#Part 24 - Ash | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mrderondncefloor · 1 month

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losing all my innocence in the backseat.

wolverine (logan howlett) x virgin f!reader

summary: exactly what it sounds like, losing your virginity in the back of logan’s car.

wc: 2.7k (yea.. 🚬)

warnings/tags: MDNI. porn with plot. car sex! unspecified age gap. logan internal battle if he’s good enough for reader. virginity loss. pet names (princess, bub) dirty talk. blowjob. fingering. logan touches reader. finger sucking. logan can smell reader. pussy pronouns. reader is non descriptive but has hair long enough for logan to hold and is wearing a skirt. masturbation/logan watching reader touch herself. it’s not extensive but there is mention of readers foot rubbing logan’s cock. pretty much readers whole dialogue is begging logan to fuck her lmfao. big dick logan. unprotected sex/creampie (wrap it up!) logan talking you through it. i think this is all but lmk if i missed anything!

authors note: two logan smuts in 24 hours like no i am not ok mentally. also yea.. everyone say thank you addison rae 🙏 i love this song. i’m so much happier with this than what i posted yesterday but yeah anyway if u have requests send send send!!!

the gravel softly crackled beneath the tires of the car as logan pulled off to the shoulder of the road, stretching long and vacant ahead. mötley crüe played low, the leather of logan’s jacket crunching as he pulled the cigar from between his lips, ashing it into the palm of his hand. his brow pushed in a furrow, then eased as he twisted the burnt cherry out into his skin, wound sealing over on it’s own as he looked over at you. you, who looked absolutely gorgeous in the passenger seat of his baby, the setting sun warm on your skin. half the time he’s not sure what you’re doing here with him, damn sure that you had a line of suitors waiting for an ounce of your attention, all of them a better man that he could ever be, but he was too selfish to try an keep himself away from you, pulled in harder each time he told himself to step away. he reached a hand across, rough palm that has been through decades of fighting coming to hold your cheek. he had a hard exterior but was always gentle with you. he watched you, memorizing the curve of your bottom lip, the flush of pink that moves across your cheeks under his eyes. he pulled himself into you, lips pressed to yours, fingers curling at the nape of your neck. he’s kissed you before, plenty make out sessions taking place in his car, on the couch in your apartment, but he’d always stop you before it got too far- always afraid to get closer, to let you give yourself up to a man like him who definitely didn’t deserve one as sweet as you. and believe him, this had taught him well about patience. you never made it easy on him, he could smell the heat between your thighs and it took everything he had in himself to pull back and bid you goodnight. he knew he was in trouble when he pulled off on the side of the road, but he could smell it on you when he picked you up tonight- more pronounced than usual given the skirt that you wear. so god damn short that it was pulling all sorts of attention at the bar you came from, but then again, it’s hard to blame anyone when you look like this. your hands are on him and it’s intoxicating, he loves the way your nails feel when they softly scratch at the back of his head. the warmth of your palms when you squeeze his bicep. his tongue dips into your mouth and he loves the way you hum, as if imagining what more his tongue could do between your thighs. he’s thought about it too, several nights spent jerking himself to what it might be like to taste you. if how you smelt was any indication of how you might taste- fuck was he in for it. your thighs begin to part, he can hear your thighs rub against the leather of the seat as they slowly open, inviting him in. his palm leaves the side of your head, pushing your thighs together again, “don’t do this to me, bub.” he whispered against your mouth, he’s so god damn weak. the smell of his burnt out cigar is slowly fading and you’re taking over, filling his every breath. “please, logan.” the way you plea for him has his jaw tightening, his lips coming back to yours. he kisses you harder this time, trying to distract himself but it’s to no avail, your thighs pulling apart again, sticky with your own self since logan had picked you up earlier tonight. his heart is pounding in his ears, drowning out the sound of the radio station, so focused on you, disappointed when your hand leaves his hair.

a moan hums in your throat and when logan draws back he’s not half prepared for the sight before him. thighs spread, your smaller hand tucked beneath the hem of your skirt, the slow motions indicative of what you were doing. your sweet fills his car, surrounding him as you look up at him with eyes he’s never seen before, so full of want. it’s all so fucking much, and he realizes that denying himself of you won’t go further than tonight. your head slowly falls back against the leather headrest, pads of your fingers slowly working circles against your swollen clit through the lace of your panties, but your eyes hold his, not daring to let him look away. “you want me that bad, bub?” he asks you quietly, the palm of his hand engulfs your thigh, spreading your legs open wider so that he could watch. “it’s all i think about, logan. driving me crazy.” you hum, your fingers already slick through the sheer material, hair sticking to your sweaty neck- the temperature in the car rising as he watched you. he lets his thigh fingers slowly climb closer until he’s gently moving your hand out of his way, hooking your soaked panties with his finger and he tugs them to the side. your pussy glistens under the rapidly fading sun and logan fights to keep his composure. she’s just as pretty as he’d imagined her to be. his hand draws back and his fist clamps, adamantium claw slowly unsheathing itself. “relax, couldn’t ever hurt you.” he promises, using his singular claw to slice your panties in half, chuckling at your gasp.

“logan! i loved this pair!” you swat at him gently as his claw retracts back into his hand. “promise i’ll buy you ten new pairs,” he nods, flat of his tongue licking at his fingers before bringing them to your pussy. he watched you under a furrowed brow, the way you sucked in a slow breath when his calloused fingertips touched your clit, swirling at the swollen nub. you look more beautiful than ever, leaned back into the seat while his fingers rub at your pussy. his cock is pressed hard against the denim of your jeans, low groan peeling out the back of his throat when your slide your bare foot into his lap, sole running against the length of his cock. “greedy girl. let me focus on you, bub,” he nods, lifting your foot from his lap. he chuckles when you pout out a bottom lip but it quickly turns to a moan when his fingers press harder against you. his fingers leave you briefly, spat onto his fingers before they return. “need more, lo, please.” you plea for him and he nods, too far in to not give you what you want. god, he’s obsessed. his middle finger presses at your core and your eyes find his, he leans into you, pressing a soft kiss onto your lips. “couldn’t ever hurt you,” he repeats, and absolutely meant it. he would’ve done anything for you, you were everything to him whether he wanted to admit it to himself or not. you nod, laying back into the seat again as he slowly pushed his middle finger inside your tight walls, all the way to his knuckle. you’re warm and tight around him and he’s eaten up by the feeling of you. you whine softly and he brought his free hand to lay against the back of your head. he gives you a minute before he started to pump his finger inside you, long, slow strokes feeling you out. each soft, breathless moan you let out the button of his jeans strains tighter, fighting to not pop open and ricochet around the car. his thumb fingers your clit, swirling against the nub as his finger slides in and out of your soaked cunt. “more.” you nod, and logan carefully adds a second finger, slower again as he watches your cunt adjust to the stretch, taking him to the knuckle.

his fingers are slick with you as they pump in and out, your arousal wetting the leather of his seat. he took good care of his car, but he’s more than happy to let you make the mess, especially when you looked so god damn perfect doing so. you’ve been torn down to nothing more than soft cries of his name as his fingers pump into you, thumb relentless as it brushed your clit and logan sees stars himself, every second of this tethering him tighter to you. “atta girl. been waitin’ long enough for me to give this to you, go on an cum for me, princess.” his voice is low between the squelch of your pussy that his fingers plunge into, thighs trembling as you melt beneath him, for him, and logan’s lips curl up slowly. he brings you down slowly, fingers pumping slower and slower until he pulls them out, popped onto his tongue like he was a man starved. he feverishly sucks the taste of you off himself, sweet on his tongue and fuck he doesn’t know how he’s managed to go so god damn long without tasting you. his fingers pull off his tongue and are quickly replaced by your mouth as you climb across the front seat into his lap, staining the front of his jeans as you grind yourself down into his lap, desperate for more, to feel full of him in it’s entirety. he lets you rock against his denim as a reminder of you for later, one of his hands wrapped in your hair as he kissed you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue while you push off his leather jacket, leaving him behind in only a white tank top that’s fitted against his broad torso. “lo it’s been long enough.. please,” you beg him and he nods, reaching for the handle and the car door creaks open, stepping out into the night.

the road is empty and he takes his time getting into the backseat with you. the door slams shut behind him, and you’re quickly peeling at his tank top and fighting with his belt buckle as he settled in the seat. “you’d tear me apart f’you could, bub.” he grinned down at you, sighing when you win the battle against his zipper and some of the pressure is relieved. “mhm.” your smile is playful as you tug at his jeans, his head cocked slightly as you lean down into his lap, pressing kisses against him through his boxers. his forehead creased, jaw clamped tight. “you don’t have to do this tonight, bub,” he tried, but fuck does he want you to. “i know,” you nod, reaching a hand into his boxers to pull him out, eyes widened slightly. everything about logan was larger than normal so you shouldn’t have expected much different below his belt, but yet, you’re still surprised at just how big his cock is. he watched you peel at your top, tossed into the front seat, skirt shimmied down over your hips, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth. “so god damn pretty.” he shook his head, sucking in a sharp breath when your hand wrapped around his cock, unsure of yourself as you tug at him. “lick your palm, bub.” he instructed quietly, figuring that he might have to walk you through it. your tongue laps a long, spitty stripe against the palm of your hand before you wrap your hand around him again. “jerk it nice an slow,” he nods, pushing a hand back through his hair as he watched your smaller hand carefully pump at his cock, one arm draped across the length of the backseat. “god damn.. s’real good, bub. just like that.” he sighs, hair curling out at the back of his sweaty neck, teeth sinking into the knuckle of his finger. you’ve hardly done much but he was so god damn desperate for you that just about anything could’ve blown his mind right now. a low groan is pulled from the back of his throat when you lean into him, tongue slowly licking up the veins that protrude on the underside of his cock, his eyes fluttering as they roll back. “fuck.” he grits, tongue darting across his wet lips. “come on.. let me feel that pretty mouth.” he motions to you with his chin, watching as your lips wrap around him, holding his base as the warmth of your mouth moves over his cock. the sight of you with his cock in your mouth is something to behold, wordless as your mouth slowly takes him deeper, exploring him, your tongue slowly running over his veins and swirling his tip as his fingers grasped onto the back of your hair, holding it out of the way. the sight of you was enough to drive him fucking crazy. “m’goin’ to cum already f’you keep doin’ that, princess.” he warns, pulling your mouth up from his lap, strings of spit connected between the two of you. he pulls you closer, lips coming back to yours as he pushed off his jeans the rest of the way, shifting in the backseat with you so that you’re laid out across the leather.

a sigh parted logan’s lips as his tip brushed along your slit before aligning himself at your core, pieces of dark hair hung over his forehead as his cock sunk deep inside you. you sleeve around him like you were made for him, squeezing his cock until he’s pressed to the base, your nails clawing at his tanned skin, digging into the muscle of his biceps but his body is quick to rid himself of any long lasting marks. “i know, bub.” he whispered, tip of his nose brushing yours, a sweet kiss pressed onto your mouth. you don’t have to tell him that you love it, he can see it in your eyes, he knows how long you’ve been a good girl and patiently waited to be so full of him while he overthought it time and time again. his hips peel back from yours and he slides back inside with long, slow strokes. his muscles stretch and flex beneath his skin with each roll of his hips, pulling sweet moans from your lips that he’s damn near begging to hear more of, your cries for him so god damn sweet. “she’s fuckin’ perfect, feels so damn good around me,” his mutters, thumb returning to your clit, swirling at the small nub in rough circles as you cry out for him. “m’so full, lo,” “i know, princess. just what you wanted ain’t it?” you nod quickly in response, only part of you grasping the words he’s muttering, the pleasure splitting through you. he takes a look between you, his cock coated in your mess, white ring of creamy arousal built up around his base. “fuck.” he grunts, he’s never seen something so hot in his entire god damn life and that said enough, he’s been around a long god damn time. you catch one of the dog tags that dangled above you in your mouth, teeth clamped down against the steel as you muffled a moan when he fucks you. “cum on my cock, bub. i know she got one more for me, let me have it,” he nods, peeling back to sit upright and he pulls you with him, slowly rolling his hips up into yours and your head drops back. you grasp at his shoulders, his mouth sucking at your exposed throat as he felt your second orgasm rip through you, pussy clamping around his cock. your cries drown out the sound of 80’s rock playing from the stereo, pushing your hips down into his, desperately chasing after his orgasm. “inside, please.” you beg, your fingers weaving into his dark hair. logan is too far gone to argue you, to not give you what you’re asking for, cock buried deep inside you when he came undone, painting you with him just like you’d asked of him. his heart drums in his ears, sighing as his head drops forward against your shoulder, pressing a kiss to your bare skin, palms slowly moving across the span of your back.

sat in logan’s lap while he puffs at his relit cigar he looks over at you with a smirk curled on his mouth. “jesus, bub. i think i might be in love with you.”

#well yes i am insane thank you #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett x you #logan howlett #xmen x reader #marvel fanfiction #wolverine smut #deadpool and wolverine #wolverine x reader #give him to me NOW!

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bi-writes · 9 months

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i have brain rot about simon riley and need to write this down somewhere -> thinking about childhood-bestfriend!roommate!ghost x fem!reader

more bestfriend!roommate!simon (part 1/?)

slight nsfw (18+) thoughts ahead...

it's your first day of work at your new job. you took up something at the diner nearby, a 24/7 little place that served greasy eggs and day-old coffee in cracked, porcelain mugs. the floors were sticky, half of the menu was crossed out in scratchy black ink, you had to wear this god-awful uniform, but the pay was decent and the cooks were kind.

the diner had a theme, and that theme meant you were buttoning up a terrible uniform. a red and white striped dress with a frilly white apron wrapped around your waist. it cinched at the waist, the skirt was too short, and the neckline showed off too much cleavage, but you needed the money, so damn the uniform.

your hair was slicked back, showing off your light makeup and red lipstick. you fit the hat over your head and slipped the white sneakers on before grabbing your bag and coming out of your room. "and where are y'going lookin' like that, luv?" you froze, closing your eyes and sighing as you gripped your purse tighter.

"im going to work. im gonna be late." "that right? let me look at ya."

you turned around, opening your eyes. simon was standing there, leaning against the kitchen doorway holding a fresh cuppa. you swallowed hard, trying to be subtle as you looked him up and down. black cargo pants, compression shirt rolled up to his elbows, hood over his dirty blonde locks, a surgical mask covering his pretty face.

he put the mug down and straightened his posture at the sight of you. his dark eyes honed in on your figure in the dress, but he tried to hide the way his pupils dilated at the sight of the low neckline. if he moved just right, he could see the white lace of your lingerie peeking out from just under the lapels.

"bloody christ..." he hissed, clicking his tongue.

"shut up, simon, okay? im gonna be late. i know i look ridiculous, i--"

you gasped a little when you felt warmth against your neck. his palm caressed your jaw, fingers tightening around one side of your face. his hand nearly took it all, your cheek smushed against him as he examined you. his eyes grazed over your long lashes to your soft blush to the red of your pouty lips.

he thought it might look nice on him everywhere else. kiss marks on his neck, his chest, his scars, the inside of his mouth--

"dont look ridiculous," he corrected you. "look like a fuckin' doll."

you sucked in your breath as he smoothed a thumb over your bottom lip, his finger coming back a little pink with your lipstick. so pink, so cute, so adorable, just like your glazed, doe eyes and the sight of your tongue sliding along your teeth. you were holding back a whine, that much was obvious.

"simon..."

his other hand moved up, tracing along the edge of the lapel and just barely skimming over the lace of your bra. you held back a shiver, and you felt a warmth bubbling inside of you when you noticed him lean a little closer, his eyes peeking cheekily down the valley of your breasts.

"you let me know when your shift is over," he murmured, letting you go slowly. he knocked his knuckles under your chin, making you look right into his eyes. "im gonna need to walk you home, luv."

"you don't need to do that--"

"wont be taking no for an answer," he narrowed his eyes. "bloody beasts will eat up a pretty thing in this fuckin' dress."

your lips part slightly, your eyes half-lidded as you wonder what it might be like to push the mask up and lick into his mouth, taste the ash on his tongue and the warmth of his breath.

"beasts like you, simon?"

"aye."

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost mwii #ghost x reader #cod #call of duty

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simply-ivanka · 1 month

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Very Serious Charges:

Veterans have accused Minnesota Gov. Tim Walz of “embellishing” his military career and abandoning his National Guard battalion.

“On May 16th, 2005, [Walz] quit, betraying his country, leaving the 1-125th Field Artillery Battalion and its Soldiers hanging; without its senior Non-Commissioned Officer, as the battalion prepared for war,” Behrends and Herr wrote.

Retired Command Sergeants Major Thomas Behrends and Paul Herr said Walz retired from his 24-year tenure in the National Guard after learning that his battalion would be deployed to Iraq, despite allegedly assuring his fellow troops he would join them.”

August 6, 2024 | Ashe Schow

Vice President Kamala Harris picked Minnesota Governor Tim Walz as her running mate on Tuesday, and will likely emphasize his military service as part of their campaign.

But when Walz was running for governor in 2018, former members of the National Guard spoke out about his service, with a retired command sergeant major saying he “embellished and selectively omitted facts of his military career for years.”

In an open letter posted to Facebook that year, retired Command Sergeants Major Thomas Behrends and Paul Herr wrote that Walz retired just a few months after receiving a warning order that his battalion would be deployed to Iraq – even though he told military personnel he would be going on the mission.

The pair wrote that Walz said he needed to retire to run for Congress, but this was untrue. Walz could have run for Congress and requested permission from the Secretary of Defense before he entered active duty, the pair claimed.

“If he had retired normally and respectfully, you would think he would have ensured his retirement documents were correctly filled out and signed, and that he would have ensured he was reduced to Master Sergeant for dropping out of the academy,” the two wrote. “Instead he slithered out the door and waited for the paperwork to catch up to him.”

They noted that his official retirement document says “soldier not available for signature.”

Walz’s sudden retirement complicated his selection to the United States Army Sergeants Major Academy, Behrends and Herr wrote. Once someone accepts enrollment, they agree to three stipulations: to serve two years after graduation from the academy or promotion, that failing the course could result in being kicked out of the military, and that they will be reduced to Master Sergeant if they don’t complete the course.

Walz wasn’t promoted to Command Sergeant Major until September 17, 2004. A month earlier, he was photographed holding a protest sign outside a rally for President George W. Bush’s re-election campaign, though it doesn’t seem as though the military noticed or disciplined him.

Less than a year after his promotion, Walz retired, meaning his promotion was nullified since he broke the agreement he signed when entering the academy.

On September 10, 2005, Walz was reduced to Master Sergeant. As Behrends and Herr wrote, “It took a while for the system to catch up to him as it was uncharted territory, literally no one quits in the position he was in, or drops out of the academy.”

In November 2005, Walz reached out to his former battalion as it was preparing for war. He offered to hold a fundraiser for their bus trip home over Christmas. “The same Soldiers he had abandoned just months before, trying to buy their votes,” Behrends and Herr wrote.

These are not the only two to call out Walz’s service. According to Behrends and Herr, Tom Hagen, an Iraq war veteran, wrote a letter to the Winona Daily News calling Walz’s retirement “disturbing”.

“But even more disturbing is the fact that Walz quickly retired after learning that his unit —southern Minnesota’s 1-125 FA Battalion — would be sent to Iraq,” Hagen wrote in the letter, according to Behrends and Herr. “For Tim Walz to abandon his fellow soldiers and quit when they needed experienced leadership most is disheartening. It dishonors those brave American men and women who did answer their nation’s call and who continue to serve, fight and unfortunately die in harm’s way for us.”

The letter prompted a scathing response from Walz, who defended his service record.

“After completing 20 years of service in 2001, I re-enlisted to serve our country for an additional four years following Sept. 11 and retired the year before my battalion was deployed to Iraq in order to run for Congress,” Walz said. “I’m proud of the 24 years I served our country in the Army National Guard. There’s a code of honor among those who’ve served, and normally this type of partisan political attack comes only from one who’s never worn a uniform.”

Behrends and Herr note that Walz’s official Report of Separation and Record of Service state that Walz re-enlisted on September 18, 2001, for six years. Walz said in his response to Hagen that he only re-enlisted for four years, which would have made his retirement date September 18, 2005 – four months later than when he actually retired.

“The bottom line in all of this is gut wrenching and sad to explain,” Behrends and Herr concluded. “When the nation called, he quit.”

By Caitlin Doornbos and Josh Christenson

Published Aug. 6, 2024, 1:00 p.m. ET

#tim walz #kamala harris #Obama #Biden #Democrats #trump #trump 2024 #president trump #ivanka #repost #america first #americans first #america #donald trump #democrats

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daycourtofficial · 5 months

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Secret exchanges

Summary: a few weeks after the aftermath of Rhys’s banishment, your mate, the new High Lord of the Autumn Court, has a secret meeting with someone from your family.

Author’s note: this is set pretty soon after I am ash from your fire ☺️

Warnings: furthering my sexy Eris agenda by letting him be a smidge cunty

Word count: ~1k

“Shadowsinger.”

“High Lord.”

The titles were exchanged with tense tones as both males look each other over in hopes of finding a nearly fatal wound they could exploit. Coming up short of that, the two watch each other with uncertain gazes, this meeting marking something new.

The Illyrian steps closer, holding out a box in his scarred hands. The new high lord accepts the parcel, looking inside to ensure everything is accounted for. Underneath the lid, the box contains six beautifully decorated mint chocolate cupcakes from the bakery you adore that’s nestled in the heart of Velaris.

“Are condolences in order?”

Eris sneers at Azriel’s taunting tone, snapping the lid to the cupcakes, “only to the foolish noblemen my father made rich. It feels as if everyone in Autumn can breathe properly now that a foul stench has dissipated.”

Males of lesser intelligence could have pieced together the timeline between Rhys banishing you from Night and Eris assassinating Beron within a 24 hour span. Despite his feelings for the red head before him, Azriel was impressed at how swiftly he took the reins.

Azriel inspects the male before him, somehow standing taller than he had previously seen, as if the weight of the world were lifted from his shoulders. His pale skin glowed in the sunlight passing through the trees, and he looked as if the Earth had molded him herself. He almost glowed beneath his skin, as if his veins crackled with pure fire.

Azriel knew Rhys was blowing things out of proportion by banishing you, and Azriel, along with the rest of the inner circle, had no idea how to help you or to let you know that they didn’t care.

Well, they did care. They cared a lot. He and Cassian alone spent several hours sparring trying to work through their rage at the Cauldron’s choice of mate for you.

They weren’t thrilled by this situation, but ultimately they understood that this wasn’t your choice, and while it is your choice now, Azriel of all people couldn’t hate you for trying to make your mating bond work.

He wanted to hate you, though. When he was first told of your banishment, he wanted to destroy your room, destroy any and all memories of this betrayal. He spent days in a fog, running through his meticulous backlog of scheduling to figure out when and how such a ‘relationship’ had occurred.

He had finally left his room in a rage and was on his way to your room when he ran into Nesta, where she practically dragged Azriel by his ear to the training ring. She forced Azriel to spar with her, forcing him to talk about why it hurt so badly.

It would be easy for him to write off your banishment as the right thing to do under the guise of his hatred for Eris. But the real truth, settled deep, deep down in his bones, was that you were the only other member of the family who wasn’t paired off.

He felt less alone when you were around. Not that he had any inclinations towards you. It just didn't feel as crushing with someone else to share the burden. Now with you being gone, albeit not of your own accord, he felt that loneliness seep back in, that deep desire for someone to love him wholly.

But now you’re off, banished not only from your court, but from your family. Rhys had commanded all of them to cease any contact with you directly.

Technically Eris was a workaround.

Azriel could never deny you, especially not when it came to your obsession with the cupcakes he just handed to Eris, the two of you sneaking off on several occasions to satisfy the sweet tooth you shared.

Despite every part of screaming to do so, he couldn’t deny your mate when he came to the shadowsinger, asking for an olive branch.

Azriel cleared his throat, not wanting to spend anymore time with the newly appointed High Lord, but still needing some update on you, “how is she?”

Eris sighed, mulling over how to answer the shadowsinger. His thoughts went to you, and how you always spoke fondly of Azriel. You’d never keep the truth from Azriel, despite keeping the mating bond from him. You hated not telling anyone in your family, a topic of conversation you and Eris constantly circled back to.

“Coping as you would expect,” the new high lords words making Azriel feel worse than he did before. The shadowsinger’s eyes move to the ground, and in a rare move, decides to extend an olive branch of his own.

For you. He would do this for you.

“I don’t agree with Rhys’s actions.”

Eris raises his eyebrows, “ah, so the dogs can disagree with their master.”

Azriel’s snarl causes Eris’s lip to curl in a smirk, but he holds his hands up in surrendor.

“I never expected you or the other one to ever disagree with him, at least never admitting it to me.”

Hazel eyes meet amber, a mask over his features as he slits his eyes in warning.

“Don’t make me regret disagreeing with Rhys.”

Eris’s expression softens at the Illyrian despite the obvious threat lacing his words. He looks down at his fingers, inspecting his nails as if he can't be bothered to look at Azriel anymore.

“If I ever do anything that would make you regret it, you and the other brutes may come and dispose of me yourselves. The honor would belong to you, if she doesn’t wish to collect.”

Azriel turned to leave, but was stopped by Eris’s voice.

“Before you go,” Azriel turned as Eris procured several sealed envelopes with your handwriting on the front.

“I was instructed to leave these with you.”

Azriel grabs the letters from Eris’s hands, as if he would burn them in front of the Shadowsinger, taunting him further with any contact to you.

In his hands lay several letters, each one addressed to a member of your family except for Rhysand.

Eris’s voice chimes back in, “she wanted to write to him. Couldn’t find the words.”

He shrugs, turning his back on the Shadowsinger as he starts walking back through the orchard, flowers blooming all around them.

“Or perhaps she knew he would skin you alive if you delivered it to him before he was ready.”

#eris vanserra x you #eris vanserra x y/n #eris vanserra x reader #eris x y/n #eris x you #eris x reader #acotar fanfiction #forgot to tag when I posted this smh

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ghost-proofbaby · 1 year

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twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR TWENTY TWO

in which eddie is honest. for real, this time.

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, discussion of/allusions to smut from last chapter, angst, not edited (what's new though), upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ wc: 11.1k+

→ a/n: welp. this... yeah, this is a lot. i truly hope it's worth it. in the waiting, anticipation, and length. if it isn't... my bad. i'm sorry in advance. also, please note, pov change only applies to the memory.

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

22:00 ──────────────ㅇ─ 24:00

His regret turns to pain as you whisper, “What did you just say?”

—

HOUR TWENTY TWO – 1:00 PM

You can’t speak. It’s as if you’re frozen; every muscle, including your tongue, has gone rigid. Every racing thought escapes just beyond your reach. Every single one of the last twenty two hours pound behind your rib cage, and you think you might just faint. Right here, right now. The blood rushes your ears as your body goes ice cold, and even the railing cutting into your palm seems to drift away from you.

“I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t even try to deny it. He knows you heard what he said – he can’t take it back. It’s written plainly on his face that if he could, he would swallow back down those disastrous words. He’d grab that destruction four letter word right out of the air, no doubt, and set it aflame. He’d blow away the ash if he could guarantee you would have never heard it.

But he can’t. You heard him.

I’ve loved you for so long.

Everything is heavy. The air, your limbs, your godforsaken tongue.

“Say something,” he suddenly begs. You’ve never seen Eddie look so desperate, eyes wet and voice cracking, “Anything.”

You want to answer him. Your bones ache with the need – the need to reply, the need to question, the need to do anything but stare at him with what he must surely mistake for horror.

Were you horrified? Were you?

You don’t know.

It’s why you can’t answer him.

“I-” he starts up again, breaking down even further right before your eyes. You want to reach out, to coddle him, to tell him it’s fine. But it’s not fine.

You don’t even get the chance to ruminate on just how not fine it is, or that heat beginning to come to a boil in the pit of your stomach, because the sound of one of the neighbors exiting out onto their own balcony interrupts the infinitely delicate moment.

“Hey there, Eds-” You don’t know what actually interrupts the gruff man that steps out, who exudes familiarity with Eddie until he takes in the scene before him.

Eddie, completely fucking naked. You, with only a shirt on. If it weren’t for the moment at hand and the trembling emotions coming to fruition inside of you, you’d probably find it comical. You’d probably find a way to join in the old man’s single guffaw before the two of you meet each other’s gaze and become aware of what exactly is happening.

But it’s not funny. You’re both fucking naked — physically and emotionally — and it’s not funny.

You’re mortified as both of you are scrambling across the balcony, a whirlwind of discarded clothes fisted and nearly tripping over each other to shove back into Eddie’s living room. That embarrassment now trickles down into the start of a boil, everything in you becoming red-hot from how flustered you’ve become and the way you can’t have a second to just process it all.

When you turn to face Eddie once the sliding door has slammed shut, his cheeks are the brightest pink imaginable.

“What the fuck,” you whisper out, trying to steady your breathing, trying to take it all in.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Your adrenaline is almost making you sick.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” he catches your whisper amongst your stoic silence and seems to forget the moment that his neighbor had just shattered, voice clear as day as he pulls his curtains shut. You swear you catch the old man still staring, still laughing, and you’re just grateful that you’re not the one completely nude, “I had no idea Mr. Jenkins would come outside, usually none of those fuckers see the light of day before sundow-”

“Your neighbor just saw us naked,” you almost scream. You want to shout, want to throw everything in sight. You crave to flip that coffee table in the center of the room and throw a fit that outdoes even the most petulant of toddlers.

“I know, I-“

“If you say sorry again, I’m walking back out there,” you take a deep breath, but it does nothing to calm you’re shaking body, “And I’m throwing myself off the fucking balcony.”

Maybe you’ll be able to laugh about it in five years. A year, even. Hell, a month or as soon as next week. But you can’t right now; all you want to do is cry.

Some random man just saw you naked. Eddie apparently fucking loves you.

It might be the sleep deprivation and it might be the fact that it feels like the Universe is laughing in your face at every turn right now. Whatever higher power exists seems to be waiting around every corner for the chance to kick you repeatedly as you stumble to this finish line. And you can’t fucking take it.

So you give in. You give in to that childish need to stomp your feet and scream until you’re blue in your lips.

“I just- Fuck!” Eddie jumps a bit at your exclamation, he’s still naked, “I can’t catch a break! I can’t catch a fucking break. First, I’m showing up here, and I’m stuck with you for twenty four hours. I’m stuck with the man I hate for a whole fucking day,” you’re full on pacing, not caring how ridiculous this scene would appear to anyone. Your hands wave erratically in the space around you, and all Eddie can do is stare, tense with wide eyes, “And I cry in front of you, have full breakdowns in front of you. I listen to you remind me over and over how much you truly despise only to now suddenly find out that, hey! I actually love you! And do I get to process that? No. Because now, some fucking old man that lives next door to you has seen my goddamn vag-“

Eddie’s entire demeanor collapses. “Oh, so now I’m back to being the man you hate?”

You pause your ranting, realizing what you’ve said.

You’re just angry. You should have thought before you spoke, before you opened your mouth and began to spew your venom, because you can see the way the words have struck Eddie. Not your intention.

“I didn’t mean that.”

“But you said that,” he flatly argues back.

Your stomach twists.

“I’m just-“ your tongue is back to being heavy as the two of you face one another. Feet apart, worlds apart. “I’m fucking embarrassed, Eddie.”

“You think I’m not?” he scowls, and you try to tell your racing heart it’s a good sign. But it’s not. You almost preferred his walls dividing the two of you, “Shit fucking happens. We got caught — we fucking dirty talked about getting caught! Big fucking deal! Karmic justice or whatever bullshit people spew. It doesn’t mean I’m going to- It doesn’t change-“ he’s stuttering now, matching that exasperation that had you pacing just moments before. He huffs, a hand reaching up and dragging his bangs upward, harsh at the root as he finally drops his hands in his own defeat, palms slapping his sides, “Everything changes. You said that, not me. You said everything changes, and all it takes is a little bit of fucking embarrassment to go back on your word?”

He’s still fucking naked. You still can’t think.

“I’m not having this conversation with you naked,” you whisper, almost in disbelief as you shake your head, “I’m- Put your fucking clothes on. Please.”

“Put my clothes on?” he scoffs, taking a step closer to you, “Put my clothes on? Do you mean the same clothes you just insisted I take off not even ten minutes ago?”

“We were having sex!” you yell. You’re sure if the old man is no longer on his balcony, he can hear you through the walls. Hell, even if he is still outside, it’s likely he hears the screaming match beginning, “Why- Why are you turning this on me right now? You just said you fucking love me! The least of our issues right now is me telling you to get fucking dressed!”

“Why are you lashing out at me right now?” Eddie’s voice is louder than yours, something more broken inside of it, “I-“

“Clothes,” you grit out, avoiding his eyes as you start to yank your panties on violently, “Now.”

You can still feel him. His essence is dripping between your thighs. And you don’t find any sense of enjoyment in it, you don’t savor that quick-fading warmth nor the reminder of the pleasure he’d just brought you. It just reminds you of the words he had said all while not even looking you in the eyes. He couldn’t even face you as he had admitted it.

One thing at a time, you try to remind yourself. One fucking thing at a time.

Eddie’s own redressing is another sight that maybe, hopefully, one day you’ll look back on and laugh at. But right now, it can’t spark any amusement in you. Not as all your emotions slam back into you at full force.

You’re embarrassed. You’re confused. You’re angry.

“Happy?” he spits out once his boxers are on, shirt tugged back on so hard over his head that his curls frizz up.

“No,” your eyes are burning, and you feel it again. All those desperate emotions. Like a wild animal inside of you has begun to claw at your insides, making you bleed from the inside out.

Eddie loves you — and he has, for a long time, apparently.

Eddie’s neighbor has seen you naked. Saw your full bottom half exposed.

You’ve managed to hurt Eddie’s feelings, again.

Eddie fucking loves you and never thought to mention it. He has for a long time.

All your tempered strings snap, that wild and stricken thing inside of you finally cutting loose.

You don’t know what you’re angry at. You’re angry at him, and yet you’re not. You’re angry at the situation, and yet you’re not. You are bitter from words withheld and you are sour from every moment that paves the road that brought you two to this very moment.

You’re just angry.

“What did you mean?” the question comes out sharply enough to make his own defiant anger fade ever so slightly as he physically flinches, “I- I need to know what the Hell you meant, Eddie.”

Anger is metallic on your tongue. It seeps from your skin, floods the air, only further dampens everything already so heavy.

The longer he doesn’t answer you, the more smothering the entirety of the apartment becomes.

“Just tell me. Make it make sense, because right now?” you pause for a deep and shaky breath. Your eyesight is blurry now. Eyes red rimmed with tears that will surely sear your cheeks if they find the nerve to be shed, “Right now, I don’t get it. Over and over and over again, you have reminded me that you hate me. Prior to tonight, it was safe to assume that scorning my existence was one of your favorite pastimes. And I know, I get it — everything has changed. But- But-“

How can anything change if you weren’t honest to begin with?

Did anything change for him? While you were discovering and tending to sore feelings that had been festering for a while but had never seen the light of day, was he only nursing an old wound?

“But what?” his voice drops low. His entire demeanor has dropped, cowering down before you. His head dips down, his shoulders droop with prepared rejection, you watch the man before you, the man you had just let defile you and the man you had just worshiped on your goddamn knees, turn to dust.

A shaky gasp. Wobbly knees. The blood rushes through your ears again, flushing out any noise except the two of you breathing out of sync. His deep breaths, accepting and welcoming a rejection he was so sure he was receiving. Your shallow breaths, panting and rapid and trying to just get everything to slow the fuck down.

You were right. Once the tears shed, they burn a trail of Hellish fury right down the center of each cheek. “When I say everything has changed between us, what does that mean to you?”

He’s undressing an old wound, an open slash that seems to be unable to form a scab. You’re pressing on bruises, aching parts of you that had purpled from his neglect long ago. It’s clear as day now — the difference.

You no longer care about the embarrassment of being caught.

“What do you want it to mean?”

“Don’t do that,” the tears fall faster now. You can’t even begin to dig into this chasm of emotions. Are you angry at him? Are you disappointed by the circumstances? Do you love him? “I want an answer — I need your answer. You promised me your honesty, so give me it. Now.”

His eyes meet yours, and your entire world seems to fold into itself, “It… doesn’t mean much. It doesn’t change much.”

Everything has only changed for you.

“So it means nothing, then? You have me at your disposal, you have me on my fucking knees for you, you tell me you fucking love me, and it all means nothing?”

You’re twisting his words and you know it. But you can’t help it, can’t stop it.

“I never said that!” his voice is no longer low and quiet. Sudden worry creases beside his eyes as his mouth goes slack in shock, “I never said it meant nothing.”

“But it doesn’t mean much, right?” You hate your wet cheeks. You hate the way everything in you is somehow slow-breaking, yet suddenly shattering. An unnerving juxtaposition that is drowning you and sending you reeling over and over again, “It doesn’t change much, right? Because when I said that, Eddie, I meant it – everything fucking changed for me. It wasn’t- It’s not- This isn’t just some throwaway thing to me. Not even a day ago, I thought I had to hate you with everything I had. I thought I had to hate you.”

And I don’t. Not even a little bit. Even right now, when I should.

“Is that what you think I’m saying?” his voice is low where your voice has risen, his face calm where yours has gone stormy.

Where you’re on fire, he’s treading still waters. The opposite dilemma that has always existed, and the one you had the nerve to see as poetic. But water meeting flames is never poetic. It never ends well. You should have seen that coming from a mile away.

“What am I supposed to think?” you also quiet your tone to match his. You wonder if the neighbors really had heard a thing. You almost hope they had, that this argument is affecting someone else’s day the way it’s affecting you, “You’re standing here, and you’re telling me it doesn’t mean much, and-“

“It doesn’t change much,” he corrects, and you’re now the one flinching at the crack in his voice. “Not for me. Not when I-“

Not when I’ve loved you for so long.

He can’t even finish his own sentence.

“So what does it change?” you throw your hands out in exasperation, “If it doesn’t change much, what has it changed?”

There it is again — his silence, your anger.

“Is it not enough to just know it changes something?”

If you were stupid, you’d take his tone as pleading. You’d mistake it for begging. But you can’t. For all your fury, you can’t believe that he’s actually stooped so low as to beg for you, especially after what he’s just said. Time and time again, you had repeatedly cracked yourself wide open for him, and he’d managed to rip your heart right out of your chest with such a simply yet damning statement. The most casually cruel bit of honesty he had offered you yet tonight: that nothing changes.

“We’re back to square one,” you choke out in realization, “I- Fuck. This entire time, you weren’t honest with me.”

He opens his mouth quickly, and for a second you believe he’ll offer an explanation that can soothe over the ache. He’ll come up with an excuse that you can buy, he’ll explain himself in a way that proves you wrong, and the sweet oblivious bliss can return.

“No,” he says instead after careful consideration, “I wasn’t honest with you.”

Your tears are running rampant as you only nod slowly, pressing your lips together in defeat, “Awesome. Great,” you reach up, sniffling as you swipe at your nose, still silently quiet but no longer awarding him with any display of your rage, of your hurt, of anything but your acceptance, “No, really, that’s- Cool. Nothing changes. I get it.”

I’ve loved you for so long.

It didn’t make sense, but you don’t have it in you to dissect it any further. He had loved you the entire time, and still set out to make you bleed. His grand admission doesn’t change a single fucking thing.

You don’t say another word as you grab your pair of jeans up into your fist, being sure to move slowly and not in the haste every nerve in your body calls for. You need to leave – you need out of this apartment, and you need to never see Eddie Munson again. It wouldn’t be a far leap from what your friends already deal with. If the friendships take blows of damage from it, so be it-

“Where are you going?” he asks, standing stiller than a statue as he watches you.

You grab your bag, “I’m leaving. The deal’s off. Or- I don’t know. Tell them the bet’s off-”

“The bet is not off-”

“It is,” you turn to him, absolutely frozen in your resolution, “It really, really is. You can even fucking lie to them if you want, I don’t care. Figure out a way to get the money but I don’t want it. I’m done.”

“So that’s it?” he scoffs in disbelief. When you pull on your jeans, when you sling your bag back over your shoulder and begin to walk to the counter where your phone was left, he realizes that it’s really happening. He realizes you’re truly done, “No questions? I just told you I wasn’t fucking honest, and you’re just going to walk away, not even demand I tell the tru-”

“I’m tired of pulling the truth from you,” you finally move with some of the aggression you felt, hand smacking the counter beside your phone, “If you care so much, if you love me, I shouldn’t have to beg until my knees bleed for you to actually be honest with me,” you take your phone, shoving it into your back pocket before you look at him, “I can’t keep doing this. You were always right. They’re your friends. Congratulations, you got what you always said you wanted. You won’t have to deal with me anymore – consider this a farewell from your life. I’ll make sure no one invites you to my fucking funeral.”

You assume he grabs you due to your cruel reference to his insult from the very beginning of the night, that he’s going to fight you for that bit of your oddly calm speech. But when his hands wrap around your bicep, and you face him with those silent tears still racing, what comes out of his mouth stuns you.

“I’ll be honest,” he is pleading, he is begging, “Stay, and I’ll tell you everything. I don’t even fucking care about the bet — we can call off, everyone else can go to Hell. I don’t care about the money, I don’t care about the bet, I just-” he pauses, and you watch the desperation building taller and taller within him, “Stay and let me explain.”

You should tell him no. You should tell him to go to Hell. If you stay and hear him out, it will only end in pain for you. You should leave.

Instead, your bag begins to slip off your shoulder.

“You have ten minutes,” you whisper as his hand finally releases its grip, “Explain.”

—

SIX MONTHS EARLIER - EDDIE’S POV

If he were smart, Eddie would’ve kept his word.

He’d told them he wasn’t showing up. He’d told them he had work (not a complete lie), and that he wouldn’t make it tonight. He just hadn’t felt like drinking anymore — not since two weeks prior, when he’d gotten black out drunk while hanging out with Nancy, throwing his own personal pity party.

Pathetic.

It wasn’t just that killer headache that had been haunting Eddie since that night. It was much more than that; it was solid and palpable regret. He’d thrown back too many beers, mixed it with some sort of wine coolers that Nancy offered him once he started to feel the buzz. All it took was just a bit too much alcohol in his system, and suddenly, his rant that Nancy had agreed to indulge him in became so much more. One moment, he was just complaining about you. And the next, he was rambling, letting less harsh words slip between the complaints, more compliments than things he wanted you to change. One wine cooler in, and he was no longer complaining about the way everyone had been fawning over you after a full six months of friendship, but instead the way that your sad eyes and pouting lips following him around a room was cosmically unfair.

He didn’t remember much of the rest of the night, and he was glad when Nancy had given him a pitiful look over the cups of coffee she offered.

He’d told her. He knew he’d admitted his stupid, annoying, despicable crush on you to her. Probably whined about the way you and Harrington had clearly had something going on. Definitely spoke too much about how badly he wanted to experience your gentle hand in his calloused one, or to feel your arms wrap around his neck in greeting rather than daggers from your glare every time he entered a room. Hell, he’s sure there was a good thirty minute period amongst the fuzzy memories where he’d sat on the edge of tears as he continued to mumble about how he wasn’t good enough for you.

Nancy Wheeler, his best friend, finally knew. Six fucking months of keeping it under wraps, and Eddie Munson had finally slipped up.

And she clearly hasn’t forgotten as Eddie had prayed she would every single night as she’s the one to answer his knocks on Steve’s door, grinning with the hidden knowledge.

She’d texted him with one last plea for him to show up. Insisted everyone was here. Went so far as to make him a list, and made sure to add your name at the end. It had been phrased like an afterthought on the screen, but he knew her too well. He knew Nancy purposefully mentioned you.

“Munson! Finally! It took you long enough,” she squeals, clearly already halfway to drunk before she quiets down, “And you said you weren’t coming. Wonder what, or who, changed your mind.”

“Fuck off.”

It had been a bad day. Work, classes, a phone call with Wayne that had just left Eddie disheartened and terribly homesick. It was selfish, but the thought of seeing you in passing tonight, even if you did seem to dislike him just as he had intended, made it all a bit more bearable.

Coming home. Seeing you felt like coming home, even if you’d slammed the front door on his face.

He follows Nancy down the hall, a pit growing in the bottom of his stomach, heavy as ever. He shouldn’t have even wanted to see you. The last time he had seen you, you’d been out for blood, blatantly ruining a date he’d managed to bag with Chrissy Cunningham. Chrissy, who never gave him the time of day in high school. Chrissy, who was clearly set on using him as a rebound during yet another break from Jason. Chrissy, who’s only flaw wasn't just the fact that she wasn’t you.

“Eddie, my man!” Argyle greets Eddie the moment he enters the living room. He’s lounging on the couch, Jonathan to his right and a space where Nancy clearly had occupied now empty.

Eddie nods, still feeling the week weighing him down. No sight of you yet, “Hey, man.”

He just wanted to see you. One glimpse, preferably before you’ve caught sight of him, and he’d be fine. He’d learned to live with those fleeting moments the last six months, he could keep it up for just a bit longer.

He’d get over you eventually. Even if it killed him.

He had to give his plan time to work. So far, he’d done well, easily offering you a cold shoulder and nothing more after that first night. It wasn’t easy — he doesn’t think anyone would find the task of being cool towards someone as radiant as you easy — but he’d done it. Brick by brick, his wall of invincibility was standing tall and strong between you two. It was safer this way, he had to remind himself. It was better to run off of brief glances of your smiles and laughter never directed at him than to risk anything more. He’d only disappoint you, or you’d magically disappoint him, and it would end in bloodshed. Someone like you, someone so good and kind and easy to gravitate towards, would leave Eddie broken beyond damage.

You didn’t go for guys like Eddie. Steve had made that clear since day one.

Eddie takes the loveseat as Nancy returns to Jonathan’s side. He tries to make it subtle, the way he twists his head to glance around the room as he removes his jacket, eyes roaming until he finds you. In the kitchen, with Steve and Robin, tense back telling him you’d already noticed his arrival.

So much for seeing you smile.

He tries to keep up with the conversation going on. Argyle and Jonathan are having some sort of debate about aliens, nothing short of heated and passionate, and he’d normally be jumping in without hesitation. But his eyes can’t stop flickering to the kitchen and each time, he can see you downing even more alcohol. He knows you don’t like him, but did you hate him that much?

“You’re awfully quiet,” Nancy leans over to whisper as Jonathan grows in volume about another branch of a conspiracy theory.

“Just tired,” he flatly replies. He’s suddenly itching to get his hands onto some alcohol of his own. Fuck the lessons he should’ve learned a few weeks ago. Fuck his regret in confiding in Nancy.

“Was work rough?”

He hums pathetically in response, eyes glued to the kitchen still. To you.

Nancy’s eyes finally follow his focus, “Have you… I don’t know, ever tried just talking to her?”

He snaps from his daze at that, head turning quickly to Nancy, “I talk to her all the time.”

“You do not.”

“I do too.”

“Never nicely,” she points out, narrowing her eyes, “You’re like a little boy on the playground, tugging on her pigtails until she figures it ou-“

“I don’t want her to figure it out,” he cuts off the assumption, eyes widening in horror at the thought, “Christ, Nance. I thought I made that clear when I ended up shitfaced on your couch.”

Nancy softens. She can see what’s happening here, see every dampening thought that weighs Eddie down. He might not remember his drunken rambles, but she does.

“The only thing you made clear is what a spectacular ass you’re making out of yourself,” her words hold no bite, only truth, “Who cares what Steve said that night? He was drunk.”

“So was I,” Eddie’s eyes are back on you, palms running up his outer thighs until he curls them to fists by his hips, “I was drunk when I talked to you about her. Forget about it.”

Surprisingly, his stubborn best friend leaves it be. Puts the pointless argument to rest.

Eddie’s feelings can’t rest, though.

Every night, he tells himself it’ll all go away. The distance will make his heart grow harder, and he’ll eventually be able to wash himself of you one of these days. And every night, all the feelings you’ve sprouted inside of him only teem their way higher, up into his throat and choking him with every last breath before he falls asleep. He can’t forget those first few weeks, the way you seemed to think his coldness was a phase. You’d tried so desperately to seek him out at every function, sparked so many failed conversations with him that left him to burn. Every smile you’d offered him during that time, he’d taken for granted.

Even last week, when you’d interrupted his date, he’d let himself relish in the memory of your attention. Pathetic.

Had you been jealous? Had you just been spiteful, finally giving him a taste of his own medicine? He couldn’t decide, wouldn’t let himself linger on the reasoning. But he’d remembered your touch, could still feel it scarring his skin wherever your palm of fingertips had rested as you’d scared off Chrissy. He’d even hesitated in the shower that night, pausing for a moment before washing over the shoulder you’d gripped when you’d first approached their table and embarrassed him without care.

He deserved your spite.

And he deserves to have to overhear the conversation you’re currently having in the kitchen. You’re going on and on about all the men you’ve had dates with, detailing out every one night stand for Steve and Robin who listen with eager ears.

It makes his stomach churn and twist sharply. Each new man you bring to your roster makes his throat burn with jealousy, plain and simple. And he knows it written all over his face when Nancy leans over and puts a hand on his knee, giving him a concerned look.

Even the change of topic between Argyle and Jonathan on goddamn Bigfoot can’t overtake the sharp cut of your bragging.

“I’ve never seen your eyes so green, Eddie.”

He’s about to snipe back that his eyes are brown, and be unnecessarily cruel from his sour mood, when he realizes what she means.

“I’m not jealous,” he lies through his teeth.

“You very much are.”

He doesn’t have it in him to bicker back and forth about this again. Not about you, and not with Nancy, “What does it matter? Like I said, me and her? Never gonna happen.”

He had said that. He remembers that, at least, from his drunken confession. He’s sure he reiterated that point several times once he’d made it past the point of coherency.

“She’s lying,” Nancy casually whispers, pulling her hand back, “She- Us girls talk, you know? Just… she’s lying.”

“I went on a date with Chrissy. It doesn’t matter.”

And she has no clue how fucking hung up on her I am. She’ll never know if I have anything to do with it.

“You can keep saying that,” Nancy glances, making sure their other two friends on the couch are still too deep in conversation to listen in, “But we both know that’s not true.”

Unsurprising. Even if Nancy hadn’t listened to him cry that night about all his miserable yearning, all his unrequited feelings born out of a mess he got himself into, she would have known. Eddie has tried to guard himself when it comes to you, but there’s some times his leashed affection can’t help but seep out.

Whenever you stumble on sidewalks beside him, his arms and hands are the first to fly out. Whenever the group has gone out to bars altogether, he watches you like a hawk, almost daring the men surrounding you to disrespect you. Whenever your birthday came around, he’d bought that damn gift card to his favorite coffee shop, all because he saw you frequent it twice. Although, to be fair, he’d made Harrington be the messenger there. He wouldn’t have been able to look you in your eye, wouldn’t have been able to put up the bitter persona on a day that should be special to you. He didn’t want to ruin your birthday, so he’d simply sat on the sidelines. Let everyone else go out and celebrate with you. Let everyone else pour enough affection into your cup, even when he wishes his own could have been the final drops to cause it to overfill.

He had to tread carefully. It’d be too easy — to let himself pour out all these silly feelings and meaningless attraction. One wrong move, and he’d cause his own undoing. His own destruction. It doesn’t matter if it would be by your hand; he’d only have himself to blame at the end of the day.

He’s lost in thought, still itching for a drink, when Nancy is suddenly standing over him. “We’re going out for a smoke, you in?”

He shakes his head numbly. His mind is far away now, getting lost in all that he’s done wrong, all that he can’t have.

He’s homesick. He’s watched the way you’ve interacted with Robin and Steve the entire night, and he’s goddamn homesick for a home that he’ll never hold the keys to.

“You sure, man?” Argyle asks him, wiggling his brows, “I brought the good shit.”

Numbing his mind with drugs. It’s tempting.

“I’m good,” he reaffirms, still speaking in monotone. He doesn’t have the energy to put up a brave face, too focused on his heavy chest and that miserable pit in his gut still.

And everyone leaves. He’s sure there’s something poetic for his stormy mind to pick up on there, as he watches his friends gather without him and exit to the outside, but he’s more focused on a miniscule detail.

You’re not with them.

Meaning you’re still in the kitchen.

And God, he really should know better. He should stay planted in his seat and he should sit in his misery until they all return. Only trouble can come from not doing so. But then his body moves to its own accord, fueled by something wickedly cruel and terribly homesick as he grabs one of the bottles of beer off the coffee table. It’s Nancy’s, he’s sure of it. Her lipstick stains the opposite side of the rim he takes a swig from. The beer has long since gone lukewarm, but beggars can’t be choosers. He clears his throat as the bitter lingers on his tongue.

He should know better.

But he doesn’t. He really, really doesn’t as he enters the kitchen. You’re on your phone as he stands in the doorway, and there’s no time to hide what you’d been glancing over.

A dating app.

You spin to face him, and he imagines a world where your eyes land on him and light up. Something akin to that first night, to those first few weeks. Where you look at him with purpose, and he sees relief flood your irises rather than irritation or fear.

No such luck. He only has himself to blame.

He can’t think of anything else to say, so like an idiot, he gestures vaguely with the bottle of beer towards your phone, “Those apps fucking suck.”

That jealousy is still gnawing at him. Hateful, painful, reckless.

You look down at your phone for a second, and click to exit whatever messages you’d been on. And then you look back up at him.

“You’ve used them in the past?” you question him, but he’s still stuck on all the recounts of your escapades he’d overheard tonight. Whether or not they were true didn’t matter. All he sees when he closes his eyes is you, with other men. You, looking at someone else with purpose, relieved eyes awarded to someone more worthy.

He’s lucky he can choke out a short, “Nope,” and make it not sound strangled.

“Okay,” your attention returns to your phone screen, and Eddie’s returns to his internal battle.

He’s jealous. So goddamn jealous it’s insufferable. It’s not your fault – he chose to push you away, he chose to lash out like a child for his own sanity and his own safety. You’d ruin him; you’ve already ruined him without even trying. If he gave up on the act, on this carefully thought out plan, he’d be beyond leftover rubble of a man. He’d be gone beyond recognition, reduced to ash and smoke. A nameless, forgotten whisper of dust that people would only point to and say, see? Look at that. That’s what becomes of you when you never learn.

He’s pined enough in his lifetime after girls like you. Girls who were too good for him. He’d done it with Chrissy, and it was still causing him nothing but trouble.

That burden didn’t hang over Chrissy, or over you. It was all Eddie’s own fault. Neither of you could help that he wasn’t good enough; it wasn’t either of your jobs to fix him or lower your standards for him. You’d even been kind, you’d even nearly fallen into that trap.

It was for the better. All of it was for the better this way.

And yet the jealousy remains. The anger still thrives between his ribs, and begs for release.

“Why are you even still on them?” he should think over his words more carefully as they begin to roll off his tongues. He knows he’s in the wrong before he even continues, “I heard you’ve been having a shit time with the guys on there – quite the opposite of what you’ve been telling Harrington tonight, might I point out.”

Each word is sharpened so intentionally, glinting from raking against that anger inside of him. You don’t deserve their prick. Really, he should just be comforting you the way the others do – how Robin surely was, how Steve must be.

But it’s part of the plan. So he tampers down the jealousy and he feeds into the anger, lets it consume him. Because making you hate him is easier than letting you like him. It’s easier to watch the one you can’t have sneer at you like the enemy than let them smile at you like you’re just a friend.

“I-” you falter in your words, and he decides to straighten his back, takes a deep breath as he slips the mask on effortlessly. He hates how easy it’s become. He hates how quickly he turns everything with you into a fight, “You win some, you lose some. It’s the nature of the app.”

Sometimes, it’s like a game. And he can pretend that your hatred, your distaste, is also all a facade. Like the both of you are two sides of the same coin. A playful banter rather than an actual argument between two people who can’t even call themselves friends. When he looks at it like that, blinded by his delusion, it makes the ache dull. Sends it away for a few fleeting seconds, convinces himself he really can carry on this way.

“You haven’t made it sound like you’re losing at all, tonight. I nearly started a drinking game with Nance where we took a swig every time you said you managed to pull another ‘fuck ‘em and leave ‘em’. Quite the boy count you’ve got there, player,” he forces a grin as he leans on the counter, watching his words get under your skin exactly as he had intended.

You’re cute like this. Clearly drunk, getting flustered. He revels in the way your face physically scrunches in annoyance, the way he can watch you gear up to fight fire with fire. A sick, twisted game of cat and mouse that always can entertain him in the moment and haunt him at night.

“You’re bluffing. You couldn’t hear me from all the way over there.”

He wonders, for a second, if you’d caught him staring at any point. He wonders if you’d even care.

“We could.”

“No, you couldn’t.”

“Yes, we could.”

“You’re lying.”

You cross your arms, and he can’t help but watch the way they push your chest up. He can’t help but ponder on how much better it would all feel if this were really playful banter.

He has to refrain from physically shaking the thought from his mind.

It’s for the better.

He narrows his eyes, he grips onto the anger again, that hidden jealousy. He should know better. He should stop it. The words even feel heavy on his tongue, terribly forced. Because his anger isn’t at you.

“I’m lying? You’re the one who’s been telling Stevie nothing but lies tonight,” and oh, how ironic, for the liar to be calling out someone’s little white lies, “Why do you need to even lie about all that, anyways? It’s not like the truth would be any more pathetic than the act you’re putting up,” the words come out a bit easier when imagines the barrel of the gun pointed at himself, as if he were speaking so casually cruelly into a mirror rather than at you, “Everyone strikes ou-”

He’s clearly struck a nerve. And it aches, but he reminds himself that that’s the point. That’s his goal.

“I’m pathetic? Just last week, you lied to the group. You were trying to avoid being where I’d be and told them you had to walk your neighbor’s dog.”

He wasn’t trying to avoid you. He was trying to avoid Nancy after his entire drunken confession fiasco.

“I did!” he continues to lie. Even with no one to show for, he piles up his lies high. Buries himself beneath them, beneath his pathetic act and worthless reasons. It’s probably for the best that you had assumed that he was avoiding you.

“Your apartment has a strict no pet policy, Eddie.”

The act cracks for a moment as he freezes. Why did you know about his apartment’s pet policy?

“How do you know that?”

It can’t be because you care, or even get curious about him. He’s done everything in his power to cause the exact opposite, to make you be repulsed by him and to run the other way if you can help it.

“I didn’t, but Nancy did,” He doesn’t even react to the roll of your eyes, unable to get riled up as he usually would at that. It clicks for him; it makes sense, because Nancy had stormed down his door not even a day later, “It’s all I had to hear about the entire night. How she wishes we could get along, how she hates when you lie to her. Thanks for that, by the way.”

Eddie does feel guilty about that. He doesn’t mean for his own self-destructive behavior to leach out to his friends, or even you. His goal has always been to make it so that when he’s not around, he’s not even an afterthought to you. But selfishly, part of him preens at the idea of you being reminded of him, of you thinking of him when he’s not in the room with you. It’s a conundrum. It’s almost deadlier than his other option.

“It’s not my fuckin’ fault you go out with my friends,” he grumbles like a damn child, almost pouting in his guilt. There’s another selfish sliver of him that’s also upset at that – upset at the fact everyone else gets to bloom with your friendship and positive attention, but not him. Once again, it’s his own doing. He really shouldn’t be angry at you about it.

“And it’s not my fault that you don’t.”

Times like these make him want to give it all up. He has to physically tense his body, tick his jaw and bite his tongue to avoid throwing the entire act to the side. He wants nothing more than to grab you by your shoulders and shake you, scream that sometimes it is your fault. But you don’t know it – you can’t read his mind, see past his intentions.

You don’t know what Steve had so generously reminded him of that very first night.

“Whatever. Why are you lying to Steve?” his voice is devoid of all emotion despite the storm brewing inside of him. He can’t even blame it on alcohol – he wishes he could, but his tolerance to beer can handle the single sip he’s taken. He crosses his arms, wrapping them around his body, trying to protect that terrible vulnerability only he’s aware of. When your position mirrors his, he wonders for a moment if you’re also feeling it.

But you’ve been drinking. This entire conversation, every emotion, can be blamed on that. You’re luckier than Eddie.

“I’m not lying.”

“You are. With Steve, and with me at this very moment.”

He lets a reaction at his own irony slip through for a brief second, eyebrows furrowing as the voice inside him screams hypocrite! Hypocrite! Hypocrite!

He wishes he could pretend to be oblivious to why he can’t stop bringing Steve up, but he knows better. He can bury the jealousy alive, but it still bites all the same.

“How the fuck do you even know how my dating life is going? We aren’t exactly friends. Did Robin tell you? Did Steve tell you?”

We aren’t exactly friends.

He should relish that confirmation that his plan is working, that you truly don’t see him as a friend, but it just fucking stings. He swallows hard physically, as if it can help him swallow down the truth any better, but it does nothing for him. The truth only continues to choke him up. His tongue has momentarily frozen over in his mouth as he tries to push past the painful reminder and wrap up this conversation. He feels it, that sharp burn of an unattended wound, and he realizes at the wrong moment that whether or not he keeps you at an arm's length, bloodshed will always occur.

At least this way, he tells himself it’s protecting himself. This way, the knife isn’t pointed at his own heart.

“You’re right. We aren’t friends,” the words are poison on his tongue. They taste of dirt and rust, like a grave that screams to be dug up but he has no shovel. He’d tossed it once he’d sealed the tomb, like a fool, “But Rob and Nance are, and Nance and me are. See where I’m going with that one?”

At least he wasn’t lying to you for a brief moment. Nance had told him. He’d throw you that bone, at least.

“Well-” and with your own pause, you seemingly return the favor. You’re handing him yet another opportunity on a silver platter; exposing an insecurity that he should let live and let die, but he won’t for the sake of the wall he has bled to put up between you two, “You say that as if Nancy and I aren’t friends.”

“Are you?”

He’ll regret that taunt for the rest of his days. Two simple words, and he’s damned himself. The conversation that follows, about Instagram and followers and social standards of friendship, doesn’t even matter to him. It’s just a routine. Constant knives, clashing swords of words, lie after lie piling up with the bile in his throat as he shoots for kills. He hands over reason after reason for you to resent him, and makes sure that each punch lands. Ignores the ache, the one billowing in his knuckles as if each subtle insult he tosses your way doesn’t bruise his innards all the same way. By the end of the back and forth, it should be enough, for both of you. He’s accomplished the same thing he always sets out to do with every conversation: he pisses you off, putting another inch in that stretch between you two.

But then you turn your back on him. And he deserves it. God, he deserves it. But he’s still full of bad ideas tonight, the awfulness of the last few days still suffocating him, and so he makes another decision to regret. He walks up behind you.

You open your phone, and he sees it. You’re on the dating app again, and the screen flashes with the face of your latest contender.

He knows that face. He schools his face to remain even, but he fucking knows that face.

The bartender at his local haunt. The only other person besides Nancy who had ever seen Eddie so miserable over you. He had been drinking alone that night, and the whiskey had him pouring out his guts to the poor guy. Slurred words of the girl who had slipped between his fingers, of the one who got away, of you.

And that same bartender had been the one to sympathize with Eddie, claiming he understood. That he knew that feeling – dating around and doing anything in your power to get the girl you truly want off your mind. He said he had one of his own. He’d told Eddie that his pain-riddled speeches helped him make up his mind, that he was going to go after the girl he really wanted, that Eddie should do the same.

Was this bartender your ex-boyfriend? Had the two of them been discussing the exact same girl?

Bad decisions. Over, and over, and over. It all comes to a rise within Eddie – not just the anger, but the jealousy and the hurt and the goddamn envy of the man on the screen. He hates the bartender, he hates himself, he hates the world at this point.

He tells himself he should add you to that list. But he doesn’t. He can’t.

And it all spirals out of control before he can prove that to himself. Words grow sharper, small kindles of tension between the two of you finally explode to full blown flames, and he’s suddenly saying things he doesn’t mean. Things he’ll linger on for the days and weeks, the months to come.

“You’re so dense, you never realize that you’re not wanted, Not by those assholes, not here-”

He’s mid-lie, one finger on the trigger of the gun he assumed was aimed at his own chest, when it finally happens. A snap within both of you. Timed perfectly with the glass that shatters against the wall beside his head.

Eddie learns two things that night.

One, half of his plan worked. He’s succeeded. You hated Eddie Munson’s guts, and instead of him being content in his success, he’s sick to his stomach. It doesn’t bandage the wound inside of him, doesn’t pack away cotton nor cauterize the bleeding. It only worsens it. Widens it, impossibly so. He swears shards of that broken glass fly right into his unsuspecting chest, even if Nancy doesn’t find a trace on him when she comes back inside to see the aftermath. You hate him, he’s proven his point. He has proven himself to be the worst possible version of himself, the most unlovable man he had always seen in the mirror now residing in him staunchly enough that every single one of his friends sees it.

He’d done it. He’d diminished any chance he had ever held of being friends with you. And he thought that, without a doubt, that meant he’d diminished any disastrous chance of letting you close enough to risk the chance of any more of his feelings getting involved. He thought it would have meant that he’d done it – he’d protected himself, and in some sick twisted way you, from inevitable bloodshed.

But blood had still been shed. Even if his friends were only cleaning up broken glass in the kitchen, he could still see the stain of red across the floor and walls from you and him. He was bleeding out for you, but he had just driven the knife in deep enough that you would never return the feeling. There was no world where you would be bleeding out for him, only because of him.

The second revelation comes a bit later in the night.

Closer to midnight, hours after the fight, when Eddie finds himself alone as per usual. He stumbles to his usual bar, thankful for the late hours, fully prepared to get so fucking wasted he can’t remember his own name. He’d wish to not remember your face, especially when he had spewed such hateful intent your way, but he knows there’s not a single brand or amount of whiskey out there that can cleanse him of that. Your name is just another ghost to add to the lineup. You’ll haunt him until his dying day. And he deserves that.

But then, when he walks into the bar, he sees the bartender.

The same man who had stood you up just the night before. The same man Eddie simply couldn’t understand. He was clearly on a date, a nice girl sat at the table across from him, laughing at every word he said. Eddie remembers their conversation, although a bit hazy.

“I think you’re onto something, man. Some girls are just… irreplaceable. I’ve got a girl like that of my own – prettiest eyes you’ll ever see, a smile that could cure cancer – and… you know what? I think we should both go for it. Give up on the girls who could never compare.”

He wants to vomit. The bastard had even poured a round of shots on the house, had fucking cheered with Eddie before throwing back the alcohol with him in the promise of moving onto the girls who matter.

He had said cheers to discarding you. Brushing off you. To you being one of the girls who could never compare.

Eddie’s vision goes red, and he knows half of the blame falls on himself. He’d been the reason this asshole stood you up. He had already been the reason for your pain tonight before he’d even said a word to you. His self hatred has never burned so deeply, so viciously.

But you can’t punch yourself. And so instead, Eddie doesn’t hold back when he approaches the table and lands his right knuckles right on the bastard’s cheek bone. Even goes in for a second punch. He would have gotten in a third punch, but the bartender hits back. Not as hard as Eddie, fists fueled by self-defense rather than ravaging guilt and crippling self-hatred, but enough to get deter him until security could gather both men up.

It’s in the alleyway that he has his second revelation. At the hands of the man who had just hurt you. It was like looking in a mirror. Eddie nearly does finally vomit as he leans against the brickwall, security a few paces away, ready to file a police report. But then, the bastard still manages to somehow be better than Eddie, throwing up a hand to stop them from dialing for the cops.

“Don’t,” is all he says, leveling a stare when Eddie’s eyes fill with tears.

“Really?” Eddie cocks an eyebrow, pushing his luck. He needs someone to punish him. He needs to be thrown in a cell for the night, to be treated as the degenerate he truly was, “I just rearranged your fucking face and-”

“Why’d you punch me?” the bartender spits out some blood, nose crooked, “You- You’re a fucking regular, dude. How’d I piss in your cheerios?”

Eddie’s feeling vulnerable. All his actual feelings boiling and burning in the back of his throat, begging to be released. He doesn’t need a drop of whiskey this time to be honest.

“The girl,” Eddie rasps, tears threatening to spill as he pictures your face again, “I told you about the girl. The one no one else compared to.”

The bartender’s eyes widen, “Jesus, fuc- are you telling me that we were talking about the same fucking girl? I- Vanessa told me she wasn’t seeing anyone else, I can’t believe she fucking lie-”

“Not her,” Fuck Vanessa, Eddie thinks bitterly, almost laughing. He has no right to say his next words, but he does, and they cause a pain worse than even the most nightmarish hangovers he’s ever experienced, “My girl is the one you stood up for her.”

You weren’t his girl. You never would be his girl.

The bartender only looks more confused, and Eddie’s anger flares a bit more at the thought of him talking to more girls beyond you. The man before him had had everything Eddie wanted: he had had you. And just like Eddie, he had fucked it all up. It was easy to misdirect his anger in the moment.

He says your name out loud, a searing iron in his throat that makes it come out garbled and strangled. Some recognition falls upon the man’s face.

“Oh… her.”

Eddie doesn’t hold back, “Her? That’s all you have to fucking say? You stood her up, you fucking- Jesus Christ, go burn in Hell,” He’s being irrational. He doesn’t care, “Call the cops on me. Tell them to let me rot in a fucking cell. I deserve it – but so do you. That girl… that… her. She’s one in a fucking million, she’s a thousand times better than whatever girl you have waiting on you inside, and you couldn’t see that. You’re a goddamn dick.”

No one makes the move for the call. The bartender just shakes his head again, being far too patient. Eddie opens his mouth, ready to scream now as he demands they punish him. Make him pay for his crimes. Not just the punches, but everything he had broken tonight.

He broke you tonight. He deserves to burn in Hell far more than the man before him.

“I knew you were in love with her, but-”

Eddie cuts him off, “I’m not in love with her.”

He hates the look he receives. It’s the same pity that Nancy now looks at him with. That same hidden judgment, like everyone else knows something that he doesn’t.

“You may hate to hear it,” the bartender is choosing his words very carefully as he swipes in a contrasting carelessness at the blood pouring out of one of his nostrils, “But you don’t throw punches like that for a girl you’re not in love with. So I suggest you mind your business, and if she is as valuable as you keep going on about, you tell her rather than punching the dude he just serves you fucking alcohol.”

He doesn’t even have to close his eyes to see you anymore. The image of you is clear as day, even with his eyes open. You, broken and vulnerable and full of hatred for him. Just as he had intended.

Success tastes metallic and bitter. Eddie finally empties what little he had in his stomach onto that concrete alleyway.

He doesn’t leave the wall. Not when the bartender goes back inside with one of the bar’s bouncers, not when the remaining bouncer eyes him and nervously steps forward, not when they return with a paper declaring him banned from the bar.

He can’t move. All he sees is you. He hasn’t drank more than that one pitiful swig of beer at Steve’s, but he feels like his world has gone incoherent all the same.

He fucked up.

He crinkles that piece of paper harshly once he’s properly left alone in the alleyway, angry enough that it tears a bit from his force. It doesn’t phase him; he didn’t intend on returning anyways. He carries it with him the entire way home, regardless, rolls it between his palms until it’s gone soft with the sweat of his hands.

It’s for the better. He fucked up, but it’s for the better.

He tosses the wadded ball into the trash when he gets home. Goes through the numb motions of taking off his shoes, tossing his jacket on the counter rather than the hook he’d put up for it, and leaves his bike’s keys beside it. Eventually, he makes his way to the bathroom, brushing his teeth but never once glancing up in the mirror. As a matter of fact, he avoided every single reflective surface in his apartment that night.

He still sees your face, broken and teary, as he turns off his bedroom light and lays on his mattress that night. It doesn’t matter how many times he repeats it to himself, reminds himself over and over, the mantra of it being for the better doesn’t work. It can’t break through. All because of a pathetic revelation.

Eddie learns that night that he is, in fact, in love with you. And it doesn’t matter, because you hate his fucking guts, just as he had intended.

—

You don’t make a single move once Eddie breathlessly finishes his explanation. Not even to breathe.

He’s been in love with you since that night at Steve’s.

You’d known that he had punched the bartender that night. You’d known that he had been banned from his usual bar that night. But you hadn’t known the entire truth. You couldn’t have ever imagined it, ever pieced it together, until now.

And you don’t know if that speaks more on you and how dense you’ve been this entire time, or on Eddie and how dishonest he’s been this entire time.

“God, I’ve loved you for so long, and I’ll never be fucking worthy.”

It suddenly makes sense. At a sickening and sudden pace, it clicks into place.

“Eddie, I-”

“Don’t,” he stops you, looking you directly in your eyes. You nearly shrink under his attention. Your fury is gone; you just feel empty, “You… You don’t need to say it back. You don’t need to say anything – the bet’s off. I’m not being honest to stop you from leaving,” he admits, every single wall crumbling at both of your feet, “I’m just being honest because you deserve it. I should have told you that night. I should- I actually should have never done any of this. Any of it.”

You remember the girl you once were. In a bar, surrounded by strangers and new friends, with tunnel vision for the boy in front of you. You remember that feeling of coming home, the way you ached for him to let you in and had been fooled for one night that it was possible.

A year later, and he was letting you in, too late.

“Why?” your voice cracks. You should just pick up your bag and go, but you can’t. Not until you stick the final stitches into the wound, seal up this hurt once and for all. For you and for Eddie. “Why would you… Why would you do that? Why would you set out to make me hate you?”

“Because I didn’t deserve you,” he says it like a simple fact, like it doesn’t shatter you apart, “Because I knew if I didn’t create the rift and kept letting you in, I’d fall in love with you. At first, I thought I needed you to hate me to prevent it. Figured you’d be stronger than me about it. If I made you hate me, I was… Honestly, I was saving myself. I’d tell myself it was about saving you, but it wasn’t. I was being fucking selfish.”

You nod silently, swallowing down tears. Tears for what could have been, tears for what you still want so badly that it aches.

“All because of Steve making…” you trail off, head trying to wrap around all the honesty he had just presented you with, “Making some off-handed, drunk comment.”

It was Eddie’s turn to silently nod. To swallow hard and flutter his eyes shut so you couldn’t see the hurt lit within them.

“You said you hated me,” you’re thinking out loud more than you’re properly speaking to him at this point, voice broken and soft, hands fighting the urge to reach out for him. Even after it all. Every reminder of what he had done for you, and now having the pitiful reason behind it all, still couldn’t break what had formed here tonight. Everything has still changed for you, “When I said everything changes, I meant the hate – I didn’t want to hate you anymore.”

“I know,” he bites his lip, as if he’s trying to hold back any careless words. Words that might hurt you, but not for the same reasons as they used to, “That’s why… not much has changed. I never hated you. God knows I wanted to. I told myself I had to hate you, because if I didn’t hate you, I’d love you. And I couldn’t do that again – I couldn’t handle falling in love with someone I couldn’t have. I knew I wouldn’t survive loving you when you’d never love me back. It wouldn’t be fair… to either of us.”

“But you did it anyway,” you almost laugh at the awfulness of it all, terribly irony stacking up between you, “You fell in love with me, you said it yourself. You… you loved me.”

“Love,” he corrects, eyes now wide open, “I love you. It’s not- It’s not some feeling in the past tense. You should still hate me, because I still love you.”

He’s right, you finally realize. You should hate him for all of this.

“And all of this counted on the first part of your plan working,” he has to take a step closer, whether it be subconscious or due to how low your voice has dropped. The physical distance erased aches. Splinters each of your bones and all of your emotions, “Which you never even asked me if it worked, even now. You just assumed.”

He takes a deep, brave breath before he quietly asks you, “Did it work?”

You both already know the answer now, “No.”

But it changes nothing. You know that, he knows that. It’s just as he said – the point of saying it out loud no longer has anything to do with repairing what’s been damaged just tonight. You’re both being honest only because you both deserve it. You both deserve to finally close this tomb.

You don’t know if you’ll ever be able to close it, though. Not truly. Not properly.

“I can’t stay,” you whisper, “I still… I still need to leave.”

Especially now.

“I know you do,” he responds. He’s gentle, understanding.

It doesn’t stop the tear you see break from his lower lashes. He doesn’t draw any attention to it, doesn’t so much as move to clear it from his cheek. As if he’s scared if he does, you’ll notice it if you hadn’t already.

“The bet’s still off,” you continue, unable to meet his gaze as you pick up your bag once more.

“I know it is.”

He doesn’t try to stop you this time. And part of you, this time, wishes he would have as you slip back out the front door of apartment 2C and let the door shut with a quiet click behind you.

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#my writing #twenty four hours #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic #my bad #surprise drop because... i am actually sleeping so peacefully right now haha #also might be more mindful of answering asks with spoilers for this round <3 just to give people a fighting chance to read first!!!#eddie pov truthers please rise because my GOD have i been excited to do this

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seniouesbabes · 2 years

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Lily Maymac 🌸💋🍒🌸 Q & A Japan 🇯🇵 p1

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soulrph · 1 year

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chaotic unhinged lines from 2022-2023 (prompt edition).

basically in 2021 i made a list of prompts inspired by lines in tiktok videos and instagram reels that made me laugh so hard i cried! and now i have returned with another list! these may provide an alarmingly clear image of what my sense of humor is (aka broken) but i figure a little levity is always a good thing! more prompts are forthcoming, but in the mean time: bon appetit!

knowledge has always chased you, but you've always been faster.

no... no, that was mango apathy juice. from the farmer's market.

of all these people, you are the one i understand the least. i want to get to know you better, but like, not that much better.

i-i will CHEW YOUR MEAT!! WHAT are you doing?!

ooooh god, no, you wouldn't be long getting frostbit!

you are evil. like a hobbit.

WHY MUST YOU FAIL ME SO OFTEN?!?!!?

i have had a perfectly wonderful evening, but this wasn't it.

AHEM!! fill my cup.

may god ignore you like you ignored my greetings.

i will avenge you mister van gogh.

call off work bestie, we need you to solve a murder. here's fifteen dollars.

you're not in love. you may think you are, you dumb fuck, but you're not.

go ahead and put the ranch away.

sadly, "hopefully" doth butter no parsnips.

forget school, i want to be an italian sandwich.

you shouldn't skip work, you are a lawyer and he is a hamster.

you can stop roleplaying now. you're free.

her coupon game was so fucking raw.

i'm sorry guys... he's making a salad.

you could get a straight guy here if you learned to make a good pasta. i'll teach you how to make a risotto that'll get you married and out of my basement.

hey, do you want me to get together a plate of roast beef and hide it in our room so we can have night meats?

it's not the most ethical thing in the world, but in a pinch you can hand off a cursed object to basically any baby.

no, children, you're wrong. once upon a time, there was a piece of wood.

and i'm not saying she deserved it, but i am saying that god's timing is always riiiiight.

hydrate or die-drate, ya DICK!

why did the monkey fall out of the tree? because it was DEAD.

new york city is a fictional place written up by someone with a sinister mind and a knack for comedy.

this is grindr my guy.

wait, i didn't finish teaching you the difference between human and wolf anatomy.

it's time to tell your grandmother that she was wrong. do not be afraid.

vanilla vodka... you fucking child.

without ash to rise from, a phoenix would just be a bird getting up.

you are fucking alive. do what you want.

why are you cradling me like a baby, friend? this isn't how guys of my generation hang out.

i hope a hedgehog shits in your cereal, you difficult person.

you know, i am not as mean as i would like to be. and i think people should appreciate that more.

see, i am not a kangaroo.

well, i'd like to help, but... you see... not as much as i'd like not to.

rest in peace you fucking onion fairy.

when god sings with all his creations, will a turtle not be part of the choir?

i fight for a seat in heaven, every. single. day.

map maker? can you find me somewhere on the map where this big man thinks he's the king?

you bald-headed demon...

so... there are 24 million pigs in australia... and 24 million people... so if you ever feel lonely, there's like, a pig out there that's sort of your cosmic twin.

remember, alcohol is god's apology for making us self-aware.

i'm straight!! stop CONFUSING me!!!!!

you guys want something to eat? because... i know we'll die if we don't eat.

he is a BIBLICALLY gorgeous man. i wanna feed him grapes. i wanna fan him with the frond of a date palm from the forests of Lebanon. i wanna find the alabaster vial of perfume oil that one woman broke for jesus and comb it through his hair. like... he's stressing me OUT.

i'm not sad! i'm freaking HUNGRY!

maybe, if we wait a little bit longer, a fuck will fall into my hand, and i can give it to you.

it's not my fault you thought you lived in this IKEA.

let's leave my mother out of this.

jason may kill people but he's not bad enough to kick a dog.

i run for LUMP!

oh no, i'm all out of caring, baby!

you don't think it mcbe that way... but it mcdo.

what is this enticing bowl of white?

serious question, do his nipples sparkle?

what in the reese's peanut butter fuck is going on here?

if your parents don't buy it, stop loving them!

i just hope you know just how much you've decreased productivity today.

that was poetry at its FINEST.

and if you let that motherfucker shenan ONCE, you best believe they're gonna shenanIGAN!

may god bless the dinosaur that died to make the fossil fuel that was treated to become petrol in the car that took her mom to the hospital to give birth to her.

that's modern milk for ya. what a time to be alive.

you have attachment issues. please fix it.

remember when people had secrets? we should bring that back.

the moon landing was an elaborate marriage proposal.

i don't like the cobra chicken.

i didn't know eggs were this expensive? it's time to lay my own, i fear.

so you're saying the reason i don't have a girlfriend is because i'm not a big enough threat yet.

god gave him a top lip, that's why he's so powerful.

it's a common mistake, but frankenstein was actually the author.

i finally got a pocket-sized diary!!! also i don't get the concept of life.

if a beautiful woman disagrees with me, i will immediately change my view. i've no principles.

how did you all end up married to such boiled potatoes?

if so much as one tear drops from their eye... i will slap you back into your mum.

you are ringing a phone that does not like to be rung.

look how Dr. doofenschmirtz had a fucked up childhood but didn't project his trauma onto his teenage daughter. he projected it onto a platypus.

it is mathematically impossible for you to get a wedgie.

i'm breaking up with you. i love you, it's just... i don't think you could protect me from a mummy.

if you can't do fractions....... you will fucking die.

that's right; in the year 1791, all of our bottoms were killed in a Big Bottom Massacre.

people always assume i'm mean. like CAN you BELIEVE THAT CRAP?! like WHAT would make you think i'm MEAN?! I'M THE NICEST PERSON ON THE PLANET!

the chocolate milk is strikingly overpriced and at the same time very easy to steal; another of god's little tests.

someone's gotta tell the waiter that i ordered mashed 'taters and it sure as shit ain't gonna be me.

if i had a week i couldn't list all the reasons that wouldn't work.

#rp meme #roleplay meme #sentence starters #dialogue prompts #writing prompts

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shhuuga · 27 days

Note

heyy!! what about nanami helping (black?) reader do their hair?? 😋

OMG girl yesss!!

SLICKK BACK — K. NANAMI

🍬 [ nanami kento x black!fem!reader ]

🍬 [ nanami helps you slick your hair into a ponytail! ]

number one, mans is fuckin sweating, okay?

he is stressed beyond BELIEF but hes gonna act super calm like hes not shaking in his fuckass shoes (i hate them shoes im sorry)

helping you take your braids out was smooth sailing. yall smoked a lil and watched a movie just to smooth the process out but this was nothing like that

you told him it'd be simple. all he needed to do was help you part and gel down the back of your hair so you could do the front. he could do this.

at first it's hard bc he's helping you pick your hair and he can tell you're trying your best not to smack his hand away when he catches a knot, but he trusts the process!!

once ur hair is detangled and blown out, nanami carefully listens to your instructions on how to divide your hair and gel the part down so it stays.

his once the lower half of your hair is gelled, nanami even offers to help you with the upper half!

i mean all he really does is hand u the got2b and edge gel but he does a good job of it!!

oh and u best believe when its done he turns the ring light and leds on to give u ur own personal photoshoot and then helps you wrap it up.

oh and dont let a nigga compliment ur hair under ur post bc--

flockageo: yo hair look good ash

namigetsherwetter replied: oh i know, did it myself 🫡🫡

SRJRNRNND OKOKOK

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where-does-the-heart-lie · 2 years

Text

East Blue Crew modern au!

Ive been working on this on and off for a while now.

There’s a lot here so [rings dinner bell] come get y’all’s meal

ASL Modern Au Post

Grand Line Crew Modern Au

Friends We Made Along The way post

Friends We Made Along The Way Part 2 post

Additional Headcanons:

Nami needs her own episode on extreme couponers. Sis has an entire binder dedicated to it.

Zoro cannot for the life of him beat Luffy in an arm wrestling match. No matter how much he lifts or trains, he always loses.

Zoro is actually pretty good at grilling. Sanji was pleasantly surprised when the burger that was presented to him wasnt a pile of ash/ so raw its still walking around. One day the two will have a grill off.

Usopp and Luffy love playing yugioh with eachother. Neither of them actually know the rules of the game, they just make it up as they go.

Nami used to collect american girl dolls and she keeps them in a closet in her apartment. One day when usopp luffy and chopper were snooping around, they found the accursed closet and were scared shitless.

Usopp has an ant farm and luffy thinks its the coolest shit.

In this modern au, sanji takes the place of that one guy on tiktok who makes duets with cooking videos, and films until they put the entire block of cream cheese in the crock pot.

Sanji is also this guy

Even though nami has scary dog privilege when walking with zoro, its not just beneficial to her. In fact nami has outlawed zoro from going on walks in general alone, as he would get lost and need nami to walk to him to direct him home. Nami has scary dog privilege and zoro has sense of direction privilege when they walk together

Sanji and Nami rewatch Pretty Little Liars/ Gossip Girl/ Glee/ and other CW drama shows together.

Nami and Usopp always be shit talking someone/something. They are hateful bitches.

How luffy meets each of them:

Zoro- they met each other because the 24 hr gym Zoro works in is right down the street from Luffy’s apartment and one day Luffy was walking by at around 3 am and noticed Zoro in there. Luffy asks him if he wants to join him fucking around at 3 am on the streets of this city area they live in and Zoro accepts after a little convincing from Luffy. When they get outside Zoro’s like

“where’s the rest?”

“Of what?”

“Of your friends”

“Its just you rn”

“… :| i mean, i had assumed you werent alone”

“Nope!”

“HA OkAy”

Nami- they took the same economics course together. They were paired up in a project and hit it off after that and often had study sessions together. Their defining friendship maker though, was they teamed up to steal the answer key to the test they were both definitely going to fail because the class was bullshit.

Usopp- they had taken a graphic design course together. Luffy had no idea what he was doing the entire time and Usopp was very happy that he could impart his wisdom uponst this newcomer to the arts. Although luffy did already have some… incredible(?) art skills of his own already. It was instant chemistry for them honestly, their synergy just clicked and before they knew it, they were besties.

Sanji- works in the restaurant thats underneath the ASL brothers’ apartment complex. Their fist encounter with the restaurant was not of them going in to eat there, though. The trio were throwing around the ol’ pig skin in the street in front of their complex when luffy failed to catch the ball, and accidentally ricocheted it into the front window of the Baratie, through the eating area, over the counter, and into Mr. Zeff’s face. Zeff stormed out of the eatery and asked which of them destroyed his glass and hit him in the head

And luffy looks over and notices his brothers selling him out and is like “HEY!!! D:” So luffy was stationed as the place’s chore boy and met sanji while working there. 2 years later the debt was repayed, sanji and luffy are friends, and the Baratie is ASL’s fav eating place due to the great food, delightfully violent vibes, and great company.

thats all for now, hope you enjoyed!

#my art #one piece #one piece fan art #monkey d. luffy #headcanons #east blue crew #roronoa zoro #sanji #vinsmoke sanji #usopp #nami #one piece modern au #straw hat crew

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moody-alcoholic · 2 months

Text

Truth

I am not ignorant to the fact I’m writing a gay sex scene and everyone is hanging out in Syria. Resources below.

Guardians of Equality Movement

Syria LGBTQI+ Resources

Equaldex LGBT rights in Syria

I cant stop writing for this series. Every time I say I'll take a break I pump out another outline...

MDNI +18 content

Summary: Ghoap x Reader, throuple. Slow burn (sorry but not sorry). 2.7k words. Reader is female (she/her), army nurse, non descript physical features, names used: Ashe.

CW: MDNI +18 content Mentions of torture, torture, smut, blowjob (male receiving & giving), language. First proper Johnny x Simon scene, IDK it just felt right...

Previous parts - masterlist - next part

Enjoy <3

Johnny was grabbing something to eat in the canteen when he watched Ghost walked over to him. He knew something was wrong, he had that cold look in his eyes. The one he gets when he has to focus on the job and nothing else matters, not even him. Johnny swallowed hard standing up to meet Ghost.

“Come.” It’s all he says but it makes the hairs stand up on the back of Johnny’s neck. Johnny follows they walk into an observation room. Johnny gasps when he sees you handcuffed the table head hanging down.

“What happened?” Johnny asked looking round the room his eyes falling on Jack who’s stood there arms crossed.

“We believe she’s responsible for the murder of the doctor.” Jack says. Johnny laughs, looking around at everyone else being serious.

“Christ, what’s the evidence?” Johnny asked.

“Her ID was used to withdraw large amounts of insulin which is believed to be the cause of death.” Johnny looked at Jack shocked then at Price.

“Has she said anything?” Johnny asked feeling sick. There is no way you did that, this has to be a set up, something… Johnny just knew it in his gut, you were innocent.

“No, she’s not talking.” Price said, Johnny could hear something in his voice. Sadness? Annoyance?

“I heard you are very good at your job lieutenant,” Jack says taking a step closer to Ghost.

“‘Pends on what you heard.” Ghost replies remaining still, looking through the one way glass you’ve not moved, not wanting them to see your pained expression.

“I heard you can get people to talk, and we really need her to talk.” Jack says.

“We can try other ways before sending Ghost in.” Price says. Jack scoffs.

“If she’s been trained by the enemy she won’t break.” He says walking to the door.

“You have 24 hours to get her to talk or you’re out of here.” Everyone looked at Price. He went to sit down.

“You heard him, make her talk.” Price says.

“We don’t torture innocent people.” Ghost’s voice is level, he still hasn’t moved.

“We’re not torturing anyone just question her you’ve got to buy me some time, look like you’re doing your jobs so I can figure out a solution.” Price sighs.

“It’s wrong.” Johnny says. Price sighs again getting up.

“LT, Gaz go to security I want anything you can find, from the moment she wakes up in the morning to the second she’s asleep. She takes a piss I want to know about it, where her card was swiped who has seen her anything, and quickly before Jack can replace staff.” Price says as he walks over to Johnny.

“Come on let’s go have a chat with her, maybe she’ll tell us something useful” Price says his hand on Johnny’s shoulder. Johnny knows Price is trying to calm him but there is nothing on the face of the world right not that can slow his mind. He looks back through the window, guilt rises up as Ghost and Gaz leave the room. It’s times like this Johnny envies Simon being able to hide his face. Price squeezes his shoulder he looks in Price’s eyes, they look sad understanding. It doesn't make Johnny feel any better.

——————————

You can’t look at Simon’s eyes when he’s the room, the caramel eyes you used to lose yourself in, they’re just dark now, dark and uncaring. Johnny’s in sometimes, he won’t even look at you let alone in your eyes any more, the eyes you used to look in for comfort, love, hope. You don’t know what's worse. Price is the one who questions you, always the same questions.

How did you do it?

Why did you do it?

Who do you work for?

How long have you known about 141?

Did you get close to them on purpose?

Did you use them to get information on 141?

Why?

He never says their names, Johnny, Simon. It’s always just ‘them’ he doesn’t have to say their names, you know who he means. Maybe you did betray them? Maybe this was all your fault?

By the second day you can’t remember the doctors name, just the fact he’s leaving a kid and a wife behind. You’re moved into a windowless cell, you’re woken up at random times, you’re starting to lose track of time. It’s only after what you think is the third day it becomes violent. Jack is the only one who’s violent, he’s around a lot more, there are new questions.

Why this base?

Why now?

Do you know anything about the arms sales to Al-qatala?

Have you ever been to Urzikstan?

Why kill an innocent doctor?

Why insulin?

Why are you betraying 141?

Why?

Jack is the only one who will look you in the eye, he likes to look you in the eyes but he’s not kind. You become numb to the attacks, the repetitiveness of the torture, you hate that word, torture, it makes you feel guilty. You’re not guilty. Or maybe you are.

“I wouldn’t use insulin.” You say after a particularly rough session.

“What’s that?” jack asks, his face up in yours but you can still only just make out his features, nose, lips, chin, in your blurry haze he just looks angry.

“If I was going to kill him I wouldn’t use insulin, too easy to be traced.” He doesn't like that answer, he doesn’t like anything you say if it’s true or not.

You enjoy Gaz’s visit’s, he’s the member of 141 you had not met yet, he brings you food, soup or rice mostly. He doesn't question you, doesn't talk to you. Just tries to feed you food, or at least swallow gulps of water that burn your throat. He doesn’t need to do this for you, you don’t know him, he makes you feel strangely guilty. You used to spit out the food not accepting anything from him, when he said they would start tube feeding you, you relented accepting the spoonful's of thick soup or rice and beans. He’s got kind eyes.

You don’t see Simon or Johnny anymore, maybe they’ve given up on you, maybe they don’t care. Jack tells you they don’t care. Price is there sometimes you think, it’s getting harder to tell, the passage of time becoming almost impossible to follow, you think it’s been 3 days, maybe 4, maybe 5. Your stomach growls, you haven’t seen the sunlight in days. Your body hurts from being upright all the time.

“You should give her a break.” It’s Simon’s voice that pulls you out of your half conscious state. You see him stood in the door way, all black, his face covered. It’s not the voice you know, not the kind voice you’re used to it’s something different. It makes you shiver, makes the hairs stand up on your body. You try not to cry, only letting tears fall down your face after Gaz has been, then you know you’ll be left alone for a few hours. You don’t want to let them break you but it’s becoming harder to think.

Someone bursts bursts through the door to the room pinning Jack to the wall. The noise makes you jump and you try to lift your head up but it’s too hard, your neck hurts. You blink hearing shouting, then you feel hands on your face, it feels like Johnny’s hands they’re warm he’s forcing you to look at his face. Everything is blurry you try to squint. You feel movement behind you.

“I’m so sorry it took us so long love.” It’s Johnny’s voice you’re sure, your head is spinning though, you can’t tell. Your eyes move past Johnny, you think you see Simon, you think that’s him, you feel your head slump in Johnny’s hand as your restraints are cut lose. You must of blacked out for a second because the next thing you know is being on the floor. Johnny scoops you up in his arms and you lean up against his chest.

“it's over now, we've got you.” Johnny whispers in your ears. You’re blinded by lights as Johnny carries you out to the room to the medbay. You recognise the smell, that’s a good thing you’re not totally broken, you can smell the clean sheets, the smell of antiseptic. There are hands all over you now, people touching you, so many lights. You reach for Johnny, where did he go? You start to panic trying to pull yourself up. Is it a trick? Are they doing this to finally try and break you?

“Johnny!” You call searching for his hands. You feel a sharp pain travel down your arm. You feel your breath catch in your throat, your body being pressed down. Maybe this is the end you’re in too much pain and too tired to tell. You feel your body slump down as ringing grows louder in your ears, it doesn’t take long before everything goes black.

——————————

Johnny wakes to Simon’s hands on his shoulders. He looks over at your body still unconscious, still with tubes shoved down your throat. Simon pulls a chair up next to him, Simon’s started caring less and less who sees them together, especially at night.

“The doc’s say the swelling in her head’s gone down.” Johnny says leaning forward in his chair.

“When was the last time you slept?” Simon asks him.

“Got a nice kip before you woke me.” Johnny replies. Simon sighs, his hand running up the back of Johnny’s neck.

“You really should get some sleep, some proper sleep.” Simon says. Johnny scoffs.

“4 days,” he says, looking back up at you.

“4 day’s, we let her suffer.” Johnny says quieter. Simon sighs his forehead resting on Johnny. Simon know’s how guilty Johnny feels, he feels the same too, he’s just better at hiding it.

“Come.” Simon says getting up extending his hand out for Johnny. Johnny looks up at him blinking.

“Give me five minutes.” Simon pleads. Johnny sighs standing up and following him. He lets Simon guide him all the way to the dorms into Simon’s room. Johnny has never left the bedside since you had been moved to Damascus. Simon had tried to get some alone time with him but he can tell Johnny’s guilt weighs heavy on his shoulders, he want’s to be there when you wake.

Simon pulls Johnny into his room, locking the door. Johnny tries to protest but Simon is too quick, his hands guiding Johnny’s hips pushing him against the wall. Simon’s hand slips under the front of his mask pulling it off over his head, he looks up at Johnny his thumb stroking his cheek. Simon looks almost sad, he can see the pain in Johnny’s eyes, the anger, he feels it too.

Simon presses his lips onto Johnny, forcing his tongue in his mouth as his hands reach under his shirt. Johnny seems to relax for a second enjoying the taste of Simon on his lips, playing with his tongue. Simon pulls away moving to Johnny’s neck planting little kisses all the way down to his collar bones. His head tips back hitting the wall as Simon pulls Johnny’s shirt over his head.

“Si, we shouldn’t leave her.” Johnny says as Simon is burying his head into Johnny's neck.

“She’ll be fine.” Simon says his voice low, almost a groan, as he continues to run his tongue down Johnny’s neck, Johnny’s hands moving up Simon’s back eventually running his fingers through his hair. Johnny doesn’t fight Simon, enjoying the feel of his husbands hands on his body as Simon’s hands slip under Johnny’s waistband pulling his trousers and boxers down. Simon is moving slow, slow and gentle working his hands down Johnny’s stomach to his abdomen, Johnny is almost desperate gripping Simon’s hair as he moves his tongue round Johnny’s body.

“Si..” Johnny moans as Simon’s hands find their way to Johnny’s semi-hard cock. Simon want’s to almost beg Johnny to relax, instead running his hand up and down his shaft. Johnny presses his forehead on Simon’s chest moaning as he pushes his hands slipping under Simon’s shirt. Johnny trembles as Simon uses both his hands to pleasure him, his breathing becoming faster. Simon keeps Johnny’s body pressed up against the wall as Johnny starts thrusting his hips, fucking Simon’s hands. Johnny had felt this many times before, Simon giving him pleasure, but never quite like this, his emotions high, endorphins pumping through his body, Johnny starts to tense again Simon pulls away, a whimper leaving Johnny’s lips.

“On the bed.” Simon says guiding him over as Johnny blindly follows his instructions laying flat. Simon takes his boots and the rest of his pants off flinging them to the side. Johnny lays his head back on the pillows as Simon licks the precum off Johnny’s tip making him moan his hands desperately trying to grab Simon’s hair. Simon smiles then thrusts his mouth round his cock taking him all the way to the hilt.

The pleasure is almost overwhelming, Simon can feel it, Johnny’s body shaking a mix of pleasure and stress. Simon doesn't stop his hands running up Johnny’s chest as he positions himself in a more comfortably to suck him off. Johnny moans and gasps as Simon’s tongue presses into the underside of Johnny’s shaft, Simon can feel him twitching in his mouth enjoying each one as he get’s closer to the edge.

Simon can read Johnny’s body like a book, Johnny thinks he’s sly hiding his movements, his cheeky side glances, the heavy petting Johnny does when he’s in the mood, the way his fingers move around Simon’s body forcing his attention. He thinks he’s good at hiding it but Simon knows him, Simon loves him and right now Simon knows he needs to make Johnny relax.

Johnny’s hips are thrusting again Simon’s hands grip his waist trying to keep it in place. Johnny moans Simon’s name as he cums. Simon likes that, hearing Johnny call his name in the heat of the moment, Simon feels his own cock twitching in his pants as he rides Johnny through the orgasm making sure that Johnny is well and truly satisfied before pulling his mouth away. Simon enjoys the taste of Johnny’s cum in his mouth, the feel of his hot seed hitting the back of his throat. Johnny is still panting when Simon moves, sliding up next to him pulling his head on his chest.

Johnny moves to rest on his chest his still heartbeat still racing, Simon takes exaggerated breaths and Johnny subconsciously follows him. Simon reaches down pulling the duvet over Johnny, kissing his face running his fingers through his hair.

“You need to rest,” Simon says wrapping his arms round Johnny stroking his back. Johnny’s breathing starts to steady as Simon lowers his voice.

“You do this on purpose,” Johnny says sleepily. Simon smiles, he does do it on purpose. Johnny needs to rest, he’s no good to anyone if he can’t think straight.

“I’ll wake you if anything happens, I promise.” Simon says kissing his forehead.

——————————

The knock at the door pulls Johnny out his sleep, he jolts awake almost fighting over Simon to get out of bed.

“Easy.” Simon says as he moves swinging his legs out so Johnny can get up.

“You said you’d wake me if anything happened.” Johnny sounds frustrated puling his trousers and shirt on.

“This is the first thing that’s happened.” Johnny throws Simon’s mask at him opening the door before he gets chance to put it on. It’s only Price.

“She’s awake, she’s asking for you.” Price says. Johnny shoves his feet into his boots as Simon gets up off the bed moving over to the door. Johnny looks back at Simon smiling and rushes out the room pushing past Price. Simon follows Price stopping him in the doorway.

“What do you want to tell her about Jack?” Price asks. Simon sighs.

“Laswell found anything?” Simon asks walking with Price, he shakes his head.

“Still looking for a connection, he’ll be punished for the way he questioned her, demoted at the very least, depends on what they feel like. Theres no evidence he spoofed her card we’re lucky there were so many witnesses. We’re lucky we could clear her name so quick.” Price says. It still took 4 days.

“Think he can justify his actions?” Simon asks.

“Let’s see, we’ve got other things to focus on now.” Price walks into her room Simon hangs back for a second. A wave of guilt washing over him, he just wanted to hold her jump into bed with her, apologise. 4 days we let her suffer, Johnny’s words replaying in his head. Never again, he promises himself.

Next part

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