#and yet. despite everything. it’s still them

[munsonsmixtapes]

Take a Dive

Eddie Munson x fem!reader

you and your best friend Eddie go skinny dipping in Lover's Lake where your friendship will never be the same again

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) unprotected sex (wrap it before tap it) hurt/comfort

The lake is completely deserted when Eddie’s van pulls up onto the sand. You don’t even know why you’re there or what you’re doing, you just started driving aimlessly when Eddie insisted that you got into the driver’s seat. You’re not going to lie and say that you weren’t surprised when Eddie tossed you his keys when you left his trailer. 

The only reason why you even left was because the two of you are bored and all of your usual places are closed because of how late it was. And now it’s almost midnight and you’re at Lover’s Lake because it was the first thing you could think of that you would have access to. 

Eddie turns to you to ask why you decided to come here, but you’re out of the van before he can speak. He’s quick to follow you, curious to see what you’re up to, but you just plant yourself on the sand, pulling a plastic bag out of your pocket along with the lighter you always carry around. 

He sits next to you as you pull a joint out of the bag before lighting up and taking a drag before passing it off to him. This is how you normally spend your weekends together, but it’s nice to have a change of scenery. The moon reflects off the water in front of you and it looks so pretty, so inviting. It almost makes you want to go for a swim despite how cold it will most likely be. 

You and Eddie pass the joint back and forth until it’s gone and you put it back in the bag that goes back into your pocket before you lie back on the sand, not caring if it gets in your hair or on your clothes. Eddie joins you and the two of you talk nonsense like you usually do, never needing drugs to do. 

You think that’s why you and Eddie are such good friends. You get each other in ways that no one else does, platonic soulmates as Robin once put it and as you turn to Eddie, who’s already looking at you, you begin to think that she’s right. He smiles at you and you mimic it, holding out your hand for him to take and he does, giving it a squeeze before turning back to stare at the sky. 

It’s times like these when you wonder how no one has snatched him up yet. He’s an absolute catch and any man or woman would be lucky to have him. You know a big reason as to why he’s chronically single is because he wants to be. He says he’s better that way, but you think most of his objection to settling down is that he’s still hurt from how he was treated back in Hawkins. It was the reason why the two of you packed up and left because he couldn’t take it anymore.

To them, he was nothing but a freak and that’s something that you still can’t seem to wrap your head around. Eddie always has been and will continue to be the goofy guy you’ve been friends with since you were in diapers. He’s nothing but a sweetheart and you really wished more people could have seen that. That they would have taken just a moment to realize that he was never actually evil and neither was the game he and his friends were playing.

All Eddie’s ever wanted in his entire life is to be loved. And he’d never tell you that all of that stuff about being insecure was just a cover because he’s been in love with you his entire life. He always tells you everything, but this is the one secret he’s taking to his grave. He can’t risk either of you getting hurt so he thinks it’s best to just keep quiet about the whole thing. 

Your mind drifts back to the lake and how nice it would be to swim in it, your need to do so getting even stronger with the weed in your system. Before you can stop yourself, you’re standing to your feet. You pass off the joint as you remove your shoes and socks before going for your pants. You know you only have one chance to do this and you’re going to take it. Eddie doesn’t seem to bat an eye as you take off your jacket, but he thinks he’s missed something as you start unbuttoning your jeans. He doesn’t know why you’re taking off your clothes, but who is he to deny you?

“What are you doing?” He asks as he stands, more curious than anything. 

“I’m going for a swim,” you tell him as you pull your pants down to reveal the thong you’re wearing. You don’t even seem to be phased as you strip in front of your best friend who hasn’t seen you naked since-well ever. Unless you count the baths you took together when you were younger but you both were too young to remember. He’s not complaining, though. He’s enjoying the show. Maybe a little too much since he can feel himself getting harder by the second. 

“You can join me, if you want.” Yeah, there’s no way he’s passing this up so he wordlessly starts to get undressed, trying to make how eager he is so obvious. Now you’re both in your underwear and Eddie thinks you’re fucking with him as you stare at him, slowly taking off your thong as you so. There’s a flirty look in your eye and Eddie’s applauding himself for his self control because he’s so close to taking you right there against his truck. 

You toss your bra into the pile of your now discarded clothes and Eddie thinks he’s going to come right there as he takes in your hard nipples, feeling drool collecting in his mouth as he thinks about taking them into his mouth and giving them a suck. 

He shakes his head and takes off his boxers, the two of you now completely naked and you shamelessly check him out, your gaze stopping at his rock hard cock and you have to step closer so you can see it better. Eddie feels like he should be embarrassed, but he’s not. And you don’t think he should be, especially because you take it as a huge compliment that he’s that sexually attracted to you. 

You turn towards the water and get deep enough before taking a dive. The water is freezing, but you stay under for a little longer, trying to figure why you want to fuck Eddie so badly right now. Sure, you’ve had thoughts about him, but you’ve never actually wanted to act on them until now. Seeing him, all of him awakened something inside you  and now you can’t stop thinking about how badly you want him inside of you. 

You surface and turn around to see Eddie behind you, his face even more pale than usual. He looks worried sick and you have no idea why. He swims closer and you move back, knowing that if he gets too close, you’ll do something you really shouldn’t. 

But before you can get too far, you find yourself grabbing hold of his hands and resting them on your waist before pressing your chest against his. Your arms wrap around his neck, leaning your face close to his, watching his eyes the entire time. A kiss isn’t the same a fucking. You just want a taste to get him out of your system. 

Eddie doesn’t know what you’re doing or why you’re doing it, but he's not going to push you away. He can’t. He wants to know what your lips feel like once and for all. He wants to know if you’re as good of a kisser as he thinks you are. 

Your lips find his gently, a soft little kiss to the corner of his mouth to test the waters. Eddie doesn’t like how teasing you are so he takes matters into his own hands, chasing your lips with a featherlight peck. He doesn’t want to scare you off even though he’s itching to do much more. 

He pecks your lips a few more times until they all melt into one, his own slotting between them as he kisses you softly. His hands dig into your waist which juxtaposes how he’s kissing you and that just tells you how hungry he is for more. 

You move his hands to your ass and wrap your legs around his waist as you nip at his bottom lip, causing Eddie to let out a whine. You feel his cock against you and you need him now more than ever. He seems to think the same because before you can even make the suggestion, he’s sliding inside you, his fingers digging into your ass as he moves slowly, thrusting in and out of you over and over. 

A moan escapes your mouth as you throw your head back giving Eddie the opportunity to take advantage of your exposed neck. He presses soft kisses to the skin before going straight in for a hard bite as his thrusts pick up causing you to mewl. 

“You’re so pretty like this,” he mumbles against your skin. “This is even better than I imagined.” 

“Oh, so you’ve imagined this?” You tease and he bites down on your neck even harder this time causing you to gasp as you scratch your nails down his back in response. 

He’s still moving at a slower pace, but this is actually how you prefer it. A lot of the men you’ve slept with go so fast like it’s a race and it’s over before you’ve even had time to enjoy it. You’ve told this to Eddie a few times and it seemed like he was listening. 

And that’s the thing about Eddie. He always listens to you no matter what you’re saying. Whether it’s nonsense when you’re both high on whatever he’s gotten his hands on or if you’re reading to him from a book you’ve gotten from the library, it doesn’t matter. He loves the sound of your voice. He loves you and seeing you with those losers you always seem to be going out with pisses him off. He’s right there and he hates that you can’t see that. 

He’d never tell you that, though. He loves what the two of you have and doesn’t want to risk losing you. So he just sits there and listens to you talk about your terrible dates, complaining about how there are no nice guys when he’s right there. It’s pathetic, really and he hates thinking about it. How he’s wrapped around your goddamn finger and you don’t even notice just how badly he wants you. 

“Of course I have,” he breathes. “I think about it all the time.” 

He’s said too much but you seem into it. And as you buck your hips against his, he’s really hoping that you feel the same way. It would make the whole thing far less embarrassing for him. But he doesn’t think you will because after all, this is just a fuck for you while it means the world to Eddie. 

“Can you keep a secret?” You ask and Eddie nods furiously, just knowing that he’s about to hear something filthy. You’ve shared dirty secrets with him many times before but he just knows that this one will be different. 

“Of course I can,” he nods and you push some of his wet hair behind his air as you bring your lips right up to it. You’re taking the lead now, riding him as you whisper your secret and Eddie swears that this is the most turned on he’s ever been.

“You know this summer when you wore those really short shorts almost every day?” You ask and Eddie knows exactly what you’re talking about. Robin got them for his birthday as a joke, but he started wearing them around you to hopefully make you see him in the way he wanted you to. 

“Mhm,” he nods and you pull him even closer, your lips so close to his ear that they’re almost pressed up against it.

“Well, I get myself off every night thinking about them.” Eddie thinks he’s going to come right there at your confession and he’s trying so hard not to, but just the vision of you getting yourself off is making him get there even faster. 

And before he can stop it, he’s reaching his orgasm, making sure to pull out of you as he comes, his eyes shut tight, his head thrown back as he lets it happen, still letting you stay attached to him as you watch him. 

“Jesus,” he moans as it reaches its peak and once it’s over, he slumps over you, resting his head on your shoulder. It’s partly because he’s tired and partly because he’s too embarrassed about what just happened to look you in the eye. 

So you hold him for a second, your fingers moving up and down his back lazily as you assure him that it’s okay, that he has no reason to be embarrassed, that you’re actually flattered by it. And you are. You had no idea how attracted he was to you and now feel like an idiot because you were too stupid to see it. 

How long had he felt that way and how long had he been hiding it? You don’t know why he’s so ashamed of it. He’s just attracted to you physically, right? You feel the same way about him so you don’t know he’s hiding from you. 

Just when you’re about to suggest that you head back, he pulls back to look at you and there’s something in his eyes that you’ve never seen in the almost seventeen years that the two of you have been friends. His eyes are the softest they’ve ever been and you’re now scared of what he’s going to say. 

“I love you,” he says, those honey eyes boring into yours and your heart pounds at his confession. You almost want to tell him that you don’t feel the same, but you know that’s not true. He’s been someone who was always there, treating you the way you should have been treated without asking for anything in return. He was doing it just because that was who he was and because it was what you deserved. 

You went to all of those losers because you had been afraid of taking a chance on Eddie. He’s been your best friend your entire life and you were terrified of losing the best thing you’ve ever had. You don’t think you’re afraid of taking a chance on him anymore, though. You think it’s time you claimed what was rightfully yours. 

“I love you too,” you reply and a grin breaks out on Eddie’s face as he pulls you into a kiss, the both of you smiling into the kiss as your legs wrap tighter around him, wanting to keep him there even though you know he’s not going anywhere. 

“How about we celebrate elsewhere?” Eddie asks as he pulls away, a flirty tone taking over his voice. 

“What kind of celebration?” You reply, batting your eyelashes as you remove yourself from him. 

“I think you know what kind of celebration,” he winks, grabbing hold of your hand pulling you along as the two of you swim to the shore, climbing into the back of the van where you spend the rest of the morning until the sun comes up showing how much you love each other when you aren’t saying the three words. And there’s no place that either of you would rather be.

[angellic4l]

thank you’s - s.r

in which; sunshine!bau!reader is demeaned by an officer on a case and season2!spencer sticks up for her.

content: fem!reader, reader described as having ‘girly’ flair, sexism, mention of blood/bloodstain, mainly fluff, protective spencer, and i think that’s it but lmk.

a/n: i just rawdog it and write on tumblr as a draft so i have 0 clue how many words there are. also, thank you all so much for the love on my first fic, i adore you all. these are my babies now and i hope you love them.

Warm sunlight warms the skin on your back while you’re crouched down at the latest crime scene, examining a bloodstain on the concrete floor. Despite it being November, it’s still considerably warm in Texas, a big contrast to Virginia weather for sure.

Despite official policies about dress code and such, you’re still a fun person, so you like to add your own girly flair to the professional attire you sport almost every single day. It doesn’t harm anybody, it doesn’t break any rules, and it’s cute.

However, pair the cute flair you add to your clothes with your enthusiastic, optimistic, ‘happy go lucky’ personality, and the fact that you’re a woman, and it causes people to make their own assumptions - typically sexist ones.

After doing bloodstain analysis on the red splatter that coats part of the parking lot’s floor, you go to stand up from your crouching position. Mid motion, you spot a small note on the floor, tucked under the wheel of a car. Crime scene analysis requires everything and anything to be processed, and the unsub has yet to make contact with authorities, so you make the decision that it’s worth looking at before motioning for Spencer to come over after seeing him somewhat idle.

He begins to make his way over from the other end of the parking lot as you stay crouching, waiting for him to come over because you don’t have gloves on. What you don’t see after you turn back around is an officer, an average sized male with blonde hair who appears to be slightly older than you, approaching you at the very same time.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doin’, workin’ for the FBI? You sure yer pretty little brain can handle allathat, darlin’?” A man’s voice; a thick, Texan drawl, coated with a somewhat flirty tone, yet at the very same time, it’s seeping with disdain - ambivalence.

Unfortunately, you’re used to that tone of voice and can recognise it all too well. It’s not going to be the first time you hear it, and it certainly won’t be the last, no matter how progressive times are or how you express yourself.

Standing up, spinning on your heels, ready to give the - officer? that’s poor - a rehearsed response to ensure your own safety, yet keep a boundary, you see Spencer stood behind the average sized, blonde haired man that you don’t recognise. He’s giving the officer one of his looks, his face saying everything, as usual, despite the officer not being able to see it.

Spencer’s fully aware his face is saying everything without it coming out of his lips, he’s completely baffled at how someone could say something so demeaning to anybody, much less you. You’re probably the sweetest person he’s ever met, always so supportive and enthusiastic. He feels protective of you. He doesn’t even realise he does until the words are out.

“She’s perfectly capable of doing her job, if not more so than other male agents, not that it concerns you whatsoever. And I’m perfectly capable of reporting a sexist comment to your supervisor.”

Spencer’s tone is defensive, no, protective, and you can feel heat rushing to your cheeks. It’s the bare minimum - sticking up for someone to a discriminatory comment - and you know that. It’s more so that Spencer hates confrontation, but he’s doing it, and it’s for you. Thank God for the Texas weather masking your fluster as warmth.

With the threat of his supervisor being involved, the officer offers a mumbled apology before walking away, almost as if his ‘tail’ is tucked between his legs, like a scolded puppy. A soft laugh elicits from your lips at the sight. Once the sexist officer has gone, Spencer’s eyes find you, his expression changing to one of concern.

“Hey, you okay? That was demeaning,” the brunette offers, his hand coming to rub the back of his neck, a habit he has, typically more often around you.

“‘M okay. Used to it, unfortunately. Thank you, though, Spence. That was sweet; I know how much you hate confrontation,” you say, giving him a soft smile as you do.

It’s Spencer’s turn to blush now, you calling his actions sweet and that soft smile - god, that smile - flushing his cheeks a light pink while his hand still rubs at the back of his neck.

“Oh, you don’t need to thank me. Anyway, you called me over here. What did you find?”

With his question, you’re quickly reminded of why you did call him over, before the sexist comment and mini confrontation that’d ensued with the officer’s presence, but there’s something you want to do first.

“I don’t need to thank you, but I want to,” you reassure him before stepping forward, moving closer to him, leaning up on your tiptoes, turning your head to face Spencer’s cheek, and slowly placing a chaste kiss to his already pink cheek.

Spencer’s eyes widen before they close, realising what you’re doing and wanting to savour the feeling of your lips on his skin. Unfortunately for him, the brief contact is gone just as quickly as it had started. He opens his eyes again and moves his right hand from the back of his neck to touch his cheek, realising what he did in front of you, and acting as if he was wiping away your lip gloss stain.

“Oh, uh.. thanks. Anyway, the, uhm, you called me over to see…?”

Silently, secretly, he wills the feeling of your lips on his skin to never leave his memory, not even when he’s old and grey, and maybe, just maybe, he wishes that you’ll be by his side when he is.

[the-modern-typewriter]

hi!! i love your work so much :) could i request something where the protagonist starts to fall in love with their rival (who the protagonist 100% loathed before because they were a total asshole) only to find out that their rival has been possessed the entire time they were falling for them? and then they confront their rival (who’s still possessed) about it? thank you so much!

"Ah," their rival - no, the demon - said, at the sight of them. "What gave it away?"

"You're not them."

"And small mercies for that, am I right?"

"You can't keep possessing them. It's - are they in there? Still?"

The demon's head tilted a fraction.

The thought that their rival might be inside the demon still, unable to move or speak or make themselves known in any way, was a terrible one. The protagonist had kissed those lips. Had their rival been inside the whole time, disgusted and screaming?

It felt like a violation. They felt themselves a violating ting.

"Are they in there?" the protagonist demanded. Their hands clenched.

"Yes," the demon said. "That is how possession works."

The protagonist swallowed. Bile burned down their throat. "You have to get out of them. You can't - you need to leave."

"Are you going to try and exorcise me?"

"If I have to!"

"You don't like them," the demon said. "They didn't like you."

The demon moved closer, and even with the gig up, the way they crossed the room was a flawless imitation. The protagonist couldn't see the stitches, the points where their rival became the demon, except in the simple fact that the demon was better.

"I like you," the demon said. "And I know you like me, despite your every expectation, despite the stench of this body's history with you. You don't want them back. Do you?"

"It's not your body."

"I am the one caring for it and using it."

"But it's not -" The protagonist floundered, and their fists curled ever tighter, nails biting into their palms hard enough to draw blood.

The demon's gaze flicked down. They took the protagonist's wrists, oh so gently, drawing them up to kiss the protagonist's knuckles, before they carefully but relentlessly smoothed out the protagonist's fingers.

The protagonist closed their eyes. The fury that had driven them to the room still lingered, yet with a mere touch the floodgates opened. Hurt. Horror. Sorrow. Betrayal. Disgust. The most dreadful longing because of course they wanted to keep the demon in front of them, of course they did.

"It's not right," the protagonist said, barely above a whisper.

"There are many shades of right and not right in this world of yours. Was this body a right thing previously, despite its tenant being what can only be described as a total asshole?"

"Being an asshole doesn't mean they deserve to spend the rest of their life stuck in the prison of you, screaming."

"Would it make you feel better if I told you that they're not screaming?"

"Would it be true if they did? What would be the alternative? Because they don't-" The protagonist focused their attention on their entwined hands, the soft and intimate brush of the demon's fingers over their skin. "They don't want me. They would never want this."

"Then they are a fool, because you are the most lovely thing on this planet."

"Don't."

A dozen new questions ripped through them. Did the demon truly care for them, or were they simply doing what they needed to do to keep their new body? Was it a trick? A manipulation?

The demon's hand shifted up to cup, to cradle, the protagonist's jaw.

"They are not screaming," the demon said, and if it was a lie, then it was a beautiful one. "They are sleeping."

"Sleeping?"

"Tucked away in a quiet corner of me," the demon said, "where they can't hurt you or anyone else. Safe. Peaceful."

That did not sound like demonic possession. It was their rival who'd always worked more closely with demons - the protagonist's specialty was ghosts - but everything they'd ever heard about demons suggested that they were nightmarish creatures. Bound by deals, but ever tricksters, out for their own again. Sometimes cruel and always amoral.

Possession was not a nap. It was not a mercy. The demon was definitely, absolutely, lying.

The demon leaned in to kiss their forehead. When the protagonist tensed but did not recoil, they kissed the protagonist's lips.

"Hell is a terrible place, my love," the demon murmured. "Don't send me back there. Don't send me away from you. Would you truly kill me to get them back? Is that what I deserve?"

"You're a parasite."

The demon's thumbs stroked the protagonist's cheeks. "I'm still the same as I've been all these months. The demon who loves you, despite everything. The demon you love. I'm better than they were, you know I am. You've told me."

"Yes."

"Nothing has to change," the demon said. "There is no screaming. There is only us. It can be only us. Nothing has changed."

Nothing had changed.

But everything had.

The protagonist kissed their demon, heart pounding, and planned their goodbye.

[notlongtolove]

between the sand and the stardust

burnt toast theory. the butterfly effect. invisible strings. it’s only human nature to try and make sense of the senseless. for all the what-ifs and could-have-beens, the alternate paths and lives you could’ve lived, this is the reality you’re in. you know—effects, theories, strings be damned—that you would’ve found each other.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: fluff

content: reader is up contemplating what life would be like if her and spencer had never met. spencer has a few reassuring things to say about it.

word count: 1.8k

note: inspired by this! spent the entire day nursing the post nye hangover and woke up in a haze to write this. god me whennnn

a line: I’d pray to every god out there, in every language I don’t speak, to find you in every universe where I haven’t found you yet.

If you came to me with a face I have not seen, with a voice I have never heard, I would still know you. Even if centuries separated us, I would still feel you. Somewhere between the sand and the stardust, through every collapse and creation, there is a pulse that echoes of you and I.

- lang leav

The world has a funny way of looking at things. A knack for folding coincidences into neat little narratives that we, its ever-curious observers, insist on unspooling. Burnt toast theory. The butterfly effect. Invisible strings. It’s only human nature, you suppose, to try and make sense of the senseless. Things happen—things that are just things—and yet, we stitch them together into stories, pull meaning from the chaos, weave threads where there might not be any at all. 

It didn’t make sense that you’d been eleven minutes late to the bus that morning, despite sprinting down the stairs with your laces undone. It didn’t make sense that Spencer’s train had broken down that day when the transit service proudly boasted a 92% on-time rate. It didn’t make sense that the last bus had rumbled away two minutes before you arrived, leaving you stranded at the stop with a dark-eyed boy and an easy smile. 

And it certainly didn’t make sense when you, who always preferred to keep your headphones in and your gaze down, had turned to him in pure desperation and said, “Do you want to split a cab?”

Now, 845 days, 21 hours, and 23 minutes later—Spencer keeps count, of course—you lie in bed, his arms wrapped around you with such love you almost can’t remember what it felt like to navigate the world without him.

You think about that morning sometimes. Would it have mattered if you’d woken up on time? If Spencer’s train hadn’t broken down? You would’ve slipped past each other like all strangers are meant to. You could have missed him entirely. The very thought makes your chest tighten.

And then there’s everything that came after. Maybe you’d still be grinding away at that dead-end job if Spencer hadn’t nudged you—no, shoved you—into applying for that writing scholarship. Maybe he wouldn’t taken some time off to go into teaching if he hadn’t seen how much it broke you when he was shot last year, your sobs echoing in the sterile hospital waiting room.

It’s terrifying to think about. How this moment, this minute, your life is just a single dot in a universe of shifting constellations. One singular version of a story that could have unfolded a million other ways.

You shift slightly, feeling the soft brush of Spencer’s breath against your neck. His arm tightens instinctively, pulling you closer, like even in sleep, he’s afraid to let you drift too far.

“What’re you thinking about, baby?” he murmurs.

“Nothing.”

“Liar,” he says softly, and you can hear the smile in his voice. He presses a kiss to your shoulder, a silent reassurance. “Tell me.” 

You shift, rolling onto your side to face him. The room is dim, illuminated only by the faint glow of the streetlight outside, but you can still make out the soft angles of his face, the curve of his lips, the shadow of his lashes against his cheek. His arm lifts briefly, giving you room to move, before settling back on your waist.

“Just...” You sigh, the words heavy as you trace invisible patterns on the blanket. ​​​​“How we met.”

“Mm,” Spencer hums thoughtfully. “Dingy bus stop. Very romantic.”

You huff a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “No, I mean... imagine if I hadn’t woken up late that morning. Or if you’d been on the train that didn’t break down. Isn’t that scary?”

He shifts slightly, propping himself up on one elbow to look at you fully. “What’s scary, baby?” he asks, his fingers drawing idle patterns on your hip.

You hesitate for a moment, then exhale. “Like… there’s a universe where we never met,” you say, your voice quieter now. “We’d be living our own lives. Separate. Strangers.” The words send a shudder through you. 

Spencer doesn’t answer right away, his gaze steady and thoughtful as he studies you. “That’d be a really sad life,” he says finally. 

You hum in agreement. “Imagine it. Nobody to sort your shelves for you. They’d be an absolute mess.”

“No one to bring you tea in bed every morning. Tragic.”

“No Mugi,” you add, your gaze flicking toward the end of the bed where the cat lies curled in a ball. The mention of his name earns a soft purr from him, a sound of sleepy approval.

“To be fair,” Spencer muses, “there probably would still be a Mugi. He’d just still be at the shelter, waiting for some mediocre parents to find him.”

“Yeah, probably parents who don’t spoil him rotten with treats every time he asks.”

Spencer chuckles, glancing toward the cat. “Let’s be honest, sweetheart. You’re the one who can’t say no to that face.” 

As if on cue, Mugi stretches languidly, front paws extending before he hops off the bed with a dramatic flick of his tail. He pads off into the other room, leaving the two of you alone in the quiet.

“See?” you sigh, your voice softer now. “Everything would be different. No tea. No Mugi. No you.” 

Spencer’s arm tightens around you, pulling you closer until your forehead brushes his. “But things aren’t different,” he says simply.

“I know, I know,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I... I don’t know. It’s so scary Spence. I just—”

“Any moment might be our last. Everything is more beautiful because we’re doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again,” he interrupts, his voice calm and steady. “Know where that’s from sweetheart?” 

You pull back slightly. “The Iliad,” you murmur. 

“Smart girl,” he grins, the dimple in his cheek making an appearance. His hand brushes a stray strand of hair from your face. “It's true,” he agrees. “A lot of things could be different. You could’ve been on time for the bus. My train might not have broken down. We might’ve never crossed paths.” His hand moves from your hair to your face, cupping your cheek. “You could’ve married your high school boyfriend if that asshole hadn’t cheated on you.”

“God, don’t remind me,” you groan, wrinkling your nose.

“And I,” he continues, his voice softening, “could’ve stayed in Vegas, never left, never thought there was anything more for me.”

You look away as you imagine these horribly bleak and sad alternate realities. Sure, it was hell catching your first love in the locker room with another girl but with the certainty you feel for Spencer now, it’s hard to feel anything other than grateful for everything that led you here. You think back to Spencer as a child—alone, hurting, and relentlessly bullied. Your heart twinges with the thought of the pain he’d endured. 

“But I didn’t,” he says, breaking the silence. He takes your hand, his fingers threading through yours as if he understands exactly what you’re thinking. “I’m here. You’re here. And so is Mugi, who is probably tearing apart the couch as we speak.” 

A soft laugh escapes you, though it’s shaky, and you squeeze his hand. Your chest tightens with something that feels an awful lot like gratitude.

“You know,” he says after a pause, his voice softer now, “I thank god every day that my train broke down.”

You glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “You don’t even believe in god.”

“I don’t,” he admits with a small smile, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “But I’d pray to every god out there, in every language I don’t speak, to find you in every universe where I haven’t found you yet.”

Your heart stutters in your chest. “Spence…” you manage, though his name barely makes it past the lump in your throat. 

“I mean it,” he says again. “I pray that every version of me deserves to know you in every possible world. To have this. I’d find you, no matter how many lives it took. Because finding you was the hard part. But loving you? That’s second nature.”

Your chest aches. It’s a wonderful kind of pain, as if your heart is trying to expand but can’t quite manage it—too happy, too loved.

“I think I’d find you too,” you say softly, the words tumbling out.

“Think?” Spencer repeats, mock affront in his tone. “I pour my heart out, and all I get is a think?”

You giggle as you halfheartedly swat at his chest. “You know what I mean.”

His hand catches yours, holding it over his heart, his fingers warm against yours. Before you can say more, he leans in, pressing a kiss to your lips—deep and unhurried. It lingers, pulling you closer, tinged with love and longing. 

When you finally pull apart, your forehead resting against his, you breathe out, “I love you.”

A soft smile spreads across his face, and he whispers, “I love you too, sweet girl.”

You close your eyes, letting the moment wash over you. “I think what we have… this… it’s more than fate, y’know?”

“Destiny?”

You shake your head, a small smile on your face.

“Oh, I’ve got it. Prophecy,” he teases.

You laugh, light and easy. “No, not that either.”

He quirks an eyebrow, waiting for your explanation.

“It’s like… it’s inevitable,” you say finally, searching for the right words. “You and me. No matter what. No matter where or when. It’s just… always supposed to happen. Even if fate didn’t allow it, even if destiny didn’t write it. I’d find you. I know I would.”

Spencer’s gaze softens. He cups your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks as he looks at you like you’re the only thing in the universe—To Spencer, you might as well be. It’s a gaze so tender it makes your chest ache all over again. 

“You’re everything,” he murmurs, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. 

“Technically, you have me to thank,” you say playfully. “I asked to share a cab.”

“And how’d you know I wouldn’t have just asked for your number?”

You catch each other's gaze for a moment and burst into laughter.

“Okay, fine,” Spencer concedes with a small smile. “I probably would’ve been a mess trying, but for the record, I really did want to ask.”

“Oh I’m sure, honey,” you tease, shifting closer to him.

“Let’s stop worrying about alternate realities and come back to this one yeah? It’s pretty damn good.”

You know Spencer’s right. For all the what-ifs and could-have-beens, the alternate paths and lives you could’ve lived, this is the reality you’re in. The one where he’s here, and so are you. You know, without a doubt now—effects, theories, strings be damned—that you would’ve found each other. 

It’s a certainty that transcends time and space, a quiet knowing that runs deep in your bones. No matter the paths you might have walked, no matter the lives you could have lived, it doesn’t matter. You share a love that demands to be seen and to be heard—An undeniable, inevitable reality. The best kind of love. 

It’s a love that insists on its own existence. 

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you for reading! feel free to like or reblog or comment or reply!

ᯓ★ song recs if you feel like it: invisible string by taylor swift (bc how could i not) margaret by lana del rey feat bleachers

[hanbinics]

'tis the damn season — m.s.

pairing ⟶ matthew sturniolo x !fem reader genre ⟶ angst, pining. word count ⟶ 4.3k

warnings ⟶ smut, unprotected sex, p in v, cheating.

snow blankets the small new england town, turning every road, roof, and branch into a picture-perfect image of the season. it’s the kind of stillness you can only find in winter—the muffled quiet that settles deep in your chest and makes you nostalgic for things you haven’t thought about in years.

you tighten your grip on the handle of your suitcase, gaze locked on the sturniolo household still standing tall before you. it looks the same as it always has with its weathered shutters and the christmas lights strung haphazardly along the gutters. the same inflatable santa bobs in the front yard, defying the frigid wind. it’s all so achingly familiar, and yet you know you’re only paying this much attention to avoid walking up those cement steps and facing the inevitable.

it's a strange feeling being here again, but you don’t have much of a choice. your parents had moved away after you left for college, uprooting the life they’d built here for a quieter one halfway across the country. visiting them for the holidays would have meant burning up the little vacation time you had left from school.

the sturniolos had offered without hesitation. they’d been like a second family to you growing up, and their door was always open. it was a comforting thought—or it would be if it didn’t mean facing the one thing you have to force yourself to stop thinking about.

before you can knock, the door swings open.

matt leans casually against the doorframe, hands shoved into the pockets of his baggy jeans. his hair is slightly mussed, like he’d just rolled out of bed, but he still looks good. he’d never really had a baby face in his teenage years, but somehow the cut of his jaw seems to get sharper every time you see him, the shadow of stubble decorating his pale skin in a way that nearly has you clenching your thighs. what remains almost always the same, however, are his eyes; bright and steady, holding an unreadable expression that flickers briefly only when landing on you.

“you’re early,” he says, voice low and even.

“you’re predictable,” you counter, lips twitching into a half-smile despite the way your heart skips a beat at the sound of his voice.

he raises an eyebrow, but you don't miss the subtle twitch of his mouth, like he's trying not to smile back at you. when you think he's going to respond, a light and airy voice cuts in before he can.

“matt? who’s at the door?”

your stomach tightens. you don’t have to see her to know who it is. the cheerful lilt in her voice is unmistakable, and you’d be lying if you said you haven’t spent an embarrassing amount of time looking through photos of her and matt on his mother’s facebook page. try as you might, that whole “forcing yourself to stop thinking about him” thing doesn’t always work.

“i’ll get your bag,” matt says quickly, stepping aside and avoiding your eyes entirely as you step into the painful world of complete nostalgia.

matt’s fiancé, willow, is everything you aren’t. she’s the type of girl that’s effortlessly kind, her smile bright enough to light up a room—forget needing a christmas tree. she reminds you of the kind of girl your mother used to beg for you to be, but she could never quite smooth out your rough edges, much to her dismay. you can’t help but think about how much she would love matt’s soon-to-be-wife, the thought making your gut coil painfully.

willow doesn’t seem to notice. she’s all too warm in the way she greets you, pulling you into a hug like you’d known each other for years.

“it’s so nice to finally meet you!” she breathes into your ear, her enthusiasm genuine. “matt’s told me so much about you.”

“has he?” you question, forcing a smile. but your curiosity is genuine, and you find yourself turning to chris just in time to catch sight of his shit-eating grin.

“you serious? kid couldn’t stop asking about how long you’d be here, when you’d be here. ‘s like havin’ to calm down a kid waitin’ to see santa,” he teases. you know he’s probably exaggerating, especially when matt mutters an obscenity while punching his brother’s shoulder, but you can’t help the warmth that spreads through your body anyway.

in all her perfectness, willow doesn’t seem to think twice about chris’s teasing. a laugh falls from her mouth instead, the pretty girl still beaming as she turns to you and nods.

“he really does talk about you all the time—about growing up here and all the memories you guys share. it’s sweet,” she admits, gaze full of nothing but adoration as her hand finds matt’s once he’s close enough to her, his usually pale cheeks harboring a bit of a pink flush to them now and his smile somewhat uncomfortable.

your heart twists painfully at her words, but your face remains neutral, only mustering up the smallest upturn to the corners of your mouth in response. you’re sure there’s truth to matt talking about you, but it mostly serves to remind you that he’s so curious because outside of these little trips home—which are few and far between—the two of you don’t talk.

you could say it’s because you’re both just so busy, that it’s hard to maintain a friendship with so much distance between the two of you, that your lives are just going in such different directions. but deep down, without a smoke screen and the fear of wearing your heart on your sleeve the way matt always has, you know unanswered texts and missed calls from the boy you’ve always considered to be home has truly driven a wedge—one you feel you can’t dig out anymore.

while matt says nothing about everyone basically speaking for him, you can tell he’s avoiding your gaze entirely, and guilt swirls in your chest even as mary lou and the rest of the sturniolos parade you around the house, showering you with the kind of attention you’ve never been fond of simply because it puts you in the spotlight.

but you let them because you return the love these people have always had for you, a genuine smile resting on your mouth when mary lou finally ushers you to the couch with a warm cup of hot chocolate tucked between your icy hands.

“sweetheart, it’s been too long!” she exclaims, shaking her head. “how’s life treating you? are you eating enough? you’re staying through new year’s, right?” she asks, kind eyes expectant. you can’t help but laugh softly at her string of questions.

“just through christmas,” you correct her, but the words feel hollow in your mouth and guilt comes with the delivery. it never fails to feel as though you’re running every time these trips come to an end.

“you should stay longer,” the older woman immediately responds, undeterred. “it’s not the holidays without you here.”

you breathe out an awkward laugh at that, the rest of the family beginning to chime in about the fact that you’re more than welcome to stay as long as you want, memories of past holidays soon being brought up. it’s all nice, and it makes you feel all the warm fuzzies that you don’t normally allow for yourself, but it doesn’t change your mind.

staying here any longer is dangerous, and you know it. for as long as you can remember, you’d ached to get out of here. growing up in a small town, surrounded by the same people and the same days, drove you absolutely crazy. you’d had big dreams from a young age, and you knew you’d do nothing about them if you stayed here.

as the family chatters around you, you can’t help but feel a pair of eyes on you. you don’t have to look at him to know it’s matt, but you do anyway. he’s leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching you with a quiet intensity. he hasn’t said much since you’d arrived, but then, he’s never been all that talkative. your mouth twitches at the corners, a soft, almost sad smile threatening your visage. you think he might return the sentiment, but you watch with disappointment as he pushes himself from the granite countertop supporting his rigid spine.

“you know where the guest room is,” he finally says, his voice cutting through the chatter.

all you can do is nod as you watch him disappear, your timid smile now disappearing all together, nothing but a quiet “thanks” falling from your lips that he doesn’t acknowledge.

the first night back was always the hardest. the familiarity of everything—the creak of the stairs, the hum of the heater kicking on—is both comforting and suffocating. it should be of no surprise to you when you find yourself waking up in the middle of the night in need of a distraction, but you quietly curse yourself anyway as you pad down the creaky stairs as carefully as you can.

when you turn the corner, you’re surprised to find matt already in the kitchen, his back turned to you as the soft refrigerator light pours over the otherwise dark room. you’re silent for a moment as you stand in the open frame, arms crossed over your chest while you just watch him, relishing in the fact that he’s not staring at you with those longing blue eyes—the ones that seem to be constantly trying to figure you out while simultaneously reading you like a book.

after another few seconds, you finally build enough courage to speak. “couldn’t sleep either, huh?”

when the brunette turns, he doesn’t seem all that surprised that it’s you standing there, but you suppose it isn’t odd. you’d know the sound of his voice anywhere, and apparently it’s the same for him. still, it doesn’t calm the rapid pace of your heart inside your chest when he looks at you.

“usually up around this time anyway,” he admits with a shake of his head. you watch as he reaches for another glass from the cupboard, and then sets it next to his before filling them with water. “willow isn’t great at sharing the bed.” a roll of his eyes accompanies the confession, but you don’t miss the fondness to his voice, and though you laugh quietly in response, it comes out painfully forced.

“you’re, um... you’re really happy, huh?” you find yourself asking, voice barely above a whisper.

a beat passes. matt’s gaze flickers from you to the glass of water his fingers occupy the rim of before finally answering, “yeah. willow’s... she’s great.”

the words hang in the air, their weight pressing down on both of you. you nod, forcing a smile. “she is.”

there’s another few seconds of awkward, tense silence, the only sound heard being the contact of glass against granite as matt slides one of the cups towards you carefully until you can reach it for yourself. you offer a polite smile as you step closer to him, fingers wrapping around the coolness of the glass. you want the uncomfortable weight settling around the two of you to go away, but you don’t know how.

finally, the brunette clears his throat. “you leaving after christmas?” he asks, his voice steady but quiet. you figure it’s just a way to change the subject, but your gaze narrows slightly with curiosity as you look at him, nodding your head once.

“that’s the plan,” you admit, though it feels sour on your tongue.

you watch as he nods, his jaw tightening. “figures.”

your fingers tighten around the glass, eyebrows furrowing. the only light coming through the kitchen window casts shadows across his face, making him look a bit older, more tired.

“matt...”

he shakes his head, cutting you off. “don’t. it’s fine.”

you want to tell him that it’s not, that you’re sorry, but you can’t get a word in when a humorless chuckle leaves his mouth, and he begins to shake his head slowly now.

“’m used to you runnin’. it’s been radio silence for years.”

this time it’s you who laughs, lacking the same humor he couldn’t muster seconds ago. “what am i supposed to say to you, matt? ‘congratulations on your engagement?’ ‘happy holidays?’ ‘thanks for letting me crash here while i pretend everything’s fine?’” you ask incredulously, watching as his own gaze hardens.

with his jaw tight, matt sets his glass down on the counter with a little too much force behind it. “you don’t have to pretend with me.”

“don’t i?” you shoot back, the words sharper than you intended.

the air is thick with tension between you, crackling with electricity. it’s almost suffocating as the brunette steps closer, his gaze locked on yours and his large hands anchoring themselves on the granite countertop on either side of you, caging you in. your breath hitches in your throat, and you can only hope that he can’t hear the ridiculous pounding of your heart inside your chest, your mouth pressed into a firm line as you look up at him with curious—yet knowing—eyes.

“this was a lot easier when you weren’t here,” he finally says, his voice low and strained as he studies you.

you swallow hard, knowing you shouldn’t answer him nor entertain this pull between the two of you, but you feel like you’re being tossed out at sea where it’s inevitable to crash into the ocean rocks.

“i know,” you finally answer quietly, but your voice betrays you, shaking ever so slightly, and you know it’s all he needs.

for a moment, neither of you move. then, like magnets, you find yourselves drawn together, his mouth inching closer to yours while you press up on the tips of your toes to meet him there, until finally, you’re kissing him.

it’s heated once the two of you actually connect, matt’s strong hands finding your waist immediately. he uses the grip to pull you against him as if he can keep you there, tethered to this moment despite the truth lying just beneath the surface. you tangle your fingers in his hair, tongue greedy and imploring as years of unspoken feelings spill out in every touch, every breath shared.

as the kiss grows hungrier, sloppier, both of you pouring everything into it—love, anger, regret—his hands roam your back before sliding under the hem of your sweatshirt, his touch searing against your skin.

“tell me to stop,” the brunette breathes into your mouth, his voice breaking. it sends a pang of guilt through your abdomen, but you don’t listen to him. instead, you pull him closer, your hands clutching at his hoodie as though letting go would shatter you completely.

as if frustrated by the fact that you’re letting this happen, matt presses your spine into the counter behind you, his hands sliding from beneath your sweatshirt down to the backs of your thighs where he digs his fingers into your skin for a better grip and lifts you onto the counter, his desperate mouth never leaving yours. the kitchen is freezing, but your body feels like it’s on fire, the heat and frustration between the two of you melting away every last thread of restraint.

clothes fall away in a blur, your breaths mingling in the cold air as his hands explore every inch of you, like he’s trying to memorize what he can never have again—what he knows will be gone soon. you’re still trying to adjust to every sense being so overwhelmed with matt’s presence that you hardly notice the fact that he’s already working on dragging your panties down your thighs, your hips and legs thrashing around on autopilot to help him out.

when his fingers make contact with your sopping pussy, your head almost immediately falls back, a breathy moan leaving your mouth. “fuck, matt. need you so bad,” you admit to him, the groan that leaves his throat causing your pussy to throb with desperation, walls fluttering when the rough pad of his thumb presses down on your clit.

he plays with you for a few seconds, giving into the way your hips buck forward in search of more friction, more attention, but eventually the brunette must decide enough is enough. you watch as he takes his hand from between your glistening inner thighs in favor of pushing his sweats down from their place on his hips, the fabric of his boxers following suit. you’re almost amazed at the sight of him already so hard for you, but you can’t say you’re surprised. being in matt’s vicinity is enough to fill you with the need to ease some of the tension between your legs, so you can understand how the dam of years’ worth of need for one another finally breaking could get him to this point so quickly.

after stroking himself a few times, you watch with hungry eyes as matt pulls you to the edge of the counter, a whine escaping your lips when the tip of his hard cock brushes against your clit. you can tell by the subtle smirk on his mouth that he knows how badly you want it, but you’re too eager to care that he can see right through you in the moment.

“matt,” you say again, his name falling from your mouth this time as a warning not to tease, but he cuts you off with a quick, hungry kiss to your mouth before parting once more.

“say it again.”

you blink at him, breathing heavily as your brow furrows in confusion. “what?” you breathe out.

“that you need me—say it again,” he elaborates, and while sirens immediately go off in your head, your heart aching at the desperate gleam in his pretty blue eyes, you find yourself swallowing thickly before nodding slightly.

“i...” you trail off, watching his eager expression carefully, knowing you shouldn’t.

but you’re selfish.

“i do. i need you, matt.”

you don’t have time to feel guilty. your mind goes completely blank when he finally pushes into you, it not being gentle, but not completely careless either. it’s everything—raw and frantic, but deeply, heartbreakingly intimate. you cling to him, nails digging into his broad shoulders as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

it doesn’t feel like just sex, but a confession. a plea. a goodbye.

as if reading your mind, matt’s voice breaks through the haze of your chaotic mind. “why do you always leave?” he asks, his voice rough and barely audible as he moves inside of you.

tears sting your eyes, but you don’t answer. you can’t. instead, you pull his face from your neck and kiss him, swallowing the words you can’t bring yourself to say.

i have to.

if i stay, it’ll ruin you.

it’ll ruin me.

when he finally pulls away from your mouth, you bite down on your lower lip to stifle a cry as he fucks into you deeper, his movements desperate, like he’s trying to convince you to stay with his body since words are failing him at the moment. you can feel in his movements that he blames himself for this, and it breaks your heart. you don’t understand how he can believe this has to do with anything other than the fact that you’re entirely a coward. that allowing yourself to feel what you feel for him scares you. that it could make you stay.

“i hate this,” matt whispers to you, pressing his forehead against yours.

“i know,” you choke out, tears slipping down your cheeks. “i do too.”

his rhythm slows with the moment, his hands moving to cup your face as he kisses you softly now, the intensity giving way to something tender, almost reverent. it’s like he’s trying to say everything he never had the courage to despite knowing it’s too late—that nothing could have changed the outcome of this.

and then, with the realization, his hips are moving again, picking up in pace, and your head feels fuzzy. he’s fucking you like he hates you—like he loves you—and your heart clenches in your chest at the same time that the walls of your pussy begin to flutter around his relentless cock.

“matt, oh my god—i’m coming!” you cry out to him, one hand digging into the middle of his spine while the other cradles the back of his sweaty head, pressing his face further into the crook of your neck where his hot, labored breath hitches against your damp skin.

each slow, deliberate movement sends waves of pleasure coursing through your body, but it's the intimacy of it—the way he holds you as though you might vanish—that makes it almost unbearable.

you come with a string of cries, some jumbled and indecipherable, and some of his name, your body jerking with the ripples of your orgasm that he works you through with his fingers against your puffy clit. your nails rake across his back as you listen to him murmur your name like it's the only word he knows, his breath hitching as he buries himself deeper inside of you. his previously perfect movements falter with his orgasm, fingers tightening on your hips like he’s afraid you’ll slip away as soon as the moment is gone.  

he doesn’t move when it’s over, instead pressing his forehead into your shoulder, his eyes squeezed shut while soft shutters wrack his body. you can feel just how tense every muscle is, his hands clinging to you with a desperation that mirrors the one buried in the depths of your being. but it's still not enough. it still doesn't change anything.

“you’re still leaving,” he says after a long silence, his voice breaking. your lower lip trembles, and you’re glad he can’t see you just yet.

“i have to.” you nod, your fingers brushing through his short hair.

you watch as matt pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes dull and glassy. “you’re gonna ruin me,” he breathes out, his voice cracking at the end. “y’know that, right?”

again, you nod, your chest tightening painfully.

you don't have the heart to tell him you already have.

morning light streams through the window, golden and soft, but it only makes the heaviness in your chest worse. your bag sits by the door, packed hastily in the early hours of dawn while the house was still quiet, the weight of everything practically crushing you.

matt hadn’t spoken to you after last night. you hadn’t expected him to. after sneaking back upstairs, the realization had hit you like a tidal wave: nothing had changed. what you and the brunette shared in the kitchen—desperate kisses, the raw and aching connection, the unspoken words in every touch—hadn’t erased the fact that he’s engaged, and you don’t belong here anymore.

when you finally build the courage to head downstairs, nobody is awake, and you’re grateful. and you’re painfully aware of how incredibly cowardly it is, but running without the offer of closure has always been the more appealing option for you. it leaves no room for confrontation and hurt, or at least none that you have to face until you’re all alone again with regret and hatred swirling deep within your aching core.

you’re already thinking of what you’re going to say later when you inevitably receive a few confused and probably hurt messages about the fact that you’re leaving unannounced when matt finds you by the front door. the same hoodie he wore last night hangs loose around him, his face unreadable, though his eyes carry the storm you’ve come to know too well.

“leaving already?” he asks, his voice carefully neutral.

you inhale shakily, but nod, fingers tightening on the strap of your bag. “yeah. figured it was time.” figured it was easier like this, is what you don’t say, but you don’t have to. he knows. and you know he hates you for it.

you watch as he steps closer, his hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants. there’s a pause, and then, “last night—”

“don’t,” you cut him off softly, shaking your head. “please, just... don’t make this harder than it already is.” your voice is quiet, and it breaks at the end, but otherwise your expression remains neutral.

the silence stretches between you, heavy with everything you refuse to say. the words press against the back of your throat, tears threatening the corners of your eyes, but you know better than to ever let any of it escape. words won’t fix this. they won’t undo the lines that have already been crossed or change the fact that you’re leaving. again.

“i mean it, you know,” matt says suddenly, his voice breaking, “that you’re taking a piece of me with you. that you’re ruining me.”

your eyes burn, but somehow you force a wavering smile. you want to tell him that you’re leaving a piece of yourself behind, but you don’t.

“isn’t that the way it’s always been?”

he doesn’t answer, but the look on his face says enough. his jaw is tight and his fingers twitch inside his pockets, flexing and unflexing. he hates you.

but his chest heaves, quickening with the beat of his aching heart, and his eyes are shiny with emotion you always seem to elicit. he loves you.

as you step outside, the cold air bites at your skin, but it feels like a relief compared to the suffocating weight of the house, of what waits inside for you. every day. every year. you don’t look back, but mostly because you can’t.

as you drive away, the road stretches out before you, empty and endless, but your heart stays behind—a piece of it, anyway. a piece you know you’ll never get back.

you’ll come back to this town some day—maybe next christmas or the one after that. but you know it won’t matter. the hurt will still be there, lingering like the ghost of what could have been.

matt, however, you know you’ve lost. and you can’t help the shaky smile on your lips as you leave yet again because you absolutely deserve it.

©hanbinics

divider credit; @issysh3ll.

[specialmouse]

DONATE HERE

Every morning when I wake up, I check for a message from Khaled, Ghada’s young brother who helps her run the campaign. Together, we coordinate campaign efforts and outreach. He is only one year older than me; he should be enjoying his life like me, having fun and making the stupid mistakes that come with being a young adult. Before the war, Khaled had just received his bachelor’s degree and was planning to get married and study abroad—now he must fight to save his entire family from bombs, illness, starvation, and the bitter cold.

And yet, do you want to know the first message Khaled sends me every morning? He asks me how I am, if I am happy. He praises you all endlessly, the people who have helped him and his family. He asks if the people who have been kind enough to make posts for his campaign are doing well.

We are now over a year into the Gaza Genocide, but it has not stripped Khaled of his kindness or his hope. I am continually touched, sometimes to the point of tears, at how thoughtful and sweet he is, despite everything he has seen and continues to go through. I want you to take pride in the fact that this true for YOU as well. I have seen even more beauty and generosity in friends I already held dear to me, and the wonderfulness of strangers whom I will never talk to. I am in awe at the support you all have shown, not just to the Al-Anqars, but to all Gaza campaigns. You are making a difference in the lives of so many people. Despite the horrors we see on our screens every day, the headlines we read, the images that haunt our minds—the world is full of love. You have proved it.

As the new year quickly approaches, I want to thank you all for helping the Al-Anqars, from the very bottom of my heart. You are helping the Al-Anqar siblings (Khaled, Ghada, Mohamed, and Ahed), their parents (Nabil and Fatima), and their little ones (Lama, Nabil, Eman, Amir, Fatima, and Noor).

(Khaled and his nephew Amir ⬆️)

So, I do not mean to scare you when I say this, but time truly is of the essence, now more than ever. Ceasefire talks are stalling, the Rafah border crossing is still closed, and babies are freezing to death in their parents’ arms. Khaled tells me of the biting winter winds and the burning cold that seeps through the nylons they have taped over the windows. The half-constructed school they have taken refuge in receives no aid. They are a mere kilometer from “the corridor of death,” or the Netzarim Checkpoint. I wake up every morning fearing the worst for them, but, thank God, they are still here, still fighting.

Donations of just €5 make an entire world of difference. These funds go towards food and supplies, which have risen to astronomical prices, as well as saving for the cost of crossing the Rafah border, provided that corridor reopens. The goal is €20,000, and we are at €7,736. When I began helping this family on December 16th, it was at €5,801. I am inviting you to donate and share as much as you can to reach the stretch goal of €8,250 in the next two weeks. I think this is more than attainable if we all come together. You’ve done it before!

Again, I’d like to thank everyone for their enduring support of this campaign, and I wish everyone the best as we come into the new year. Please, please, please consider helping my lovely Khaled and his family.

€7,736 / €20,000 - 39% — STRETCH GOAL: €8,250

Verified by GazaVetters, #6

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[steddieas-shegoes]

coming in clutch

@starrystevie asked two days ago for someone to write enemies to lovers Steddie on the same hockey team and one of them gives the other his stick from the bench and so I volunteered and yesterday afternoon started writing this and it got to almost 6000 words by this morning. Oops?

This is therapy for me, as a Bruins fan, who is suffering tremendously this season. I can't believe some people live like this all the time. I am so, so sorry. I promise you fixing it with Steddie helps ease the ache a little. It's bitch4bitch, what's not to love?

rated e, minors dni | 5801 words | also on ao3 | cw: mention of injury, hate making out for the drama | tags: modern au, hockey au, enemies to lovers, feelings realization, sorta love confessions, anal fingering, anal sex, handjob, life is a series of connections

🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒

If there’s one thing Eddie Munson knows, it’s that Steve Harrington will steal the show.

With less than two minutes left in the game that will determine if they clinch the wild card spot for the playoffs, it could still go either way. They need a goal to tie it, and the point will be enough to get in, even if they lose in overtime.

The Rangers don’t even get anything if they win this one except a pat on the back, yet they’ve pulled their goalie in hopes of ruining the only chance the Bruins have of getting into the playoffs. If Eddie wasn’t seething with rage about potentially starting his offseason much sooner than expected, he’d respect the hell out of them for it.

How they got into this much of a mess is beyond him…or really it isn’t. It’s well within reach.

He knows from the beginning shit was hitting the fan and then it just…kept hitting the fan.

They started bad and they don’t play well from behind in games, so how could they catch up when their entire season went to shit so early on?

It should never come down to one win, not for them.

But he knows that some of the issues are that Steve was handed this captaincy before he was ready, and Eddie’s done nothing to truly help him. He wears an A, but it’s more for Asshole or Annoyance than Assistant. He knows it, Steve knows it, the team knows it.

It’s making everything harder.

Coach already lit him up a few times over stupid shit this season, things he can’t get away with for much longer. His time will be cut short on this team if he can’t-

The whistle blows and there’s a penalty on Hargrove. Not surprising, but it’s enough to get Eddie out of his own head and focus. There’s barely a minute left and they’re facing a long offseason if they don’t get their shit together.

He won’t see more ice time today. He’s third line right now, a demotion from his usual first line after a string of shitty, stupid penalties. Coach will send the first line back out for the last minute to increase their chances of scoring.

The puck drops and they make the fastest line change they’ve managed the entire game.

Steve’s skating to the puck, eyes on the prize. He’s good at it, despite Eddie hating that he feels constant competition with him. They don’t even play the same position. Eddie’s a defenseman for fuck sake. Steve’s a center. The only competition is what’s made up in his own head.

Steve gets there first, manages to pass it to Sinclair, who passes it to Hagan. It’s beautiful, but it’s not enough.

The puck is cleared out and they have to rush to it to start setting up again.

They don’t have time.

And then Steve tries to shoot it to center ice and his stick breaks. It’s the worst timing. Eddie feels his heart sink in his chest at the realization that this is it. They’re done.

Steve’s skating to the bench, yelling about needing a replacement when he should just get off the ice, let someone else out there. They’re gonna lose anyway.

Eddie throws Steve his own stick. It’s not the right curve, and not the right length. It’s not even the same brand.

But if there’s one thing Eddie can respect about Steve, it’s that he’s a damn good player. He makes shit happen, even when no one else can. He’s been their saving grace this season, arguably the only reason they’ve managed to even have a shot at the wild card spot.

He may hate his guts, and he may be annoyed that he got picked as captain, and he may also find him impossible to be around most of the time, but he can see that he’s one of the best players in the league.

Steve’s never skated harder than in this moment, and Eddie can’t feel his face as Steve sneaks the puck between the legs of Wheeler, winds back, and shoots.

None of their players get to it in time.

It goes in their empty net.

The bench is so loud, Eddie can’t even hear himself think.

They’ve tied it up.

The clock says 24 seconds.

It’s as good as done.

They’ll have overtime, of course, but they squeaked in the playoffs. They get at least four more games.

Steve skates to the bench and hands Eddie his stick, but doesn’t say anything.

That irks Eddie a little.

“Not even a thank you for getting the assist on that one?” Eddie asks because if he’s one thing, it’s a shithead.

“Shut up, Munson. Could’ve scored an empty net from the locker room,” Steve replies with an eyeroll, his smile dropping in annoyance.

A for annoyance, after all.

“With a broken stick?” Eddie pushes because he loves to push and because Steve always pushes back.

It’s their game.

Steve sits on the bench, catches his breath for a moment while the arena celebrates his goal.

“How about a thank you for getting us to the playoffs?” Steve says back.

It’s unlike him to be self-centered like this. It throws Eddie off.

For once, he doesn’t have a damn thing to say.

The goalie gets back in the net and the Rangers finish off the regulation game with their tails tucked between their legs.

Eddie doesn’t get sent back out, but neither does Steve.

Coach leans down to say something in Steve’s ear and he grits his teeth together, jaw clenching painfully.

When they’re about to start overtime, Coach taps his back and tells him to go.

“But it’s first line?” Eddie asks.

“I said go, Munson!” Coach says, leaving no room for argument.

So Eddie goes. He’s not gonna argue with the coach, and he’s damn sure not gonna be the reason there’s a delay in starting.

He skates to the blue line and sees the focus on Steve’s eyes.

This game can end either way to him and he won’t care, but Steve wants this win. He wants the two points, not just one. He wants to say they overcame a shitty game to pull off a win.

He would never admit it, but his effort is for Steve. His speed and hits during the first shift are to give Steve every opportunity to pull off this win.

If Steve wins, they all win.

Eddie should have had that mindset for every game. Maybe they wouldn’t have had to fight for their lives just to get a shot at the playoffs.

It’s not a great shift, but they manage to shut the Rangers down a few times.

Steve is red-faced on the bench, watching the second line move with a fire they were lacking for much of the first 60 minutes. That’s been a pattern this season, something Eddie isn’t sure they’ll get over with this group.

It ends during the third line’s shift.

The Rangers get a breakaway and score.

It’s a loss, but they’ve still won something. They aren’t leaving completely empty-handed.

The walk down the tunnel is interrupted by the broadcast person yelling for Steve to stay back to do the post-game interview and accept third star of the game. It always sucks accepting a star away from home ice, but Steve’s used to it by now.

He’s the guy who comes in clutch. He’s always a star.

Eddie’s only a little jealous over it.

The rest of the team is pretty quiet despite their playoff spot.

Coach stands in the center of the room.

“We got lucky,” he says. His tone is calm, but there’s something hidden beneath it that Eddie can sense is anger. “We won’t get lucky in the first round. Get your shit together before next week or you might as well start scheduling your tropical vacations.”

He leaves the room.

No one says anything as they get undressed. No one speaks when Steve comes in the room and wordlessly undresses. No one utters a word when he’s the first to leave, even though that’s the first time that’s happened in the history of ever.

Eddie follows him.

He should give him space. Now isn’t the time to work him up more.

Now is the time to be a good teammate, a good alternate captain. Behave and follow the rules and be a good example off the ice. Leadership saw something in him to give him the A in the first place, now’s his chance to prove he respects them for it.

“Since when do you walk out without a speech?” Eddie calls after him when they’ve exited the building. This arena is relatively normal, but there’s a lower level of parking just for VIP. He doesn’t see anyone else yet, but that’s not surprising. Their bus is parked a few rows away, doors up to start loading equipment for the haul to the airport.

“Since there isn’t a damn thing I can say to get this team motivated and I’m done trying!” Steve yells back without turning. “If you’d like to try, go right ahead.”

“Doesn’t seem like something a captain would do.”

Steve freezes, turns.

His face is bright red and Eddie knows immediately he pushed too far.

“Maybe you should be the captain if you know so much about what it takes, hm? Maybe instead of passing me your stick to score you could score one once in a fucking while. Maybe,” Steve takes a shaky breath, exhales it right into Eddie’s face. He didn’t even notice how close he was before. “You could start acting like a leader and less like a fuckin’ nuisance.”

Eddie scoffs.

“I’m sorry I helped? Was I supposed to let the opportunity to score go? Would you rather have not tied the game? Do you wish we were going home for the summer instead of just the next few days?”

Steve’s chest is brushing against Eddie’s.

Neither of them showered, so there’s a faint scent of sweat clinging to his nostrils, but Steve must’ve freshened up with deodorant and cologne before getting changed. Cedar and pine overtakes the locker room smell as Eddie’s eyes dart down to Steve’s lips.

“Did you want me to do all the work for you?” Eddie grins.

It’s painful, when their lips crash together. Eddie doesn’t care.

Steve’s mad, he’s loud, and he tastes like victory. It has nothing to do with their game.

“C’mon,” Steve says against his lips, and Eddie isn’t sure exactly what he wants. They’re kissing in public, in a place that could be filled with their teammates any second. Steve’s hands are against his chest, pulling him impossibly closer by his shirt. “More. You want more out of me, take it.”

Eddie’s not always the smartest guy in the room. He’s, like, smart, but sometimes he misses some obvious shit. Unobservant, his uncle calls him.

But he can read people pretty well if he has a second to really see them and he thinks he’s seeing something Steve didn’t mean to show. He knows what Steve’s really asking and he knows he can give that to him.

“No.”

Steve stills. He pulls away, hurt clear on his face before he manages to school his features. It’s eery how quickly he was able to do it.

“Knew you weren’t up for it, anyways,” Steve mutters, but Eddie doesn’t let him walk away.

His grip on Steve’s wrist is tight enough to cut off circulation, tight enough to bruise. Steve doesn’t react at all.

“I’m not taking anything from you. You’re gonna take what you need from me.”

Steve’s brows furrow, and Eddie allows himself a moment— just one— to think that he’s cute like this. If they weren’t teammates, and if Eddie could stand him for more than a few minutes at a time, maybe they could do something.

“What are you talking about?” Steve asks. “I don’t need anything from you.”

“No? Like how you didn’t need my stick to score earlier?”

Steve’s mouth snaps closed, but Eddie doesn’t feel as smug as he normally would. He can hear voices coming and he knows that if they leave here now without something worked out, it’ll be like none of this ever happened.

“When we get back, come to my place,” Eddie orders.

“And if I don’t?”

Eddie laughs.

Steve likes to win. He’s gonna come just to see what his prize will be.

He boards the bus and ignores his half-hard dick in his slacks.

Steve always finds a way into his brain. And now he’s found a way into his bed.

~~~~~

The bus ride is quiet, but most of the guys are busy texting significant others and coming down from the adrenaline of the game. The flight is silent, everyone taking a power nap before they have to get back home. They’ll have a day off tomorrow, but most of these guys are married and have kids, or fiancées who haven’t quite figured out that a day off is needed for recovery, not for filling the calendar with other events.

Steve is far away from Eddie, barely even visible unless Eddie leans into the aisle and squints.

He doesn’t do that more than once, doesn’t wanna draw attention to whatever it is that’s happening between them.

Eddie is the first off the plane, but he walks slow enough to his car that a few teammates catch up and tell him his quick reaction saved their asses. He laughs and thanks them, tells them they’ve got some work to do if they’re gonna win the first round, and gets in his car.

Somehow, Steve’s already at his door when he gets home.

“Eager?” Eddie asks.

“You tell me,” Steve grabs Eddie’s hand and places it over his crotch. He’s already hard.

“Did you touch yourself on the way here?” Eddie feels like he’s been struck by lightning, energy zapping through him at the speed of light. Realizing Steve’s into this is rewiring his brain.

“Obviously,” Steve rolls his eyes.

Eddie unlocks his door and pushes Steve inside. He pushes him down the hall and right onto the bed. He pushes until Steve pushes back.

“I thought I was taking from you,” Steve says as he sits up, taking his shirt off and throwing it to the ground.

“You are. But only when I’m ready to give. I need a second,” Eddie says as he strips his own shirt off. He walks to his bathroom to throw some water on his face and pretend for a second that the sweat dripping down his spine isn’t a ridiculous reaction to Steve.

“It’s been a second!” Steve calls to him.

Eddie smirks at himself in the mirror before heading back to the bed.

“Sorry to keep you waiting. I assume you’ve got something specific in mind?”

Steve eyes him up and down. “Take everything off.”

Eddie does as he says. Steve’s surprise that he didn’t argue is obvious.

“Get lube and condoms.”

Eddie reaches into his bedside drawer and gets out his unopened bottle of lube and the only three condoms he has that may or may not be expired. He doesn’t have time to fuck around much, and most of the time he does, it never gets far enough to need a condom.

His traitorous stomach swoops at the thought of Steve being inside him.

Steve looks at him like he’s starving and Eddie’s a five course meal on a table in front of him, and Eddie likes it. He likes that Steve wants to devour him.

He’s pulled into a bruising kiss, can taste blood on his tongue when he swallows spit that’s just as much Steve’s as his own. Eddie knows if they kiss like this for long enough, Steve will barely have to touch him at all to get him there.

As if reading his mind, Steve’s hand is on his dick, stroking it slow enough to drive him insane. Eddie blushes, but doesn’t let it hold him back from pushing Steve more.

“You gonna take your clothes off or are the lube and condoms just for decoration?”

Any hand is better than his own, but Steve’s hand might be the death of him. He tightens his grip around him, leaning in to bite Eddie’s collarbone.

He’s sensitive there and somehow Steve knows it, and Eddie might die tonight, but he can’t let Steve know he’s making him feel this fucking good. He wants Steve to take what he wants, but he doesn’t wanna give it easily.

“You like this with everyone or am I special?” Steve asks before he licks a stripe up Eddie’s neck.

It’s gross. It’s hot as fuck. Eddie’s lightheaded.

“Just you, sugar. Or should I call you Captain here, too?”

Steve pulls back like he’s been burned.

“I’m not your captain right now.” He’s glaring at Eddie, making him wish he could shrink into the mattress, down through the floor. “I’m Steve. Got it?”

“Got it,” Eddie’s nodding along, but he feels like he’s teetering into uncharted territory, some kind of rough terrain that most people don’t get past the fence to explore.

Steve starts taking and Eddie lets him.

First, it’s rough hands pushing him around until he’s in the position Steve wants him: face down, arms under the pillows, legs spread so Steve can see him.

Then, it’s teasing touches, laughing when Eddie gasps and moans, nipping at his skin after a soft brush of his fingers.

It’s hot and cold, it’s hard and soft, it’s push and pull.

It’s the first time Eddie feels like he understands who Steve is.

The lube is cold as Steve spreads it around his entrance, more teasing, more taking. Eddie doesn’t mind. He’s always loved the build-up as much as the finale.

Steve’s quiet, focused, as he works his fingers into him. He’s meticulous about it, looking for the best reactions.

When Eddie whines into the pillow, spreading his legs further apart to make more room for whatever Steve wants from him, he realizes that this will change everything. He should’ve realized it sooner. He may regret it tomorrow. He may not.

“You ready?” Steve asks.

Eddie feels empty. Steve’s fingers aren’t there anymore, aren’t stretching him and prodding every sensitive part of him. He whimpers pitifully at the loss.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Steve’s cock is pushing against his entrance, and Eddie thinks he was severely mistaken about Steve before.

Because why is Steve being gentle? Why is his hand rubbing Eddie’s spine as he pushes into him slowly? Why are his lips against Eddie’s shoulder, not kissing so much as resting there, his hot breath a comfort that he’s right there paying attention to everything Eddie’s doing?

Why is this the best Eddie’s ever been fucked and why does it feel less like getting fucked and more like making love with every passing moment?

Steve’s big, which Eddie knew already. There’s just a difference between seeing it and feeling it. He fills him up, makes him wonder if he’ll be sore tomorrow.

Kind of hopes he will be.

“Take it,” Eddie mumbles against the pillow.

Steve grabs his hair, strong grip, but gently pulling. “What?”

“Take me.”

Eddie’s not sure where those words come from, but he feels the way Steve responds. His cock twitches inside him, his hands grip his waist harder, and Steve moans against his shoulder.

His own cock is trapped against the sheets, but it’s fine. He’s in no rush. Steve will take what he wants and Eddie will wait. He’ll wait all night if he has to.

He feels good like this, at Steve’s mercy.

He didn’t think he’d be able to relax under him. He thought the fight he always has to assert his own dominance with Steve would carry over here, too.

But it’s easy to let Steve have this.

He knows that Steve needs this just as much as Eddie needs to be used.

“You’re quiet. Everything okay?” Steve whispers against his skin. A check-in to make sure Eddie doesn’t need to stop.

“I’m good. Feels good. Keep going.”

The softness never goes away, but Steve’s moving faster, breathing heavier, putting more weight on Eddie’s back. It’s almost too much, the pressure inside him, surrounding him. The scent of Steve, the scent of both of them mingling together and staining his bedsheets.

He’ll have to wash them tomorrow. He won’t.

“God,” Eddie says as he fists the pillow under his head. “Right there.”

Steve’s nailing his prostate, almost more than he can handle. It feels like when they reach their groove on the ice, like despite their disagreements and different styles of play, they’ve meshed together for this moment to make something happen.

“Yeah? You like letting me have you like this?” Steve asks.

It feels out of place here, but Eddie’s allowing it all. If this is what Steve needs, if this will help, then he’ll let Steve have everything.

“Mhm. C’mon, want you to come,” Eddie begs.

He doesn’t want this to be over, though. He finds it shocking how much he wants Steve to keep fucking into him for hours, finding new positions and ways to make Eddie question his existence. He wishes Steve wasn’t wearing a condom, wishes he could fill him up with his cum, plug him up so he stays filled until morning.

He doesn’t know why he’s thinking these things. He’s never wanted that with anyone, let alone Steve.

Steve’s hand covers the back of his neck, applies just enough pressure that Eddie knows it would be hard to move.

He’s coming before he even realizes the tug in his belly is there, moaning into the pillow as Steve’s hips meet his ass with every thrust. It’s too much, but Eddie’s giving himself.

That’s all this is.

It’s everything now, but tomorrow it’ll be nothing.

And the day after that, when they have team meetings to review tape for their first round matchup, it’ll be even less than nothing. It’ll be like nothing ever happened and Eddie never let Steve fuck him into his mattress. It’ll be back to tolerating each other for their job, and Eddie poking at him until Steve is riled up and the coach is yelling at both of them to get their shit together.

And then when they inevitably lose in the first round, they’ll go all summer without speaking and Eddie may get traded to a team that will put up with his antics.

Eddie sniffles.

“Eddie? Shit.” Steve pulls out, which is wrong and terrible and not at all what he wants. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you? Was it too much?”

“No,” Eddie’s voice is shaking and he feels stupid. How did this happen? How did he get to this point? Over Steve Harrington? “Sorry, I’m okay.”

“You’re clearly not okay.” Steve turns him over so he’s on his back and that makes everything so much worse.

His release is sticky across his stomach and the head of his cock, and he’s flush from his cheeks to his toes. Tears have fallen, leaving tracks down his face.

He doesn’t paint a pretty picture.

“What’s this about?”

“I didn’t expect this,” Eddie admits.

It can’t hurt. Honesty is only a small vulnerability compared to letting a man fuck you.

“Expect what?”

“This. You to be soft and caring. You don’t even fucking like me. I thought you’d be quick, come on my back, and then find a reason to leave,” Eddie says, covering his face with his hands. It sounds even dumber out loud. Jesus.

“The thought did occur to me,” Steve says.

Eddie peeks through his fingers to see Steve smiling with an eyebrow raised.

“What the fuck is happening.”

Steve snorts. “You threw me your stick during the play so I could score the goal that sealed us a shot at the Cup. I’ve been hard for, like, six hours now, dude.”

“Don’t call me dude while you’re staring at my dick!” Eddie argues.

“You annoy the shit out of me,” Steve rolls his eyes. “More than anyone else I’ve ever played with.”

“Okay. My dick’s already soft, you don’t have to talk me down, Steve,” Eddie groans, covering his face again.

Steve pulls his hands away, laces their fingers together, squeezes. Eddie’s stomach flutters.

“But you’re good. And you know you’re good. That’s why you’re as frustrated as I am about how this season’s been. It has fuck all to do with me being captain, and everything to do with nothing going right for us.”

Steve’s right. He’s always right, even though Eddie rarely acknowledges it.

“Does this kind of talk get you off or should I do something for you?” Eddie tries to joke, to push.

But Steve doesn’t push back this time.

He cups Eddie’s jaw and leans in, kisses him soft, so gentle it feels like a whisper of something Eddie’s absolutely terrified to name.

“Let me take a little more,” Steve says against his lips.

He lifts Eddie’s legs and slides back into him, and Eddie moans at the overstimulation. He’s definitely gonna be sore when he wakes up, but he doesn’t mind so much right now.

“That’s it,” Steve groans as he moves in and out, holding Eddie’s legs apart so he can make sure he gets as deep as possible. “Let me have it.”

Eddie’s never come twice like this, without his cock even being touched properly. But here he is, barely even hard again, and cum is leaking onto his stomach as he whimpers his way through another orgasm.

“Fuck, so good.” Steve’s hips stutter as he tenses his hands around Eddie’s thighs. “That’s it, baby. Let me fill you up.”

It’s not real, but for a second Eddie can picture it. He pretends he can feel it inside him, and his cock twitches, but otherwise doesn’t act like it can do anything else tonight.

Steve lets his legs drop as he pulls out, and Eddie winces at the feeling of emptiness it brings.

Eddie closes his eyes, tries to figure out how he’s gonna ask Steve to stay.

“Is it okay if I stick around?” Steve asks before he can think of something.

“Yeah, of course. Shower’s all yours if you want it,” Eddie offers, sounding breathless still. His heart is pounding in his chest and he feels like the world around him is spinning.

“You wanna join?” Steve asks him, seriously.

“Showering together doesn’t seem like a teammate thing to do,” Eddie replies.

“Neither is watching a teammate come twice.”

“Point made.” Eddie groans as he turns on his side, reaching a hand out until he makes contact with skin. He thinks it’s Steve's thigh, but he can’t be sure with his eyes closed. “Go on without me. I can’t feel my legs or my…anything.”

Steve doesn’t get up, and he doesn’t say anything. After at least a minute of silence, Eddie blinks his eyes open to see Steve staring at him.

“Are you gonna be fucking creepy all night? I rescind my permission to stay if you are.”

Steve shakes his head. “No, it’s just. I’ve seen you mostly naked so many times, but I never noticed this scar.”

Steve gently brushes a finger across the scar on Eddie’s abdomen. It’s barely an inch in length, and you can’t even see it unless the light hits it just right.

Eddie looks down at it, at the way Steve’s fingertips graze the outer edges. He doesn’t think about it much anymore, but he remembers when it happened.

“Junior hockey. Kid’s skate got me just as I was falling. My chestie rose up too high and didn’t protect the spot,” Eddie shrugs. It could’ve been a lot worse. He was back on the ice within three days. “Accidents happen.”

Eddie watches Steve’s face morph from curious to confused and then shocked.

“That was you?” Steve asks.

“What do you mean?” Eddie leans up on an elbow, looks back at Steve as if he’s lost his mind.

“I…holy shit. They never told me the player’s name. Just said he was getting stitches in the locker room and would be fine,” Steve is rambling, gesturing wildly and shaking his head. “They wouldn’t let me check on you. I tried as soon as the game was over.”

“I’m still confused.”

“It was my skate. I tripped over a player’s stick as you were falling. I didn’t even realize it actually hit you until I saw the blood on the ice.” Steve scoots down so he’s eye level with the scar and then he does something that changes Eddie’s DNA.

He presses his mouth to the scar, his lips parting just enough for his hot breath to cause goosebumps to break out across Eddie’s skin.

“Why did you give me your stick?” Steve whispers.

Eddie swallows. He feels heavy, weighed down by whatever this is.

“You had a chance. You just needed a stick,” he whispers back.

“Eddie. You would rather lose than help me any other time.” Steve tilts his head to look up at Eddie. “Why did you pass me your stick?”

“I-” Eddie breathes in. “I wanted to do something right. I wanted you to look at me and not see someone failing for once. I wanted to be good enough to wear the A.”

Steve’s forehead drops to his hip, and it takes a moment for Eddie to realize he’s laughing.

“What’s funny about that?” Eddie’s ready to pull away, kind of wants to make Steve leave now that he’s feeling like he’s being made fun of.

“I just cannot believe that you would think you aren’t good enough.” Steve looks back up at him, grinning, eyes shining with amusement. “Who do you think chose you for the A?”

Eddie thinks about it. He always assumed that the coaches just picked the guy with the most NHL experience out of the few options they had. He never thought he’d be A or C material professionally, so he accepted the offer, grateful to be given the chance.

He felt like an idiot for wasting the opportunity this season.

He didn’t produce the way he knows he can, and he let his stupid jealousy of Steve get in the way of everything. It’s not like he wanted the responsibility of being captain. He knows now he probably isn’t cut out for any type of leadership role with the team.

“I thought the coaches?” Eddie frames it as a question because now he isn’t sure.

“They wanted to name Hagan. I suggested you instead.”

Eddie’s breath catches. “You suggested me? Why? You fucking hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” Steve raises a brow and gestures at their current state. “I don’t sleep with people I hate.”

“I thought it was spur of the moment! Like you were so mad at me that the only thing you could do to get it out of your system was fuck me!”

Eddie’s head is spinning.

“I mean, it was spur of the moment. I never had any intentions of acting on anything I felt for you.”

Eddie’s head is going to explode.

“Harrington. You’re really making my head hurt. Like, I have never felt this confused after getting fucked.”

Steve laughs, which doesn’t help anything. It almost makes it worse.

He crawls back up so he’s only inches from kissing Eddie.

“I chose you. They said I had to pick someone who would compliment me on and off the ice and you were the first and only choice I could make. You’re an incredible player and the only defenseman I trust on this fucking roster,” Steve leans his head forward, resting his forehead against Eddie’s. “If I’m annoyed with you, it’s because I’m annoyed at myself. I’m making your job harder by losing the room. I don’t even know how it happened.”

“You haven’t lost the room,” Eddie interrupts, placing his hand on Steve’s hip. “They love you. You’re the hero.”

“I don’t wanna be the only guy who comes through, though. I want everyone to succeed.”

“They will. It’s just not our year. It happens. We started off bad and we never got back on track.”

Steve huffs out a breath. “It’s my job to make it work.”

“It’s everyone’s job to make it work. You can’t do it by yourself. They don’t hand Stanley Cups to a player, they hand them to a team.”

Steve smirks. “They do hand them to a player first, though.”

Eddie smacks him. “Don’t argue with me. I’ve had my brains fucked out of my head.”

They stare at each other, both of them smiling fondly.

It’s such a stark difference to everything they’ve been this whole season. Eddie doesn’t know how to handle the electricity between them. He thought it would fade once they were done, once Steve cleaned up and they got dressed. In the morning, he’d leave, and they’d go back to being a mediocre team and he’d probably end up traded or losing the A.

But now, he’s looking at Steve with something he’s pretty sure is affection, maybe even love. It’s ridiculous, which is why he isn’t gonna say anything.

“So, are we good?” Steve asks.

It’s such a jock thing to say. It throws Eddie off yet again.

“Um. Yeah.” He pulls away slightly, considers turning around and getting under the blankets. “We’re good. Hit the showers or whatever.”

“Can I kiss you again?”

Eddie has got to figure out how to get a read on this guy. Seriously, the whiplash he’s getting from Steve’s words and actions might break his neck.

“You want to?”

“I don’t kiss people I don’t want to kiss.”

“Alright, then.”

It’s so soft, it practically melts what little brain Eddie has left. He’s not sure he’s ever been kissed like this, like he’s precious and like this moment needs to be cherished.

“Are you still gonna be a bitch?” Eddie ruins it.

Or, he thinks he does. But Steve is just smiling at him, amused, like he wants nothing more than Eddie’s attitude.

“Depends on if you’re gonna keep giving me problems.”

“Oh, so this is like a thing for you.”

“What?”

“You like disciplining me. Oh, this will be so fun.”

Steve shakes his head and falls against the pillows. Eddie turns his own head to smile at him.

“You didn’t answer me,” he says after a minute of just watching Steve exist in his bed.

“You answered yourself.”

“You’re irritating.”

“So are you.”

“It’s not a competition.”

“Everything is a competition,” Steve turns his head to look at Eddie, smirking. “And I’m winning.”

“We’ll see about that.”

[claramelooo]

CRIMSON REVERIE

You can't imagine what a pleasure it is to be back!!! Yey! Welcome back to the abyss that is my mind. As today is New Year's Eve, there's nothing more fair than posting the day before the first chapter, right?

Well, this theme (Wanda as Scarlet Witch) is still very recent for me, so if you read something wrong or nonsense, please forgive me

Feel it <3

Paring: Dark!Witch Wanda x Fem Reader

MINORS DO NOT MUST INTERACT

Prologue

The void of the multiverse was an unfathomable place, an infinite tangle of possibilities where dreams became realities, and nightmares hid behind every fold in existence. Wanda Maximoff — the Scarlet Witch — was a traveler in this abyss. Her steps echoed through fragmented dimensions, her magic pulsing with the fiery red of determination.

Since losing everything — her children, her family, her peace — Wanda had only one purpose: to rebuild what was taken from her.

“Tommy. Billy.” Their names were a whispered mantra between the cracks of space and time. In every universe she visited, she searched for them, for any glimpse of their laughter, their faces, their hearts she longed to feel beating against hers once again. But the multiverse was cruel. Some realities were shattered, others seemed like false promises of happiness. In all of them, something was missing.

Until she found this one.

When Wanda crossed the veil of the new dimension, the air shifted. There was no chaos here. No ruins or remnants of a lost battle. Everything seemed calm, absurdly perfect. The sound of children’s laughter came from a house in the distance, and for a moment, Wanda hesitated. Could it be them?

She moved closer in silence, cloaking herself in an invisible barrier to remain unseen. Her eyes scanned the blooming garden and settled on the window illuminated by the warm light of the setting sun. There, two boys were running through the garden, laughing loudly as a woman tried, unsuccessfully, to get them to stop.

You.

Time seemed to freeze as Wanda watched. Your smile, your presence... everything about you was so natural, so full of life. But what truly stole Wanda's breath was the detail she hadn’t expected: your rounded belly, carrying a child.

You gently caressed your stomach as you laughed, calling the boys inside for dinner. There was something so extraordinarily simple about that scene, yet so unattainable for Wanda, that a lump formed in her throat.

And then, the door opened.

The Scarlet Witch stood motionless as another woman stepped out of the house — herself.

It was like looking into a mirror, but it wasn’t the reflection Wanda anticipated. This version of herself was... different. There was a brightness in her eyes, a lightness in her step, an unassuming confidence. This Wanda didn’t bear the shadows of the Darkhold, nor the weight of losses etched into her face. She wasn’t just a mother. She was whole.

Wanda watched as the other version kissed Tommy and Billy on their foreheads before approaching you. What happened next made the Scarlet Witch’s heart stop.

The other Wanda knelt before you, her hands resting tenderly on your belly as she smiled. “And how’s our little girl today?” she asked, her voice so soft it sounded like music.

You laughed, the sound light and full of joy. “I think she’s trying to play soccer in there. She hasn’t stopped kicking.”

The other Wanda laughed too, leaning in to kiss your belly before standing to wrap her arms around you.

Hidden in the shadows, the Scarlet Witch felt envy swell like a storm in her chest. This life should have been hers. Tommy and Billy. You. The child yet to be born.

She wanted it more than anything.

And then, she decided.

If this universe couldn’t be hers, she would make it hers.

Red power radiated from her hands as her eyes burned with intensity. And deep down, despite all the consequences her decision might bring, Wanda knew she would never give up.

And deep down, she knew she would do anything to claim it.

As night fell, the Scarlet Witch remained in the darkness, watching like a shadow. Every laugh, every touch, every moment of happiness inside that house felt both out of reach and dangerously close.

She clenched her fists, red energy beginning to pulse in her hands.

With a single motion, she opened a small portal in time and space, slipping inside the house. She was no longer an observer.

Now, she was ready to take what she believed was hers.

And no one, not even another version of herself, would stand in her way.

~*~

Tag list <3

@vyvvycg @rosekjsses @3liyuh @trindad2k

@indentity0018 @beggingonmykneesforher

@idkwhatever580 @valentine585

@reginassecretlover @trying-to-do-good

@imjustvibingsworld @mbxoxo @jazzyxqzl @bees-for-brains @eternallyconfuzed @ctrlaltedits @sheriffhaughtearp

@lesbiansweet @i-luv-w1men @sheriffswan-blog @htinha157 @syssmin @wandasslut3000

[f4xy]

my headcanons on sg s2 gals

just what i think they'll do in general, imma leave this chronologically too

044 (Seo Nyeo)

An astrological asshole at best.

She's Mi Nyeo level unhinged that can predict shit on other people, with the harshest truths too because she's super brash and is incredibly self-serving.

Nobody likes her, to where if there's a marble game in season 2 you bet her ass is gonna get dragged out too.

basically that one kid everyone warned you about and you know EXACTLY why

095 (Young-Mi)

She just wants to be left alone with Hyun-Ju honestly

just genuinely wholesome despite her traumas

Has permanent financial trauma after she got out, in a way she wants to restart her life and go from there

Will cook with Geum-Ja dinner for all :D except not even she knows if she's a good cook or not

120 (Hyun Ju)

Yes she fucking carried the whole show, yes she does not fuck around with guns

Reality is she just wants to be accepted and be left alone with that one ounce of validation to hold on, even if it's just Young-Mi giving her that

Bet she knows some gals in Thailand too via the internet and find solace in them, as much solace as she finds with her friends irl

149 (Geum Ja)

Great mom, but justifies her son way too much

Nobody can shit on her son BUT her

Very accepting somehow

Your classic asian grandma who happens to know every known korean recipe, but budgeted

196 (Kang Mi-Na)

she probably follows the whole floptropica shit on tiktok

probably was a tiktok livestreamer who failed, definitely pro-crypto

look if it aint that wasp's fault, you bet your ass she's gonna unseriously survive very long too

basically female thanos but instead of random raps you get like random yassified words

222 (Jun Hee)

When she gets out, she's straight up gonna file for a restraining order against Myung-Gi while getting her pregnancy stuff done

Does not care to whatever happened to Myung-Gi, they're so DONE.

Due to him she's probably incredibly anti-crypto as well.

Might get someone from her team (most likely Dae-Ho) to be her nanny since it's going to be overwhelming for her to handle literally everything, especially with the baby

380 (Se-Mi)

she is manipulative yet playful, but not in a way where she would lead one to be injured on purpose

lives in the present

makes too much edgy jokes based on her situation, one'll feel awkward for laughing

probably avidly smokes and drinks outside of the events

Guard 011 (No-Eul)

Just stressed the fuck out. She's only living for her newborn to be still alive at this point. Only then we'll see her smile.

fucking hates every single job she had in the past

needs about at least 3 therapists because she's that broken

Definitely secretly and slightly ripped. May not take out an entire gang kind tho

[ab4eva]

‘The Three of Us: ‘Tis The Damn Season’

Fully co-authored with mon petite chou @therealslimshakespeare 🩷 (& all credit to her for this gorgeous new moodboard!)

Notes: Happy new year babes! Our endless thanks and appreciation to all of you who have kept the love for these three alive with screams and reads and notes and who have inspired us to churn out some of the horniest shit imaginable. We hope you love this installment and please come and scream to us about it.

Warnings: All the sex, 18+ only

Word count: 8k

The Three of Us

The Three of Us: Brat Behavior

-

The past few months have been grand but far too busy. Or at least for Austin, workaholic that he is. You knew that he was dedicated and in a very crucial stage of establishing himself as one of the most respected and in demand actors of his generation but, the fact of it is, the holidays find you about as worrisomely detached from his hectic set-life as Callum is from the both of you an ocean away. There is FaceTime and the group chat and gifts sent back and forth and avid interest for each other’s success and fits of glumness, but the long stretch between last time all together has begun to wear, it’s a melancholy sort of missing of both of them and you long for the closeness. The easy way everything is so right when together.

Your mother and your girl friends are making proclamations these days, general platitudes about how a man who was serious about you would make this something more official after a year and a half of “casual” dating. And they’re right, if that’s what was still happening. To be fair, dating doesn’t seem to be what you’re doing anymore, you and Austin are so far beyond that despite the recent distance and added to it, Callum is as solidly a part of that seriousness that your head spins with what sort of talk is even needed to solidify something so utterly unorthodox and yet so crucial for your world to make sense. No one can know, not beyond the occasional snicker over espresso martinis about “the boys” and double innuendos about sharing that you can always laugh off in the sobriety of the morning after.

In this funk -which would be no funk at all if the ones you loved were simply near and life didn’t move too fast and work too slow- you find yourself in London in December. A work trip, but it’s left you feeling indulgent and more than a little mopey at the prospect of another fairy-light, snow-dusted, early December spent alone despite ostensibly being able to claim a boyfriend; and so you decide to stay over. You museum stroll, enjoy your favorite tea houses, explore the garden exhibitions, try your hand at photography on the various bridges. A text from Callum startles you out of your melancholy, asking if you “really came to London, stayed a few days, posted it on your Insta stories and ‘didn’t say shit’ to him about it.”

Chastened, and no longer deterred by the three avatar bubbles denoting each member of the group chat, you fire back apologies - a string of demure and pitiful emojis and inquiries as to how to make this slight better. There’s barely five seconds of typing ellipses before your sentence is read and responded to, Callum’s trademark eagerness coming through the phone so unequivocally that a wave of longing hits you out of nowhere and blooms bright in your chest.

Coffee and baguettes at Burhams, 4:00, Mumford and Sons playing at the Carlton at 7:00, so wear something sexy under the coat. But do bring a coat, it’s going to be frigid. He’ll schedule an uber if you give him your hotel address. And why the fuck aren’t you staying at his? See you tonight. Xx

To your credit, between the giddy smile on your face in anticipation of seeing him and the butterflies in your belly of having an evening that’ll finally match the jollity of everyone around your sad little self, you feel a tiny slither of doubt. You thumbs up his message, biting your lip in worry over how to reply, not that you don’t know what you want to say to him and how enthusiastically you intend to agree with his hijacking of your evening, but rather, an uneasy awareness of Austin’s presence in the chat. That very same presence that erases all the guilt of such a conversation, not that there should be any anyway, you’re all friends, but you find your fingers stall when you go to gush in approval of the plan as warmly as you intend.

Five whole minutes go by. Just your solitary and very unappreciative 👍 lingering there. It’s making it weird, you’re making it weird. This is how you’ve been all this season and you’re sick of it. Then another row of little dots appear, texting in progress. You hold your breath, melancholy and fond in expectation of Callum’s predictable ribbing over your moderation. But it’s under Austin’s name when the grey chat box slides into delivered. It’s simple, easy, a pink cheeks smile emoji at the end.

“Yeah, and wear tights with that coat, I know you. Tights can be sexy. Pneumonia isn’t ☺️.”

God you miss him. And it seems you’re going out with Callum tonight. You should overthink the pulsing bravery and excitement that takes over then, but you don’t. Because that’s a thing to be left behind with the loneliness at Christmastime when you’ve got people to love you.

-

“Look what the cat finally dragged in.” Callum’s familiar, husky drawl assaults you from behind and you can actually hear the smirk in his voice. You turn, a smile on your face that quickly fades when you see the wounded look of hurt in his eyes he’s desperately trying to hide with all of his casual bravado, and you realize all is not exactly forgiven yet. Lord, you’ve forgotten just how big he actually is. Has he always been this tall, this broad? Hands in his pockets now, he doesn’t immediately reach for you and your heart squeezes with the notion you’ve hurt him simply by being too in your feels about things lately. You should have called him the moment you landed and the guilt sits heavy as a stone in the pit of your stomach. This is Cal, your Cal! Not some random guy but your own lovely Englishman who means more to you and Austin than probably any other person on earth. Or close to it.

“Oh Cal…I…,” you falter, taking a deep breath and one step closer to him. You’re starting to shiver in this London chill and despite wearing tights like Austin told you to, you *also* wore something sexy (and short and not very warm at all), like Callum told you to. An arms length still separates you but you’re close enough now to feel the warmth radiating off his hulking form and you shiver again, crossing your arms over your body, as much for warmth as to fortify your strength. You’re half hoping he’ll jump in with his trademark ease, teasingly let you off the hook. Because how can you tell him all the reasons why you didn’t call. That he’s been on your mind day and night since you got here and you’ve been sleepwalking through London, half heartedly hoping to run into him at Camden Market or a museum or his favorite pub. And how can you tell him that you’re pretty sure you’re in love with him too, but how would that even work? It makes your brain hurt just thinking about it. What if he doesn’t feel the same? And Austin, oh god Austin, you love him so much it hurts and what would he think about it all? These cloudy thoughts swirl and clamor in your head, begging to be let out. But all you can do is stare at the grown man in front of you who looks for all the world like a little lost puppy.

Callum just stands there, blue eyes cold and distant, looking just over your shoulder, refusing to look at you. The hell with this, you can’t take another second of whatever this is. You close the gap between you in a flash, catching him off guard with your near tackle hug. He stumbles backwards with a little “oof” breathed out somewhere above your head as you snake your arms around his middle, laying your cheek on that big, broad chest. Warm, he’s so deliciously warm and you take a deep breath for the first time all day, maybe for the first time all month. He smells just like you remember - warm vanilla spice and cigarette smoke. He stiffens for a moment, hands still balled into fists in that damn jacket pocket.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, squeezing him tight as you feel a pinch in your nose and the pinprick of tears threatening to fall. No, that won’t do, Cal’s the injured party here, so you sniff discreetly and snuggle closer into him, shivering again. That does it, he’s too much of a gentleman to leave you in the cold for too long. You hear him sigh, and his arms wrap around you at long last, chin coming down to rest on the top of your head, and his body relaxes into yours. “I’m so sorry.”

“Just…never do that again, alright? If you’re in town, you call…fucks sake. Got it?” His voice is rough with emotion and you can tell there’s more he wants to say, questions left unanswered but you can both leave those for another time. You nod, still glued to him like a sexy starfish.

“Promise.” A simple word, falling from your lips. But you mean it. He grabs your coat from the back and hauls you away from him, the better to look you in the eyes for the first time in months. Fixing you with an intense, searching look he seems to find whatever he’s looking for in your eyes because he nods, once. He knows this is a promise you’ll keep.

-

It’s with relief you notice his smile gets crinklier the more tipsy you become as the night progresses. You cling to his arm for stability while unabashedly sipping down the remains of your fifth gin and tonic with what you hope is endearing gusto. His smile stays, it’s a good sign. You know Callum dislikes stilted companionship more than anything, and if you’ve become a little messy in your attempt to shake off the awkwardness -well, he’s taken it in stride, it’s better than your seasonal blues, your clinging is preferred to your previous neglect. His arm is so large and his hand so huge, you lean against him like a child tired out at a carnival and watch the dwindling order of the party swirl into chaos around you, his leather jacket sticky against your cheek, your little back corner a place of observation after hours spent in the throng, bopping to the beat with the best of them. It’s dizzying and bright looking on it now, your heels feel like they’re wobbling beneath your unmoving feet and it makes you drop your gaze downwards.

Cal is wearing slacks. Pinstripe slacks. The inseams of which are god’s strongest little soldiers. How is the thread not ripping? What’s he so big for? You miss the feeling of them crushing your cheeks, muffling your ears, jumping under your hands.

“Jesus babe,” he interrupts your train of thought, sounding like he’s getting fallacio at that very moment.

“What?” You lift your puzzled face from the crook of his arm and search his own very near, very flushed, very hungry face. Oh, maybe you’d said some of that aloud.

“Babe, you’re fookin’ sloshed.” He isn’t gentlemanly enough to call it tipsy, or maybe you’re way past tipsy. You try to punch his arm but merely end up slipping further into him, holding onto his waist with both hands, tonic glass caught by his reflexes somewhere along the way.

“Thanks’ou,” you mutter, smelling cologne and sweat and feeling the bulky barrel chest beneath your fingers, well and truly as solid and sweet as it was with his first hug this afternoon, “I feel good.” You realize it’s been such a while since you could say that.

His wry smile softens and it creases under his chin as he stares down at you, you feel fingers under your chin, the gesture making your eyes flutter closed. “Good.” His voice is so deep you think you feel it down to the soles of your feet. “Better get you home and tuck you in ‘fore the carriage turns back into a pumpkin.”

You pout, feeling like melting into him, quite sure you’re not physically capable of doing anything under your own steam, not wanting to, in fact wanting very much to let yourself be pampered, be a little spoiled.

So you pout.

“God,” you hear him mutter, he sounds like his voice is coming from the pits, he sounds drunk, he sounds turned on.

“You sloshed too?” You are obscenely hopeful and your hand proves it by sliding down his middle, intent on finding pinstripes and tracing them too.

“I- maybe- maybe more than I thou- holy shit babe, just hold on…I’m gonna get us a cab.”

You’re in public, being indecent. With a man who is not your publicized boyfriend. It strikes you as a delightful change of pace and nothing more. Your bubbly enjoyment of it is only further punctuated by the charming feeling of being lifted in the air and bodily carried through the miasma of tables in the raucous little venue, princess style in Cal’s big arms, out into the little flurries swirling in the late London air. You later assume a large man in an expensive jacket holding a pissed drunk girl wearing a skimpy sequined two piece cradled in his arms was probably perfect taxi bait on that sidewalk. You don’t really recall the wait, just the blast of cold and the feeling of being carried and the positively romantic swirl of lights and snowflakes above your topsy turvy vision, overshadowed by his big old nose.

You think you booped it.

You remember him almost banging your head on the tip of the taxi door as he stumbled in, the way it made you realize he too was sloshed. The way you spilled out onto the seat, giggling, and he had to pick up your legs to slide in beside you. The way he’d not bothered to buckle and simply gave out his address with a tacked on “thanks mate” before proceeding to desecrate the cabbies back seat with the foggiest kiss a London fare had ever witnessed.

Tongue in, mouth wide and devouring, hands in your hair. You were undone by it instantly, the forgiveness and the essential element of being missed; the slight edge of frustration that worked its way into each clack of your teeth and tilt of his jaw. You were being smothered to death in that backseat and you craved it, clung to him and kissed him back, exulted in being wanted and crushed. You felt his thighs under you own, so sturdy and warm, a flush of heat taking over at memories of what was between them, at the way he hurt you and had you coming back for more because he was so lovely about it. The way you couldn’t forget you’d been with him even days after; you needed that badly, a testament that you weren’t always lonely.

“Need you to make me feel it,” you slurred this sentiment aloud, fractured and too loud for decency, the feeling of the seat vibrating under your back and the lights of the city strobing through the droplet-specked windows. “Deep inside,” you insisted, obsessed with it.

“Gotta be quiet, now,” he begged with his forehead pressed to yours, face buzzing from the rough road, sounding gratifyingly hoarse, “almost there.”

Cal would likely tip the poor cabbie for your whining mouth.

“M’so’fucking horny,” you felt the need to impress upon him.

“No shit,” Cal mumbled against your mouth and you didn’t even have time to process the fact he slipped his hand inside your pantyhose until you felt the cold clinking of his watch against your lower belly, then the very electric touch of his finger between your sopping wet petals. He swirled them up and down your slit, once, twice, thrice, gathering a truly incriminating amount of slick. Then he stabbed in, entirely unlike his usual teasing and gentle build. He fucked in, two large fingers at once to the hilt and you let out a entirely involuntary little cry at the much desired and entirely unexpected relief.

“Fuuuuck,” you whined up at him, lips trembling and more than a little pathetic in your drunken state but you were being roughly finger fucked in the backseat of a cab after having been dismally celibate for over a month and it was really too much to expect from a girl not to curse over the happy burn of Callum Turner’s large fingers slamming home. “I can feel your stupid ring,” you managed, realizing it was the one he was always wearing, like some relic from another age, a signet ring sorta thing you’d teased him about. It kept bumping your clit, a cold metal shock, each time he slammed inside.

“You’re gushing.” He sounded like he was almost accusing you.

“Feels s’good,” you defended, about ready to come from this alone. “Been so closed up,” you pouted further, self pity in full bloom now you had a sympathetically horny ear. “Cal you gotta fuck me. You’re gonna fuck me, right? Please, Cally honey, please baby. Need to feel you deep.”

It’s all you can think of as you come on his fingers, the way he’s gonna ruin you if he takes you tonight. The way you’ll not have any room for blues or worries or anything, just being here in the present with the challenge of taking him all the way. It will consume you, turn you into a little cockslave with no schedules or requirements or holiday demands. You’ll have one job and it’s to let Callum bottom out where you can feel those plump and hairy balls against your ass and nothing more. You’d kill for it right now. You’d certainly let him finger fuck you in the back of the cab about it. Proved that already. Who’s acting too distant now? Now that your walls are clamped around his fingers like a vice, soaking his wrist with your orgasm, crying into the palm of his hand held right against your mouth.

“Fuckin’ mouth on you tonight, luv.” He sounds as strangled as you feel. “Whatever you want, whatever you want, baby girl. Beggin’ for my cock…missed me that bad, huh? I know you remember how to take me but it’s been a little while…sure you feel like having that pretty little pussy ruined tonight?”

Your eyes roll back again at his filthy goading. The truth is, it’s been too long and it’s always a challenge with him anyway. A sore point occasionally between the three of you but it is as it is, and your state of mind has you longing for an entirely preventable limp tomorrow.

“I’ll take it, I’ll be good,” you swear, grinding your hips up on his own, trying to feel the throbbing monster in question, impeded in your quest by the stupid pantyhose Austin wanted your wear. “All of you, I promise, won’t even make you go slow. Want you to break me.”

Cal tips the driver exorbitantly, after having wiped his sticky hand off on those pinstripes. The feeling of your wet warmth makes him so hungry to be inside you he forgets his basic maths. It doesn’t matter, he errs on the side of too generous and rolls himself out of the ride. He then pulls you out after him like you’re a bit of slinky play dough. You are recovered enough to walk you find, once your feet meet cement, and it’s something, it’s good enough to hold onto his hand and let him lead you up the four stairs leading to his brick townhouse with its wrought iron railing and navy blue door. You’ve never been inside, only seen pictures. The novelty is thrilling; Callum’s got the door swinging wide before the poor misused cab has even disappeared down the street.

There’s a pleasant foyer right inside, warmer in palette and decor than most renovated homes these days, with a polished wood floor and powder blue walls and a chandelier overhead, gold to match the giant gold mirror hanging above an antique side table holding the keys to what you assume is his car and a stray bag of dog treats fresh from Tesco. It’s instantly charming and intriguing, and so very like him that your heart melts in endearment. Then picks up in a shocked tempo when you feel his huge hands on your waist, pushing more than guiding you over the threshold. He spins you effortlessly and you’re bent bodily over the pretty antique side table before you can even help.

Horizontally you watch his hand, the one that had just been inside you minutes ago, swipe off the dog treats and the fancy little silver tray holding his keys. They clatter to the wood floor and you shake at the reminder he’s as keyed up as you are or worse, not having gotten relief in the cab like you did. You remember your stupidity, you raving and saying you wouldn’t make him go slow. Your mouth dries out and jitters pulse through you now, a war between sparkling arousal at every dominant action he takes and downright terror at your big, drunk mouth over promising your cock taking abilities.

He yanks your pantyhose down unceremoniously and you don’t move, not even when you hear the rip his impatience makes in them, you keep your flushed cheek to the cool wooden table top and try to even out your breathing, try to remember it’s Callum and it’s what you want and he’s gonna impale you bent over this table apparently, like a couple of insatiable sex addicts managing only to get to the first available surface. The sound of his belt shouldn’t make you full body shudder, not after all the times you two have been intimate in other places and other times, but right now everything else seems so quiet. Just two sets of lungs breathing in and out, and the distant hum of his fridge, the muted traffic outside, the grate of his zipper.

Your eyes flick up, remembering the mirror. He’s staring down in its reflection, not at your eyes but at your bare bottom, the sequined skirt puddled around your ankles. You feel his toe nudging at your instep and you spread your legs wider, tabletop digging into your lower belly as you lean forward more, arching your back, giving him a peak of the cleft between your legs.

The slap on your ass jolts your body forward more, your trembling hand reaching out to steady yourself, mussing up the mirror with your greasy print. “Arch it baby, that’s it, throw it back for me.” He presses on your lower back and you tilt as much as you can, feeling cold air hit your petals as Callum’s calloused hand kneads your ass cheek, crudely pulling you apart, thumbing at where you’re glittery and wet. His handspan is sobering. Your heart pounds in your ears louder than the band earlier tonight.

“Stay like tha’, just like tha’,” he commands. “M’gonna fuck the pout off ya.”

The sheer, blunt weight of him pointed up against your little hole feels utterly reckless when it happens. You stare at his face in the mirror and the glazed look of determination on his, the way he’s still staring at where he’s lined himself up, the animal in him fully in control, his tongue peeking out at the corner of his lips.

He doesn’t do you the courtesy of meeting your eyes when he slams inside, it’s just as well really. Your own screw shut as your mouth unhinges in a scream, raw and uncensored, feeling it fully and it’s as much as you remember and he didn’t go slow. And he doesn't even look at your face, not when you squint your tearful eyes open again to beg for reassurance; he’s staring down at where he split you apart, mesmerized and utterly smug. You feel yourself trembling, belly a raw ache immediately.

He’s too deep.

His belly is warm against your ass, curly trail of hair tickling with each heave of his breath. You try to shimmy away, further atop the side table, nose almost smudging the mirror. A warm and solid hand on the back of your neck yanks you back, back down on him fully, back on your feet: you hear your own sob like it belongs to someone else.

“Cal…” you try to beg your way into a dishonorable retreat but the hand stays strong and sure beneath your skull.

“Tell me ya missed me,” he demands, and you’re not sure if it’s what’s required to be let off his cock or for him to slam it home again.

It feels like true, broken, stupidly desperate begging when you comply, no game in it at all, “I did, I did.”

“Say it.” He puts you out of your suspense with a rough thrust and it knocks out your breath. “Say you missed me. Say it.”

“Missed you!” you wail, cheek smushed under the press of his hand.

“And you wa’me to fuck ya,” he insists, hips snapping fast now and you let out unstoppable little grunts of effort as your body accommodates him as best it can, “tell me, tell me, baby.”

In the mirror above you he looks pissed or hurt, probably has been all evening and now he can have this, you can make it better by this. It's such a hot thought. Earning his forgiveness this way. Genuinely a blow to the boss babe mentality wilting inside you, the way he fucks such flattery out of you, the way when cock dumb and bent over in his entry way, you mean it in perfect sincerity: “Missed you so bad Cal, missed the way you fuck me up.”

“I fuck you up?”

“Yes!”

“Only me? Only me, baby? Tell me-”

It’s on the tip of your tongue, it tastes as sincere as all the other jumbled admissions you’ve screamed out face to face with your own reflection here. Except this one isn’t true. And it hits like a bucket of ice water on your raging arousal.

Austin. Oh god, what about- Austin.

You freeze, blood running cold and croak out a meager “Stop!” Callum doesn’t listen, too caught up in the moment to hear and you say it again, louder, more forceful - “Callum! Stop!”

To his credit he does, immediately, concern flooding his pink, sweaty face. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you? Oh god, did I hurt you for real?” You hear the slight tinge of panic in his voice starting to escalate and the hand that had been pressing you into the table suddenly releases you and helps you struggle upright onto your elbows as you wince. No easy feat as you’re still impaled, and fluttering around him at that. He grunts a little but doesn’t make a move to disentangle you both…yet.

You meet his eyes in the mirror, his face still a jumble of concern and questions and yours suddenly ghostly white. “Austin,” you whisper brokenly, “we-. We forgot about Austin. Fuck. We didn’t even ask him if we could…oh my god, oh my GOD. What have we done?” Now it’s you who begins to panic, hot tears starting to gather in your eyes.

“Hey…shh, calm down, babe. Calm down. You’re totally right, we should have asked ‘im. Here, lemme just…” he trails off and you feel him struggling to reach his phone in the back pocket of his pants, which are still around his thick thighs as he didn’t even bother to pull them all the way down. He grins at you in the mirror, holding up his phone triumphantly. “We should call him.”

Before you can really hear or process that fully…

FaceTime screen. You flinch, realizing what an insanely compromising position you’re currently in, with Callum’s cock buried deep inside you just like you’d asked, no regard or thought for the man you’re currently in a relationship with. Austin doesn't answer - thank god. You’re so relieved. Then suddenly Callum’s talking behind you, voice text memo thingy… “Butler, wake up.”

“We got ourselves into a shituation of sorts and didn’t wanna leave ya out. It’s like eight a.m. there for fuck’s sake, wake up my balls are killin’ me, man.”

You better believe that Austin wakes up then. He’s very suggestible first thing in the morning to Cal’s sex voice. He’s heard it before, of course, but only as solo messages in the group chat. We was mentioned and Austin’s morning wood does the thinking for him when he sees a missed FaceTime call and punches redial. Laying on his belly, cock chafed on the sheets, outraged curiosity on his baby face, “WHAT THE FUCK, GUYS?!”

Calllum’s double chin in view, he’s red, sweaty, high ceiling visible. Austin’s less annoyed about whatever is going on and more about…he just woke up?! He planned on avocado toast and espresso and reading the morning paper in leisurely silence, maybe a warm shower with some self care. But what the actual fuck?

“I realize I’m taking liberties,” Cal starts huffing, sounding strangled and keeping you well out of sight, “but she looked so pretty and I missed you both, and we did get pretty drunk…please tell me I can keep going.”

Austin can’t seem to stop shaking his head and rubbing his sleepy eyes and repeating, “What the fuck?”

“Come on mate, let ya watch!” Cal wheedles, grin growing as Austin doesn’t verbalize any actual qualms. It’s not consent but anything less than a hard no from Austin means Callum can try to use his charm.

“We can talk about all this later, we really need to, actually but, uh, please, lemme.” He pauses, another grin splitting his face as pulls the phone closer to get a better look at the screen. “Fuck, you look so good all sleepy, bet your ass is out too, huh? Austin?”

“What the fuck, Callum? Just…lemme see her. Babe? You there?” You can hear Austin on the other end of the line, and with that, consent is assumed. You start babbling, trying to explain some shit as the phone comes in front of you, Cal’s massive hand obscuring you partly as he tries to prop it up on the mirror’s gilt frame. Austin’s rumpled, blonde bedhead and blue eyes swim into view and your heart skips a beat at the familiar sight. You can tell just by looking at him that he’s worked up, so horny already. You see your slightly horrified face reflected in the tiny screen in the corner, along with your bare ass and Callum clearly attached somewhere lower. He’s leaning over you, his cock stabbing deeper inside you, pressing you harder against the table and squeezing the last bit of your the breath out.

“…didn’t consider your feelings, baby, I’m so sorry if you’re not comfortable…OOOH FUCK CAL!” you gasp. You’re trying not to clench but you can’t help it and he keeps groaning and fucking into you in tiny little thrusts. You lose all thought, all ability to speak as Cal starts up again in earnest. Your face is so close to the camera and Austin can mainly see you - wincing, starting to cry as Cal pummels you from behind. Pretty soon he starts moving too, not even thinking about it. It’s just that the sheets are dragging so well, feeling so good. Watching his girl’s face as she takes his best friend’s cock. Poor you, eyes wide and mouth propped open in a perfect “o”, sweet face looking half-pained most of the time. The breathy way you say Austin’s name is almost pleading - you’re not sure if you want him to save you through the screen or absolve you.

“He too big for you, angel?” he asks without even thinking, eyes all consoling and compassionate. You manage a small whine, nodding as you bite your lip at a particularly hard thrust.

“He doesn’t take no’s well,” Austin reminds you in a sympathetic told ya so way.

“Damn right,” gets huffed in your ear. “He knows you’re a little slut, knows you were sayin’ “yes yes yes” a second ago. Isn’t that right, Butler? Yeah, look at him all sorry for you, he knows I won’t stop, it’s why he’s too chicken to let me try him, huh Aus? ‘Fraid it’d be too much?” You catch Callum’s self-satisfied smirk in the mirror. Austin mumbles a quiet “Shut up” but his eyes are drooping like he’s about to cum.

“Mm hmm, thought so, mate. Better be glad I’m not there right now or that tight little ass of yours would be wrecked,” Callum goads. Austin watches your face contort as you take him, half-imagining himself on the receiving end. It’s a subconscious combo of wanting to put himself in your place, knowing it would hurt for him and also to soothe his slightly-bruised ego that another cock isn’t even better, it’s too big in fact for you.

“Fuck baby, is it so deep? Does it hurt?” He sounds hopeful. “He’s too big isn’t he, awful big British man who doesn’t even know how to tease, my poor baby it hurts, yeah, I can see it hurts. You cry so pretty. You gotta be good though, you gotta take it, gotta keep our mate happy.” Austin licks his lips, sounding strangled, his wavering voice an octave lower than normal. “All the way in Cal, come on go all the way…ooh fuuuuck yeah, you gotta force it don’t you? She’s so tight, isn’t she…oh fuck, my poor baby, don’t stop now.”

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you Butler? What I’d feel like? You ok, bruv? Wishing this was you? Lookin’ a lil wistful on me, maybe it’s jus’the screen. Naughty…gonna have to shove your face into the pillow just to keep you quiet. I know how loud you can be when you come,” Cal grunts as he pounds into you, keeping his eyes firmly on Austin’s through the screen as he does. Austin starts to flip over onto his back, easier wring himself out that way.

“Ah ah ah, don’t touch yourself, pretty man, we both know you don’t need it - not with this, not with us. Want you to rub it out against the sheets, like the pretty little bitch you are.” Callum meets your stare in the mirror, his eyes glittering with mirth and lust.

That mischief is infectious, combined with Austin’s own almost salacious investment in your penetrated state- it gives you an idea. More like a need.

“Babe.” Austin’s gaze snaps back to your face at the sound of your voice, pupils dilated and lush mouth hanging open. “Be a good boy and open the bedside drawer…yes darling, that one. Grab my favorite vibe, the pink one. That’s it…mmm you’re such a good listener. Now…can you turn it on for me, baby? I want you to put it on your cock.” You watch as he obeys your every command, his forehead dropping to the bed when the vibrations reach their intended destination.

“Butler, move it down,” Cal calls him out on it, smirking and waiting to see if he actually will.

Austin doesn’t even argue, just grits out, “I don’t even have lube.” His sad bunny face reappears briefly as he lifts his head but he’s moving it down anyway, off screen.

“Yeah, neither do we, did we doll? Nah! -s’gonna hurt, Aus.” Callum says this last part, half goad and half encouragement. Austin feels so naughty doing it, even after everything. That's one threshold he hasn’t crossed yet. But for you? For both of you? To be part of the fun? He’d do just about anything you two asked of him.

“That’s it baby, be a good boy, don’t stop, don’t you dare stop, keep going,” you praise his timid but consistent efforts from five thousand miles and an ocean away. “Fuck Austin, you sound so pretty like that.”

You and Callum watch Austin through the tiny phone screen, shifting and coloring and so sure he’s not into it either but his throat is tightening and so are his balls….his whole lower belly is throbbing.

“Is this…fuck…is this how girls feel?” He doesn’t know but god it’s another thing entirely, now that you and Cal are begging and encouraging and swearing he’s got this.

He very much doesn’t “have” shit but…

…If his baby says he does, then he does. He lets out a hoarse scream, like he’s been struck by lightning and he’s too seized up to even get it out of himself if he wants to. Pretty face planted in the pillow, the phone tips over a little and you can see all his golden hair sticking up, a sliver of scalp. He beats the mattress with his fist, and Callum starts laughing inside you. You’re not sure if it’s funny or concerning. But you start laughing. Can't help it. It’s contagious. Callum almost slips out of you and has to grab your hips to stay firmly planted.

“You ok mate? ‘Oh fuck’ for bad or just ‘fuck’ for good. C’mon, talk to us Aus.” He’s still wheezing and laughing. He’s horrible. Austin knows Callum is watching him…it’s making him feel a million odd little things, all of them very dizzy and very warm.

“Oh fuck, no it feels better- worse- like this,” Austin manages through gritted teeth.

“Fix the phone baby, we wanna see you,” you say. When he does there’s a couple of tears leaking out of his eyes - from pleasure? Pain? Both? He’s not sure, but whatever it is makes you and Cal so turned on that things are suddenly not funny anymore in the least. An intense silence fills the room, only heavy breathing and a couple of whimpers can be heard as you all zero in on the same thing - chasing that blacked out sun and exploding stars. Watching y’all go at it distracts Austin just enough to get into it, in a good way, to get on top of that out of control feeling. But it makes him keep clenching down and he lets out a sort of wail, clamping a hand over his mouth - where the fuck did that sound come from? He’s never made that sound before in his life.

Cal starts babbling to you about how pretty he bets Austin looks, spread out on that big white bed, and for a moment Austin forgets you, too busy realizing Callum is watching him squirm from being stimulated in a way he never has been before. He almost loses it right then at the overheard praise.

“Bet his ass is all clenched up.”

“Think his back is sweaty yet?”

“Bet he’s leaking everywhere.”

“Are you really crying, Aus? Fuck, you look so damn sexy like that.”

Pathetic sad groaning, muffled from the pillows where he’s dropped his head again, Austin moans out, “Maybeeee -my assss, oh god. Oh no fuck…I’m gonna cum.”

The panic in his announcement is comical, considering the impending bliss. But it’s no laughing matter anymore, the building feeling deep in his gut, nowhere familiar at all and yet stronger than anything he’s ever known was possible. He thinks when the feeling crests he’s going to be shattered into a million pieces. He can’t quite breathe with the way it’s making him seize up, the little toy tucked inside with its vibrations making his whole body twitch and writhe at unexpected intervals ever more frequently. There’s a nasty puddle of precum under his chafed cock and Austin feels fresh tears of self pity gathering, ready to spill. He’s going to cum and it’s terrifying.

“Baby-you-look-,” your intended compliment gets punched out of you a lá staccato thanks to the bruising your cervix is taking as Callum quite loses his mind from the feel of your gripping walls and the sight of Austin getting off on the buzz of a pink girl-vibe tucked in his peachy little ass. “You-look-so-pretty,” you manage and watch as Austin flings his head up, looking strangled and with every vein in his neck pulsing wildly, and in tandem, it feels, with the beat of Callum’s heartbeat inside you, unless your all-encompassing horny has made you utterly delusional.

Austin cums silently, except for a choked off shriek of shock that heralded his arrival, his beautiful face contorting in exquisite agony, his own brutal pleasure so palpable through the screen it becomes a symbiosis of sorts in your own body and what has been a brutal, mind-numbing fuck for you so far now becomes the instrument of cutting your tether to earth and the next slam of Callum’s hips into yours sends you off, eyes glued to Austin’s bubblegum pink lips and a delighted scream echoing through the flat.

Spent, in the aftermath, you rest your head against the table once more, only the top of your head visible to the FaceTime video, and take what Callum is chasing in his vigor. You feel your recent wetness squelching and running down your thighs as he fucks you through the last of the pleasure and into that burning realm of too much.

“Cal- Callum, please, you gotta-.” It’s not your voice doing the begging though, your ears may be ringing so badly you can hear colors right now but it’s Austin, you’re sure of that. Austin, not you, begging Callum to cum, “-I can’t keep, I can’t stop I, please, please cum -I-”

He can’t stop clenching, cumming, awful little dribbles and spurts of semen milked out of his bobbing cock by each buzz of your vibrator that he’s either forgotten he can willfully remove or else can’t manage to because of how reactionary each shift of his body feels.

“Wan’me to cum? Wan’ me to fill you up?” Callum sounds winded as fuck, slurring and drunk and full-blooded Londoner.

You don’t even think to answer, even though it’s your body he’s using. Your body that’ll be filled up.

“Please,” Austin answers for you, sounding so whimpery you feel yourself shake apart again, a small and involuntary climax in direct correspondence with the audible stimulation from his pathetic state.

When Callum cums it’s so warm and much and plainly obvious, striping your inner walls and soothing the abused ache, that you feel half euphoric and half like a terrible defrauder that you’ve felt this and not Austin. It’s all you can manage though, fucked and wrecked and ruined as was promised on the packaging, you can’t do more than sag further on top the side table and relish the feeling of Callum’s cock beginning to soften inside you, allowing a little breach in the dam for a trickle of cum to drip out.

“Aus, take the fookin’ vibe out ‘fore ya pass out on us.”

Cal’s voice sounds so reassuringly commanding the last little bits of your frazzled self melt away with the dregs of arousal and you lift your head in time to watch Austin face plant for the tenth time while reaching behind himself to obey.

“There’s a good lad,” Callum teases in your ear and you shudder from the secondhand praise, shuddering too from the way Austin looks like a debauched cherub, naked and meek in a sea of white sheets illuminated by a clear New York morning, staring down at the little pink wand he’s just retrieved from his still tingly ass.

“Fuck,” he articulates with swollen lips.

“Show us the puddle, come on mate, ya must’ve milked out a pint goin’ on an’ on like that. Ya lil freak.”

Austin blushes under the coarse praise and shyly points the camera to the desecrated sheets. You hear yourself moan before you can bite it back.

“I wish I could lick it up,” you realize longingly, dazed and used, and maybe you are still drunk.

“Your mouth!”-Cal, “Your mind!” -Austin, comes out from both men simultaneously and it makes you realize you really should’ve been asleep ages ago. You hadn’t meant to say that bit out loud. You blush, actually blush, and after what you all just experienced you really shouldn’t have any embarrassment left. You start to giggle, quickly followed by the boys, until Callum is slipping free from your poor, abused pussy and guffawing until tears are leaking from his eyes and down his cheeks.

“Goddamn,” swears Austin, his giggles finally fizzing out. “You two will be the death of me. Hang up the phone and go to bed already. Call me when you wake up.”

“I love you, Austin.” You grab the phone and hold it close, memorizing every inch of his face in milliseconds, suddenly not wanting him to go. “I miss you, babe. So damn much.”

“Me too, sweetheart…I’ll see you soon, ok? And Cal?” He comes up behind you, wiping his eyes and leans over your shoulder to grin into the phone. “You bastard,” he teases. “Watch yourself, bud.”

“Oh, I’m really scared, mate. Fuck off and go eat your avocado toast, fancy man.” And with that, Callum hangs up the call and you both stumble blindly through his darkened house and into the bathroom for a quick and necessary shower. He tosses you a soft and worn gray t-shirt to sleep in and you’re off to dreamland almost as soon as your head hits the pillow. It seems like you’ve only been asleep a few minutes when you feel a soft squeeze on your toes. You yank your foot away and whine, not ready to wake up.

“Cal…stoppp,” you pout, jerking the covers up over your head and burrowing down.

“Wake up, Grumpy Gus, I brought coffee and croissants.”

That voice. The one you heard from thousands of miles away last night. The one you hear in your dreams. You throw the covers off in one swift motion and rub your eyes. It can’t be. But it is. Standing at the foot of the bed, a gentle smile on his face and a tray of coffee in one hand and a white paper bag in the other.

“Austin?! What are you even doing here?” You scramble out of bed and leap into his arms, squishing his cheeks between your hands and covering his face with kisses. He laughs and stumbles backward, just barely getting the coffee onto the dresser before it spills.

“I missed you too much so I caught the next flight to London. Couldn’t stand to be away from you for another minute. Happy to see me?” His eyes flick down shyly as he waits for your answer.

You don’t answer. Instead, you press your lips to his, tenderly at first and then hungrily, drinking in all of him. “More than happy, you have no idea,” you whisper when you come up for air.

“The fuck is going on?” a raspy voice calls out from the bed. Callum looks like he’s been hit by a truck - eyes squinty, face creased by sheets and curly hair sticking up at all angles.

“Austin brought coffee. And croissants,” you chirp, all traces of sleepiness gone.

Callum just shakes his head and groans, falling back into the sheets and pulling the covers over his eyes. “He would fly across an ocean just to make sure his girl didn’t like another cock better than his. Show off.”

-

Tags: @crazymadpassionatelove @stylespresleyhearted @oskea93 @softboo @winniemaywebber @spiderstyles04 @abswifey @thegettingbyp2 @blikebarbie92 @missmaywemeetagain @icedb1ackcoffee @wildfll0wer @dilfelvis @slowsweetlove @thefallofthedamned @cherieaustin @liv-n @denised916 @coureurs-de-bois9 @steph-speaks @jjubilee-fluff

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Bound by Affection

Pairing: Emperor Geta x healer!reader x Emperor Caracalla

Warnings: Fluff, rivalry between siblings,

Authors Note: Hope you enjoy the New Year! Here’s to the start of something amazing!!

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The imperial palace was breathtakingly grand, with halls lined in gold and marble that reflected the power of Rome. But despite its splendor, tension hung heavy in the air as you were escorted to the chamber where both emperors awaited you. You had heard tales of their strained relationship, their rivalry threatening to tear the empire apart. Still, nothing could have prepared you for the sight of them.

The doors creaked open, and your breath hitched.

Geta, the younger of the two, sat leisurely by the window, sunlight casting a golden halo over his chestnut hair. His boyish features were accentuated by the easy smile he sent your way, warm and inviting. Caracalla stood opposite him, dark and brooding by the hearth. His sharp jaw and piercing gaze carried the weight of command, his stance firm and unyielding. They were opposites in every way, and yet, both were undeniably magnetic.

“You’re the healer they’ve sent?” Caracalla’s voice cut through the silence, rough but steady.

You inclined your head. “I am, Emperor Caracalla.”

Geta chuckled softly, the sound like a melody. “Must you always interrogate our guests, brother? You’ll scare them away before they’ve even begun.” He stood, crossing the room to take your hand in his. “Welcome, healer. We are grateful for your presence. Truly.”

His touch was warm, and the sincerity in his tone disarmed you, though you quickly recovered. “Thank you, Emperor Geta. I am here to serve.”

“Then let’s not waste time,” Caracalla interrupted, his tone curt. “We’ve been ill for weeks—fevers, fatigue, and endless headaches. None of the palace physicians have been able to cure us.”

You nodded, setting your satchel on a nearby table. “I’ll do everything I can to help. Please, allow me to examine you both.”

Caracalla was the first to step forward, his intense gaze fixed on you as you worked. Despite his stoic demeanor, you noticed the subtle way his eyes softened whenever your fingers brushed his skin. His strength was palpable, his presence overwhelming, but beneath it all, you sensed a quiet vulnerability.

“Your hands are steady,” he remarked as you checked his pulse. “You don’t seem easily intimidated.”

“I’ve treated soldiers on the battlefield,” you replied calmly. “I’ve learned to remain composed.”

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “A healer with nerves of steel. Impressive.”

“Don’t frighten her, brother,” Geta chimed in, stepping closer. “She’s here to help, not to endure your interrogation.” His tone was teasing, but there was an edge to it, as though he resented the attention Caracalla was receiving.

As you turned to examine Geta, his demeanor shifted. He was charming, his words laced with compliments meant to put you at ease.

“Your touch is gentle,” he said, his voice soft. “Far better than the clumsy hands of our palace physicians.”

You smiled politely. “Flattery won’t hasten your recovery, Emperor.”

Geta chuckled, his hazel eyes sparkling with amusement. “Perhaps not, but it does make the process more enjoyable, doesn’t it?”

Over the following days, their rivalry became glaringly apparent. Geta would invite you to stroll through the palace gardens, pointing out rare flowers he claimed reminded him of you. Caracalla, not one to be outdone, would seek you out during your quiet moments, engaging you in thoughtful conversation about your craft and the challenges you faced.

One evening, as you prepared a tonic for them, Geta appeared at your side, holding a small bundle of lavender.

“I thought you might appreciate these,” he said, offering them to you with a smile. “A small token of my gratitude.”

You accepted the flowers, their fragrance soothing. “Thank you, Emperor Geta. That’s very kind of you.”

Before you could say more, Caracalla entered the room, his gaze flicking to the flowers in your hands. His jaw tightened, but he said nothing as he approached.

“Have you made progress with the tonic?” he asked, his tone brusque.

“I have,” you replied, sensing the tension between the brothers. “It should help alleviate your symptoms.”

Caracalla nodded, his gaze softening as it lingered on you. “You’ve done more for us in a few days than others have in weeks. You’ve earned my trust, healer.”

The sincerity in his words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you saw a side of him that was rarely revealed—a man who valued loyalty and respect above all else.

As the weeks passed, the bond between you and the emperors deepened. Their initial rivalry for your attention softened, replaced by a reluctant understanding that they both cared for you in their own way. One night, as you stood on a balcony overlooking the city, they joined you, their presence a comforting warmth against the cool evening air.

“You’ve changed things between us,” Geta said quietly, his gaze fixed on the horizon.

Caracalla nodded, his expression uncharacteristically calm. “For once, we agree. You’ve become... important to us.”

Your heart swelled at their words, the sincerity in their voices leaving no room for doubt. Though their journey had been fraught with tension, it was clear they were willing to put aside their differences—for you.

——-

The moon hung high in the night sky, casting its silver light over the imperial gardens. You stood amidst the blooming flowers, savoring the quiet. The palace was grand but suffocating at times, with its endless corridors of marble and the weight of its politics pressing down on you. This garden, however, was your haven.

You heard footsteps behind you—two sets. Turning, you found both emperors approaching, their expressions unreadable. They rarely sought you out together, and the sight of them side by side sent a nervous flutter through your chest.

“Your Majesties,” you greeted, bowing slightly.

Geta was the first to speak, his voice softer than usual. “There’s no need for formality tonight. We’ve come not as emperors, but as men seeking your truth.”

Caracalla stepped closer, his piercing gaze locking with yours. “We’ve realized that this... conflict between us is futile. You’ve become too important to lose over petty rivalry.”

Your breath caught as you looked between them. “I don’t understand.”

Geta smiled faintly, though there was a hint of vulnerability in his eyes. “We’ve spoken at length, and for once, we’ve reached an agreement. We both... care for you. Deeply. And we refuse to let our affections drive a wedge between us—or push you away.”

Caracalla’s jaw tightened, his usual stoicism giving way to a rare display of emotion. “It’s unconventional, but we’re willing to share, if you’ll have us both.”

The weight of their words settled over you, and your heart raced. You had known for weeks that their affections ran deeper than mere gratitude, but to hear them speak so openly was overwhelming.

“I... I don’t know what to say,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Geta reached for your hand, his touch warm and reassuring. “Say you’ll give us a chance. Let us show you how much you mean to us.”

Caracalla’s hand joined his brother’s, his grip firm yet gentle. “We’re not asking for an answer tonight. Just know that our feelings are genuine, and we’ll do whatever it takes to make this work.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, their sincerity cutting through your uncertainty. You nodded, unable to find the words but knowing that your heart was already leaning toward them.

---

The following days were filled with subtle but meaningful gestures that proved their devotion.

Geta, ever the romantic, would steal moments to sit with you in the gardens, reciting poetry he claimed was inspired by your presence. One afternoon, as you strolled beneath the shade of olive trees, he brushed a strand of hair from your face, his touch lingering.

“You’ve brought light to this palace,” he murmured, his gaze tender. “I never knew how much I needed it until you arrived.”

Caracalla, meanwhile, showed his affection in quieter ways. He would accompany you during your rounds, ensuring you were never without protection in the sprawling palace. When you once mentioned your favorite dish in passing, he had it prepared by the palace chefs and delivered to your chambers.

One evening, as you prepared a tincture in your quarters, Caracalla appeared at your door.

“You work too hard,” he said, his tone gentle as he stepped inside. “Let me help.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “I doubt an emperor has much experience with herbs and tonics.”

He smirked, leaning against the table. “True, but I can be a quick learner. Besides, I prefer your company to the endless court meetings.”

His words warmed you, and for the first time, you allowed yourself to truly hope that this unconventional arrangement could succeed.

---

The turning point came during a grand feast held in honor of a Roman victory. You sat between the two emperors, their attention making you the envy of the court. As the night wore on, Geta leaned close, his voice low.

“Come with us,” he whispered, nodding toward a side door that led to the private gardens.

You hesitated, glancing at Caracalla, who gave a subtle nod of agreement. Taking their hands, you allowed them to lead you away from the prying eyes of the court.

In the moonlit garden, they turned to face you, their expressions filled with determination.

“You’ve shown us something we never thought possible,” Geta said, his voice trembling with emotion. “You’ve brought peace to this palace—not just between us, but within ourselves.”

Caracalla stepped closer, his dark eyes locking with yours. “We don’t want to fight anymore—not over power, not over you. We only want you by our sides.”

Tears welled in your eyes as you reached for their hands, squeezing them tightly. “I care for you both,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “I never thought I’d find myself in this position, but I can’t imagine choosing one of you over the other. If you’re willing to share, then so am I.”

Relief and joy filled their faces, and in that moment, the tension that had plagued the palace seemed to melt away. Geta pressed a tender kiss to your hand, while Caracalla cupped your face, his touch reverent.

“You’ll never regret this,” Caracalla vowed, his voice a soft rumble.

Geta nodded, his smile brighter than the stars. “We’ll ensure it.”

Together, the three of you stood beneath the moonlight, bound not by duty or rivalry, but by a love that transcended all expectations.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[moomuzan]

⋆·˚ ༘ *𝖗𝖊𝖓𝖊𝖌𝖆𝖉𝖊

ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ an angsty argument ( song request! )

‼️ only aku‘s part is comfort

ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ akutagawa , chuuya , pm!dazai

The world outside of the small, dark apartment felt distant—detached, as though reality itself had turned a blind eye to you and Akutagawa. The city lights flickered dimly through the thin blinds, casting long shadows across the room. It was late, much later than it should’ve been, but neither of you seemed willing to acknowledge the time.

Akutagawa sat at the edge of the bed, his hands clenched tightly in his lap, the quiet hum of tension in the room thick enough to choke. His usual coldness was absent, replaced by something darker, something more fragile. His shoulders were hunched, as if the weight of everything—the past, the pain, the loneliness—was pressing down on him, leaving him unable to breathe.

Standing by the window, you stared out at the city. It felt like a lifetime ago that you’d crossed paths with Akutagawa, a man full of ice and fury, someone who seemed so unreachable. But now, in this moment, it was hard to tell if he was still that same person or if something inside him had cracked—broken in ways he couldn’t fix.

“Akutagawa,” you said quietly, your voice almost a whisper, “what are you doing?”

Though he didn’t speak, didn’t even move, his gaze shifted to you, his eyes empty, yet there was something in them that you couldn’t ignore—a deep, aching emptiness.

“Are you really gonna talk about timing in times like these?” you asked, your voice gaining strength, a mixture of frustration and pain slipping through. “Do you think I don’t see it? All of this… it’s more than just the things we’ve done. It’s everything you refuse to face, and I’m not going to sit here and let you destroy us because you can’t handle the weight of it. You wouldn’t be the first renegade to need somebody, Akutagawa.”

Finally, his voice rang through the space, though raw, almost pleading. “I don’t need anyone,” he muttered, his words thick with self-loathing. “I don’t need your pity.”

“Pity?” you echoed, your voice trembling with the frustration of it all. “No, you don’t get it. I’m not here out of pity. I’m here because I—” You stopped yourself before the words escaped fully, because admitting it, admitting how much you cared, how much you had always cared, felt like you were letting him win, letting him slip through your fingers. But it was too late to turn back now. “Because I’m tired of watching you break down and pretend it doesn’t matter. You do need someone, Akutagawa, whether you admit it or not.”

He stood abruptly, his movements sharp, too quick, like an animal cornered. “You don’t know anything about me. You don’t know what I’ve done, what I’ve seen. You don’t know how—”

“How what?” you cut him off, stepping closer, your chest tightening with every step. “How broken you are? How damaged you think you are? Well, I know that feeling. I’ve seen that darkness in you—hell, I’ve seen it in myself—but you can’t let it control you forever. You can’t let all your damage damage me.”

For a moment, the silence between you was deafening, the space between your bodies a chasm neither of you knew how to cross. Akutagawa looked away, his jaw clenched tightly, like every word you’d spoken had landed as a blow he didn’t know how to handle.

“You think you can save me?” he asked, his voice quiet now, the edge of anger fading into something else—something softer, almost scared. “You think you can fix me? You don’t know how deep it goes. I’m not someone you can just save.”

“I’m not trying to save you,” you said, your voice steady despite the storm inside. “I’m trying to be here for you. You don’t have to carry all of this on your own. I won’t make you.”

While he didn’t respond, his body language softened slightly—just enough that you could see the faint tremor in his hands. The vulnerability he so desperately tried to hide was beginning to slip through the cracks, and for the first time, you saw him for what he was: not a monster, not a weapon—but a person, broken and searching for something to hold onto.

“Akutagawa,” you whispered, reaching out, your fingers brushing against his trembling hand. “It’s time. You’ve come a long way, and you don’t have to face this alone. I’m here. Open the blinds, let me see your face, and let me be the one who stays by your side.”

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, his walls cracked, just slightly, and his eyes met yours. They were still clouded with confusion, still tinged with pain, but there was something there now—a flicker of trust, of understanding.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted softly, his voice hoarse, vulnerable. “I don’t know how to be… what you need.”

“You don’t have to be anything other than what you are,” you said, your hand resting gently on his. “You’re enough. And if you’ll let me, I’ll be here. No matter what.”

There was a long pause before he finally, hesitantly, nodded. He didn’t say the words out loud, but the shift in his posture was enough. He was allowing you in, finally opening himself up to the possibility that maybe—just maybe—he didn’t have to carry his burdens alone.

You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, and for the first time in a long while, the weight in the room seemed to lift, just a little. It wasn’t perfect, and it wouldn’t be easy. But the first step had been taken.

And for Akutagawa, that was enough.

Suffocatingly so, the room too small, the air hung heavy with the sharp scent of cigarette smoke and the lingering tang of whiskey. Dazai stood by the open window, his back to you, one hand braced against the frame while the other held a cigarette. The ember burned faintly in the dim light, flickering with every restless twitch of his fingers. He hadn’t said a word since you arrived, his silence louder than anything he could have said, a wall thrown up between you as solid as the cracked plaster surrounding you both.

You watched him from across the room, your arms crossed tightly, your heart pounding in your chest. His silhouette was rigid, his shoulders tense, his head bowed just slightly as if the weight of his thoughts had grown too much for him to carry. The silence stretched unbearably, and finally, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Are you even going to look at me?” you demanded, your voice sharp enough to cut through the heavy air.

His fingers tightened around the cigarette, crushing it slightly. Still, he didn’t turn. “Why did you come here?” he asked, his voice low, rough, and razor-edged.

“Why do you think?” you shot back, your frustration rising. “I’m here because I can’t keep doing this. Because I need to know if there’s anything left to fight for, or if you’re just going to keep shutting me out.”

At that, he turned, slowly, and the look in his eyes was like a punch to the gut. They were dark, sharp, and filled with something volatile—a storm barely held in check. His lips curled into a bitter, mocking smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes.

“You need to know?” he repeated, his voice dripping with derision. “Need to know what? That I’m broken? That I’ll ruin you just like I ruin everything I touch? You already know that. You’ve always known that.”

“That’s not—” you started, but he cut you off, stepping closer, his movements sudden and deliberate, like a predator closing in on its prey.

“Don’t lie to me,” he hissed, his voice rising. “Don’t stand there and pretend you’re here because you care. You’re here because you want to fix me. Because you think you’re strong enough to pull me out of the abyss, to save me from myself. But let me tell you something, sweetheart.” He leaned in, his face inches from yours, his breath hot and bitter against your skin. “You’re not. No one is.”

The venom in his words hit you like a slap, but you refused to back down. “That’s not why I’m here,” you said, your voice trembling but resolute. “I’m here because I love you. Because I see something in you that you’re too afraid to see in yourself. And I’m sick of watching you destroy yourself because you’re too much of a coward to let someone care about you.”

He laughed then, a harsh, humorless sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Love?” he sneered, stepping back and gesturing wildly. “You think this is love? Do you even know what love is? Because I sure as hell don’t. And even if I did, I wouldn’t want it. Love is nothing but a weakness, a leash to choke you the moment you get too comfortable. And I—” His voice cracked, just slightly, before he forced it back under control. “I don’t need that.”

“You’re lying,” you said, your voice barely more than a whisper. “You’re lying because you’re scared.”

“Scared?” he repeated, his voice sharp and mocking. “Of what? Of you?” He stepped closer again, his expression twisted into something cruel, something that didn’t belong to the man you knew. “Tell me, what’s so terrifying about a pretty little thing like you? What’s so dangerous about someone who thinks they can fix me when all they’re doing is tearing themselves apart in the process?”

The tears you had been holding back spilled over, but you didn’t look away. You refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you crumble. “I’m scared of what you’re doing to yourself,” you said, your voice trembling but firm. “I’m scared of what will happen to you if you keep going like this. And I’m scared of how much it hurts to watch someone I love destroy themselves and push me away at the same time.”

For a moment, his mask slipped, and you saw it—the raw, unguarded pain he worked so hard to bury. But then it was gone, replaced by the cold, detached expression he wore like armor.

“Then leave,” he said, his voice flat, almost emotionless. “If it hurts so much, then walk away. No one’s forcing you to stay.”

You flinched at his words, your chest tightening as the reality of them sank in. He wouldn’t stop you. He wouldn’t fight for you. Because he didn’t believe he was worth fighting for.

“You wouldn’t be the first renegade to need somebody,” you said, your voice soft, trembling. “But you’re the only one who’s too proud to admit it. And I can’t—I can’t keep doing this if you’re not willing to let me in.”

He didn’t respond, didn’t move, didn’t even look at you as you turned toward the door.

“You have to figure this out, Dazai,” you said, your voice breaking as you opened the door. “Because I can’t love someone who refuses to let me.”

The door clicked shut behind you, and for a long moment, Dazai didn’t move. He stood there, staring at the empty space where you had been, his hands trembling, his chest tight with something he couldn’t name.

He wanted to chase after you, to call you back, to tell you that he could try, that he could change. But the words wouldn’t come. They caught in his throat, swallowed by the same fear that had haunted him for as long as he could remember.

Because Dazai Osamu had spent his entire life believing that love was a weakness, a chain that would only drag him down. And now, as the silence closed in around him, he realized too late that it was also the only thing that had ever made him feel alive.

Upon the icy night, an oppressive silence hung in the air as you leaned against the wall, your arms crossed tightly over your chest, trying desperately to ignore the bitter sting of Chuuya’s words still echoing in your mind, twisting around in your thoughts like a cruel refrain that refused to leave. The mission had gone south, that much was true, but it was never the failure itself that stung the most, not when the real wound had been inflicted by the man you had considered not just a comrade, but someone you could trust. But Chuuya’s words, sharp and cutting, had stripped that away from you in an instant—leaving only raw, unhealed skin behind. “You think you’re some kind of hero?” he had spat, his voice full of venom. “You’re just another damn liability. Stay out of my way next time.” And that was it. The thing that had once felt like a bond between you now felt like a heavy, suffocating weight you couldn’t shake.

You had no response then. You had simply stood there, trying to gather the wreckage of your pride, forcing yourself to say nothing, to keep your mouth shut even as every part of you screamed. He was angry. He was upset. And you knew from experience that Chuuya’s anger wasn’t something that could be easily reasoned with, but that didn’t make the sting any less real. And in that silence, after he had turned his back to you and stormed off, you had been left with nothing but the echoes of his harsh words reverberating in your skull like a constant drumbeat.

Liability. You couldn’t stop repeating it. Liability. Were you really that? Were you really just a burden to him, someone to be pushed aside when things got hard?

Standing there in the dark, the sharp chill of the night air biting at your exposed skin, you felt like nothing more than the thing he had made you out to be. A liability. Someone to be discarded. The more you thought about it, the more the emptiness grew, gnawing at you from the inside. You couldn’t get rid of the feeling, couldn’t get rid of the ache in your chest that had begun to swell in the wake of his words. And you didn’t know how to make it stop. You didn’t know how to stop questioning everything you thought you understood about him, about the two of you. Was that all you were to him? A temporary inconvenience, a thing to be shoved aside when he was angry or frustrated?

And yet, you stayed where you were, not moving, not even bothering to wipe away the tears that threatened to spill over. Not because you didn’t want to cry, but because you couldn’t figure out what the hell you were even crying about. Was it for yourself? Was it for the things you had lost that night? Or was it for him, for the man you had trusted to have your back, the man who had turned on you so easily, so violently, without hesitation or remorse? You didn’t know.

As the sound of footsteps approached in the distance, you didn’t have to look to know who it was. You could hear it in the way his boots clicked against the pavement, deliberate and angry, with a quick pace that matched the storm still raging in his chest. You knew he was coming. You didn’t need to see him to know he was about to try and do something to fix the damage, to offer some sort of half-hearted apology, one that would fall short and leave you feeling just as empty as before. But you didn’t care.

“Are you still here?” His voice came sharp, cold, cutting through the night like a blade.

You didn’t respond. There was nothing to say.

“Fine,” he muttered after a moment, his footsteps slowing down, though he didn’t turn away. “I don’t need you to answer. I don’t know why I bother.” There was a bitterness in his tone now, sharper than it had been before, as though he had no intention of trying to make things better, as though he was already too far gone in his frustration to care.

Hanging in the air between you like a weight that you couldn’t push aside, his words were suffocating. You couldn’t answer. You couldn’t find your voice, even if you wanted to. All you could do was stand there, staring at the ground, your thoughts swirling like a whirlpool in your mind, dizzying and impossible to escape. What could you say? What could you possibly say when it felt like nothing you ever did could make him see you as anything other than an annoyance? An afterthought? A damn liability?

Chuuya’s eyes were on you now, though you refused to meet his gaze. You could feel his presence, standing there behind you, his anger still palpable in the air. But you didn’t care anymore. He had already said everything that needed to be said, hadn’t he?

“You’re really just gonna stand there and take it, huh?” His voice came again, biting, as if accusing you for not reacting. For not giving him the fight he was looking for. “I don’t even know why I bother. You’re just like everyone else—just another damn disappointment.”

The words hit you like a slap, each one cracking through the walls you had so carefully built up around yourself. Just another disappointment. It wasn’t the first time he had said something like that, but tonight, it felt different. It felt heavier. You could feel the hollow ache spreading throughout your chest as you finally allowed yourself to process the full weight of his words, the meaning behind them. Disappointment. That was all you had ever been to him, wasn’t it? Always too slow, too weak, too unsure. Always an obstacle in his way. And maybe that was the problem all along. Maybe you were always meant to be something he had to drag around, someone to be tolerated and pushed aside when things didn’t go his way.

You stood there, unmoving, still silent, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing how deeply his words had cut into you. But the longer you stayed there, the more you realized how tired you were. Tired of pretending, tired of fighting, tired of the same cycle. You didn’t know if you could keep doing this. If you even wanted to.

Chuuya stood behind you, waiting for some kind of reaction, his anger simmering, the tension in the air almost unbearable. But you said nothing. You wouldn’t give him the chance. You couldn’t give him the chance to hurt you any more than he already had.

Frozen in place, he didn’t move. The silence between you was suffocating, the cold night air doing nothing to relieve the pressure that had built up between you two. He wanted you to break. Wanted you to cry, to scream, to say something. But you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Not anymore.

“Fine,” he muttered again, his voice softer now, tinged with something unreadable. He didn’t turn away this time, but his stance had shifted, though you couldn’t bring yourself to face him. “I’ll see you around.”

You didn’t respond. You didn’t have to. There was nothing left to say. You could feel him walk away, his footsteps growing distant, but his words still lingered. The last thing you heard before the silence swallowed everything was the soft click of his boots on the pavement, echoing in the stillness, and the hollow ache of your own broken heart, knowing that tonight, nothing had been fixed. Nothing had been healed.

You were alone in the dark. Again.

a/n: uhm, this is so messy because i combined like two and a quarter requests in one .. i apologise but i loved this song request so much. i love taylor.

[deadandwalking]

today is the 30th of December, and my 16th birthday.

it’s been a very up and down day for me. i’ve missed people, i’ve felt fear and regret, and rejection.

this year has carried many, many hardships for me and i so, so nearly did not make it through.

my birthday has also never been an easy day for me, it holds a lot of bad memories for me and always reminds me what little i can do for myself right now.

despite all this, today i am grateful that i made it this long, that i endured everything. i’m grateful because i ended up with some of the best friends i could ask for on this day.

my friends @ghostydrawsstuff, @spidrsharks, and @strangecaseof-mathiasz-death

my roleplay group @jinx-askme, @askisha, @viequalsviolence, @bighammered, @asklittlejinx, @houndoftheundergroud, @dr-viktor-talis, @unregistermadnessofzaun and anyone else in the group

the friends i have lost contact/have little contact with but still care dearly for @intestineless, @jaylimeily, @fantasyworldsys, @the-lunacy-system, @edible-emerald, @krispenelopebacon, @brightside-brigade, @gingernpcwithptsd

and the friends i have only just met and haven’t got to know yet @thefroggiearmy, @apthepotat and @yellow-computer-mouse

i am so, so grateful for ALL of you. you’ve spent my best days making them count and my worst giving me a reason to keep going. i may still struggle to face you all some days, but know even seeing you online with me makes me smile. you’ve given me and my alters a safe place to go.

i love you all, with all my heart, and i hope we’ll be together for years to come 🩷

[aventurineswife]

Stages of Shadows: Final Chapter - The End... Or Is It?

The air felt thick with tension as [Name] and the other surviving contestant staggered through the backstage corridors, their feet pounding against the ground in a rhythm that was both frantic and heavy. [Name]’s grip on the other contestant’s arm was firm, pulling them along despite their shared exhaustion. Each step seemed to send ripples through their body, every muscle screaming in protest, but they couldn’t stop. Not now. Not when the weight of that memory—of the person they couldn’t save—was still fresh in their mind.

The blood. The agonizing helplessness.

The loss was unbearable, but they couldn’t dwell on it. Not yet. The vision of that face—still haunted them. They could still hear the echo of the gunshot. The coldness of it. The chill it left in the pit of their stomach. But there was no time for grief, no time for reflection.

They had to move forward. [Name] had made a promise to themselves, and to the others, that they would get out alive. And that meant pushing through the pain, pushing through the guilt.

The other contestant, equally drained, stumbled slightly as they kept pace. [Name] could feel their desperation, their shared desire to escape this place—this nightmare. But the reality of what had just happened pressed down on them like a weight. The person who had died…

They wouldn’t allow themselves to dwell on it. Not now. Not when there was still a chance for them to survive.

“Now, where do you think you two are going?” The voice was silky, but the weight behind it was undeniable.

[Name] froze in their tracks, heart pounding as the figure emerged from the shadows. The voice that spoke was cold, smooth, and laced with a hint of amusement, cutting through the tension like a knife.

A tall woman stepped forward, her appearance striking and enigmatic. Her long, wavy hair cascaded over her shoulders like a curtain of silk, and her pastel blue eyes—slitted like a serpent’s—glistened with a calculating gleam. She wore an extravagant ensemble, a mix of dark blue, white, and violet, with gold accents, adorned with ribbons, feathers, and jade pendants that seemed to sway with every movement. Her presence was commanding, and it was clear she was no ordinary figure.

“The surprise guest of honor, [Name], hm? And here everyone thought you went missing… after your round with Sunday.”

[Name] stopped in their tracks, a chill creeping up their spine. How did this person know who they were? Their mind raced for an explanation, but no clear answer came.

“Who are you?” [Name] asked, trying to mask the unease in their voice.

The woman smiled, a slow, knowing smile that barely touched her eyes. “Oh? My apologies for not introducing myself earlier.” She stepped closer, the sound of her heels clicking sharply on the floor. “The name’s Jade, Senior Manager in the IPC Strategic Investment Department and one of the Ten Stonehearts. Surely you’ve heard of me?”

Jade’s gaze was piercing, her eyes narrowing slightly as she watched [Name]. “If not, then no problem. But, you see…” She paused for effect, her lips curling into a delicate smirk. “You can’t steal something that doesn’t belong to you.”

The words landed like a blow, and [Name]’s heart skipped a beat. The weight of Jade’s presence was undeniable. There was an air of control about her—an aura that suggested she had everything figured out, and everyone else was simply a part of her intricate game. [Name] could feel their pulse quickening, the urgency of the moment building with every passing second.

“Steal?” [Name] repeated, barely able to keep the suspicion from their voice. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Jade’s smile grew wider, her lips curling like a serpent about to strike. “Oh, don’t be coy. You’re not just some innocent contestant, are you? You’ve got more ambition than that. And right now, you’re on the verge of taking something you have no right to.” She tilted her head, observing [Name] with interest. “But don’t worry, I’m not here to punish you… Not yet, at least.”

The air around them seemed to thicken as Jade’s gaze lingered, her next words heavy with implication.

“You see,” she continued, her voice smooth and measured, “I’m a patient woman. I’ve learned that some things take time. Some things… are worth waiting for. But when you’ve been as good at reading people as I am, you know exactly when the right moment has come. And trust me, [Name], the moment you’re in right now? It’s not one of your better ones.” Jade’s eyes flickered briefly to the other contestant, who was trying their best to remain unnoticed, before returning to [Name].

The tension in the room was unbearable, and [Name] felt the weight of Jade’s presence pressing down on them, as if the very air around her was charged with danger. They were trapped—not just physically, but mentally, caught in the web of someone far more powerful than they had realized. Jade’s every word, every gesture, seemed to make it clear that she was in control.

“You see, the person you’re trying to steal away from here, Aventurine…” Jade glanced over to the contestant trying to hide behind [Name], “…belongs to the IPC now. We made a deal after all. If he wins, he’s in our hands, and if he loses… Well, you’ve seen what has become of your friends already.” Jade chuckled lightly, a cold edge to her voice, clearly mocking [Name] for their failure to save either Robin or Sunday.

[Name] stiffened, their heart hammering as the weight of Jade’s words sank in. The reminder of their inability to protect their loved ones was almost too much to bear. Their gaze flicked from Jade to Aventurine, who still tried to shrink into the background, eyes downcast.

Jade stepped forward, she continued, “You see, it’s not about winning or losing for us. It’s about securing what’s ours. And right now, Aventurine? Well, he’s already ours. He’s simply… a part of the greater game now.”

Aventurine’s eyes flashed with a flicker of defiance, but he quickly masked it behind his usual calm façade. He didn’t want to draw attention, not yet. Not with Jade’s gaze so piercing.

[Name] clenched their fists, a surge of anger rising within them. “You think you can control everything? This isn’t over, Jade.”

Jade’s lips curled into a smile. “Oh, but it is. It’s all over, [Name]. You just haven’t realized it yet.” She glanced at her surroundings, almost as if inspecting them for the first time. “The choices you make, the people you try to protect… they’re just pieces on a board. You’re in check. But don’t worry, your move’s coming soon enough.”

[Name] took a deep breath, squaring their shoulders. “You won’t get away with this.”

Jade’s laughter rang out again, cool and insidious. “Who’s going to stop me? You? You, who couldn’t even stop the storm you walked into? You’re playing in our world now. And in our world… the cost of failure is far higher than you could ever imagine.”

“Though, it was a rather surprising… Sunday, the Leader of the Oak Family, who was winning the most just... gave up, for what? Or perhaps it was the Avgin’s curse.” Jade’s gaze shifted to Aventurine, a malicious glint in her eyes as she watched him flinch at her words. He didn’t want to leave, not when [Name] had just come to save him, to take him with them. But he was the one who had made the deal—to save his life, to secure his future. But now, standing in the shadow of Jade’s manipulations, was it really worth it anymore?

He hadn’t killed Sunday, he hadn’t wanted to, but Sunday had pushed him away. And now, as the weight of the decision pressed on him, the doubt settled deeper. What would happen if he chose to leave? Would it mean the end of everything? He couldn’t see a way out, not now, not with the deal already made.

Jade’s voice cut through his thoughts, cold and commanding. “Hand him over, [Name]. Or the consequences won’t be good. You’re alone. Your little group that you came with—well, they wouldn’t care if you were gone.”

[Name]’s heart raced, the tension coiling in their chest. Every word Jade spoke was a calculated strike, meant to break them down. They could feel her gaze on them, sharp and unyielding. She knew how to twist the knife just right, to make them question their resolve. But they couldn’t afford to give in now, not when they had come this far.

“I’m not going to let you have him,” [Name] replied, voice steady despite the storm brewing inside them.

Jade chuckled softly, almost pityingly. “You think you can protect him? You think your fragile little bond with him means anything here? He’s just a pawn in a game far bigger than you. I don’t think you even understand the consequences of defying me.”

Aventurine’s breath hitched at her words. His gaze flickered between [Name] and Jade, the conflict raging within him. He knew what he had to do, what he should have done from the beginning. He owed them nothing, but his heart… it was a different story.

Aventurine hesitated, glancing back and forth between the two. On one hand, he wanted to stay, but he couldn’t risk letting [Name] suffer because of him. So, he made the difficult choice: let them go, for good.

He hesitantly let go of their arm, his fingers slowly sliding away from theirs. The weight of the decision hit him like a crushing wave, but he refused to look back. His heart ached, but he knew there was no turning back now.

Jade’s smug smile returned, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “Smart choice, Aventurine. You may have just saved yourself from a far worse fate.”

[Name] felt their chest tighten as they looked at Aventurine, torn between anger and desperation. “Aventurine…” they whispered, their voice breaking.

But he didn’t respond, his gaze cast downward, as if ashamed of what he had just done. He could feel the eyes of both Jade and [Name] on him, but his thoughts were a whirlwind of guilt and resignation.

“You’ll regret this...” [Name] said, barely able to keep their voice steady. Their words were a threat, but also a plea, as if trying to make sense of the situation.

Aventurine’s lips parted, but no words came out. His body trembled as he faced the consequences of his actions.

“Could you turn away? I want to say my goodbyes properly.” Aventurine asked, his eyes narrowing at Jade.

Jade’s gaze flickered briefly as she observed Aventurine’s expression. She lowered her eyes slightly, her slitted pupils narrowing as she took in his words. Her voice, smooth and deliberate, drifted through the room.

“You wish to part with something precious, something irrevocable,” Jade said softly, her tone tinged with quiet amusement. “But I wonder, is it truly for their sake, or for your own peace of mind?”

She tilted her head, the feather in her hat swaying gently. “I understand the need to make such choices… but remember, there’s always more than one price to pay. What you choose to give now may echo in ways you don’t yet realize.”

Her gaze softened, but the quiet weight of her words lingered in the air.

“Do as you must, but know that every transaction, every decision, carries its own consequence. Even the quietest ones.”

Jade stepped back slightly, her presence still as commanding as ever, a knowing smile curling at the corners of her lips. “Take your time. After all, you’ve made your choice… haven’t you?”

Aventurine gently cupped [Name]’s cheek, his fingers warm against their skin as he leaned in closer. His voice was soft, almost a whisper, as he spoke, each word laced with raw emotion. “Thank you for being the victim of my shallow feelings. Thank you for being the light in this dark, cruel world of mine. And thank you for being My God, My Universe.”

With a quiet, almost reverent sigh, he pressed a tender kiss to their cheek, his lips lingering just a moment longer than necessary before he slowly pulled back. The weight of the moment hung in the air, the finality of it settling between them.

He hesitated, as though fighting the urge to say more, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he took a step back, his gaze lingering on [Name] for just a moment longer before he turned away, the silence between them deafening.

He joined Jade, his figure becoming smaller as he walked away, each step heavy with the burden of his decision. There was no turning back now. The path had been chosen.

[Name] stared at their leaving forms, the weight of Aventurine’s departure crashing down on them. Their knees buckled, and they collapsed to the ground, the floor cool beneath them as if to contrast the heat rising in their chest. A deep, hollow ache settled within them, something raw and jagged. They couldn’t tear their eyes away, even as Aventurine’s figure grew smaller, disappearing into the distance.

A single tear slipped down their cheek, their vision blurring as the reality of it all set in. He had made his choice. And they, helpless, were left to carry the consequences.

All of their friends were gone, except for them. The thought clung to [Name] like a suffocating fog. Who was the real winner of this game, they wondered, if all they had gained was suffering? They had fought so hard, endured so much, only to be left with this emptiness.

Was this show just a twisted spectacle for the amusement of others? A stage where lives were tossed aside like pawns, and the price of victory was the destruction of those who dared to play? It felt like the entire universe had conspired against them, a cruel joke at their expense. The lives lost, the bonds broken, were all just pieces of a larger game, one they never truly understood.

What was the point, if all they had was pain? What kind of world was this, where those who cared the most were left to suffer while those in control laughed at their misery?

The question echoed in their mind, unanswered, as the weight of loss threatened to consume them.

All of a sudden, [Name] felt the warmth enveloping them, a comforting presence they hadn’t expected. Their breath hitched, the overwhelming pain and confusion ebbing slightly as arms wrapped around them, pulling them close. It felt… so real, yet too surreal to believe. The embrace, gentle and steady, grounded them in a moment where nothing else mattered.

And then, that voice, familiar and tender, spoke.

“[Name], the dream… is over now.”

The words were soft, like a whisper of wind, but they hit [Name] with a force that left them breathless. Why did that voice sound so familiar? Why did it feel as if the world was suddenly shifting, like they were waking from a long, deep sleep?

And then it clicked.

“Robin…” they whispered, their eyes fluttering shut for a moment, as if the name itself could anchor them to this fleeting reality.

Robin’s presence was all around them, warm and safe, like the softest memory from before the world had shattered. She pulled them tighter, as if nothing had ever happened, as if the loss, the pain, and the fight had all been part of a dream—a dream they could now leave behind.

Her arms, a comfort in the darkness, held [Name] as if to say that, for this one moment, they could forget everything. Forget the pain, the suffering, the crushing weight of the game. It didn’t matter. What mattered was now.

As she hugged them tightly, her voice soothing in the stillness, “It’s just a sweet dream.”

And then, everything faded into a soft, dreamlike embrace—an illusion, a hallucination of the heart. Robin’s spirit was all that remained, a fleeting warmth in the wake of all that had been lost.

[Navigation]

[letherightonein]

"And your “side” can recognize that dismissing all calls to empathy as guilt trips and using other empty woke tactics like using the fact that some people can’t be healthy on a vegan diet as a way to paint even the suggestion as classist/ableist."

In that regard, I'm not asking for empathy or compassion, but mostly remembering to the accusing vegan that for some people it's not sustainable nor practical. I can't afford to buy 100% vegan, eating two eggs at breakfast is cheaper, that's a fact, while "animals see you as their oppressor" is more doubtful and rooted in a particular view of animal life.

And as an attempt to highlight the hypocrisy, yeah, you are so awake and have so much conscience, but yet you are here projecting human qualities on animals and forgeting about humans that already have those human qualities and are struggling right now. Doesn't sound full of compassion and understanding, just full of itself.

I'm honest: I'm practical and I will act on what benefit my own survival; the same principle applies to animals. If someone wants to start to quantify oppressions and obstacles for every single subject to reach full well being on this planet, then I call for them to do it well and consistently.

"And vegans can still understand that a plant based diet is not accessible or even safe for all people despite your side sometimes being too quick to leap to those terms."

I have yet to see it, tbh

"My whole point is EVERYONE can be less reactive and listen. And yes, that means the people you’re talking about and it means people on your side too!

I genuinely do believe everyone here makes good points! I don’t really disagree with anything you said! I just think people don’t consider the very valid points the other side makes."

I don't think that they have valid points, tbh

The points I can give them is that in some cases plant based diets can be helpful to some people and that certain practices towards animals are immoral, outside that, the whole concept of linking what you eat -need to survive- to a sloopy feelings based ethics is not a good idea.

"And this is the only personal note, but in the USA and many other countries eating meat only once a week is insanely low. Most Americans eat meat with every meal except breakfast, and more elaborate breakfasts at restaurants or for days off and some fast food/food truck often feature meat as well. It’s much more reasonable to criticize the excessive meat consumption of the USA vs where you are from.

Do you mind if I ask what country you are from? Because I think that makes for better communication if we know where our perspectives come from."

Well, from a third world country, so here we don't eat that much. It seems like an integral part of american culture to aim bigger in everything, tbh

It seems to be not like a carnivore problem, but an american hyperconsumption problem.

[httpiastri]

paul aron's hair throughout the 2024 season 💁‍♂️

(also known as pt2 of jack being obsessed with a certain blonde curly-haired boy)

hello everyone and happy new year! i hope your 2024 has been lovely and that 2025 provides you with tons of joy and love. 💗

i'm back again with yet another paul hair appreciation post! i loved making it last year and so ive been thinking about it all year and collecting pics 🥰 last year i remember having to search really hard fo some of the pics – two weekends i even had only three pics 😭 but this year i've really had to kill my darlings because i've deleted so so many pics that i like just bcs i didn't want to make this too overwhelming... and i still ended up over 300 pictures..... 😶

last two things before we get started: the wind is my best friend nowadays because of how it affects his hair. so many pics here of his hair in all kinds of directions (and esp the gifs).... anD if you see any pic here that you want in it's original form, lmk and i'll post it for you!! i will keep the pics saved on my phone for a few days before i delete them to make space lol.

soooo hope you enjoy!! and check out last year's edition hereee if you want. 💗

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bahrain

some pics from before the season started (testing & media days) and some from the first weekend! very messy at times, esp after sessions, but very cute. feels like maybe this was before he started caring a lot abt his hair and how it looks even during the race weekends? if you get what i mean? like some weekends it looks a bit too perfect that it feels like he made sure it looked like that… maybe? anyways very cute!

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jeddah

pretty long hair? very cute!! also looked pretty light despite how dark it was there when they drove during the evening etc. the middle row from the prema lap from when he was talking to ollie 🫶

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melbourne

shorter than in jeddah so a little haircut? looks pretty thin also?? hmm but very curly 🥰 love the middle and most right pics in the top row also lmao, love mid-workout expressions 😁

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formula e

pics both from his tests and his race round in fe! his hair looks so fried in the top left pic eye 😭 it was very fly-y this weekend? wanted to escape everywhere all the time so i had tons of pics of little strands everywhere! curls go crazy 🥹

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imola

looks very dark here actually!! and kinda short also? love the little tips of the curls like that too aaaaa 😭 and the ways some certain individual curls are so spirally and just……. aaaaaa cute

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monaco

love the sight of his hair poking out of his cap/balaclava etc (first three pics) aaaaaa !!!! and his hair in the belvita pic 😭 looks like he has little horns :(( so messy and cute. and the post-race interview? it was high at the back that it looked like one of those old hairstyles??? idk what its called but i think you understand

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barcelona

also very dark despite the sun! 😯 and not super fluffy or cute etc but still yk very good hair. 😌

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spielberg

TOP LEFT PIC. THE LITTLE 🌱. I CANNOT TAKE THIS GUYS I JUST CANT. his hair after the sprint race was truly something new also…. i mean yes it was very warm so obvs very sweaty but damn it looks so crazy 😭 (stupidly enough i didnt put them together, but it's the top four pics on the right side and bottom two on the left side)

‎

silverstone

bad weekend race-wise but amaaazinnggggg weekend hair-wise. so so long curls, so curly, so poofy!! actually probably my favorite hair weekend. just so adorable. never needed to brush my fingers through his locks this much before….

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hungaroring

pole aron >>> everything 🥰 dont have a lot to say, i just adore the post-race messiness and esp in combination with his pink cute cheeks? also maybe i shouldnt comment his looks since this is a hair post buttt the middle pic on the left side? baby baby baby???? (and the middle middle pic still gives me nightmares ngl)

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spa

probably my second fave hair weekend? so so light!!! actually managed to sneak a pic i took of him into this 🥺 (the quality is terrible BUT i took it!! yay!!!!) i actually never watched this episode of "chasing the dream" until last night (was heartbroken bcs of the feature 🥲) and oh my goD it was such a good paul episode? so so many amazing paul shots?? of his hair yes but just him in general and his cute face and his smile?? his pretty baby blue eyes?!?!?!!!??!!!!! insane. will be watching it every night to have happy sweet dreams 🥰

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summer break

cowboy paul 🤠 hair looked a lot lighter after his italy visit but idk how much time he actually spent in the sun? considering his fair northern european skin? (like im also northern european so i know it's hard to keep your hair in the sun to bleach it and still keep your skin safe 🥲) it was SO hard to make this collage without spending five hours just staring at his abs, ngl.

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monza

why do the top four pics give me like… golf vibes? like he's sitting there trying to see if the ball went into the hole?? ANYWAYS. kinda dark considering how light it looked during the summer break?? but very defined curls. *chefs kiss*

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baku

not as curly as sometimes, just… very messy? kinda flat at times, pretty light and fluffy other times. very cute nonetheless <33 (also speaking of him and his hairline… some pics here are ruthless in that way aaaa)

‎

qatar

looove the way the hair curls around the cap he's wearing when he's out in the wind!! like he has some kind of fluffy padding in it yk?? b a b y. the pics of him right after the feature race are crazy, the hair is everywhere but i understand that he had other things to care about 😭

‎

abu dhabi

the pics on the far right are from a vid on the f2 story from that weekend and i was kinda heartbroken that i chose the collage format to only include his hair and not his facial expressions, because he was SO babyboy in that video. (it's still available in their story highlights! check it out if you havent seen it yet!!!) the curls are so defined and curly but so so pretty, like not very messy just !!! feels like maybe he properly styled them very well this weekend? because the curls look so perfect at times that im like "yeah he didnt just wake up like that". (and that's more than okay!!! 🥰) except for when he just got out of the car lmao like the bottom left pic. insane

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other breaks/postseason

mixed pics from random breaks, and pics from after the season (like his seat fitting with alpine)! some of the pics from the parc ferme photoshoot are also very very 🌱, like the top two on the column row! adorableeeee!! the curls also look definitely styled from the family's trip to rome? and the bottom two pics of the second and third column from some forest visit with karl, the hair was adorable :(

‎

gifs !!!

just some random gifs of his hair movement 🫶 as ive already said, i love the wind! thank you mother nature for your hard work!!! also paul running and his hair flopping up and down like a dog's ears will NEVER get old, just saying

if anyone made it this far, thank you for looking & reading!! hope you enjoyed and hope you're maybe at least somewhat near as obsessed as me <33