tabzjoynt

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

The Coldest Blue

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x twin sister!reader Warnings: Angst. Word count: ~2.1k

Summary: When her husband returns unexpectedly from the ongoing war, she is elated. However, the sinister news she receives in the days that follow threatens to shatter her happiness.

Author's note: Happy Halloween! No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

She startled as a cold hand was placed gently upon her arm, the sensation tugged her violently from the warm and blissful comfort of slumber that she had been about to succumb to. As she turned over in the bed, her heart felt as though it ceased beating in her chest, and her eyes widened in shock as she took in the unexpected sight of her husband.

“Aemond!” She gasped, all traces of sleep suddenly cleared from her mind.

She reached out to touch him, and immediately he clasped her hands in his. The contact sent a shiver down her spine - he had always had that effect upon her, the simplest brush of his fingers against hers often caused butterflies in her stomach. It had been that way ever since their mother had informed them they were to be married. However, the juxtaposition of the chill of his skin against the buttery-soft warmth of the crisp, white bedding was jarring.

He must have come straight to her after having dismounted Vhagar, and his skin was still chilled from the night air of the flight – all the way from Harrenhal – a place that had torn her twin, her husband, away from her for months. It was no surprise that he felt shockingly unfamiliar, the last time they had touched felt like a distant memory.

She had made a home in loneliness, the ache of his absence, alongside continuous fear and uncertainty had become so familiar that it felt like slipping on an old pair of slippers. No longer would she pine for the weekly raven that delivered news of his well being, and declarations of his love and loyalty to her, instead she must now grow accustomed to his presence by her side, though it was an adjustment she was all too happy to make.

“I did not know you would be returning,” she said softly, a twinge of guilt in her tone – had she known then she would not have been abed, she would have prepared for his return, provided a warmer welcome. A man that had spent months away at war did not deserve to return to the sight of his wife’s sleeping back. “You did not send word.”

She propped herself up on her elbow, releasing his hands as she leaned against the pillows gazing down at him. Even in the dim candlelight that burned low upon the bedside table – she had taken to sleeping with a lit candle when Aemond had departed, unable to bear sleeping alone in the dark – his eye was still as vibrant as ever. At least that still feels familiar. Eyes of the coldest blue, that stared into hers with such intensity she was often torn between wanting to lose herself in it, or turn her face away for fear of that very thing happening.

“I just wanted to see you,” he replied quietly, as though it was the simplest thing in the world.

Her mind reeled with a thousand questions and he laid there patiently, watching her impassively, as she sorted through her thoughts, deciding upon which she would ask first.

Does mother know you’re back? Aegon? How are you feeling?

“Is it over then? Have you come back to me?” are the questions she finally settled upon.

“Mmm…it is over,” he told her, “Daemon is dead.”

Her breath caught in her throat as happy tears filled her eyes, not quite able to believe what she had heard. “I have missed you so,” she whispered in a trembling voice, “you cannot imagine how much it gladdens my heart to have you back.”

“You should sleep, my love,” he murmured.

“What?!” she demanded, outraged by the notion. Her lips parted and her brow furrowed as she stared at him incredulously. She had not seen him for months, how could he simply appear in their bed without warning and then just expect her to fall asleep?

“I have not known peace in such a long time,” he explained softly, “I just want to watch you as you sleep. I did not mean to wake you, I just could not resist touching you.”

“We need to tell mother that you are back,” she argued, reaching for him again. Once more, he took her hand in his, his slender fingers chilly against the soft skin of the back of her hand. “Aegon must know you have returned.”

“Later,” he insisted, “sleep.”

Despite the commanding nature of his request, his vibrant, blue eye held within it a silent plea that she could not ignore. She sighed, turned onto her side, and closed her eyes. There was a part of her that had daydreamed that Aemond would ravish her upon his return, eager for the closeness and intimacy that only she could provide, after such a long separation. She was more than a little disappointed that he had made no such attempt, though she supposed he was tured after his journey home. 

She had expected the excitement of the past few moments to prevent her from falling asleep. To her surprise, the pull of sleep dragged her under swiftly, a comforting, inky blackness enveloping her. Eyes of the coldest blue filled her dreams that night.

When she awoke the next morning, her tired mind was convinced she had dreamed Aemond’s return, especially as when she turned to his side of the bed, it was empty, utterly unrumpled as though it had not been slept in. Her heart sank, disappointment settling upon her chest like a stone that threatened to crush her. The mere act of throwing the covers back and climbing out of bed felt like an effort, her bones felt heavy with sadness.

She padded barefoot, slowly, to the adjoining nursery, stopping in her tracks when she saw the back of Aemond, stood in his riding leathers, looking over the cradle of their son, Rhaegar. The warm wave of relief that washed over her almost made her knees buckle, such was the elation that she had not imagined the return of her beloved twin and husband. Her cheeks almost ached under the strain of her smile, she had not expressed such joy in a long time.

Rhaegar had been a tiny babe when Aemond had pressed a soft kiss to the top of his head in farewell all those months ago. Now, he was approaching his second name day, and growing to resemble his father more with each passing day, his features possessed a sharpness that was uncanny to Aemond’s.

The infant babbled happily as he sat in his cradle, chubby fists clenched around a wooden dragon toy.

“Are you pleased to see your father?” She cooed as she came to stand beside Aemond.

Rhaegar squealed upon seeing her, waving his toy vigorously.

“You may hold him if you wish,” she urged her husband gently.

Aemond shook his head. “He seems happy enough, I do not wish to disturb him. My boy…he has grown.”

She hummed in agreement, nodding. “He looks more like you with each passing day.”

Aemond reached out a hand towards the child, stopping short of touching him. His expression became pensive, a faraway look in his eye, before he pulled his arm back, letting it drop back to his side.

His behaviour in the short time he had been back was puzzling to her, yet she knew that war changed people. Hopefully, as time passed, he would return more to himself, and be the man she married once more.

He turned and walked from the room as the nursemaid entered and lifted the child from his cradle in order to wash and dress him for the day.

As she returned to her own chamber, she noticed that bread, fruit and cheese had been laid out upon the table, by her chambermaids, for her to break her fast. Aemond had taken the armchair beside the fireplace, his favourite place to settle before he had left to defend Aegon’s claim to the throne.

“Will you join me for breakfast?” She asked hopefully.

“No,” he responded, “I have little appetite.”

She pursed her lips. She wanted to press the issue, he needed to eat, to maintain his strength, yet she did not wish to nag and cause him any additional torment after he had already endured so much.

“We will have to take Rhaegar to see Vhagar now you are back,” she said, attempting to lighten the mood, as she seated herself at the table and placed grapes upon her plate. “He is big enough now that he can actually comprehend what she is.”

“Vhagar…did not survive the battle,” Aemond uttered, staring off into the unlit fireplace, his tone sombre.

No wonder he seemed so different. Losing his dragon would have been a devastating blow to Aemomd, after all he had endured to claim her. She was his most prized possession.

“I am sorry, my love,” she murmured, rising from her seat and approaching him. “How…how did it happen?”

“Caraxes and her were surprisingly well matched. They both now rest at the bottom of the God’s Eye…alongside Daemon, and…”

He stopped, shaking his head and lifting his gaze to meet hers. The sadness within made her want to cry. As she stepped towards him, he held his hand out, the coolness of his skin enveloping the warmth of hers.

“And what?” she pressed quietly.

“It does not matter. At least I am reunited with you, I got to see you.”

She was about to respond when a knock at the door interrupted her. She sighed, calling out for them to enter.

A page boy opened the door, just enough for him to slip through the crack, before bowing to her. “Princess, the King has requested that you go at once to the Small Council chamber.”

She frowned, scoffing as she replied, “can it not wait until I am dressed?”

“Apologies, princess,” the page boy said, not meeting her eye, “the king insists that it is urgent.”

“Very well,” she huffed, tying her robe tighter around her nightgown, “I shall be there momentarily.”

The page boy bowed, leaving the way he had come.

“I suppose we could not avoid it forever,” Aemond said wearily, rising from his seat.

He trailed after her as they walked to the Small Council chamber, his steps quiet behind hers.

“Do not forget that I love you, I always have,” he told her softly as they approached the heavy doors.

“And I love you,” she said in turn, her heart fluttering as the coolness of his fingers briefly entwined with hers.

She did not knock, simply pushed open the door and stepped in. Only Aegon and their mother stood at the long, wooden table.

Her mother’s big, brown eyes were tearful, as Aegon leaned over a parchment that was rolled out before him, his features pinched in anguish. His bottom lip trembled in a manner that only occurred when he was angered to the point of near hysteria.

She had expected them both to be overjoyed to see Aemond, considering he stood at her side, but both seemed too engrossed in the contents of the letter they were reading.

“Oh, my dearest love,” her mother whispered tearfully, clutching a handkerchief as she stepped towards her and embraced her tightly.

“What? What is it?” She asked, and pulled back, brow furrowed in concern as she looked at her mother and then Aegon.

Alicent kept her arms around her, stroking her hair gently, as Aegon looked up from the parchment. His voice was quiet, almost croaky, as he spoke. “News from Harrenhal.”

What more could there possibly be?!

“So?” she asked in exasperation, “what is it?”

“There was a battle between Aemond and Daemon above the God’s Eye…”

I know this, I know this, I know this!

She wanted to scream in frustration, he was not telling her anything she did not know already. She pulled her shoulders up towards her ears momentarily, an impatient gesture for him to continue.

“Daemon is dead,” Aegon said, swallowing thickly, “and so is Aemond.”

She almost wanted to laugh. No, he was not! What a ridiculous thing to say.

“No, he is–” she reached out to Aemond, grasping the front of his riding leathers, her breath hitching as her hand passed straight through him.

Her blood ran cold as her horrified eyes lifted to meet his.

“I just wanted to see you,” he murmured, eyes of the coldest blue looking straight into hers as he faded away to nothing.

“...he’s gone,” she whispered tearfully. The painful clenching of her heart dulled every other sensation, and she did not even feel it when her mother wrapped her arms tighter around her.

Eyes of the coldest blue, let me see into you.

He had returned to her one final time, and would never again.

[bhalspawn]

if im honest i like king alistair w a warden queen! theyre happy ur honor!!!

[witchofthemidlands]

tales of the tardis is enough for me, it is, it really is, after all those years, jamie & zoe finally got their memories back & if that's the last we see of jamie mccrimmon that was fantastic, it was more than enough, there is & now will always be a conclusion

but

if i had to bring any classic who companion back to new (new?) who it would be jamie, it would always be jamie because the idea of jamie meeting a modern doctor sends me just a tad feral, just a a little bit balls to the wall feral.

[augustinewrites]

“babe. baaaabe. babe!”

“what, satoru?” you ask sharply, looking up from your laptop to where your boyfriend has spread himself across your couch, his legs in shoko’s lap. 

he lifts his shades to look at you. “was i your first crush?”

“yes,” you answer quickly.

you immediately return to the report you’re writing, missing the face shoko makes before she says, “that’s not true.” 

“ieiri,” you whisper harshly, but it’s too late. your boyfriend’s already jumped off the couch to lean his palms against your desk. 

“what? i wasn’t your first?!”

“you were,” you insist, glaring at your friend. “shoko is clearly misremembering things.”

“am i though?”

“you know what, it’s fine,” gojo sighs, slipping his shades back on and rolling the sleeve of his t-shirt up so he can flex. “obviously i’m way cooler than whatever lame schmuck high school you was crushing on.”

behind him, shoko’s scoff is the final nail in your coffin. “nanami is way cooler than you ever were.”

you slap your forehead, bracing yourself for gojo’s inevitable overreaction. 

but he doesn’t get the chance, interrupted by a light knock against your doorframe from, you guessed it, nanami kento.

“yaga said you wanted to see me?”

cue overreaction.

“you had a crush on— on him?” 

nanami swats gojo’s finger away from his cheek. 

“oh my god,” your boyfriend breathes, currently experiencing a quarterlife crisis. “you liked this emo nemo?”

nanami ignores him, sending you a questioning look. “he doesn’t know?”

“what is it now?” satoru asks, slumping back into the couch. “did you guys go on a date or something?” 

your lack of answer is enough for him to let his head fall back rather dramatically. 

“can you blame her?” shoko asks. “he was sexy back then. in an edgy, mysterious kind of way. meanwhile, you were like…if a string bean made love to a cauliflower.” 

even gojo doesn’t have a witty retort prepared for that. 

you decide to clear this up once and for all. “it wasn’t just about looks. you were busy after— after riko. you didn’t have time for a relationship or…for me. you wanted to get stronger and i didn’t want to get in your way.”

“you wouldn’t have been—”

“i would have.” you shrug. because you know him, and you know what he was like. “and that’s okay because we were still kids, satoru. and it was only one date! no need to get so torn up about it!”

_____

“what is this?” you ask later that night, when you find satoru hauling a huge box into your apartment.

“it’s a bowflex!” gojo explains proudly, patting the unopened box. “shoko said that i was built like a string bean, so i’m gonna buff up like nanami! and when megumi moves out next year, i’m gonna turn his room into a gym.”

you lean in the doorway, amused. nanami also has a home gym. “is that why you’re also wearing a suit and tie instead of your usual uniform?”

he does a show spin, letting you take it all in. you don’t even want to know how much it must have cost. “do you like it?” 

“you do look very handsome.” 

“i know,” he winks, cocky as ever. “now watch this.”

he brushes a few strands of hair over his eyes, lowering his voice a few octaves as he says, “taxes. office work. satoru, i respect you so much!”

you walk up to him, brushing the hair back to press a kiss to his forehead. “nanami would never say that last thing, but i do like the effort.” 

he loops his arms around your waist, returning the kiss and murmuring against your skin, “did it turn you on though? maybe i should get an office job—”

“satoru,” you whine, resting your forehead against his chest. “it was just a short-lived crush. and it was forever ago! i’m pretty sure you’ve had crushes that weren’t me.”

“nope,” he hums, resting his chin atop your head. “all i’ve ever wanted is you. all i’ve ever needed…is you.” 

[gothgoblinbabe]

Nothing Worth Saying Aloud

Logan Howlett x fem reader

A/N: This one is short n' sweet! Inspired by the song "Need 2" by Pinegrove which I had first heard because I read this one shot that used that song as inspiration! Theirs is much better I'll be real but I had this festering in my brain for too long every time I'd play that song on repeat

Summary: Misunderstanding and miscommunication makes for a terrible combination that leaves you feeling like you've had your heart ripped from your chest

Warnings: Angsty as all hell, a lil' bit of fluff at the end, that's really it!

Word Count: 2K

𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་

You’d gone through a couple break ups in your life, a handful of failed situation-ships that ended awkwardly - even a long term relationship or two - but all the heartbreak you’d experienced couldn’t compare to the chest-crushing agony you experienced now.

The terrible moment of facing the music; accepting what couldn’t be, even if you wanted it more than anything.

Logan was not into you and he was never going to be.

You had to confront that when you’d gone down the stairs of the mansion one night to get a glass of water, almost certain you were the only person awake. That was until you’d stopped short in the hallway, seeing Logan and Jean standing with their backs to you. You couldn’t hear their conversation and didn’t think anything of it until you watched his arm snake around her shoulders, pulling her into him for a hug.

Your stomach sank. You really should have known.

The way he talks to her, looks at her, is always there to help her; it must have been obvious to anyone but you. You’d been friends for so long that you were almost dumbfounded that you never realized, probably too blinded by your own rose colored glasses.

You turned on your heel immediately, climbing the stairs to hide in your bedroom. Your chest felt heavy and your skin felt like it was on fire. You never ended up sleeping that night, too sick to think of anything else but Jean and Logan.

That was maybe two weeks ago now and you’d avoided Logan every day since as best you could. You’d gone from being nearly inseparable to speaking only when you had to. He’d try his best to get you to talk to him about anything at all but you only gave him one word answers. He even tried to keep you after training one day, gently having a hold on your bicep.

“Hey, what’s going on with you?” He asked bluntly. He tried to look you in the eyes but they were nearly glued to the metal floor of the basement corridor, your hair falling in your face.

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine, Logan, really,” you were able to mutter out, somehow keeping your voice from cracking. Before he could interrogate you further, you shrugged yourself out of his soft grip and speed-walked to the elevator, tears flowing the second you turned away from him.

You were not fine. Your eyes were always red and puffy from crying yourself to sleep and everyone could tell something was off. 

Ororo even stopped you in the hallway outside your bedroom one night, begging you to tell her what was wrong and what she could do to help.

“It’s nothing, I - �� you had started to dismiss her, but she was having none of it. 

“Stop with that! Enough! You need to tell me what’s up or I’m gonna have to force it out of you somehow and you know I do not wanna do that. Now tell me.”

You sighed, never picking your gaze up from the floor. 

“Come here, I don’t want anyone to hear me,” you beckoned her into your room.

She sat by your side at the edge of the bed as you confessed what you had seen and how badly it had torn you apart, rubbing your back gently when you choked out a sob.

“Honey,” she cooed, pushing some hair from your face and wiping a tear away, “I think you need to talk to him. This is gonna eat you up inside if you don’t and I think maybe it could’ve been a misunderstanding.”

“I don’t know, ‘ro. I can’t even look at him without feeling like I’m gonna burst into tears,” you sniffled, wiping your eyes with the collar of your t-shirt.

“Think about it. I can’t tell you what to do, but I think you really should. And if it was what it looked like, sweetheart, this is not the end of the world,” she reminded you.

“It sure does feel like it,” you joked, tears still rolling down your cheeks.

“I know,” she sighed, patting your back gently, “talk to him.”

You nodded and she left the room, reminding you to come find her if you needed anything at all.

You thought her words over and ultimately still hid in your room the next day, skipping training to rot in bed in sweatpants and a tank top. The thought of having to confess to Logan that you were really in love with him was far too paralyzing. It almost made you sick If you thought about it too long.

You knew it wasn’t a good idea to keep shuffling sad songs on repeat and yet you did, keeping your CD player at a low volume so you wouldn’t bother anyone and they wouldn’t bother you. Your hair was a mess and you were glad that at the very least, you’d had enough energy to shower that morning after three days of not doing so. You held your knees to your chest while laying on your side, burying your face into your pillow to muffle your wailing sobs. 

Logan was downstairs at the same time, making his way towards the stairs, only to run into Scott.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Logan spoke, stopping him with a hand on his upper arm.

Even through Scott’s glasses, Logan could tell he was glaring suspiciously.

“About what? Why?”

Logan said your name, looking around to be sure they were alone in the hallway.

Scott’s expression softened and he leaned against the wall, waiting for him to explain.

“Do you know what’s up with her? She won’t talk to me, she hasn’t in two weeks. She won’t even look at me. Has she said anything to you?” Logan spewed out, rubbing the back of his neck as a nervous tic. 

“No, your girlfriend didn’t mention anything,” he teased, shaking his head, “but hey, just talk to her. You’ve been close for a while now, you just have to confront her.”

“She’s not my - okay, whatever. Yeah, I’m gonna go talk to her. Maybe she’s in her room,” Logan sighed.

“She’s always in her room lately. If there’s anyone that can pull her out of it, it would be you.”

He quickly thanked Scott and finally reached the stairs. He had been walking through the hall, finding your bedroom door and stopping when he heard a noise he couldn’t quite make out. He heard you sniffle and his heart dropped.

You were crying.

He tried to give you your space, work through whatever it was that was bothering you, but it broke him to see you the way you were and his prodding didn’t seem to help. Still, he didn’t know how much longer he could let you dodge him in the halls or live with the fact that you wouldn’t even look at him anymore. He had planned to talk to you that day, but you rarely came out of your room now.

So, he laid a hand on your doorknob, turning it slowly. He would’ve knocked - he always did - but every time he had recently, you laid silent and pretended not to be in the room. He always knew you were, recognizing the smell of your perfume behind the door. 

The door cracked open a few inches and he saw you, curled in a ball in your bed with your face in your pillow. Your shoulders moved up and down as you sobbed, gripping the pillow so hard that your knuckles turned white.

There’s no way Logan could leave you like this. He slid into the room and closed the door gently, but you could hear the click of the knob over your music.

Your head shot up and you saw Logan standing with his back to your door, an almost devastated look on his face.

“Oh god, Logan, please, don’t - “ you choked out, turning your face so he couldn’t see you and waving him away. Out of everyone you wanted to see right now, he was at the bottom of the list because this was humiliating. 

He’d seen your bloodshot eyes and pink nose, your cheeks wet with tears. There was no way you could tell him you weren’t crying.

“You have to talk to me. Please, what did I do?”

The last thing you wanted was for him to think it was all his fault. It wasn’t, really. He didn’t do anything to hurt you on purpose; He couldn’t have known it would upset you in the slightest or that you were even in the hallway that night. 

“Nothing, Logan, please, just go away - “ you begged, still facing away with your face buried in your hands.

“I’m not leaving till you tell me what’s going on,” he said firmly, “you won’t even look at me. I don’t know what I did, but I’m sorry. Whatever it is, I’ll make it up to you.”

You still had your face buried in your hands when you felt the bed dip as he came to sit beside you.

“I miss you, you know. You won’t train with me anymore, you won’t come out with me, you won't talk to me. Please, I don’t know what to apologize for if you don’t tell me.”

His voice so close to you made your heart ache. You wanted to just hug him, tell him you missed him too, but you sat paralyzed. He really wasn’t going anywhere until you said something.

You removed your hands from your face, wiping away the tears with the back of your hand. You took a long inhale, closing your eyes and trying not to let your voice crack.

“It’s nothing worth me saying aloud,” you muttered, gnawing on your bottom lip. You felt like you needed to, though - like a lump in your throat that you couldn’t cough up. 

“Please,” Logan’s voice was quiet, his hand arm coming to rest around your waist.

You squeezed your eyes shut and scrunched your face in an attempt not to cry even harder when he touched you. You had wanted him to for so long, but not like this. 

You inhaled sharply, standing up as you did so to pace around your room. You couldn’t sit still with his hand on you.

“I - “, you tried to speak, the words getting lodged in your throat, “ it’s not your fault. I’m not mad at you, it’s not that.”

“Then, what? Tell me. You know I’d do anything to help.”

He would, and that’s what made it all hurt so much worse; how sweet he could be to you. You reminded yourself that he was also probably like that with Jean and you shook your head in an attempt to rid yourself of the thought. 

“It’s so stupid, Logan, really - “

“Pretty girl, it’s not stupid if it’s making you cry.”

Pretty girl. He probably called her that too.

Fuck, you couldn’t get it out of your head no matter how bad you wished you could.

“Ugh,” you groaned, leaning your head back to stare at the ceiling. Maybe it would be easier to spit it out when you weren’t looking at him. You took a deep breath, preparing yourself to get it all out in one go.

“A couple weeks ago, I went downstairs in the middle of the night and I saw you and Jean.”

You couldn’t see his expression, but Logan’s eyebrows were furrowed, completely lost on what exactly it was that you saw.

“And it’s so fucking stupid, I know, but I - “, you choked back a sob, “fuck. Logan, I love you. I’m sorry. I’m in love with you, I don’t know how to handle it, not when I know nothings ever gonna happen.”

When you didn’t hear a response, you dreaded the moment you finally tore your eyes from your ceiling. Logan was still in the same spot at the edge of the bed, a dumbfounded expression on his face.

“Sweet heart - “, he began, but it only hurt you more to hear him call you stuff like that.

“Logan, please, I know, just - I don’t want it to be a big deal and you don’t have to give me the rejection speech, trust me.”

“Are you gonna let me explain?” His tone was mildly frustrated, though he was still clearly worried about you.

You sighed, hands on your hips as you stood almost completely across the room. He got up to meet you where you were. He wanted to put his hands on your shoulders but he could tell you didn’t want to be touched.

“Explain what?” You muttered, gaze glued to the floor when he stood in front of you.

“There’s nothing going on between Jean and I.”

Seeing that your expression never changed, he continued.

“I think I know what you saw. I hugged Jean, that’s what you’re talking about, right?”

You swallowed hard, dreading any details he wanted to spill. You still didn’t believe that there was nothing, convinced he was lying to save your feelings. You nodded anyway, still looking at the floor.

“I gave Jean a hug because her and Scott got into a fight. She said she fucked up and wanted my advice, I hugged her and that was all. Honey, I’m telling you, nothings going on.”

You were nearly turning pink at the realization that he was being truthful. 

“And another thing,” he began again, tentatively pulling your hands from your hips so he could hold them in his, “you think I don’t love you?”

You finally met his gaze then and his heart broke when he saw your watery eyes. He brought a hand up to wipe your tears, leaving it there to cup your face while his other still held your hand. 

“I love you. I’m in love with you, too. I don’t feel that way about Jean at all. I thought it was obvious, but I guess neither of us have the greatest communication skills, huh?” He laughed a little, nervously waiting for you to finally say something.

You were still soaking in his words, first about Jean and then about you. 

“Really?” You squeaked, unable to say anything more.

“Really, baby,” he said sweetly, continuing to wipe away your tears.

You sniffled and leaned into his touch, happy to just be near him again.

“I missed you too, you know. I miss everything about you. I just couldn’t look at you when I thought - I don’t know, when I thought you couldn’t love me like that. Oh god, I’m so stupid, Logan, I’m so sorry - “ you began to apologize and he cut you off, shaking his head.

“None of that, c’mere,” he pulled you into him gently, wrapping his arms around your waist and leaning down to hug you. 

You smiled into his t-shirt. You missed the smell of his cologne, the warmth of him, the way he called you sweet names. You had your arms wrapped around his neck, standing on your toes to do so.

“I love you, Princess. I’m so glad I get to say it,” he mumbled into your hair, neither one of you letting go of the other, “and I’m a dumbass for not saying something sooner and letting you think all that.”

“No, I’m a dumbass because I should’ve said something sooner instead of assuming. I was just terrified, I guess.”

“No more being terrified, right?” He pulled away a little to look in your eyes.

You nodded, a smile on your face for the first time in weeks. You both stood there in the middle of your bedroom, frozen in an embrace with your eyes locked on each other.

“Can I kiss you?” He whispered, his hand rubbing up and down your back reassuringly, “you can say no if it’s too soon -“

You leaned up to press your lips to his, not wanting to waste any more time than you already have. He kind of grunted in surprise, relaxing into your touch when you ran your fingers through his hair at the back of his head. It was better than you could have ever imagined. His lips were so soft and he was so gentle with how he held you that your knees could’ve buckled. He pulled away reluctantly after a few seconds, planting a kiss on your forehead.

“I didn’t wanna ruin anything,” he explained, tucking your hair behind your ear, “you know, just being with you. I would’ve swallowed it all down to be just your friend if it meant I wouldn't lose you.”

You brought both of your hands to cup his face, scratching lightly at his mutton chops, “Really?”

He nodded, kissing your forehead, your cheek and your lips again. It was sickeningly sweet, making you giggle into the kiss.

“What’s so funny?” 

“Nothin’. Just really happy.”

“Me too, pretty girl. Hey, you owe me a couple of movie nights, by the way.”

“Race you to the TV?”

𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་

A/N: ik this ones pretty short but it was rotting in my google docs so here u go <3 pls like and reblog if you enjoyed!

[wannaeatramyeon]

Meeting Student!Gun Park for the First Time: Part 1

Part 2! G/N. 3.2k. Remember when Gun wanted to get his GED? Well. Stranger to~ Masterlists

"How old are you?"

"20."

Press X for doubt, you think, and that's the exact meme you send over on chat.

"20 like 20 or 20 like you're mid 30s and planning your mid life crisis 20?"

You know you're being rude and making a terrible first impression. It's the first day of a new school year, of a new school in fact, and for some reason the class is held on video call and you're all forced to pair off with a classmate for an icebreaker introduction.

It’s already cringe worthy and awkward enough, icebreakers must have been created as a form of torture. To add insult to injury, you're sure this guy is bullshitting you.

"I'm 20." He deadpans.

Momentarily, you’re stunned into silence. It stretches almost a tad too long before you manage to choke out, “My bad. Sorry."

Wow. You're torn between thinking that's a rough 20, this guy has easily got 40 years under his belt and oh no, when is your puberty and hormones gonna kick in like that.

And that's also the exact moment this 20 year old Gun Park takes a drag on a cigarette and you decide that it's definitely a rough 20.

"So what do you do for fun?" You probe, and you have the distinct feeling he might say something like alimony, planning his third marriage, investing in the stock market - whatever someone in their 50s might say but-

To your surprise and glee, his body language turns shifty. 

He likes to game he says, like it's a dirty little secret. Amongst other things. Mentions something about training and martial arts and you fight to keep a straight face as it turns out you were also right about investing in shares and the stock market.

Gaming, however, is what you latch on to.

"Cute. I bet I could kick your ass."

"Oh yeah?"

"Oh yes."

And this is how you ended up at 4am on a school night, playing Tekken with your new classmate and getting your ass kicked.

"One more!" You screech down the mic, after the KO sign appears on screen, mumbling something about cheating and how if you can time this combo just right-

There's a huff of laughter coming through your tinny headphones and an amused "Fine."

.

.

Dark circles under your eyes grow. It's been a week of straight losses.

You blame the sleep deprivation on Gun Park, though really you have your own stubbornness to blame.

He never tends to say much during the gaming sessions apart from the odd expletive and you rant enough after each of your defeats for the both of you.

Sometimes this will earn you a chuckle and he will snidely add that you asked for this, you were the one who was supposed to kick his ass. This would piss you off enough for another game or three in the hopes of defeating him and getting to gloat.

Which unfortunately has not happened yet.

With a sigh, you hope your camera quality this morning is bad enough and pixelated enough that your poor sleep habits don't show.

You scan over your classmates, the few that have their camera turned on and find him.

Gun looks completely fine. He looks completely fine in what must be 4k and ugh, you scrunch your nose up in annoyance.

You keep an eye on him through the class. Observe how he's usually paying rapt attention, scribbling and typing up notes every now and then.

It's impressive how studious he is.

In comparison, you're daydreaming. Thinking about lunch, other combos or characters to play to counter his own when you catch on to the back end of a sentence as your teacher mentions ‘this’ is something to pay attention to as it will be on the pop quiz.

Huh? You blink a couple times. What is ‘this’? Unfortunately she swiftly moves onto another topic.

You type out a direct message to the only person you know.

You: I missed that, what did she just say?

Gun: You should have been paying attention.

You: Fuck you man!

You see his eyes dip to the bottom of the camera screen, briefly moving as he presumably reads your message.

He smirks.

That night he kicks your ass again.

Then as consolation, reveals what will be on the pop quiz.

.

.

If Gun looked like that in 4k, nothing could prepare you for how he looked in real life.

You're setting up your laptop and notepad in the classroom, the first actual in-person session, when someone takes a seat next to you.

Initially you feel a surge of irritation that they could have sat anywhere else and chose to sit next to you, then you look at the offender and-

Hold on.

You double, triple-take-

Is that?

It must be.

Shit.

It's fucking Gun Park.

You don't entirely regret your initial comments on his looks because this guy definitely does not look 20 but goddamn he looks-

He chooses that moment, when your jaw is on the floor, to turn to you and give you a nod of acknowledgement.

"Y/N."

"H-hi." You manage, and even to your ears it sounds like a simpering fool.

He must have thought so too if the quirk of his lips is anything to go by.

The cherry on top is that you expected this guy to smell like stale smoke, instead all you get is fresh laundry and something faintly dark and heady like leather and cedarwood.

Fuck.

Control yourself, a disapproving voice in your head says. Even that sounds vaguely like Gun.

It does nothing to stop your wandering gaze, peering at him in your periphery when you think he's not looking.

After you have taken your chance to not so discreetly run your eyes up and down his form, the only thing that makes you feel better is his hair. Because yeah he might be hot, but holy shit that must be a gallon of hair gel in there.

.

.

The other thing, as it turns out, that makes you feel a lot better is that he doodles.

It’s utterly charming.

Someone like Gun Park doesn't look like he doodles, but in between lines of his chicken scratch (seriously, who can even read that), there's little stick figures.

Maybe all the time you thought he was being studious he was just drawing-

Wait. You squint at the picture.

Is this guy for real?

"Are they fucking?" You whisper, using your pen to point at the page.

He doesn't answer straight away. There's a moment of surprise as he reacts like this is another secret of his he has unwittingly let you in on before his nostril flares and his eyes narrow and you grin in response.

Your grin grows when he grits out an answer. "No. Fighting."

He doesn't call you a dumbass but you can hear it loud and clear tacked on at the end.

"Whatever, pervert." You counter. You guess if you squint even harder then you suppose they could be fighting. Although the way one is lying on top of another is very suggestive. You don't hesitate to point that out to him.

Gun closes his eyes and counts to ten.

.

.

Even without a seating plan, one forms.

Places taken by chance on the first day becomes a regular arrangement.

You exchange a few words with your classmates, familiarise yourself somewhat with their names and faces. Pieces of their backstory, why they're here studying for a GED but take your spot next to Gun regardless.

No one really talks to him, you've heard them saying he's menacing and intimidating. Yet when your first encounter of him was mistaking him as someone about to hit mid life crisis, how intimidating can he really be.

Besides, he still doodles his lewd figures that he insists are not in any way shape or form comprising sexual positions. So no, you don't find him intimidating at all.

.

.

Gun, as you have come to know, is a man of few words. He is also unsurprisingly not great at literature.

What you don't yet know is he likes to say what he means and mean what he says. His patience only extends to The Art of War, so all the flowery prose and poetry only serves to irritate him.

If Gun glared at you the way he's currently glaring at the textbook, you think you may either burst into tears or burst into flames.

Luckily you do neither of those things but you do take pity on him. Leaning over, you ask him quietly if he needs help.

He doesn't respond but the pen he's clutching in his right hand snaps in half.

Alright then.

Half an hour later, when the class empties out you ask Gun to follow you to the library.

He hesitates, and you add "if you've got time" to give him an out. In the end he doesn't take it and trudges obediently after you.

You very quickly learn that he really doesn't like literature. You're explaining and working him through the analysis and also mildly offended at the bored look on his face.

"This is a waste of time," he interjects and there's a sullen undercurrent to his words.

"Just memorise the analysis then." Exasperation tinges your tone, "That's all you need to do to pass."

He arches a brow at your words.

"They're testing your memory. So just remember what our teacher says."

There's an angry air of resignation as Gun nods, and you slide your notes over for him to copy.

.

.

Not long after, you have your first minor evaluation on the literature material.

You notice during the test that while the vein in Gun’s temple is prominent and he’s clutching his (new) pen tighter, there’s barely any pause as he fills in the answers.

A few days later, the graded papers are handed back. There's a sigh of relief from Gun.

He gives you a smile, small and genuine, eyes crinkling at the corner.

"You owe me one," you tell him jokingly though he takes it to heart and gives you a stern nod.

.

.

Gun repays his debt, with a coffee.

He places the paper cup on the desk in front of you. Logo of the coffee house to the side but still visible. It's new, expensive, and there’s regular lines around the block.

Of course it would be from there.

The issue is, who repays a debt with an espresso. He didn’t even ask for your drink of choice!

"Thanks for this thimble of coffee," you remark as Gun sniffs in distaste at your comment, placing his own matching cup in front of him and saying something about how it's the best untainted way to drink it.

Of course he would also be a coffee snob.

You tell him you usually like it with a bit more cream and a lot more sugar and he mutters that you sound like Goo.

You think that's an insult.

"Well, at least Goo has good taste," you snipe back with a grin.

Gun closes his eyes and counts to ten.

.

.

You: Are you doodling or actually writing notes?

You: Cos on camera you look very studious but I’ve seen your notepad

Gun: None of your business

You: Still drawing your disgusting pornographic stick men then

Gun: They are not-

Gun: Whatever

.

.

You: Ok, maybe that espresso wasn’t terrible

Gun: I know

You: Who’s Goo anyway?

Gun: …

Gun: No-one

You: Suuuure

.

.

You: Tekken tonight?

Gun: Aren’t you tired of getting your ass kicked?

You: >:(

.

.

You: Do you wanna go over the new lit material in the library this week?

Gun: Ok

.

.

Gun: Thanks for your help

You: :) 

.

.

Gun: You’re tired. You should game less.

You: Spoken like a coward!

Gun: Dumbass

You: Hey!!

.

.

Gun: I’ll bring you an espresso tomorrow. You need it.

You: Does it have to be an espresso?

Gun: Yes

You: …Thanks

.

.

To anyone else, the figure standing in the doorway is just smoking. To you, it suspiciously looks like they’re waiting.

It's not a crime. Gun Park can wait for whatever or whoever he wants.

What really throws you off is his smoking. You've seen him casually take one single drag before throwing the whole cigarette away. Even to you, it seems like a waste.

However, this time he smokes one all the way to the filter before stubbing it out. Then does the same to a second, and third.

Strange, very strange.

You approach him. Taking gentle steps, in case he might get spooked and bolt which is really a ridiculous notion for someone like him. Nevertheless, you keep your footsteps light, yourself clearly in view and you wander over to him.

"Hey," you say, with a somewhat forced smile. He doesn't acknowledge your greeting apart from a brief nod.

"... Everything ok?"

It's a perfectly normal question to ask but a vastly bizarre one for Gun. He doesn't look like the type of person where people casually enquire about his well being.

He must have thought so too if the look he gives you is anything to go by.

In response, he stubs out his cigarette (his fourth!) then asks, stilted and stiffly, if you want to come back to his for a game of Tekken.

At least that's what you interpret as he seems to be crazy cryptic.

"Are you interested in Tekken?"

"...Yes." You wonder what on earth this question is because did you hallucinate all those games you played together?

"Then meet me. After class." 

"Where? Here?"

"No. At mine."

"Where's that?"

"..."

He gives you another look, as if you're the one trying to coax a secret out of him despite him offering.

Gun dips forward, murmurs quietly into your ear his address and some vague directions like it's highly confidential information.

You nod along, thinking what is with this guy. 

.

.

So firstly, what the fuck.

Then secondly, what the fuck.

Don't think you hadn't noticed the designer brands Gun wears. If they're fakes, they're very convincing fakes. But you're almost certain they have got to be counterfeit when he brought you over to a junkyard claiming this is where he lives.

You've seen films like this. Granted, it's less in a junkyard and more in the middle of nowhere in America where college kids meet their gruesome ends in fantastical ways.

You never thought this would happen to you. You have sorely miscalculated. 

Is this Gun Park (if that even is his real name) going to butcher you and leave your body on top of a pile of scrap metal in the corner?

Instead of a night of gaming where you’re the one KO-ing him, he’s actually the one that’s going to chase you around wearing a mask and wielding a knife or axe?

"You’re here. Come in," Gun says, opening his front door just as your inner monologue begins to truly spiral out of control and you're considering doing a runner.

"Eh?" You grunt like an idiot, not noticing when the shack appeared nor when you stepped onto his porch, or the side eyes Gun had been giving you.

He gives you another look, likely regretting inviting you at all, and leaves the door ajar for you to either enter or turn back and go home.

.

.

"This is... nice," you lie, through the skin of your teeth.

Gun sees cleanly through your white lie and exhales a huff of amusement.

It's sparse. Peeks of luxury here and there - the extensive PC gaming rig, the entertainment system and consoles, to name a few.

Apart from that, it's barely a home.

"Take a seat." He offers, and it sounds more like an order. Obediently you sit on his sofa, feeling very much a guest.

"You're not in danger," he says, bemused at how awkward you are in his domain, how tense you hold yourself.

'That's exactly what a killer would say,' you think and when you hear a low chuckle, you realise that you said it aloud.

"Don't worry," Gun reassures and it doesn’t really help before he strides off to somewhere in his house and leaves you sitting alone.

He returns back minutes later as you’re in the middle of admiring his entertainment set up and going through his vinyl collection (because obviously someone like Gun has vinyls) with a coffee for you that looks much more milky and to your taste than the usual ones he offers. 

“Thanks.” you take your drink and return back to your seat.

Taking the first sip, you finally manage to relax. Sinking into a sofa that is much more comfortable than at first glance and you take in your surroundings a bit more.

Sort of. You actually take in Gun Park more. 

He’s casual, in a way you have never seen or even considered. Dressed in a t-shirt and grey sweatpants, hair floppy and the only styling is done with his hands running through his hair now and then to keep it back.

Even during the online classes, he is usually dressed up in an open collared shirt.

If you thought he was hot before, it’s nothing compared to now. There’s an air of domesticity, the drink he made for you cradled in your hands, and the distinct feeling that not many people have had the luxury to see Gun in his natural habitat, so intimate and vulnerable.

You wonder if this is how he looks all those nights you’ve been gaming together.

You catch his eyes, having been caught checking him out and he raises his eyebrows at your blatant staring. 

Blood rushes to your cheeks as he chuckles into his own espresso and takes a sip.

.

.

"Holy shit, I won!"

You're familiar with the KO screen. What you're not familiar with is being on the side of victory. You're usually a hair trigger away from rage quitting, from throwing a tantrum down the mic.

Finally. All your hard work has paid off. Time spent thinking of combos, attacks and defences (which would have been better spent studying) is coming to fruition.

You peer over to Gun, expect the controller he is clutching to maybe have been crushed into pieces with his freakish strength. Expected nothing except for a vein throbbing on his temple.

What you do find is-

Gun looking at you, fondness in his eyes. He's taking in your grin, letting your gloating slide.

Doesn't do more than roll his eyes when you perform a victory dance of sorts around him.

And when you get in his face to tell him that you're the winner, you're the best-

(More words are on the tip of your tongue but your gaze drops to his lip, drawn to the small smile he wears.

It sinks in.

The patience he has, the attention he gives, the way he has opened his home to you.

From the very first meeting, the even-handed way he has dealt with your insults, entertained you to the early hours of the morning on Tekken.)

Gun reaches out, tugs your hand and pulls you into his lap and agrees.

"Yes. The best."

You think it's a lie, an embellishment.

But the way he holds you - tender and precious, and the way he leans forward to rest his forehead against yours - soft, like you might break - can't be anything else but the whole truth.

(Update! Part 2 here!)

[xueyuverse]

It's ironic to me that part of the fandom insists so much that Hua Cheng's personality revolves around Xie Lian when in fact MXTX created Hua Cheng first and then had to make Xie Lian his ideal type. Like, the truth is that Xie Lian was molded for Hua Cheng. I find this contradiction very funny, I'm sorry.

But they were indeed created for each other.

Hua Cheng has a strong personality, he is firm in his ideals and beliefs, assertive in his opinions, cold in his justice and someone who does not bend the rules just to fit in, he creates a third way instead of adapting to a world that hates him and was cruel to him.

His ideal type would have to be someone as confident as him, who not only does not bend the rules, but also does not get corrupted by difficulties, someone benevolent enough to see people like him with kindness, because only someone faithful in his beliefs would be able to be so different from everything that the world says is right — because the right thing is for you to annihilate people like Hua Cheng, whether they are innocent or not, just because of a supposed curse that they did not ask for.

This meta is based on this excerpt from the afterword that MXTX put in TGCF ↓

When it comes to character designs, the Shou’s were decided on first for the first two novels, but I was torn over the Gong’s for a long time, and needed a run-in period. Hua Cheng, however, was an exception. Inspiration struck and there he was; inspiration struck again, and I blinded one of his eyes.

[...]

It was actually the Shou, Xie Lian, who tortured me for up to half a year’s time. When the novel started serializing, I was still torn over him for a long time.

[...]

But the most important thing is, by my instincts, someone like Hua Cheng will most definitely love someone like this. So, after a good half a year’s worth of qualms, in the end I still typesetted him: It’s you!

Speaking more about this postscript, I found it interesting how for MXTX, Xie Lian was the most difficult character she has ever played. People tend to think that Xie Lian only has two personality traits: (false, for many) kindness and idiocy. The idiocy may even be right lol, but when you stop to think about it, Xie Lian is a really difficult character to create and, mainly, to develop.

For all the layers he has, he could easily be a snobbish prince, a vengeful and bitter ex-prince, a fallen prince who rises again to reconquer his kingdom and reclaim his throne or a spotless saint who is always intelligent and wise and is above things like sadness, anger, lust, etc.

We know that Xie Lian is none of these things, he was not made for these plots. But if he is none of these things, then what could he be? Honestly, I find it very difficult for anyone to come to the conclusion that your protagonist is a "loser" who failed and has no ambition to rebuild his kingdom and become the new king. It's bold to make your protagonist a poor and extremely unlucky nomad, especially with the princely background that you gave him, we can see from the amount of stories out there about protagonists who lost their kingdoms and then have a path of reconquest that it's difficult not to be tempted to follow that path.

Of course, Xie Lian is a god, something greater than a prince or king, but he is a poor god, known as "the joke of the three kingdoms", he has no wealth and for 800 years he only had 1 believer that he didn't even know existed and he is also known as the "god of plague" and "immortal scrap collector", unconventional titles in the literary world lol

He must experience youthful ignorance, overestimation of his own abilities, have been laughable, been foolish, made mistakes, despaired, felt hatred, gone crazy. But he can’t run, and he can’t hide; everything is what it is. All this was killing me. Not just within the text, but outside the text too. My mediation was useless, and I’ve no energy anymore either, so in order not to be affected, I stopped looking at comments altogether. Since I always habitually vaccinate myself before a serialization begins, speculating on all the worst possible scenarios and preparing myself mentally, by the time serialization started I had already expected how all the negative comments would go down. But after much hesitation, I still thought, why not try all different kinds of characters? I haven’t tried writing a main character like this before.

— MXTX

[saphirafoxgirlspost1]

(Open Rp) Helluvaboss X Hazbinhotel in "Suitors Delima"

(Warning, this contains NSFW, Muscle growth, transformation, Ect. If your a Minor please don't reply to this..Viewer disgression is advised)

On the Glorious day At the Kingdom of The Mystic Inferno Fox, The Last Suitor was Kicked Out from the Kingdom..as the guard told the bad Suitor that he's no longer set foot in this castle again…Saphira The True Ruler of hell was Standing there watching the Bad Suitor walks away all beat up and torn..Saphira was Quite Stern..the reason why he was beat it..He Dared to lay a horrible Hands On Her which is a Huge Mistake..But Luckily..He Kept his hands though..otherwise his hands will be chopped off Sooner.. Then Saphira goes back to her throne..rubbing her Forehead with fustration and growls…Knowing that She wouldn't allow Abuse In this hell..then Her Goetia Royal Advisor (which she is a Snowy Owl) Name "Eliza" Comes to her..and she said with a warm concerning tone,

Eliza: "Oh dear Friend, I knew This Suitors is nothing but trouble.. and I don't blame you for Banishing him For Daring to lay hands on you..Luckily He kept his hands as well."

Saphira: "Indeed, Other wise..he'll be left with no hands at all. heh"

Saphira Use her magic to spawn a wine glass full of greatest wine in hell and took a sip of it..but then Eliza said,

Eliza:"So..What Shall we do? You must find Someone who is worthy for your hands as well Your Majesty.."

Saph:" I know..but many suitors of Hell was not Worthy..they're Beyond redemtion as well…Maybe I should go Up to the Mortal World..luckily..I live in the Nice Mansion but I need to blend in So that way the Humans Doesn't Know That I'm the Kitsune that has the Royal Mistical Blood.."

Eliza: "I agree..this is the Only way To Find Someone To marry you and I meant Someone Who is Worthy For your Hand Your Majesty."

Saphira Nodded and Use Her Spells to transport herself and Eliza To the Mortal World..inside of her Beautiful Luxurious Mansion..Eliza in human Form..She has White hair and Yellow Diamond eyes..and Saphira in human form is White hair and Blue Sapphire eyes as she dressed so Lovely and elegant clothes. In the Mortal World, Saphira is Super famous that she OutShine Verosika for a famous concerts, Musics, Modeling, especially Movie and Tv star itself as well…and also She owns her company called "Fire Fox co."…So Now..saphira smiles and said,

Saph:"It is good to be back on top, Sighs best things ever.."

She smiles but faded and said,

Saph:"I pray to inari if I ever find someone, I hope He'll treat me Like a queen..or a goddess more or less.."

Eliza: "Of course Dear, Don't worry There's alot of good man out there waiting for you..you'll see"

So Saphira Nodded knowing that Eliza's Reassuring her, Knowing that There's a Hope that someone who would love her…But..There's someone Who is a Scientist and He Always..and Mean Always was Obsessed with her so much that he will Do anything to win her heart, So he Decided to make a Potion which will make him More Hotter and Seductive as ever But Little Does he Knows That the potion will cause him to have a Split Personality Like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde…Meanwhile Saphira was Riding a Limo With Eliza who is now To humans It's Her Assistant Manager as She head to the Company For Modeling…So During the modeling..She hears the knocking and said," OH! Come in, come in…Lets see who was it?" Then the Door Opens When she sees Her Old good nerdy friend and she said"OH! My good Darling friend! How have you been!?" She got up and Hugs him and then he said…

[uhhhh-em-draws-stuff]

So Spider-Man AU won!

Red Hearts is the daughter of the head scientist Bridget Hearts at wonderlabs, a lab specializing in genetic mutation. Her mother wants her to follow in her footsteps in the scientific world, but Red has no interest in science. She wants to pursue art but isn’t allowed to, so she sneaks out at night to use spray paints across the city. Bridget isnt an abusive mother, rather just strict and emotionally distant. Red is enrolled at a science specialized high school even though she has no interest in it. There she met her best friend. Chloe Charming. Chloe is the daughter of the NYPD captain charming and Ella charming who was friends with Bridget in high school. Red has been secretly harboring feelings for Chloe for months now and refuses to tell her, convinced they aren’t returned. As of this point Chloe feels nothing but good friendship for Red.

One night while staying late with her mom at her lab, an escaped spider bites Red on her upper left arm. Red smacks it away and doesn’t think anything of it until she gets home and immediately passes out on her bed face first. She wakes up in the morning and notices she can see without her glasses. Then she walks toward her mirror and notices something is different about her appearance. Her arms are much more muscular than before and she has definition in her abdomen. “oh that’s new” she says. She spends much of her morning trying to control her sudden strength and stickiness, weirdly enough. Red makes it to school in one piece, barely, causing Chloe to worry.

Over the next few weeks she creates a suit and starts dealing with small crimes in her area, to captain charming’s dismay. She creates a persona known as “the red spider”

Meanwhile with Bridget, she is trying to genetically engineer ways to enhance brain performance, but she tested it on herself too early and turns her mind into a Jekyll and Hyde like state with “Bridget” and “The Queen of Hearts” the queen of hearts quickly becomes the red spider’s #1 enemy.

One night the red spider saves Chloe from being mugged in an alley. Chloe starts saying how she can’t shake the feeling that she knows her. The spider refuses and says she must be confused. Chloe slowly rolls up the bottom of her mask and the spider let’s her. She stops just above her nose. She leans in and kisses her in the pouring rain. A few moments later she pulls away and stammers a goodbye and runs into the night leaving a confused Red behind.

The kiss stayed on Chloe’s mind for days, why did she do that? Who did she even kiss? Whoever it was her father despises. She also feels strangely guilty. Feeling like she betrayed Red, but she doesn’t like Red like that? Right?

Afte one particularly bad fight with the queen of hearts, Red manages to swing to Chloe’s bedroom, seeking bandaging, knowing she has to reveal her identity to Chloe. She slips in through the window, Chloe staring mouth agape from her bed. Red slowly pulls off her mask and looks up at Chloe. The two stared at each other for what felt like forever, until the moment was broken by red wincing and clutching her torn up stomach. Chloe rushes over and helps red pull down her suit to her waist and sets her down against her bed. She heads to the bathroom and comes back with a cloth, water, and bandages. She starts to clean the blood and grime off. Once a good amount was cleaned Red noticed Chloe looking at her newly there abs.

“Is THE Chloe charming checking me out?”

Chloe turns the color of Red’s hair and goes “WHAT? NO! ….those are just…new, is all”

Once red is all bandaged up, they lay in Chloe’s bed, side by side. Chloe sighs and says “so we have some things to talk about” Red turns to her and goes “okay I’m sorry i didn’t tell you but I didn’t want you to get hurt and about the kiss, I’ve liked you for like ever and I would’ve let you kiss me even if you didn’t know it was me, but you do now, so I don’t really know what that means for us but-“ the blue haired girl cuts her off with a kiss, placing her hand on the side of Red’s face.

“If you couldn’t tell, I like you, too”

“Oh, really? Couldn’t tell after you kissed me twice.”

A few weeks later the red spider and the queen of hearts have another particularly heated battle. In the last move, the queen throws her cards and the spider creates a reinforced web to bounce them back at her, hitting her square in the stomach. As she lay on the ground, her mask slipped off. The spider slowly approaches the figure and realizes the figure looks familiar. As she reaches her, the cold shiver of realization goes down her spine. Her mother is the queen of hearts. She just HURT her mother, possibly fatally. She rips her mask off and kneels next to her.

“Mom, hey, you’re gonna be okay”

“Red? Wha..what are you doing here?”

“Mom I’m the Red spider. I just hurt you, I’m so sorry please hold on I’ll get help-“

“Red, there isn’t time. I’m going, we have to face it”

“No no no no no no no mom you’re gonna make it, just let me get help”

Bridget grips onto her daughters hand with the little strength she has left.

“Red. Listen to me. I’m dying. Right here. There are some things I want you to do.”

Red nods signaling for her mother to continue.

“I’m leaving wonderlabs to Maddox, I know it was never your dream. You still have a share in the company but all of the stuff I do is left to him. I’m sorry I tried to force science on you, I just wanted you to be successful.”

Bridget takes a shakey breath.

“Keep in touch with chloe, she’s a good girl with a promising future. Maybe one day she’ll work at wonderlabs. I’d love to have her brain there.”

Red feels the tears welling up in her eyes start to fall.

“I love you, Red. I know I didn’t say it enough but I do. So please get out of here so you aren’t wanted for my murder. Go, I love you.”

And with that Bridget was gone. The queen of hearts, the head of wonderlabs, her mother. Gone.

Red flees the scene. She cleans up and prepares to face the press that night. Her funeral was the next week. She was asked to say a few words. She got to the podium and started sobbing immediately before she could say anything , she stepped down and let Maddox talk instead.

The city doesn’t see the red spider for a while after that.

After 6 months, the spider comes back, but something in her air was off, it was more reserved, less chatty, less there, but the city was glad to have her back either way.

Behind closed doors the spider cries in the arms of her girlfriend almost every night, plagued with nightmares and guilt she can never share.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Torn V

Kewis x Child!Reader

Summary: You go to the doctor

Usually, when you go to the doctor, it's because Mom has to have another checkup on her knee.

Lately though, it's because of you.

You go to the GP and then you go to another doctor and then another one.

Mom and Mommy are worried about you but you don't know why. They speak in hushed tones together and always make sure to squeeze you extra tight during bed time cuddles.

You don't understand what's going on, even as you're taken to the special doctor and have sticky things stuck to your head.

Mommy says that it's to check you're healthy. You don't know why you have to be checked like this all of a sudden but it's not too bad.

Mom had surgery before. That's scary.

Having weird things stuck to your head isn't scary, not really so you force yourself to be brave.

You get to hold your favourite dino toy nice and tight as you look up at flashing lights and the nurses set you up for the rest of your tests.

Things are weird but you must be brave like how Mommy was brave to move across the world to be with Mom and how Mom was brave when she had her knee surgery.

You have to be brave because Mom and Mommy are brave all the time and you don't want them to see you scared.

You go for more appointments too, to get your blood drawn and to be checked over.

Then, it's a round of waiting.

Mom and Mommy don't tell you what's going on, not really, but they hold you more often.

You're sitting in the doctor's office again when your moms get told the results.

Kristie's been anxious all morning, knee bouncing as the doctor pulls up your file.

Any number of things could be wrong with you.

She'd doom scrolled through google last night, reading about cancer and tumours for so long that Sam had to take her phone from her and hold her as she cried.

You'd never been sick like this before. Sure, you'd had the flu and a tummy bug before but your random zone outs are nothing like that.

Kristie doesn't know how long you've been having them, doesn't know how long they've been ignored for. She doesn't know if they're going to get worse or if you've already hit the worst of them.

She takes Sam's hand tightly in her own, eyes darting down to the floor where you're amusing yourself playing with your dinosaur toys.

"Alright and this is for the little one, right?"

Kristie nods.

"Can you confirm her name?"

"y/n Mewis-Kerr."

"And birthdate?"

Kristie answers easily and squeezes Sam's hand.

"Right." The doctor types in a few more things before swinging his chair around to face them.

"Is she okay?"

"That depends on what your idea of okay is. We can make a diagnosis after seeing the results of her tests."

"And?" Sam asks, getting a bit impatient with this man trying to delay telling them.

He reaches across the desk to grab a pamphlet, offering it up to them.

"We're very confident that Miss y/n has CAE. Childhood Absence Epilepsy."

"Epilepsy," Sam repeats," She's been having seizures?"

The doctor nods. "Now, there's not much to worry about at this stage." He opens the leaflet and points to a section. "The type of seizure she's been having are absence seizures. These are normal enough and aren't as dangerous as others."

"So...So she'll be okay?"

The doctor purses his lips. "Most kids grow out of it by the time they're teenagers but..."

Kristie sighs. "Some don't."

"There is a chance that she'll develop a different type of epilepsy as she grows up."

"That's it?" Sam scoffs, something unfamiliar swelling in her chest. "Oh, your kid has epilepsy! Here you go?!"

"Sam!" Kristie hisses.

"Mom?"

The room falls silent as you twist around to look at Sam, broken out of your play by her loud voice.

"Are you okay?"

Sam looks at you, mouth hung open for a moment before she opens her arms up for you.

You go to her willingly, letting her lift you up onto her lap.

"We're talking to the doctor about you, chook," Kristie says," He's going to help you get better."

"But I'm not sick," You tell her," Am I sick, Mommy?"

Kristie shakes her head. "No, chook and we're going to keep you that way. Let's just listen to what the doctor has to say."

The doctor clears his throat. "From what I've seen and what you've told me, I'm going to recommend some medicine to keep her seizures under control. I'll send off the prescription in a moment and the pharmacy will call you when it's ready. All the dosages and instructions are on the bottle."

Kristie nods as Sam holds you tighter than before.

"We'll schedule another appointment in a month so we can check how she's doing on her new medication and we'll adjust as needed. She'll also need to be seen by her neurologist at least once a year just to check on how she's doing."

"And...And if she does develop a different type of epilepsy?" Sam asks tentatively.

"Then we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

[little-diable]

A Broken Down Bike and Racing Hearts – Benny Cross (smut)

Well, I watched The Bikeriders yesterday, and I did warn y'all. I simply have to write for Benny (maybe also Johnny?). I haven't read any Benny fics yet, so this may have been done before. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Benny's bike breaks down right in front of the reader's house, who invites him in to stay the night while a thunderstorm rages outside.

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected piv, choking, slight possessiveness

Pairings: Benny Cross x fem!reader (2k words)

Contains no spoilers!

Her eyes followed his every movement. It had only been a handful of minutes since he had broken down with his bike right in front of her house. No words had been shared between them so far. While he kept fumbling with different parts of his bike, she kept smoking her cigarettes, studying the handsome man with piercing eyes. 

She didn’t look away once, not as he seemed to give up on fixing his bike with a sigh, not as he placed a cigarette between his plush lips with his gaze set on (y/n). Something about him drew her in. Perhaps it was the cut that told a story of brotherhood, of family united by something thicker than blood. Perhaps it was simply the handsome face she wouldn’t mind seeing every now and then. Whatever it was, it urged her on to finally part her lips. 

“I doubt you’ll manage to leave this place tonight.” Her gaze flickered up to the dark sky, knowing that it’d start raining any minute now. The guy wordlessly followed her gaze while blowing out a thick blue cloud of smoke matching hers.

“Is that an invitation to stay at your place for the night?” His voice was raspy, perfectly matching the growing smirk finding its way to his lips. 

“Well, if there’s one thing I know about you bikers, it is that it’s better to have you as a friend than as an enemy. And who knows, maybe I’ll need your help one of these days too.” (Y/n) rose to her feet. She allowed herself to study him for a second or two before turning on her heel to make it back inside her house. The second she crossed the threshold, it began raining as if God himself were urging the stranger to follow her, knowing that this very match would endure all following obstacles. 

The sound of his boots meeting her wooden stairs left her smiling, forcing her to turn back to him as he softly closed the door behind himself. He stepped out of his boots, ran a hand through his golden locks, and let his eyes wander. 

“I’m (y/n).” She softly spoke her name while her feet carried her towards her open kitchen, reaching for two bottles of beer.

“Benny.” It was a simple reply–just his name–nothing more, and yet she didn’t need anything else. She reached the bottle out for him to take, trying to bite down the sharp intake of air wanting to leave her as their hands met. He was a stranger, nothing more than a pretty face, but the excitement his closeness pushed through her, left (y/n) wondering how this night may play out, knowing that she wasn’t one to shy away from an opportunity like this. 

“Are you hungry, Benny? You must have been on the road for a while.” Benny only nodded his head as he took another sip of his beer. He was unusually cautious for a biker–at least in comparison to those she had met before–but (y/n) didn’t mind his calm demeanour, grateful for the comforting feeling he emanated. 

“Do you live here alone?” He plopped down on her kitchen island, letting his feet dangle in the air while he watched her cook. The moment had something homey to it, a domestic atmosphere she hadn’t ever experienced before, torn from a broken home at an early age. Sometimes she had imagined a life like this, with a husband close to love her, to appreciate her like she had always craved. 

“I do. It’s just me around here.” The hum leaving him forced her gaze towards him, unable to bite down her smile at the way he studied her. He seemed to be just as fascinated with her, drawn to the woman who had invited a stranger into her house solemnly because she knew saying no to a biker could end badly for her. But Benny was different–that much she knew already. 

“Must get lonely.” Her tongue kissed her teeth at his comment, trying to hold back from dumping the confusing emotions she had always felt on him. It did get lonely from time to time. But there was no escaping this situation, at least not for now, and she had made her peace with it, grateful that she could live however she wanted to. 

“You get used to it. What about you? Who are you running away from?” The silence that followed her question grew thicker with every passing moment. She was patient, waiting for him to find the strength to speak while she finished cooking their food. The past years had taught her enough about trauma, stress, and fear to understand how much people struggled with whatever it was they were running away from. 

Whatever it was that Benny couldn’t speak of, she wouldn’t force him to let her in, not when she could offer him a safe space for a few hours at least. 

……

“I could take you on a ride as soon as it’s fixed.” Benny was sitting on her couch, feet placed on the small table, as he was nursing another beer. She was sitting close, feet placed in his lap, breaking through the layers that had turned them from strangers to somewhat friends already. 

It had taken Benny almost an hour to let her in, to tell her of the struggles he had faced, the people he was running from, and the fear he couldn’t shake, no matter how fast he was driving, close to bidding this life goodbye. She had listened to his every thought, keeping quiet while he rambled on, finding safety in her closeness. 

“Careful, Benny, you’d have to keep me around for that.” The grin she shot him left him laughing, head rolling back to give the raspy sound enough room to break through him. It was a beautiful sight, leaving her buzzing with heat flushing through her that begged her to move closer. 

Something was lingering between the two, binding them closer together while both waited for the right moment to cross the last line between them.

“Would that be so bad?” It was close to a whisper, rolling off his tongue while he turned his head back towards her. (Y/n) felt heat rise up her spine, whispering to her to give her darkest and deepest longings enough room as if she was drunk off her face, unable to hold back. Benny held a special kind of magic over her, an unfamiliar sensation she couldn’t pinpoint just yet. 

“I don’t think you’re one for keeping women around. And I don’t want to leave this place.” He shuffled around, placed his bottle down before leaning closer towards her. His bright eyes danced over her face while his ringed hand found her cheek, cupping it softly. Benny’s thumb ran over her parted lips, unable to hold back his groan as she sucked his digit into her mouth. 

And then everything happened all too quickly. One second he was staring down at her, and the next she was sitting on his lap, lips locked with his. It wasn’t a soft kiss; it was rough, urged on by their need to be touched, to feel some form of love they hadn’t experienced in months, perhaps even years. 

Trembling fingers worked on one another’s clothes, letting the fabrics drop on the ground while their mouths explored the places that hadn’t been touched in a while. Moans rumbled through them, filling her living room as the last piece of clothing found its way to the ground. 

(Y/n)’s heart was racing, pounding in her chest while Benny couldn’t help but marvel at her body; at every inch he was now fortunate enough to touch. His fingers felt cold against her heat as he pressed her back down on the couch, brushing through her folds to spread her arousal on her pulsing bundle. All while (y/n) tugged on his golden curls with her back arched off the couch and her toes curled in anticipation.

“You’re fucking beautiful, doll.” She barely picked up on his words, too far gone to focus on the praises Benny spoke. His fingers moved fast enough to make black dots appear in her vision, leaving her eyes to flutter while her orgasm crept closer and closer. He dipped his head down to suck marks into the soft skin of her chest, letting his teeth graze her skin to make her feel as if she was burning, set ablaze by his touch. 

“Benny,” she choked on his name. Her thighs were trembling, body aching for the relief he was about to push through her. She wanted to speak more words, wanted to tell him how good he was making her feel, but she didn’t manage to, interrupted by the loud moan clawing through her. 

She came with his name rolling off her tongue, spoken like a mantra she had learned by heart years ago. He kept moving his fingers, circling her pulsing bundle for a few more seconds before letting go. They held eye contact, staring at one another with growing smiles that were glued to their lips. The sound of thunder rang in their ears, followed by the heavily falling rain that rushed down her windows, adding even more intensity to the atmosphere lingering in the room. 

Benny didn’t speak a warning before he flipped her around, only to press her chest against the armrest of her couch. She heard him spit into his palm and heard the soft groan rumbling through him as he pumped his cock a few times before finally pushing into her from behind. Both groaned in unison at the way he pushed into her, spreading her walls around his twitching cock. 

“Feels so good, Benny, move, please.” He instantly gave in to her begging, pulling out of her only to push back in with more force. It didn’t take him long to find a comfortable rhythm, fast enough to leave her choking on gasps, slow enough to give the two enough time to savour every passing second. 

“You belong to me now, doll. I can’t let you go again.” (Y/n) didn’t properly understand what he meant by these words, too focused on the feeling of his hand finding her throat, pulling her into his chest. He tightened his grasp on her throat to hold on to her while he fucked them closer towards their high, knowing that they’d give in soon. 

“Tell me that you’re mine.” He murmured the words against the back of her neck, while he left yet another mark that wouldn’t fade for a while. She was trembling in his grasp, struggling to reply while he softly choked her, heightening her senses. “Speak, (y/n).”

“I’m yours, fuck, Benny, I’ll always be yours.” A satisfied hum left him at her words–a hum that gave her the final push to throw herself over the edge. She came again with a moan, with squeezed-together eyes and her teeth buried in her lower lip. Benny kept snapping his hips against her behind, chasing his own high with his moans vibrating on her skin. 

A deep “Fuck” left him as he came, pulling out of her just in time to paint her behind with his cum. Both were panting, holding onto the couch while they came down from their highs, unable to see through the hazy fog just yet. 

“I mean it, doll, we belong together now.” He pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder before he rose to his feet to disappear from her sight. Her mind was racing, her heart was pounding, but no matter how confused she was, deep down she knew that she wouldn’t want to let go of him, following Benny wherever he’d take her.

[misslovasstuff]

Op!men with girlfriends that get excited about them being angry

paired with: Sanji, Zoro, Ace and Law.

content: kinda suggestive (nsfw)

Sanji

he would NEVER get angry at you, like NEVER

Sanji didn’t know about this weird side of yours but being the sharp genius that he is, sometimes there were clues he put together when you two were being intimate

Let’s just say you got a bit too excited when he grabbed your flesh tightly and when you hear him groan, at times when you teased him at the point when you think he’d snap at you… but he didn’t

He was torn apart between ‘do I give her what she wants so she’s satisfied’ and ‘but I would never wanna hurt or disrespect a woman’.

Despite the dilemma, he especially noticed your gaze on him when he was angry or whenever he was fighting an opponent

He’d think you’d have a more worrisome look on your face but no, you’re literally melting while watching his eyebrows furrowed and jaw clenched as he cusses some filthy words out of frustration

He brushes it off this time as well, thinking whether he should ask you about it.

However, when you thought that there was no way Sanji would ever get mad at you, there is a detail you ignored: he gets most angry when you’re in danger

So the day you voluntarily put yourself in harm’s way, that was the day you sat down and listened to him attentively as he ranted at your carelessness.

“You think going on your own against such a strong opponent is the right thing? You could have died if I didn’t come at the right time! What were you thinking?!”

His tone of voice is louder than usual, his eyes wide and not looking at anything else but you.

Sanji sighs and rubs his temple, closing his eyes to recollect himself.

Once he opens them and gazes at your direction, about to apologise for the way he got mad at you just now, he meets your blushing face and eyes that reflect a gaze much in awe.

Obviously you were in an effect other than what Sanji expected.

“Uhm, love? Are you alright, I’m sorry, I just… you have no idea how worried you got me and…”

You blink after a while, gulping as you cross your legs and giving a fake cough.

“No need to apologise. I acted selfishly.”

Sanji notices your flushed demeanour. Seeing you sat on that chair, legs crossed, a strong grip on the base and head lowered down as to hide your blush, it made him smirk a little bit as he approached slowly.

He presses his hands on your thighs as he parts your legs, his face only centimetres away from yours. He’s grinning, scanning your face and realising that he was right about his doubts:

“You like it when I’m mad at you, huh?”

Sanji asks and you avoid his gaze but he tilts his head to meet it nevertheless.

“You get excited by watching me so heated up, don’t you?”

Biting your lip, you finally meet his eyes and nod.

“You must be so frustrated then. It’s almost impossible to make me mad at you.”

You sigh: “Tell me about it.”

After you both chuckle, Sanji leans in and whispers in your ear:

“I can give a list of things you can do to make me mad, love. I also like it when my girl misbehaves sometimes.”

Zoro

“You’re an absolute freak you know that?”

“Oh come on Zoro, say it one more time for me…”

Your boyfriend is not known for his patience.

Zoro sighs, rolling his eyes with a hidden smile: “You’re impossible. How can you be into this kind of thing? Listen to me and just-“

You pout, averting your gaze and giving up on convincing him.

But your boyfriend is known for having a weak spot for you.

Zoro notices, grabbing your hand and guides you to somewhere.

You’re confused but follow him nonetheless.

He stops and gazes around then pushes you harshly against the wall, his arms surrounding you.

“Want me to get mad at you? That’d be easy giving how much you get on my nerves.”

Of course, you let out a soft moan, undeniably making the swordsman excited on his own accord as well.

“You always wanna get your way!”

He whispers aggressively, grabbing a hold of your hair, causing you to tilt your head.

“Why you never listen to me, huh?!”

Zoro’s voice becomes louder in a breathy way as he bites your ear, then drags his lips along your jaw.

“I listen to you, Zoro… I really do…”

You moan his name as your hands press against his chest, travelling up where you put them around his neck.

With this, Zoro pulls you closer as you arch your back, leaving bite marks on your neck.

“You won’t do this again, right? - Zoro asks. It receives no response other than your loud moaning. - Right?”

He asks again, grabbing your jaw and making you look at his gaze directly which is so firm, fierce and possessive.

“I won’t… I won’t…” - you whisper, gazing at his lips before he crashes his with yours, beginning one of the hottest make out sessions you ever had.

It’s not your fault he ends up doing what you want over and over again and that’s the key that makes him mad, and that’s how you know he likes it too.

Ace

“Fucking shit!” - Ace cusses, throwing his broken log pose in the sea.

When he does so, his body catches fire a little bit but he doesn’t seem to notice or mind.

You on the other hand, you do notice of course.

The way he brushes his hair backward as he sighs, placing his hands on his hips as he tilts his head back, gazing at the sky.

“Fuck it, that was the only way we could find our way to the island. Damn it!”

Whilst his back is in front of you, Ace does not notice you biting your lip and looking at him up and down.

“Don’t get so mad, babe. I’m sure we will figure it out.” - you state, getting up and hugging him from behind, hands resting on his chest which he grabs and lets you experience the warmth.

“Right. - he calms down, turning to face you. - Now, why are you looking at me like that?”

Ace is intrigued at the expression of your face. There was obvious excitement there and the way you’re now pressing your chest against his is making the guy visibly confused.

“Does it make you mad that I’m looking at you this way?” - you ask, giggling.

“Of course not, sweet thing. How can I be mad at you?” - he puts some strands behind your ear and notices now a bit of disappointment evidently shown in your face.

“Can you say that again for me?” - you ask, tracing his chest with your finger.

“Say what?”

“The way you cussed earlier… can you…”

Ace was catching on with what you meant, but still thought is was funny to hear you say it out loud.

“Tell me, - he grabs your chin a bit harshly. - what do you want me to say to you?”

You gulp, licking your lips before claiming:

“Get mad at me like that, say ‘damnit’ and ‘fuck’ to me.

“Ohhh, - Ace smirks, pulling your lower lip down with his thumb. - I have a better idea, how about I fuck you instead? Promise I’ll get angry at you as you ride me in an agonising slow pace and make me mad at my core, aight?”

Law

Your boyfriend acts nonchalant most of the time. It you know deep down this man is crazy for you.

He’s usually calm and collected and the few times you’ve seen him lose his marbles was around the time you traveled with the strawhats.

Now you wonder, how can you make him a bit mad, just a little bit to spice things up.

However all your efforts did not amount to anything. The way you achieved what you wanted was from a random man who approached you on the street while you were with Law.

“What a beauty! You’re free tonight, sweetheart? I’ll rock your world i prom-

Certainly he was drunk, but Law did not hesitate in teleporting that man away as you heard a scream from afar.

“Asshole.” - he cusses, grabbing your hand tightly as continuing walking.

Your heart is beating like crazy. You didn’t want to provoke him further but on the other hand…

“He said he was gonna rock my world.” - you claim, smiling at him as he turns his face to look at you, confused.

“So what? - Law asks, stoping his pace and pulling you by your hand into his arms. - You’re curious now?”

It’s hard to hide your blush as his eyes gaze into yours with a passion different from other times. His grip on your waist tightens as his hands travel up your body to your chest.

You let out a small moan: “maybe I’m curious, yes.” Trying to tease him backfire as he grins and whispers to you.

“You’re really making me mad here. - he gropes your tights aggressively. - You know damn well I can rock your world as well, don’t you?”

In attempt to keep him irritated, you say: “I might have forgotten about that.”

Man, the look in eyes is insane.

“Oh, really?” - law questions, shaking his head and clicking his jaw. - He teases your nipples with his fingers, making you suck in your teeth.

“Let me refresh your damn screwed memory then, love.”

[neptuneiris]

Cruel Summer (03/10)

Against the Tide

pairing: modern!aemond × fem!reader

summary: at Crown's family tensions rise and you keep running into a person you shouldn't talk to. but both he and you can't help testing the waters.

words: 9.3k

thank you to @peachysunrize for being my beta reader, she also helped me in the previous chapter and I forgot to mention her, but finally here she is. love you bestie!❤

previous part • next part • series masterlist

I am so excited for you to read this chapter! from the next chapters onwards, what we have been waiting for begins (forbidden love)🤭 and I want to thank you once again for all the support you are giving to the story, you guys are amazing and you don't know how much I appreciate it🙏🏻 now enjoy!

warnings: half smut, language.

Sunset's Pier stretches along the boardwalk, a vibrant and lively place, especially on summer evenings.

In the distance, waves break gently against the pier and shore pillars, while palm trees sway in the cool ocean breeze.

Wooden planks creak under the feet of visitors, while the smell of the sea and freshly made food fills the air. 

The stores lining the pier are clearly divided, some full of luxury, with glittering windows displaying designer dresses and accessories. And there are other more modest stores, where prices are more affordable.

Or as it would be technically said among the locals of Sunset's: stores for the rich and stores for the poor.

After an exhausting afternoon trying to surf with the boys, Alysanne drags you into the stores, excited to find something nice for tonight's party.

The two of you walk between shop windows, exploring the options, especially in the stores where you can both afford to shop. But Alysanne stops in front of one of the more expensive stores. 

You watch as she gawks at a blue bikini on display on the mannequin, the color as deep as the ocean at sunset.

"Look at this!" she exclaims excitedly, almost pressing her face against the glass, "It would be perfect for tonight's party. If only I had the money to buy it," she murmurs between excited and disappointed.

You smile, understanding the desire. The bikini is really beautiful but it is obvious that the price must be very high.

"Don't you have any savings?" you ask her.

"No," she laments, "I used it to fix my phone, did you forget? I can't afford to buy a new one so I have to fix the one I already have."

"Well, I guess I—

A high-pitched laugh interrupts the conversation and when you both turn around, you instantly recognize the people.

Perfectly coiffed black hair and shiny red hair. All those impeccably dressed girls, with expensive handbags, gold accessories and designer sunglasses; Baratheon and Lannister.

But you distinguish precisely Floris Baratheon, Aemond's girlfriend.

All of them in a group watch you both with a mocking face for two things; for being in front of a store like this and for being longing for the beautiful blue bikini.

And even though they don't know you, it doesn't matter that they bother you for the radar of recognizing poor people, because the difference between you and Alysanne is too big compared to them, who can afford to shop here.

Especially since the top you are wearing at the moment is torn on one side. You don't see much but they've already seen it, as well as inspecting your dirty, old tennis shoes.

"Do you really think you can buy anything here?" speaks precisely Floris with a venomous tone, with a sneer as he looks at the bikini and then at both of you, "It's a shame you can only look. Not everyone has the privilege of affording something so nice."

"Yeah, maybe someday you can get it... in the next millennium sales."

They laugh among themselves, clearly enjoying the moment of superiority. And you clench your jaw, annoyed, especially as you watch Alysanne lower her gaze in humiliation.

"Excuse me, do we know you?" you inquire.

You obviously know them, but you won't indulge them.

"Oh dear, everyone here knows us, especially me," Floris says superiorly, adjusting her sunglasses.

"Even your kind know who we are," Cerelle also speaks with clear contempt.

Alysanne regains her composure and you instantly notice.

"Yes, we know you are such a bunch of idiotic, shallow people for thinking that the price of clothing defines someone."

"Some of us have more important things in life than spending money on something so insignificant," you too stand up for yourself and your people.

They all let out a laugh, where Floris takes a step toward you.

“Yeah, sure. The poor always find an excuse to justify their misery. How pathetic and sad," she feigns an exaggerated pout.

"I'd rather be poor than be as empty as you," Alysanne next to you snaps at her.

She arches an eyebrow at her, amused and clearly entertained, as she folds her arms in her arrogant attitude.

"Empty, huh? Well, it's better to be empty than desperate, like you two. Keep dreaming of things you can never have. But don't worry, being poor and living on the filthy side of town, dreaming is free."

"And who do you think you are huh?" Alysanne lunges at her, "You think because you are rich I can't break your face or what?"

You quickly stop her holding her by the arm, worried and of course, Floris recoils back with a frightened face and her friends don't take long to instantly surround her, shielding her as if they were her wall of protection.

"Not so talkative and brave now huh!?"

"Hey, Aly," you hold her back, "Stop it. It's not worth it."

Floris and all of them look at you both with despise.

"See? They're all savages," she says without again getting too close.

"Oh yes, very savage, just because we're defending ourselves from you making fun of us and making us less," Alysanne tells her firmly and in a defiant tone, "But you can't even defend yourself. So I advise you to talk less or I'll break that pretty rich girl face of yours."

It is clear that Floris wants to say more mean words, but she stops when she notices someone else walking towards the group, completely oblivious to the situation and you also recognize this person; Helaena Targaryen.

She with her usual calm, appears near you, but stops just in front of another nearby store, casually observing a clothing through the glass without noticing the tensions.

And you curiously notice how Floris, upon seeing her, remains silent for a moment. Then you guess that she doesn't want to show her true colors in front of her sister-in-law.

"Let's go," she orders in a lower and less confident tone than before.

Her friends obey without another word and begin to walk away, but not before giving your cousin a last contemptuous and disdainful glance at your side.

And you too, of course.

Helaena also leaves with them as they approach her, her silver hair shining in the sunlight and moving with impeccable grace.

Alysanne lets out a frustrated sigh next to you, still angry. 

"I can't believe those idiots think they have the right to treat us like this. And all because of what? For not being rich like them?" she inquires in disbelief, "Do you realize how stupid that is?"

"Let them stay in their bubble," you mutter, feeling just as irritated, "We're not rich but we're better people than they are."

Alysanne takes a deep breath, shaking off the adrenaline of the moment, then you both go your own way, trying not to let this thing that happened ruin your day.

Especially since you have another party tonight, unfortunately with those girls, but it's not like you're going to be with them.

And just as ten o'clock at night falls, Cregan's car and the excited shouts of the guys rushing you to get into the car can be heard practically all over the street.

Alysanne again shushes them, as your uncle and aunt are asleep, as well as most likely the neighbors, and you both quickly get into the car amidst laughter and scolding of the guys.

Then Cregan's car speeds up and soon all of you are walking into the Crown's side.

The party is as always; on the beach. And it's everything you'd expect being among the rich. The DJ can't miss, the clean beach, the pier, the yachts and the smell of alcohol mixed with the sea breeze, among other substances.

Tonight you decide not to focus on the people around you and together with the guys, sit on the white sand, while Cregan and Sam go for as many beers and bottles of champagne as possible.

Alysanne is also not in the mood to be inspecting and lusting after Pandora accessories on all the rich girls that are here. So the two of you relax.

Chase lights the bonfire in the center and pretty soon everyone is drinking, talking and laughing, enjoying the party and nothing else.

Every now and then some guys come up to greet Cregan, who greets them back without much enthusiasm and returns to the group, where you notice how attentive he is especially to Alysanne.

You don't say anything and just continue drinking, laughing at the guys' jokes and burning a few marshmallows, when then... you feel it.

A piercing look on your face.

You don't doubt it's a girl inspecting you, so you don't think anything of it at first. But then... it's as if that look burns you and wants to see through you, sending shivers through your whole body.

You look around, just out of curiosity, but when you raise your gaze absentmindedly towards the direction of the yachts, to the part of the deck specifically, your eyes meet piercing blue eyes.

Then you see him.

Aemond Targaryen.

Time seems to stand still and you feel more of the weight of his gaze, that same weight you felt last night on the pier, when he caught you.

You also feel a surge of nerves course through your body, with your heart racing as you remember the night before. It's not fear, but it's something close to it. 

Because now he's caught you here too, at a party of his people, at Crown's.

And the weird thing is that you didn't expect it and you feel so silly about the fact. How could you not think that he would be here and that the two of you would probably see each other after last night?

Even though it's no longer a probability, he's seeing you right now and sees what you're doing; pretending to be one of them.

You watch as his gaze briefly sweeps over the guys you're with and honestly... you don't know how to feel about it. Technically, you're not doing anything wrong here either, are you?

‘Then why do you feel so embarrassed?’

His piercing eye again focuses on you and you, for some strange reason, don't look away and neither does he. It's as if the two of you are caught in a game you can't avoid. 

No one seems to notice the silent exchange between the two of you, except you and him. But you know that talking to him, getting close to him in public, is impossible.

You know it and you know he knows it too. It's like a law in Sunset's among its locals but more specifically among those your age; the rich and the poor can't be friends.

You bite the inside of your cheek, even without both of you looking away, where both of you are too far away to say anything to each other, but the looks say it all.

Then, it is he who looks away when Floris holds his face and kisses him softly on the lips, claiming his attention. You feel a sting of something pinch your stomach and you force yourself to stop focusing on him as well.

You try to refocus on what the guys around you are saying, but you can't, not now that he's here too.

You didn't tell anyone about what happened last night with him on his pier, because nothing really bad happened, except the fact that you almost got caught.

It was just a conversation with the son of the richest man in the whole country and heir to his fortune, nothing more. 

Although the memory has followed you ever since.

Unable to help yourself, you look at him again, where you see him surrounded by his friends and also distinguish his brother, Aegon. And of course, Floris, sitting on his lap.

He is no longer watching you but you wonder what he might be thinking now that he has seen you here too.

'Probably nothing.'

You think, since for him, what happened on the pier was just a conversation, a small slip in which you both sought some solace and nothing more, an insignificant moment.

What else could he think of having shared his time with a Black Waves girl? 

You let out a long breath and your eyes roam his features, as the same thoughts from last night return to your mind when you were also slyly admiring him.

'He is so handsome.'

You think as you also admire his short silver hair and see a silver chain peeking out from between the collar part of his shirt, with that simple accessory making him look so ridiculously good.

But you cannot pass Floris Baratheon unnoticed, on his lap, talking to him and leaving from time to time some kisses on his lips or on his cheek.

You shake your head, clearly being impossible, since he belongs to a world that is not yours, to a social class that would see you as an intruder if you even tried to approach.

So you can only think that what happened on the pier was just a one-time thing, a quirk and a moment that you must now bury in oblivion.

Aemond Targaryen, as a child, does not remember a single moment when his family did not attract attention.

He does not remember a single moment where his mother did not ask him, as well as his siblings, to accompany her and his father to an event in the town for work and simply to see them all together as a perfect and powerful family.

He has forgotten the countless times where his father, Viserys, introduces him and his siblings to his associates and all those important people more as trophies than as what they really are; his children.

With Aegon the introduction is brief, for after all, no one expected his first eldest son not to follow in his same footsteps as his older first daughter did, Rhaenyra.

But Aemond knows that Aegon is... uncontrollable. 

As a teenager he began to show signs that he didn't want to go into business or anything like it or anything relatively formal. 

As much as his mother, Alicent, and even his own father and grandfather Otto tried to scold, persuade and convince him, it only caused Aegon to back away from the idea and start doing whatever he pleased.

For him only desire has always been to simply live life and find out what he really wants.

Then there is Helaena, who followed the same path as Aegon but in a more controlled way and with different aspirations to life though just as flattering, which is to study marine biology.

And finally there is him, Aemond Targaryen.

He saw the whole process of his older brothers in deciding not to devote himself to the business or rather empire that his father has built. With Aegon it all turned out to be a disaster but Helaena was more persuasive.

So someone had to do it, follow in his father's footsteps as Rhaenyra did, but this time a man, a son and that had to be him.

Daeron still lacked time to decide and grow up some more. So he watched as his father began to despair and have fights with his mother and everyone at home for not being able to choose the aspirations and decisions of his children.

So it was he who calmed the storm at home when he announced that he would apply to college to study business management to carry on the Targaryen legacy, just like Rhaenyra.

His father was overjoyed, as was his mother and for the first time, in that small moment, Aemond felt that he was finally receiving that recognition and appreciation from him.

But then he realized that it was never worth it.

After searching for so long for a way for his father to finally see him for what he is, his son, when that moment came it wasn't worth it and it didn't make him feel any better.

Because Aemond knows deep down that only his father was happy for him out of convenience, to mold him to how he wants and because that way, he is just another piece on his board.

And it became quite clear to him the moment his father expressed his idea about the Baratheon's.

Viserys, even with all he has and having an advisor at his side like his grandfather Otto, wants more.

And Borros Baratheon is that more by being the owner of the most important commercial fleet operating along the entire Pacific coast of all. Viserys needs to transport freight for its big company, which is what Borros does.

Viserys needs freight for his great enterprise, which is what Borros is all about. But Borros Baratheon is a difficult and greedy man who also wants more, even to Viserys Targaryen himself.

So he and his entire team focus on an easier target that will get him to the finish line; his daughter, Floris.

Any of his daughters would have sufficed, but considering Floris is about the same age as Aemond and his father had already seen her get her hopes up for him at events, it was the perfect idea.

At first Aemond refused. For the moment he had no intention with any girl, especially any of the Baratheon sister’s. But his father insisted.

Viserys explained to him how much he needed such a partnership and asked him to start asking her out to eventually formalize and make the deal with his father easier.

Aemond tried to help him find other alternatives, tried to make him understand that he didn't want nor could he play with Floris' feelings in that way to achieve a partnership.

But none of that helped.

His mother sided with his father, with the difference that she was more sensible on the subject and asked him to try and take the time to get to know her, that maybe he might really like her.

So he had to give in and before long, he was in a formal relationship with Floris Baratheon.

And now this is his life.

Not that much has changed, but there are these fights at home between her mother and father because there's really no love between them. 

There's also fighting between his father and his siblings over the choice of what they really want to do with their lives while they're all attending events to pretend to be this perfect family that they are.

And he's in a relationship with a person he doesn't really want to be with and as soon as the summer is over, he's going off to college to study with pressure and expectations on his shoulders for a degree he doesn't really want to study.

But as anyone in Sunset's would think, both Crown's and Black Waves; the Targaryens are perfect.

“Hey.”

A voice pulls him out of his thoughts and he looks up as he sees Aegon approaching him, shorts on, sandals, a white t-shirt, sunglasses and phone in hand.

"I was looking all over for you. What are you doing?"

He lets out a long breath and closes his book to place it back on the shelf.

"What do you want?"

"Get dressed. We have a party tonight," he lets him know, then starts typing on his phone.

"Another one?" he asks with a serious look on his face.

"What?" he becomes indignant, shrugging, "Come on, it's summer. And everyone will be there. Cassandra told me Floris is going."

"I don't want to go."

He looks at him with a frown.

"What are you talking about?" he asks him blankly, "You're going to stay here reading these stupid books all summer? You're going to college for another two months!"

"Helaena and Daeron will go with you, I don't understand why you want me to go too," he tells him grumpily, choosing another of the many books in the library.

"Helaena is sick and Daeron promised to stay with her to watch movies," he tells him as if were the gravest sins in the world, "Come on, man. Come with me. And I won't ask you for anything again, this will be the last time, I promise."

"That's what you always say, like I don't know you," he says as he picks up a book and sets it on the table, "You're just so fucking annoying."

Aegon lets out a frustrated groan.

"Come on, don't be like that. You'll have more time to read and be doing these boring things you like to do," he tries to convince him, pointing to the books.

But Aemond says nothing to him and, of course, Aegon starts to throw his tantrum.

"Aemond," he complains, "Come on, please."

And the sound of his voice is already starting to annoy him, especially being in the library.

“Aegon—

"Come on," he interrupts him, insistent, "I really don't want to stay here and listen to dad yelling and fighting with mom all night, man." 

Aemond lets out a long breath again and with nonchalant movements watches his brother over his shoulder, looking serious and now slowly becoming resigned.

And soon enough, they are both already in his car, driving towards the Lannister house.

Normally he wouldn't have agreed to come, but he recognizes that Aegon is right and the truth is that he doesn't want to stay at home listening to his parents' quarrels either.

Even though his house is huge, the shouting echoes through the halls, and then his father in all his anger goes against Aegon as well, where Helaena intervenes, then Daeron and finally him to try to calm the waters.

And he's tired of it.

Just last night another one of those fights happened, his mother was almost in tears and Helaena too, while Aegon and his father were shouting all the worst things possible at each other.

And that's why he decided to go to the pier after he failed to fall asleep.

As he drives, his gaze softens as he remembers you. 

He still doesn't understand how a girl like you, from Black Waves, for a whole year was going to his family's pier at midnight without being discovered. 

He doesn't understand how you did it either and he's not sure he wants to know. He was about to call security, of that he has no doubt, especially considering the robberies some of his neighbors suffered. 

Because that's what he first thought, that you were a thief and he was trying to do something with his yacht.

However, it was something in your fear and pleading, perhaps also that you didn't have something suspicious on hand to try to do harm and the sincerity in your gaze after silently evaluate you that he saw to finally understand that you weren't doing anything wrong.

It was bad to cross over private property but other than that, he saw you earlier, before he approached from a distance, sitting on the edge of the pier looking out over the horizon.

But he still had to make sure and it all turned out very interesting.

That you were on his pier, risking that you could be caught, simply because that place gives you peace and quiet, caught his attention.

It seemed... unusual. Something out of the ordinary. Maybe because you're a Black Waves girl.

But still, it's something he's not used to hearing from others in appreciating something so simple and plain but so meaningful to that person.

And being there with you... everything in his mind disappeared.

All his excessive thoughts, frustrations, pressures, expectations and stress disappeared for a moment, which is very difficult for him to do in the midst of all the storm in his mind.

And strangely, because he shouldn't have, he spent a nice time with you, an unknown Black Waves girl, even if he didn't show it much at the time.

He doubts that was a good idea, to let you stay and still tell you that you can keep going to thepier. But technically... nothing bad happened.

And doubt that I'll ever see you again, last night was just a coincidence, besides that shouldn't happen, right?

In the town where you both live, a poor girl and a rich man can't even be friends. And much less he can afford something like that because of his family name.

Again his thoughts are interrupted as they enter the area where the Lannisters live and Aegon immediately chatter excitedly about how amazing the party looks.

And soon enough the two find themselves walking onto the beach and onto the Lannister dock.

It's the same as always, there's really nothing new, just decorations, DJ, open bar with bottles of vodka, wine and champagne as well as beer, cocktails and the smell of cigarettes and weed in the salty air.

All the people are dancing and getting drunk, as well as there are other people having mini bonfires, drinking and burning marshmallows.

When a group of people catches Aegon's eye on one of the yachts, he takes no time at all to drag him along with him.

And just like that he meets Floris, who greets him very happily with a hug and a kiss on his lips, which he tries to reciprocate as genuinely as possible.

Aegon goes off to find a girl to stick his tongue down her throat and he stays on the yacht with Floris and his friends. 

Quickly some of his friends offer him drinks to cheer him up and he declines as he has to drive, so he only chooses to light a cigarette, wanting the night to pass quickly.

And so the hours pass, with nothing really interesting going on around him and Floris sitting on his lap, trying to keep up with her to also try to be a good boyfriend.

But all he wants to do is go home.

"Are you okay?"

Floris' voice brings him out of his thoughts and he turns his head towards her, where she watches him with a small smile on her lips and with one of her hands starting to stroke his short silver hair.

"Yeah," he tells her in a low murmur, then takes another sip from the only bottle of beer he'll be drinking tonight.

"Are you sure? I didn't even know you were coming. I texted you and you didn't respond," she says making a pout.

And he avoids looking instantly annoyed.

It's not that Floris is a bad girl, she really tries because she really loves him. But he doesn't feel the same and doubts he ever will, though he tries.

"Yeah, you're right, sorry, I was busy in the library," he explains briefly.

"At the library?" she repeats confused, "Why?"

"I'm getting a head start on reading books for college," he again explains as briefly as possible.

Luckily she doesn't say anything more on the subject but continues to sit on his lap and try to get him to talk, even though he's not really having any of that right now but he doesn't want to be rude to her either.

So when she starts talking to one of her friends, he looks in all directions, scanning the party without again finding anything interesting.

But then in the midst of analysis he sees it.

Or rather he sees you.

A few meters below him on the sand, confused, he immediately recognizes you, sitting among a group of guys and a girl with a bottle of beer in hand, laughing and talking to all of them.

And again he wonders; what are you doing here?

And you can't blame him, he really doesn't get it, it was surprising enough seeing you on his pier, in the most exclusive and private area of all Crown's as to also see you here, on the Lannister's pier, a Black Waves girl mixed up as if you were one of them.

He sweeps his gaze over all the guys you're with and is more surprised to see you talking and laughing with Cregan Stark.

Then he gets it all.

He's the one who gives you access, as well as your friends and that girl you're with, who he assumes must be your cousin from what you told him last night, all except Cregan belonging to Black Waves.

And there you are, again not hurting anybody, but pretending to belong to Crown's.

All the guys you're with are certainly having a great time and so are you, while he again focuses on Cregan, from whom he honestly expected it.

He doesn't include himself much with the guys from his part of town, sometimes he talks to him or Helaena, but nothing more. Now he knows why.

And somehow he can't take his eye off you.

He watches you curiously, analyzing you, seeing that you have guts, just like your cousin and your friends, to take risks like this.

At any moment anyone could expose you if they watch you too much, but you don't seem to care about that, nor do the others.

And then, his gaze meets yours.

He sees you freeze for a moment, as if you are once again trapped by him, which actually you are and he, for some reason, doesn't look away and neither do you.

Memories of last night invade him again and he can guess how you must be thinking about it too.

But he can also guess how you again feel exposed and how terribly nervous you must feel. As if you are afraid that he, now that he has seen you here too, will expose you once and for all.

But it is as if it were a game of stares, as neither of them look away from each other. It's not as if they can talk, the distance is too much, also considering that he is on top of a yacht. 

But what if this were not the case? Would the two of you talk?

Aemond knows perfectly well that they wouldn't.

"Hey, did you hear what I said, babe?"

Floris makes him turn his gaze away from you to focus on her as he feels her turn from his cheek with her hand towards her to plant a soft kiss on his lips, wanting his full attention.

And he awkwardly reciprocates as his attention is still on you.

But he forces himself to take that attention away from you, especially as he still has Floris sitting on his lap with both arms around his neck, glued to him.

And it's here that he assumes, as you do, though he doesn't know it, that what happened last night was just a one-time thing, two people seeking refuge from the world on the pier one night.

But that's all.

The two of you must not know each other, you can't talk or be seen together, mostly because of different social classes, which leads to pretending that the two of you don't know each other and haven't spoken to each other even once.

And what happened that night, on the pier, didn't happen.

A pile of dishes are placed in front of him on the table in the huge back garden of his house which is basically on the shore of the beach, having a spectacular view of the ocean, the beach, the pier, the cliffs around and also the huge houses of his neighbors.

His mother thanks the cooks, who retire and leave his mother, father and him alone.

Aegon must still be asleep, Daeron too because he probably stayed up watching movies with Helaena all nigth who is still very ill. So he is the only one who joins the breakfast.

He looks carefully at a message from Rhaenyra, which is accompanied by two PDF books.

'These books helped me a lot when I first started studying, you can read them if you want to before you go to uni so you have an idea of everything you will learn.'

Aemond reviews both books, both over 400 pages, being very dense material and being exactly what awaits him at college, but he also knows it's important.

He runs a hand down his neck and responds to her text.

'Thank you, Rhae.'

Ever since his older sister knew he would be going into business as well, she's been supporting him. 

It's not like from the beginning the two of them had a good relationship, especially since she's the daughter of their father's first wife and there was no first-rate bond, neither with him nor with her other siblings.

But now that she has a family and he has matured enough, at least more than Aegon, that relationship has slowly begun to be forged and maintained.

Besides he is grateful to receive genuine support. Especially from her, already an expert on the subject and with whom he will probably lead the Targaryen empire in the future.

"Are you going to have breakfast, son?"

His mother's soft voice causes him to look away from his phone screen and set it aside, having no interest in responding to messages from Floris or a few of his friends who were with him last night at the party.

"Yeah, sorry."

He tries to catch up with their pace, making himself his cup of coffee the way he likes it.

"Rhaenyra tells me you're planning to take a management course in the middle of summer, son," his father says, catching his attention, "Is that true?"

And he doesn't ask it in a bad way, on the contrary, it surprises Aemond to see how he has pride in his eyes. 

"Yeah, well... I think they'll do me good before I go to college."

"Yes, very good idea," Alicent says, watching him proudly as she notices all his dedication to his study, as it has always been.

"Oh yes, of course," Viserys agrees, without hesitation, "Have you found the right course yet?"

"I'm still working on it."

"But..." he frowns slightly, watching him not entirely convinced, "How are things going with that girl... uh... Floris?"

He immediately feels an uncomfortable sensation in his lower abdomen, stirring in his chair as he runs a hand over the back of his neck, biting the inside of his cheek and trying to maintain a normal appearance.

"Good," he replies briefly, without looking at him, "Everything's fine."

"Yeah?" he asks seeing his reaction, "You've been hanging out with her?"

"We were together last night," he says without wanting to go into details, wanting to get that topic over with.

And Alicent also sees how his son is starting to react.

"Floris usually comes in often during the day," she tells her husband in a soft tone with a cup of coffee in her hands, "You don't see her because you're at work."

"Well, that's good to know," he says pleased, though not entirely satisfied, turning his focus back to him, "I fully support the idea of the course, it will definitely do you good but... you can't neglect that girl. Your relationship with her is very advantageous to the company and very soon her father and I will start having meetings."

He brings a hand to the back of his neck again, staring at a fixed point on the table as he presses his lips together, controlling his emotions and what he really wants to say to him.

His mother stares at him, alert, not wanting him and his father to have fights too. But it is clear that he too is already reaching his limit.

However, Aemond knows that he has more self-control, besides he's already into all of this, so he has no choice but to accept, again, what his father tells him. 

"Is that what you want me to do?" he asks him in a low tone, honestly feeling tired.

"Of course," his father states sternly, as if it were obvious, "We must have all the most suitable people possible in the company. And the Baratheon's are crucial to our expansion."

Aemond looks up, but says nothing, because he already knows the speech. The Baratheon's, power, family and company.

"Yes but that really isn't the most important thing," his mother interjects again, "After all, Floris is a very nice and pretty girl. I can tell she really cares about you, son."

He can't help but purse his lips at that comment. He knows Floris isn't a bad girl but she's not exactly nice either. And that doesn't change the fact that he's not interested in her. 

"Yes and for that very reason you must not ruin things with her," his father insists, "We have to partner with her father and you can't let her slip through your fingers."

"Viserys," his mother calls out to him with mild reproach.

"You know how important this is, Alicent," he begins to say with reproach in his tone, "I have already lost hope in Aegon. It seems he will never change and will be a good-for-nothing for the rest of his life, taking nothing seriously."

"Don't talk about your son like that," his mother scolds him.

"I'm not going to live forever and someone has to take over the company and support this family. But that doesn't matter to him in the least," he continues, "Daeron is still young and I'm thankful that at least Aemond has taken the same direction as Rhaenyra and me."

Aemond says nothing as his mother continues to reproach, annoyed to hear how Viserys refers to her children, especially Aegon. 

And he remains silent, fed up with these discussions, family pressures, expectations and being the only one of his children whom his father seems to trust.

And the worst thing is that he can't say anything, because he knows very well that his father considers him as his last resort and in a way... he doesn't want to fail him and he doesn't want everything in his family to explode.

Even if it means he has to sacrifice his own life for the good of the family, he has to do this and it's not worth arguing with his father because it's no use and he's not going to change his mind.

His father starts to raise his voice, his mother too and he ends up going to his room with his morning already ruined, annoyed, tired and grumpy.

And when he tries to distract himself, to occupy himself with his own personal matters so as not to think too much, just at that moment Floris comes to visit.

Just now he doesn't have the capacity to want to be around her, or anyone in general, he just wants peace and quiet, but considering the conversation he had with his father, he is not able to ask her as nicely as possible to come another day.

"I was with Cerelle at my house but I got too bored, even though I told her to meet me tonight at the beach."

She begins to talk as she starts pacing all around his room he just sits there with his desk in front of him and a few books open.

"I also talked to Royce, he said he would be coming for a visit soon. My dad is still mad at him for leaving but I'm sure he'll get over it. I also heard that Jeyne wants to have a party the next week and..."

And so he listens to her voice continuously, talking about everything she did and didn't do in her day, while he puts a hand to his forehead and lets out a long breath, trying not to sound irritated.

"Oh and I went to the mall with Cerelle. I bought a beautiful bag and clothes for our trip to Hawaii," she says excitedly, "My dad has already arranged everything and my family is so excited for you to come with us. I'm also..."

Her voice slowly fades slowly, becoming a distant murmur, as he sinks deeper into his seat and stares at a spot in his room.

His brow furrows and his mind drifts further away from the conversation.

He can't find a way to tell her to stop talking without looking rude and frustrated, but the last thing he wants to do is listen to her right now and the last thing he wanted was for her to show up at his house this day.

He has enough going on in his family lately, especially with his father and he's not in the mood to be dealing with people right now. 

He's fed up with everything and all he wants is to be alone while a wave of mental exhaustion washes over him. He wants to get away from everyone for a moment, to have no one bother him so he can have peace and quiet. 

"Aemond."

The hand on his shoulder and the voice so close to him brings him back to reality. He blinks and raises his gaze to Floris, who watches him in confusion.

"Are you listening to me?"

"Yes," he says awkwardly and clears his throat, "Sorry," he says, turning his gaze to the front and stirring in his chair.

But she raises her hand towards him, placing it gently on his cheek and Aemond tenses immediately, as she forces him to look at her again gently but firmly enough.

"Are you sure? Are you okay?" she asks him genuinely concerned, "You didn't seem to be listening to me."

"Yes I was and I'm fine, don't worry," he tells her trying to sound convincing.

But Floris is having none of it.

"Is it because of your father or college?"

The silence that follows is palpable as he averts his gaze and removes his hand from her face with a nonchalant gesture. He says nothing but it's clear she's hit the nail on the head.

And Floris lets out a long, resigned sigh, already expecting that. For it is so typical of him not to confide his thoughts and feelings to her.

She's tired of her own boyfriend raising this constant wall between the two of them, where he doesn't want to open up to her. It hasn't been long since the two started dating but still, despite being a couple, there is no trust.

"Aemond," she murmurs his name softly and unexpectedly takes a seat on his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Floris," he calls her name awkwardly as well, trying to shake her off, "Wait, I don't—

"You know you can talk to me about anything," she interrupts him, her tone insistent but with a gentleness that she hopes will soften the situation, "I mean...I'm your girlfriend and I'm here for you whenever you need something, talk or anything."

He lets out a long sigh, feeling the weight of her insistence and the firmness with which she remains sitting on him.

The feeling of oppression invades him, both physically and emotionally.

"It's not... I don't..." he tries to speak, "Look, it's not that I don't want to tell you, but..." he gets frustrated, not finding the words or even the will to talk to her, "It's a lot of things."

"You can tell me," she insists, "Come on, babe. I just want to help you," she says as she begins to stroke his hair.

He close his eye for a moment, his patience quickly wearing thin.

"I don't want to talk," he makes it clear to her in a cold, resigned, tired tone.

She shrugs.

"Then we won't," she says simply, accepting that, "But I want you to understand that I'm here for you."

"Yes, I know," he says without even looking at her, running a hand through his hair.

"We can always do other things," she mentions with a certain tone that Aemond understands instantly.

And before he can do anything, she is already kissing him.

The kiss starts slow and soft, while he has difficulties to reciprocate at first, but Floris doesn't stop and pulls the back of his neck towards her, deepening the kiss. 

And he with all the mental chaos he has, tries to reciprocate as best he can, trying to forget at least for a moment.

Floris' hands begin to move down, sliding her fingers slowly over his chest while her other hand gently stroke his hair. Aemond tries to lose himself in the sensation, in the moment and let himself go, so he places both hands on her waist. 

She begins to move slightly on top of him, her breathing becoming more agitated and her tongue making its way between his lips, wanting more.

He tries to keep up with her and when Floris begins to rub her center against him, his body responds automatically, letting out a slight grunt without stopping the kiss. 

Floris' need is evident and when she brings one of her hands to the edge of his shirt and pulls away from his lips, she watches him with full intent and desire in her gaze, her lips red and swollen.

"I want you now," she murmurs against his lips.

He doesn't say anything, just watches her, truly not so sure. But then he thinks: fuck it.

He's tired and exhausted from carrying the weight of everything around him. He just wants to forget, if only for a few moments. So when Floris starts to take off his shirt, he allows it.

She kisses him again with more intensity and he responds with more fervor than before. 

Her hands begin to roam all over his naked torso and he stands up, both hands on her thighs, leading her towards his bed.

Soon Floris is on top of him again and feels a spark of electricity run through his skin as her hands touch the edge of his shorts, but before that happens, she slowly pulls down the straps of her dress.

Aemond watches her wordlessly, with his dark eye and indecipherable expression, as Floris complacently takes her time, enjoying every second, wanting him to desire her.

The straps fall and the top of her summer dress slides off, revealing her breasts. Aemond swallows hard, a mixture of desire and bewilderment passing through his body.

She leans into him again to kiss him, as she takes one of his hands and places it on her breast, prompting him to caress her. 

He does so, almost mechanically, trying to let himself go and lose himself in the moment, as she rubs herself against him again, making him more aware of how he begins to get hard, his breathing hitching.

But when Floris' hand descends and slips under his shorts, touching him, it is as if his mind wakes up and sends an alert throughout his body. 

Suddenly, he stops kissing her and takes her hand roughly, stopping her. Floris watches him confused and half-naked on top of him, still shaken and not understanding anything.

"Aemond?"

He closes his eye tightly and lets out a deep sigh, shaking his head and bringing a hand to his forehead, clenching his jaw.

"Fuck," he mutters.

"What's wrong?" Floris asks him without understanding what has changed so suddenly.

But he doesn't answer, just shakes his head again and pulls her hand away, to also gently brush her off of him.

"I'm sorry," he says softly.

Floris watches him from his bed, still with confusion on her face and quickly adjusts her dress, covering her naked body.

Her breathing is still rapid, but not so much from desire, but from the feeling of rejection that is infiltrating her. And again, for an instant, she thought this would never happen again.

But here they are, him pulling her away and her heart broken again by the humiliation.

"It's been a while," she murmurs, lowering her gaze, “Y-you don't..." her lips tremble, "You don't touch me."

He doesn't look at her, he can't. 

"I know. I'm sorry," he says in a low tone, the apology falling with a tone of resignation.

He picks up his T-shirt that's on the floor and puts it on, bringing a hand to his hair, ruffling it in frustration. And Floris watches him still completely confused.

"I just don't get it," she insists, "We're a couple. We should... be okay, I don't know," she says confused, "And I don't understand you. You don't talk to me, Aemond."

Aemond rubs his forehead, the pressure behind his eyes growing. He doesn't know how to explain, doesn't know how to put into words all the thoughts that suffocate him.

And he can't tell her that he doesn't really want to be with her either.

"I need to go," he says flatly.

"What?" she moves quickly, catching his arm, "No, please don't go," she tells him, her tone full of pleading, "I think we should talk."

"I can't, Floris. Not now."

Without trying to be abrupt, he releases his grip and Floris, unmoving, watches him as he takes his phone and car keys without another word. 

And he walks away, leaving her alone in his room.

He has no doubt that he will be in trouble for this later, maybe she will mention what happened to her sisters, eventually it will reach her father's ears about her having problems with their relationship and then it will reach his father's ears, demanding explanations from him.

He's not supposed to let her get out of his hands, as his father says, but now he really doesn't care about that.

He doesn't want to be with her and he shouldn't have let that happen. He should have stopped everything the moment she started kissing him.

Sex has been off the table for a while now. He has only slept with her once, when they both started dating for the first time. 

He barely remembers it. It was after they both went to a party. He drank a little more than he normally does and assumes that's why what happened at her house happened. 

And mostly it hasn't happened again because he doesn't have the interest. He doesn't feel the need with her. And just when he thinks it will finally happen when he lets himself go, in the moment he can't do it because it's feels wrong and pushes her away, leaving the action half done. 

And it's not her fault, it's his doing. But he knows that if he explained it to her, she wouldn't understand.

But just like that, another new frustration joins the storm in his mind.

Now he walks towards the pier, the only place where he feels he can breathe. The sound of the waves gently breaking against the wooden pillars, which is the only thing that accompanies him as he sinks into his thoughts.

He doesn't expect anyone to follow him or look for him there. In fact, the last thing he needs is someone else demanding something from him. 

For now, he doesn't want to be the perfect son, the boyfriend who should be attentive or the future heir to the family business. What he desperately wants is to escape the expectations that stifle him day after day.

He leans against the wooden stand and stares out into the deep, dark ocean, letting his mind wander, as he feels all the frustration wash over him and in an instant, he pulls out his pack of cigarettes and lights one.

He inhales deeply, letting the smoke invade his lungs, seeking in that sensation a temporary relief from the pressure he constantly feels. 

He enjoys his solitude, he has been used to it since he was a child. In many ways, he prefers it and finds it easier.

It is only now that he feels he is getting closer to his family or at least his siblings since his father has put more pressure on everyone. But he has not approached in the way he had hoped.

Aegon is not serious enough to broach the subject and evades his family in clouds of alcohol, parties and girls. Halaena is more independent and wrapped up in her own world, with her way of coping without getting swept away. 

Daeron doesn't yet understand the gravity of the expectations that will one day fall on him. And Rhaenyra... she's away with her own family.

And friends... he has no friends. At least, not genuine ones. They are not people he can trust without their own interests involved. 

And if he were to talk to any of them, it would be the same as with Floris; an empty conversation, full of awkward silences and expectations.

That's why at times like these, he strangely wishes he had someone to talk to. Someone who doesn't look at him with judgment or see him only as the heir who has to do his duty.

He needs someone who sees him for who he is, without expectations, without judgment. He just wants to be himself, wants to be just Aemond, without the unbearable weight of expectations.

'What would that be like?'

He wonders with genuine interest and even a certain... longing. But he knows he'll probably never know. Not with the life he has. 

He inhales deeply once more, the smoke mingling with the salty wind, enjoying the fleeting respite this place affords him. Then in the midst of his peace and quiet, the wood creaks softly under the footsteps that are not his.

He frowns and looks toward the entrance to the pier, thinking maybe it must be some of the security men, but then... he sees you.

He frowns more and attentively, he watches you walk, back straight and with cautious steps, as if trying not to make noise as you walk away, unaware of the creaking wood betraying you.

Then he wonders what you are doing here and why you are leaving. 

He remembers that he told you you could come back but doesn't understand why you're leaving. And before he can stop to think about what he is doing, he calls out you'r name.

"Y/N!?"

You stop immediately, your body tensing as if you've been caught doing something you shouldn't, again. 

You bite your lips nervously and slowly turn to look at him, some sorrow on your face as he continues to stare at you in confusion.

And well... he's already caught you, again, first here two nights ago, yesterday at the party and now here again, so what's the point?

"I'm sorry," you say, "I-I... I didn't see you on my way over here," you explain, "And well... I thought you might want to be alone."

Your gaze focuses on his, and for a second, the whole world seems to shrink down to just the two of you, as if you were the only ones on the beach, under the dim lights of the pier.

And he doesn't say anything to you, he just watches you intently. And you take that as a sign to leave.

"I'll leave you alone," you assure him in a soft tone, starting to turn away.

And again, Aemond without thinking, decides to stop you.

"Wait," he says finally, in a soft voice, "You don't have to go."

You watch him carefully and curiously as you tuck a lock of hair behind your ear, a little unsure.

"Are you sure?"

He says nothing, just gives you a slight nod and you, hesitantly, finally take a step towards him and then another, beginning to close the distance to join him at the end of the pier.

An anticipation and excitement begins to grow within you, with the sea breeze and the sound of the waves enveloping you. 

You feel a slight tension begin to grow between the two of you. It's not uncomfortable but it's not easy to ignore either. And both Aemond and you know that you are both walking on uncertain ground.

But neither of you can help it.

series taglist:

@zenka69 @strangersunghoon @deliaseastar @thefireblaze @kythefangirl25 @p45510n4f4shi0n @saturnssrings @bellaisasleep @primroseluna @tinykryptonitewerewolf @barnes70stark @tssf-imagines

[pasukiyo]

PERHAPS, PERHAPS, PERHAPS.

eric (a quiet place: day one) x f!reader word count: 2,894 warnings: a little bit of violence summary: perhaps it's chance. perhaps it's happenstance. but perhaps it is fate. perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

 Hands find the sleeve of her sweater and she’s pulled backwards, her lips parting in a gasp as she turns. A woman, with dark hair beginning to fade into gray, locks her hands around her wrist, trembling. 

 “Please!” The woman shrieks. “I don’t know where to go! I need help! Please! Help me!”

 She’s frozen, her mouth opens and closes but nothing comes out because the truth is, she’s just as helpless. She wishes she could help, she really does, but she’s alone in a foreign city while the world around her falls apart and all she knows to do is run. 

 She tries to shake off the woman, but she only tightens her grip, and it’s not until she screams again that she lets go. It happens in a blur. One moment the woman is on her arm and the next she’s taken away by one of those things. She can’t even process what they look like because they move so fast. 

 She stumbles backwards as a car alarm sounds and she only just manages to duck in enough time to avoid being crushed as the airborne vehicle flies overhead, crashing into the building behind her. Her teeth catch her bottom lip and she whimpers, holding her head in either of her hands. Screams sound and die, wheels screech, vehicles crash, windows shatter, people are torn apart and it’s all just too loud. 

 She sinks to her knees in the middle of the chaos-ridden street and covers her ears, the hot water in her eyes falling fast down the apples of her cheeks. She feels utterly alone and only now does the weight of her family’s abrupt deaths begin to seep in, like poison injecting itself into her veins and wearing down her bones. 

 She wonders if this is it— if today is the day she dies. 

 She wonders if she should just stay here: on the ground, unmoving, waiting for death to take her. 

 It’s harder to breathe than ever now and she can’t calm herself down, can’t even focus on inhaling a steady breath. The ground quakes below and she thinks something explodes, but it’s hard to hear over the ringing in her ears. She only thinks to duck until she faces the ground as smoke pervades the air and ash falls and all she can see is gray. Her hearing is only just coming back to her when she hears a scream— whether it was her own or somebody else’s, she’s uncertain— but all she knows is in the next moment, everything is black. 

 The world is still black when she hears her name. She stirs and thinks it must be death calling upon her but then she hears her name again and it sounds… real. Still, she does not open her eyes, lingering in that state between waking and oblivion. 

 The voice calls her name again and suddenly it sounds… familiar. She’s heard it before but she’s unsure where. She must be dead, she thinks. 

 But is the afterlife supposed to feel so… real? As in, she feels the warmth of fabric above her and thinks it must be a blanket, the cushion of what she can only think can be a pillow beneath her head. She can feel her feet, so she moves them, and she can feel something soft underneath them, something her entire body can feel. It must be a mattress she sleeps on but how when only a moment ago, her knees were on the asphalt of a crumbling street?

 Her name is called again and this time, she feels a weight on her shoulder, a hand. It suddenly registers that she isn’t in the city at all but rather somewhere else entirely different and her eyelids snap open at the realization. A shadow looks over her and she pushes herself to sit upright, her throat tightening as she tries to blink the blurriness away from her vision.

 “Hey!” The voice calls again, the hand on her shoulder firmer. The silhouette before her warps and moves and it must be the source of the voice but her muscles remain taut with panic. “It’s me! It’s just me.”

 She tries to draw air into her lungs but it’s hard when she can hardly make out where she is and the hand falls from her shoulder to instead find her cheek, pulling her face towards the shadow. Her chest rises and falls with her breaths as she continues trying to make out the face of the shadow before her. 

 “It’s me!” The voice says again. “It’s Eric!”

 Eric. 

 The shape in front of her finally materializes and indeed, it is Eric. His brows are drawn in concern, his big, signature doe eyes round and searching hers. Her mouth feels dry and it opens and closes multiple times before he places his hand on her chest, right over her pounding heart. She glances down to his palm, watching as it rises and falls with her breaths before his other hand reaches for her chin. 

 Their eyes meet and for a moment, it’s like the world stills and it is only him she can see. His eyes are so dark a brown that they seem to merge with the sea of black in its midst and she thinks she will lose herself if she stares too long. His lips move to form the words “breathe” and “it’s over now, you’re safe” and it seems easier now that she’s rapt in his eyes, shining like dark topaz. 

 Her chin rises as she inhales and she focuses on his hand on her chest as her head dips with her exhale. Air floods her lungs and the world begins to turn again.

 “Okay?” Eric asks carefully, his hand no longer on her chest but still hovering above just in case. She takes another deep breath before she nods, sniffing. It’s only now set in that she was sleeping and she was living a nightmare, or rather, reliving her nightmare. 

 It’s been three months since day one, since the nightmares began and every day since has been long, some longer than others. Every day since the first sort of happened in a blur, but she remembers the day she met Eric like it was yesterday. 

 She remembers the boat, the boy with the cat who she’d just watched escape death before he swam to his new beginning. She remembers the conversations they had on the (what felt like at the time) seemingly never-ending boat ride, the vow they didn’t speak aloud but seemed to silently agree on that they’d stick together, and they did, even when they arrived on the island. She remembers it all and so she pulls the boy in front of her into her until she can rest her head on his shoulder, fingers clutching his white t-shirt. 

 His arms wrap around her middle and hold her close, his breath warm as it threads through her hair, seeping down to her scalp. Her nails burrow into his shirt, deep enough to snag skin underneath and her heart pounds against her ribcage, dread creeping up her spine at the realization that she doesn’t want to let go. When he inevitably begins to pull away, she sinks her nails into his shoulders like the claws of a cat and a crease forms between his brows. 

 “What is it?” He asks and she swallows, brows pinched together. “Will you stay with me?” She questions and his expression softens, nodding as he lets go of one of her shoulders to gesture with his thumb behind him. 

 “Yeah, you know I’ll always be right over there,” he says, referring to the small sofa bed across the room. He gives her bicep a reassuring squeeze and turns, moving to pull away again but she finds his hand, clasping it between hers as tight as she possibly can. 

  “No, I mean will you…” she pauses, sighing as blood bites her cheeks, filling them with color. “…will you lay with me?” She finishes quieter, his hand growing warm in hers. 

 He turns to face her again and when their eyes meet, silence strings between them. She swears she can see him connecting the dots until realization washes over him and finally, he understands. He blinks again, once down to the bed and once to the open space beside her. On his next blink, color floods his cheeks and he nods, lifting up the blanket to slide underneath it. Their legs touch for the briefest of moments and either of their breaths hitch. His skin lingers for a heartbeat before it’s gone and she has to take in another deep breath through her nostrils to quell her quaking heart. 

 They both settle themselves down on the mattress and it creaks beneath either of their weight. She holds her breath again, still under the guise that one of those things will come snatch her away at the smallest of sounds, but the reminder that they are on the island, that they are safe fills her with some solace. Even though the relief never stays long. The past always comes back to haunt her, as if some sort of evil spirit has made it its sole mission to taunt her. 

 “Hey,” Eric whispers and she turns, realizing he was looking at her. “Are you alright?”

 She nods, sniffing again. “Sorry, I’m just… thinking,” she replies, blinking back towards the ceiling. “I had another nightmare.” He sighs beside her and she hears the sheets shift a little as he adjusts his weight. “It’s okay. I get them too.”

 It’s easy to forget she’s not the only one who experienced the horrors of the invasion, that she isn’t the only one who lost things, people. She forgets she’s not the only one who is haunted by what transpired that day and she peers back over towards Eric. He stares up at the ceiling, his hands neatly folded on top of his stomach and his lips pursed. He taps his fingers against the back of his hands a little awkwardly, as if he wants to speak but isn’t sure what to say. So instead, he remains silent, waiting for the moment he succumbs to sleep. 

 “Tell me about England,” her voice fills that void between them and he almost flinches, snapping his head towards her, an incredulous look upon his face. “What?” He says as if he hadn’t heard her the first time. The corners of her lips twitch, “tell me about England,” she repeats. “I’ve always wanted to go. And well… it doesn’t look like I’ll be going any time soon.”

 He exhales and it almost mimics a laugh but it dies as soon as he rolls his head to face the ceiling once again. He stares into the darkness above, sifting through the memories he has of home. The truth is, it’s been so long since he’s been home, the memories are already beginning to fade away. His mother, his father, his little sister, their cat, his childhood home, the town he grew up in. The more days that pass, the farther away all those things seem. He can still see them toward the horizon but they’re fading behind shadows. He fears that soon enough, they’ll be nothing more than black shapes out in the distance, too far away to make sense of what they are. 

 For a moment, she wonders if he’s going to speak at all. Frodo purrs as he leaps onto the bed, curling into a ball at their feet. And then, Eric finally speaks. 

 “Growing up, I never thought where I grew up was small until I came to the States,” he begins. “Did you know that the entire population of New York City is over four times the population of Kent?” 

 Her lips curve into a tight, genuine grin and she shakes her head. “No,” she replies and he scoffs. “It’s crazy,” he mutters. “I’d never seen so many people in one place before in my life.”

 She laughs again and this time, her grin splits her face and when Eric turns, his gaze lingers. She stares back, finding his eyes even in the darkness. Even in the dark, she can see the way they soften in searching. Whether it is her or his memories he is searching, she is not sure. She grows warm at the sudden awareness of their closeness and she has to turn away again to ease the erratic beating of her heart, folding her hands just beneath it, sucking in a deep breath. 

 Eric clears his throat. Then he continues, “there was this bakery around the corner from my house. My sister and I practically kept that place afloat all on our own with how many times we went.” 

 She turns and watches his side profile as a soft smile curves his lips and she thinks to herself, how can she possibly look away? Neither one of them ever really talked about their life before the invasion much, but maybe they should’ve tried sooner, if he was going to look the way he does now. It’s the brightest she’s ever seen him, the fastest he’s ever talked. His eyes gleam at just the mere mention of home and she wants to know more, wants to learn more about him. 

 “Have you ever had focaccia?” He asks, turning to find she’s already staring and she raises a brow. 

 “Ever had what?” 

 His brow furrows and he looks almost offended, a hand on his chest in mock offense. “Do the Americans not feed you focaccia?” She laughs, shrugging. “I honestly have no idea what you’re even talking about,” she replies and he groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

 “It’s only, like, the finest bread in the world,” he says. “But the best is at the bakery near home. It’s the focaccia of all focaccia. Their focaccia beats all focaccia.”

 She chuckles, “I’ll have to take your word for it then.”

 “Well, anyway, my sister and I would get focaccia from that bakery everyday after school,” he blinks, brow dipping. “Except Wednesdays. They were always closed Wednesdays. I always hated Wednesdays because of it.”

 She cannot help it anymore so she laughs, her shoulders wracking with the sheer power of the action. She clasps a hand over her mouth to attempt to suppress any embarrassing chortles and Eric sputters, the mere beginning of his own laugh. 

 It’s something she can’t remember doing last: laughing. At least, genuinely laughed. It must’ve been before the first day but that day feels so long ago that she can’t place a finger on nearly anything before it. 

 So this feels good. It feels like things can be almost perfect, because even if this lighthearted feeling is only fleeting, in the moment, it feels right. It feels right to be here with Eric, laughing over a life that neither one of them will ever have again. Laughing even as the world crumbles around them. Laughing as they pretend that everything is okay, if only temporarily. 

 There are tears in her eyes now from how hard she’s laughing and she blinks them away, peering over at Eric through her watercolor vision. He’s still coming down from the high his laughter gave him when she reaches over, fingers finding his arm. 

 “Eric?”

 He hiccups with laughter, “yeah?”

 She sniffs and bites back another laugh. “Can I kiss you?”

 Maybe it's the spur of the moment. Maybe it’s just happenstance. Or maybe, just maybe, it was meant to be. 

 She doesn’t know. 

 But none of it matters right now. 

 Because his gaze drops to her lips and when he looks up, she finds he wants her just as much as she realizes she wants him too. 

 Eric says nothing, only reaches for her, his hand finding the back of her head to pull her in and her arms wrap around his neck and then their lips are one. They fit together in the perfect mold, as if it truly was just as she thought: meant to be. 

 Perhaps, Eric was who she was meant to find all along. End of the world or not, life— at least on Eric’s end, it was more chance on hers— brought them both to New York at the same time and she can’t help but wonder, as his tongue swirls her mouth, whether she would’ve found him anyways. 

 Perhaps they would’ve run into each other on the street. Perhaps, even on the subway. Maybe they would’ve walked into the same restaurant at the same time and locked eyes. Or maybe they would’ve gone to the same shops, the same hotel, perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. 

 An arm slithers around her waist and draws her into his chest and she knows that this is fate. It simply can’t not be. 

 She pulls away for a moment, just so either of them can catch their breaths, and their eyelids peel open and seemingly nothing else matters. There’s a sort of silent understanding between them— Eric must feel the same. 

 And that’s enough. It’s all she needs to be okay again, to want to live. 

 They crash into one another again, like two stars in a stellar collision. She burns brighter than she ever has before and they melt into one another and relish the notion that this is enough. 

a/n; saw a quiet place day one the other day and i think writing an eric fic was inevitable so... HERE YOU GO! i hope you all enjoy this one and let me know if you'd like for me to write up more eric fics! i'd love to explore this character some more :)

🤍 if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging or even leaving a reply to let me know! ✨

[yandere-wishes]

A thought for you, Diluc meeting his darling when they were knights together when they were younger but when his dad dies and he leaves but only comes back to see his darling is now a high ranking offical and he panics, what if she gets hurt? She isn’t cut out for this sort of thing. So now he is torn, he can’t let her get hurt but it’s not like he can just pull her out of the knights, can he?

He plays hero in the dark.

Maybe cause the dark obscures beauty and beauty is the last thing he needs right now.

Maybe he's a bit too scared to see too clearly.

Besides everything looks better in the dark.

Diluc doesn't thrive in order, he prefers solitude. The quiet of the estate away from town. The calm of the tavern during closing hours.

The solitude is safe.

Away from fickle lovers and family secrets.

He sees you in the dead of day. Standing outside the tavern with your brigade. Dressed in that loathsome armor with the sun's rays bouncing off the silver metal.

Gleaming.

Bright.

A beacon of hope in every way.

Diluc swallows his anger, his astound. There really shouldn't be room for surprise, it was to be expected. You had trained with him, fought alongside him. Captain is the lowest rank you should have by now

Still, you are not ready for such duty, such burdens.

You must taste experience, bite it, and let the crumbs mar the corners of your lips. You can not simply know by hearing tales of others' endeavors. They are as pointlessly purposeful as the stars. Distant lights you can never understand.

And Diluc refuses to see you as anything more than the little girl who'd drag him to the lake to hunt turtles.

Jejune in every way.

Diluc is not careless, he is not reckless.

The young boy who used to rush headfirst into everything be it battles or turtle hunts, died the same night his father did. The man born of his ashes, is scrupulous, vigilant. He calculates every mistake before attacking.

He lets you see him in the dark. Masked vigilante stalking the streets while you do your patrols. He leads you through the streets, weaving through the nooks and crannies of the cramped port city.

He wonders if this is how the turtles by the lake felt all so many years ago.

"Halt" You're voice holds authority now, no longer airy and melodic. It makes him discomfited.

He leaps past the high walls of the city, disappearing amongst the threes. He sees you cease at the threshold of the bridge. Defeat painted across your tender lips.

The game has ended.

At least for tonight.

He plays hero in the dark.

Dancing as he blocks your attacks.

Metal sings metal as sword and claymore clash.

The nostalgia seeps through no matter how hard he struggles, the familiar hyms of weapons clashing. Your taut frown of concentration. He's drowning in his crush again.

But is such a fickle thing really capable of throttling a man such as he?

Maybe this is truly love?

It's a sparse moment. He's too caught up in you, how tall you've gotten, how astute your stance has become. You've grown. But he still hears your sweet voice ringing across the north winds.

He doesn't notice the hilt of your sword until it's pounded against his skull. Since when have you learned such dirty tricks? His head buzzes on impact, the mask clashing violently on the ground.

The night is still.

But the beating of his heart is far too loud.

"Dily?

You're sword falls, face torn between shock and laughter. "You're the Darknight hero?"

He doesn't answer right away. He lets you laugh and ponder. Lets you come up with your own answers. He's about to interject. Throw some comment about being on opposite sides. But you beat him to the punchline. "Well, I guess I still got to take you in..."

"That's unfortunate, I can't say I'm particularly fond of being arrested by a Favonius knight."

"Captain" You correct and the pride flashing across your face makes him burn in anger. No, no you're not.

You approach him, carless and intrepid. Plucky steps as you reach for the cuffs on your belt. Diluc can't help but roll his eyes. Really? Has being made a captain taught you nothing?

Shouldn't you be more jaded? Wry of any potential threats.

Well, he guesses it must be hard to think of the boy who talks to his pet turtle as a threat.

The blaze from his vision washes over you, painting the night into a faux dawn. The fire melts through your body, peeling the flesh of your arm.

The Darknight hero stands tall amidst the inferno. Eyes aflame with the delicate sight of you.

Diluc licks the embers from his fingers as you cradle your burnt hand.

He didn't mean to do this, but he needs to stun you, he needs you to submit. Gingerly he picks you up, cradling your body close. He can't wait to get you home and burn away that dreaded armor. To dress you in soft silks and precious jewels.

"You're really not cut out for this knight thing. But it's fine I'll keep you safe"

He's only met with soft whimpers as he scales the back walls and dashes towards the winery.

Diluc plays hero in the dark.

And he still believes that.

Even as he opens the door to his mansion.

With you sobbing from pain in his arms.

He is a hero.

And heroes are meant to keep people safe.

Especially helpless little girls who try to play knight.

[eddiernunson]

Selfish | Steddie x Fem!Reader | 18+

Summary: Reader is torn as she wants two people at once, and she figures it's impossible...in the sense that they would never want her. She is proven wrong after making an accidental audience with Eddie one night...

Warnings: voyeurism, perv!Eddie, public smut, masturbation (f + m), a little bit of Steve x reader, double penetration...and lots of self indulgent writing.

Authors' Note: Yeah this is just self indulgent. That's all. I'd want them both. <3

Word Count: 10.8k

Selfish.

On a regular day, it’s hard not to feel completely selfish. There’re a million different voices in your head telling you to make a damn choice. Not just telling, but begging. 

Not just in your head, but in your life. Your friend and confidant, Robin is one of the many voices telling you so.

You can’t help it, it started so innocently. During the course of the school year, you happen to start thinking that Eddie Munson is damn fine. Your paths barely cross, only seeing him across the cafeteria at lunch or the occasional party to sell. Something about him drew you in. His hair, his hands, his strong forearms, his lust for life, that slutty little waist… He is enticing, hypnotising.

It’s not like you’re ever going to get with someone who you’ve never spoken to unless you somehow drag him into a hallway closet. Oh, isn’t that idea ever tempting?

It’s an uneventful day at school, save for the random graffiti anonymously placed on each class room door. There were several suspects, the perpetrator found but not announced, much to the entire school’s dismay.  

When Robin meets you at your regular table, she has a litany of complaints up her sleeve. If you don’t stop her, she can talk for hours about any given subject that passes through her brain. At this point, from an entire summer and autumn working with her on top of spending many hours shooting the shit with her, you’re ridiculously used to it. You might even call it charming.

As usual, you listen with an empathetic, yet distracted ear. Your eyes flicker to Munson every now and then, appreciating the way his muscle shirt shows off his toned arms. Usually, they’re engulfed by his large leather jacket, but on this unusually hot autumn day he is taking advantage of the warmer weather.

Oh, and so am I, you think to yourself, eyeing him up and down appreciatively.

Your eyes flicker back to Robin, holding back a giggle at her expression. She knows about your crush of course, not that you’d tried to hide it. Robin would come up with schemes to set you up with him, but there’s one little obstacle.

“You’re shameless, you know that?” She accuses, a half smile on her face. She’s being playful, as always. “One of these days, you’re going to have to make up your mind.”

This conversation is repeated, always on replay. It’s one of your little games. “I mean,” you start cheekily, “who said anything about talking to them?”

She shakes her head, quiet laughter leaving her lips. “You are impossible.”

See, Robin knew your secret. Not only were you infatuated with Eddie, but with your coworker as well. Steve.

Steve is a bit more realistic; you suppose. After all, you work part time with him, up to 25 hours a week. Most of the job is spent moving tapes from place to place, categorizing, and talking shit. Lately, even more than normal, you’re hypnotized by him, your eyes sometimes glazing over as you take in just how pretty his brown eyes are.

Man, do you have a thing for brown eyes.

This usually eggs him on, thinking his words must mean something. They don't, really. You don’t take in a single word of what he’s saying. You’re just admiring him, his pretty lips, the freckles decorating his skin…

See, your problem is that you can’t decide on which one you’d want more…not that there’s any part of you that remotely thinks you would have that luxury. You’re not possibly conceited enough to believe that you would have a choice. Really, if it came down to it, (emphasis on if), it would be which one would choose you.

And they have so much better to choose from.

So, you let yourself imagine it. There’s certainly no harm in the what if.

“Not impossible, just horny.” You laugh, winking at the way she chokes on her water.

-

Steve pushes the cart of returns around, tapping his hands rhythmically on the plastic. You are on rewind duty, using a rewinder to go through each returned tape quickly and effectively. It’s a weekday, so business has been slow. Weekdays give more leeway on the display tvs, topics of discussion, and finally, to fuck around.

“Hey, Robin isn’t working today, right?” Steve asks, looking back at you.

You’re invested in the movie playing, leaning against the counter. “Hmm?” The question registers. “Oh, no she’s off on Wednesdays, remember? Band rehearsal after school.”

“Right, right.” He nods, something clearly on his mind.

“Something going on in that pretty little head of yours, Harrington?” You ask, switching the tape out for a new one.

He looks over his shoulder, licking his lips. “Pretty, huh?”

You roll your eyes, completely missing the way his eyes trail down your body. Your disregard of any possibility for a mutual attraction really is your blind spot. “You know you’re pretty, Harrington. Don’t play dumb.”

He shakes his head, pushing the cart along towards the romance section. “If you say so, sweets.”

You lick your lips, tasting the cherry ChapStick that deepens the shade of your lips into a darker red. Something about him is different today.

On the computer is a sticky note asking if the back room filled with unlabelled tapes could be organized and categorized. With the lack of customers, list of chores completed, and plenty of time left in your shift, you end up being bored enough to follow through. It won’t be done in one shift, but at least you’ll get it started. It’s a damn tedious process.

Not even twenty minutes pass by, a pile of marked and labeled tapes already to your left when the door to the back room shuts. You suspect for only a second that Steve needed to grab something, until you feel a pair of hands on your hips and hot breath on your neck. You freeze, gulping as you stare dead ahead at the tapes standing in a row. Your throat dries up like a drain unplugged, every limb freezing in place like you’re glued to the spot.

“Steve?” You ask after a moment passes.

He hums, thumb swaying up and down your hip, gently brushing past the hem of your shirt onto your bare skin. The other hand curtains your hair from your shoulder, trailing kisses down the curve of your neck. As a reflex you relax into it, sighing as you lean into his warm, wet, touch. The sensation flutters throughout your limbs, turning every bone, every muscle, into gelatin.

Your head falls back against his shoulder as his teeth scrape across your skin decorated with goosebumps. Your relaxed disposition is short lived, freezing up when your mind catches up to what the hell is happening. “Wait—” you protest, head snapping up in a frenzy.

He holds your face, turning it towards him. Eyes are hooded, looking tired, but from his dilated eyes you can tell he’s anything but. “What?”

“We-we’re at work, Steve, someone can come in at any moment…”

He listens, partially, barely. His eyes flicker down to your lips, all shiny and tugging him in. “Is that your only protest?” Your heart races, feeling as if someone is pulling at the corners of your mouth as you hesitantly nod. “No one has come in for over an hour, and I locked the door and turned the sign around. We won’t be bothered.”

“Oh.” A gasp leaves your lips as he leans in for a kiss, mouth deliciously open against yours. He demands full control, his fingers spreading across your neck. Your body turns to face him, grabbing onto the collar of the polo shirt he wears under his green vest. You can barely keep up with him, giggling out of pure, absolute, giddiness.

His hand runs up your torso, shaking yet demanding. Your vest is pulled down your arms, his hand pulling you against him. He starts kissing down your neck, pushing you so his arm and your back collide with the shelf behind you. A startled gasp fills the small room, your feet shuffling as the mixed sensations create a pool in the bottom of your stomach.

“Look at you, so pretty, you feelin’ good?” You nod, a hand twisting under his shirt and grabbing at his bare torso. His voice is dripping in husk, gorgeous in a way you’ve only ever pictured.

“Uh huh,” you manage to choke out.

He doesn't falter at his multitasking, his expert tongue working against yours as his hands work the button of your jeans open and the zipper down. “Let’s see how soaked you are...” The joints where your jaw is attached to your skull feels as if they vanish as your jaw drops open and Steve places his hand on your thin, cotton panties.

“Shit, honey, you are soaked.” He mutters, a sly half smile on his face.

“Jesus,” you whimper as he gently teases you.

He wastes no time, pushing your pants down your ass, watching as he exposes you with a stupid level of intrigue. “Baby, you know how pretty your pussy is, just dripping wet, jus ‘for me?”

He slips a finger in, reaching the deepest depths, somewhere yours never fucking could. He’s so fucking good at it too, watching your face as his thumb rotates on your clit, the pleasure from it more than you knew was possible. “S-Stevie,” you whimper, fingers clutching onto his shirt. “Oh, my god.”

“Wanted to see you like this for weeks, honey.” He adds another finger, his face watching and listening for every reaction you feed him. He eats them up like he’s been starving for you.

This information simply didn’t process, because there is no possibility this is true. None. “R-really?” You ask, leg moving up to get better access to your pussy.

Steve smirks, relishing in how you tighten around his digits. “Of course, honey.” His voice is like velvet, tender and smooth. He starts to move them faster, pumping them quickly, watching the breaths from your mouth grow shallower, your head falling back onto a shelf. “You think I don’t notice you watching me?”

Steve loves the reactions you give him, watching how you melt into putty in his hands. “You did?” It’s so close, he’s only started and you’re already being hurtled towards the edge.

“The way your thighs tense up, your eyes watching me, those pretty lips parted…” he explains, you have to give him credit for being much more observant than you had pegged him for. “Wanted to put my thumb in your mouth so many times, darling.”

“Why didn’t you?” You ask him, tensing up as you get close to your climax.

He laughs. You’re almost offended by his nonchalance. Is…is he not turned on, too? “We were surrounded by people, sweets. I have some self control, yunno.”

The reminder that you’re in the back room with him at work is on your mind, a hint of cockiness floods your head. “Evidently, not-not that much.”

He works his fingers harder, you’re not sure if it’s a reward or punishment for your words, but the orgasm is abrupt, overflowing your senses completely as you shake against the shelf. “There she is,” he mutters, fingers working you through every sensation he so expertly provides you.

He smirks as he watches the afterglow take over your face, biting his lip when your head finally lifts up to face him. Just when you think he couldn’t possibly get any hotter, he proves you wrong. You don’t doubt he will prove you wrong again. And again.

…and again.

You barely take a second to recover, hands fumbling down for his jeans button. “Kay, now I need you.” You urge him, grinning at the way his cock pops out against the fabric of his shirt. A hushed swear falls from your lips when you take in his size, bigger than you even thought he was.

And you thought he was huge.

“Yeah?” He asks, a droopy smile on his face when your eyes peer up at him.

You nod, wrapping your hand around him, jerking him off. He’s thick, the head flushed red and a vein wrapping around it. When his face crumples, a crease appearing between his eyes, you’ve already proven yourself right in your theory. “Please, Stevie.” You urge him, pulling his cock towards your entrance.

Your ass sits on an empty shelf, where it’s been resting since he fucked his fingers into you. When he slaps his cock, already leaking with precum, against your clit, you whine impatiently, silently begging for him. “I like when you ask so nicely. Do it s’more, will ya?”

“C’mon, Stevie, I want your cock, so fucking bad. I’ve pictured this so many times, I fucking need it. Please.” You don’t mention anything about a third party usually being present, but that could come up, maybe…

Steve grins, marveling in the way your voice is so pathetic for him. It’s even better than he imagined, by more than a million miles. A part of him is greedy for you, greedy for even more proof of how badly you’ve wanted him, despite the clear evidence from the first time he clocked it.

At the time, he wondered if he was picturing it, the way your eyes were unfocused and shifted down at his arms. He was barely flexing them, when he did experimentally, he watched your breath literally hitch, eyes hurriedly switching back to his face.

It took a few more days of experimentation, but he finally confirmed it when the evidence was too congruent to think otherwise.

He’s even more greedy for you, having spent many nights thinking about you bent over, on your knees, on your back, riding him, you name it, he’s thought of it.

He can ask you to continually beg for him another time, right now he’s just desperate for you, so he ignores the call to ask you to beg even more and pushes the head in.

The gasp, your jaw dropping, the swears that fall from your lips and invade the quiet room, the way your pussy sucks him in, everything about your reaction is perfect to him. The feeling is likewise, watching in real time as his eyes darken for you, and for you alone.

He’s huge in a way you can’t even comprehend, frighteningly so.  Still, he starts thrusting, gently as he can muster, still stinging, regardless. He knows he should wait, he has to every time he’s with someone new, but god damn if your pussy wasn’t the best he’s ever felt in his life. His hips move wondrously, rolling them in a way that feels like magic.

You can’t help the yelps and the whines that fill the room, watching and combing your fingers through his famous locks. They’re so soft, despite the constant hairspray and hair products he uses. While the pain mostly overshadows the pleasure, the combination is beautifully laced together.

Boy, can he fuck better than you had imagined. While you have thought of some things while imagining him, nothing has ever even compared to all that he’s giving you.

The moans that pass through his mouth, the roll of his hips, the crumpled expression on his face…all things that your brain could never come up with. Sure, you thought he could talk dirty, imagined his long fingers instead of yours, maybe picturing the way you so desperately finger yourself; this wasn’t remotely close to what you imagined.

Hell, it wasn’t anywhere near what you had imagined.  

It’s so much better.

You whimper, stuttering on the S of his name, unable to finish it, too blissed to care.

“S-s, what, honey? What’s that you were saying?” He chuckles deeply when you tighten around him. “Oh, you like being talked down to, huh? Like being put in your place?”

You nod, pulling him for a needy kiss, losing any sense of concentration when his hand lands on your clit, rubbing it in the exact way you needed him to.

“I fucking knew you would, little whore getting fucked at work, taking his big cock like you were made to, fuck.” His thrusts get stronger, harder, faster, gasping wordlessly at how fucking good he is at it.

“Fuck, Stevie, you gonna breed me? Gonna cum in my pussy? Need it so fucking bad, please, please, pleasepleasepleaseplease.”

The smile that invades his face is cocky, watching you crumble under him. “Listen to your pretty voice beg for me, you really want me that bad, huh?” You nod, wondering how his hips hit harder. How was that possible? “Gonna breed you, honey, just keep being a good girl f’me, and I’ll fill you up, mmkay?”

You nod, watching the beads of sweat slowly coat his reddened face. One hand curls itself into the hair by the crown of your head, gripping tightly and watching the intense pleasure that takes over your face. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, no longer aware of any existence outside of this room, you’re here, only here, and will only be here.

“Shit, gonna fill you up, honey, need to feel you cum all over my cock, won’t you, please, sweets, need it—” while he thinks your begging is beautiful, his is just the thing to put you over the edge. The fluttering of your tight walls around him pulling the cum that fills you up beautifully.

His cock thrusts through the collective orgasm you feel together, the force of it pushing his load out of your pussy, you watch it leak past his length and down your thighs. It’s a sight that almost makes you cum again.

He smirks, catching his breath in time with you. He places kisses up your throat, taking in the way you tighten around him. Finally, you come back down to earth, the smell of sex in the room from your tryst overwhelming it. How much febreeze would it take to hide it? Your jeans are barely down to your knees, shirt ruffled, and hair a mess. Man, did you get caught up in him, his kiss, his scent, his cock.

A shy grin cascades across your face, watching as a piece of hair curls its way into his eye. “Hi, beautiful.” He greets, hand plastering itself onto your cheek.

“Hi.” You whisper, still pulsing around him.

“Did you enjoy it as much as I did?” He asks, biting his lip as his eyes look bored into yours.

“Probably more.” You admit, grinning cheekily. “You did all the work.”

He laughs in answer, placing a kiss on your cheek as he pulls out. The loss is stark, you suddenly feel so empty.

Oh, he did manage his entire length. Fuck.

“Was it everything you wanted?”

You flick an eyebrow up at him, tilting your head. “I don’t know, Harrington. You tell me.”

He laughs, winking at you. “Yeah, whatever.”

You wouldn’t exactly call yourself his girlfriend at this point because that certainly didn’t feel like an invitation for such. In fact, when Steve mentions his date coming up that weekend you don’t exactly feel heartbreak, just jealousy.

Whatever weird relationship you just started with him, coworkers with benefits or whatever, you are down for it. You're immediately wondering how often you’ll be in the back room with him, sharing cheeky looks across the room when he winks at you.

When he’s that good, it’s hard not to be.

-

Despite the urge to, you actually don’t tell Robin over the phone about your hook up with Steve. Something about the secrecy just makes it that much hotter. You lie, telling her the night was boring with customers appearing for their late returns.

The store is reopened, Steve grinning at you manically as he continues with his work. Well, if you can call putting the returns away “work”.

Your mom is at work for the night, taking a double at the hospital. She left twenty bucks on the counter for supper, leaving a note to order some take out. Well, pizza it is. You order the vegetarian deluxe, rolling your eyes at the wait time; forty-five minutes to an hour. Apparently, they are very busy tonight. Whatever.

You decide to kill time, running up to your room and jumping on your bed, kicking your panties off, keeping the sweatshirt you wear on. Your fingers happily dance themselves onto your clit, using some of the gift Steve left you as lubricant.

Sometimes, the person you imagine takes over for you, sometimes they simply put their cock in you, disguised in the form of a dildo. This time, they merely watch.

“That’s right, let’s see those fingers touch your pretty clit.” You imagine his voice, Eddie, picturing him watching you. “Little slut can’t even be satisfied with Harrington’s cock, huh?” He asks, and yeah, maybe you are a desperate slut ready for either man to take advantage of you. But who fucking cares, at this point? Your hand moves up to touch your tit, sneaking past the hem of your shirt, when your own imagination stops you. “No, you can touch yourself over your sweater, I’m letting you touch your pussy, isn’t that enough?”

Somehow it makes you moan desperately, massaging it pathetically. You shake your head, feeling a bit like a brat for the moment.

“No? Feeling greedy, huh?” He asks, you picture his dark brown eyes fixated on your pussy, fingers itching to touch you, just able to prevent himself from doing so.

You grin, nodding. “Please let me, I’ll be so good.” You take full advantage of no one being home.

“Hmm. Don’t think you will be…” He muses, and man, did you know what you liked. You desperately hoped he would know, too. “You already had Harrington’s cock today, and now you want someone else?”

“Yeah, she is quite a slut, ain’t she?” Oh, there he is.

The idea of the two of them here, watching you with dark eyes, both breaking at the seams at resisting the want to touch you, creates a new stir in you that feels nearly impossible.

“Look at how greedy she is, desperate for us, ain’t she?”  You picture Eddie agreeing, squatting right in front of your bed to get a closer look.

Suddenly you forget about the urge to beg them to let you touch your tit and move on to begging for them. Begging for one of them, at least, to finally take pity on you and just fuck you already. Why is this so enticing to you? Why does it draw you in so, like a moth to a flame?

Well, you suppose if the flame was two hot, gorgeous, capable men, you’d be drawn to it just as a moth is, despite how badly the heat burns you.

Your fingers grow faster, gasping more intensely as the scenario furthers in your mind. You’re about to push yourself over the edge, the whines from your throat loud and desperate, when the doorbell rings twice, one after the other. Fuck, the pizza’s here.

You completely forgot you even ordered food to begin with.

You rush to put a pair of sweats on, petting your hair down desperately as you pick up the 20 from the counter. The bell rings twice more, you yell “I’m coming, I’m coming!” at the impatient driver. Well, you would’ve been if they were just five minutes slower.

The door opens to face Eddie Munson, holding a pizza in his hand and wearing a dorky delivery driver visor. Huh, the last thing you ever expect him to wear is a bright yellow visor, the shade of American cheese, with a dripping piece of pizza on it, that’s for damn sure. Well, the last thing you expected was to see Eddie Munson, especially with what you were just doing, what you were just picturing. Well, this is awkward. For you it is, for him you guessed it was just another delivery.

You smile awkwardly, tossing him the 20 and trading for your pizza. He asks how much you want back as the order and the delivery fee only cost you 10 dollars in total. You insist he takes the ten-dollar tip, grinning when he blinks in disbelief.

As much as you want to stay and talk to him and get a better handle of his voice, you were so close, and you can feel it starting to drift away. You close the door with a frank thank you and slide the pizza on the counter, running up the stairs.

As the door slams in his face, Eddie’s eyebrows raise, finding the whole interaction peculiar. In fact, when you opened the door, he clocked the scent right away. With how wet you are, both your arousal and Steve’s cum dripping down your thighs, it flooded his nose. Eddie knows the smell of pussy and knows it well. You were in such a rush to get back to your own imagination, you didn’t notice the way his jeans started to tent at the crotch.

Eddie starts to shrug it off, accepting the tip and taking the hint that you wanted alone time, but a sound, enticing and wonderous, floats into his ears. He thought he was hallucinating, did…did he just hear his name?

He wanders past the gate to your backyard and looks up to an open window, not seeing you, but hearing the moans that leave your throat as you continue your mission. His jaw slacks open, listening to you beg for him, beg for his cock. God, now knowing he has such power over you is driving him insane.

His cock throbs in his jeans to the point of hurting, he grabs himself just for the tiniest bit of relief, slightly stroking himself to the sound of your voice. Eddie’s legs are restless, like he wants to go back to your front door and ask if you want his help. He nearly carries himself there, ready to devour you, his career as a delivery driver be damned.

He only makes two strides when the second thing that freezes him into place comes out of your mouth. The first was you openly begging for him, but the second one is hearing you add someone else’s name in the mix. Eddie mistakes it for the wrong name, but as you intertwine his with Steve’s, it becomes clear to him that he wasn’t the only one you were currently begging for.

Your voice gets higher, more urgent, the begging transitions from begging for them to fuck you, which, jesus, to letting you finish. Man, he loves the way your mind works. He slips his cock out, unable to resist relieving himself any further. His eyes flicker to your neighbors’ lights, he hopes no one would be nosey enough to peer into your backyard for the night.

Come to think of it, he’s actually not sure he would care all that much.

The symphony of strings of swears and whimpers that float down from your window only adds fuel to his fire. “Oh, baby, just letting anyone listen to you, if they really wanted to, huh?” Sometimes being vocal is his Achillies heel. He should shut up, especially perving like this, but it’s nearly impossible.

You beg his name, imagining him and Steve refusing again.

“Listen to you beg like a little slut, hmm?” He muses, regretting that there’s nothing for him to clutch on to.

“Eddie, m’ so close…”

“Not yet, doll.”  He chides, hoping you’ll play along.

A miracle happens, as if you know exactly what his intentions would be. “Stevie, please?”

“Hmm, don’t you dare, Harrington.” Eddie threatens, and now he really does want to join you.

“Please, I’ve been so good…”

Your insistence, your sweet voice begging for him, God, Eddie’s already so damn close himself. “Let’s hear it, baby.”

The stars align, because from the sounds of your whines that come from your window are just enough for Eddie to spill over his fist, spurts of his cum dripping onto the grass beneath him. From the sounds of it, your orgasm is something that makes your every muscle spasm, the kind that lingers for minutes after. While your mewls, and whines, and whimpers are practically perfect, Eddie really wishes he could get the visuals.

He sees a shadow move; he wonders if you just remembered you have food waiting. He’d better move from your driveway before you realize he’s still there.

On his way to drop off a pizza that is also waiting to be delivered, one he knows he will have to pay for himself after the wait, (worth it), an idea forms in his head that is just too good for him to pass up or call it like it is…insane.  

-

When you feel a repetitive tap on your forearm at lunch the following week, you believe Robin is trying to annoy you. You ignore her, focusing on the novel you’re reading while you shrug her off. At the clearing of someone’s throat, you finally look up.

Oh, shit.

Eddie stands in front of you, hands in his pockets as he nods to the seat right next to you. All you can do is nod, out of breath as he sits in the seat right next to you.

“I’ll uh, just get going.” Robin mutters, shooting you a smirk as she gathers her backpack and takes off.

You shoot daggers at her, anxiously twisting your hands under the table, gulping as your nerves flood your senses.

Eddie rests his jacket leather covered arms on the table, head turned towards you. “Enjoy your pizza?” He asks, a twinkle in his eyes you can’t quite place.

Your brows furrow, confused until it dawns on you. He was the one that delivered it. “Oh…it-it was good.” You smile, sighing nervously.

A lopsided smile takes over Eddie’s face, he watches as the wheels turn in your pretty noggin. Knowing what the confusion meant when they furrow until the realization hits you. It’s a breath of fresh air, really, knowing he didn’t need to worry about rejection, knowing how secretly desperate you are for him.

He nods, licking his lips. “Good, good.” The way you sit nervously, the subtle tensing of your thighs, you’re sweet, amusing, even. “You going to Harrington’s party this Saturday?”

You blink, taking in the sentence. “Huh?”

He chuckles, and the smile on his face is gorgeous. “Harrington. Know him?” You nod, eyes wide. “You going to his party?”

Steve literally invited you the day before, suggesting he might drag you into a closet or something. “Yeah, I am.”

“Wanna go with me?”

Yes. Yes, you do. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. “Sure.” You accept, leaning on your elbow, a shy smile on your face.

“Pick you up at 10?” Somehow, Eddie has the ability to make you feel breathless, and his skin hasn’t even grazed yours yet.

Hopelessly, desperately, you wait for Saturday. Over the week, Eddie has caught your eye across the cafeteria, shooting his cocky grin that continually melts you into a puddle.

That same cocky grin he gives you as he drives over to Steve’s. While Steve knows of your crush on him, he also was aware of how much you like Eddie. Honestly he’s just rooting for you, seeing the excited glint in your eye when you give him the news.

Every little part of you is wondering how it is possible that you might have the choice…when weeks ago you thought you had no possible chance with either of them. There’s a slight part of you wondering…wondering if you’d slipped into an alternate universe where the world is starting to work out in your favor. It feels plausible until you wondered why the hell you’d be going to work or doing homework in your perfect world.

Eddie’s hand rests on your shoulder as you enter, the music blaring from Steve’s living room. A crowd of sweaty teenagers jumping, grinding, dancing, filled to the brim with far too much alcohol. You’d barely said a word to him, stuck in your head as you accepted a red solo cup from him. He makes his own mix, a brown liquid you don’t recognize with some coke. Yours is a vodka-sprite mix, hoping the extra shot you pour will loosen you up a bit.

Or…a lot.

“Dance with me?” He asks, pointing to the living room as he takes a big swig.

You squint at him, already in the middle of taking a big gulp, wincing at the burn. “You dance?”

He shrugs, fingers tapping on the red plastic of his cup. “I do when pretty girls dance with me.”

You take another big gulp, already feeling the effects. What can I say, you are a lightweight. “Better go find one.”

Well, it seems the alcohol is doing its thing.

Eddie’s arm easily wraps around your waist, pulling you up against him. The look in his eye excites you, gulping as his hot breath is on your neck, enticing a shudder. “You little shit.” He mutters, a smug little grin on his face. “I was already asking a pretty girl for your information. I was giving you the privilege of asking, but now you have no choice.”

The cup nearly collides with your nose as he takes another swig, his eyes never leaving yours. His hand easily intertwines with yours as he tosses the cup over his shoulder, tugging you to the living room.

You follow him, hypnotized by his siren’s song. Eddie doesn’t have an inch of patience left in him, already antsy from the show you put on for him. He lets his hands wonder, holding you close to him and going everywhere, your hips, your thighs, your ass, even trailing under your tiny skirt. You don’t protest, inhaling his scent. The mix of body wash, cologne, and just him is mouthwatering.

He doesn’t ask, doesn’t need to from the way you melt in his arms when his lips finally land on yours. The reward of your moan vibrating into his mouth is just what he needs, the very reward he was looking for. You don’t have it in you to pretend you aren’t eager, your lips searching for his as soon as it registers. The kisses are urgent, fervent, and just the right amount of messy.

His knee makes its way between your legs, already mapping how easy it is to make you fall apart, even in the middle of a crowd. And do you ever fold in his arms even at the subtle touch of his hands on your skin, tongue on yours, the adrenaline in your veins… it’s enough to make you forget you’re in a crowd.

When his tongue lands on your throat, sending ripples of pure ecstasy down your spine. The moment he feels you start to grind on his thigh, he has you right where he wants you. His mouth dives into your ear, heated breaths sending a chill through you. “I’ll be right back.”

Confused, you catch his eye, faltering as his knee leaves where it’s stationed.

He winks, walking across the living room, feeling pretty smug at how he feels your eyes on the back of his head.

Now for his plan.

Steve invited a girl over for his party, deciding he’d do exactly what he had insisted he’d do with you. Instead, he’s mesmerized by how you and Eddie are grinding across the way from him. No matter how hard he tries, he couldn’t keep his eyes off the two of you, now wishing you were following through on said plans with him.

When Eddie’s lips met your neck, he feels entirely too restless, forcing himself not to place you in the middle of a sandwich he’d very much like to be a part of.

Now the girl is off with another dude having sought out a different sex buddy when Steve backed out, making out with some jock on his couch. Not that he cares, he’s barely noticed her. He’s far too busy being captivated by you and your date.

Speaking of your date, he attempts to look busy as soon as Eddie starts crossing the room, to where Steve assumed was the bathroom a few feet behind him. Boy, was he wrong. As Steve crowds into the wall, pretending to be staring off towards anywhere else, Eddie stops right next to him, observing Steve with a smirk.

Eddie started keeping track of Steve as soon as he got to the party, keeping mental tabs on him. It wasn’t hard, Steve’s eyes were glued the two of you, and it made Eddie’s plan ten times easier.

“Hi, Harrington.” He smirks, watching Steve’s shallow breathing and shifty eyes. Wasn’t very often he’s seen him lack confidence, and it’s almost too easy to get the two of you to dance how he wanted. “Enjoying the show?”

Steve falters, batting his pretty eyelashes as he processes it. “I-I’m not sure what you mean.”

Eddie rolls his eyes with his arms crossed. It certainly doesn’t help that Eddie had used every one of the tools in his belt. Shown off his arms, put some care into his hair, wore a shirt that was just a little too short for his torso…

As planned, it was working like a charm. “C’mon Steve, those pretty eyes of yours were burning a hole into the back of my head the entire time. Or…were you not watching the way she grinded on my leg?”

Steve’s eyes flicker to you, having now moved back into the kitchen to get another cup of alcohol. His eyes meet Eddie’s again, gulping, not able to find it in himself to deny any further. “Okay, so I was. It’s basically impossible not to.”

Eddie’s smile grows, his teeth just barely peeking through. “Isn’t it?” It really falls into Eddie’s favor that Steve was already against the wall, hand landing right next to his face. “Well, I gotta be honest, from the look on your face it almost looked like you wanted to join us.”

Oh god, is Steve hallucinating, or did Eddie just invite him to do the very thing he so desperately craved? “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Munson.”

Eddie rolls his eyes again, amused at the hesitance Steve displays. “I’m not. I’m inviting you to one.”

Steve’s breath hitches, Eddie affirming exactly what he was afraid of. “Think she’d be down for that?”

The genuine laughter that leaves Eddie’s lips is a bit startling, to say the least. “I can say, Steve, with 100% certainty, that she would be.”

“Well, shit, Eds.” Steve laughs, already hard from the mere thought of it. “Let’s go get our girl.”

-

A part of you starts to worry, tipsy as you stare into your drink while sitting next to who you thought was Steve’s date but is all over some football jock. Despite your date being Eddie, you were glad. Your jealousy can start simmering down. You catch Eddie’s jeans ripped at the knee, eyes raking up to his face, noting Steve trailing right behind him.

Eddie ignores your confused face, offering his hand for you to take. Yours lands in his, and it wraps around yours as he effortlessly tugs you up to him. “Come on, we’re going upstairs.” He waits for you to acknowledge Steve standing by you, eyebrow quirking up. “Oh, Steve’s joining us.”

You are not protesting. That's the last thing you'd be doing. If anything, it’s just sudden. All you can do is let out stuttered breaths, attempting to ask how, or why, before getting to the what.

Eddie pretends to falter, brow furrowing as he condescendingly tilts his head. “What, I thought this is what you wanted?”

Okay, how could he possibly know that? “Y-yes, yes, I do, but-but how--?”

“You should probably close your window next time you decide to order food and have a bit of fun, there, sweetheart.” Your eyes shoot open wide, immediately understanding why Eddie approached you when he did. Your window. He leans into Steve, laughter sitting under his voice. “Stevie, should’ve heard her, she was begging for us both, sweet thing had no idea I could hear.”

Steve’s mouth turns into a smirk, watching the many phases your sweet face goes through. “That true? You thinking of us both at the same time?”

By this point, your eyes haven’t even stopped switching between the two men as they leer over you. You wonder how many times this exact scenario has crossed your mind, giving you eyes as they proposition you to be the delicious middle of their sandwich. It’s everything you want, everything you crave.

Then why the fuck is it so damn terrifying?

“You got words, sweetheart?” Eddie asks, catching Steve’s eye, who has his hands on his hips, his eyes curtained by those glorious locks.

No words come to mind, except how fucking wet their gazes make you feel. You let your action speak for itself, turning on the spot to run up the stairs.

You’re halfway up when you hear the thumping of two sets of feet behind you vaguely over the loud music, giggles bubbling up your throat as you turn around the corner down the hall. Not panic, but pure excitement fills your chest as the sounds of footsteps invade the upstairs. A hand grabs yours, yanking you back to the door that Steve opens, his own room.

Sometimes it’s occupied by some random hook ups, he usually tries to lock it for a big party, but honestly if there were someone in his room, he would’ve kicked them out. He’s already hooked up in his mom and dad’s room, as barf inducing as it is, and he refuses to do so on this particular night.

Eddie is right behind you as you enter, hands already making their way under your shirt. He’s eager, his hand hooking under the hem and lifting it over your head and your arms. The cold air meets your skin, gifting it goosebumps. Your shirt hits the floor, you can hear it on Steve’s hardwood. The sound is minor in the grand scheme of things, currently focused on Steve’s lips on yours and Eddie’s hands making their way under the wire of your bra.

Steve’s hands grab at your shoulders, pulling you so you fall on top of him, Eddie giggling as he lands on the two of you. Eddie’s laughs weave with the kisses he scatters along your back, your neck, hands moving absentmindedly as he undoes the backing of your bra.

Under you, Steve’s hands delicately grab the straps of the bra and pull them off your arms. Your bra is flung across the room without a second thought, Steve palming your tits and playing with the nipples between his fingers, twisting and groping them as you mewl into his ear.

Eddie falls sideways onto the bed, the momentum knocking both you and Steve on your sides as well with him. You giggle, starting to grab at the edge of Steve’s shirt to lift over his head. Eddie flips your skirt up, his long fingers touching the fabric over your weeping pussy.

“Fuck, you’re soaked.” Eddie mumbles, sneaking under the waistband of your panties, touching you softly and moving his finger up and down. “Pretty baby must be turned on, hmm?”

Steve bends down to mouth at your nipples, his silk tongue hot and magical, gently nipping with his teeth in a way that makes your blood sing.

The marvelous mixture of sensation has your head flung back on Eddie’s shoulder, writhing in their holds as they work together. One of Eddie’s fingers slips in, long and deep within you. A loud gasp fills the room as Eddie’s thumb rotates your clit slowly and watches you fall apart.

His finger hooks, working perfectly against your g-spot. “F-fuck!”

Steve licks up the mound of your breast, dirtily licking all the way to your neck, nibbling bruises across your neck. “Gonna cum so quickly, sweets?” Steve asks, teasing you.

“Feels-feels so good!” You whimper, starting to grind helplessly on Eddie’s finger.

Steve’s eyes switch over to Eddie’s, who is already watching him. He grins, eyes switching from the metal-head’s eyes to his lips before licking his own. Both men are pressed against you as they lean in, their lips connecting as you lay in a true sandwich. Wet sounds of their kisses are loud in the room, and from their body language it gets heated fast as Eddie moans behind you, his fingers not resting for a second.

They’re fast and relentless, a heat in your pussy too hot, too much as you’re pushed over the edge like being pushed over a cliff. It hits you hard as you restlessly wither in-between them. Steve’s mouth moves from Eddie’s straight to yours, muffling the moans that leave your mouth.

The loss is sudden as Eddie removes his fingers to pull your skirt down your ass. “You want me to tell Stevie what I heard, or you wanna tell him?”

Your lips freeze against Steve’s, eyes opening, gulping as you back away from him.

“Ooh, I wanna know, what’d you hear, Eds?” Steve asks, getting the hint when Eddie helps move you on to your back.

“Well, from what I could tell she was picturing us watching her play with herself, begging for us to touch her, begging for our cocks, begging to cum…”

Shit, he did hear everything.

“Shit, when was this, honey?”

You bite on your pointer finger nervously as Eddie tugs on your thighs, giggles spilling from your mouth. “Wednesday.”

Steve shakes his head, unbuttoning his jeans as he grins at you, Eddie settling himself between your legs. “Oh, you greedy girl.”

Eddie finishes pulling your skirt down your legs, tossing it over his shoulder as he asks, “Why?”

“Oh, she didn’t tell you?” Steve asks, cockily grinning at Eddie as he pulls down his boxers, his cock springing free. “Yeah, she took my cock in the back of Family Video that day, didn’t ya, darlin’?”

Eddie quirks his eyebrow, staring up at you from in-between your legs, grinning intensely. “Oh, you are greedy aren’t ya? Maybe such a greedy girl doesn’t get her wildest fantasies coming true, hmm?”

He’s bluffing, but in your post-orgasm haze you can’t tell at all, you're just desperate for them. You protest it loudly, humming several no’s in a row.

“I dunno, maybe you can watch for tonight and we’ll let you join in another time, hmm?” Eddie taunts you, grabbing Steve’s cock and stroking it, Steve’s moan from final, sweet, relief filling the room.

You’re protesting more, resting on your forearms as you’re hypnotized by the way Eddie’s eyes are locked onto Steve’s. Okay, watching them isn’t all that terrible, but you’re already naked.

Eddie leans in, eyes still trained on Steve as he wraps his mouth around the head of Steve’s cock. You’re hypnotized by it, their constant eye contact creating an energy that is palpable. Eddie’s head tilts back, his tongue that he likes to show off so much at school lingering on Steve’s mushroom tip, reveling in the pearl of precum.

He kisses it, twisting his head to you. “Enjoying the show, sweetheart?”

You nod, grinning manically. “Very much.”

“Maybe we can take pity on her, hey, Eds?” Steve asks, also looking at you.

“Yeah, she can watch another time.” Eddie mumbles, pulling away from Steve to lean in back between your legs. “For now, I need to bury my nose in this sweet little cunt.”

That’s the only warning you get before Eddie’s long tongue slides itself against your wet folds, a hot, wet stripe sending shivers up your spine. You can’t help the whine that leaves your throat, desperate and all too happy to accept it.

Steve saunters over to your mouth, stroking himself as he observes your face. “Think you can be a good girl and take this cock down your throat?” You nod, reaching for him pathetically. You guide his cock to your mouth, the large head pushing into your mouth. His length fills your mouth, pushing right to the back of your throat. “Oh, that’s a good girl.”

A hum leaves your mouth around him, somehow dividing your attention between Steve’s cock in your mouth and Eddie’s tongue on your pussy.

Speaking of Eddie, his tongue has been slowly working, barely putting an ounce of pressure, focused on gathering up any arousal you feed him. His fingers are harsh against your thighs, the friction nearly burning as he grips you tightly. “Fuck, you taste…” he pauses, gasping and greedy, “so sweet.”

Your mouth is busy, too busy to tell Eddie how much he just needs to touch you harder, already. Your hips do it for you, grinding up as a silent question. Simultaneously, your hands move to Steve’s base, playing with his balls. Your mouth makes a wet plop, suddenly in the mood to have them up against your face. Your greedy tongue pokes out to lick at the patched hair that covers them, gasping at the sweaty musk they radiate.

Steve buckles, swearing loudly as his hand lands roughly next to your face. “Oh, my gooood, baby.”

As a reaction, Eddie digs in further, his tongue pushing into you, deliciously long and vibrating into you as he hums. The stench of sweat and your dribble fills your nose, your face slobbered and wet. Eddie places his thumb on your clit, rubbing in small circles as the more you give him, the more he takes.

He knows the smell of pussy, and your smell has driven him completely insane, like a pheromone that overwhelms any logic he once held and replaces it with you.

You gasp, taking Steve’s cock back in your mouth, the tip hitting the back of your throat. Steve’s hand curls into your hair, his thumb swaying against your cheek. You can barely focus on it, the overstimulation making that oh-so-funny feeling take over once more, swelling in your stomach.

“You gonna cum again, honey?” Steve asks, his hips moving slowly, yet picking up at an unprecedented rate. You nod around him, his cock hitting and forming a beautiful swell in your cheek, moaning around him. “Gonna fill this pretty little mouth, then we’ll pay attention to Eds over there, hmm? Bet he needs some help, hmm?”

“Might cum from her taste alone, honestly,” Eddie mumbles, working his tongue even faster, even more.

That single sentence does it for you, mouth tightening around Steve as you spill onto Eddie’s tongue, legs tightening around his ears. Steve feels as you moan around him, every part of you tensing, your mouth specifically tightening and pulling sticky ropes that jump down your throat.

It becomes too much, overflowing your mouth and drooling down your chin. Eddie kisses your thigh, lapping up the arousal that spilled to your thighs. Steve pulls out, watching with hooded and hazy eyes as your mouth stays open, tongue poking out covered in him, smiling as when his eyes drift to your throat gulping as he flows down your throat.

“Did I hear you say it was my turn?” Eddie asks, head poking out from between your legs. “Does that mean I get to feel this tight little pussy wrapped around my cock?”

Steve chuckles, his hand still wrapped in your hair. “If I’ve already had a turn, guess it only seems fair.” His thumb swipes across your chin, gathering the excess cum that gathered.

Out of nowhere Eddie pounces, grabbing Steve’s wrist and lapping the sticky substance with his tongue, making a show of it. Well, Eddie is nothing if not a performer.

Steve seems to think his turn is over, turning to the mess of clothes on the floor. “Stevie,” you whine, sitting up. Your legs feel like jelly, grabbing at the shirt on Eddie right next to you. How is Eddie still fully dressed? “Do you have lube?”

“You don’t need lube, sweets, you're soaked.”

You giggle, shaking your head. “Not what I meant, Ed.” You look back to Steve. “Hey, stop getting dressed! You got lube, right?”

“Uh…yes.” Steve startles, hands on his hips with his hips, eyebrows furrowed.

How have they not picked up on it yet? “Seriously?” You ask, switching between their confused glances. “Remember how Eddie said you’d make every fantasy come true?” They nod, you move onto your knees, undoing Eddie’s belt, and button quickly. “Well, when I pictured this, I pictured every hole being filled.”

Usually, a sentence like this would make you shy, embarrassingly so. However, the collective stare the two men give you is mind numbingly arousing.

“Shit,” Eddie mutters, sharing a bewildered look with Steve. “Well, go get the damn lube, Steve!”

Steve chuckles, moseying to the bedside table and grabbing a small bottle.

Your hands, frozen on Eddie’s half undone jeans, finally start moving again, pulling down his jeans and underpants. His cock springs out, the head an angry red. You lean forward, extending your legs backward as you lean forward to accept Eddie in the back of your throat.

Steve comes from behind him, lifting the loose black shirt he wears over his head, sprinkling kisses along Eddie’s skin.

Eddie groans, lifting his head up. “Fuck, ok, get up, need to feel that pussy right now.”

You smirk, getting off Eddie with a pop, standing up on weak legs. Eddie pulls you right against him, wrapping your lips in a sweet kiss. His tongue wastes no time to reach out to touch yours, connecting wonderfully. Eddie turns the two of you around, kicking off his jeans and stumbling over them. He falls backward onto the bed, you falling onto him and giggling like a madman.

A hand wraps around your cheeks, squishing them comically and pulling your face upward. “Kiss me, honey.”

You grin, locking lips with Steve as your body hitches up toward him. A pair of hands plant you back down, bare pussy connecting with Eddie’s gorgeous cock. The sensation makes you whine, thighs tensing around Eddies. Your hips grind helplessly, hoping it pushes him in. “Patience, sweets.”

You whine impatiently, petulantly groaning against Steve’s lips. You part from him, staring down at Eddie. “Stop teasing me, and—” your sentence cuts short, Eddie grinning in satisfaction as he shuts you up. A hushed swear leaves your throat, elongated and stuttered on the sh in shit.

Your impatience is the size of a teaspoon, hips rutting down to take more of him quicker, even though he’s at a size where you know you should take your time. “Take your time,” Eddie tuts, wrapping his hand in your hair.

“I can’t.” You whine, trying to pull him in more.

Impossibly, you manage to take in Eddie’s full length faster than you know you should. It’s still not fast enough.

A second pair of hands land on your ass, grabbing at the apples of your cheeks with harsh nails digging into the soft skin. Eddie’s hands are on your hips, fingertips under the edge of Steve’s. A cold, thick liquid lands where it needs to, a finger pushes it in, a mighty pressure added to the mix.

You whine, bucking into them and grinding on Eddie’s cock simultaneously. A mix of sounds ring out, Eddie moaning, Steve chuckling, you breathlessly gasping. “Fuck.”

Steve adds another finger, twisting and playing, watching how both your holes spasm together, how Eddie’s cock starts to move for you when your hips are jerking too much to really do anything.

Eddie gasps into your ear, groaning and border-line whimpering. “F-fuck, feel this tight fucking pussy…Jesus, Harrington, you planned on keeping this to yourself?”

Steve doesn’t answer right away, inserting a third finger and grinning at your high-pitched reaction. “With how good it feels, can you fucking blame me?”

“How many times you pictured fucking me, sweets? Good as you thought it’d be?” Eddie asks, voice guttural.

“S-s-s-so much better,” you stutter, whining in the crook of his neck.

Over your shoulder, Steve winks at Eddie, and it gives Eddie the warning to pause his movements to allow Steve to enter. The pressure of the head against the hole is so good. “Fuck,” you whimper, gasping desperately.

If there’s anything you’re willing to admit, it’s that you never knew you could feel this good, this full, it’s a shame it took this long, really. The stupid part is, Steve isn’t even halfway in. Your jaw drops, hands tensing and curling and toes twitching, so many little muscles moving instantaneously.

“You okay, sweets?” Eddie asks, whispering sweetly as your gasping grows in both depth and volume. You frantically nod, the sweat fierce and intense.

“More.” You beg, the only word that can possibly make sense to you.

However small, however faint, Steve heard the plea and pushed in more. Your jaw drops, leaning onto Eddie’s bare chest with your elbows and staring at Eddie’s darkened, brown eyes. He’s pretty, too pretty.

You adjust, and yeah, lube definitely needs to be used in this bullshit, it makes it feel so much better. “More,” you whimper, twisting your body to look back at Steve to see his reaction as he pushes in one last time.

The awkward twist of the body is worth it to see how his jaw drops and eyes close, followed by his head falling back in bliss. “Fuck, both your tight little holes are so good, honey.”

“What a good girl you are, love, god you take cock so well,” Eddie compliments you, whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

Steve’s strong hand sways across your ass, caressing it fiercely. “Like she was made to, isn’t it,” he adds, hunching over your build to kiss the bare skin.

Your toes are curled, your whole-body tense, eyes closed as you lie in the sandwich that contains the three of you. Good. God, it’s good. The goodness that it is starts to trail down your cheeks, trailing off your chin. “Good,” you whimper, trying to look at both of them at once. “G-good. Move. Move,” you act restlessly, hands moving without a destination in mind, hips bucking anxiously with no such success.

They work in tandem, their hips synchronously moving together, both rolling their hips perfectly. Steve twists his arm around your torso, extending as he wraps his hand around your neck, fingers beautifully spread, choking the little air you have out of your lungs. Eddie stares up at your face in awe, holding your hips fiercely while his hips buck up.

Steve’s hand awkwardly spiders up your jaw, letting go of your neck to hook a thumb in your mouth and rest his fingers on your chin.

As a reflex, you start to suck on it. “What a pretty slut we have, hey, Stevie?” Eddie asks, admiring your pretty mouth wrapped around Steve’s thumb.

“Thirsting over her little holes being filled, taking it so well, fucking right, she is.” Steve agrees. He yanks his thumb out, using the same hand to lightly slap your ass.

You moan, loud and stuttered, and guttural at the sting of pain that just adds more to the pleasure. “Fuck!” Steve chuckles doing it again, harsher this time.

Eddie’s arms wrap around you, pulling your tits against his chest. He pulls you in for a kiss, dirty, and filled with spit. Steve slaps another time, harder than the others, you yell into Eddie’s mouth as a direct response. Your lips stutter off Eddie, whining desperately at the marvel.

“Whore.” You whine out, desperate.

“Oh, she wants to be called a whore, does she? Well she certainly earned it, didn’t she?” Eddie mocks, voice only a little bit strained. Eddie surges forward, slapping your ass harshly, igniting a yelp from you from the unexpected sting. “Sorry, Stevie, I wanted in on the fun.”

Steve grunts out a moan, “Of course, after all, our whore loves it, doesn’t she?”

They start to move faster, Eddie’s hips more jagged, Steve’s hips in a rolling pattern, both cocks fucking you in a way that is simply too good to be true.

That seemed to be the common theme for the night, good. While fantastic, amazing, wonderful, beautiful, are much better synonyms, good is the only word simple enough to reach your brain. Maybe the stream of tears trailing down your face are stealing the strong words from your vocabulary, maybe it’s the cocky look that sits on both their faces. Maybe it’s the wandering hands.

“Gonna cum.”

“Oh, make a mess for us, sweetheart.” Eddie commands, planting wet lips all along your jaw, neck, shoulder, anywhere he can reach.

Steve slips his hand around your thigh, placing two fingers on your clit. “Wanna feel this tight little hole as you cum, yeah? Gonna see our baby make another fucking mess.”

The pleasure is overwhelming, consuming every nerve you have. Gasps leave your throat, high pitched and too much. “Cum all over me, baby.”

A feeling you’ve never had, a high you’ve never reached, comes into play, forcing you to push something you didn’t know you could. “Oh, I’m gonna—”

A gush overwhelms the heavy breaths that are coming from both Eddie and Steve. Your vision is flooded with stars, writhing in their collective hold.

It takes you a minute to recover from it, both men’s hips slowly bucking in, slowly hips rolling and swaying. You still look like you need time when you choke out, “Fuck me! Fill me up, please, please, please?”

“Of course, whatever the pretty girl wants.” Steve mutters, hands gripping onto your hips as he fucks into you, matching the relentless pace Eddie was already at.

“Jus’ like that, jus’ like that~”

“Oh fuck, keep begging like that, honey.” Steve encourages you, grabbing harshly against your scalp.

“You better be as close as I am, Harrington, or this will be embarrassing.” Eddie warns, only half joking with how desperate his moans sounded.

“Fill her up with me?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” Eddie answers, grinning manically. “J-j-jesus christ!”

The symphony of moans as they fill you up in both holes is music to your ears, something you never thought you’d hear. You do your best to memorize every note, every consonant, every vowel, to commit it to memory.

The world freezes as three sets of lungs attempt to catch their breath. Hands gracing over any skin they can touch for a gentle caress. Caresses lead into kisses on skin, wet and comforting in the best way.

You can’t tell how much time passes as the three of you fall over into a three way spoon, cocks still keeping you good and full.

“Did so good, honey.” Steve praises, petting your hair and skin.

“Good girl, such a good girl for us.” Eddie adds, unable to help his hand fluttering over to Steve’s hair, as well.

Your gasps turn from whimpers to hums, accepting every whisper of appraisal with an overly satisfied grin sitting on your face. They pull themselves out eventually, you moan at the loss as your spaghetti limbs sprawl on the bed. “Gonna grab you some water, honey,” Steve whispers, planting a kiss in your hair.

“You need a bath, sweetheart? I know for a fact it fits the three of us down the hall.” Eddie asks right after him, yanking a pair of his jeans on.

You nod, head feeling heavy on your neck.

Eddie scoops you up in his arms, carrying you down the hall. As the tub fills with hot, soapy water, Steve comes back up the steps with a cold glass of water to the bathroom. “Drink up.”

In Steve’s corner tub, you sit on Eddie’s lap, arms wrapped around him absentmindedly as Steve climbs in across the two of you. They spend their time washing your body, the hot water, and bubbles soothing and gentle as ever. It feels so good, so nice, it hurts to think it will end soon.

Your hormones must’ve been wild, because the tears fall down your face as you start to think about how badly you don’t want this to end. They’re worried, asking what’s wrong as they worriedly reach one another’s eyes. “’M selfish.”

“Why you selfish, sweets?” Eddie asks, tilting your chin up to him.

“Cause…cause I don’t want this to end…having both of you...it’s too good.”

Eddie and Steve share a glance, the both of them knew from the start it wasn’t just a one-time thing. “Who said this was going to end?” Attempting to reach your eyes with his.

“What?” You ask, a beautiful flicker of hope in you.

Eddie’s arms tighten around you, hand reaching in to kiss your cheek. “It’s nowhere near over, baby.”

“You’re too good for us to let you go, honey.”

“Really?” You ask, now a tad skeptical. “You’re going to let me be selfish enough to have both of you?”

“Please.” Steve chuckles, eyebrow furrowing at the crash down the stairs. “If anything, we’re the selfish ones, honey.”

Selfish.

On a regular day, it’s hard not to feel completely selfish. But when there’s two enticing and captivating voices telling you that’s not possible, you forget the word even exists.

-

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