#coffee-stains-and-migraines

[mistyorchid]

Meet-Cute (Ch. 3)

Old Man!Logan x fem!reader

summary: You and Logan relax during a particularly hot summer day, engaging in "parallel play" together. An innocent hangout quickly gets heated after he overhears a nsfw Twitter video blaring from your phone. Goddamn auto play. Ch. 1 Ch. 2 warnings: MDNI, no use of y/n, smut, established relationship, age gap, reader is 21+, oral fixation, praise kink, oral (male!receiving), light d/s, pet names (bub, baby, babe, daddy, good/dirty girl, princess), size kink, slapping (referenced + explicit), cum play. wc: 3.6k

Logan kept his promise. Well, you didn't go on a million more dates, but the time you spent together stretched the meaning of time itself. They started as singular outings; with early nights overlapping into early mornings. It didn't take long until your dates morphed into week-long "hangouts" at his place.

You willingly uprooted your life for Logan after a year of dating, packing your world into cardboard boxes and weaving it into the fabric of his home. The only thing you missed was the in-unit air conditioner that cooled your tiny apartment. It turns out that summers are unbearable when you live in a smelting plant.

The metal walls and poor insulation transform your makeshift studio into a furnace. Oil paint fumes waft upwards from the canvas, aggravating a migraine that slowly travels from the top of your head to your temples. In an attempt to preserve your sanity, you rapidly untie the paint-stained apron and storm out of the studio.

Beads of sweat trickle into your cleavage, gathering at the underwire of your bra. You tear it off somewhere between the kitchen and the living room; you can't be bothered to pick it up from the floor. Maybe Logan will stumble upon it and stash it away, an uncharacteristically pervy habit that he thinks goes unnoticed.

"I'm melting, Logan. Save me!" You slump into the couch, dramatically grazing your forehead with the back of your hand to mimic a damsel in distress. Logan lowers his newspaper to acknowledge your presence. Cigar smoke billows from his mouth; the inky tendrils momentarily fogging his glasses.

"Not much I can do, bub. Fan just died," He explains, tilting his nose towards the archaic floor fan. An annoyed grumble escapes your lips as you move to the end of the couch, relaxing your head against the armrest and stretching out like a starfish. Logan shifts the paper to one hand to lightly caress your ankle.

You stare at the ceiling, mentally conjuring metallic constellations by connecting the bolts and welds. It takes five minutes for you to snap your eyes shut in defeat. Although you normally accept boredom as a challenge—a testament to your imagination, the sweltering heat makes it difficult to think.

Logan quirks his brow, sensing your exhaustion. "You're such a baby. It's barely ninety in here." You shake his palm off your leg and draw your knees toward your stomach, creating a makeshift boundary against his feigned judgment. "Barely ninety? Don't piss me off," You laugh, reaching for your phone on the coffee table.

Parallel play is new to Logan. He tends to isolate himself, preferring to spend his leisure time alone. When you introduced the concept to him, he dismissed you with an eye roll that bordered on sassy instead of annoyed. "You getting this from your Tick-Tock-whatever the fuck?"

"Let's be alone together," You reasoned. He’s enjoyed these moments of domesticity ever since.

Your index finger lingers above the touchscreen, debating which app will distract you from the heat. The comforting feeling of Logan's hand returning to your ankle inspires you to open Twitter. Your body is slowly relaxing and you want your brain to follow suit.

Logan cherishes your laugh as you stumble upon a hilarious tweet. You scroll further, settling on a video that displays a pitch-black screen. Assuming it was an edit, you wait for a transition to reveal a montage from a show you liked, or an incredibly depressing edit of Kendall Roy. Those always seemed to invade your TikTok for-you page around 3 am.

Your jaw drops when it fades into the unmistakable sight of an amateur porn video. It depicts a woman on her knees, presumably filmed by her partner. The man slaps his cock on her tongue before slowly inching the tip into her eager mouth. "That's a good girl, drool on my cock," the faceless man praises.

The video had been relatively silent until that moment.

Nothing could have prepared you for the high-pitched moan that traveled from the girl's throat and out of your phone's speaker. You were ambushed. Logan pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and shakes his head, pointedly refusing to react to the noise. "I'm reading the paper, and you're watching porn?"

"I didn't click on it, I scrolled, I—" you threw your phone onto the couch, crossing your arms over your eyes to shield your flustered cheeks. "—Ugh! whatever." Your embarrassment provides Logan ample time to grab your phone as he quickly unlocks it and scrolls back to the source of the moan.

Auto-play resumes, suddenly filling the room with the sound of more slapping. "Please give it to me, Daddy! Promise I'll be good for you," the woman pleads in an exaggerated falsetto. Logan shoves the phone in front of your face, forcing you to acknowledge the video.

"You into this shit?" He asks, invading your mortified posture to push your arms away from your face. His knee slots in between your stretched legs, effectively caging you in. "I asked you a fuckin' question." His gruff tone would have scared you if it wasn’t accompanied by the slight upward curve of his mouth.

Logan's cock throbs as his eyes linger on your gaping mouth. You were reacting appropriately, dropping your jaw in shock. All Logan could think about was how your plush lips formed a perfect "o," similar to the woman on the screen.

"I plead the fifth," You huff, narrowing your eyes and reaching out to pause the video. Logan clicks his tongue while mocking you, shaking his head side-to-side. "It's in your feed. Doesn't that mean you are into this shit?"

Fuck. You regretted explaining social media algorithms to Logan. It was an act of charity, showing an old man how to use the "interwebs," as he first called it. He'd still have a flip phone if you didn't explain why only drug dealers and Y2K-obsessed tweens used them.

You push Logan's knee forward, making him momentarily lose his balance. He falls on top of you, the full weight of his adamantium-plated bones pressing you firmly into the couch. Logan's heart drops in his chest as he sees you shut your eyes in pain. "Oh my god, I-" He uses his elbow to twist away from your chest, landing on the floor with a comically loud thunk.

He groans with the force of the fall and immediately regrets landing on his back. The scarred planes had already been traumatized by decades of recklessness, but his old age further weakened their tenacity.

"I'm sorry, babe. You okay?" He slowly rises to his feet, grimacing when he hears his joints creak under the weight. Logan uses the edge of the coffee table to stand up fully. "Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks," You squeak, unable to meet his worried stare. When he fell on your chest, you could feel his bulge through the thin cotton boxers.

Two can play that game.

You fail to stifle a giggle as Logan waves his hand in a sweeping motion in front of your face. "You sure I didn't hurt you? Seems like you're in shock," He asks, genuinely concerned with your well-being.

"You're hard," You state, fixated on the prominent tent in his boxers. Logan is a cocky motherfucker; he rests his hands on his hips and slightly leans backward, emphasizing the bulge.

"Yeah? So what? I’m always hard when you wear those shorts. Makes me feel like a fuckin’ teenager." He smirks, clearly enjoying the sight of your flustered face. His nostrils subtly flex and you can tell he smells how wet you are for him. It's simultaneously embarrassing and empowering unraveling for Logan—you feel so timid under the heavy weight of his gaze, yet so brazenly sensual.

“Know what I think?” You drawl, shifting from your position on the couch to stand before Logan. His broad frame would be intimidating if he weren’t so gentle with you. Only you. Sunset filters through the lace curtains you installed last summer to soften the hostile industrial space. Soft, indeed. The living room is swathed in an amber glow, and so is Logan’s face. The light tenderly traces each wrinkle and scar—decorations gifted by the tedious passing of time. Your calves burn as you rise on your toes, lips grazing the shell of his ear.

You grasp his strong shoulders to stabilize yourself before whispering, “I think you’re secretly into this, too.” Logan turns his head away from you, closing his eyes to conceal how much your words affect him. He’s confused when he feels you rake your palms against his chest, only opening his eyes when your hand catches on the waistband of his boxers.

Logan’s a man of few words. Your unabashed look of adoration combined with your position on the floor stole any he could use to disagree.

“What’s the matter, Daddy? Cat got your tongue?” You lean forward, tenderly nuzzling your cheek against his leg. 

“Jesus,” Logan mumbles, tentatively reaching down to pet the top of your head. “You’re fuckin’ filthy. Don’t call me that.” The gravel of his voice triggers a dull throbbing in your core. It was easy to unravel for him because he never demanded your submission. He earned it by respecting your mind and body, nurturing it like a fragile orchid that could wither if handled without care. 

You strain your neck to peer into his eyes. He tugs on your roots before tenderly tracing your bottom lip—a silent betrayal of his plea. “Why, you don’t like it? I’ll stop if you don’t,” You reason, allowing him to admire your plush lips. A ragged groan escapes him as he watches you suck his callused thumb into your hot mouth before releasing it with an audible pop.

“It’s not that, I just—” His words die in his throat as you pull the hem of his boxers down, tugging the elastic until you can feel his hard cock bob on your face. You gently stroke his length before pressing your cheek against it, smiling against his warmth. “I don’t wanna ruin you any more than I already have,” He chokes. The doubt written on Logan’s face kills you. You’re suddenly on your feet again and Logan’s cock can’t help but twitch at the absence of your hot breath. 

“Stop it. I hate when you say shit like that.” Logan resists the urge to clench his eyes shut. He hates it when you look at him like he’s a puzzle you’re eager to solve. “All you’ve done is give me everything I’ve ever wanted,” You sigh, reaching on your toes to burrow your head into the crook of his neck. 

Logan wallowed in self-deprecation like it was his job. The age gap between you both was a recurring theme of past arguments. He often distanced himself whenever you begged to ride him, gazing sympathetically into his eyes as you felt his thrusts falter. 

You cherished it.

He could be bandaging your knee after a bad fall in the studio and then spanking your ass until it matched the deep purple and red hues mixed on your palette. The duality drove you crazy. Logan knew exactly when to nurture you and when to fulfill your desire to be taken, worn down; he masterfully chipped away at the facade of your resolve until you were pliant in his rough embrace.

“Besides, ‘Daddy’s just a term of endearment. Same as baby, doll . . . my girl.” You whisper, teasingly nipping his earlobe. “I love being your girl.”

Logan’s hesitation breaks at that, planting a chaste kiss on your neck and inhaling the comforting scent of your hair. You smelled like home.

“Can you get on your knees for me, baby?”

The subtle command ignites a tender ache in your bones—you’re suddenly slinking down his form and bracing against the cool concrete. This must be how people felt when the first skyscraper was built. The towering mass of his body is deliciously intimidating; you’re at his feet, worshipping the foundation of an idol that refuses to be honored.

His hips jut forward as you teasingly lick the head of his cock in short, cat-like strokes. You indulge in his flesh, roaming the hard planes of his thighs and caressing the black tendrils around the base. Something in Logan breaks when you pause to gently kiss the tip while peering up at him through your fluttering lashes. 

“Give me your phone,” He commands. You were too embarrassed to admit how much you craved this side of him. Your back strains with your sudden movement to reach behind you, knocking little knick-knacks on the coffee table as you fumble for the phone. 

Logan’s cock twitches as you hurriedly unlock it before presenting it to him like a pup offering its owner a bone. “I, uh—” His voice hitches when you place your hands on your thighs; your arched back pushing the swell of your breasts against his legs. “I need you to open the camera app for me.”

A teasing smirk overpowers your once coy visage. “Sure thing, Daddy.” You strain to reach the phone, quickly swiping to find the cute camera icon. He’s purposefully not bridging the distance. 

He’s making you work for it.

Logan reverses the camera before angling it in front of your face. “Repeat what she said.” His hooded eyes follow your dumbfounded expression, lingering on the inviting expanse of your lips. You stutter as Logan’s thumb traces dizzying patterns on your open mouth, dipping in quickly to collect your spit.

“Pl- please give it to me, Daddy . . . promise I'll be good for you,” You drawl, satisfied now that you could feel Logan in your mouth. Your face is inches away from his hard cock and you can’t help but admire how fucking pretty he is. When he’s worked up like this, his cock resembles an enticing red lollipop, shiny with the glaze of your spit. The line between your internal thoughts and external babbles blurs as you murmur, “Wanna suck you off so badly. Need to taste you.” 

“What was that, bub?” He props up your chin with his finger, helping you focus on his hazel eyes. He shifts the phone into his left hand before firmly grabbing the base of his cock with his right to lightly slap your cheek. “I asked you a fuckin’ question,” He growls, snapping you out of your horny reverie.

Your voice is meek and airy, a familiar sign that you’re falling further into a comfortable haze. There were no labels to describe your relationship, but you both fostered a nurturing pattern of dominance and submission—often smudging the lines whenever necessary. At this moment, all you wanted was to surrender to him.

“I need to suck your cock, Daddy.” You smirk as it bobs almost subconsciously, leaving dribbles of precum on your cheek.

“Good girl. Fuck.” The praise lures a wanton moan out of your throat that sends pleasant vibrations throughout Logan’s body. You slowly inch the tip in, eagerly spreading his precum around the head with your tongue. Heavy, thick, and wet. So unbelievably wet.

Logan’s stifled growls encourage you to grasp the heft of his cock with both hands. You often joked that jerking him off would give you arthritis in your right hand; the stamina needed to twist up and down his length utterly exhausted you.

His eyebrows knit together in pleasure, a silent love letter to your unabashed yearning to soothe him—in mind, body, and spirit. You adore Logan like this, all bark and no bite. 

“So fuckin’ needy, hm?” You peer up at him through your lashes, focusing on the subtle twitch of his nostrils. “Just the tip and you’re already a mess,” He chuckles. Although you’ve enjoyed each other’s company for a few years, a warm blush always manages to reveal how flustered you get whenever Logan smells your arousal. The strained moans that tumble out of his throat ignite a dull throbbing sensation in your core.

Logan opens his eyes when he realizes your hands have left his cock, eager to scold you (lovingly, of course.) He thrusts into your mouth as he’s greeted by the sight of you desperately toying with your clit, pausing here and there to slap against the sensitive bud. 

You can barely think. Pleasure transforms into a tangible gift, tied off with a voluminous red bow. The pressure to open the box is removed—you’re content with admiring the details of its exterior, swirling your fingers on the silky textile and getting lost in the feeling.

“Ah—Logan! I’m gonna— fuck, I—” You stutter, unable to string together words into a sensible arrangement. Logan slowly thrusts deeper into your hot mouth, reuniting your nose with the coarse hair around the base.

He pulls back slightly when you gag around him. Your pussy flutters as you feel his cock harden at the involuntary sound, somehow stretching your mouth even more. “I know, baby,” Logan sighs, gently wiping away your tears. “Shhh . . . you can take it.”

Every time your mouth swallows his entire length, you dart your tongue out to playfully coat his heavy balls with spit. You’re acting like a bitch in heat—as if the thought of living without the taste of Logan’s cock would be futile. Realistically, you knew that the masculine salt of him on your tongue served as a reminder of his tangible presence in your life, a presence that was meaningful, nurturing, and everlasting.

“That’s a good girl. Drool on Daddy’s cock,” Logan praises, adapting the line from the video.

Your release is sudden and impactful. The shaky tone of your cries corresponds with the shakiness of Logan’s hand. His knuckles turn white as he struggles to hold the phone upright.

“Oh my god, oh my god, mmmm!—” You moan, muffled by the delicious drag of Logan’s cock. “Ah—I’m coming, fuck . . .” Your swollen clit pulses as your thighs cave inwards, pushing you even closer to the hilt.

He comes immediately following your orgasm, finding your fucked-out expression unbelievably attractive and haunting. Thick ropes of cum flood your mouth and you can feel his cock twitch when your eyes meet. A rough cacophony of moans and grunts breaks free from Logan’s chest.

You look utterly ruined. Swollen lips still stretching around his girth, tears etched onto the flustered apples of your cheeks. “As beautiful as you look right now, I need to pull out, baby.”

You’re desperately trying to taste more cum from his weeping slit, but Logan manages to push away from you with a dramatic hiss. His jaw falls when he watches you emphasize the act of swallowing his cum.

“My dirty girl,” He drawls, pleased when you stick out your tongue as proof. You want the echo of Logan’s thick cock slapping onto your tongue to be ingrained in your mind. It doesn’t take long for him to explode again. You help him along, breathlessly stroking the plush stiffness of his cock and looking up at him with sinfully soulful eyes.

The first streak lands on your lips. Logan’s head rolls back as he mindlessly ruts forward, painting your entire face with hot cum.

He returns to earth when you press chaste licks to the tip once again. “Holy shit, there’s so much cum, I’m sorry—” Logan apologizes, stunned by the masterpiece he’s created. His release drips down the sloping facade of your cheekbones before landing on your cheeks and lips. You quickly dart out your tongue to taste him.

“Don’t be, Daddy. Can you give me some more?” You plead, batting your eyelashes. Logan pauses the recording and  tosses the phone onto the couch. Before you can process why, you hear a loud thunk on the concrete.

Logan kneels in front of you to match your position on the floor. He reaches out to brush your hair away from your face, studying the white marks adorning your skin.

“You’re so pretty with my cum on your face,” He sighs. Your eyes widen when he reaches down, dragging two thick fingers through your sensitive folds. Then, he swipes the same fingers through his cum before bringing them to his lips and sucking gently.

He closes his eyes, truly indulging in the delicacy of your love. “Mmm. We taste so good together, baby. Wanna try?” You nod earnestly, biting your lip to dampen your whimpers. Logan repeats the process, in awe of the way you lean into his touch.

Logan doesn’t register that you’re falling until he’s sprawled out on the cool concrete floor with your tits cushioned against his chest. He’s quick to check on you, stunned by the sudden movement.

“You okay, princess? What happened?” Worry is framed by the wrinkles between his brows.

“Mhm, Logan. Daddy. We do taste good together,” You confirm, feeling pleasantly overwhelmed yet supported against the solid foundation of his body.

Logan kisses you sweetly, wrapping his broad arms around you to stabilize your torso. “It’s a lot cooler on the floor, baby. Gotta clean you up, I’ll be right back.” You whine as he gently rolls over to lay you on the floor before walking towards the kitchen.

After picking up a nearby towel and wetting it under the faucet, Logan almost slips on something on his way back to the living room.

The familiar heart pattern of the bra makes the corners of his mouth turn upwards; it’s satisfying knowing that you left these out for him rather than randomly forgetting a thong here and a lacey bralette there. You were deliberately feeding into his desires and he loved you for it.

You both played the game of life together, and Logan wouldn’t want it any other way.

an: I heard it's someone's bday today . . . I hope they never read this but consider Meet Cute Ch. 3 my gift to all of you. Thanks for being so patient, I know it's been a while. FYI I imagine the character whenever I'm writing, not the actor. Hope everyone has a great weekend.

tag list: @bratscave @elflutter @fairiebabey @pointyxsole @scorpiosaintt @th3mrskory

[scealaiscoite]

⋆˚࿔ one hundred paired prompts 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

¹⁾ a pot of fresh coffee and split knuckles

²⁾ orange peels and a car battery

³⁾ sand dunes and leather boots

⁴⁾ a printer and a knife

⁵⁾ incense and handcuffs

⁶⁾ a crushed velvet sofa and a video camera

⁷⁾ stale cigarettes and cotton candy

⁸⁾ loose change and headlights

⁹⁾ grey hairs and a gold belt buckle

¹⁰⁾ burnt coffee and grass stains

¹¹⁾ cherry cola and blue jeans

¹²⁾ chipped green nail polish and an empty dinner table

¹³⁾ a stack of paperwork and metal music

¹⁴⁾ a patchwork quilt and sweet tea

¹⁵⁾ a hockey sweater and a two-seater sofa

¹⁶⁾ perfume oil and rolled up shirtsleeves

¹⁷⁾ fallen leaves and guilt

¹⁸⁾ radio channels and a birthday card

¹⁹⁾ ravens and meadowsweet

²⁰⁾ apologies and bitter red wine

²¹⁾ library books and pouring rain

²²⁾ a breathalyser and popcorn

²³⁾ princess plasters and iodine

²⁴⁾ a tote bag with one broken strap and a winding staircase

²⁵⁾ a parasol and a tumbler of straight whiskey

²⁶⁾ fresh honey and a cult

²⁷⁾ wisdom teeth and blue eyes

²⁸⁾ sour cherries and a stolen hoodie

²⁹⁾ the flu and a heatwave

³⁰⁾ a boonie hat and a sunset

³¹⁾ vanilla perfume and a kitchen counter

³²⁾ a buffalo skull and a leather armchair

³³⁾ a throw pillow and a doorway

³⁴⁾ pink fluffy handcuffs and an unexpected guest

³⁶⁾ a package and a divorce

³⁷⁾ a stripper pole and a hangover

³⁸⁾ familiar cologne and a black eye

³⁹⁾ a lit candle and a snowstorm

⁴⁰⁾ an unsealed letter and a fallen pine tree

⁴¹⁾ headlights and footprints

⁴²⁾ a blocked number and traffic lights

⁴³⁾ a racesuit and a countdown

⁴⁴⁾ a butcher’s apron and a phonecall

⁴⁵⁾ battered comic books and a broken window

⁴⁶⁾ cold floorboards and a roommate

⁴⁷⁾ smooth vermouth and gold rings

⁴⁸⁾ a lip piercing and a rough hand

⁴⁹⁾ someone’s spare room and an eclipse

⁵⁰⁾ a game of mahjong and bad jazz music

⁵¹⁾ a jigsaw puzzle and a mortuary

⁵²⁾ a broke-up sidewalk and a knitted scarf

⁵³⁾ a poundshop wig and broken glass

⁵⁴⁾ a bunk bed and a crush

⁵⁵⁾ a red ink tattoo and a dinner gone cold

⁵⁶⁾ a warm palm and a flannel shirt

⁵⁷⁾ fresh basil and a half-empty bottle of arrack

⁵⁸⁾ a nightclub bathroom and smeared eyeliner

⁵⁹⁾ a busted lip and strawberry icecream

⁶⁰⁾ a floral-patterned dress and a looming balcony

⁶¹⁾ peach pits and a pressed shirt collar

⁶²⁾ a white mercedes and cheap perfume

⁶³⁾ a fwb and a housekey

⁶⁴⁾ a blue sarong and a fingertip tracing over a scar

⁶⁵⁾ a sauna room and a terse exchange

⁶⁶⁾ fried plantains and a briefcase

⁶⁷⁾ dried lavender and a tiled bathtub

⁶⁸⁾ a hotel room and a bouquet of lilies

⁶⁹⁾ sweet mango lassi and a suitcase

⁷⁰⁾ orange streetlights and a nightmare

⁷¹⁾ a crucifix and a thigh tattoo

⁷²⁾ a palm tattoo and the thrum of a heartbeat

⁷³⁾ a champagne room and a police siren

⁷⁴⁾ blue nitrile gloves and a hickey

⁷⁵⁾ a double-wide trailer and shotgun shells

⁷⁶⁾ stitches and pyjama shorts

⁷⁷⁾ karaoke and a snowdrift

⁷⁸⁾ an older man and a twin bed

⁷⁹⁾ chinese takeout and a graveyard

⁸⁰⁾ wet clothes and ambulance sirens

⁸¹⁾ carbolic soap and a creaking staircase

⁸²⁾ an undercover assignment and wrung hands

⁸³⁾ the back seat of a limousine and bustling night streets

⁸⁴⁾ a steamed-up bathroom and cold floorboards

⁸⁵⁾ a grand prix and a breakup

⁸⁶⁾ a third place trophy and a picture frame

⁸⁷⁾ the last slice of birthday cake and crossed legs

⁸⁸⁾ squashed raspberries and heated cheeks

⁸⁹⁾ pink lipgloss and brass knuckles

⁹⁰⁾ a ghost mask and a late visit

⁹¹⁾ loose bullets and slashed tires

⁹²⁾ a tactical belt and patterned bedsheets

⁹³⁾ a goaltender’s stick and a lonely walk home

⁹⁴⁾ a dog bed and a migraine

⁹⁵⁾ lit billboards and a floor-length gown

⁹⁶⁾ a divebar negroni and a game of pool

⁹⁷⁾ olive trees at harvest time and divorce papers

⁹⁸⁾ a caviar bump and vanilla coke

⁹⁹⁾ a whale tail and pantsuit

¹⁰⁰⁾ legs thrown into a lap and calloused hands

[theorphicangel]

#2 “let me take care of you, okay?

warnings: none, fluff.

boyfriend miguel series.

You didn’t know what you had done to the universe to deserve all of this.

From the moment you woke up things didn’t go your way. First a broken coffee cup, then a stain on your white shirt, followed by turning your apartment inside out for 15 minutes after losing your car keys whilst simultaneously trying not to start into a hysterical breakdown. Then having two deadlines piled up on you for the end of this week, managers giving you a million and one things to do and after listening to the high-pitched whining of that bitchy co-worker who spreads gossip like wildfire has now resulted in a heavy migraine.

Yet, somehow you still had to put a smile on your face. You couldn’t break down, not here and not now. There’s no time and there’s no excuses, you have to be professional.

That was the message ingrained into your brain from the second you clocked in till the second the clock hit five. But instead of relief the heavy weight of stress and work linger on your shoulders, following you down to the car-park and on your journey home. The invisible weight waits around you like a shadow as you wait for the elevator to pick you up, only getting heavier with every step that you take towards your apartment.

The weight still doesn’t disappear as you open the door to your apartment, the familiar scent of your favorite dish cooking in the air. You slide off your shoes, too exhausted to call out your boyfriend’s name. A habit that you usually do when returning home.

“Is that you, mi amor?”

You hesitate in responding, mind distracted as you slip off your coat. “Uhh– yeah, yeah.”

Miguel turns the corner, hands on his waist. He’s in a simple outfit of gray sweatpants and a black plain tee. He frowns a little as you place your bag on the floor. You’re a little less excited than usual.

Normally, you’d be bouncing into his arms right now, rambling about your day whilst trying to simultaneously pepper kisses across his lips. You swore one day you’d find a way to kiss and talk to him at the same time.

You say nothing more as you walk into the living area, eyes avoiding him.

“Did you have a good day?” You notice the low tone of concern. You know that he knows this isn’t your usual self.

“Yeah, yeah.” You try to reassure him with a smile, a forced smile. Like the picture of you in your senior year of high school on the fireplace at your mother’s house. Miguel remembers your embarrassment, turning over the picture frame whilst calling out to your mom in annoyance for having that picture on display.

But no, maybe this one is a little different. It’s more disheartening.

Miguel watches you disappear into the bedroom, shutting the door softly behind you. He’s not sure what to do, standing in the middle of the living room like an idiot. Does he go after you or do you want to be alone? Should he plate up your food or are you not hungry?

Instead he waits, deciding to give you space for a little bit before asking. Thankfully, you’re only gone for less than fifteen minutes, re-emerging from what looks like a well needed shower and your favorite hoodie of his.

For the first time tonight, you finally meet his eyes and without a single word you find yourself wrapped in his arms. He never really understood it when you said he was the best at giving hugs. He didn’t do anything special, he just…hugged you. He figured that maybe his height had something to with it but other than that he just held you as tight as he could, almost afraid that you’d suddenly disappear in his arms.

You bury yourself into his chest, his chin resting on the top of your head as you do so. His large, calloused hand rubs small circles into your back and without saying a single word his comfort is more than enough.

Coming up to the surface, you begin to feel ready to let it all out. You feel your throat grow tight as you try to speak.

“Today was just shit, mig, I can’t–” Even the recollection of it causes your eyes to swell up with tears. All you wanted to do was to hide away from the world, the thought of clocking in tomorrow makes your stomach flip upside down.

Miguel hums, “Just let me take care of you, okay?”

His arms wrap around you a little tighter as the words leave his mouth in a soft tone.

“Okay.” is all you have to say and all that heaviness from earlier which tormented your body seems to disappear, your mind now preoccupied with the way that Miguel holds you. You pull away, glancing up at him now as you finally let it all out.

“Work was shit.”

Miguel hums, continuing to rub small circles into your back as you spill out anything and everything that has pissed you off today.“...I’m just done, I don’t even think I want to go in tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to, I’ll call in sick for you.”

“Really?” You struggle to keep the surprise out of your voice.

“Really, mi vida, didn’t I say I would take care of you?”

“You don’t have to mig’”

You let out a giggle as Miguel clicks his tongue in faux annoyance. “I want to.” He emphasizes. “How many times do I have to tell you? I want to take care of you.” He leans down a little to place a kiss on your forehead. His soft brown eyes meet yours, a silent plea before the words even leave his mouth. “Let me take care of you…please.”

You shut your eyes, taking in the sensations around you; your mind now coaxing your body to rest.

Yes, you’ll give in for tonight, you think. You’ll let him take care of you.

thank you sm for reading!! reblogs are much appreciated!

[asunflowerana]

a good kind of nuinsance — Suna Rintarou

summary: you have a big project coming up, and to make things even worse, you're forced to work with the most stupid, handsome moron on campus.

genre: comedy, enemies-to-lovers trope.

n/a: not me pretending i'm the best friend haha. also, good reading!

“It will be fine!” She said. “It could be worse, trust me. And it will end soon!”

You wish you could stop believing in your best friend.

College is already a nerve-wracking place to deal with it, increasing even more in junior year. You need to work on your assignments, do presentations, fight yourself everyday to not procrastinate 24/7 or call off sick ‘cause your bed is too appealing; and in the end, you always freak out with your final exams, coffee becoming your best friend and clock your worst enemy.

What you don’t understand though, is why, in such a chaotic atmosphere, you still need to do group work?

And why, of all the people on this big campus, you got paired up with Suna Rintarou?

The struggle is real.

It’s not that you hate him. No, that’s not the case at all. It’s just that spotting his face alone is enough to make you want to change sidewalks even if the traffic signal is green and Formula 1 is happening on the street.

It all started with a single bump on the cafeteria entrance. His unnecessary hard body bumped against you and your hot chocolate cup, making all of your precious drink spill and fall into your previous white All Stars sneakers, staining the fabric and burning your skin to the soul.

And that boy had the nerve to mumble a “Watch where you’re going” before giving you a cold shoulder and leaving in a hurry.

Tables turned and you had your redemption one day later, refusing to lend him your notes of an important assignment, useful for the upcoming exams. It’s not your fault that his bicycle tire got pierced on the way to class, he should have been prepared and woken up early like every poor student in this college.

This “not so pleasant but still fulfilling” war has been going on between you guys for weeks. But unfortunately, his presence became more than a nuisance to you, and you absolutely detest now the way your heart flutters when you see that punk walking on the hall with that stupid, pretty face.

Annoying, handsome, punk.

And since your “so called” best friend knows about your hidden feelings, she decided to come up with a stupid solution for it.

You, her, Suna and Bokuto Koutaro, her adorable but very much ingenuous boyfriend, were supposed to do the group project together at a cozy cafeteria a few blocks from the campus main building, known for their delicious milkshakes and pretzels.

Nowhere to escape, you accept the invite, hoping your friend could take your mind away from Suna’s intruding. That, until Bokuto shouts:

“Shoot, I forgot there was practice today!” So exaggerated, he totally has no vocation to be an actor.

And your bestie had the audacity to join the act, forcing out a grimace. “Sorry guys, but we need to go.” She announces, not sorry at all, Bokuto taking her backpack with him like the doting boyfriend he is. “Please enjoy our milkshakes, we’ll text you later to see what you guys decided!”

“Good dat— I mean…. Bye!” Bokuto takes her hand and storms away from the cafeteria.

You can only sigh, disappointed at yourself for not predicting this might happen.

“Did they really leave us?” Suna asks incredulously, noticing the filled notebooks the couple left on the table. “They even made their parts already!”

You turn your gaze to him, feeling the beginning of a migraine.“Look, I’m not thrilled to work with you either. But the faster we start, the faster we’ll get rid of each other.” You proposed with little patience, taking a sip of your friend’s untouched strawberry milkshake. “Now, take that milkshake and let’s finish this quick.”

He huffs, but your surprise doesn't fight with you on this, and you both start a two-hours circle of working in silence, bickering at each other and working in silence again, making small progress with your parts on the project. You even start to agree with each other, Suna finding your suggestions “smarter than expected”, and you finding his ideas “not so bad for a moron”.

It’s strange, the feeling of being in agreement with Hajime on something, and it's noticeable his efforts of making the process as peaceful as it can be. This friendlier side looks actually cute on him (not that you were checking him out for the past thirty minutes), so you decide to be nice too, for the sake of good grades.

It only lasts a few minutes, and soon you’re arguing again.

“The information needs to be in Z. No one will pay attention if you fill the poster with notes all over it!” He argues one more time, trying to prove his point about the best position to the notes.

“But we need to put all the information we gathered! If we do it your way, we’ll need three more posters , and that's a waste of paper!” You defend your point as well, not wanting to back down from your proposition to the project’s presentation. 

“Well, if you want to really save paper, then you should stop wanting to put everything we wrote down inside a poster, when we don’t have to!”

“We do, if we want good grades in this class. Oh wait, I forgot, you don’t really know what it's like.!”

You’re both staring at each other dangerously, breath heavy and quick, like two bulls ready to strike each other. Thank goodness you’re in a distant booth, or you guys would probably be kicked out by now for the shouting.

Suna runs his hand over his black locks, tired of this unfinished argument. “You’re too annoying , you know that?” He hisses. 

“And you’re so stubborn, argh, I can’t stand you in my head anymore!” You almost shout out your frustration, letting slip the last words by accident, but lucky for you Suna’s too angry to catch what did you mean.

“Well, I wish you could leave mine too, but you’re still there every day!”

You’re shocked. Your heart’s pace fastens and your body suddenly feels numb, completely bewildered by his confession. Suna avoids eye-contact for a few seconds, staring at the table with a terrified look, his face reddening as the seconds go by. Why did he say that to you?

“I—” He clears his throat, trying to come up with a quick excuse to cover his mistake.“ I didn't—”

“What?” But you don’t leave room for excuses. “You didn’t mean you like me?”

His eyes widens. “No! I…. I….” He sighs. “ I didn’t mean to say it like that! But if you really want to know… yes. I like you. " He moves his eyes in your direction, taking your features for a moment. "Even if you get on my nerves every single day, I can’t get you out of my head. And I know we’re not on the best terms, but I can’t just pretend anymore…” He doesn’t need to finish his line. You’re just so overwhelmed with his confession, that staying a few moments in silence makes Rintarou take that as a rejection.

“I should go.” He begins to rise from his chair, but his movements are interrupted as you quickly hold one of his wrists, preventing him from moving away. He looks at you surprised.

“Would you find it strange if I said that I can’t pretend anymore either?” You can’t say the right words aloud yet, timid of what he might do with your confession, but the growing, pretty and genuine smirk on his face tells you made a good decision by opening yourself to him.

“I guess I own you a hot chocolate, then?”

© asunflowerana 2024 — all rights reserved.

[yawnderu]

Bruises That Bloom Purple — TF141 x Reader

>This was originally going to be a part of my 141 x Reader fanfic Stray, though I decided to change the ending, so have this angst one-shot instead.

When Johnny left them, they mourned. But he also took a part of Stray; the part that made her human.

The journal in your hands was a reminder of everything you lost— everything that Johnny had in mind ever since he met the task force. Pages upon pages full of scribbles, drawings, plans. His mind poured into the paper as if he didn't want to forget, some pages stained with coffee and blood, some fully clean. Your hands shook as you held the small book close to your chest, sob after sob escaping your lips for so long that the migraine became a second part of you.

"Johnny..." You cried out, hoping he would walk through the door. Hoping he would appear out of nowhere, hoping he would take you with him, hoping for anything, anything at all that allowed you to see his pretty blue eyes again, to be held securely in his arms again, to be kissed by him again. Fuck, even the image of him hurt.

You didn't lose a teammate— you lost a soulmate. A piece of you, of your soul, a piece so crucial to you Makarov might as well have ripped your heart out and left you to bleed pathetically on the cold floor of the underground tunnel.

You're sobbing so loud you don't even hear the polite knock on the door, eyes screwed shut tightly, sealed by the tears that come flowing down like a broken dam. You don't register anything going on around you until you feel a bare hand on your cheek, vision blurry, yet you can recognize that burly figure anywhere— Simon. You don't do anything other than to keep sobbing, pressing the journal closer to your chest, maybe hoping it'll start sinking into your skin and will allow you to have a part of Johnny within you.

"I'm here, love." He whispers softly, his tone more gentle than anything you've ever heard. He slowly lays in bed with you and brings you closer to his chest, not minding the mess of saliva, tears, and snot now staining his shirt.

"Somethin' to keep your heart safe." He pressed something cold into your hand— Soap's dog tags. You instantly hold them tightly, using them as a lifeline to stay with it. Simon presses a soft kiss against your forehead before his hand presses on the back of your head, holding you even closer, allowing you to cry on him.

"Johnny had the braid you gave him with him all the time, did ya know? Kept it tucked away in his jacket. I r'member him talkin' about it all the time, braggin' about how you gave 'im that." A small chuckle escapes your lips for the first time ever since he died, the sound full of pain and bitterness, yet it was something. It gave Simon all the confirmation he needed to keep talking.

"He kept everythin' you gave 'im. If it wasn't the bloody braid, it was a picture. If it wasn't one of those... it was a letter." And you know it was true. You've read his journal for what feels like hundreds of times, some of the letters you gave him were tucked away in pages with drawings of you. If a letter wasn't there, it was one of the many polaroids he had of you. Some alone, some together, some with the entire task force, including a masked Ghost.

Your throat is too sore from sobbing, you couldn't even speak if you wanted to, so you simply nod while laying your head against his chest. There's something about Simon that has always glued you together— something about the man who, even when you didn't get along at first, gave you an odd sense of comfort. Perhaps it's his smell, perhaps his voice, and maybe even his soul, that always seems to be one with yours.

"For Johnny, 't was a reminder that he was never alone." He kisses your forehead again, one of his hands gently massaging your scalp while the other one rubs up and down your back, spreading the warmth of his hand all over your trembling body.

You remember the exact same moment you gave him that braid. A protection braid made with a small strand of the bottom of your hair, sealed with words of affirmation and wishes of the future, a few months after your relationship with the men started. Love. Survival. Companionship.

"When we..." You began, voice wavering and weak, yet it had Simon's full focus. "When we scatter his ashes, can you do me a favor?" He'd do anything for you.

At 15:30, the 141 arrived at the cliff. You're all stuck in silence for a few minutes, mourning in your own ways while looking at the sunset and the ocean below you. The view is nothing short of breathtaking, yet the heartbreak is too great to fully appreciate it. You can't help but think Johnny would have loved this view, but the thought is quickly interrupted.

"He was the best of us." Price says, gravely voice growing even deeper at the pain of losing such an important part of his soul.

"The toughest." Gaz continues, looking into the ocean.

"He'd've fought the world bare handed..." Simon replies and all you can do is look into the water, trying your best to hold it together. Simon leans down, grabbing the urn from his backpack. He holds it up and you all put your hands on it, holding a part of Johnny for the last time.

"Who dares wins..." And win he did. At the very least, Johnny found a family.

"Sleep easy, soldier." More than a soldier, Johnny was the son he never had.

"See you down range, brother... we'll take it from here."

"Rest easy, my friend. You’ll never be forgotten." You fought off the urge to call him your love, your soulmate, yet they all knew what was in your mind.

"Rest in peace, Johnny." The words barely came out of his lips. It was like losing Tommy all over again. Simon opens the urn and lets the wind take Johnny's ashes, flying away, freeing his soul. You all look at him go and you manage to let a small smile take over your lips, watching proudly as he flies away, despite knowing he took a part of your soul with him.

Simon and you stay behind, knowing Price and Gaz will be waiting in the car for you. You slowly sink down to your knees, hands resting on your lap. It doesn't take long before Simon kneels behind you, hands gathering your hair before he begins to braid.

Revenge. Death. Vengeance.

His free hand pulls out a combat knife that belonged to Soap, lining up the razor sharp blade to your hair. With one smooth motion, he slides through the hair easily, letting the now shoulder length strands fall free. He places the braid on your lap and you look down at it, eventually letting the hair go down the cliff the same way you let go of Johnny.

You never let go of grief— you grow around it. And despite the agony your soul is in, you know these three men will do anything for you, the same way you'll do anything for them.

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Excessive Force : Tom Ludlow x Fem Nurse Reader (COLLAB W/ THE INCREDIBLE @johnwickb1tsch) - Chapter One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen Nineteen Twenty Twenty-One Twenty-Two

TW: nsfw, blood, trauma

Tom busts into the room. Someone’s yelling behind him about red tape and policy, like they don’t even know who he is in the first place. He’s blood and sweat coated, a fine grime glazing his skin, and still the most handsome and soothing thing you’ve ever seen in your life. Yes, even with the pickle juice smell and cornchip residue in his hair. “You alright?” He asks, kneeling down and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. 

“I’m fine,” you say. “I see this stuff all the time.” 

“Is he being an asshole?” He asks, glaring over at your interviewer in his two piece suit— the man looks about ready to either piss himself or strangle Ludlow. 

“No, just a dick,” you joke before really thinking about it, and now you’ve earned yourself a scowl from the gentleman asking you questions who has actually and surprisingly been pretty nice. “I’m just kidding,” you reassure him, “inside joke.”

He looks to Ludlow, then back at you with his eyebrows raised as if he gets the whole picture now. You don’t really understand why you’re embarrassed about it. After all, if you’re going to date—what a weird word and even weirder thought—Tom Ludlow, you’ll probably meet his coworkers at some point. 

“Stare a little longer, Brixton,” Tom warns. 

You turn fully to the angry man beside you and rest your hand on his shoulder. “I’m alright. He’s going through suspect pictures. That’s all.”

“Any luck?” 

You hate to dash that hopeful lilt in his voice. “Not yet.” 

“But we still have a lot to go through,” Brixton says, interrupting the intensity between you and Tom. 

“No shit,” Tom smiles. 

5 million criminal profiles, four cups of disgusting coffee, and an actual migraine later, you are still shit out of luck. Looking at Brixton hopelessly, head in your arms, eyes almost as red as the blood stains on your clothes. “So, what if it’s none of these?” You ask. 

“Could be someone new, someone we haven’t identified yet. Like I said initially, if it isn’t any of the ones I show you, you should be fairly safe. Low level criminals don’t usually care about witnesses.”

“Low level?” You ask, eyebrows pulling up. “They shot up a convenience store with submachine guns.” 

He shrugs. “You’d be surprised at how easy it is to get ahold of those in this town.” 

“Okay,” you sigh, “can I go, then?” 

He looks at you for a long minute. “You gave your description to the sketch artist?” 

“Yeah, I did.” 

“Alright, pack up.” 

Seeing Tom is terrifying, and not because he’s a walking bloodbath. It’s terrifying that you can tell so easily, even from a distance, the man is in a rage. Berserk, boiling with dark energy, the kind that has your stomach tied up and your body tensing. “Are you alright?” As he’s walking you out of the precinct, a possessive hand on your waist. 

“Let’s just get you home, cleaned up, then we’ll talk.” 

“Okay.” You stay silent the entire car ride to your house, then all the way up to your apartment. The doorway breaks his silence. 

“He’s alive, thanks to you.” 

You let out a breath that got stuck in your lungs a long time ago at the store when the last bullet pierced Washington’s chest. You don’t understand why Tom feels the way he does about his old partner. After all, the man is attempting to throw him directly under the bus without a second thought, so you’re not really relieved that you saved Washington’s life, but rather that, for some reason, Tom seems content with the whole thing. “That’s good,” you say quietly. “Right?” 

“Honestly…” he trails off, looking at the floor like he’s having some internal struggle about what he really feels; something you can relate to all too well. “I’m glad that you’re alright.” He crosses the room in a long legged stride, and bundles you up in his arms. “That’s the only thing I care about.” 

And you thought you were fucked before…

“Let’s get clean, and go see the movie.” He sounds lighter, now, but you just know there’s something he’s holding back—trying not to tell you. You can feel it in the way he holds you, see it in the hard black of his eyes, taste it in the air like you can the dried mephitic blood. 

“We don’t have to do that,” you assure. 

“I want to.” 

You’re not sure you really feel like sitting through a movie, but it seems important to him, to do something normal. Maybe that’s the way he copes with the horrible things he sees in his job. Forcing himself to do normal things. Or maybe…he just really wants to spend time with you.

You take a shower together–to save water, obviously. California is experiencing a drought. You get distracted though, for obvious reasons, and “we’re gonna be late,” you groan, as he sucks up the mess between your thighs. “Thought you-ah-wanted, wanted.” 

He shushes you with the taste of yourself, licking at your tongue, pressing you against the soaked tile, hands cupping your breasts. “I’m sorry, baby, you’re just so fucking pretty.” He talks against your mouth, then delves back inside to clash teeth again. “How am I supposed to resist you?” 

Possessive, needy, insistent Tom fucks you nice and slow on your bathroom floor with your legs pressed against your chest and knees hooked over his shoulders; a recipe for a deep, splitting angle that makes you scream. He pauses that lovely, skilled glide of his hips and pushes hair from your face. “You alright?” 

“Jesus. Fuck. Yes! Yes. Why did you stop?” Because he was pummeling your gspot with every thrust, and it felt like nirvana and you need him to move again—oh, there he is, at the same pace, even—an expert in making you see God and the Devil all at once. You don’t know how many times you cum like that, pressed against the plush bathroom rug you got from a discount bin at Target which is surprisingly comfortable. Many consecutive orgasms are starting to feel like a continuous, nonstop one—like you’ve lost control of yourself, like the only thing you are or want to be is a tight sleeve for Tom’s cock. 

“I can’t last much longer, honey.” By the sounds of it, it's a miracle he lasted this long. 

A strangled sound escapes you that’s almost a laugh. He’s been so good to you. So good it feels like a dream. It’s almost hard to remember, now, a time when you’d been certain he was such an asshole. All this flits through your brain in a matter of a second. “Cum for me, baby. I wanna feel you. Need you.” 

You watch with abject fascination through heavy lids, as his head bows, his body tenses, his grip on your hips tightening hard enough to leave bruises. How is it that you make this beautiful man fall to pieces? You’re afraid you would never tire of the sight. He spills inside you with a moan that shakes you to your soul, filling you with the hot rush of his seed. 

It’s funny, the ridiculous things that go through your mind after sex, floating in through the fuzzy white afterglow of umpteen orgasms and Tom’s solid weight resting on top of you. Such as: It’s a good thing your bath mat is machine washable, because you just made quite a mess. 

“I think,” Tom pants against you, “We’re going to miss the movie.” With this man in your arms, you cannot bring yourself to care. After the day you’ve had, this suits you perfectly.

“It’s fine,” you tell him breathlessly, pressing your lips to his cheek. “This is all I want anyway.”

He manages to sit up just a smidge, looking down at you with mischief in his sparkling brown eyes. Yet there is a vulnerability there too, underneath it all, and it squeezes your heart. You know he has a dangerous job, but the pure power and fury of those submachine guns earlier today ripping the store–and his old partner–to shreds probably had him feeling extra keenly the miracle of being alive. You knew that you yourself were a little surprised–but also numb, which maybe wasn’t the best, but it was how you cope.

“My naked body in your arms?” he ribs you, lifting an eyebrow.

“Either way.”

He lays a big kiss right in the middle of your forehead. “I think you like me.”

You look between the two of you, assessing the situation as if to say duh. But, then, feeling a little rogue, “nah, you must be hallucinating.” With a big grin on your face.

Reluctantly you part, Tom taking a deep breath as he leans back against the tub. “We might need another shower now?”

You smack his shoulder playfully–it’s all you can reach, from your position on the floor.

“I think this is where I’m sleeping,” you sigh, your head at a strange angle.

“Come on, sweetheart, I’ll make you something to eat.” 

Miraculously, you suddenly find the strength to sit up right. He helps pull you to your feet, and you pause for a luscious moment, your body pressed to his.

“Tom?”

“Yeah, baby?” he asks with his lips on your forehead.

“This…is the nicest thing that’s happened to me…maybe my whole life?”

Maybe you'll regret it later, but there’s just something about nearly dying that day that makes you want to say it.

He really surprises you with his answer. “Me too.”

You’re surprised because he is literally the whole package: cooks, gives massages, fucks like a nineteen year old on double shots of testosterone. You? You feel like you pale in comparison to him, so of course the lack of nicety in your life isn’t really surprising. In his? Astounding.

He teaches you how to cook pollo con arroz with the sparse ingredients in your kitchen. Behind you, helping you cut an onion, he leans down to press his mouth against your ear. “I’m gonna have to take you grocery shopping.”

“Are you going to be cooking for me with those groceries?” You ask, only half joking. 

“I’ll cook for you every single day. Breakfast, lunch, dinner. You never have to touch an oven again if you don’t want to, baby.”

You know he’s probably exaggerating, but those words make your heart beat in Tom-sync. The organ no longer belongs to you, it belongs to the warm, tall, beautiful man behind you who’s making sure you don’t slice yourself with the veggie knife. And you’re not even sure how it really happened. 

“You don’t think I will?” He asks, resting his chin on your shoulder. 

“Do you have time for that?” You reply, trying to keep your tone light and fun. 

“I’ll make time. I made the mistake of working too much, when I was married. I promise, I’m not going to do that with you.” 

“They give you a choice at the department?” you tease, still desperately trying to keep things light, even as your heart is constricting in your chest at the mention of his late wife.

“There’s only so much time in Complaints I can handle,” he fires back.

“So…how is all that going?” you ask. “Because they definitely looked at you at the station like you’re a legend.”

He raises his dark brows at that, endearingly shy all of a sudden. “I think you’re misinterpreting their feelings. They fuckin hate me.”

Sounds like Tom Ludlow doubts himself? Strange. You’re so used to his self-assured, cocky, confident side. “Sounds like you hate them?”

You feel him shrug. “I like three of them.”

That makes you chuckle. “Oh man.”

“You like everybody you work with?” He challenges, nipping at your earlobe playfully. 

You squeak, almost slip with the knife until he catches and steadies your hand. “Easy,” he murmurs, boiling your blood again. Your vagina, who was once all bets off for Tom, is now begging for a break despite the constant kiln of arousal kept hot by his presence. Hell, by the thought of him. But, damn, it had been a while before this insatiable beast grabbed you in his clutches, and if you’re this sore and overworked you know that he probably is, too. 

“Mostly,” you reply, swallowing the gathering saliva in your mouth. “I mean, nurses are bitches, but we’re too busy to really be catty or dramatic.” 

“Nurses are bitches? Nurses are the backbone of healthcare.”

It makes you giggle, the fact that he’s defending your own kind against you. “Well, thank you. Despite what people say about cops, I think that there are some good ones—for example, you.” 

He hmphs. “No, cops are fucking terrible.” 

“If you didn’t exist, I’d probably agree.” 

He turns you around and presses you against the lip of the counter, a wolf’s smile and shining, blown black eyes making your pulse thrum faster. “My ego can only take so much, baby.” 

“Careful,” you warn, “I have onion hands.” 

He grabs your hand up, takes your fingers and sucks them into his mouth, tongue tickling and warm and wet. You shift, try to pull back because it feels strange at first, and then so, so good, the skill of his mouth resonating in your clit. A tiny moan slips out of you and he smiles around your index, raising both eyebrows as if to say yeah, you like that?

“Tom,” you try, “I feel like if we have sex again my vagina will pack its bags and leave town.” 

He lets your pinky go with a little wet plop. “You just let me deal with her. I’ll convince her to stay…” 

Yes, Tom, whatever you say, Tom. You’re a little disgusted with yourself, but oh, not with him, not with Prince Dastardly Charming. “I am hungry, though,” you tell him, blinking wide and innocent—a great tactic, as you’ve come to learn. 

The food is delicious, and you have just enough rioja left to serve it with. You sit across from each other at your little dining table, his legs tangled with yours because the man can’t resist touching you for more than five minutes—which you secretly love. You honestly forget that there’s something you need to ask him until you’re halfway through and halfway full. The food is that good. If he ever decides to change careers, chef wouldn’t be a bad place to start. 

“You said that you worked too much? When you… were with your wife?” Maybe it’s invasive, but you add in, “you don’t have to answer that.” 

“No, it’s okay,” he assures, washing a mouthful of rice down with red wine. “I want to be open with you about it, if you want to hear it?” 

“Of course,” you nod, genuinely intrigued. 

“The last few years of our marriage, I got promoted. That meant less time at home and more time at the job. I was gone a lot—a lot more than I was present, and I didn’t notice she was pulling away until it was already too late.”

You wince, and take his hand. “I’m sorry.” 

He looks to your hand as if it can ground him, somehow. Keep him straight and steady. “Looking back, it was my fault. She’d beg me to stay some nights. But I was an asshole, I thought the work I was doing was important. After she passed I found her diary, it had a page in it where she wrote…” He pauses to take another drink. 

You rub over his thumb, trying to soothe. 

“It was one sentence. Over and over again. Please come home, Tom.” 

You can’t help the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. Maybe that’s why he’s so persistent, so determined to make you his—to show you he’s worth something. Because he couldn’t do it for her. 

“Oh, honey…”

“So I was wrong. There will always be more crime to fight. More shit to shovel. It’s not a war we’ll ever win. But there was only one of her, and I…fucked up. I don’t even blame her for stepping out on me. I wanted to punish the shitbag who treated her that way, but I was the shitbag who left her alone in the first place.”

“Tom…” You squeeze his hand. “You made a mistake. But you couldn’t have known.”

“I should have known. I’m a nosy motherfucker, if you haven’t noticed.”

This makes you smile a little, despite the subject at hand. “It’s possible I picked that up about you.”

With his hair in his eyes he pays you a winsome smile that about breaks your heart. “C’mere,” he says, orders, tugging on your hand.

For once in a mood to obey, you let him pull you into his lap. It’s becoming your favorite seat. With his strong arms wrapped around you, you feel as though nothing bad can touch you. He snuggles into the bend of your neck, just holding you, and for the millionth time you think to yourself that you are just utterly doomed. “If I get caught up in a case and you need me, baby, promise me you’ll just tell me, alright? I’d drop everything for you.” 

Once again, the tears well in your eyes. Fuck if you don’t believe him too. “Ok.” It’s all you can get out, past the scratchy lump of emotion lodged in your throat like a sea urchin.

You watch some mindless television together, until you decide you are both exhausted. You brush your teeth and change into your favorite age-softened nightgown–only for Tom to pull it right back over your head with a smile that is somehow both roguish and tender. “No need for that,” he tells you, walking you backwards until your knees hit the bed.

“Tom…” you plead, unable to stop your sleepy giggle as he kisses the insides of your thighs. “I was serious…”

“Shhh,” he says, smirking up at you with his cheek resting on the warm pillow of your thigh. “Kitty and I have to have a little chat.” 

“Kitty says she’s tired,” you whine, your breath hitching as his lips travel higher. 

“But I’ll be so gentle.” His soft lips touch your flesh so close to your aching apex, and your vagina is ready to tell you to fuck off, so she and Ludlow can have their talk. You’re really not sure how this is your life right now. Your love life went from dry as the desert to this–this beautiful man, between your legs, and in your kitchen, and if you’re really up for some brutal self-reflection:in your heart.

He has a little bit of stubble on his face this time; you can really feel it as he nuzzles into the plump top of your pussy. You press him back, choking on saliva, thighs clamping around him in an attempt to protect the sensitive flesh. “Oh God,” you murmur, head thrown back against the pillows. 

“Sorry, baby.” He kisses the top of your slit where your clit peeks out, holds your hips from spasming, from probably giving him a minor concussion. “It’s hard.” A long lick up your labia, generous with saliva and feathery gentle. “To resist my gorgeous pussy.”

Here you are, legs hanging off the end of the bed, Tom Ludlow kneeling by your feet and licking your puffy cunt, calling you his again, and you’re not even arguing. No protest whatsoever. You might as well be handing your meaty little heart—and clit—over on a silver platter, garnished with spring onion and lemon.

You think, maybe, you can stand this method of cunnilingus a little better. But you’re wrong. The slow, torturous tease of his wet mouth inching its way into your folds, purposefully avoiding the yearning bulb at the very center of your pleasure makes you beg for that hungry devourer you once knew. You can tell he’s holding back by the low groans of agony vibrating your skin, the tensing of his arms so tight on your malleable thighs and hips, indents and bruises as testament to his resolve. 

While he exercises self control, he makes sure you do, too—securing you into the mattress with his grip, conjuring the most hellish ache in your cunt and then pinning it in place, keeping you right there, whining and soaked and finally begging him for more despite all the initial, useless resistance. 

He keeps you on the edge of his careful tongue for a little while—a lot longer than your patience can tolerate. Instead of trying to squirm away now, you’re pressing into him, offering yourself up for just a little bit longer of that wicked suck-lick-repeat that makes your vision gooey around the edges. “Please, Tom.” You want to beg pretty, but it comes out desperate and feral, the opposite of feminine and sweet, your teeth clenched so hard it makes your jaw ache. 

He surfaces from the deep pool of your arousal. “Look at me.” 

You do, and it’s a mistake. Because when you catch his black, heavy eyes, he’s giving you a long lick that feels like it’s breaking your toes instead of merely curling them, and the shiny, wet, hedonist’s smile is enough to take you right to the edge and leave you there. Screaming and thrashing. 

“Baby, baby,” he calls, soothing you by petting your twitching, sweaty skin—fuck, you are going to need another shower. “You wanna cum?”

“Uh-huh.” Your eager nod makes him chuckle. 

“Say you’re mine, greedy girl.” 

Dirty cheating bastard. The glare you give gets sucked right back out of you, through your pulsing clit, into his mouth. He presses two fingers just inside you, and you growl at him, proving that you are, indeed, more like that cute chihuahua than you want to admit.

“That’s adorable,” he muses, stretching you open a little more. “C’mon, tell me.” 

“That’s not fair,” you protest, trying to push down onto his hand, swallow him up. 

He over exaggerates a sigh, breath cooling over your fiery flesh. “That’s alright, I have all night.” 

Another strangled sound escapes you, your eyes dewy with pure frustration. Is it not enough, that he clearly holds you in the palm of his hand? Do you really have to say it out loud?

“I’m going to get you back for this,” you pant, straining for just a little more friction in just the right spot. 

This only seems to delight him, of course. “Oh, I hope so.” 

“Tom, Tom, Tom,” you call softly, trying a different tone, “please fuck me.” 

“I am fucking you,” he says, laving at your clit and getting it nice and warm and soaked again.

“No,” you hiss. “Want your—oh. Want your cock inside me, please. Want you to-ah-uh cum inside me.” 

You must drive a hard bargain, or he just can’t take it anymore. Judging by the sight of his big, beautiful cock, leaking and turgid, it’s the latter. You don’t have enough sense to be suspicious of why he’s letting you win so easily while he’s fucking your permanent indent into the mattress, sucking the nape of your neck between his teeth.  

He gently fists his hand into your hair, sends your hips pushing into him. “That hurt, baby?” He asks, grunting with the force of his thrusts. 

“Uh uh,” you say, biting into the skin of your arm while a thickened, wonderful release builds in your belly, soothes the stretching ache that goes hand in hand with his girth. “Feels good.” 

He tugs a little, winding your hair around his fingers, digging into your scalp and mimicking the rub of his cock on your gspot. That’s enough to send you spiraling, falling down the rabbit hole, spasming and gushing around him with no before indications. 

“That was unexpected,” he tells you, trying to laugh around a groan. “The hair, huh?” 

You try to tell him to shut up, but between the muffling comforter and the increased speed of his taut hips, it comes out jumbled and messy, a praising moan instead of a witty insult. Then, you realize, he’s not letting you win—you can’t win, not with him. Whether it be with your fragile heart or your overworked cunt, you’ll lose in the end. You just know it. 

He keeps a warm, grounding hand pressed to your scalp while he spills inside you, as deep as he can go, cursing and twitching. It makes you giggle, how he lays his full weight on you and then thinks better of it and rolls over to nuzzle by your side, instead. 

“This is good,” you tell him, sleepily kissing his bicep. 

He hums in agreement, setting the back of his hand on your shoulder blade, and then proceeding to adorably and immediately fall asleep. You happily join him after a wobbly trip to the bathroom.

[siriussimon]

sugar - agent whiskey

pairing: jack ‘agent whiskey’ daniels x fem reader

summary: basically porn with a teeny tiny bit of plot. guys this is my first time really writing some smut so lmk what you guys think!

word count: 3.5k

warnings: maybe a bit ooc?? idk. (18+) smut u filthy animals. unprotected p in v. (wrap it before you tap it!) language, dirty talk, rough sex, fingering, bondage and I think that's it?

Your life had been pretty mundane before you were lucky enough to get a stable job at a company called Statesman. Statesman was a company that sold the finest whiskey in the United States and just so happened to be an undercover spy organization. Life wasn’t so dull anymore. How you found yourself here was a long story but even if hard to admit– there was some pretty eye candy at your disposal. 

Your job wasn’t too tricky. You had plenty of things to do like paperwork, let's see... More paperwork– some combat training which was fun and then dealing with Mr. Agent Whiskey. You’d be lying if you said you hated it but nobody had to know how you truly felt about the matter. You liked to keep that your little secret. After all,  Jack didn’t need his ego flattered anymore than it already was. The constant smirking and cockiness that basically evaporated off of him was a lot to handle at first but you got used to it– even enjoyed it. You couldn’t help it after spending so many hours with the man, you eventually developed some affection for him. The constant flirting, the damned pet names, and that handsome face were enough to reel you in. You also admired how hard working he was, all those late nights spent together investigating for missions, you saw how he took pride in his work. 

Speaking of late nights at the office. 

Your fingers rubbed at your temple trying to soothe the dull ache that would soon become a migraine if you didn’t take a break from reading and sorting out so much paperwork. The sun had set a long time ago but you were still there. Trying to prepare for tomorrow's assignment. You weren’t alone, Jack had stayed behind as well. You could see his office clearly, the light still on, just across from where your desk was on the outside. During regular shift hours, when the building was full of life, you would exchange many words with him but on nights like these both of you were as quiet as a mouse. Sighing, you looked at your now empty coffee cup and contemplated asking Jack if he would like a cup on your way to make yourself one. You felt silly for being shy all of the sudden, you’ve known him for quite a while now but simple acts like this seemed far more intimate? 

“You got this,” you murmured quietly as you grabbed your cup and slowly walked towards his office. You could see his shadow sitting on his desk through the privacy-stained glass and your heart skipped a bit. Once you made it to his door you knocked softly before entering. 

“Come in.” you heard the muffle of that sweet southern drawl before opening his door and standing on the threshold with a small smile. God– he looked handsome. His cowboy hat was set aside on his desk, hair slightly disheveled but still as handsome as ever.

“Still here, darlin’?” he said with a cat-like grin, a small chuckle following after as he leaned back into his chair, arms crossed. You couldn’t help but notice the way his eye gave you once over before licking his lips. You nodded with a small laugh, fingers grasping your mug tightly, taking a step inside his office now. 

“Was wonderin’ if you’d like a cup as well? I don’t know about you but I needed a pick-me-up.” 

He hummed before getting up from his seat, walking around and towards you. He gently grasped your mug from your hands, you could feel his warmth just by the brush of his fingers and it sent a shiver down your spine. As he grabbed the mug he leaned back against his desk before setting it down. There was a small puzzled look on your face, lips slightly parted in loss of words before he filled the silent void for you. 

“How about we just take a breather, you and me? How’s that sound, sweetheart?” his voice sounded as gentle as ever, but you felt some tension in the air now. Maybe, it was because you didn’t know if you should sit down or not, you felt glued to your spot. 

“Sounds... Sounds fine,” you murmured almost breathlessly, maybe it was the fatigue taking over, your normal bubbly personality dying down and what was left was just bashfulness. You clasped your fingers together, a small smile on your face, your eyes diverting from his for a moment, seeing his whip and lasso still attached to his hip. You wondered why he still had those on, the day was over and this was definitely not a combat situation. You might have been staring too long because the husk of that southern accent awoke you from your thoughts.

“Like what you see, baby?” 

A small scoff left your lips, “Cocky as ever aren’t you–” your words were soon caught in your throat as you felt him grasp your wrist and pull you into him. Perfectly fitting between his legs, his free hand grasping your chin gently. You felt heat rise upon your cheeks from this newfound proximity, your feet trying to pull you back but failing due to Jack pulling you right back in. 

“What the hell!” 

“Is that any way to talk to your superior?” His voice was deep and strong. This wasn’t the sweet, playful voice you had been used to. This was different. You felt intimidated and shocked, and you felt that familiar warmth spread inside you. This was so out of the blue, you still couldn't fully register what had happened. Lips parting, words on the tip of your tongue but failing to come out. Of course, Jack was your superior, you were his right hand but the dynamic was always playful, and he was rarely ever stern with you. Your quietness wasn’t appreciated as his hand moved from the gentle grasp of your chin down to the side of your neck, forcefully pulling you closer to him. Your nose was almost touching his as he spoke. 

“Do I need to repeat myself, sugar?” 

“No– No.” you stammered out weakly, eyes staring into his own, trying to understand where this all came from. “No, what?” His voice was sharp, and mean, and it made you shiver. 

“No, sir.”

He hummed in approval, both of his hands moving to grasp both of your hands gently. The contrast between rough and gentle demeanor was driving you insane– you loved it. He stood up off his desk, hands still holding yours as he stared down at you. “Tell me to stop.” He whispered, eyes searching yours for any signs of discomfort, reluctance, disgust, anything. He was asking for permission and it made you feel safe. He felt safe. Of course, that was the bare minimum but it meant the world to you, especially coming from someone you had admiration for. A smile formed on your face before you spoke. 

“It’s okay Jack.” You whispered, body subconsciously leaning towards him more, feeling his warmth and wanting more. You could smell his scent, aroma filled with his cologne, smoke, and whiskey. It was addicting. He nodded, humming in satisfaction before he abruptly swung you around. Now you were in front of his desk and him behind you. 

“Hm, I don’t think it’s okay at all, darlin’. Every day I come to work, here you are all dolled up and I’m just dying to have a taste.” His hand pushed at your back, your hands flying forward bracing yourself against the desk. Sliding his hand further down, pressing against your spine making you press your body fully onto the desk. Your cheek flushed against the wood, hands flat on the surface. Your chest heaved, feeling your breath pick up, you could feel yourself already soaking wet for him. 

“And these dresses? Oh, babydoll.” He said with a ‘tsk��� hand grasping the ends of your dress and hiking it up. You were definitely glad you wore some cute underwear today. You heard a small groan behind you, trying to tilt your head to see him but failing because of his hand that had trailed down to keep you in place. A whimper slipped past your lips as you felt his hand cup your sex. His thumb pressed against the folds, feeling your arousal coat your underwear. Your thighs closed in on his hand from the blissful feeling. A rough ‘No’ was heard from behind you, his knee pressing between your legs and spreading them apart to gain more access. 

His body leaned over your own, his other hand pressed beside your head now bracing himself above you. His fingers moved your panties aside, fingers generously circling around that spot you needed the most attention from. He alternates between a slow pace, to fast, to slow, and it is beginning to drive you insane. Tears brimming your eyes, eyes lashes wet, you're pretty sure your mascara was running down your face. A complete mess under his touch. Then suddenly you felt a finger pressed inside you, filling up that empty ache. 

“Mm, please…” you gasped out almost pathetically, already drunk on his simple touches. 

“Don’t worry, darlin’. I’ll give you what you need. You’ve been so good after all.” 

Another finger was added. Then another. Three thick fingers filled you almost too perfectly. There was a slight tinge of pressure but you invited the pain. You couldn’t help but circle your hips around his fingers, adjusting to the feeling of being so full of him. It was just his fingers and it had you unfolding before him already. All you could hear was your heavy panting, small whimpers of pleasure, and his sultry voice in the quiet building. This was your place of work, where you now had a man plunging his fingers inside your pussy at a delicious pace. Now every time you’d walk in for work, you’d remember that feeling and the thought made you even wetter. 

You began to feel that pleasurable release build up inside of you, your eyes were beginning to flutter closed before you felt your hair being tugged, craning your face to look upon the man before you. 

“Eyes on me, sugar.” His voice rasped, his lips ghosting over your jaw before kissing it gently. Your eyes stayed open after that, trying your best to remain eye contact as he thrust his fingers at a rapid pace now. You mewled at the feeling, that delicious build-up was near and your walls clenched around his fingers tightly. All you could really focus on was the feeling, the wet noises of your arousal, and his deep voice littering you with praise. 

“Doing so good for me, sweetheart.”

“Look at you. Such a pretty little mess from just my fingers, huh?”

“Scream my name as loud as you need to, sugar.” And then you felt it hit you, your legs shook and your thighs desperately wanted to press together from the overwhelming feeling but were unable to because of  Jack’s knee keeping you spread open for him. His name tumbled from your lips, a small whimper following as your hips circled and rode out your high. 

He pulled away slowly, his fingers leaving your wet hole, as he stood up towering over your body. You slowly turned yourself around, knees wobbling, as you leaned up against his desk. Your eyes couldn't help but wander down and see the large bulge straining against his tight denim jeans. You watched as one of his hands, you guessed the one that was just in you– fingers glistening with reminisce of your release, grasped his belt buckle and began to undo it swiftly. 

“Hm, I think you're ready for real fun now, darlin’.” He said, a devilish grin gracing his face as he walked back to his desk chair. You noticed he was still holding his belt, his whip still attached to it. You followed suit as you heard him tell you– “Come here.” in a gentle tone. Your legs felt so weak, still shaken from your last orgasm but your arousal was still there. You wanted more– needed more. 

He looked undeniably sexy sitting before you. Thick thighs spread wide for you allowing you to stand between them. “Take it off, sweetheart.” He said, eyeing your dress as he went for his tie loosening it. Your hands pulled your dress off, leaving you in your undergarments. Your chest heaved up and down from your soft breaths, fingers grasping the back of your bra as you unclasped it boldly. It was silly how heat filled your cheeks as your chest was now bare before his eyes after what just happened minutes before. Now fully naked before him after pulling your last garment off you stepped closer to Jack. His arm wrapped around your waist pulling you to straddle his lap, the roughness of his jeans scraping against your warm skin. 

Your eyes stared back at his brown ones, a small smile grazing your lips as your delicate fingers grasped his face. Noses brushed against each other as a small giggle left your lips making a smile etched on his face. Finally, your lips met his soft ones in a gentle kiss. His mustache tickles your upper lip but you didn't mind one bit. Foreheads pressed together as the kiss broke, breathing each other in as you caressed his jaw sweetly. 

“To answer your question from earlier– I do like what I see,” you murmured upon his lips, pressing them against his once more for another quick kiss. He chuckled, one that was deep and rumbled in his chest. Biting your lip to contain yet another smile from that sweet sound. 

“Such a good girl, huh?” his hand pressing into the small of your back, pushing you closer to his body if it was even possible. Your eyes fell curious on his other hand that still grasped his belt. Holding it in front of you, his other hand now grasping your wrists together, you had an idea where this was going and weren't mad about it one bit. Your heartbeat quickened as he began to wrap the belt around your wrists tightly. “So good.” His murmured praise made your cheeks flush and your cunt drip arousal down your legs. Once the belt was secure, your eyes fell down as you watched him pull his cock free from his jeans. 

Fuck. He was huge. How was he even hiding that thing in his pants? It was long and the girth was thick. His hand stroked his length a couple times, thumb grazing his tip that leaked pre-cum. He saw that surprised look on your face, making him grin and a small chuckle leaves his lips. You noticed he held his whip still, now setting it on his desk. “Maybe, we'll use that next time.” You heard him murmur which perked up your ears. Thinking about the next time made your heart flutter. 

“You gonna take it like the good girl you are, hm?” So enthralled by him, your parted lips failed to answer him as you watched him begin to push his tip inside you. Suddenly you felt a sting along your ass from him slapping it, the skin beginning to turn red from the impact. A loud gasp left your lips from the action, your bound hands resting along one of his shoulders trying to find purchase. 

“Answer when I talk to you, darlin’. Understood?” He said, his voice rough as he plunged the rest of himself inside you. 

“Fuck! Yes.. I’ll be good!” You whimpered out from the sudden fullness. It was like the wind got knocked out of you. Your walls clenched around his cock tightly, trying to get used to this new feeling. His hands rested on your hips, rocking them back and forth slowly, allowing you to adjust to his size. Once the small sting began to vanish and was now filled with mostly undying pleasure, your pace began to pick up. 

Your bound wrists went over his hand, fingers grasping the nape of his neck as you rutted your hips into him. His lips attacked the side of your neck as you swayed your hips against him, moaning and panting his name like a song. 

“Fuck, you feel so good, baby,” he grunted, his hot breath fanning over your skin sending a shiver down your spine. His fingers still grasped your hips tightly, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips helping you keep your steady pace. “Doing so well, taking all of me. Knew you could do it. That sweet cunt was made for me, wasn’t it?” And it truly felt like it did, it fit so well inside you, snug, and hit all the right places. 

That familiar sound of your wetness and skin connecting on skin filled the room along with heavy breathing and Jack’s foul mouth. 

“Yes! Mm.. just for you.” You moaned, hips stuttering as you felt that heat pool into your core, that delicious build-up close once more. Your chin was able to rest on top of his head from this angle and you rutted into him. His face was pressed into your breasts, lips latching onto one of your lips, sucking and kissing the soft flesh. His hands gripped your hips roughly, stalling your movements before he lifted his own and started thrusting into your hole at a killing pace. A scream left your lips, a shriek from the sudden brutal pace as you held onto him. Your walls began to clench around him, your orgasm almost reaching its peak. 

“You gonna come for me, baby?”

“God, yes... Please.”

“I’m close, baby. Come with me, sweetheart–” he grunted as he continued his brutal pace. You whined his name, like a plea, as you pressed yourself back down on him, circling your hips and bouncing on his cock. Your walls clenched down on him like a vice grip as you came, mewling in bliss as your head fell against his shoulder. Your thighs shook as your body slumped into his. His hips began to stutter and with a few more hard thrusts his seed filled your swollen hole. His hands guided your hips in a lazy circle against his cock, riding out his high, the actions made you cry out from the sensitivity. 

“I know, sugar. Sh, I got ya.” He whispered against the shell of your ear. The two of you stayed like this for a few minutes. His cock is still buried inside you as he unravels your wrists. The skin was red and swollen but you didn’t care. You liked that he marked you in some way. He placed gentle kisses along your face as he moved your hair away from your face. 

“Did so well for me. Like you always do,” he whispered against your lips before connecting them with your own in a lazy but sweet kiss. And that phrase had so much meaning to it. You have always been by his side since you got hired here. Every mission, every wound was tended to, the hardships and all that shitty paperwork. You were there. And after tonight, the two of you changed. A fire was ignited and those shied feelings now were in the open. 

                                    ────────────

Of course, this would happen to you. After last night you went home, of course fully satisfied, and slept like a fucking baby halfway through your important briefing for the next mission that you were supposed to be preparing for the night before. You were in a frantic mess all morning, hurrying to get ready and grab all your shit before bolting out the door and driving to work. Your mind was still in a haze from the night before and your cheeks flushed as you stepped into the building and headed toward the elevator. The top floor is where the magic happens. Literally. 

You took a deep breath before exhaling, trying to ease your anxiety from being late and elevate the embarrassment you felt for being late. It wasn’t like you. But of course, one single touch from that goddamn agent that you are spiraling. You decided that you’d put the blame on the handsome man. After all, he did fuck you till you were seeing stars. 

As you walked in, a fellow coworker eyed you with a knowing look. ‘You’re in for it’ her face said as he nodded towards the briefing room where now only Jack Daniels himself sat. You sighed, walking in and shutting the door behind you. Setting your folder down on the table you clasped your hands in front of you, finding it hard to look at him at this point. Before you could get a word out, that familiar southern drawl filled the air.

“Tsk, and I thought you were a good girl? Looks like that reward got to your head, sugar.” He chuckled with a shake of his head, grinning at the way your cheeks turned red. A little embarrassed that your coworkers were right outside as he said those words. 

“Jack— I'm sorry really—“ you began to say before he shook his head once more with a whistle. His figure stood up from his seat as he began to stalk over you like prey. 

“Y’know actions speak louder than words, beautiful. I’m gonna need you to show me just how sorry you are, baby.” He finished as he stood in front of you now, toe to toe, a finger grasping your chin. At that moment you truly realized just how different things would be. 

[sneak-pieck]

Part 2: Sometimes Life Throws Weird Things Your Way

Pairing : Levi Ackerman x Hange Zoe

Word count : 1136

Part 2 Of "Sometimes Life Turns Out Alright"

The child grew unbelievably fast, and with her, her parent’s love for her and each other. Picture frames filled with memories deeply etched into each of their souls would slowly but surely begin taking over the walls of the home they’d once seen empty, now full. All thanks to their love, all thanks to them and their sweet Olympia. All because of this blessing of a child. Not that they weren’t happy before! Yet…this was a new kind of love and happiness they experienced. Couldn’t be compared.

At about the three year mark, Hange’s sleep would begin to grow deeply troubled. Slowly, at first. So much so that they hadn’t even realized until it had been a bit too late.

The weirdest buzz would randomly fill their head, making them unable to pay attention to the radio that played the same song for the fifth time that morning only. Yet that they’d blame on the tiredness they felt they dealt with. It most often happened in the mornings after all. And then it would be the trembling. Holding their cup of freshly pressed coffee that Levi had prepared for them became an impossible action sometimes. But then again, this too was simply blamed on the same old issue. However they couldn’t shake the worry they felt when one morning they’d managed to pour some of the said coffee on themselves, feeling the burning sensation spreading down their torso and right leg. Worry, yes, for the feeling felt oddly known. Now, Hange was aware they were a clumsy person, yet they’d never managed to burn themselves, not once.

‘’Hange? Hange, oh my god-’’ Levi’s worried voice would pull them out of the shock they had gotten lost in, and Hange would deliver a gentle laugh as they finally stood up from the breakfast table.

‘’S-Sorry, i must have zoned out. I’m alright, my dear. Worry not.’’

The dark haired man had always been quick to worry, and they knew that more than well, so in order to perhaps try to avoid that, an attempt to distract him by the use of jokes was made, like..they’d very often done throughout their life.

‘’The only worry we should probably have is if the coffee is going to stain my shirt. I swear to god, it’s my favorite one!’’

‘’We can soak it in detergent so it will prevent that-’’ he’d muttered as he leant against the kitchen counter, trying to allow himself to relax, trying to allow Hange’s jokes to do as they sometimes did…calm him.

‘’Oh Oh! We can use the thing- the thing in the pink bottle!’’ They’d cheer happily, already on their way away from the kitchen so they could peacefully change their shirt and… assess any damage. That coffee was damn hot.

‘’Vanish?! Good Lord…��’ Levi couldn’t choke back the small chuckle that came as his beloved waddled off, his eyes filled with concern that drowned in a warm sea of love.

And as time went on, the love in the Ackerman man’s eyes would slowly be devoured by the concern and worry his heart hung heavy with as he watched his spouse go through something…fairly unknown to them both.

From small shivers, to trembling so bad they couldn’t hold on to their cup or plate and from small humming present in their head throughout the morning to loud beeping that prevented them from being a functional being for a while,usually leaving the poor person migraine ridden for hours if not days.Yet the couple for sure agrees that one of the most terrifying…symptoms of whatever Hange was dealing with must have been what happened the morning of Olympia’s fourth birthday.

The alarm the person had set for themselves that morning didn’t have the chance to ring, for Hange had woken up nearly two hours before. Four thirty six in the morning, the clock by their side read in big,red letters, as if screaming the time to them. As if trying to pierce itself deep into their irises, for whatever ungodly reason. Hange would take a deep breath as the confusing world around them settled a bit- and with that deep breath also came the overwhelming need to scream. But…why? The reason did not truly matter, for it seemed even if they wished to give in to their instinct, it wasn’t to happen. Their mouth now suddenly agape with drool beginning to pool at the corners of their lips,slowly starting to drip down their face. All Hange could do was breathe heavily, hands gripping into their bedsheets as fear settled deep within their very core, and as drool dripped down from their chin, tears too would soon begin to fill their terrified brown eyes,rolling down their pale cheeks. The person’s body would soon begin to tremble, and that seemed to finally alert and awaken Levi, whom Hange had to convince to at least try and get a full night’s sleep- the day ahead would be very full and tiring, yet oh so worth it for the sweet smile on their daughter’s face.

‘’Hange?Hey- Hey Hange! What’s the matter?! Dear-??’’ The man’s sweet voice didn’t even have the time to sound groggy or tired, but instead drowning in worry and concern as his hands gripped at his spouse's shoulders, hoping a slightly stronger squeeze might help them snap out of it. People often had weird dreams that caused them to react in such…odd manners. Levi was aware of that,yet Hange seemed very much awake and aware,simply frozen by some overwhelming feeling.

And in a way,Levi was right in his judgement. His grip on them allowed Hange to realize this was real,this was indeed happening to them and they had to snap out of it. By God did they try…only managing when their frantic husband began to shake them by their shoulders.

A sudden gasp,followed by a loud cough as the person immediately reached to cover their left eye signalled to Levi that they’d finally been dragged out of their panic- or so he thought. However the moment Hange managed to catch their breath, they’d begin letting out desperate whimpers and sobs, clearly choking back pained screams.

‘’Muh- My eye…Levi,my eye-’’ The agitated person managed to spit out finally,tilting their head in order to be able to glance at their husband. And the poor distressed man would see terror and pain in his beloved’s eye- unspeakable pain and perhaps desperation. He’d been about to ask them about it as his hand trailed up their now sweaty back, rubbing it in an attempt to soothe them. But the moment Levi opened his mouth to speak, it seemed Hange’s body had finally given in to this imaginary pain, causing them to simply collapse forward, passed out.

[tillystealeaves]

Steddie Fic- Part 1: Breakup

I don't know what to title this thing, but it's a 3 part story and this is Part 1. Hope you enjoy!!!!

Or read it on AO3.

Steve stood in the living room, not knowing what to do with himself. Eddie would be here soon. Eddie was working that day, at the music store in the town next to Hawkins (where people didn’t care so much about the Hawkins rumor mill), and his shift ended at 4, which meant Eddie would be getting to Steve’s house by around 4:30 because Steve had invited him over, and it was 4:15 now, so Eddie should be here any minute, and if it was a normal night Steve would probably be pulling something out of the oven but tonight-

Steve stopped himself. He took a breath. He couldn’t allow his mind to go on tangents like that or he was going to word-vomit all over Eddie.

Eddie, who would be arriving any minute.

Steve had thought for a long time about whether he wanted to have this conversation in his house. If he wanted the memories of this to be burned into his mind every time that he walked through his living room. But his house was already full of so many ghosts. Barb sat perpetually at the edge of his pool, his mother cried over a glass of wine at the kitchen counter, and his father was… everywhere. Always telling Steve how everything he did was somehow a stain on the Harrington name.

Besides, the alternative was to do this at Eddie’s house and that… he couldn’t do that. Eddie had been living for less than a year in the new double-wide trailer supplied by the government. His old home, even if it hadn’t been ripped to shreds, would have been forever filled with the ghost of Chrissy. Steve couldn’t make bad memories for Eddie in his new one. (Though he was fairly sure that Eddie wouldn’t be particularly haunted by this conversation anyway.)

And then there was the fact that over the past eight months since the Spring Break from Hell, Eddie’s new trailer had come to mean something to Steve. It felt like… home. Like the way a home should feel, in the way his own never had. It felt lived in, even though it was new. With Wayne’s mug collection and replacement posters tacked up on Eddie’s wall. With music playing or the TV on mute in the living room, coffee brewing in the kitchen because between Eddie’s and Wayne’s work schedule, it was always breakfast time for someone. Steve had felt welcomed there. Safe. Like he belonged. He refused to poison those memories for himself with what was about to happen.

“Stevie?”

Eddie’s voice pulled Steve from his thoughts. He wondered if Eddie had just let himself in or if he’d been knocking for minutes with no answer. Well, Steve figured he could always blame his damaged hearing if Eddie complained about waiting too long.

“Hey Eds.”

Eddie was smiling, warm and easy. Steve tried to freeze the moment in his mind. Sometimes memories were getting lost inside his head- the doctors said it would continue to happen, a side effect of too many head injuries. But Steve swore to himself that he would never let his brain lose this image of Eddie so happy just from arriving at Steve’s house.

Almost as soon as Steve had made a note to remember Eddie’s smile, it vanished. Suddenly, Eddie looked concerned. He approached Steve and put his hands on his shoulders. His long fingered hands, warm, with calluses that that had ghosted over Steve’s arms, his back, his hair- Steve bit the inside of his cheek and pulled himself back into the moment. “What’s up, Steve? You look… less like a ray of sunshine than usual. Something wrong? Is it a migraine?”

Steve stepped back, outside of Eddie’s grip. “No, my head’s fine. I just… can we talk for a minute?”

Eddie sank down on the couch and immediately began fiddling with his rings, his head angled so that his hair was falling in front of his face. “Yeah, of course we can. Um… did I do something wrong?”

His voice sounded so small. Gods, Steve didn’t know if he would be able to do this if Eddie was going to be sad. The whole point was to make Eddie happy- not tonight, of course. Steve knew tonight would sting. But it wouldn’t hurt Eddie. And in the long run, Eddie would be happy. He would be-

“Stevie? You’re sort of scaring me, baby. Did something bad happen? Like, Upside Down bad?”

“No,” Steve answered quickly. He rushed to the couch and sat down, putting his hand reassuringly on Eddie’s knee. (He ignored the voice in his head whispering that this might be the last moment that they touched.) “No, it’s nothing like that. I just-” He had to just do it. He had to put words to what he wanted least in the world, but what he knew was the right thing. “I think we need to stop this thing between us.”

Steve dared to glance up at Eddie, but found that he couldn’t see anything of his expression. His right hand pulled his hair across his face and into his mouth while his left hand fiddled frantically with the rips on his jeans. “Okay.” Eddie’s voice was thick. Was he going to cry? Steve didn’t think this would make him cry. “If that’s what you want, of course, ba- Steve. But is there anything I can do to fix it? I mean, could you maybe tell me what’s not working for you and I can do it better?”

“You didn’t do anything, Eds,” Steve assured him. Eddie had to know that this was absolutely not his fault. It was Steve’s fault, 100%. “It’s just… when two people want different things out of a relationship, someone’s going to end up unhappy. And I don’t want to ever make you unhappy.”

“I’m not unhappy!” Eddie protested. He looked up and even through his hair, Steve could see his eyes were red and wet. Steve looked down at the floor. “Are you unhappy? What am I doing to make you unhappy?”

Steve swallowed past the burning lump in his throat. He really hadn’t expected Eddie to put up a fight. He had expected him to agree, maybe give him a parting hug or maybe say that he was relieved that Steve hadn’t made Eddie have to do this himself. He had hoped that Eddie would say they could still be friends, or at minimum be cool with each other for the sake of the kids. But if this is what Eddie needed from him, he could spell it out.

“You’re not doing anything to make me unhappy. Look, I talked to Robin about this a lot, trying to figure out the best way to handle it. She said I couldn’t keep avoiding it by just wishing that we could stay this way forever. Sometimes, one person in a relationship just expects more out of it than what it is. And if they don’t talk about it, that person is going to get their heart broken. And the other person is going to get sick of them. I don’t want that for us. I don’t want resentment or hurt feelings or- I just think we should stop this where it is. It’s been so great, Eddie.” Steve heard his voice break at that; he hoped Eddie hadn’t noticed. “It’s been really good, but I think we should stop it here before it turns into something bad.”

With his eyes still pointed resolutely at the carpet, Steve could only feel Eddie nod. He heard Eddie take a deep, shaky breath and then felt the couch lift as Eddie stood. “Okay, yeah. Message received. I’ll get out of your hair. Um… bye, Steve.”

Steve didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer. Even with his terrible hearing, every step Eddie took towards the door reverberated through his head and his chest and his heart. He stayed motionless, barely breathing, as the front door squeaked open and clicked shut. It was only when the sound of Eddie’s rickety van faded that he fell forward onto the couch- still warm from Eddie’s body- and allowed himself to sob.

Read the next part: Interlude 1

[artiststarme]

What If Steve Were To Leave Hawkins? Part 5

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Feeling a little evil for this one. I'm sorry guys (but also not really). Warning for migraines and a minor panic attack. Enjoy the angst!

I think I tagged everybody that wanted to be tagged. If you would like to be added to the taglist, let me know!

~*~*~*~

Steve missed home and he missed working with Robin. It was a busy Monday morning at the coffee shop and he had served many an unhappy patron. If he were working a shift at Family Video, Robin would have noticed his shaky fingers and squinted eyes as signs of an oncoming migraine. She would have ushered him into the back room for a nap or sent him home early while he could still drive to rest. But he was in Chicago and Robin wasn’t here. She didn’t even know where he was. So, he tried to ignore the pounding in his skull and the gradual feeling of losing control over his own body as the migraine crept in and threatened to hit him full force. 

Betty, his boss and the owner of the shop, noticed him struggling with even the most simple of orders and questioned him in her firm but gentle cadence. Steve admitted to getting migraines due to some head trauma over the years and told her that he was fine to do his job. He saw her discreetly glance to the scar circling his throat and then to the growing line of customers over his shoulder. He doesn’t know what kind of conclusion the kind, old woman came to but with a determined nod, she gracefully shoved him away from the brutish horde and into the back bakery. For the remainder of his shift, he pulled the decadent pastries from the oven and watched muffins settle on cooling racks. Even with the dings of the oven sending troves of pain through his head, Steve felt safe and peaceful in the kitchen surrounded by warmth and the smells of baked goods.

Meanwhile, Betty and the other barista that Steve didn’t remember the name of dealt with the horde of customers ordering coffees and pastries. Betty didn’t mind helping Steve on one of his very clearly rough days. When she had seen him sitting at the counter near the window perusing Help Wanted ads with a scar blemishing his throat and a fearful look in his eye, she knew she had wanted to help him. She herself had once been a terrified youngster all alone in a big city. When he told her about looking for a new job and place to live after leaving his parents’ house, she had read between the lines. She had somewhat-incorrectly assumed that his parents were abusive and had kicked him out for being gay. Who someone loved never mattered to her and she hired him on the spot. Who wouldn’t hire the kind-eyed and soft spoken boy wearing a polo unironically in a coffee shop downtown?

Once the rush had settled, she took her break and helped maneuver Steve into the unit she rented him upstairs. She settled the boy in his second-hand bed and placed a cup of water and a Tylenol next to him on the nightstand she had gifted him. Betty glimpsed at him in sadness before going back to the shop. She would check on him tomorrow morning.  

~*~*~*~

Unfortunately, it wasn’t unusual for nightmares to accompany his migraines. 

Steve was torn from sleepiness with a nightmare so brutal, Eddie’s bloody form was still stained on his brain even with his eyes open. Steve panted and choked off a shout as his arms flailed and his feet tripped in the blankets. He didn’t even recognize that he was stumbling to the phone in the small kitchen until he was brought back to awareness with a groggy, “Hello?” coming from the phone. 

“Hello?” The voice asked again. “If this is a prank call at 3:32 in the fucking morning, I’m gonna…”

“Eddie?” Steve whispered.

“Steve? Steve! Are you okay?” Eddie shrieked loudly and full of concern. 

It registered to Steve that it was too early in the morning to call someone, much less someone who didn’t like him. Shit, he shouldn’t have called. As if any of the Party needed more ammunition to use against him. But he always felt a little more vulnerable and alone while in the denouement of a migraine so he supposed it could be forgiven this once.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have called. Eddie, I’m sorry. I’m gonna go…” Steve said and made a move to place the phone back in its cradle. 

“NO! No, no, no Stevie, talk to me. What’s wrong?” Eddie practically screamed into the receiver, his voice pitchy and shrill.

Steve sighed. If Eddie was keeping him on the phone to talk, surely he wouldn’t mind a few moments? “I had a nightmare and wanted to make sure you were still… okay. I’m sorry for bothering you. I didn’t realize what time it was.”

Eddie breathed in a sigh of relief and, unknowingly to Steve, placed a hand against his chest to calm the concerned fluttering of his heart. “That’s good, that’s alright. You find a place, then?”

Steve nodded his head before realizing that Eddie wouldn’t be able to see it. “Yeah, my new boss is letting me rent out the apartment above the coffee shop. It’s a nice place, I like it.”

“Good. Um, we went to your place to talk to your mom today. Her and your dad went on another business trip. They didn’t seem too concerned with finding where you went, the assholes. So we-”

Yeah, Steve did not want to talk about his hasty exit from Hawkins or his current whereabouts, especially to the guy that initially instigated everything. He angrily huffed into the phone, “I don’t want to talk about that. If you’re just going to keep-“

Eddie backpedaled, “hey, hey, hey, Harrington. We don’t have to talk about that. Do you want to hear about the campaign I’m planning for the kids?”

Steve let out a breath of relief, he could do that. “Yeah man, tell me about your nerd game.”

They spent the next hour near their phones. Both of them sat on their kitchen floors, phone in the crook of their shoulder. One nodding off and the other spouting unintelligible nonsense about an upcoming DnD campaign. 

Once Eddie was out of details to add, he stuttered. “H-Harrington? Can you call me later today, please? I won’t ask where you are anymore. We can just talk. Please?”

Steve woke slightly from his dozing state at the pleading tone. Maybe it would be good to talk to someone, even one that disliked him at best. He was getting so lonely and Eddie was offering. Well, Steve wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. “Sure man, I’ll call you later.”

Eddie let out a huff of relieved laughter, “Cool, I’ll talk to you soon then Harrington.”

Steve nodded, “goodnight.”

“Goodnight Stevie.”

If Wayne walked into the kitchen after his shift to find Eddie sleeping on the floor with the phone cord still wrapped around his finger, no one else had to know.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20: Epilogue

Taglist:@nickavalens@conversesweetheart@themostunoriginalpersonever@swimmingbirdrunningrock@eddiethegreatteddybear @call-me-big-eyes @cornwallisandkerley @moonshadows-13 @glittergluekintsugi @cpidcupk @doubleb11 @mentalcyborg @amoris-no-smut-allowed @purple-lemonade @labels-are-for-the-weak @thebrazilianatheist @rajumat @livelaughlexa @5ammi90 @colorful565 @marvelousforlife @chaoticcoffeequeen @gregre369 @suddenlyinlove@thegreatmistake @stillfullofshit @nburkhardt @batxsignalsx @newunknowns @thosemessyvibes @tailsfromthecrypt@luciana-rowan @bird-with-pencils @adaed5 @lolawon @flustratedcas @iwillfindmyneverland @messrs-weasley @skoomy-doompy @yearningagain @darkwitchoferie @forest-fogg @bitchysunflower @stardust-era@newtstabber@bobatrash-queen @notjasontxdd @ohlook-afrog @00biscuit @grtwdsmwhr @oxidantdreamboat

[098-lxxon]

Songs I'd give 60 parsecs' ____

Characters! :

April - Who am I

Baby - Legendary

Deedee - Remember my name

Emmet - World's smallest violin

Maegan - Surface pressure

Tom - Not evil

Ships! / Duos! (Yes, I'm renaming them all) :

Bite of 61 ( April & Baby ) - I really like you

Coffee machine ( April & Deedee ) - Dandelions

Asian parents' dream ( April & Emmet ) - Born to die

Washing machine ( April & Maegan ) - Nobody's soldier

Young dumb and broke ( April & Tom ) - Psycho

Teddy on ice ( Baby & Deedee ) - Are you bored yet?

Currently on steroids ( Baby & Emmet ) - Free fall

Gentle parenting ( Baby & Maegan ) - Rises the moon

Bad influence ( Baby & Tom ) - Superstar

What did you put in my coffee??? ( Deedee & Emmet ) - Thank you

Spilled, Stained, Scolded ( Deedee & Maegan ) - Die first

Honorable Mention ( Deedee & Tom ) - Tom's diner

Laundry detergent ( Emmet & Maegan ) - Mama's boy

Migraine ( Emmet & Tom ) - Smoke

Humbled at last ( Tom & Maegan ) - True love

That's all! <3

[maxverstappensflatbrim]

Show Me Yours | Matty Healy [30]

chapter thirty, act four: somebody else

masterlist

little Author's note /TW before this act begins. There's going to be alot of talk of drug use and addiction within the chapters coming, if you're not comfortable with these kinds of things please don't read.

August 22nd 2016

“Tom?”

Tommie looks up slowly at Jamie as he stands across the tour bus from her. She knows that tone, he’s breaking bad news to her.

“Jamie..?” She responds in the same tone.

“Um, a letter came to the Dirty Hit office in London for you.” He fiddles with the piece of paper in his hands, the rustling noise soothing her.

“We’re in Japan.” She points out with a raised brow at the long delay of him telling her. They haven’t been to London in months, travelling straight from the US to Asia and completing shows and festivals out here.

He nods, “I know. It came on your birthday, I brought it with me to America but, I just-. I just… didn’t know when the best time would be to give it to you.”

She nods and gets up from the settee to take it from him slowly, “Not getting, like, sued or deported or anything?”

“Deported? From where?”

She shrugs, “I don’t know.”

He shakes his head, “Not getting sued nor deported,” Then he adds as an afterthought as he realises he has no idea what’s actual beyond the licked seal of the letter, “I hope.”

“We’ve stopped for the day off, the guys are down the front waiting.”

Her breath hitches as she turns it over, she recognises the messy writing and spelling mistakes right away. A few letters are smudged from the use of the writer’s left hand and there’s a drop of something stained on one corner, she hopes it's coffee, but it's probably alcohol.

It’s a letter from her father.

She stares at it a few more moments, until she can hear her name being called down the other end of the bus, then she grabs her jacket and shoves the letter into the pocket, deep down to take it out later.

“Come on, Matty’s getting impatient.” Adam tells her, arm around her shoulder as he tugs her along the long corridor through the living space and kitchen area.

“Uh, where we going?”

“He wants to take that speed train he saw a youtube video about, then go to some arcade because he saw a video on how to hack the claw machines.”

She nods, but then stops herself from walking down the steps, pulling back with one hand gripping the railing and the other the letter inside her pocket, “Uh, I’m gonna stay back, I’ll meet you guys later, send me your address…”

“You sure? You alright?” He asks, brows furrowed in that motherly concern he has only for her.

She nods, “Just, didn't sleep well last night, and I can feel a migraine coming on.”

“Do you want me to st-”

“I think alone time will be best,” She says, “Peace and quiet to get rid of it.”

He nods in agreement, “Okay, I’ll grab you those little chocolate snacks you liked in the seven eleven.”

“Thank you, Ads.”

She heads back into the bus, closing the curtain of her bunk and flicking her little Yoda night light on to read the letter.

She clutches the letter, doesn't realise she’s crying- no, sobbing- until the curtains rip open with such a force that the wind blows her hair over her shoulders and she’s looking up to the furrowed brows of Matty looking down at her.

“Baby?”

“M-Matt-”

He’s sitting beside her pulling her into his arms right away, lips to her hairline as he whispers, “What’s wrong, Baby?”

He closes the curtain around them, shutting out the bright lights thinking it’s a panic attack or a sensory overload, “Is it too bright? Too noisy?” He lowers his voice and she shakes her head moving the letter to his hand.

He’s silent as he reads it, eyes scanning the page, squinting to make out the words that have been smudged by her tears.

“That bas-”

He drops the letter to the end of her bunk far away and forgotten until she’s prepared to deal with it, moving his hand to trace softly up and down her back as she clings to him.

“It’s alright, come on, let's lie down.”

She nods into his shoulder, making no effort as he tries to move them so they're lying on their sides facing each other.

Matty lies with his back to the curtain, right on the end almost falling out and she tugs him closer with his opened button up.

“What happened to the train?”

He shrugs, “Didn’t feel like it.” That’s a lie, it’s all he’s talked about for the past two weeks, he’s been researching the speed, watching youtube videos on it. He’s obsessed with this train. 

“Matt?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

He nods, hands still moving up and down her back, he smiles as he feels something start nudging at his leg, “Got an intruder.”

Button, who is now a lot larger than when she used to cuddle between them as a puppy, forces her way between them in the tiny bunk.

“Hey, Buttie.”

She spins around a few times, kicking at Matty to move over as she licks Tommie’s tear stained cheeks.

Matty grins as Tommie gives a wet giggle at the dog, quickly promising with a whisper into her head that she’s okay. Button rests her head in the crook of Tommie’s neck, curled up into the curve of her body and huffs as she gives Matty one last taunting kick. The dog’s not stupid. 

Matty reaches over the dog to take her hand, resting it on the dog's back and interlocking their fingers together. His other hand scratches Button’s head which is just what she wanted, the dog's lips lift and she twists herself so Matty will scratch a certain point of her back for her.

“Go to sleep, baby,” He says quietly, leaving Button for just a few seconds, which the dog is not pleased by, lifting her head to stare blankly at him, Matty ignores button to move some hair out of Tommie’s eyes, then drags his finger down her cheek before returning it to Button’s head.  

“I’ll be here when you wake up.”

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ

August 29th 2016

The man across from her shifts awkwardly, he clears his throat and sips the coffee. It’s too strong, makes her nose hurt and stomach churn.

She sits, sipping from a dr pepper can and watches him, waits for him to make the first move.

“Carol-”

“I go by Tommie.” She says, “I always have, even when I was a kid-”

“I know.” He says quietly, “But you’ll always be little Caroline, the little five pound baby who was so small she fit in her grandfather’s palm.”

“How would you know?” She asks, “When mam gave birth you were getting pissed, like usual…”

He sighs, “Caroli-”

“John.”

He swallows, looks down at the stained table in the little London coffee shop they’d agreed to meet at, not far from the flat she and the guys are currently staying at.

“I know I’ve made a lot of mistakes. Some are unforgivable-”

“Unforgivable?” She scoffs and shakes her head, “Some should’ve landed you in jail a long time ago, John.”

He bows his head, then shakily reaches into his pocket taking out a folded up piece of paper.

There’s a young girl in the photo, wearing cowboy boots and a hard hat, her little red hair hidden by the yellow plastic. She must be around six years old. There’s a scooby-doo scooter that she’s riding one handed, her other hand as a pink ukulele in it.

“This is what kept me going in rehab. Looking at this picture and knowing I ruined her childhood. The thing that kept me going was the knowledge that you were out there doing good, Ca- Tommie.”

Then he pulls his phone out, showing her photos of a toddler, the same pink ukulele sits on the floor in the background, paint chipped with stickers she had put on there herself peeling off. “This is Juliet. Your sister.”

“Does JJ know?”

“JJ lives with us.” He says quietly, “We have a three bedroom house, he’s got his own room, his own stuff. It was his birthday last wee-”

“I know.” She cuts him off, jaw clenched at his audacity, “I never missed one.”

“You’ve missed four.”

“I was ten years old and using my pocket money from nan to buy him birthday presents, John, I think that makes up for it, for escaping when I had the chance.”

He slowly puts the phone away, “I understand, Tommie, that you’re mad at me, at what I did, what I was like- But don’t take it out on everyone else. On JJ, Juliet the rest of the family. You have to understand my point of view. I’d lost my mother, then my father, I was a teenager, I was seventeen when you were born, seventeen, no parents and a newborn child what- What was I supposed to do?” He tilts his head to follow her eyes. 

“I was younger,” She tells him, “I had it worse.”

“This isn’t a competition.”

“Your parents died, yeah, that’s bad, that’s horrible, I know I went through it. But my parents neglected me, my own dad beat me, that’s fucking worse.”

“Your mother was no better than me, where was she-”

“Do not bring my mother into this. Yeah, she lived a little but she was there. She made an effort, she worked to give me everything I had, she partied at night, so what? She gave me clothes, food, roof over my head, she gave me love. Yeah, in little bits that I had to scrape the bottom of the fucking barrel for but she gave it.”

“So what?”

“Yeah, ‘so fucking what’, she never hit me.”

He sighs shakily, rubbing a hand over his stubbled double chin, “I’m better, I was sick back then, but I’m better now, I want you to try and understand that.”

“I understand this perfectly,” She lifts her chin, biting her lip when it wobbles, “Mam wasn’t good enough, JJ wasn’t good rough, I wasn't good enough. But some posh slag Iris, from ‘up North’, with a designer vagina ready at your disposal is-”

The only thing that can be heard over the steaming kettles behind the kitchen is a skin on skin slap.

They both pause, John with a hand in the air and her with a hand pressed to her cheek.

His eyes are full of regret, instantly, he flexes his hand and watches her carefully as her hand pushes into her cheek, “Caroline, I’m sorry, I-I… I don’t know where that came f-”

“Same old, dad.” She says quietly. 

“I’m sorry, I-” A tear falls from his eye, “I’m sorry, Caroline. I didn’t- well, I-”

She clenches her jaw so tight the bone there cracks and she has to open her mouth for it to pop back into place, “I preferred it better when you’d just hit me and tell me it was my fault.”

He stands slowly, grabbing his jacket and folding it over his arm, “I want you to know I’m so very proud of you, Tommie. Of everything you’ve become. Everything you’ve done alone.”

She doesn’t look at him, she keeps staring straight forward at the other side of the booth.

“Of the woman you’ve become, the things you’re doing. So, so proud. And I’m sorry that you’ve had to do it all alone.”

“I wasn’t alone.”

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ

Slamming the door behind her she jumps as someone says her name, “Tom?”

“Cal?”

His brow raises and he walks around the kitchen counter he was leaning against to meet her at the door, “You good?”

“Yeah.” She nods quickly, turning her face away from him, “I’m going to jump in the shower.”

“How was coffee with your friend, what was her name again?”

“Lily.”

“Right, Lily.”

“Got cut short, she had to go back to work.”

He hums, “Maybe you can try again next time you’re in London.” He suggests and she nods in agreement as she hides herself away behind the bathroom door.

“Hey, Tom?” He knocks his knuckles on the door, “Can I talk to you?”

She waits a few moments flushing the toilet chain to buy herself time as she rubs concealer on the forming red hand print.

She opens the door leaning against the frame and places the fakest smile she can manage on her face as she looks up at him, “Hmm?”

“We’ve been asked back in the studio in two weeks to record a single, a radio single, I was going to ask if-”

“Can we talk about this later? After my shower?”

“This is important to me, Tommie.”

“I know,” She says, reaching to place her hand on his arm, “And I am so so proud of you, I promise… I just feel disgusting.”

“Please.” He lowers himself to meet her direct eye line and she nods. 

“Quickly.”

He grins, “Can you come to LA with me? Just a couple days, help me out with writing a song, maybe help with the productions-”

“Cal,” She says quietly, “We’re different genres, you’re country rock, I’m… whatever it is that Mattty feels in the mood for when he gets up that morning.”

He runs his tongue across his teeth, looking away and she sighs, reaching her hand out to touch his arm.

“Let me have my shower then you can tell me all about your single and your ideas maybe you can run some by me.”

He opens his mouth but the door is shut quickly and he leans back against the wall for a few seconds, making his way to the lying room where a brown flowery leather book sits open on the coffee table.

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ

Gabby’s brows raise at the quietness of the usual booming apartment. She looks around, setting her bag down on the settee.

“Tom? You in here?”

Matty told her Tommie and Caleb should be there, but it’s not a single sign of life besides the light coming from the bathroom.

Gabby smiles to herself knocking on the door, “Tommie?”

“G-Gab?”

“Yeah, just me, I picked us up some food, Caleb not here?”

“Has he gone?”

Gabby’s brows furrow and she shifts against the door as she looks around, it’s a little messy, just some clothes thrown over the floor and her bag discarded. But she knows Tommie, knows this mess would usually cause her to go off on one of her cleaning tangents. She can tell something is wrong., “Uh, he must've he’s not here. Everything okay?”

“Uh, yeah, give me a few minutes, I just got out of the shower.”

“Okay… I’ll set up the table.”

Tommie hums in response, still working on covering the mark on her face. Gabby sets the shopping bags onto the kitchen counter then works to pick up the clothes, she tosses them into the washing basket in the corner of Tommie’s bedroom then hangs her bag up in its place on the coat hanger beside the flat’s front door. 

Tommie dresses quickly, into some of Ross’ trousers she has to roll six times to fit and then one of Adam’s Oasis t-shirts before walking out to meet Gabby in the kitchen.

“Everything okay?” She asks again.

Tommie nods quickly, “Yup. What’s for dinner?”

“Chinese.”

Tommie nods, pulling some cups from a cupboard down for them, filling one with dr pepper and the other with diet coke, passing the diet coke to Gabby as she moves through the kitchen.

Gabby stays silent for a few more seconds, then decides to break it.

“Tommie?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you sure you’re okay? I mean, I know we haven’t known each other very long, but Matty speaks highly of you-” She sighs and touches her arm gently, “You don’t seem yourself today.”

She nods silently and Gabby’s brows furrow as she moves to place one finger on her cheek, her eyes move around her face as if putting the puzzle pieces together, “Did Caleb-?”

“No,” Tommie stands up straight quickly, clutching her hand desperately, “God no, I’d kick that man’s arse in seconds if he touched me like that. It was-”

She hesitates, but looks at the soft, motherly look on Gabby’s face and relaxes back into the counter, “I saw my dad today, first time since 2012 when I left Wales to move up to Manchester with the guys. I said some things I shouldn’t have and he reverted back to his old ways to get me to shut up.”

She rubs her knuckles at her stinging cheek with a shrug, “My fault, I shouldn’t have said-”

Gabby scoffs, a harsh sound that has her leaning even further back, “Do not blame yourself for your father’s ignorance. If he thinks it's okay to lay a hand on his own daughter or any woman for that matter then there is something seriously wrong with him.”

Gabby’s eyes soften then and she moves to stand right in front of her, “Is that why you left?”

Tommie shrugs, picking at a string on her sleeve and Gabby opens the draw beside them, takes out the scissors and cuts the loose thread. Showing it to Tommie before tossing it into the bin and then taking the girl in her arms.

“Want me to go punch him in the balls?”

Tommie giggles, wrapping her arms around Gabby too, “Nah, I kinda wanna see him fuck up a few more kids lives before we take away his reproductive abilities.”

“Sharing is caring and everything?”

“Sharing is caring.”

taglist

@thereisaplaceintheheart, @indierockgirrl, @sofaritsalrightt, @julezs-bl0g, @eaglestar31, @sophinthealpss, @noacfemcel, @if-my-heart-bleeds, @befrwime, @fallingforel, @sexorchocolateorpillowsorclouds, @3terna15unshin3, @1975sophie1975, @thesocraticjunkiewannabe, @littlesoldierelleora

-let me know if you want to be added :)

[seren1tyhaze]

was it ever really love

PAIRING: taeyong x afab reader

WORD COUNT: 1.7k

SUMMARY: your thousandth argument with your boyfriend sends you into a screaming match ending in decisions (mistakes?) made by both of you THANK YOU: @strwbrysunday you are the best collaborator I could ask for and our dms are between us and some higher power <3

WARNINGS: explicit smut, smoking, drinking, heavy profanity, angst, mild verbal abuse (yelling, domestic setting)

PLAYLIST: heavily inspired by "Seven" by Natalie Jane, highly recommend giving it a listen before or during reading. AVA by Natalie Jane too. but OK! is always a writing song for me too...if you can't tell

What a lie Wasted time On a feeling I wish I (I wish I) Saw the signs (saw the signs)

—

“JUST GO!” your temper is flooding out of every pore in your body, anger heating your face as you stare at him shocked that it has come to this.

“You are going to regret this,” Taeyong sneers at you, biting back the urge to spit at you, a nasty habit you’ve seen him do more than once when fighting with Johnny outside their work.

“The only thing I regret is wasting seven fucking months on this fucking bullshit,” you bite back, tears welling in your eyes, even as you rapidly blink, silently begging them to stop.

At that he turns on his heel, ripping a carton of cigarettes off the coffee table and your favorite lighter and storming out of your tiny apartment. You know your neighbors had to be hearing this but also must be relieved at hearing the break up because it means they don’t have to hear your screaming matches anymore.

Unable to move from where you stand, your fingers swipe over your phone screen, tapping on your best friend’s contact in your phone and pulling it up closer to your mouth.

“Can you come over?” you croak into your phone, unable to say more before crumpling into a ball on your bed. Exactly seven minutes later, your tall best friend has strong arms wrapped around your sobbing frame, stroking your back with large hands, whispering quietly in your ear in attempts to calm you. He fits perfectly behind you, despite your large height difference and you try to ignore that his arms feel bigger than the last time you saw him.

All Jeno can gather is that you’ve finally ended things with Taeyong and he’s terrified what he might do if he ends up running into him in the coming days. He’d been here for many nights like this, sometimes in your bed, other times in his, but each time it ended with you crawling back to someone who never knew how to respect you or treat you well.

“That piece of shit,” he mutters more to himself than to you as you slowly roll over onto your back, eyes fixed on the ceiling, tear stained cheeks puffy and red. His own face is pink too, flushed from seeing you like this, blending in with his lightly tinted pink hair, messy and long, almost in his eyes.

“What can I do?” he asks, dragging two fingers over your forehead to push your bangs to the side, letting them glide through the rest of your hair to massage your scalp like he did countless times before when you had a migraine.

“Help me forget,” you murmur, letting emotions flood in as you lean into his touch, grabbing at the back of his neck to pull his lips into yours. You wish you hadn’t thought of this hundreds of times before, you wish you hadn’t thought about it the minute Tae had started into you earlier that night, you wish you hadn’t almost moaned out his name while your now ex had been pounding into you just a few weeks before.

Jeno wishes he had been a little more surprised when you pulled him into the kiss, he wishes he hadn’t moved so quickly to change into fresh boxers when he heard your broken voice on the phone, he wishes he felt even a shred of guilt and remorse for what he was about to do.

But none of those wishes are coming true tonight as your three little words are all Jeno needs to unleash everything he’s wanted for years, to make you feel better than you’ve ever felt before, to be the best you’ve ever had, and try to heal everything Taeyong spent months breaking.

His hands are all over you slowly and suddenly all at once, eager and patient, equally dirty and soft. Before you have a chance to think about what is happening you are moaning into his mouth, grinding slowly on his cock, dragging yourself up and down his length while he clutches your face lovingly in between his warm hands. 

He’s shirtless and you’re still in Taeyong’s old baseball jersey, only buttoned down to your navel, his number burning on your back as you do the exact thing you promised had never happened. He’s everything like Taeyong and nothing like him all at once, equally passionate but without any of the anger and fire you had come to expect from sex. Your brain can’t help but flick back to the countless times you had sworn up and down that there was nothing between you and the man currently sucking at your collarbone.

“You don’t have anything to worry about, baby, Jeno and I have known each other for years and he has never made a pass at me, not once!” you had pleaded one night when his jealousy had caused him to slam his hand on your small dining room table, a short rocks glass sliding off and crashing onto the floor. 

You don’t know if you believed yourself then and you know for a fact that Taeyong didn’t, he never once trusted you. Maybe he shouldn’t have.

Halfway across town, Taeyong has his head tossed back in ecstasy, digging his palm into the leather seat of his motorcycle, the cool night breeze ruffling his hair and sending a shiver up his spine. Parked in the alley behind his tattoo shop, he knows Johnny might look out his window upstairs and see Taeyong getting the best head of his life, but he can’t possibly care at this moment. His anger had melted into pleasure the minute he had his hands on a slim waist clad in a leather jacket over a tight black tank, digging his hands where they had been so many times before.

“Right fucking there,” he groans out, curses falling from his lips as he digs his other hand deep in blonde hair, pushing down to thrust his throbbing cock deeper into the warm mouth pleasuring him.

“Jesus fucking- JAE,” he almost screams, gripping his hair tighter, pulling his head back violently, catching the devious eyes of the man on his knees below him.

“Watch the teeth, bitch,” Taeyong growls, words cruel and cold as he can’t help but drop a thumb to gently caress Jaehyun’s temple.

“Sorry, baby,” Jaehyun smiles, taking the tip of his cock back on his plush lips, suckling gently and letting his tongue slip out to push ever so gently against his slit.

Taeyong lets pleasure wash back over him, sighing deeply as he feels his orgasm build quickly in his core, spreading up to his chest and pushing incoherent ramblings out of his mouth. Jaehyun refuses to relent, hollowing his cheeks and digging his palms into Taeyong’s ass as his nose collides with the older man’s pelvic bone. Thick ropes of release are painting the inside of Jaehyun’s mouth suddenly and he’s smiling through the orgasm, flicking his eyes up to watch Taeyong cruelly slam his hand down on the back of his head to push him further up his dick.

Before he’s even finished releasing his cum into Jaehyun’s eager mouth, Taeyong is lighting a long cigarette, taking a deep drag and blowing it out through his nose.

Jaehyun smirks as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, taking his tongue to skin to lap up what remains there, making eye contact with Taeyong as he does so. He tucks Taeyong’s softening cock back into his briefs and jeans for him, carefully zipping the pants up before tugging on his belt loops, drawing himself closer with his lips parted.

Taeyong pushes back thoughts about how sexy that sequence of events was and rolls his eyes as he places the cigarette between waiting lips, letting Jaehyun take it and step back, leaning against the dumpster behind him.

“How long before you call me for that again? It’s been longer than ever before,” the blonde purrs. He looks devastating in the moonlight and Taeyong wants nothing more than to drag him upstairs to his small apartment he shares with three other artists and fuck him senseless, kiss every inch of his skin he can get to, and feel something.

“Who the fuck is J with a red heart? Taeyong I swear to GOD, we’ve been over this a million times before!” you had yelled at him in this very spot where Jaehyun was currently leaning. 

Taeyong still had black gloves on his hands from his last client, having practically been pulled out by the scruff of his neck the minute you could get in the room. He had left his iPad at your apartment and when you went to check the battery before bringing it to him at work, you saw texts on the lock screen from “J❤️” in his notification center. You couldn’t read them without his password but anger flared up immediately, anxiety and fear rushing over you. You hadn’t been dating long enough for him to be cheating on you.

When you found out it was an old friend from baseball, you still couldn’t think of a reason he needed that emoji but listened to whatever stupid ass excuse he had anyways. And as you had done with most things in your short but tumultuous relationship (situationship? fuck.) you had let it roll off and explained it away on differences in personality, upbringing, love language.

Maybe tonight proved that you were both wrong. Maybe tonight proved that you were both right. As both of you stood in your respective bathrooms, cleaning sweat from your arms and cum from your thighs, you tried to reconcile with the fact that not even an hour had passed before you had both run to the very people you had said the other had nothing to worry about. Maybe you both were the villain in this story, maybe you were both victims.

Was it ever really love? you wondered as you lay on your back next to a lightly snoring, shirtless Jeno. You’re not sure you’re going to get the answer to that question, especially not as your phone lights up with a message with two words that shoot sparks immediately to your core.

“Baby pls”

[svearehnn]

who have i become?

mulberry stained feet, haunted stairs, toothy grins

black and white bunnies loved by grubby child hands

grandma’s kisses, potions on the playground

lies i wholeheartedly believed.

hospital visits, mom yelling at the doctor

because they wouldn’t give me the medication i needed

purple shirt, high school principal, wheelchairs

army men lining the floor.

ptsd, speech therapy, darkness

a whole year in silence

coffee ice cream, ire, stuffed unicorns

a childhood ripped from my hands too early.

barbies hanging from the ceiling, names etched in insulation

amnesia to forget

dying flowers, lavender oil, muddy puddles

pocketing razor blades.

years pass, fake smiles, high school graduation

migraines and knee pain

friendships fail, heartbreak, comfort shows

i still cover my ears on the fourth of july.

[awanderingdeal]

O'Knutzy week - Day 1

For @oknutzyweek2023. Character credit goes to @lumosinlove <3

Prompts used: Festival, bucket hat, tomato soup, migraine, borrowed.

Content warning: Drunkenness (not excessive and no violence), medication and side-effects of medication.

Leo, Logan and Finn go to a festival. Some of the rest of the team go too including Regulus and Layla. ("You taste like cherries," Logan said, pressing a second kiss to Leo's lips before letting his flop back onto the pillow. "Shots," Leo hummed. "Blame Layla.")

Prior to going, the three of them have a conversation about accommodation in which Finn says he doesn't want to camp because he's too old for that shit. (Leo laughed, moving to wipe the coffee that sloshed over the side his mug before it stained the wood. "Alright Grandad. You're 29, not 92." "Tell that to my knees, sunshine," Finn said, his bones cracking, as if to prove a point, when he pushed up out of his chair.) They end up compromising on one of the fancy bell tents in the bougie section.

Ultimately Leo is glad for the luxury because he ends up getting a wee bit drunk and Finn gets a migraine pretty early into the first day. Finn's been getting the migraines since the last concussion they are prepared, if disappointed he couldn't escape one this weekend.

The story starts with Leo's return to the tent for the night. Logan has stayed behind with Finn. He attempts to sneak in without waking anyone, but is being much louder than he thinks and wakes Logan up - not that it's difficult. Leo asks how Finn is doing. ("He's better than he was. Managed to eat some tomato soup from the truck earlier." Logan chuckled, and Leo raised an eyebrow. "He was very passionate about the fact your soup is better. I learnt a new word...ambrosial.")

Eventually Finn wakes too. Finn is a bit loopy from the medicine has taken. ("Hey," Finn protests. "That's my hat." Leo pulled the hat from his head, running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to tidy the curls slightly. "Just borrowed it for the day. Thought it'd like the trip out while you were incapacitated." Finn squinted slightly as if considering something. "You stole it," he said. Logan's lips were pressed together, curling slightly at the corners and a funny breath of air escaped his nostrils. "I borrowed it," Leo repeated, placing the bucket hat on Finn's chest. The bold orange and blue was bright against his pale skin. Finn gave a satisfied grunt, and tugged the hat closer to him before closing his eyes and promptly falling back to sleep.)

[twistedsiren86]

Hi I fell like shit with a migraine so here’s me projecting it into steddie:

Steve gets awful headaches after years of getting knocked in the head so when he comes out of the bedroom later than usual with bed head and tears stains on his face Eddie knows Steve’s having a bad one.

“Coffee” Steve whispers and Eddie happily slides his own cup across the table for Steve to take.

While he’s sipping the coffee Eddie stands from the table and grabs Steve’s medicine prescribed by Dr. Owens and an ice pack from the freezer. Eddie wraps the ice pack in a towel and hands Steve the pills.

“Come on, angel, back to bed.” Eddie whispers to keep his voice down, not his wanting to cause Steve’s headache to get worse.

Steve’s eyes become damp with tears and he nods slowly, letting his boyfriend lead him back to their bedroom. Eddie cranks down the window unit to get their room nice and cold, then tucks Steve back into bed making sure to tuck the blankets up under his arms so he doesn’t get too cold, then hands the towel wrapped ice pack to Steve who mumbles a thank you and rests it against his temple.

Eddie turns off all the lights except a small plug in night light in the corner and crawls back into bed with his boyfriend. Eddie lies on his back so Steve can tuck his face into his side, knowing how clingy his lover gets when he’s in pain. Eddie gently takes the ice pack and holds it for Steve, hoping the younger man will fall back to sleep.

“Sing to me, Eds?” Steve whimpers and rests an arm over Eddie’s stomach.

Eddie smiles and gently brushed his fingers through Steve’s hair as he softly sings the lyrics to a song he had written for the man he loves. It doesn’t take long for Steve to drift into a light slumber, and Eddie stays the whole time, brushing though Steve’s hair and singing to the man he still can’t believe he calls his own.

“Love you to the moon and stars, baby.” Eddie whispers to his sleeping boyfriend. He’d do anything for Steve. “In this life and every other life.” Eddie promises.