#he had that with florence .... he just completely fucked it up in the way his mom did

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Nikolai's appetite disappears over night and Price smells a rat.

cw: mention of body shaming, damaged relationship with food.

Nik loved food.

Not in the way that Johnny did, slamming an entire packet of Maryland cookies and then descending into a sugar coma, or the way that Gaz did, by seeing it as fuel to maintain a powerful and efficient body, so every macro counted. But in the way a wine taster did; there wasn't a city on earth where he couldn't steer John to the very best restaurant, be it tiny back alley taverna or sprawling five star hotel.

He loved sampling different cuisines, sourcing exotic dishes and sharing them with John (who had drawn the fucking line at sea urchin and puffer fish, because while he had never considered a rule about eating shit that could kill you in seconds, he made an ardent one in that moment). John reckoned it was a leftover from his army days when he would have had to survive on rat packs and mess food like the rest of them. He was enjoying it now he could.

So, when Nik suddenly stopped eating, it was bloody noticeable.

He'd still take John out, filling his plate and excitedly watching his face as he tried it, but he wouldn't eat himself. And if he did, it was some poxy salad or plain chicken that looked like it hadn't even glimpsed a spice rack. There were empty tupperware containers stacked in the co-pilot chair of the Black Hawk and Nik remained completely sober during a post-mission arse squeak celebration. (Where they had - in Ghost's words - bum squeaked their way through; Price wasn't sure it was technically an idiom, but he let it pass.)

"You watchin' yer figure, Nik?" Price asked finally, reclining in the wicker chair at the little café they'd stopped in. They were just outside Florence, and the tourists were just beginning to slither groggily into the sun.

"Da," Nik tapped his stomach, "I am, what do you call it, spreading?"

"You look fine t' me. More n' fine."

"I have lost some. But I still have more to do." Nik tugged at his sleeve, a self conscious gesture that John had never seen him do, and it set his teeth on edge.

"Did someone say somethin'?"

Nik swallowed and John wished he'd take those bloody aviators off so his eyes were visible. "Not recently."

"Well, this has been goin' on for months," John said, gesturing at the black coffee that comprised Nik's entire breakfast, while John had polished off the continental version of a Full English. "So out with it. Who said what?"

"I..." Nik cleared his throat, shifting in his chair. "I was not wearing a shirt on a beach in America, visiting Laswell, and a group of young women advised me to go to the gym."

"You can olympic press Ghost."

"Da."

"You can bench press over twice your own bodyweight."

"Mm, da."

"I think you go to the gym plenty."

Nik went silent. He wasn't looking at John, which meant he was embarrassed and not sure how to recover. Whatever this was, whatever had been said, he would have retaliated with his usual bolshy dismissal at the time, but up there in his Heli it would have buzzed around in his head in the quiet until it got its barbs in.

"Fer a smart bloke, you 'n' 'alf thick sometimes."

"That is what I am trying to fi--"

"Not what I meant, Nikolai." John sighed, rubbing a hand over his beard as he considered Nik's slumped shoulders. "You're good-lookin', fit, hotshot pilot with yer gold chain. This is the first time some horrid cow has said somethin' cruel, I bet."

"I might have let myself go."

"You're fifty. It's allowed," John said. "But you haven't. Yer just as built as when we first met."

"I was thirty, John. That is not possible."

"I don't think I stuttered there, but I might be wrong..."

Nik tsked at him and wrapped his arms over his chest. He tried to make it look nonchalant but it was absolutely a barrier. "I am feeling self-conscious. It will pass. I do not wish to talk about it."

"Tough shit, Nik. We're talkin' about it." John scraped his chair loudly around the table and crowded into Nik's space, leaning down with his elbows on his knees to look up into the forlorn expression on his lover's face. "If - and I mean if - I thought your health was at risk, or you were lettin' yourself go, you not think I'd get you runnin' laps with my new crop until you were fit to run missions with my team again?"

"Da, I would expect nothing less."

"Yer part of my task force, Nik. I don't accept anythin' but the best. No exceptions. Tell me I'm wrong."

"I cannot."

"And has my performance between the sheets been any less enthusiastic?"

"Nyet..."

"Right, so, engage that mensa level intelligence of yours and compute the obvious bloody conclusion."

John reached forward, continuing even when Nik tried to recoil, to run his hands beneath his shirt. Nik's belly was warm, the hair on it soft, and John wanted nothing more than to rub his damn face into it.

"I know it's gonna take time to rebuild yer confidence, Nik. Not sure yer tellin' me the whole story but whatever they said, they're wrong. Women like that, they're cruel for sport. You could look like, uh... whathisname, Chris Hemsworth, 'n' they'd still say somethin'. Gives 'em a way to cover up their own insecurity, right?"

There was a small smile of amusement and Nik's arms fell away, letting John run his hands a little higher. "I am impressed you remembered the name of an actor, captain."

"Yeah, I watched a whole film the other night..."

Nik smiled. "A whole film. Impressive."

"Cheers." John lifted his hand to cup Nik's jaw, one hand on his knee. "Still wet my knickers for you, Nik, but tell me what else I can do t' help."

"Nothing, I am... I will be fine."

"Not like you to let some bird get under your skin like that. Sure there's nothin' else?"

Nik cleared his throat, looked to the side and then finally at John's face. "You do not wish to trade me in for a newer model?"

"Jesus fuck... waiter, il conto, per favore."

"Where are we going?"

"Back to the hotel room."

"Why?"

"'M gonna shag your brains out, since they're not functionin' particularly well on the inside. Up. Double time."

Nik reached for his wallet to pay but John had already slapped his credit card on the scanner by the time he looked up. He grabbed Nik's hand and dragged him down the few blocks to their hotel, where he intended to spend the rest of the afternoon making Nik feel like the hottest piece of arse on the planet.

[peachesofteal]

dr. riley has me in a chokehold

(anon is talking about this and my previous ramblings about Simon as a shrink but they were too long ago so now they're lost to the ether, thanks Tumblr search)

He's in the pub.

The bar is a safe space. A spot where you can slink into the darkness and allow alcohol to nurse your wounds, the scars scratched into your mind so deep they'll never fade.

You can't do it yourself, so you let the drinks do it instead.

You've had enough tonight that you can't read the screen on your phone without going cross eyed, and the edges of your vision blur a bit.

You should stop.

But you won't.

The raw saw of the blades have finally stopped ringing between your ears. The buzzing hums at a low, tolerable whine.

You're ordering another one, when you spot him. Turned on your barstool, you catch a glimpse of his shoulders, the ones so wide, so thick he's more sequoia than man, his profile complete with the crooked nose, glasses resting on the bridge. He's shaking his head at another man, but when he shifts, you see her.

There's a beautiful woman at his side. Her hip rests against his thigh, beer cradled in her hand as she leans into him. All smiles. Beaming smiles, radiant like the sun.

Not broken, like yours. Scarred and misshapen, like yours.

You came back. But you came back wrong.

You're not stupid enough to see you're falling victim to the Florence Nightingale effect. Dr. Riley is kind, and patient, and he knows what you've been through. It almost feels like he understands you, knows you. He doesn't get angry when you struggle or fail, he lets you try again. He encourages you.

It's been a really long time since you've felt like anyone understands you.

And, the way he touches you has to be professional, but to you, it's starting to turn to something else. Something dark. Craven. His wide palm resting between your shoulder blades, a firm squeeze of your hand when he holds it, a soft rub of your shoulders. Practiced, therapeutic reassurance on one end, and the other: fire roaring through your body until you're slick with flames.

You're too distracted by your wandering thoughts, zoned out staring at the trio across the bar that the other man sees you, and cocks his head. Fuck. Like a slow motion car crash, you watch the man say something to Dr. Riley, the bulk of his body turning, searching through a sea of faces until his gaze lands on yours.

Double fuck.

Black tar wraps around your heart in vines, and your vision melts to double. You throw notes, too many, onto the bar top and nearly sprint for the exit, heavy wooden door squeaking on its hinges as you plunge into the cool air.

The world is spinning. The alley is dark, the asphalt is firm beneath your feet and still, everything turns on its side.

"Clover?" You turn, exerting too much energy to keep yourself upright, stable.

"Hi, Dr. Riley." He traces you from head to toe. Slowly. No doubt tabulating the state you're in, the way your eyes have trouble focusing, how your balance is blatantly askew.

"It's... good to see you, out and about."

"Oh. Yeah, well, I'm just here for the alcohol, ya know." It escapes from your mouth before you can shove it back down, and he frowns.

You've seen that frown before. It's the 'I'm worried about you, clover" frown, or the "I need to see more progress clover, you know that" or, your personal favorite, the "I understand you're upset, but I'm not going to compromise on making sure you have the care you need."

"Are you alright?"

"Oh yeah. I'm grand." You hold your arms out, palms up, babbling still, "I'm great, Dr. Riley, just peachy," and then try to spin for added effect. See? I'm fine. Totally fine. Normal, even.

It's embarrassing how fast you lose control and careen towards the pavement, your forearms coming up just in time to shield your face, alcohol burning in the back of your throat, warring with your control, attempting to come back up.

He lunges, heavy arm catching you around your middle. He's warm, scorching even, and you grip his forearm to try to get your legs beneath you. Once you're right side up, one of his hands settles at your shoulder and the other... your waist.

"S-sorry."

"It's okay." He's looking down at you, the glow from the street light catching in the umber flicker of his eyes, and you think you see something different in them, something deeper, something more. Your mouth is dry, and you lick your lips, his gaze dropping. You shudder, skin crawling with goosebumps and electric shock, confusing thoughts and feeling cycling through you like a storm. A storm destined to destroy everything in its path.

Stupidity blooms in your blood. You're close enough to smell the peat and sting of bourbon on his tongue, track the back and forth of his eyes as you rise to your toes.

A bold swell rises, a tide so strong it sweeps you to see, drags your toes across the sand like small weightless anchors, until you can no longer touch, until you can no longer see the horizon past the curve of the waves.

You let it drag you under. Fill your lungs. You let it push you further, faster, harder, and before you're even aware of it, your lips are pressed to his.

There's a beat. A single heartbeat, where you're fused as one and then-

He jerks backward, eyes wide. His hands envelope your shoulders and create as much distance between your body and his. He looks... surprised. Shocked even.

Not at all what you wanted.

What did you want?

He's still holding you by the shoulders. At first, it's confusing, because why would he do that? But when you listlessly tilt to the side, you understand. He's just keeping you upright.

The full scale veil of shame comes quickly. Horror coats your tongue. You fucking fool. You bleeding idiot. What have you done? He's inside with a woman, for fucks sake. The shock at yourself, at the loss of control, makes your chest tight, eyes darting around wildly, in a panic.

"Clover." You've never heard this tone before. It's serious, and very heavy. There's a hint of lecture in it, a shade of disappointment. "You're very drunk. Let me get you an uber so you can get h-"

"No." You jerk away, marveling at your ability to stay steady. "No, no. I... I'm sorry. I'm actually already waiting on one." Lie. How will you get out of that? "It'll be here... be here soon, 'round the corner." You pull every piece of your still functioning brain forward to get it all out without slurring too much, and melting into the ground from embarrassment. He gives you a stern look. It's awful.

"I'm jus' gonna go inside and grab my phone, okay? Stay put." He's still using that voice, the serious one without a hint of softness, the one that sounds nothing like the one you hear in therapy, when you're on his couch with your eyes closed, slowly walking through your thoughts with your eyes closed.

"Okay, sure." You try a reassuring smile, but he only scrutinizes you closer, before heading inside. He's moving fast, faster than you expected, but it won't matter. The block is short. You'll be a few away by the time he reappears.

You swallow your nausea, shake your limbs loose, and then...

you run.

[glitterquadricorn]

Look What You Made Me Do - MV1

+summary: The couple was once thought to be the modern-day Romeo and Juliet (minus the unaliving part). Where you saw her, Max was not too far behind and vice versa. And despite his father's insistence to stay from her, he simply couldn't. He was enthralled by her and her persistence on the track. Together, they rose through the ranks and found themselves to be teammates in Formula one. But their story turns sour when Max betrays her in the worst way possible. +pairing: Max Verstappen x F1!driver +warnings: cheating, mentions the p*quets, curse words, hate comments, poorly edited. If i missed something, let me know.

face claim: Florence Pugh

I do not give my permission to have my work reposted. I do not give my permission to have my work translated. If I'm notified that you've stolen my work or claim it as your own, you'll be asked to take it down before I'll report you. End of discussion.

Her phone constantly vibrated against the glass coffee table of Max and Her's home. People were mentioning her in a tweet made from one of those wag accounts saying that Max was spotted with another woman that wasn't her and that he could be cheating. 'Max wouldn't cheat on me, right?' she thought to herself. Although, she remembered he had been acting rather weird lately. But him acting weird could mean anything.

The sound of the front door opening and closing and keys hitting the ceramic bowl alerted her that Max was home. Her eyes went straight to the bright orange bag in his hand. The same bright orange bag from the picture in the tweet.

"What's going on in that head of yours, Schatz?" Max hugged her, kissing the top of her head. He smelled like her.

"Thinking about what to make for dinner. Anything in particular?"

"I was thinking we could get takeout."

"Sounds good." She watched as Max turned towards their bedroom and tucked neatly into the collar of his shirt, which was a redbull shirt no shock there, was a semi dark hickey. A hickey she knew she didn't put there. Maybe that one tweet was right.

Dinner that night was a silent affair. The question of rather or not he was actually cheating weighed heavily on her mind. One half of her was being completely ignorant and believing Max would never do such a thing. The other half, the rational half, are putting the pieces together and ringing the alarm bells and are practically shouting from the rooftops that he is most definitely cheating. It was getting to be too much for her.

"Are you cheating on me?"

Max began choking on the water in his mouth. "What? Are you crazy? Where are you even getting this from?"

"It's just- I kept getting tagged in that one tweet-"

"And you believe it? You know those kinds of accounts make stuff up."

"Never said I did, Max," she said. "But explain the orange shopping bag, or how you got that hickey on your neck, or how you smell like none of the perfumes I have."

"I don't have to deal with this." Max stood up from the table and y/n followed after him.

"So, they're true?"

"Y/n, I don't want to talk about this right now."

"Well, that's just too damn bad. We're talking about this now because If we don't it won't get talked about at all."

Max faced her, his body shaking with anger. "Fine! Yes, I did cheat on you. Is that what you wanted to hear? How you weren't good enough and will never be good enough for me? How you'll never be good enough for anyone? How sometimes I can't fucking stand you to be around you? You. are. insufferable."

Her eyes started to fill with tears. In all the years she's known Max, he's never not once gotten this mad nor has he ever been this hateful. As if he realized what he's said, he began to apologize profusely.

"I'm so, so sorry, Schatz." Max tried to come closer to comfort her, but she stepped away.

"Thanks for letting me know how you really feel about me, Max. I'll uh get out of your hair."

"Y/n, please-"

"No amount of apologizing will ever make me forget what you said. You were the love of my life, the man that I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with and have kids with."

"But we can still have that!"

"It's rather funny you're trying to save a relationship you destroyed," she chuckled loudly at Max's audacity. "Tell me, how long have you been cheating? And be honest, I deserve that much."

With his head hung low in shame, he mumbled, "Nearly a year."

"Unbelievable."

Before heading off to their bedroom to pack some clothes, she looked at the man she once loved. "You know, I've dealt with a lot in my life. I've traveled the world seeing it in a whole new light while doing what I loved, been in a crash or two that was painful, seen and experienced things I didn't think I'd be able to experience, but this... this hurts the most."

Once she left the house, she got in her car and tapped on her lawyer's number, texting him.

I don't care how you do it, but just get me out my redbull contract. DON'T TELL ANYONE ABOUT THIS.

yourinstagram(left) and maxverstappen1(right) . 2hrs ago

yourinstagram

liked by taylorswift, lilymhe, pierregasly and 932,312 others.

yourinstagram: Mama Tay once said don't get sad, get even 💅🏻💋#newsponsor #newthingsarecoming

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taylorswift I taught you well young grasshopper. liked by yourinstagram

lilymhe where are you going dressed like that? cause damn. ⤷ yourinstagram sponsorship meeting with a new sponsor.

user1 you want to explain that second picture?

user2 looking respectfully.

user3 new things coming? what's that supposed to mean? ⤷ user4 she did say she got a new sponsor and I assume it's with Chanel. ⤷ user5 I can't help but think the whole new things coming means something else.

pierregasly 👀👀 ⤷ yourinstagram just taking lessons from you.

francisca.cgomes are you single? ⤷ yourinstagram why yes, I am. you asking me out on a date? ⤷ francisca.cgomes of course! ⤷ pierregasly I'm right here you know. ⤷ yourinstagram I'll make sure to have her home before midnight 😉

user6 not y/n flirting with pierre's girlfriend 🤣

For half an hour, she sat on the couch listening to Lando, Logan, Charles and Pierre answer questions about their summer break, their hopes for the second half of the season and what they want for their teams/cars. Not one question came her way, and she was happy about that. She hated doing media with a passion. She could understand they had bills to pay, families to support, but if she could get away with not doing any kind of media without being fined for it, she'd happily do it.

Just when she thought she'd have an easy day, a reporter she was familiar with, one she has had problems with since her debut in 2021, raised her hand.

"Mackenzie Smith, Espn. I have a question for you, y/n," she smiled. "Over the summer break there was a rumor going around saying you were leaving redbull at the end of the season. Is that true? Can you maybe give some insight on that?"

It's an innocent question to ask, but knowing Mackenzie, she'll somehow go off topic and ask questions she has no business asking about.

"Accounts like that always make up some of the most ridiculous things for clicks. Unfortunately, people believe it and until me, or my agent confirms it, then it's just that. A rumor."

Mackenzie huffed, clearly not satisfied with that answer. But if there's something about Mackenzie everyone should know, is she has a habit of asking rather intrusive questions she has no business asking. "Your relationship with fellow driver, Max Verstappen, ended over the summer break as well."

"My relationship, or lack thereof, is not yours or anyone's business. End of discussion."

"But he-"

"Yeah, and I said end of discussion. What part of that did you not understand?" she paused. "Now, does anyone have any other questions? No? Okay."

She sat the microphone down beside her and walked out the room. Was she going to get lectured by her PR manager? Yeah. Was she going to be fined for walking out? Probably. But she didn't care and if there was one thing she knew she didn't have to sit there and be questioned about her personal life.

porscheformula1team

liked by yourinstagram, mickschumacher, and 1,253,549 others.

porscheformula1team: Come meet our drivers! Mick, who is returning to the f1 grid after missing out on the 2023 season and Y/n, who finished 2nd in the drivers' standings. The future for Porsche looks bright!

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yourinstagram Thank you for this amazing opportunity, Porsche. ⤷porscheformula1team: No, thank you for taking the risk and signing with us.

mickschumacher It's good to be back in formula one.

user7 while I am excited for Mick to be back, I just think y/n is a backstabber for leaving a team that pretty built her entire career. ⤷user6 did you honestly think y/n would stick around after Max cheated on her?

user8 this is the best thing to wake up to!

user9 redbull was holding y/n back, so it's a good thing she left.

user10 future wdc winners? liked by mickschumacher, yourinstagram,porscheformula1team

user11 best driver's pairing in f1 liked by porscheformula1team

user12 signing these two was the biggest mistake Porsche ever made. ⤷porscheformula1team we beg to differ. ⤷user13 Porsche defending mick and y/n 🥰🤗

Max Why didn't you tell me you were leaving? When did you even sign with porsche?

Y/N Didn't know I was obligated to tell you I was leaving. I signed back in August after I got that Chanel sponsor.

Max YOU SIGNED BACK IN AUGUST?! WTF

Y/N I move fast just like you.

Max What's that supposed to mean?

Y/N It means you're okay with getting into a relationship with Kelly 2 weeks after we broke up.

Max You're being childish, y/n.

Y/N Did you really think I'd stay after you cheated? In 2024, you better get used to being behind me because that WDC is mine.

Don't let this flop. I worked real hard on it.

ALL PICTURES ARE FROM PINTEREST AND CREDIT TO THE OWNERS.

Tagging:

@letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @patzammit @tinycyberhacker @keenmarvellover @mrspeacem1nusone @lendeluxe @alexxavicry @allenajade-ite @catswag22 @eugene-emt-roe @wcnorris @bibissparkles @cherry-piee

[2btheanswertothequestion]

(part 2 of November Paramedic; part 1 is here.)

Steve's honey-sweet eyes, gleaming with confidence, ask 'why don't you take a bite?'

His pink mouth, deliciously curved, wonders 'don't you want a taste?'

His dark chest hair, leading a mouthwatering path down his pants, says 'you know you want to'.

And Eddie does. He really does. He would, if Steve was actually here. Alas, all Eddie has is the calendar photo currently staring at him from where it's propped on Eddie's dresser, and he's not biting into it. It's the only one he's got, you see; he won't be ruining it with bite marks and drool due to his intrusive thoughts.

If he had a copy machine close at hand, though? If he could make as many pictures as he'd possibly want? Oho, watch out, Slobbertown!

It's been one week since Steve the sexy paramedic revealed himself to be a real person and not just a dude in a softcore porn calendar. One week since he Florence Nightingale'd Eddie before vanishing in a flurry of bloody gauze and blinking blue lights, leaving both Eddie and Gareth breathless.

(Though in Gareth's case, it was due to laughing so hard he choked on himself.)

The calendar doesn't do it for him anymore. Don't misunderstand – he still uses it when beating the meat. In fact, it has exclusively become his primary masturbatory aid, and it has served him especially well the past few days. The moment those 48 hours were over and Gareth left, Eddie chucked off his sweatpants and went to, well, Slobbertown. But it's not the same anymore. How could it be, when he knows the real Steve's hair smells like a meadow and his aftershave like lemon and spice? When he's felt the pressure of Steve's fingertips on his jaw? When he's seen the faint scar running down Steve's chin from his mouth? When he can still hear Steve's voice use his name, give him orders, call him 'sir'?

It's impossible. Fuck, just whenever Eddie closes his eyes Steve's face appears, as vividly as if it happened yesterday. Of course, that might have something to do with Eddie already having made himself oh so familiar with Steve's face, and chest, and hands, and… everything else, for the past two years. Jesus damn it, if he knew this was where he'd end up he never would've bought the calendar in the first place.

Groaning, he throws himself back on his bed; then he shouts as his head thumps into the wall. Typical. He rubs at the spot to soothe it. No bump, though it hurts like a bitch. Pain (and suspicion he just aggravated the previous head injury) aside, he's comfortable, thus he sprawls out and stares at the ceiling as planned.

He's been distracted. He knows that because literally everyone has been on his case about it. Gareth gives him smug smiles that have turned alarmingly calculated as the week has passed. Jeff and Marv, having been filled in by Gareth, are rather more amused in a benign way. His boss almost sent him home to recuperate after catching him staring into space for the third time. Uncle Wayne noticed something was off through the phone. And Max has been giving him weird looks.

Ah, little Max. The only person in the complex who doesn't steer clear of him. She doesn't actually know what went down – not completely. She knows he got injured, because she caught him and Gareth as they stumbled home while she was exiting her apartment to toss the trash. Her sharp eyes zeroed in on the plaster, and on Eddie's arm that was slung over Gareth's shoulders for support (at Gareth's insistence).

"You got in a fight?" she asked.

With a grin he'd exclaimed, "Battle? You know me better than that! Nay, I did my utmost to escape the violence... but the ruffian got to me regardless."

"Huh. You okay?"

Gareth had rolled his eyes. "He's fine. I mean, listen to him."

"Don't worry about me, Red." Eddie tapped his own head. "This ol' noggin is harder than it looks."

A corner of her mouth twisted up, though if it was in amusement he couldn't tell in the dim hallway. They ought to team up against the super; maybe their combined whining will have him finally fix that broken light bulb.

"Make sure you don't take aspirin or ibuprofen," she said. "It can-"

"Yeah, I know. Paramedic already told me."

"Good. Is our lesson still on?"

"Certainly, m'dear."

And then he'd tipped an imaginary hat, she snorted, and Gareth hauled his ass to bed.

He didn't see Max again until Sunday afternoon, when she came by for their aforementioned weekly guitar lesson. Parking themselves on each end of the couch, his acoustic in her lap, he'd made her play the 'homework' from the previous Sunday. It sounded pretty good. She honestly won't need his help soon – probably doesn't need it now. She understands basic theory and is diligent about practicing. He'd be fine with awarding her temporary custody of the guitar for a while. She insists on coming over, however, claiming she has to be perfect by the time of the next open mic down at Connie's Corner Coffee.

The reason she has to be perfect? Well. Eddie is pretty sure it's to impress her boy. She hasn't confirmed that it's for her boy, or even that she has one, but it totally is and she totally does. He knows this because 1. she becomes flustered and grumpy (grustered? Flumpy?) every time he brings it up, and 2. if she was learning to play for herself he'd be subjected to a lot more Pink Floyd and a lot less Curtis Mayfield.

It's cute, to be honest. Picking up an instrument for a boy you like? That's romantic as fuck. If he hadn't been the Lord of All Losers he would've serenaded tons of boys when he was younger. Hell, he'd do it now, if only there were anyone willing to listen. But he hasn't had as much as a date in ages, and none of his previous attempts at relationships ever reached the 'romantic gestures' stage.

Maybe he should ask Max to set him up with someone. Why not? She probably meets dozens of people every day, at the campus, at the skatepark, wherever else she hangs. If there's anyone who could sort out his disastrous love life, it's Max Mayfield. She's so put together, and she's not even 20 yet. She's got her own place (in a supremely shitty building, but still a place), she's got a man (reluctant as she is to admit it), and she is halfway through her math degree. A fucking math degree, for Christ's sake! Math majors are built for solving problems!

Maybe she could even calculate how many times he'd need to injure himself before he'd meet the one paramedic he wanted to kiss… him better.

It was around that point of his daydreaming that Max shot a hair tie at his forehead and demanded he stop zoning out and correct her hand placement.

"Are you sure you're okay?" she asked, her eyebrows furrowing deeper than usual. "Have you been resting?"

"Yes. For the prescribed 48 hours, and then some. I'm fine."

She'd frowned, scrutinizing him with those pale blue eyes. He squared his shoulders and met her gaze like a man. Easier said than done, to be truthful. He likes Max – she's fun, easily the most kickass neighbor he's ever had – but she can be intense. And when she gets her stare on? She's downright creepy.

"I'd prefer to cancel over you fucking up your head more," she at last said, posture stiff and chin jutting. 'Don't lie to me,' is what she meant.

Eddie sighed. "Red… I'm fine. Seriously."

And he was. Physically speaking, at least. Mentally, he'd always been a little off. Part of the patented Munson charm, really.

She must've realized that, because she relaxed, her expression going from 'active bitch face' and back to 'resting'.

"All right. Sorry for being overbearing. It's just." She shrugged a shoulder, gripping the neck of the guitar as it started sliding off her crossed legs. "One of my closest friends is a medical professional. Another one is studying biology. They've been discussing human anatomy and… I guess they've gotten into my head."

Damn his friends for caring. How was he supposed to sell this image of a dark, dangerous, rocker dude if he was constantly misty-eyed from how sweet his buds were to him? He leaned forward to pat her knee.

"I appreciate the concern, unnecessary as it is. But!" He drew himself back and pointed in the air. "We're not postponing! Open mic is less than a month away – you only have so many days left before you'll be on that stage, in front of aaaaall those people… and your beau."

He's certain that if she hadn't still been sorta concerned about his health, she'd have smacked him.

That was Sunday afternoon. Now is Wednesday evening. He is still hung up on Thursday. He doesn't even know why. Yes, he was face-to-face with the hottest guy ever. Sure, that same guy has been the star of his most critically acclaimed fantasies. Indeed, he hasn't gotten laid in eons. Of course, he's pent-up with sexual frustration and yearning for another man's touch.

But still. He's not an animal or a sex-crazed teenager. He's smart enough to know that nothing good will come of this. It's not like he'll ever see Steve again. That'd be so unrealistic.

A knock on his front door reaches his ears. Eddie makes no effort to get up and answer it. He's not expecting anyone – whoever it is will have to return another day.

The knocking turns into a pounding, followed by yelling.

"Eddie! Let me in, asshole, I know you're there!"

Ugh. What does he want? Hasn't he heard of texting?

Eddie drags himself off the bed and toward the door. Yanking it open, he's met by Gareth's self-satisfied visage.

"Good evening," he says, heedless of Eddie’s glare. "I come hither with your solution."

"My solution?" Eddie mutters as he stalks to his couch to crumple into another heap.

Gareth follows him inside. "I have a plan to get your man!"

"What? Who? What?"

"Steve. November-paramedic," Gareth says, like it's obvious, which, what the actual fuck?

"He's not my man?"

"But he could be."

"Gareth, what the fuck-"

He moves to sit up, but Gareth's palm hits him square in the diaphragm and pushes him back down.

"No, listen: you are a terrible patient."

"I'm not-"

"Remember back in high school, when that asshole rear-ended us in the intersection at Hickory and 5th?"

Eddie grimaces. How could he forget? They'd stopped at a red light when a drunken motherfucker plowed into them, sending them careening into the T-junction. One car managed to break before hitting them; another veered only to crash into a fourth car. The result was, for them, whiplash injuries and, for the people who collided, bruises, sprains, and a dislocated joint. It had been the scariest moment of Eddie's life, and the neck pain had been excruciating. That wasted piece of shit was lucky no one died.

He says, "Yeah?"

"You were so snarky with that poor EMT."

"Okay, first off, I was a snot-nosed brat back then-"

"Dude, you were nineteen."

"-and she was rude to me first."

"She was following protocol!" Gareth shakes his head. "The point is that you never follow orders or instructions, not even when a doctor tells you to. But November-Steve? I've never seen you be so pliable."

"I-"

"And after, when I had to babysit you for two fucking days? I expected it to be difficult. But you were so busy sighing and yearning-" he says, ignoring Eddie's indignant sputtering, "-and replaying him tenderly caressing your face with his big, manly hands and holding your gaze with those big, manly eyes-"

"Do you want to fuck him?"

"-that you forgot to complain or be a contrarian about everything." Gareth smiles, sweet as cavities. "It was great. I'd like to recapture that. And if November-Steve is the one to bring it out of you, well!"

Eddie glowers at him. No, really! With the metaphorical thunder clouds swirling over his head and everything! His world has been shook. It is tilted off its axis, and it's his best friend's duty to mock him relentlessly for it. But this? Trying to encourage him? Give him hope? That's going too far.

Gareth notices. Of course he does; curse the heart on Eddie's sleeve. The sickly-sugary smugness evaporates off him, and he takes a seat on the dingy couch seat.

"Eddie," he says with a softness reserved for a select few individuals. "Seriously. You've been all moon-eyed for a week. You've been thinking about him. Really thinking."

Eddie balloons his cheeks and huffs out the air. "Well. If you spend two years jerking it to a guy-"

"Gross."

"-and then he suddenly appears before you, in the flesh? I've been fantasizing about it. He's a fantasy. And when it actually happens, that's…"

He trails off. Gareth knocks their shoulders together.

"He seemed nice."

Eddie scoffs. "I spoke to him for fifteen minutes. Tops."

"Fifteen nice minutes. You haven't dated in ages. Maybe this is a sign?"

Chuckling, Eddie slumps his head onto Gareth's shoulder. They're the wrong heights for it, so it's awkward and strenuous on the neck. He remains.

"You're just looking for another opportunity to embarrass me," he says.

"Embarrass you and improve your life. Like only true friends strive to do."

Eddie hums. "So what's your fucking plan?"

Gareth shifts, turning toward Eddie, but doesn't say anything yet. Glancing up, Eddie is met by a zoomed-in, upside-down view of Gareth's pointy grin, his canines gleaming.

"The university!"

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

Taglist: @rougenancy, @raisedbylibrarians, @yourebuckingkiddingme, @swimmingbirdrunningrock, @emma77645, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @eddielives1986, @stevesbipanic, @the-redthread, @fandemonium-takes-its-toll, @henderdads, @gay-little-bitch, @lordofthepointygerbils, @lenore1232, @imzadidragonfly, @zerokrox-blog, @eddiemunsonswife, @cherrycolas-things, @ediewentmissing, @princess-eddie, @atombombbibunny, @ajamlessbaby, @dogswithforks, @grimmfitzz, @cutiecusp, @cuips-not-cute, @manicallydepressedrobot, @messrs-weasley, @madaboutmunson, @mightbeasleep, @suikatto, @brassreign, @snapshotmaestro, @bea-sayan, @courtjestermunson, @csinnamon-fox, @steveisabicon, @spectrum-spectre, @spinmewriteround , @just-super-fucking-gay, @escapingthereality, @oneweirdcryptid

No longer adding to the tag list, due to numbers and (hopefully temporary) technical difficulties. Please save or memorize the tag #steddie fic: november paramedic instead; all the parts will be there (unless something goes terribly wrong).

Thank you for reading! 🖤 ☺

Part 3

[vampiricgf]

Morning Elvis

leon kennedy x reader

wc: 2k

warnings: pre established relationship, depiction of alcoholism, mention of sex but no smut, honestly just two idiots that don't know how to really talk to each other if they're not fucking so he gets spooked and runs away the second there's any real intimacy or care, set roughly before he's in colorado in vendetta

one) I know he eats ass so to me the joke lands and two) the title is the florence and the machine song morning elvis ‹𝟹

On nights when he’s dreading his own company Leon calls you. With how frequently those nights are becoming, you’re starting to think he should just give you a spare key to his place.

And even if you promise yourself day in and day out that you won’t pick up the phone this time, won’t come running like a loyal dog because it always ends the same, you find yourself speaking the same words as usual each time. Sure, I’ll be over. 

It’s a strange sort of limbo knowing you’re caught up in a man that will never be able to commit to you. 

But still, you’re as stubborn as ever. Standing outside his door shivering in the evening cold, peering uselessly into the darkened window. It’s not late enough for him to have forgotten you were coming and ended up sprawled in bed, but depending on how much he’s already had to drink the time may not matter. That makes you feel sleezy too, the fact that he almost exclusively calls you when he’s already had a few. 

Now that you think of it, you could count on one hand the number of conversations you’ve had when he’s sober. 

“Fuck, come on. Please don’t be asleep.” You whisper to yourself as you bring your knuckles to meet the solid oak door again, three sharp knocks. 

It’s then that you hear heavy footsteps, uncoordinated as he clearly stumbles to get the door, unlatching it just a crack to peer down at you with bloodshot eyes. How strange it’s a perfect shade of red to offset the cerulean of his eyes. If only reddened eyes weren’t a universal sign of something bad occurring in the body, they’d be pretty otherwise.

“Did you speed the whole way or something?” He asks as he unlatches the chain, fully swinging the door open and allowing you to step past him. 

As your eyes adjust and you step further inside you feel nearly overwhelmed with pity. The place is a mess, and while thats not unusual what is strange is the fact that he’s left so much evidence of his overconsumption laying around. Empty fifths, their labels peeling, and even a smattering of the little shooters you can buy at gas stations for a dollar litter the countertops of his kitchen, a scant few dishes languishing in a steel basin graveyard. 

Under normal circumstances you’d classify Leon as a functioning alcoholic. Not a good label, but at least he could still do his job and keep his head on straight no matter how full of whiskey said head might be. But this? This was the apartment of a nonfunctional alcoholic, no dancing around it. 

“Have you eaten anything?” You ask suddenly, turning around to face him as he leans against the countertop like he’ll collapse without the support. For a split second you’re afraid he might. 

“Why’d you care?” His eyes are unfocused but don’t stray from you and you take it as a good sign, he’s not completely trashed. 

“Because you look like shit.” You say it plainly, but the words are sharp regardless. 

“Doesn’t mean I can’t give you what you came for.” 

“Who says thats all I come for?” Your voice drops off and you turn away from him, feeling suddenly sick. Sick with yourself for doing this again, sick that you’ve done it already so many times. 

He laughs and it’s a harsh sound, makes you flinch a little and shrink into yourself feeling even more foolish. “Oh because you’re here for good conversation and tea or some shit like that, right?”

You glare at him over your shoulder before walking back towards the door. 

Fuck this, I’m not being a drunken slam piece anymore-

“Oh come on, you can’t handle a little teasing all of a sudden? Not like you haven’t taken worse.” 

You sprin on your heel, sudden surge of anger squeezing you so tightly it nearly leaves you breathless. “You know what? You’re a drunk that needs to get your shit together, not your dick wet. Why don’t you use your furlough for something more productive than drowning in Jack and calling girls you don’t give a fuck about.” Your voice shakes as your pitch rises, hands clenched so hard it’s nothing short of a miracle your nails don’t break off in your palms. 

You wish you could punch him. Not enough to hurt him or because thats really what you want but because punctuating your words in the language he understands best might be the only way to reach him. The only sound in the place is your own ragged breathing, like you sprinted the whole way here, but before you can make a move to leave once more he pushes away from the countertop and does something that catches you off guard.

His arms come around you and the smell of sweat and alcohol wind around your body, invade your senses, seconds after. But it doesn’t matter because your bag falls to the floor with a heavy thump and your own arms wrap around him as he hides his face against the side of your neck. 

You stay like that for a while, in that strange, tense embrace, before his muffled voice fans warmly over your skin. 

“Who says I don’t give a fuck about you?”

You sigh. “Honestly, you do Leon. All of this just says you don’t give a fuck about anything, not even yourself.”

That and I’m not delusional enough to think you really like me. I’m convenient.

Silence descends once again and for a moment you’re worried you overestimated his coherence, that he may be about to black out in your arms, but before that thought takes hold he steps back from you, and the sudden absence of his warmth makes you shiver as if you stepped into a walk in freezer. 

“Yeah, maybe you’re right.” And it sounds like the words both are and are not meant for you because he doesn’t meet your gaze, raking a hand through his hair before grabbing for one of the bottles in his impromptu menagerie, a quarter full of something clear. Before he can unscrew the cap you liberate it from his grasp, clutching the neck of it like a weapon. 

“Maybe I am. So why don’t you stop for the night, at least. Clean yourself up a little, sleep for once. You look like you haven’t slept in days.” You suspected he might not have, truthfully. 

He eyes you with something you can’t place and you aren’t sure you want to at this moment. Something between bitterness and relief, but before you can examine it with any depth he turns his back to you, moving to the hall bathroom. You think of the silly little cat nightlight you jammed into the outlet inside the small space one night, tired of always slamming your knee or your toes off the doorframe in the pitch black. The faint glow tells you it’s still there, faithfully illuminating the dark. 

The running of a tap is all you get in response and your eyes run over the kitchen again, fresh dismay setting in at the sheer quantity he’s been indulging in. As quietly as possible you start gathering the loose bottle up, a wide variety of sizes and flavors but your nose scrunches as you size up a still mostly full bottle of Everclear. You shiver just imagining the scent of it, stinging like a nose full of isopropyl with the aftertaste of straight kerosene. 

That one you decide to pour down the drain, cringing as your memory of the smell of it is proven accurate. 

“You owe me ten bucks for that.” 

His voice comes from behind you and you huff out a slight laugh, rolling your eyes as you face his direction and make your way to the garbage can.  “I’ll leave it on the counter.” 

“I’m sorry, by the way,” His blue eyes find yours as you straighten up from the can, and your own scan his face before answering. 

“Don’t be. Just… take better care of yourself.” 

Just don’t call me again, because I’m not the one strong enough, or selfish enough, to ignore it.

His hand rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck and he looks nervous, a rare sight and it’s oddly cute for a second. “It’s getting late, you can stay here- if you want to, I mean.” 

You smile softly, wistful, because you know exactly what time it is and that you could drive back home just fine and get enough sleep. Know that you should. “Yeah, sure. I can take the couch if you have a spare blanket.”

“You can sleep with me, my tongue has literally been in your ass before.” He rolls his eyes at you and you gape, feeling giddy embarrassment bubble up in your chest like you swallowed something overly carbonated and you giggle before you can stop yourself. 

“Fair enough, I guess.” You shake your head but follow after him towards the bedroom, feeling an out of place anxiety tugging at the corners of your mind. You’ve never just slept together, sex has always taken priority before. 

Despite that, settling in beside him doesn’t feel uncomfortable, if anything you’re surprised by the exhaustion creeping up behind your eyes, making your limbs feel heavier with each passing second. Your eyes are closed but you feel him staring at you, laying on his side to face you in a mirrored position. 

“I always think one of these days you’re not going to pick up.”

His words are so quiet you could almost convince yourself they were from the beginnings of a dream. Almost.

“I always pick up. For you.” You’re not sure why the words sound so mournful. 

“You shouldn’t. You don’t deserve getting bitched at by a guy that can’t spend more than five minutes sober.” 

“And you don’t deserve to be alone.” 

You hear his breathing hitch at your words but you still don’t open your eyes, as if the action would shatter the quiet moment between you two. 

“We- we shouldn’t do this again.” And that makes your eyes flutter open, blearily taking him in, the out of place vulnerability on his face and the sheer fatigue expressed plainly on his features. You wish you could reach out, cradle his face, run your fingers over him, commit him to memory. 

“No, we probably shouldn’t.” 

If I’m getting what I want, why do I feel like crying?

When rays of sunlight break through the blinds to assault your eyes you recognize that you’re alone before you’re even fully conscious. The apartment is as quiet as a mausoleum, still, stale air filling up your lungs as you rise from the pillows, shoulders cracking. 

You don’t call out, quietly standing from the rumpled bed before padding out towards the kitchen, peeking into the bathroom just to make sure but only the sight of the empty room greets you. The kitchen is much the same, a few stray bottles remain but it seems you cleared the bulk of them last night. In the living room you find a note on the coffee table, a silver key glinting in the hazy dimness on top of it. 

It’s a short goodbye. He left you the key so you could lock the front door before you went back to your place, he’ll get it from you when he can. Something about trying to take your advice, maybe Colorado will be better suited for getting himself together. 

You set the note back down, rubbing your thumb over the face of the apartment key. 

As you pull your bag up off the floor you make a mental note to keep flights out west bookmarked for the time being. 

Because after all, you always answer if he calls.

[writershapeholeonthedoor]

Black Widow

Pairing: Florence Pugh × Fem!Reader

Summary: Cooking With Flo is back and you make an accidental cameo that get the entire world to know about your relationship with Florence

Disclaimer: English is not my first language

MASTERLIST

Florence took a step away from her phone to make sure it was recording the way it should, her eyes studying the screen as a smile slowly formed on her lips. It took just a second for the comments to start showing up on the screen fast enough that she barely had time to read one before it disappeared to show other ones. She stayed quiet for a few more seconds to allow more people to start watching the live on her Instagram before she actually started talking.

“Sup, bitches? Here we are with another Cooking With Flo,” she said the famous words she always used to start her lives. She opened her arms as if to show the kitchen behind her and let out her raspy laugh. “Did you guys miss me? It's been a while, I know, but I'm back and this time we're making lasagna.”

For the last five months, she had done none of the livestreams cooking in her kitchen mostly because the space was a mess. The room was being renewed and, on top of that, she barely had time to do anything other than work and make sure people were painting the walls with the right color. But now she finally had time again, so that’s how she ended up standing in the middle of her kitchen on a random Saturday night.

“It's very simple, but it was a requested dish for tonight, so that’s what we're doing,” Florence kept talking, leaning back against the counter with her elbows to read some of the comments the fans were making. She saw a few questions, dozens of hearts, and some country flags, but her eyes quickly picked someone asking if there would be any guests tonight. “No, it’s only me cooking tonight, but I'm not alone.” Florence looked around and easily spotted her dog lying down a few feet from where she was standing. She leaned down to snap her fingers at him, which made him get up and walk towards her while wiggling his tail. Chuckling, Florence picked him up with some effort because he certainly wasn’t a small dog. “Billy's here! Come on, Billy, tell people hi.” The only reaction the dog gave was a low bark before he tried to lick her face. Florence moved away the best she could laughing at the same time. “Oh, God, you're getting too heavy for me to lift you, boy,” she complained and then put the dog back on the floor, where he wasted no time walking away to lie down one more time. Florence put her hands on her waist and smiled widely. “Jeez, guys. Well, let me wash my hands and we can get started.”

Florence had just turned around to go to the sink behind her when she heard a scream piercing through the house.

"AAAAAAAAH!"

The chain reaction was instant. Forgetting about anything else, Florence turned on her feet while yelling back: “Holy fuck! Babe?!”

The live kept going on her phone but the people watching could just glance at her wide eyes and surprised expression before she ran from the frame, the phone completely forgotten. They couldn’t see her anymore, but she didn’t wander far away. Just as she was about to get out of the kitchen and run to where she heard the scream coming from, someone came running from the hallway and almost bumped into her, making her stop.

“Florence!” You screamed again, although this time you were already pressed against her.

Florence instantly put her arms around you while her eyes tried to find the reason why you were yelling. She was trying to find a bruise, a cut, or blood of any type, but there was nothing on you that caught her eyes besides the sheer panic clear in your face. “What is it?!” She asked, though she was having a hard time even keeping standing since you were pushing against her as if you were running away from something. “Babe?!”

You managed to slip past her and go further into the kitchen all while using your hands to keep grabbing Florence’s shoulders as if she was the only thing keeping you safe. “Oh, my God! There's a monster inside the bathroom!”

Upon hearing that, Florence couldn’t help but blink in surprise, tilting her head to the side and trying to understand what you meant by that. “A what?”

It was her sudden change in humor that made you look at Florence with even more urgency. She was too calm, she clearly didn’t understand how grave that was. “It almost killed me!”

Your tone had the opposite effect, though. Florence kept looking at you for a few more seconds before her signature breathless smile cut the silence that had formed between you two. Her shoulders dropped, as did her hands to your waist, and she let her head hang for a moment to bask in the relief she felt for realizing there was no imminent danger as she initially thought there was. If it was anything as bad as you were making it sound, you certainly wouldn’t be acting that dramatically.

Finally, she shook her head and looked up at you again with a smile. “I'm pretty sure there's not a monster inside our bathroom. Haven't you watched Scooby Doo?” Florence joked.

It made you whine, however, because you couldn’t believe she couldn’t see the danger you were in. “Florence,” you complained.

Florence must have noticed you were getting mad for her lack of concern because she just chuckled again and approached you to kiss your cheek. “Okay, babe, I'm going to take a look,” she conceded.

Now more relaxed and with a pout, you nodded and let go of Florence’s shoulders so she could walk away from you. “Take care!” You yelled to her retreating form.

Florence kept walking until she reached the bathroom in the hallway. The door was open and the light was still on, but she poked her head inside first. She saw nothing out of the ordinary, so she decided to ask you again, keeping her voice loud and clear for you to hear her from the kitchen. "Again, I don’t think-” Florence interrupted herself out of a sudden when her eyes finally spotted the thing that had disturbed you. “Oh,” she breathed out.

Inside the kitchen, you were biting on the pad of your thumb as you waited for her. “Do you see it? It's right there by the sink!”

Florence smiled to herself while she saw the little spider weaving her web down peacefully as if there was nothing wrong in the world. “Yeah, I see it,” she replied with amusement clear in her voice.

“Take care!” You exclaimed again, but that was what finally caught the attention of the other occupant of the house. Billy, now alert because of the commotion, got up with his ears pointing up and started to go after his owner to see what was going on, but you quickly leaned down to scoop him from the floor. “Oh, my God, Billy, don't go there!”

“Can you bring me a bowl?” Florence asked.

“What for?” You frowned and moved the big dog a bit when your arms started to get tired. Maybe you should start going to the gym, after all.

Florence’s reply came quickly. “So I can take this little guy outside.”

You gasped in shock. “You wanna touch it?!”

The other woman laughed again. “No, that's what the bowl is for!” You rolled your eyes fondly at her teasing. “Come on, babe.”

You bit your bottom lip and looked around. There were several bowls around the counters that she had put there to put the ingredients while she cooked, but there was no way you would go back to that bathroom again when the life-threatening monster was still there. “I can't get any closer than this.”

“That's okay, I will go get it,” Florence soothed your nerves and, a second later, you heard her coming back to the kitchen.

You couldn’t keep Billy on your lap for longer so you put him down gently, only to have him running to meet Florence, who was just entering the room again. Florence was smiling, although she wasn’t making fun of you - at least yet - and she walked towards you to peck your cheek. It seemed like it was just a gesture to try to hide her smile, but you weren’t going to complain about it.

She had just turned to grab one of the bowls when her eyes caught her cell phone on top of the counter and she immediately stopped in her tracks as her heart dropped to the floor. “Oh.”

You jumped away from the counter like it was catching fire. “What?! There's another one here?!”

Florence’s gaze moved to you for a brief moment though she couldn’t stop looking at the millions of comments and emojis appearing on her screen for too long. “Uh, no.”

You followed her eyes and it was your turn to feel the dread inside. In your panicked state, you forgot Florence was doing a live. You hadn’t just interrupted it, you had walked on it. Literally. You could see yourself standing in the middle of the recording, Florence just a few steps to the side looking like a deer caught in headlights as her eyes kept moving from her phone to you.

People didn’t even know you existed and there you were now. People didn’t know Florence Pugh had a girlfriend. People didn’t know she was only making lasagna tonight because you told her that’s what you were craving.

“Shit,” you mumbled. “Oh, shit. I forgot you were going live.” You took a step back and put your hands on your face to hide the deep blush that took over your cheeks. “Oh, no.”

Noticing you were a step away from going on a full-on panic attack, Florence approached you and gently pulled you closer to her body. She tilted her head to the side to give you the perfect spot to hide your face in the crook of her neck and you took full advantage of that. There was no point in trying to hide now that the cat was out of the bag. People had seen you already, they certainly heard Florence calling you “babe” and saw her kissing your cheek.

You silently reached the same decision in the few seconds you stayed in each other’s embrace. When Florence pulled away, she held your face between her hands and offered you a smile that put you at ease instantly. “Hey, it’s okay. Don’t worry, okay?” She winked at you. “I will be right back, let me just take out the monster for you.”

Florence kissed your forehead before grabbing a bowl and walking back to the bathroom. You thought about stepping away from the camera, maybe going back to hide in your shared room as you usually did when Florence was making content when you were around, but you barely had the time to think about where to go before your girlfriend was back in the kitchen.

“I'm back, folks.” she declared to her phone while walking to put the bowl inside the sink since she couldn’t use it anymore. After that, Florence turned back to face the camera and leaned against the counter with both hands, smiling. “It wasn’t a monster, it was just a little spider,” Florence told to the people watching the live.

Standing beside her, all you could do was mumble: “It was a monster.”

Your reaction dragged another laugh from Florence - the laugh that you loved so much, deep and husky, and that made her nose scrunch in that adorable way that always made you want to kiss her. “Thank God you're dating Black Widow herself, huh?” She nudged you with her shoulder, clearly teasing you.

Affected by her smile and her expressive eyes, you easily forgot there were literally millions of people watching you two at that moment. “I don't think that would be a reason to brag considering you would kill me in the end,” you replied, amused. “Besides, I'm not dating Scarlett.”

Her gasp was so loud that even Billy barked from where he was sitting staring up at you two. “Hey, I just saved you from a terrible monster!” Florence complained, although it was obvious she wasn’t serious. “Show me some love.”

You rolled your eyes again, but the smile on your face couldn’t be ignored. “You're right.” You nodded and leaned over to kiss the tip of her nose. “Thank you, my darling savior.”

Her nose scrunched again and a low chuckle left her lips before she pulled away with a more somber expression. She looked at you as if she was trying to hold a silent conversation and, gladly, you understood what she was asking without saying a word. You only nodded and braced yourself for what was about to come.

Florence returned her attention to her phone and her smile became a more practical one. “Well, I think you guys are a little confused. That's not how I planned for you guys to find out, but that's okay. We're just going to recalculate,” she chuckled politely. “In case you hadn’t realized it since this shenanigans started, this is my girlfriend.” Florence placed her arm around your waist, pulling you closer and smiling contently with her eyes glued on you. It seemed like you couldn’t look away from each other for a while, but she eventually returned her attention to the several comments popping on her screen. “Yes, I kept it a secret until now. And yes, I was intending to keep it under the rug for a while longer, but mostly because I did not want you scaring her away,” she joked since you both knew the reason why your relationship was a secret was because you were both trying to protect your privacy and your love from prying eyes. “She was the one that said she was feeling like eating lasagna tonight, actually,” Florence added.

You nodded, feeling more relaxed to be standing there now. “She got her grandma's recipe, I couldn't resist.”

“Since the cat is out of the bag…” She read a few comments, deciding to answer them as she went. “We've been dating for a while, yes. This is our kitchen, actually.” Florence pointed to something behind her. “Well, it’s still coming together. We still want to make some changes,” she relented since you both know none of you were satisfied with the place the fridge was placed. “Uh, she’s not an actress, if that’s what you want to know, another reason why we didn't say anything about us.” Florence kept from telling her fans what you actually do with your life, trying to maintain any sense of privacy still. “Yes, she knows my family. Guys, I will answer two more questions before we move on. Now that I saved her life and our bathroom, I believe Y/N wanted to take a shower before dinner,” she joked.

You laughed and agreed with several nods, also licking your lips to add to the dramatization. Your attention ended up going to one of the comments that showed up and you decided to answer it. “Billy ran to me at the dog park, that’s how we met,” you explained shyly.

Florence seemed happy that you spoke up, though, and she proved that by leaning closer to kiss your cheek for the third time. She then moved on to pick the last comment she was going to reply to. “No, she’s not going to feature in the next Cooking With Flo unless she wants to. Or unless there’s another teeny tiny spider forcing her to run to me.” She poked your side at the exact spot that she knew would get you squirming away and that’s what happened, of course.

“It wasn’t small,” you argued as your body moved away from her. “I'll go so you can keep filming.” You turned around to leave, but changed your mind last minute, choosing to say: “I'm sorry to crash in.”

“Don't need to apologize, babe,” Florence assured you firmly and, before you knew what was going on, she pulled you in for a quick kiss. “I love you, okay?” She whispered against your lips, making sure no one else could hear it.

“I love you more,” you replied gladly in the same tone before walking away. “See you once you get my food ready!”

Florence laughed while she watched you disappear from her sight and then looked back at her phone to clap her hands once and say: “Well, so let's get started!”

[waterdeep-weavemoss]

Ritual

This is completely fucked up. Gale's a freak, blood ritual sex, blood blood blood. You have been warned. Obviously 18+ do not fucking read this else.

'Drag my teeth across your chest to taste your beating heart, my fingers claw your skin, trying to tear my way in.' - Howl, Florence & the Machine

Taglist:

@netherese0rb @boufsy @owlseeyoulaterpal @lanafofana

@auroraesmeraldarose @aryancunin @amorgansgal

Tav got the killing blow. Lunging, latching her hand around Orin’s monstrous wrist, the sickly green of an infict wounds spell haloed them both for a heartbeat, and then the Slayer began to rend apart. Deep slashes appeared on her back, her torso, her arms, her chest, sending steaming spurts of red into the fetid air. Collapsing into bloody bones, the Lord of Murder’s Chosen was no more.

Tav stood trembling, the spattered blood cooling on her face and arms. Turning slowly, she took in the rest of the scene; Bhaalist corpses that had been burned to a crisp and were still gently smoking, rivulets of blood pooling on the stone, lit braziers smouldering in the red darkness lighting her companions’ faces. All of them were covered in gore, their armour and clothing torn and singed, every one with grimly set faces.

On the altar, Halsin lay limp and unresponsive. He was bound to each corner by hand and foot. Tav shuddered. Seeing him like that made her feel sick. ‘Move,’ said Gale from behind her, a sharpness to his voice. Tav shook her head quickly to clear the woolly feeling and stepped aside. ‘He’s breathing. Good.’ He cast the knock spell and everyone else moved forward as the druid awoke.

‘Wh-’ Halsin frowned as he opened his eyes, squeezing them shut again. ‘Ugh. My head…’

‘Get him to safety,’ said Gale. He was barely suppressing rage; Tav had never seen him so angry. His jaw was clenched, voice almost a snarl.

‘On it,’ said Karlach, helping Halsin from the stone. ‘Come on, bear man. Let’s get you a blanket and some soup.’

‘I concur,’ said Lae’zel, moving to his other side. ‘Lean on my shoulder if necessary. It is not weak to require support after surviving a place of such death.’

‘Was that a compliment, Lae’zel?’ asked Halsin weakly.

‘No. Merely an observation.’ She slung his arm over her shoulders. ‘Onward.’

‘We’ll see you in the Elfsong,’ said Gale before Tav could set off after them. She raised her eyebrows but said nothing, watching as her companions retraced their steps, listened to the door open and close.

‘Are you alright?’ Tav asked, tilting her head at him when they were alone. ‘You seem…’ she gestured vaguely. ‘Off.’

‘Oh, quite fine,’ he said, though his voice was a little too calm. ‘Just thinking, I suppose. Look at this place. So much death.’ He glared up at the stone skull, the embodiment of Bhaal himself. ‘Such evil in your name.’

‘Gale?’

‘What’s the worst thing you could do to a god like that?’ he asked pensively. ‘In a place so steeped in gore, that has heard so many final breaths?’ He turned to Tav. His robes were slick with blood, it was spattered across his face, on his lips, in his hair, on his brow. She could feel Orin’s blood on her palms, under her nails, her hands red to the wrists. The scent was heavy in her nose. She was at a loss. The wizard walked- no, stalked- towards her, his eyes a little manic.

‘You’re scaring me a little,’ she admitted. ‘Okay, a lot. What in the nine hells-’

‘I told you you were beautiful after a battle,’ he said, walking her back toward the altar. She had nowhere to go. ‘The Lord of Murder can’t do anything to us now.’ His mouth curved into an evil looking smirk. ‘Except watch.’

‘What- hmmph!’ Tav’s confusion was cut off by Gale surging forward to slam his lips to hers, the momentum sending her backwards onto the stone. ‘Gale! Are you mad?’

‘Oh, quite,’ he said. ‘I don’t believe that was in any doubt. But what is…’ he said, bringing a palm softly to her face, ‘is a yes.’

Tav squeezed her eyes shut. The wizard was insane. This temple of death and destruction smelled of blood and fire, it clung to their clothes and their hair and their skin. And yet… Bhaal would hate his altar of death desecrated with life. Both of them lived for pissing off the gods, it seemed. She laughed at the absurdity. ‘Insane,’ she said. ‘Yes.’

He kissed her more softly this time, then slowly moved down her neck leaving hickeys as he went. Carefully, he unlaced her from her armour, the ties and leather stiff with dried blood. Kissed down between her breasts, dragging his teeth across her belly, prising her thighs apart and setting tongue and teeth to work; Tav whimpered and squirmed and he held her tighter, humming in approval as her whimpers morphed into throaty cries, echoing in the thick sanguine air. She came on his tongue, sweat sliding down her body through the blood dried on her skin. ‘Ad creare vitam in locum cruentae mortis,’ Gale murmured, rising to kiss her mouth.

‘You madman,’ she gasped, yelping as he pushed her back against the stone.

‘Stay.’ His eyes danced with amusement. She obeyed, if only to sate her morbid curiosity. He divested himself of his bloodied robes and straddled her, bringing their bodies together with a harsh thrust. She screamed. ‘Good,’ he said into her neck. ‘More!’ He did it again, and again, and again, drawing screams and then sobs from her throat. He bit down on her breast as he came, breaking the skin and rearing back with bloodied teeth. He filled her, his brow furrowing passionately. His own moans were swallowed by her kisses, his hair in her fist.

Sated, they lay there in the quiet. Something in the air seemed to break; the oppressiveness of blood lifted a little. They were a tangle, spent and panting, and the grinning stone skull above them blazed with silent rage.

[bloatedandalone04]

The End of Love

➪the one where you break up but still love each other. (requested-ish)

Warnings: angst, fluff, break ups, swearing, gaslighting

Inspired by the song 'The End of Love' by Florence + The Machine

Word Count: 3.3k

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine <3

The buildings intimated you in the best way. 

You look up and have to squint, even though you were wearing sunglasses. The sun was high and had no clouds whatsoever to hide behind, making the heat shine down on you. 

It didn’t bother you, though. 

How could you be bothered when you had the perfect guy next to you? The same guy who had been next to you since junior year of high school, as well as the guy who promised you that university wouldn’t change anything between the two of you. Oh, how you wished that were true. You wished you knew how bad things would end. Maybe if you did, you could’ve saved yourself from the heartbreak.

But that was later.

Right now, you were in awe. 

“I knew it was going to be big, but I never imagined New York being this massive,” you say, barely able to catch your breath. “How will we find the time to explore everything before school starts?” 

“We have all summer,” Ethan says as he wraps his arm around your shoulder. The two of you continue to walk down one of the many streets that made up the big city, your eyes looking everywhere in hopes to take everything in all at once. “And even when school starts back up again, we’ll still find time to explore together. We’re going to be fine.”

“You promise?” You ask and tilt your head up to look at him.

Ethan laughed and nodded, leaning down to kiss you quickly. “I promise,”

-

You were three seconds away from pulling your hair out. 

You knew education after high school would be hard but you weren’t aware that it would be this fucking brutal. You were tired and stressed and annoyed and about this close to throwing your textbooks at Sam and Tara as they once again got into another argument. 

Gripping your pen tighter, your mind goes back to Sam’s apologetic smile and her kind words of, “I’m sorry we were so loud earlier. We’ll be more quiet next time, Tara just frustrates me sometimes,” and then fast forward to an hour later when they began bickering again. 

You tried to focus your attention on your school work, but your mind was somewhere else completely. You look over at your phone and debate whether or not to pick it up and send Ethan another text. He probably wouldn’t answer it, anyway, as the last three you’ve sent him had been left on delivered. 

Six whole hours had gone by since you sent the first one, another three since the second and just one since the last. He had to be busy, right? Maybe he was trying to get some work done, too, and turned his phone off or something. 

Still, it would’ve been nice to receive just one text saying that he couldn’t talk right now and that he’d call you later. 

Instead of unlocking your phone when you reach for it, you toss it even further away from you on the bed in hopes the distance would make it so you didn’t feel the need to constantly keep checking it. 

You would just keep disappointing yourself if you were to open your messages and see the same stupid words. 

Delivered an hour ago. Three hours ago. Six hours ago. 

Seriously, what the fuck was he doing that was so important he couldn’t find the time to send a quick text? 

God, when did you turn into this kind of girlfriend? The one who drives herself crazy when she doesn’t receive a text back in a reasonable amount of time? Ethan never gave you a reason not to trust him, so why were you getting so annoyed at his lack of responses? 

You take a deep breath before going back to the notes you took in class today. Though, as soon as you began reading, your phone went off and you grabbed it within seconds. 

Eth <3: hey, sorry for not answering :/ i’ve been stuck in lectures all day and left my phone at the apartment. i just got home now

It was embarrassing how quickly you began typing a response. 

No worries, glad you’re alive

Eth <3: haha

Your brows furrowed at his unusual short response and your thumbs started moving again without a second thought. 

What are you doing now? Want to come save me from The Bickersons? The sisters aren’t getting along at all today

After hitting send, you set your phone back down and go back to reading over your notes, relieved at the fact that you were able to get into contact with your boyfriend.

During the middle of your mini study session, your phone went off again and you were surprised to see that it had been a full forty five minutes since you sent the last text.

Eth <3: sorry, babe, i can’t tonight. i’m going to that frat party with chad 

Eth <3: maybe we can hang out tomorrow?

Disappointment settled in your chest as you read over the two messages again, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip. Hang out? It seemed weird for your boyfriend to suggest hanging out when he usually always just showed up or sent you a text that let you know he was on the way. There was never any planning, just doing. 

You shake off the weird feeling that bubbled in your chest and answer his text.

That’s okay, I just miss you :) Tomorrow works for me

Eth <3: miss you too <3

You held back a scoff and tossed your phone to the end of your bed. Ethan���s short replies were unusual and made a sinking feeling form in your heart at the very real change that is currently happening in your relationship. 

-

The next day came, and once again you found yourself unable to reach Ethan.

Hey, when did you want to hang out?

You cringed when you sent that text as you never referred to spending time with him as ‘hanging out’.

Half an hour went by before you sent a second text, and another hour before a third. 

Did you want to check out that breakfast place we were talking about?

Are you even awake yet?

You assumed he wasn’t when another hour passed with radio silence on his end. Believing that was better than the alternative; he was ignoring you.

It was hard to believe that a whole twelve hours went by before your phone went off. 

Eth <3: i’m so sorry, i forgot we had plans. i’ve been studying all day for that test on friday so i wasn’t near my phone 

Plans? That’s news to you. 

As far as you knew, Ethan asked you to hang out then completely ghosted you. 

It was then when you found yourself slipping away and not bothering to reach out first anymore. It was a sad realisation that you two would go days without speaking or seeing each other and the only time he would talk to you was when you started a conversation or asked to spend a day with him. 

The effort he was putting in was non-existent and you quickly found yourself putting in less and less effort as well. 

You didn’t know what happened, but you knew when it happened. 

You two were so happy during the summer, but now that school had started again it was as if you were dating a ghost. Though, really thinking about it,  you were sure a ghost would respond to you more than Ethan does at this point.

-

An entire month went by with very little contact between you and Ethan, and to say you were losing hope in the relationship would be the biggest understatement of the century. 

A total of fifteen texts were shared and you had only seen each other nine times. What kind of relationship were you in? It wasn’t normal at all and it wasn’t like either of you to be so distant with each other. You couldn’t help it, though. Ethan had failed to stay on top of replying to texts and it hurt you more than you cared to admit. 

Though, the lack of communication was not just his fault. You had stopped texting him daily and instead only sent him a message every few days, some of which went unanswered completely. Instead of going over to his place or having him come over to yours, you only really saw him in between classes or at a party, and even that was rare. 

Like the other night, both you and Ethan were invited to a frat party without either of you realising it. When you bumped into him and saw your boyfriend for the first time in five days, you were brought back to the good times you used to have with him. It was easy to forget how bad things had gotten.

You ended up staying with him for the rest of the night and the two of you acted like you were in a normal relationship still and ignored the very obvious tension that hung in the air. 

It was nice to pretend for a night.

A day went by and you were back to not communicating once again. And the cycle continued. 

You considered it a miracle when you both found the time to spend a day with each other, though you two were both far from how you used to be. Ethan moved around your apartment with the hesitation of a stranger, and you couldn’t think of one thing to say to him that would start a conversation. 

Now here you were. You were sitting on the couch with Ethan right next to you, yet you felt so far away. There was an overwhelming sinking feeling in your chest and you knew what was coming. It was inevitable at this point, you both felt it. 

It wasn’t working out.

School got in the way.

We’re going in different directions.

We’re just too busy.

It didn’t make you feel any better.

But then again…who actually felt good about ending a relationship where you used to be so happy, one where you two were so good together?

The silence was overwhelming and both of you were too scared to be the first one to talk as you knew that when one of you did…it would be over.  A nearly three year relationship just over. It hurt to think about, let alone allow it to happen. 

With a shaky breath, you look over at him to find him already looking at you. You give him a sad smile and he returns it, refraining from reaching over and taking your hand in his. Instead, he bit back his hesitation and mumbled, “This isn’t working out, is it?”

You look away quickly, biting down on your lower lip as you slowly shake your head. “It’s not,” 

There it was. The end.

Ethan sighed as he played with the sleeves of his henley. “I’m sorry I couldn’t keep that promise,” he said quietly. 

Your mind went back to the summertime and his promising words of ‘Even when school starts back up again….we’re going to be fine’. 

But you weren’t fine. 

His apology had your eyes watering and your lip quivering. Turning your head away from him so he wouldn’t see your face, you let a few tears fall. It was too much. You had thought you’d prepared yourself for this. Your relationship this past month was more like a friendship, and you were sure that things would be so different when you were over for good. The only reason you even saw him this month was because you both felt guilty about not putting in enough effort and just decided to push aside the tension and act like everything was fine. 

Would you ever see him again after this?

The thought had another sharp stab pierce your heart.

You shrug your shoulders in response, quickly wiping your eyes with the palm of your hand. “It just got too hard to keep up with. Life got in the way,” you hated the words you were saying as you refused to meet his eyes. “We tried, didn’t we?”

You weren’t sure why you were asking him that as you knew you both put in a poor effort to keep the relationship going. But Ethan knew this too, yet he didn’t want to say the truth, either. “We did,” he completed the lie with a simple nod of his head, something you missed as you still didn’t look over at him. 

The silence returned and you shifted uncomfortably. Never did you ever think you’d be uncomfortable while in the presence of Ethan. Things really have changed. 

In hopes to keep him in your life just a little bit longer, you ask him another question and try to ignore the way your voice cracked, “We were good together, right?”

Ethan’s reply came instantly. “Of course we were,” and it wasn’t a lie. 

Sure, the end of your relationship was hard, but the beginning was amazing, the middle was when you had some of the best days of your life, and the decision to end it was mutual. Not many couples can say that their breakup was mutual. 

You nod at his words, taking a chance and reaching over to grab his hand. Ethan let you as he knew this would be one of the last times he would be able to touch you. 

A teary exchange of smiles later had him getting up and leaving your apartment and finally you were able to bury your head in the pillows to muffle your sobs, the harsh reality of what just happened hitting you hard.

-

Two weeks passed and you weren’t over the breakup. You feared it would take many months for your heart to heal even a little bit, but you were okay with that. The ache you felt when you woke up was bearable as it meant your love was real and it happened. 

Sure, it was over, but it happened. And that was enough to keep you going. 

You skipped a lecture today to stay home and catch up on some reading. Well, you were supposed to be reading but here you were, laying on the couch and scrolling through your phone with the book open on your chest. 

That Summer in New York <3

You don’t know how many times you’ve read that caption of your last post with Ethan on your Instagram. The various photos did nothing to soothe the ache in your heart, but they did bring you the smallest bit of comfort.

The post was from the same day Ethan promised you’d be fine when school started, and the memory of that day was what kept you going. It was a good day, one filled with laughs, love and exploring the big city with your boyfriend. It was hard to think of that day being one of the last good ones you had with him.

Fuck, you missed him. Just like how you felt during the last stretch of your relationship, you felt worse now that it was truly over. 

The amount of times you had to stop yourself from texting him were countless, though the high twenties would be your guess. You hadn’t seen him since the breakup, with the exception of his past self in the photos on your page, and all you wanted to do was check if he was okay. Was he sad like you? Happy? Fine?

Like yours, his Instagram was still full of posts of the two of you as it seemed like he, too, couldn’t bring himself to delete them. It brought you the smallest amount of joy to know that the wound was still fresh to him like it was to you. 

Your mind went back to before you two were even dating and you realised that you started out as friends. That got you thinking; if you were friends before your relationship, who says you can’t be friends after it?

And with that, you open your texts and type out a message before you could stop yourself. 

Hey! I was thinking about you today and wanted to know if you were wanting to get together sometime? As friends :) I miss you and don’t want to not have you in my life

Before you could tell yourself that you sounded too desperate, your thumb hit send and you were left with the same message that used to haunt you.

Delivered one minute ago. 

It was only ten minutes later when your phone went off and you sat up quickly, setting the book down and grabbing your phone from off the coffee table. 

Ethan: you read my mind

Ethan: i miss you, too

The smile that formed on your lips was the biggest you’ve had in months and you quickly typed back a reply, not caring  at how needy it made you look. 

Great, we’ll set something up for the end of the week? 

A reply never came as quick as his. 

Ethan: definitely, can’t wait

You were now in a much better mood as you stood up from the couch and peaked your head in Tara’s room. She was on her bed, playing on her phone when she looked over and immediately sat up. “Hey, Y/n,” she said, the smile on your face making one form on hers. She hadn’t seen you look this happy in a while, so she wasn’t about to decline when you asked her if she wanted to go get brunch together. 

Tara was beyond excited to see your true, happy self slowly coming back. She knew how hard the breakup hit you and to see you begin to put yourself back together had a permanent smile on her face. 

Fall was just around the corner and the air was chilly, but that was the last thing on your mind as Tara guided you towards the new restaurant that had recently opened. She went there with Chad and couldn’t stop talking about how good the food was.

You listened with a smile on your face but within seconds your legs stop moving and your smile drops. 

Tara, who continued rambling about the food, stopped walking when she realised you were no longer next to her. She backtracks and stands next to you, placing a comforting hand on your arm. “What? What is it?”

You were looking off in the distance, unable to answer her as you felt tears spring to your eyes. Tara furrowed her brows at that and tried to see what you were looking at, and when she did, her hold on you tightened. 

On the opposite side of the street was Ethan.

You knew the first time you saw him after the breakup would hurt, but you assumed it would be because of a completely different reason than the one you felt now. 

You assumed it would hurt because you hadn’t seen him in weeks and you missed him, not because he was currently locking lips with a girl. 

“Y/n,” Tara said quietly, her hand moving down to properly hold yours. Tara had a feeling that the reason you were so happy was because of Ethan and a possible reconciliation, so seeing this had her mind going blank and her jaw locking. 

You couldn’t take your eyes off the scene and you watch as Ethan’s hands grip the girl’s waist and she leans further into the kiss. Her hands caress the sides of his face as she moves closer to him and that was when you decided you’d seen enough. 

Tara tugged you away and you let her. The two of you turn your back to your ex as she guides you back in the direction of your apartment, missing the way Ethan pulled away just in time to see you walk around the corner.

[honeygrahambitch]

Hannibal has separation anxiety. And it got progressively worse.

It started when his parents were killed. It worsened after his sister was killed. Then he relatively learnt to keep it under control cause some good old ptsd is enough to numb your anxiety sometimes.

And it all came back after Mizumono. You can't tell me that man was in a good mental state in Florence. He was so fucking off. He was missing Will and he was feeling lonely. He took Bedelia with himself just so he wouldn't be completely alone.

And wait, there's more. It worsened in those three years he spent in jail. And I don't even want to try to imagine the way he had to keep it cool while his memory palace was crumbling down.

I really think that one day post-fall he opens up to Will about it. He just doesn't like to be alone. Not again.

[mrs-prentiss]

Mellies Scandal

Summary : We all know and love Fitz and Olivia’s affair and quarrel. However most of us wanted some sort of justice for Mellie, and one person in particular had every idea to give Mellie just that.

•••••••••••••••••

‼️Warning : Cursing - Light Violence ‼️

Authors Note : I know we all hate when people put their Ocs in a tag for “X reader” but since there is no “Mellie x Reader” fics I am going to put this there to help boost it and find people. If it goes well I will make “x Reader” for Mellie Grant! Until then enjoy! It’s short for now the next ones will be longer

————————

• Nicknames •

Eleanor Prentiss ( Nellie or El sometimes Flo)

Melody Grant ( Mellie or Mells)

Olivia Pope (Liv)

Fitzgerald Grant (Fitz or Fizzy)

••••••••

We all know FitzGerald Grant and we all know the lovely Olivia pope. Who doesn’t love this pairing? Mellie of course and the infamous little sister of Fitz, Eleanor Florence Prentiss. Eleanor is the younger sister to Fitz, she’s the Chief of the FBI office in Washington. She’s married and sort of separated from her lovely wife…sort of ex wife Emily Prentiss who is also working in the Washington office with her.

Eleanor was notorious for flirting with Mellie, who wouldn’t? She was completely and utterly infatuated with the woman and she couldn’t keep her eyes off of her. Something about Mellie just sparked and lit fire works inside of Eleanor. She was always in Mellies corner, despite being the Presidents sister she was a Mellie supporter til the day she died. So upon hearing about her brother affair she was one of the first people inside of the Oval office after getting several calls for her to come there “Melody sweetheart you look beautiful as always. Fitzgerald you look like a fool and so does your common whore here” she said loudly as she walked into the office kicking the door shut behind her.

She stood beside Mellie who sat on the couch and arched an eyebrow at the mistresses in front of her “Is there a reason i’m here? I’m a busy woman I don’t have time to come gossip about your recent screw up” there it was that agitating voice she hated the sound of her voice. She knew Of Olivia Pope they’d cross paths plenty of time and every time Olivia got in her way she had blackmail and the government knees deep on her side “I called you here. We need your help and you weren’t answering his calls”

Eleanor turned to the right slightly and smiled with a low chuckle following past it “You don’t not beckon me anywhere. You don’t ask for my help, as far as i’m concerned nothing at all is stopping me from kicking your ass Olivia. You tell your team to stop ringing my lines i’m busy i don’t have the time to play phone tag” she placed a hand on Mellies shoulder gently squeezing it and giving her a give glance with an apologetic smile and soft eyes. She sympathized and she wanted nothing more then to give Mellie everything she wanted, but it wasn’t an easy task.

Mellie would be lying if she told herself the way Eleanor looked at her and touched her simply didn’t just send a tense feeling down to her core. She picked the wrong Grant that was for sure and she didn’t know what to do from now “I told you it was a bad idea Fitz. Eleanor is working and she hated this as much as I do. You should know that.” Mellie tried to reason with her husband on her sister in laws behalf. He wasn’t listening though and neither was Olivia they’d both decided for Mellie that they would all convince Eleanor.

“Mellie we need her to help us. She has resources and connections we don’t. We all agreed to this” Olivia expressed in a broad tone. Eleanor for one didn’t agree with her brother running for president she hated the idea but she was also a good sister who would support what he wanted even if she didn’t like it “Hey Olivia? Shut the fuck up and let her speak. God do you deal with this every day Melody? This is ridiculous. If i’m helping any of you this piggy backing to defend each other shit is stopping now.” Eleanor snapped at both Fitz and Olivia pointing at the with the hand she took off Mellies shoulder.

Fitz took a sharp breath and groaned loudly “SERIOUSLY NELLIE! You can’t behave for five minutes and play nice! Olivia hasn’t done anything and you’re already insulting her. We need your help! I need your help, my presidency depends on it” he exhausted said in a sharp tone to his sister. Fitz and Eleanor don’t yell at each other and they don’t fight, so the room was so quiet at the moment you could hear a pin drop. Eleanor smirked slightly and set her bag and keys down beside Mellie sending her a wink before she moved past the couch.

A loud slap echoed through the Oval office and left Fitz with his head snapped sideways and Eleanor shaking her hand off as she lowered it “Do not ever raise your voice at me again. You two have done everything wrong, you have ruined her life. Just so you know Fizzy i’m not here for you, i’m here for Mellie. You want my help you find a way to speak to me because next time i’ll make sure you hit the floor and you know I will” as her brother mumbled an apology to his sister rubbing his cheek as he lifted his head to look at her she started speaking again “I’ll talk to Emily. I’ll see what we can do okay? Until then you two don’t go making this harder for me to clean up”

“Wait; you’re still with her? You told me you two got divorce Eleanor. Are you guys still married?” Mellies confusion and jealous was obvious to Eleanor just by the look in her eyes which made her shift in her spot as the first lady stood up with her eyes challenging Eleanor. Eleanor fumbled over her words for a second before she scrunched her nose as she spoke and relaxed it “No…yes? I don’t know we’re— It’s complicated. It doesn’t matter. What matters is i’m fixing this mess and i’ll be here tomorrow and the rest of the week to help” she grabbed her bag and keys from the couch, mouthing an i’m sorry to Mellie before she made her way to the door “and..when i come back Olivia you better be here and on a short leash i know how you get when you get power hungry” she pointedly spoke. She waved goodbye to the secretary and made her way through the white house halls calling Emily to figure out how the hell she’d clean this up.

[morningstarbee]

as much as i love hannibal, i will always be a will defender

I've seen some discourse among fannibals about who was in the wrong during Mizumono. I've actually seen several takes calling Will heartless and a monster for betraying Hannibal/hurting his feelings.

And I just need to write my thoughts down on this because I've always been a big proponent of

"Hannibal is a hypocrite who can dish it out but can't take it."

What do I mean by that? Let's make it very clear what happens in between them throughout the show.

(Spoilers ahead. Obviously.)

Let's start with Season 1

Will is a lonely person who has never felt truly understood by anyone

Hannibal befriends Will, accepting his darkness and the other unpleasant parts of his personality that drove other people away and made him feel wanted.

Hannibal gets Will to rely on him, to trust him and his opinion above any other person in his life.

Hannibal becomes aware of a serious illness that not only affects Will's ability to perceive reality, but could potentially kill him. He not only fails to inform Will or a medical professional about this, but actively makes it worse.

He frames Will for his own murders and when Will realizes something is going wrong and comes to him about it, urges him to turn himself in.

Will goes to prison and loses his credibility, his reputation. All his friends and colleauges no longer trust him. For many, all the secretly held beliefs they had about him are "confirmed" and all the perceptions about himself he had spent his life avoiding are now the common opinon.

Good? Okay now let's see what happens in Season 2.

Will makes a (failed) attempt to kill Hannibal through a proxy.

Hannibal claims his kills as the Ripper and Will is released from prison.

Will hatches a plot with Jack to make Hannibal believe that Will is on his side so that they can get him arrested.

Will makes Hannibal feel accepted and seen, in a way he had believed no one was capable of.

He plans to betray Hannibal at the final dinner with Jack and arrest him when he begins the plan to kill Jack.

Does that sound familiar? Person A befriends Person B, makes them feel accepted, and then betrays them and gets them thrown in jail. Person B's revenge is to befriend Person A and make them feel accepted only to turn and and betray them to get them thrown in jail.

It's a pretty fair revenge right? The only way it could have been more even was if Will somehow gave Hannibal brain cancer or something. (Though you could argue that the attempted murder makes up for it.)

Except, no, because Will doesn't go through with it.

He changes his mind and decides not to do the betraying part. He makes a very real attempt to accept Hannibal's offer and run away with him. And yet, in Hannibal's eyes, he accepted too late. And we all know what happened in Mizumono. A complete bloodbath.

That's the equivalent of someone punching you, and when you punch them back, they gut you in their fucking kitchen.

I also want to point out something specific in Mizumono.

Hannibal slices through Will's abdomen and says the words "I forgive you. Can you forgive me?"

REMEMBER THAT.

Now what happens in Season 3?

Hannibal leaves for Italy with Bedelia and is living in Florence with her.

It takes 8 months for Will to fully recover, not only from his physical wounds, but from the emotional ones. Hannibal leaving him behind. Grieving Abigail for the second time.

Will mentions, two separate times in this season, how he wanted to run away with Hannibal. When Jack asks why he warned Hannibal he says "Because he was my friend...and because I wanted to run away with him." Later, in Italy, when Jack asks if he will disappear with Hannibal when they find him, Will replies "Part of me will always want to."

Also, people never mention this, but everyone who survived the bloodbath knew Will had betrayed them. After Will took the risk to betray everyone to try and follow Hannibal, Hannibal left him behind with the people he betrayed for him.

Will travels to places where Hannibal has been to try and figure him out. Why that happened. What went so wrong. He visits the chapel in Palermo, the entrance to Hannibal's mind palace. He visits his childhood home and leaves flowers on Mischa's grave and a tableau of the man who killed her. He takes a tour that ends with him in Florence, where Hannibal "became a man", and finds him there.

They have, by all accounts, a pleasant conversation. They leave the Uffizi Gallery together and Will pulls a knife from his pocket. Chiyoh shoots him before we ever see how that plays out. And afterwards, Hannibal has him so drugged he can barely string a sentence together to explain himself. Then Hannibal attempts to murder him. Like saw open his skull and eat his brain.

Now this is purely speculation, but I have always had a pretty clear idea of what Will was attempting here, although he had arguably bad timing.

Earlier in the season, when Will was following Hannibal through the catacombs, he calls out "I forgive you." Which is a call back to when Hannibal forgave him in Mizumono.

Now how did Hannibal forgive him? He stabbed him, sliced him open with a knife, enough to hurt, really hurt, but not enough to kill him. He left him with a scar. A physical reflection of the emotional pain he caused Hannibal.

I will argue until the day I die that Will was attempting to reciprocate that idea here.

Hannibal reacts like Will was attempting to kill him. That getting that close and having that conversation about how intertwined they were was another ruse. I think in part it was an emotional reaction, though Hannibal would deny it. I mean, fool me once shame on you, but fool me twice, shame on me, right?

Of course, Hannibal doesn't get a chance to kill him because they are interrupted by the mercenaries Mason hired kidnapping them and taking them back to the States.

This is another big thing, because Mason wasn't after Will at all, not really. He was simply a bonus to Mason, and since he had them both, he decided to use Will, by cutting off his face and using it like a mask. Will is constantly catching strays for being associated with Hannibal.

They get out of this situation, narrowly, due to Alana's intervention and Hannibal rescues Will and takes them both back to Wolftrap.

When Will wakes up, Hannibal is acting like they're all hunky dory, like he didn't just make an attempt on Will's life.

Will tells him to fuck off. "I’m not gonna miss you. I’m not gonna find you. I’m not going to look for you. I don’t want to know where you are or what you do. I don’t want to think about you anymore."

AND THIS IS SO VALID !!

Will has made so many attempts to meet Hannibal at his level. Every single attempt at reciprocity between them has ended in Hannibal lashing out. Despite all of Hannibal's claims of wanting an equal, he never lets Will commit acts of betrayal and violence on the same level as him. If I was Will, I would also be done with him. It's so exhausting putting so much energy into someone only to constantly get it thrown back in your face like that.

(Also why I believe, in the show canon, their relationship doesn't work until Hannibal gets humbled by three years in prison.)

This is why you may hear me say things like "Hannibal has the emotional intelligence of a toddler" or calling him a hypocrite and stuff like that. Again, I LOVE Hannibal, he's one of my favorite fictional characters, period. But sir, you're so dumb. How can someone so clever be so stupid?

[letsgetrowdy43]

Chapter three— in all fairness

Au Masterlist!!

Philippe sat on the couch, the stubbornness of his daughter racking his brain as he tried to give her a bottle, his attempt lasting nearly twenty minutes and was fuelled with agony, “Flo, baby, you gotta eat my girl” he whispered as he bounced her on his knee, “your mama makes this look so easy.” The little girl stared at him for a second, her eyes glossing over as she stared at the bottle in his hand, her bottom lip wobbling as Phil tried to work the nipple of the bottle past her lips, “please no tears baby,” he mumbled to her as she whisked her up into his arms loud wails coming from her as he rubbed her back. “Where’s my smiley girl?” he asked while pulling her away from him to look her in the eyes, the cries slowly dying off as her tiny hands find the plush of his cheeks and squeeze, a smile growing as he pulls her back into his chest to places kisses all over her face, “There she is,” he says in between kisses.

“I get why people say you get your stubbornness from me,” he said grabbing the bottle again to attempt to feed her once again. “It's easy,” the young woman said from the doorway, startling Philippe, “You just have to let her hold it herself, she’s recently discovered independence” “Oh thank god you’re home,” “Yeah yeah,” the girl smiled as she dropped her bags on the ground to grab Flo from the man who was now in a hurry to get to campus, “go to class, have a good practice tell the media team I miss them” “I owe you my life,” he said as he kissed his daughter on the cheek before handing her over, then he placed a quick kiss to her mother's temple before searching for his car keys. “What's new” the girl mumbled as she sat down on the couch with Flo resting against her chest.

She grabbed the bottle off of the coffee table and smiled as she sat Flo up on her lap and placed the bottle in the little girl's hands, “now little Miss, time to eat” she said as they watched Phil triumphantly find the keys and run out of the house in a rush to make it on time class. Her phone lit up, a notification reminding her about an essay due the next day that she had completely forgotten about, “Oh shit” anxiety grew in her chest as she reached for her phone to look at the assignment, “fuck, okay” she groaned as she hiked Florence up on her hip to go and grab her computer and textbooks.

“Hey, sweets!” A voice behind her startled her as she entered the kitchen. “Holy fuck Jay you scared the shit out of me,” she said breathlessly as she looked at the three boys who all smiled back at her. Her eyes travelled down from Jay’s face to his shirt, her brows furrowed at the ‘I love hot moms’ in big bold writing across his chest, “you like my shirt, I wore it with you in mind” the man smiled innocently as Nolan high-fived him, the two of them ignoring the woman’s loud scoffs. “This is why Nick is my favourite” She pointed to the quietest guy who now sat on the couch as the group of four found themselves working their way towards the living room, Nick looked up from his phone with a small grin and waved at the baby who reached out for him, “see how he sits there smiling and stays quiet?” Nolan put his hand over his heart and pretended to act wounded, going limp and falling into the couch dramatically, “Is this what betrayal feels like?” He questioned as he looked at the woman, hoping she would say something to make him feel a little appreciated. “Suck it” Nick mumbled as she passed him the baby.

“You look tired,” Jay said in a serious tone as he passed her the coffee they had picked up for her on the way over, “Here.” “I just remembered that I have a paper due tomorrow in my child development class” She frowned and stood up from the couch in search of her laptop that she had meant to grab before they showed up, “I'm stressed, but Flo is due for a nap so I'm hoping to start it then,” the woman gave a defeated shrug as she settled back onto the couch “Hey, we will take Flo with us to practice, make Truss watch her while we all practice,” Nick said softly as he took the baby from the mat on the floor and placed her on his chest as he took her little hands and started to play with her. “That’s not fair to him.” “The idiot is out on an injury and still has to go to the mandatory practices if anything you’re doing him a favour and relieving him of boredom,” Nolan said with a scoff, the boys loved when she visited, it kept morale high so her visit would help the team and Jacob out a lot more than they let on.

“Can you at least text and ask him first before I send my child off with him? I don’t want to just assume he’s okay with it” she asked as she looked over to Jay who was already on it. “Give me two seconds,” he said walking into the kitchen to call him.

Nolan smiled as Nick handed him the baby, a smile on her face as she ran her chubby hands over his moustache, “I think that's a sign to shave” “She loves it” he smiled as the baby yawned and rested her little head against his shoulder, “do you need anything before we go?” “No no, I just need some quiet” she grinned watching as they pretended to be offended by her words. Jay came into the room and gave everyone a thumbs up, pointing to his phone to let the boys know that they needed to leave in order to make it to practice in time, “want us to drop you off at the library?” Nolan asked as the woman stood up to help them get Flo ready, she shook her head and grabbed a warm set of pyjamas from Florence's freshly clean laundry basket “Okay, let us know if you need anything and we'll make sure Phil gets it”

“Thanks Jay” she smiled as she scavenged for a clean pair of baby socks. “Anything for my fav Milf” he joked “Choke,” she said in a dead tone, lightly hitting him in the chest as Nick passed her the baby to change. Jay smirked and watched as she ignored his laughter, “You love me, I know it” 

Nick opened the front door, “where’s your car seat?” The girl looked up from the babbling baby, Flo was squirming making it hard to change her “You’re a hundred percent sure that he’s okay with it” “I wouldn’t lie to you about this, read his texts” Jay said as he grabbed Flo’s snowsuit and maize Michigan hat, or her ‘rink fit' as mum liked to call it. “Okay the car seat is in my car, let me go and get her dressed quickly” She started to change Flo before Nolan swooped the baby and her clothes off the couch. “You stay sat, I will go get her little diaper bag and the necessities, don't worry I know the drill” The girl frowned before opening her mouth to interject, “Don't try to cut me off and say you can do it, I'm aware you’re capable, I just want to help you out, I've decided to be kind” “You guys all suck” she closed her mouth and folded her arms over her chest as she death stared Nolan. “Hush”

Once the boys are ready and Flo is in her car seat the three of them stood at the door with proud smiles, “You guys call me if anything happens,” she says sternly as they all nod, “and tell Truss that if anything happens to my baby on his watch I will break his other arm.” Nolan laughs at her threats as he lifts the carrying to make Flo wave her little hand to her mum, “Yeah sure, anyways, we love you go do your assignment.”

-❀-

The woman smiled at her phone, three texts from Mark popped up on her screen, two little photos of him on the ice holding the baby in his arms, Flo’s little hands on the flushed skin of his cheek as she smiled up at him. the baby raise hat on display as she giggled, it was merely a photo but the woman could hear her baby’s laughter through the image. The other photo is of him hugging her against his chest, her little hands now wrapped around his neck and pulling at his long strands of hair, as she placed a kiss on his cheek. Mackie stood on the other side of him and placed a kiss on Mark's other cheek, mirroring Flo’s actions. It is impossible to stop her face from warming up as she reads the tiny caption “Always knew I was her Favourite”.

She stares at the two photos for a few seconds longer, she doesn’t even know why, it's like she’s trying to pick apart every aspect of the photo, trying to decipher what about these images are making her stomach feel fluttery and her chest tight. Convincing herself that it's just the cute way her daughter smiles in the photos, the happiness displayed on her daughter's lips as she hugs the boy.

She highly shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut and dropping her phone back into her lap so she could return to her work, the essay had been coming along very easily as she finished finding her sources and her outline. The intro paragraph wrote itself and now she just had to finish the bulk of the work.  

Her phone began to ring in her lap just as she went back to staring at her computer screen, her eyes stinging from the brightness of the screen. Philippe’s contact photo pops up on her phone as she looks back down at her phone. “I’m about to ask you a question, and feel free to say no if you’re too stressed,” he said, the girl was able to hear his smile over the phone as the boys in the background all chatted in the locker room. She smiled as she heard Duker softly singing to Taylor Swift in the background, Flo squealing in the distance, “What’s up?” “The seniors are having drinks at their house tonight and I was wondering if I could join them?” he asked, his voice wavering on guilt and desperation for a yes.

There was something so familiar about this occurrence, the conversation felt like it had happened at least a hundred other times. A constant loop of Phil asking for lenience and her letting him live the life he had pre-Florence. This conversation was happening almost every other weekend, him asking to do things that normal twenty-year-olds do and her letting him go off and experiencing life, the way it was before their daughter. She couldn’t say no to him, because she had held a lot of pent-up guilt about their situation, like his new way of life had all been an accident and all of the blame falling onto her shoulders.

The girl's smile faltered as she looked at the time and the amount of work she had finished so far, annoyance wracked her brain as she let out a short sigh, followed by a “yes.” Phil profusely thanked her and apologized as Steve and Jay cheered in the background. “How are you getting Flo home?” she massaged her temples, remembering her daughter was stuck at the rink. "Mark and Eddy offered to drop her off on their way home,” he said shortly. 

"Can you give Mark the phone?" She asked as he silently agreed and handed the phone over to his teammate who stared at the man who ushered for him to put it up to his ear. ”Everything okay?” he asked as he was met with silence on the other end. The woman softly sighed as she shut her laptop and got up to retrieve her sweater, ”I can go pick her up, Phil shouldn't be putting his responsibilities on you" she said the ending bit in a hushed tone as she searched for her keys in her bag. “It's fine really," Mark shook his head, the phone now balanced between his shoulder and ear as he snatched up Flo from her spot on Luke's lap and put her back into her car seat,” besides, if he’s putting the responsibilities on anyone it's you, I'm just driving her home" Mark reasoned as Flo ripped her hat off of her head and giggled.

"He needs a life too,” she felt like a broken record, that sentence seeming to be the only words ever leaving her mouth. “You deserve a life just as much as he does,” he paused to let it sink in for a moment, "me and Ethan will be over with her in 20 sounds good?” She softly frowned on the other end “perfect”

-❀-

Mark and Ethan had come and gone, staying for a bit to help Mum with the bulk of getting Flo settled and ready for bed. Ethan had left the two of them for a brief period of time to go and pick up Dylan, Adam, and Luca from the party that they had deemed boring.

The boy sat with Flo in his arms as he feed her one last bottle before bed, “I don't get how she is so perfect” he whispered as she closed her eyes, lazily drinking from the bottle as she fought off sleep. “she gets it from me” the woman joked as she reached forward and took the bottle out from Flo’s mouth. Mark looked up at her seriously, “She does” his tone held not a single ounce of humour as he handed the now sleeping baby over to her mother, the woman softly murmured to the little one as she cradled her to her chest. 

He watched with soft eyes as she smiled down at her daughter and then back up t him, he was always there in moments of need, or even the softest of domestic moments so far in her journey of motherhood.

“I wasn’t meaning to tell you how to handle yourself earlier, I know I sounded harsh,” he said as she looked back up at him with confused eyes, completely forgetting their phone call earlier, “It's just that you treat yourself so unfairly, he gets all the freedom at your expense” Her lips formed a straight line as she shook her head, “it’s fine, no harm done,” it was now his turn to frown, she was always so dismissive to her own emotions.

“When was the last time you went out with the girls, or even just joined us for drinks while he stayed in?” She shrugged her shoulders and thought for a second before the answer came up as nothing, “never I guess.” “That’s not fair to you” he reasoned, a sad expression on his face as he watched her look away from him, blinking back tears, “I love Phil, we are teammates, brothers even, but that’s not fair to you.” 

Mark’s phone began to ring, startling the both of them as he looked down at the caller and back up at her with soft eyes, “the boys are here so I'm gonna head out,” he ushered out the window to Luke’s car. “Thank you” she whispered as he placed a kiss on the side of her head, a sad but knowing look on her face as she stood up to walk him out, the baby still on her chest as her eyes began to water, chalking her burst of emotions up to exhaustion. Mark put on his sneakers as she opened the door and waved out to the boys in the car who smiled back at her, “call if you need anything” Mark whispered as he ran his thumb on the soft skin of Flo’s cheek as a sort of goodbye, “promise?" She gave him a soft look and nodded, he stared at her waiting for verbal reassurance, “Yes Mark.” “Good.”

It wasn’t long after she was awoken from her bed, a slightly tipsy Philippe stumbling into her room with an expression of worry on his face as she sat up in her bed. “Phil?” “Yes?” He mumbled as he laid himself across the bottom of her bed, letting out a soft sigh as she sat up, her pyjama top was twisted and her hair a mess as she wiped the sleep out of her eyes, her arms folding over her chest as she turned on the lamp beside her.

Phil groaned at the light as he propped himself up to look at her, a soft smile on his face as his vision travelled over to the crib next to her bed, “Where are the boys?” She asked pulling him back into reality. “Still at the seniors,” his hand found her shin, drawing shapes on her skin to occur himself from staring at her, “I needed to come home.” Her brows furrowed as, “Are you okay?” “I’m fine” he started,  “but we need to talk” “We do?” “yes.”

He slowly stood up the shut the door, just in case someone came home, a frown on his face as he stared down at his sleeping daughter, “Have you ever thought about us?” “In what way Phil?” She groaned, squeezing her eyes shut to fight off the exhaustion creeping back up on her. “Like together, a couple?” “I’m confused?” “I think I'm in love with you!” He blurted out loudly gaining a soft cry from Flo who was awoken, the woman sat frozen for a second, staring at Phil as he waited for an answer.

She then stood up from her spot, not daring to blink as she walked around the crib to retrieve her crying daughter, her heart was loudly beating in her chest as she read an unreadable look on the man's face. His eyes were hazy from the booze, his cheeks flush from the heat of the party and what she assumed to be the sprint home. “Phil, you’re drunk,” she bounced the baby on her hip to settle her as she made her way back under the covers of her bed, he sat back down on the bed. She shook her head as he grabbed her hand to make her look him in the eyes, “I'm not, I’m nearly sober,” she frowned at him, pulling her hand away from his grasp to run it over her face, not believing his lies.

The woman let out a sigh as Flo went silent once again, her face cradled in her mother's neck as the rocking continued, “I don't know what you want me to say to this Phil” she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes as she shook her head, vision blurring with tears as his hand re-found hers. “I just wish I could understand how we can do this,” he motioned between them, the baby, their current life, “ we literally created a life, and you still have not an ounce of love for me” he whispered back, tears now rolling down his cheeks as his thumbs wiped away hers. “Philippe, I love you so much, so deeply” Her sentence got caught in her throat as she placed Flo down on the bed in front of her. Her cries were so intense that her body shook, and trembling hands reached out to wipe Phil’s tears away, “I promise I do love you, I just don't love you in the way you want Phil.”

“I think if you really loved me, I think if you really loved this family you would at least try to,” his tone was so serious and so cold that she backed away from him, her hands letting go of his as she physically moved away from him.

Her jaw dropped as she let go of his hand, “That’s not fair to me, to you, or to her” “I'm not being selfish, I just want our daughter to experience parents who love one another,” his voice now less a drunken whisper and more an annoyed tone.

“That’s such bullshit, Phil,” she said numbly as she stood up from her bed to find her phone and the baby’s diaper bag, “I think it's really shitty of you to show up to my room, confess your feelings and then tell me I'm basically failing my daughter cause I don't love you in a romantic way” her voice grew venomous as she found an old hoodie on the floor of her closet and slipped it on “That’s not-" She cut him off by opening her bedroom door and motioning for him to make his exit, “no you don't get to speak to me right now, I'm done listening” she wiped her tears again and ushered him out of her room, before shutting the door and rummaging through Florence's drawers for some spare clothes.

She dialled her phone and waited as it rang three times before a tired voice picked up on the other end, ” Hello?” “Can me and Flo come and stay with you for the night?” “I'm on the way”

-

I feel like the reader needs a nickname, so please lmk what you think fits her :)

Also sorry (kinda, not really) for the update literally taking a month. I've been through it with adulting and shit, so we are just gonna pretend that this didn't take me an entire month to finish...

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[butchhamlet]

a scene-by-scene playlist for macbeth--one song for each scene. you know the drill by now. track list with rationale under the cut; special thanks to @blackcatarts for help with the selection :3 happy halloween season, y'all.

track list + rationale

act one

1.1 (the witches enter) - Everybody Wants to Rule the World (Lorde Cover) (feels self-explanatory, plus the vibe of it feels like panning in over a foggy battlefield)

1.2 (duncan finds out macbeth slayed) - Aneurysm by Nirvana (found this one on this macbeth playlist a while back and it has remained a macbeth song to me forever and ever; the manic energy fits the battlefield fervor here)

1.3 (macbeth and banquo meet the witches) - They by Jem (“and it’s ironic too // ‘cause what we tend to do // is act on what they say // and then it is that way… who are they? where are they? how can they possibly know all this?”)

1.4 (duncan names malcolm his successor) - Money Money Money by ABBA (he’s plotting! he’s planning! stars, hide your fires! look just trust me on this one)

1.5 (lady macbeth reads the letter & reunites with macbeth) - She’s Kerosene by the Interrupters (every lyric of this song is about lady macbeth.)

1.6 (lady macbeth welcomes duncan to her castle) - Silver Platters by Les Gold (“no need to be cordial // you could be immortal // if you take the risk // could you take the risk?” + “step out on the dance floor // this is what you asked for // such a pretty face // what was it underneath the mask for?”)

1.7 (the macbeths argue) - Fight For Me by AlicebanD (macbeths song of all time!!!)

act two

2.1 (dagger scene) - Disturbia by Rihanna (the supernatural begins to bleed into the world! will someone please direct a macbeth where this comes on during this scene) 

2.2 (post-murder argument) - Prowl Great Cain by The Mountain Goats (very macbeth song. placed here for “and i feel guilty, but i can’t feel ashamed!” & mention of sleepwalking & betrayal & prowling [cf. his line about tarquin in 2.1])

2.3 (porter scene, duncan’s death comes out) - Daniel in the Den by Bastille (“felled in the night by the ones you think you love // they will come for you” + “and for every king that died // they would crown another”)

2.4 (hey. don’t cry. duncan’s horses ate each other) - When He Died by Lemon Demon (literally a song about the world getting fucked up after a guy dies what can i say)

act three

3.1 (banquo gets suspicious) - Aha! by Imogen Heap (entire song about people pretending to be better than they are, including an actual serial killer. + “cost you to keep me quiet” with banquo…)

3.2 (the macbeths are fracturing) - The Horror of Our Love by Ludo (EXTREMELY MACBETHS SONG. here because this is the scene where they start to switch places, with him the one buying into violence as the answer & telling her not to worry about gory details)

3.3 (banquodeath) - Bury A Friend by Billie Eilish (rdj meme voice: he has murdered his friend)

3.4 (banquet scene) - Bird Song by Florence + the Machine (song about killing the witness and then being haunted by that witness and completely losing your shit trying to shut their ghost up…)

3.5 (hecate) - Hecate by Wendy Rule (i don’t give a shit about this scene i’m sorry. interpolation boooooo)

3.6 (lennox talks politics) - Dark Doo Wop by MS MR (foggy apocalyptic ones. “it’s all gone to shit // it’s out of our hands”)

act four

4.1 (double double toil & trouble) - Hot Knife by Fiona Apple (i’m a hot knife i’mmmm a hot knife i’m a hot knife he’s a pat of butter… you’re just gonna have to trust me on this one. my school’s macbeth had heavy drumming all through this scene and it’s associated with this song to me forever)

4.2 (macduff’s family is murdered) - Pretty Little Things by the Crane Wives (songs about pretty/fragile things being destroyed because of men’s betrayal… thinking about how lady macduff blames her husband for abandoning her to the wolves :( )

4.3 (malcolm and macduff) - All or Nothing by the Dream Masons (songs that are about both malcolm and macduff. the first verse especially is very malcolm, as a young prince stranded among enemies; the chorus is especially macduff-deciding-to-kill-macbeth-or-die-trying)

act five

5.1 (lady macbeth sleepwalks) - Tymps (The Sick in the Head Song) by Fiona Apple (LADY MACBETH GUILT SONG! “those boon times went bust // my feet of clay, they dried to dust // the red isn’t the red we painted, it’s just rust” w her imaginary bloodstains, + “i’m either so sick in the head i need to be bled dry to quit // or i just really used to love him // i sure hope that’s it”)

5.2 (the scots and english gather) - Marked Man by Mieka Pauley (songs i considered for 4.3 as well. they are coming to Get His Ass)

5.3 (macbeth preparing to fight) - For the Departed by Shayfer James (songs about knowing you’re about to get got but what does it matter when you’re already damned)

5.4 (the fucking wood is moving guys) - Kingdom Fall by Claire Wyndham (songs i almost put on the prior scene, for “i’d rather watch my kingdom fall // i want it all or not at all,” but eventually i placed it here because… well, we are watching the kingdom fall, my guy)

5.5 (tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow) - Drowning in the Sound by Amanda Palmer (okay, this is kind of because of “sound and fury,” but also it’s soooo macbeth act 5. “and the body is a temple but the temple is a prison and the prison’s overcrowded and the inmates know it’s flooded and the body politic is getting sicker by the second” + “do you ever feel like this should be officially the end? // and that you should be the one to do the ending, but you can’t?” + the inevitability…)

5.6 (scots + english arrive) - Lion’s Teeth by the Mountain Goats (song about trying to kill a powerful and tyrannical figure. also sounds like a fight scene)

5.7 (macduff and macbeth come face to face) - Bury Me Face Down by grandson (so obsessed with how firmly this guy would rather go down fighting than do literally anything easier)

5.8 (macbeth’s head presented, malcolm crowned) - King of the World by WAR*HALL (a new king is crowned after one dies by violence. fleance is still out there somewhere. the cycle of violence continues. this one doesn’t work unless you imagine the witches watching pityingly/sinisterly in the background)

[around1302]

EPILOGUE: SIX YEARS LATER

SPARE PARTS: a series

LONDON

(W) strong language, oral (male receiving)

THIRD PERSON’S POV

FOUR YEARS LATER

Cheers ring throughout the arena, thumping so loud even the floors shook. Charlie watches off stage, hands over an agape mouth as she tries to process just how proud she is – which is a pretty impossible feat. Amelia’s screams deafen her from the left, her own jumping adding to the shakes and only making her husband worry because a woman only two months from her due date definitely shouldn’t be moving like that.

(Even if she insists she knows what’s doing by the third time round).

“Oh, my God, this is going straight to his dick,” Liam laughs, whistling so loud that a few fans nearly spot them hidden behind the curtain. It was absolutely essential no one saw them – this wasn’t their night in the slightest.

“Thank you so much London!” Louis belts to the crowd one last time, trying his best to soak those emotional final few moments in before descending and joining his friends backstage.

They all scream, engulfing him in a suffocating group hug Amelia’s forced to bow out from early. Louis is clearly high on adrenaline, nearly shaking with the thrill of it all, as his former bandmates lap over each other to congratulate him.

“God, it felt so weird at first,” he pants, nodding his thanks toward the crew member who handed him a water as they all made their way to the tour buses. His tour buses, “being up there alone, but it was incredible. I just want to go out there and do it all again.”

“Good job you’ve booked a whole ass tour then,” Niall grips his shoulders, kissing the back of his sweaty head.

“Lou, you were fucking ace!” Zayn shouts over the phone Liam nearly forgot he was holding. It’s a miracle the signal and battery even held up in the 02, especially from Zayn’s hotel in Florence.

“How’s the exhibition going?” Louis responds, taking Liam’s phone to face Zayn for a minute.

The five of them climb onto the buses, each taking a minute to gasp at how different it is. Like slipping on an old cardigan, they all expected to see the red leather they were so used to and the posters they’d chosen and the always stocked mini fridge. This bus is all Louis now.

“So good,” Zayn begins to break up as the bus quickly sets off to Louis’ London apartment, “I had a buyer yesterday, meeting with him after tomorrow’s gallery opening.”

Everyone gives their congratulations, then Louis hangs up the phone before Zayn turns into nothing but a blob of pixels, handing Liam’s phone back to him.

“I’ve never seen a crowd like that,” Niall shuffles on the sofa he would never say is uncomfortable, but, well. It’s no Spare Parts tour bus. “So impressive mate.”

Amongst the pumped up conversation about Louis’ first solo show, Charlie feels her silenced phone buzzing away in her back pocket. Pulling the device out, she can’t help the small smile that makes it’s way onto her face – earning knowing groans from the others.

There’s only one person who can elicit that smile.

“Just answer it.” Louis chuckles.

“It’s just because I told him to call if there was an emergency–”

“Answer it before I do!” Amelia intercepts, throwing a cushion at Charlie. She barely catches it before it hits her face, so as she stands to take the call, she sticks her tongue out at her best friend.

And a finger.

Charlie hears a muted, “love you too!” as the door to the bunks close and she’s alone.

“Hi,” Charlie accepts the FaceTime, unable to hold back her smile as her husband comes into frame. “Everything okay?”

“Look,” he holds up a toy, specifically a 2 year old Rubik’s cube that aims to help with colour awareness. Charlie thought it was dumb, but it’s hard to argue with Harry when it comes to Reagan. “Our kid’s a genius.”

Charlie scoffs. The cube has one side completed in red, all four squares.

“Our kid’s two years old,” Charlie cocks her head, “but did she really do that?”

“Yep, we sat there for like an hour–”

“We?”

“Well her fingers aren’t the strongest.”

Charlie breathes out puffy laughter.

“Who did the cube?”

A pause. Tired eyes crinkling at the seams.

“Okay, so I physically did it, but she told me where to go!”

“Rae can say, like, five words, she did not.” Charlie loudly guffaws. Then she realises Harry’s been whispering this whole time, so she quickly clamps her mouth. “Is she asleep?”

“Yes,” Harry yawns, “took fuckin’ forever.”

“Hey! No swearing with Rae in the house.”

“She doesn’t know what they mean, Char.”

“And what happens when we send her to preschool with that in her vocabulary?”

“God, I don’t know. Do we go to jail?”

Charlie rolls her eyes, Harry cracks a lazy smile.

“How was it?”

“Oh, H, it was amazing. He was so good.”

“I’m sad to have missed it,” he yawns again, “I always knew he’d kill it solo.”

“Mm,” Charlie props her chin on her palm, “go to sleep baby.”

“Not tired.” Harry lies, his fringe tickling his lashes as he shakes his head.

“You just yawned three times in five minutes.”

“I want to stay up.” He nearly sounds like a sulking child.

“I’m not going to be back till gone midnight.”

A pause. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Charlie chuckles, “we’re nearly at Louis’ apartment and I promised I’d actually stay at this party.”

“Do you have to?”

“If ready-to-burst Amelia is, I hardly have an excuse.”

Harry softly laughs, and Charlie wants to wrap herself in that laugh. In fact, she’s wanted to go back to her husband and her daughter and their dog for hours, but she can’t hide away from yet another party.

“I’ll be back at 12:30.”

“Okay babe,” Harry yawns. Again. “Have fun. Give Louis my congratulations.”

“I will,” Charlie let’s her eyes drop over Harry for a minute. After three years of marriage, the sight of him in sweats and blankets and messy curls is no less sexy than when he’s in his silk shirts and his–

“You’re pulling that face.” Harry snaps her out of it.

“What?”

“Your eyes,” Harry shifts, Daisy’s fur visible in the corner of the screen as she clearly hogs her side of the bed, “you sure you don’t want to come back early?”

The door to the bunks open and Liam’s head peaks through, “Charlie, we’re here.”

“Okay, I’ll be one minute.” Charlie smiles, standing up.

“You alright, Harry?” Liam shouts.

“I’ll be one minute,” grits lilts, shooing Liam out with a smirk.

“I really need to go now,” Charlie’s attention reverts back to the screen, to Harry. “I love you. Stay up.”

“Always,” Harry has to have won some kind of world record for yawning at this point, “I love you.”

2 YEARS LATER

Thousands upon thousands await him, chanting and cheering for him as the final recognisable song from his (carefully curated) pre-show playlist slowly fades to a halt.

He should be jumping up and down on the spot, breathing short, sharp breaths and recounting the lyrics he always forgets (and probably will always forget). He should be hyping himself up to play his first ever stadium alone, he should be warming up or fuck, praying.

But no. He’s nowhere to be found.

He’s late.

“Fuckin’ unbelievable,” his manger, Jeff, paces over Ibrox’s backstage, about ready to quit, steam leaking from his ears - cartoon or not, his top client is always the one to make that happen.

Jeff could accept late six years ago. It was nerve wracking, opening a tour alone after a controversial departure from the band. Plus, he was well aware of his reputation, Jeff knew what he was signing on for.

But the man’s twenty-eight, for fuck’s sake. The man’s not some stupid early twenty-something who sees this whole thing as a fun little quest he gets to dictate. Over the years, and especially through the pandemic, he finally matured. He finally realised that being punctual is actually okay! And more than that, it doesn’t give your manager and crew kittens three minutes before Golden is supposed to blast to 50,000.

… except when it comes to pre-show blowjobs from his wife.

“Oh, my God, baby.”

Harry throws his head back, fingers taking turns in fisting the cushy sofa beneath him and raking through Charlie’s curls. Her tongue swirls his tip, her own insistence for punctuality urging her to make him finish as soon as possible. She looks up at him through long lashes, knowing eye contact while she mouths him like that will have him tipping over the edge in no time.

It was never even supposed to happen. She only went in his dressing room to wish him luck, see how he was doing, give him a chaste kiss if anything. And, if she was a little honest with herself, she wanted to see his outfit before the world did.

Catching him half-dressed with the hair that told her he’d been nervously messing with it for half an hour, well. Who wouldn’t drop to their knees and kiss their way to his cock in their mouth?

“Yeah, shit,” Harry pants, forcing his head to roll forward so he can watch her. “How do you just seem to get better at this?”

Charlie smiles around his prick, injecting butterflies into his stomach and–

“Harry, I’m going to ask one more time.”

“One minute!” Charlie surfaces, barely able to breathe as she shouts at Jeff this time. Jeff’s grumbles are audible from the other side of the door, as are the sound of feet shuffling away.

If there’s one person Jeff isn’t going to yell at, it’s Charlie.

Harry’s eyes widen, embarrassment heating his neck, but Charlie’s hand pumping his shaft silences him till he’s biting blood into his bottom lip and announcing,

“Baby, I’m gonna–” he doesn’t have to finish his sentence before her mouth is back on him, and he’s coming down the back of her wonderful throat.

The noises he makes as he finishes only spur her to suck him through his orgasm, all the way till he’s pulling her away and twitching with sensitivity.

“Okay, you need to go.”

Charlie stands, wiping her mouth and shanking his boxers and trousers up for him while he lays back, dazed the fuck out of his mind.

“Huh?” He barely understands a word she’s saying, let alone able to comprehend where he is and what he’s about to do.

“You have a show, H,” Charlie straddles his lap to fix his hair, styling it quickly in the way she knows he likes. Harry’s hands instinctively fly to her waist, grinning lazily as she fusses over his fucked-out appearance.

“That might’ve been your best work, sweetheart.”

“Shut up,” Charlie mumbles behind a smile. He pecks her swollen lips.

Standing up, she adjusts herself, too. Her hair that had been ragged at by a feral Harry, her lipstick that was practically cheekstick by now. Her top, that he’d messily yanked down during their initial make out session when he insisted he just had to bite at least one mark into her breasts.

“Okay, you have two minutes,” Charlie checks her phone, grabbing his white tank and jacket from his coat-rack. Coming round from the head, panic starts to set in.

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath, standing up. Charlie turns around, noticing that gone-off look in his eyes which tells her he’s either about to brush it off completely or melt into a panic attack. Neither are exactly great coping mechanisms, but Charlie really needs to prevent the latter right now.

“H, it’s nothing.”

She throws him the tank, waiting for him with the jacket. He glances at her, that postcoital glow long gone. Anxiety was starting to seep into those gaps she had managed to close just a few minutes ago, but were starting to crack at the seams.

“50,000 is not nothing.”

Charlie puts his jacket on for him, afraid he’d stand there forever if she didn’t.

“50,817.” She corrects. He scowls. “Sorry.”

“Look, of course it’s not nothing. It’s a huge deal. But I know you,” she grabs his face, forcing his eyes to still on something solid. A stray curl falls against his forehead, framing his furrowed brows. “You’re going to get on that stage, and you’re going to fucking kill it.”

Harry huffs a breath, unconvinced.

“Honey, you’ve done it before.” Charlie smiles softly, brushing away the strand.

“Yeah,” he mutters, “with you.” He nudges his nose against hers, and Charlie wants to cry at his vulnverability. It’s rare she sees a Harry like this. For as long as she’s known him, he’s remained stoic in the face of fear, and although he’s not as rigid as he used to be – he’s never one to panic so much.

Endearingly, Charlie can pinpoint when he became much more of a worrier to one day, one person.

“H,” Charlie firms up, “it’s just like that. You have your band, you have me and your friends and–”

Harry interrupts the beginning of Charlie’s pep talk by grabbing her face and kissing her, hard. As if he was pouring out all of his nerves into her mouth and something in her lips and her tongue managed to just kill them. He pulls away, pepping light kisses against her cheek and jaw, making Charlie chuckle softly as his hair tickles her face.

“Okay, okay,” she leans back, forcing him away from her skin, “round two after the show, yeah?”

Harry holds his pinkie out. Charlie rolls her eyes, and holds her pinkie out. They kiss their respective thumbs and Harry nods.

“You got this.” She scrunches her nose, and Harry swears he feels his heart drop out of his stomach, which, how? After all this time, how does she still manage to do that to him.

It needs to be studied.

As he leaves his dressing room, Charlie gives him a swift slap to the ass, laughing as he turns and playfully scowls (despite knowing full well he loves it). She says a silent prayer for her husband as she follows him toward the stage, the sound of thousands of impatient fans already deafening.

They round the corner to backstage, where the team and Jeff are minutes away from breaking down themselves. Jeff nearly drops to the floor in relief at the sight of Harry, but wastes no time in calling tech over to mic him up.

Charlie gratefully smiles at Sarah, taking a fussing Reagan from her arms. Harry turns to let the team thread his mic through his jacket, and finds his remaining anxiety instantly dissipating at the sight of his daughter wearing entirely too big headphones and fisting at Charlie’s t-shirt as she complains about said defenders.

“Hi, princess,” Harry coos, reaching out for Reagan to grab his finger with her little hand.

“Daddy, you look funny.” Reagan giggles, wiggling enough for Charlie to set her down.

“Heey,” Harry lilts, getting the go ahead from the tech man before bending to his four-year-old’s height. “You don’t think I look handsome?”

Reagan shakes her head, brown curls bouncing against her cheeks.

“You look like play-dough.”

Charlie snorts, because she kinda hit the nail on the head. Harry’s band are giggling, too, as they prepare to get on stage. Harry narrows his eyes at them all.

“Do I have to wear these?” Reagan bashes her fists against the headphones.

“Afraid so, Rae,” Harry adjusts them so they sit a little looser on her head, but she’s still unhappy. “Your ears are too little right now,” he tries to explain, but if he knows his daughter at all, he knows she’ll be upset throughout the whole show because her hairdo’s squashed.

That’s Auntie Amelia’s damning influence.

“I don’t want to interrupt, but–”

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry stands, not deaf to the chants for him outside.

He kisses Reagan’s head, then turns to his wife.

“How’s Daisy?”

“Daisy’s fine,” Charlie sighs around a smile. Of course Harry’s worried about their dog right now. “Lia and Niall texted, she’s passed out on the sofa.”

Harry nods, clearly trying to delay the inevitable. So Charlie hurries it along for him, knowing he could stand there and ask stupid questions all evening to avoid that initial opening.

“Don’t fuck it up.” She winks, pinching his chin. Harry breathes short laughter from his nose, his lips squashed as Charlie pulls him for one final good luck kiss. Reagan sticks her tongue out at the sight of her parents’ affection, to which Harry does the same back and earns a tinkling of giggles back.

Charlie lifts Raegen so she can blow a kiss to her dad, currently jumping up and down and getting a few final stretches in before the opening to Music For A Sushi Restaurant fills the stadium, the screams become deafening, and Charlie watches as her rockstar husband takes the same stage her rockstar self did last year.

@lilfreakjez @be-with-me-so-happily @sirtommyholland @tpwksm @b-reads-things @tiaamberxx @daphnesutton @mleestiles

[stevethehairington]

For '100 ways to say i love you' prompt can I get Steddie -72. 'I'll meet you halfway' something healing, some gentleness with a bit of angst/hurt/comfort?

hiiiii! thank you for sending this in!!

omg i got totally sucked into the idea i had for this one and just kept writing and writing so it is like. way past "ficlet" territory but i'm not even mad lfdgsdf.

anyways, i hope this fits the bill! and i hope you like it!

[read on ao3]

72. "I'll meet you halfway"

When Eddie had gotten dragged headfirst into this alternate hellscape dimension, DnD monsters-come-to-life nightmare shitshow, no one told him that by the end of it he’d be offering himself up as bat bait to do his part in putting an end to it all.

No one told him that he’d wind up mangled and shredded and torn apart, but still, somehow, alive.

No one told him that he’d be bedridden for months afterwards, as his body stitched itself back together. That some days would be painful at best, while others would be downright excruciating. That he’d barely be able to walk at first, or bathe himself, or even eat on his own.

No one told him that healing would be the most grueling part of it all.

But those were all things that Eddie could get over. Things that, with time, he could forgive. After all, it’s not like anyone had known that that’s how it was going to play out.

What Eddie could not forgive, however, was the fact that no one, not one single member of their rather large, rather extensive party — who had all been through this multiple times by now and therefore had the knowledge — had told him just how much Steve god damn Harrington loved to play Florence fucking Nightingale in the aftermath.

Because not only had Steve been the first to open his home to Eddie as a safe, nondescript place for him to lie low until his name had been cleared, but he’d also offered to take care of him too.

To help him change his bandages twice a day, to provide meals — delicious, home cooked meals. To make sure Eddie was staying in bed and off of his feet and was taking his medications as prescribed.

At first it was nice. It was kind. Eddie was appreciative of the help, albeit a bit embarrassed by some of the things he did need help with. But Steve hadn’t commented on it, hadn’t questioned any of it either. He’d just been there, a steady rock for Eddie to rely upon.

It’s been close to two months now, and Eddie is by no means completely healed — hell, he’s still got the stitches in his side and the limp in his walk to prove it — but his strength is already leagues better than it was at the start, and the good days are just starting to outnumber the bad ones. Walking is easier, is something he can actually do now, and he can finally move his arms enough to clean his body in the shower. He still needs help with his hair, can’t quite reach that high yet, but he likes to think that won’t be the case for much longer.

Point is, he’s making progress. Things are looking up.

Except, Steve doesn’t seem to be getting that memo.

The first thing he does when Eddie ambles out of the guest bedroom this morning is offer to make something for breakfast. Steve frames it like he’s already about to make himself some eggs to eat, so it’s no bother if Eddie wants some too, but Eddie knows that that isn’t true; as much as Steve loves breakfast food, he’s not a morning person unless he has to be. And he doesn’t have to be today.

Here he is anyway, though. Wide awake and ready to cook.

(It’s the first strike.)

It’s not what Eddie wants. He wants to do it himself. He can do it himself. He doesn’t need Steve’s help to get something to eat.

“I’m not in the mood for eggs,” Eddie tells him instead. “I’m just going to get some cereal.”

“Yeah, sure, okay,” Steve relents. He doesn’t argue, and Eddie’s about to count that as a win.

But after Steve sets the pan down, instead of moving towards the fridge to fetch the eggs for himself, he rises onto his toes and stretches up towards the cupboard above the stove — the one he keeps the bowls in.

Eddie watches as Steve pulls out two ceramic bowls, one for Eddie and one for himself (which only proves that he never really intended to make himself eggs in the first place, if he’s giving up so easily on them). 

When he holds out the bowl for Eddie to take, it sets his teeth on edge.

Eddie takes the bowl, rougher than necessary, but Steve doesn’t even bat an eye. He just continues on his mission, taking the milk from the fridge before tucking it under his arm as he digs through the pantry for not one, not two, but all three brands of cereal he owns. Steve brings them all to the kitchen island and sets them down in front of Eddie — as if he couldn’t walk the four steps it would take to cross the kitchen and pick the kind he wanted himself. As if that would’ve taken so much out of a cripple like him.

(That’s strike two.)

Irritation simmers beneath Eddie’s skin as he fixes his bowl of cereal. He has to bite his tongue to keep from making some nasty remark about his surprise that Steve didn’t just pour the bowl for him and maybe even spoon feed him too.

He takes the seat at the very end of the island, the furthest one away from Steve, and he keeps his head down as he eats his Honeycomb, silently and aggressively.

It’s after he finishes his breakfast that the third and final strike of the morning comes along and pushes Eddie right over the edge.

He stands up too quick. That’s all it is. He stands up too quick and the stitches in his side pull, sending a sharp twinge of pain down his torso and into his legs. He sways on his feet, wincing, but he catches himself — because he’s strong enough to do that now.

Only, that doesn’t stop Steve from swooping in.

He’s across the kitchen and at Eddie’s side in an instant, one hand curling around his waist while the other tugs Eddie’s arm around his shoulders, acting as a support that Eddie doesn’t need.

“I’m fine,” Eddie says through gritted teeth, trying to duck out from under Steve’s arm.

He doesn’t let him though.

“Eddie, come on, you’re—”

(And that’s strike three.)

“Jesus christ,” Eddie bursts, throwing his left elbow out to knock Steve’s arm away from his waist. He shakes out his right hand too until Steve’s grip loosens and he can yank himself free.

It hurts, to jerk away that harshly, but Eddie ignores the fresh spikes of pain that accompany the sharp movements. The need to get away overpowers the need to not hurt right now.

He just can’t take another second of Steve’s coddling.

“Stop. Stop! You have to stop!” Eddie shouts, gripping onto the edge of the island to steady himself.

Steve, through all his concern, looks completely taken aback. Like he didn’t see any of this coming. “What?” He asks, bewildered. “What the hell man? I’m just trying to help!”

Eddie lets out a frustrated growl and squeezes his hand into a fist at his side. His nails bite into his palm, but he doesn’t care. It’s a nice redirection of pain, if anything. Of anger, too.

“I don’t need your help,” he snaps back.

Steve bristles at the harshness of his tone, his own hackles rising. “No, you don’t want it — that’s different.”

“No, Steve,” Eddie counters again. “I don’t need it. Not with every little god damn thing. I mean, jesus christ, you’re treating me like I’m a… a fucking— porcelain doll or something! Like I’m going to break if I… if I… if I try to walk to the bathroom on my own or try to make myself breakfast or,” he laughs bitterly, gestures at the stool, “god forbid, if I stand up too fast! I’m not an invalid!”

Steve winces, then sighs, and it’s like what little fight he’d had to begin with drains right out. “I know I’m being a lot,” he starts, and Eddie wants to laugh again, wants to shout ‘you think?’ in his face. He doesn’t. Keeps his mouth closed and lets Steve finish. 

“But, jesus, Eddie, you didn’t see yourself. Those bats,” he shudders, “they made a fucking feast out of you. You were— your heart stopped. You died.” 

Steve scrubs a hand over his face, leaning all of his weight back against the edge of the sink, like he can’t carry it anymore. When he drops his hands, he looks haggard under the fluorescent light of the kitchen. “I had to administer CPR,” he says.

Eddie’s breath catches. He didn’t know that part. He doesn’t know a lot of what happened that night, if he’s being honest. Most of it is one big blur in his brain. Eddie remembers the concert with Dustin, remembers the bats and the trailer vents, remembers sending Dustin up that rope, but everything after he cut it… the memories are like grains of sand slipping through his fingers. 

He didn’t know.

Steve takes a couple seconds to appraise Eddie then, to search him for… for something. 

“We— I fought to get you back, Eddie,” he says, with feeling, “and I’m going to fight to keep you here. I’m not going to let you flounder.”

Eddie swallows, lets the fist at his side dissolve as the last of his defensiveness leaks out of him. The knot in his shoulders loosens, and the flame that had been licking at his insides, firing him up, fizzles out until it’s nothing but fading embers. He takes a step towards Steve, hesitating. Then another and another and another until he’s by his side.

“Steve,” he says, lifting his hand to touch, but he stops himself before he can. “I’m— I’m so grateful for everything you’ve done, I really am.” Eddie pauses then, and Steve finally looks up to meet his eyes. “But that’s the thing. I’m not like that anymore. I’m not— fragile. I’m not going to break. I’m getting better every day — thanks to you! — but that means I can do things on my own now.”

Steve’s eyes drop again, and some of his hair, soft and productless, flops down over his brow. “You don’t need to,” he argues weakly, and there’s that word again. Need.

“Yeah, but I want to,” Eddie replies, and he doesn’t miss a beat as he continues on. “And that doesn’t mean I don’t still want you around. I— I do,” he says, and it feels like a confession. He tries not to think too hard about that. “I just… don’t need you to take care of me anymore.”

“But what if that’s what I want?” Steve asks. “What if I want to take care of you?”

It feels like something bigger, when Steve says it. Like maybe he isn’t just talking about this, the aftermath. Like maybe… maybe he’s talking about more.

And that’s the kicker. The thing that Eddie doesn’t get. Steve went through so much to save him. To rehabilitate him. And he still wants to do more. Eddie doesn’t understand why. Steve barely knew him before. He still barely knows him now. He doesn’t owe Eddie anything.

“Why?” Eddie asks, unable to stifle the curiosity.

Steve smiles then, this wispy ghost of a thing, but it’s there. Eddie sees it. It pulls at his cheeks and softens his eyes. 

Steve shrugs, scuffs the bottom of his socked foot against the linoleum. “Because I like you,” he says, and Eddie’s heart flops traitorously in his chest. “Because I want you around too. Because taking care of people is what… it’s what family does. And like it or not, you’re part of this family now.” He says it firmly, like Eddie has no choice in the matter.

Edide doesn’t want a choice.

He’s never been… never been part of a family before. Not one like this. One so full of loyalty, and devotion, and love.

Eddie doesn’t know what to say back, doesn’t know if he’d be able to say anything even if he did know what, with the thickness of his throat and the burning around his eyes that tells him he’s close to tears.

So he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he takes that last teeny tiny step into Steve’s space, and he hugs him.

It catches Steve off guard but only for a second before his arms curl back around Eddie. They hover, though, like he’s afraid of hurting him.

For once, that makes Eddie smile. “I’m not going to break,” he whispers into Steve’s ear, tightening his own hold on Steve.

Steve chuckles softly, but he finally finally settles his arms properly around Eddie — safe, warm, tight — and lets himself melt into the hug.

Eddie buries his face into Steve’s neck, feels the way Steve presses back into his hair. He holds on tight, drinks in his fill; he doesn’t want it to end.

When they break apart a few long seconds later, they don’t go very far. Steve’s arm stays wound around Eddie’s shoulder, and Eddie keeps one of his tucked around Steve’s back.

“I have a proposal,” Steve announces, glancing over at Eddie.

Eddie lifts an eyebrow.

“I propose… a compromise,” Steve says. “How does this sound: I’ll meet you halfway in all of this.” He brings his hand to his chest. “I’ll still help you with your bandages. I’ll remind you about your meds. I’ll keep washing your hair until you can do it yourself. But I’ll lay off the rest.”

Steve moves his hand to Eddie’s chest now, poking a finger right to the center. “You get to walk to the bathroom alone, you get to make yourself breakfast, and if you’re falling I’ll only catch you if you want me to.”

A little late for that one, Eddie thinks to himself offhandedly.

“But,” Steve continues, still in that purposeful tone, “you have to promise me that if you do need help, you’ll ask for it, okay?”

Eddie smiles. Nods. “Okay,” he says. “I can do that.”

“Good,” Steve says firmly, and he holds up his pinky.

It makes Eddie want to giggle of all things. A pinky promise. Like they’re god damn children. Except, he knows how seriously Steve takes pinky promises. Knows that they mean more to him than any other kind of promise. 

Eddie feels sort of special, getting to have one with Steve.

He sticks out his own pinky, only just before Steve can lock them together, he curls his back in.

“You too, though,” Eddie adds, seriously. “You’re allowed to ask for help too, y’know. Just because my bites are worse doesn’t mean yours aren’t bad too. This goes both ways, Harrington.”

Steve nods. “Deal,” he says.

“Deal,” Eddie echoes.

They lock their pinkies.

Things are going to be okay.

100 ways to say i love you prompts

[that-one-random-writer]

That's My Kind Of Night Chapter 3 *Mature 18+*

|Complete|

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x (Southern!F)Reader

*Rough!Jake* *Protective!Jake* *Shower scene!Jake* *little bit fluff!Jake* just all of the Jake

Summary: Jake takes leave and goes back to Texas. His friend is now married with a woman. This woman's friend gets under his skin, and he loves it. Word count: 3,439

Warnings: cussin', flirtin', heavy banter, guns, party with alcohol, Straight Smut 18+ for sure, a different party man that is too touchy.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Southern Masterlist

Jake looked back through the window, Blake leaned against his ax. "I think that's enough. So Jake..." He trailed. "You know my wife is trying to set you up with Honeybee."

Jake glanced back at Blake after chopping the last piece of wood. "Yeah, your old lady isn't exactly stealthy." He chuckled, leaning against his own ax.

Blake laughed, "Yeah, she's about as subtle as a frieght train."

"I've seen you two sneaking around keeping up with what we were doing." He smiled up at Blake.

"You got them trained eyes, don't you?" He chuckled nervously.

Jake nodded. "Well, yeah, when I'm in the air, I have too." He picked up his ax and put it away.

Blake smirked up at Jake. "So what do you think? Spitfire, ain't she?"

Jake chuckled, "You're scheming with your woman. You'd better be careful, Blake." He paused, shifting his eyes back to the window and then back to blake. "She's definitely a firecracker."

The party begins, and the new and old friends are all showing up. Big boy toys are being taken off trailers and put into the water or on the muddy tracks. Four-wheelers, gators, and dirt bikes are being raced around the trails. Poles are in the water, from boats and on the dock, pulling up catfish, brim, and bass saved to be cooked in the fire later.

Jake sat on the diamond plated tailgate of his truck. Unfortunately for all the women he had threw his shirt back on when people were arriving. He raised his beer as he saw one of his buddies reel in a huge catfish. "Hell yeah, Florence. That's a nice size cat!" Florence, an old buddy waved in appreciation and held the fish up.

Jake took a sip of his beer. He looked towards the shooting range. You stood there with a double barrel shot gun laid against your shoulder lined up for the target. You had on the same muddy pants, only teasing him with holes to show your legs underneath. Your top had changed. It was a tiny black tanktop that dipped low enough it showed your lacy, black bra underneath. There was fringe that fell around your breasts. The fringe stopped where the shirt cut off just below your bra line. He watched your arms as you held the gun. Your sun-kissed skin teased him under the sinking sun. You took your shot, the knock back was there, but nothing you couldn't take. Jake had to admit. He was impressed.

You stood there reloading your weapon. You felt a hand reach to your back and down to your hips. You felt uneasy and folded the gun back together slowly, not being able to load the barrels. You could smell hard liquor on this man's breath. "You look real cute, babe. Do you want me to show you how to use this thing?"

"Get the fuck off of me." You were rough with your words. You pulled away from him and he tried once again to put his hands around you. "I said, get the fuck off of me!" You jerked away turning towards him and kicked faster then he could react due to the intoxication. Your boot connected with the bare flesh on his stomach. He was knocked back and on the ground.

He started to get back. His world spinning around, and it showed as he struggled to get back up.

"You fucking bitch." He screamed. You could see people gathering, one person walked up calmly. He made his way in front of you. You could tell by the cocky walk, the tight ass in his jeans and the bulk in his arms who it was. Jake stood tall in front of the man. "Look what we have here. Dustin Jones, as I live a breathe. Looks like you've done well for yourself. You look great man. I love the missing tooth. Was it the meth or did you just pick the wrong woman to fuck with and she knock it out for you?"

Against Dustin's better judgement, he finally made it to his feet and ripped his fist at Jake's face. Jake caught it in his palm and twisted just enough to make a statement shoving him back to the ground. "Let's face it Dustin, you weren't shit back then and you still ain't shit now." His voice held power, it was slow, deep, smooth. His voice never broke and never faltered. His voice never raised above a talking tone. "I suggest you get on outta here before you get yourself hurt." The group that brought Dustin as an acquaintance grabbed him and dragged him out of view. They were loading his flailing body into a car.

"I'm gonna whoop your ass, Jake!" His voice then got quiet, a car door shutting in his face. The crowd cheered and continued their activities from before.

"I could've handled him." You directed your attention back to the gun in your hand. You hit the release for the break action and quickly replaced two shells. With a quick flick of your wrist you folded the gun back up ready to fire. Jake watched you maneuver the gun with ease, it was hot to see you handle such a powerful weapon. "That's a strange way to say 'thank you'." He watched you shoot both targets and hand the gun back to Damien.

You started walking away from Jake. He followed behind you. "I didnt ask for your help." Jake smirked down as you both stopped.

"You don't have to." He was so reassuring. You almost felt like you could rely on him. A certain level of trust was building around the walls that guarded you. "Thanks, Jake."

You spoke softly.

Jake lifted his brow and his laugh lines lifted with a smirk. "Anytime, Honey"

"Bee." You finished. He had dropped the bee in your nickname, the sting had vanished in your tone of voice so the 'bee' should vanish for him too. "How about we get on the gator? I tell you what..." He trailed. His face softened. "You can drive." He wrapped his arm around your waist and he led you to the track.

The truth was you had decided to give him the chance you promised Vanny. As much as you hate it she was right. He needed a chance in fighting hell, and if you didn't open up at least a little then there was no way you could convince her you at least tried.

He let go of your waist walking to the other side and sitting on the passenger side. "How many times have you been here at the lake house property?" He looked over at you while you turned the key starting it up. You turned on the headlights with it being so close for the moon to start its rise.

"More then I can count in the six years Blake and Van have been together, why?" You shifted to drive, you accelerated and chose the trails at random. "Take me to your favorite place here. You have to have one. I do." He leaned back in his seat while you thought about your favorite place.

You changed course and took the trails. "Why did you join the navy?" Your genuine question took him by surprise. He was expecting your attitude to come back just as fast as it disappeared. "It's been something I wanted to do for as long as I can remember. My family has a military background, and I like the look in peoples eyes when they see me in uniform. The military has its risks, but also has its perks. What about you? Why did you want to be a stylist?"

"I like brightening someone's day. I have women and men come in, their day, week, month even year is absolute shit. They sit in my chair and walk out happier feeling more confident then they did when they walked in." Jake leaned his arm over the seat behind you.

"You've definitely got plenty of confidence to go around." He chuckled. You slapped his leg softly with one hand on the wheel. "You're one to talk." He continued while laughing. "Damn right have you seen me?" You rolled your eyes. "Yeah I have. I see a cocky, arrogant, smoking hot ken doll with a vanity problem" He flashed an award winning smile.

"You think I'm smoking hot?" You glanced at him then turned down another trail. "I'm not saying it again. Your ego is big enough with me saying it once."

"Oh come on, just say it one more time. I'll tell you what I think." You were honestly curious. You weren't insecure. You had your flaws of course, but you knew you had some features that were desired. One great thing that came out of aging is realizing that rule 34 in porn applied to people, too. Someone out there would always find you beautiful, no matter your shape or size. It saved your confidence a lot. You might not be one man's cup of sweet tea, but another would drink you to the last drop happily.

"Jake, you know that you're smoking hot, I don't need to say it." He wrapped his arm around you.

"Yeah, but it sounds so much better coming from a gorgeous woman."

Your Eyebrow raised. "Is that what you think of me, Im gorgeous?"

"Yes. I can't tell you all that I think. It's filthy in there..." You laughed, he reciprocated your laugh with his own. "The mud honey. I've only seen you covered like you just got done taking your four-wheeler out for mud bogging."

"Good thing you asked me to take you to my favorite place..." you trailed as you pulled up to the river that feeds into the lake. There was a sizable waterfall ahead.

"You can't take this one. This is my favorite place." He said, looking up at the water falling. His eyes followed the water pattern.

"Shut up and come on." He looked back at you. His eyes widened. Your shirt was already on the seat. Your lacy bra was squeezing your chest in all the right ways. You unbuttoned your pants and shaked them down your legs. Jake would pay all the money in the world for you to do that again, just this time he wanted to be behind you.

He didn't question you. He just followed your lead. "You are wild, honey bee. I'll give you that." You grabbed the eco soap from your purse.

"I always come here and take a shower in the water. I was going to do it when everyone went to bed tonight, but it's going to be a little harder sneaking out this time..." you trailed unsure if Jake knew the two of you were sharing a room in the cabin. You continued "normally, I dont have anything on but youre not getting a full show." He pulled his shirt over his head.

"You are wild." He was lost for word, speaking the same sentence again. He continued trying to find the right words to say. He loved this embodiment of pure freedom you seemed to have. He just couldn't find a way to tell you how much he liked that about you. He took off his clothes leaving his boxers. You took a heavy flashlight and set it on the hood of the gator. It shined like a spotlight on the water flowing off the mountain. You made your way to the flat rock that created a nice floor and stood under the water.

Jake stopped watching as the water flowed down your hair and skin. Each drop of water seemed to be slow motion. Your lips spilt into a gasp as the cool water teased your neck. You lifted your hair drenching it in the liquid. Jakes eyes trailed down your body. He wanted to soak up every inch in fear that it was the only time he would see it. His eyes connected to your ass as you turned your chest to the water. He realized you were wearing a g string. He couldn't stop the bulge from forming. His hands begging to give the swelling some relief. You turned back towards him. "You gettin' in or are you just gonna stand there in your boxers and watch?" The bubbles forming around your body with the soap being added.

He honestly thought about just taking the show. Jake decided a shower with a hottie in a waterfall would be some story worth telling the boys when he got back home. He walked up to the flat rock and the water cooled his skin.

You watched as the water hit his back. You traced down each muscle with your eyes. Your gaze peeked down to his boxers. You giggled. "God malibu. Your boxers are screaming 'Barbie'." He looked down while adding soap to his body. His pink boxers had palm trees speckled across them. He met your eyes.

"You checking me out?" Your eyes traveled down his strong legs. Then, back to his eyes.

"I'm just making sure you know what you're doing." You spoke softly.

He smirked. "You used that one already." He looked down at you, watching your eyes. You looked back down his body and noticed the growth in his palm trees.

"Oh, I know." You weren't focused out your words. You were focused on the sex appeal of this dream man. It had been so long since you've been touched. You could feel the warmth stirring between your legs. You wanted to hear him say your name in the dirtiest ways, forcing you into positions where you were most vulnerable, you wanted to smell his chemistry mix with yours, you could almost feel his fingers teasing your clit making you beg to cum. You broke from the daze. He was so close to you. His lips were inches from yours. You had been pulling like gravity closer to him, lost in the thought of his sex. If you just take this step. You know you won't turn back. You could feel his throbbing erection where his hand was in your daze. It had pressed perfectly against your clit. You moaned so softly. Just one step. Just one more move, and this could be it. "Jake I, I-" you shuddered as he stepped closer, his member pressing harder against your sensitivity. You wanted this so badly.

"You're driving this time, remember, you tell me where I'm going." He stated so simply.

"I'm - I'm sorry. I'm not the type to just sleep around." He stood still fighting off every nerve in his body.

"What if after tonight we go out on a date, just you and me?" You looked down at his lips looking for the lie, looking for the truth, looking for anything to tell you what his intentions were. Your hips jerked slightly as you tried to fight the urge yourself. You let out another moan as he rubbed unintentionally against your aching body.

"Then what? I move to California? Thats not realistic. I have a life here and we just met." He grabbed your hands pulling them to his chest holding them delicately.

"I have a month here, if you take a month's vacation, you can fly home with me. See how you like California. Ill pay for your expenses. You can run a business out of state. You can build a new life in California. You're free. We dont have to do anything tonight. Just say yes to a date. We can really give this an honest try." His word cut you like a knife. You were so close, your body was ready to take every piece of him. You just had to take one step. You had promised to give him a shot. Your pledge is your reason. You take the step closing the gap suddenly. The kiss is passionate and needy. He releases your hands and grips your waist firmly as if he is worried about losing you. He rocks back and forth teasing your clit with the tip of his boxer covered cock.

The cloth was giving you no protection from the teasing. "I can tell you what I think now." He mumbled into your lips. "Mmm" was all you could muster as your tongue danced with his. He picked your legs up with ease and guided your back to the smooth rock wall. You whined against his lips losing the feeling of his tip on your clit. He broke the kiss, released your legs, and rubbed his fingers up and down the folds of your warmth. "The waterfall wasn't exactly what I had in mind before now..." he trailed. "It wasn't mine either." You cried out as he rubbed softly on your clit again. "Please..." you begged bitterly.

"That was on my mind." He kissed you again and removed his hand.

"Please... Jake." you cried out again.

He rubbed again but it was so soft. You were aching for more force in his touch. "Scream my name as loud as you need to sugar, were miles away from the party. No one is going to hear you cum. I want you to beg for it. Scream my name and your pleads for what you want me to do to you."

"Jake, please touch my pussy." you screamed out as his hand added pressure to your sensitive clit. "Please Jake make me cum." He pushed your thong to the side and pressed his bare palm rubbing with intensity. "Please will you lick my pussy, I need you, Jake. I want to taste myself on your tongue." His laugh lines lifted into his signature smirk.

"You are so fucking sexy." He melted down to his knees. Wanting nothing more then to please you in whatever way you begged him to do so.

His hands pulled down the thong leaving it level to the ground. His tongue rubbed on your clit. You could feel the warmth. You screamed in pleasure as he quickened his pace.

"Please Jake, I'm so close." You could feel the rough texture of his tongue against the most delicate part of your body.

"Jake, I'm cumming!" You scream. He continues as your knees buckle beneath you. You scream in such pleasure. You feel euphoria course through your nerves. Each second feeling the sense of high reaching every possible area on your body.

Jake let you ride out the high against his tongue. He lifted to his feet and you immediately met his lips. Your tongue grazing across his. He gave you everything you asked for. The sweetness of your flavor on his lips giving you what you craved.

He grabbed a handful of hair at the base of your neck. He tilted your head back and sucked the bottom of your neck. He pulled back, letting go of your hair, and looked deep into your eyes. "Please let me make you cum, Jake." His eyes flashed with sheer pleasure. "I'm on the pill. I can take it. Please, Jake I'm begging you. I want your cum." He bit his lip and led you back to the middle of the flat rock. He laid down and you followed him. You straddled him and rocked your hips against his.

"Make... me... cum." He was direct with his order. His eyes rolled back. He could feel the warmth of your pussy rubbing against his throbbing cock. You stripped his boxers down and ripped off your bra. You slid the tip in and circled teasing him. He groaned breathing heavily.

"You're such a tease." He shoved his cock into you thrusting his hips. You screamed out in the sudden pleasure. He groaned as he could feel your walls wrap around his cock. You recovered then bounced up and down his shaft. "You're so tight" He bit his lip and groaned his lifted his hands rubbing you nipples. The cold water of the waterfall now closer, misting your hot bodies. "Jake you're going to make me cum again." Your fingers teased your clit. Your other hand was stabilizing your speed and balance.

"Cum all over me. Cum while I'm inside you. Beg me to cum inside you when hit that high." His thrusting paced matching yours.

"Jake!" You screamed as you clit tingled under your pressured fingertips.

"Please cum inside my tight pussy!" You felt the euphoria take over your body again. Jake sped up and suddenly was thrusting deeply. His eyes rolled back feeling his own high. You were riding it out together as his cum released filling you.

Chapter 4

Go ahead and give me some feedback, please! I'm adding a chapter 4 to this series just to get the ducks in a row. 🥰 Love y'all!

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