#but I’m not a masochist sorry buddy | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hxltic · 8 months ago

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Im not sure how to request cause this is like my first time doing it but would u write anything w iwazumis timeskip? like how hes an athletic trainer.. YK DO UR MAGIC idek how to request also x reader if thats ok. THANK U

Hey ofc!! You can be as vulgar and straightforward as you want, this is a safe space😘 (idk if you wanted nsfw or not so if not I’m sorry! I just made it suggestive because I was unsure :P)

The ass crack of dawn peeks through your window, enough to have your body twisting and turning until you’re inevitably forced awake.

Of course you drag yourself to the bathroom and check yourself out a bit, admiring how your new waist training is going and your puffy lips of the morning before brushing your teeth to start the day. Some argue you’re a morning person, but you aren’t. And you feel no kind of guilt admitting that.

You only get up because you have to—to remain consistent, especially with allowing yourself to grow not only physically, but emotionally, finally feeling free from the weights of stress by exercising and feeling good about your figure.

Also, the routine is great for you. It makes you feel productive in the morning, so now when you reflect before, there was this emptiness that came with sitting at home with the same three things you have to do on repeat.

And then of course, the motivation of going to the gym for a man you’ve been seeing around recently. He recognizes you now, probably casually assuming the relationship is nothing more than a mutual gym buddy.

And it’s likewise; you wouldn’t call it a crush. The both of you are grown, just two adults with the same hobby even though you are relatively newer to the activity.

So you pack up your bag and tip your head back for a swig of the protein smoothie you prepared and head out the door.

The gym doesn’t smell anything like how you imagined it would when you first cluelessly walked in. It actually smells clean (mainly from the overwhelming scent of chlorine in the pool water), and it wasn’t super busy around this time. If there were people, they definitely weren’t teenagers coming for their afternoon rounds. The receptionist waves back at you as you pass.

Today was legs. You recognize how far you’ve come, because initially, no day was your favorite, each as long and tortuous as the last. But this has got to be what it means to become accustomed to the pain. Does that make all gym-goers masochists?

If so, Iwaizumi has got to be the worst, because the only other person insane enough—that even remotely looks like he does anything other than train—to be here before you, is him.

“Morning,” you chime. His headphones are off, so the switch that usually tells you when people don’t wish to be spoken to doesn’t go off.

To your delight, he responds with just as much pleasure without turning around, currently sitting on the Lax machine and tugging the resistant handles. “Good morning,” he grunts.

He eventually does, even as he attempts to convince himself to stay focused on his set, but even the discipline he’s built over the years couldn’t prevent him from catching a glimpse of you. You were sitting your stuff down nearby, relocating to the floor to stretch.

He’s been watching you. Not in a creepy way, he justifies, but it becomes a habit when you’re working how he does.

Your progress is a miracle. He could count on one hand the amount of people that come in fresh and immediately get to working, just to return consistently, and cycle through this process until they reach their desired figure and continue after that. You, however, stepped in with a determination on your face he’d never seen before.

You hadn’t requested a trainer, and by what he sees, didn’t need one either. He remembers when you came in talking about how badly you wanted to rid of your little tummy, as well as slim down your plush thighs, pleading someone to teach you how. Of course he knew how; he keeps his work strictly professional with the women who come in asking for the same thing.

He’d always found the little pudge attractive, but it’s your body. It’s just somehow, he wasn’t on the verge of telling them how good it looks or the pure desire he has to press on the fat while his head is between their thighs like he was you. Someone must have heard his prayers though, because instead of slimming your legs down, you became comfortable with the idea of them getting stronger, ultimately making them slightly thicker.

The man was close to finishing the set, but that one glimpse of you had him do five extra for good measure since he lost count. How could he focus?

As you split your legs and tilt to one side, you watch him not too far. The black compression shirt he wears hugs his carved body perfectly, only cementing this fact as his back and arm muscles flex with every controlled pull of the bar. Everything about him was sharp from his shape to the hair on his head.

It was no doubt he was attractive, and since having graduated high school, attention wasn’t just found anywhere. Maybe some small talk will help?

“What are you doing today?” He hears you call. He almost flinches with what he thinks you’re asking until you add, “Workouts I mean.”

Iwaizumi chuckles at your mishap, more for himself, but it flushes your cheeks nonetheless. It’s a genuine, gentle sound. “Arms. Tomorrow is core,” he says coolly.

“I hate arms. I should probably do them more often, but lifting is only fun if you’re already strong.”

“I see where you’re coming from,” he pulls off the machine, rotating himself on the seat to face you. You’re in a lunge now, oversized t-shirt covering half of the skin tight shorts desperately trying to contain the glutes you’ve grown. He makes sure to force his emerald green eyes to yours. “You won’t get stronger if you don’t give it a try.”

You scoff, “You sound like my old therapist.”

The humor you two shared was nothing more than the surface level awkward kind so this unexpected comment from you had him laughing. Actually laughing. “And you sound like an old friend of mine.”

Smiling at this, you get one more good stretch in and come to your feet. You stand proudly with your hands on your hips, staring at him.

He blinks around happily, “What?”

“You said to give it a try right? Show me the way."

—•—

“I can’t do this,” you say, already struggling just with the form part of the exercise. You switched positions with him since it was closest machine. “How do I pull it if I can’t move my back?”

“Well, that’s the workout part,” he walks around the seat while inspecting you, waiting for you to figure it out with his advice. “Sit up completely straight and slightly lean back. Stay in that position the entire time, but try to pull the bar down to you instead of pulling yourself up to it.”

You try to replicate what you saw him doing. By this point, you had gotten majority of the positioning right, even keeping your back straight, but the damned bar wouldn’t move an inch. “Are you sure the setting on this thing is right?”

“Oh shit—” He pauses at this, then renders that you’re completely right. You’re trying to pull his weight.

As he shuffles over to the side of the machine to adjust it, you watch him with a smug expression and your arms crossed. I’m not just that weak, I knew it, it reads.

Moments later he comes back around, “That’s my bad, try it now.”

And you’re finally able to do it, but your form falters when you successfully pull the bar to your chest. He knows you know, you’re a smart girl, so he gives you a few more tries to correct it. “I feel like I’m about to fall,” you say finally.

“Here, that means you’re leaning too far.” He comes and presses a hand to your back, pushing you forward. “Don’t think about it too much. I’ll hold you right here for a few until you can support yourself.”

He was already hovering beside you, lurking and seeping into all your senses, making the air warmer than it usually is in the gym. With his palm on your back too, you’re starting to think this little affection of yours is getting out of hand. You don’t even look to see how much it has helped.

Somehow, you do eventually get through the sets, but you hadn’t realized that during that time he would actually train you. It was progressive overload, and he brought the weight up to what he thought you could handle each time. You were on the last few.

“C’mon, you got it.”

“I don’t,” you grunt while somewhat laughing, still pulling it to your chest. His voice is more declarative now. You deem it as his professional tone. You also wonder which voice he tends to use in—

“You do. It’s one more—make it your best.”

And you do just that, slumping on the seat in victory.

“Good girl,” he praises, clapping, and he changes the weight on the machine to just five before twisting around and holding a hand out. He helps you up when you take it, but you’re really trying to figure out if what he said was professional if it made you clench your thighs.

“Ready for the next?” His lips stretch into a smile, already predicting your answer.

You bend and get your smoothie, popping the top and drinking, “There’s a next? What’s next?”

“Pull ups of course.”

Truthfully, doing pull ups right after lax for someone who doesn’t really train arms is a death wish. It’s just this once though, and your arms will already be sore, so he might as well make the most of it while the adrenaline is there.

“Oh dear God,” you sigh.

“I’ll do them with you,” he reassures, chuckling.

—•—

And he stands on his word, because after walking over to the bar, he clips the belt attached to weight around his hips. The bar was relatively high, even he can admit, so he isn’t surprised when you ask how the hell you’re supposed to get up there.

And you weren’t even necessarily short, it’s just the bar was made for six-feet-and-over men and athletes. So people like you were left out, hence the stacked boxes meant for help beside it.

Iwaizumi makes sure the belt is secure around himself before walking over to you, taking a stance directly behind.

He commands, “Arms up, sweetheart.” And it must be the proximity, because you do just that without a fight. The pet name contributed too, you’re sure.

But when he lifts you, he first drags his hands from your shoulder blades, to your ribs, and into the small of the your back. So smooth you’re questioning if he did it on purpose.

He couldn’t help it. Not when he’s hovering behind you, almost a foot taller. With one small nudge of his hips forward, he’d rest comfortably right between your ass, smelling the coconut shampoo of your hair. Though instead of being a pervert, he’d stick to the nicknames and the gentle touches until you get the damn hint.

Sometime later he’s effortlessly hauling himself up, counting one by one with you. He says you’ll only do 3 sets of ten as if it was easy. Either way, it was burning by the ninth.

—•—

Finally you’re done. The only reason your arms aren’t completely limp is your heightened senses from being around the attractive man next to you. He literally regulates your blood flow.

And you for damn sure regulate his.

“Okay, now you have to do my workouts,” you perk up.

He unclips the belt, turning to face you, amused. “I have to do your workouts?”

Your arms come to a cross offensively. “What does that mean? Yes. I did your arm day, now you have to do my leg day.”

He throws his hands in the air defensively, the curl of his lips threatening to break his character, “I’m just saying it won’t be the sa—”

“This way!”

—•—

This was a horrible idea.

He’s situated on the angled leg press machine at a diagonal, now gripping onto the handle bars. The amount of circular plates you usually have on it are already there. You’re standing beside him.

“Are you sure you don’t want to add weight? I usually go more than this,” he challenges.

“Fuck you— no.”

His laughter intensifies at your irritation. Then he brings his legs down slow and controlled, somehow still managing to appear like he could do it with his fucking finger if he tried. You’re not surprised, he’s extremely fit; though you had already catered to this by changing the weight to whatever your highest weight was.

He guffaws again at your blank expression. “Fine. How much more do you need?” You sigh.

He appears to think for a moment. Instead of calculating the math like he should be, he’s actually doing nothing of the sort. “Get up there.”

He bends his legs as if confirming he’s dead serious by allowing you to actually step foot on the back of the plate. You stand there still, having not even realized what he’s asking you to do. “What?”

“Get your sweet ass up there and that should be about what my usual weight is.” He shoots a nonchalant glance to the machine. “You won’t fall, if that’s what’s bothering you.”

After a few moments, with an incredulous look painted on your face, you slowly step to the lowered machine, and push yourself up and on to the back, past the weighted plates, to sit not-very-comfortably in the middle. “Uhm…”

“Perfect.”

This time, it didn’t look as easy, but he very much did an entire press to extend his legs out. You watch in wonder over the plate as he carried your weight and plus some just in his legs.

It was his arm day, and you didn’t get to fully watch him do the pull ups since the focus was keeping yourself on the bar. But you got a glimpse when he finished, biceps flexing and pulling extra weight then too. He was strong. You wonder if he puts it to use with his partner?

With his partner. What if he does have a partner? You shake your head, no, he wouldn’t have asked you to do what you’re doing if he did.

His grunts were a nice addition too.

Counting for him aloud, and not completely sure if you didn’t skip a number even though you’re only going to ten, you helped him through the set. It had been a while since there was someone to cheer him on. He was always doing the cheering.

“Okay okay,” you wait for him to finish the set, then get off. It feels so good to have your feet on the ground, sure that you won’t be yelled at by the gym staff to remove yourself from the equipment. “You’ve proved yourself, muscleman.”

“Great, I’ll take you out Saturday then?” He asks, pressing up the remaining weight easy and locking up the machine so he can leave it.

A flush runs across your cheeks, driving you to pick up your drink and sip to hide it. “You don’t know me. What if I have a husband and kids at home?”

You were projecting, you know that. It was fresh on your mind since you slightly wanted to ask him the same question. He stalks over to you.

“I don’t see a ring on your finger,” he observes, nodding to your right hand, making you look as if you didn’t know it was bare. He only stops walking until you’re face to face, way too close to just be a professional interaction. It only worsens when his thumb and index finger pinches your chin, his eyes sending flames through yours. “And let’s both be honest— if there was someone waiting for you at home, you wouldn’t be here with me.”

Let alone at the gym at all, he wanted to add. Whatever pussy was letting you come here to workout instead of telling you how good it feels to have your thick thighs ricocheting off his skin or how good your stretch marks look after being swollen with a child for nine months, doesn’t deserve you anyway.

He doesn’t kiss you, but he swipes your lips with his finger and retreats. The heat doesn’t dissipate.

“Saturday at 7?” You speak softly. So softly and breathless you aren’t even sure if he heard it as he walks away.

“My number’s in your bag, beautiful,” he winks, and then he’s turning the corner, back to where you met earlier in the morning.

smash

If you wanted like actual nsfw, (whoever sent the ask) just send in another into my inbox or just dm me asking!! LMAO

You get unlimited access!!

©️hxltic

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stuffeddeer · 1 year ago

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hello deery, back like i promised lmao

as much as i love silly goofy buddy dazai, deluded possessive and lowkey scary dazai is my fav 🙏 he's such a silly guy with reader, then turns right around and destroys their entire life. then hes like :O omg thats so horrible, so what im hearing is you have more time to spend with me? seeing as all your friends left for reasons unknown, your family wont even look at you. but dw, i'll never leave :)

BWHAHA im not good at this stuff, but your characterization of dazai is my fav in general, such versatility, we love to see it

have a great day :D

-🩵 anon

HES MY least FAVE TOO ugh 🩵anon you get me

“I’m sorry, lovely. That’s so horrible…” Dazai’s knuckles softly rub against your jaw, his skin soothing you as you try to halt your tears.

“It just— ” you hiccup, “ —just feels like everyone’s leaving me!”

The brunet pulls you closer, practically sitting in his lap as his hands move around your torso. “Shh, shh…” He gently wipes away your remaining tears, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

You let out an embarrassed chuckle before nodding. “You’re the only one. Not even my boss wanted me around, I can tell. It’s like she was waiting for me to mess up so she could fire me.”

“That’s not true…”

“How would you know?” The words were genuine, like you were looking for him to explain that it was the work of fate or your shitty coworker you always complained about.

Well, it's because Dazai was the one to get you fired. Your boss was too fond of you, something he simply couldn't have. Plus, work hours always took up your time, time that should be spent with him. Honestly, you didn't need a job, anyway: Dazai would be happy to provide for you and make you dependent on him.

Instead of explaining any of this, he pressed another kiss to your head before pulling you in for a tight hug. “You’re a hard worker. And you’re a wonderful person. If none of your friends want to be in your life, well, I do. So I guess you’ll just have to spend time with me.”

It’s his attempt at lightening the mood, you’re sure of it. A chuckle passes your lips before you can stop it, shifting in his hold so you can hug him back just as tightly. “You’re all I have, so now you’re stuck with me.”

“That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

oh he’s the worst i need him

he’ll cradle you so sweetly, telling you alllll the good things about yourself!!!

n when you get all confident and hey! maybe you are good enough, maybe you should look into making new friends! ones that won’t leave you so easily 🙄

well,

he’s there to remind you just how heartbroken your last ones left you. your very own flesh and blood cut you out so easily! maybe dazai is the only one who can truly love you for who you are.

he’s not saying it to be mean! he just wants you to know what you’re getting yourself into. he’s always been so smart, too…. well, you guess he’s right.

if you’re a bit more stubborn or masochistic, maybe you don’t gaf!!! put you back in the ring you wanna try again!!!!!

ugh. okay. i mean, dazai did so much for you... y’know, when you lost your job and he insisted let you move in with him, dazai was trying to be a good friend, but... whatever, if you don’t need him anymore than you can just get your own place. oh, you still haven’t found a job? well, since you’re so sure of yourself, you can just get a new one. you can be out by tomorrow, right? you know dazai would’ve liked to go out and make friends during the time he’s been working to keep a roof above the both of your heads and keeping you company after everyone left you. maybe he’s starting to see why they did, since you’re so selfish—

...

you decided not to go out!

that’s probably when he realizes he should begin moving your relationship along a bit quicker. he’ll flirt with you in the exact way he knows you respond to best (whether that's words of affirmation, teasing, physical touch, etc); he'll bring you back pastries and cute trinkets he saw on his way home from work… his courting is a little eerie, bc he also acts like you two are already dating???? "you're staying in my home, of course i assumed we'd be having dinner tonight. i even learned to cook your favorite— " like he 100% just assumes shit but it always works out bc . well, what else were you doing?

this includes sharing a bed btw. he probably started w having you take his and he takes the couch (a true gentleman) and then maybe he gets another bed and makes a guest room for you... but, well, since you both are so close and it's so cold in his apartment, maybe you can just spend one night with him? It Was Not One Night

if you catch on and reciprocate, oh he's over the moon!!!! his love giving him affection? oughhh.. you're staying in his room in his arms and he's just breathing you in, reminding himself you're still there... it'd be actually kinda sweet if he didn't orchestrate this whole thing

if you catch on (or don't lmao) and deny him? .............

desperate times desperate measures or whatever they say

he locks you in his room for mandatory cuddles, will not give you food if you stick to one side of the room and refuse to let him hold you, he starts pulling away and spewing words he knows will hurt you so you feel so alone and unloved only to turn around and love bomb you.... it's horrific tbh

i'm so sorry . just... go along w it for now pls ❤️

also i mentioned that he'd bring up how you don't have a job and he's the one working hard to pay for your expenses but he's just being a brat. he caught you looking at help wanted ads one time and pretty much cried in your lap about how upset he is that you don't feel his care is adequate enough and only stopped when you promised not to get another job

he's gross :( get out of there

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lex-feldz · 7 months ago

Text

New York

Annabeth picked at the flowers on the table, waiting for someone who probably won’t show. She was at a coffee shop, waiting for her date she met online. It’s not even worth remembering which app it was from, whoever was going to show, would show. (Or not)

Eventually a ruggedly handsome man ushered in, going up to every woman in the place and talking to them.

“Are you Anna Elizabeth?” He asked, hopelessly.

“Yes, but I prefer to go by Annabeth.” She said.

“Awesome. I’m Percy.” He smiled wide.

“Oh.” Was all she managed, trying not to judge him.

“I’m sorry I was late. I’m from New York originally and San Francisco has a very different layout than the city.” He chuckled, sitting down across from her.

“I lived in New York for some time, it’s not too different.” She held her head high, maybe a little peeved at him for blaming his own incompetence on something that has no real ability to change.

“Oh, cool, where did you live? I grew up in Brooklyn but bounced around Manhattan and the Bronx for the past couple of years. My Ma lives on the upper east side now.” He smiled genuinely, which might have warmed her insides a bit more than she’d like to admit.

“I grew up in a town just out of the city, Scarsdale? Maybe you’ve heard of it?”

“Oh damn, that’s, like, close to Yonkers and Mamo? Right?” He smiled.

“Yeah.”

“That’s awesome, when did you leave?”

“Before I moved out here for school. I went to Berkeley for architecture.” She gripped her cup.

“Nice, I never went to college, too expensive.” He flushed.

“It’s never too late, you know.”

“Yeah, which is why I’m not worried. Like, my buddy, Jason, he’s been a Yale man since he was born. Guess where he ended up?”

“Yale?”

“SUNY Oneonta.”

“Oh, that’s—”

“Nothing like Yale, yeah, that’s what I said when he told me.” Percy’s eyes crinkled endearingly as he spoke about his friend, and joked with her.

“So, what brought you to San Fran, then, Percy?” Annabeth asked, genuine curiosity flooding her. He seemed like such a New Yorker, born and raised, that it didn’t make sense as to why he would leave.

“I still think of it as where I live, but for now, I’m out here to help my buddy Grover move into his internship. I don’t know, really.”

“You just go on random dates?”

“For fun, yeah.”

“That’s….” She wasn’t really sure.

“Weird?”

“Yeah.” She giggled, relieved he said it.

“What can I say? Some might say I’m a masochist.”

“Some.” She took a sip of her drink.

“Some might say that the ones that don’t immediately get up, are as well.” He whispered.

“Oh, well, I— I just like coffee.”

“If you ever find yourself in New York you should give me a call.” “I will.”

#percy jackson #annabeth chase #pjo #percabeth #annabeth is my baby #percabeth fic #percy jackson and the olympians #heroes of olympus #please #drabble #unfinished one shot with relatively nice stopping point

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firstelevens · 10 months ago

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Hi! For the Bake Off AU, I'm begging for a look back at two things in particular (because I'm greedy, no apologies): what was Sam and Bucky's first encounter like? And what was Bucky's final straw that made him realize he actually had feelings for Sam? If you don't get to these that's fine--seriously, thanks for the AU in the first place!

Thank you so much for reading and always having such kind things to say about the AU! As far as realizing his feelings for Sam, rather than a single moment of realization tipping over into big feelings, I think that Bake Off Bucky—to borrow a phrase from Jane Austen—was in the middle before he knew he’d begun. Here’s a first encounter, though!

Admittedly, when Sam had flirted with the Prince Charming looking dude who he met on his morning run, he hadn’t meant for it to be anything more than that. They’d tossed a little friendly trash talk back and forth and that should have been the end of it, except then they’d run into each other while heading back towards the hotel, and it eventually came out that they were both in town for Bake Off.

When his new running buddy—Steve, apparently—had asked whether Sam wanted to join him for breakfast, it had been an easy yes. Other people might not be on reality shows to make friends, but Sam has been cracking jokes for weeks now about Bake Off essentially being summer camp, and what’s summer camp without camp friends?

They’d chatted companionably on their way to the diner that had apparently been recommended to Steve by a friend (it had sounded like his name was Dumb-Dumb, but Sam was fairly certain he’d misheard it), and Sam had asked whether Steve had run into any other fellow contestants yet. He’d been expecting to hear about a run-in in the lobby or a shared ride from the airport, but instead Steve had lit up and animatedly begun explaining how his best friend had applied for Bake Off, too, just so Steve wouldn’t have to go through the process alone, and they’d both ended up getting cast in the season.

It’s an admittedly sweet gesture, and from the other ways that Steve describes his best friend, Sam is expecting the person who’s joining them for breakfast to have the same golden retriever energy that Steve does. Their booth has Sam facing the door, so he glances up at it periodically as he and Steve get their coffee and look through the menu.

The first time the door opens, it’s an elderly lady who takes a seat at the counter.

The second time, it’s a delivery..

The third time, it’s a broad-shouldered dude wearing all black and a scowl.

Sam turns to Steve, who’s busy stirring cream into his coffee. “Are you sure your friend didn’t get lost? Should you call him or something?”

“I’m sure he’s fine; it just takes him a while to get moving in the mornings,” Steve says, waving a hand. “He once called me a masochist for getting up before six to run.”

Sam starts to laugh, but breaks off as he watches Tall Dark and Broody whip off his sunglasses, craning his neck to look around the restaurant like maybe if he squints hard enough, a patron will appear who’s not Sam or Steve or the old lady at the counter. His eyes land on their booth and he makes eye contact with Sam, who offers a bland but pleasant smile.

It’s not meant to look inviting, but the guy walks over to them anyway, looking as wary as Sam feels. Finally, Steve seems to realize that something is happening, and he follows Sam’s gaze, peering over his shoulder to see who’s coming towards them.

As soon as he spots Broody, he brightens, waving him over.

“You made it!” says Steve, and Sam feels his eyes widen slightly in realization. “I thought for sure we’d have to wait another hour.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” is the all but growled reply, but Steve seems undeterred.

“Sam,” he says, “this is my best friend Bucky. Buck, this is Sam. He’s going to be on the show with us.”

“Nice to meet you, Bucky,” says Sam, smiling at him like he’s not completely baffled.

Bucky—which, what the hell kind of a name is Bucky? is this guy an animated woodland creature?—looks at Sam with wide eyes for a moment and then grunts a, “Likewise.”

Before either of them can say anything else, Steve’s phone rings.

“It’s Peggy,” he says, as he checks the screen. “I’ve gotta take this. Sorry guys, just order without me; I’ll be back in a second.”

They don’t have the chance to agree or disagree; Steve has the phone to his ear before he’s even halfway to the door. Both of them watch the door swing shut behind him, then make eye contact.

Bucky looks away first, sliding into the side of the booth where Steve was sitting. The server materializes to fill up his coffee cup, and he quietly thanks her before grabbing the sugar shaker.

The silence drags on for another minute, both of them drinking their coffee without a word, before Sam can’t bear it anymore. Because Steve is the only thing the two of them have in common, and Sam knows like, three things about him, he chooses to ask, “So I’m guessing Peggy is the fiancé?”

He gets another wide-eyed look of surprise in response. Bucky’s eyes are very blue, he notes.

“Steve mentioned his time in the Army.” Then, not that he thinks it’ll make a difference either way, Sam adds, “I was Air Force.”

“Oh,” says Bucky. “Uh, yeah, Peggy is Steve’s fiancé.”

“Cool,” says Sam. “I guess maybe planning a wedding makes a baking competition look like a breeze by comparison, huh?”

There’s a vague grunt of assent from Bucky, but in fairness, he’s taking a sip of coffee.

Sam follows suit, just to have something to do that isn’t asking inane questions, but Bucky isn’t exactly doing the heavy lifting, and there’s no way that Sam can bail without being rude, so he puts on his interviewer hat and plows through. “So Steve said y’all are from New York?”

Bucky nods. “Brooklyn.” After a second, miraculously, he adds, “What about you?”

“Just outside New Orleans,” Sam says, grinning just at the thought of his hometown. “Little place called Delacroix, but I live up in DC now.”

He hears Bucky draw in a breath like he’s going to say something, but then the server appears to take their orders. Bucky orders for Steve just as easily as he did for himself, and he’s polite enough to the server that Sam concludes his lack of conversation is more to do with the fact that it’s before 8 AM than some personal grudge.

“Should we have ordered for Steve?” asks Sam, once their coffee cups have been refilled and the server has walked away. “I kind of get the feeling it’ll be cold by the time he finishes up.”

“Just keeping things moving,” says Bucky, shrugging.

“What, you’ve got somewhere you need to be?”

“No, but if Steve has to wait for his own food, he’s gonna eat mine.”

“Ah, and you never learned to share in kindergarten. Got it.”

Bucky’s voice is dry. “Spoken like someone who’s never offered Steve Rogers a single fry and watched them all disappear in thirty seconds.”

Sam laughs, partly in amusement and partly in surprise, and Bucky’s face immediately goes pink as he looks back down at his coffee cup.

“Thanks for the heads-up,” says Sam. “Now I know ‘sharing is caring’ doesn’t apply to Steve.”

There’s a huff from the other side of the table that might be a laugh, but it’s muffled by Bucky’s coffee cup, so Sam can’t be sure.

He’ll take the win anyway.

#sambucky #me: this one will be shorter #also me: [writes 1100 words]#that night Sam ABSOLUTELY scrolls way too far back on Steve's instagram and finds a handful of gym and beach pics featuring Bucky #and he is So Normal about that I promise*#*I'm lying #zainab does ask meme things #the gbbo au #funsized-loser #THANK YOU FOR SENDING THIS IN!!!#my fic

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bnprm · 1 year ago

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after watching only friends ep 4 here are my thoughts: (from an onlyfriends hater lol)

- nick is a FREAK. i’m sorry but he needs help. i thought he was just a boy in love with his fuck buddy but the obsessive behaviour is sick.

- why did they have to cast MY forcebook.

- boston literally sexually assaulted top multiple times what the fuck.

- the drug plot jfc. once again. why my forcebook.

- watching this show is genuinely like watching a house set on fire and not being able to do anything about it, but you can’t stop watching because of a masochistic curiosity

#it hit me this ep like #imagine if we got this STACKED CAST #for like a fun and goofy gay show #like “spring breakers #or smth like that #they can still have messy sex #but the seriousness of this show is so hard to get thru #idk #like i said #it’s not made for me and i accept that #and i understand why ppl like it #but not for me #only friends ep 4 #only friends the series #ofts #neg #negative

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sakumasmut · 2 years ago

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sorry i keep thinking everyone just needs to fuck each other. imagine rinne and hiyori working out like fuck buddies system bc theyre both whores at heart and theyre roommates so~ if they cant find anyone to fuck that night theyll just fuck each other! kanata maybe joins in sometimes if he's awake but usually just tells them to at least keep it down while he sleeps. works out well with my hc of rinne and hiyori being into exhibition lmaoo

i think there's a similar arrangement between ritsu and mika too btw. esp since its just the two of them. if you step into that room before they have time to hide stuff, it just toys and bdsm shit everywhere

- 💚

god okay now that you’ve brought up roommates I need to talk. fully agree with ritsu and mika they 100% fuck whenever they feel like it. they’re both kinky as hell there’s no way they havent fucked at least once. rinne deffo gets down with whoever is willing, and tbh kanata doesnt mind since he’ll soak in the tub while they fuck. least he can do for having the water bill so high is deal with some moaning, even better if he gets to join.

I’ve been thinking about the maokuroizushu dorm just fucking the natsunazuleo dorm bc you’ve got izu fucking leo bc they deffo already do in florence and leo is needy, kuro just absolutely domming nazu (ultimate size kink pair ngl) with maybe shu joining if he happens to be in japan. maonatsu would be more like hate sex but also bc they’re both a bit pent up and I think natsume needs someone else to be masochistic to in bed besides mugi.

also rei and eichi. definitely fuck when they’re alone you cannot tell me otherwise

there’s probably other dorm arrangement gold I’m missing but this is what I’m thinking abt for now

#nsft es!!#thirsts #💚

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borathae · 2 years ago

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OK this is ☔️ anon again, i have submitted my plot thoughts on MV now i unleash my feral mind

FIRSR i have had jimin brain rot since face so i still find this lil toxic morally gray character terribly sexy and i am craving smut of his character

realistically, he’s burnt his bridges with everything character besides tae so that’s the only smut that could happen with him still WHICH I WILL STILL TAKE we r in a vmin drought sibi we deserve it 😁

HOWEVER i am a simple man that has been watching jikook stage moments and so i am thirsty for this idea h e a r m e o u t:

the gang is all real mad at jimin and tae obviously so when yoongi wants to punish them for their actions loyal jungkookie goes “i’ll help!” and yoongi wants to punish tae more because of the betrayal he helped with (im a whore for angst so id love a whole chapter of that too) SO jungkook takes on jimin and he’s very mad at jimin but jimin is very sexy so a little tension builds up like with tae and jungkook in the dungeon. OC wants to make sure jungkook is okay during this or some other reason she just winds up in the room right, but jimin mind controls OC to be horny turning on kook cause he gets horny for OC and sexy evil people (me too buddy) and they’re about to fuck in front of jimin whos realizing that they’re still new at this so he convinces him to unchain him so jk won’t unleash control on OC who’s like cockdrunk and out of it. so jungoo unties him but is like i’ll do you one better and goes hard dom on jimin for his punishment!!! like finally rough dominant MV!kook!!!! anyways OC is horny asf so jimin is like i’ll take care of her let me eat her out so you don’t hurt her, kinda manipulating him and taking control of the situation more so she sits on his face and is facing kook who’s railing jimin and really dommy so he’s like pulling her hair and grabbing her and being rough but still careful cause he’s so motivated by his hate for jimin to not hurt her but is kinda dumb for letting this threesome happen (it’s okay 🫶we can’t be good at everything baby) so they all cum and jungkook is so proud of himself and is running on an adrenaline high so he goes to fuck OC next, but jimin is exhausted after cumming that hard so he passed out which makes OC pass out being released from his control and jk is like o h n o wtf did i just do and it ends in yoonkook angst when yoongi gets involved because i’m a masochist 🤪

IK THIS IS LONG AS HELL

I DINT MEAN TO MAKE FANFICCEPTION OR WRITE OVER UR WORK SIBI IM JUST HORNY IM SORRY

PLEASE NEVER APOLOGISE FOR SENDING IN MINI FANFICS FOR MY STORIES I AM EATING THAT SHIT UP LIKE A GOOD JUICY ASS ON A SUNNY SATURDAY MORNING MGFM 😩😩

FIRSR i have had jimin brain rot since face so i still find this lil toxic morally gray character terribly sexy and i am craving smut of his character

HONEY SAME nfandfn idk why I can't hate him, but I really can't afjdajsf he is so fandsfna

ALSO I DONT KNOW WHAT TO ADD TO THE JIKOOK THREESOME OTHER THAN "BRUH (BASSBOOSTED)" THIS SHIT JUST SLAPPED ME ACROSS THE FACE AND NOW I NEED THESE TWO TO RAIL THE OC INTO OBLIVION FAJDSJFAJDSFJA SFUCKADFKADSK

#asks: magnus venatio #asks #☔️anon #jk thirst #jm thirst #thirsty thursday #hcs: sanguis duology

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rosicheeks · 2 years ago

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Think you'll still want to whimper when I have the tip of a crop running up and down your pussy, think how much that will hurt if I slap that crop nice and hard on your delicate little slit.

…….. what the fuck is a crop?

#guys I’m a baby and super inexperienced #I have no fucking clue what that is #but that sounds scary 🥺🥺🥺🥺#I like *some* pain #but I’m not a masochist sorry buddy #the way you’re describing it sounds like a fucking torture device for my pussy #and I’m not about that shit #I like praise 🥺#and kissies #and being soft #I’m fragile 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺#ask #anon

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xxsabitoxx · 2 years ago

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AOT Characters & their kinks

(how they are in bed)

Characters: Eren, Mikasa, Armin, Jean, Sasha, Connie

Warnings: contains smut / suggestive content (duh)

A/N: once again, I forget I can make Headcanons lol. If you’d like to see more characters, feel free to comment or send me an ask!

Eren

Starting with the basics, is he a dom, sub or switch. Depending on his partner I think it changes, so I’d say Eren is a switch

100% a masochist, he loves when his partner hurts him

This also means he’s into impact play & degrading

I see Eren liking the idea of CNC — it goes either way so long as his partner is comfortable with it

I can also see Eren being very selfish in bed just so he can be punished. When he’s in the mood to be a sub, he’s 100% a brat with a loud mouth

Impact play. Once again, it goes both ways. He likes seeing your ass red from his slaps but he also enjoys when you smack him across the face

He’s absolutely a rope bunny, tie him up & restrain him and it drives him wild. Especially if you are teasing or edging him.

Cuckholding. He likes to use it as a form of punishment so long as you are comfortable. So either he’ll watch you fuck someone else or he’ll make you watch him fuck someone else

He is a creampie kinda man. He refuses to cum anywhere else but inside of you. Not even your mouth, unless you want him to.

Breeding kink — but he also doesn’t want the consequences. So that’s a tough one buddy.

He has… a mommy / daddy kink. He’ll call his partner either name — whichever they prefer

Aftercare is a big thing for him!! He feels a bit guilty when he is the one on top cause he doesn’t go easy with you

Mikasa

So, is she a dom, sub or switch? I think Mikasa leans more towards being submissive. Which seems very out of character for her in any situation other than sex.

She has a thing for praising, she’ll be putty in your hands if you tell her she’s a good girl & stuff like that

Loves overstimulation, she’ll beg you to stop but really she wants you to keep going

Mikasa has a breeding kink, I’m not even sorry.

Sucker for gags and ropes, she likes being restrained and used. But she also gets excited when the roles are reversed

Speed round; Agrexophilia, breast worship and cunnilingus

I see Mikasa liking collars y’all, maybe even some bows or cute lingerie

To go along with her fascination with cunnilingus, she loves face sitting

She likes group sex so long as she is the center of attention, she gets jealous if her partner is paying attention to someone else

She likes sex in unconventional places, somewhere where her partner has to work for it. Like a public place, the bathtub, against a wall, etc etc

While she isn’t that dominant in bed, she doesn’t mind if her partner refers to her as miss, madam, mommy, etc.

Aftercare is a huge thing for her, she doesn’t want the love and praise to end after you are both satisfied.

Armin

Dom, sub or switch? Armin can be a switch if he really wants to be, but he much prefers being dominant

This man will gaslight you in bed, he’s huge on degrading and humiliation

Dacryphilia. He wants to see you sobbing, he’ll even encourage it

Impact play & choking. He’s super rough with both things, he’ll only stop if you are about to pass out

Armin sees sex as a way to relieve his pent up stress, it’s the only time he can really show his true colors. He has a reputation to keep after all.

Possessive as fuck, he will make you repeat his name over and over while he fucks you. Saying things like “who do you belong to?” And all that.

Breeding kink with risks and consequences welcomed. He sees it as another way to show people who you belong to.

Which brings us to… creampies. His cum is priceless & needs to be earned. Why waste it by putting it anywhere else.

Though, if you don’t please him, he’s into face fucking. Either way, his cum is only being put inside of you

Objectification & dumbification. He likes the idea of a master / pet dynamic in bed

Body worship but only receiving, it’s part of his humiliation tactics

Doesn’t really have a thing for pet names, prefers hearing his name leave your lips

Aftercare is important to him once everything is said and done. He needs you to know he loves you after…

Jean

Y’all know the drill by now, this man is a jealous switch.

It really depends on his partner & what they lean more towards

Jean always feels the need to prove himself, so he’s all about body worship, praising and overstimulation.

Would happily die suffocated by your thighs & begs for you to sit on his face.

He drools when he gets really into it, I’m talking just as cock drunk as you are while he fucks you

Breeding kink but more so creampies. He wants to see his cum oozing out of you

Super into Agrexophilia, not only does it turn him on but it boosts his ego tenfold

Likes when you call him sir & when you try to talk to him while he’s pleasuring you.

He’s into impact play but only as punishment.

Cuckolding, he loves and hates the humiliation he feels watching someone else fuck you.

Anal sex. He grows a fascination for it pretty quickly after the first time y’all try it.

After care isn’t super huge for him only because the two of you are pretty fucking tired after the fact. Y’all are knocked out within 5 minutes of finishing

Sasha

Sasha is a sub but will occasionally be a switch

She is huge, and I mean huge on incorporating food into sex. I’m not trying to be cliche here.

Like her favorite thing is being able to put whip cream on her partner’s genitals and eating them out / sucking them off. It’s such a reward in her mind

She’s obsessed with oral sex, she prefers to give rather than revive but she loves reviving as well

Loves bondage & being tied up

Thrives off of praise and pet names, any word of encouragement gets her going

Role play. I don’t really have an explanation for this one.

She’s absolutely a pleaser, anything that will earn her praise and encouragement

She isn’t against creampies, but she prefers if her partner comes on her or in her mouth

Breathplay & breast worship are two secret favorites, she’s a bit embarrassed of both

Sasha really gets into dirty talk, both hearing it and speaking it

Similar to Jean, after care isn’t a huge deal because she is knocking the fuck out within 5-10 minutes of finishing. As long as she isn’t too hungry

Connie

Starts off as a sub! He usually lets his partner take the lead until he gets a bit of confidence. Once he has a basic understanding and knows what you like. Connie is a dom.

This man is horny 24/7 and is eager to learn as much as he can. He wants to be good and satisfying you but he also wants to know what he likes

Absolutely loves oral sex — he will spend hours eating is partner out or sucking them off

He’s into CNC, this goes both ways though. So if we really wanna be technical, this man is a switch

Not a fan of blindfolds or Gags, he uses your facial expressions and noises to know how good he’s doing

Creampie addict

Body worship is huge with him, he loves giving it. But receiving it? He could come just from your praises

Prefers rough sex with passion over slow sex. He’s eager to please and doesn’t have the patience for slow sex

Man is a cervix bruiser, he is rough when he gets inside of you, he loves seeing tears stream down your face.

Not that into dirty talk — honestly it makes him laugh

Breeding kink? He is obsessed with coming inside of you & gladly welcomes any consequences. Honestly he kinda wants it to happen

Aftercare is important but not a priority. He’s going to clean you up and cuddle you, but he’s also fighting to stay awake.

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matthewtkachuk · 3 years ago

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if it's not you - kevin hayes

When a promotion at work calls for you to transfer back to Philadelphia, your ex-fiancé offers you the guest room of the home you used to share. What could possibly go wrong?

pairing: kevin hayes x reader

warnings: angst angst angst, relationship breakdown, talk of marriage and babies, low key plus size reader (and mention of exercise as an unhealthy coping mechanism), travis konecny sticking his nose where it doesn't belong, the over romanticization of spaghetti bolognese, smut

word count: 11k

a/n: here's the first half of a fic i've been working on for months, sorry not sorry for what i've done. in loving memory of my dearest k @danglesnipecelly who wanted either roommate kevin or ex kevin and instead i murdered her with both

Everyone you knew said it was a terrible idea.

Your mom, your best friends, the coworkers you were leaving behind, even Jimmy and Brady said it was a terrible idea. Jimmy and Brady, who share a single brain cell.

Deep down you recognize for yourself just how bad of an idea it was, but that knowledge was locked deep down beside the residual hurt and the love that you pretended had died long ago.

Maybe you were a masochist, deriving a sick sense of pleasure from torturing yourself like this. Or maybe you were just fucking stupid, naive and ignorant, unable to conceptualize all the ways things could go wrong.

Or maybe you just really missed him.

No matter the reasoning, and no matter how many people in your life tried to convince you otherwise, you were transferring to your company’s Philadelphia office, and the spare bedroom you were moving into was in the house you’d once lived in with your ex fiancé.

It was nothing, really, you tried to convince yourself. Just Kev being Kev, lonely what with his buddy and roommate Nolan shipped off to Vegas, and it’s not like you would find a place with cheaper rent than “free, as long as you promise to make dinner now and then.”

You can’t really explain why you reached out in the first place, with only a handful of conversations occurring in the months since you called off your engagement. Part of it was the excitement of it all, you’d gotten so caught up in it all that the second you left your boss’ office your thumb was hovering over his contact in your phone. That hadn’t been the moment you’d called him, though.

No, you’d celebrated the way you’d been forced to grow accustomed to without Kevin in your life - a drink with a few select coworkers and a phone call to your mom.

Maybe some part of you thought you owed it to him, to give him a heads up that you were returning to his city once again, a warning of sorts. Maybe you expected hesitance in his tone, a lack of warmth in his reply.

Kevin’s never really been that predictable though, and his response is nothing short of pure excitement. It’s here that he suggests you move in, at least temporarily, much to your surprise. You tell him you’ll think about it because it’s a big decision, but you’re certain you’ll tell him ‘thanks for the offer, but I have to decline.’

Certain, that is, until he ends the call uncharacteristically soft, nothing but sincerity on the tip of his tongue as he speaks, “I’m really proud of you, you know.”

You call him back the next morning and tell him you’ll do it.

Philly’s got an edge to it that you’ve felt drawn to since the first time you set foot in the city. You were sixteen, at some pop punk concert at the Mann your best friend had convinced you to sneak out of the house for. There was something in the air then, and for a moment, in the midst of a high energy show, with everyone around you screaming in unison, you’d felt it. A draw and a pull and a sense of belonging that you didn’t feel again in your hometown.

Not until you were a freshman at Boston College, stumbling into a cute guy with a loud laugh and a thick accent at a house party after a big hockey win.

You feel it again, pulling into the driveway of a very expensive house in a very rich neighborhood of Philly. Your house. Or at least it was, once. You remember the excitement of flying down to Philly twice, touring a dozen different houses before settling on this one. It was the bright and open kitchen that had stolen your heart the minute you’d stepped foot in it. He’d asked his teammates' opinions, but you know that even if they hadn’t all mostly agreed, he would have bought this one for you.

There was a time when Kevin would have done anything for you, if you only asked.

Your SUV is full to the brim with your clothes and the few personal effects you had kept - the majority of your things had been sold or donated when you’d committed to the transfer. It’s weird, to be parking this car in this driveway, as if you’d never taken Kevin’s grandmother’s ring off your finger, as if you’d later slipped on the wedding band to match.

Your ring finger is as bare as it has been for more than a year, though, as you flex your fingers against the steering wheel, willing yourself to move on from your thoughts. They’re not productive, they only serve to further break your own heart. You can’t let it go, though. Not here, not in front of this house. No, you need to sit in it for a moment, collect yourself, take it all in and let yourself wallow in it before you face what was once your dream home.

Kevin comes outside as you’re pulling bags from the trunk, wrapping you up in a hug that feels too real, too genuine, too meaningful. You lean into it against your better judgement, squeezing your arms around him tightly, as if you could put both of your broken pieces back together with a single hug. You have to stop yourself from telling him you missed him, certain he doesn’t want to hear about how you’ve been wallowing your way through life without him.

He has to stop himself from welcoming you home.

“You don’t have to help,” you tell him as he starts grabbing some of your bags. The look he sends you tells it all and you shrug sheepishly, “Thanks.”

With your former fiance’s help, your things are taken inside in only a few trips despite your attempts to prolong the feat. Without the distraction of hauling your things in and then scurrying back to your car, you’re forced to look around at what had once been your home. You’re not surprised to see not much has changed. Between the interior designer he’d hired and your own input, Kev had remarkably little to do with the design of the house.

As you shift side to side on your feet, feeling incredibly awkward and out of place, you spot a frame on the mantle, nestled in beside photos of his siblings and parents and nieces and nephews. The frame blends in perfectly, the exact same metal as the others around it, but you really didn’t think the subject belonged anymore.

Because the photograph contains your and Kevin’s smiling faces, his arms wrapped around your shoulders with your hands settled on his forearms, the sparkling ring glinting on your ring finger, with a beautiful sun setting over Cape Cod.

“It was my favorite,” he says simply and something inside of you breaks. It all kind of hits you then, not for the first time certainly, but it hits you all the same. That photo shouldn’t be the only one that contained you in this living room; there should be beautiful pictures of a wedding day, of you in white and Kevin in his best suit. Of his nieces and nephews in flower girl dresses and little ring bearer suits. Of a little baby boy or girl of your own.

It’s too much and you can’t keep the facade up any longer.

“I’m gonna go start putting things away,” you lie, quickly turning and rushing past him before he can see the telltale look of despair on your face.

“Do you want me to order take out tonight? I can get from that Italian place you like.” It’s an olive branch and a peace offering and an honest to goodness suggestion all rolled into one and you know you shouldn’t be acting like this. You know that if you couldn’t handle it, can’t handle it, you shouldn’t be here at all.

And so you pause in the doorway, still unable to look back at him. “Sure Kev, you know what I like.” It slips out, the easy casualness of it all because it’s how you used to answer when he’d posit the question of what you wanted from whatever restaurant you were ordering from. It was a comfort, really, that he knew you so well he didn’t have to think twice about getting you something you’d enjoy.

It makes the moment feel even heavier than it needs to, even heavier than it had a moment ago when you’d spotted that old familiar photo on the mantel. You don’t know how to take it back, though, don’t know how to explain that you didn’t mean it that way. The silence stretches between the two of you awkwardly in ways it hadn’t ever really in the entirety of your relationship. Even when things were falling apart it hadn’t ever really felt like this.

Like you were two strangers and not people with a long and drawn out history.

You won’t look at him, but he can’t stop the way his eyes track your every move, your words rattling around in his brain. Did he know what you liked? Or did you change your favorite pasta dish like you’d changed the address on your driver's license? Was it still penne alla vodka or did you prefer alfredo now? Did you still take sugar and cream in your coffee or had you kicked the caffeine habit entirely?

For a long time he’d thought about what it would be like for you to step foot back in this house, your presence filling the empty rooms in a way no one had been able to since you’d left. He’d tried, letting Patty move in, and then the girls who’d treated his front door like it was revolving rather than made of wood.

With the door to the spare bedroom clicking behind you softly, you toss yourself onto the unmade bed and cry. You cry for the past, you cry for the present, but most of all you cry for the future that you’d both robbed yourselves of.

When he knocks later to let you know the food has arrived - as if you hadn’t heard the doorbell and the subsequent booming nature of his voice - you’ve stopped crying but your face feels puffy. Kevin has the good sense to not mention it as you move with practiced ease around each other. The silverware is in the same spot it always has been, and so are the glasses. Even the Brita water filter is in the same spot in the refrigerator and it all makes your heart ache more.

Not for the first time, as you sit across from the man you thought you would get to love forever, you wonder what the fuck you’re doing here.

Kevin notices. Of course he fucking notices, what with the way he can’t tear his eyes off of you and the way he used to know you better than the back of his hand. He knew what you looked like first thing in the morning and he knew what you looked like with happy tears streaming down your face the night he’d proposed and he knew what you looked like with your bags packed, shutting the door behind you for the last time.

He notices but he doesn’t do anything because it’s not his place. It’s not his job to anticipate your feelings when you aren’t capable of verbalizing them or to reassure you that your fears are unfounded. Not anymore and it hasn’t been for a long time. He hates that it’s no longer his job or his place and he hates that you’re both in this position and more than anything he hates that you left him and this is what it’s all come to. You home but not really home, only here because of the very job that had torn you apart to begin with.

His heart is heavy and yours is too as you stare at each other from across the too large dining table, both wondering if you were making a mistake as large as the one you’d made when you’d let each other go.

Really, living with Kevin in a totally platonic, non-romantic way is both harder and easier than you thought.

It’s harder because you had grossly underestimated how badly being near him would make you want him. You should have known the dull ache in not being his anything anymore would only grow and multiply when the temptation to touch him increased with every interaction. Once a throbbing pain you could ignore by throwing yourself into the job you had chosen over him, now it was constant, unyielding and unforgiving - sharp reminders of what choosing yourself had cost you.

In some ways, it’s so similar to before, the feelings still bubbling under the surface but never boiling over. In the early days after your breakup you’d wondered if you would love him forever despite it all. In a cold and bare apartment in the middle of New York City you knew you would, heart aching and face tear stained. You’re reminded of the hurt in those moments as the weeks pass. Truthfully you don’t remember how to be his friend. For the majority of your adult life he’d been your best friend, sure, but he’d been your best friend in the way only a romantic partner can be.

And yet it’s not the same because in those quiet moments where once you would have leaned into the comfort of his embrace, you find yourself violently ripping away. Because even though your brain is well aware of all the hurt and the need for things like boundaries and space, your body is several steps and many years behind.

It feels wrong to see him soft and warm in the morning light of the kitchen without slipping in behind him and wrapping your arms around his body, your body nearly giving into the urge of its own accord before you can shake the feeling off and head for the coffee pot instead. It’s downright torture to walk past the back of the couch without slipping a hand into his hair and pressing your lips to his cheek.

The feeling is mutual, even if you don’t know it, as he has to resist the urge to press his body against yours while you reach on your tip toes for something in the cupboard or stand at the sink, washing dishes.

It’s easier in that you breathe a little easier in his presence, sleep a little better too. Being around him is as natural as breathing, probably too natural if you were honest with yourself. You catch yourself leaning in a little too much to his innocent touches, slipping up and almost telling him you love him when you say goodnight or he leaves for a string of away games, nearly curling up against his side when he puts a movie on in the living room.

Although sometimes sleep doesn’t come that easy. Not when you spend half the night tossing and turning, micro analyzing every interaction with the man asleep only feet away from you. From the smallest touches to the accidental slip ups that have you stuttering out an apology neither of you are sure you mean, you go through every second of it and wonder how you could have done things differently. On nights like this the guilt threatens to eat you up from the inside out. You run through hundreds of scenarios in your head, from the sweetest reunions to the harshest endings, ones where you sever the ties so completely you can never come back from it.

These nights are the worst when you have to haul your ass out of bed early in the morning to get to the office for eight.

Several months into calling what used to be your spare room home, luckily for you, isn’t one of those nights, but it doesn’t mean the exhaustion seeping into your bones is lessened any as the clock reads several minutes past two a.m. You toss onto your left side, then your right, then on your back, huffing and puffing with the energy of each turn. The pillow is fluffed and turned to the cold side multiple times as the minutes pass and pass. You count sheep, recite the alphabet backwards and forwards, even put on ambient music and then a sleep podcast.

Nothing helps, and you grow more and more exhausted. Until your sleep addled brain decides the best course of action is to slip into the bed that used to be yours.

The house is quiet and dark as you sneak down the hallway, feet cold and silent against the hardwood floor that you’d hated when you’d first moved in. “I like carpet,” you’d grumbled. Kev had only laughed, pressing his lips to yours and promising you that he’d buy you all the area rugs you could possibly want.

Kev doesn’t say anything now as you slip into the master bedroom, not until you’re pausing a few steps away from the bed with so many memories attached to it. Of you moaning and writhing beneath the sheets, of midnight kisses when he got back from a game at home, of lazy Sundays and breakfast in bed - even if the toast had been burnt and the coffee cold.

The comforter is different, but you should have expected that. There’s less pillows, but you should have expected that too. You were the pillow monster after all, adamant that you needed more than the customary two.

He wakes with a fright, and you’re reminded of when he made you sleep with the lights on after watching the first Paranormal Activity in theaters. “I don’t care how much I love you, if you were ever just standing at the foot of the bed watching me sleep I’d kick you in the face.”

“S’wrong?” he slurs, voice heavy with sleep the way you remember it being in the morning, warm and soft, gooey like honey.

You feel so foolish then, you had no business waltzing into this bedroom. What were you expecting, really? It wasn’t his job to make sure you had a good night’s rest. Not that he had when you were dating, more often keeping you up late into the early hours of the morning with his head between your thighs.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you admit, before shaking your head. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come in here. I-” You move to leave the room and pretend you’d never opened that door, but his large hand comes up to encircle your wrist.

“C’mere,” he says, using that grip to pull you in closer. You go willingly, slipping into bed beside him and letting him pull you into his chest. You fall asleep seconds after closing your eyes, drifting even closer in your slumber.

You wake up first, comfortable and warm and secure, but you sneak out before he even has a chance to wake.

He thinks he dreamt the whole thing.

Though your relationship with Kevin had been born out of a chance encounter at a house party, it had really developed around food. Your early dates had been dinners after hockey games, you in his jersey and he always wearing a backwards BC hat, legs linked under the table. Sometimes his teammates wouldn’t pick up on his very obvious social cues that it wasn’t an open invitation, and you’d have to squish between Kev and Johnny on one side of a faded booth.

Later, the venue became the kitchen. That’s not to say the two of you didn’t enjoy a nice night out together, or didn’t indulge in more than your fair share of take out, because you certainly did.

It’s just, you’d grown up with your parents cooking together in the kitchen, witnessed many sweet moments of adoration and love - even if things weren’t always perfect with their marriage, they never missed cooking Sunday dinner together. It was one of the things you were most grateful for in your childhood, and something you’d always vowed to make part of your future relationships.

Of course with his hockey career, Sunday wasn’t always feasible, and neither was a strict once a week schedule, but you’d always leaned into the moments you could.

Kevin wasn’t ever really the best cook, absolutely spoiled by his mom’s skills in the kitchen and then the dining plan at BC and then you’d taken it upon yourself to make sure he was always well fed. What he lacked in skill though he absolutely made up for in enthusiasm and willingness to be bossed around by you.

“I like when you tell me what to do,” he’d smirked at you once during the first years in New York together, dutifully cutting vegetables for your casserole.

And then you’d fallen in love with this very kitchen, with its marble detailing and offwhite cabinetry and gold handles. The built in butcher block and the sink in the island, the stainless steel, french-door refrigerator and matching stove. Enough space for you and Kevin to cook together in harmony while your own children could look on in awe at how much their parents loved each other.

You’d envisioned all those moments here in that kitchen and then you’d watched them disappear like smoke.

Now you were half a year into living with Kevin, still dancing around the feelings you never let go of, picturing some other woman cooking with him at the kitchen island, their children watching them the way you always thought yours would.

It was an accident, you repeat to yourself over and over again. That mantra on a loop as you sit on your bed in Kevin’s guest room, trying and failing to keep your breathing even. The problem is you can still taste his lips on your tongue, can feel his stubble beneath your hand and the ghost of his touch on your hips.

It was an accident, the way his hands found the skin just above your jeans as he attempted to move past you in the kitchen. The way your body lit up under his touch, the way you leaned into it all. Muscle memory, really, as your lips met his right around the time your hands slid up his shoulders to cup his face.

It was an accident, how you stepped even closer, pressing the entire length of your body against his. The growl deep in his chest as he held you tightly to him. The slip of his tongue inside your mouth, the scrape of your teeth against his lips.

And then nothing, as you’d stepped back in a panic with eyes wide and chest heaving.

You’d turned and ran back to the sanctity of this bedroom, your untouched plate of food entirely forgotten.

The sound of the front door is not easily mistaken, and soon you realize you’re all alone in the house. Suddenly there’s only one person you want to hear from.

Grabbing your phone, you slump to the ground with your back against the closet door, knees pulled to your chest while you hear the familiar sound of the dial tone.

“Hello?”

You sigh, the familiar voice of one of your oldest friends like music to your ears. “Jimmy?”

The background noise fades as you can only assume he’s separated himself from whoever he was with. He says your name softly, an edge of confusion laced within it, “Are you okay?”

You sigh again. The truth is, you’re not even sure if you’re okay or not. Being near Kevin is as good for your soul as it is harmful to your heart. Unadulterated pleasure at being witness to his bedhead in the morning once again, sweatpants hung low on his hips as he leaves the bedroom you’d once shared, yet the sharpest pain as you try to exist together in this house, yet so, so apart. Every day you break your heart, yet every day you heal a bit of it too.

“I’m not going to say I told you so,” he says minutes later after you’ve gotten everything you needed to say off your chest.

You groan a little, Jimmy’s always been a bit of a know-it-all. “Stupid Harvard,” you grumble under your breath. He laughs, not at all offended and very used to the chirps.

“You know I love you, but...”

“But you told me so,” you sigh again. “I don’t know what to do Jimmy.”

“Talk to him. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Truthfully, there’s a long list of worst case scenarios, and you’ve already run them in your head a hundred times.

Kevin doesn’t come home until darkness has descended on Philly. In the meantime you’ve had two mental breakdowns and ten imaginary arguments with him in your head. You’ve written down every important point you want to say four times, the four pieces of paper crumpled in the garbage can more than enough proof of that.

You’re sitting on the couch when he comes in, your entire body freezing as you brace for a fight. It never comes, though. Kevin acts like nothing’s wrong, like he didn't have his tongue down your throat only a few hours ago. He’s picture perfect normal, asking you if you want to order take out tonight or if you’d already taken something out for supper. You stumble through your responses but he never breaks.

It hurts more than you thought it would, certainly far more than it would have if he had yelled and screamed the minute he walked through the door. He even sits down on the other end of the couch, arm outstretched and entire body looking so welcoming, so enticing. As if you could just curl up against him like you used to do so many nights before.

You don’t, though. You stay scrunched up on your little corner of the couch, body rigid and face emotionless until you give in and go to bed alone, with far more questions than answers.

Right when things started going wrong, you’d taken up running. Truthfully it was more of a brisk walk interspersed with moments of sprinting that usually left you out of breath and cursing yourself for not being more in shape. It had been silly, a way for you to attempt to fit into the mold of the stereotypical WAG. Part of you thought if you were just able to get in shape, shed a few pounds, that you would be able to save your relationship.

It’s stupid, now that you look back on it, but you’d been so convinced that your size was going to be the downfall of your relationship. If you could only push past your hurt and your ego, you’d realize it was a breakdown in communication above anything else.

Regardless, you’d kept up with it, slowly turning into more of a runner and less of a walker. It hadn’t done much for slimming you down, but you felt healthier, didn’t feel like your heart was going to burst out of your chest or like you’d never pull enough air into your lungs ever again after a short jaunt.

You find yourself running again, a strange sense of nostalgia and heartbreak washing over you as you make the same old, familiar trail around the neighborhood. More houses have come up, some have come down, new cars and new families all around reminding you that while your world may have ended in the brick house four blocks away, it had continued to spin for everyone else.

When you return, Kevin’s just leaving for practice. The air is thick with tension and awkward energy as you carefully dance around one another. The desire to shower is so strong, but as he steps into his shoes you can’t help but blurt out, “Are we not going to talk about it?”

He looks alarmed, face frozen in the expression it had been before you spoke, but his eyes told the wildest tale all on their own. You’re sure your eyes match his own - wild, crazy, disbelieving. Where he had been unable to believe you’d just asked that, you’d been just as bewildered that the words had actually left your mouth.

“What?” he says stupidly.

You gulp and run a hand over your forehead, before repeating yourself. “Are we really not going to talk about it?”

His jaw clicks as he ponders your words, eyes sliding to the box under the television that reads the time. “I’m sorry, I-” he pauses, words perched at the very tip of his tongue, “I have to get to practice.”

“Right,” you nod slowly, “Well have fun with that.” You turn on your heel and head in the direction of the guest bathroom, determined to wash off not only the sweat of your run, but the awkward tension of the conversation from your skin.

Weeks pass without any more slip ups, but without any more explanation, either.

Somehow, you get better at shoving your feelings down, even as Kevin does nothing to help quell them. You gain more comfort in your position at work, you grow and learn and thrive, even as the little voice in the back of your head reminds you the only reason you’ve made it this far is because you let Kevin go.

Slowly, Kevin’s life reintegrates with yours. It starts with a few of the boys lingering in the doorway when picking Kev up for the bus or the plane, new eyes curious and old stares hardened against you. An errant happy hour after work sees Kevin meeting your new subordinates and coworkers as well as your friend Emily who you referred to jokingly as your ‘work wife’ when the two of you had been dating. He waves off all your apologies, far more concerned with getting you home safely than anything else, and when he tells Em it was good to see her, you think he means it.

From there, the boys start to make more frequent appearances at the house, as you imagine they’ve been doing in the time you’ve been gone. Their hesitancy gives you pause, makes you feel like maybe you’re interfering with Kev’s life - a brick wall where there used to be a doorway.

Soon, it’s not uncommon for at least one Flyer or two to be hanging around in some capacity. They’re all polite enough, offering you a smile and a greeting. Of them all, G is probably the most genuine, telling you a bit about his kids and always reminding you Ryanne would love to see you.

You can’t step back into that world though, certainly not when you are neither wife nor girlfriend, but rather the pathetic ex being shown more kindness than you think you deserve. And so you always smile, but decline any efforts to include you and hide in your room until they leave.

Travis isn’t so friendly.

From the first time he sets his eyes on you once again, there’s nothing but contempt behind them. It’s such a startling difference from how he existed in your memory - friendly, kind, excitable. Now his stare is burning and unsettling.

You do your best to ignore it, hiding away in your room and only coming out when necessary.

It’s like Travis is lying in wait as he all but pounces on you when you leave the sanctity of the guest room an hour or two after getting home. “Travis,” you state politely while trying to edge around him toward the kitchen and a glass of water. He replies with your name in a tone far less cordial. Something about it all has the hair on the back of your neck standing up and your body moving into a defensive position; you’re pretty sure you’re in for a fight whether you want one or not.

“What do you want Teeks?” you ask after a minute long staredown that feels like an eternity. There’s no mistaking the way his jaw clenches as his nickname leaves your lips.

“You can’t keep hurting him like this,” he says simply. Your posture relaxes when you realize you’re not in for a verbal lashing, but then you’re confused. Hurting him? By simply existing?

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t act so surprised or confused. You know exactly what you’re doing,” he replies, but doesn’t elaborate further, shouting that he’s coming when someone calls for him. Travis walks backwards a few steps, his eyes never leaving yours before he’s shaking his head and rejoining the others.

You can’t stop thinking about it though, the conversation replaying over and over in your mind. What exactly did Travis think you were doing, and why was it hurting Kevin? Was your presence really that toxic, your existence here, in this house, that painful? You can read between the lines, fluent in the art of never saying what you mean, and so you know that Travis (and likely everyone else) thinks you have ulterior motives, like it’s fun for you or some sort of game the way you dance around Kevin, lost in the memory of what it’s like to have him and lose him.

And so you pull away even further. Gone are the nights spent separately but together on the couch. Conveniently, work picks up around the same time, giving you the out of late nights in the office where you return so exhausted you do nothing but shower and fall into bed.

You start looking for apartments to rent once again.

It works for a time. Kevin’s busy being a superstar, you’re busy avoiding him - the perfect scenario, really. But he’s not stupid, he knows something is going on, that there’s something you’re not telling him.

“You’re not holding up your end of the bargain, you know,” he states offhandedly on one of the rare occasions he has to speak with you before you flee in the morning. You pause with your hand on the coffee pot and turn to him with your eyebrows raised. “Home cooked dinner, remember?”

Gulping, you turn back to the task at hand, fixing up your travel mug of coffee just the way you like it. With a tone that feels clipped and forced, you reply, “Right, how about tomorrow night?”

“It’s a date.”

“Something smells good,” Kevin’s loud voice breaks the silence you’d been cooking in.

You shrug, stirring the sauce briefly before pulling a noodle from the pot to test. He can’t help the smile that breaks out upon watching your face scrunch up thoughtfully before you sigh, “Needs another minute. Think you can set the table?”

He does as he’s told; he always was the type to ask ‘how high’ when you told him to jump.

“Tastes good, too,” he states later while sitting across from you at the dining table the two of you only ever used when his mom was in town. There’s an open bottle of wine on the table between you, but you can’t help but shift your eyes toward the wine rack behind him, thinking you’ll likely need another soon.

“It’s just spaghetti bolognese,” you shrug self-deprecatingly. It’s not like it took a whole lot of effort, or like you’d slaved away all day at it.

He appreciates it all the same though, smiling genuinely at you before softly speaking, “It always reminds me of sophomore year.”

Though the memory of being so in love during your college years is a painful one now, what with how it all ended, it still brings a thoughtful smile to your face. You had hated living on campus, your freshman year roommate was a total snob and you despised the lack of privacy, and so you’d rented an apartment nearby sophomore year with a few friends you’d met in an intro econ class. Kev had spent all his free time at your apartment rather than his own space, not that you had minded.

To celebrate your first anniversary, you’d sexiled your roommates and made him the very meal you were now eating.

For a moment you’re embarrassed, it’s not that you’d exactly forgotten the memory, but it hadn’t been on your mind as you’d started cooking. It was just quick and easy, and in all honesty, you’d probably be able to make it in your sleep by now. He doesn’t bug you, though, doesn’t say anything stupid or make you feel like you were in the wrong.

It’s quiet then, the only sound being your playlist quietly playing through the speaker in the kitchen from where you’d forgotten to stop it. Quiet, that is until he opens his mouth.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” It’s a statement, not a question, but you freeze with your fork midair just the same.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” you reply, prim and proper, hoping he lets it go. That wasn’t really Kevin’s style, though, not until the last few months before the end of your relationship. When he’d let you speak in half truths and responded in kind, if either of you spoke at all. Before then, he was a straight-to-the-point, never go to sleep angry kind of guy, and so you knew your hopes were unfounded.

“Cut the shit.” His body language mirrors his tone of voice, shoulders slumped and expression melancholy.

“Nothing, work’s just picked up and I’m a little stressed about some deadlines. No big deal.” You avoid his eyes, carefully twirling some spaghetti around your fork.

He says your name with such conviction that you almost break, bottom lip twitching with the desire to pout. You swallow down whatever you might have said alongside a bite of your food. A low growl leaves his throat then, alongside the slamming of his fist on the dinner table, the silverware rattling in response. You flinch, but finally meet his eyes and is that not what he had wanted? “What’s. Going. On?” His words are short, and his temper is too, but beneath it all is a desire to know that you’re okay.

Part of you wonders if it would be better to double down. To insist that he’s crazy, that nothing’s wrong. It calls back a bit too strongly to the last set of fights between the two of you right before you left with your bags backed and an empty ring finger. When you danced around the truth, hinting and implying and speaking in tongues rather than admit your insecurities. There were many nights in the time since where you wondered if you’d just dug in a little deeper, let him in a little closer, if things wouldn’t have ended up the way they did.

Another part of you kind of wants to hash it all out, right here, right now. Inside of you is that sweet eighteen year old who fell in love with a gentle giant at a house party and she’s practically begging on her knees for you to let her speak. To let her carve out the heart that still beats for him and place it neatly on the table for him to take. You can’t though. Not while the you with her bags packed and the shattered pieces of her heart stuck together with a shoddy bandaid stands in front screaming to get out of here.

And then there’s you, as you are, sitting at this dinner table that holds so many memories - the first night in the new house, birthdays, anniversaries, the laughter of his nieces and nephews. You are sad that it’s come to this, broken at the idea of the distance between you expanding far past the length of the dining room table, confused that now he’s choosing to talk about it when it was fine for months to skirt around the issues.

“Now you wanna talk about it?” you can’t help but snap. Kevin reacts like you’ve slapped him, flinching and grimacing and you know you haven’t been wrong that it was purposeful the way he’s avoided it all.

It doesn’t temper his attitude though, his grip on his fork only tightening as he speaks through a tense jaw, “Yeah, I do. So talk.” And you really want to latch onto the anger and the hurt you feel licking up your spine and wield words like a knife. But what right do you have to do that? To throw things back at him. He’s not your fiance, not even your boyfriend anymore. Just an ex with a big heart, letting you stay in the house you picked out until you find your own brick house with a bright open concept kitchen and someone new to cook dinner with in it.

And so you decide to be a little vulnerable. Sighing, you ask, “Do you regret letting me stay?”

Though the syllables are anything but complex, the question is not an easy one and neither is the answer. He’s silent for long enough that you start to wonder if you’ve said something wrong. He lets a hand run down his face, squeezing his chin for a second. “Why are you asking me that?” Kevin might not be the man warming your bed every night anymore, but he still knows you better than anyone else and he’s sure there’s something more going on here than a little doubt and insecurity.

“Can you please just answer the question?” you snap again. You’d feel bad about it, but you can’t feel anything beyond the anxiety that’s causing your heart to race in your chest.

“No, I don’t,” he says finally and you really don’t know if the emotion you feel is relief or grief. They’re so similar, sisters not twins in the way they both cause your jaw to unclench, your shoulders to drop.

“Why don’t you regret it?”

His expression falls just the tiniest amount further, and if you didn’t know every line of his face so intimately, you probably wouldn’t notice. “I’m only going to ask you one more time,” he speaks through a clenched jaw, “Why are you asking me all this?”

You swallow hard then, the image of Travis with a snarled mouth just outside your door so clear in your mind. “Travis said something,” you admit softly. He curses softly under his breath, rising from his chair and crossing the space between you quickly before pulling you up along with him. The weight of your hands in his is as comforting and grounding as you remember, though you focus your gaze on where your limbs are linked. He squeezes your fingers, not enough to hurt, but enough to make you look up into his eyes.

“His heart’s in the right place,” he says and you can’t find it in yours to disagree. You know that Kev was as broken by the break up as you were and you know that you left the mess for the likes of Trav and Nolan and everyone else to clean. The thing is, you know this and you’ve already been feeling guilty about this, but to have such a harsh reminder thrown in your face hit you that much harder. “None of this has been easy for me, you know. Nothing has, not since... well...” Not since you left. “But I will always want what is best for you and that’s why I invited you to stay and that’s why I want you to keep staying here.”

You feel it, all the words unspoken between you, all the hurt and the anguish and the yearning. You feel it, and yet you allow him to pull you in for a heavy hug, one where his every emotion pours out of every inch of his skin. Squeezing him tightly right back, you listen to the steady rhythm of his heart, inhale the heady scent of his aftershave, memorize the feel of him all around you, invading every single one of your senses.

“We’re okay right? You still mean a lot to me and I don’t ever want us to feel like strangers.” You may not have Kevin in the way you used to, but you can’t ever go back to watching his life from the sidelines. It’s another sliver of vulnerability and he swallows it up greedily. One hand slides to the underside of your jaw, cradling your face in his large hand as he tilts your head backwards just a smidge. He presses his lips to your forehead in a motion that you feel all the way down to the tips of your toes.

“We’re okay, baby. We’re okay.” The pet name slips out without much thought from him, but he doesn’t take it back and you don’t make a big deal out of it.

And you are okay. You resume watching tv on the couch separately but together, the inches between you slowly fading until you find yourself resting your head on his shoulder while some terrible action flick plays on. The home cooked dinners ramp up too, a mix of old and new favorites enjoyed at the dining table, with good conversation and even better laughter. Somehow, Ryanne even convinces you to come to a few home games, and it doesn’t even make you feel that strange or that much of an outsider - especially not after a cold beer during warmups and a cuddly Gav on your lap for most of the game.

You’re okay but you’re not okay because you do all these things as a side character in his life. No longer are you a starring cast member of the Kevin Hayes Show, the smarter half of the A plotline. You’re a C plot at best, a minor background character who delivers the punchline that is your new relationship or lack thereof. There are no hands on thighs or asses or breasts when you sit on the couch together, no pretext or motive behind watching the film like there once was. When you cook those dinners, you don’t have to ward off wandering hands and stolen kisses that distract you long enough for the smoke detector to start beeping. Ryanne is a friend but so is Kevin and the family box doesn’t hold the same comfort it once did.

It’s still hard and it still hurts, but you’re navigating a life with Kevin that isn’t a life with Kevin. Not the kind you’d always imagined and dreamed of, that is.

It’s an old habit, the way you pull your favorite navy suit of his from his closet, hanging it carefully on the hook on the back of his door. You used to do this, before; set out a suit for him to wear for his game while he was at morning skate. There’s no real explanation for why you do it now, except, maybe, that it feels right to do so. Like maybe you could lean into it for a moment and pretend that nothing had ever gone wrong, that you’d never been hurt.

That feeling doesn’t last long, not as you return to the living room and curl up on the couch, old reruns of some sitcom playing on tv while you pretend you’re not waiting for him to come home.

Home.

What a strange word, with an even stranger connotation. Once this house had been your home, the bedroom he now sleeps alone in had once contained your shared bed, his closet that is no longer full once held your work clothes alongside his suits, his ensuite once boasted your toothbrush alongside his. And then it had been cruelly taken from you, the very rug you now stand on had been pulled from beneath your feet. It had been your doing as much as it had been his, of course, but the point remains the same. This was no longer your house, so when did it become home to you once again?

Although, was it the brick and mortar that felt like home or was it the person?

You don’t have much time to dwell on it before he’s back, time fading as he grabs a bite to eat and then heads to his room for a nap. Once upon a time, he would have begged you to join him, probably copping a feel in the process. Once upon a time, you used to fall asleep with your head on his chest.

When he emerges a while later, you have to pretend like you’re not caught up in the memory of it all by the sight of him in that suit. Like you don’t remember the press of that belt buckle into your stomach, or the slide of those lapels under your fingertips. He thanks you with that big dumb grin of his, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as he leaves for the arena.

You don’t go to the game; he’d never invited you to and you were still too stuck on how to co-exist within this space without crossing boundaries that it never even occurred to you to ask instead, but that doesn’t stop you from watching from the couch. The sweater you wear is old, nearly a decade old in fact, a souvenir from the first year you’d known Kevin. It’s a Boston College hoodie, the maroon and gold lettering long since faded, something you’d borrowed from him when you were still ‘just friends’ and hadn’t ever given back. Not even when you left him.

The game is a good one, you think, even though you’ve only got eyes for number thirteen. Some time between the first and second periods, you’d cracked a bottle of wine, and by the time Kevin comes home, you’re well on your way to downing a second bottle. It’s late, and if you’d been sleeping you’re certain you would have woken up from the sound of him bustling through the door.

“Jesus, you didn’t drive here did you?” you snap as he trips over his own discarded loafers.

“Ubered,” he shrugs, before he’s lighting up with a grin. “You really do care.”

“Of course I care, Kev,” you reply earnestly, and all traces of laughter are gone immediately from his face. There’s a tension then, and you’re not sure if it rests in the weight of your words and their implication, or if the tension has existed here all along. Truthfully it’s likely a mix of the two, but you don’t dwell on it as you lift from your spot on the couch and approach him. There’s no mistaking the look in his eyes as he takes in the sweater you’re wearing, his old number on the sleeve.

The stubble on his cheek looks so inviting to your tipsy mind, your fingertips flexing with your desire to cup his jaw. You come together, then, unsure of who exactly took the first step forward. It doesn’t really matter though, not with your entire being caged within his arms. It’s gentler than you can remember ever being with Kevin before, almost as if you’re both parcels stamped ‘fragile, handle with care’ and one wrong move will result in pieces of shattered glass on the hardwood floor. It’s intimate and warm and comforting, your head pressed against his chest, like not a single other thing matters in the world.

As you pull apart you press a chaste kiss to his adams apple where the top button of his shirt has been undone. It’s like something is set off within you from just that simple touch, as you suddenly feel the urge to kiss every inch of his skin. Slowly and methodically, you unbutton the rest of the way down, kissing the newly revealed flesh after every one comes undone. It’s gentle and reverent, the way you practically worship at the altar of his body.

He lets you do it without any sort of protest or movement, hands awkwardly dropped at his sides until you reach the last button and pull the bottom of his shirt to untuck it. It’s like something has awoken in him too, as he reaches for you, pulling you up to him where he’s leaned in as well. One hand cups your cheek, thumb gently rubbing at your cheekbone, while the other tangles in your hair as your lips meet. He tastes like beer and honey, and on anyone else it would be a strange combination, but you can’t get enough of it even as your hands slide his shirt off his shoulders.

As the garment drops to the floor, Kevin’s reaching for your sweatshirt, calloused fingertips brushing against your skin as he helps you take it off, the kiss breaking for only the time it takes for the offending item to leave your body. From there he walks you to his bedroom with practiced ease, and if his tongue hadn’t been down your throat, you might have allowed yourself to wallow in the hurt that comes with the knowledge of how he’d gotten all that practice.

As it stands, you can barely remember your own name, so caught up in the feel of his bare chest and the gentle roll of his hips against your own.

You’re overcome with emotion when he lays you down so gently, so carefully, against the sheets of his unmade bed. His kiss is soft and sweet, but yet still so inexplicably heavy you feel it all over your body. He’s gentle still as he makes his way down your body, ridding you of your leggings and underwear and settling between your thighs.

There’s a reverent look on his eyes as he presses gentle kisses from your knee to your inner thigh, and you can’t help the way his name falls from your lips, pleading. He smiles up at you then, a tender grin on his face as he says, “Yeah, baby, I know what you need.” And he does, finally pressing his mouth to the ache between your thighs. You sigh contently, the feeling one you’d sorely missed all these months, curling one hand into the hair atop his head and lacing the other with his fingers on your hip.

He coaxes you through one gentle orgasm and then another, humming and moaning against you in clear pleasure, asking and pleading for you to ‘give him one more’.

When he pulls back from your body, chin gleaming and chest heaving, you instinctively begin to turn onto your stomach, into his favorite position to have you in. He stops you, one hand sliding to cup your chin as he presses his lips to yours solidly, “Wanna see you.”

It sends a rush of longing through you, and so you settle further into his pillows, wrapping your arms around him and reeling him in. It’s a stretch as he fills you, little whines escaping your lips until he’s fully sheathed within you. You’d be content to lie here forever like this with him, but moments later he’s pulling your leg to wrap around his waist while he slowly begins to move.

There’s a moment, though, of almost full clarity as your hands tangle in his hair while your head is thrown back. He pauses, eyes boring into your very soul, open mouths doing nothing but passing air into each other’s lungs. He’s not moving but you feel him, every inch of his body and mind and love and it’s everything you could never say, every word you likely never would. It’s everything and he’s everything and you never want the moment to end.

It does, with a flex of his hips and your nails scratching at his scalp, his chain hovering and dragging over your breasts as you find salvation together. “You were fuckin’ made for me,” he groans into the skin of your neck, kissing and sucking and biting.

You fall asleep in his arms, sweaty and tired and content in a way you’ve been a thousand times before, the way it should always be.

The harsh morning rays of the sun tell a different story. You come into consciousness with the feeling of being completely encapsulated by another’s warmth. On instinct, you press back against his still naked body, preening as his arm tightens around your waist in return.

Until you remember this isn’t your bed or your home and the man asleep next to you isn’t your fiancé anymore. Guilt and shame and self-loathing bubble in your gut as the harsh realization settles in. It descends into panic as you try to plot your way out of the hole you dug with your bare hands.

It all only worsens as Kevin begins to stir, a mumbled ‘morning’ in your ear that you feel like a buzz of electricity down your spine. It would be so easy to lean back into the warmth of his body, the comforting weight of his hands, the soft press of his lips to your skin.

But none of that is yours to want anymore.

Kevin’s more than a little disoriented, as sleep lets him shake free of her clutches, he comes to a few realizations of his own. You’re here, in this bed you’d once shared. Your naked frame is pressed to his own and the scent of your shampoo is everywhere. For the briefest of moments he lets himself hope, lets himself believe that this is the moment he’s been waiting for, the one where you come home to him and you stay. In this bed, in these sheets, in this home. But you’re not replying to his morning greeting, and then you’re pulling from his embrace, movements jilted and awkward and hurried. “What-”

“This was a mistake,” you blurt out, hopping back into your pants and eyes frantically searching for your shirt. The memory of your sweatshirt hitting the ground in the kitchen has you squeezing your eyes shut for a moment before you’re slipping on a hoodie of his that was lying on the chair.

He sits up in bed, the sheet falling to pool at his waist and you have to force your eyes to remain above his shoulders. Truthfully, it’s not that difficult considering your eyes are focused on the wall behind him. He’s a little defensive, and a lot indignant as he all but asks you to repeat yourself. “A mistake? You’re gonna call this a mistake?”

“Yes, a mistake. You were just lonely and horny and that’s my fault because I've just been hanging around here like your shadow.” It’s the best you can come up with, some half-cocked explanation with more holes in it than a screen door. It’s flimsy like one too, rattling in the wind that is Kevin’s anger.

He gets up, slipping on a pair of underwear and stalking towards you with an unreadable look in his eye. “Horny and lonely? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Horny and lonely, Kevin. And- And if you need me to leave the house so you can pick up, I can do that or- or I’ll stay in my room and-“

“What the fuck are you talking about? I don’t want to ‘pick up’.” He sounds disgusted with the idea, disgusted with the way you’re talking right now but you can’t stop yourself.

“Well clearly you should be, there’s no other explanation for last night.” You’re doubling down on your bullshit, unwilling and unable to listen to the voice inside of you that is screaming your love for him. It had been long buried, tucked beneath the hurt and the sadness and the anger, but last night had brought it to the surface. Everything about Kevin is so drawing to you, from the soft warmth of his body to the hard expression on his face, but you swallow it down.

“No other explanation?” He shakes his head in disbelief, the image of you in bed next to him quickly lighting up in flames, pooling into ash at his feet. “Tell me the fucking truth.”

You inhale sharply and he knows he’s hit his mark. It’s satisfying, the way he cuts through your bullshit, but the satisfaction doesn’t last. Because while he’s thinking about everything that could go right, you’re still hung up on everything that went wrong. On the last few months of your relationship, but especially on that final fight that nailed the very last nail in the coffin.

For a minute you’re back in this house, a few rooms over, a little younger.

“I don’t know what I want to do!” you shout, dragging your hands down your face. The argument isn’t a new one, in fact it’s been a recurring disagreement, ever since you were first put forward for the promotion. It’s kind of a big deal - a leadership position at your age is almost unheard of, but it was your name put forward, and your position to accept.

“I think you do, I think you’re just too much of a coward to say it out loud. There’s two choices here, baby,” the way the pet name leaves his lips is a mockery of the syllables, the frustration and the anger that’s been building for months finally coming to a head, “either you stay with me, or you take the job and go. We both know what you’re going to choose.”

You can’t help the way you go immediately on the attack, the fear of losing everything before you so great, it’s got you completely and wholly irrational. “I can’t just sit around here and raise your babies and post on instagram and have a stupid lifestyle blog. I’m sorry that I can’t be the perfect wife and go to all of your home games and decorate stupid jean jackets.”

It’s not what he’s asking you to do, not really. He’s asking for you to finally make a decision and stick to it. He knows and you know and everyone else around you knows that this is the fork in the road of your relationship. His schedule is insane enough, there’s no way you’ll be able to handle a long distance relationship. It’s less than 100 miles between your front door and New York, but it might as well be oceans away with how little you’ll see each other. And he knows, he knows this is an amazing opportunity for you, a once in a lifetime shot, and though he wants to beg you to stay, he knows he needs to let you go. He loves you more than he cares for himself and he wants your every dream to come true. Above everything, he knows you need to go to New York and you need to take this opportunity and you need to leave him behind.

He knows all this, and yet it still stings as you all but tell him you don’t want to have his children. Kev’s wanted to be a dad for as long as he can remember, and he’s wanted you to be their mom for as long as he’s known you. For the better part of a decade, he’s pictured babies, and he’s pictured you loving them and holding them and raising them. He’s pictured half of you and all the best parts of himself together. It’s a dream he’s slowly been letting go of in the time that’s passed since you first brought up the promotion, but to have it so neatly and completely taken from him is staggering.

“I never asked you for any of those things,” he argues, one hand gripping at the curls at the top of his head. “I know you’re driven and I know you’re smarter than me or anyone I know. And that’s why I know you’re going to take this job and you’re going to leave me. I want you to have everything that you want.”

“But what if what I want is you?” You’re hysterical now, though this is not a new argument, it’s never reached these levels before. You feel it, deep in your bones that this is it, that this is the end of something beautiful and magical. The relationship is slipping through your fingers, grains of sand falling and falling and falling until your hourglass is tipped over and empty.

“It’s not,” he says simply. “It’s not enough.”

There’s a final note in his voice and you know he’s not going to change his mind and you know you’re not either. Because truthfully, you were probably always going to pick the job and the future. You’d just hoped that the two of you could find compromise along the way. Although a large part of you always knew it wasn’t meant to last, that you would never be the kind of girl who was good enough to marry the likes of Kevin Hayes. No matter how much you loved him, nothing would ever change the fact that you didn’t have the look or the lifestyle or the wealthy family to fall back on. You knew that he would grow to resent all the things that once made him fall in love with you, that your contrarian ways and your ego and your goals and aspirations made you incompatible with the WAG life. You knew that when he said it wasn’t enough, he really meant you.

You don’t compromise; you accept the position and move out two weeks later.

And then you’re back here, a little older, a little wiser. And so you shake your head, backing away slowly. “It doesn’t fucking matter, Kevin. Okay? It doesn’t fucking matter because I’m still me and you’re still you and you told me that it wasn’t enough. Okay? So it doesn’t matter.” He goes to follow you but you put your hand out in an attempt to keep the distance, “Don’t. Okay? Don’t. I’ll give you your sweater back, I promise, but I need some space.”

“Okay,” his voice shakes as he speaks, “Have your space, but please come home.”

#nhl fic #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #nhl fanfiction #kevin hayes fic #kevin hayes imagine #kevin hayes imagines #kevin hayes x reader #shelb writes

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barbiewritesstuff · 2 years ago

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Malibu

-- Part two of the request I did yesterday, enjoy!

Taglist: @lgg5989 @hangmanssoulmate --

Anchorage was hard to get used to. Cold, humid and practically desolate.

Your uniform never seemed to keep you warm enough and the freewing temperatures seemed to weasel itself directly into your bones.

Fuck Alaska

And fuck California for never preparing you for anything below 58°.

You were sitting on an overturned plastic milk crate outside of the hangar, just thinking. On most days being so far away from family didn’t bother you too much. You called often and received regular text updates about their lives, but that hadn’t been enough for you this morning. Alaska was isolating. The only person you knew here was an ass and exchanging any civil conversation had been a challenge. You know you were both feeling lonely, and it was making you crabby.

You had made the brilliant (read terrible) decision to install social media to combat the pit of despair in your stomach. It had been the beginning of a terrible day. Hearing updates about the fun your family got up to was bad enough, but seeing the pictures was a million times worse. Still, ever the masochist, you knew you wouldn’t delete the app or your account.

Alaska was the only time you had ever seen ‘Real Life Ken Doll’ Jake Seresin looking anything but great. But as he sat in front of you after the waste of time of a mission you had just completed you had to admit this Seresin looked like a hot mess: hair ruffled, snowflakes on his eyelashes, teeth clattering, and lips purple from the cold.

“It’s fucking freezing, what did we do to the Admiral for him to send us here?”

“You could go inside?”

“Oh, I’m sorry Malibu. I thought I’d keep you company, clearly you don’t want it so I’ll fuck off”

He stood himself up and walked off in the direction of the recreation room. You stood up, cursing yourself for doing so and ran after him. Too ashamed of yourself to say anything, you walked by his side.

He held the door open for you as the lukewarm air of the rec room sting your face. Even though you knew you would be cold in a few minutes, you took off your coat anyway and placed it on a bench. Seresin sat in front of it, taking his phone out and typing someone a text message, a futile gesture on base as nowhere save for the last stall in the women’s bathroom had any signal. You advanced towards the coffee machine, practically elbowing your way through the crowd of naval officers huddled by the foosball table.

Anchorage did have one advantage: nobody cared to tease you. Nobody bullied you, simply because nobody spoke to you. You had never met a more unfriendly bunch of people in your life, but you did consider the complete lack of interaction an improvement from whatever Seresin and his buddies had put you through at the academy.

You made two cups of shitty coffee and brought it back to where Seresin had sat down. You handed him his cup and he chuckled.

“I’m flattered you remember how I like my coffee”

You raised an eyebrow

“What makes you think I remember?”

“Because you have managed to serve me just about everything but what I like” He laughed.

You hated it. It sounded so nice and warm. It would have made you laugh too if you hadn’t been so damn embarrassed that it was true. Seresin liked his coffee with milk and two sugars (sugar first. As if that made any difference in how it tasted…), you’d seen him make it enough during your midnight coffee refuelling at the academy to know it by heart. But back then, getting his coffee order wrong and seeing his annoyed face had given you a sliver of satisfaction. Now, it was just a habit.

“I’m sorry about the callsign” He said, staring out of the window.

You said nothing

“Why do you hate it so much?”

You scoffed

“I know how I look, Seresin. I didn’t want to be reminded that I didn’t fit in”

“You fit in, you made friends” He replied, a strange edge in his voice. Was it guilt?

“Sure, I made two friends over four years in a cohort of a hundred… I’m not exactly Miss Popular.”

He said nothing but sipped from his coffee cup

“What are they calling you now?” You asked

“Sorry?”

“I don’t believe Jake Seresin is suddenly feeling compassion for me without some outside help. What are they calling you now?”

“I’m a nice guy” He sputtered and you laughed. Even though it was at his expense, Jake could think of nothing other than making you do it again.

“Answer the question, Seresin”

“Florida Man”

You laughed again

“Aren’t you from Texas?”

“Yes!” He exclaimed “I don’t get it! I guess it’s because I don’t like the cold?”

There was another pause

“Are we -- are we friends?”

“I don’t forgive that easily, Jake”

Jake. It slipped out and by the time you had realised it was too late to take the word back. You couldn’t deny how nice it had felt to say though, you swallowed under his gaze, turning your head to look at the foosball game. Trying not to think about how it felt like your mouth had been made to say nothing but his name.

#fanfic #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick #top gun x reader #hangman x reader #fanfiction #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin #original fic #requests

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looooooooomis · 3 years ago

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F I N A L G I R L | S E V E N

You were his final girl. And there was no chance in hell that anyone or anything was going to mess that up.

p a r t s e v e n | b l o o d

masterlist here

pairing: Billy Loomis x f!reader word count: 6k warnings: s m u t (18 +!!!!!) lets just say this gif is a teaser as to what takes place in this chapter. major blood kink in this chapter. period play?? lmao sorry about it.

There was a shift after that weekend at Billy’s cabin, and you knew he felt it too.

It was never really that casual between you and Billy, that much you knew, but there was something that changed when the two of you got back to Woodsboro. There was something to be said about being able to openly show affection to the person you loved, to hold them and kiss them in public and you’d gotten that treatment in that little lakeside town. You felt like Billy’s actual girlfriend, not his plaything, not the bitch who was backstabbing her own best friend for a fucking boy, you were it.

And while Billy had always said that you were his girl, you hadn’t truly felt like you were until now.

Which was precisely what made tonight so fucking awkward.

Not only had you been coerced into going to the movies with the gang but, unbeknownst to you, Sid had taken it upon herself to fix you up on a blind date with one of Randy’s annoying friends from the video store.

Why had you agreed to this? You were a cold, calculating bitch behind the scenes when it came to fucking your best friend boyfriend and yet saying ‘no thanks, I’m not up for it tonight’ was beyond you? Were you just plain stupid or a closet masochist that thrived on dicey situations?

Either way, you’d never wanted to throw yourself into oncoming traffic more than you did tonight because not only were you trapped into an uncomfortable blind date with a guy you were fairly sure was frothing at the mouth at the idea of getting you alone in the car after all of this was said and done but you just so happened to be seated directly next to Billy.

You were smack dab in the middle of hell. Between a man you were fucking, a man you were disgustingly in love with and had just spent a weekend away with and a man you’d just met today but couldn’t stop playing handsy on your lap whenever he thought the others weren’t looking.

But Billy was always looking.

You knew that better than anyone. He had this innate sense of finding you in a crowded room. You could feel the weight of his brown eyes on you nearly every second of the day, soaking you up, taking every inch of you in, no matter who was around and tonight, as your ‘date’ smacked on his popcorn all the while feeling your thigh up any chance he could, Billy’s dept stare was tuned in and you knew it.

This had to have been karma. Karma for going away and having a beautiful weekend away with the guy you loved so wholly. The one whose girlfriend was on the other side of him with her pretty head on his stupid shoulder as you suffered in silence at just how fucking laughable this entire situation was.

“See that actress?” Your date, Anthony, whispered into your hear. He smelled like movie theatre butter. You wanted to scream. “Have you seen any of her other stuff?”

You were watching The Crucible and the actress in question was Winona Ryder. Everyone and their left nut had seen Winona Ryder in at least a dozen movies. Frowning, you blinked across at the man and blinked. “Yeah. I’m familiar with her work.”

Focusing ahead on the movie, you tried your damnedest to focus on what was going on but when you felt his slithery palm slide up your thigh, you were this close to pouring your Coke on his lap. Why the fuck had you agreed to this?

Pushing the man’s hand away as subtly as you could to avoid any unwanted attention from your friends, you bit down on the side of your mouth and heaved a quiet sigh. You deserved this. This was your punishment.

“She’s hot.” Your lovely date quipped, squeezing the area of your thigh just above your knee. “In that goth-girl next door kind of way.”

Was he getting off to Winona Ryder all the while coming on to you? Was he picturing Winona as he squeezed your thigh? You truly didn’t want to find out. Once again, you pushed his hand away and, this time, crossed your legs and leaned into the arm rest you were sharing with Billy.

The move was subtle, and you were barely even touching Billy but you needed to create a distance between yourself and Butter Fingers if it was the last thing you did.

With a subtle nudge to your arm, Billy’s eyes flickered towards you as his brows furrowed in question. The muscle in his jaw was pulsing in his cheek, that you could see even in the darkness of the movie theatre, and there was murder in his eyes as he sized up the man just over your shoulder. It was as though you could feel his blood pressure spike just looking at the guy and, as you held your breath, silently pleading with him not to make a scene that would undoubtedly give the two of you up, those brown eyes slowly found yours.

There was anger in his eyes, a palpable rage, but it was the look of pure despondency in his stare that made your own heart break. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. He wasn’t supposed to be holding hands with Sid and you weren’t meant to be dealing with the idiot to your right.

How it felt up at the cabin, the freedom of loving each other and holding each other and kissing each other in broad daylight was how it was supposed to be. How love was supposed to feel.

Not this.

You were both hiding in plain sight. Putting on a façade to your friends, to each other whilst in public, and it was in that moment, in the middle of a crowded theatre, looking at each other knowing there wasn’t a damn thing either of you could do about it, that you felt that pain so intensely that it was hard to breathe.

Tears burned behind your eyes and you hated yourself for it.

You weren’t going to cry. You refused to cry over a situation you were willingly putting yourself in. This entire thing could have been avoided had you had a stronger backbone here. You weren’t the victim in this scenario. That was Sid. Sid was the one completely getting fucked over in this situation, not you. You had no damn right to feel this shitty because you were doing it to yourself.

This was just the high of the weekend wearing off and reality settling in. Until circumstances changed, this was your norm.

Swallowing back your nerves, it was all you could do to give Billy a small, barely-there smile before focusing ahead on the movie.

“I’m going to grab us another Coke,” you heard Billy say to Sidney. “Anyone want anything?”

“More popcorn,” Stu waggled his empty bag. “Maybe some Milk Duds, man.”

“Candy.” Tatum mumbled, not taking her eyes off of the screen. “Surprise me, I don’t care what kind.”

Billy nodded and took Stu’s money before he gently nudged you. “You want anything?”

You opened your mouth to speak but was cut off but Anthony. “You mind keeping it down, buddy?” He popped another handful of popcorn in his mouth. “We’re at the movies, not here for snacks.”

It was as though Billy’s wrath was physical as his dark eyes scraped over Anthony’s face. His mouth was pulled into a thin, hard line as Anthony’s pompousness sank in. Why couldn’t it be Randy beside you? Why had that dipshit agreed to take this asshole’s shift in order for you to go on a blind date with him? This entire fiasco could have been avoided had it been Randy.

“Yeah, I could use a drink.” You slinked out of your seat. “I’ll help you carry everything back.”

You didn’t wait for Billy as you marched down the aisle but, as you walked down the stairs and out of the theatre, you weren’t at all surprised to see him broody and annoyed as he followed you out.

“If anyone should be looking like that, it’s me,” you groused, falling in to step beside him as you made your way to the snack bar. “I’m stuck on a date with that asshole.”

“Don’t get me started on that,” he grumbled, grabbing his wallet out of his back pocket. “I told Sid to leave well enough alone, but she insisted.”

You hummed and lined up at the concession. “Lucky me.”

Again, you felt his stare before you actually lulled your head to the side to face him. Intense, searching eyes sweeping over your features in both concern and possible envy. “One word,” he muttered, stepping closer towards you. Too close. Not because you didn’t want him that close but because you were in public. Sid and Tatum and Stu and fucking Anthony were a stone’s throw away. “One word from you, baby, and I’ll take you home. Fuck that guy.”

You glowered across at him as though he’d grown a second head. “While I appreciate the sentiment, shit for brains, we’re in public right now. Your girlfriend could walk out any second and see or hear you.”

He seemed to mull over your words for a second but didn’t bother moving away from you. “Maybe I don’t care.”

“You do,” you rhymed off, shuffling closer to the front of the snack bar.

He ignored that. “Also, you’re my girlfriend. Stop calling her that.”

This was not a conversation the two of you should have been having in the middle of a fucking movie theatre. Looking across at him, you raised your brows and blew out a puff of air through your lips. Trying to keep up with Billy’s rationale of staying with Sid to ensure he doesn’t hurt her any further after her mother’s death all the while being with you was giving you whiplash. You knew he loved you and, begrudgingly, you loved him right back. And, a part of you knew, that he was struggling with being back in the real world just as much as you were since coming home from the cabin.

But this was not how he should have been handling it. Not out in the open like this. Especially while you were on a triple date with your friends in a theatre down the hall.

“Billy,” you muttered quietly, ensuring no one was listening in, “please let’s talk about this later. Not here. Not now. Let’s just get the fucking concessions and go, okay?”

He licked his lips and you watched his brown eyes flitter down your face before briefly looking at your own lips. He wanted to kiss you and fuck, did you want to be kissed by him.

But that wasn’t the deal.

So, instead, you watched as he took a hesitant step away from you before nodding his head once. “Yeah, okay,” he agreed, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked down at his shoes. “Tonight.”

“Sure,” you smirked, “I mean, if I’m not with Anthony, that is.” You almost laughed at how wide his eyes got as you uttered those words. But, when he saw the playfulness in your stare, he visibly relaxed and rolled his eyes as you continued. “The way he’s been mowing down on his popcorn all night has me wet as hell, so I might be busy with him later.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled with a shake of his head. Then, he turned to you and gave you a crooked smile. One that almost made this horrific ordeal worth it. “You’re a real bitch when you want to be, you know that?”

“Yeah,” you laughed, nudging him with your elbow. “I’ve been told.”

------------

True to his word, Billy slipped in through your unlocked window a little after midnight that evening with a bag of stale licorice and a drink he’d swiped from the gas station on the way over to your house.

“We didn’t get our movie date.” Was his explanation as he popped The Lost Boys into your VCR and all but hopped in bed beside you. When you’d remained standing by your dresser, eyeing him with both curiosity and sheer happiness radiating off of your face, all you got was a confused look out of Billy before he patted your mattress. “You going to get that ass over here or what?”

So, naturally, you’d joined him.

And it took all of thirty-two minutes of watching the film for the two of you to end up pawing at one another as the tension of the day slowly peeled off of you with every layer of clothing the two of you tore off one another.

In no time, you were both stark naked on your bed as The Lost Boys played on without an audience. All Billy cared about watching was you. Watching you writhe and moan. He could watch you do just about anything, but it was that dreamy look you got on your face whenever he touched you that he had imprinted into his skull. It didn’t even have to be sexual. You just had a certain look whenever the two of you connected, one that he felt but managed to keep stowed away inside of him, but one you expressed. It was happiness.

Pure, unadulterated, bliss.

He knew you. Knew your body in and out, knew how to get you to come undone, knew what made you tick, what made you squirm.

You were muscle memory to him, at this point.

He knew you better than he knew himself.

Which is why, when you subtly stopped him from slipping his fingers inside of you, that Billy’s focus went to your ass. The only time you pushed his hand away after he’d spent minutes sucking and biting and focusing on those perfect tits, was when you were on your period.

So, he didn’t push it.

The two of you had fucked a few times whilst you were on it but you were deadest on limiting that to the lighter days. The very beginning or the end. Never in the middle. But god, did he want to experience the middle days.

You were so fucking horny when you were on your period and why you thought he’d give a shit about how much blood came out of you as the two of you fucked was beyond him.

So, he’d focus on your ass. Something that drove you to the brink of insanity and something that made him harder than anything.

But tonight, it wasn’t enough.

He needed all of you.

Ever since the cabin, he’d needed more of you in his life. It had become nearly impossible for him to show any iota of affection for Sid now that he’d had a taste of what life felt like with you at his side. You were his Final Girl. His everything, if he was being completely honest. And, while he knew he couldn’t open himself up to you to that extent, not yet, he needed you to feel that raging darkness inside of him. Not too much of it, but just enough to gauge your reaction.

If you could handle a shred of it, maybe he could share more of himself with you.

The darker parts.

His hands stilled as they trailed down your body and, as he hovered over you, he bit his lip and slowly drew tiny circles into your hips. “You’re on your period, right?”

You nodded, your lips swollen from the amount of kissing having gone on since popping the movie in. “Yeah, but it’s not a light day.”

He nodded in understanding as he bit his lip. “You think we could try it, anyway?”

Your eyebrows raised in mild amusement. “By not a light day, I mean its kind of heavy, Billy. It’d look like a crime scene in here.”

Billy made sure to keep his face stoic, but the idea of the two of you fucking whilst covered in blood was nearly enough to make him come on the spot.

“Aren’t you curious?” He asked, dipping his head down to lick your painfully hard nipple. “It’s got to feel so fucking good, right?”

You ran your fingers through his hair and sighed in contentment when he began to suck your tit again. “It’s messy, though.”

“Lucky for you,” he released your nipple and kissed the sensitive flesh of your breast. “I like messy.”

Your head flopped back against the pillow as you thought over his request. I did feel good, but did you want Billy to have to witness you cleaning up a fucking homicide scene once he was through with you?

Blowing out a quiet raspberry, you eyed him with mock suspicion before he gave you those goddamn puppy dog eyes. “Ugh,” you groaned with a laugh, “fine. Let me take this fucking tampon out and I’ll grab a towel to put underneath me because it is heavy, and you will be grossed out.”

Billy’s cock twitched as he watched you roll out of bed before disappearing in the bathroom. Within a few moments, he heard the toilet flush and the sink run before you re-emerged with a towel in hand.

He could watch you parade around like that all day. Naked, eyes hooded from desire, nipples and lips red from where his mouth had staked its claim.

You were perfect.

A vision.

You were fucking everything.

“I’ve been wanting to try this with you for a while.” He admitted, watching you carefully roll the towel onto the bed before perching your ass directly on top of it so as to avoid any potential leakage onto your sheets.

“I wish I could say I was shocked.” You teased, laying back down. Spreading your legs, he watched you slip a finger through your folds to tease your clit.

He swallowed as he watched you finger yourself. But then your words sank in and a panic settled in his chest as he swept his eyes up your body to meet your amused stare. “What’s that mean?”

You shrugged so casually as you continued the tirade on your own pussy. “All the scary movies we watch and stuff. You get hard as a rock if there’s a scene with a pretty girl and some blood.”

Billy froze. This was only supposed to be a peek inside of his darkness, not a full-blown window. But you didn’t seem all too fazed by it either, which confused him endlessly.

Rather than deny it, Billy hesitantly reached for your cunt to replace your fingers with his own. He didn’t delve inside of your pussy just yet, just circled your clit the way you’d been doing seconds prior. “And that doesn’t bother you?” He whispered, placing a kiss to the side of your neck.

“Nah,” you hummed, “we’ve all got our kinks, I guess.”

You released a quiet moan as he pinched your clit, but his eyes never left your face. He knew you were talking about blood in respect to the movies, but your casual tone still caught him off guard. There was no shame in it, no doubt. Just an honest to god shrug as he circled your clit with his middle finger.

Testing the waters, Billy slipped his fingers down your pussy so that his thumb coaxed your clit as he slipped two fingers inside of you. At first, it simply felt like you were soaked on account of all of the teasing and, maybe you were, but as he glanced down at the base of his fingers as he pulled them out of you, Billy nearly moaned.

Blood.

Your blood.

All over his fingers, pooling along the top of his palm.

Billy was fascinated. This wasn’t the first time he’d felt blood between his fingers, but not like this. When he’d killed Maureen Prescott, there was so much fucking blood that he’d been sick afterwards. He hadn’t expected that level of destruction but, after puking a few blocks away, he didn’t exactly shy away from it. He thought about it often, thought of the carnage that had surrounded him once he’d finished with Sidney’s mother, thought of the way the blood felt between his fingers, splayed and smattered across every inch of his body.

But this was euphoric.

Because he didn’t have to hurt anybody to feel that warmth on his palm. In fact, as he slowly slipped his fingers inside of your hot cunt, he was doing anything but. You were gyrating into his hand, unknowingly spreading your blood further and it was killing him. He was so fucking hard, too fucking hard, but he didn’t want to rush a damned thing.

He’d thought about this far too often for it to be over so soon.

“Fuck,” he whispered, slipping his hand out of your pussy just long enough to slowly spread your blood down your inner thigh. It left a fine red trail that he had every intention of lapping up in a few seconds if you were to allow it. “You feel so good, baby.”

He’d half expected you to make a comment about making a bigger mess than what your piddly little towel would allow but, as he slowly found your hooded eyes through the dim light of your bedroom, only hunger marred your pretty face.

Desire.

Intrigue.

Leaning in, Billy placed a small kiss to the apple of your cheek as his fingers continued to fuck you. “Does this feel good?”

“So good,” you rasped out, leaning your forehead against his as you bit your lip to swallow back a moan. Between your arousal and the blood, the natural lubrication that coated your pussy as he slowly pumped his fingers inside of you all the while rubbing your clit was killing you. “So fucking good, Billy.”

He smirked and quickened his pace on your clit just enough to drive you to madness as he bit down on your earlobe. His breath was hot against your cheek. “I want to taste you tonight.”

Though the promise of his tongue replacing his thumb enticed you, the fact that you were on day two and a half of your period was not a good plan. So why were you intrigued? A part of you wanted to see if he’d put his money where his mouth was but a much larger part of you wanted to see how feral Billy could get where you were concerned.

Torn, you pulled back and searched his eyes. “It’s going to be…messy, Billy.”

His dark chuckle was velvet against your skin. “I already told you,” he curled his fingers inside of you and admired the way your entire body twitched. “I like messy.”

He began to kiss his way down your body. You tried not to get lost in the feeling of his tongue swirling across every inch of your skin on his way down or the way his teeth nipped and bit at your stomach and hips as he positioned himself between your thighs. But mainly, you tried not to focus on how fucking bloody it was between your thighs because you knew that Billy wouldn’t be down there long on account of it.

“You don’t have to do this tonight, Billy,” you tried to reason, chest heaving in anticipation as he settled between your legs.

Something flashed across his face as he held your stare. For a second, you were almost sure he was going to back out and leave well enough alone, but then you watched as the bastard leaned into your pussy and raked his tongue from the base of your pussy right up to your bloodied mound.

He held your stare the entire time.

“I want you like this,” he assured you, yanking you further down the bed so that you were right at the edge. His voice was hoarse and breathy and as you chanced a look down at him through a pair of hooded, drowsy eyes, you watched him pump his cock with his free hand as he licked his lips. “I love you like this.”

You opened your mouth to respond but the words died in your throat when he buried his face between your thighs. You gasped at the contact but didn’t shy away from his touch for a single second as he slowly lapped at your core. With the one hand still gripping your hips, holding you firmly against his tongue, you knew there would be bruises where his fingers carved into your flesh, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. He was desperate to get you closer into his face and you were desperate to feel that perfect fucking tongue on your pussy.

It was as though he’d been possessed in those few moments. Billy couldn’t get enough of you on a good day but tasting you like this was enough to make Billy wild. Your pussy, the blood mixed with your slick, tasted so fucking good on his tongue. Burying his face further into your folds, he nuzzled at your clit and, now forgetting about his own pulsing cock, pulled you even closer.

Throwing your legs over his shoulders, Billy moaned into your pussy and bit down on your clit just enough to entice a moan that was probably a little too loud for your parents being home. But, he didn’t care. He refused to care in that instance.

All he wanted, all he cared about, was tasting as much of you as humanly possible before making you come on his tongue.

His name tore out of your throat as you gripped his hair between your fingers and pulled. You were being rougher than normal, and he fucking loved it. You were pulling on his hair and bucking into his mouth with such hunger that he could barely breathe but fuck he didn’t care. If this was how he was taken out, so be it.

“Baby,” you whined, voice low. “Fuck, I’m going to come.”

Your grip on his hair was vice-like as the veins in your neck swelled. With wild, laboured breaths, you found yourself bucking into his mouth as a white-hot orgasm rippled through your entire body. You moaned and groaned and cursed into the bed, but Billy’s mouth was relentless.

It wasn’t until he was absolutely sure you couldn’t take another second of torture, that he pulled away and allowed you to collapse back onto the bed. Your cheeks were flushed, and your lips were parted as you attempted to catch your breath. With a quiet chuckle, he kissed his way up your body, grinning against your skin as your legs continued to twitch.

He could feel your blood all over his chin and nose and as he licked it off, using his fingers to swipe at the areas his tongue couldn’t quite reach, Billy was coasting on a high that only you could provide.

“Oh, god,” you buried your face into the pillow with a quiet laugh as you moved to get off the bed. “Hang on, I’ll grab you a towel for your face.”

“No,” Billy shook his head and grabbed for your wrist. “I want to see it.”

You blinked and scraped your eyes along his bloodied face. Your nipples were still rock hard and your cunt was still pulsing on account of his tongue, but it was the look of pure ecstasy on his face that made you clench.

He was being serious.

“Come with me,” he hummed, slipping off of the bed to head towards the small bathroom attached to your room. His fingers threaded through yours as you both walked across your bedroom before flicking the light on.

The vision that he was met with made his cock twitch.

Your blood coated almost everything from his nose down his chin and as you stood beside him, looking at him through the mirror, still fully naked and still housing bloody handprints left behind from his busy hands coating the lower half of your body, Billy had never wanted to bury himself inside of you any more than he did right then and there.

He found your curious stare through the mirror. Your pretty eyes swept over the mess of blood left behind on account of you and as you turned to face him, he found himself hypnotized as you reached out to sweep his hair back and away from his forehead.

“Blood suits you,” you teased with a small smile. “Horrifically enough.”

He said nothing as those brown eyes soaked you in but as he stepped into you, cornering you against the sink counter, the look on his face said everything. He didn’t kiss you though. He seemed to hesitate, as though gauging if you’d kiss him whilst covered in your own menstrual blood. “Is this okay?”

“I don’t know.” You admitted almost sheepishly.

He nuzzled your neck and slipped his knee between your thighs to allow himself better access to your pussy. With his hand wrapped securely around his cock, he slipped the head of his dick along your folds and swallowed hard as he watched your blood coat the head of it. “Fuck,” he whispered as his forehead fell against your own. “You’re going to make me come before I’m even inside of you.”

You were watching his face as he once again slipped the head of his cock through your folds so it teased your clit. His eyes were so dark and there was so much desire in those warm eyes that it almost caught you off guard.

“You’re really into this,” you remarked quietly. When his eyes found yours, you could see blind panic cross over his face as he instinctually took a step away from you. You stopped him before he could think of stopping himself. “Hey,” you cooed, reaching out for his face. “I didn’t say it was a bad thing, relax.”

You felt the tension in his shoulders disperse as you played with the curls at the nape of his neck. “You’re too good for me,” he muttered, cradling your face. “You know that?”

“Oh, yeah,” you goaded with a smile. “I know.”

He barked out a quiet laugh and ground his hips into yours. “A smartass, too.”

You hummed as his hands slid down your body to hold you against the counter. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Anything.” Billy nipped at your neck.

You leaned back to allow him full access to your neck. “How did I taste?” Your words seemed to make him still as he slowly pulled back to search your eyes. “With the blood. How did it taste?”

The look on Billy’s face was primal as his grip on your hips tightened. Leaning in, he nudged your nose so that your lips were perfectly aligned with his. “Kiss me and find out.”

You weren’t sure at first, but as he closed the distance between you, you found yourself leaning into the kiss both curious and slightly mortified by the taste of your blood on his lips. It was strange and you weren’t sure if you liked it at first, if you were being honest. It was coppery and a little sticky and yet as he walked the two of you out of the bathroom and back towards your bed, you found yourself hungry for more.

With your fingers tangled through his hair you gave it a tug, garnering a low growl that rumbled in his throat as he continued on with the bruising kiss. When the back of his knees hit your bed, the two of you fell into a jumbled mess on your mattress, never once breaking for air as your tongues battled for dominance.

Expertly, knowing the way your body moved better than anyone, Billy moved you in such a way that he was sitting up in the middle of your bed as you straddled his lap. And as you lowered yourself onto his pulsing cock, the gruff low moan that tore out of his lips was enough to kill you.

His large hands splayed out across your back, guiding you further into his hungry mouth as your bleeding cunt teased him beyond belief. You were so wet and with every twist of your hips and every gentle moan, he was finding it harder and harder to concentrate on anything else besides just how fucking good you felt.

Digging your nails into his shoulders, blood slowly pooled in the wake of your crescent moon shaped nail markings. He hissed at the sensation and squeezed your tits rather roughly as he tried to stop himself from coming right then and there.

But then you lowered your lips onto his shoulders and he felt your hot tongue trace over every last cut and he almost lost it. There you were, with dried blood all over your chin and parts of your cheeks from having kissed him after going down on you, licking the blood that gathered along his shoulders.

He was in a state of euphoria.

“You are so fucking gorgeous.” He pushed out, revelling in the feel of how warm and wet your pussy felt.

Rather than say a word, all you did was bite down on the reddened area of his shoulder as you quickened your pace on his dick.

Drawing more blood.

Licking up more of his blood.

Something in him snapped to life in that instance. An almost ancient need bubbled to the surface as he held you there against him. Your tits bounced as you writhed on top of him and as he began to meet you halfway with violent, earth shattering thrusts, the outside world ceased to exist.

The sound of his balls hitting your sopping pussy combined with the sound of your wetness, both slick and blood, squelching all around the two of you was all that surrounded you as you whined out his name. You could barely breathe as he pounded into you, barely function.

“Billy, fuck, I—”

His mouth buried your words with another hungry kiss. You were both breathless and desperate to be as close to the other as humanly possible as you sat on your bed, fucking each other raw. His tongue slid along your bottom lip, gently tugging at it as his forehead fell against your own.

There was a shift after the cabin that you’d both felt inside of you, but there was a shift in the air tonight, as well. An unspoken trust, of sorts, that went beyond anything the two of you were prepared for.

His hips bucked into yours one final time before he came undone inside of you. A flood of warmth settled in your belly as he came and as his thumb continued to circle your clit, rubbing and pinching at it every step of the way, you soon followed suit.

With one last shaky pump, Billy held you there as he slowly pulled out of you. He kissed your lips, your cheek, down your neck, and along your shoulder before his eyes found yours once again.

His thumb skirted across the apple of your cheek. “You’re my girl,” he whispered, revelling in just how fucking gorgeous you looked in that instance. “You know that?”

“I do,” you affirmed, kissing him softly. “You’re helping me clean my fucking bedsheets in the morning,” you muttered, “do you know that?”

Despite everything, Billy found himself smiling across at you before glancing down at the bloody mess of your sheets. “Yeah,” he chuckled, “I do.”

“Good,” you gently smacked his cheek and crawled off of your bed towards the bathroom.

“Where you going?” He asked, watching your naked body pad out of the room.

“Shower,” you merely said before popping your head around the corner. “Care to join me?”

Billy was at your side within the blink of an eye.

hehehehehehehe let me know if yall like it

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sleepyeye17 · 2 years ago

Text

Good Day

Steddie oneshot. Fluff. Steve and Robin friendship. Eddie is alive obvs.

793 words

Warnings: not really, although I guess Steve getting mildly injured and having TBI. Some teenagers being dicks. They have a drink.

Robin had fallen asleep on the sofa by the time Steve came in. He didn’t turn on the light, and tried to tiptoe, but she woke up anyway.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “Go back to sleep.”

“No, it’s okay.” Robin sat up and turned on the light. They shared a two bedroom apartment above the laundromat, but usually at least one of them ended up falling asleep on the sofa. Robin pulled the blanket off from around her shoulders.

Steve looked terrible. He was walking without bending his knees, and favoring his left side. His posture was stiff and he rubbed his neck. She hadn’t seen him in nearly twenty hours. She’d known he’d been planning on going to the doctor to see about his headaches, and then he was going to Hawkins Lab to check on Eddie and Max. She hadn’t expected him to be gone so long.

“You want a drink, or are you going straight to bed?” she asked.

“I don’t want to keep you up.”

“Sit down.”

Steve collapsed on the sofa with a groan of pain, and Robin got up to make them both tea with whiskey. She didn’t like alcohol, but on bad nights it was all that could help her sleep. Steve preferred his whiskey neat, but he’d drink whatever Robin made for him.

“Tell me about your day,” she said, switching on the electric kettle.

“Went to the doctor. Blood tests. Lung tests. Brain tests. Apparently my brain looks like a punching bag in a gym dumpster.”

“Can they fix it?”

“Sure. I just need to wear a helmet everywhere I go.”

Robin grinned.

“We can cover it in stickers.”

“Yeah, yeah. Make my drink heavy on the whiskey, will you?”

“Not sure you should be drinking with that busted punching bag of yours, buddy.”

“They said all we can do is keep an eye on it.” Steve exhaled, puffing out his cheeks. “Anyways, then I checked on the kids at Hopper’s cabin. El is in shock or something. Struggling. Mike doesn’t know what to do. It was weird. Then as I was going to hawkins lab to visit Max and Eddie, I was going through downtown right? And I saw some kids hassling Wayne Munson. Yelling, following him, pushing him around.”

Robin put her hand over her mouth.

“No!”

“Yeah. So of course I got involved.”

“Steve…”

“What was I going to do, Robin? Walk away?”

“Your brain…”

“They didn’t get in any headshots. One of them got me in the stomach, one of them kneed me in the thigh. Thank God he had bad aim, or I’d probably be infertile. Anyways, the cops came and they took off. So I spent an hour at the station with Mister Munson, giving a statement.”

“Those assholes.” Robin put a spoonful of honey in Steve’s drink and handed it to him. “Haven’t they heard that Eddie was absolved?”

“They don’t give a shit.”

“Who was it?”

Steve downed half his mug in one go, sighing in relief as it burned him all the way down.

“The JV basketball kids,” he said. “You know, JJ, Ben, Ronald.”

“I’m glad it wasn’t Varsity, or you’d be laid up next to Eddie in the hospital right now.”

Steve laid his head back on the sofa and grinned at her.

“Ye of little faith.”

“It sounds like you had a pretty awful day.”

Steve drained the rest of his mug and closed his eyes.

“Nah…”

Robin raised her eyebrows.

“No?”

“No, it was a sort of a good day, actually.”

“Are you a masochist, Harrington? Does getting your ass kicked turn you on?”

“No, it’s not that. Well, after the police station I went to the hospital. Sat with Max. No change there. Read to her. Felt fucking useless. Doctors want to pull the plug, but her mom is holding out.”

“Still sounds like a bad day to me.”

Steve waved this off without opening his eyes.

“Yeah, that part sucked. So I went to visit Eddie. He just got skin grafts, you know?”

“Yeah. I visited him yesterday. He was too tired to say much though.”

“He was tired today too. But he asked about my day, and I lied ‘n told him it was fine.” Steve’s speech was slurring as the exhaustion and the alcohol started kicking in. “An’ I asked him bout his pain, and he lied and told me it was fine.”

Steve slid down on the sofa, holding a pillow to his chest.

“...And then?” Robin asked.

“And then… He smiled at me. Just… Like he does. He just… looked at me. And smiled…”

Steve was almost entirely asleep now. Robin pulled the throw blanket up around him.

“It was a good day,” Steve mumbled. “Cause of that.”

#stranger things 4 #eddie munson #joseph quinn #stranger things #fanfic #steddie #steve harrington #fix it fic #joe keery #steve harrington fluff #robin buckley #steve and robin

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extasiswings · 4 years ago

Note

"Tell Me" for Buddie? Doesn't have to be a love confession, whatever strikes your inspiration!

So, this is a follow-up to this fill for @from-nova because I promised I would fix it! See, just trust me.

Buck might be a bit of a masochist. That seems like the only explanation for how he gets himself into these situations—the entirely avoidable and predictable ones that are virtually guaranteed to end in tears.

The thing is...Buck’s pretty sure he should have figured out that he’s in love with Eddie a long time ago. Because when he looks back, there’s been something from the beginning. Only, at first he was still—desperately, pathetically—pretending that Abby was coming back, and then he found out that Eddie was married and promptly buried any non-platonic thoughts about his best friend so deep that he really did forget for awhile that they were there at all.

He should have started putting it together after the ladder truck, after the tsunami, after the lawsuit—there was a space that Shannon left behind and he slipped into it easily, without even thinking, just because he wanted it. He wanted to matter, wanted to be wanted, to be needed, to make himself useful, and he never deluded himself into thinking he could act like a parent to Christopher, but...he was family. Eddie was his best friend and Buck felt like he was part of their family, folded seamlessly into the unit. They wanted him, Eddie trusted him. He fit. So...he stayed. He stopped looking for anything else.

He hadn’t needed anything else.

So...yeah. Maybe he should have gotten a clue a lot sooner. But instead, Eddie started dating Ana and Buck felt sick about it without knowing why. And then one day, Eddie told him he was going to bring Carla over to have dinner with Ana and Christopher and Buck—

It hit him like a brick.

He’s been working a lot on his abandonment issues in therapy. So it caught him by surprise a bit—the panic, the jealousy, the thread of possessiveness. At least, until he sat with his feelings and realized—

He wasn’t afraid of being replaced in Christopher’s life, or even of being replaced fully in the family unit the three of them have—he’s gotten to a place where he’s secure enough that he doesn’t think he would just be pushed out. But in Eddie’s life—

They’re best friends, sure, but they’re more than that. They’re partners.

And he realized in an instant that was what the jealousy was about. Being replaced in that role. The idea that someone else would be there for Eddie in the late nights and early mornings, that someone else would be the recipient of Eddie’s soft looks and hushed confessions and casual touches, that someone else would be in his home, in his bed—

You want him, his mind whispered. You love him. And everything he’d been forcing himself not to think about or feel for years made his heart race.

“Buck?”

An instant. To turn his whole world upside down. And Buck hadn’t been sure whether he was going to laugh or throw up when he opened his mouth to give Eddie a response, but blessedly it was neither.

“Great,” he forced out. “That’s great.”

Eddie and Ana broke up after that dinner.

But Buck hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it. About being in love with his best friend and the fact that sooner or later Eddie will find someone who will stick and there’s nothing Buck can do about it.

Well. He could tell Eddie how he feels. But that’s—

Stuck, that’s what he is. Between a rock and a hard place.

Tell him, and risk losing everything, including his friendship. Or don’t tell him, and keep the friendship but lose the rest of him down the line.

What Buck needs is space. Away from Eddie, away from—not Christopher necessarily, but the collective that is the Diaz boys. Mental space at least. Emotional space, if not physical. Just enough to get his head on straight and figure out what the hell he’s doing.

Except...Eddie is suddenly everywhere. With his soft glances and touches that Buck wants to mean more than they do. Eddie’s there bringing Buck his favorite coffee for no apparent reason and trying to make him laugh and asking him to the beach and the zoo and the planetarium—

Buck feels slightly hysterical when he realizes it’s because Eddie is worried about him. And then abruptly horrified when Eddie asks if the reason Buck’s been off is because he did something wrong.

Fuck. He’s fucked everything up, hasn’t he?

So.

They go to the planetarium. And then they go back to Eddie’s house and have dinner and play board games and put Christopher to bed and Buck knows it’s too much, that he shouldn’t stay, shouldn’t fall back into the routine like nothing has changed, but—

But he’s a little bit of a masochist.

He’s debating whether to leave yet again when Eddie drops down next to him on the couch, pressing close against his side. It’s too much, too quickly—want flares in his blood and he can’t breathe, so he shifts a little to create some distance—

“See, it’s that,” Eddie says as he withdraws as well, brow furrowing. “You’ve been doing things like that for weeks—why don’t you want me to touch you?”

Buck freezes. Swallows hard. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

He can’t come up with a believable lie.

He’s not sure he wants to tell one anyway.

The silence stretches between them.

“I know you said that whatever’s going on is something you need to figure out yourself, and I respect that,” Eddie says quietly. “But you also said it wasn’t about me. Only, I’m pretty damn sure it’s at least a little bit about me, so—”

He sighs and scrubs his hands over his face.

“Would you just talk to me? Please, Buck. Whatever it is, you can tell me, I—”

“I love you.” Buck blames the fact that Eddie looks agonized at the idea that he’s hurt him in some way for the fact that it slips out.

Eddie goes very still, his eyes widening. The words hang in the air.

Panic threatens to overwhelm him, but Buck pushes himself up off the sofa and clears his throat.

“I love you,” he repeats, because, well, he can’t make it worse at this point. “And I didn’t know whether I should tell you because historically I don’t have the greatest track record with getting the things I want and I didn’t want to lose you, but—”

He blows out a breath. “I said you didn’t do anything wrong because you didn’t. Because this is all just me and my feelings and it’s not your fault that I’m—”

“Buck,” Eddie interrupts, and Buck stops.

“Sorry,” he replies. “I’ll go, I just—”

Eddie reaches out and gently wraps his fingers around Buck’s wrist.

“Would you sit back down and give me a minute?” He says. “Because it seems like you’re making an awful lot of assumptions and I would really like a minute to process here.”

Buck nearly chokes. “I—okay. Yeah, sure, I can...do that.”

He settles back down on the couch and Eddie stares down at the coffee table, although the look in his eyes is distant.

He doesn’t let go of Buck’s wrist.

After what seems like an eternity, Eddie looks up again.

“Right,” he says quietly, and Buck isn’t sure whether that’s to him or to himself. But Eddie’s gaze turns thoughtful and then he’s leaning in and—

Buck shivers when Eddie kisses him, Eddie’s free hand coming up to curve around the back of his neck. It’s gentle and soft and sweet and Buck’s pretty sure he makes a noise that is downright embarrassing when he twists his fingers into Eddie’s shirt and reciprocates.

“Okay,” Eddie breathes when he pulls back.

“O—okay?” Buck asks.

Eddie smiles. “Yeah. Okay.”

And he kisses Buck again.

#chapel writes #prompt fill #buddie fic #letmetellyouaboutmyfeels

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spicycreativity · 3 years ago

Text

Flufftober Day 1 - Winning a Tedddy Bear for the Other

This is the only October prompt fic I was able to write, so uh. Hopefully you enjoy it!

2.5k words, pairings are pre-Logince, Dukexiety, and pre-Moceit

Nobody actually wins a teddy bear for anyone, despite their best efforts

Truly have no idea if this is solely an American hick town thing or not, but where I'm from, all the summer drama took place at the county fair; the hook-ups and break-ups and all the stuff that people would gossip about at the beginning of the school year. Except! The crew have just graduated and this is kind of their last hurrah before college and work and what have you.

Roman closed his eyes and tried to focus. He turned the basketball over in his hands, privately grossed out by the weird, sticky texture beneath his fingertips. He let the ambient noise of the county fair fade into the background. Focus. He just had to focus.

Then Virgil's voice shattered his concentration: "You know this game is rigged, right?"

Roman opened his eyes and, catching an annoyed glance from the carnival worker, sighed and hurled the ball at the hoop. It soared a neat arc and fell neatly through the center of the hoop. Ha. "I'll have you know I played basketball in middle school." He puffed out his chest a little and raised his arms so Virgil could admire his killer delts.

"And how old are you now?" Virgil leaned into Remus, who was lurking over his shoulder like some kind of lanky cathedral goblin. How Remus had landed a boyfriend before he did, Roman would never know.

The worker handed Roman another ball, which Roman accepted with a half-hearted "Thanks."

"It's true, though," Remus said, placing his chin on Virgil's shoulder. "The hoops are ovals."

"Everybody knows that," Roman huffed, and threw the ball.

"Yeet!" said Remus. Idiot.

The ball bounced off the rim. "You distracted me!" Roman huffed. The carnival worker held out another ball, but Roman dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "Oh, forget it!" Two baskets would only get him a stupid Minions keychain, and he definitely didn't want something that cursed in his possession. He turned and walked away, half-hoping Remus and Virgil wouldn't follow him.

"Dude, you paid for three tries," Virgil said.

Roman stopped and turned around and nearly got trampled by a herd of excited pre-teens. "You don't get it!" He gestured at Virgil and Remus' intertwined fingers, even now unable to fight back the wave of jealousy and longing that rose up inside him. "You guys already have your fairy--" He paused, corrected himself. "Your weird, creepy, Tim Burton fairytale dream. I have one shot to impress Logan tonight and I need to make the most of it!"

"Hold on, hold on, hold on!" Remus grabbed Roman by the wrist (ewww, Roman, just try not to think about where his hands have been) and dragged him over to a bench. "Your grand plan is to win Logan some lame carnival prize before he even gets here?"

"Oh, buddy." The mocking pity on Virgil's face was enough to make Roman blush. Jerk. All he'd had to do was sit around and wait for Remus to make the first move. "What makes you think that's even going to work?"

Roman stood up again, motioning for Virgil and Remus to stay seated. He'd had enough. "Because it's a grand, romantic gesture and I am a grand, romantic prince. Now leave me alone! You're wrecking my concentration and I'm supposed to meet Logan in an hour!" And he stalked off, soon getting lost in the crowd.

Virgil looked at Remus, who was wearing a look of undisguised masochistic glee. Still, Virgil ventured, more to soothe his own conscience than anything, "Should we try to help him?"

"Look!" Remus shot to his feet, pointing off into the distance. "Deep fried pickles!" He took off, nearly jerking Virgil's shoulder out of socket.

Virgil dodged an elderly woman and nearly tripped over his boots. "Roman?"

"No, I'm Remus."

"No, I mean, should we try-- Oh, forget it." Virgil wrapped his free hand around the back of Remus' and let Remus yank him through the crowd. There was a long line for the cart selling deep fried monstrosities because this was the county fair and people lost their humanity upon stepping through the gates. Not Virgil. He would sooner lick the door of the horse barn than consume anything from this horrorshow of a food cart. That was one thing Virgil and Roman could agree on: fair food was disgusting. Ah, poor Roman. "You do have to feel a little sorry for him, though," Virgil said, admiring the shiny piercings decorating the shell of Remus' ear.

"Who?" said Remus, standing on tiptoe and examining the crowd.

"Ro--"

"Oh, Roman?" Remus landed hard on his heels and nudged Virgil with his hip. "No I don't. A little heartbreak might take Sir Brags-a-Lot down a peg." Something caught his eye and he jerked his head away with a smile. "Hey. V. I'd like to dip my pickle in your deep fryer."

Virgil made a face, but soldiered on. "But he's had a crush on Logan since, what? As long as I've known him."

"Longer." Remus stuck out his tongue. "He and Logan were lab partners Freshman year. And I had to hear about him every single night." He lowered his voice into a passable imitation of Roman's, gesticulating with abandon. "'Ugh, Remus, this boy in my science class is so annoying; he knows about dumb shit like protons and covalent bonds. Who even cares about that? I don't. So I'm gonna keep talking about it for the entire bus ride home.' Nightmare."

"Exactly!" said Virgil, though he had kind of forgotten what he was getting at. What had he been getting at? He shuffled forward as the line moved and turned his fractured attention to the menu.

"Hey," said Remus, now drumming on Virgil's shoulder with his fingertips. "When was the last time you saw Pat and the Hat?"

"Who?"

"Come on, that was clever."

Virgil tapped his lower lip. "You mean Patton and Janus?" Remus just blinked at him. "I dunno, didn't they say they were buying tickets?"

"Yeah, like, 30 minutes ago.

The line moved forward again. Remus ordered his horrifying hell-pickle. Virgil ordered a lemonade, knowing full well that Remus would insist on paying anyway.

"Maybe," said Virgil, side-stepping away from the order window and deliberately ignoring the way Remus was running his tongue all up and down his deep-fried pickle, "they went to the petting zoo."

"Well, let's go get 'em," Remus said. "They don't get to ditch us just because Patton wanted to see the bunny rabbits."

The setting sun painted the clouds a brilliant orange. Patton sighed and stared out at the expanse of the fairgrounds beneath him. One by one, rides were starting to turn their lights on. It was exactly the most romantic time of evening, exactly how he'd wanted things to go when he suggested they take a quick ride on the Ferris wheel before tracking down the others.

Well.

Almost exactly.

"I should sue," Janus said. Again. He looked over the edge of their basket where it dangled almost exactly at the top of the Ferris wheel. "How long would you say we've been stuck up here?"

"Um," said Patton, trying to wiggle his phone out of his pocket.

"What if I was diabetic, hm? What if one of us needed to take life-saving medication and couldn't because we were stuck at the top of this death trap?"

"But Janus." Patton waited for Janus to meet his eyes, then smiled. "We don't."

The magic didn't last. "It's the principle of the thing!" Janus said explosively, looking away in obvious agitation.

Patton rallied and tried again. "You don't think it's kinda romantic? I mean, look out there." He gestured at the lit-up fairgrounds and the golden haloes of clouds.

Janus huffed and didn't look. "I don't see what's so romantic about a potential reckless endangerment lawsuit." And he was off again, ranting about confusing legal concepts and other things Patton wouldn't care about, except that they were important to Janus.

Oh, well. He sighed and watched the blinking lights of El Niño. If they got down soon, maybe he could win Janus a teddy bear or something and make his confession then.

"What color?"

Roman ran a hand through his hair. Of all the games to have a knack for, he hadn't expected darts. "Pink, I guess-- No, wait, the blue one."

The attendant nodded and handed Roman a flimsy acoustic guitar. "Congrats, man."

"Thanks." Roman turned to go. He had to meet Logan at the gates soon. At least he wasn't doing it empty-handed, not that a barely-playable guitar was a particularly romantic gift. Realy, who was he kidding? Logan didn't want the guitar and Logan didn't want him.

The fairground lights lit everything up a sickly green. Roman scanned the crowd at the midway, trying to determine the best way through, when his gaze fell on a familiar pair of glasses.

He was still trying to decide how to react when Logan reached him, his arms full of brightly-colored stuffed lemurs. "Hello, Roman."

"How long have you been here?" Roman demanded. The idea that Logan had been sneaking around, avoiding him, sat heavy in his stomach.

But to Roman's surprise, Logan blushed. "Not long," he said, shifting his weight. "I wanted-- Well, it seems foolish now."

Roman forgot his anger in an instant. "What? C'mon, Lo, I don't think you're even capable of being foolish."

"I had thought," Logan dropped his gaze to the stuffed lemurs in his arms, "I had thought that if I came early, I might be able to win something big and--" He cleared his throat. "And give it to you."

"Why?" Roman demanded. Why would Logan copy his plan?

"Well, Roman," Logan said in such a clipped, professional voice that he might have been delivering the weather report, "traditionally, winning a large prize for your sweetheart at the county fair is a romantic gesture."

"But I'm not your sw-- Oh." Roman's jaw dropped. The guitar's strings dug into his fingers. Then he started to laugh. Logan's expression hardened, but he stayed put, staring intently at Roman. "I'm sorry!" Roman choked out, brandishing the guitar at Logan as some sort of peace offering, though Logan didn't have a free hand to take it. "I was--" Tears streamed hot and ticklish down Roman's cheeks, his entire body still spasming with stifled laughs. "I was trying to do the same thing! That's how I got this stupid guitar."

"Oh," said Logan. "Oh, dear."

"Come on, let's sort this out." Roman stood on his tiptoes, spotted an empty bench, and led Logan to it.

"This is terribly awkward," Logan said, adjusting the lemurs in his arms. "Do you even want these?"

"Not really," Roman said. He held up the guitar. "Do you want this?"

"I don't."

They smiled at each other. "You know," said Roman, hurriedly counting Logan's stuffed lemurs. "You can trade six of those in for a kiss."

"Piercings!" Remus tugged on Virgil's sleeve and gestured at the booth.

"I thought we were looking for Patton and Janus," Virgil said, already trying to think of a way to keep Remus from getting an ill-advised piercing.

"Forget them! I wanna get my tongue done."

"Here?" Virgil asked as Remus tugged him closer and closer to the piercing booth. "We're, like, six feet away from a horse barn. You're gonna get an infection."

"Damn, V, it's not like I'm gonna French kiss the horses."

Virgil bit his lip and made a second attempt. "Don't you have enough holes punched in yourself?"

"Nope!" They reached the booth and Remus bounced on his toes while he studied the laminated photographs pinned to one of the tent walls.

"Fine, but don't expect any kisses until that piercing is fully healed," Virgil said, struck by an eleventh-hour moment of genius.

"Hold up." Remus turned around and stared at Virgil. "What?"

"You heard me." Advantage secured, Virgil relaxed a little and even managed a sneer. "No kisses until I'm 100% sure you're not gonna get blood or anything else in my mouth."

"Baaaabe." Remus wrapped his arms around Virgil's shoulders and let Virgil take some of his weight. "You're killing me! What about my self-expression?"

"You can get your tongue pierced," Virgil said, "just not at some shady horse barn-adjacent piercing booth run by a bunch of traveling randos."

"I'm an American," Remus mumbled into Virg's collarbone. "It's my God-given right to die of a horse infection because I got my tongue pierced at a-- Whatever you said."

"C'mon." Virgil stood Remus upright and took him by the hand. "I'll pay for you to get your tongue pierced at that nice place downtown. Or I'll get Janus to pay for it. Next birthday. I promise."

"Thanks, I guess," Remus muttered. He was obviously trying to pout, but his face kept cracking into a smile.

"And as for your self-expression…" Face-painting booths were a dime a dozen at the fair; you practically couldn't turn a corner without running into some kid with their face painted to look like Spider-Man. Virgil pointed to the closest one and continued to lead Remus toward it. "I'm thinking spider eyes for me, kraken for you?" Remus took a breath, but Virgil knew better. "There's no way anyone is going to paint a photorealistic dick on your face."

"Alriiiiight," Remus said. "Kraken it is."

The sun was now nearly gone over the horizon, only visible as a faint golden line. Janus had finally worn himself out and gone silent, though even in the darkness, Patton could see the annoyance smoldering in his eyes.

Oh, he was so cute. Even when he was annoyed. Which, granted, seemed to be most of them time, although some of it had to be an act. He smiled sometimes, when he thought Patton wasn't looking.

It was those secret smiles that had given Patton the courage to make this plan. He jiggled his leg and swallowed as nerves sent flutters of nausea through his belly. "Um, Janus?"

"Hm?"

"I mean," Patton started, "since we're stuck up here and everything."

"Don't remind me."

"I mean, you know, It's not all bad. If I have to be stuck at the top of a Ferris wheel, I'm glad it's with you. I… I'm glad it's us."

For a moment, Janus was silent. Then he said, in a tone of suspicion: "You're trying to cheer me up."

Patton sighed. As smart as Janus was, he just didn't seem to be putting the pieces together. Although, that was as much Patton's fault as it was Janus'. Well, it was mostly Patton's fault. He just had to be brave. "Look, Janus, I had this whole plan where we were gonna ride the Ferris wheel together and it was gonna pause at the top and while we were looking out over the fairground, I--" His breath hitched.

"...Was going to push me over the edge?" Janus asked.

"I was gonna do this." Rainbow lights from the Ferris wheel spokes danced across Janus' face. Patton leaned over and took his hands. "Janus, I really like you. And I want--"

"Yes," said Janus. "Whatever you're about to say, yes."

So Patton kissed him.

#queuing this for later today as well #i truly have no idea when you people are online #spicypost #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #moceit #logince #dukexiety #spicywrites

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