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loveindefinitely · 9 months

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༊*·˚ FOREVER WINTER (IF YOU GO) — task force 141 x reader

01 — TOO YOUNG TO KNOW IT GETS BETTER

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + (non-endgame phillip graves)

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, enemies to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, pricegaz, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence

series masterlist. read on ao3. fanfic playlist.

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You almost worshipped him.

It wasn’t because of his status – although, that certainly played a role in it all – and it wasn’t because of his bank statements.

No. Phillip Graves was one of the best men you’d ever known.

Or so you had thought.

Turns out, no matter how well he looked after his men – his ‘girl’ – and no matter how charismatic he was, that wouldn’t, couldn't change his roots. And, at those very roots, was decay. Evil in its most purest of forms; a tantalisingly devastating mix of every sin.

The most prevalent one?

Greed.

He was a greedy, greedy man, and he would stop at nothing to have it all. Even if he knew the fall out; even if he knew that he could never go back to the man he once was.

Phillip Graves didn’t care. Not in the slightest.

And it was you that would pay the ultimate price.

Rain beats down your back in heavy sheets as you stand, the harsh night littered with flashlights and car sirens.

It’s cool, just this side of too cold, and it has the hairs on the back of your neck rising with the temperature.

The temperature, and…

“Yup-yup,” the two men to your right call into their comms. You remain silent, but it goes unnoticed. Your eyes are trained to the paved street, rippling with the rainwater, littered with streaks of red.

Blood stains this town, and you haven't done anything to stop it.

“Let’s go.”

Raising your head, you meet the eyes of the operative who, ranks-wise, is below you. Really, you should be reprimanding him for his quip, but you understand the annoyance. You’re being quiet – something quite unusual for your normally direct and authoritative nature.

Tightening your grip around the shiny, water-slicked gun in your hand, you give him a sharp nod in response.

Seemingly satisfied, he turns, and you follow him along the sidewalk of the narrow, stone streets. Shops line either side of the area, their front-windows smashed and the products inside thrown about.

It’s like your heart has launched itself into your throat, the constant thrum of it setting your nerves alight.

“Three-zero, I want you and your two to find those Brits. We’ve got the cops. Copy?”

That once reassuring, adoring voice is now cold, void of any emotion he used to have. It makes tears burn at the back of your vision – if you were a weaker woman, they’d have fallen. Instead, you press down the button for your comms.

“Copy, Sir. Three-zero out.”

The fact that you manage to get those words out is a feat in and of its own.

It feels as though you’re lost at sea, with nothing to hold onto. Buoyant, but barely – every wave threatening to pull you under for good. To smother your silent cries for help, for guidance, for something to keep you grounded.

But there is no sea, and there is no support.

“You two go up ahead, I’ll search the house here,” you say, voice thick with demand. You didn’t have to decide anything right now. You just had to be the leader you were, and do what you’ve always done.

“Copy,” your two subordinates say, moving up further.

With their absence, you find that you can breathe – as if a weight has been lifted off of your chest, and you can finally fill your lungs.

You’re alive. You’re alive. You’re alive.

The mantra helps, surprisingly, and you hold onto those two words like they’re your only lifeline.

Through the thick of night and rain, you can see the door to the house on your left. It’s been left open, which means that either it’s already been searched – which you doubt – or… Someone else has been in there.

Gun secured in your grip, you move to the door with soft footing, quiet enough to not be heard over the shouts of other shadows just a few ways away. The constant pattering of the overhead storm clouds slow, just the slightest, allowing for a bit more sight.

Using your shoulder to further open the door with a creak, you take note of your surroundings immediately.

There’s a flickering light to the room on your far right, a living area, most likely. To your left is a short hallway, but none of the doors alert you of any occupancy. The place has been torn apart, pictures scattered along the wooden floor, shards of glass decorating the space along with it.

It sends a pang of guilt through your chest.

These were families being torn apart by your commander, your company. And for what? What was Graves’ angle here?

You’d been left on base to keep things running smoothly while Graves and unit one worked with the 141 and Las Vaqueros. You knew very little about any of this, and when you’d been called out to Las Almas, to aid with this?

This wasn’t what you fought for. This wasn’t what you would ever support, not in a million years.

But going against direct orders was going against your commander, and your livelihood. Shadow Company was all you’d known since your childhood. Having been hired when Graves was merely a young-upstart with big dreams, you were quickly swept up in the community of it all. They were your family, and Graves was the only semblance of a ‘loved one’ you had.

And now?

Now, he was sending you on a bounty hunt, for two men who, from your limited knowledge, didn’t deserve death. They were the good guys, and although most of your existing bias towards the two was due to rumours back on base, your intuition said that they were good men. And your intuition had never steered you wrong, not once.

Your mind feels like a never ending turbine as you move through the house, eyeing the barren walls and smashed vases.

Exhaling a low, deep breath, you tighten your hold on your weapon. It’s more of a comfort, at this point. Which is odd, considering that its sole purpose is to kill and destroy.

Through the dim light, you manage to find a set of stairs. They’re dingy, and the patterned carpet is mildew-riddled as you make your way to the next floor with slow, careful steps.

You’ve decided to keep your flashlight off, just in case it brings any extra attention to you.

As soon as you make it to the last step, a sense of… wrongness settles in your system. Something’s off, and it’s almost as if there’s an alarm ringing in your ears at the realisation.

Someone’s here.

Grounding yourself, both mentally and physically, you prepare to push through the hallway.

Setting aside your mental dilemma, you remind yourself that the physical battle is far more vital to your life right now. If you lose that, you lose your life.

If you lose your morals?

You just suppose you lose yourself.

The sound of a radio switching on has your senses alerted like a switchboard completely alight.

Stepping into the hallway, your chest constricting, you snap your gaze to both of your sides. With the little-to-no light, you can barely make out your limbs, let alone your surroundings. Your spatial awareness was solid, but with conditions like this? Near impossible.

The entire corridor is shrouded in shadow, the incessant rain outside and the screams of the cartel’s policemen ringing in your ears.

It reeks of death and despair, and your skin is coated in a thin sheen of chilled sweat.

The third door to your left is creaked open, just the slightest sliver, but it catches your attention like a moth to a flame. Keeping your frame encased in the darkest of the shadows, you move with patient, skillful steps towards the door.

A moment passes, tense and nerve-wracking in a way no other mission has ever been.

A breath in.

A breath out.

You push open the door, gun raised, ready for anything –

Nothing.

Quickly checking over the room to your right, you see nothing but bashed up mattresses and blood-stained carpet.

Just as you’re about to turn to check behind the door, two things happen at once.

One, you get slammed to the ground, your head knocking against the hard flooring and sending a burst of pain through your temple, your gun skidding across the floor to your left.

Two –

“Fuckin’ Christ!”

A man – scottish, that much is prevalent – whisper-shouts. You squint, the pain of the sudden fall throwing you off.

Not a second later, however, you manage to roll, shoving him off of you with a grunt. Your eyes struggle to adjust to the darkness, but you manage to make out the impossibly muscled frame of the man who’d just fallen on top of you.

He’s tall, not as giant as some of the men you served alongside with, but tall nonetheless. That’s all of the visual information you manage to gain before he sends an elbow to your gut, evoking a hiss through your gritted teeth.

You wriggle away, kicking out with your right foot and hitting what you think is his chin, considering his pained grunt.

“You bloody bastard,” he snaps, hand wrapping around your ankle and pulling you.

Your responding squeak is likely the most undignified sound you have ever made in your life, but it gives the man pause. Enough of one so as to allow you to wrench your leg back and careen it back into his face.

“Shut the fuck up!” You hiss back, all too aware of the likelihood that your men will show up and shoot first, ask later.

“Are you feckin’ stupid, lass?” He retorts, although his tone is dutifully lower as he scrambles to grab your legs once more, his fist finding your belt and pulling you towards him.

Your attempts to dig your heels into the ground to prevent yourself from being pinned by him are fruitless, his strength undoubtedly superior to yours. That was a fact all too common when it came to your hand-to-hand fights, but luckily, it was just one factor of many.

“Are you?” Your shock is palpable as he gets his other hand around the other side of your belt, using the grip to pull himself over you.

His torso is pressed against your own as he goes to pin your hands, but with one quick manoeuvre, you wrap your legs around his waist and turn.

Utilising your lower body strength, you’re able to reverse the position, your hips pinning his to the ground. In one sweep of your hands, you collect both of his wrists and force them into the carpet. The room fills with your harsh, panted breaths, the outside commotion only a distant soundtrack.

“Yer supposed to kill me now, Shadow,” he says, a torment, a threat.

You swallow, once, an unsure thing.

He’s right, of course. He should be dead by now, bleeding out onto the floor. You should be comming to your fucking Commander, and telling him that one of the men he’s after has just been reported KIA. That’s what should be happening.

So how come it’s not?

“I know,” you say, the words falling through your lips despite the internal conflict in your head. “You should be dead.”

He mirrors your confusion with raised brows, and it’s then that you can feel the blood trickling onto your hand. He’s bleeding down his arm, you realise with a start. He’s wounded.

Flitting your gaze to the floor up ahead, you catch sight of your gun, only a few steps away. One shot is all you’d need. One second, and that mouth of his would never open again.

The sole window in the room flashes with a burst of lightning, and that short second of light lets you catch sight of his features. Blood coats his jaw – from your kicks, maybe – and he’s got dirt caked onto his cheek. His stubble has clearly missed a few shaves, and his mohawk isn’t gelled.

“Still waiting, Shadow,” he says. And although he’s quiet, the words feel like a yell in the tense room. Like a shout directly into your soul, screaming for you to sort your shit out.

You go to respond – with what, you’re not sure – when the man underneath you manages to rip his hands from your grip and swing them around the back of your neck. He pulls you forward, your neck fitting into the crook of his elbow as he squeezes.

When you try to inhale, you end up choking on a cough. He’s strangling you, you realise, with his fucking biceps.

There’s mere moments for you to make a decision before you pass out, or he breaks your neck. Moments for you to decide what the fuck you can do.

Balling your right hand into a tight fist, you punch into his nose, a sickening crack making your teeth slide together. He swears, rapid-fire, a few Gaelic-sounding words slipping out along with them. It’s enough of a distraction to let you wrench out of his hold with a cough, wincing when you claw at his arm and draw blood. Thank fuck for fingerless gloves.

Crawling forward as he brings a hand up to his now-bleeding nose, you’re just a breath away from reaching your gun when his hand grabs into your hair and pulls, eliciting a cry from you.

It’s a dirty move, but this is a dirty fight.

“Fucking – let go!” You grit out, the pain of the tightening on your scalp unique and not at all tolerable.

He just pulls tighter in response, and as you try and reach the gun, your fingers fall just millimetres short. It’s maddening, your emotions out of whack and your mental compass skewed beyond belief.

He should be fucking dead. He should be fucking dead.

So why wasn’t he?

You realise that he’s using his grip on you for leverage, to move himself closer to the weapon. Reaching towards his bare arm, you manage to catch your hand around it, nails digging into his wet skin.

He lets out a pained groan, and it becomes quickly apparent to you that he’s been shot in that arm. Moving your fingers, your index finger pushes into the open wound.

His grip on your hair goes lax, and he stops moving towards the gun long enough to allow you to move on top of him once more, pinning him underneath your weight. You’re both evidently weaker than the last time you were in this position, and you’re about to do something, something, something –

“Johnny? How copy?” An urgent, oddly panicked voice echoes around the room. It’s crackled, in only the way a radio’s can, and the two of you stun yourselves into freezing. His communications have been dislocated, and now they’re loud and clear for both of you to hear. “Johnny, what the fuck is happening?”

“Shit,” Johnny curses, head falling back against the ground in exasperation.

You’re not sure when you’d laxed your grip from his wound, your hand loose around his arm. You’re not sure when you’d subconsciously started avoiding fatal moves.

At this point, you’re not sure about anything at all.

Although it’s hard to see, you’re sure that the two of you make eye contact.

Neither of you make a move.

“Soap!”

Slowly, Johnny moves his hand to the communicator in his vest, pressing the button to allow for his voice to carry over to the man on the other end.

“A little occupied, Sir,” he murmurs, tightly.

If you move your hand to his throat, or use this as a distraction, you could have him dead before the other man could even register his words.

“I can’t get a visual on you,” the other man quips back, voice laced with thinly-veiled worry. “Johnny, if you die, I’m fuckin’ killing your ass.”

You bite back a slightly crazed chuckle at that statement, and by the shift in Johnny’s chest, he does too.

Johnny doesn’t turn off his communicator. The other man – Ghost, if you’re correct – will be able to hear everything you say.

Ghost and Soap.

Jesus H. Christ. Soap – Johnny MacTavish – the 141 operator you heard whispers about throughout your unit – he was underneath you. He was on the run from your commander. He was the man you were assigned to fucking kill.

He’s alive.

You’re alive.

“Shadow Three-Zero, what’s your status?”

Oh, fuck. Fucking hell.

Both you and Johnny’s eyes dart to your own communicator – the earpiece scattered along the floor just as his had been.

Graves’ voice. It sends a shiver down your spine for all the wrong reasons, and the lump in your throat doubles in size. If it’s at all possible, the rain outside grows louder, and more gunshots echo in your ears.

“Shadow Three-Zero. Have you got ‘em? Don’t go two-timing me now, babe.”

How he’s – how he’s being so light, so carefree while storming these streets and murdering fathers, brothers, sons in cold blood – it cements a thought in your head. Out of the storm of them, the endless noise of them all, one becomes concrete. Factual. A single truth in your world of lies.

You press down your communicator button.

“Haven’t found them yet, sir. Wouldn’t dream of going against you.”

“Atta girl,” he responds, a light chuckle carrying over the radio. “After this is all done, we can have a celebration of our own, hey?”

Your mouth is barren of moisture, your tongue a heavy weight that feels all too useless as you reply once more. It doesn’t go unnoticed how neither Soap, or Ghost over the comms, say a word.

“It’ll be my pleasure, sir.”

You rip off your communicator, throwing it across the room. It sets the course of the rest of your life, you’re sure. You still do it.

All the while, you hold Soap’s gaze.

He hasn’t killed you. He could’ve, you realise, he really could’ve. He had the opportunity. Still does.

But.

You’re alive.

And so is he.

“What’re you doin’, Shadow?” Johnny finally asks, equally suspicious and curious. His tone is tight, almost as much as his body is against your own.

You’d almost forgotten that he’s underneath you. Weaponless, and bleeding out. Wounded.

On the run.

Your eyes are wide, manic, maybe, as you say with shaky breaths;

“This isn’t right. I – I don’t fight for this. You guys, you,” squeezing your eyes shut, if only for a brief moment, you continue, slower, “This isn’t the Graves I know. I’m not going to be on the wrong side of history. I’d rather betray him than stand by his side with blood on my hands.”

Soap must sense your conviction, your wobbly words holding such truth and capability in them, because he nods, sharply.

“Johnny,” the radio chimes in again, the man’s tone a warning. “Don’t.”

Soap works his mouth, a crease forming between his blood-stained brows. If you were at all a poet, you’d akin his blue eyes to a storm-brewed sea. But you’re a soldier, so they’re merely obvious in the window’s scarce light, a stark contrast to the reds and darkness all around you both.

You’re not sure what’s wrong with you. You’d clearly hit your head too hard when Soap had crashed into you, or you’d been drugged earlier.

“I have intel,” you blurt out, like a crazed lunatic. That description is, unfortunately, a little too fitting to your current state. “I’m – I’m a fucking good fighter. You help me, I help you.”

“We don’t need your help,” Soap quickly, almost automatically, retorts. But his words seem weak, his certainty nowhere on your own.

“You’re shot and on the run with no weapons,” you reply, slowly. Words. You were good at words, at debates. You could survive this. Maybe. “I know Graves. I know my men. And I know that I’d rather be a traitor than a war criminal.”

That’s maybe the most true thing you’d thought, or said, since you’d first been asked to head to Las Almas with an order to kill.

There’s silence.

A few beats pass before you open your mouth once more, tone just this side of pleading, “I’ll help you guys survive this. If you help me take down Graves, and support me – if you give me the assets I need. That’s all I’m asking.”

“We don’t trust you,” Soap says, and you nod.

“I don’t exactly have faith in you either. But it’s this or we all end up dead.”

Ghost inputs something, this time. “If you two make it to the church, we’ll consider it.”

That’s the most you can ask for. The best possible outcome from you being the biggest fucking idiot to walk this earth. You were lucky that Soap was… merciful. Which was, all things considered, the weirdest component of this entire, messed up equation.

It seems like agreement passes through you all, like a sort of handshake. An invisible one, but a symbol of truce nonetheless.

“Get yer ass offa me,” Soap groans, breaking the tension of the room.

Scrambling off of him, but keeping your wits about you, you realise that you’d virtually been laying on the man your entire conversation. Your ears burn in embarrassment.

“...Right. I’m taking my gun,” you murmur.

Which is, obviously, the worst thing to say.

“Are you feckin’ serious? Dinnae wanna work with an idiot, Jesus,” Soap immediately hisses out, getting up with a hand on his knee, bringing his other to press against his bullet wound with a wince. You think that Ghost says something similar, but it’s drowned out by Soap.

“I’m best with close-range, and I’m not the one wounded,” you immediately bite back, hand wrapping around said weapon and holding it to your chest, checking over the room for any more supplies. Luckily, unlike the man in front of you, you still have all of your supplies and gear. His top is thin, you think, and soaked through with both rain and blood. Your standard Shadow Company uniform still fits you like a second skin, and although wet, doesn’t soak into your bottom layers. Your tactical knife, still strapped to your thigh, is secure and perfectly in place.

How you’d not used it in that fight was a testament to your mindscape more than anything.

“How do I know ye won’t just shoot me when my back’s turned?” Soap shoots back, his tone a weapon in its own right.

You raise a brow, and you hope that he can see it. “I would’ve done that already if that was my plan. And you’re calling me an idiot.”

“You’re a right ass,” he retorts, not unlike a petulant child.

“And you’re a right dickhead.” And, alright, you realise that you’re not much better, but it’s deserved.

“And you both need to hurry the fuck up.”

You and Soap both have the decency to wince at the man’s words, and you both shut up as you finish checking over yourselves. You, focusing on checking your straps and belt, and Soap, hissing about his wound.

…If this camaraderie lasted the night, you’d think about apologising for that move.

Checking over your gun, you move to slowly open the door as Soap fixes up his radio, putting his earpiece back in its place. You are, admittedly, a bit annoyed that you won’t be able to hear Ghost’s callouts, but again, you had a gun.

“Let’s go,” you softly say, tilting your head towards the door. Soap nods, clearly ready to meet back up with his Lieutenant and get out of here.

As you slowly open the door, guns raised and eyes alert, you let the reality of your situation settle over you like the world’s coldest blanket. You’re going against everything you’ve ever known, all because of your morals that had always been slightly off-centre. Came with the job, you supposed.

But this was uncharted territory. Directly betraying your unit, your men, your Commander, and helping the men you’re assigned to kill? Asking them for their help in return?

“Clear,” you softly report to Soap, who acknowledges your order with a low noise. Following you with silent steps down the stairs, you keep your gun raised as you check over the bottom floor, before signalling for him to exit through the front door with you.

As the two of you enter the laneway once more, your breath catches in your throat as you assess the damage.

You spot several bodies littering the streets as rain hits you once more, the presence of it oddly comforting throughout it all. A truck up ahead has its lights on, the red of the brakes shining against the wet pavement like the pools of blood not three metres away from it.

“Steamin’ Jesus,” Soap murmurs from behind you, and you can’t help but agree with his sentiment.

This was pure bloodshed, at the hands of the one man you thought you could trust.

Betrayal tastes oddly sour in your mouth. Betrayal like this, on all sides, it’s like being suffocated by two cloths at once. Two very bloody, very assaulting cloths, at that.

Soap seems to be communicating with Ghost as the two of you make your way down the street, considering the back-and-forth whispers from Soap. He seems almost. Flirty. Which is a stark realisation, and truly, the least of your worries right now.

“If you can find bandages, or something close to it, I’ll get that arm of yours fixed up.”

You keep your tone low, careful of your surroundings as you see Soap nod, albeit almost in shock, in your periphery. Keeping your gaze forward, you move along the sidewalk.

The beauty of these shops, and this community, has been tarnished by the massacre of your Shadows. Your heart aches, seeing it all – the smashed windows, the blood, the distant sound of screaming and crying.

You and Soap make it about a block in silence, before flashlights ahead have you grabbing onto Soap’s shirt and pulling him into the open door of the shop to your left, heart beating rapidly in your chest.

“Shadow Three-Zero’s gone silent,” you hear a familiar voice say. Your subordinate – one of the two you’d sent to check the houses up ahead. “Reckon she’s dead?”

Soap, for his part, is silent where he’s been pushed up against the wall, your head meeting his collarbone.

“Nah. She mighta slept her way to the top, but she’s good. Probably gone dark so she can suck Graves off on the side or something.”

Your breath comes out in a sharp exhale, your fists tightening unknowingly onto the fabric of Soap’s shirt. He doesn’t even breathe in response.

The other chuckles. “Fuckin’ slut. Can’t believe she gets to order us around when we all know why she’s here.”

And, oh, does that make your stomach turn. You were many things, but you were not one to abuse a position like that. They knew nothing of your struggles, or your relationships, or –

“Fuckin’ cocksuckers,” Soap grumbles, and that shocks you. For a man in the military to recognise misogyny like that was, really, unheard of.

You ignore that thought.

“Shut up.”

He does.

The two Shadows continue walking down the street, and you quickly peer out of the front window to watch them head down another sidealley, taking their thoughts with them.

“Come on,” is all you say, and Johnny follows tightly behind you as you continue down the way you were heading.

You find an alleyway to your left, and you decide to follow it. You can see a flashlight scanning over the street further down. Shadows were everywhere, but they were pushing forward like a tsunami over a coastal town, leaving nothing but destruction in their wake.

Soap follows you without question, which is odd, but you’re not about to complain.

“Ghost says that there’s underground tunnels – we can get to the church through ‘em,” Soap murmurs as he taps your shoulder. You nod, not looking back as you search for any telling of where the best route would be.

After a few minutes, the two of you find yourselves nearing the tunnels Ghost had spoken about.

It’s when you’re about to head into the deep end – quite literally, considering the flooding – that an all too familiar and bone-chilling voice yells out from the right of you both, down another street.

“She’s gone dark – you will find her alive, and if she’s dead, you will be too!” Graves roars, and your heart skips a beat. “She could be hurt, or captured – she is your top priority now, Shadows!”

There’s a chorus of agreement, and if you look down, you’re almost certain that you’ll find your stomach laying at your feet.

A greedy, greedy man. That was what Phillip Graves was – now, more than ever.

If you were a weaker woman, a civilian, maybe, instead of a seasoned soldier, you’d have vomited by now.

Instead, you shoot Soap a look.

“Ghost still at the church?” Is all you ask.

Soap nods. “Yeah. Lt’s talkin’ my ear off,” he says with an eye roll, but his lips quirk into a half-tilted grin more resemblant of a satisfied pup.

“Didn’t think the 141 was so close,” you reply, and you could slap yourself for how nosy you sound. You’re not, not in the slightest – all you cared about was surviving both Graves and them.

Soap’s eyes hold an indecipherable gleam to them when he responds, a touch domestically, “You have no idea.”

You itch to delve deeper, to unpack that statement that seems to hold so many layers, but you keep your mouth respectfully shut.

And you prepare to meet Ghost at the end of the tunnel.

a/n. cutely drops this and hides!! jk but umm idk man this fic idea has been nibbling at my brain and GAWDDD smth about it just. got the juices flowing. this is my personality now thanks gn. if you guys enjoyed please comment or reblog or follow!! ty so very muchly ily all <3

1K notes · View notes

bitchlessdino · 3 months

Text

"like i can" (m)

a/n: maybe ill fix it up with a banner after but for now i just need yall to see the vision

w.c. 1.6k

warning: fratboy!chan x older working adult fem!reader dynamic, ex's younger brother, mommy kink, switch!chan, a lot of dirty talk, unprotected sex, possessive chan, oral (giving and rec), praise kink, exchanging cum, probably grammar mistakes

Tagging @the-boy-meets-evil @dirtysvthoughts @okiedokrie @kwanisms @highvern @whipped-for-kpop-fics @wonustars @sluttyminghao for those who was there that helped me or brain rotted me ily and hopefully I didn’t miss anyone

You swore off men. Anyone with a dick would be off limits. Especially Lee men. After your last relationship, dick truly fucked up any potential future relationship for you.

So why the fuck were you on your knees? You had no excuse being there, no excuse for sucking dry your ex-boyfriend’s younger brother. No matter how hot and sweaty he looks after coming home from the gym. You were just there to drop off his asshole brother’s things. And maybe have that lemonade he was offering. And surely lemonade is not code for a mouth full of frat boy dick like when you were in college.

Yet somehow.

“Shit…this is so…wrong…” As Lee Chan fought you off with his words, his hands decidedly thread through your hair, locking his soft kind eyes with you as your lips wrapped around his cock and slobbering over his length that was a surprisingly pleasant size.

“He’s gonna fucking hate me,” he whined, only for his hips to softly piston in your mouth.

Your moans vibrated against his skin, sending waves of nerves throughout his body. Chan was irrevocably enthralled by you and always has been when his brother introduced you to his family for the first time, but never in all his years did he imagine he’d have you in such a position. In any position really.

The corner of your lips stretched to your ears, licking a long thick stripe up his shaft before cradling his cock against your face. “Do you want to stop, pretty boy?”

His lips parted to speak only to close back up, pressing them into a firm line before another moan escaped through them as you kissed his bulging veins. The whites of his nails piercing the leather of the couch he was pinned against as his eyes fell shut, muttering a mantra of apologies for his older brother missing in action.

“You’re such a good boy to worry about your brother. He’s so lucky to have you,” you complimented as you stroked him around a clenched fist.

Chan shook his head, a remorseful frown on his face. “Definitely not a good enough one,” he managed to mutter.

“But look, you’re letting your brother’s ex girlfriend suck your cock but all you can think about how he’d feel. You’re such a good boy.” Your nails claw down his bare torso, from his heaving pectoral to to his clenched abdomen. Someone above put a test in front of him and he was failing. “And too good of a brother.”

He swallowed a lump down your throat, feet glued to the ground, stooping his knees from completely giving out. “This…shouldn’t have happened…it shouldn’t be happening—“

“Then why don’t you stop me?”

He exhaled a shallow breath. “You know why I can’t.”

“Dumb it down for me why don’t you?”

“Fuck,” he buried his reluctance in the back of his throat, hips leaning towards you before they shifted, gaining momentum. “It’s you, that’s why.”

“Me?” You chuckled before putting him back in your mouth, squeezing around his girth.

His hands found claim back on your hair before losing control of his morals, no longer tiptoeing around eggshells and instead crushing them along his path. “Yes, you.”

Your eyes dilate a centimeter too wide when his tense expression melts into one of acceptance, then determination as his body relaxed into your warmth and plummeted down your throat. “It’s always…been you.”

He could no longer resist your advances, letting out a groan of anguish as he emptied in your mouth, cradling the crown of your head to his groin as his stream poured inside of you, his hips faltering as he the white disappear past your lips. Tapping against his hips, he released you mercilessly, ensuing the coughing and the gagging that inevitably came. “You…dirty boy,” you chided, face warm and throat sore.

He softly scoffed, before picking you up from the ground and smashing his lips against yours. “If you’re not holding back than neither should I…Mommy.”

“Mommy?” You grinned.

“Too much?”

“Oh, baby boy. Not at all.” You threw your arms around him, languidly moving your lips, and letting the taste of his own cum penetrated Chan’s senses, only enticing him more. “Lay it all out for mommy. Can you do that for me, baby?”

He gingerly nodded, hand caressing your face with an inspired smile. “Yes, anything. Anything mommy wants, I can do.”

“What do you want, baby?”

He sighed. “I want to taste Mommy.”

“You do, don’t you,” your kiss him playfully, grinding against his cock, feeling him grow under your touch. “Show me how much you want it.”

“Mmh, I want it,” he lifted you off the ground before moving you back toward the dining table planting you flat against the dining table. “I’ll show Mommy exactly how much I want it.”

He tugged off your skirt, flashing your wet panties practically drenched in your anticipation. You heard him take a sharp breath, already inhaling that scent that he knows was now forever ingrained into every wrinkle of his brain.

“You look like you’re about to eat me alive, baby,” You mused.

“And Mommy would be right.”

He pulled you by the legs, emitting a small yelp, before all you could feel was his mouth on your clothed cunt, sucking your wetness through your lace, and his moans against you, living and breathing inside you. Your hands reach either edge of the table before started riding his face, erupting his giggles, “I get to taste mommy’s pussy…I’m fucking dreaming.”

“Mmh, Chan,” you moaned, your fingers pressing into his head and feeling his tongue explore you like the new world.

“Mommy…” he parted your panties to the side, tasting until it’s only raw heat on his tongue and he swallowing every drop.

“Baby like mommy’s pussy?”

You felt him nod. “Mommy’s pussy is perfect…need her cum in my mouth.”

“Work for it, baby.” You laughed.

“Yes, Mommy.”

If Chan’s mouth was law, you’d be a follower. You embraced every caress, every stroke, every thrust of his tongue. The ‘fuck me’ eyes that stared back at you as he ruined you like rain on parade. You braced on the table, hips taking his face, walls fluttering, and breathing in staggering breaths. “Oh my god,” you spoke as if confessing sin, “I’m gonna cum.”

Chan could not stop himself, and what was between your legs became safe haven. You rode his face until you saw stars, planets, whatever the galaxy offered, while Chan’s name echoed throughout the room and bounced off the walls.

He clamped his grip on your hips, fusing himself to you and tasting your climax flood his gums with the sensation of every twitch of your thighs. As soon as they faltered, he found your lips, mixing your cum in his mouth with remnants of his cum in yours, both swallowing betrayal that’s been long forgotten the moment Chan laid eyes on a freshly single you. “Taste that, mommy? Taste good that pretty pussy of yours is?”

“Baby…”

You tugged on his hair, grinding your hips against him and feel that cock slide against your pussy lips and thinking about how you both were still so close yet so far.

You needed it. You needed Chan. You need to feel him stretch you out fuck the shit out of you. You needed him to ruin you on this stupid family dining room table that humiliates you now that the person that introduced you has put an end to things on his own terms. You were gonna get closure your way and no other way.

“I want baby’s cock in me…”

Chan smiles, hands tracing over your curves and lines. “Mommy, are you asking or are you telling?”

“I’m demanding.”

His smile was only more radiant after your tone shift, positioning himself exactly where he needed to be. “Anything for you, Mommy.”

It’s big. It’s thick. But after the feast Chan had, he was sliding through you with ease, testing the limits of your endurance as he vanished inside you. Your voice gave out, hands planting on either of his shoulders as he took you by the hips to drag you against him across the table.

You rest your forehead against his. “Baby...”

“That feel good?”

You nodded. “So good, baby. Your pretty cock pushing in and out my cum.”

He groaned, his hands moving to squeeze your hips, “Mommy, your mouth—”

“Filthy hmm? Like your cock fucking my mouth or how your tongue tasted my pussy?”

He moaned, against your lips, pounding you against him so desperately the table shook and it was a study table from your experience. “Your talking is gonna make me cum, Mommy.”

“Good because it’s all I want: baby’s cum in mommy’s pussy, squirting your fat load inside of Mommy…Make Mommy yours.”

“Mommy, you’re killing me.”

Your nails ran down his back, pleased. Lips tasting the salt in his sweat, and your breath cooling the heat of his flushed neck. “Mommy just wants you to empty out in her, fuck her better than anyone else has.”

“Better than anyone else…like my brother?” He asked in gentle reluctance.

“Would that be hard for you? You think you can’t fuck me like your brother would?”

Violently, he shook his head. “No,” his hips take flight and a moan cracked out of your lips. “I don’t think anyone would fuck Mommy like I can. Especially my brother.”

“Yeah?” You clenched around his biceps. “You gonna make me forget what he feels like?”

“I’ll make you forget his name.”

“Chan…”

“Mommy won’t remember nobody’s name but mine.”

You don’t remember when it was that you arrived at this house but you’d soon realize when you’d come. And come. And come.

And come until Chan was empty, or at least until someone finally came home. But it was the weekend. Your ex was out of town and so was his parents.

So who the fuck knows when that is.

#svthub #dino smut #lee chan smut #seventeen smut #seventeen dino #seventeen #lee chan #seventeen x reader

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norrizzandpia · 10 months

Note

Can you please write exes to lovers angst with lando

Y’all know the way to my heart with these angst requests

A Second Chance (LN4)

Summary: Secrets are a hard thing to live with, they always come out in the end. When it comes to Y/n and Lando, their loved ones struggle to understand what occurred between the two when both of them refuse to discuss it. What happened that night that warranted two people so in love to separate? What triggered Lando to become so violent, so hostile? Why is there a lone engagement ring lingering in Lando’s apartment when it’s meant to rest on Y/n’s finger? What’s happened?

Warnings: lots of fights, language, literal screaming matches, lando breaking y/n’s heart while he’s drunk, this ones hella rough when it comes to angst, whata rollercoaster, HAPPY ENDING THO YALL JUST BUCKLE UP FOR THE RIDE AND TRUST ME

Note: i decided to really play with y’all here because you don’t end up knowing what caused them to breakup until the very end, so enjoy 6,000 words of subtle hints and you on the edge of your seat bc I’m evil 😚

Some things were better left unsaid. That’s the mantra Lando repeated to himself every time he felt the urge to pick up the phone and pour his heart out to the girl he let get away.

Some things are better left unsaid.

He was sick of the words, wanting to rip them out of his mind, out of his mouth every time he uttered their syllables. His thumb laid so close to her phone number, he was frightened one wrong move would make the decision for him.

All he saw, not just in that moment but every moment, was her face as he spewed off words of anger, violent insults that held no truth to them.

He wanted to apologize, yearned to hear her breathing as he said the things he had rehearsed in the mirror for God knows how long. There was blood on his hands, her blood, the blood of her being when he killed her spirit and the character he had fallen in love with. He couldn’t live with that.

Couldn’t live with the knowledge he had destroyed the beauty of her happiness, the beauty of who she had been.

Selfish, maybe, but he called her anyway. Whether the apology was for her or for him, he wasn’t sure, he just needed to know she knew that he never meant for those things to tumble from his mouth. He never meant to tear her down when he had spent the entirety of their relationship building her up.

The ringing sounded, it blaring loudly in the quiet of his room. He stared at her contact photo, he never changed it. The picture was one his friend had taken of her as she gazed upon him at the Silverstone Grand Prix, when he got his podium. She was smiling up, looking at him as if he held her entire life right in the palm of his hands.

She had loved him, put her heart in his hands, and he had thrown it back in her face like he was disgusted by it.

His mind was taken back to the moment when, after one ring, the call went straight to voicemail.

Fuck it, he thought, I’ve already called her once.

So, he tried again.

One ring, then voicemail.

Again.

One ring, then voicemail.

Again.

One ring, then voicemail.

By the end of his calling spree, he was sitting up in his bed, the sheets falling down his toned chest as he stared at the brightness emitting from his phone. His fingers flew over the keyboard as he searched up why he was only getting one ring.

The answer that popped up stopped the world around him. He threw his phone down to the side, it falling harshly onto the floor. He stormed from his bed, ripping open his door and throwing on a random hoodie strewn about his couch. His eyes glazed over as he tied his shoes and left the apartment, beginning to run. His running was in vain, however, as he was only trying to run from the thing that got him into this situation. Himself.

The phone stayed behind, lingering on the floor with its screen cracked yet still displaying what had set Lando off in the first place.

The Google search engine painfully informed him of Y/n blocking him.

—

“How have you been since the breakup?” Max said softly, looking at his best friend with gentle eyes.

Lando looked down to his lap, “I’m doing fine. Getting by.”

Max’s quietness lingered like he knew something.

“What is it?” Lando asked spitefully, sick of feeling like his loved ones were tip toeing around him.

Max sighed, “You’re not sleeping.”

“How do you know that?”

“Life360 shows me where you’ve gone in the last twenty-four hours, Lando. It also gives me notifications when you leave your house. At first, I wanted to stay out of it, but you’re doing it every night, going to random parks and staying there for hours. What are you doing?”

Lando smacked his hand on the table out of frustration, strangers sat close to them glancing over suspiciously, “So, you’re monitoring me now?”

Max scoffed, “Yeah! Your family and your friends are worried for you.”

“Well, don’t.” Lando gave him a pointed look.

Max shoved his face into his hands, “It’s not that fucking easy, Lando. Everyone thought you two were going to get married. You had a ring. Then, all of a sudden, you two ended. The people that love you are obviously going to be wondering about you when shit like that comes out of left field.”

“You don’t think I know that?” Lando began, face heating up, “You don’t think I look at the engagement ring everyday and wonder where I would be today? Maybe engaged to her like I had always wanted? You don’t think I know this shit? You don’t think I have to live with it, sleep with it, exist with it?”

It dawns on Max as he listens to Lando’s every word, “You’re going for walks in the night? To get away from thinking about it when you’re trying to sleep? Trying to distract yourself?”

Lando’s eyes look down once more, “Running. I’ve been running.”

In a rare form of physical affection, Max leans over and lays his hand over his friend’s, “What happened that night?”

Lando flinches, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

His hand is heavy on top of Lando’s as he tries again, “Lando, I’m sorry, but I just don’t understand. What the fuck happened? When are you going to be comfortable talking about it? It’s been five months.”

Something fiery triggers within Lando and Max knows it’s the reminder of how long he’s gone without her, “I know how fucking long it’s been.”

At the gridded teeth and hostile tone, Max relents. He sits back in his chair just when Lando’s gaze is caught behind him. His head turns to see what’s got Lando and he’s met with a woman that looks identical to Y/n.

He breathes out, turning back around to tilt his head at his best friend. Max opens his mouth to say something, but Lando interrupts him by the loud screech of his chair being pushed away from him.

He watches in horror and disappointment as Lando walks over to the woman and begins flirting with her. That smile, which was once reserved only for Y/n, is now exploited to get one singular taste of something like her, however fleeting.

In no time, Lando’s trading numbers with her and returning to the table. He sees the way Max looks at him, an expression that makes him hate himself more, and picks up his things, “If you’re not going to support me, sit across from me and patronize me for everything that’s happened, then I’m fucking out.”

Max laughs in disbelief, “Lando, I don’t know what the fuck happened! Maybe if I did, I could actually help you instead of this fucked up coping mechanism you’ve developed of sleeping with women that look like her.”

Lando snarls at him, stomping off and out of the establishment, texting the new number he’d gained immediately and asking when they were free to come to his apartment.

Max watches him through the window, anger at him dissipating and worry taking over once more for the boy he used to know.

The waitress comes by and drops the check off, three digits staring back at Max.

—

“I TOLD YOU NOT TO INVITE HER!” Lando screams at Charlotte, nostrils flaring as he shoots daggers into her soul.

“WHAT’S THE FUCKING PROBLEM? CAN’T FUCKING FACE YOU EX OF EIGHT MONTHS?!” Charlotte yells.

Lando counters, “YOU KNOW I FEEL ABOUT HER! HOW I FELT ABOUT HER! I DON’T FUCKING WANT HER IN THE CROWD OF THE NEW CAR LAUNCH!”

Charlotte rolls her eyes, “WELL, GET OVER IT! IT’S HAPPENING!”

“I’M THE DRIVER, I RUN THE SHOW! I SAY SHE GETS TAKEN OFF THE INVITE, SHE GETS TAKEN OFF THE INVITE!”

“SHE’S ALREADY BEEN INVITED, DUMBASS! WE CAN’T RETRACT THE INVITATION NOW. IT WOULD LOOK BAD.”

“I DON’T CARE! FUCK, CHARLOTTE, THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!” Spit flies from his mouth, his volume so loud it jostles the walls.

Charlotte, being the strong woman she was and fed up with Lando’s recent behavior, fires back, “IT’S NOT MY FAULT SHE’S ON THE AUTOMATIC INVITE LIST! YOU KNOW THIS! GET YOUR HEAD OUT OF YOUR ASS!”

He lets out a loud grunt, turning around in the room like it’s closing in on him. He’s so in his mind as it suffocates him with memories of her, he steps toward the wall and almost puts his fist through it. However, right before his hand comes in contact, he hesitates.

He can feel Charlotte’s horrified eyes on him as he turns around, chest heaving from the unreleased anger. He can’t fully meet her stare, knowing it’ll break him further.

However, that doesn’t matter as she puts her hands on her hips and whispers, “Who even are you anymore?”

She slams the door on her way out and Lando can hear her lash out at his father, detailing how he needs to get his son in check if Lando wants any kind of continued future in F1. They go back and forth for a moment, Adam standing up for his son in a time where there’s no defending able to be done. His father reminds Charlotte of the relationship she’s cultivated with Lando, reminding her of how she once referred to him as her son, and she’s ready with her heartbreaking answer: he’s not the same person she once knew.

That gives Adam no room to fight back, silence overtaking the atmosphere for a moment before he’s entering the room. Lando sits on one of the many office room chairs, head hanging low as he picks at his fingernails.

Adam sits in the one closest to him, breathing slowly as he tries to gather what he wants to say.

“Lando, what happened that night?” He repeats, reminding him of the countless conversations they’ve had that started with that question and ended with Lando refusing to talk about it.

His son shakes his head, something dying inside Adam once more, “I told you. I’m not talking about it.”

A moment passes before Adam snaps, “Lando! I know you’re hurting and I’m so sorry. But, Jesus fucking Christ! You can’t go on like this forever! This isn’t healthy! She’s not coming back! She’s stopped communicating because she doesn’t want to hear from you! You’re going to need to move on sometime!”

Lando stands abruptly from his seat, his father’s words hitting him hard, “You have no fucking right to say that! You don’t know what’s going through her mind!”

Adam stands to get in his face, “No, but I do know you two were happy, she was happy, and you were in love, and then it was over! People don’t fall out of a love like that if someone didn’t fuck up royally!”

Lando moves to the door, “I don’t want to hear this anymore.”

Adam grabs his arm before he can leave, staring at him with a stone cold gaze, “You keep pushing people away, treating people like shit, and you’ll ruin your career.”

“Who said I even cared about my career anymore?”

—

As much as he hates it, Lando’s eyes immediately search for her once he and Oscar are let into the room. The new car sits under a drape, a crowd of people standing around it, and, even with all the exciting things around him, he looks for the greatest heartbreak of his life.

He wants to see how she is, see if her eyes are as sunken as his are, if her body is as thin as his. Yet, he fails to see her. He knows she’s here, having seen her acceptance of the invitation on the guest list.

He’s being pulled to the front of the room by PR members, their pushes making him stumble into Oscar’s side as he keeps his gaze locked on the sea of people in front of him.

Time goes by slowly, the ceremony moving easily with applause when Oscar and him roll back the material covering the racing car.

They’re in the midst of an interview, microphones held tightly in their hands as they converse with the reporter.

He’s still distracted, his eyes still searching throughout the party to see her, but he’s called back when Oscar nudges his shoulder, “Sorry, what?”

The reporter smiles, “You’ve just gone through a break up and it seems she’s here. Does that say you two ended on good terms?”

He cries of laughter in his head. The idea that they ended on good terms is the funniest thing he’s heard in a while.

He puts on his fake smile, though, nodding strongly like this isn’t a question that has broken his soul, “Yeah! Y/n and I still talk from time to time. She supports me and I support her.”

He feels as if Oscar is staring at him, as if the entire room is staring at him, as he lies through his teeth. Y/n and him haven’t spoken in a year, her having cut off all contact from the very beginning.

The interview continues, nonetheless, with the journalist accepting his answer without question.

Once they’re done, Lando feels sick. Sick of trying to salvage his image, sick of having to appear at these functions, sick of wanting her back and knowing she’ll never let him in again. He excuses himself quickly, mumbling about needing to use the restroom, before dashing off down an empty hallway and locking himself in a stall.

He sits on the toilet, racing suit falling over the edge of the porcelain bowl as he lays his head in his hands.

He breathes heavily, lungs not taking in enough air, and he feels as if the first tears are about to fall when the door opens and the conversation of two men floods through.

“They broke up, you know?” One of the men states as they begin looking at themselves in the mirror, Lando watching them through the cracks of his stall.

The other one nods, seemingly excited, “Yeah, I’ve never been happier. She’s so hot, we finally have a chance.”

Lando’s eyebrows furrowed together. Who are they talking about?

“I know, mate. I saw her tonight. I think she’s still here. You saw that orange dress she’s in? Hot as fuck. It really does justice to that body of hers.”

Lando grimaces at their words.

However, they continue, revealing more about their topic of conversation this time, “Yeah, one hundred percent. Y/n Y/l/n has never looked better. I saw her walk in and I was ready to fuck her instantly.”

The color drains from Lando’s face when her name slips past their lips, their previous words having an entirely different impact on him now. He sees red at their vulgar words, pulling himself from the stall and walking out with a dangerous, cold air to him.

The two men stop quickly, looking at each other in the mirror when Lando sidles up in between them. Beginning to wash his hands, he makes eye contact with both of them.

“Having a nice conversation here, boys?”

The two of them gulp, clearly nervous at the man’s presence. They say nothing, rather letting Lando continue.

“You know, we may not be together anymore, but that doesn’t mean she’ll get with you two. She has standards and, after being with her for five years, I can tell you: you two aren’t it. Keep dreaming, though, yeah? That’s how I got to where I am now, making millions of dollars a year and such.”

He waltzes out, throwing out the paper towel he had grabbed in the middle of his words and nodding at them.

Suddenly, as he stands in the quiet hallway, his demeanor has shifted. He feels lighter. Consciously, he doesn’t know why, but, subconsciously, he knows it’s because he just asserted his dominance over her, his possession. Reminding the two men of how long he was with her, how long he had her, a duration of time they’ll never see, mended his pain for a minute or two.

It comes back quickly, though, when he turns the corner and runs into the infamous papaya colored dress that had laid on the floor of his bedroom many times before. He halts, so does she, and for a moment, the two of them keep their eyes trained on the other’s clothes, not wanting to look up and face something they aren’t ready to face.

Although, cruelly, that moment inevitably comes and Lando’s breath is taken from his lungs at how radiant she stands before him. His eyes trail over her face, the tape that was once holding his heart together now ripping apart at the sight of her. She seems strong, looking at him in a removed manner, as if she truly isn’t there with him at the moment.

His hand hovers over her bicep, fingers tingling as they plead with him to touch her.

“Hi, Lando.” His name falling from her lips, sounding soft and warm, reminds him of why he knew her coming to this, seeing her, would ruin whatever kind of progress he had developed in the year they’d been apart.

His mouth opens, then closes, and he struggles to get words out as his mind races with all the things he wishes to say. Knowing everything he’s tried to tell her is not meant to be said in a place as open as this, he settles for, “Hi, Y/n.”

She smiles at him, completely different from the fury in her features the last time he saw her, and mumbles out, “How have you been?”

He takes a leap, “Been better.”

She ignores it, “Listen, I need to go to the bathroom, but it was nice seeing you!”

Y/n tries to slip past him, but he’s quick to grab her arm. Looking in her eyes as if he’s trying to show her the happy memories that now are too painful to remember, he speaks lowly, “Hear me out.”

She shakes her head, “No, Lando. I’ve been done with us for a year.”

“Have you?” He challenges her, staring down at her and willing her to try again.

She rolls her eyes, looking anywhere but him, “Yes.”

“Look at me.”

When she fails to do so, he shakes her arm lightly.

“Look at me.”

And when she does, he tilts his head, leaning down to hover his lips over hers, “Tell me we’re done. Look at me and tell me you don’t love me anymore.”

“That’s not fair.” She whispers, lips brushing against his.

“Why?”

“Because of what you did.”

He looks on at her, their eyes holding the other’s as they relive the moments of that night. They both know there’s no way for him to counter, no way to fight back or fight for when she throws that in his face. What he did to her, what he said to her, has tarnished the trust she gave to him.

He pulls back, breathing in deep when she rips her arm from his grasp and flees further down the hall.

Watching her disappear behind the door of the restroom, Lando curses himself.

Curses the alcohol, curses that night, curses his words, curses the love they had, curses the memories that won’t leave him alone.

Curses the existence of their relationship entirely.

—

Lando’s never felt confusion of this level before. He stares down at Paige’s, Y/n’s best friend, contact as it calls Lando’s phone.

He hesitantly answers, putting it to his ear slowly, and whispering, “Hello?”

“Lando?” Paige sounds concerned.

Lando shakes his head, attempting to wake himself from the sleep he had just been having, “What’s going on?”

“Y/n is so fucking wasted and, I have no clue what happened between you, but she keeps asking for you. She won’t stop drinking, won’t leave the club, until you get here. I didn’t want to call you, partially because of how late it is and partially because of what’s going on between you two, but, if I’m honest, I’m glad I have an excuse. I’m worried about my best friend and it started when you two broke up.”

By the end of her words, Lando’s already out of his bed and halfway out the door. His keys jingle in his hand as he continues to converse with her, “I’m on my way to pick her up. I’ll be there soon. Just try and keep the drinks out of her hands.”

Before he can hang up, the engine of his car revving to life, Paige interjects, “Lando, one more thing. You’re going to have to let Y/n sleep at your place. She moved out of her apartment a few months ago and has been sleeping on my couch while she finds a new place. But, we have other friends here and I can’t just leave them to make sure she gets into my house.”

Lando nods, “That’s fine, but why’d she move out? She loved it there.”

Paige sighs, “Because she couldn’t stand the fact that everywhere she turned, all she saw was you.”

—

Lando pulls up to the club, its lights bright and music loud as he spots Y/n and Paige waiting on the curb. He gets out, rushing over to them and not loving the way Y/n seems to be hunched over in pain.

Paige pawns her off into Lando’s arms, Y/n melting into them and clinging to him when he holds her softly.

Paige begins to walk back toward the entrance of the club, “Thank you, Lando! You were always someone I could count on to take care of her. Have fun and please, for the love of God, fix whatever is wrong between you.”

At that, she disappears back into the colorful lights and Lando is left with his girl.

She’s mumbling quiet things into his chest, words he can’t make out as he gently lowers her into the passenger seat of his McLaren. When he’s finished buckling her seatbelt and triple checking that she’s secure in the car, he pulls back, but not before she’s grasping his hand and looking up at him with weeping eyes, “I miss you.”

Three words he’s yearned to hear for so long and yet, now, he can’t take them seriously. She’s drunk, she’s blacked out, and she very clearly doesn’t know what she’s saying.

This isn’t real.

He knows that.

But, what if it is?

—

When they stumble through his threshold, Y/n bolts to the bathroom. He smiles softly at the way she still, even in her drunken mind, knows exactly the layout of his apartment. Retching emitted from the small room and he’s running over, kneeling down beside her as she empties her stomach into the toilet. His hand rubs up and down her back as the other holds her hair back, whispering sweet and soft words of love in her ear.

“It’s okay, Y/n. I’m right here.” Knowing she’ll wake up tomorrow and be disgusted by his presence makes the moment even more tender. He knows what will be lost tomorrow, he wants to savor it now.

Her hand moves from the toilet to grasp his shirt, the material hanging from his waist below her. It hurts to feel her touch, to know she seeks comfort in him, but it hurts even more to think of rejecting her, pushing her hand away. So, he lets it rest there, lets it seep into his skin and burn the area, marking it as her own and reminding him there will never be another girl as precious to him as her.

When she’s done, dry heaving the only thing sounding as she lays against the wall behind her, he sits with his legs crossed to the side. His hands rub her thighs as she recovers, and all he can do is stare at her. Her eyes are closed yet he can picture the exact color of them. He memorizes her nose, its upturn and freckles; he memorizes the Cupid’s bow of her lips, the feeling of the plush and soft skin tattooed on his; he memorizes the moles dotted across her neck and the cleavage of her boobs in her dress; he memorizes her arms, their warmth forever ingrained in his brain after Spa 2021 and she was the only thing he needed; he memorizes her legs, and her hands, her hair, the way her eyebrows are shaped, and jawline he’s wished to kiss again.

For it will be gone tomorrow.

—

He’s the first to wake up, thankfully. In case she woke up before him, he slept on the couch, her body taking up his bed for the night. He makes coffee with trembles in his hands as he awaits the moment she wakes up.

And when she does, she storms out of his bedroom, striding into the kitchen still in his t-shirt and sweatpants, the items he dressed her in the night before.

“WHY THE FUCK AM I HERE?” She screams at him, hands flailing at her sides as her cheeks redden with anger.

“You got drunk and wouldn’t leave the club until I came and got you, so Paige called me.” He responds calmly, knowing how uncomfortable she must be.

She scoffs, “AND I JUST COINCIDENTALLY HAD TO SLEEP HERE?!”

He shakes his head, “No, Y/n. Paige told me you had to sleep here because she still had to make sure the other girls got home safe. She didn’t have the time to get you back to her place herself.”

She quietens down, looking at him with a distant stare, “Did we fuck?”

He reels back, eyes bulging, “NO! YOU THINK I’D DO THAT WHEN YOU WERE WASTED AND IN THE MIDST OF WHAT WE’RE GOING THROUGH?”

“WE AREN’T GOING THROUGH ANYTHING, LANDO! WE ARE DONE!” She fires back.

“YEAH? THEN, WHY DO WE KEEP SEEING EACH OTHER?”

“I DON’T KNOW! IT’S NOT LIKE I’M ASKING FOR IT!”

Lando steps closer to her, taking a deep breath, “Last night, you told me you missed me. Is that true?”

“No.”

It hangs in the air, full of lies and deception.

“Yes, you do.”

She groans, “NO, I FUCKING DON’T! STOP TRYING TO HOLD ON TO SOMETHING I DON’T WANT ANYMORE!”

“WE WERE IN LOVE, Y/N! I KNOW YOU STILL LOVE ME IN THE WAY I DO!”

Her hands shoved at his chest, tears beginning to leak from her eyes, “THAT DOESN’T CHANGE WHAT YOU SAID TO ME!”

Unwillingly, Lando is taken back to the night that ruined it all. Refreshing his memory horrifically.

A YEAR EARLIER

Y/n chuckled as she threw Lando onto the couch, his drunken body landing in an awkward position.

“I’ll be right back, Lan. I’m just going to get you some water.”

He nodded, groaning at the swirling in his stomach. He heard her clank around in the kitchen, getting up and wandering off toward the sound.

When he reached her, he was very quickly overcome with desire and lust for his girlfriend. He stumbled over to her, wrapping his arms around her waist and holding her back to him. He began kissing her neck, spit and slobber coating the skin in an uncomfortable way.

Y/n dodged him, “Lan, baby, I love you, but you’re really wasted right now.”

He hummed, “It’s fine, Y/n.”

He tried to kiss her again, but she slid out from his hold, “No, Lando. Plus, I’m not in the mood.”

He reached out for her, but she moved too quickly for his drunken mind. He groaned in frustration, “Y/n!”

“Lando!” She gave right back, shaking her head at his antics as she continued to fill up his water.

When she gave him nothing as he stared at her expectantly, he said the first thing that came to his foggy mind, “Fine, I didn’t want to fuck you anyway.”

She giggled, not fully hearing what he was saying, “Sorry, what?”

“I said, I didn’t want to fuck you anyway. I’ll just go into my Instagram messages and find someone better, it’s whatever, don’t worry about it.”

He saw the way she slowly turned her head to him, “Lando, what are you say-”

He interrupted her, “Who do you think I should look out for? Someone with a bigger ass than yours? Or maybe with bigger boobs? How about skinnier? Or perhaps with a prettier face?”

She just stood and stared at him, the glass in her hands slowly slipping from her grip, “What the fuck?”

He laughed at her, “Come on, Y/n!” He pulled out his phone, waving it in her face, “Who should I look out for as a replacement for the girlfriend who won’t fucking do shit for me?”

Her hip popped out, his demeanor change blindsiding her, “Why are you saying these things?”

He huffed as he slurred, “Because you’re a fucking shit girlfriend! I’ve put up with it for years, your inadequacy to fulfill me! I’m fucking done. I’m over not being satisfied in everything we do. You aren’t attractive to me anymore, you aren’t funny anymore to me, you just don’t do it for me anymore. Someone, I know, can surely be better than you.”

His words were malicious and hot on his tongue as if he had been waiting to say them. The glass, like her heart, slipped from her hands and shattered at her feet. Shards littered the floor, cutting her bare feet, as Lando began laughing at her, “Oh, perfect! And, now, you can’t fucking hold a glass! Fucking pathetic.”

He waltzed out of the room, as if everything was fine and retreated to his room, slamming the door shut.

There, as she stood in the middle of a wet pool of glass, she cried.

Cried for the pain in her feet; cried for the man she loved; cried for the death of her confidence; and cried for the love that had just been ruined.

PRESENT TIME

Lando remembers waking up that next morning without her beside him, and being utterly confused. That was until he read the text message in which she reminded him of the things he said to her, informing him they were over, she wouldn’t look at his face ever again, and she was already on a plane away from Monaco, to not chase her.

He had never been given the chance to explain to her just how drunk he had been that night, how his words weren’t really his.

“I DIDN’T MEAN WHAT I SAID TO YOU!” He yelled in her face, trying desperately to get through to her.

“DRUNK WORDS ARE SOBER THOUGHTS, HUH?” She argued, hands pushing against his arms.

“ARE ROOFIED WORDS SOBER THOUGHTS?”

She stopped, taking a step back and staring at him. She was quiet, looking up at him with a newfound curiosity, “What?”

“I was drugged that night, Y/n.” He responded, finally allowing for the truth to come out.

Her eyes softened, looking up at him with the love he knew was within her. She walked back to him, closer this time, and wrapped her arms gently around his neck, “Are you okay?”

Testing boundaries, he laid his hands on her waist and when she didn’t protest, he leaned into her fully.

“When I woke up that morning, I had a really hard time reading your text. I got through it, but I couldn’t shake the fact that I genuinely felt like I couldn’t see. My vision was fucked. I got up, I wanted to go to the kitchen and drink some water, but my legs gave out under me and I fell to the floor. I struggled to walk, my head ached in a way I never knew was possible, and I puked all over the floor of my bedroom. I, obviously, knew something was seriously wrong, so I called Jon. He came and helped me into his car. I must’ve been pretty removed because he tells me, to this day, that I was mumbling things about you leaving me, shit I don’t remember ever saying. But, anyways, he drove me to the hospital and they did a shit ton of tests. The drug test, that’s how we found out I was drugged with Rohypnol, a roofie. They helped get it out of my system, but I was pretty fucked up for the next few days. And, then, when I truly came to about a week or so later, I realized the gravity of what happened between us, but, obviously, by that point, it was too late.”

His explanation left Y/n feeling slightly guilty. She had been with him that night, it was her job to make sure he was safe as she promised him she would be his designated driver, the sober one.

“Do you know who did it?” She asked to which he shook his head.

“No, I’m not sure. I don’t remember much from that night.”

He saw it in her eyes, “Y/n, don’t do that. Don’t blame yourself. There’s no way you could’ve known.”

Her eyes watered, “But, I should’ve known what you were saying to me wasn’t you, or even drunk you. I shouldn’t have shut you out. I should’ve given you time to explain.”

He nodded his head to each side, “Maybe, but what I said to you was horrific. Of course, you left me.”

She separated herself from him, walking into the living room as she cried. He sat down next to her on the couch, her tears soaking the shirt she wore as she struggled to gain her breath.

He pulled her into him once more, “Y/n, it’s okay. Your actions are justified.”

She shook her head, “No, it’s not that. I mean, it sort of is, but it’s mostly the fact that I spent this past year thinking you never really loved me. What you said to me that night, I’ve never forgotten it and I just spent so much time berating myself for thinking, for five years, you loved me back. I degraded myself over something that was completely manipulated.”

He laid his head on hers as he nodded softly, “I’m so sorry. If it’s worth anything, I truly did love you all five years. I still love you. I never stopped loving you.”

She pulled back, hands on his chest as she stared at him, “I still love you even if those words still haunt me.”

“Don’t let them, please. The fact that they came out of my mouth is enough. Don’t let them have any kind of value. You were and are the love of my life. There’s no one like you, Y/n. No one who could be better suited for me. You are more than enough for me. You’ve satisfied me in every part of our relationship. What I said that night, it couldn’t be farther than the truth. I could never fall out of love with you ever. There is no one I want to take up the other part of my bed than you.”

She wiped her tears, “What about those girls you were seen with this past year?”

He shook his head, “Didn’t hold a candle to you. Not my finest moment, baby. I’m sorry for it.”

“No, you don’t have to apologize for trying to move on, I just want to make sure you’re in this with me.”

He threw his head back, “Of course, I am. I’ll always be all in if you are too.”

She lightly smiled at him, returning to her spot against his chest as he laid them back against the cushions.

They laid there with each other, in silence, until the afternoon. Something that was once broken, now whole. Something that was once destined to end, now beginning again. Something that was once messy and complicated, now clear. Something that was once mistrusted, now fully capable of any challenge.

Maybe Lando could put that engagement ring to use now.

#mclaren #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fic #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris fanfic #lando norris fluff #lando norris imagines #mclaren formula 1 #lando norris edit #lando norris fanfiction #lando norris fic #lando norris smut #lando x reader #lando imagine #lando norris #lando norris x you

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gh0stsp1d3r · 7 months

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thinking bout Luke and the way he… 18+, mdni

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★

-the way he shuts his eyes and lets out a groan when you pull on his hair. His mouth forms an ‘o’ shape, and you think he has never looked better than he does in that moment.

-the way he teases you, rubbing his tip over your panties as you whined and begged for him to just put it in already. Your panties are soaked by both of your guy’s arousal, and after forever, he finally slides your panties to the side and puts his dick in at an agonizingly slow pace. (P link)

-the way he cries out your name before he cums, like a prayer or a mantra. He repeats it and it’s the only thing he knows how to say at that moment.

-the way his hands grip your waist while he fucks you rough, the bed creaking underneath you.

-the way his hands go to your mouth, covering it as he whispered. “Sh, sh, baby. Don’t wanna wake everyone, do you?” With an evil grin on his face.

-the way he stares up at you as you ride him, his eyes going to your breasts moving with each movement you make.

-the way how some days he fucks you until youre seeing stars, like he’d never see you again. and others he’s slow, as if you have all the time in the world.

#luke castellan x you #luke castellan #luke castellan smut #luke castellan x reader #pjo disney+#pjo tv show #pjo

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louvaine · 2 months

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pairing: aaron hotchner x reader synopsis: in the aftermath of violence, you are the light guiding aaron back home to safety. the unwavering lighthouse to his stormy nights.

It’s been six days since he’s been home.

Six agonising nights spent wallowing in the nightmares that claw at your skin, digging and scratching the surface to escape. A flash of white light, the loud echoes of gunfire, Aaron, Aaron, Aaron; his lifeless body buried in the shadows, face void of colour.

It’s hard to breathe──

Aaron shifts next to you, reaching out and letting his fingertips drift over your body; he starts with your neck first, tethering you to this single moment wrapped up the sheets with him. He’s stirring from a restless sleep; all marbled bruises and scar tissue that’s only partially healed, leaving small red indents in his skin. It’s hard to see him like this; to think about how it all could have turned out.

“Stop torturing yourself.”

His voice is a welcome distraction.

He doesn’t open his eyes, but he doesn’t need to.

It’s been a vicious cycle ever since he arrived home from the hospital; survive the day, sleep barely two hours, watch him sleep, feel his pulse racing against your skin. Repeat, repeat, repeat. He knows it’s a compulsion by now; you need to keep track of his breathing, fluctuating heartbeat, the warmth of his body to ensure he makes it through another day.

“It’s not what you think──”

“I think I know you better than that.”

The truth of it hits you square in the chest as you take a breath; there’s a scream echoing in your mind. An inhumane screech that tugs at something in your chest, throat raw and hands curled into fists. There’s smoke, thick, black smoke gradually smothering you, a knife wrapped around your throat, a hand clasped over your mouth, but all you can see is Aaron, lifeless and bleeding out, at your feet.

“It’s over now,” he says, soft.

“It doesn’t feel like it.”

He stills; wishing that he could somehow erase the moment from your mind. To finally free you from the constant reminders that he’d faced evil and ultimately survived. He doesn’t tell you about how he thought he wouldn’t make it. He doesn’t tell you about the moment where his entire life flashed before his eyes, the darkness beckoning him home. He doesn’t tell you that he can barely sleep, that the muscle memory of a knife slicing into skin is haunting him or that he’s barely holding himself together, broken pieces that need stitching back together.

“I’m okay,” he says, like it’s a mantra.

“Aaron──”

“It’s okay. We’re okay.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead.

A faint, crisp breeze stirs the stale air as Aaron’s arm wraps around you, open palm resting against your stomach. He thinks about kissing you until you’re breathless, too blissed out to focus on anything other than two hearts beating together as one.

“I’m sorry,” you say.

“There’s nothing to apologise for.”

His dark eyes focus on you, holding your gaze.

He’s memorising every single feature; the small scattering of freckles across the bridge of your nose, the faint scar above your top lip, the slight gap in your teeth but nothing can compare to the hollowness of your eyes. There’s a sadness festering there, a reminder that perhaps he’s not as invincible as he once thought. He hates that he’s the reason why you look so grief-stricken, and he’s not sure he’s either seen this side of you before.

He’s never known you to be so defeated.

He doesn’t like the way it makes him feel.

There’s something damaged in the cracks of your smile; a smile that feels forced. Something that he may never be able to heal with overdue intimacy and lingering kisses. There’s something distant in the way you look at him. It’s like this: he’s here with you, but your mind is elsewhere, wandering, worrying, somewhere out of his reach.

“Aaron?”

“I’m right here.”

The sun is beginning to set over the horizon, the slow descent drawing shadows out of what’s left of the flickering daylight. His arm tightens around your hips, anchoring himself to you and this moment, hoping that this is enough to blur out the death, gore and bleakness that plays on repeat inside his mind.

“Do you love me?”

He thinks: yes.

It’s a reflex; a habit.

But there’s a part of him that doesn’t feel right.

Like maybe he’s not here and that perhaps he lost pieces of himself he’ll never be able to claw back. Maybe this is a dream; something to settle his soul before he’s thrown headfirst into the afterlife. He reaches for your wrist, pulling it close and using the pulse as a test so he can differentiate between fiction and reality. It’s a reminder that this moment is not a figment of his delirious mind; a reminder that he’s alive, and that his heart is still beating inside his chest.

“Do you love me?”

He thinks: of course.

He always has. Or, at least, he thinks he has.

He remembers the very moment you met. It was raining, and he’d been talked into joining the BAU night out one Tuesday in a dreary November, and you were outside as he left the bar. A subtle naivety about you called out to him, a ship lost at sea. He thought he’d become your lighthouse, guiding you back to safety.

It turns out that you were his.

“Do you love me?”

He thinks: yes.

He says, “How can I not?”

It’s then that you sink into him.

It’s the first time in days that he’s had you curled up at his side as you watch the world pass you by. It’s the little things, the simple moments, like this that he misses when he’s away. He misses the breakfasts in bed, the sound of laughter, the spontaneity of days off spent under the warm sun, as rare as they are. He lets his mind wander in the silence. He thinks of his job, the sacrifices he’s made, the moments you might have lost had the reaper finished him off. He thinks of the compromises your relationship has needed to survive, and waits for the guilt to resurface.

Somehow, it always does.

“I feel──”

A pause, then, “Guilty?”

He nods, as his body shifts beside you.

It’s like this: Aaron survived, but not everyone did.

Lives were brutally snatched long before they should have been taken, most without a second thought for their loved ones or the dreams they might have had. Aaron spends the aftermath blaming himself for not seeing the signs, for not doing his job quick enough, and he carries the guilt like a second skin, never once letting himself forget that it’s all his fault.

It’s like this: he survived, but the cost was too high.

It’s in the night terrors that paralyse him, an endless lineup of victims staring at him through cold, lifeless eyes. He can feel the remnants of their lives slipping through his fingertips, ebbing slowly away. He can still feel the moment the blade sliced through his abdomen, the cool, sharp steel cold and slick with blood.

No one talks about the nightmares or insomnia.

No one talks about how survival is sometimes worse.

Aaron doesn’t speak about the horrors encased in his mind; the way it creeps up on him when he least expects it. Or that when he closes his eyes, he’s back in his apartment, alone, bleeding, feeling his life slowly ebb away.

He doesn’t need to; you already know.

“I love you.”

He smiles, then says, “I know.”

It’s been days since those words have left your mouth.

It’s not by choice; there was a time when you’d say it whenever you could, loving the way Aaron would smile at you, eyes full of adoration. But the phrase feels almost uncomfortable now, chest tightening with the agonising pain that rips through you as the memory of the last time you spoke them plays on repeat in your head. Aaron had been leaving your apartment to head home, unaware that there’d be a dark figure awaiting his arrival, readying himself for the perfect moment to strike. It never crossed your mind that it might have been the last time he heard it. It still doesn’t feel real; a recurring dream that neither of you can wake from──you try not to remember the way he didn’t have time to say it back.

“Do you think it’ll get easier?”

He thinks: of course not. Why should it?

How can the world right itself after all that loss?

Grief profilerates until sometimes, it’s all anyone can feel. The weight of the grief doesn’t lessen nor does it become easier to bear, but time can give you a new perspective. For Aaron, it’ll only fuel his determination to be the best at his job, to never falter in the face of evil, so that killers can be caught and brought to justice. He’ll turn this overbearing grief into something meaningful, to ensure that the lives lost were not in vain. He wakes with the realisation of it wrapped around his throat every morning, a hand clasped against his clammy skin, tightening its grip until he’s struggling for breath.

“I’m not sure I want it to.”

There’s the guilt; then there’s you.

“It’s not your fault, Aaron. It’s not your fault.”

He allows the words to settle into his skin, breathing them into his aching lungs. He doesn’t tell you he doesn’t believe you. He doesn’t tell you that his heart aches with every beat. He doesn’t tell you when the nightmares get so dark that he struggles to distinguish between what’s real and what’s not. He doesn’t tell you that he might need some help, that he’s practically screaming out for it. He doesn’t tell you anything that might destroy the carefully curated bubble he’s built around this fragile thing between you.

He’ll be damned if he lets his mind ruin that.

He’ll be damned if he lets his mind ruin you.

“I love you,” he breathes out, “and I always will.”

It’s the only truth he knows; the only truth that matters.

It does nothing to alleviate the demons but here, with you, limbs coiled together as one, he almost feels safe. His chest is alight with tenderness; it lingers and emanates as you gently rock him to the soft hum that crawls up your throat; a soft lullaby for him to fall asleep to.

It’s like this: you’re the lighthouse, and he’s lost at sea.

It’s only a matter of time before you guide him home.

#criminal minds imagine #aaron hotchner imagine #hotch imagine #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #mine

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fanfic-writer-and-rambler · 14 days

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Lex Luthor unaware who Batman is and regrets it.

Lex, on a tv screen: Batman, show yourself or this brat will die!

Lex pulls back the curtain and Damian Wayne (dressed in his Robin suit) is tied up, hanging up over a vet of Joker liquid.

Robin: Hey.

Batman: Is that my fucking son?!

Oracle: Batman, relax.

Lex: What will happen when he falls in the Joker vat? Not great things I imagine. God, I'm so evil!

Batman: Joker... Joker... Joker...

Batman laughs stoically and then grows into a cackle.

Oracle: Okay you're enraged. I get it, but you have to remain calm.

Batman: He's got my youngest son over a vat of Joker toxin.

Oracle pulls out her earpiece from the usually monotone friend screaming in her ear.

Oracle: I found the room, go there and be calm.

Batman: Calm? Calm. I am calm. I am calm.

Batman runs down the hall repeating that mantra.

Lex: Your choice, Batman. I'll do five minutes. Yeah... Yeah I'm fair like that.

Robin, uninterested: Shoot, I forgot to finish my essay for class. Eh, I'll do the rest before class.

Robin yawns.

Lex: Could you be a little scared?!

Robin, yawning again: Nope. He's not going to be kind to you. I hope you have good insurance.

Oracle: Batman, when you go in there- Why did his comm go off? Oh... Oh shit.

Batman kicks in the door. The viewers can't see him off camera.

Robin: Hi, Batman.

Batman sees his son over the vat and the calmness disappears. Only filled with heavy angry breathing.

Oracle, acting fast: Okay working on cutting off the feed.

Robin: Yeah... You fricked up.

Lex: Oh please, he won't do anything-

Camera feed cuts out as Batman rushes to the man. The rest is only what Damian sees partly before closing his eyes.

Nightwing and Red Hood watching from another room they're trapped in.

Nightwing: Probably for the best she cut the feed.

Red Hood, proud: He's awesome when he gets like that.

The vent at the top of the room they're in opens and Red Robin falls into the room.

Red Robin: All right did I get- Damn it!

Nightwing: We might as well wait for him.

Three minutes later, Oracle's phone rings. the number is unknown, but she answers it.

Oracle: Yes?

Superman: Do I... Does he need me there?

Oracle: No. No, I can see the footage and he's good. Lex is down and bleeding.

Superman: That's my best buddy. Tell him thanks.

Oracle: Totally.

She ends the call and taps her finger on her desk.

Oracle: How did he even get my number?! One thing at a time girl.

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azure-cherie · 1 year

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Asteroid Kaali 4227

Mythology:

Also referred to as Mahakali, Bhadrakali, and Kalika (Sanskrit: कालिका), is a Hindu goddess who is considered to be the goddess of ultimate power, time, destruction and change in Shaktism.[1] In this tradition, she is considered as a ferocious form of goddess Mahadevi, the supreme of all powers, or the ultimate reality. She is the first of the ten Mahavidyas in the Hindu tantric tradition.She is regarded as the ultimate manifestation of Shakti, the primordial cosmic energy, and the mother of all living beings. The goddess is stated to destroy evil in order to protect the innocent. Over time, Kali has been worshipped by devotional movements and Tàntric sects variously as the Divine Mother, Mother of the Universe, Principal energy Adi Shakti .She is also seen as the divine protector and the one who bestows moksha, or liberation.

As per my interpretation the placement of asteroid kaali in someone's chart is somewhere they are blessed with divine power to put efforts and change things, the placement of ultimate power , somewhere they can start their tantra /spiritual practices with , place where they can attain moksha, where Kali protects .

Placements:

First house/Aries

You have the principle power over yourself you know yourself and your motives and you know how to use your own inner energy to cultivate change within yourself and with others, your attainment of spirituality in this lifetime would be through yourself, through working on your body , observing others etc. You are protected by Kali when it comes to wounds and physical ailments, she would be helpful for you to receive guidence in matters of self confidence and growth , in becoming your best self , she could be a guide to your dark feminine aspects.

Second house/Taurus

When it comes to your attainment of power it comes through sense of possession , buying things , mostly things which match your aesthetic value , you have the power to make a lot for yourself if you choose to step into it , your power comes from your stable subtle beauty and eye for it , your spiritual practices can begin with a fair ground to improve your allure , glamour magick or enchantment, you will be protected in your finances .

Third house / Gemini

Your voice is your awakening, your opinions your weapons , you are the trigger, your power lies in accepting your voice , using it for the good , you could also use manipulation for getting things you want , your affirmations and mantras could be your initiation to your practices, you can even receive mantras in dreams if you wish to , you could have oracular abilities as well.

Fourth house/ Cancer

Your sense of security is your foundation, you're the embodiment of the mother type in triple goddess symbolism, you're fertility in full bloom , your power lies in protection , birthing of new ideas , creativity, your power sterns from love , you could do protection magic as well as magic that involves feeling your sexual energy, as well as moon magic . Take a note of your energy on full moon.

Fifth house / Leo

This gives very much "The love witch " vibe, your transformation is through love your transcendence is through love , with young love in your heart and forever in your mind you can create the life that you want , you could be blessed with great deal of manifestation, since Kali protects this area for you , you will be ripped off from any wrong person in love , and eventually the right person will come into your life . You're esoteric, you could start with channeling your daimon however be careful.

Sixth house/ Virgo

Healing is something that you can do , not just for yourself but for everyone around you , in the physical realm as well , you know the people say so and so doctor has magic within them they cured someone no one else could , that kind of magic , you can choose to heal people and yourself, starting with reiki and small healing spells , making potions as well . Regardless of the good side you have the thing about inflicting pain and vodoo as well , but do it to the bad people who deserve the pain .

Seventh house /Libra

Your power lies in relationships that you make , you derive so much love and support from them that it helps you in your practices as well , your vivid imagination as well helps you get so many things , your partner could be source of magic , you can do spiritual things together and based on the foundation of counterpart energy you guys can grow together . Kali will protect the relationship that is right for you.

Eighth house / Scorpio

You're the embodiment of transformation true form of dark feminine, you derive power from sexual practices, from changes from the things that kill you , you make them their power, sex magic could be a great option for you . Kali will protect you in areas of your transformation, whenever you are brought down remember you will definitely rise above greater

Ninth house / Saggitarius

Wisdom and education are so important for you to get the power that you deserve, you're intelligent and mindful and that will lead to you getting the most in life , you could be a guru , you could do great in philosophical fields. You can write sacred literature and esoteric books , your knowledge is sacred and will be protected

Tenth house/ Capricorn

You're methodical and know how to do things the right way that is your greatest power , you will hardly fuck up anything because you are so into working hard and making things perfect, with great connections you will lead an easy pathway to success. You will be granted ample strength in doing what you put your heart to.

Eleventh house / Aquarius

This placement very much reminds me of the origin of Kali , please read on it for greater information, the point where she goes on destroying the evil around her , you guys will be blessed by Kali to maintain yourself even in the times of extreme chaos, she will look after, you have a very great power to change things through rightful violence, violence works for you , use it wisely tho.

Twelfth house/ Pisces

Your power is your strong almost blurring intuition, visions , you know so much but do you tell them enough, if you pray to Kali and wish for her to come visit you in her dreams she will , she will guide through the spiritual part in your life , worshipping her will be life changing in subconscious ways , even i cannot explain.

Thank you so much for reading i hope this helped take care love love .

#astrologer #astrology signs #astrology #astrology asteroids #asteroids in astrology #astro community #tropical zodiac #sidereal astro #asteroid astrology #asteroids astrology #astrology community

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insidermeditationmantra · 2 years

Video

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Mantra to Reverse Black Magic Spells | Protection from Black Magic | Remove Evil Eye | Black Magic - Insider Meditation Mantra

For long hours, beautiful relaxation music, meditation piano music, stress reliever piano music, check out our YouTube playlist.

Thanks for tuning in to our relaxing sleep music! Introduce yourself to the Insider Meditation Mantra community in the comments section and let us know where in the world you’re listening from. Enjoy! Love.

Lyrics in Sanskrit :-

देव दानव सिद्धौग पूजिता परमेश्वरि ||

पुराणु रूपा परमा परतंत्र विनाशिनी ||

Lyrics in English :-

“ Dev Danav Siddhaugh Pujita Parmeshwari ||

Puranu Rupa Parma, Partantra Vinashini || Om ”

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youremyheaven · 7 months

Text

Spiritual Thoughts and Other Tingzz 🥰🥺✨

The Paradox of Being

2. Twin flames, soulmates and karmic partners in astrology

3. Sufi Love through Bollywood music

4. About Feminine Intuition

5. Spiritual Stagnation & Desire

6. Manifestation & Astrology

7. Mantra Purusha

8. EVIL EYE REMEDIES

9.Dangers of Improper Mantra Chanting

10. Glamour Magic?

11. Glamour Magic rituals from anon

12. Insecure people

13. Mantra tips

14. my strength

15. My journey with Goddess worship

16.Can I worship more than one God?

17. Mantras for protection

18. Astrology as a practical tool

19.Exposing Freud pt 1

20. Freud tea

21. Therapy is enabling?

22. Claire's aura changes

23. Hinduism and Goddess Worship in India

24. My experience with Ashwagandha

25. My exp with ash pt 2

YIN SPIRITUALITY:

Yin centric exercises & Somatics

Yab-yum Tantric pose

How to be sensual

DESI POSTS HEHE:

Songs for my pasandida marad

Desi meme

Sonakshi Sinha gossip

Qubool Hai supremacy

MOODBOARDS

Serendipity

Troublesome Lovesome

Shuddh Desi Romance

Angel out of Heaven

Love you to the Moon

Old School Love

Give Me Love

Etherealwave Lover

Lover, come over

You're My Tranquil Shadow

My Seven

In the mood for loving

I love you, my darkness

Sonora Senpai

Bedroom Whispers

My blue little lily blue

A little bit of ever after

We're lost angels, there's no redeeming us

Eternity of Us

#vedic astro notes #astrology observations #sidereal astrology #astrology notes #nakshatras #astrology #astro notes #vedic astrology #astro observations #astroblr #jyotish #jupiter #saturn #venus #uttara bhadrapada

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the-heros-sidekick · 4 months

Text

❝ went looking for a creation myth, ended up with a pair of cracked lips. ❞

He feels it first at the back of his neck. A buzzing, like the crackling of electricity underneath his skin, reverberating against the hollow of his skull. Something is knocking, making its presence known: A particular kind of evil that had snuck into Stiles’ mind once already, stealing away control over his body. Condemning him to sit back, trapped in his own mind, rendering him powerless. Doomed to watch in horror as his blood-stained hands wielded sharpened blades against those he loved. They’d gotten him out, though nearly at the cost of his own life—a sacrifice Stiles had been more than willing to make, so long as no one else would get hurt because of him. And yet something must have stayed behind, lodged into the membrane of his skull like a shard of glass. For the longest time he’d managed to keep the horrors contained to only haunt him in the dead of night, leaving him sleep deprived and wrung out, every nerve ending scraped thin. But now, even the light of day no longer offers refuge for Stiles to feel safe. Long gone is the once obnoxiously loud, carefree kid—left in its stead is a man carrying himself with caution, treading quietly across the space between other people’s reality and what lies beyond. He knows there are demons out there listening, waiting for an opportunity to exploit any sign of weakness—a door left slightly ajar, perhaps, much like the door to Stiles’ mind they’d never managed to close. The feeling of impending doom crescendos and Stiles, feeling sick to his stomach with fear, clings desperately to the words he repeats to himself like a mantra. "Nothing gets in unless you let it.” But the words turn to ash in his mouth, memories of past experiences proving him a liar.

an exploration of Teen Wolf's 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐊𝐈 who, after leaving Beacon Hills behind, settled down in New York where he's now considered the FBIs golden boy ― crafted for @fakevz. following canon events of the show with additional headcanons. low activity & very crossover friendly. minors dni. this blog operates in english only. est. 2014 ♗ ©

𝐀 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐃𝐘 𝐈𝐍: loss of innocence ⊹ comedic sidekick ⊹ overcoming demonic possession ⊹ a morally gray world ⊹ undying loyalty ⊹ survivor's guilt ⊹ agent of chaos ⊹ deflecting with humor

✧ 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 ✧ 𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓 ✧ 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒

I think I've loved you since I met you. I just mistook it for curiosity.

Ever since I first laid eyes on you, I felt this unquenchable need to know you.I blamed it on ulterior motives, justified it because I needed something from you, because you held the answers I was looking for, because no one else was able to help but you. Looking back on it now though, I'm starting to think that maybe some part of me knew right from the start, that first night I stumbled upon you in the woods, what took me years to see: Maybe my heart recognized that it was going to love you right away, and I spent the years to come catching up with what it knew right from the start. That it was always going to be you. How could it ever have been anyone else? Through mayhem and bloodshed, through fear and loss, through grief and sleepless nights, you were the one constant that remained. When I lost sight of everything--first myself, then reality, then hope--you were the one guiding my way like a beacon, or a north star. If I've ever known peace, it's in all the moments that your hand has touched mine and that your arms have held me tirelessly, putting your body like a shield between me and every inkling of danger. Of all the late-night wonderings of trying to make sense of the last decade (and failing), what remains is this singular thought: At least it was you. At least it was me. At least it was us, together. I'd bear it all a million times over if it meant I got to hold your hand at the end of it all. You are the moment of quiet at the end of a long day, you are breathless laughter, you're the patch of sunlight filtering in through the window that I stand in to warm myself. You are everything good in this world and living proof that there is hope despite it all, and I love you beyond measure.

#tag dump:#[ 𝟎𝟏 ] the boy who runs with wolves ╱ * character study.#[ 𝟎𝟐 ] they see right through me ╱ * visuals.#[ 𝟎𝟑 ] i fill the void up with polished doubt ╱ * musings.#[ 𝟎𝟒 ] november flush & your flannel cure ╱ * aesthetic.#[ 𝟎𝟓 ] a morally gray world ╱ * headcanons.#[ 𝟎𝟔 ] brick lane in the brisk cold ╱ * home.#[ 𝟎𝟕 ] one more off-key anthem ╱ * playlist.#[ 𝟎𝟖 ] fidelity . bravery . integrity ╱ * profession.#[ 𝟎𝟗 ] driving past ghosts ╱ * beacon hills.#[ 𝟏𝟎 ] a terrible hunger for knowing things ╱ * memes.#[ 𝟏𝟏 ] wound up a bad comedian ╱ * games.#[ 𝟏𝟐 ] spills of lost innocence ╱ * writings.#[ 𝟏𝟑 ] the greatest of luxuries is your secrets ╱ * ooc.#[ 𝟏𝟒 ] thinking of a master plan ╱ * answered.#thank you @theallegedsourwolf for this amazing edit <3 #it gets sappy under the cut. read at your own risk #supernatural #modern setting #english #r: engaged #f: teen wolf #he/him #editsfakevz #userfakevz

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fortpeat · 3 months

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Love Sea Ep5 Review and thoughts ❤️🌊

Where do I even begin with this episode (this seems like my new go to mantra while writing a review post) ... Like srsly IT WAS PERFECT. It had everything - domesticity, flirting, softness, angst, communication 🥹🥹🥹 gosh I need these episodes to be 2 to 3 hours coz this is not enough 😭😭 and we are already at 5 episodes 😭😭 anyway back to the episode.

We start with Mahasamut watering the plants while Rak is writing and it's such a simple scene but it's also like looking into what their future might hold. Rak working while Mahasamut is right at home with nature (be it on the island / the city)

Also is it just me or was Fort extra babygirl this episode like every scene his puppy eyes were working around the clock that I just wanted to wrap him in a blanket and keep him in my pocket 🥺🤏

Also nice to see how much power Mahasamut actually has over Rak with his puppy eyes 😍😍 and then we have the dinner scene and my lord the whole scene was so soft from Mahasamut apologizing for "embarrassing" Rak (NO HONEY YOU DID NOT YOU ARE PERFECT) and Rak defending him and literally ready to go to war 🥹🥹 (AHHHHH THIS IS EVERYTHING I WANTED) and then the smiles ... My favorite would have to be Rak's proud smile when Mahasamut tries the food and likes it 😍😍🥹

(Don't even get me started on the parallels between this lunch scene and Paisky's 😭😭😭)

The trail room scene 🫠🫠❤️‍🔥🥵🥵 wheww... Just mere kisses and I am fannjng myself ....Jesus Christ these two will be the death of me..also I am wondering is this like their actual kiss or something after coming back 👀 I know that's not like possible and that they would have maybe slept together once or twice or hundred (knowing them 😂) but it would have been interesting if this was them stepping back into that intimacy after the Island and Rak's iciness from last episode !

And then the grocery shopping it's like the writers had a checklist of what all we missed with Paisky that they are now giving it to us ! Chefs kiss 😘🤌

Oh oh the evil brat is here ... Don't like her one bit also bitch please don't you dare look down upon our baby... Also Rak's claws coming out (I was the biggest cheerleader over there) also it's so satisfying to see Peat's sassy characters put down butchy characters with just mere words 😂😂

Now THE SCENE (definitely making a separate post for that) moving on.....

Thank god we didn't get Mahasamut in a suit coz that would have been too much for my Prapaisky missing heart 😭😭😭

I also love how Mahasamut put his foot down on saying that he doesn't need all these fancy clothes and that Rak can replay him by eating the dishes that he makes 🥹🥹

And then we are back to more parallels 😭😭 what is with these two taking me a walk down memory lane with Paisky 😭😭🥹🥹😍 (also very valid of Mahasamut to go from "I am gonna eat you whole" to "Why are you so freaking cuteee" 😍)

I CANTTTT WAIT FOR NEXT EPISODE OBVIOUSLY 😍😍

The post credit scene of Fort reading the book - Look this man is gorgeous but he is BREATHTAKING in such simple clothes I can't take my eyes of him 😫😫😫 HOW IS THIS FAIRRRR...

Also the end credits scene of them on the pier 🥹🥹 Rak laying his head on Mahasamut's shoulder, the kiss on the shoulder, the hands intertwining... I CANT... ASLO WHERE IS THE CLOSE UP SHOT OF THIS 😭😭😭🥹🥹

#love sea the series #love sea #Tongrak Mahasamut #fortpeat #fort thitipong #peat wasuthorn #ls meta #ls ep5

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thisapplepielife · 5 months

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Written for @steddiesongfics.

Diamonds on the Soles of His Shoes

For a song released in 1986, I picked Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes by Paul Simon.

Partially hidden behind the trees, Eddie looks at the house, large and looming. Sure, he's been by it before, did a bit of trick-or-treating here in the rich neighborhood, but he's never actually been inside Steve Harrington's house. Never stepped foot over the threshold, beyond those red double doors.

Said doors are standing wide open tonight, inviting the whole world inside.

Steve Harrington's graduation bash. Everyone's invited. That's been the mantra all week.

Everyone.

Eddie's not so sure that everyone really includes him, and he didn't even graduate, anyway. Not even on his second try, and he's dreading the idea of spending a third senior year at Hawkins High. He'd be able to run Hellfire Club for one more year, but that's about it. The silver lining, small and weak, compared to the dark storm cloud that is the prospect of another year in that hell hole.

He sees a girl from band, Robin Buckley, also lurking and lingering at the edge of the driveway.

"You goin' in?" Eddie asks, sidling up to her, making her jump.

"Uh, maybe?" she says, but doesn't sound sure about it.

"You know Steve Harrington?" Eddie asks.

"Only the back of his stupid head," Robin answers, snarkily.

Eddie laughs, agreeing, "Yeah, same."

But she doesn't move, and he doesn't either, "Why are you here, Robin from Band?" he asks, like that's her legal name.

She doesn't seem to care, just saying, "Reasons," and it's just cryptic enough that he's curious.

"Do you have a crush on Steve Harrington? Gonna make a move before it's too late and he's off at Harvard or Purdue or wherever daddy's money bought him a spot?"

"More like Roane County Technical College," Robin mumbles under her breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing," she says, then turns and looks at Eddie, "just. I saw him applying to Scoops Ahoy, you know, the ice cream shop in the new mall? I don't think he's going to college."

"Maybe it's just a summer job," Eddie says, but that doesn't sound convincing even to his own ears. Why would Steve Harrington need a summer job selling ice cream?

"I don't think so," Robin says, and she's holding back. He can tell.

"Spill it, Buckley."

She cuts a look back at the house, then back at him, "Like, okay. You cannot tell anyone I know this, because, like, I took an oath–"

"You took an oath?" he asks.

"Okay, I didn't take an oath. But there was a lecture. A big lecture, about not repeating anything about what I saw cross the guidance counselor's desk, you know? I was her aide, fifth period."

"Okay, well, what did you see?" Eddie asks, because now he's curious. Very, very curious.

"Steve Harrington didn't get in anywhere. Nowhere at all. And now he's trying to sling ice cream all summer. With me."

"No way," Eddie breathes out, loving that he has this dirt on the little rich boy. Harrington's crown has been repeatedly tarnished this year, and Eddie's enjoyed watching the fallout from afar.

"You didn't answer my first question: Do you have a crush on Steve Harrington?"

"No," Robin says, and Eddie follows her line of sight. Oh, ew.

She's looking at the instigator of at least ninety-seven percent of the fallout King Steve's suffered, as he's holding court at the front door, like this is his party instead of Steve's. Billy Hargrove, surrounded by girls. Some freshly graduated, like the perpetually tone-deaf Tammy Thompson.

Eddie rolls his eyes. If he had to choose between the lesser of two evils, he'd take Harrington.

"Hargrove?" Eddie asks, not even trying to hide his disgust at her bad taste, "I don't even really know you, Buckley, but you can definitely do better."

Robin laughs, but it sounds kind of sad, "I'm not interested in Billy Hargrove, either."

Eddie doesn't get it, then. If she's not here for Steve, and she's not looking at Billy, she's looking at…oh.

No way.

He should have realized, should have seen himself mirrored in her or some shit. But he says nothing. If he's right or wrong, he'll never know, because it's just not discussed.

"Glad to hear it, Robin From Band," Eddie says, and offers her his arm. "Wanna go in with me, then?"

And he's surprised when she slides her arm through his elbow.

Robin finds some girls she knows from her own class, and Eddie slinks off towards the pool. He can smoke a cigarette and see if there are any customers out there, so he can make a little bit of money, selling off his shittiest weed.

No such luck, it's strangely empty. Pool drained, even if it's getting warm enough for swimming, especially if it's heated.

Eddie walks over to the diving board, and tests it, making sure it's not too bouncy. He doesn't want to take a header into the empty concrete, that's for damn sure. It seems safe, so he shuffles out until he can sit on the edge.

Lights a cigarette, and swings his feet.

The party inside is loud, and jam-packed, and Eddie is sure coming here was a mistake. There's nothing for him here, not at Steve Harrington's house. He should have rounded up Jeff and Goodie and found something else to do tonight. He's sure Gareth would have hung out, if he could get his mom to extend his curfew.

"What are you doing out there?!" The question comes, so sharp and hard, that it startles Eddie so much he nearly topples into the waterless void.

He grips the edge of the diving board, but loses his lit cigarette into the pool. Into the pile of dry leaves from last fall. Shit.

"Um, trying to burn your house down?" Eddie teases, and when he looks back, Steve Harrington is standing there, annoyed.

"Get off of that," Steve says, arms crossed across his chest like he needs to protect himself. From Eddie? In what world?

"Well, since you asked so nicely," Eddie taunts, batting his eyes.

"Please get off that," Steve says, dry as dust. No humor to be found. Which is odd. Eddie went to school with Steve for a long time, he is funny, as loathe as Eddie is to admit it.

He crawls off it.

"Just let me get my cigaret-"

"Leave it."

"But-"

"Don't go down there, Munson, are you stupid?" Steve snaps, and Eddie takes a step back. He's not stupid, but he's pretty pissed off now.

Eddie narrows his eyes, "Yeah, I have to repeat my senior year for a third time, Harrington, we all know that already," Eddie snaps, but rapidly loses steam. Steve Harrington's face says he didn't know that, not until Eddie told him.

Fucking idiot, opening his own goddamn big mouth.

"Uh, well, um…" Steve trails off, "I'm sorry? I didn't get into any colleges if that makes you feel better. I was probably one D-minus in Mrs. Click's class from joining you."

"Ms. O'Donnell is the one torturing me," Eddie answers, off-kilter that he's even having this conversation with Steve Harrington.

And Steve smiles, "Yeah, I hear you. I think she only passed me because of my last name."

Eddie is taken aback, Steve Harrington is aware he gets special treatment? Aware of the diamonds on the soles of his shoes, as well as the noses so far up his ass they'll never see sunshine again?

Well, hell. It isn't good ammo to know Steve Harrington can't get into college if Steve's willing to tell him that himself. Kinda takes all the fun out of it.

"Heard you might be the new King of Scoops Ahoy," Eddie teases, and it is teasing, now. Not taunting.

And that must read, because Steve smiles.

"I'll look great in a sailor suit. I hope we get tips, because I'll kill it," Steve says, hands on his hips. But he doesn't look aggressive, he looks amused.

And Eddie did that. Hot damn.

"What's up with the pool?" Eddie asks, and wishes he hadn't, when the black cloud passes over Steve's face.

"You know, Barb," Steve says, so soft that Eddie almost doesn't hear him.

Eddie's only heard rumors and gossip. That she went missing. That she didn't, and was instead found killed by everything from monsters, to Steve himself. The former seems more plausible than the latter, and isn't that ridiculous?

"Did she die in your pool?" Eddie asks. Maybe she drowned.

Steve just kind of shrugs, "I don't know. Maybe. Where you were sitting was the last place she was seen alive, though."

"You're shitting me?" Eddie asks, but he's pretty sure Steve's not kidding.

Steve shakes his head.

"Sorry, I didn't know," Eddie says.

"I know you didn't," Steve says, "it just scared me, seeing you sitting out there. All alone. Sorry if I was a bit of a dick about it."

And hell has frozen over, Steve Harrington is apologizing to him.

"Um, you weren't. It's okay. Sorry I just made myself at home."

And Steve laughs, "Well, that's fine," he says, waving his arms around, "look at everyone else."

"And why aren't you with everyone else?" Eddie asks.

"Like who? My only friend these days is thirteen-years-old."

"Say what now?" Eddie asks, because that sounds creepy. Is Harrington, like, a pervert now? He'd heard rumors last winter about Harrington hanging around Hargrove's little sister, but he hadn't given them much credence. He knows the rumors that go around about himself, and the vast majority of them have no basis in reality either.

"Long story," Steve says, "long, long, story. I'm, like, his babysitter? Him and a bunch of other street urchins, I guess?"

"You're a babysitter?" Eddie asks, disbelieving.

"It's as shocking to me as it is to you. I'm not bad at it, though," Steve says, and he smiles.

"You're not like…messing with underage girls?"

"Jesus Christ, no, what kind of freak do you take me for?" Steve says, and he sounds so disgusted that Eddie's sure that's the truth.

"Sorry, I had to ask."

"Unless you mean, like, Nance?" Steve asks, brow furrowed, like he's really thinking this through.

"I do not," Eddie says with a laugh, "I thought you were broken up, anyway?"

"We are," Steve says, "definitely. We are. What about you?"

"Am I broken up with Nancy Wheeler? Yep, have been for as long as I can remember, anyway," Eddie snarks, and Steve Harrington laughs. An ugly, open-mouthed bray.

It's dorky, but real.

And Eddie's heart does a thing that he definitely didn't give it permission to do in his chest. Flipping and flopping, all willy-nilly.

He's not supposed to like Steve Harrington.

Harrington's a rich boy, who doesn't try to hide it. And Eddie's poor as a pocket, with nothing to lose.

But right now, standing out here in the near dark, he does like him. God help him.

"Word of advice, from one freak to another, stop saying it like that, or people will think you're a perv. Lead with the babysitting part."

Steve nods.

"If none of these people are your friends, why have a party? Why spend money on assholes that don't deserve it?"

Steve shrugs, "Habit, I guess. Won't be like this much longer, though. My dad's pretty mad about college. He's cutting me off."

Eddie blinks. That's…unfathomable, really.

Steve keeps talking.

"So, I got a job at the ice cream place in the mall. To learn my lesson. Earn my keep, whatever. You should come by, I'll hook you up," Steve offers, and Eddie feels insane. That can't possibly be a thing that they'll ever do.

Then, Steve tries to sweeten the pot, "Pretty sure I'll be wearing a funny hat."

"And working with Robin From Band," Eddie says, and Steve just shrugs, like he doesn't know who that is.

Poor Harrington, Buckley'll eat him alive, given half the chance.

And maybe, just maybe, Eddie will swing by to see that happen, live and in person.

Free ice cream and a show.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiesongfics and follow along with the fun! 🎶

Notes: Oh, these kids. If they only knew how important they'd all be to each other just a short time later.

#steddiesongfics #1986 song #stranger things #pre steddie #steddie fic #platonic stobin #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #thisapplepielife: short fic #thisapplepielife: steddiesongfics

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