarette out the window, grinning when he hears Tashi scoff. "She's a stubborn little shit," he says as the hotel door clicks open and Art walks in. Patrick hums, "Probably only marrying him to piss us off anyway. Been trying to talk her out of it for months. Never listens."

"She might listen to Tashi," Art says, turning to his wife with a hint of optimism in his voice. "Lily's asleep, by the way."

"Right, because my word is stronger than both of yours," Tashi retorts, pulling the blanket over her legs.

Art and Patrick glance at each other before nodding, "Yes."

"Well, yeah."

They all sit in silence for a while, each lost in their own little bubble. The hotel room is quiet except for the faint hum of the air conditioner and the occasional rustle of the bedspread. 

Art joins Tashi on the bed, absently flipping through the channels on the television, the remote clicking softly in his hand. Beside him, Tashi pretends to read a book, her eyes scanning the same sentence over and over again without really absorbing the words. Meanwhile, Patrick rummages through the mini fridge, the sound of bottles clinking and wrappers crinkling breaking the stillness.

A quiet knock on the door makes the three of them freeze, their heads snapping up in unison. They exchange hesitant glances, each wondering if they imagined it. Then three raps against the wood sound again, more insistent this time. Patrick scrambles to the door, Art and Tashi close behind him, their curiosity piqued and their hearts pounding.

Patrick swings the door open, and there you are, a sight for sore eyes. You're still in the same dress, though one of the straps has fallen off your shoulder, and your makeup is smudged around your eyes. You hold your phone close, dropping it from your ear.

"I tried calling," you say, turning your phone so they can see Patrick's contact, a simple 'pat' with a cute tennis ball emoji next to his nickname. "You never answered."

"My phone died." He shrugs.

You let your hand fall to your front, where your fingers pull on each other nervously. Tashi can't help but notice the lack of a ring on your finger all of a sudden. She raises her brows at you, a knowing look flashing across her face before she tells you, "Something's changed."

You roll your eyes and step into the room, sliding between Art and Patrick easily. "A lot has changed." You walk until you reach the middle of the room. 

It's a big hotel room, not nearly as big as the ones Art and Tashi are used to staying in, but big and luxurious nonetheless. You fit in perfectly with your white gown and styled hair, a vision of elegance even in your dishevelled state.

You turn, facing the three of them again. "I hope whatever offer you guys were hinting at earlier still stands... I don't exactly have anywhere else to stay, unless I want to hear my mother telling me how she was right the entire night."

Tashi smirks. "You know I'm about to tell you the same thing too, right?" She closes the space between the two of you, tucking a fallen strand of hair behind your ear. Her nails brush against your jaw in a feather-light touch until her fingers pause below your lips.

"Yeah, I know."

You don't seem too upset about it. Instead, you're grinning, letting Tashi push her thumb between your lips. The gesture is intimate, charged with unspoken emotion. You're standing face-to-face when she says, "I told you so."

She leads you to sit on the bed, and you let her, nearly tripping over your heels before you land on the soft duvets. Tashi leans down, her nose brushing against yours, and you swallow your heart racing.

"You were right," you murmur. It's hard to maintain eye contact when your skin is buzzing with heat and when there's so much going on in the depths of her eyes that it dizzies you. "I hate it, though."

Her nose is cold against yours, a sharp contrast to the warmth of her breath. You let your eyes fall shut as she slowly traces patterns under your chin, pressing her thumb harder into your mouth before pulling it out. She catches the side of your face with it, making a mess with your spit.

She smiles, "I know you do."

Instinctively, and embarrassingly, there's a shiver rolling down your spine.

Tashi releases a small chuckle, and then, after a final moment, her lips fill in the small gap between you both. You sink into it immediately, heart rejoicing as her lips, warm and smooth, explore your own.

It's a little fumbly, nervous and making you tremble under her hands. Tashi loves every second of it. Her fingers grip your face tighter, mouth pressing to yours with more hunger as you wind your fingers into her hair and sigh. Between gasped breaths and soft sounds of enjoyment, she slips her tongue along your lower lip, and so you open your mouth a little wider.

Tashi ends up straddling you, making out like you're both teenagers again, putting on a show for Art and Patrick. The exhilarating butterflies twirling in your stomach match the memories, too. 

You moan softly as she pulls away from your mouth, her attention shifting to your neck. As you watch Patrick and Art make their way to sit next to you on the bed, the bed dipping, you tilt your head to the side and open up your throat to Tashi. You whimper as you feel her lips drag over your exposed skin. She nibbles and sucks until she finds the sensitive part that makes you cry out.

"Fuck," you whimper. You tug on her air-dried curls, coaxing her back up to your lips so you can enjoy the feeling of her mouth on yours. Tashi sighs, and you can feel her smiling into it while beckoning Art and Patrick to join in.

Their lips are on you in a split second, with Art pressing soft, ticklish kisses against your collarbone, and Patrick sliding his tongue from your shoulder to the back of your ear. He's moaning at the taste of you, sucking a bruise under your jaw while digging his hand into the back of your hair. 

He slowly starts to bring his sloppy kisses to your mouth, lips brushing against Tashi's and your own before she draws back. You whine, pouting as you watch her take a few steps away before making herself comfortable in the cushioned seats by a small dining table. You can't pout for too long, because now Patrick is kissing you, tugging softly at your hair until your back arches.

His tongue presses against yours, pressing as far back as he can reach, swallowing your every moan and whimper. You bring your hand up to scratch at his beard, then run your nails over his scalp. This is when Art starts to get a little bolder by running his hands up and down your thighs, pulling and pulling the long skirt of your dress until he reaches the end of it and he can touch your skin and take off your heels, tossing them aside somewhere.

Patrick traps your lower lip between his teeth, watching it bounce back into its place as he leans back just the slightest bit. You break apart with a whimper. Your half-lidded eyes meet his, then flick down to the trail of spit strung between your glistening lips. He stares at you, cheeks a little red as he smirks, "I've missed this. Missed you."

You smile, breathless as Art's hand makes its way up higher and higher and closer to your heat, his mouth is relentless with its attack at your neck. He grinds his crotch against the side of your leg and you cradle the back of his head with your other hand.

"You saw me last week, Patrick."

"Last week?" Art pulls away. His lips are parted, eyes a little dazed but focused enough to stare between you and Patrick in confusion. Tashi smirks from where she sits and shifts in her place.

"We're not all perfect, Art." You groan, rolling your eyes as Patrick laughs, reaching over you to start pulling down Art's pants who shifts in his place to let him. Once they're off, he looks at you, and it's embarrassing how fast you tangle together, melding together into a pathetic heap on the bed for Tashi and Patrick to see. 

Your lips move in tandem, his soft, pouty lips slitting against yours with ease as you lead his hands to your chest and shove them under your dress.

Art squeezes and fondles your breasts over your bra, his hips jerking against your leg again, almost desperate as his boner presses against the fabric of your dress as it has fallen down again.

Tashi startles you as she settles behind, one knee on the bed while her other long leg steadies her on the carpeted floor below. You let her tilt you backward, parting you from Art and she draws you into an upside-down kiss. The salacious kiss leaves your legs parting for the two men beside you. 

Patrick makes quick work of taking that damn dress off of you and you sputter out a pathetic moan when Art's soft hands tease your hardening nipples once Patrick gets half of it off.

Your dress eventually falls into a heap on the floor in front of the bed, you’d matched with it a white paired set underneath. 

"No fucking way," You peek one eye open slightly to see Patrick scowling while Art runs his hands everywhere he can reach, across your stomach, your thighs, under your boobs, down your back. 

Patrick tilts his head and groans, "I can't believe you wore this shit for him."

Your hand cups Tashi's jaw to deepen the kiss as you both ignore Patrick, only Art snorting out a laugh as he tugs his shirt over his head. 

Patrick slots himself between your open legs, stopping just a breath short of your aching cunt to nip teasingly at your soft inner thigh before dragging his mouth up to your neck again. He revels in the moans he's able to draw from you as he finally comes to caress your face. 

You pull away from Tashi and gasp in a breath. "Kiss me, Pat," You bite your lip, feeling your heart race as he eyes you up so openly. 

"Beg me," He counters with a quirked brow, challenging you. 

Your nose crinkles, "I'm not doing that."

"I'm not kissing you, then."

"Shut up and kiss her, Patrick," Tashi groans, attached to Art. She holds his face the same way she did with you, pulling him closer and letting the man crawl to her. But she's glaring at Patrick with venom behind it you know she can’t mean when she's trembling under Art's gentle touch as he slips off her silky nightgown.

"Come here," You beckon Patrick closer with a fiendish look in your half-lidded eyes.

"Yes, ma'am." Patrick nods, dazed as he obliges. "Anything you want, beautiful," His voice slightly slurs as the space between you diminishes once again. "I'll do anything for you," His husky voice drapes around your name like velvet as it's whispered against your plush lips.

Your hands easily find themselves tangled in Patrick's curly hair and tug him to your lips with aching want. You dive in immediately, lips meshing against and, eventually, catching against his chapped lips. 

A moan escapes from your throat and he uses it as an opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. From there, it's another flurry of saliva, tongue and entirely too much white-hot pressure building below. 

When you break for a breath, a string of saliva stretches between each of your red, puffy lips. Patrick groans at the sight and pulls you in for a slower, raw kiss that leaves you slick and trembling for more. When you pull apart again, Patrick plants a sweet kiss on Art's mouth before focusing back solely on you, his hand slowly approaching your white thong.

When he starts to rub, you moan into his mouth and start trailing your hand to his crotch, palming his dick. Patrick reciprocates easily and tugs at your lower lip with an impish look in his eyes. 

Lips attack your neck again, pulling you higher up on the bed. You hear pants and clothes being shed from every angle around you before you're surrounded again, hands everywhere.

While Art pulls Patrick into a kiss, Tashi cups your face again and draws you into a gentle one as you settle between her legs, your back to her chest. You rest your head on Tashi's shoulder as you heave out another breath, her hands travelling from your navel to tracing shapes on your clit, over your wet panties, spreading your legs apart with her own. 

"Please, Tash," you whimper as her fingers curl around the edge of the fabric and tug so it strains against your leaking cunt perfectly. She then decides to skim a whisper of her touch against your pulsing ache. 

You gape as Patrick wraps his hand around Art's dick, stoking it, and he lets out the prettiest little whine. Patrick slowly works his way down Art's body, running his tongue between each curve of his muscles, collecting the sweat that's been building on his skin before wrapping his mouth around him, taking all of it in one insatiable bob of his head.

Tashi's nails tickle lightly up your stomach, then in the valley between your breasts and then back down again. It has you spiralling, arching your back as she presses a kiss at your neck.

"You're being so good," she coos into your ear. Your name is only a breath out of her mouth, and she's edging your clit with a gentle roughness that could only come from a woman of her calibre. Tashi pulls your panties aside and flicks and flits about your dripping cunt like she already knows how to make you come undone.

It makes you tremble. You'd sworn up and down earlier about how Tashi didn't know you anymore, and here she is, proving to you that she still does, that she knows every curve and divot of your body, that she still knows what makes you whimper and twitch.

Your hand quickly reaches behind you, between the heat of your back and her body and finds her clit and you try to emulate how she's making you weak. Each quiet gasp you earn from her has you moaning back tenfold under her saccharine trance and she quickly starts pumping two fingers into you.

One particular flick of Tashi's thumb on your clit coupled with her lips gliding against and sucking your own in a wanton kiss sends you over the edge. You moan and cum, back arching as you relentlessly force Tashi's hand against your cunt, searching for more delicious friction. 

She takes you all, and lets you ride it all out on her fingers while swallowing every moan you let out in a lewd, wet kiss. Art and Patrick moan appreciatively at the two of you, then focus back on each other.

Before you're able to come down from your high, Art's shoving his come down Patrick's greedy throat. He swallows it all, pulling off Art's red-tipped cock with a vulgar pop that creates a trail of saliva in its wake. 

Patrick smiles down at you and leans closer, and you think he's about to kiss you but then he swerves and kisses Tashi instead, who removes her hand from your cunt and slowly works it up his thigh until she cups his balls and gives them a gentle squeeze. He moans into her mouth, winking at you amid his impromptu make-out session you were tempted to join.

You shimmy back and turn on your stomach, positioning yourself between Tashi's long tanned legs. "Can I eat you out?" You ask while kissing up her leg, and you want to hear how much she needs you. You bite at your bottom lip as you nuzzle into her juicy cunt. "Tashi?" You look up at her from where your face is pressed against her. Her sweet smell makes you sigh as you tease your tongue with her hip bone. "Please, Tash, let me taste you." 

"Yeah, go for it," Comes her breathless plea.

You finally pull her lips apart, revelling in how she squirms against your hold on her hips. 

You're on your knees, trapped arching between Tashi's long legs when you hear Art clear his throat. You give one long lick up Tashi's twitching cunt before turning around with her slick dribbling down onto your chin to where Art has sidled up behind you.

Art crawls closer to you, "Can I touch you, beautiful?" He tilts your chin up as he awaits your answer. 

When you nod, he easily descends upon your lips, placing a sure hand behind your head as he deepens the kiss into something absolutely filthy. As soon as you break apart, he kisses your shoulder, then down your spine.

Tashi guides you back to her. You allow her nails to tangle in your locks as she forces your head back down against her arching hips.

"Shit," Patrick huffs, rough hands reaching for the globes of your ass while Art's smoother ones trail up your spread, inner thighs. Tashi tugs at his dick a little harder, which has him panting against her lips.

Tashi gasps as you flick at her clit then quickly move to tease her entrance with the tip of your tongue. You flatten your tongue, dragging it across her length and repeat the motion until she whines for you to stop. 

You slurp the combination of drool and slick as you pull away with a pussy-drunk smile. She meets it with a panting, dazed one and removes her hand from your hair to push her own out of her eyes while Patrick sucks at her neck.

"Ah!" You startle forward into Tashi's tits as Art finally breeches your entrance with his index finger. 

"Eat our girl out, Art," Tashi motions for Art to lie down under your spread form to get a better angle. You can't deny that the new nickname drives you a little crazy. "Show her she's ours."

Art's soft hands draw another moan out of you as they assuredly grip your hips to keep you in place while he unleashes teasing licks against your pussy.

Tashi draws you back to her. You'd know that look anywhere—she's ready to cum.

"I want you," Her breath hitches around your name while your tongue steals the rest of her coherent words until she's a withering mess under your touch. 

Her pornstar-worthy moans ring out across the room like a beautiful symphony. Tashi's wanton noises coupled with the wet whines you're unleashing against her folds until the two of you create the lewdest duet this hotel's ever heard. 

She arches against the bedframe as she tells you her near release, tugging at your hair as she draws closer and closer to the edge.

Panting, she draws you against her lips for a sloppy, uncoordinated kiss. 

"Fuck, Tashi," You groan against her plump lips, feeling your own impending orgasm drawing near. "You're so fucking hot, I-"

She cuts off your rambling with another wet kiss. Her tongue flicks out to tease yours before sucking it into her mouth with a lewd slurp. Your hand works alongside hers to leave her shaking and whimpering against your lips as she comes undone by your hand. You smack her cunt lightly, eating the groan she feeds into your open mouth as she rides it out.

Tashi eats your moans as they echo against your messy tangling of lips and tongues.

Art's fingers start to pick up a pace as Patrick, feeling left out, starts thrusting his throbbing cock in the middle of your sapphic kiss with Tashi. You eye the two with half-lidded eyes as you share Patrick's cock with her. After only a few moments in your mouth, Patrick pulls out and releases across Tashi's and your expectant tongues.

"So fucking good to me," Patrick pants as he splatters the last of his come across your faces with a shaky groan. "Best fucking orgasm ever, swear it," He says as he encases his lips around yours, swapping his cum between your mouths before moving to Tashi to do the same.

Art moves out from under you, offering your knees relief as he lays you back against Tashi's stomach to fuck into you.

It's a slow and cruel pace, only made crueller by how Patrick and Tashi touch you like they already know where you want to be touched. Each brunette takes a side, Patrick sucking your tit into his mouth while Tashi's mouth draws you in for a kiss. Her nails tickle at your other erect nipples until you're arching off of her and into Art's thrusts, making him whimper.

"Just like that," Art whines your name. "You're so fucking tight."

It's when Patrick and Tashi move their attention down to your clit that you know you're fucked. Patrick spreads your folds with two fingers, watching as intensely as Art does as his cock disappears in and out of your hole.

"He could've never made you feel like this, right?" Tashi rasps. "He has no strategy, no real game. Just a fucking waste of space. Could never make you feel this good, this loved."

You don't need her to say his name, you know what she means. You're panting, shaking your head against her shoulder. "Never."

"Told ya," Patrick laughs into your skin. "Make her cum, Art. C'mon, man." 

"Fuck- please," You whimper, nodding. "I need to come, baby-" Without warning, you arch off of Tashi. Neither she nor Patrick stops their jerks against your clit as you gasp, eyes rolling back in your head with the thrum of a second wave creeping up on you with a steady building heat. Waves of pleasure roll over you as the tantalizing sensations become too much. You come loudly, arching pathetically off the bed as you desperately reach for Art, to hold him.

You're wriggling in Tashi and Patrick's arms as Art pulls out and releases across your expanding and retracting stomach as you pant out the remnants of your orgasm. 

"Shit," He moans, and his voice sends waves of aftershock across your body while his steady hands draw you against his naked chest for a toe-curling kiss.

You'd never been happier to have invited Patrick Zweig to your engagement party.

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[rodeorun]

love in the dark.

yandere pretty boyfriend x fem!reader.

cw: drugging, black-mail, non-con blowjob, degradation. Featuring @meo-eiru 's OC, Elias ❤️

MDNI.

“You better work,” Elias threatened the baby pink candle he was holding between pretty, manicured fingers.

One might even compare it to the young man himself. Long and more thin than thick, the pink wax at the tip molded into a heart shape, white wick sticking through the middle. Elias always had love on the brain, at least when it came to you. Pity he didn't have a fine white wick of logic to split his head in two, or rather, his heart. But, when you love the way he did, weren't those two practically the same thing?

He doesn't know how many hours he spent on the dark web to find this, some sort of ‘love candle.’ Whatever that bullshit meant. The description the seller left behind was short and to the point.

‘Ignite this candle in the presence of your desired person and watch them fall in love with you.’

Even Elias in all his lovesickness found it hard to believe, but it was that sickness itself that led him to purchasing the item. He hadn't gotten a gig lately so he prayed for the payment to go through, giving himself a headache for purchasing a mere candle that was six hundred and fifty dollars. God, the things he would do for you (or to you, but that's a completely different matter.)

You, the object of his affections. His sweet, sweet, sweet best friend who has saved him more times than he could count. You were entirely too good for him and he knew it.

A special knock on his door alerted him to your presence, and he knew it was you because you two had created that very knock in sophomore year of university. Long after he changed his name, you still had the heart to played with him like a child. Where others laughed at his girlish tears and overgrown sobs, you healed his inner child with every hug, every whisper, every time you'd look into his eyes and tell him, ‘it's okay, Elias. I'm here for you.’

And you always were.

No matter how bad his tantrums got, you never got sick of him. You were the only one who stayed. You practically conditioned him. How could he ever want anyone else after tasting a drop of your sweetness?

“Hi, darling!” Elias opened the door and pulled you in for a hug, kicking the door shut behind you. “Someone's mighty dressed up for a movie night in, hehe. Oooh, is this wine? Gimme gimmie!”

Taking the bag from your hands, Elias turned to put it on the table, laying a sweaty palm against his flushed cheek. Heaven, he couldn't do this much longer! Just a hug from you and a whiff of that perfume had him hardening in his yoga pants. He stayed faced away from you as he rocked side to side, subtly rubbing himself against the bottle you brought just for him. All for him.

“So, I was thinking we could start with a rom-com and then maybe a western, for variety, and after that there's a three hour long horror movie I found that-”

“Sorry, Elias.”

Glittering eyelids opened themselves.

“See, my boyfriend injured his arm in a game yesterday, so I need to go help cook for him,” you explained. Your sorry eyes seared into his back.

Ah, yes. That boyfriend of yours. Taller than Elias, bigger than Elias, handsome enough to be called a heartthrob and an athlete by profession. A real winner, that boyfriend of yours!

Elias wanted to spit on his corpse.

“Oh, your boyfriend!” He clasped his hands together and turned to face you. “The one who forgot to pick you up at the mall last week because he slept through his alarm, right? I remember him.” Elias fiddled with one of the bottles of wine now, snarling. So much for a ‘gift,’ you were just trying to buy his forgiveness.

“Yes, Eli, that boyfriend,” you chuckled. “But I forgave him for that, you know? Nobody's perfect.”

The illusion of bliss he was swept up in from hearing that sweet nickname quickly shattered.

‘Nobody's perfect.’ Elias knew that better than anyone else. Afterall, he was the last thing but, and yet you still treated him so preciously.

So, why? Why was it the very same thing he fell in love with you for, you were flaunting to just anyone? Don't you know that love isn't free? Especially not yours! How many bottles of hair dye, micro-needling appointments, collagen fillers, and waxing appointments did he go to for your love? By God he knows his deadname didn't deserve you, but didn't Elias at least earn a little bit of your attention?

How dare you, honestly. How dare you show someone else the kindness you won him over with? How dare you waltz in here just to stand him up for another man! How dare you fucking-

“Eli?”

“Yes, my beloved?”

You looked upon him tentatively, a testament to what a ticking time bomb he is. “Oh, alright, I forgive you.” He waved you off playfully and walked over to hold both of your hands in his. “But next time, I'll tie you up and keep you here forever, munchkin~”

Your laugh mingled with his. As if you thought he was joking.

“Ah, but, darling! At least have a drink with me before you go. It would be lonely to pop open a bottle by myself, hm?”

A single drink.

That's what you and Elias agreed on. One glass and you'd be on your way to that wretch. You didn't drive to get here and assured Elias that your boyfriend would drive you back home. As if.

“Oh, before we cheers,” Elias put his glass down and went to rummage for a box of matches, shaking his hips this way and that while humming in his search.

“Someone's in a good mood,” you grinned, watching him groove to imaginary music.

“Yes, with you around I always am,” he teased and returned to the table. He put the candle in the stand and lit it.

It was only a little unsettling that he watched you instead of the matches while he did so.

“That's a really cute candle, Elias. Where'd you get it?” you asked him as he sat down across from you, drink in hand.

“Oh, this old thing? It's just something I had laying around- Oh my god!”

Elias flinched as the candle suddenly exploded, letting out a small puff of wind that blew his hair back and left behind a plume of pink smog.

“Darling?! Are you- ack! You okay?” Elias wafted the air between hacking coughs until he could see your face again.

You looked shocked, as one would when a candle explodes in their face, but then you started laughing. Small titters that rang like a bell until it turned into gasps that made you grab your stomach.

“You're, hahahaha, so, so silly, Eli! Haha, where do you get these things?!”

Oh, honey. He couldn't stop loving you even if he tried.

“Oh, stop that, you! How was I supposed to know it would do that,” Elias played along, ears still tinged pink at his little blunder. You two looked at each other and then fell into joined laughter.

This light, airy feeling was a drug to him. No matter how boring he was, how flat his personality, you could always find something more in him. Something to talk about, to laugh about, to entertain him with. Something he couldn't find by himself.

It's like the universe sent you to him as if to say, ‘hey! This is the person who will make life worth living! The one who will take that mind numbing emptiness away!’

And who was he to deny the wishes of the universe?

“Worthless piece of junk,” Elias muttered when things settled down. The candle really was a sham then. “At least it smells nice,” he lit the candle again and waved the match to out it. “Anyways, I got a manicure today and the lady was way too rough with my cuticles. She should quit if that's the service she's going to give.”

He brought his nails up, inspecting the blood red polish.

He was met with silence.

“Darling?”

Your head was down, lip trapped between your teeth.

“R-Right. Well, it's pretty,” you shot him a sad kind of smile. “It's just, well, no. Hm, uh, no…I forgot, I guess?” Elias watched you scramble around until small tears dripped from your eyes. “I guess I just forgot that you see other women every day.”

His heart froze in his chest.

“And, I, I know she was just doing her job, but holding your hand while she did your nails- she did hold your hand, right? That's a little…”

You trailed off and wiped your tears, willing yourself to gather such thoughts while Elias looked on in shock.

His eyes flicked to the candle, to you, the candle, you. Always you.

“She did,” he said simply, cautiously, “hold my hand. Yes, she did.” Your face cumbled, making Elias shoot up. “But I hated it! I wished it was you! I want you to be the one holding my hand!”

“Really?” Those big, wet eyes pleaded with him. “Because, I get jealous, you know.”

Something below his belt started stirring.

“Is that so?” He hummed and pulled his chair over next to you, thumbing the tears under your eyes like you had done for him so many times before.

The light of the candle reflected in your eyes and when Elias glanced over, it had melted remarkably quickly. The leftover wax dripped onto the table but he couldn't care less.

First things first, he needed to make sure what he hypothesized was real. That this wasn't a ploy.

“You know, dear, I was very hurt when you started going out with that bastard. You hurt me, a lot. How do you think I felt?” He cooed like you were a child, soft and gentle in his palm.

“I'm so sorry, Eli. I'll break up with him, okay? I only want you! I'm really- mmph!”

Not the romantic first kiss he was dreaming of, but perfect nonetheless.

All this groveling and begging, over little ol’ him? It was too cute. He could just eat you up! But before that, it seems Elias was going to be devoured first.

“Darling? Ngh!” You were tangling your tongue with his, sucking his lips, his cheeks, his tongue, leaving little nibbles on his blushing skin. “Hold on, I need to-”

“Need to what, Eli? I need you right now,” you swallowed, “I feel like my body is on fire.”

Oh, god, the candle really did work. You were squirming on your chair, rubbing your legs together and giving him the absolute cutest puppy eyed stare. You wanted him. You wanted him.

“Yeah?” Elias said breathlessly, trying to keep pace with you, “well I think I need an apology for you cheating on me first.”

He stood up and pulled his oversized sweater up, letting you peek at the bulge growing underneath tight grey cotton.

“Oh, Eli! It's so pretty!” You weren't shy about rubbing him over his pants. “All of you is so, so pretty, baby. Can I…suck you?”

“Darling, I'm yours!” He said eagerly, the sudden onslaught of praise leaving him dizzy. “Anything you want to do, I'm yours!”

By the time you peeled down his pants and had his leaking dick positioned at your mouth, he was ready to burst. He was entirely ready to finally get his reward, but you hesitated.

“Wait, Eli. I think we should wait, um…my boyfriend. I should break up with him first.”

That goddamn candle should have come with a special feature to make you forget anyone but him all together.

Elias probably looked terrifying right now, fine features underlit by the glow of the candle, staring down at you harshly. For once, he didn't find your babbling cute. Not when every other word was your boyfriend's name. So, Elias kindly shut you up.

“There we go~” Elias cooed, thrusting his hips a little. “Ah, ah, darling. Don't run from it,” he giggled, “or I'll shove it down your fucking throat~”

You were choking on his cock, unable to pull away with how he had his fingers locked behind your head. More than you moving, it was Elias who was pumping himself in and out of your mouth, not stopping until his balls slapped against your chin every time.

“What a good little thing you are, angel. I love you so much! Hey, do you love me too? I asked if you loved me too!”

Even under the effects of the candle, you looked scared. Elias was frantic now, not only his balls hitting your chin, but his toned abdomen smashing into your face as he fucked your entire head roughly. “Dirty fucking bitch! I trusted you! I love you and you left me for dead to go date that idiot! Do you know how much that hurt me?! How much I need you?! You were supposed to me mine, all mine, just like I'm yours! You dirty, dirty f-fucking whore!” Elias let out a wet sob, spilling down your throat with his eyes screwed shut.

Heavy pants left his mouth as he stumbled back to sit on his chair, chest heaving up and down. Even through your coughing, you couldn't help but worry about him.

“Eli? A-Are you okay?”

What a wreck your voice was, no doubt you'd be feeling him in your throat for days.

“It's not all out.”

“Huh? I don't understand-”

“Lift your shirt up.” He wasn't asking.

The smooth expanse of your chest was revealed and Elias used it as extra motivation to get the last few drops of cum out, fisting his tip roughly to pull out those last thick strings. It pearled on your skin beautifully and you didn't hesitate to stick your tongue out, cleaning him off properly with soft sucks that made him tremble.

“Good girl,” he sighed and eventually sat. It was like the devil was released from him. He was just Elias again, your Eli. “That was my first blowjob, you know,” he giggled cutely, like you two were mischievous kids sharing secrets in a treehouse.

Elias sighed and leaned in to hug you after lifting his pants back over his soft length. “Oh, my baby. I can't believe this worked. Had I known, I wouldn't have done this sooner. I can't believe you're finally mine,” he mumbled into your hair. “I love you, darling. And you love me too, right?”

Silence.

“Darling?”

Elias held you at shoulder length away, not wanting to let go of you completely yet. “Hey, why the tears, darling? Hehe, do you love me that much? Aw, well-”

“I'm sorry, Elias.” Your dark pupils met his.

There was no reflection from the candlelight anymore. In fact, the flame had blown out completely by now, leaving behind a sad little puddle of wax.

Your arms pushed his off as you stood up. “Shit…I- oh god, my boyfriend. What's wrong with me?! I'm sorry, Eli- I mean, Elias, um, I think the wine was a bit too strong for me. I really didn't mean to…”

What the hell was this?! Was this- did your love only last while the candle was lit?!

“What the fuck!” Elias cursed loudly, fingers gripping his silky tresses. The situation was beckoning a meltdown.

“I know, Elias, I'm so sorry, but I don't know what came over me!”

You were scared, he could see it. And he's sure part of that fear was from the ache in your throat, the names he had called you when he was at the peak of bliss. How he carried on when he was so sure you were his completely. Over what, a stupid candle? He was an idiot! He had to do damage control.

“It's…alright, darling. It's okay. Hm,” Elias hummed as he thought, standing up to pace. “It's okay. Your boyfriend is waiting for you after all, run along now. It's getting late.”

“Elias?” You weren't sure what was going on.

“Don't worry, dear,” Elias looked at you with warm eyes. “I can keep a secret. We just got a little overwhelmed, didn't we?”

He was giving you a way out, obviously. But why?

“Right,” you said, unsure.

“That's okay, we all have our moments,” Elias giggled and walked over, wrapping his arms around you, letting one sneak down to cup your ass. “Some more than others.”

“I don't think we should be-”

“Be what? You already swallowed my load, pumpkin. Let it dribble all down your chin and everything,” he mused, rubbing a finger against your lower lip. “Or did you want to come clean to your boyfriend?”

“No! I really don't know what happened!”

“Then it's a secret,” Elias whispered, pulling you in for a kiss. You were helpless to him, unable to pull away under the looming threat of him snitching on you. His tongue traced your lips before he pulled away.

“I won't tell if you won't, darling.”

Elias sent you off with a few more kisses and a slap on your ass, already hard again and humping you like a dog all the way to the door where you left with tears in your eyes. You were just too cute!

It wasn't much, but it was something. The only excitement Elias could offer you. Now, he had a personality.

He was your secret lover.

“Aha! How wonderful!” Elias twirled around in excitement. What an adventure!

Soon, he'd guilt your sweet soul into breaking up with that idiot and you'd be all his. He already had a foot in the door after all.

Bringing a hand to his lips, he recalled the way yours felt against his. Marvelous, absolutely marvelous!

Hmm..

Elias took his phone out and sent you a quick text.

‘I think I left some lipstick on you, darling. Clean that up before you see you know who ;)’

Not even moment later, his phone rang.

“Hey, Elias?”

“Eli,” he corrected.

“Yeah, can you not-”

“Eli.”

“…Eli. Uh, can you not send texts like that, please? Just in case he sees.”

A shiver ran up Elias’ spine at the secrecy of it all. You two were bound by sin.

“Of course, darling. I'll call you tonight then.”

“I'm spending the night with him,” you said nervously. “I can't.”

“Alright then, I'll just text you,” Elias inspected his nails casually.

“But-! Ugh, fine. I'll call you later.”

“Perfect. We'll talk soon then. Make sure your camera is on, I'm still throbbing over here,” he giggled.

“I have to go now,” you whispered.

“I love you, darling.”

“Yes, he's coming so-”

“I said I love you!”

“…I love you too, Eli. Bye.”

Elias waited for you to hang up with a smile. You were already cracking under the pressure of your unwanted affair. Sure it would hurt you now, but if this didn't last long then it would be him hurting later. Surely, you wouldn't be able to deal with that, not your kind heart. After all, his beauty is something that shouldn't be marred, you said so yourself.

It was only a matter of time now.

a/n: I actually finished this over a week ago but the Elias lore kept pouring in and I was scrambling to edit to make this as canon as possible but I gave up sooooo, yeah 😃 just imagine this as eli if he actually acted on half the shit he wants to do ig lmfaooo

Also can't believe I wrote unwilling reader because Elias is literally my baby muffin snuggly pie googlie bear and i love him, but i love men suffering more ig 💗

Divider: /animatedglittergraphics-n-more

Please do not ask for part 2. Thank you!

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

After last episode I’m thinking what if Aegon tells his wife what happened when he wakes up and she goes ballistic on Aemond because the man she loves was hurt in battle, by his own brother nevertheless. (Maybe she sees the dagger that normally sits in its sheath on Aegons hip)

Request: Aegon returning to King’s Landing after Rook’s Rest. His wife worries about him and stay by his side

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

You became sick with worries when you saw Aemond and Vhagar return to King’s Landing, alone.  

He walked into the Red Keep and called for a small council meeting to report about Rook’s Rest. You sat in the seat beside the King’s empty one, listening as Aemond recounted that the plan he and Ser Criston had come up with got crashed by the Blacks, who sent Rhaenys to Lord Staunton's aid. 

‘’What of His Grace?’’ you asked, having seen Aegon depart from the dragonpit hours ago. 

Aemond lowered his gaze, making the knot in your stomach tighten. No war was bloodier than one with dragons. Meleys was a large dragon, and she had battle experience. Mayhaps something happened to Sunfyre? You knew Aegon would refuse to leave his side if anything happened to him. 

‘’There was an incident involving the King,’’ he began. 

You held your breath as Aemond continued. 

‘’While I was waiting for Cole's signal, His Grace engaged in a one-on-one with Meleys, but the latter brutally attacked Sunfyre, causing him — and Aegon — to freefall in a nearby forest with great force before I could take the sky and come to their aid.’’ 

Everyone fell completely silent. 

You felt your vision blur as the room began to spin. Your face paled, and a cup of water was brought to you. You took a small sip, but you were still feeling unwell. 

You should not have let him join the battle. He had no military training, it was reckless. 

‘’Where is Aegon now?’’ the dowager Queen asked her younger son, her voice filled with maternal concern. 

‘’At Rook's Rest,’’ Aemond replied. ‘’Ser Criston and Ser Gwayne are marching back to King’s Landing with what little remains of the Green army. They are bringing his critically injured body.’’

⁂

Three days later, Ser Criston’s army arrived at King’s Landing. You had not slept since being informed about Aegon’s fall, your mind filled with worried thoughts and dark fears. Your handmaiden had suggested you take a draught for sleep, but you declined. You couldn’t risk being in a deep sleep when Aegon would come in through the gates. 

While they were parading Meleys's slain head through the city, six knights walked through the Keep, holding their King in a closed litter that hid him completely. He was brought to his chambers where several maester began working on him. 

‘’Is he alive?’’ you asked, trying to get information on your husband's state. 

The maesters couldn't answer, feeling a pulse so faint they didn't want to give you false hopes. You were escorted out as they worked on removing the armor which had melted onto Aegon's left arm. The image was not one a Queen should see, they said. 

You found yourself at Alicent's doors, needing someone to share your fears and worries with. She invited you to sit on her couch and had camomile tea brought to you to calm your nerves. You had not been this anxious since the birth of your first child. 

Noticing your shaking hands, the dowager Queen took the one who was not holding the teacup in hers. ‘’He’s strong, like his father,’’ she said softly. ‘’He’ll recover.’’ 

⁂

Late into the night, you were allowed back in the King’s chambers. Aegon had not yet woken, laying in the bed with his eyes closed. Half of his body was wrapped in bandages, covering the burns. 

All he wanted was to prove the realm that he wasn't useless. And now, he laid in bed, badly burned with a broken hip, and numerous broken ribs.

You sat all night by Aegon's bedside, refusing to leave him.

‘’You should get some rest, Your Grace,’’ the Grand Maester suggested when he came in to check on Aegon in the morning, noticing you were still in yesterday’s dress. 

He was probably right. Your eyes felt dry from lack of sleep and the shadows under them were dark. 

‘’I will rest when he wakes,’’ you replied. 

⁂

A tear fell down your face when Aegon woke days later, mumbling your name with his dry throat. He was in severe pain from his injuries, so the Grand Maester administered him a strong concoction of milk of the poppy to sooth his pain. It made his mind cloudy, and very sleepy. 

That night, you allowed yourself to sleep in a bed. 

⁂

For the duration of his recovery, you were moved to Aegon's old chambers. 

They had not been occupied since the coronation. When you walked in, you noticed everything was the way it always was, the way Aegon liked. 

It felt strange to be there without him. 

As you sat on the bed in your nightgown, you were reminded of life before he was crowned. Times were simpler back then. The realm was at peace and Aegon didn't have to put himself in danger to prove he was worthy of the crown. 

You missed that time. 

⁂

While Aegon was bedstruck, you took seat on the Iron Throne to rule in his absence. He trusted you with his life, and would want no one else than you to wear his crown. His mother and grandsire ruled in his father's absence through his long illness and manipulated everything and everyone around them. Aegon didn't want that happening to him. 

Although you didn’t know how to rule a war, you listened to the men sitting at the small council table, seeking their opinions and counsel. Now you understood why Aegon said they all bore him. Sitting there and listening to Lord Larys’s report of whispers, Lord Tyland’s financial complaints, and other reports that came by ravens made you want to indulge in wine. 

‘’What is the next move, Your Grace? Our men have recovered from the battle at Rook’s Rest and are ready for the next move. More men have been trained and knighted, and are waiting for the next commands.’’ 

You glanced at the map to your left, studying the pins of the houses who had bent the knee to Aegon and the ones who had not, trying to come up with a strategy, but before you could answer, Aemond spoke. 

‘’The Riverlands. Me and Cole will be heading north-west and amassing an army to march against Daemon Targaryen and Harrenhal.’’

You directed your eyes back to the table, looking straight forward at Aemond. ‘’Since when are you in charge of leading our armies, Prince Aemond? The last time you and Ser Criston plotted without my husband’s authority, it ended in a carnage of our army and put our King in a critical condition. I reject your strategy and forbid you from plotting without my authority by risk of being removed from this council.’’

After the small council meeting was over, you returned to Aegon’s side and were surprised to find him awake. He had been given him a gentle sponge bath by the maids while you were absent, his silver hair damp on his pillow. You also noticed that the maester had changed his bandages. 

‘’Where is Sunfyre?’’ Aegon asked when you sat, speaking coherently for the first time in weeks. 

‘’Near Rook’s Rest,’’ you replied. ‘’He was so badly maimed that he's not even able to be moved back to King's Landing. Ser Criston stationed men near to guard him while he is recovering. You need not to worry, my love.’’ 

You took his hand that was not strapped and resting against his chest in yours, trying to ease his worries. He hated being apart from Sunfyre, especially knowing his dragon was injured and in pain. Aegon vividly remembered his cries of pain when they were attacked by Meleys’ claws and teeth. He wished he could go to him. 

‘’My memory is blurry, but he saved me. When we crashed down backward, Sunfyre was going to kill me with his weight, but he angled his body to avoid crushing me.’’ 

Aegon tried to shift into a more sitting position, but groaned as pain shot through his whole body. His burns were healing nicely under the bandages, but his broken hip and ribs were going to take a lot longer. 

You reached on the night table and poured him a small cup of milk of the poppy. ‘’Here.’’ 

It would make him sleepy, but at least it’ll relieve his pain. 

Until the effects kicked in, you informed him of what happened while he was unconscious. 

‘’The crown must look great on you,’’ Aegon said, the corner of his mouth curling in a small smile. 

Any form of facial expression caused his tender, burned skin to sting, so he refrained from them most of the time. 

You huffed, remembering the words of the men at the council when you sat in the King’s seat. ‘’Your council is not happy with me ruling in your stead. They claim that a war should not be led by a woman and that it makes the war look ridiculous as it began with not wanting a woman on the throne. 

‘’Whoever dares question your seat and ability to rule should be removed from my council.’’ Aegon's face was dead serious. No ill tongues will be tolerated speaking about his wife. Not in his court, and certainly not from his council.

Unfortunately, you could not do that. What would the small council become without a Master of Coins or a Master of Law?

You continued with other news. ‘’The beast who is responsible for your fall got taken down by Aemond. His rider, Rhaenys Targaryen, perished with her. Now, the Blacks are down from another dragon. It’s a victory for us, but our army suffered severe losses due to dragonfire.’’ 

At the mention of dragonfire, flashes of the battle blurred Aegon’s mind. ‘’What has my brother told the council?’’ 

You recounted what Aemond said, and Aegon’s frown deepened as his memories became clearer. 

His grip on your hand tightened. ‘’It is not what happened at Rook’s Rest. You must listen to me. It is not Rhaenys who aimed at me with dragonfire, it was Aemond.’’

⁂

Aegon’s words echoed in your head as you bathed that night. Had he confessed about his brother’s betrayal to someone else, they would say he was delirious and confused from the milk of the poppy, but you knew he was not. He was perfectly conscious, his memories from Rook’s Rest slowly coming back to him. 

From what you knew, Aemond never showed signs of bad intentions toward his brother. As Aegon often said, Aemond was his blood and fiercely loyal. He trusted him. So why would Aemond turn on him during a battle and unleash dragonfire at Aegon? There must be a motive for him to intentionally harm his kin, his brother. 

It was difficult to discern any emotions from Aemond. He was always composed and cold. Mayhaps his facade hid jealousy for his older brother? It was frequent among second sons. Although, Aegon never was the favorite son. It was always Aemond. 

Until teh Conqueror’s crown was placed on his head. Mayhaps he had a secret thirst for the throne? It would explain his military ambitions and his desire for a place at the council table. The best way to kill a King is to get close enough to stab him when he least expects it.

You sighed and leaned back in the tub, closing your eyes as your body was covered by the warm water. The memory of Aegon's pained expression as he recounted his brother's betrayal — a treason to the crown — haunted you. 

‘’He is my blood,’’ Aegon had whispered, his voice trembling. ‘’Why would he do this?’’

⁂

In the early morning, you requested a private audience with Aemond. 

‘’I wish to know what really happened at Rook’s Rest,’’ you said firmly. ‘’As your Queen.’’ 

Aemond stood in front of you, clad in his usual leathers and an emotionless face. ‘’I gave my full report to the small council when I returned from King’s Landing. Nothing else is to be said.’’ 

You pressed on, your voice unwavering. ‘’It was told to the smallfolk Aegon had slain Meleys, which is false as you have told us it was Vhagar who killed her. This discrepancy makes me question if there are more lies woven into your truth. You reported that Meleys had brutally attacked Sunfyre with her claws and teeth but you never mentioned dragonfire. Yet burns cover half of His Grace’s body.’’

If Aemond felt any hint of nervousness at your probing, he did not show it.

‘’Are you questioning my truth, Your Grace?’’ he asked, his tone cold.

You knew that saying ‘yes’ would turn your question into an accusation of treason. By suggesting that he had harmed the King, Aemond could easily twist the accusation back on you. And what proof did you have? Your husband, who lay crippled in bed, dulled by milk of the poppy for most of the day? His moments of lucidity would not be believed by anyone.

Perhaps you could ask Ser Criston or Ser Gwayne what they had witnessed. Or bring the matter to the dowager Queen; she might decipher her son's body language better than you could.

Your thoughts were interrupted when something familiar caught your eye.

‘’This is Aegon’s dagger,’’ you pointed, recognizing the handle sitting on Aemond’s hip.

‘’Indeed. He lost it during the battle at Rook’s Rest. I retrieved it from the forest,’’ Aemond replied.

‘’And why is it sitting on your hip, Prince Aemond? The Conqueror’s dagger has been given to him during the coronation, along with his crown. It should be in His Grace’s chambers, where it belongs.’’

Aemond's eyes narrowed slightly, but his expression remained unreadable. ‘’I kept it safe, as any loyal brother would. Would you rather it had been lost forever?’’

You met his gaze, unflinching. ‘’Give it back to me.’’ 

Aemond stiffened at your words, his jaw clenching. He placed a hand on the hilt of the dagger, a defensive gesture that he couldn’t help but do. ‘’And if I refuse?’’ 

Your heart beat faster at Aemond's defiance, but you refused to back down. Taking a step forward, you locked eyes with him, your gaze steely ‘’Do not defy your queen. This is not a request, it's a command. The dagger belongs to Aegon. Give it to me, now!’’

Aemond hesitated for a moment, his fingers still gripping tightly to the dagger’s hilt. But your stern demeanor and unwavering command made it clear that there was no alternative. 

With reluctance, he pulled the dagger from his hip and held it out to you, handle first. 

You took the dagger from Aemond, your fingers grazing against his as you did so. ‘’I suggest you kiss goodbye to that dream of yours, my Prince. I know what you are. And when Aegon is strong enough to speak his truth, you will pay for what you did.’’

—

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[serpentandlily]

We Should Stick Together - Azriel x Reader

We Should Stick Together - Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel deals with the aftermath of losing his mate. (Part I)

Warnings: angst, death, self-harm

A/n: An epilogue of sorts to Birds of a Feather - Read HERE. Thanks for all your love!! 

• ───────────────── •

I want you to stay

'Til I'm in the grave

'Til I rot away, dead and buried

'Til I'm in the casket you carry

• ───────────────── •

It was dead silent in the Temple. Many fae had come today to pay their respect and to honor the female that died during the war with Koschei—the female that had bravely lured the Death God to his demise and had ultimately met her own in the end.

Azriel had watched the service from the shadows, consumed by his shame and grief. Grief over losing his mate, his best friend, and the chance at a long life with her. Shame from not being able to protect her, from not realizing the mating bond between the two of them until it was far too late and for those last few words he had spoken to her that had only pushed her further into a suicide mission. 

You just want me to continue being miserable. Because that’s always been why the two of us got along so well. Both lonely and so unhappy and now that I’m finally not, you want to drag me back down. Maybe one day someone will love you the way me and Elain love each other. But just because no one does right now, does not mean I have to give up my happiness to keep being miserable with you.

The words haunted him. 

She haunted him. 

Azriel had always been good at ruining his own life. But saying those words was single handedly the worst mistake he had ever made. He hadn't meant them. Of course he hadn't meant them. He loved Y/n. He had since the day he had met her. She was his closest friend—someone he had felt comfortable with. But he had been so blind...blinded by Mor and her vivacious personality...blinded by Elain and the sunshine she had brought to the Night Court. 

All along his mate had been right by his side. The one person he had been searching for all his years of living had been right in front of him and he hadn't even noticed. 

Azriel walked down the long aisle towards the casket that was displayed on the dais. His footsteps echoed in the now silent chamber—not even his own heart beat could be heard. No, his heart had stopped beating the second hers had. 

He fiddled with the flower in his hand, swallowing the tears and sadness that threatened to consume him. He owed her this. He wasn't going to run and hide himself in the shadows as he'd been doing the past week. He needed to be here today. 

Azriel finally stopped in front of the casket and choked on his own bile as the sweet, comforting scent of his mate reached his nose. This felt all too much like a nightmare—one he was stuck in with no way out. Cursed to repeat this day from beginning to end for the rest of his existence. 

She would never stop haunting him.

And he didn't want her to. 

If the ghost of her was the only thing left of his mate in this world, he would cling to it for the rest of his days. 

Azriel placed the spirit lily on top of the casket, the glowing silver petals matched the marble stone. He had searched day and night to find this flower. It was your spirit lily. The one that had bloomed when you died. 

"I'm so sorry," he cried, the tears finally falling. "I'm so sorry." 

He fell to his knees before the casket, one scarred hand sliding along the cold marble as he continued to repeat those words over and over and over again. 

"I am so sorry."

• ───────────────── •

If you go, I'm going too, 

'Cause it was always you, alright

And if I'm turning blue, please don't save me

Nothing left to lose without my baby

• ───────────────── •

Azriel's ears were ringing as he sat at the kitchen table in the cottage that Elain and he had purchased a few weeks before their wedding. It was the first time he had stepped inside since the war with Koschei. It was the first time he'd even been in the Night Court since the loss of his mate and best friend. 

"I understand that you need time to process this, Azriel, I really do," Elain pleaded with him. "But we made vows to each other the day we married. Vows that were supposed to transcend any mating bond." 

Azriel's shadows wailed from the corners of the room. They had started searching for Y/n the day she died and hadn't stopped their cries of panic since then.

It had been a month already.

A whole, entire month had passed by without you. 

And here he was—dark circles lining his eyes, stubble on his hollowed jaw and a song he'd never hear again playing on repeat in his mind. His mating song. His soul's song. His soul that was desperately crying out for its other half. 

"I can't do this, Elain," he spoke, voice hoarse from disuse. "I'm sorry." 

"That's it? That's all you have to say?" Elain questioned, crossing her arms and leaning on the kitchen counter. "Azriel, I rejected my own mate for you. I...I thought we were in this together. We talked about the day you might find your own and we agreed that you'd reject it too." 

"I know," Azriel whispered, his forlorn eyes stuck on the cracks on the floor. "But I didn't know what I was giving up the day we made those vows, Elain. I'm sorry. I truly am. But this...this is different. Lucien was a stranger to you. I thought if I ever met my mate, she'd be a stranger to me as well. But Y/n was my best friend. I've loved her for centuries."

"All that time together and yet, you still never went after her," Elain argued. 

Those words landed a heavy blow in his gut. Elain was right. He had known his mate for years and years and never once did he think of her as anything more than a friend. But that wasn't because of her. No, he had done that to himself. 

He had found a companion with Y/n. She saw him in ways no one else did. He'd be lying if he said that hadn't scared him. For someone to see through him—through all the good and to the rotting, decaying bad that existed in him. He was a monster hiding in plain sight and she had seen that. She had seen all of that and loved him anyway. 

And he had ran from it—from her. It was his own self-hatred that caused him to never see Y/n that way. She reminded him of everything that he was because she was all the same. She was the missing piece to his broken soul. But she had been beautiful in her darkness, hauntingly exquisite in her shadows. And he had been a brutish beast who thought that someone could vanquish the darkness that surrounded him.

What he hadn't realized was that he was never looking for a light to cast the shadows away. Not really. He had been fighting a storm whose tides had only been trying to bring him home to her. To his mate. His soul and heart and mind.  

And now she was gone and she had taken all of his love with her. 

Azriel stood from his seat, barely present in this reality. "I'm sorry, Elain. No words will change my mind nor my heart. I belonged to Y/n. It is only my fault that I never saw that." 

And it was his fault. 

All of it was his fault.  

• ───────────────── •

And I don't know what I'm crying for

I don't think I could love you more

It might not be long, but baby, I

I'll love you 'til the day that I die

• ───────────────── •

"Papa, who is that?"

Nyx's innocent voice caught Rhysand's attention. He followed Nyx's gaze to the corner of the room where Azriel stood, wreathed in his shadows. It had been years since any of them had laid eyes on the elusive shadowsinger. Years since he had been so consumed with his grief that he had disappeared from this court, from Prythian entirely. 

But there was one day he always returned.

The anniversary of Y/n's death. 

Cassian had ambushed him before he made it to her gravesite and all but dragged him to this family dinner. It broke Rhysand's heart that his son didn't recognize one of his uncles.

"That's Azriel," Rhysand answered, clearing his throat. "He's one of your uncles. He used to be around a lot when you were just a baby." 

"Oh," Nyx said, tilting his head as he looked at the shadowsinger. "He seems...sad. Why is he so sad, Papa?" 

Rhysand's heart snapped in his chest. The loss of Y/n had been felt by all of them, of course. But for Azriel...it had destroyed him. None of them had known about the mating bond between the two of them. They had been caught off guard just as much as Azriel had been. Rhys had felt an inkling that she might've been in love with him due to her slowly distancing herself once he and Elain had gone public with their relationship.

He had only thought she needed space and time. He hadn't realized that she had been slowly wilting away. And no one had done a single thing to help her. They had all failed her. 

Sometimes he felt a fire-burning rage towards his brother. He had tried to steer him away from Elain that Solstice night but Azriel hadn't listened to him. Perhaps if he had, Y/n might still be here. Perhaps the mating bond would've finally snapped in place for Azriel. But instead he had stubbornly doubled-down on his feelings for Elain. 

"He lost someone he loved," Rhys choked out. "We all did. Do you remember the stories about Y/n?" 

Nyx clapped his tiny hands together with a smile. Gwyn had made sure that Y/n's name had been honored and recorded in the new books about the war with Koschei. A story that was being passed down through the years. A story Nyx had read time and time again because it was his favorite. 

"She was the warrior who faced a Death God all on her own!" Nyx exclaimed. "She led him straight to the trap where he was ambushed!"

Rhysand smiled, patting his son on the head. It had been too hard to speak her name after her death but slowly, they had all started talking about her more and more. Perhaps it was finally time to tell his son the whole story. Rhys glanced at Azriel again, who was a shell of his former self. Perhaps not the whole story.

"Well, before all of that," Rhys started, "Y/n was our friend..."

• ───────────────── •

Birds of a feather, we should stick together, I know

I said I'd never think I wasn't better alone

Can't change the weather, might not be forever

But if it's forever, it's even better

• ───────────────── •

Azriel was kneeling on the grass, his hands grasping the beautiful stone marker of your gravesite as his eyes combed over the engraving: 

Here lies Y/n

Beloved Daughter, Sister and Friend

The stars will shine brighter with you among them 

Rest in Peace

"I have tried to go on for your sake," Azriel murmured. "Because I know that is what you would've wanted. But I can't...I can't do this without you. I relive every day I've shared with you and it is still not enough to make me miss you any less. I am sorry that it took your death to make me realize just how much you meant to me." 

Azriel had gone through it all in his head time and time again. Always reliving moments where he could've seen what was right in front of him all along yet didn't. Your last words to him constantly looped in his mind. 

"I'll find...you...again. Maybe...maybe I'll be...good enough...then."

Those words could not be more untrue. It was always him who had never been good enough for you. Not you. Never you. You had always been as beautiful as the moon reflected on the sea, alluring and mysterious but peaceful. So peaceful. Despite the darkness the two of you shared, you'd always been so soft and kind to those around you...those who had never felt the kind of pain you'd gone through. 

You lured people in because of your grace. You gave people a safe place to exist in. Your shadows had felt like a warm blanket on a chilly night. Your smile had rivaled the moonlight. 

You had always been far more special than you knew. 

Your mistake had been thinking you could out love his hatred for himself. 

But the mating bond had opened his eyes. Although he had only gotten a few seconds with his mate, its song had told him everything he needed to know. He no longer hated his shadows or the anger he felt inside. He no longer hated himself. How could he? How could he hate himself when part of him was you? 

And he could never hate you. 

Gods, he could never be without you. Your souls were intertwined. 

But living in this world without you was something he could not bear. He was consumed by your memory. He looked for you in everything. In the sea, in the breeze, in the faces of random people, down alleyways and behind every door. But you were not here. You were not here and so he decided he could not be here, either. 

"You said you'd find me again," Azriel whispered. "You said you'd find me again but that is not enough. I cannot sit here and wait for you. I will crawl through Hell and everything that is ready for me when my life ends to find you. This life means nothing to me without you in it. You were my heart, Y/n. I love you. I've always loved you. And I am ready to prove that in our next life."

Azriel slid Truth-teller from its sheath and turned it over in his hand, pointing the blade directly as his own heart. He closed his eyes, tuned out all noise except that of the leaves gently rustling in the breeze. 

"I love you, Y/n," he murmured, gripping the blade tighter. "And I can't wait to see you again." 

His dagger pierced through skin and bone until it reached his heart. 

Until all life was spilled from inside of him. 

Until his final breath carried with the wind. 

Until he could finally see his love again.

• ───────────────── •

I knew you in another life

You had that same look in your eyes

I love you, don't act so surprised

[lovifie]

Well, I Wasn't On That Tunnel ❤️

Masterlist - Taglist Form

All Chapters

Please don't look too much into the plot holes. Canon can suck my ass, I'm making my own, xoxo 💋

Pairings: Ghoap x Reader.

Warnings: Poly relationship, mentions of death, mentions of guns, rotating POV (mostly Simon's), Spoilers → amnesia, smut, voyeurism

“THE TUNNEL IT'S COLLAPSING! FOLLOW MAKAROV! I'LL TAKE JOHNNY OUT!”

That was the last thing Ghost heard of you.

It's been months since Johnny and you were declared KIA on that mission. 

You weren't even meant to be inside, you were the medic, you were supposed to wait outside. 

But the moment Makarov shot Johnny he panicked.

Ghost panicked.

And Simon panicked.

You came in running, panting for the effort of carrying with you the medical bag half your size. 

You were the one who told them to run. To go after Makarov and kill him. 

You were trying to wake up Johnny, Ghost knew it was a lost cause. He couldn't find the pulse, he was gone.

His Johnny was gone.

The last thing he expected was that he was about to lose you too.

Once outside, he kept looking at the tunnel. Waiting for you to come out, whether it was dragging Johnny's body or alone; it didn't matter. You needed to get out.

But after the tunnel collapsed and you didn't get out, it was Price who finally pushed Ghost away.

He barely remembers getting back to base, doesn't remember what Price kept telling him on the helicopter, doesn't remember skipping meals for days, doesn't remember crying himself to sleep for weeks.

But he remembers your face, he remembers Johnny's face.

Oh, what a coward he was. 

Two people that he loved, that found their way under his skin right into his heart. Two people that Simon wanted to grow old next to, two people that made Simon want to wake up every morning. 

And he was still not brave enough to confess his feelings to neither of them.

He used to stay awake late at night dreaming about how he would do it. After a long time of debating with himself, figuring out what those feelings inside of him were.

Until he figured out it was love, only to them have to face the complex situation of loving two people at the same time.

But even how complicated of a man Simon Riley was, when it comes to his wants it all turns simpler. If on the menu there are two dishes that he likes? He is getting both, obviously. Why choose?

So if all his lonely and twisted life he had never loved anyone, now he suddenly fell in love with two people. He wasn't going to give up one of them and their love just for society's norms.

Murder is also against society’s norms, and he gets paid for it. 

But it was too late now.

Maybe it was for the better.

He could lie to himself, agree that he never confessed because it was not his destiny. 

Not because they would have not loved him back. 

Not because they would have been scared of him.

Not because they wouldn't have been able to see past his mask. 

Not because they would have rather dated each other than him.

It's easier like this.

Simon knows how to mourn a loved one. 

What he doesn't know is, how it's possible he got a message from you this morning when you died four months ago.

You are stepping out of the shower, skin warm from the water and baby hairs sticking to your forehead; when someone knocks on the bathroom door.

You furrow your eyebrows at how hard they knock, the whole door shaking with it.

“Calm down, I'm almost finished.” You grumble, pulling the towel around your body. 

You drag your feet over the towel on the floor to walk closer, and open the door annoyed by the insistent knocking.

“I told you I am almost finish-” Your words are cut off by the barrel of a gun right on your face.

You don't even have time to panic, because you immediately recognise the stupid skeleton gloves holding the gun.

“Simon?” You whisper,scared that if you talk any louder he will disappear. Price and Gaz are behind him, slowly lowering their gun when they see it's you.

There is a glistering layer over Ghost's eyes that if you didn't known any better you'd think are tears.

You push his gun down, the man still immobile as if you were the ghost; and you jump into his arms, circling his neck with your arms.

“It worked! It finally worked!” You exclaim, tears slowly running down your cheeks. “I have been trying to contact any of you for months, it finally fucking worked!”

Ghost struggles to tell whether you are laughing or crying, a mix of the two. But he can't focus on that, he can only focus on your skin under his gloves.

God, how he hated his gloves right now. 

He bites the tip of his finger, pulling the glove off spitting it somewhere. And he snakes his hand under your towel.

He knows is improper, perverted even; but he needs it. He needs to feel your warm skin under his palm, your heart beating loud and fast. 

He surrounds your waist, hands big enough to rest on your ribs, right under your chest. 

Boom, boom… boom, boom… boom, boom…

He sighs, melting onto you, his tears getting absorbed by the mask on his face. He hugs you tighter, daring you to slip from his fingers again.

He bites his lips, copper taste on his tongue, to prevent himself from sobbing.

But the sobs can be heard, and Ghost it's almost disappointed with himself until he notices your body shaking.

It's you who is crying.

And he panics again, pulling back to look at you and you cup your face, apologizing. 

“I'm sorry. I tried my best, I really did.” He can barely understand what you are trying to tell him between sobs. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry.”

He shushes you quickly, he understands; the survivor’s guilt is a special kind of poison. But he understands, he feels it too. 

“It's alright, love. You are alright, everything is going to be alright.” He hugs you again, resting your head on his chest. Mourning Johnny will be easier if you are together, he now hates himself for thinking you were dead; for accepting it.

For mourning you for months and now having you on his arms. 

Warm and breathing. 

He can only imagine what you went through. 

You entered the tunnel because he called for you, and then he left you inside with a corpse. 

How did you get out?

How did anyone see you get out?

How did you find a house?

How did you survive alone with the guilt?

Are the scars on your shoulder for getting out or were they always there?

Were you trapped under the debris?

For how long?

But that doesn't matter, he knew you were strong. That you were clever. That you were better than him. 

He already knew that. 

Gaz and Price remain silent, reading in the situation that there is something underlying that they don't know. Letting the two of you, have your moment. 

It's only when Gaz hears the almost unnoticeable steps get closer that he moves, turning his body and almost dropping his weapon in the process when he sees him.

“Johnny?” That's all he is able to see.

And that's all that is needed to hear.

Price and Ghost whip their head around like they have been smacked, coming face to face with the man.

There are still bandages on the side of his head, he looks thinner, less muscles, sunken eyes and dark bags. But it's Johnny. 

A scarred, angry Johnny. 

Holding the pistol on his hands pointing to Ghost's head.

Looking at him as if Simon was his greatest enemy.

“Johnny…” He tries to talk to him, keeping you behind his back by instincts.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP! WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?” Johnny shouts, his hands are shaking.

That explains it, why he look like a madman, why he looks so scared under the rage, why he keeps trying to look under him.

“Johnny, it's alright.” You finally say, moving from behind Ghost, softly pushing his arm back. You walk ahead, still only on the towel; and you walk up to Johnny. You rest your hand on the pistol, pushing it down with ease. 

You raise your other hand to the men, the signal of “wait”.

Johnny looks at you with utter confusion, eyes shaking moving around your face for any kind of explanation. His hand move around you, checking for any damage; the hand that doesn't have the gun clinging to the towel. 

You cup his face between your hands, the man bending down slightly to make it easier for you to reach; you whisper something to him making him relax almost immediately. 

And then you kiss him.

On the cheek, right beside the nose making him close his eyes for a second.

But it feels like a stab on Simon's heart. 

He tries to think rationally, you were just calming him down. He knows Johnny is always desperate for physical contact, that's all. Nothing else. 

He really tries to think logically, but logically the two of you are dead and buried under a tunnel. Not standing at the end of the hall, kissing and comforting each other. 

Something about it, about the possibility there is something more going on between Johnny and you; sends Simon's inner gears spinning. 

He sees the virtual space between the two of you, slowly getting in the shape of his body.

You whisper something to Johnny, he nods, touching your forehead with his for a second, before walking back. Looking at Simon with hate on his cerulean blue eyes. 

You sigh, watching Johnny move and turn to the three still shell-shocked. 

“As far as I can tell…” You whisper, once you are close to them. “He only remembers up to when he was 20, little more, little less.”

“So he doesn't remember anyone?” Price asks after a moment.

You shake your head. “Not that he hasn't asked me about, he asked about some people but I don't know them. He thought I was a nurse when he woke up.” You explain.

“What happened in the tunnel?” Gaz asks, looking behind you to check Johnny is not back. “How did you get out? And him? He was dead.”

You shake your head again. “Not yet. Almost… but not yet. I-”

“Bonnie! You want coffee or tea?!” Johnny's voice makes everyone jump.

“Coffee, please!” You answer without skipping a beat and turn to them. “I'll explain it later, alright? It's not the place nor the time.”

Price nods once. “Get dressed, I'll contact the pilot to let them know we are flying back tonight, right?”

“Roger that.” The three of you reply almost by muscle memory.

“I'll be fast, don't rile him up.” You say, before entering the bedroom closing it behind you.

Ghost feels Price's eyes on him. 

Wondering.

Asking.

What's between you and him?

What's between you and Soap?

What's inside his mind?

“Tea is ready.” It all gets interrupted by the amnesiac man calling them to the kitchen.

They walk together, sitting around the table. Gaz and Price find it almost easy to talk to Soap, about how happy they are to see him again, about how they are flying back later, easy chatter.

But Ghost can't. 

Not when Soap finally smiles at Price making fun of Gaz's cap and Ghost's breath is knocked out of his chest. 

That's his boy.

Breathing and warm.

Just like you.

He knows it's the universe talking, telling him not to fuck it up again.

Still, he feels his heart sink every time Soap looks at him with such a sour look. Offended even. His boy.

That would jump at any opportunity to impress him, to earn his respect, his affection. Now locked like he wanted to stab him on the chest, twisting the knife in the process.

He knows it's because of you, the way the man stared at his hand as you pushed it out of the towel didn't go unnoticed by Simon. 

Not the greatest first impression. 

Does it count as a first impression if he has known the man for years? 

You walk into the kitchen not much later, Johnny's eyes lightening at seeing you; his saviour. 

You walk past Ghost, your arm resting on his shoulder as you bend down to slightly knock your head against Soap's.

And that's it, that all Simon's needs. To be involved. He doesn't need to be in the middle of you two, he is fine with being in the sidelines, but he needs to be a part of it.

He knows you are on his side, you remember him unlike Johnny. You can be the bridge to get him to Johnny; to keep Johnny from running. Make a pack with him; keep the two of you close.

A turmoil of emotions keeps spinning inside Ghost's head, all the versions of himself wanting to be right.

The part of him he thinks is unable to love telling him to let the two of you alone, you are better of without him.

The part of him he thinks is unable to be loved telling him to not even try, save himself the rejection. 

The part of him that is still unsure of what even are his feelings telling him to not get involved, that it would only confuse the two of you.

But then there is also that part of him. The part called Simon Riley; that still holds onto the chance of loving and getting love.

And he looks at you and Soap, the way Soap looks up to you. The way he used to look at him. 

“Let's pack our things up, Johnny.” You say, patting Soap’s back. “The sooner we are back home, the better.”

And you smile at Soap so kindly, so wide, so warm.

He understands how you managed to calm Soap down. Waking up from what he assumed must be something close to a coma after getting shot on the head, not remembering anything, in pain, alone. And then you appeared, so soft and so kind.

He wouldn't blame Johnny if he was already in love with you, with you being literally the only thing he knows since waking up. 

Johnny stands up, walking out of the kitchen but looking back to make sure you are walking behind him. 

The two of you disappear down the hall, voices low as you move away.

“I can't believe they are alive…” Gaz comments, sipping his tea.

“Neither do I…” Price answers, sipping his. “Bloody necromancer…”

And you are, Simon was also dead before meeting you. 

“I'm gonna check on them.” He says, downing the beverage on a gulp that burns down his throat. 

He stands up, Price and Gaz look at him as he does. They are going to talk about him as soon as he gets out, but he doesn't care. 

He has made his choice.

He loves you.

He loves Johnny.

He walks down the hall, seeing the door ajar.

His hand reaches the knob when he hears it.

His blood running cold.

“Johnny…”

It's your sweet voice moaning the name. 

The unmistakable sounds of kisses inside the room.

“I don't like how he looks at you, bonnie.” The man whispers, his breathing unstable.

“He's your best friend, Joh-Ah!” You moan, interrupting yourself as you speak.

“I don't care! I don't know him. You are mine!” The man grunts, the sound of skin slapping slowly becoming more and more clear. 

“Johnny…” You moan again, and Simon is sure that he can hear your cunt squelch around Johnny's length. 

He opens the door the slightest bit, just enough for his eyes to see the way Johnny has you bent over on the bed. 

With you laying on your stomach on the bed, legs hanging from him without strength to push yourself up. Johnny behind you, a foot on the ground and the other on the mattress as leverage to keep sinking into your weeping cunt.

Neither of you bothered to take off the clothes, simply lowered the pants enough for Johnny to get inside of you. Your pants pooling on your ankles, legs limp with the rhythm Johnny has settled.

Simon wishes he could see your face, pleasure painted on your expressions with your face buried on the mattress. Johnny keeps your hands on your back, keeping you pressed against the bed. But the only thing he can see is Johnny's back.

So he sees perfectly fine when the man turns his torso around, still thrusting into you, and looks at Simon.

He looks straight into Simon's eyes, who panic just for a second for getting caught peeking into their room, into them together.

But the Johnny smiles, not the adoration-filled smile he used to gift Simon with. Instead, is the smile filled with pride that he only kept for after winning a match or catching an enemy.

Johnny raises his hand to show him his middle finger.

As he mouths “Fuck you.”

And Simon wants to laugh.

Johnny wants to play?

Then they'll play.

Game's on.

@waiting-so-long

Taglist: @whos-fran @thevoidwriting @sklt987659 @kayden666 @dumb12bvtch1212 @thatonepupkai @darkangel4121 @risingofjupiter @spadekip @herefor-tojis-tits @soupinasock @marymustdie @arbesa-mind @cmbghost @multifandomheathenannie @tooloudarts @panikk-attackkk @reap3erslov3 @mothsdrabbles @ghosts-hoe @cassiecasluciluce @sleepdeprivedkat @lunamoonbby @hatterripper31 @contractedcriteria @cod-z @jaguarthecat @savagemickey03 @fraserbraw @rosiehale23 @keiva1000 @sw33tsnow @viisgrave @theloneshadow24 @loveandplanet @sobbingnshtting @dprmoon @simpsallthetime1997 @ladyxtiger @soapsmohawk-16 @nina6708 @katreintjie @sacvh @mothymunson @archenillo @thesinsoflust @sodavrr @yuki2129 @mikaronn

[queers-gambit]

God's Plan

prompt: your boyfriend carries the worst parts of his job home, bringing to life one of your deepest-seeded insecurities. or when Carmy calls you clingy.

pairing: Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto x female!reader pairing: Carmy x Peach

fandom masterlist: FX's The Bear

collection masterlist: Clingy Baby

word count: 3.3k+

note: she's short. she's to the point. author doesn't want to hear a GODDAMN THING about "glorifying" toxic relationships. shut the fuck up, eat your cereal, read the fic or just scroll away.

warnings: cursing, small angst, short fic, author mildly gave up, hurt with no real comfort, allusion to toxic family relationship, insecurity, not edited.

part two: Two to Tango

"Hey, what're you still doin' here?"

You glanced up from your computer, smiling at your coworker, "Just trying to get the study notes finished so they can be used for the analysis."

"Okay...? But you realize what time it is, right?"

You hummed, glancing at the analog clock, "Just about 7?"

"Yeah, so, go home," she chuckled. "Work's still gonna be here tomorrow."

"I'll see you then," you dismissed softly, watching her smile and turn away from your desk. You tried to get back into work, but the truth was, you felt overly burned out, but still wanted to work because it'd make you feel better being "good" at your job.

So, in reality, you didn't get home until 10:56 pm, yet still beat Carmy. You ate something simple, cleaned up, got a shower, and crashed into bed. You didn't know the time, but Carmy eventually came home; his arm heavy around you when settling for sleep.

You were the first up and out the door the next morning, just barely seeing Carmy when he got up for coffee. You managed a single kiss before rushing away, needing to get to work on time. When you got there, your entire morning was blocked for client meetings, then you took lunch, later, team meetings, and then the last hour or so of work was meant for individual recreation.

Another day of staying late, trying to finish work you thought was important. Another day of getting home late, missing your man, going to bed, and only seeing him the following morning.

However, this time at work, your boss told you that the analysis meetings were pushed back by a week... So, technically, you stayed late and busted your ass for no literal reason! And your coworker's entire cup of coffee spilled on you. And your Outlook email was under maintenance, so, you couldn't really work. And then, to top off a really shitty week, your car was hit in the parking lot and now had a huge fucking dent.

You were beat.

You were overwhelmed.

You were miserable, stressed, righteously confused.

You didn't stay late that night. Instead, you left at a normal hour and texted Carmy:

what time do you think you'll be off?

He replied when you got to your car:

maybe around 8?

You sniffled, nodding, answering:

okay, see you when you get home.

As you exited the parking lot, he replied:

what? you're off?

And you answered:

yeah, couldn't stand being there much longer. think you could get off a little early?

When you made three turns, he sent back:

i'll try, peach 💙

When you got home, you felt utterly defeated. Life felt like a never ending shitshow that refused to alleviate most of the stress you forced to endure. You were in tears by the time you got in the door, angrily stripping and getting a long, hot shower. You cried a little longer. When you got out, you got dressed in cozy shorts and one of Carmy's sweatshirts; going about a few household chores when you realized it was already past 9.

You didn't really want to, but you texted Carmy again,

hey, are you gonna be much later?

You made a simple meal, eating it in silence. When you were doing dishes, Carmy answered,

i don't know, going over menu items with syd. text you on my way home

You just went to bed, exhaustion from the week catching up to you.

Sometime later, you felt Carmy crawl into bed beside you. You were only half awake, but still turned over and nestled into his chest, hearing him sigh. "You're home late," you mumbled.

"Sorry f'wakin' you, Peach," he whispered, pecking your forehead. "You good, baby?"

"S'been a long fuckin' week," you squeezed him.

He sighed, "Sorry it was rough, Peach, but hey, hey, back up a little, 's kinda warm."

"But I haven't seen you."

"I know, but it's just warm. We'll cuddle in the morning, okay?" You only sighed and turned back over to face away from him. You resettled with your pillow, just settling when he asked in a hardened tone, "You mad?"

"No, Carmen, go to sleep."

"You sound mad."

"I'm not."

"I don't mean to piss you off, it's just been a long night f'me and I don't want to cuddle right now," he said in a sharp tone that made your stomach coil and churn.

"Shut up, I'm not mad, Carmen, go to sleep."

He scoffed, your irritation spiking. "You're really fucking mad 'cause I don't want you laying on me right now?"

"No, Carmen, Jesus - "

"Callin' me fuckin' Carmen doesn't help," he snapped.

You sat up and turned to him, "You want me to be mad? Maybe I'm a little pissed off that I've barely seen my boyfriend this week! Not like you've made an effort to speak to me, but I've had a pretty shitty time at work, too - so, excuse the fuck outta me for feeling disappointed!"

"Disappointed in fucking what, Peach? In not wanting t'cuddle right now?"

"Maybe, yeah! I'm upset, stressed out, maybe I just wanted some comfort, God! Now you're all up in arms, I just wanted to go to sleep - but no, you want to pick at me!"

"Oh, Jesus, fucking Christ! You couldn't just talk to me about you having a shitty week, you gotta be laid up on me? When the fuck did you get so Goddamn clingy and desperate for fucking attention? Huh? So fucking desperate for love? Sorry you had a shitty week, darling, but you're not alone in that. Sorry if it's fucking hot and I just want to sleep."

Feeling yourself fighting a losing battle because he wasn't listening, you just sighed, "Okay, Carmen."

He scoffed again, turning over to face away from you, "Know what? Fuck you, sweetheart."

You stared at his back for a long minute, feeling shocked by his words. "You can be such a fucking dick, you know that?" You snapped, standing from bed.

"And you can be a dramatic bitch."

"Yeah, that's me, the bitch you chose, huh!?" You rolled your eyes and nodded sarcastically; taking the blanket from the end of the bed, figuring he wouldn't miss it since he was so fucking hot. With only your phone and charger, you went out to the living room and crashed on the couch; covering up and crying quietly into a pillow from the overwhelming stress built in your chest. You felt guilt plunging your stomach, tearing it apart; feeling as if it were your fault for having physical touch as a love language.

Sleep evaded you that night. About an hour before your alarm, you called in sick and shut your phone off, resettling in misery as Carmy left the bedroom for work. You didn't move, never opened your eyes. However, they popped open in surprise when Carmen shoved your shoulder, "Hey."

"What?" You muttered.

"You're late for work."

"Called in."

He snorted, "Yeah, must be nice."

You didn't say anything else, feeling utterly defeated by his sharp words. The lack of response made Carmy pause and glance over at you from the kitchen, honest surprise coloring his system because he usually knew you to bite back. But you were quiet and still, the only indication you were even alive being the slow drag of your shoulders.

He let the door slam after he left for work, and you instantly sobbed. What you didn't know was that Carmy had come back, forgetting something mundane, and came to a halt outside the door when he heard you crying. He felt guilty, but Carmy wasn't usually one to confront problems; he instead ran away, like always.

After a night of exhaustion, you finally cry yourself to sleep.

When Carmy got home that night after work, he found you still huddled on the couch. After a look around, he realized you hadn't moved all day; nothing to eat, nothing to drink... He wanted to wake you but still felt so fucking irritated from his job that the idea of reconciling with you felt far fetched. So, he did what he did best and isolated himself by going to the gym for a few hours.

You still hadn't woken up when he got back.

So, he just went to bed; hating sleeping alone but hating his pride more because it refused to let him get up and go get you. Carry you to bed. Smother you in apologies. Beg for forgiveness. He was cold that night.

You were awake around 4 am.

The entire apartment felt as cold and aloof as your boyfriend. You felt so silly for still being there, knowing you paid for an apartment of your own, but liking that Carmy's place was closer to your work. And he never asked you to leave, in fact, the times you went home, he was calling you within hours to beg you to come back because he hated sleeping alone.

Whatever happened to that lad? The one who was so in-love with you that he would desperately ask you to come "home" to him? Who was this man now? Who called you clingy, desperate... A bitch.

You could only stand to make coffee, feeling powerless in this tension. You didn't want him to ignore you any longer, feeling like you'd drop to your knees for his forgiveness if it would end this feud; but you weren't so naïve. You spent several long minutes mentally prepping yourself for more anxiety, telling yourself you could handle the day if you just powered through it. Everything should be fine so long as you didn't do anything else to upset him, as long as you didn't do anything to warrant him yelling at you - again.

You finally decided on an emotion, since you could feel so many at any given point in time, and since this situation was one you've never encountered before. Carmy had brought forth one of your biggest insecurities and then smashed it in your face like punk-ass siblings did to your birthday cake. You decided you were hurt by his words, tone, and actions; you were hurt by the man you loved unconditionally, and that was a terrifying thought on its own. He was once a man you thought couldn't do any wrong, to now being a man you were unsure of how to even speak to; fearful, as you once were as a child, to upset him and create hostility directed at you.

Carmy often forgot he didn't have a monopoly on toxic, complicated family dynamics, but being that Mikey was still so fresh for him, you kept quiet about your own issues in an effort to be a loving, supportive girlfriend. Yet even while trying not to upset anyone, to create tension, you somehow managed to. You felt your heart and soul shrivel into a withered raisin when you remembered your family and how they constantly put you down; saying that nobody wanted a girl like you who tried, tried, and tried again only to fail. They thought you were damaged goods, treated you as such and always smeared your name in the mud whenever you thought you had found someone to love you and be loved by you.

All that trauma was rearing its ugly head now, making doubt sink into the cracks of your relationship. No matter how hard he tried, Carmy couldn't ever take those words back once they've been said, and he had to understand that going forward, this would strain your relationship. Taking anger and frustration out on you was inappropriate, putting a bad taste in your mouth; making you wonder how the hell you'd ever move past this when his words circled your head like water draining from the sink.

Sometime around 9 am, you were curled up on the couch with your coffee and a book; Saturday dragging by slowly to allow you the reprieve of being off work. The bedroom door opened and you held your breath; sweat breaking out on your brow; heart stammering in your chest. When he came out, Carmy didn't look at you, which allowed you to watch him. He made a to-go cup of coffee, then shouldered his backpack before heading for the door.

"Carmy?" You asked softly in confusion, "I thought you were off today?"

"I am," he replied stiffly, "but I gotta run errands."

You didn't have time to respond before he was storming out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him. You blinked in shock, confusion plunging your heart to your feet as you realized he didn't ask you to join him, in fact, he didn't appear to want to tell you his plans until you had to ask directly when he was walking out the door. You felt terrible, more tears swelling in your eyes at the discord your boyfriend prolonged.

Something in your heart snapped and you stood from your seat. With anger coursing through your veins, you turned into a miniature tornado and quickly started gathering whatever you could get your hands on that belonged to you. You had enough, you felt hurt, yes, we established this, but then the disrespect started to overflow out of your heart to color your blood. Never linger where you're not wanted, you should never tear yourself down to that level. Never should have to second guess yourself, either - especially in a space where you're supposed to be safe.

You started to wonder: is it clingy if you made dinner and saved him a plate? Is it clingy if you did his laundry? What about cuddling? Is that clingy? Well, apparently! What else are you wrong about? If you texted him? Asked his opinion? What about if you held his hand - is that clingy, too? Probably!

Physical touch and quality time were your love languages, but after this reaction, you wondered if everything you'd do from now on would be judged? Would you be crucified for showing your love? For trying to participate in your relationship?

All day, you moved your stuff back to your apartment. All shoes, clothes, purses, make-up, haircare and skincare products - any and all period products, too. You left fucking nothing; going as far as to lay face-down the photo of your two on his bedside stand. You'd of taken it, too, but you felt sick at the thought so you left it for him. Sunday night, you didn't return to his apartment, and Carmy didn't call to say goodnight; both figuring the other was still pissed off. Your Monday was long and annoying, but once it was over, you had to admit, it was strange returning to an empty apartment, heat up leftovers, eat while watching some Netflix show, and then crashing into bed - moving mechanically.

Days passed uneventfully, albeit, a bit sluggishly. And then, Thursday arrived, and with it, the shit that would hit the fan.

You were enraptured in this book by Anne Tyler called "Dinner At The Homesick Restaurant," and couldn't stop reading it. You nursed a mug of tea, the outside darkening with an approaching thunderstorm that would talk to you in the silence and send bolts of lightning to illuminate the city. A shrill ringtone then played, making you jump slightly and glance at your phone only to see Carmy's contact name and photo.

You stare at your phone for a long moment, and then, after convincing yourself that ignoring him would only add fuel to the fire, answered quietly, "Hello?"

"Peach? Hey, uh... Are you, um, still at work?"

"No?"

"Where are you, then?"

"I'm home."

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I am."

"I'm standing right here and you're not, baby, unless you got superpowers or something?" He chuckled nervously, hearing nothing on your end. "In fact, I, uh... I don't see any of your things. You move 'em?"

He'd never admit it, but your personal touch in his living space transformed it into a home; and now that they were all gone, he hated how cold, dreary, and grey the apartment felt.

"Carmy, I mean my home. You know? The apartment I still pay for?"

"Oh, well... Why're you there?"

"Why wouldn't I be? I had to bring my stuff back and leave it somewhere safe."

"It was safe here, Peach," he argued.

"Yeah, but it's your space and last thing I need is to be yelled at and insulted again for being clingy 'cause I left clothes at your apartment."

"Fuc'k's sake," You heard him hiss under his breath, bringing tears to your eyes. "You know I don't mind, I want you to leave shit here so it's easier on you to commute. Look, you know it's Thursday, right? Does our standing date night ring any bells?"

"Okay, but we haven't honored that in weeks? You know, 'cause you've been really busy."

"I thought we could get back into it tonight."

You sighed, turning the page in your book, "No, I don't think so, but thanks anyway."

He took a long pause, asking nervously, "What's wrong, Peach?"

"Nothing. Is there anything else, Carmen? I'm in the middle of shit."

"Oh, uh, n-no, I guess that's it. You comin' over tomorrow?"

"No. I told my brother I'd help him this weekend."

"But tomorrow's... Friday?"

"Yeah, that's how a calendar works. I have to travel to get to him," you scoffed.

"You didn't think to tell me?"

"Why would I?"

"You tell me everything! You don't think that's something I should know? That my girl's not even gonna be here this weekend?"

"Well, you're the one who said I was fucking clingy, remember!?" You finally snapped. "So, I'm giving you all that space you wanted!"

"Baby - "

"No, it's a great idea. We need space, Carmen; this isn't fair to either of us anymore," you spoke seriously, the line going quiet.

"What?"

"We need space from this relationship."

"I don't. I don't need space, Peach, baby, no, just listen, okay? I'm so sorry, I came home stressed out and I took it out on you. I'm sorry, I really am, this isn't what I want. Okay? I'm sorry. Just - come back home and we can - "

"No, you know what? I think I'm the one who needs this space," you snapped. "You said some pretty fucked up things, Carmen, that you can't ever take back, and now that I know, I can't un-know what you think about me. So, I need time to sort myself out."

"What're you saying? A-Are you breaking up with me?"

"Not yet, no."

"Baby, don't do this. C'mon, okay? I'm sorry, baby, I-I-I was wrong for what I said, I didn't - I didn't mean it! None of it, okay? Know I love you, baby, please, just come home, okay? I'm so sorry, I love that you wanna be close to me, I shouldn't've pushed you away. I'm sorry, okay? Please, baby, I'm so sorry. I need you, Peach, please. Just come home, we'll talk it through, I promise, no yelling - "

"I think you already said it all. Your words were 'clingy' and 'desperate'. Oh, and you also called me a 'bitch', so, I'd hate to be the bitch that makes your already stressful life all the harder."

"I didn't mean that - "

"I gotta go, Carmen, we'll talk later, okay? Goodnight."

He froze when he listened to those three distinct beeps that indicated you hung up on him. Confusion and hurt now seeped into the cracks of Carmy's heart; wondering when the hell he'd become so Goddamn self destructive to ruin the best thing he's ever had - you. The apartment might as well turned into ice with the way the light left, your departure suddenly haunting him.

When will these boys learn? The love of a good woman is rare, they'd only ever be so lucky as to think they deserve a woman like you. Nobody ever gets to guilt you for your love language(s) and then grovel for forgiveness. You deserve better, you deserve more; whether you could see that right now or not, you deserved to be loved in the best way for you. And sometimes, that means walking away from something you once thought was exactly what you wanted, but perhaps, never what you needed - call that God's Plan.

[ part two: ] Two to Tango

requesting rules and masterlist

The Bear masterlist

Clingy Baby collection masterlist

[cutielando]

Omg i love your writing style!! Can we get an Oscar loving reader's breasts???? Luv you 🩷

loving on my girls | o.p.

warnings!!: light smut (mainly just touching, groping, kissing and sucking on your breasts), worshipping, praising, reader is described as having medium to large sized boobs

my masterlist

Oscar was a very simple man.

He loved and cherished every single thing about his girlfriend, no matter how small or maybe insignificant.

But there was something that he loved just about more than anything else.

Your boobs.

They were most probably his favorite part of your body, aside from your face and pretty eyes.

He was fairly shy about his love for your boobs at the beginning of your relationship, not wanting to really make it known how much he loved just staring at them or sleeping on them whenever the two of you would cuddle.

But you were a woman, and you were very attentive of everything Oscar did from the very beginning. Of course you saw the sneaky glances he would give your cleavage, the sparkle in his eyes whenever he would watch you change in front of him.

Especially the way his cheeks would heat up every time you would have sex together, paying extra attention to your breasts.

You knew how obsessed he was, and you found it very endearing.

But you also liked to sometimes tease him about it, purposefully wearing low-cut shirts, asking him to massage your breasts whenever you were on your period because "they just hurt so badly", asking his opinion whenever you would drag him into Victoria's Secret to buy lingerie.

You fed into his obsession, and he loved you all the more for it.

He got especially clingy after he would be away from you racing and would come home in the late hours of the night, the atmosphere in the whole city and your apartment quiet and peaceful.

Oscar was especially craving your breasts when he got back from the triple header from Belgium.

You had talked on the phone for the 3 weeks he was away racing, and you more than satisfied his need to see "his girls", but it just wasn't the same for him.

He needed to feel them. He needed to touch them and worship the hell out of them.

"How are my girls doing?" he asked you as you talked on the phone before his plane took off.

"They're waiting for their favorite guy to come home" you replied, smiling when you heard the groan he let out on the other end of the phone.

"I can't wait to get my hands on them"

Some would say his obsession was not healthy, but you found it endearing that he was so enamored by your breasts and so eager to get back home to you.

Oscar didn't get back until after midnight, and you had taken a small nap because you got tired trying to stay up and wait for him.

But the jiggling of keys on the other side of the door woke you up, just in time to see Oscar dropping his bags next to his suitcase in the hall and running straight towards the couch, plopping down next to you and scooping you up in his arms in a bear hug.

"I missed you so much" he whispered against your ear, his arms tightening his hold on you.

You buried your face into the crook of his neck, closing your eyes and inhaling his scent, the smell of him comforting you after being away from each other for so long.

"I missed you too, Oz" you whispered back, relishing in the fact that he was finally back home, back with you where he belonged.

Oscar squeezed you one last time before he pulled away from the hug, cupping your cheek and connecting your lips in a desperate and passionate kiss.

You both lost yourselves into the love and passion, forgetting about the time or anything else. Your hands were lost in the hair at the back of his head, his hands were touching and rubbing at every part of your body that he could reach, slowly inching upwards towards the place he really, really missed.

He pulled away from the kiss as soon as he felt the underside of your boobs against his hands, his eyes immediately falling on them, hidden away by the bra and small t-shirt you had fallen asleep in.

"Can I?" he asked, his hand pointing towards the hem of your shirt.

You smiled and nodded, letting him take off the shirt and leave you in your white lacy bra.

Oscar sighed out, blissfully smiling at the sight of his favorite girls staring back at him.

"I'm starting to think you've missed my boobs more than you've missed me" you joked, leaning back against the couch as Oscar scooted even closer to yours, his finger tracing gentle shapes on the pump flesh of your left boob.

"Don't be silly. They're second on the list, though" he said, stealing a glance at you just in time to see you laughing and smiling widely.

He looked back down at the soft flesh, his hand sneakily migrating towards your back and quickly unhooking your bra, scooping it up and throwing it somewhere behind him.

The minute his attention went back to your boobs, he was done for.

He leaned down and started planting kisses along the plump flesh of your right boob, his hands fondling with your left one, pinching and twisting at your nipple.

You let out a sigh and relaxed against the back of the couch, closing your eyes. You were used to Oscar giving your boobs this kind of attention, and you both learned how to do this without everything turning sexual.

This is routine for you guys, something through which Oscar wants to show his love for you and your beautiful body.

"Did they get bigger when I was away?" Oscar asked, pulling away for just a second to examine them.

You opened your eyes and looked down at him, smiling and letting out a chuckle once you noticed how intently he was inspecting your boobs.

"I think so. I had to get a size up on my bra when I went shopping with your sister when she came to visit" you said, biting your lip to stifle a giggle once you saw how wide and excited Oscar's eyes had got.

"I go away for a couple of weeks and you two decide to surprise me when I come back" Oscar spoke to your boobs, making you smile.

Would people think this was weird?

Definitely.

But this was something very dear to both you and Oscar, and you didn't care what anybody else would think.

Especially not Oscar, not when it came to his 2 favorite girls.

After you, of course.

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[strangersteddierthings]

Sequel to Good People - The fic in wherein Wayne doesn't like Steve and overheard a conversation he shouldn't have. Here's the aftermath of that :3

Part One🦇Part Two🦇Final Part

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Wayne had stayed in his bedroom long after he heard the boys leave. Eddie had knocked on his door to let him know he'd be staying at Steve's and to not expect him back until late tomorrow, a courtesy he'd never shown until after he'd been the victim of a manhunt back in spring. Wayne never asked him to do that but he thinks Eddie picked up on how worried Wayne would get if he were gone for any amount of time.

Eddie's always been good at reading people when he bothers to pay attention to them. Maybe that should have been enough reason for him to give pause to his dislike of the Harrington boy, instead of needing to overhear the boy crying about how he thinks there's something rotten deep within him that only Wayne can sense.

He'd been so sure he knew what kind of person Steve Harrington was. Eddie had been hung up on boys just like him pert-near his whole life, Wayne thinks, and it's never ended differently.

It's a Tuesday night and his friends usually gather at the bar on Friday nights, but Wayne needs to get out of the trailer to think. A beer might help. So, he grabs his keys and heads out.

He's been a regular at this bar since before he was even old enough to drink. Used to come with his pa, may he rest in peace, just to get out of the house. He's been a patron longer than any of the staff have worked there, he realizes.

"Hello Linda," Wayne greets as he takes a seat at the bar instead of at his usual table. He'd done a cursory glace when he came in and confirmed none of his drinking buddies were in before choosing the bar.

"This isn't your usual day," Linda says, leaning a hip on the counter, "but it's always a pleasure to see you."

"I got some thinkin' to do," Wayne replies and Linda nods and moves away, returning soon with a bottle of his usual beer. She picks up the bottle open and removes the cap before setting the drink down in front of him.

"Need a sounding board, hun?" She asks.

Wayne does a quick survey of the bar again but it's pretty quiet so he returns his gave to Linda and says, "if you wouldn't mind too much hearin' about how an old man might have messed up."

Linda laughs. "You aren't even half a decade older than me, so you best not be sprouting that 'old man' nonsense around me, 'cause I am not some old lady."

"Terribly sorry, Linda. I'm just really feelin' like an old fool."

A small frown comes to Linda's face then. "Now what could you have possibly done?"

"Well, I guess I'm tryin' to figure out if I did mess up. Eddie's got a friend and I don't trust 'im. Thought I had good reason not to, but, well, I overheard somethin' I wasn't supposed ta and now I'm not sure."

Linda hums, "hmm, that doesn't sound like you, judging someone unrightly. You are usually a good read about people."

"I'll admit, I haven't bothered to spend enough time with the boy to, uhh, judge him."

"Wayne Munson," Linda scolds, "you best not be telling me you judged that boy because of other people."

Judging by Linda's raising brow line, he thinks his guilt must be clear on his face. "You know Eddie, and how people have treated him. And with what he just went through- I just want 'im safe. Sure, his new friend graduated last year, but he was on the basketball team his whole career. And I'm jus' supposed ta believe this one boy didn't side with the group who started the manhunt?"

"Unless you've got evidence otherwise, yes," Linda says, brows furrowed.

Wayne sighs. "I ain't got proof. I got a lot of people sayin' he's good, actually. But it's the Harrington boy. The same boy Eddie would come home and complain 'bout. Harrington, Hagan, Hargrove, though I shouldn't speak ill of the dead. All them boys treatin' Eddie like he wasn't worth nothin' until they wanted somethin' form him."

Linda's mouth is almost a perfectly straight line with how much she's pursed her lips the more he talks, but she doesn't interrupt and no customer calls for her, so he continues.

"And you know what Richard Harrington was like. I know y'all only shared one school year together, but Janice wasn't any better, and she was your year, wasn't she?" Linda gives him one nod in response. "That boy's a product of them. I- You can't fault me for thinkin' differently."

"So, when do you expect Eddie to end up in prison?"

The question throws Wayne and fills him with anger at the same time. "Now, Linda, I ain't likin' what you are implyin'."

"I ain't implyin' nothing," she says, using the same tone with him that he did with her. "I'm applying your logic. Eddie's a product of his parents, ain't he? Al's in prison, and his mama's long gone, bless her soul. And since Eddie ain't sick, last I heard, he must be following after his daddy."

The anger leaves him then, and all he's left with is shame. "Point made. And if I'm bein' fully honest with ya, I don't even need ya to defend that boy. That thing I overheard. That what's eatin' at me. He called me good people."

Linda softens, shoulders dropping, "you are good people, hun."

"That boy told my Eddie that I'm 'good people', and that his parents are bad ones, and I. I don't know what to do about that."

"He thinks his own parents are bad?"

Wayne nods, "is what he said. Thinks I can somehow sense he's also rotten just by association."

"There's nothing to it, then," Linda says, like they've already talked out the tangled mess that is Wayne's thoughts on Steve Harrington and have reached a conclusion. Well, perhaps Linda already has. She's always been bright, and she's usually right. "You, Wayne Robert Munson, need to apologize to that boy. The guilt and shame's gonna put you into your cups otherwise."

Wayne nods slowly, though he isn't even sure if he agrees or is just acknowledging what she said before he takes a long pull from his bottle before lowering both his arms to rest on the counter as he replies, "You're right as usual, Linda my dear. I just gotta let go of the fact he's Richard Harrington's son and try and see just Steve."

"Damn right. Eddie might be Al's by birth, but you raised him and he turned out alright. Maybe Steve got the same treatment. Had his own Wayne around to raise him right."

There might be a bit of truth to that. He's heard enough talk about Steve Harrington over the years to think that. One of his drinking buddies used to be Jim Hopper. He's heard about the amount of parties he'd had to go shut down at the Harrington's house, with no parents to be seen. (Always Jim's biggest gripe back then. "Where's this kids goddamn parents!?) Wayne always assumed their kid just took advantage every time his parents were gone, but maybe it's the opposite. Maybe they were always gone, and Steve had parties to not be alone in his house.

Linda's right. There is nothing to it. He needs to talk to Steve, properly apologize, and go from there.

"It ain't an easy thing, admittin' you might be wrong," Wayne sighs.

Linda reaches across the counter and places a hand on Wayne's arm just below his wrist. Wayne looks up from where he'd ended up staring at his bottle, making eye contact with her. "If your boy is friends with this boy, it's for a reason. Just give him a chance. You are one of the good ones, but even we can have a lapse in judgment now and then. Doesn't make you bad, makes you human."

"Ain't no one perfect but the good Lord," Wayne says and Linda nods in agreement.

"Alright. I'll leave you to your beer and your thoughts for now, but you best keep me updated on your situation. I wanna know how it goes," Linda retracts her hand and heads down the counter to check on the few other people sitting about nursing drinks.

Wayne sits in his thoughts more than he drinks, so by the time he's done with the beer it's warm but that's fine. He will talk to the Harrington kid, but he wants to talk to Eddie first. He owes his nephew that much, and he does recall Eddie saying something to the effect of 'he'll come around' to Steve, and Wayne wants to tell Eddie he'll try.

Also he doesn't want to just corner the boy after he's been somewhat intimidating intentionally. He's going to get Eddie to ask if Steve'll talk to him.

True to his word, Eddie returns home late the next day. The clock says it's almost 6 when Eddie finally comes through the front door. If he's surprised to see Wayne awake, he doesn't show it. He does work the graveyard shift, and he's got a shift at 10 tonight, usually wakes up two hours before his shift. He'd wanted to make sure he caught Eddie, though, so he's been up since three.

"Eddie, you got a minute?" Wayne says.

"Sure. What's up?" Eddie says as he pulls off his jacket, depositing it on the nearest surface before plopping sideways on the couch so he's facing Wayne.

"I gotta come clean. I overheard some of what you and Steve were talkin' about," Wayne says, because he's a man of his word and he's always been good at doing the hard thing if it also turns out to be the right thing. He's got to be honest with Eddie, so he can be honest with himself. "Heard Harr- Steve talkin' 'bout how he thinks I'm a good person, and his parents aren't."

Eddie's quiet for a moment, blinking owlishly back at him while he thinks. "Oh. Umm. Sorry. I just- I think this is the first time I've heard you say Steve's name."

"Not the part I thought you'd focus on," Wayne huffs a laugh, "but I owe your boy an apology and I was hopin' you could help me make it happen."

"My boy- what is happening," Eddie drops his voice to whisper the question to himself.

"What's happening is I'm doin' the thing I always told you ta do. Taking accountability and fixin' my mistake."

"Oh. Oh!" Eddie narrows his eyes at Wayne, "you've made an ass out of me. All those times I assured Steve you were just being standoffish and you were- what were you doing?"

"Intentionally keepin' the boy at a distance 'cause I thought he was gonna hurt you. I sure as hell ain't been friendly. I been judging him because I knew his parents, thinkin' about how an apple don't fall far from the tree," Wayne stops, giving pause to see if Eddie will speak but he isn't. He's just staring at Wayne like he's a puzzle. "It was brought to my attention that it's mighty unfair to judge someone 'cause of how their parents act."

Eddie's brow furrows and his lips purse. It makes him think of Linda. She'd made the exact same face. "I- Jesus fuck this is weird, but I. I think I'm mad at you. Disappointed."

Eddie doesn't say it with an angry tone, and his face still looks more puzzled than mad, but the sentence feels like a kick to the chest anyway. Eddie and he have never been mad at each other, not in the eight years Eddie's lived here with him. They've been worried and scared for each other that, or mad at someone or something else that they take out on each other, but never mad at each other.

"You've every right to be."

Eddie stands from the couch, paces down the hallway, and Wayne thinks this might be the end of any conversation tonight, but instead Eddie comes storming back up the hall. "So, what, did you take me in expecting me to be my dad!?"

"No. He mighta contributed to your birth, but we both know that man ain't nurtured you a day in his life."

"Yeah, well, Steve's parents didn't raise him either, so all this has been bullshit! You made Steve think he's, he's broken and a bad person! And," Eddie's eyes are wet and he's angry but also about to cry. Wayne hasn't seen him like this in a long time. Not since the day they learned Al was in prison, fifteen years with a chance for parole if he's on his best behavior. Eddie had been so angry, and sad, and hurt by the news. Eddie's like that now, worked up so much he's repeating himself as he hiccups his words out around the lump in this throat, "And, and you made me help him feel that way! Because I didn't take him serious when he said, said you didn't like him! I thought you were being, being a dad, all fake gruff to intimidate the guy I like but it's- you were- FUCK!"

Wayne lets him yell. He deserves it, and Eddie needs it. Eddie's not saying anything untrue. He takes in what Eddie is yelling at him; Steve's parents didn't raise him, and how Wayne's cold shoulder must have added to whatever else Steve has going on in his life.

"I, I h-held him while he b-bawled into my shirt last night! He, he thinks- and you, you didn't even trust me! T-trust my own j-judgment of, of Steve! I, I need- I can't-" Eddie doesn't finish the sentence. He turns on his heel and storms back down the hall, the slamming of his door finalizing this conversation.

To say that Wayne feels terrible is inadequate. He's hurt his boy, and he's hurt his boy's boy, and he's got no one to blame but himself.

Now he's got two apologies to make.

I tried to tag as many people as I could remember that expressed interest in a follow up fic. I am SO sorry if I missed you. Please let me know if you want to be tagged in the final part. I will only be tagging people who ask to be tagged going forward 'cause it's a lot of people to remember and my memory is garbage.

@i-less-than-three-you @nburkhardt @afewproblems @skepsiss @unclewaynemunson @itsthestrangestthings @emofratboy @devondespresso @finntheehumaneater @loopholesinmydreams @yourmom-isgay @wrenisflying @emsgoodthinkin @messrs-weasley @madigoround @jackiemonroe5512 @gutterflower77 @zerokrox-blog @eriquin @samyuck @lunarmaruna @mugloversonly @kaij-basil-lionelli88

[biteyoubiteme]

study break

fem!reader x han jisung

synopsis: you take a study break with your boyfriend

warnings: 🔞!! slightly innocent reader, some nipple play, fingering, oral (f!rec), prob forgot some sorry

wc: 2k

an: this was a request but my inbox ate it ;-; hope i got everything anon asked for :)) not proofread sorry :( feedback appreciated! [m.list]

You have been at your desk for over six hours studying for your next exam. Hand cramping from all the notes you were copying down from slides you missed a few weeks ago. Ones that you finally remembered you needed to go over. You had only stepped away for a shower a few minutes ago to try and calm your mind after nearly crying over a worksheet. Pacing back and forth before you caught sight of your shower caddy deciding that if the shower didn’t work as a refresher then you would just take whatever grade you got and would have to live with it. 

It wasn’t until the knocking at your door that you realized how stressed you had been. The evening you had planned with your boyfriend was forgotten until you pulled open the door to see him standing in the hallway of your dorm. 

“So you are alive,” Han smiles as soon as you open the door. His hair curled around his ears, dotted with droplets of rain. 

“nooo I missed our date,” you softly whine leaning your head on the door. The past couple of times you've studied you turned on an app that locked your phone to help with distractions. Only now it was backfiring because Han had been trying to reach you to remind you of your night out. “I'm so sorry Han I swear I didn't do it on purpose I haven't even thought about anything else besides this exam,” 

“it's okay i kinda figured so I picked up dinner,” he holds up the paper bag in his hand. 

“I'm the worst,” and he only smiles shaking his head, “You perfect, I should have known that scheduling a date the night before an exam was not the best idea,” 

you wave him into the small space, your books a mess on your desk, the bed rumpled and unmade. Your roommate's side is just as lived in even for her off staying at her boyfriends most of the time. You're sure this is the first time hans been in here besides you picking up something but he never made it past the doorway. 

The two of you have only been seeing each other for little dates for a few weeks now. You shared a class together, working next to each other in silence for most of the semester before he asked for help on an assignment he didn't need help with at all. Confessing later that he only just got up the courage to speak and used the work as an excuse. You're closer to friends than you are really dating with how slow the two of you are moving. Neither of you moved past holding hands and one interrupted make out session. But you were new to everything and Jisung was patient. 

Han kicked off his shoes, setting the food down at the edge of your desk. “Have you taken a break at all?” 

“I mean I showered,” you shrug, your hair is still wet, droplets of water soaking your tank top. You didn't even notice how the fabric was wet enough to leave nothing to the imagination. The outline of your nipples draws hans eyes right to your chest. 

“You are all wet,” he smiles, biting the tip of his tongue. You can feel your skin getting hot, trying to play off his stare by rolling your eyes.

“Usually what happens after a shower,” you collect a few of your books, closing and stacking them up to make room. Shuffling papers around and making sure to check you have everything turned in before the exam. You're leaning over your chair looking at the assignments calendar online when you see you forgot to submit last week's discussion post. Your light sigh is enough for Jisung to place his hand on your back leaning next to you to see what you are now focused on. 

“It's already late, maybe you should save it for the morning,” he suggests, warming up your lower back as he rubs soft circles against your skin. 

“it's only one question, it better to just get it over with so I'm not stressing more than I already am,” although it's the last thing you want to do, already you have given up after your long day. But you rolled your chair out sitting down to work out one more question. “you should just start eating so your food doesn't get cold,” 

“no no I picked up sandwiches from the cafe by the library I can wait,” he stands behind you, hands on your shoulders, fingers flicking over the thin straps of your tank top. 

You pull up the post not realizing the link attached was for a document you had to read consisting of six long sheets of tiny text. Your sigh is more of a groan this time, hans chuckle right at your ear as he looks over your shoulder. “I think that's the kind you need the magnifier tool for,” 

“why the hell would anyone use text that small,” you can feel the weight of the day landing heavy right at your feet. Just when you hoped to be done, to only have to overview notes you hated this. Your teeth sink into your cheek trying to will yourself not to cry over something so stupid. You were so close to finishing not only the day but your class, one assignment wouldn't kill your grade but just knowing it was going undone would kill your pride. You let your head fall to your hands, the heels of your palms pressed to the sockets of your eyes like that would will your tears away. 

“Hey,” Han whispers, pushing a few strands of hair behind your ear, “come on let's take a longer break than just a shower, we can worry about that later,” his hands slip over your arms, sliding up and down, chin on your shoulder, nose bumping your ear. 

“Sorry, I've just been so overwhelmed with everything,” you say, rubbing at your eyes, feeling a bit embarrassed. 

“That's okay, you just need to relax, lay back, and forget school for a second,” his breath is ghosting over your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. His hands go to your stomach, finger tracing the seam of your top. “you know I could help you with that,” his nose brushes down behind your ear and down your neck, lips leaving slight pecks on your skin. 

“t-the assignment?” It's a stupid question but you're not past the brain fog, now worsened by Han giving you the softest kisses on your neck. Your head falling back, eyes closed as he fell into the feel of you. 

“no,” he kisses at your jaw, “not the assignment,” one hand slipping up your stomach, knuckles brushing your nipple. “is this okay?” 

“yes,” you nod, reaching up behind you to twist your fingers into his hair. Your back bowed as he cupped you over the thin material of your shirt, fingers rolling over your pebbled nipples, his lips sucking marks onto your skin. 

His free hand starts to slip past the waistband of your shorts, your breath catching in your throat, “you don't have to do that,” he pulls his hand back to your stomach. 

“Do you not want me to? We can slow down or stop, whatever you want,” now you're more than a little bit embarrassed. 

“No it's not that I want you to stop, I just- I've never really had anyone do that before,” you confess, face hot enough to thank the fact your back is to han. It wasn't that you were against it, only that you spent most time inside studying instead of going out and meeting guys to hook up with. And from what friends have said some guys don't like going down on girls with their mouths or hands. “and I know some guys don't like it,” 

“yeah the wrong guys,” he chuckles the rumble of his laugh right in your ear before he kisses over the mark he made on your neck, “I on the other hand have been thinking of devouring you the second you sat down next to me that first day in class wearing that little skirt,” 

“Really?” his fingers tugging the waistband of your shorts before letting it snap back in place. 

“uh huh, thinking about how good you would taste, how pretty you would look cumming on my tongue, how perfect you would sound,” your hips instinctively roll at the idea, Han's hand slipping back under your waistband. “Would you like that?” 

“Yes,” the whisper is enough for Han to pull your chair out from under the desk, kneeling before you looking up like you set the best platter before him. 

He kisses your knee hands sliding up the side of your thighs to tug down your shorts and panties. You should feel exposed or even a little bit shy but Han is licking his lips, eyes flickering between your glistening cunt and your face. “Even prettier than I imagined,” hooking his hands at the back of your knees he pulls you to the edge of the chair, slotting your legs over his shoulders as you lean back gripping the seat watching what he’ll do next. 

“Are you just going to like...kiss it?” 

“I plan on suffocating between your thighs so maybe a lot more than kissing,” he peppers kisses all along your thigh, your legs already trying to close at how each kiss sends a tingle straight to your clit. 

When he finally leans down and his lips brush over your swollen nub you know you're done for. His light kiss was enough to send all thoughts and stress right out the window. And when he licks up your wetness from your entrance and swipes up to your clit latching on and sucking your head falls back and you let out a moan that doesn't sound like you. Jisungs hands move to hold your hips in place. 

You swear you see stars as he sucks before he pulls away your whine making him chuckle, “Do you like it?” 

Your hand moves to his hair wanting to tug him back down, “please don't stop now,” 

“Look at you trying new things,” he gives light kisses to your folds, loving to watch your hips try to work on their own to get his mouth back on your clit. “already doing so good at being responsive to my touch,” 

“Hannie please,” you beg and he doesn't hold back. He sucks your clit into his mouth, letting one hand free from holding you down to raise in front of you.

“suck my fingers and get them all wet and ready for me to get you to cum on them,” slipping them into your mouth you follow his orders letting them roll on your tongue before he pulls them back to rub on your pussy. 

Your orgasm was building in the pit of your stomach, every flick of his tongue pushing you closer to the edge. Your legs jolt at the feel of his finger prodding your entrance, knees pulling in before he shakes his head, “Relax baby,” letting your other hip go he presses the pad of his thumb to your clit rubbing at a soft rhythm until your legs rest back on his shoulders. He's slow to slip his first finger in, dragging it out before adding the second. His smile is starstruck, feeling along your gummy walls like he found heaven, “look at that, you're doing so good for me,” the slow pumps of his fingers take up more of your mind until he leans back down to suck on your clit. 

Thighs trembling your head rolls back, eyes shut trying to catch your breath before you're cumming, Han pressing his fingers into your g-spot like he's always known your body. Han is swallowing all your cum down like he can't get enough of it, burying his face in your pussy as you pulse around his fingers. Your hand on his hair starts to tug harder, your hips thrusting into his face, knees closing in around his ears. He is slow to pull away from you but knows he shouldn't overstimulate you the first time. “now if you ever need me to take your mind off of anything, you don't even have to ask I'll be right here on my knees ready for you,”

[sturniqlo]

In Between- M.S

summary: with their usual bickering, Y/n and Chris escalate into a heated argument and Matt has to break up a fight between his girlfriend and his brother

cw: angst, cursing, crying, fluff at the end

an: thank you to @ik33pitundercover for this wonderful idea (if you have any idea pls comment them here or in my 'send requests' in my bio and i might make them happen!)

masterlist

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Before Matt and Y/n got together, it was always Chris and Y/n the bestest of friends. Though they never had any feelings for each other, they were always together. Everyone always told them they had a sibling like relationship. And they both agreed. They constantly bickered, pushed each other around playfully, just everything siblings would do. Eventually, the two other brothers, Nick and Matt, also became close with Y/n.

A couple of month of hanging out one on one, Y/n and Matt ended up dating. And Chris couldn't be happier. His brother and best friend were both together what more could he ask for?

Earlier today, Chris had texted Y/n if she was down to hangout. She politely declined, telling Chris she was going to hangout with Matt for most of the day. He understood and responded to her that he'll probably hangout with his other friends. He was a bit bummed to say the least. Chris can't remember the last time him and Y/n hung out one on one. Not that he was jealous of her and Matt, never. He just wanted to spend some time with his best friend.

After messaging Y/n, he didn't text any of his other friends, too upset to even hang out with anyone else. As the day went on, Nick had came into Chris' room to ask if he wanted to go hangout with him and Madi, he declined. When the afternoon came by, he ordered takeout and ate his taco bell. After eating he hopped on fortnite and played a couple of rounds before deciding to take a nap.

Y/n spent the whole morning and afternoon with Matt. Although she did feel a bit bad for declining Chris, Matt reassured her and told her Chris would be fine. Around ten in the morning, she picked Matt up in her car, and drove them to their usual breakfast spot. They shared each others plate and were both bloated with good food at the end of it. During their breakfast time, Matt had mentioned how Chris had seemed a bit down as of lately. "Do you think it's because you haven't hung out with him?" He said while taking a bite of his pancake. "I've hung out with him. We were all together last weekend." She replied.

"Yeah, I get that but, I mean one on one." Matt didn't mind at all when his brother and girlfriend hung out one on one. He liked that she had a good relationship with Chris and Nick. "Oh, yeah, I see it now. Maybe I can plan something with him next week? If he want to, that is." That conversation was a couple of hours ago. The time was now nearing five in the afternoon and Nick had called Matt that he was staying over at Madi's. "Do you think Chris is home?" Matt asked as they picked out the ingredients for tonight's activity. "Not sure, he texted me earlier that he might hang out with some of his friends."

Y/n and Matt had spent the afternoon at her place watching movies and playing games. Y/n ended up making them lunch, and here they are now in the grocery store. They had both agreed the would make something at Matt's house so Y/n can drive back to her place when she was ready to go. Matt was a bit bummed that she couldn't stay the night but understood that she had an exam early in the morning. "Wait, let me get Chris a pack of Pepsi. He told me he was running low yesterday." Y/n said, pushing the cart towards the soda isle.

"He seriously needs to cut down on the Pepsi. But we just keep feeding into it." Matt wrapped his arm around his girlfriend's shoulders. "I agree."

Chris woke up to the sound of a loud bang followed by laughter coming from upstairs in the kitchen. He checked his phone and saw it was almost six in the afternoon. He had slept for about an hour and a half. Confused about the loud bang, he got up to check. Coming up the stairs half awake, he saw Y/n on the floor cleaning up what looked to be some sort of dessert batter. "The fuck happened in here?" Chris said, startling Y/n. "Oh shit! Chris what the hell, you scared me." Y/n stood up from her spot on the floor. "My bad." Chris scoffed, going to the fridge.

"I thought you were going out today?" She threw the many stained paper towels in the trash. "I was going to but, you declined." He threw some shade at her. "I told you I was sorry, Matt had this planned for a couple of days now." She said, walking away to go retrieve their mop. "Where's Matt anyways?" He asks, as Y/n fills up the mop bucket. "He spilled his cake batter on the floor and it got all over him so he went to shower."

"Oh, well clean this mess up then. It not gonna clean itself up." He points to the remaining with his water bottle. "Woah, who put a stick up your ass?" Y/n was taken back a bit. Most of the time she could tell when Chris was joking when saying rude comments because he always smiled and tries not to laugh whenever he says them, so does she, but, he seemed serious about this one. "Stop playing around. Are you going to clean it or not?" Chris slightly raises his voice. Y/n's eyebrows furrow.

"Okay, You've never talked to me like that and I'm not going to let you talk to me like that." She stops filling the bucket up and stares at Chris with a confused glare. What has gotten into him? "Whatever." He scoffs, as he starts walking towards his set of stairs. "Hey, no! You come back here and tell me what this is all about." She tells him, she slowly starts getting mad. "I'm not a fucking child for you to be talking to me like that." He fights back. "Well you're acting like one right now." She crosses her arms. "Just leave me alone and enjoy your time with my brother. Seems like he's the only one you've known for years."

"Is this about us not hanging out as much anymore?" She says as Chris turns back around to face her. "What do you think? You get with my brother and now you forget about me? Was being my friend just an act to get to Matt?" Chris yells. "Are you hearing yourself right now?" Y/n yells back, and she sees Matt walk in with wet hair. "What's going on." Chris turns his head to see who was talking. "Oh look, your boyfriend is back, looks like you won't be needing me this evening." He smiles sarcastically.

"You're being a fucking dick right now." She walks closer to him. "Woah, okay. Let's- why don't you two settle down. And talk without yelling." Matt intervenes and steps in the middle of the arguing pair. "Matt, move. Chris is being unreasonable and isn't thinking before he speaks." Y/n tries to move Matt out of the way. "Babe, hey, calm down. Tell me what happened."

"He came up the stairs and just started being rude to me. He's mad about me and him not hanging out as much. When he could've just told me in a nicely manner." Y/n leans her head at the last part to where Chris can see her. Chris only rolls his eyes. "Yeah, you always tell me you're busy. Seems like you have time for everyone else besides me. I hope you're happy Matt, considering the fact that you ruined our friendship." Matt turns around. "Chris, I didn't ruin no friendship and your friendship with Y/n isn't ruined."

"Matt do you know what he said to me?" Matt shakes his head. "Oh, please enlighten him, Y/n." Chris says mockingly, she only rolls her eyes at him. "If you keep rolling em' they're going to get stuck." Chris adds. "Chris, stop it." Matt turns his head towards him "Go on." Matt tells her. "He told me that I only became friends with him to get with you. Can you believe that? He doesn't know the shit he's saying!"

"Chris? Do you really think that low of her?" Matt is shocked by all of this. He's never seen Chris and Y/n argue this bad. And it's making him upset that he's in the middle of this. "I'm starting to." Chris' comment ticks Y/n off. "That's it, I'm out of here." Y/n grabs her purse and phone and pushes through them. "Y/n come back." Matt gently grabs her arm. "I can't be in the same room as him right now. Not when he's acting all bitchy."

"I'm not acting bitchy, so get your facts straight." Chris adds on to her anger. "Chris that's enough." Matt raises his voice at his brother. "Here, come to my room to cool down and I'll talk to Chris, okay?" Matt softly talks to Y/n as he sees that she near bursting into tears. He knows she hates arguing with anybody. "Okay, okay." She whispers walking off to Matt's room, not making eye contact with her best friend.

Once Matt hears his room door close he starts going off on Chris. "What was that all about." He points to his room where Y/n is. "An argument, dumbass." Chris makes a smart mouth comment. "You know you could've talked to her like a normal person right? And to accuse her of using you so she could get to me was a low blow." Chris now realizes how bad it sounded. When Y/n entered Matt's room, she sat on his bed and let her tears out. She's never fought with Chris this bad. Yeah, they might've had a little argument or two over something small, but it never got to this point where someone had to intervene.

"Sorry, I got carried away. It's just, I miss hanging out with her. I feel like she's slowly forgetting about me ever since you two started dating." Chris says, wiping his eyes to prevent his tears to come down. "She's not forgetting about you, trust me. We always talk about whenever we hangout. And, she's also noticed how you two haven't been hanging out as much. Also, Im sorry for hogging her for months now." Matt tells Chris, earning a light chuckle from him at the last comment.

"Why don't you go in there and talk to her while I clean this up, okay?" Chris nods and starts walking towards Matt's room where Y/n currently is. He lightly knocks before opening the door. "Hey." Chris says, walking towards the bed to sit next to her. "Hi." She says, lifting her head off her knees. "I'm sorry about everything I said out there. I know you didn't use me to get to Matt. That was stupid of me to say." He shakes his head thinking back on it. "I just felt like you were forgetting about me and I was upset and let out my anger on you instead of talking to you like a normal person would." Y/n finally looks at him. "I'm sorry you felt that way. But, I also wish I would've realized it sooner, it would've prevented this whole shit show."

"Do you forgive me?" He asks lowly. "Of course I do, you're my best friend." After a couple of minutes basking in the comfortable silence, Matt finally walks in. "Nobody has been killed, I'm guess you two made up?" He takes a seat next to Chris. "Yup, we're good now." Matt smiles at that. "That's great, how about tomorrow you two spend the whole day together after Y/n is done with her exam?" Both Y/n and Chris liked the idea of that. "That sounds nice. What do you think, Chris?" Y/n asks Chris. "I'm up for it."

"Come on, let's go bake the boxed cake since I spilt the other one." He stands up and sits in the middle of them wrapping his arms around both of them. "That's the first ever biggest fight, definitely going into the book."

"Shut up!" Chris and Y/n say in unison and laugh.

[vivwritesfics]

Pastry

Boyf Oscar moments

1.3K

I need moots

"Oscar Pastry!" She sang as she skipped towards the McLaren garage.

The Australian in question glared at her, but it was a good thing his glare made him look like an angry puppy.

"That's not my name," he said as she came closer.

Y/N thought for a minute. "No, no. I think it is," she answered and looked around the garage for his teammate. "Lando! This is Oscar Pastry, right?"

"Definitely Oscar Pastry!" Lando shouted back.

"That's settles it then, Oscar Pastry."

Oscar may have been glaring, but he skill kissed her. "Wish me luck today," he said, placing his hands on her hips while Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Good luck, Pastry," she whispered and placed her head against his chest.

Oscar kissed the top of her head, wrapping his arms more securely around her.

Pastry, because that was what Y/N thought his name was when they'd first met. She'd soon learnt it was Piastri, but by then it was too late and the name had stuck. Even before they were dating, she still called him Oscar Pastry.

It was his name in her phone when they were innocently flirting over text. When the flirting was no longer innocent, his name was still Oscar Pastry.

When Oscar had asked Y/N to be his, she'd answered with "Of course, Oscar Pastry."

Now, a year on from that everything was different. Oscar was no longer in F2 and a lot more of his life was in the limelight. But he was still Y/Ns Oscar Pastry.

***

2023 was Oscars rookie season. But he was amazing. Y/N always came away from each race filled with pride. Oscar could have DNFed or finished each race last and she still would have been filled with pride.

"Pastry!" Y/N shouted as he got out of the car. He wasted no time in taking her into his arms and spinning her around. His helmet was still on his head, so Y/N had no choice but to kiss it, to kiss where his mouth should have been.

He let her go, pulled off his helmet and gave her a real kiss. One that had the lads in the McLaren garage clapping their hands and turning away to give them a little bit of privacy.

After that Oscar was off to do what he needed to do after the race. Y/N waited for him in his driver's room. She played on her phone, scrolling through social media to see pictures of the race already up on her Instagram.

The Oscar fans were her favourite. There were some familiar faces on her feed, fans that had been there since his F2 days and had moved up into F1 with them.

There were several pictures of Oscars McLaren driving around the track. There were quick videos of him overtaking other drivers and pictures of his jumping out of his car.

And then Y/N got to the F1 news sites. Ever since Oscars F1 debut, the news sites run by the male F1 fans had been overly critical of her specifically. So, Y/N tended to avoid them. She stuck to the accounts that loved her and Oscar together, the accounts that didn't tear her down just because she was with Oscar.

The wag accounts had posted updates from the race, the most recent of which being the picture of her kissing Oscars helmet. And then it was the pictures of her actually kissing Oscar. Him all sweaty and disheveled from the race, her radiating pure joy.

***

Y/N couldn't go to every race. As much as she tried, she couldn't make it to every single one. She had work and school to attend.

So, when she couldn't make it to a race, Oscar was very understanding. They called and texted as much as they possibly could. Even if she had to watch the race through her tv screen, she still watched the race.

Studying and working was a tiring business. Sunday evening, after the race, Y/N was exhausted. With preparing to write her thesis, she only managed to half watch the race. It was mainly her listening out for Oscars name and number as she typed away at her laptop.

Oscar was due home that night. To the some they shared.

Y/N tried her very best to stay awake as she waited for him, she really did. Maybe her first mistake was climbing into bed. Maybe her first mistake was getting under the blankets and letting the warmth cocoon her.

The same thing probably would have happened if she had stayed sitting on the couch. At least in her bed she was comfortable and unlikely to hurt her back like she would on the couch.

When Oscar got in, the lights and the television were still on. It was kind of worrying, actually, seeing all the lights on and no sign of his girlfriend. "Y/N?" He called, looking around into their kitchen. "Y/N?"

Oscar went around, checking every single room. And then he got to their bedroom.

Slowly, Oscar pushed open the door. It didn't stop the door from squeaking as he opened it. He put his head around the door and looked in.

There she was, sleeping peacefully in their bed. In way of pyjamas she had on an orange McLaren hoodie.

Oscar tried his best to be quiet. He tried to move around the room silently, tried to be light-footed, but he wasn't doing a very good job. Every time the floorboards creaked under his feet, he turned back to his girlfriend, to make sure she was still asleep.

As Oscar got dressed, Y/N stirred. She rolled towards him, her eyes fluttering open. "Pastry?" She called, her voice croaking.

Suddenly she was sat up, rolling out of bed and stumbling towards him. "Oh my god, Pastry. You're back," she said and wrapped her arms around him.

Oscar had to hold her steady as they hugged. "I missed you too, baby," he whispered and kissed the top of her head. He walked her back over to the bed and sat her down.

"Love you, Oscar Pastry," she whispered and promptly went back to sleep, wrapped in his embrace.

***

"This is paradise," said Y/N as she stretched out on her sun lounger. The sun was shining, palm trees providing the only shade for miles.

The pool in front of her was crystal clear. In said pool was her boyfriend, swimming from one side to the other with an inflatable dolphin. Y/N watched him through her sunglasses, a McLaren hat on her head.

Summer break was something Y/N took very seriously. Her studies were finally done and Oscar was finally on summer break from the season.

Of course, Oscar had to take his girl on holiday. They flew to the Caribbean, to a private villa they'd rented for the next week and a half. From there it was sun, sand, blue skies and crystal clear water.

Getting out of the pool, Oscar threw himself down onto the sunbed beside Y/N. "Happy?" He asked, reaching out and placing his hand on her knee.

His fingers were cold, but it was welcome under the Caribbean sun. Y/N placed her hand on top of his and nodded her head. "This is amazing, Oscar Pastry," she said, turning towards him.

Oscar had this way of smiling. It made Y/N's heart beat fast and the blood rush to her cheeks. "I love you," she said, reaching up to push her fingers through his hair. "My Oscar Pastry."

"Your Oscar Pastry."

The trip was commemorated with a post on Y/N's Instagram.

y/nusername:

liked by maxverstappen1, oscarpiatri and 238,557 others

ynusername Oscar 🥐

[iluvmattsbeard]

crawlin' back to you (m.s)

master list

matt sturniolo x reader

warnings: heavy smut/strong language/drinking and smoking/ rough! matt/ a little degrading/arguing.

preview: you finally found a solution to get him out of your head. after a year of what felt like a decade of screaming and fighting, you felt the weight lifted from your shoulders until you open your front door, having everything come back to bite you in the ass.

a/n: ignore if it's bad. I wrote this past midnight.

it was a gloomy night in your apartment. you just had gotten out of the shower shivering as your feet touch the cold tile with a towel wrapped around your body. hot showers is what you needed after what happened last month.

last month is when you finally ended your one year relationship with your now ex, Matt. you loved Matt. so much it hurt leaving him more than the words that would come out of his mouth. but, the weight lifted off your shoulders knowing you can now live without the screaming and fighting.

you headed to your kitchen, where the lights were dim, and popped open a bottle of wine. that's all you could do recently. drown your thoughts out by drinking the red bitter liquid. you sat down by your window looking at the dark sky. the moon peeking through slightly. as you drank, you felt nothing.

moments later you were interrupted by a sound. you thought not much of it because you knew what type of apartment complex you were in. you didn't have a well paying job so you had to settle for less. an apartment complex with neighbors who didn't give a shit who was around.

suddenly, you heard a loud knock at your door. you turned your head towards the door wondering who could be knocking this late at night?

you got up walking towards the door as you hear another loud knock. you opened the door to a tall and lengthy man, covered in tattoos, with a cigarette in his mouth. Matt. you stayed silent as he stood there with heavy eye bags, exhaling the smoke out the side of his mouth.

"you missed me?" he says throwing the cigarette on the floor while crushing it. nothing came out of your mouth. what the fuck was he doing here? when you locked eyes, all you could think about was all the times you were screaming at each other over little things. Matt did not communicate well. his anger issues didn't help him either. you replay the night it all ended.

-FLASHBACK-

"why the fuck do you keep doing this!" Matt shouts angrily. "doing what?! saying the truth to your face?" you yelled following behind him. you guys were arguing at his place because you kept bringing up the fact he doesn't try as hard in this relationship. "you can give all your effort to everyone else but me? the fucking bare minimum?!" you shout waving your arms around showing frustration. "Jesus christ y/n. maybe because all you give me is a headache. you think about that?" he shoots back with his back still towards you. "if I give you such a headache, all the time, then why the fuck am I still here?" he lets out a laugh, "no one asked you to stay." you felt your stomach in a knot when he responded. you didn't even respond. you grabbed your stuff and stormed out of there. Matt groaned getting up chasing after you. "you're fucking ridiculous y/n. you know you'll come back." he yells out frustrated, "so don't even waste your time doing this shit." you ignored him as you got into your car. Matt then starts banging on your window. "come on!" he shouts. but you drove away. leaving him with rage.

-FLASHBACK ENDS-

even after that, he never texted or called. so why all of the sudden he shows up? who's the ridiculous one here? every night with him had both of you saying things that couldn't be said the next morning. every night, shit went down. but every morning? it was always normal. it was exhausting with him.

you snap back in the moment when you hear him speak, "let me in. it's cold out here." Matt says with a stern voice pushing past you. you turned around to look at him "I didn't say you can come in." you said. he leans back on the counter with his arms crossed looking at you up and down, "you didn't say anything at all so i took the opportunity to let myself in." he says. you scoff responding, "maybe because I have nothing to say to you Matt. you made us end up like this. you don't just show up unannounced." he chuckles speaking, "oh I made us like this? last I recall you walked out and drove away without a word." you stayed silent because you knew what he said was the truth.

he looks around as his eyes land at the wine bottle you left out, "drinking won't help get me off your mind."Matt says looking back at you. you felt a small shiver down your spine as you locked eyes. even though he had bright blue eyes, in this light, they were dark and cold. "what do you want?"you say looking away. he grins, "nothing really. just wanted to stop by." you scoffed, "to stop by? well don't waste your time. I don't want you here." he lets out a chuckle as he walks closer to you. you take a step back, backing into the front door. "you don't?" he says now standing directly in front of you. you took another gulp as you tried avoiding eye contact. he then grabs you by the chin making you look into his eyes. "because I was sort of hoping you'd let me stay." Matt continues in a low raspy voice, "use your words."

"I don't know what you want me to say." you said, not breaking eye contact. "I was hoping you would change your mind." he says while moving his other hand to your hip, slightly touching your skin. his hands were cold like always. you couldn't help but remember all of the times he's touched you. Matt gets closer to your face whispering "I know I can change your mind." "don't expect me to be crawlin' back to you after what you put me through." you say looking away.

he lets out a little laugh as he picks you up. "we'll see." he says. you wrap your arms and legs around him taken a back. as much as you meant the words that came out of your mouth, it was difficult keeping them.

as you guys get to your bedroom, he puts you down locking the door. "I won't do anything you don't want me doing." he says getting closer. your cheeks turn red as he pulls you in by your waist. "I want to know what's on your mind." he says slowly going to your neck leaving kisses. you close your eyes at the sudden movement, your mouth agape. "you." he laughs at your response. he then pushes you onto the bed. pinning your hands above your head, smashing his lips onto yours. you kiss back trying to move your hands but his grip was too strong.

Matt pulls away his lips not wasting any time reattaching them to your neck leaving marks. he then pulls up your shirt leaving you laying there with your tits out. he attaches his mouth to your left tit while playing with the other one with his free hand. you moan softly at the sudden action. you couldn’t believe it. just a moment ago you were wanting him gone. but he was irresistible. his tongue swirling around made you arch your back slightly.

he pulls away now sitting up unbuckling his belt, "give me your hands." he demands. you obey putting your hands out as he ties them together. Matt then pulls down his pants along with his boxers. a quiet gasp leaves your mouth as you see his length. you gulp at the sight. you forgot how big he was. especially because all the times you had sex with him it was always a blur. he then pulls down your pajama shorts, along with your panties. he was quick to do so. he has always been so eager. there was no doubt he practically craved you.

"you don't want me here?" he repeats the question he asks earlier touching your wet folds. you bite your lip softly from the touch of his cold fingers. "because this tells me differently." Matt then kisses you again, hungrily as he grips your neck. he knew he had you right where he wanted. he pulls away looking into your eyes, "now, be a good girl okay?" he whispers. you nod hesitantly at his choice of words. he then takes off his black leather jacket, throwing it on the floor, along with his white tank. you swallow as you stare at him. you knew he was bad for you. but why did he have to look so good?

he crawls back on top of you. he inserts into you without any warning. you let out a moan with wide eyes. Matt shooting you a look. you can tell he's been wanting this. he wastes no time by picking up the pace. you wrap your legs around him as you moan loudly each time he pounds into you. "why are you being so loud? hm? I thought I wasn't wanted here?" he says still pounding into you hitting the right spot each time. you're now rolling your eyes still moaning at how good It feels. "you should see yourself. pathetic. I know you missed this." you don't respond by the fact you can't make up any words right now. but it gets him irritated. Matt then grabs your face roughly making you closer to his face. "talk to me."

you swallow as you try to speak, "i-i missed this." he gives a slight smirk, "I know you did. you know nobody else will fuck you like this." he kisses you again with the same hungry feeling. "you fuck me so good!" you practically scream out. but all he does is kiss you again shutting you up. all the memories of the screaming and fighting subsided. you couldn’t help but give in. as much as you were angry at Matt, he sure knew how to please you. he then lifts one of your legs and puts it on his shoulder going deeper. he grabs your face and tells you to open your mouth. which you do. he spits in your mouth, “that’s right. you listen.” he says.

as he continues pounding into you, you feel the knot in your stomach build up. he was hitting every spot so good you felt your legs starting to hurt from being held up. you clench around his dick from the sensation. releasing all over him, arching your back moaning. he pulls out, “fuck you’re so beautiful.” he spits out pulling you up getting his dick close to your face, "open." he demands stroking. you open your mouth as he releases inside of it with a groan. "fuck." he mutters. you swallow every single bit.

you look at the sight in front of you. a sweaty and heavy breathing Matt. a sight you missed. he catches you staring. now smiling at you, he brings his hand up to your mouth and wipes the corner of it because of the load you just had swallowed.

he gets up putting his clothes back on. you pull the covers over your still naked body. "you're leaving?" you say with a little disappointment on your face. Matt looks at you while buckling his belt with a smirk, "you want me to stay?" you think for a bit but you responded with a nod. he lets out a laugh coming close to your face. he gives you a small kiss while bringing his mouth to your ear, "I knew you'd be crawlin' back to me." he whispers. a shiver rolls down your spine as your cheeks turn red. he got you there with that one.

a/n: again, sorry if it sucks. when I listen to this song it reminds me of matt lmao. this is my first time writing so I would appreciate the support! like, comment, reblog, or however this works! thank you!