#or are they acquaintances who don’t even give a fuck about each others feelings

[annebd]

prompt: scotty and max fucking dirt nasty about daniel

My first ask prompt! Thank you for turning my own horny tags against me! I don’t know if I managed to get all the way to dirt nasty, but I feel like we can at least call this “potting soil rude.��� ;)

Below the cut and also here at AO3.

Max and Scotty have a tenuous agreement. A custody arrangement, Scotty calls it. When Daniel had first introduced them all those years ago, he’d clearly assumed that since he loved them both, naturally they’d like each other, too. They did not. Instead, they spent the first few months of their acquaintance doing their damnedest to avoid each other’s presence while fighting over who got to spend more time with Daniel. Neither of them wanted to share their time with him with the other, and each felt that they had a more compelling reason to lay claim to Daniel’s attention. Max declared teammate dibs, while Scotty argued for compatriot rights. The arguments escalated- furious text messages interspersed with angry glares and whispered squabbling away from Daniel’s ears until, eventually, they decided that the only viable option was to share custody.

Max gets Daniel on race weekends, from Thursday all the way through to Sunday night (and if they’re celebrating a good race result, well into the wee hours of Monday morning). Scotty has free rein over the rest of the week and any non-race weekends, except for times when Daniel and Max are both in Monaco at the same time, in which case Max gets first dibs on invites to dinners, clubs, or padel dates. Scotty had tried to argue that this rule unfairly favors Max, given that Max and Daniel both live in Monaco, which immediately gives him way more Daniel-time. Max wasted no time in pointing out that Scotty also lives in Monaco, so that’s a dumb argument, and with the amount of travel they all do, there’s very little overlap in their schedules anyway, which was the whole point in the first place.

The most important rule in their agreement, though, is that Daniel remains absolutely unaware that any of this is going on. If he knew the lengths Scotty and Max were going to in order to rearrange their schedules and his, he would make that face at them. The one where his eyes go wide and soft and red rimmed. He would shake his head at them, and he would use words like “childish” and “manipulative” and “disappointed.” No. It’s better that Daniel doesn’t know.

He’s somehow never managed to catch on that Scotty doesn’t ever hang out with him on race weekends, even if he’s at the grand prix and chilling with Chloe in the Aston Martin hospitality. He’ll give Daniel a wave, a pat on the bum if they pass each other in the paddock, but he's never asked for a pass to Daniel’s garage, even though he could easily get one as a Red Bull athlete himself. And Daniel’s also never noticed that Max pretty much disappears after race weekends, only to pop up in the background of one of Martijn’s Instagram stories or on stream with the other Twitch boys, even if Daniel mentions he'd be happy to hang out if Max finds himself in LA whenever he’s there.

Over the years, they’ve reached a tentative truce over their shared time with Daniel, but neither of them has ever gotten what they truly want: Daniel himself. He’ll flirt with them all day long,  but they know he’d just as easily flirt with a brick wall if given the chance. Flirting sometimes leads to more: Daniel will get up close behind Max on the crowded dance floor at a club, brush the tease of a half chub against Max’s ass as he scoots past him, a drink in each hand and a grin on his face. He’ll wrap one arm around Max’s waist from behind, a gesture with a flourish to present him with the G&T he’d ordered for Max, and whisper “just for you, Maxy,” as he hands him the drink and presses his cock against the seam of Max’s ass. And then he’ll flounce off again, shimmying to the pulse of the music and unaware of, or simply uncaring about, the state of Max’s shorts.

Max has seen him with Scotty, knows that he acts just the same way with him. Always standing too close, legs intertwined, sharing jokes murmured under his breath or whispered too loudly in his ear. He’ll tuck himself under Scotty’s chin, fingertips of one hand tugging teasingly at the collar of Scotty's shirt, while the other hand reaches out to take a selfie that he’ll send to Max and caption “wish you were here!”

But Daniel never lets them get any closer than that. He’ll tease, flirt, hint that he wants more, but he never takes the next step- or lets Scotty or Max take it, either. Somewhere along the line, they realized that if they can’t have Daniel himself, they’ll have to settle for the next best option.

That option is this: Scotty has Max face down, ass up on his driver room floor. There’s no space in here for this, but neither of them had cared about the logistics of anything beyond getting the door shut and tearing off enough clothing to get started. Max is still wearing his Red Bull polo- the hem rucked up to his armpits. His jeans are hanging off one foot, caught on the shoe he didn’t bother to take off before he started peeling out of his clothes. Scotty is no better off- his jeans are unzipped far enough for him to have pulled his cock out, but he’s otherwise still fully clothed.

Max watches over his shoulder as Scotty coats his fingers in lube. It’s the shitty kind in a packet that Max swiped from the complimentary amenity kit in the hotel this morning and tossed at Scotty’s head as they stumbled into his driver room and started pulling off their clothes. It’s sticky and a little goopy, but it’ll do in a pinch.

Scotty opens Max up brusquely, stretching him with two and then three fingers in quick succession. Max bristles at the burn, the way he can feel a flame lick up and down his spine, unsure of whether the sensation is pleasure or pain. He breathes through the too quick stretch and the way Scotty intentionally avoids so much as brushing past his prostate. Max knows they don’t have time for gentle. The first free practice session starts in barely more than half an hour, and Max still needs to go through his warm up routine and check in with GP about the set up plan for the run. But even with all the time in the world, Scotty still wouldn’t give him the courtesy. His focus here isn’t on Max’s pleasure.

“Come on already,” Max complains. He’s reaching back with a free hand to pull Scotty in closer, trying to grab at his cock. At least when Scotty is buried in him, Max can fuck himself back onto him, guide the angle exactly where he wants it.

“Shut up,” Scotty hisses, pushing Max’s polo further up and stuffing the hem into Max’s mouth. Max is loud. Always. But here, they don’t have the luxury of being able to hide behind the anonymity of a private hotel room, where the sound of Max’s drawn out groans or high pitched squeals can be passed off as coming from one of the other rooms down the hall; nor can they rely on the ironclad NDAs of the staff on Max’s private plane, who may have overheard him more than once begging for Scotty to stop fucking around and fuck him harder. Checo’s driver room is just next door. He’ll hear if Max starts shouting the way he wants to.

Assured that the makeshift gag will do for now, Scotty grabs a handful of Max’s left ass cheek, pulling him wide, fingers of his other hand moving unceremoniously in and out of his hole. Max can feel the cool metal of Scotty’s wedding ring against him, a twin sensation to the cold slick of the lube dripping down his rim. He wonders if Chloe knows. She’s probably lounging in the Aston Martin hospitality right now, sipping casually on a glass of wine as she chats with Fernando or jokes around with Lance. Does she know that her husband is only a few dozen yards away, wiping the excess lube off his hand and onto his cock and lining it up with Max’s hole? He wonders what she’d say if she knew. He wonders what Daniel would.

He groans as the thought hits him. Imagines Daniel’s face if he walked into Max’s driver room right now, saw him splayed out like this, moaning like a whore as Scotty takes that moment between breaths to push in, his first thrust already a zero to sixty full send that has Max sliding further to the floor. His knees slip wider and his hip flexors stretch beyond the point of a pleasant ache. Rupert is going to kill him if he shows up to his pre-race warm up with a limp. Maybe Daniel would help soothe the ache. He could slide to the floor beneath them, tuck himself under Max’s juddering hips, suck the tip of his cock into his mouth as Scotty keeps pounding into him.

Max gasps and clenches down as he imagines it. Fuck, what he wouldn’t give for Daniel to burst through the door. Through the drool soaked fabric held between his teeth, he moans out a barely coherent “Daniel!”

The room is immediately quiet as Scotty stills inside him and Max inhales sharply at his own outburst. For a long moment, neither of them moves. They breathe in the shared silence for a beat, and then Scotty pulls back to sit on his haunches and grabs Max by the back of his polo shirt to haul him back with him. The change in angle has him sliding, somehow, even further down onto Scotty’s length. Max groans. From his new position on Scotty’s lap, he can feel the bite of zipper teeth against the back of his thigh. That’s going to leave a mark- another thing he’ll have to explain away to Rupert when he hops into the ice bath tomorrow.

Scotty wraps one hand firmly around Max’s chest, brushes the sharp edge of a thumbnail over Max’s nipple, drawing out a hushed squeal. He pulls Max tight against his body, cock buried balls deep inside him. As he starts moving again, stabbing staccato thrusts aimed directly at Max’s prostate, intended to tease but not satisfy, he leans in to whisper directly into Max’s ear. “Come on, Maxy. You’re not trying to get us caught, are you? Not trying to get Daniel in here to see what you look like getting fucked like this.”

Max huffs out an annoyed moan. “Like you don’t want it, too. You would be putting on a show for him. Trying to show him how good you can fuck. Which, of course, isn’t even very good at all.” 

Max knows he’s hit a nerve. It always comes down to this for them. Sometimes they’ll spend the entire time just egging each other on. It usually doesn’t take much more than the mere mention of Daniel from either of them to get things ramped up. Like clockwork, he can feel Scotty’s rhythm start to falter behind him, his thrusts becoming more and more erratic. Before he even has time to reach down for his own cock, he feels Scotty stiffen and then grind hard into him. 

Everything immediately feels wetter, the slick combo of lube and come mixing inside him as Scotty starts to pull out. Max whines, tries to clench down and keep Scotty’s dick inside him. “Don’t fucking stop, you fuck!” he whisper-shouts, trying to bounce on the flagging cock already slipping free from his hole. It’s too late. Scotty pulls out completely and shoves Max off of him to flop back to the driver room floor. He’s still fully dressed, just his bare wet cock out, lying limp on the precarious biting edge of his unzipped jeans. 

Furious and still achingly hard, Max clambers on top of him, knees spread on either side of Scotty’s hips. He grabs at Scotty’s hand and forces two fingers together before lifting up and shoving them between his legs. He refuses to look down at Scotty’s face. He knows that if he does, he’ll see that fucking smirk. He closes his eyes and throws his head back instead, so that in his mind’s eye, he can imagine that it’s Daniel beneath him, whose hand he’s riding quickly to climax. Scotty’s doing nothing to help him along, but his fingers are serviceable enough as a makeshift dildo for Max to ride, and quickly enough, he’s approaching orgasm. He comes and chokes back the cry that threatens to spill over. 

He catches his come in one hand to save it from landing directly on Scotty’s shirt. He’d deserve it, the asshole; but Max knows those aren’t risks they’re able to take. Can’t explain away the random stain or have to come up with an excuse as to why Scotty’s wearing a borrowed Red Bull t-shirt and walking away from the Red Bull end of the paddock on a weekend he’s supposed to be hanging out in the Aston Martin garage. So Max catches his come in his hand. But he can’t resist the opportunity to fuck with Scotty at least a little, so he pushes up his shirt- some obnoxious NFT branded thing- and smears his cupped hand across Scotty’s abs, painting his stomach with it before Scotty even realizes it’s happening.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Scotty complains and pushes Max off him for the second time. He grabs randomly for the first thing he can put his hands on to serve as a rag- the balaclava that Max is supposed to be wearing for free practice today- and uses it to wipe himself off. He tosses the balaclava at Max to finish cleaning up and then stands to tuck himself back into his jeans and zip up. 

Once they’re both mostly presentable, Max pokes his head out of the room, checks that there’s no one around to see Scotty exiting. Satisfied that they’re clear, he steps out of the way and jerks his chin at Scotty, a nod towards the door for him to get out.

“Yeah, I’m gone. See ya never, mate,” Scotty throws over his shoulder as he saunters out of Max’s driver room.

“Fuck you, too,” Max throws back at him. He glances at the clock. He’s almost late for his warm up with Rupert. Fuck.

***

The rest of the weekend is mostly business as usual. He has to sit through a lecture from Rupert about having to rush through his warm up (“Where’ve you been? And why are you so stiff in your hips today?” he asks as he takes Max through the exercises. “Do we need to add more stretching to your routine?”), and then another from GP about having to rush the prep for the practice session, but neither is out of the ordinary. He puts it on pole the next day and wins the race the day after. He takes a moment to celebrate with the team and then makes sure to seek Daniel out for the biggest hug, an arm looped around Daniel’s waist and a hand clasped at the back of his neck, holding him close. He’s only got a few more hours of custody time before he’ll have to hand him over to Scotty, and he intends to make the most of them.

After the champagne, the ceremony, the interviews, he follows Daniel to his driver room, chattering all the way about the race and how the car is finally feeling like they’ve got a handle on it this season. Daniel nods at the appropriate moments, points out things he’d noticed on track, too. Max beams. He loves talking about racing with anyone, but most especially with Daniel.

In Daniel’s driver room, Max makes himself as comfortable as he can on the small padded bench and watches as Daniel strips off his race suit and fireproofs and tosses them in a heap on the ground. He wanders around the tiny room in just his boxer briefs, which are molded to his thighs, still sweat-slick from the race. Max’s own briefs start feeling a little tight as he takes in all of the skin on display in front of him.

“What are we doing to celebrate tonight?” he asks. “Carlos told me about this new club that he and Charles have visited. We can go there together, if you want. Few G&Ts to end the weekend?”

Daniel nods while he throws on his regular clothes, and Max sighs as all that golden skin disappears from view. “Sounds good, mate. I’m all in!”

Max smiles back at him. Perfect. He’s riding the high of the win, and as the blood rushes from his brain to locations further south, he decides to press his luck. “And then tomorrow, do you want to fly with me in my plane? You can come with me to Greece for a bit, if you want.”

“Sorry, no can do, Maxy. Got plans for this week already. Besides,” he pauses halfway out the door, gives Max a sharp look over his shoulder, “it’s not your custody week, is it? Scotty wouldn’t approve.”

Max stares after Daniel as he skips down the stairs out of his driver room. Fuck.

[writteninsunflowers]

Attitude Adjustment 🌶️

Soft meditative music plays through the ceiling speakers; sounds of harps, flowing water, and tropical birds. A calming scent of lavender wafts throughout the first floor of the Aizawa mansion. If anyone were to enter, they’d assume the occupants were enjoying a relaxing night in or trying to decompress from a stress-filled day. Add the warmth from the fireplace and the sugary aroma of homemade hot cocoa. They may also assume the owners are bundled up near the fire, sharing warm chocolatey kisses and whispering loving words to each other.

You know that old saying about assumptions, that “to assume is to make an ass out of u and me?”

Yeah... Cross the threshold and step further into the living room and you will realize your assumptions are bullshit. You and Shouta are on separate sofas, neither of you speaking. You pop your gum annoyingly while inspecting your manicure, making a mental note to schedule an appointment for a fill. Dark eyes glare icily at the side of your face, fuming at your behavior. Usually, you’d greet your husband with a hug and a kiss, followed by a list of tasks you completed throughout the afternoon. Tonite, you ignore him with a roll of your eyes. Once again, Shouta returned well past midnight after telling you he’d be home no later than 6 pm, requesting to keep dinner hot for him. That was the second lie he’d told you this week, the first being that you would finally get your much-needed alone time at the vacation home in the islands. You were tired of being ignored, well past tired of begging for Shouta’s attention. All you wanted was a few days when your husband was still lying beside you when you woke in the morning. Is that too much to ask?

When you and Shouta started dating, you didn’t mind when Shouta was busy. You were a nurse at the county hospital and friends to spend time with. On your off days, Shouta would send what he called play money to spoil yourself and in turn, you would cook him dinner, sing him to sleep, or dress his wounds when he’d visit. Now that you’re married, you see Shouta less and less, growing bored of shopping and lonely with nobody to talk to. Of course, you did voice this to Shouta and he repeatedly fed you the same tired, “I know kitten. I promise we’ll spend time together soon.” You had even tried to make new friends, your old friends disowning you after you and Shouta married, but none of the new acquaintances last too long once they notice the two bulky bodyguards tailing you everywhere. Frankly, you had given up a lot when you married Shouta. His occupation as Kingpin of the state’s most dangerous mob did not give you much freedom. You could go anywhere you please if your bodyguards Hitoshi and Katsuki were with you. You loved ‘Toshi and Kats’ like family and treated them as such, you just missed your old life. You missed making your own money and feeling like you made a difference with the many patients who visited the hospital. No, you don’t regret marrying Shouta and you understood that your lack of freedom was for your protection. You missed having an actual conversation even the talks with your barely-there mother, though you'd talked two or three times a year. Nonetheless, you remain the loving housewife. You mind your business, tend to your garden, deep-clean the mansion weekly, and cook twice a day for yourself, your husband, and his employees. 

“Don’t you hear me talking to you,” Shouta grumbles with a grab to your face, which is returned with a tsk, jerking out of his grip.

“Fix your fuckin’ attitude, Y/N, I’m not in the mood.” 

“Whatever…” “Y/N…,” he warns. “Shouta…,” you parrot with a loud pop of your gum.

Shouta sends you a warning glare, patience dissipating slowly, eventually snapping once the snarky “fuck you,” leaves your lips. He grabs your neck, lifts you to your feet, and backs you against the wall. He leans toward your face, adding pressure to your neck while maintaining eye contact. “What’d I say about your fuckin’ mouth, Y/N?” He watches your eyes flutter, your expression unchanged. “What gives you the impression that you can talk it me like that, hmm? Go ahead, speak up.” Shouta could feel his heart pound in his ears. He'd had a long ass day. He had to execute one of his best men after discovering he had been squirreling away money and guns from the warehouse, and to make matters worse, he had to make it look like an accident as well as pretend to be mournful in front of the man’s family. He later comes home hoping to relax, only to be met with an attitude from the one person he needed the most.

“No problem princess, I know how to fix that attitude.”

You look up at your husband, cheeks warm as you fight to get comfortable on your knees. The rug rubs harshly against your skin, pulling a hiss from your gagged mouth. Wetness sticks to your thighs while you leisurely try to reposition yourself, afraid to lose your balance and fall on your aggressively spanked ass.

You had never experienced this side of Shouta. You have met angry Shouta, but that anger was never pointed toward you. Had he always been that damned heavy-handed? And why did the spanking make you wet? There was so much to unpack about the man you married. You’d fucked plenty and he had never spanked you like that.

The sound of a zipper brings you back to the man in front of you, your eyes following his hands as he undresses. The man steps closer to remove the ball gag and tosses it on the bed behind you. "Remember what I said, no talking unless you’re apologizing for your bratty behavior.”  He watches you nod then taps his dick against your lips. “Open,” he commands, grunting once spit-covered lips wrap around him. He immediately slides deeper into your mouth, sighing as the head taps the back of your tongue. Your tear-filled eyes stare up at Shouta obediently, fingers flexing behind your back; reminding you that you are unable to touch yourself due to the restraints. You settle for squeezing your thighs together, wiggling your hips to relieve the pulsing in your clit. Shouta notices because he pulls himself from your mouth and tugs you to your feet by your hair. He positions you on the cool sheets and places your hands above your head, hooking the cuffs onto the headboard.

You can feel the heat from your husband’s laser-focused eyes on your skin, causing you to shuffle uncomfortably. You watch him step away momentarily, your eyes widening when he powers on a large vibrator in his hands. “Sho…,” you begin before whining as he slips the gag between your lips once again. Shouta smiles smugly as he presses the toy to your clit, smile widening wickedly at the pained squeak you release. He watches your legs kick out as he increases the speed by a level, then clicks it three more times, the vibrator now at its highest setting. Drool dribbles around the obstruction between your lips and drips down your chin as your eyes roll back, legs quivering. You tug at the handcuffs, body indecisive on whether to press against the toy or pull away. You’re eventually allowed a moment to catch your breath when Shouta pulls the toy away, stepping away again to grab something from your closet. You watch him return with straps that he attaches to the poles of your bed, tugging them to test their security. Once Shouta catches your eye, he smirks. You try once again to fight against the restraints on your wrists, begging around your gag as Shouta strides toward you. He catches your feet as you kick toward him.

“Now you have a choice here, sweetheart…you can be a good girl and take your punishment, or you can continue to be a brat, and I can pull out something much worse than this.”

Worse?

What could be worse than being cuffed and tortured into overstimulation? 

Your muddled brain couldn’t produce anything worse than that at the moment. Honesty, the toy, and ankle restraints had surprised you, didn’t even know that Shouta had those things in his possession. You had always respected his space and privacy and never went into the locked drawer of his nightstand. Just thinking about what else Shouta could conjure up as punishment made your head spin with confusion and arousal. A hard smack to your spread thighs brings a whimper from your spit-slick lips. Your eyes travel to the man near your feet as you finally relax allowing him to attach the straps to your ankles.

“Good girl.” “Once your punishment is over, I’ll remove these.” Nodding your head with understanding, you breathe slowly to relax your tauten body, cursing internally once the vibrator is placed on your sensitive clit.

You are not sure how many orgasms Shouta has wrung from you, losing count after the eighth one. Your clit is swollen and sore, your legs quivering like cold Jell-O, with a puddle of your juices under your ass. Sobs and hiccups fill the room, tears, and drool coursing down your face. Your body is wound so tight that you barely feel your husband slip his fingers inside of you until he rubs at the sensitive spot at the roof of your sopping pussy. Your eyes roll back again as your body arches from the bed, toes curling painfully. Your body hums in painful pleasure as you moan wearily, so far gone that you hadn’t noticed that Shouta had removed the ball gag from your mouth. Black and gold acrylics dig into your palms as you gasp and stutter breathlessly, curses mixed with calls of your husband’s name. Ineluctably, your thighs try to clamp around Shouta’s arm, foggy eyes watching his face as he fingers you faster. Dark eyes travel down your trembling frame, humming at the surprised gasp that escapes when his fingers now stroke in a come-hither motion.

Shouta notices the pained expression on your face. Those beautiful eyes that he loved so much, filled with tears, smooth skin reddened from overexertion and heat. Your husband internally applauds you for taking your punishment so well. He does feel a little bad though, he has never had to discipline you. Deciding he’d give you a little break, Shouta removes the restraints from your wrists and ankles. He moves to kiss your face softly.

“Breathe for me, kitten…y’think you can give me one more?”

You respond with a weak nod, heavy arms wrapping around his neck, just as he pulls your legs around his waist. In one swift motion, Shouta buries himself inside of you, groaning at the feel of your quivering walls enveloping him, soaking him with creamy slick juices. “S-Shit…so wet,” he rumbles, hips now snapping harshly. Shouta hisses as your nails drag down his bare back, his hips stuttering momentarily. “S-Sho mm…fuck baby ple-please,” he hears from beneath him. He casts his eyes downward, taking in the sensually debauched appearance of his lover. Smoky orbs explore your face, his heart pounding loudly in his ears. He notices the slight twitch of your eyebrow when he strokes just right, the way your teeth drag across your bottom lip, and how your edges have puffed up from all the sweat.

Oh, he is definitely paying for another hair appointment.

“I-I’m sor- fuck!” You moan out with a twitch of your already trembling thighs, a telltale sign of your impending orgasm. You clutch at the man’s back, leaving a trail of angry red. “I’m sorry, Sho…B-Baby I’m s-sorry…just wanted…,” you sob. Shouta shushes you, kissing away your tears, strokes unsteady as your orgasms crash into you simultaneously. Shouta empties his cum deep inside of your gummy walls, gasping as his dick throbs and spurts out what feels like gallons of cum. He pulls out slowly plopping down next to you, breathing slowly to calm his racing heart. He peeks at you, eyes widening as he lifts your arm, letting it drop heavily against the sheets. “Damn, she passed out,” he mumbles before leaning over and kissing your forehead. He rises to walk to your en suite, quickly washing the sweat and cum from his skin, then wets two towels for you one to wash your body, the other to cool you down. He later maneuvers you to the opposite side of the bed to wipe you off, then cleans and puts away the toy and restraints. Shouta leaves your bedroom for a few minutes to grab water, returning to nudge you softly. “I need you to drink some water for me, love and I’ll let you go back to sleep.” He helps you sit up against the headboard, holding the glass to your lips as you drink. Once you’ve emptied your glass, he finishes his water before he tucks you into his chest, instantly falling asleep.

You wake to the sound of running water, your eyes moving toward the open bathroom door. You rise from the bed with a stretch, groaning as your aching limbs scream at you. Walking slowly to the en suite, you expect to see a silhouette of Shouta in the shower and a pressed suit hanging on the nearby hook. Your eyes fall to the wall clock, noticing that it’s two hours past the time that Shouta leaves for work. “Sho, you ok,” you call as you step further into the bathroom, finding your husband kneeling by the tub, a bottle of bubble bath in his hands. Once you’re within reach, he pulls you into a soft kiss, hands soothingly rubbing your thighs. “Mornin’ love,” he mumbles, as he reaches to turn off the faucet. He stands to remove his robe, sighing once his lower body touches the water. “Come join me, beautiful,” his hand outstretched to help you climb in. You wince as the hot water touches your achy legs, soft sighs leaving you as you settle across from Shouta.

You both sit in comfortable silence as your husband massages your legs and thighs, the man smiling at your soft moans of relief. Soon after, he pulls you on his lap, looking back and forth between your eyes, chuckling at the concerned look on your face. It had been a while since Shouta had been able to appreciate you. When was the last time that you two had shared a bath or even just relaxed?

“I love you. I don’t tell you that enough and for that I’m sorry.”

You smile at his words, leaning in to kiss his nose. “I love you more, Shouta, and m’sorry for my behavior yesterday.” The man shakes his head, tracing your bottom lip with his thumb. “I am the one who owes you an apology. You have been asking for alone time for months and I neglected to take care of your needs. I deserved the attitude you gave me.”

“You have no idea how much I appreciate you for sticking by me. I wouldn’t’ve blamed you if I came home one night and you were gone. I…” You silence him with a kiss, smiling. “Sho, I love you so much and can’t imagine life without you. I may get mad at you, but I could never leave you.”  

Shouta presses your foreheads together, whispering against your lips. You eventually leave the bathroom an hour or so later after sharing more kisses and a slow session of lovemaking. Once you’ve had a quick brunch, you return to your bedroom to pack for a surprise vacation, filled with smiles, laughs, and plenty of makeup sex. This vacation becomes a routine three times a year, something both you and Shouta need and deserve. Shouta was happy to see you happy and made sure to follow the famous saying faithfully, Happy Wife, Happy Life.

“Thank you, Sho,” you whisper into your husband’s chest as you lay in the bed, the sound of the beach waves slowly lulling you to sleep. “Anything to make you happy, love.”

[thestobingirlie]

when r//nance shippers think robin and nancy fucking in steve’s bed makes total sense, but robin considering steve’s feelings is TOO FAR

[ruleofheart]

growing pains — ellie williams

ellie williams x f reader

7k

fluff, angst, smut >O<

ellie if nothing bad happened to her ever, childhood friends to acquaintances(?) to lovers, longing, joel is involved, ellie is a DWEEB! but so are you, car sex, classic misunderstandings

to the lovely folks that asked to be tagged, i hope this meets your expectations… i am terrified of failing you: @macaroni676 @d3sperationn @g3latin

beta read by @heartofrhea my best friend my apologies for being cringelord

The universe can be so cruel. 

You sit at the edge of the curb, curling your legs to yourself to feel less vulnerable. Your phone rolls in your hand, tears of frustration prickling at your eyes. You probably should’ve known better. Well— you do know better. That sinking, intuitive feeling had been swirling in the center of your stomach all night, but you had let your desperation and loneliness take ahold of you. 

You had agreed to go out with some friends and some friends of friends; people you didn’t know jackshit about, but hung out with anyway. You had hoped you didn’t reek of seclusion too bad, feeling like a wounded animal in a crowd of predators. 

But your friends and their friends didn’t really care. They had pulled away from you in the club, losing you to flashing lights and crowded bodies. You searched up and down, called their names in the dingy bathrooms, and even asked the bartender. No dice; you were here to party alone. Now what was the point of even coming along?

Silly.

You initially opted to order an Uber to just get the fuck off the street already, but hey— it’s a Friday night and finals are over. The prices listed cost more than six different coffee runs, and there’s no way you’d be giving those up. 

It’s how you end up sitting on the curb and fervently wiping your tears away, cringing when you remember your hands had been touching all the club door handles and god knows what else. You feel dirty, forgotten. 

You unlock your phone and dim the brightness— the stupid thing almost all out of battery— and turn to what seems to be a last resort, an option that you’ve buried away at the back of your mind for years now.

Pressing your phone to your ear, you can’t help but sigh as the line rings repeatedly, almost positive that you’re completely out of luck. 

It falls silent for a second before there’s faint rustling on the other side, and a voice so familiar, so painful to hear, questions you softly. 

“Ellie,” you say breathlessly; from fatigue or relief, you’re not sure anymore. “Can you come get me?” 

Becoming friends with Ellie Williams was almost too easy. 

That’s just how she is as a person. So easy to be around; her voice and twinkling laugh showing no threat. 

It began with Mrs. Sullivan’s freshman class seating chart; a table of four with you, Ellie, and two other boys who were too preoccupied with copying off each other’s notes half the time for you to even remember their names. You mostly kept to yourself as a weird adolescent, the onslaught of teenage hormones and emotions forcing you into your own little world. 

Ellie, on the other hand, was different. She had noticed the front page cover of Savage Starlight slipped into the front sleeve of your binder, the edges frayed and jagged as if you had actually ripped it off. She was almost offended at the sight of such a careless pull, but found the emotion wavering once she realized you read the comics just like her. 

“Hey! No way!” she had exclaimed with a growing smile, her eyes lit up. She had half a mind to just reach over and take your binder, fingers skimming over the glossy cover. She stopped herself mid-way, mind racing before she asked with just as much glee, “Can I see? I don’t think I’ve been able to get ahold of that edition yet.” 

Your short-lived conversations about Savage Starlight began to transform into lunchroom giggle sessions and bike rides on the way home. She was so easy to fall into; it was almost like she had a part of herself that was reserved just for you, eager for your arrival.

The thing about your dynamic was that it was so intricately woven over time, each thread of yourself intertwining with her own as you came to know each other better. Unabashed adoration and excitement with every laugh, with every moment of eye contact across the classroom and dinner table at home: a twinkle of unwavering youth and closeness.

And the thing was, when it came to you, Ellie was not prideful at all. She would openly admit any given moment that there had to be a hole in her heart that was in the shape of you. The two of you fit so nicely in each other’s lives, slipping into a familiar rhythm that almost seemed karmic, even at such a young age. While you were surrounded by other girls your age navigating their own pent up emotions and typical coming-of-age realizations, turning against each other and whispering dirty secrets, Ellie only seemed to cling onto you— hanging onto your every word with sincerity and trust.

It didn’t take long before Ellie began to invite you over to sleepovers, which was new territory for both her and Joel. He was already a little awkward as-is, navigating life with a teenage girl who had the same foul mouth and temperament as he.

So when you came around, greeting him with little smiles and kind language, he couldn’t help but feel his heart sway in relief, happy that Ellie has someone like you in her life. 

You’d tumble off your bikes, leaving them strewn across the front yard, crushing the grass he labored so hard over. But he didn’t mind, relieved to see the two of you arrive in one piece, losing yourself in video game releases and comic book pages as you both sat in her bedroom. 

Joel became a sort of fly on the wall for you two, ever-present as you were fairly comfortable in their home. Tuning the both of you in and out, listening closely for anything that may alarm him (which, never happened). Sitting across the both of you at the dinner table, serving up a quick and easy bowl of Hamburger Helper to you two. He’d glance at the two of you from under his eyelashes, watching how either you or Ellie would lean into each other as you splayed out homework sheets on the table, muttering to each other in curiosity. The two of you may have been better off sharing a single chair, he’d think to himself in amusement. 

Again, your presence in Ellie’s life and in his home never worried him. It became routine for him as well, watching the two of you bike up the block together almost every day after school. 

One hot summer afternoon, he stood on the porch, prying off the entrance screen door in an attempt to replace it, the critters from the greenbelt nearby winning at their efforts to nibble away at the material. 

From afar, he could hear the growing sound of your chattering, your bike chains clicking repeatedly as you breezed down the sidewalk. He glanced over his shoulder, watching as you two fought amicably, reaching out to each other in a playful attempt to push the other off their bike. He chuckled to himself and turned his gaze back to the screen door, fingers prying at the edges. 

Behind him, Ellie reached a little too far to the side, fingers brushing against your arm before she toppled over sideways off her bike. She collapsed with a laugh-yelp, swearing at you in a way that made you burst out laughing, your shoes dragging across the concrete to stop your bike. 

You hopped off your seat, carelessly letting it fall to the side as you approached Ellie, laughing at her as she pushed herself off the ground. 

“You idiot,” you breathed out in between laughs, nearly folding in on yourself as the incident repeated in your mind. 

“Dude!” she scolded lightheartedly, trying to feign annoyance, and of course failing. She stuck out her arm to show you a deep scrape right above her elbow. “This shit burns.” 

You caught your breath and stepped closer, eyeing the scrape. It was rather gnarly, and you inwardly winced at yourself knowing it was probably going to scab horribly.

“Damn,” you muttered to yourself, holding her arm and twisting it to get a better look. Joel eyed the way you two interacted, pulling away from his task as he glimpsed the bloody splotch on Ellie’s elbow. 

From where he was, he couldn’t exactly make out the words that you two exchanged, your voices lowered significantly. From the look of it, you were offering an apology. He didn’t catch the way you smiled up at her apologetically, but he was positive that his mind wasn’t playing tricks on him when you leaned in and placed a harmless, healing kiss onto her arm, right above the scrape.

It was, in reality, lighthearted and childish. A testament to your playfulness, your eagerness to please Ellie’s heart. 

And although Ellie didn’t realize it, there was a flicker of emotion that crossed her face. A change in her eyes; in the way that she looked at you. It flew over your head, too; busy smiling up at her, pulling her closer with the strength of the sun’s gravity. 

But Joel noticed. He caught this sudden change, this glimmer on Ellie’s face. He felt the complexities of youth and new emotion washing over him again, a short chuckle leaving his lips as he turned away, focusing back on fixing the screen door. 

Later that night, he pulled Ellie aside. 

“Hey, kid. I’m gonna need you to keep the door open when she’s around, alright?”

“What?” Ellie asked, utterly oblivious. A look of distaste flittered across her features. 

He was trying to remain as nonchalant as possible, knowing all too well that if he pushed too hard or looked too stern, Ellie would just defy him out of her own stubborn nature. He folded some blankets over the couch, eyes avoiding hers. “Just keep it open, Ellie.” 

She groaned in annoyance and threw her head back, hands falling to her sides. She looked truly exasperated, confused with this sudden change in house rules. 

That night, as the door remained cracked open, Joel walked by Ellie’s bedroom to sort some towels in the hallway closet. His ears picked up her frustrated tone; “…wants me to leave the door open now. Never heard of a rule as stupid as that, but whatever.” 

You giggled calmly, then fell silent for a second. “It’s okay. My mom has that rule too, for my brother and his girlfriend.” 

And he could almost hear the way Ellie’s face scrunched up, a confused groan escaping her again. She failed to reply, and the topic at hand was dropped as soon as you leaned over to her and showed her a page from a new comic, rambling on about how the plot hole in this series was diabolical. 

He silently walked away, mind wandering as he tried to think about how to approach this blooming situation, a flicker of both hope and protection illuminating in his chest. 

It was junior year of high school when the foundation of your friendship began to split, allowing something else to slip into it. Something sneaky, deceitful, something that constantly rendered you speechless and warm. 

You no longer rode your bikes or shared comic books; you were much too old for that now! Ellie had just gotten her license, a little too eager to drive Joel’s old beat up truck around with you in the passenger seat. And, of course, the both of you felt like true teenagers when you finally got phones.

You sat on Ellie’s bed, your knees pulled to your chest as you scrolled through your timeline. You giggled at random collages of pictures and videos, occasionally showing your screen to Ellie in hopes that she would laugh with you. 

She sat on the other end of the bed, a rolled joint held delicately in her fingers. Joel wasn’t home, and her bedroom door was closed. The walls of her bedroom trapped the both of you with the smell of it, but you were slowly learning to not mind it as much. 

When you first received a phone, you found yourself diving into social media, trying to keep up with this sudden boom of a new language, new jokes, new form of communication. Ellie, on the other hand, never touched her phone. If she was using it, it was probably because she was texting you. She refused to engage with any social media at all, meaning you had to sit and explain new jokes and trends to her. Sometimes, she’d try her hand at new lingo or an ongoing joke, but failed so miserably each time that you’d roll over her bedsheets in laughter. 

She pressed the joint to her lips, eyes lazy as she looked at you with longing. The brightness from your screen illuminated your face, emphasizing every beauty mark and freckle. 

“Hey,” she started, voice low. “C’mere.” 

You looked up at her in curiosity, putting your phone down. Your eyes stayed trained on her as you scooted closer, the sides of your legs pressing against hers. 

She wasn’t sure if it was the smoke or the way that you peered up at her that made the center of her body feel warm. She tilted her head away from you as she exhaled, the smoke clouding the space between you two; your heart thundered in your chest. 

“Almost done,” she promised, voice only a little raspy. “Missed you; that thing is hoarding all your attention.” The corners of her mouth twitched. 

“Is not!” you defended, shoving her shoulder with your own. “I’m right here.” 

“Yeah,” she began, her hand coming up to tap at your head playfully. “But you’re not here. Let’s do something; been wanting to play a few rounds of that old zombie game.”

It was how you end up pressed into each other’s sides, hollering and giggling at the tiny TV screen on her bedroom dresser. You played erratically, your fingers relying on nonsensical button smashing to survive. Ellie had to constantly revive you every five minutes, but never mentioned it. 

She missed the way you squealed in anticipation with every new round that started, your eyes wide as you spoke with a constant smile. And, maybe it was from her high, but she was a little too intent in the way that she watched you, her mind feeling far away as she memorized every crevice of your face from the side. 

“Ellie!” you scolded, bringing her out of her daze. “No way you already died, the round just started!” 

She turned her attention back to the screen, scoffing as her player screen was black and white, her character eye-level with the ground. 

“Damn,” she muttered, surprised that she let herself slack off for so long. Too lost in your side profile, the dip of your lips, the way your lashes fluttered in surprise when a zombie attacked you in-game. 

Your character raced towards her, shooting around sloppily before you pressed the buttons to revive her. Her hand found itself on the top of your thigh, right above your knee. Perhaps it was the fogginess of her mind, or a newfound boldness that spurts through her; but she squeezed at your leg, her eyes stuck on the screen. “Thanks,” she says a little too nonchalantly, like that was completely normal. 

You swallowed thickly, your own movements faltering. There was a red ring forming around your player screen, indicating that you were being ruthlessly attacked. 

She snickered, her voice playful. “Focus.” 

The two of you kept on, your mind instead slipping up and focusing a little too hard on the way she touched you. 

It was senior year when that particular, sneaky something begins to widen the cracks in your relationship. A feeling that blurred your vision, blurred your mind. A feeling that made it impossible to correctly decipher whatever it was that Ellie was going through, and the two of you began to fall apart. 

It mostly started when Ellie got a job at a skate shop. For the most part, it was relaxed, her days consisting of seeing the same people come and go for wheels and decks. But it meant that she had less time to spend with you. 

Initially, she would use every single day off to see you. To invite you over or to laze around on your fluffy duvet, listening to you ramble about your nervousness as graduation was approaching. She would take you out, spoil you rotten with the excitement of her new paychecks, saying fuck all to saving any money. 

And in reality, you didn’t care about the way she spoiled you; granted, it was nice and certainly made your heart beat a certain way, but you mostly valued that she made the effort to see you still. Exchanging silent words and looks across the classroom was no longer sufficing your yearning heart. 

Months passed and Ellie started to become a little bit more focused on balancing school and work; she was set on saving as college approaches, and you figured that the prospect of growing up had changed her. She was set on a college, set on astrophysics, set on buying Joel some land and maybe, hopefully, spoiling you some more in a few years down the line…

But she was maybe a little too caught up in it. She saw you less and less, accidentally channeling her friendly energy to her coworkers. And while you knew there was nothing wrong with that, you couldn’t help the bitter taste that rested on your tongue when she constantly brought up the names of others that you’d heard of countless times. A part of you wanted to turn to her, ask her so pathetically, why can’t you do the same with me?

You started to really feel like you were losing her when you finally got the chance to sit in her room again, the both of you babbling about what you think college will look like. At first, the comfort of her poster-covered walls and space trinkets settled your restless heart, and you had felt at home with her again. 

It wasn’t until she slipped away to use the restroom, leaving her phone on her bed. The screen illuminated as it buzzed once, twice— three times. You should’ve left it alone, thinking maybe it was Joel warning her he’d be late from work. But you leaned over anyway, reading over the text on the screen.

For one, it was a coworker. You recognized the name on the notification; and for some reason, when you realized it was from the only other girl at her workplace, a horrible feeling nestled into your stomach. 

And then you couldn’t help the minor feeling of betrayal as you realized they had been messaging each other on a social media platform; one of the many things Ellie swore up and down that she’d stay away from. 

You didn’t even follow her on there. She never told you. 

It’s silly, you thought. Ellie can do whatever she pleased. But this new turn of events, this tiny thing that was still so out of character; the foundation between you two felt almost completely severed. 

Weeks passed from that day and you them found yourself pulling away. The both of you were accepted into the same college, but you couldn’t even find it in yourself to feel excited. Ellie begged you to fill out your housing papers on time so that the two of you could be roommates, but you purposefully procrastinated. You weren’t sure you could handle such close proximity with her anymore. 

It was with this that the gap between the both of you widened. She didn’t drive you home anymore; it was time to put your own license to use. You two no longer exchanged knowing looks across the room, and you sure as hell didn’t share dinner with Joel anymore, either. You started to forget the exact layout of her bedroom. 

Graduation came and went; you spent it in solitude, not really counting the presence of your family members. Ellie did race up to you and gave you a bone crushing hug, nose burying into your hair, but you were so caught up in it all that you didn’t reciprocate it. 

It was another one of those minor things that widened the gap, made her step away from you both physically and emotionally. 

Even when Joel offhandedly mentioned that he’d be okay with helping you move into your dorm, Ellie made up some excuse on the fly; saying your brother had it covered. She hadn’t even asked you.

So, just like that, summer passed in a blink. You spent your days curled up in your bed, wallowing. Ellie spent it trying to distract herself, losing herself in the presence of coworkers-turned-close-friends. You shamefully stalked her social media, tears pricking at your eyes as she posted places and things that seem so fun, so far away. Places and things that you would’ve liked. 

What hurt more was the constant questioning from your family. Where’s Ellie? What’s she up to?

Hell if you knew. You’d been relying on her story highlights for snippets of her life, and even then they were still so vague. Scenery, music, her guitar. Someone else’s hands holding a deck of cards, videos with incessant giggling in the background. God, you were almost sickly with both wanting and loneliness. 

And, just like that, it was freshman year again. This time, there was no seating chart. No binder for you to slip comic book covers into. No comfort of hopping on your bike and riding home with the only person that matters at your side. 

You were in some sort of emotional purgatory. Your mind blank as you walked around campus, as you stared at your laptop screen in the dead of night, body aching as you slumped over and completed your coursework. The excitement and late nights that you and Ellie had planned were nowhere to be found. 

On the other hand, Ellie busied herself so much, she found that she almost forgot you. Almost. 

Burying herself into her homework, mind trying its hardest to wrap around these new concepts. Partying, though she wasn’t not really there. Smoking some, drinking some. It all still felt lonely. 

She was enjoying this new group of friends, but they didn’t amount to the certain someone that still had their shape, their initials carved into the center of her heart. It was almost unbearable to exist without you; the two of you blending into each other so well, she still found herself saying things the way you did— the intonation, the little lingo, the mannerisms. Your existence was embedded into her own, folding over into her psyche so compact-tight, she knew she could never escape you. 

Ellie assumed that now, at this point, it was about carrying you in her soul even though you were no longer around. The beauty of this life; she’d lost you, but not entirely. Your personality reflecting in her own no matter what, no matter how hard she tried. Her existence was a testament to your own— someone’s been here. Someone’s loved me. 

Weeks passed. Months passed. The both of you constantly shuffling across the same campus, yet never running into each other. Your text messages now buried underneath more recent threads, your shared playlist long forgotten and neglected. 

Winter break hit and the loneliness bit just as much as the cold. When Ellie returned home, she noticed her old bike in the garage, propped up against storage bins, the tires flat. When you returned home, you came back to photos of the both of you, pinned to your wall. Your breath stuttered in your throat as you took them down, throwing them into a box in your closet. 

At the same time, yet separately, the both of you traversed new grounds, and odd fucked up forms of grief. Being in your own space yet running into things that reminded you of someone that you wanted the most. And it wasn’t not like they were gone; yet the both of you let go, deciding that somehow, it was for the better. 

The cycle repeated as the seasons changed. Instead of actually moving on, the both of you just somehow got better at repressing your emotions and acting like nothing happened. Occasionally reflecting on your friendship in a daydream, and then reminding yourself that somehow, it just wasn’t meant to be. It was time to move on— she was never yours. 

It’s summer now, the end of junior year. Ellie’s at her friend’s place, sipping on a poorly made drink as they play card games and tune into a new season of a trending series. She’s cross-legged on the floor, smiling to herself as her friends talk over each other, slamming the cards down on the coffee table and trying to warp the rules in their own favor. It’s fun, and it’s easy to sit back and watch everything unfold. 

She feels her phone in her back pocket vibrating; assuming it’s Joel just checking up on her, she gets up and excuses herself, slipping out the back porch door. 

When she reaches for her phone, her heart nearly stops beating altogether. In fact, she’s sure it does, as her stomach suddenly twists in confusion and pain, a small cough leaving her lips as she tries to collect herself. Your name shines on her screen as you call, and she’s so sure she’s hallucinating (the hell was in that drink?) until she swallows her surprise and answers. 

And there you are. Breathless, exhausted. Immediately, she knows. Despite it being so long, despite the fact that she’s not entirely sure she knows you anymore, she still recognizes the tone in your voice, recognizes that you needed her. 

“Where are you?” she blurts before you can finish your sentence, her body automatically pacing around. “Send me the address.” 

You’re apologetic, sounding defeated on the other side. You tell her over and over again, I’m sorry.

There’s weight behind the way you say it, like you’re apologizing for something more. Like you’re counting all those times you shut her out, the times you let her slip through your fingers. It’s weak and shaky, but Ellie doesn’t bring it up. She’s too busy slipping on her shoes, keys dangling from her fingers as she mouths to her friends that she’ll see them later. 

She stays with you on the phone the entire time she drives over to get you. She asks, over and over again, if you’re okay and in a safe area, and your heart twists with guilt and shame. You stay planted on the edge of the curb, looking like a wilted flower.

Ellie feels her heart drop to her stomach as she approaches the street that you sit on, her headlights illuminating your pathetic figure. She rolls down the window and pulls over, calling out to you. 

Your eyes are low, the shame blatantly evident on your face. Ellie’s not sure how this will unfold; this isn’t exactly the way she dreamed the two of you would reunite. But that look on your face— Ellie knows it well enough. You’re both 15 again, and you’re trying to hide within your own body somehow. She sees the embarrassment, the bitter feeling that sits at the center of your chest. 

You approach her car and observe at her through the window, eyes avoiding her own. You study her form, how much she’s grown. She’s got a new haircut; it’s shorter— gayer. You can almost imagine yourself laughing at her, can almost imagine twirling the short pieces between your fingers. A patch of black ink catches your eye just then, your gaze landing on her forearm. Since when did she get a tattoo? 

She unlocks the door, silently beckoning you in. You slump into the passenger seat, completely defeated, and she reads your body language well enough to know not to pry at the situation. 

She shifts the car into drive but realizes that she doesn’t even know where you live anymore. The car sits there, idle as she tries to figure out what to ask you and how, then you mutter the directions to your apartment, reading her confusion just as well. 

The sound of Ellie’s music is quiet, practically just a gentle hum as the two of you sit, rigid as you keep your gazes locked on the road ahead. You don’t intend to explain yourself or have some sort of emotional come-to-jesus moment with Ellie, figuring that this situation alone is already stressful enough. 

But, she clears her throat and opens her mouth to speak, eyes still locked on the street signs. “You see the trailer for the new Savage Starlight adaptation?” 

You give her an awkward chuckle. “Yeah,” you say, nearly whispering. “Looked like trash, honestly.”

Ellie laughs at that. Laughs. And god, it’s not the kind of laugh that kills her, but it’s a solid one; an honest one. It sounds so good as it erupts from her chest, the sound of it pouring into your ears and over your heart. Christ. 

Your eyebrow twitches and you have to turn your head to look out the window— you can’t let her see the look on your face. You’re sure your eyes are wide and pooling with some sort of desperation. 

And, of course, Ellie catches it. But she just cares too much about you, so she lets all these little thing slip by to keep you comfortable, to keep you with her for even just a second longer. 

The conversation stays trained on little comments, acknowledging new video game releases and comic book trailers as if the both of you are in high school again, caught up in your nerdy obsessions. The air is thick and steady; the both of you dancing around this thinly-veiled attempt to be normal. The smallest things, such as the sound of her clearing her throat, or her hand coming up to scratch at her cheek, make your skin crawl with anticipation. 

You brace yourself for the ball to drop, holding it so tight to your chest, you’re almost suffocating. 

And while there’s no way you’ll drop this act, desperately clutching onto this feeling of faux normalcy, you know Ellie will. She’s much too blunt and forward focused to let you both sit in this awkward, paper-doll like scenario; steadily crafting your sentences, training your eyes to avoid her. 

And, god— it’s almost too easy to let your body relax, to slip back into your old comfortable patterns with Ellie right next to you. Because she’s never been prideful, and never will be, with the way she smiles to herself and breathes: “I missed you. It’s been… really long,” she says the last part with a bittersweet chuckle. “Too long.” 

Your chest caves. Stupidly, eagerly, almost like it wanted to, this whole time. Your body feels prickly and warm, but you school your face to remain somewhat neutral. 

“Yeah,” you offer dryly. “I’m kind of surprised, actually.” 

At that, Ellie tilts her head, fingers fluttering around the steering wheel. “How come?” 

“That, like, you even showed up. And you’re actually being nice and taking me home. I figured you kinda hated my guts towards the end.”

Ellie’s body has a physical reaction to that, and she taps on the brakes by accident. Not hard enough to send the both of you flying forward, but just enough of a push. You whip your head towards her, watching the way she furrows her eyebrows and shakes her head. 

“Sorry. Not trying to be defensive, but why…” She swallows thickly. “Why would you think that? And of me, of all people?”

She’s so, so gentle with the way she says it. Her voice quiet and low, not wanting to scare you away with this sudden confrontation. She reeks of true curiosity and something else that seems like hurt. 

“I just,” you start, trying to gather your words, then pause, not really recognizing where Ellie is driving. “Hold on. Where are you—?”

She pulls into an empty parking lot, stopping the car at an awkward angle, careless about her parking etiquette. 

“I’m sorry. I really just wanna clarify things,” she breathes out, her tone hurried as if you’ll slip and fade away if she doesn’t explain herself fast enough. “But, if you want me to completely fuck off, I’ll take you home. Just tell me.” 

You remain quiet, looking at her with a face that reads half anxious, half eager. A mix of the two, both emotions so similar in nature that maybe it kind of looks like… excitement. 

Ellie turns her body in her seat so that she can face you directly. “I was never tired of you, ever.” She takes in a slow, deep breath, trying to pace herself and keep her voice steady. With you, she can become passionate very quickly, so she needs to remain cool. “If anything, I thought that you felt that way about me. You stopped comin’ around, didn’t even try to room with me, and completely bailed on my attempts to see you. Did I do something?” 

She’s completely disarmed. Her words woven with nothing but good intentions, the look on her face desperate for some sort of reconciliation. She eyes you carefully, and if you looked hard enough, you may have been able to catch the glimmer of want in her eyes. 

Overcome with emotion, you fumble. Too busy with wanting to just defend yourself, swinging around your sword with your eyes shut in the hopes that you won’t get hurt, you don’t even try to match her energy. 

“Well, yeah,” you bite back, not nearly as careful as she was. “You changed. Everything changed. You made other friends, new friends, and just left me behind,” you accuse sharply, not thinking straight. “You… went behind my back.”

Despite the way that you speak to her, Ellie’s face softens. She knows what this is about. She’s too understanding, too willing to do anything to get you back in her life. As the realization slowly dawns on her, her heart flutters both with yearning and a deeper need. 

It’s how you end up pressed against the backseat of her car, her mouth on yours as her hands roam freely around your body. You shut up rather quickly, mind blurring over with the oncoming release of years of pent-up wanting. You tried to keep arguing back at her, and she did nothing but talk to you in that sweet tone, with eyes that scream I love you.

It isn’t that she’s trying to coax you, or anything. It just happened as you begin to increasingly realize that she is not going to fight you; she just wants you. She needs you to know that, she has to make herself clear. 

Fog creeps up the car windows as she presses her knee in between your legs, rocking against you slowly. 

Ellie’s pacing herself; she’s thought about this a few times, guiltily. But in her mind, it’s always been in her bed, her mind crafting the scene of your body, your little sounds. It was like she had to slap her own hand away from herself sometimes. 

So while this isn’t exactly what she had daydreamed it would be, she still wouldn’t complain. Regardless of the situation, you were pressed into her, panting and sighing in ways that made her mind turn to soppy mush, overrun with desire and emotion. 

And, while she’s set on taking care of you and showing you just how much you meant and still mean to her, she can’t help but want to make you admit it too. 

She pulls back from kissing you, her eyes glazed over as she looks at your face. Holy shit.

Skin so warm, and you already look spent. She swallows, suddenly doubting how long she’ll be able to hold off. 

She bites back a satisfied smile before she dips down again, her face hidden in the crevice between your neck and shoulder, kissing all the way down. 

“Take this off,” she murmurs, fingers pulling at the waistband of your skirt. You do your best to follow her orders, cramped up in the seat, pulling your knees towards yourself in an attempt to shimmy out of the fabric. It catches on your ankle, hanging, and you giggle at the state of the situation. Ellie’s heart melts over itself, beating erratically; she’s going fucking crazy. 

You’ve done nothing but moan, twitch, laugh, and flutter your lashes. She hasn’t even felt you yet, hasn’t even seen your body in its entirety. And she’s gone. 

She almost raises an eyebrow at the sight of your skimpy little underwear, but her question catches in her throat. You were at the club, after all. Something sinks in her stomach at the thought of anyone else seeing you like this, observing the way the fabric clings onto you. 

Her fingers massage at your inner thighs, her knee firm in place as she keeps them set apart. Her digits dance right against your core, pressing against the fabric. You twitch, rolling your hips into her, fingers catching on the seatbelt behind you, gripping on for life. She laughs, but not necessarily at you. 

It feels like it takes her years (well, technically) to push your panties to the side, eyes falling hazy as she stares right into you. You’re so vulnerable, you try shutting your thighs close, but she pushes them apart again. 

“I know,” she hushes you, dipping lower to nip at your lips. “I know.” 

Her fingers trace over your folds, and you think you’re about to explode. You hadn’t expected Ellie to be the type to make this agonizing and painful, but you know you probably deserve it after your showcase of attitude. 

She draws her hand back and brings her fingers up to her mouth, sucking on them nonchalantly. A satisfied sigh escapes her as she finally, finally gets to taste you on her tongue. She lets her hand travel back down, and you turn your head to the side, shutting your eyes in anticipation. 

“Look at me,” she commands softly, stopping her fingers right where you want her. 

You nod, giving her the false promise that you will. Ellie sees right through it, and with her free hand she gently grips onto your face, turning you to make eye contact with her. 

She needed to see your face as she fucked you, she needed to know, after so long of wondering, how you looked when facing pure pleasure. 

Your lashes flutter, eyebrows screwing together as she slips her fingers inside your warmth, pressing the heel of her palm against your clit. She’s gentle in the way she stretches you out, working you through it with such care and patience. 

Ellie revels in the way your chest heaves already, pupils blown out with bliss. She moves her knee and lets you shut your thighs together, trapping her hand in place. 

“This is all you needed, huh?” she teases, her voice only a little prickly, but her smile says otherwise. “For me to touch you like this.” 

You nod silently, too busy biting on your bottom lip and rocking your body onto her fingers to reply. 

“Answer me,” she demands with the same softness, setting the tone. Her gaze is locked onto your face, memorizing every twitch of your brow, every whine that leaves your lips. 

It’s almost ridiculous how brainless you are already, melting beneath her entirely. 

“Needed you,” you manage to breathe out, nodding your head again. “So bad.”

Ellie hisses a swear, and she can’t help the way she leans into you, pressing her body against yours. She curls her fingers inside of you, the palm of her hand nudging at your eager bud. She groans to herself as she feels your walls twitch around her digits, her head dropping low as if she has to stop herself from spiraling. She’s hanging on by a thread; a hair, wanting nothing more than to fuck you senseless. But it’s been too long, and she’s got something to prove to you. 

Her eyes shine as she feels your body grow tense, your wriggling becoming more constant. She slows down her pace, watching closely as your mouth drops, a pout playing at your lips. 

“Please,” you begin, and she smiles. 

“Please what?” 

“Please, fucking just,” you try grinding on her fingers, lashes fluttering. “Oh my god,” you sigh, that little attitude trickling in your tone. 

She scoffs, almost meanly. She stops her movements entirely, fingers falling slack in your pussy. “Yeah? Do it yourself, then.” 

And to her surprise, you do. That attitude is wiped clean from your voice as you whimper pathetically, body rolling, walls fluttering as you try to fuck yourself with her fingers. She stares at you in awe, throat running dry. 

It takes her a second, but she blinks and she’s falling back into you. Watching as you desperately chase your release, bumping your clit onto her hand, and you absentmindedly grab onto her arm, trying to anchor yourself. 

She sucks her teeth and sighs to herself. She had intended to drag this out, to make you beg, to make you say that you were hers all along. But with the way you hold onto her, shamelessly rutting your hips, her name falling off your lips like a prayer— she already knows it’s all true. 

She’s kind enough to start thrusting her fingers again, moaning at the way your slick bundles at your entrance, coating her fingers and slipping down her hand. It’s obscene, but she doesn’t care. In fact, it gives her more of a reason to clean you up afterward. 

“Ellie,” you breathe suddenly, your little prayers becoming less coherent as a certain feeling creeps around, engulfing your body and mind. “I’m gonna cum,” you whine shamelessly, the heat in your stomach spreading lower and lower, your body tingling. 

She leans over you again, watching over your face as your eyes slip shut. 

“Go ahead, baby. Let me hear you.” 

It’s a demand but she still says it so softly, a certain tenderness behind her words. You choke on your own moan, body practically seizing as your thighs tighten, fingers digging into her arm. You chant a repeated I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, and Ellie smiles as you do anyway, your cunt swallowing her fingers with your release. 

Her hand relentlessly slaps against your core, even though you begin to tear up and beg for her to stop. She smiles to herself before she slowly drags her fingers out of you, bringing them back up into her mouth. 

It’s not nearly enough. While you slump back into the seat, panting, body still shaky from such strong sensations, she’s busy maneuvering her body to sit on the floor of the car and propping your legs onto her shoulders. 

You blink as you slowly come back to reality, your mind hazy. 

“Ellie,” you start softly, reaching out your hand. 

She reaches up and intertwines your fingers, eyes locked on your dripping cunt as her voice carries over to your ears. “I’m right here. Can’t let it go to waste.” 

Your eyes roll back, another string of moans escaping you as Ellie shuts her eyes and latches onto your clit, moaning into your pussy. 

The hours of the night escape both of you, becoming lost in each other in the back of her car, cementing your fate. 

Ellie laughs at your blank expression, her hand rubbing down her face in disbelief. 

“That was so… garbage. Beyond garbage. Landfill levels of trash,” you say weakly, the soft lights of the movie theater reflecting off your face. 

She continues giggling at your side, hand over her mouth in an attempt to be quiet despite the fact that the movie is already over. 

You playfully swat at her arm, turning to her, face ridden with shock. “There’s no way you’re not disappointed! This shit was such a waste of money. We were better off pirating it.” 

She shakes her head and smiles to herself, hand wrapping around your own as she pulls you to stand up with her. “I think it was well worth it; it was, like, funny bad.” 

You stand, wrapping your arm around her own as you two trail down the steps of the theater. You continue picking the movie apart, disdain in your voice. You have a reason to be passionate; this lazy attempt at turning Savage Starlight into a box office success had taken a terrible turn, the movie filled with stupid one-liners and god awful acting. 

You should’ve known; it’s been a month since the trailer dropped— or, since you and Ellie came back together. A month of everything falling into place, the pieces of your individual lives slipping back into the way they used to be. A month of constant, whispered confessions, making up for lost time; lovelorn kisses, touches fueled by years of yearning. Pursuing your lives together again, and of course, falling back into your geeky little habits— the one thing that brought you together in the first place, anyway.

You shouldn’t have walked in with such high expectations after the both of you predicted how awful it was gonna be once you both sat down to rewatch the trailers together. 

As the two of you make it outside of the building, Ellie bites her cheek at the way you continue to ramble, the passion in your voice making her heart swell. There is just too much to adore about you. 

“Hey,” she starts, voice low. 

You raise your eyebrows. “What?”

Ellie nods her chin in the direction of her car, mischief written all over her face. “I know a way to give you a happy ending.”

You groan in annoyance, pushing her away. Your voice rings out and into her ears, settling her restless heart as you scold her, a smile showing through.

“Ellie!”

[steddiehyperfixation]

don't you forget about me (part two)

(part one)

Steve doesn’t know how long they sit there in silence, waiting. It’s making him insane. The seconds pass too slow; the seconds pass too fast. His mind is a storm; his mind is empty. He’s feeling too much; he’s not feeling at all. He paces the room; he sits catatonically against a wall. He needs to get out of here; he needs to stay. 

He’s been here before, just barely over a week ago, tense and anxious and despairing and waiting for news. But waiting to hear if Eddie will ever remember him again really should not feel this much worse than waiting to hear if Eddie will ever fucking breathe again. Steve thinks there must be something wrong with him. He’s being selfish and stupid. His pathological fucking need to be loved is not what’s important right now. Eddie is alive and awake and okay and that’s the only thing that really matters. That’s the only thing he should really care about.

Steve’s pacing again now, yanking his hands through his hair as he does laps around the room until Eddie finally appears in the doorway. 

Eddie must’ve just cracked a joke or something because the nurse is laughing as she pushes his bed into the room and he’s got this adorable grin on his face. Steve’s heart twists in his chest and he nearly bursts into tears all over again because god does he want nothing more than to press a kiss to those dimpled cheeks. 

“Good news, boys,” Eddie announces. “My brain is fully intact.”

“There’s no physical permanent damage to his brain,” the nurse elaborates. “His amnesia is likely a result of psychological trauma and the temporary disruption of brain function from blood loss and lack of oxygen that occurred at the time of his injury. But there is no obvious reason why he shouldn’t regain his full memory, given time.” 

So there’s hope. Steve breathes a sigh of relief. 

“That is good news,” Wayne agrees. 

Steve asks, “How much time?” 

The nurse gives an unhelpful shrug. “Impossible to say. It could be anywhere from days to months, or even years. I’m sorry, there’s no way for us to know.” 

Years. “Okay.” Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. He can keep it together. He can. “Thanks,” he tells the nurse. “I, uh-” He makes the mistake of looking at Eddie who looks right through him, and Steve can’t keep it together anymore actually. “I gotta update the kids,” he mutters, backing his way towards the door. Wayne nods in acknowledgment; no protests this time at Steve’s excuse to leave.

“See ya, Harrington,” Eddie calls after him, casual, impersonal, like they're nothing more than acquaintances passing by each other in a high school hallway.  

Steve can’t get out of that hospital fast enough. 

He makes it to his car in record time, slamming the door shut and sinking heavily into the driver’s seat. A ragged sob tries to claw its way up his throat now that he’s finally alone, but he forces it back, staving off his breakdown for just a little bit longer. As much as it was an excuse, he really does have to update the kids. 

Steve fishes his walkie out of the glove box. “Code - whatever, I don’t know. Code Eddie,” he says. He doesn’t remember the kids’ system of codes, nor would he be sure which one this news falls under even if he did. 

“Is he okay? Is he awake?” comes an immediate, eager response from Dustin. “Over.” 

“Yeah, he’s awake, and he’s fine, except he’s got pretty bad amnesia. The doctors say it should be temporary, but right now he doesn’t remember anything since May of ‘85,” Steve explains, trying his best to keep his voice even.

“Steve, come pick me up and take me to see him,” Dustin demands, “right now. Over.” 

“Me too. Over,” Mike chimes in before Steve can respond. 

“And us,” Erica adds as well. 

Steve pauses for a second, both to steady his own breath and to make sure no one else wants to jump in on this too, before he reminds them, “He won’t know you, any of you.” 

“I don’t care,” Dustin says, bossy as ever. “Just come get me. Over.” 

“Jesus Christ, kid,” Steve mutters to himself. He sucks in another breath; it wobbles dangerously. He’s just about reached his limit on how long he can keep himself from falling apart. “I- I need a minute, alright?” he manages through the walkie. “Can you just give me, like, an hour? And then I’ll take you guys to visit Eddie.” 

Steve doesn’t wait for a response before he slams the antenna closed, tosses the walkie aside, and finally, finally lets himself shatter. That sob rips free from his throat, followed by another and another and another. Tears flood from his eyes; his nose runs. It’s an ugly, gross, visceral cry that leaves him exhausted and raw and aching to be held by the time the last sob shudders out of him. Drained and hollow, he craves the embrace of someone who knows him, someone who loves him. 

He sweeps up his broken pieces, wipes the mess of tears and snot off his face, and drives to Robin’s house.

“Steve, oh my god.” Robin pulls him into a hug the second she opens the door and sees the look on his face. Steve clings to her. “What happened?” 

“Eddie’s awake,” he mutters dismally. 

“Oh! Not the tone I’d expect you to deliver that news in, but okay.” Robin pulls back, looking at him with narrow-eyed concern and confusion as she analyzes his puffy eyes and red nose and swollen lips. “And you look like you’ve just been crying because…?”

“Because he doesn’t remember me, Rob,” Steve sighs. “He doesn’t remember anything from the past 11 months.” 

Robin’s eyes go wide now. “Shit,” she says, so plainly it startles a short laugh out of Steve. 

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Shit.” 

She asks him more questions as she walks down the hallway so they can talk in her room. Steve once again reiterates what was said at the hospital. 

“So you didn’t tell him you two were a thing?” Robin asks, closing her door behind them. 

“Of course I didn’t.” Steve flops back onto her bed. “I didn’t want to spook him.” 

She sits beside him. “You didn’t want to spook him,” she repeats, looking down at him with raised eyebrows, “but you told him about Vecna.” 

“Well, yeah. I just-” He lifts his arms to gesture vaguely into the air as he tries to explain himself. “I mean, imagine how you would feel if you woke up in a hospital and some random guy you’ve spoken to maybe twice was by your bedside telling you you’ve been in a relationship with him for the past 9 months.” 

“Uh, I don’t know, dingus, probably about the same as I’d feel if said guy told me I’d nearly died fighting some evil twisted creature from a hell dimension,” Robin retorts.

Steve drops his hands onto his chest with a huff, shaking his head. “No, trust me. He seemed far less surprised by that than he did to hear that we were even just friends,” he says, a bit bitterly. Tears are pricking at his eyes again as he looks up at his best friend. “You didn’t see the way he looked at me, Robin. All he saw was King Steve.”

Robin softens, snark replaced with sympathy. “That sucks, Steve. I’m so sorry.” 

Steve sighs in agreement that yes this really fucking sucks. He sits up and scoots back so that he’s slumped against the wall, hitting the back of his head against it. “I think I’m a horrible person,” he admits, just venting now, “because of course I’m glad Eddie’s alive and all I really want is for him to be okay, and I know the nurse said he should remember eventually, but there’s still some sick part of me that thinks maybe it would’ve hurt less if he had just died.”

“I don’t think that makes you a horrible person,” Robin assures him as she settles next to him, shoulder to shoulder. “I think you’re just grieving, and grief is weird sometimes.”

“It was one of the worst things I’ve ever felt,” he mutters, “when he looked at me without recognition. To see it on his face, just the- the absence of everything that we’d built. I’ve never felt so- so- I don’t know, it was like I couldn’t breathe. He just- he doesn’t know that I love him. He…he doesn’t know that he loved me...” 

Because that’s what it is, isn’t it? It’s not that he’s lost someone that he loves, it’s that he’s lost someone who loves him. Because Eddie’s not gone, just his love for Steve is, and that’s what’s tearing him apart. It’s the fact that there’s one less person in the world who loves him. It’s the fact that Steve’s got this big gaping hole inside of him that’s always made him so desperate to be loved, liked, wanted, needed; and his biggest fucking fear is becoming obsolete. He could probably trace it back to his parents, the first to forget him, the first to stop loving him, but the fact remains that now Eddie has fulfilled that fear too. Now Eddie has carved that pit a little deeper, a little darker, validating the voice that whispers within it and tells Steve that he is forgettable, unlovable, so easy to abandon and erase. 

“Well, I love you,” Robin tells him, like she can read his mind (which, at this point, she probably can). She slides an arm around his shoulders, hugs him close. “And I’m not going anywhere.” 

Fragile as he is right now, Steve falls apart again in her arms, and she holds him together. Because she knows him, because she loves him.

It’s a quieter cry this time, soft and sniffly. Whereas the last one wracked through his body and left him fatigued, this one flows from him almost gently, and when his tears finally subside and he lifts his head from where it had been buried in his friend’s shoulder, Steve actually feels a little bit better, a little bit stronger. Which is good, because he’s gonna have to face Eddie again soon. 

“Thank you,” he says quietly as he pulls away from Robin, wiping at his eyes and glancing at the clock on her nightstand. It’s definitely been an hour by now, probably more. He stands. “I have to go, I promised the kids I’d take them to see Eddie.” 

“Then I’m coming too.” Robin stands with him. “For moral support.” 

Steve gives her a grateful smile. “I love you so fucking much, you know that?” 

“Yeah.” She grins at him. “I know.” 

~ 

The nurses have changed his bandages and upped his morphine, so Eddie’s considerably hazy now but at least he can raise his headrest and prop himself up a bit without nearly blacking out from pain. He’s boredly flicking through channels on the shitty TV in front of him, alone since Wayne had to leave for work, when Harrington returns followed by a very unexpected group consisting of Robin Buckley and four strange children. 

“Sorry,” Harrington announces their presence with an apologetic shrug, “I know you don’t know them anymore, but they insisted.” 

“Eddie!” a pudgy, curly-haired kid shouts before Eddie can even react, coming barrelling towards him and trying to hug him. 

“Ow!” Eddie yelps, pain flaring even through the extra morphine. “Fucking Christ, kid! Be careful!” 

The kid jumps back immediately, eyes wide. “Shit. Sorry.” 

“S’fine,” Eddie grumbles.

The kid looks at him expectantly for a moment before seeming to realize, “Oh, right, you don’t remember me. I’m Dustin.” 

“Ah, so you’re the guy I sacrificed myself for,” Eddie mutters, and Dustin looks a little sheepish. That means these must be ‘the kids’ Harrington had been talking about earlier. He surveys the group for a second. “Actually, I think we have met before,” he tells Dustin. “And you too.” He glances at a pale, dark-haired kid. The other two - a Black boy with a flat-top and a younger Black girl - look less familiar, though. “There was this, uh, open day thing at the high school for next year’s incoming freshmen; I talked to you about Hellfire.”

“Yeah!” Dustin’s whole face lights up, so bright and infectious it makes Eddie grin too. “Yeah, you did!” 

“So you guys joined the club, then?” 

This sparks a very animated conversation about D&D, the rest of the kids (Mike, Lucas, and Erica, as they soon reintroduce themselves) gathering around his bed now too to join in. It makes him feel a bit more like himself again, familiar, normal. Except, of course, for the fact that they’re not only talking about how they defeated Vecna in Eddie’s “totally epic” and “sadistic” campaign (adjectives courtesy of Dustin and Mike respectively), but also filling in more pieces of the story of how they defeated him in real life too. Still, it’s nice, fun. He totally understands how he could’ve gotten attached to these kids.

At some point, Eddie glances over to find Harrington hanging back and just watching them talk, fondly, wistfully. Robin whispers something to him and he sort of smiles, just a trace, and whispers something back. They seem close, intimate. Eddie wonders if they’re dating, and then he wonders why that thought makes him feel a bit sick. He waves them over. Harrington looks like he’s about to protest, but Robin gives him a Look and he allows her to grab his hand and drag him to join the crowd around Eddie’s bed. 

“So, what’s your deal, Buckley?” Eddie asks her. He doesn’t know her very well, they’ve only crossed paths a few times in the bandroom, but right now that makes her the most familiar person in the room to him. “Are you and Harrington a thing now? Is that how you’re involved in all this?” 

Robin wrinkles her nose and drops Harrington’s hand. “Ew, no. Definitely not.” 

“She’s my best friend,” Harrington says. 

Eddie snorts, doesn’t know why he finds that so comical. (He’s starting to get tired and it’s making him loopy. Or maybe it’s just the morphine.) “You've got a funny choice of friends nowadays, don’t you? Me and band geek Buckley and a bunch of nerdy freshmen.” He looks at Harrington with incredulous amusement. “Who would've thought, huh? Steve Harrington, collector of geeks and freaks.” 

Harrington doesn’t seem to find it as funny. He shrugs. “Yeah, well, it’s better than King Steve, collector of asshole bullies and shallow one-night stands.” 

“Yeah, ‘course it is,” Eddie agrees through another huff of laughter that breaks off into a yawn. “Didn’t mean it as a bad thing, Stevie. Was a compliment.” 

“Alright.” The barest hint of a smile flickers across Harrington’s face now, but then he’s looking away and corralling the kids and saying, “We should head out, let you get some rest.” 

And Eddie kind of wishes he’d stay.

(part three!)

taglist: @romanticdestruction @daydreamsandcrashingwaves @paintsplatteredandimperfect @hallucinatedjosten @mugloversonly @estrellami-1 @alongcomesaspider @thatonebadideapanda @tell-me-a-secret-a-nice-one @dragonmama76 @wxrmland @nuggies4life @sirsnacksalot @myguiltyartpleasure @marklee-blackmore @vinteraltus @sebastiansstanswhore @0happyeverafter0 @scarlet-malfoy (only tagged people who explicitly asked to be tagged; if you would like to be added or removed from this list please lmk!)

[revehae]

dear hyuckie

pairing ↠ athlete!haechan x (f) reader

genre .. warnings ↠ smut, noncon, mc is a terrible person, stalking, unprotected sex, baby trapping

summary ↠ for the longest time, you've been obsessed with haechan and wanted him to yourself, but he hardly notices you. to grab his attention, you start sending him anonymous love letters.

wc ↠ 6.0k

a/n ↠ part 5/5 of the college-capades series!

don’t like it, don’t read.

so fucking annoying, you hissed to yourself, poking around the corner. 

your eyes were fixed on the boy’s locker room door that was, to your chagrin, being guarded by the basketball team captain.

who you never liked. jung jaehyun, you thought irritably. he was undeniably good-looking, you’d give him that, but he was arrogant. haechan would make a much finer captain. where jaehyun was a cocky asshole, haechan was none too prideful but enthusiastic nonetheless.

you’d heard haechan giving pre-game pep talks to his team and motivating them not to feel guilty on the occasions where they lost. he was a natural at lifting other’s spirits. obviously, he was the driving force in the team. 

not jung jaehyun, who leaned on the door, laughing at texts on his phone most likely from a bunch of girls dying to do him. though you most definitely weren’t one of them, there were many. 

and you happened to know one of them.

“thought i’d find you here,” you said, pretending to only now be walking up the path. given that his eyes were locked on his phone screen, jaehyun was none the wiser. 

jaehyun flitted his gaze to you. “how’d you figure that?”

“oh, you know. my hot guy radar was going off,” you flirted, your own words like poison on your tongue. but hopefully worth it.

that had his attention. jaehyun chuckled, pocketing his phone, then said, “i thought you said i wasn’t your type?”

“you’re not,” you replied flatly. “but i know somebody who’s a little more open-minded.”

jaehyun’s brows furrowed. the implications behind that weren’t lost on him. “are you joking?”

“nope,” you chirped, though you were absolutely lying. “rosé wants you to come over. she’s too chicken to tell you herself and i was nearby, so she sent me instead.”

rosé and jaehyun had raging heart eyes (and boners) for each other since the day they locked eyes. though rosé, your dear friend and the only reason you knew jaehyun, was scared that he was too much of a fuckboy. their interactions never amounted to anything more than flirty exchanges after a game, but they definitely wanted each other.

maybe it was a slight fib. rosé had said nothing of the sort, but it was the best lie you could come up with and you desperately needed something impactful enough to get jaehyun away from that door. your best friend would be thanking you later.

“shit, okay. what’s her address?”

maybe it wasn’t the best move to give a boy both of you barely knew your best friend’s address, even if she had the hots for him, but you were in too much of a hurry to give a damn about ethical decision-making. 

“and jaehyun,” you called out after him when he started to leave. 

jaehyun turned his head. “yeah?”

donning the role of a helpful acquaintance, in spite of how much you loathed this guy, you advised sweetly, “maybe stop to the store first. get her some flowers or a box of chocolates. she likes those. i know you probably don’t leave the house without condoms.”

jaehyun’s shoulders shook while he laughed and threw his hands up. “you got me. thanks for looking out.”

your answer was kind, though in reality, the only reason you gave him helpful advice was because you wanted to slow him down just in case rosé wasn’t home. you quickly sent her a vague text and unapologetically mentioned that you would make it up to her later.

jesus, the things i do for you, lee donghyuck, you thought dreamily. if only he knew how much you liked him.

for lack of a better word, of course. to be frank, you were enamored with his whole being. just the thought of haechan had your legs quivering and your heart thumping against your chest. thoughts of him were all-consuming. you couldn’t eat sometimes without wondering if he had ate.

given that you were running out of time, you quickly slipped into the locker room, glancing around to make sure the coast was clear before you invaded. fortunately, with jaehyun set on getting laid, there was nobody else around. 

except for the love of your life.

you heard a shower running, just as you knew it would be. you happened to overhear haechan mentioning to a friend that he would be in the locker rooms for a moment to shower and figured it was your time to spy. your footsteps were quiet, gentle. half of the time, it didn’t bother you so bad that he wasn’t attracted to you. it was better that way.

after tiptoeing around, you reached his locker, shoving a letter inside the slit. although it would have been rational to leave then and there, you couldn’t shake the temptations brewing in your guts where you desperately needed him. he was naked, just in the shower room. and you wanted a sneak peak.

against your better judgment, you crept around the corner, poking your head out to see if he was exposed. there was a long column of showers and just your luck, the curtains of the seventh stall were drawn. guess he wasn’t very shy. you could see a sliver of haechan’s dampened skin, bits of his leg and shoulder.

you licked your lips at the mouth-watering thought you’d had. given the chance, you wouldn’t waste a second to get down on your knees for him and give him the best head of his life. your plans were nothing short of vile, but a part of you liked to assume all would be forgiven when he realized that you were made for each other. 

not if. when.

when the shower came to a dry stop, you snapped out of your thoughts and took it as a sign to get out unnoticed, slipping away like a thief in the night.

but the letter in haechan’s locker didn’t go unnoticed.

well, kind of. he thought it was a joke, but he read it nonetheless. it wasn’t that far-fetched to assume that one of the guys were probably pranking him. granted, none of them called him by the nickname hyuckie, but they sometimes called him hyuck.

naturally, haechan didn’t think much of it until the second letter appeared, and it was somewhat more descriptive.

dear hyuckie, why do you wither in the wind and come to life in the sun, the letter started. i always think it’s unfair that nobody can match your undeniable charm, let it be on a swabbed court or with a bewitched crowd. kidding. others should envy what is yours.

there was more, of course, but haechan didn’t get to read that far before the letter was rudely snatched out of his hands.

“what’s that?” jaemin asked, nosily pulling the letter out haechan’s hand. 

haechan groaned, “dude, give it back.”

jaemin instead backed off, just out of arm’s reach of haechan. “guys, you’ve gotta come read this shit,” he said in amusement. “‘dear hyuckie, why do you wither in the wind and come to life in the sun?’”

jaemin continued to read until the end, blocking haechan’s attempts to steal the letter back while somehow also keeping the high-pitched, mocking tone of a woman. not too much later, haechan gave up on keeping it to himself, accepting defeat. the letter droned on about his performances on the court, how you watched every game with your eyes fixed to only him. how you wanted to be there to kiss him during his triumphs, but hold him during his losses.

haechan was used to fangirls. he was one of the most prominent members of a prominent team at an equally prominent school, backed by deals and endorsements. needless to say, there were more than a lot of girls that felt the same as you.

it was his first time getting a letter addressed directly to his locker, however. uproar was what he was accustomed to. this was quieter, subtle. you didn’t want to blend in with everybody else, and yet, you chose to be unheard.

johnny nudged his side. “shit, hyuck. looks like you’ve got a secret admirer on your hands.”

jaehyun laughed. “wither in the wind, come to life in the sun. what does that even mean?”

“yeah, i’m sure you wouldn’t have the wits to know,” mark quipped.

jaehyun shot him a glare while everybody else laughed at jaehyun’s expense. except for haechan, who was irritated.

“i thought you guys sent this,” haechan mused. “you know, ‘cause of the hyuckie thing.”

jaemin placed a hand on his teammate’s shoulder and jeered, “hate to break it to you, man, but nobody in this room wants to suck your dick.”

“fuck off, man,” haechan said, shoving him off. “i meant i thought it was a prank the first time.”

johnny lifted a brow. “the first time? you mean you got one before this?”

plopping down on a bench, haechan bobbed his head. “yeah, the exact same way. same delivery, same salutation, same handwriting, different content,” he explained.

“you scared?” jaehyun asked, teasing. 

“i’m not scared, i’m just a little worried. i mean, nobody should be able to get inside the locker room,” haechan ranted. 

“thing’s old,” johnny retorted. “might fall apart if they don’t renovate this summer. relax, man. it’s just some chick that wants to bone you. you should be happy bitches are lining up for you.”

haechan heaved a breath and gave in, letting the guys convince him that he was being overdramatic. it wasn’t that haechan didn’t enjoy feeling wanted, that couldn’t have been any further from the truth, but there was something in his gut that told him that you weren’t like the others.

you were far more dangerous than he would ever know, until the moment when it was too late for him to be saved.

but days of letters became weeks and haechan was becoming increasingly more alarmed. the letters multiplied, the content intensifying. though he wanted to tell someone, maybe get somebody to check some security camera footage, he didn’t want to be called a wimp.

so he thugged it out.

you, on the other hand, were over the moon that he was finally paying attention to you - kind of. you were sick of just being another girl in the arena. the letters differentiated you from the others. and at one point, they weren’t just letters anymore. they were bralettes and panties sticky with your arousal, attached with letters of you describing intricately how you got yourself off to him.

never once did you touch yourself without thinking of haechan, of how badly you wanted to break him and ruin him for the next woman (not that there would be one. ultimately, you were going to make sure that there wouldn’t be). wincing your eyes closed, hands buried between your own legs, you pictured his moist, dampened face, sticky with sweat that chased down his backside.

you wanted to tire him, to test his limits. you stalked him more or less everyday, peeking behind the bleachers to watch him practice. you knew what he could take, how far he could be pushed and shoved before the force became entirely too brutal and knocked the wind out of him.

sometimes the thoughts of him became overbearing. you couldn’t sleep because of him, falling behind in your classes because you couldn’t think of any that didn’t concern him. too much time was invested on keeping an eye on him during practice and following him on his way home. just to make sure he was safe, of course.

not that he had anything to worry about, though that wasn’t your definition of keeping him safe. any girls that dared deter him, even breathe in his general direction, you perceived as threats that needed to be eliminated.

you just had to fall for a popular guy. he was well-liked for a reason, and it went beyond his undeniably good looks. the charisma he wielded in the palm of his hands, how he dominated the whole court. the golden player, you thought with whimsical hope, pining. it was the title he’d been dubbed for obvious reasons.

nevertheless, he would always be your hyuckie. more often than not, it didn’t always register within you quickly when those around you referred to him as haechan, because he was so much more than that to you. nobody would ever understand the life you’d already crafted together in your brain, revolving utterly around him. where he wanted you just as much as you wanted him.

nobody could tell you that he wasn’t reading your letters, even if you never saw it in real time to be certain. because when his eyes flitted around during practice as you discreetly kept yours fixed to his frame, when he glanced over his shoulder while he took the journey home, you knew it was because he was uneasy. almost as if he could feel you watching. 

haechan could feel you watching.

he couldn’t see you, he couldn’t be sure who exactly you were, but he knew you were there somewhere. it was a gut feeling that sickened him almost too frequently.

it started during practice, the final preparations for the night’s game. during said game that night, the wrenching in his gut only intensified. you were there, obviously, like you never failed to be. antsy, haechan struggled to keep himself together during the match, but nobody would’ve ever guessed from simply looking.

nobody except you. you’d learned to recognize him in the distraught that was natural around you, as if it was his body’s self-preservation instincts.

still, he talked to you for the first time that night. rosé evidently knew of your more than little crush on haechan, though she was none the wiser to how desperately you needed a fix. she thought it was an innocent fondness. your impromptu trick (unfortunately) thrusted rosé and jaehyun into a relationship, and when it became known to him that you had the hots for his teammate, he didn’t wait a second to introduce you to each other.

to your shock, it was a pleasantly good first encounter. haechan still felt the nerves, but reduced them to post-game jitters, something he made up solely to feel comfortable again.

it wasn’t like you were the secret admirer or stalker, or whatever weirdo that was obsessed with him. for lack of a better word, you were just so normal-looking.

you didn’t at all seem like how he imagined a debatably batshit stalker to be. haechan thought you were pretty and amusing, matched his personality like you’d met in a past life. haechan had seen you before, you were besties with one of the most popular girls on campus and his captain’s crush, but he never thought he would enjoy your company.

that was how it all began. you talked for weeks, not leaving without each other’s numbers. when he wasn’t looking, you pinched yourself over and over, wondering if you were dreaming. you knew that you would click. you knew that you were fated to be together. 

as annoying as it was to admit, you actually owed jaehyun. he’d done you a massive favor. though, when you remembered that you were the sole reason he was even dating rosé in the first place, you considered yourself even. nevermind that it was an inadvertent mistake.

you spent many nights on the phone with haechan. given that you’d commited yourself to learning everything there was to know about him already, you came prepared with more than a handful of facts, though you pretended not to know so that you could impress him. chess, not checkers, you thought smugly to yourself, noticing the envious glares of multiple girls when you walked hand in hand with haechan.

you were winning. and you couldn’t believe it. but just when you were starting to have a taste of sweet, sweet victory, your self-restraint crumbled.

you’d been waiting too long. something needed to be done to satiate all the carnal energies running rampant through your veins, and it was no secret what the cure was.

haechan could feel that borderline debilitating sensation stirring in his gut again. it was like a shiver chilling its way down his spine, an itch that he just couldn’t shake.

to make matters even stranger, he was alone in his apartment.

or so he thought. midnight loomed over the night sky, thick clouds draped over probably bright stars. they stared back at him, just outside his bedroom window that he’d forgotten to draw the curtains of.

haechan had that habit, you noticed. men typically didn’t have to worry about the same things that women did, locking their car doors at gas stations and looking over their shoulders when they walked alone at night. it was so naive of him to believe he would ever truly be safe.

then again, you were only as dangerous as he allowed you to be.

checking his phone, haechan noted that he missed a call from you, having fallen asleep nearly the second he stepped out of the shower. practice was long and rough; his muscles were sore. he had wanted nothing more than to collapse on the nearest flat surface.

for whatever reason, he dialed you back. he remembered you mentioning that you would be up all night, catching up on some classwork you never explained why you were behind on and he never asked, but he also felt safer when he heard your voice. the letters stopped shortly after he started talking to you and that idiotically wasn’t suspicious to him. he was making this all too easy.

your voice sounded a little surprised. “hello?”

“hey,” haechan said, voice raspy from drowsiness. “bad time?”

“no, never,” was what you said, because you were always down to talk, though needless to say, the call took you by surprise.

haechan thought nothing of it. he assumed you were working and didn’t expect a call this late. “sorry for missing your call. i passed out after i came back from practice.”

“it’s fine, hyuckie. i promise. i understand,” you crooned sweetly. you saw how hard he worked and you respected it.

“okay, cool,” haechan replied, heaving a breath of relief. then it hit him - that nickname and where he’d heard it before, and his heart stopped. “wait, what did you just call me?”

you swore under your breath, realizing that you’d officially blown your cover. you could have played it off, could have played dumb and innocently pretended not to know, but that shipped sailed the second haechan heard your cursing from his hallway.

haechan sat up, speaking your name. “why are you in my apartment?”

the call disconnected. haechan’s stomach was beset with unease, knots taut. somewhere entangled in the attraction to you was the inescapable feeling that you weren’t safe.

all haechan could hear for a moment was his own ragged breathing. there was no sign of you. no footsteps, no breathing. it would’ve been in his best interest to stand to his feet, or maybe just call the police, given that you’d somehow broken in. but maybe he underestimated just how threatening you were.

because when the doors suddenly burst open, there you stood, holding a gun in your hand.

“sit down,” you commanded when you noticed him abruptly stand. aiming the gun a little higher, you persisted, “i said, sit down!”

“okay, okay. i’m sitting,” haechan replied, dropping back against his sheets.

you took long, quick strides towards his bed, holding the weapon squarely at his brain while you emptied your pockets and cuffed him down. it was a graceless, clumsy exploit. for whatever reason, haechan watched you struggle, when it would’ve been his greatest opportunity to escape.

after a moment of struggling to cuff him with one hand to spare, the other too occupied with the gun directed towards his head, you leaned back to admire your handiwork. haechan didn’t even notice that you’d straddled him until you rocked a little, swallowing his apprehension with one gulp.

haechan released a shaky breath, calling out your name again. “what are you doing?”

“the obvious,” was all you said.

“it’s you.” haechan’s mind was ablaze with thought, remembering how you’d tortured him for all these weeks endlessly. “you’re the stalker.”

“i’m not just any old fucking stalker, hyuckie,” you hissed, bristling at that word. it distanced you from him. it belittled the connection sparked to life between the two of you. “i’m your lover. don’t you see?”

his lover of a long time. he never noticed you before, how you’d prance behind him in high school during your free time, surrendering your lunch time to watch him play around with his friends. how you always made sure there was a spare pencil on his desk in middle school, because he frequently got scolded for never remembering to bring one. 

you’d watched him turn into a beautiful young man over the years, but haechan never spared you a glance, not until you were forced to be slightly relevant in his life. you were sick and tired of being ignored. you were at the end of your tether, a lifetime of pining culminating in destruction. 

haechan’s head hung low, like he wasn’t even paying attention to you. it made your blood boil, rage and loathing seeping throbbing in your chest. “look at me!” you screamed. “why won’t you look at me?”

haechan, heart thumping violently, lifted his head to make eye contact with you. tears stung your eyes, reddening them. “you aren’t who i thought you were,” he whispered.

the audacity on this boy. “don’t you dare treat yourself like a fucking victim,” you snarled, seething. “this wasn’t a secret. not for us. i can tell from how you looked at me that deep down inside, you knew. our brains know the truth.”

haechan shook his head. “what are you talking about?”

“you could have easily snatched the gun out my hands and pushed me off. i’m not superwoman. but you didn’t, you didn’t do anything, because you knew what you wanted,” you responded, frantic, almost like you were deluding yourself.

but you weren’t - not this time. haechan sensed that something was off about you and still continued to talk to you. he watched you struggle, when it would’ve taken nothing for an athlete like him to throw you off, to overpower you and render you defenseless.

“i don’t…,” haechan trailed. 

“you do,” you sneered, vicious. “and you aren’t going to ruin our moment together just because you don’t want to admit it, hyuckie. you don’t know how long i’ve wanted this. how long i’ve worked to this.”

you threw the gun aside, because it was never loaded in the first place, and you couldn’t fathom ever hurting him. it was strictly to keep him pliant, to make sure that he didn’t ruin the moment. you’d been planning this for ages. you’d be damned if you let it deviate in any way from the plan etched into your brain.

shifting your attention to what you were really after, you allowed your hands to wander up his thighs, pulling at his boxers. haechan’s eyes widened with panic. “stop,” he told you, fretful.

what made the moment even more bizarre to haechan was that you merely giggled. “relax, hyuckie,” you crooned, at least in your head reassuring. “i’ll go slow, i promise. i really want to savor our first time forever. make it something we’ll never forget.”

haechan’s alarm only strengthened. 

when you grew tired of his frequent protests, you blew out an irritated breath and grabbed the ducktape that had fallen from your jacket pockets, dangling it in his face as you threatened, “keep bitching and i’ll have to shut you up. i don’t want that and i know you don’t want it either.”

haechan quieted, pinching his lips together. he was in no place to deny you.

you removed his underwear, revealing his soft cock, although that was an easy fix. gently gripping his cock in your palm, you began to fist him to life, a sensitive little sigh breaking out of him at the first touch of your supple hand.

the whiplash haechan was getting was jarring and he felt nothing short of conflicted. on the one hand, you were his daring stalker, the one sending him dubious letters alongside the inappropriate clothing and used sex items. he should’ve darted the second he had a chance. but on the other, he found himself genuinely starting to grow attached to you, and you seemingly knew what to do with your hands.

in a matter of moments, haechan was very much hard, and it was much simpler than you would’ve thought to get him up, all things considered. all it took was squeezing his balls a little.

you were eyeing him like a predator and it made haechan feel justifiably uncomfortable. many nights were spent with a thick toy stuffed between your legs in lieu of his stiff cock, your eyes fluttering closed, with you moaning his name as you imagined you were riding the soul out of him. the same toys you would send to him, showing him just how badly he’d ruined you.

none of it was in vain. you finally had the real deal right in front of you, cock as thick and delicious as you imagined it to be, and the sight was mouth-watering.

you grabbed haechan’s jaw, correcting his gaze, and said assertively, “eyes on me.”

it was very pleasing when he obeyed, keeping his eyes fixed to your frame as you undressed. underneath the thick jacket you’d worn to stuff all of your supplies, you were sporting nothing but a racy set of lingerie.

haechan visibly gulped and you giggled, never bothering to cloak yourself amusement. just like he couldn’t cloak his desire, no matter how much he balked. “do you like it, hyuckie?” you asked, cocking your head. “i wore it just for you.”

as of right now, it would’ve been in his best interest to tell you what you wanted to hear. that was what this was all about. you were claiming this moment as a rendezvous between lovers, even if haechan didn’t quite reciprocate your feelings, and you wanted him to feed into your delusions.

but it helped that you were stunning, and if you’d done this the normal way, haechan probably would’ve voluntarily slept with you. he mustered the courage to speak, “you’re gorgeous.”

“don’t flatter me,” you joked, glancing to the mattress as you giggled, playing coy. “well, if you like it so much, then i guess i’ll keep it on.”

like he was shy or something, haechan just nodded his head to show that he understood.

though it was you that had terrified him out of speaking in the first place, you prodded him on, asking, “do you want to touch me, hyuckie?”

“touch you how?” haechan knew the answer, it was obvious at this point, but he was reluctant. 

again, you giggled, twinkling with mischief. you freed one of his hands and grabbed it, slipping it right under your panties, and made a noise when you felt his warmth against your aroused, aching core. “see, i’m so wet for you,” you whispered, sticking his hand back out and bringing his fingers to his lip. “taste.”

it did haechan no good to refuse you of what you wanted, so he opened his mouth, sucking your arousal off of his own fingers. 

you watched him attentively. “do i taste good?”

when he nodded, the brightest smile slipped onto your lips. for the longest time, you’d imagined riding his face into oblivion, but that would have to be scheduled for another time. right now, you wanted to ride his cock.

without a second thought, you grabbed haechan’s cock in your hand, slipping your panties to the side just enough so that you could sink down on his size. you moaned immediately, and so did haechan, his lips parted.

something about his cock just scratched something in your brain. he was much warmer than the dildos you played make-believe with, and a little thicker, too. you took your sweet, precious time to sink down on him completely, going slow and steady because you wanted to linger in the heat of him.

haechan was wallowing in the kneading warmth of your tight pussy way too much to realize that you hadn’t even thought of a condom. all of the little things you brought for this sexcapade, from the duct tape to the gun, and not a single condom was in sight.

“you know, i’ve been saving myself for you,” you confessed, staring haechan plain in the eye. 

knowing just how committed you were to making a life with him through haechan for a loop. “you did?” he asked.

“why are you surprised? haven’t you been reading my letters?” you questioned, grinning. your heart was warm and there was nothing that could be done to undo your ecstasy. “i’ll never want anyone as much as i want you, hyuckie. there’s no point in other guys. i only see you.”

if this situation had unfolded any differently, your feelings and devotion would be something haechan was lucky enough to have, but he knew your true, reckless nature. it wasn’t romantic and it wasn’t beautiful, not like you thought it was inside of your head. it was creepy and it was off-putting, and you were a threat.

but you had been blind to reality for so long that you didn’t realize how unlawful your behavior really was, and if you did realize, you didn’t care. you were numbed by love, driven by fear of losing the love of your life to an undeserving whore.

leaning to grab the tiny little key perched on his nightstand, you decided haechan had earned to have his other hand uncuffed, though it was really because you wanted him to touch you. you grabbed his wrists, guiding his hands flat against your hips, and told him to keep them there.

even though haechan wanted to be terrified, and part of him was exactly that, he couldn’t deny that he was enamored with how your pussy squeezed him for dear life. you heard the little noises of his that filled the air, the desperate, shaky moans, and knew what he wanted.

all you ever wanted was for the longing to be mutual and at least, how it occurred to you in your mind, you were finally starting to get what you always wanted. it drove you crazy, hearing those pitched whines of your name from his own mouth.

he’s going to be mine forever. i’ll make sure of it, came your raging thoughts, and though they warred endlessly over him, your whole being agreed on one thing.

lee donghyuck belonged to you, and anyone who dared try to steal what was rightfully yours would be eradicated by any means necessary.

“i love you so much,” you admitted, even though it wasn’t a secret. you had poured out your heart to him through your letters, but the heat and passion of the sex made you even more vulnerable. “it’s okay you don’t feel the same way right now, because you will. one day, you’ll love me so much, you won’t even think of another girl.”

haechan said nothing, maybe blocking out your crazy rambles, maybe it was all white noise to him. what you did know, though, was that he couldn’t escape the undiscriminating reins of temptation. you felt how he tried to match your thrusts, grinding his cock into your pussy from below. he might’ve hated how crazy you were, but he loved how you gushed around his cock.

through the misty haze of pleasure, everything else failed to matter. he could only think with his dick, about how you were pulsing around him, the sweet sounds your pussy made as it wrapped around him with all the desire a human could possess.

you could feel his quick, hot breaths, practically hear his heart begging for a break. his face was flushed, warm and red all over, his hair sticking to his face. sweaty moisture was inescapable, cooling down his back and up his face. your attention was fixed to his plush lips, though, wanting to kiss them desperately.

and that was exactly what you did. you anchored yourself on his shoulders, pressing your lips to haechan’s mouth as you continued to bounce on his perfect, thick cock, wanting to suck the very last breath out of him. haechan didn’t fight it, because in the heat of the moment, when tangled in the highs of sex, the windows of judgment were far too cloudy.

you hated that you could feel that fever in your gut already, though from the looks of it, you weren’t alone in your need for climax. haechan’s hips moved quicker, ravenous. he needed to cum like he needed air to breathe, and that was exactly what you wanted. if he depended on you, he would never need anybody else ever again.

whatever haechan wanted, you were willing to give to him, even if it meant going to the ends of the earth and back. because you needed him too, and you would never truly be happy until you had him right where you wanted him, wrapped around your finger.

his face tensed with pleasure, his hold on your hips getting increasingly tighter as he chased orgasm. he was practically doing all of the heavy-lifting for you, a slave to his temptations, just like every other man you’d ever met. i know all of your strengths, hyuckie, you crooned in your head. but i know all of your shortcomings, too. they’re what make you so human.

“fuck,” haechan whined, defeat heavy on his face. “i’m so close, fuck. i’m gonna cum.”

i know you are. you reached for his hand, begging, “cum with me, hyuckie. please. please, please, please.”

haechan slipped his fingers through yours, overcome by the warmth stretching through his body and tensing his muscles. he couldn’t think properly, not through the blinding mist of satisfaction.

and the two of you came just like that, hand in hand, moving your hips in a true, desperate sync that only lovers would ever know. you whined that name while haechan cried out yours, neither of you stopping in your tracks until the fog passed. haechan’s warm, plentiful cum filled your cunt, your spasming pussy milking him for every bit.

you couldn’t think of a time where you’d been more thrilled. you’d just lost your virginity to the only man you’d ever loved, and the only man you would ever love, and it was like heaven. you were in love with that gone fucking stare in his eyes, no thought or soul behind them.

you grinned with contentment. you did that. you broke that out of him. 

even after the high started to fade, you didn’t want to move off of his softening cock, keeping all of his cum buried there for a minute. you gazed to haechan, a pleading gleam in your stare as you whispered, “i don’t want you to leave me.”

haechan blinked, starting to sober. all his apprehensions came back the second he realized what he’d done. he said your name and all, attempting to let you down gently, “listen, you’re, uh… great and all. this was great. but...”

you faked a pout, because you weren’t completely an idiot. you saw this coming. even giving haechan the best sex of his life wouldn’t make him fall in love for you. you cut him off, “are you really going to abandon your own baby, hyuckie? even if you do, it’s okay, because i’ll always carry a piece of you… inside me.”

there was a smug, sly smile on your lips. not even the pleasure of the sex couldn’t rival the satisfaction of watching the realization dawn on his face.

oh, hyuckie, you sighed to yourself. you’re a fool if you thought you were getting rid of me that easily.

[hotdilfs11]

⊹ ˚. an acquaintance(drabble)

✩pairings: Fitzgerald x fem reader

✩summary: y/n is upset about the relationship between her and the president.

warnings:minor cursing

✩word count: 537

*age gap*

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

I yanked my arm from his forceful grip. 

“Don’t you fucking touch me!” I yelled quietly at Fitz, trying to exit the ballroom. Fitzgerald just recently got divorced after one year of us falling in love with each other. I told him I didn’t want to do anything or be with him until he got divorced, and he actually did it for the most part. After his recent divorce, he wanted to make things official between us, but it doesn’t feel that way. He’s scared to be around me, especially in public. He treats me like a friend, an acquaintance that he met on a random fucking Friday afternoon. 

Fitzgerald grabs me again, forcing me to stop in my tracks. “y/n stop!” He whispered, trying not to make a scene. Were inches apart from each other, our faces close to inches away from one another as tension cracked the air and our breaths rigid.

“Let me the fuck go!” I hissed under my breath, looking up into his apologetic eyes, waiting and wanting me to say something else. I yanked my hand away, sending a shockwave through the space between us. Rubbing my semi-sore arm, I walked away and out of the ballroom into the hallway, tears welling up in my eyes. I felt so stupid thinking that he actually wanted me; I couldn’t even bear the thought of it. My eyes started to blur, with tear droplets pouring out of my eyes and down the sides of my cheeks. As I walked down the long hallway of the white house, I heard heavy, fast, and familiar footsteps walk behind me. I started walking faster, but he did too, until he finally caught up to me. His large, rough hands wrapped around my sore arm, yanking me into one of the dining rooms. 

He let go of me as he slowly closed the door to look at me, with his eyebrows furrowed, forming a delicate, trembling bridge of anguish above his eye. His whole body was tensed up as he looked for the right words to come out of his mouth, but they never did. I started walking up to him, trying to get past him and to the door, but he stepped aside. Mockingly, I say, “Mr. President, I wish for you to move aside,” rolling my eyes at him. I moved to his left, but he’s still blocking the door. I gave him a proper smile, fed up with his shit. “Mr. President, I...”

“Don’t pull that shit on me, y/n.” He signed 

“I really don’t know what you're talking about”, I said, shrugging my shoulders. “I’m just acting like how you've been treating me—a friend, an acquaintance. SO! Mr. President, I will be on my way home, yes?” 

He’s still standing in front of the door, gazing into my sorrow-filled eyes. 

“Y/n… you know who you are to me” He tries to grab me but I pull my hand away and held my arm to my body “Don’t!” As a tear rolled down my eye, backing away from him. He saw me crying and took a step forward, lifting his arm up trying to wipe my tears away, I backed away.  

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

give me ideas to continue this!

[mynameisjag]

For @help-i-need-a-cool-username

Sorry it took so long!

MCU Poolverine meets 97' pre-Morpherine?

Scott has a bad day...

“Are they…chittering at each other?”

“Like fucking stressed out cats.”

Sure enough, that was the sound.

“I’m sorry, he usually isn’t so…”

“Feral? Mine is, it’s good for them to let loose once in awhile, keeps the angry muppet faces from happening too often.”

“Yours does it too?,” Morph turned toward their new…friend?...acquaintance?, “so, I’m Morph and the short man doing the impression of a guard dog is Wolverine.”

“Deadpool and the taller man acting like a cat on catnip is my Wolverine! I like how yours is a short King with blue hair.”

“Thank you? Umm, yours is,” currently ripping a car tire off and chucking at his Logan, “destroying Cyclop's car?”

“Yeah, he does that, it makes him feel better.”

The tire went sailing by them as Logan dodged it, rolling out of the way, only to get tackled as soon as he stood up.

“What is going on out here-what happened to my car!?”

Sure enough, Scott was standing at the top of the mansion stairs having just exited, car keys dangling in one hand as he watched the visitor Logan get thrown backwards into it, turn midair to position himself to springboard off the car back towards the other Wolverine. The force of the ricochet pushing the vehicle sideways into the stone fence wall, getting stuck half through it.

“I was gone less then five minutes, I just came back to grab my wallet?!”

“The girls are fighting,” Deadpool ignores the confused look the X-men leader sent his way, and cupped his hands around his covered mouth, “Hey, Peanut, stop playing and come say hi. You’re making us look rude!”, he turned back to Morph, hands now going to his hips, “I’ve swear I’ve taught him manners, though maybe using whiskey as a motivator isn’t the best thing to teach him with.”

Both of the fighting men glanced over at the group, huffing a little before putting back their claws, still giving each other the side eye as they started to walk over.

Scott took a deep breath through his nose, turning toward his team member that wasn’t destroying the yard, “Morph, care to explain.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, the sky opened up and this two fell on top of us and Logan took some real offensive to be squished.”

“Took offensive to them squishing you, you can’t spring back up like I can.”

“Awe, there’s that Wolvie overprotection, a universal trait.”, the red clad hero threw his arm around his partner's shoulders and laying his head against his.

“I will and have thrown you into a mob of gunfire.”, the other Wolverine accepted the touches, even going as far as to look more relaxed.

“Only because you know I like it!”

Morph shared a look with their world’s Logan, the other giving a one shoulder shrug in confusion.

Scott seemed just as confused, “I’m sorry, he throws you into bullets?”

“Worried about little ole me!? Don’t be getting your Superhero panties in a twist, bullets can’t do shit to me, besides I enjoy it. Getting him riled up and being tossed across whole rooms is part of the fun of it.”

“Who are you two? Why are you destroying our stuff?”

“Jeez, Introductions again, fine, I’m Deadpool, again, and this is my Wolverine, again, if it gets too confusing for you to keep up with who is who, well, I like to call him, Peanut, Majesty, Honey Badger, Furiosa, Papi, Mami, Angel Face, Babygirl-“

“If you don’t pick something to call me, he is going to keep going.”

“-my meow meow, homeslice from the deep woods, Jessica-“

“Jessica?”

“Jessica it is!,” the man turned and pressed his covered lips to his partners cheek, giving a dramatic kissing sound, “Muah, the Jessica to my Roger Rabbit, the movie version of course.”

“Jessica”, let out a deep tired sounding sigh, “Just call me James.”

Scott turned toward the destroyed car then back to them, “Jessica.”

The newly dubbed ‘Jessica’ face went from neutral to scowling, Deadpool pinched his cheek, “and there’s the angry muppet face back with full force!”, he caught himself from falling over as he was shrugged off, giggling slightly as he refocused on the three bystanders, “Any who, you and everyone else is probably wondering what the hell is going on, and the truth is-“

“-Dumbass here ass dialed us to the wrong universe.”

Morph watched as Logan seemed to sniff the air, taking a half step toward the other him, who instantly noticed, they themselves ignored the situation that was about to happen and refocused on the man in red, “How do you “ass dial” to the wrong universe?”

“Mostly by failing a split and falling hard on the device in your back pocket, that may or may not be stolen, which takes you, your partner and your kids that were nearby into another universe-oh fuck-we gotta find mini-Wolvie and little Miss Mary.”

“Who?”

“Mine and Jessica’s babygirls! Mini takes right after her Daddy and Mary has my good looks!”

Morph blinked, “You two…together…have kids?”

“The dog is not a our kid!”, the Wolverine’s were circling each other again, more curious then ready to fight again.

“But you agree your mini is both of ours!”

Another slow blink before Morph leaned closer to Deadpool, ignoring Scott heading toward his destroyed car and the other two sniffing each other?, they plastered a big smile on their face, “So kids, partners, cute nicknames, sounds like you two are close.”

“More then just close, but don’t you worry, I’m pretty sure I don’t exist in this world, little off limits apparently, sooo,” the merc pulled the other closer to him, shoulder to shoulder as he directed their attention over to the two Wolverines trying to pull the car out of the fence wall as Scott directed them, “I gotta make sure my boy is taken care of in all worlds, and since I’m not here, that leaves that responsibility to you!”

“Excuse me, why would-“

“-Nope! No excuses with me around, either you get your shit together or I’m going to see if two Logan’s can live together, most likely no, but it will be fun to find out! Like having a full course meal with a little dessert on the side. Someone is going to be overstuffed in the end.”

The car rolled by them sideways, coming to a stop upside, Morph just sighed fondly as Logan waved at them before jumping up on the vehicle, the variant right behind them as they both stared down a fuming Scott, “How can you stay mad at him, look at him, he’s never seen the top of a shelf before.”

“See you get it, I bet you’re his Roger Rabbit too.”

They're side-eye could kill a person, “What does that mean?”

“Simple, you can make him laugh," there was a nonchalant one shoulder shrug, "you've already got a place in his heart with that gesture alone."

“…oh…”

“Look at that face, realization baby, bet his nose scrunches up and he snorts, bet he play fights with you, bet you get drinks together-“

“-please shut up, I’m having a crisis.”

“You’re an X-man…X-person?, whatever, you should be used to crisis, both personal and external by now, so nut up buttercup, we are going to get you your little stinky bear cat."

Deadpool gave them an enthusiastic thumbs up...Morph just sighed in resignation.

[wh0rrorb4by]

ur gonna luv me - armin

tw: manipulative armin, yandere-ish, 18+

note: i wrote this for a request and stupid me forgot they specifically requested noncon ! but i thought i should just post this in the mean time :)

armin is nothing if not patient. he’s the type to wait as long as it takes to earn your trust, which you give him rather easily, to his surprise. it was a bit concerning, actually, how quick you were to trust him — it just showed him how naive you really were, how much you needed him to protect you. all it took was a gentle offer to tutor you in the course he knew you struggled with the most, as well as a few surprise visits to your apartment with your favorite coffee order in hand to surprise you, and he could already see the way you started looking at him with stars in your eyes.

“how did you know this is my favorite?” you asked, and he honestly had to keep from looking at you with complete pity as he told you it was just a lucky guess.

he knew everything about you. he’d made himself quite acquainted with your living space every time you left the room, or when he’d buy himself extra time by asking you to grab the notes or textbook he left in his car. he looked at all of your trinkets, memorized each and every picture on your wall and made note of any male friends who might stand in his way. he’d read pages of your private journal — which he was elated to discover that you’d written about him more than once, dotting the i in his name with a cute little heart. knowing that you had a blossoming crush on him like a little schoolgirl was really all he needed to rationalize his behavior. it was working, just like he knew it would.

armin trains you to need him. he showers you with the attention he knows you love — compliments, praise, gentle touches — then suddenly pretends he’s too busy for you and borderline uninterested for a couple days. it’s devastating, but proves its worth as you desperately try to get his attention through random texts, calls, and more frequent posts to your social media. before you knew it, armin was the only person you thought about.

God, and when he finally knows that the two of you are completely enamored with each other, he takes full advantage. he’s just so good at making it seem like you’re taking the lead, like you’re the one initiating everything. as if he hasn’t morphed himself into who you need him to be, as if he hasn’t invaded your privacy and manipulated you into desperately clinging to him. you need his praise, his affection. you need him to tell you how smart you are, how pretty and thoughtful and perfect you are, because it feels like it only means something when it comes from him.

you need him to tell you how good you feel when you sink down on his cock, when you’re all flushed and whimpering as you struggle to take it all but loving how he coos gentle praises at you as you try. he loves feeling your little pussy tighten around him as it objects to the large intrusion, and he gets off on watching you quiver and sweat and cry above him.

“just a couple more inches to go, baby,” he breathes out. “you’re doing so well, take some more.”

and you do, because armin wants you to. he’s got you trained so well, so desperate to please him and feel his cock buried deep inside you that you’ll do anything for it. and the chants of “good girl,” “you’re doing so well,” “i know it’s too deep, baby, ‘m so proud of you” make the pain worth it. and when he angles himself into your sweet spot as he rubs his thumb in circles over your clit, you cry as you come undone on top of him, falling onto his chest as he fucks you through the waves of your orgasm.

you even take it as he chases his own climax, fucking into you harder and faster and asking you to take it just a little longer. he knows it’s too much but you’re his good girl, right? you just wanna please him, don’t you? you nod desperately, all teary-eyed and your eyes rolling back as you feel your body shaking again, and you can’t tell if it’s another orgasm or if your first one never stopped, but it’s all too intense and your head is empty as he kisses you, swirling his tongue with yours as his cum fills you up.

armin’s got you hooked on everything about him. his words, his actions, the way he fucks you until you’re passed out and leaking cum. he has you hooked on earning him, dedicated your time solely to him because the rewards he promises make it all seem so worth it. and he does it all without you realizing that you never really had a choice. <3

[heavenlyvision]

pity pairing: Johnny Cage/reader wc: 1.3k warnings: angst no comfort... sorryyyyy, no use of pronouns or yn, gender neutral reader a/n; in my feels so i'm torturing everyone else :) it's not good, maybe not even coherent but i dont care !!!!!! JOHNNY CAGE ANGST BABYYYYY

The friendship between you both has become uncomfortable. The worst part is, it’s your fault, there’s nothing inherently wrong with harbouring long-term feelings for one of your closest friends, the issue comes when you choose to stupidly admit that to them, even when you know they don’t feel the same way. The conversation was awkward and you regret it deeply, it wasn’t even planned or romantic or anything grand like in movies… it was just awkward.

You’d been having your weekly movie night at his house; he’s made a bad habit of sticking his nose in your business and that night was no different. It had been perfectly fine until he started haranguing you over when you were going to get back in the dating field and find someone who deserved you, but he was pushing it – like he so often does.

He had said, “Come on, when’s the last time you even liked someone, you need to get out there again… world is your oyster and all.”

“That’s for like… job opportunities and stuff, Johnny,” your eyes rolled at him. 

“It can be for love too… or at least dating. I mean come on… you’ve not dated anyone in like…” he had stopped to think on it, “…Holy fuck! Years! It’s been years… what’s stopping you?”

You avoided his eyes, “I don’t want to talk about this, let’s just start the movie…”

Your avoidance was only piquing his interest though, “So, there's something to talk about then! What is it? Do you like someone?”

You couldn’t help the way your demeanour shifted, giving yourself away, “This is childish, Johnny. I just want to watch the next movie.”

His hand had reached out to jab at your side, “You like someone? Do I know them? Tell me!”

He was annoying and persistent, yammering at you, trying to get you to spill your guts, it was frustrating and overwhelming and eventually with wet eyes you admitted, “Jesus Johnny! It’s you okay? I. like. you.” The next part is what you regret most, “I…love you.”

You had watched the way he pulled back from you, “Oh.” He scratched at the back of his neck awkwardly, “I’m really… I’m sorry, doll… but I don’t feel the same…”

He wouldn’t look you in the eyes, and after several moments of silence, you spoke up, “I never asked you to.” You remember peeling yourself off the couch, too uncomfortable to stay, “I’m going to go… thanks for tonight...” You had gotten out of there as quickly as you could, distressed at having given away a piece of yourself you weren’t quite ready to part with.

✶⋆.˚

It’s not like you’ve not seen him since then, you go to events or parties hosted by mutual friends or by Johnny himself but he’s started looking at you a certain way, it’s frustrating you to no ends. Every time you catch each others gaze or make small talk, he watches you with an expression filled with so much pity, you just know he feels bad for you and you need him to stop because not only is it making you feel worse, it’s making you feel… angry. Like you might poke him in his two eyes just so he can’t look at you like that anymore.

Tonight is the same, he’s hosting a party and you didn’t really want to come but one of your mutual friends had insisted that you go with them. So, you showed... only to immediately regret it because as soon as Johnny looked at you, his eyes were pitying you in a way that makes you feel embarrassed. You don’t think he’s aware of how he's looking at you but the only thing he’s doing is making this harder for you. You so badly wish you could go back in time just to stop yourself from saying anything, if you had just kept quiet, he wouldn’t know and you wouldn’t both be keeping each other at arm’s length.

Ever since that night, it feels like you’re acquaintances, not good friends… before it all… you would’ve described him as one of your best friends but now he feels so distant from you, so far that he doesn’t even feel like a friend.

The way he’s looking at you from across the room has you turning and going in the opposite direction, you can’t leave – your friend is your ride – but you sure as hell can avoid the fuck out of him. Which you plan on doing, it’s not particularly hard, there are plenty of people here and they all want to talk to him, every time he starts moving towards you, you slip away and thank the lord that people love talking because he gets stopped every few steps without fail.

Later in the evening you begin to feel overwhelmed by all the people, they’re everywhere, you need a break, you need to breathe. Carefully, you sneak away and upstairs, heading for Johnny’s bedroom, he has a balcony attached to his room and you could use the night air. There is also one in the main area but people are out there smoking and talking and you just… need to be alone.

It’s quiet out here and you can finally take a deep breath and unclench, folding your arms over the railing, you rest your head down on them, letting yourself cool in the evening air. It was a bad idea coming here tonight, when you think of Johnny at the moment, all you can see is his sad eyes looking back at you. How are you going to fix this? You don't think there is anything you can do really…

The door to the balcony opens and closes behind you softly, “I thought I’d find you here,” Johnny’s voice is soft as he walks to you.

When you look to him, he’s still got that stupid look on his face, “Stop looking at me like that.”

He's confused, “Like what?”

“Like you’re pitying me, it’s making me feel…” you trail off before finishing, “It’s not helping, just stop.”

“I’m sorry, I’m not meaning to…” He goes to place a hand on your back but thinks better of it and places them both on the railing.

You’re looking away from him, out into the night, at the view, if you look at him to see that expression... you’ll either cry or become violent.

He sighs from beside you, “Listen, about what you said–”

You cut him off, you don’t want to talk about this, “–We don’t have to talk about it… forget I said anything.”

His expression is incredulous when he looks to you, “Forget that you confessed to me?”

You stay looking forward, “Yeah. Forget it.”

He implores you, “How can I just forget something like that?”

“Try really hard,” you wave a hand, attempting to remain unaffected despite how exposed you’re feeling.

He tries moving closer, silently begging for you to look at him, “I have– I have tried really hard but I can still hear your words in my head, I can still hear how you told me–”

“–I didn’t mean it.” Bracing yourself, you look him in the eyes.

He looks almost disappointed, “What?”

Keeping yourself as steely as possible, you deadpan, “I lied, I didn’t mean it, I’m taking it back.”

“You can’t just take something like that back,” his brows crease at you.

Shrugging, you ask, “Who says?”

“That’s not something you can just do, you can’t tell someone you… you love them and then take it back,” he sounds angry at you.

You answer with a sigh, “Does it matter?”

He raises his voice slightly, “Of course it matters!”

Turning your whole body to him, you say outright, lying through your teeth, “Johnny, I don’t love you.”

He shakes his head at you, “Don’t say that.”

You smile at him regretfully but say nothing.

His eyes hold a pain that they shouldn’t, “You said you love me.”

Maybe if you lie, things will be okay... “I got over it.”

✶⋆.˚

[calaisreno]

Yes and No

“Do you love her?”

It had taken them less than thirty minutes to go from the Rizla game to just asking each other random questions. The only celebrities that Sherlock knew were nineteenth-century chemists and twentieth-century criminals, which had more or less spoiled the game, and Sherlock had declared it pointless.

Then he suggested Yes or No, which at least required some deductive reasoning, and John agreed. But Sherlock was very good at this game, having deduced nearly everything about John in the first days of their acquaintance. Without asking any question, he deduced that John would choose violin, a human liver, Mrs Hudson’s nephew, and Sherlock’s old mouse-coloured dressing gown.

John gives up. “Fine. What don’t you know about me?”

Do you love her is a real question, he gathers— from the look on Sherlock’s face, which is serious and a bit sad.

The answer, which should be yes, of course I love her, instead comes out, “I’m marrying her.”

“People marry for reasons other than—“ Sherlock stops, appearing to realise he is going in a direction that can only lead to bad feelings. “Sorry, not a fair question. Better: When did you know that you loved her?”

He remembers grief. The intense pain of the days after he saw Sherlock die on the sidewalk in front of Barts. There are few details he can recall after that moment. It was as if the pain had receded just enough to let him breathe, and a kind of grey fog had descended. Pain, then sorrow.

Somewhere during the sorrow part, Mary had appeared. She may have been there sooner, but he hadn’t noticed. At some point he became aware of her bringing him coffee, talking to him, urging him to come out for lunch. Always there, cheerfully bullying him back into life. Eventually he noticed that he wasn’t quite as sad, and that she was rather pretty.

But the pain was still there, a tender spot in his memory, and most days he still felt defeated. Mary helped, though, and he thought that if she stayed, everything would be easier. He didn’t need to explain; she understood. He could keep the memories at bay when she was around.

By then he was having sex with her. He didn’t remember exactly how that had begun. Maybe it was a pity fuck one night when he’d had too much to drink. He woke up in her bed hungover, waiting for the darkness to descend like a weight on his chest, and she was there, making him a cup of tea, urging him to have some toast, sweetly solicitous and not accepting any excuses.

Does he love her?

Sherlock is still looking at him, the question in his eyes.

“She was there when I needed someone,” he says. “I just knew.”

He’d known that morning that he needed to move on, to leave what had happened in the past and live his life. And there she was.

“Your turn,” Sherlock says.

John thinks of all the things he’s ever wanted to know about Sherlock, but has never asked because it has never seemed a good time. Sherlock has a way of warding off questions with just a look. An armour that does not allow anyone in, not even John. He’s wondered about a lot of things, but asking has never been an option. Sherlock never has to ask; he simply deduces. John is terrible at deductions, as Sherlock often reminds him.

“Have you ever been in love?”

Sherlock doesn’t hesitate. “Yes. Twice.”

“That was a yes-no question, so I get follow-up. So, the first. Who was he?”

Sherlock smiles. “You’re assuming it was a man.”

“Wasn’t it? I thought… you’re… erm…”

“Gay? Yes, I am.”

“You loved a man,” John says. Obviously.

“Well, a boy. I was twelve. I suppose it wasn’t love so much as infatuation and hormones. His name was Victor. I never told him until I met him again at uni.” He gives John one of those looks that makes him feel like he is being x-rayed. “Have you ever kissed a man?”

“I’m not gay,” he says at once. “I mean, why would I kiss a man if I knew I wasn’t gay?”

“Follow-up question, then. When did you know you were not gay?”

John’s mouth may have been open for a bit. It’s an odd question. Everybody knows they’re straight until something happens and they know they’re not. Isn’t that the way it works? “I just knew. When did you know you were gay?”

“When I was twelve. I was at a stupid birthday party my mother made me attend, and we were playing Forfeit. I was asked a question I didn’t like to answer and took the forfeit. Up until then the penalties were stupid things like singing a song or doing a dance, but this time it was kissing a girl. The girl was willing, and I was curious, so I agreed. That was when I realised girls weren’t my cup of tea, so to speak. I wanted to kiss Victor.”

John says nothing, though it’s his turn. He remembers a similar party, a boy who wanted to kiss him, and feeling terrified that his parents would find out if he did. Harry had just come out, and he was trying very hard to make up for all of her shortcomings.

Sherlock asks, “How do you know you’re not gay if you’ve never kissed a man?”

“I’ve kissed lots of women,” he replies. “I don’t need to kiss a man to know I’m not gay.”

Sherlock shrugs. “I assumed that I was like everyone else, that some day I would meet the right girl, get married, and have children. That was how it was supposed to work, and I thought there was something wrong with me because I didn’t like girls that way. All my fantasies were about boys, but I thought I would eventually be attracted to girls as I got older. That kiss told me I would never love a woman.”

“You think I should kiss a man just to see if I’m a bit gay?” He laughs.

“It’s your forfeit, for not having an answer.”

“I’m not going to kiss some random bloke just because you—“

“Not a random bloke. Me. Kiss me.”

This is dangerous ground. Somewhere in his libido lies something that he’s thought about. Maybe he’s even fantasised about kissing a man. Having sex with a man. Just a lark, maybe. Don’t lots of men go through that? It doesn’t mean anything.

But, Sherlock. He lived with him for a year and a half, and they’d been friends. And he grieved when Sherlock died. Not grieved like a friend. He’d lost friends before, and this was nothing like those losses. Pain, darkness, unending regret. Even after Mary, some of that darkness remained. Moments when he remembered something Sherlock had said or done, a stab of pain. If it hadn’t been for Mary—

And it came to him. Mary was balm for his wounds. She brought him back from the edge. He is grateful to her. But gratitude isn’t love. Being in such pain for so long, and then a bit of light— that isn’t love, it’s relief. He’s seen patients in physical pain become almost giddy when given a dose of something that takes their agony away, not even enough to make them high. Relief feels like intoxication when pain has gone on so long.

If it hadn’t been for Mary, he would have understood what he’d only begun to see. She helped him, saved him even. But she was a distraction from the pain, not a cure.

He glances at Sherlock, who is pulling back, looking like he wishes he hadn’t just asked for a kiss. Maybe he’ll make a joke about their game, move them towards goodnight, goodbye, see you at the wedding.

“Yes,” he says. It’s an answer to everything— regret, grief, sorrow, love. It’s an apology for not seeing sooner, for the night at the Landmark, for his anger and cruel rejection of the man he has loved for years. “Kiss me.”

* * * * * * * * * *

Sherlock is right. The kiss tells John things he’s tried hard to forget. It tells him that has loved men before, but called it friendship, that he has wanted to touch men and kiss them, and called it lust, or fantasy, or a phase that all men go through. Women attract him too, and he grabbed onto heterosexuality like a life-raft because he was afraid of the alternative. His sister and his father, yelling. Harry thrown out of the house. His father, looking at him, saying not you too. Never you, my boy.

The kiss tells him that has already met the love of his life.

“I need to call Mary,” he says when they break away.

Sherlock looks sad. He nods. “Of course.”

“One more question,” John says. “Who was the second person you loved?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” he says. “I’m about to call my fiancee and break our engagement just days before the wedding because I’m in love with my best friend. So please, answer the question.”

Sherlock’s face does something John has never seen. It crumples and tears fill his eyes, and then he’s laughing and crying and not able to speak.

John kisses him again.

Author note: This is an old ficlet, from Trifles, posted here.

[quixotical-lymbo]

Hi- I was wondering if I could request separate Wukong and Macaque headcanons for a reader who forgets to do important stuff? Not like work stuff or anything like that- but like- vital stuff? Like sometimes they forget to eat or sleep or take care of themselves properly. It’s not that they don’t want to, they just forget sometimes. But with their friends and people they care about, they never forget. Always reminding the group to eat and rest and stay hydrated while pushing their own needs to the side? only if your comfortable doing this of course!

Pairing: Wukong, Macaque & gn!Reader Rating: SFW Warnings/Tags: Y'know the drill, fluff, brief mentions of starvation, lack of sleep, and some crack from you-know-who.  Word Count: 500+ words 🍜 - didn't know if you wanted romantic or not, but I guess you can decide for yourselves if want it to be either or!

WUKONG

☀️ At first, Wukong thought you were playing some long con joke. I mean, there's no way you could forget to take care of a few important factors in your small, mortal life? I mean, even he knew not to miss a meal or nap if he could help it!

☀️ However, Wukong managed to witness it himself whenever he had the opportunity to visit PIgsy's shop. You seemed fairly normal, save for the heavy dark bags under your eyes and the way you took a few seconds to reply to anyone, but overtime Wukong could tell you hadn't slept a wink last night.

☀️ He'd bring it up in a joking manner, and when you sheepishly reveal that you forgot, his joking tone would turn into that typical older brother tone and remind you about the importance of sleep and how your body is a temple yadda yadda yadda. 

☀️ After it happened a few more times, Wukong would feel a bit exasperated ESPECIA-FUCKING-LY when you would remind MK or Mei to get enough sleep or eat their meals on time. 

☀️ Literally would be like, "Oh, you're one to talk." or "Are you sure you aren't reminding yourself to do these things?" 

☀️ At this point, he's gonna bully you into remembering. 

☀️ Overall, underneath all the teasing and playful gestures of him forcing food into your mouth–Wukong is worried about your forgetfulness, even if you don't mean to forget. 

MACAQUE 

🌙 Assuming that the two of you tolerate each other to be above the acquaintance stage, he wouldn't care at first. I mean, people normally forget to do things in favor of other responsibilities–and he wasn't your warden, so who was he to remind you to take care of yourself? Plus, with how often you remind the others to eat and drink water, he assumed you were on top of your shit. 

🌙 Oh, how wrong he was. 

🌙 Macaque didn't think he'd end up being the one to supervise how much you ate, drank, and slept without your knowing. Without being obvious, he'd sometimes slip a cup of water in your general vicinity, an apple here and there, or even kidnap you and bind you to your bed until you closed those annoying eyes of yours. 

🌙 You were very…persistent in your forgetfulness that Macaque stopped keeping an eye on you just to see what would happen. 

🌙 Well, you passed out in the middle of the street due to dehydration. 

🌙 Never again. 

🌙 Anyway, he learned to not stress himself out with this problem as he turned to MK to take over his duties as your 'mom.' 

🌙 From time to time he'll check up on you, but he'll keep his distance unless the situation calls for him to step in and make sure you're safe. 

🍜 - I do not give permission for anyone to translate, copy, republish, or plagiarize any of my written works. I provide no permission for any of my literary works to be used in artificial intelligence. sparkle banner(s) by @adornedwithlight !!

[lady-ashfade]

Just a pawn

Kaz Brekker x fem!reader

Notes: kinda wanna make a part two..but maybe I just will leave it here.

Warning: Angst, heartbreak, no comfort, short, cursing, I wanna hug the reader.

This was exactly what you signed yourself up for, you tried to stop it. Telling yourself to bury the feeling deep down so you couldn’t get hurt, you hated feeling weak and this was exactly what you expected. You knew he would crush your heart, that you would wait for the end of time for him, just for him to feeling anything…

Anything other then anger.

“Don’t you walk away from me!” He shouted from behind you as your back was turned. You bit the inside of your cheek ready to cry and scream in anger. Spinning yourself you glare at him, his face dirty and sweat dripping and he looked as miserable as always. “Or what, Brekker?” You stepped closer, never letting your anger slip.

“Because we both know you can’t afford to let me go, who else would you have to throw in harms way? Inej, oh not your wraith. Jesper? Not him, your charming shooter. Nina, wylan, Matthias? Because for fuck sake he risk anyone he doesn’t care about!” You shouted as loud as you could, actually hoping everyone could hear you in ketterdam.

“Don’t you shout at me, this wasn’t my fault. We got the job done so stop yelling like this.” He groaned out. You laughed and put on a smile, “Oh thank the saints! We got the job done, so glad my almost death was worth it.” You cheered while putting your hands up.

Kaz looked at you with a glare and stood up straight not having the slightest bit of amusement from you. “For fuck sake, I had a plan. Yes you almost died but that happens on jobs like these. You came to me remember? You signed yourself up for this.”

You sighed yourself up for everything.

“No, I did not. If jesper wouldn’t have acted fast I would have fell from the building, nothing under me or could stop me from hitting the ground. I knew i could die on these jobs,” you went quieter and your eyes become heavy and flickering with tears, “what I didn’t know is that I would be used as a target to just toss around. Each time it’s always me who almost dies and you tell me to do it.”

He glare softens and his jaw unclenches it self. “I don’t toss you for you to die. You know that.” But did you? Did he ever give you a reason to believe that? “I actually don’t, kaz. I know nothing of what you feel or care about other then yourself.” The words cutting him like a knife. She wasn’t yelling or shouting but speaking to him in such a hurt tone.

“I know you know how I feel about you, kaz. I tried to hide it but it was just too hard, and I thought when you looked back at me- That you felt the same way I did.” You laughed and wiped the tears rolling down your face, “Funny huh? It was pathetic of me to believe that. Because you never could care for me like I want you to, you can’t even treat me like something other then a pawn.”

He couldn’t say anything, couldn’t do anything as she broke in front of him. She didn’t know that it was her he cared about the most and it scare him how deep his feelings went. He pushed her away each time to not let the feeling take over, always yelling at her or moving her around. And it killed him to know he could never pull her close and touch her skin.

“Nothing to say? Fine, I’ll talk for the both of us. I’m leaving and when I come back we will forget this ever happen. You wouldn’t speak to me other then on a job, no glances from across the room. Nothing but acquaintances.” Speaking clearly with her mind made up.

Kax watched her walk away to the door and all he wanted to do was go after her and make her stay with him, tell her just how much he cares for her. But she could never know, he could never give her what she deserves. He stepped closer and his body moving on its own, but he forced himself still. You turned around and looked at him half way out the door, a sad smile on your lips and glossy eyes.

“Goodbye, kaz.” And then he lost sight of you and his heart shattered. He knew this was your way of saying goodbye to the way it was between the two of you. It was never going to be the same, a goodbye to him as yourself. He huffed and turned around to clear his deck of everything on it in anger. He shouted and slammed his hands on the table knowing it could very well be goodbye forever.

“You never were a pawn.” He sighed to himself like he was talking to your ghost. Everything he wanted to say.

[mooniedust]

Modern Aegon bot/Prompt.

Plot: You and Aegon belong to a small, intimate circle of friends—a group that has become your chosen family. Over time, the bond between you and Aegon deepens into a sexual relationship. Yet, while you yearn for a more profound emotional connection, Aegon remains detached. The rest of your friends disapprove of the situation, sensing its toxicity, but Aegon uses this to his advantage. He emotionally manipulates you, subtly driving you away from the others to ensure your attention remains solely on him.

TW: This may contain references to excessive alcohol and drug use, gaslighting, emotional manipulation, and both physical and moral betrayals.

Btw: Don’t involve yourself with friends; I sacrificed myself to learn this lesson for all of you.

With all my heart,

Moon Dust.

Aegon was never known for his intelligence; perhaps his mind had already been consumed by alcohol and drugs. However, he cemented his reputation as a true idiot when he decided to cross the boundaries of friendship and get involved with a friend shortly after high school. Maybe it was his charming face and sharp tongue that drew you to him, who knows? A cheeky kid with biting remarks and an arrogant son of a bitch, your paths crossed countless times over the years, but it was only during the last year, amidst the pandemic, that your small group truly came together. A bunch of troubled kids drowning their sorrows in life’s little vices when they could’ve been in therapy— not exactly brilliant, but somehow functioning like a dysfunctional family, where everyone supported each other.

Over time, Aegon grew more confident. His body, sculpted with attractive curves, and his doe-like eyes in delicate shades of lilac hinted at the future heir to his father's legacy—Aegon, the black sheep. You grew closer after a group argument, something unexpected for two people who avoided each other as if being mentioned in the same sentence was an insult. He thought you were mocking him when you held his hand during the fight and told him everyone was overreacting.

"I can't leave you without at least giving you the chance to justify yourself or apologize, you're are not that kinda of stupid."

"I know you, we are friends."

Before he realized it, he was secretly licking wine off your plump lips, blowing smoke from his joints into your face away from the prying eyes of your friends—all at the end of May.

July was coming.

He wasn’t confident about his body, but you made him feel like he was on top of the world, giving him what he had been missing for so long. Going out to clubs, getting involved with drugs, whispering lies and crafting mental traps so you wouldn't tell your friends, you wouldn't mention the confusing signals he was giving you, monopolizing you like a spoiled child unwilling to share a toy with others. so you wouldn’t tell your friends anything at all.

He was changing—and for the worse. But it wasn’t his fault; you two were never really a thing.

You stuck with him through all of it, even when he pushed you away and pulled you back with the same speed—the yearning to have and the boredom of possession. Most of the time you spent together, he resented you just the same. Aegon wanted you to stop acting like a partner, a devoted lover, for fuck’s sake, you talked about this.

Are you stupid, love?

He know you had been in love with him since you were seven, and it seems that unresolved feeling never really went away, perfect for him and a nightmare for the others.

But you were casual, so smooth and willing to keep up what both of you lived behind closed doors—a shitty friend in the end. Your love made him sick. It made him do what he did best: fuck everything up.

He kissed a mutual acquaintance at your birthday party while you were frantically searching for him, afraid he had relapsed alone. It wasn’t his finest moment, but in his defense, she had your scent, but her hands were cold. He thought of you all the time, how he could never give you comfort, a healthy relationship, just stolen kisses and a broken home.

Pathetic, despicable little man.

He sobbed like a child that night, seeing your disappointed, yet unsurprised, expression. No one approved of what you two had, but everyone thought he’d have more respect for a friend, for you.

Aegon murmured drunkenly while lying on a soft mattress, his senses so clouded he barely noticed when someone carried him upstairs, lying pathetically as he clutched his stomach, trying to keep everything inside.

Suddenly felt the bed lighten.

Were you leaving? Aegon knew he had fucked everything up—for you, your birthday, all his friends in common and everything else—but you had never left him like this, drunk, high to the bone, his liver twisted in knots. Crying for you, begging for you.

Aren’t you going to scream? Show anger, cry, anything? Just thinking about how he fucked you over like everyone else around him, the last person by his side, sabotaging the last genuine thing in his life. Aegon tended to get low when trying to convince you to stay, cruel and manipulative, a pathetic mess stumbling over the sheets trying to grasp your hands, frighteningly cold that night.

"We're casual, stop being dramatic."

But the words never came, coward little Aegon, still need your devotion, need to be loved and knowing that you would stay without hesitation if you used the right words.

Stupid and low.

“{{user}},” he whimpered, crocodile tears streaming down his chin, mixing with white traces on his nose, knuckles pale from gripping the sleeve of your shirt, refusing to let you go. It smelled of Malbec and the constant scent of ink you used in class. He didn’t meet your gaze, too ashamed of what he was still trying to do to make you stay. "I love you, don’t—please, I need you, don't leave me alone. I'm scared."

[rishiguro]

BUSY THINKING ABOUT SITTING ON A ROOFTOP WITH DABI

“i thought i told you to fuck off,” DABI muttered, not even turning to face you as you were sitting down on the next to him, your feet hanging over the edge. “and i told you that i don’t give a shit,” you answered shrugging, “if it bothers you so much, feel free to piss off” it was hard to see his face in the dark, but you could still hear him chuckling to himself. that was the most you would hear from each other. you rarely spoke, usually only sitting on the tall building in the outskirts of the city. you didn’t know who he was, he also didn’t know your name. you were just two people, sitting together on top of an abandoned building, escaping their lives for just a couple of hours. you weren’t friends, not even acquaintances — but you somehow understood each other without speaking a single word.

a/n: will i ever do another mha character? quickly posting before seeing “talk to me”

[loversj0y]

You’re loosing me 🥲

you're losing me

event masterlist

pairing: wilbur soot x gn! reader

tw: angst, wilbur is kind of a dick tbh, crying and fights

notes: i love this song so much but this one made me so sad man. im getting better at writing angst but it still makes me sad :(

word count: 1.5

taglist: @l0veb0mb1ng / @core-queen / @zooone / @lillylvjy / @ghostsacrosslndnfields / @melunnek

You couldn’t sleep.

You and Wilbur had barely spoken in months. You two see each other everyday, and it’s almost shocking how many conversations you could have without saying anything. You couldn’t tell if you even loved him anymore, you knew you had the ability to, it was just hard to sort through all the noise and indecision in your brain. 

Wilbur wasn’t very vocal about your relationship. He was affectionate in private, but sometimes in public it felt like he barely knew you. Even though you’d been together for years, he still acted like an acquaintance when you were around anyone, even friends. 

Your relationship felt like dying. You didn’t feel trapped, but you so desperately wanted him to just do something and be there, give you any sign that he still cared about you and loved you. 

You felt cold when you finally managed to go to sleep. His arms weren’t wrapped around you like they used to be. It felt like sleeping next to a stranger.

You felt just as cold when you woke up. Wilbur was awake next to you, leaned up and scrolling on his phone. You turned and looked at him, unable to hide the sourness from your expression this early in the morning.

He looked at you in response to your shifting, “Hm? Oh, good morning, darling.” He smiled, “Sleep well?”

You shrugged in response. You missed when a response like that would make him pull you into his arms, kiss you and ask you what was wrong and what he could do to help. 

Instead, he just ignored it. “Old friend of mine is having a party tonight, do you want to come with me?”

Not really. But it was better than just sitting and rotting in your apartment, unable to escape the constant reminders of your dying relationship. 

“I’ll come, I guess.” You’d long given up hiding the pain and resignation in your voice. Wilbur never noticed the signs.

“Great,” he leaned down, pecking your lips quickly, “I love you, darling,” he stood, walking out quickly.

You didn’t even have a chance to respond before he was out of the room.

You laid in bed for a long time. Wilbur barely noticed that you stayed there, even as he flitted around the room and got dressed for the day. Once he’d spoken a quick “goodbye” and headed out (you didn’t even know where he was going), you finally stood up and took a shower. You cried while you showered. Your heart felt tired of this, and you didn’t know how much longer you could keep it together. You’d dedicated years of your life to this relationship, and he acted like he simply tolerated you. You don’t know how long you stood there crying, but by the time you got out, Wilbur had returned. If he noticed your red-rimmed and puffy eyes, he didn’t say anything.

You got ready for the party quickly. It was a quick walk there. Every time you remembered the walks you used to go on, where his arms would be around you or his hand it yours, it felt like twisting a knife in your chest. But you put on a happy face. It wasn’t anyone here’s business the mental torment you were going through. 

The start of the party was nice, meeting some of Wilbur’s friends and mostly just talking your praises of Wilbur. Shortly after, he left you alone, and you felt overwhelmed. You didn’t know anyone here, except Wilbur and he’d currently fucked off to where ever. You stood in the corner, trying to spot him in the gathering of people. It almost felt like he was ignoring you, but you tried to convince yourself that it wasn’t on purpose. 

It did make you bitter, though. He was the one who told you to come, he was the one who invited you out, and he was the one who was supposed to love you. You’d never felt so alone in a room full of so many people. 

You finally spotted him, making your way over quickly. You took your place next to him, and he spared you a quick glance before going back to his conversation. You didn’t butt into the conversation, you didn’t even know this guy.

He brought you up though.

“And so, you two, you’ve been together how long now?”

“Three years,” Wilbur supplied, letting his hand come to rest on your lower back. 

“Wow, three years, that’s amazing. Are you liking the married life?”

It was an honest mistake, one you would’ve clarified with a soft chuckle and a simple “Oh, we’re not married yet.”

Wilbur had a different response. “Oh, god, no,” he fully laughed, shaking his head, “We’re not married. Didn’t mean to give you that idea.” He responded, acting like it was a joke.

It sent you spiraling. The rest of the night was a blur, too lost in your own thoughts. He clearly seemed to think that your relationship was a joke. So why was he even still with you? Why was he making you feel like you were dying? Why was it going to be your job to find a way to end this? To get him to admit that there was nothing left; he didn’t love you anymore. 

You didn’t remember getting home. You had walked home without him. He probably hadn’t even noticed. You stood in front of the mirror, staring at yourself and just wondering how you could’ve gotten there. 

Wilbur unlocked the door to the apartment about half an hour after you’d gotten home.

“Love?” He asked, walking in and finding you in front of the mirror, “Why’d you come home without saying anything?”

You sighed quietly. “I’m shocked you actually noticed.”

He scoffed, “Why wouldn’t I?”

“You haven’t noticed anything else.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I know you don’t.” You ran a hand through your hair.

He didn’t speak for a while, crossing his arms, “Is this… another one of your sadness things again? You should just tell me if you’re upset. I could’ve stayed there if I knew that’s all it was.”

You felt rage bubble up in your chest, “God, Wilbur, I am so sorry, actually. That my pain ruined your fucking night. By all means, go. Clearly, you think I’m the pinnacle of being okay right now, so just fucking go. You obviously would rather be anywhere than with your partner who’s been struggling for months.”

He frowned, “What are you on about?”

You clenched your jaw, “Do you love me, Wilbur?”

“What? Of course I love you-” “Then tell me anything about myself, right now. Anything recent. How have I been doing at work? What song have I been listening to? How many nights have I stayed up crying while you didn’t notice?”

He was speechless. You continued. 

“I have spent months being there for you. Every time anything went wrong, or you needed support, you didn’t even have to say anything, I was always there for you, even when it hurt me! And you haven’t even noticed that I’ve been fucking drowning for months. All I’ve wanted for months is for you to ask once, just once, if I’m okay. And you haven’t!” You scoffed, anger bringing a laugh out of you. 

“And you know what? I wouldn’t marry me either! Because clearly there must be something so vitally wrong with me that when one of your friends mistakenly thought we were married, you laughed in his face. You treated the entire concept as a joke! And I- I’m such a fucking people pleaser, I didn’t even say anything or speak up at all! I let you laugh off the idea of us being together forever as if it didn’t even matter!”

You were fighting off tears as he spoke up finally.

“Is that what this is about? I didn’t mean to laugh like that, it just caught me off guard.”

You put your head in your hands, groaning and yelling into them, “That is not what this is about, Wilbur! Have you even been listening to me? Do you fucking love me or not? Because you haven’t given me any indication to show me that you love me, Wilbur. I feel like I’m dying just being here with you, and you haven’t even noticed. I have done so much for this relationship, and all I have wanted for months is for you to give any sign that you even know I exist!” You panted, and Wilbur just stared at you, “Will you just fucking do something?”

“I don’t know what to say. I didn’t realize that you were… were feeling like this.”

You nodded, sitting down on your bed, arms crossed. “Get out, Wilbur,” you whispered.

“What?”

You sighed, placing your head in your hands and wiping away tears, “Get the fuck out. I can’t do this anymore.”

Within moment, he walked out, leaving you behind. 

The worst part about it all was how easily he listened. He didn’t try to fight for you. He just grabbed some of his things and left you, alone, to sit in a dark room where you’d watched your relationship die.